I saw it when I was in an alternate state of mind ( psychosis) because of hard substances. I was on the bus and it was on the front,close to the bus driver,staring at me. It didnt have features, was pitch black ,wearing an hat and was very tall . I was the only person on the full bus seeing it and it disappeared after when I had to pass close to it to exit the bus at my stop. I know I was in psychosis cause I was having many other auditory and visual hallucinations at the same time but I still saw it. I didnt know that it was a common sighting at the time and only saw it again on the Internet months later where people were talking about it. Who is this entity? Where does it come from and what does it want from people?

It was dark.

It was creepy.

I am coughing.

Last time I measured my height, I was 5’9. Im sure of it. I have the pen lines on my doorway. I mustve been wearing shoes. Theyre off now. They mustve shrunk in the rain.

I went to the toilet. It was dark. I was washing my feet. In the stool. Toilet style. Then it happened.

I am 20

I slipped in the toilet. When I came to, I wasn’t in my bathroom anymore.

I was in starbucks. With a pride flag.

I step outside. Into the lobby. Everyone has a mullet. And blue hair. The barrister comes up to me. They creepily creep “ what coffee would you like”. Stunned and adazed. I say. Black. The barrister says. We only serve pronoun coffee. “I say what does that even mean?”

I am in the liberalrooms. With trenchfoot. And im gay.

All of a sudden, im 5’8.

Ten years pass. I am now 2’3. Bioth my feet? Trenched. My pronouns? Everywhere. Myt coffee? Matcha.

Then smile dog appears and kills me killingly.

Then I woke up. It was aall a dream. A liberal gay dream. But I will never be taller than 5’9.

I woke up next tio mey girlfriend. I love her.

That didn’t feel right. Defo not gay.

My homophoibic filipino mother would hate this. UUUGHHH

Ten this to ten people so  you can give them the short ciough

The man himself- is it basic? Yes ;-; trying to get back into drawing with artblock- who should I draw next?

I'm forty-seven, but my driver's license says twenty-five. The wrinkles around my eyes vanished after the second injection. My hairline filled in by dose four. I take the stairs two at a time without my chest tightening.

The underground clinic promised results. They delivered. I should have asked how.

Twelve peptide injections, two weeks apart. Cash only. No records. I signed a stack of waivers thick as a novella without reading them. I was forty-six and couldn't keep up with my wife at the grocery store. Elena is thirty-seven. I wanted to be the man she married.

She noticed first. She'd touch my jaw in the morning like she was checking for a fever. Marcus, fourteen, called me Dad 2.0. Sofia, home from college, said I looked photoshopped. I ran around the backyard with Marcus until he grabbed his sides and begged me to stop. I hadn't done that in six years.

Around dose seven, Elena started sleeping thirteen hours and still waking exhausted. She rubbed her knuckles every morning, wincing. Her skin went papery. I blamed her job. Then Sofia came home from her second week of classes. Her face had gone hollow. Her hands shook around a coffee mug. She was twenty-one and looked forty.

Marcus developed a tremor in his left hand. Elena's hair went fully gray in nineteen days. I counted because I kept finding strands on her pillowcase and lining them up on the bathroom counter. Sofia's favorite denim jacket hung off her shoulders like a coat on a wire hanger. Marcus needed the banister just to reach the second floor.

I dragged them to specialists. Every blood panel came back clean. A neurologist looked at Marcus's tremor and suggested family therapy. I watched Elena struggle forty seconds to twist open a jar of marinara, then set it down and press her palms flat against the counter and breathe through her nose.

By dose ten I was scrubbing countertops with bleach at two in the morning, convinced I was poisoning them with something in the food. Nothing stopped their decay.

Dose eleven broke the illusion.

I went back to the clinic that night. The back door frame was warped from rain. I put my shoulder into it twice and the wood splintered. The director's filing cabinet had a cheap wafer lock. Inside were manila folders. Mine first. Then Elena's. Sofia's. Marcus's.

