My apologies for any transcription errors such as appeared in my previous post (which has been corrected). For security reasons I only have a brief time to maintain an internet connection each time I log on, and I am having to manually transcribe these case files from emergency hard copies. I appreciate those interested in the truth bearing with me.
The following is being posted in r/NoSleep as a last resort. I urge you to be open to the contents herein. If published through other channels now, this information would be suppressed. Here, at least, it has a chance to survive in some form.
Case File: Black Hands
CLIPPINGS:
Letter to the Editor
New Bedford Standard-Times, New Bedford, MA
April 25th, 1978
Dear Sir,
This letter is in response to your recent piece, "Supporting Our Local Policemen". I am forced to ask the real question here: Why?
The police in this town are worthless. Just worthless. I have been the victim of repeated attempted robberies IN MY OWN HOME, and what will they do for me, the Taxpayer that puts food on their table? NOTHING.
I have kept records - in just the past month on the dates of the 5th, 12th, 14th, 19th and 23rd a trespasser blatantly entered my home. On most of those dates I did not encounter this ne'er-do-well face-to-face, thankfully, but only saw signs of his having been in my PRIVATE home. He is obviously a professional, as I have yet to be able to determine how he is gaining access. On the nights of the 5th and the 23rd, though, l did see him! There he was, just lurking in the dark in my unused family room on the 5th and again in a guest bedroom on the 23rd. I don't know what kind of tricks of his trade he is using, but they are quite effective, as I cannot manage to get a light on him or even my hands on him before he vanishes like he'd never actually been there. On the other dates I list, he was clearly in my home based off of my property having been tampered with. On the 19th for instance I found a number of books from my shelf haphazardly stacked on a table across the room from where they should have been. Of course, when I report these incidents, the police tell me that there's no EVIDENCE. Ha! As if I don't know where my own property should be!
What are we paying them for, honestly? I've given them a description to work with - about 5'10", average build and dark, dark hands - perhaps black gloves. The police laugh at me now, but their family homes could be next. YOURS could be next. If you see this fiend, please contact me so that we can join together in demanding the police do SOMETHING about the menace!
Gordon Jelczyk, Concerned Senior
Obituary
May 14th, 1978
New Bedford Standard-Times, New Bedford, MA
Gordon Jelczyk 1911-1978
Gordon was a solitary figure in the New Bedford community in recent years, but those who knew him will miss him deeply. Gordon passed away from an unexpected heart attack in his home about two weeks ago. Gordon joins now with his departed wife Donna, and leaves behind his son Thomas and beloved dog Rocko. Gordon lived a full life, spending most of his years with us working for New Bedford Electric and enjoying time exploring the natural beauty around New Bedford, his home since 1946. He was a regular contributor of his thoughts to the New Bedford Telegraph, and we will miss his passion. Memorial services will be held at First Episcopal on Monday May 15th, at 10AM.
CORRESPONDENCE:
January 5th, 1999
From: Captain Howard Knight (Ret.), New Bedford Police Department
To: REMOVED (ManfromTaured)
Dear Sir,
Thank you for sending along that press clipping - I definitely remember Gordon now.
Old Gordo, he was quite something back then. His wife kicked off in something like '71, if I recall, and I personally think he started getting spooked living in that house of his all alone. His only son wouldn't even talk to him by then for reasons I don't rightly know, but wouldn't go into anyway if I did. It's pretty clear you aren't family to him, so it's no one's business. But I suppose curiosity about general information is no harm to the dead.
Gordo would usually call the non-emergency line back then at least once a week. Started probably in '76 or '77 - whenever he retired. He'd hear a bump in the night and go off the handle. With no one around making any noise to cover up the wind and so forth his imagination just got the best of him. I remember him towards the end getting a lot worse, hadn't thought about that in years. Just like the clipping said, he sure enough did come down to the station to make a statement about the alleged "break ins" at his house, and I admit we basically laughed him off. Heard him out, of course, but never followed up. Nothing to follow up on. It was clear he was slipping – I remember he kept talking about the "intruders" hands, like in that clipping, saying that they were like shadows. It's sad, seeing someone start to crack like that. It wasn't a surprise to any of us that he wasn't with us much longer once he’d reached that state.
