The Strangler

In a world where everyday life intertwines with the eerie unknown, Chance, a gifted medium, and Detective Tyler, a paranormal investigator, are thrust into a perplexing mystery. 

A man's frantic warning resounds moments before a camera's flash claims his life.

As they probe the mystery, every clue deepens their intrigue. How could a simple photograph harbor such deadly power? 

Their quest for answers leads them to a widow with haunting secrets and a lurking, ominous presence. 

With Chance's vast insight and Tyler's detective insight, they face an adversary that defies all logic. Will they unravel the truth or become the next casualties?

Journey with them, if you're brave enough, straight into the Doorway to Darkness.

For more horror, visit caseyburrin.com.

Transcript

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Welcome to Doorway to Darkness. Horror Stories by Casey Burrin. Narrated by the Night Creeper. Please Follow or subscribe on your podcast app of choice. 

In a realm where the ordinary blurs with the paranormal, where the shutter's click summons an untimely silence, and where eerie whispers of the past cling to every shadow, young Chance, a prodigious supernatural expert, and Detective Tyler, a paranormal investigator with an analytical mind and a skeptic's heart, find themselves ensnared in a chilling mystery. 

On a seemingly mundane day, a man's desperate plea echoes through the streets just moments before a camera captures his essence—and extinguishes his life.

As the duo delves deeper, each clue appears more baffling than the last. Why would a mere photograph wield the power to kill? The answers lie shrouded in layers of intrigue, guarded by a grieving widow harboring a gruesome secret and a malevolent entity lurking in the periphery, waiting for its next prey.

Chance's expertise and Tyler's detective prowess will be put to the test as they grapple with an enigma that challenges their understanding of reality. Will they pierce the veils of the unknown, or will they too become victims of the spectral strangler?

Join them, if you dare, on a journey where reality's threads fray and mysteries beckon from the abyss, only to find themselves... as they walk through the Doorway to Darkness.

The corpse looked so fresh even flies would do a double-take. Most people think death looks a certain way, but I know better. After working homicide for years as a detective before going into business for myself, I get dead bodies.

But I’m not an expert on the dark side. That would be Chance’s arena. I’m the hammer in affairs like these. 

I’d seen Chance gab with the dead behind the veil plenty of times, like whole conversations about what I have no idea. Don’t want to know. Like I said, I’m the hammer. I get the spirits gone. 

So, on that day, I found myself in front of a dead man lying on the cold slab of a coroner’s table. Dr. Barnes, a medical examiner, who alerted me to this case, stood on my right while Chance lingered behind me. 

The longer I looked at this corpse, the more I thought this case wasn’t for us. No way did this dead man find himself on the wrong side of the supernatural realm, and I aimed to prove it.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “What he die of?”

“That’s the mystery,” Dr. Barnes said. “Nothing - he died of nothing. I can’t find anything wrong with him. Not one single thing.”

“You want to get in here, Chance,” I said. “He’s dead. He’s not going to rise up and strangle you -  I don’t think.”

Even though he was 19, Chance looked twice as dead as this corpse due to his aversion to the husks left behind by the dearly departed. This kid could gab with the spirits all night, but he couldn’t stand the mortal remains they left behind. 

Chance grabbed at this ruffled necktie thingy around his neck. The kid was trying out another wardrobe switcharoo, so this concoction seemed tame compared to last month’s lederhosen experiment.

“I feel my sinuses burning from the salty vapors released from the decaying flesh, so maybe I’ll stand back here,” Chance said. 

“Kid, get a little closer,” I said. “Need your brains on this one.”

Chance inched up behind me so that his aftershave nearly asphyxiated me. I shouldn’t complain after his anti-deodorant phase. 

I went into my purse and pulled out a tissue for Chance, who looked like his breakfast could make an unfortunate reappearance. 

“Here, kid,” I said. “Maybe it will help. I know it’s hard for you to stand here with this dead guy.”

Chance placed the tissue over his mouth, but it didn’t seem to help much, but at least I tried taking care of the kid, who was so soft at times he seemed made out of a dandelion’s puff to me. 

