Archived by Bill Bradford

More Humper-Monkey Stories

from the Something Awful Forums

Also see Humper-Monkey's Ghost Story

Our barracks had burned down. Officially, it was listed as the furnace catching coal dust on fire. Unofficially, the barracks tried to kill us all. We spent two weeks staying with an MI unit in their barracks, then went to Graf to the field for 2 months. By then, spring had come, the snow had melted, and construction had started on a new barracks for us. The construction crew, all German nationals, were nervous as shit. They only worked during daylight, and it took almost a week to clear out the rubble. Two blackened skeletons were found in the rubble, both times the work site shut down for a day or two while photos were taken and officials looked it over. We were still missing a man, but neither skeleton was our missing soldier. While at Graf, the unit had received a quarter of its manpower, a lot of new faces, and a lot of disbelief. Nobody believed us how the barracks had acted. Nobody believed that it had been a breathing, living thing, that hated all of us with a passion and wanted us dead. Finally, in May, our new barracks was ready. Built on the site of the old one. We were still miles away from main post, on the other side of the mountain. We were isolated, cut off, and despite the fact that our motor pool was 20' above us, we still felt like there was no way out. We pulled guard duty in the towers, watching over the crap vehicles they sent us, and I went out to bring my ammunition site up to speed. This isn't my story. What happened when the company moved into the barracks was passed on by whispers at night, or over shots of whiskey. Everyone but motor pool platoon and headquarters platoon had been sent out to their sites to prep them. That left nearly 60 people back. The mechanics rarely spent any time in the barracks, except to sleep. Our messhall was built, and the cooks stayed in our barracks. Our little TMC was built, and the medics stayed in our barracks. There was almost 100 soldiers in the barracks, but that meant over 2/3's of the rooms were empty. The first thing to go down, should have been a warning sign, but nobody paid attention. The room was 221, just down the hallway from my room. My platoon had gotten in some recruits, but there wasn't any spare working vehicles, and my platoon was entirely deployed to the ammunition sites. Even the platoon leader, the section leaders, the platoon sergeant, and the section sergeants were gone all the time. These two apparently disliked each other during Basic Training and AIT. Hated each other would be a better phrase. Bad blood from High School that they took with them through the Army. One morning they didn't show up for morning formation, and curious, SSG Houser went up to see what had happened. When they didn't answer, he had the CQ open the door with the master key. He told us what he saw, and his eyes had a weird look to them. WHen he told us, his hand shook when he reached for his drink. THere was blood splashed everywhere. The wall lockers had sprays across them, there was blood on the tile of the bathroom, and several large smears led into the main room itself. The ACQ ran back to the desk to get the MP's up there. A medic was summoned. These two men had attacked each other with knives sometime in the night before. This wasn't a quick stabby stabby fight, both of them had been stabbed over twenty times. Blood was everywhere. They were still holding onto one another, their knives stuck in each other's guts. Dead. The bodies were taken away, the room cleaned, and the room left for reassignment. Another soldier came in. A Specialist formerly with 60th Ord out of Fort Lewis (I think that was the unit) who was funny and pretty cool. He was assigned 221 and he waited for us to pick him up. He started getting depressed, jumpy, and told people he wasn't sleeping well. Within a week, the jokes stopped. Then he didn't show up for formation. SPC Sams went to his room, knocked on the door, and got nothing. The CQ and ACQ were summoned. The 1SG came with them. The door was unlocked, and the room checked. THe bathroom door was locked. When it was opened, the new guy was hanging from the shower head, on a boot lace, a grin affixed to his face and his wrists slashed from wrist to elbow. The water was running, and the whole bathroom stunk of blood, shit, and steam. The body was removed, the room cleaned up, and it was put as available again. Word of this reached those of us working in the field. We came back for the weekend. I was living in 217. Possum was in 219 with two other guys, and Hatchetman was in 223 with two other guys. In the middle of the night, there was a banging on my door. I opened it, my blanket wrapped around me, to see Possum standing there. Hatchet and his roommates were in the hall, Possum's roommates were in the hall. They told me it sounded like people were fighting in 221. I grabbed my PT sweats and walked up to the door. When