Anyway, I guess that's what you wanted to know. Didn't really know the man more than his complaints. I guess I hope this helps you in whatever it is you're looking into. You have a good one.
Yours,
H. Knight
CLIPPINGS:
Title: Local Girl, Inez Gutierrez, Still Missing
Bradford County Telegraph, Starke, FL
April 9th, 1985
Fernanda Gutierrez, 38, sits in her living room rocking in her chair. On her lap is a colorful quilt, made by Fernanda and her daughter Inez, 16, in memory of Inez's deceased father Gabriel Gutierrez, who died over ten years ago, one of the final losses of American lives in Vietnam. A corner of the quilt is being fretted to pieces by Fernanda's fingers. This distraught mother has not left her home for the last five days, afraid of moving away from her phone. She is hoping that Inez will call, or anyone at all will call with word of Inez's whereabouts. The young girl, her mother’s only remaining family in the US, has not been seen or heard from since April 3rd.
Inez, a sophmore at Bradford High, is known by her friends as a quiet girl. Her grades are above average and, if all accounts are true, she doesn't fool around with drugs, has no enemies, and has never been in any trouble. "A model student", said Bradford High principal Leland Schlossman, "We're all very troubled by what's going on". However, it seems like no one truly knows what's going on.
Bradford County Sheriff Gilbert Cutty is equally at a loss, as is everyone in the Starke community, where the Gutierrez family lives. "In all likelihood we're dealing with a runaway situation", the Sheriff told this reporter. "With any luck, she'll turn up on her own in a couple more days once she tires of whatever she's doing, or when she runs into trouble being on her own. That's my most sincere hope at this point, but we'll still do everything in our power to track her down before then."
Sheriff Cutty's hope, and the hopes of all those wishing for Inez's return, is starting to feel like it is all anyone has left. Sheriff's deputies have canvassed all of Starke, the Gutierrez family's home since 1973, with no information or leads on the girl’s whereabouts presenting themselves. Locals - many schoolmates of Inez's and their parents - have joined search parties in the last few days to comb over the areas surrounding Starke for signs of the missing girl. Everything just keeps coming up empty.
The only possible lead on where Inez may be has come from her mother Fernanda herself. She has believed from the first that her daughter did not run away but that circumstances are much more sinister. "That man scared off mi hija! That is why she run away!" the distraught mother exclaimed repeatedly when we spoke to her about her daughter ("hija" means daughter in Fernanda's native Spanish). "He comes into the house. He touch our things. She says that he comes into her room while she sleeps. No one will believe. What can I do? What can I do?"
Mrs. Gutierrez claims that ominous visitations inside her home, from an unknown individual who she could only identify as of average size and always staying in the shadows, began late last month. She has stated to police that the individual in question seems to come and go from their house without any forced entry, and when he is not seen by the occupants - only to disappear moments later - he leaves little trace of his intrusions behind. "We first notice", she told the Telegraph, "when the cabinets, the doors, they are all open in the kitchen. I do not do this, mi hija do not do this. [It] is him who do these things, him who scare her away."
Local psychologist Dr. Katherine Clemens, along with Sheriff Cutty, discount the stories of this mysterious stranger. "It's clear," Dr. Clemens stated, "that Mrs. Gutierrez is under and enormous emotional strain right now. It's not uncommon in such situations to need an outlet for these strong feelings. If there isn't one readily available, sometimes it's easier to create one." Dr. Clemens is currently offering her services to Mrs. Gutierrez and friends of Inez free of charge.
Inez's fellow students, in a show of support for their classmate and all the people looking for her, will hold vigil tonight at the Bradford High campus football field beginning at 8PM. All citizens concerned for this poor local girl are encouraged to attend.