After helping Chance as much as I could I turned back to Dr. Barnes. 

“Maybe he got poisoned,” I said. “That’s probably it. I know you think maybe it’s more, but it doesn’t look like it. As far as I can tell, he’s no victim of the dark arts.”

“There’s a little more to the story,” Dr. Barnes said.  

“Always is,” I said. 

“Witnesses said that this man was simply walking past a woman taking one of those selfies when she captured him in a picture,” Dr. Barnes said. “He started screaming hysterically, saying she shouldn’t take his picture, and it was now coming for him. Everyone thought he was crazy, but then he collapsed and died right in front of them.” 

“Nothing supernatural about this,” I said. “Pathologically paranoid guy died of a heart attack. Case closed.”

“No indication in the autopsy of a heart attack,” Dr. Barnes said. 

“What was in the picture?” Chance said. “That’s where the evil lies if wickedness is to be found.”

“Exactly,” Dr. Barnes said. “That’s where it gets weird.”

“Always does,” I said. 

Dr. Barnes glided a folder in my direction, never taking his eyes off mine. 

Inside the folder I found a photo that showed the victim near what looked like a hazy, dark outline of an out-of-focus man, wrapping its hands around the man’s neck. It almost looked like a photo distortion until closer inspection. 

I rifled through my purse to find my toolkit where I kept my magnifying glass that I use to inspect photos. Looking through the magnifying glass, I spied long lines of lanky fingers about to choke this poor man to his demise. 

“Are you sure it’s real?” I said. “It doesn’t look real. Looks like a hoax.”

“In truth, this is undeniably real,” Dr. Barnes said. “Look, I know you peddle in the supernatural, and if I hadn’t experienced it myself, I’d never have believed it. I’d never have called you. But like you, I know the truth. There are other worlds beyond this one.”

Unconvinced, I jutted the photo behind me to Chance, and I felt him lift the photo out of my hand to take a look. 

“Too easy to doctor these types of photos,” I said. “I appreciate you calling us with a case like this, but without further evidence, I’m not inclined to follow it.”

“But I can’t find anything wrong with him – literally nothing,” Dr. Barnes said. “That, coupled with the photo, makes it so coincidental.” 

“Coincidences happen,” I said. “But I appreciate you taking the time to show this to us. But if there’s no other evidence of anything supernatural, I think we’ll have to take a pass. Chance, what do you think about it? I get no vibes here.”

I expected some response but got nothing.

“Chance?” I said.

He stood like a statue lost in time, transfixed on the photograph placed firmly between his fingertips, now white from the force of his grip. 

Tremors ran through his hands, up this arm, and through his shoulders, yet his eyes remained locked onto the photos like he’d been transported to a distant, ethereal realm that no one dared enter. 

I grabbed his arm, shaking him in an attempt to bring him back from the abyss of his own mind, but it didn’t pull him out and back into reality. 

“I think he’s having a seizure,” Dr. Barnes said. “We need to get him to the ground, so he doesn’t fall and hurt himself.”

“Chance!” I yelled, now grabbing him with both hands and shaking him. 

He suddenly dropped the photograph that fell like a forgotten memory onto the floor. His eyes darted around the room as he came back to this reality.

“Not feeling my best,” Chance said, taking another step away from us, almost stumbling. “The fruity undertones of the rotting flesh are irritating the protective mucosa in my stomach.” 

Chance disappeared out the door, leaving me alone with Dr. Barnes in a stunned silence. 

I lifted the photo off the floor, feeling about 10 degrees colder now. I peered at the blurry image in the photo as it appeared to wrap its hands around the man’s throat. 

I knew now, if I didn’t before, that this photo held a death merchant of sorts that Chance keyed into as it was his gift – or curse – depending on how you look at it. 

I had believed this man had died of natural causes, but now I knew better, so I realized what I must do – find the next of kin to shed more light on this man’s death. 

As I Iaid the photo down, I noticed a deep gash in my finger where the photo had sliced into it. 

