I was a teenager at the time. My friend and I were walking through the less done-up part of town when we’d seen it: a boarded-up manor. Nowadays, it might be housing some rough sleeper, yet I’d still dared my friend to go in. Five uneasy minutes passed without him returning, before I decided to go look for him. I didn’t fancy exploring those decrepid rooms and hallways but had little other choice. Curiously, on one of the walls I passed was scrawled a message. It read as follows: “Beware the Pale Man who hangs upside down”. I shook my head: of course I wanted to us to leave as soon as possible. Praying my friend would turn up , I turned around.  

I woke up after dizzy, I must have been knocked out. It was pitch-black and I was panicked to find I could not move. On cue, a door opened and a figure appeared. He approached, and I cried at what I saw: a man, all stark white, seemed to be walking upside down towards me. He reached out, grabbing the chain from which I was hanging and then the man leaned in, put his face next to mine. This was the worst part; the man had no eyes, only red gloating lips.  

The police – hours, maybe days later – had rescued me. They never let me see what was left of my friend’s body. It was traumatising. Afterwards, I was told my captor had been a notorious serial killer, known only as ‘the Pale Man’ to the authorities. Weeks later, the alleged killer was finally found and apprehended, giving my friend’s family and I some closure. I moved on and the experience remained in my adulthood as a memory I couldn't quite believe was real.  

16 years later now, the past has resurfaced. Two nights ago, I came home from my job and was shocked to find a message on the wall: “Be seeing you soon”. Glancing in a mirror, I thought I saw a face, then turned to find only moonlight streaming in through a window. I hence did research and came across a revelation shocking to me: the killer was still out there. There were cases of mutilated bodies were still being found hung from chains and meat-hooks – his signature mark. I dig a bit further and find something else. These killings were an occurrence long ago in the past. I come across a newspaper article on an archive from 1921. It describes an ‘Albino Killer’.  

I don’t know who or what killed my friend all those years ago. Really I don’t know anything but this: the terrifying thought that I’m next. This is because I can make him out in the dark of my room right now: there, hanging from the ceiling, with his painted smile.