Article Excerpt: "Missing Teen’s Body Found" Bradford County Telegraph, Starke, FL
April 23rd, 1985
Starke is shocked today with the discovery of the body of Inez Gutierrez, local teen missing since the beginning of April. Her clothed, uninjured body was found in a wooded area behind the First United Pentecostal Church on State Route 16.
Massive search efforts had been underway for most of April to find Inez, 16, who disappeared on or around April 3rd. Her mother was convinced that Inez had been kidnapped by a mysterious intruder to their home, but preliminary examinations indicate that Inez was not mistreated or physically injured in any way prior to her untimely death.
"We're absolutely horrified," said Sheriff Gilbert Cutty, "We all knew it could end like this, but none of us wanted it to and nothing can ever prepare you for it. Such a tragedy to lose someone so young."
While the cause of death has yet to be determined, the county coroner’s offices suspects it will come down to a combination of exposure, dehydration and simple exhaustion leading to Inez's heart giving out...
CORRESPONDENCE
From: Fernanda Gutierrez To: REMOVED (ManfromTaured)
November 27th, 1996
Dear Sir,
Gracias, Gracias, Gracias! It has been so long since anyone believes what I say!
I tell the Sheriff this man he come into our house. He is there whenever he wants we cannot stop it. He touches things and moves things. He scares Inez and me. He scares Inez the most. He was in her room while she sleeps. She wakes up and see the man. He is dark like shadows. But his hands are darker. Black like tar, blacker than night. Inez she call him Manos Negras. She cannot sleep before he come for her, she knew, she knew. Now mi hija is gone more than 10 years, and a stranger is only person that believes. Exposure, they say but they are wrong. They don't know. No one knows why she taken from me. If you find out, you will tell me? Please, please, por favor Mr. REDACTED, please find Manos Negras who do this. Find him so that he can pay!
Gracias, mil veces, gracias.
Fernanda Gutierrez
CLIPPINGS:
Article Excerpt: Homelessness in Peoria: Trying to Survive Journal-Star, Peoria, IL
August 17th, 1994
... Death is an ever looming feature and fear in the local transient community, as well. It is not surprising, considering the lack of services that are made available to these disadvantaged individuals. Anything from an accident to a common cold can end in fatality when living on the streets or even in the relative comfort of St. Ann's shelter. Those in residence there who this reporter spoke with even have urban legends in their community about a grim reaper figure who comes and collect the healthy and the sick alike among them. Colorfully, they call this figure the Man With Black Hands, or just Black Hands for short...
TRANSCRIPTS:
Recorded Transcript (edited for relevance, questions omitted)
January 3rd, 1997
St. Ann's Homeless Shelter, Peoria, IL
Interviewee: Caleb "Rooster" Jackson, "volunteer" Janitor
ROOSTER: You got to make it clean. Got to make it clean. Shiny, slippery, gleaming clean. Dirt everywhere, (unintelligible)… dust. Sneezing mucus phlegm cough, praise Jesus. Praise Him... What? Yeah... Years. Lots of years…. (unintelligible). Come to Illinois back in the 70's. I fought me the Cong in Vietnam, you know? Mud, mud, mud... (unintelligible) everywhere mud and leaves and filth and blood...
...Call me Rooster. They always called me Rooster. Momma called me Caleb, momma momma momma… (unintelligible). Now I'm Rooster, too, praise Jesus. Dirty hands... (unintelligible)
...Black hands? The Black Hands? No, no, no, no, no, no, no... Won’t smile. Won’t let go. I keep the place clean. I keep the place shining. Lights go on, lights go off, but always shining. He doesn't like the light. He doesn't like you to see him. See the hands, the fingers, what they do... (unintelligible).
...NO! NO! You take it back! YOU TAKE IT BACK NOW! WON’T SMILE! WON’T LET GO, PRAISE JESUS! TAKE THEM AWAY, AWAY, TAKE THEM AWAY INSTEAD!
SISTER MARGARET: Mercy! What did you say? Oh, my word! Out, out with you this instant!