Our next stop was a visit to the victim’s wife, Carol. 

I expected the conversation with Carol to go one of two ways. Most often, we’re brushed aside as charlatans and frauds due to our pursuit of the paranormal. Not that I blame them. No one thought less of the dark side than me once upon a time, but that was a long time ago. 

On the flip side, some people can’t wait to talk to us, claiming to possess psychic abilities of their own – they don’t, but that never stopped them from believing it. 

But Carol was different. We were shunned at the door, yet she let us into her home, setting off my vibe-o-meter for ambivalence. That was a telltale sign that she had something to hide, but I needed more intel. 

Chance and me sat down on a sofa while Carol elected to prop herself up on a chair near us. 

“Love the aesthetics of your living room, Carol,” Chance said. “Contemporary style accented by these brass lamps here on the side table. I don’t know many people who display such refined tastes. Most wouldn’t be thoughtful enough to pair the two.”

"First off, thank you for inviting us into your home and my condolences about your husband’s passing," I said. "But tell me about the day your husband died, not to be insensitive." 

“Usually, when people say not to be insensitive, they aren’t insensitive,” Chance said to me as he adjusted his scarf around his neck.

“That thing is too tight around your neck?” I said. “Strangling the blood out of your brain?”

“It’s called a cravat,” Chance said to Carol. “An old-fashioned necktie – elegant, tasteful, understated.”

“Unstated?” I said. “Hook a rope up to that, and you gotta noose.”

“Part bowtie, part necktie, the cravat is making a comeback,” he said.    

“Why don’t you make a come back down to earth,” I said. 

Chance swiveled his head in my direction and looked me up and down, eyeballing my black work pants and matching jacket I wore almost every day. 

With that moment over, I turned back to Carol.

“Neighbors said in the police report your husband was terrified of getting his photo taken,” I said. “What’s that about?”

“I’m not sure I know what my neighbors were talking about,” Carol said. “I don’t even know why you’re here. I told the police everything.”

“You don’t have to talk to us if you don’t want to,” I said. “Me and Chance could leave right now.” 

“Maybe you should,” she said, looking down at her shoes. 

While I was looking at Carol, who was on the verge of kicking us out after just letting us in, I caught Chance staring off toward the staircase, away from us as if something beckoned yet disturbed him at the same time. 

“Are you sure you’re alright,” I said to Chance.  

While Chance is so soft, baby bunnies think he’s a wimp with all his ailments -  some real, others made up - he did look paler than usual, so that worried me. 

Chance shook his head, signaling to continue. 

“Where were you that day when your husband passed?” I said to Carol. 

“Work,” she said, flattening out the imaginary wrinkles on her skirt. 

“What do you do?” I said. 

“Nurse,” she said

With these nearly one-word answers, my intel gathering was going quite badly. I glanced over at Chance, wondering why he wasn’t chiming in like he usually does. But he was drawn back to his imaginary hallway drama again. 

“Chance, you OK, really? You seem distracted,” I said. “Do you sense something?”

“Golden ears,” Chance said to Carol. “I can hear almost anything, so don’t mind me.” 

I looked at Chance for a moment as he bobbed his head up and down, staring at Carol.

“How did you find out about my husband?” Carol said to me. 

“We talked to a coroner, who told us about your case,” I said. “That he’d passed. What did police tell you?” 

“Don’t you know?” she said. “I thought you read the police report.”

Now, I knew she didn’t want to share beyond her husband’s passing. As annoyed as Carol made me, Chance’s distraction with the hallway pissed me off even more.

“Chance, what is going on with you?” I said. “You keep looking down that hall. What’s down that hallway? Nothing. That’s what’s down that hallway. Now tell me what’s wrong with you right now. You’re making me worried about you.” 

“Tyler, you know how sensitive my ears are, but I’m surprised you’re not complaining about it too,” Chance said. 

Now, I’m rarely caught unaware, but Chance’s remark made my brain feel like it had been squeezed into a jelly jar. So quiet was that house I could almost hear the buzz of silence when there’s nothing to hear, so the brain makes it up. I glanced over at Carol, who looked as confused as I did. 

