I rented a flat in Taylor Wimpey’s The Denizen on Airbnb. I fancied a break in a luxury flat on the fringe of London’s financial district. I liked the name of the street the apartment was on, Golden Lane. My boyfriend came home drunk from the nearest Wetherspoons pub, The Masque Haunt on the corner of Old Street and Bunhill Row. He didn’t like the strange wallpaper in our holiday home so he started to peel it from the wall. Under every section was a name and date. When I got back from Spa Nails on Fortune Street, I instantly forgot I’d just been pampered and shouted at my better half we were gonna have to pay for the damage. Then I got curious and used the internet to look up one of the names. It belonged to a missing person who’d vanished on the date scrawled beside their name on the wall. I checked more names and they all belonged to missing people. I notified the police who sent out a forensics team. They told my boyfriend he hadn’t been removing wallpaper - he’d been pulling down human skin.
Tag: luxury flat
I slipped out of my room and made my way to The Denizen. Keeping my revolver handy, I made my way up to the floor on which Jason’s flat was situated. I hung a protection belt of garlic around my neck and the smell of it seemed to fill the corridor and give me assurance. It is a wonderful protection against the more usual Aeiirii forms of semi-materialization, by which I supposed the whistling might be produced. Though at that period of my investigation I was quite prepared to find it due to some perfectly natural cause, for it is astonishing the enormous number of cases that prove to have nothing abnormal in them. In addition to wearing the necklet, I had plugged my ears loosely with garlic and as I did not intend to stay more than a few minutes in the luxury apartment, I hoped to be safe. When I reached the door and put my hand into my pocket for the key, I had a sudden feeling of sickening funk. But I was not going to back out if I could help it.