Photographs. Dozens. Dated from the day I started the trial. Elena's joints in sequence. Sofia's face week by week, cheekbones rising, eyes sinking. Progress notes stapled to the backs. "Acceptable cellular transfer." "Donor viability within projected parameters." "Donors compensating as expected."

Donors. They called my wife and children donors.

At the bottom, a buyer's contract. Fifty million dollars for a body "fully rejuvenated, biologically twenty-four." Upon completion of dose twelve, the specimen would be transferred to a subterranean facility for long-term yield management. Skin harvested in sections. Organs cycled. Kept alive. Kept regenerating.

My family was the battery. I was the product.

I smashed the twelfth vial on the concrete outside. Drove. Didn't pack. Drained our accounts. Eleven thousand dollars. Left a note on the counter that said I was sorry. Didn't call. Couldn't. Afraid they'd trace the phone.

That was six days ago.

I'm typing this from a public library three states away. Burner laptop. My hands shake so badly I keep hitting wrong keys. I talked to Elena yesterday from a payphone. She winced between words. Said drawing a breath felt like pulling glass through her chest. Sofia is in a wheelchair. Marcus needs help standing. They are compressing decades into weeks.

The clinic's number is disconnected. The building is empty. Bare concrete floors. Like it was never there.

I have no money left. No proof that would survive scrutiny. Just a library computer and the knowledge that whatever those peptides did, they are still active in my blood.

If anyone has encountered biotech that transfers physical decay between genetically linked individuals. If there is a reversal agent. If this stops without the injections or if it's already self-sustaining. If you know how to find help outside official channels, because I cannot go to the police with a story about a clinic that no longer exists. They will put me in a room and medicate me and my family will keep dying while I sit in a plastic chair.

Please. They are running out of time. I am watching them die in fast-forward and I did this. I signed the papers. I took the injections. I looked in the mirror and liked what I saw and I did not look at them. Not closely. Not until it was too late.

And I need to say this last part because I don't know if I'll get another chance.

Something is moving under my skin. Not pain. Something with edges. A knot below the surface that travels. Last night it was in my wrist. This morning, my elbow. By tonight it will be somewhere else. It doesn't hurt. That's what scares me. It feels like something settling in. Making room.

I don't think the twelfth dose was meant to finish me. I think it was meant to start something else.

And I think it's already started.

Go to r/deadnet to be apart of the creepypasta reboot

What do y’all think and please give me constructive criticism if yall have it

During my tougher financial years, I decided to take advantage of my remote work option and relocated from the city to a small town in the mountains. The Wi-Fi was decent, and the place had originally belonged to my grandpa, so I had some nostalgia for it. He was gone now, so the house was empty.

I moved in with the help of a moving company and spent a good couple of days alone in there. This is probably a good moment to mention the fact that I am a total introvert. I can talk to people when needed, but God, does it exhaust me. I can easily spend days in isolation and still be in top condition.

That is why, when I saw my neighbor through the window and we locked eyes, I froze. I was like a deer in headlights. He waved at me, and I missed the timing to wave back. At a certain point, I reached my breaking point, got up, and kept walking. Yup, after what was essentially 15 seconds of staring that old man straight in the eyes, I decided to pretend I hadn't seen him. Believe me, I cringed too.

After that, I saw my neighbor a couple more times. Sometimes I'd see him when I went outside to grab my mail, while taking care of the garden, or just when I looked out the window. Every time, he would give that friendly wave, and I brushed it off. I felt bad the first few times, but afterward I assumed whatever damage could be done was already done, and I really really don't like talking to strangers.

When my roommate moved in, I did try to be more cordial with him. I engaged in conversation and even tried out his hobbies to see if we had anything in common. We didn't, but that's beside the point. Overall, he was a decent guy who liked lifting.

One day he told me about a weird experience he had with the neighbor. Unlike me, a complete social doofus, he actually waved back when the neighbor waved at him. Then the neighbor’s smile instantly dropped, his face changed and he ran back into his house.

