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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/crimzonprizm on 2024-09-09 23:06:08+00:00.
Links to parts one and two can be found in the links here.
To start off, a few of you were beginning to wonder about who (or what) Mr. Rags really is. Some of you are thinking the obvious... a creature of the night who stalks his prey and exsanguinates them for nourishment. Others were surmising that he may be a kind of cult leader, sacrificing and drinking to some deity. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking the same for the first few months of my time at the complex, but things have slowly changed my mind over time. I now believe it’s a little of this and a little of that. I’ve seen his teeth, and... he’s got more than one pair of the sharp, pointy ones. It’s not all the time, but I’ve caught a few glimpses during times he’s been "angry,” and suffice to say, I will always avoid being on his bad side. A few of you also noticed the apartment numbers that didn’t exactly match up to each floor, and I think I’ll dedicate this story to explaining both Mr. Rag's angry side and one of the oldest guests here at the complex, The Coyote.
I know what you’re thinking. “There can’t possibly be someone named The Coyote living in the same place as a guy named Mr. Rags.” In another life, I would have been in the same boat as you, but here we are. The Coyote didn’t show himself to me until 3 or 4 months into my stay. At that point, I had become fairly established in the complex, starting to feel a part of the small community there. After my conversation with Mr. Rags, I’d only see him once or twice every two weeks, when I would pick up my check from him, or if we’d find each other as I was exploring my new accommodations. At night, I would casually stroll around each floor, taking in my new space and trying to acclimate myself to the place. I was doing odds-and-ends repairs for plenty of the residents, as well as normal maintenance like vacuuming the common areas and such. Small, strange occurrences would typically happen two to three times a week. Doors would be open and shut on their own, plants would move around the complex, but the strangest thing I started noticing was the displacement happening among all the residents apartment numbers. One morning I would be working on a leaking tap in 337, and that evening I’d visit 337 again, but it would be 336, or 335, or 300. Of course I’d remember where to go based on the actual location of the apartment, but it would always throw me off. It happened on every floor, sometimes to the point of adding entirely too many numbers, such as apartment 807517, which was my own. Over time, I started to realize that my apartment was being messed with much more often than the others.
On one particular Saturday, I decided to sit in the common area of the 8th floor and watch my door like a hawk. I had my phone, some soda and chips from the station, and a full day of nothing to do. For 8 hours, I sat, diligently waiting for someone to hop off the elevator and try to screw around with my numbers. The three times I wasn’t watching were for 45 seconds each while I ran inside to use the bathroom. Every single time, I came back out to a new apartment number. I’d finally had enough, as the last number left above my door hadn’t even started with an 8. What was left above me as I exited my door were three numbers, 666.
I’m not a religious person per se. I believe there’s definitely more than meets the eye in our world, but I never jived with modern organized religions. I’m not a fan of bothering Mr. Rags unless it’s really needed, so I deferred to my only other confidant in the area, Winkle. I hadn’t told him about my time exploring the complex, so I filled him in over a couple stale Twinkie’s. He just laughed and said, “See, I told you that place could be a little weird!” I followed that up by telling him the last number, to which he replied staunchly with a pointed finger aimed directly at the church down the way.
“No way, it’s not like it’s a ghost or something. A demon? It’s nonsense,” I said.
“Dude, you do not fuck with this stuff. I’ve heard about the numbers being funny and all, but I’ve also heard some funky shit about one particular ‘person’ that lives there. Don’t mess with it; go talk to the holy man.”
Again, I have never been a believer, but something about this scaring Winkle upset me. I gave him a quick nod and got up to head out the door. The little bells jingled as I stepped outside, and I could see the pastor digging a small hole for a new flower in front of the church. I’d talked to him once or twice at this point, but we were just acquaintances by this point.
“Hey, Pastor John?” I spoke while walking towards him. He looked up with a smile to greet me.
"Well, hey, Zach, right? I’m always bad with new faces. What brings you over to my side of town?” He chuckled a bit.
