I Try Not to Think About it
I had a house in London that was quite old, circa 1835. In the basement, the plaster was cracking and falling off of the one wall. We had to remove it to treat it with a mold-proof membrane. Removing the plaster to bare brick revealed something disturbing: a bricked-up doorway. We decided to open it up to see what was behind it.
It was a small room with a rough wooden bed that all rotted away except for the frame. There was also an upright chair with the back broken. But the creepiest thing was a kind of tailor’s dummy standing on a wooden platform. The dummy had the heart, liver, kidneys, and other anatomical parts drawn on, and each part had been stabbed multiple times.
Mildewed newspaper cuttings were also on the chair, most too badly rotted away to read, but the ones in the center were more preserved. They were ink pictures of women with names like “Florrie Corrigan, the Irish Rose” and “Irene Atkins, the Clapham Nightingale.” Whoever the papers belonged to had added some “edits.”
Some had their faces disfigured or slashed. Some had dripping wounds and cuts drawn on them. Most also had genitals drawn onto them. My wife was fairly freaked out and had the room blessed to remove bad spirits. I try not to think about it.
Story credit: Reddit / Lard_Baron