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The real FBI 03 - The Haunted House

5. ledna 2018 v 12:36 |  Překlady/Translations

The Haunted House



Morgan asked even a few questions about the case to the man and other people on the amusement park, but most people didn't know anything. He also listened to the families of the missing victims, which brought him only a considerable headache, because the victims shared only considerable amount of self-confidence and they liked amusement parks and horrors films. Even the unknown informant seems to have disappeared. And somehow whole day and evening passed until midnight, and Morgan stood in front of the haunted house, but fortunately, the young man was not there. Morgan hoped, that the boy had dropped his stupid idea, but it was more of a wish. Well, but now it did not matter, if the young man was there or not, Morgan was just as determined to enter the house. He hoped he would find something in the house to show him another direction in the case, so our hero dressed warmly, grabbed a badge, a pistol, a flashlight, took a deep breath of cold night air, and walked into the house.

At first it was what he expected. A half-broken old mansion where man is simply afraid of that he will fall somewhere, or something falls on him, which is a legitimate anxiety. However, what was completely different, and it was strange, there were several graffiti on the walls, which didn't mean absurd tags, but they said: "HELP!" "HELP ME!" "GO AWAY!" "NIGHTMARES COME TO LIFE HERE!" "DARKNESS IS COMING!" "HERE SURVIVE ONLY DEAD, BECAUSE DEAD CAN'T BE TERRIFIED" "DEAD CAN'T FEEL FEAR" Morgan snorted, these people in the amusement park didn't have the money to build a traditional haunted house, so they chose a dilapidated manor house, but their imagination about what should be frightened was obviously bad.

But then something changed. There were still the same words on the walls... in fact, just one word. Fear!

"FEAR!"

"FEAR, FEAR, FEAR!"

Still and all over again, even now it was no longer a graffiti made with a marker pen or spray, but it was often painted on the wall with some red to brown color or sometimes scraped back into the wall. OK, first it was just a play, embarrassing pieces of fun to scare in the haunted house, but now it wasn't that embarrassing anymore, and the inscriptions began to shout at him in a chorus of fear and power.

"FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR!"

"FEAR…"

"RAEF…"

"TIMORE…"

"TIMORE…"

"TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE!"

Morgan swallowed. This was starting to be serious, but so far our big FBI agent did not feel that fear or anxiety, perhaps just a slight concern, but it only took time to see her. Rachel McCall, the beautiful seventeen-year-old girl with stunningly blond hair and the slim figure, whose parents so much cryed for her, lay here on the old, beaten table in the living room with undercut arteries. Everywhere there was a lot of blood. She was on the table and on the ground under her, was some kind of strange ornament. If Reid had seen it, he would have known immediately what it meant, unfortunately he was not there, and Morgan could only guess that unsub had used Rachel as a sacrifice for a ritual. Great, so someone with religious or satanic delusions. Morgan became sick, not because of the terrible scene that had appeared before him, but mainly because of the pungent smell of sulfur mixed with the smell of deadly dead meat. He had seen a lot of crime scene, and he had seen even older dead body than Rachel, but this was a little different. There was something diabolical about it, something beyond his experience and reason. Still, he walked up to her.

"I'm so sorry, Rachel," He whispered sadly and closed her dead eyes. "I don't know yet who did it to you, or why people weren't looking for the missing people in this house, they would have to find you like that. I don't know yet what's going on here, but I promise you, that I'll find out," He promised the dead girl and then decided to move on.

"FEAR…"

"FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR!"

"RAEF…"

"TIMORE…"

"TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE!"

"EROMIT"

"AGRAMON…"

"AGRAMON, AGRAMON, AGRAMON, AGRAMON, AGRAMON, AGRAMON!"

Morgan went upstairs to the second floor and once again he came across the same room, a living room that was exactly below and was the same with Rachel McCall. Oh my God! That's impossible! Morgan's eyes widened and ran to her body, but it wasn't mistaken, it was Rachel again! Did he lost and go down again? But in that case, Rachel would have closed her eyes... How this was possible? He knew, Rachel didn't have a twin, so how! Morgan turned on his heel and ran down to the other body. And in his head the choir began to sound from the inscriptions signs on the walls.

"FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR!"

"TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE!"

"AGRAMON, AGRAMON, AGRAMON, AGRAMON, AGRAMON, AGRAMON!"

He ran down the stairs, barely he wasn't slipping on them. He ran into the living room downstairs, where lay... Elle Greenaway on the table! His old team mate, who was attacked by the unsub and almost killed, who then changed, killed another unsub, and left ABU. The whole team, including Morgan, never ceased to blame what had happened to her, and now she lay there, dead, as well as Rachel McCall. Morgan's throat dried up. How was it possible with all the saints? But the most terrible thing had yet to come.

Dead Elle moved. She turned her head to Morgan and opened her eyes. "Why did you do this to me, Derek? Why didn't you come with me then? Why didn't you guide me on the right path, when you saw, that it is some wrong with me?" She said, and at that moment Morgan felt as like if all his blood stiffened in veins. For the first time since he doing this damn job, fear dominated him. He started running again, not even knowing where, just simply away.

"FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR, FEAR!"

"TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE, TIMORE!"

"AGRAMON, AGRAMON, AGRAMON, AGRAMON, AGRAMON, AGRAMON!"

Morgan ran furiously. His head throbbed, his heart beating his race and house as if it were a sudden endless maze of corridors and rooms. The big and powerful agent FBI only once feared so much in his life as he was now, at that time he was still a child. The child who was under the local youth center coordinator, who sexually abused him.

Suddenly, He was in this dilapidated haunted house again the child and Carl Buford pursued him, shouting: "Wait, you bastard, when I catch you! You will be fucking punish, you ungrateful brat!" And Derek tried, he was trying to escape, but he couldn't. With every step Carl Buford was closer and closer. Derek stumbled and fallen down the stairs to the cellar. His head crashed into the wall and he lost consciousness.





 

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