"Yeah, so I talked with Winkle about this, and he suggested I come see you.” As I ended the sentence, I could see a small look of concern grow across his face.
“Did he now? That’s slightly concerning, as he only ever talks to me about that wretched place across the way. Speaking of, you’re sure you want to stay around here? Not like I’m trying to run you off, and nothing against my friends and neighbors living in there, but that place is a hive of the grotesque and immoral.”
I kept myself in check, holding my eyes from rolling in their sockets, when the pastor's eyes widened, staring at something past me.
“See! You see! Right there. I bet that’s the horror you’re coming to me for. I can almost smell it from here,” he screamed as he pointed past me.
I turned to see a half-naked man, halfway in the road, donned in leather-looking wraps and long black hair, staring at us, snickering and gesturing at us.
“Waaaah wahhh waaah!” he cackled, imitating a crying baby, almost too well. By this time, the pastor's dog had run out near him, growling as loud as it could for its size.
“Charles! Get back here! Get away from that devil!” He implored the little dog, but it could not be swayed. I watched as the man looked down at the poor little thing, laughing as he scooped him up with one hand.
"Oh, now we have a fighter! Let’s see if we can’t get rid of you right quick.”
Pastor John started hyperventilating, and I stood breathless as we watched this... creature unhinged its jaw like a pelican, its mouth a pit of inky black, as it shoved Charles down its throat in one fell swoop. It closed itself back up and started laughing like a jackal, rubbing its stomach in tandem. The pastor tried screaming but only let out a shrill squeak. I’d like to say I was brave in the moment, but I was too stunned to move. As I was about to try and move my landlocked legs, the thing stopped laughing and, with a look of annoyance, turned to face the front doors. Mr. Rags had walked onto the front stoop, a look of pure anger filling his gaze. I swear the area felt colder than ever in that moment.
“I believe you know what you’re doing is wrong. I also believe you’re not to be outside of the complex per our conditions. Give back the dog now, and get back inside,” his words dripping with malicious intent.
"Oh, come now, that’s no fun at all! You may be at the at the top of the chain now, but I once. "His words were cut short.
“You are correct. I am. You’d do well to remember it now before you leave me with no choice.” I watched as Mr. Rags crept closer and closer to the man, his eyes filling with red tendrils and extending into his face. He hissed, showing shark-like teeth, rows and rows, almost moving and shifting inside his mouth.
The strange man’s attitude shifted. He slinked his posture lower and yelled something at Mr. Rags in a language I didn’t understand. Mr. Rags let out an exhale like a bull, and his face started appearing normal again.
“Good. Now, the dog.”
The man glared back over to the pastor and me, and with one motion, unhinged his mouth yet again, reaching deep into an abyss, and pulled out Charles. He was a little shaken but didn’t look any worse for wear. He was placed on the ground, where he ran directly over the John.
“Abomination! You shall be punished!” The pastor screamed at him. “You shall be punished in the eyes of...” He was cut off by a loud belch.
The thing stood in the road, belched as loudly as he could, laughed, and ran back inside the complex. Mr. Rags shook his head, then walked over to the pastor. He held out a hand to help him up, but John stood on his own.
“You will get no thanks from me. You who harbors such terror inside your own walls.”
"Oh, come now, John; you know I’ll always lend a helping hand. I hope to see you at our dinners more often! Please, don’t worry about him. He’s relatively harmless, just a bit problematic. He likes his tricks.”
The pastor was flustered, scooping his dog up and brushing off his clothing. “Thank you for this, but no, you shall never see me inside that monstrosity. You, however, should come see me inside my place sometime. I’m sure it would do your wonders.”
Mr. Rags let out a hearty laugh, “I’ll be seeing you, John.” He looked over to me and gestured for me to walk with him. We took a turn towards the station and saw Winkle sitting in the window, looking dumbfounded. I figured he would be freaking out, but as we entered, he was more confused than anything.
“Hey Mr. Rags! You need...
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