I pressed my ear to the door, it was ice cold, and I was suddenly reminded of the pre-fire barracks. When I went into Possum's room, I could hear the cussing and banging from 221. The CQ was summoned, the door unlocked. Cold air blew into our faces, and the lights were burnt out. Fuck this, there was no such thing as ghosts. But the room was empty. We went back to work on Monday, and the people from 219 and 223 spent the weekend in other people's room. They refused to go back. More men and women came in, our unit was at 80% strength. Between the cooks, the TMC personnel, and my unit, there were nearly 300 people in the barracks. One Wed, the two men who had been assigned to room 221 didn't show up for Training. (Wed Training Day! WHEE!) The 1SG, the CO, and the CQ showed up, and the door was opened. Beneath two of the wall lockers inset into the wall, were pools of blood. The wall lockers were opened, and both men were found. They'd cut their own throats. Inside the wall lockers. Room 221 was labeled off limits, and furniture was stacked in it. Time came and went. We got a new CO, who wanted that room freed up. Us old timers were regarded with scorn. Nothing like that happened in the Army, it was all bullshit. Three men were moved into Room 221. Some of us held a wake for them in my room. I went back out to the site, I had stuff to do. They got grouchy, irritatable, quick to fight. Then, they weren't there one morning at formation. The door was opened up, only the CQ and the platoon sergeant present. Everyone thought that the three of them had just gotten drunk and missed formation. The platoon sergeant was looking forward to having someone on extra duty. We needed a BBQ pit dug. They were in there. Not drunk. Not sleeping. Dead. They'd beaten each other to death. One man was barely recognisable. The other two had died strangling each other. The bodies were removed. The room was cleaned. A month went by. One man was placed in room 221. A week later, he smashed up some beer bottles, ground up the glass, and swallowed it down with some beer. I heard it was messy. The man that replaced him held out for a week, then stayed in other people's rooms. He refused to return to his room. WHen the CO went in to the room, there were puddles of dried blood on the floor. The door was locked to 221. It was marked as uninhabitable. The CO told us all, in formation, that ghosts weren't real, to stop being such babies, we were adults, we were fucking soldiers. A week later, he was dead. Nobody ever lived in 221 again, and we were never called superstitious, children, or fools again.
SPC Stems was high speed. She got to the unit right after the fire, believed us, and was nervous when we got back to our brand new barracks. She was cool though, she had her own room, all to herself (not that big of a bennie then, most of the fucking barracks was empty) but was pretty level headed. I liked her. She threw herself into work, and was the kind of female soldier that should be a poster child. Once again, this is not my story, this was told over a bottle of Jack Daniels during motor pool guard. The CQ, ACQ, Duty Driver are sitting in the CQ area, playing cards and in general, bored shitless. It's about 2AM. Suddenly, Stems' door bursts open, and she comes screaming down the hall, her blanket wrapped around her. She ran to the CQ area, screaming like a banshee, and dropped her blanket as she scrambled over the desk. Depending on how drunk the person was, was how many bloody welts were down her back. She claimed to have woken up when two ice cold hands grabbed her breasts. All she saw was glimmering white eyes and razor sharp teeth. When she leapt out of bed and ran for it, whatever it was raked her back all the way to the door. After that, she refused to enter her room. None of the females would go in that room. A couple months later, they assigned a brand new to the unit female soldier to that room while most of us were at Graf again. The CQ heard her screaming rape at the top of her lungs. People burst out into the hallway, and the CQ couldn't get the key to work, so he kicked open the door. PFC Lopez was huddled in the corner, her back torn to shit, her breasts covered in red lines, and her ass had red lines on it. The CO closed the room. We used it to store camou nets. (I wasn't present for any of this, but heard about it. The amount of cuts, the depth, etc, varied according to the alcohol. HOWEVER, both Stems and Lopez had scars on their back)
Our CO had screamed at us that ghosts weren't real. That anyone refusing to stay in their own rooms would be Article 15'd. He told us we were cowards, that this was the US Army, and bullshit like that wouldn't happen. A week later he fell down the steps and broke his neck. Legend had it, he had a maniacal grin on his face when they found him. Officially, he had overbalanced with his ruck on, and fell backwards down the steps, breaking his neck. Over drinks, we all agreed that something had killed him.