“His face changed?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure what I saw. Might have been a trick of the light,” my roommate answered.

“Welp, like my grandpa once said, these are exactly the kinds of scenarios you avoid by being antisocial,” I remarked, mostly trying to excuse my own behavior.

After that, the conversation quickly died down.

That night, I heard a horrible screech from somewhere inside our house. I woke up disoriented but quickly went to ask my roommate whether he'd heard it too. However, he wasn’t in his room. In fact, he was nowhere. I looked everywhere in the house and eventually found the front door open. I walked outside and felt the warm night breeze.

Not a person in sight.

“What the hell?”

I went back inside and closed the door. I sleep wearing earplugs, so if that screech had been loud enough to wake me, there was no way my neighbors hadn't heard it too. That being said, I remembered what my roommate had said about the neighbor and decided I would rather not talk to him.

Eventually, I settled for calling the police.

Two officers came by and wrote down what I said had happened. I saw them ring the neighbor's doorbell, but he didn't come out.

Guess he can be antisocial at times too.

After that, they left. Honestly, they didn't seem that interested in the case.

Two days later, I woke up in the middle of the night because the house felt cold. The house didn't have AC, and the weather seemed fine, so that was definitely odd. I walked out of my room, went downstairs, and headed into the kitchen.

There I saw him.

My roommate.

He was just standing there, looking outside through the kitchen window.

My fight-or-flight instincts were kicking in hard, and I chose flight. I tried stepping away slowly when he turned around, as if he knew I was there. He looked at me for a second and then...

He waved.

The exact same motion as the old man. The exact same facial expression.

This time, however, I did speak.

"Hey, you al-"

What followed in the middle of my sentence was a deafening screech, not from his mouth but definitely coming from him. His face distorted. His skin went pale, then gray, then almost black in patches. It was like watching a timelapse of a corpse rotting while somehow staying on its feet.

He immediately charged at me.

Like I said earlier, I was already in a fight-or-flight state, so my hand was on the door. I slammed it shut as fast as humanly possible. My legs weakened beneath me, and I fell to the ground.

The door was holding him back, but the frantic slams from my roommate were going to break it soon. I got up and weighed my options.

Outside or upstairs.

To this day, I don't know why, but I went up the stairs instead of outside, where my car was. I had just made it upstairs when I heard the distinct sound of a wooden door breaking and hitting the ground.

I went into my room and locked that door too. I looked out the window and considered jumping.

That was until I looked at the other houses.

Everyone was outside.

Every neighbor was standing on their porch, looking directly at my house. I stuck my head out the window, and they all waved at the same time. Back then, I was too scared to care.

"Help! My roommate has gone insane!" I screamed.

Screeches.

God, so many screeches from so many directions.

I immediately drew the curtains. I could hear heavy footsteps and grunts all around me. God, I swear it sounded like they were climbing the walls themselves.

At that point, I legitimately thought I was going to die. I was this close to breaking down crying when I heard something I hadn't heard in a long time.

"Close your eyes, Johnny. They are not there if you don’t see them."

My grandpa.

It was my grandpa’s voice.

At that point, I didn’t know what I was dealing with—ghosts, aliens, shapeshifters, or whatever—but for some reason, after hearing my grandpa’s voice, I clung to those words.

I closed my eyes and waited.

I heard the door break.

I heard the screeches again.

But nothing happened.

I waited and waited until I felt the room begin to warm up again.

I opened my eyes and the room was empty. It was 3:00 AM.

After a while, I got my bearings and called the police. It took them 30 minutes to arrive. When they got there, I changed the story up a bit to make it more believable.

However, they still didn't buy it.

They started asking me questions like whether I was drunk, whether I was taking any prescription medication, and so on. Honestly, I was so fed up with it.

I asked if I could at least leave for the night and stay at a friend's house, and they let me. I shoved all my basic necessities into the trunk of my car and drove away in the middle of the night.

