Scary ghost

He follows Me

"He Who Follows Me is a scary story about a man and wife who are followed by ghostly footsteps and someone known only as "The Death That Walks". The story is adapted from an old time radio show called The Hall of Fantasy."

Prologue
Here in my hands, I hold the diary of a dead man. He and his wife were friends of mine. Their names were Bill and Helen Mason. The words he has written down tell a tale almost too fantastic to believe.
This is what was found written in the diary. The entries end on the day the man was found dead.

March 3, 1938
Today, Helen and I came across one of those delightful, old southern mansions. We decided to stop and take a look around the place. Helen was wanted to take some pictures. Although there was nobody home, we felt than no one would mind us taking a look around the place.

We both felt it was a shame that the owners let the place get so dilapidated and run-down. It had probably been beautiful in its day. After taking some shots of the house from the front and the side, I noticed a strange building at the back of the house, so we walked back there to take a look.

The grounds at the back were more shabby than the front. The building at the back didn't seem so run-down. In fact, it was in remarkably good condition. It looked like it had been built a lot later than the house was. I estimated it to be no more than twenty years old. It didn't have any windows and was made of stone... gray stone.

Helen noticed that the padlock on the door was broken. Our curiosity got the better of us and we decided to take a look inside.

The massive heavy iron door swung open reluctantly. We stepped inside. Although there were no windows, light entered the structure through a skylight in the ceiling. The cold, damp musty air chilled our bones. There was a large stone block in the middle of the floor, right where the light was coming down from the skylight. That was when we realized the building was a mausoleum, and the stone case on the floor was a sarcophagus... a stone coffin.

Although there was nothing else in there, it felt strangely crowded... as if there were things there that we couldn't see. Helen took out her camera. She wanted to get a picture of the sarcophagus.

All of a sudden, we heard a man yelling at us, "Hey, what are you two doing in here?"

"We noticed the lock was broken and we came in to have a look," I said.

"You shouldn't have done that," the man warned us.

"We didn't mean any harm," Helen protested.

"HE won't like it," the man told us, ominously.

"Who's HE?" I demanded.

"The thing that sleeps in that stone coffin," the man replied. "You didn't notice the writing over the door as you came in, did you? That's a shame, 'cause you didn't know what you was gettin' into."

"I don't understand," I told him. "We weren't trying to steal anything..."

"That don't make no difference," the man said. "HE doesn't care what your reasons were."

"Who's HE?" Helen asked.

"They called him Mr. Thomas when he was living," the man told us. "They call him The Death That Walks now that he's dead. People around here seen him at night. He's dead, but they seen him walkin'. I know, 'cause I seen him myself."

Helen rolled her eyes. "I think we'd better go, Bill," she said to me.

"You don't believe what I'm tellin' you," the man said. "That's all right with me. I don't care what you believe. But you listen to what I'm sayin' now. If I was you, I'd get away from this place as fast as I could. Not just this place, but this town... this part of the country."