We found Tandy. Jesus Christ, we'd found Tandy. Tandy had been lost in the original barracks. He'd gone into a windowless bathroom to shave, and vanished. We found him, that same goddamn smile on his face, miles from the barracks, in a place I knew hadn't contained the frozen body of a missing soldier. A lot of guys had nightmares. Tandy was coming to get them. Tandy was coming to get us all. He'd been possessed, and if those privates hadn't have found him, he'd have stabbed us to death with A) A bayonet B) An SS dagger C) His fingers, worn to the bone and the bone sharpened by his travel from the barracks to the field site. Even I had nightmares about Tandy. That grin, it was horrifying. It was stretched too far, you could see his fucking molars. Somehow, he had travelled from our barracks, to a field site several miles away. The Army said he had travelled with the melting snow. We said he had been coming to get us.
A couple of Rangers were running on one of the trails through the woods on main post. Everyone used this trail, had forever. They had Battalion fucking runs on this trail. The Rangers ran the trail 3x a week. For the Rangers, their luck had run out. The three of them had passed mile marker 2, and they hit a land mine. A fucking German land mine from World War Two. Somehow, that mine had survived for 40 fucking years out in the weather, there had been whole battalions run over it. These three guys got the fuck knocked out of them. Broken legs and shrapnel. Oh, but the story doesn't end there. One night, at that table, the one that when someone comes up and tells us fucking BT stories, we just stare at them till they leave, the guys told us something that made our blood run cold. They'd been laying there, in the woods. They'd used their PT uniforms to bandage each other. They weren't sure if they were going to die or not. All three of them saw a tall, gaunt figure, dressed in an SS figure, step onto the trail, walk up to them, and stare down at each of them. He smiled, touched the blood, licked it from his finger, walked down the trail, and disappeared around the corner, just past the mile marker. All three of them saw him. ----r the Duty Driver walking along the road. The only thing he saw was fucking fog. He refused to come back to the barracks. He stayed at our friendly MI unit. The next day, they went in and hauled the CUC-V out of the bushes/trees. The keys were in it. The dispatch was in it. The chain and lock were in it. The emergency kit was in it. The company searched for the Duty Driver. Even the Rangers pitched in and helped. Rumors were flying. He was listed as AWOL. A week went by. Then two. Oh, but it's not over yet. It was foggy again, when all of a sudden the Duty Driver comes popping in the door. Everyone stares at him. "Goddamn that's a long walk from suicide corner!" He claimed to have no memory of the time between when he veered off the road to miss "some asswipe standing in the middle of the fucking road like a goddamn moron" and when he arrived. Two fucking weeks later. He told everyone they were fucking high, to quit fucking with him. Said he'd prove it wasn't two weeks later. Went down to his room,party at Vic's place, and sometimes, when you woke up, this dog would be staring right into your eyes. It'd make a chuffing noise, and slink away into the darkness. Some of the neighbors had called the MP's because this dog would sit on their back patio and stare into their dining room at night, freaking you out. So there I am, it's before PT and I'm getting ready. I hear a knock on the door, yell come in without turning around, and keep shaving. Vic comes stumbling in, and he looks like shit. "Hey, Monkey, can I ask you a question?" "Go ahead." "Have you ever had a dog talk to you?" What. the. fuck? I set down my razor, wiped off my face, and turned around to look at him. He looked shakey and scared to death. "Ummm, no. What's up?" "I was in the kitchen this morning, right, making coffee." "OK." "And in walks my dog, right. You know my dog." "Yes, I'm familiar with your fucking dog." I grit from between clenched teeth. "Well, it walks up to me, looks up at me, and says: 'Hey, kill your family, bure pistol onto the grass and raise my hands. John, an MP I know and drink with, comes up, his hand on his pistol. "What the fuck happened here? We've got a report of somebody shooting off a pistol. Are you drunk, Monkey?" "No." "Then what the fuck happened?" "You know Vic's dog?" "That creepy looking fucker that slinks around our vehicles at night and stares at us? Yeah, I know that son of a bitch." "It told Vic to kill his wife and kid, then burn down the house." "Jesus! What did he do." "He came and told me." "Then what?" "I shot that fucking dog right in the goddamn face." He looked at me, looked at Vic's half-hysterical wife, looks at Vic, then turns back to me. "Good. I hated that creepy looking fucker." Vic never had anything tell him to kill his wife and family again. Not even the cat they got to replace the dog. I still maintain that the dog actually told Vic to kill his family. I hated the goddamn dog.