“Can’t you hear that?” Chance said, clutching his scarf. 

I could only stare back at him because I suspected whatever he heard did not come from this world.

“You don’t hear it?” he said to Carol. 

“I hear nothing,” Carol said. “Nothing at all.”

“The crying? The mumbling?” Chance said. “Are you serious? You can’t hear that?”

Chance turned away from me, leaning over his knees like he was in an airplane about to crash land. I’d been in enough jams with Chance to know he’d found the darkness, or more likely, it’d found him. 

“What does it sound like?” I said as softly as I could, not wanting to scare Chance any more than he was. 

“You really can’t hear it?” Chance whispered. “You swear?”

“Are we the only ones here in the house?” I said. 

“My children are at school,” she said. “We’re the only ones here.”

“The TV is not on?” Chance said. “In the other room? Please tell me you have a TV on in the other room.”

“Chance, this house is as quiet as a monastery,” I said. “What you hearing exactly?”

Chance leaned further down over his knees clasped so tightly I could see the thumb on his left hand turn white around the edges. I let him linger that way, knowing he’d speak when he was ready to and no sooner. Finally, he sat back up and stared back at Carol. 

“It’s still here in your house,” he whispered. “It came back home after it killed your husband. It had nowhere else to go. It’s been here for so long, waiting for another.” 

“What is it saying to you?” I said. 

“I can’t understand the words,” Chance said more to himself than to me or Carol. “I thought it was someone on a TV. I heard mumbling. It was here when I came in. But I didn’t sense anything. If it’s a spirit, it’s not a very strong one. I don’t know what it is, but it’s here.” 

I felt my mouth go so dry a piece of sandpaper would be jealous as I looked at Chance, who appeared like he’d faint on the spot. I knew, as Chance did too, that a death merchant probably toyed with us as it danced between this world and beyond. 

When I collected myself, I knew what to do, no matter how much I didn’t want to do it, but a confrontation needed to be had. 

“Where is it, Chance?” I said. “You tell me this instant.”

I pulled Chance off the couch so hard I slightly ripped his cravat. 

We moved down the hall toward the kitchen with Chance directing us. 

“In there,” he pointed to a door. 

I yanked it open to find a stairway to a finished basement. I flicked on the light before heading down the stairs, expecting Chance to follow. But instead, Carol ran after me. 

“You can’t just run around my house,” she said as she rushed toward me. 

 As I whirled around, I saw Chance at the top of the stairs, clinging to the doorframe. 

And then the death merchant’s plan was hatched. 

Bam! The door shut right in his face with him on one side and me and Carol on the other. 

I scrambled up the stairs, pushing Carol out of the way as Chance screamed like someone was choking the life out of him. 

Then I heard nothing – just pure silence – one of the worst sounds a person can hear after desperate screams for help – and then the door popped open. I collapsed onto the floor but found my footing again as I scoured the house for that kid. 

“Chance! Chance!” I yelled. “Chance!”

I found him lying on the living room floor with his cravat over his face. 

“God, no, no,” I said, kneeling over him and shaking him as violently as I could. 

Chance bolted up, nearly knocking me over when he did. I went to grab onto him, but he’d already jumped up, leaving me on the floor. 

“Dear God,” he said. “What happened?”

“I think you should go,” Carol said. “You should leave. I’ve nothing more to tell you. This interview is over.”

When I finally got to my feet, I grabbed Chance’s scarf and led him toward the couch, where I seated him beside me as Carol trailed behind us.

“Sit down,” I said to Carol. “We’ve a lot to discuss, you and me.” 

“You don’t seem that surprised. In all of this commotion you just lived through, I didn’t hear much from you. No words like ‘What’s wrong with him?’ or ’Why is he doing that?’ That’s because you already know why. You’ve seen it all before. So you better start gum flapping right now.”

“I’ve nothing to say,” she said. “Nothing to add. I’m as surprised as you are.” 

I didn’t budge as I’ve seen this tap dance before. The less you say, the more they do. 

