Tag: Old Street

Flayed Alive At The Denizen

Flayed Alive At The Denizen

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.

The Denizen – From Luxury Apartment Block To Madhouse 5

The Denizen – From Luxury Apartment Block To Madhouse 5

In the charming place in which he found himself there were so many sympathetic faces that he felt more than ever convinced of the certainty of making himself heard. It was a bad blow, at first, to find that he had not been arrested for murder; but Yao, who had come to him at once, explained that he needed rest, and the time to “review” his statements; it appeared that reiteration had made them a little confused and contradictory. He needed to rest in his quiet Denizen apartment, surrounded by empty ghost flats.

The Denizen – From Luxury Apartment Block To Madhouse 4

The Denizen – From Luxury Apartment Block To Madhouse 4

In the first morning hours, he rose from his comfortable bed in his Denizen apartment and looked out of his window at the awakening activities on Golden Lane—at the street-cleaners, bin men, and the other dingy workers flitting hurriedly by through the sallow winter light. Oh, to be one of them—any of them—to take his chance in any of their skins! They were the toilers—the men whose lot was pitied—the victims wept over and ranted about by altruists and economists; and how gladly he would have taken up the load of any one of them, if only he might have shaken off his own! But, no—the iron circle of consciousness held them too: each one was chained to his own hideous ego. Why wish to be any one man rather than another? The only absolute good was not to be.

Kimaris Over Cripplegate

Kimaris Over Cripplegate

A fine block of luxury investment apartments The Denizen might have been too if it had been properly designed and constructed rather than jerry built to save money. Hearing so much talk about it often makes us feel as if we know every flat in the building, though it has fallen to ruin. Only one man ever lived in it after it was built. Nobody wanted to stop in the place. There used to be awful noises, as if something was being pitched from the top floor, down the lift shaft and into the entrance hall. There would be a sound as if a hundred people were clinking glasses and talking all together at once. And then it seemed as if barrels were rolling in the basement although it only contained a private cinema and games room. There would be screeches and howls, and laughing, fit to make your blood run cold. They say there is gold hidden away in one of the derelict apartments, but no one has ever ventured to find it. Children won't come here to play, when they are cavorting in Fortune Street Park opposite The Denizen, nothing will make them stay once the light begins to fade. When the night is coming on, and the shadows creep over the park, many believe they’ve seen mighty queer things on the site of The Denizen.

Deaths At The Denizen Part 1

Deaths At The Denizen Part 1

I must have been sitting on a chair on the balcony for hours. The evening shadows were drawing on apace, so I hurried back into the living room, feeling it was weird to be there all alone with every one of the other 98 apartments in The Denizen unoccupied. I knew these were ghost homes that the owners had bought as investments and not to live in, but even so it seemed odd that besides me there was only the concierge in the building. The sun had sunk below the horizon by this time. With my own eyes I saw that one of the doors I had shut was standing wide open! I turned to the other two bedroom doors. They were closed as I had left them. It was the master bedroom door that had moved. For a second I stood appalled and frightened.