The Incident We've been out at theway, he has one of my officers on the ground, and he's stomping on his head. He looked at me, and he was smiling! He had a pistol." My blood ran cold. "Smiling?" I smiled wide. "Like this?" "Nien." He tells me. I put my fingers in my mouth and pull my lips into the biggest smile I can force. "JA! Like that!" he says. Two of the guys flinch. "SMITH! Get everyone up range, into the blockhouse NOW!" I yell. I turned back to the East German. "Come with me. Run!" It's almost a mile, in the dark. Fuck not trusting them. Maybe the lunatic will kill them and give me a chance to get away. I'm faster than they are. I don't have to outrun the crazy fuck, I have to outrun the guys with me. The 5-ton slows down, and we all swing aboard. I'm standing on the running board next to the driver. "What the fuck is going on? Why are we pulling back to the blockhouse?" The driver, a newbie, asks. "You wouldn't get it. DRIVE FASTER GODDAMN IT!" We get to the blockhouse, and we lock that fucker down. We put the East Germanscoming to finish off me and Smith. I can almost hear him whispering "join me" outside the windows. We give first aid to the guys who are wounded. Only the English speaking officer was unwounded. Two guys had bullet wounds. Everyone was scared. A little over an hour, we get a call that security has landed on the upper and lower pads, and a thermographic flyby revealed nobody out there. Fuck your thermograph, the asshole's dead. He won't show up. We open that door, he's gonna get us! YOU stay out there and look for him. He can kill your ass. After about another hour, I hear banging on the door. They gave the correct code group response, and we opened the door. They took the East Germans into custody, and flew out. Six months later, I got a letter of thanks for providing aid and support to the East Germans from the East German government. We all went everywhere on the site in at least twos, all of us armed. They didn't catch Senor Crazy.
Tandy In The Mirror Once again I'm on CQ. I'm strong and mean enis tall, thin dude with black hair, wearing BDU's, reaching for my HEAD!" The LT says. He's kicking open the stall doors. I'm backing away. The LT stops and looks at the mirror and goes pale again. "THERE HE IS!" The LT screams, looking behind him. There wasn't ANYTHING behind him. I could see, there wasn't. "What the hell is going on?" He asks, then notices I'm backing out, very slowly. He rushes up next to me, grabs my arm, and pulls me from the bathroom. "OK, what the fuck is going on?" he asks. We're standing in the middle of the CQ area panting like we'd just run a mile. My fucking fingers, the tip of my nose, and the tops of my ears were painfully tingling. "Ummm, I'd say that the bathroom is haunted." I told him. "See, right before the old barracks burnt down, this guy named Tandy vanished out of this bathroom, and we still haven't found the body." "Bullshit. There's no such thing as ghosts." "Fine, sir, you explain why you could see someone in the mirror, but there was no-one behind you. I didand we both go down in a heap. "Jesus, Monkey, did what just happen what I think just happened?" he says. "GET OFF ME YOU FUCKING FREAK!" I yelled, scrambling out from under him and kicking the wall locker door shut. Everyone at the party is staring. "Ell, did you just fall into that mirror?" Jody asks. Perfectly calm, like he's asking for Ell to pass him the salt. "Naw, that's impossible." Someone says. The next morning, the CO wanted to know what the garbage cans were full of broken pieces of mirror. He gravely listened to us, stared at us for awhile. And had us piss tested. But he never said it didn't happen, and for some reason, that made it worse. I kept a close watch on Ell. He was left handed, and I swore if he suddenly became right handed... I'd fucking murder him and shove him back through the mirror.