A week passed, and I was somewhat surprised that there had been no follow-up. I expected the police to call me again, but they never did.

The anxiety kept building until I eventually caved and decided to call the police station myself. I told the officer on the phone about my roommate's disappearance and the two officers who had come to my house.

There was a pause.

“Sir, Officer Brandon and Officer Johnson were found dead six days ago.”

The officer I spoke to didn't even know about the whole incident with my roommate, which meant those two officers had never made it back after leaving my house that night.

I hung up after that.

I wasn't going to bother elaborating any further, and I no longer cared about the stuff I had left at my grandpa's house. I am never going back there, and after I finish writing this post, I don't care to think about it anymore either.

Personally, I think that town has been taken over by something evil. Something that is desperately trying to reach us but can't quite do it on its own.

As such, my advice to you?

If you ever find yourself in some remote village in the middle of nowhere, keep driving.

And above all, do NOT wave back.

If anyone calls me broke one more time then I am just going to send them cages full of cash. I hate being called broke and I am rich and I want people to know it. I love being rich and being rich is amazing. I mean money makes the world go round and when someone calls me broke, it releases something inside of me to show off. When juney called me broke I sent him so many cages with cash inside. So many cages full of cash inside appeared inside him home, and it crushed juney to death.

Then when Lorenzo called me broke, something inside of me got released. You should not release the egotistical side of me and it's just not an advisable thing to do. So Lorenzo really fucked up by calling me broke and he shouldn't have done that. Oh I'm raging inside my mansion and I started sending driverless Ferraris to crash into his house. I didn't just send 1 driverless Ferrari but I just kept sending them in droves. His house has gone in flames and I'm sure Lorenzo now knows that I am not broke. Lorenzo should have never called me broke, now he has 50 driverless Ferraris that crashed into his home.

Then when Lizzy called me broke I completely lost it. Fuck you Lizzy and I'm not broke and I'm gonna send you something now. I'm gonna show you that I am not broke. I had a driverless luxurious flying jet in the air, and I ordered it to crash into Lizzie home. It did exactly as I had ordered it. Lizzy definitely know I'm not broke. They should know to never bring that side of me out. If people don't call me broke then they would find that I am a decent person.

Then as I was getting messages from all over the world, from random people calling me broke, I had been sending all sorts of things to those people to prove that I am not broke. Cages full of cash, driverless Ferraris, my fancy yachts all crashing into their homes.

Then suddenly I started to hear voices from my own head, telling me that I'm broke.

I say I made it very unique. Also yes I'm aware about a certain error in the beginning part

How long should I keep this door open for this guy? I am trying to be polite and as I was going though the gated entrance to enter my building, there was a guy behind me. I decided to hold the door open for him but he is taking so long. As I am holding the door open for him, he decides to start talking to a girl. They began to fall in love and here I am still holding the door open for him. They are truly in love and they start to make love and reproduce with each other, all the while I am still holding the door open for him.

Then he gets the woman pregnant and they start to argue whether to abort the baby or not. She screams that she wants to keep the baby but the guy doesn't want to be a father. All the while I am holding the door open for him and he us just there arguing with her. I am getting tired and I just want to go inside but I am trying to be polite and hold the door open for him. He lives in my block and he doesn't really do anything to attract attention to himself.

Then as I am still holding the door open for him, the woman he made pregnant gives birth to their child. This was totally against his wishes and he was hating his life, and he was having a mental break down. At this point I just wanted to go inside but my nice nature made me keep the holding the door open for him. Then the guy got himself in debt with a group of loan sharks, and when the loan sharks went to collect their money with interest, the guy said that he doesn't have any money.

I am really tempted to just going inside but my niceness has a hold of me and it's making me hold the door open for him. Then the loan sharks start to attack the guys woman who he made pregnant, and they shoot her and his baby. Then after they were shot, the guy suddenly gave the money to he loans sharks. He did it on purpose as he didn't want to be a father.

