This is another story where everything is potentially explainable. This could be some poor person who has ended up living in a mall.
However this changes when put in the context of the other reports from Monfeld. It makes me wonder if something deeper attracts people like this to the shopping centre.
I do not know what the answer is. But either way, this is another strange tale from Monfeld.
As always if you have any questions you would like me to pass on, please let me know.
The shop had been an unfranchised newsagent. One of those places where a drink that would cost two quid in a supermarket costs double that, and a jumbo packet of crisps will make you break a note.
My mate and I did not take Monfeld seriously. We had heard the rumours about the monsters, and used bravado to combat any fears. All our shouting and whooping and knocking on the wall was an attempt to scare stuff away as much as prove it doesn’t exist.
I doubt we would have lasted long in the darker shadows. But we stuck near the shops near the bottom floor, and heard nothing but creaks and groans. I went into the newsagents to grab some cigarettes. A pathetic way to impress my mate, but frankly with the price of cigarettes these days well worth it. The door was unlocked. I should have considered how free of dust the handle was.
The smell of cheap boiled noodles and damp clothes spilled out. I kicked through old crisps wrappers and squashed plastic bottles littering the dirty floor. Any remaining cigarette packets sat on a shelf behind the counter, next to a heap of old cardboard. I had to reach across the counter to get them. My fingers stretched towards the closest packet, just about clasping the top.
I should have noticed the junk in this area did not belong in a newsagents. Clothes. A rucksack. Several rusty knives. By the time the blade connected with my arm it was too late.
Thank goodness for my leather jacket. But even then a burning sensation in my forearm makes me jerk backward . She was up then, the cardboard flying everywhere. There was such a physicality to her. That knife was so sharp, the blade so gleaming.
If that has been everything, I had no chance in a room full of mess. But then my friends hammered on the window. Her head turned, and I dashed back through the door, bottles rattling everywhere.
We sprinted down the corridor then. Flew. Maybe some horrors with bubbling faces stared at us from a few gloomy corners, but we did not stop to check.
The scent of the room is still in my nostrils. I keep washing my hands. What was so bad is that she was real you know? I wish we had ran into one of the monsters.