Recorded Transcript (edited for relevance, questions omitted)
January 3rd, 1997
Outside St. Ann's Homeless Shelter, Peoria, IL
Interviewee: Sister Margaret McElroy
SISTER M.: ...We've learned how not to upset dear Caleb. This silly superstition the local... unfortunates... have seems to set him off more than talking about the war. I am sorry, but I'm afraid I can't invite you back in until the next mass is being said, if you wish to attend.
... If you must speak to someone else, I would direct you around the corner. You should find a Benjamin Halbrook at the liquor store there. He prefers being called Benji. He is... in need of help himself, and we certainly try to provide it. But he makes it a challenge. I'm sure he'll be more receptive to your questions, though. He upsets everyone with his stories about this phantom they all seem to believe in. I pray for them so hard...
Recorded Transcript (edited for relevance, questions omitted)
January 3rd, 1997
The Prairie Diner, Peoria, IL
Interviewee: Benjamin "Benji" Halbrook
BENJI: Woo, doggy! I ain't eaten here in over five long years, friend. Five long, long years. And all you want's for me to tell you about ol' Black Hands, huh? Woo, doggy, you came to the right place, the right place! I can tell you all about it.
... Years and years! It's been going on as long as I've been comin' to St. Ann's. But don't let that fool you - he's not just there. No, sir, woo, doggy, no. He gets around, that one. People ain't much for talkin' about it, 'course, but when you live your life on the streets, live it by your wits? Well, there's knowing things and then there's knowing things, and I know me some strange, strange things. You got the look about you, yourself, friend. It's in the eye...
... Rooster? He's off his nut - but you know that if you met him. Nice guy, right, just not quite all there upstairs. He knows about Black Hands, but he ain't never seen him. He keeps his eyes closed tight - that's the thing. Can't look at the man, then he'll know and he'll come back for you. But it ain't too hard to avoid him, if you just believe he exists. You can feel him comin', most of the time.
... Sister Maggie? Oh, hell, no. Her and the padre's and all them, he avoids 'em. Doesn't much care for the company of... whatsit... The righteous? Yeah, that's it. The company of the righteous. Likes the dark and the shadows, and, well... Likes killin' people.
I knew me this fella, good guy, name of Lester Broughton. Les - Little Les we called him, tiny man - Little Les come to town looking for work. He was livin' in his car, but then winter come and he needed a place to sleep like the rest of us. So, St. Ann's it was - only game in town for the likes of us. Les and me, we had us some good times. Little, tiny hands Les had. Little bit of practice, he could get them fingers in and out of a back pocket without the owner none the wiser. I... God almighty, I do miss Little Les sometimes. He saw him, though, told me all about it. Not that there's much to tell.
Les said he showed up one night, everybody else asleep. Never did tell me what woke him, but said he sat up on his cot and there he was, lurking. They keep the community room, where they set the cots, they keep it kind half lit, even late. The far corner, by the washroom, though, there ain't no nightlights over in that corner of the room. That's where Les said he saw him. Said it looked to him like a man wearing a roughed up brown suit with a tie and everything, real out of place for a shelter like that. But he couldn't see no face and those hands... blacker than the blackest dark in that whole church, hell, in the whole town or state prob'ly. Of course, that's just what he told me. Damn fool. Maybe if he'd left well enough alone he'd still be here, but he ain't. Woo, doggy... No, he ain't.
... Oh, yeah. No, he saw more, loads more. Got himself up from his cot when he saw the fella, and he waved. The figure, he says to me, raised up its own hand in return, so Les starts over towards him. Damned fool. Said the guy he scuttered off into the washroom then, so Les followed him in. Wasn't nobody in there, though. He checked it, he told me, and there wasn't a single soul to be found.
Me, personally, I always know when he's around. It's a feelin' in the gut - like when you know the cops are about to roust you, only this is way, way worse'n that. Black Hands... he feels like death when he's creepin' around. And I guess he kinda is. He took Les, after all. Sure. Les said he saw the man a couple more times after the washroom thing, and one of those times I was awake myself. I was in the next cot to his, actually, and he shook my arm... but I felt it. I knew what it was. I didn't want me none of it, and just groaned, rolled myself over and held my eyes tight shut. And now... Les is gone, but here I am. Here I am...