The Return of Tandy The original barracks had been some kind of Nazi training facility. It was a horrible, creepy time that left some of us with PTSD. Tandy had gone into the bathroom one enths. He's reeling in culture shock, going from high speed First Cav to the Unit of the Damned. He wasn't coping too well with our barracks life. The cold spots, the whispers, the motor pool calling in the lights, shit like that, all set his nerves on edge. He'd come in a teatotaller, by his second month, he was well on his way to his first alcohol ulcer. ACQ is this kid, maybe 17, whose on CQ for the first time. The Duty Driver is sitting down at Exit Point with a fucking phone and a vehicle, just in case. ADD is asleep in his room. I've got two men with me, for TD, but I'd sent them to their rooms to do whatever the hell they wanted. Their M-16's were left behind at the CQ desk, along with the LBE which was full of ammo. Duty personnel carried loaded weapons. "I'm telling you, I saw something!" It's Stokes, and she's pissed. "It was probably your reflection." Corporal Cav tells her. He sees me coming and quips "This is why we shouldn't let women in the Army." Stokes snatches him across the counter, pullmeone could be looking in is if they stood on the ledge. I sighed, headed back and grabbed a chair out of the day room and walked back through the fog. Standing on the chair, I couldn't see any evidence that someone had been looking at her. No handprints, no grease from a faceprint. For some reason, all the hair on my body stood up. Ever had your pubic hair try to stand up? It normally doesn't, so it doesn't put someone's eye out, but right then, it was trying to thrust through my boxers like little spears. The skin over my spine prickled, and the metal implant in my hand suddenly started to ache. I grabbed the chair, and doubletimed it back to the building, stopping and looking up at the building. That's when it dawned on me. The building was painted OD green, yeah. It was recently built, yeah. It was full of state of the art shit, yeah. It was identical to the building that had burned down. Even the layout was close. I suddenly had an urge to hike down the mountain and take my chances. Instead, I pu and lit it. Corporal Cav made a faux-coughing noise and I stuck my middle finger in his face. "OK, I've locked it, what's the big deal?" he asked. "There's some..." "HOLY FUCK! JESUS FUCK!" he started screaming. Bomber, Ell, and Smith were running up. I waved them at their M-16's. "Pool! Report! Pool!" I yelled. "There's some fucker out there in a white mask! He came out of the fog, yanked on the doors, and now I can't see him! Oh Jesus, I'm all alone in here!" he said. "Where's your weapon?" I asked. I covered the reciever. "Paulson, make sure the doors are secure, Bomber, Ell, go with him. Smith (male) and Smith (female), you're with me." "The Doc won't let us have the weapons in here, he makes us leave them behind." He said. He sounded panicked. "Pool, listen to me. Hang up the phone, fall back to the tunnel entrance. Shut the blast door, I'm sending someone to meet up with you as soon as I can. Just stay calm, I'm coming for you personally." I told him. "OK. JESUS! He's at the door again!" "Go,e." I said, turning and standing at attention. "I've ordered Chance to open the armory, and I'm having the QRF woken." He nodded. "What reasons do you have for calling an alert?" He asked. "The first people who saw him are members of the First Twenty. Stokes said he looked like Tandy." I told him the truth. "Jesus Christ, this better be a joke." The CO said. "Are you sure?" "No. That's what makes it worse." I answered. "Wake QRF." Was all he said. Corporal Cav saluted and ran off. "Chow Hall reports they are secure. Someone has tried a couple of the doors, I ordered them to fall back to the tunnel entrance and close the blast door." Smith said. He listened for a second. "Mess Hall OIC says that someone is trying to kick in the doors." "Tell him to fall back, my orders." The CO said. "Fuck this." He grabbed the phone, and dialed quickly. He was calling the MP's. "Get up here, we've got another maniac on the loose." He told them. "No, I'm not joking, and... Hello? Hello?" He looked at me. "We just l you were secure!" I said. "HE WAS ON MY FUCKING TOWER!" one of the privates yelled. "At ease. Who was on your tower?" I ask. He takes a deep breath. "I look down, figuring this is just you crazy fuckers playing games with us, to scare us, like you get scared, right?" I nod. "I look down, and there's this fucker with a white face, and a HUGE fucking grin, and he's holding onto the leg of the tower." "And?" "I shot at him, and he dropped off into the fog!" "I told the CO, he told me to pull back, to get out of there." Kreskin looks shook the fuck up. He was a Master Sergeant, did a couple of tours of Vietnam. I wave everyone ahead and drop back. "You guys are fucking armed to teeth, what happened?" I ask him. "Well, I was telling him to calm down, and all of a sudden this thing plastered itself on my window. It was scratching at it, and chewing on the glass with these goddamn teeth. I've never seen anything like it." "Was it a man?" "Maybe, shit, I don't know. I shot at it, and it vanished. That's needed to lay off the goddamn vintage horror mags we'd found at the site. Out of the nook and into the night we went. I had turned on my flashlight and was using my compass. I'd made sure to shoot azimuths on all the outbuilding from the