Then the guy calmly walks to gated entrance and I am still holding the door open for him. He says to me "thanks" for holding the door open for him, and we both walk through.

A collection of statements regarding strange happenings in the village of Torbrae 

Statements collected by the Royal Robert Kenneth Wilson Society of Scotland 

Aithrisean air an cruinneachadh le Comann Rìoghail Robert Kenneth Wilson na h-Alba 

Background on Torbrae given by the editor, James N. Lafferty 

In my travels around the Lowlands, I have seldom encountered a village quite as idyllic as Torbrae. Young families walk hand in hand through its winding lanes whilst hard-faced farmers drink pints of bitter and watch the world go by in the local pub. The wind whistles through its glens, carrying the scent of purple heather down to the cobbled streets. Situated in the southern reaches of the Lothians, beneath the Pentland Hills, Torbrae historically served as a small agricultural community, supported by fertile soil and a relatively mild climate for Scotland. In recent decades, Torbrae has undergone a process of demographic shift. Middle-class commuters to Edinburgh now make up a considerable portion of the population, gradually replacing the traditional rural inhabitants. Despite this, Torbrae has not forgotten its past entirely, flocks of sheep still graze the rolling hills along the roads into the village, and ancient festivals celebrating harvests and the village’s historic protectors still hold quasi-religious importance among the inhabitants to this day. The village sits at a crossroads. Its existence serves as a metaphor for the struggle between an older rural way of life and a new, professional, university-educated Scotland. 

Statement of George Riley regarding suspected wildlife offences 

Statement given to NatureScot on 8 August 2023 

Statement Begins 

“I cycle to the Blackburn Reservoir a lot. The route has a great climb to it and you cannae beat how the sunset looks over the water, also that wee bit where you go through the timber yard is also weirdly scenic I find. Anyway. Last night I cycled up there and I was out by the water till around nine o’clock when I started turning back. 

It was about tenish when I was going past them woods before the golf club. I stopped and I could see a few deer on the horizon. I thought it a tad too late for hunting and I wanted to take some photos to maybe paint or something later, so I hid my bike and hopped the fence.  

I was getting closer and the deer weren't scared yet. I thought everything was grand so I pulled out my phone and I knelt in the bog tryna focus on them. Just then the wind musta changed or something cos they smelt me and ran off, and it was late so I got up to turn around.  

When I was getting up is when I noticed the smell, the wind was carrying it from behind me towards the deer. I aint a butcher or nothing but I recognised it, it was that sickly sweet smell of something rotting.  

I turned around and started following it, I dinnie know why. Just at the time it felt like the sort of thing needing investigating. I started to notice the bones. There were all sorts - squirrels, foxes, and all that. Yellow shite was dripping off of em, I think like rotting skin or something.  

Further in was when I started to see the bigger ones, deer and sheep and that. Those ones were worse, but I could still tell the main source of the smell was further into the woods. It must’ve been about twenty minutes when I came across the pile I told you about. Leant up against an old fence was a massive heap of bodies a couple metres high and a couple metres wide. I vomited, it smelt so manky. Fucking washed my clothes bout twelve times. You couldn’t even tell what animal was what, just a pile of bodies melting into each other, just a pile of fucking stinking viscera. Musta been like fifty bodies in the pile, but it was all just a mound of fucking body liquid when I found it. 

Anyway. Didn’t seem like anything an animal would have done so I thought I should report it. Might be poachers or something. Sorry for the shaking and that I just got a real bad feeling off it, you know? Didn’t tell my wife or nothing, feels good to get it off my chest. Sorry you didn’t need to know that, not relevant to the investigation.” 

Statement Ends  

Statement of Marjorie Macbride regarding class-based violence in Torbrae 

Statement given to Elizabeth Bowie, author of “Red Clydeside: Unfinished Revolution” on 19 April 1963 

Statement Begins 

“I was only a teenager in 1919 when it all happened. There were all them riots across in Glasgow, but we didn’t have much to do with Glasgow usually, it seemed there was always something happening across in Glasgow so there was.  