... Woo, doggy! I am fit to burst, friend. That was some good eatin', eatin' like I ain't had in years. Thank you again. Say, now, you don't have a few extra dollars do ya? Big meal like that, man works up a thirst, too, y'know?
...What's that now? Oh, he always comes back. Always. Just a couple weeks ago was the last time I felt him around inside the church. I didn't actually see him, 'course, 'cause I don't open my eyes up for him, like I says. That Becca, though, she saw him. I'm certain. And probably more'n once. You could ask her, but... well...
Thank ya, kindly, friend! You need anymore stories, you don't be a stranger, now!
CORRESPONDENCE:
January 5th, 1997
From: Dr. George Stanislauski, Peoria County Coroner To: REMOVED (ManFromTaured)
Dear Sir,
Your letter is quite odd and off-putting, but as you're willing to take responsibility for Ms. (Becca) Resnick's affairs, I'll consider things an even trade. She has no one else, after all, the unfortunate soul.
With transients who die as suddenly as Ms. Resnick did, we try to determine cause. At this point, all we can really determine is it was heart failure. Like so many, Ms. Resnick had a lot of organ damage resulting from drug and alcohol abuse, and it's my considered opinion that this damage coupled with other lifestyle challenges (to be as politic as possible) simply led to an early, but natural, expiration. As to specifics, I apologize but I really have none. For all intents and purposes, Ms. Resnick simply passed in her sleep. I hope this answer will not mitigate your generosity in settling her final affairs.
I feel compelled to reiterate that your message was highly, highly unusual. I do hope that you have the best interests of the departed in mind. And with that hope, I will leave it.
Sincerely Dr. George Stanislauski
CORRESPONDENCE:
March 19th, 2001
From: REMOVED To: REMOVED (ManFromTaured)
Dear REMOVED (ManFromTaured),
You strike me as an exceptionally tenacious individual, Mr. REMOVED (ManFromTaured), if you managed to find me based on the little information you included in your letter. I can't imagine how you managed to determine that my own experience was in line with the others detailed, but it certainly is. For the novelty alone of telling someone who may actually be receptive to the story about that night, I'll be happy to share.
This was in June (1999). I absolutely hated my husbands work schedule - swing shift. He wouldn't get home most nights until 1 AM. It was hard enough never getting to see him, but it was always worse falling asleep and staying asleep without him. Being not just a woman but a deaf woman makes simple things like being alone at night that much harder to handle. We are and were fortunate enough to be able to afford having a top notch security system in our home, but there is only so much cold comfort that a "system" can offer to an actual person. I would always be worried that something would happen, someone would try to get into the house, and I would be totally unaware because I couldn't hear them - worse was fearing that someone realized that I was alone AND deaf, and then used that information specifically against me to get close before I could react. I would always try to get to sleep early, around 9 or 10, to be ready for my job at the school in the morning, but it was so hard alone. Most nights, I would find myself awake until almost midnight.
On that night in June, I'd managed to fall asleep a little earlier than that. I was going through a particularly rough patch in the sleep department at that time because of the incidents that had been happening before that night. On at least 3 occasions - though possibly more - I had seen him, the shadow figure. He always took me by surprise, of course. I'd just walk into a room, and before I hit the light, there he would be. One night - about 3 weeks before it happened, and I believe the first time I actually saw him (at least the first time I KNEW I'd seem SOMETHING), he was in our front room, in the moonlight from the open front window blinds. He was partially back lit by the window light, but I saw part of a pale face, and even though there was light on his left side, the hand that hung on that side of him was black. It's difficult to explain this part, really - so difficult that no one, not even my husband (though he tries to convince me he does believe) buys the story. His hands were BLACK. Like... the space between the stars black. Almost mesmerizing, hypnotizing, they were just... such an absence of ANYTHING. There was a tattered brown sleeve, and then just nothingness - a nothingness like nothing else I've ever seen. But... in the shape of a human hand. Even now, even to me, it sounds ridiculous.