egress points. Just in case. The wind plucked at us, threw odd noises at us. Was that a growl or someone on main post starting a tank or a car? Was that a hissing, bubbling laugh, or was that someone's rap music from main post? Smith (male) yelled out "CONTACT!" and fired off a burst. We all hit the ground, searching. "Sorry, sorry." Smith said. "I could have swore I saw something." We got up, and headed back along the azimuth. We found the building, and I hammered on the door. "OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR COBB, IT'S GODDAMN COLD OUT HERE!" And Cobb put a fucking burst of rounds right by my head. A step to the left, he would have blown my fucking head off. "FUCK YOU! STAY OUT THERE!" OK, he was freaked, around the bend. I shot a burst into the roof. "IT'S MONKEY!" We heed away the mask, I couldn't fucking breathe in it. The air was like a fucking knife into my chest, but I ignored it and pushed on. I hit main post, and ran like the devil was after me to the first barracks I saw lights on in. The Ranger unit. I came busting in the door, breathing hard, and stumbled up to the test. "Jesus Christ, Monkey, what the fuck are you doing here?" The CQ asked, staring at me. I knew him pretty well. We'd met in the middle of a brawl, a bunch of fucking skinhead krauts against five of us. We'd won. "We've got a fucking maniac on our side of the mountain. Our phone lines are all down, and I'm willing to bet power went since I've been gone." "You RAN here?" He looked outside. There were snow flurries, and the wind was screaming. "Are you stupid?" "I ran from the motor pool egress. This guy is fucking nuts, he's tried to attack people, and is trying to get in the barracks." "Fuck. Wait here." He handed me his field jacket and took off. I knew he was getting someone higher up on t pushed through the jungle, positive they were going to stumble on the NVA or get shot by the guys manning the fire base. Just before they reached the kill zones around the outside fire points, the gunfire petered out. As they crossed the kill zone, they heard yelling, in Vietnamese and English. The Vietnamese manning the eastern fire point were all dead, their position full of dead NVA. There was a machinegun turned inward on the base, and a dead NVA soldier was slumped over it. They hurried, keeping an eye out for anyone, but the place had gone silent. Their Captain rushed them too the strong point in the middle of the firebase, positive that they were in time to save the men who would have fallen back to that last, final position. They passed booby traps which had gone off and killed NVA and VC alike. Past the inner line of defense, where men had died and were laying about, rotting in the summer sun. The main door to the final fortification was off the hinges, blown off by an RPG, and my uncle was the de eyed to his tales of horror and valor from the Pacific Theater, my grandfather came out of the Men's Room. "I need a rag, mother." He told my grandmother. "The dead are restless again." My grandmother, whom he called "mother", nodded and brought him a tattered rag, wet from the water bucket. (Getting water from the pump was a job for us kids, grandfather and grandmother didn't have indoor plumbing) My grandfather took it, and went back in the room. I was at an angle where I could see the flag, folded so that the names were visible, but the whole flag wasn't draped across the wall, and running from the bottom were dark red rivulets that were pooling on the floor. My grandfather saw me staring before he closed the door, and gave me a knowing nod. When I got up, later that night, to use the outhouse, I looked in the washing pile, and that rag was soaked with what smelled like blood and looked like blood. Sadly, my grandfather took the secret of that flag to his grave. It sits in a glass case at my mother's house, in the attic, and sometimes I wonder if that case is now full of blood.
Hey Man, Open The Door The Congressional Investigator had ruled "circumstances outside the control of the US Army" after his visit to our section of post. I guess being trapped in a stalled out vehicle in the fog will do that to you, make you a believer that is. I never experienced it, but others did, and they told me. See, when you are on CQ, you have to make rounds of the barracks. Make sure the secure areas are secure and that people aren't killing each other. You have to make sure the arms room is secure, that the radio storage is secure, the NBC room, QASI, the various offices, and that the outside doors are secure. According to some people, on those dark nights where the hair on your neck raises and goosebumps cover your skin, walking the second floor was a particular chore. See, you passed by the door of 221. Every once in awhile, as a CQ passed it, they'd hear someone try the door, which was locked (and someone, I wouldn't know who, had used a glue-gun to permanently lock the door), as if they were trying to get out. But that wasn't the worse. Once in awhile, a voice would be heard. "Hey man. Open the door." would come from inside the room. Sometimes, if you stopped, it would repeat its request for you to open the door. "Come on, man, I'm going to get in trouble if I'm caught in here." As far as I knew, nobody had ever opened it. Late at night, when we'd worked our way through a few bottles of rum, we'd often wonder what was in there. Who was trying to get out. What would you see if you opened the door? Would it be alive, or dead?