“How is it your neighbors knew your husband was terrified of getting his photo taken, but you never mentioned it – not even once – in the police report?” I said to Carol. “Then you double down on that with me, acting like you have no idea he was afraid of his photo.”

“I swear on my children’s lives I don’t know anything about it,” she said. 

Now I’d had it. When children’s lives are used to cover a lie, I pull out the big guns.

I grabbed my cell phone and aimed it at Chance before snapping a picture. 

And boom - there it was in the background – just as I suspected I’d be. The photo revealed a hazy, dark outline of what could be loosely described as a distorted, contorted man, standing a few feet away from Chance. It leered at Chance like he was a big juicy steak with his spindly arms outstretched, ready to suck the life out of him. 

“I’m vexed!” Chance said before jumping up, but I grabbed his scarf and pulled him down before he could run out the door. 

“Again, you don’t look surprised,” I said to Carol. “Not even a little. That’s because you’re not. Listen, Chance and I – this is our business – the supernatural. That’s how we got your case. This is what we do,” I said. “So, I swear to God, if you don’t do the right thing now and tell us everything, I will voodoo doll your ass.”

But that didn’t affect Carol as she sat there still with her arms crossed. 

“What about your children?” I said. “You think they are safe. It attacked Chance. He’s only 19 – a child himself, really. How long will it be before they come for them? You don’t know what you're dealing with. Your husband is dead, and now Chance is in the crosshairs. Are you really willing to do nothing when your children might be next? It grows stronger with every victim. It’s only a matter of time before it gets to your children.”

“Alright,” she said, covering her face with both hands. “I’ll tell you what I know, but it’s all I know, I swear.” 

Carol placed herself on the edge of the seat, appearing to steady herself before unloading on us. 

“It was years ago. We were young, maybe 25. Old enough to know better. It was the six of us – me, my husband, Mark, and his brother, Tim, and three friends. We decided it’d be fun to sleep in a graveyard for the night,” Carol said. “Like a dare kind of thing. We picked this little cemetery plot in a forest, so the police wouldn’t find us and set up our tents.”

“You had a Ouija board with you, didn’t you?” Chance said. “On Halloween, right?”

“How did you know?” she said. 

“Just go on,” I said, flicking my wrist at her. 

“We heard a voice outside, like a mumbling and crying, so we thought it was a joke from some of our other friends,” Carol said. “Mark and Tim were too freaked out, but me and the other two went outside to check, only no one was there. Then Patrick and Tim started screaming in the tents. When we got to them, they were passed out until we shook them awake. The next day, we took a picture together. That’s when it started.”

“And it was there,” Chance said. “In the photos.” 

“Patrick’s brother Tim – in the photo – it was behind him,” Carol said. “It kept getting closer with each shot. We didn’t know what it was. But one day soon after, he died. Out of nowhere. We saw the last photo, and there it was strangling him. Then, it started following Mark in the photos. We knew what it was trying to do, so we never took photos, but cameras are everywhere. Over the years, it just got closer. We talked to spiritualists, mediums, ghost hunters – no one could help us.”

“Where are the photos now?” I said. 

“I’ll get them,” she said before disappearing upstairs, leaving me and Chance on the couch.  

“What am I going to do?” Chance said as he fiddled with his scarf-tie thing. “It’s tethered to me now. No way to get rid of it ever. I can never have my picture taken ever again. It’s vicious. Deliberately cruel. No remorse.”

“Don’t worry, kid,” I said. “We’ll get out of this. We’ve been through worse.”  

I said it, but I wasn’t too sure. It’d tricked me by separating Chance from my protection. That bothered me. This wicked being had calculated it all out. 

Carol came back and plopped one of those brown legal folders down on the coffee table. 

We riffled through the dozens of photos, and in each photo, it got closer and closer until it wrapped its fingers around their necks. 

“Why did it go after some of them but not all of them?” I said. 

“We never figured that out,” Carol said. “I just knew that when my husband died, it’d find someone else. I didn’t want that to be me or my children. I’m sorry that it’s attacked you, Chance. That’s not what I wanted.” 

