“The Old Man”

There is a legend told among the people here about a sort of bogeyman. Locals claim he is clothed plainly in an olive green suit, with an alabaster colored tie and shirt. His skin is a sickly pale, with deeply colored age spots dotting his sparsely haired scalp. His eyes are a very light pink color, and deep wrinkles run all across his skin. But the hardest thing to miss is his lips. They are black, as are his gums that hold his deeply stained teeth.

They say it starts as a simple conversation. He refers to you by name, and asks you how you have been. Always be honest with him, and never try to hide the truth. He loves to dissect people, to work his way under their skin and find out what truly causes them pain. If you lie to him, and if you try to deny the pain you are experiencing, then there is no hope for you. Because he will find it out, and he is wrathful for those who make it difficult.

He is known to appear late at night, usually in some local home, or a park. Sometimes he appears in some dive restaurant, but only to those he wants to appear to, and always when the person has just gone through some deep trauma. If you can, avoid all forms of discomfort, or you will draw the attention of The Old Man. He is easy to recognize, though it will not be possible for you to find him on your own. He always finds the people he wants, and after he does most are usually worse off for knowing him.

This is a reported encounter with the specter known as The Old Man.

“I was waiting around my home. I remember looking forward to a night out with my friends from work. It took me a while to decide on what I wanted to wear, but eventually I settled on something and made my way to the kitchen

He was sitting there in the dining room, a deep frown on his face. The room itself is covered by dark brown wood paneling, causing the overhead light to make his skin seem to glow. He turned and looked at me, and with a gentle motion he offered the chair adjacent to him. I didn't know what to do. I had heard stories of him since I was little. So I did the only thing I could think of, and took the offered seat, my hands shifting nervously in my lap.

“How have you been?”

His voice had a grating quality, like steel on concrete. His frown deepened.

I just stared at him, my voice caught in my throat.

“You know who I am, Joanna.”

I nodded.

He chuckled lightly, as I quickly looked away. When I looked back he was no longer smiling.

“You know why I am here.”

I shook my head.

“You are in pain Joanna.”

His voice caused my heart to jump into my throat. I realized that when he said that I knew him, it was not a question. He knew that I knew him. He knew me too. Knew all of me.

“Talk to me about it.”

I fumbled with my words, as I tried to form a sentence. He looked at me, waiting patiently for me to answer.

“I have been having a hard...hard time at work.”

He chuckled. I looked away. He spoke.

“No. That is not it. Tell me. Tell me about the pain.”

I tripped over my words. Made up excuses. Without any hint, he extended his hands and grabbed me by the wrists, pulling my hands towards him aggressively as he placed them gently onto the table, tapping them lightly as he spoke to me in a cooing tone.

“Shh sh sh…relax...there is no need for this to be pain-ful.”

I felt a deep chill forming in my wrists and on the back on my hand. I felt the flesh began to blister and crack. I reeled back from his grip, but he held fast, every moment the pain growing more potent as my hand began to throb with pain.

“I...I am lonely...”

He nodded, his grip not slipping, his eyes fixed on my own.

I didn't speak, but I could tell he could see the image rising up in my memories. But I forced the memory down, focusing on the pain in my hands.

I heard him chuckle, and turned to look away. Then he grabbed me by the throat. Forced me to look at him. He was smiling, an impossibly large grin. Then I felt his cold, clammy hands beginning to squeeze...”

Joanna says that she blacked out, waking up to find her home empty. Since that day she has not uttered a single spoken word

If you are unlucky enough to encounter The Old Man, there is one piece of advice to keep close to heart. Never look at him when he is smiling. It is fortunate that he often chuckles before he smiles, which means there is time enough to look away. But if you don't, the consequences are always dire.

I have had other interviews with people who have encountered The Old Man. The strange thing is for some, a minority, when I mention The Old Man, the mentioning brings tears to their eyes. Then they ask me my name. They ask me how I have been. Then they say thank you, and walk away, refusing further conversation even if I try to pursue it.

Wellington Street has produced many supposed monsters, but none are as wellknown or as pervasive as The Old Man.