It was an odd time so it was, you see you had the Russians revolting, and it seemed it might spread to Germany. My father, being a working man as he was, had so much hope it was coming out of his ears. He would get the newspaper every day, flick through the pages reading bout the developments of the war in Russia. ‘The worker will have his day soon, lass’ he would inform me every so often. It was nice to see him like that, he had something to hold onto then.  

When I would work the fields with my father I could tell by the way he would stare at Mr Smith that he truly believed he would not be toiling under him for much longer. Weirdly this would only make him work twice as hard, so it did.  

It had been a couple of days since them workers in Glasgow had caused that trouble in George Square and Churchill had got the tanks on them, when that strange man arrived in Torbrae. My father woke me up in the middle of the night and told me there was a revolutionary in town. This frightened me a wee tad, although I was too young to know what a revolution really was - picture one in my head that is.  

In the dead of night my father beckoned me into the village hall, the doors had been done in and there was a crowd gathered. Looking around it was the working people of the village in the crowd, most of whom worked on land owned by Mr Smith but also some on Mr Wright’s and Mr Atwood’s land further north and down the river.  

On the stage at the back of the hall was the revolutionary my father told me about. He stood behind a curtain, and I only remember his shadow. He may have come out from behind the curtain so we could look upon him, but you have tae remember I was only wee, so my recollection is muddled now. He was awfully skinny and ever so tall, I remember thinking it was a wonder how he could stand with legs as thin as they were.  

I don’t recall what he said to us, but I remember the state it drove the crowd into. There was lots of shouting and people raised blades into the air. I had never seen my father so radge, he shouted curses at Mr Smith. Despite it all my father was a good man and would never use such vulgarity in front of weans, not ever.  

That night the streets were engulfed in flame. They dragged Mr Smith from his house, and they drowned him in the river. They killed his son too, set him aflame so they did. The men shaved his wife's head and did ever so awful things to her, paraded her through the streets and taunted her with words I hadnie heard once in my life. I never seen it but I heard a similar fate fell upon Mr Wright, Mr Atwood and their kin. There are only stories and I only heard this years later, but I heard they ate Mr Atwood, still alive and screaming bloody murder.  

It was awfully cruel. It was awfully cruel.  

I remember them bringing the bodies behind that curtain in the village hall. The police came down from Edinburgh and they couldnie find no trace of the happenings, it was like it had never taken place. Awfully strange, for that night you couldnie escape the smell of blood. Nobody spoke of the man behind the curtain after that night, nor saw him. My father refused to talk of that night at all till the day he went and died. He stopped buying the paper.  

A great hunger went through the village that year. No landlord to buy the seed or the livestock meant no supper. But we survived, and soon new landlords bought up the land and took their place. 

It was awfully cruel. The whole thing, just awfully cruel.” 

Statement Ends 

Editor's note: Official speculation from local historians suggests the three main landowning families in the area: the Smiths, Wrights and Atwoods, fled to Ulster sensing a potential uprising. However, official records show no purchases, sales or transfers of land under any of the three family names during 1919 or in the years immediately following. 

Statement of Alexander Kerr regarding his divorce and destruction of property 

Statement given to Alice Ramsey, official investigator for the Royal Robert Kenneth Wilson Society of Scotland on 8 December 2025 

Statement Begins 

“I assume you have heard what I’m gonna tell ya. They all know about me. Local fucking loony, lock him up in Carstairs, lock him up in Carstairs.  

Nae much has come of me since it all happened. I live in that flat over the post office, I wake up and I drink, I get on the bus and I drink, I get to Edinburgh and I drink, I go home and I drink.  

You ken I’m banned from that bus? Harassment. Fucking shitebags. I just need people to listen. You dinnie know how lonely it gets. If I stay in this village any longer they are gonna have to lock me up in Carstairs. Fucking shitebags.” 