Anyway, I managed to get to sleep that night. I'd seen this man in my house several times, and I'd noted strange things happening like objects being moved, doors being opened. I really felt like I was losing my mind. I got over that thought the moment that I woke up. I knew that I wasn't crazy, and I sure as hell wasn't dreaming. The doctors can say what they want about the mind trying to fill in gaps that it can't account for. Real is real. He was real, and he was there in the room with me.
He was in the corner, just standing, looking right at me. Or, at least he was facing right at me - I couldn't actually see the features of his face. I sat up in bed and I asked him what he wanted, who he was. If he responded, I don't know. I didn't see any movement, though perhaps he spoke. All I know is that I didn't even see him move. The next thing that I knew, he was just on top of me. I could feel his weight, and he felt exceptionally heavy - far heavier than my husband, who is not a small man. And those hands - one was at my neck, the other over my face. Where his fingers were, there was nothingness - it was almost like his hands actually sucked light away from around them. And they were cold - like he'd spent the day sitting in a refrigerator. My vision came and went as I struggled against the hand on my face, but I caught a couple glimpses. I saw half the man’s face. His skin was a mottled gray, like a dead body. His eyes - and I can't be sure if this was a trick of the light or not - appeared to be just as black as those freezing hands. I thought he was smiling while he held me down and tried to choke me, but after a moment that just kept going on and on I realized that his expression was due more to having no lips. I saw his yellow-brown teeth, and the smell... God! It made me think of the time I was a little girl and my father opened the hatch to our crawl-space, suspecting some animal had died. His hot breath on my face smelled JUST like that.
I struggled as best I could, but you would not believe (though... maybe YOU would believe) how strong this man was. I realized after moments that there was nothing I could do to break free. I was so terrified. The way his fingers blotted out all the light, it made me think in my panic that I just didn't want to die this way, I didn't want to die in the dark. And my husband, my amazing husband, had just installed a clap activated light in the bedroom, specifically to help me with my fears about this shadow man. Before I passed out, I managed to clap my hands twice behind his head.
He disappeared. What else can I say about it? He was there, he was killing me, I could feel myself slipping away. Then he was simply gone. I coughed and coughed, and I remember rolling out of bed. The next thing I remember is being in the hospital and my husband crying next to me. I tried to reach out for him, and found I couldn't move my left hand. There were a lot of things I couldn't move, and still can’t.
The doctors said it was a stroke. They said the marks on my neck were self-inflicted. If my husband hadn't come home early that night - probably just minutes after I lost consciousness - then I would be dead. As it is, my life is now even harder than it was just living as a deaf person in an auditory world. You wouldn’t believe how long it’s taken me just to type this letter.
I have no real answers for you, Mr. REMOVED (ManFromTaured). But I don't think you were expecting any, anyway. If it's just my story you wanted, there you have it. In the interest of candor, though, I will add one more thing, and I'd thank you to keep it private. Not even my husband knows this, and the one doctor I told said it was part of my "hallucinations", so I just never brought it up again. I have only vague memories of sound from my childhood, Mr. REMOVED. What hearing is like is sort of fuzzy to me, since I've been without that sense for so long. But I would swear, just before I managed to turn that light on, I heard a soft, very unpleasant voice, say "Just smile, and let go". From the little I recall of human voices, those words didn't sound like they came from a human.
I hope this is what you were looking for, Mr. REMOVED (ManFromTaured). If you ever find out who or what it was that did this to me and to my husband and those other people you mentioned, I'd love to know. Thank you.
Yours,
REMOVED
---------------------------------END---------------------------------
More will come as I can release it.
For friends listening, seek the Truth in The Book of the Damned
132/180 666/290 . 309/100 641/70 473/125
143/77 340/32 133/45 . 666/290 685/16 476/120
Submitted April 26, 2017 at 11:12PM by ManFromTaured http://ift.tt/2owWnH5 nosleep
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