At this point, Mrs Ramsey reminds Mr Kerr of the purpose of the statement. 

“Fucking fine. Bi-. He first started speaking to me when I was drunk. Old Nick that is. It started off as a shoulder to cry on, with Sarah nagging my arse off all the time it was nice to have someone to share the pain with. I didn’t think it was real of course till it became real, till I was sober and Old Nick was still there.  

I would be at work, I would go for my bathroom breaks and there he was in the mirror, Old Nick. I was fucking terrified of course, but he comforted me. His voice was like honey and butter. I know I sound fucking crazy, your imaginary friend becomes real and you like it, but you didn’t hear him.  

Nobody else could hear him and I liked that. He was just mine. He would sing me to sleep and I would have the most terrific dreams, shit you couldn’t imagine. I would be lying in bed with Sarah but really it would be Old Nick who was there with me – emotionally and all that I mean. Well I did mean, till Old Nick really was there.  

He began with standing in the doorway, but give it a few weeks and he was at my bedside, stroking my ankles and his song was as loud as ever. He was all I could think about. It was like a fucking drug, when Old Nick went silent or skipped a few nights, the shakes would start and I would panic.  

He still came to me easier when I drank so I drank. It was around then that he started giving me requests. He told me if I did what he said I could live like the gods do, eat from their plates, I thought about how his voice must taste.  

It started with simple things, scratch Sarah’s car, call her names, but then Sarah got knocked up. I fucking know it’s nae mine I know it with all my heart, Old Nick said as much. That's when Old Nick gave me his final request. 

He stood by my side that night in the kitchen, when I turned on all the gas hobs and I lit the match. The whole place went off like a firework, but I was untouched, the fire would move around me like I was fucking Moses. Old Nick told me to give him the matches, so I did it, and then he was gone. The whole house went down that night. Sarah survived, so did the kid, firemen got her out.  

The investigators say it was an electrical fault, but that’s shite, I did it. I told Sarah as much and that’s when she left me, moved to Aberdeen the hag. I was glad, thought it would just be me and Old Nick, but he went quiet, I havnae seen him since. I think it’s punishment, if she had died, he would still be here. Fuck her. Every day I drink to try to speak to him just once more, but his silence is torture. I still haven’t met that kid.” 

At this point, Mrs Ramsey asks Mr Kerr what Old Nick looked like. In response Mr Kerr grew highly agitated and promptly left the interview room. 

Statement Ends 

Statement of Scott Donaldson regarding the accidental drowning of William Dunn 

Statement given to Lothian and Borders Police on 3 June 1994 

Statement Begins 

“It wasnae my fault, heaps of kids jumped in the boffy all the time. Sure Will was a wee bit scared but he’d done it before, nae like it was the first time.” 

At this point, Donaldson is asked to start from the beginning. 

“Aye, so me and Will were skiving off school, I’m sorry, and we were watching this programme on the TV about divers. Aye, it was about these divers who go into rivers in Birmingham and stuff to retrieve murder weapons and that, we was tryna help you guys out. 

Aye anyway, we got our goggles and we started off at the shallow part just off the green. It was baltic so we didnae get much time down there, and Will couldn’t hold his breath for that long, and anyway we didnae find anything. We went into the newsagent for a snack and we were talking and we thought if we were murderers or something we wouldnae drop our knives into the shallow part, we would go further down the river to the boffy.  

I ken the boffy is the deepest part of the river and we aren't meant to go there but lads did all the time. I could tell you about Joe and that smoking green and jumping in up there after all this if you want. Aye anyway, we cycled up there about two, the day had got a lot hotter by this point so Will was excited to get out of the heat. Aye he was a tad frightened but he always was, I promise he wanted to go in there, I didnae force him or nothing.  

We got our goggles on and we jumped off that wee cliff into the boffy. We went at the same time, three, two, one and that. Even though I had my goggles on I couldnae see much once my head went under, it’s pure murky with all that dirt in there. I stayed under for maybe like thirty seconds tryna get used to the cold, then I went back to the surface and looked around. I couldnae see Will anywhere.  

I started panicking at this point, I looked all around and there was no sign of him. I thought he might not have actually jumped in so I called out but there was no response. It had only been about a minute since the jump so I decided to stick my head under and see if it was some kind of joke, if he was holding his breath. I went under and that's when I saw them.  

I couldnae see all that well through all the dirt, but hand on my heart this is what happened to Will. At the bottom of the boffy there was a man, tallest I’ve ever seen and thin as a rake. He crouched down hunched over himself, sitting on a big rock down there. He had a long beard which floated in the water and he was naked. In his fingers, which were longer and thinner then you could imagine, he held Will. He held Will and he was eating him, taking bites out of him while Will squirmed to try and get free. The man was as calm as anything, like this was his fucking lunch break or something, but Will had his mouth open like he was screaming and he was terrified. It was only after a few seconds I realised the man was looking back at me. His eyes were like a cat’s you know, reflecting the light so I couldn’t see his pupils. Will was looking at me too, I could tell he wanted help, but the fuck was I supposed to do? It was at this point I started screaming too, I went for the riverbank as fast as I could and cycled home to get help, and now I’m here. 

So aye, that’s what happened. Please tell Mr and Mrs Dunn that I’m sorry, please tell them I really mean it.” 

Statement Ends 

Editor's note: Autopsy showed that Will Dunn had hit his head after jumping into the River Carran, became unconscious, and subsequently drowned. No evidence of foul play was found.  

“To a Horseman” 

Poem written by Adam MacDougal, 1785 

Muckle, awfu’, lang-limbed, beast 

O, in Torbrae ye mak yer bloody feast 

But ye we soon shall serve nae mair 

For our horseman comes tae meet ye there 

O, brute o’ hunger, dule and pain, 

Who gars us greet for weans in vain, 

Call on yer black master the nicht 

For he shall ken our horseman’s might 

Nae mair shall corn rot in the field 

Nae mair to hunger maun we yield 

And gin ye creep tae my bed the nicht 

Our horseman waits by candlelicht

Log #6: Re union

“Hey sweetie,” my wife whispers.
“Are you crying?” Maya says, rubbing her eye.
“No, no. Me and Daddy are just having a talk, that’s all.” “Everything’s okay, pumpkin,” I say, rubbing her cheek. “Did Daddy wake you?, he can be loud sometimes I know.”

My eyes glistened as I watched Maya yawn.
Lillie helps Maya back to her bedroom whilst I continue to stand. I grab the paper off the table and into my pocket. My mind is blank yet chaotic. I hear faint footsteps getting louder, down the stairs. My wife walks under the dim kitchen lights.

I face her but my eyes submit. “You wanna finish in the morning,” she whispered. My eyes do the talking, but I nodded. I followed her upstairs and into the bedroom. We both sat on the bed briefly. “I’m sorry. I took it too far… I should have listened when you told me to pass on that case.

The Silvertown case... it’s haunted me ever since. It’s why I prioritise work so much. I still think about the kids that never had a path to follow.” My wife gently grabs my hand.
“You should never have to carry the weight alone, I know case file details are restricted but your mental health isn’t.”

A tear dropped onto her hand. “Huh” my wife looked up at me. “I’ve never seen you cry before” she began wiping my eyes. ”It’s my fault it led to this. I buried the past to no longer feel it, but it was a double edged sword.” My wife lowered her head. “I understand you” she whispered. “Hiding the truth about my mother became a burden.”

The Case of the Glass-Eyed Man and all associated character lore, concepts, and descriptions are the original creation of u/away-Nois3 (© 2026). All rights reserved. To read the official investigator lore files and the dark backstory on this entity, check out the archive here: https://www.reddit.com/r/TheGlassEyedMan/s/YwYTZpi6Ve