“It became untethered,” Chance said to her. “You released it that night in the cemetery. At least one of you must be gifted – not that you would’ve known. A lot of people don’t realize they are seers until something like this happens.”

“OK, we’ve got 24 photos here,” I said “It attacked two people that we know of from that night, but not Carol or the others on that camping trip,” I said. “It’s already demonstrated it’s got guile by luring us away from Chance – its latest target, so I don’t think the attacks are random or opportunistic. It’s got a victim preference.”

All the photos were the same except five that stuck out to me. 

“Look, it’s gone in these five pictures,” I said. “Whenever Mark or Tim looked back at it. It disappeared.”

“It can’t look them in the face,” Chance said. “Fear grips its heart. I sensed presence. A vile creature. Cruel in its indifference and delighting in its callousness.”

“Weasel,” I said. “That’s what it is. It attacks you from behind when you’re most vulnerable, but when you face it, it runs away. It’s a weak, pathetic creature.”

“It’s afraid,” Chance said. “It feeds off of fear. It hates itself because it’s so afraid.”

After he said that, I knew what I had to do, although Chance would not like it.

I stood up and pointed my phone at Chance before taking a snap. 

“Stop!” Chance yelled at me. 

I turned the phone toward him. “See! There it is right behind you, Chance, It’s following you,” I said.  

“No more pictures!” he said. “Don’t do that!” 

I snapped another one. 

“It’s weak now,” I said. “Remember, death merchants are weakest when they first attach. If you don’t get rid of it now, you never will. You’ll be stuck never going outside and never taking a picture of yourself ever again. Eventually, it will kill you and I will not allow that?”

“We need time to figure this out!” Chance said. “You’re only guessing about death merchants. No one truly knows their games..”

“You gotta get rid of it now. Turn around and face it. I’m going to turn on the video function.”

“Are you out of your mind, Tyler!” Chance said. “That’s multiple frames per second. You’re going to get me killed!”

“It will kill you if we don’t act now, Chance. This weasel hates itself so much it kills what it hates,” I said. “I know people like that. They hate weakness because they are weak, so they beat up on the vulnerable. The only way to deal with them is to stand up to them. You gotta let them know they can’t do that. It’s the only thing they understand. Now, on the count of three…One…

“Tyler, there’s got to be another way,” Chance said. 

“Two,” I said. 

“Tyler, don’t do it!” Chance said. 

“You will never get rid of it unless you get rid of it now. Every moment it’s tethered to you, it gets stronger. You know this better than I do. Now turn around when I say three.”

“I can’t do it!” Chance said. “Facing it chills my soul, Tyler!” 

“Exactly, that’s why it picked you,” I said. “That’s why it picked the others. That’s why it’s not coming after me or Carol or the others that night. It feeds on fear, and we don’t have enough to entice. Now show it you don’t taste so good. Three!”

When I hit the record button on my phone, I could clearly see this hunched-over dark shadow of a creature hobbling toward Chance. Its hollowed-out soul pressed forward in a contorted dance that only resembled its former human self that was no more. 

“Turn around!” I yelled. “It’s coming right at you!” 

With its reedy fingers outstretched, it reached for the scarf wrapped around his neck. 

“Do it!” I screamed. “Do it now!”

Just as it was about to grab his neck, Chance whirls around to face it. 

Chance screamed at it as he charged forward, waving his arms in the air. 

The spirit’s eyes bulged out, and its needle-like fingers recoiled before it appeared to evaporate and showed on the screen no more. 

Chance crumpled to the ground, having spent all his energy repelling this twisted soul. 

I took another photo of him lying that showed nothing more than the background behind it. 

I took two more, but still only Chance remained in the frames. 

“You did it, kid,” I said. “To where it’s gone, I do not know.”

 Thank you for joining us at Doorway to Darkness. Horror stories by Casey Burrin. Narrated by the Night Creeper. Please Follow or subscribe on your podcast app of choice. Until next time, stay alive, if you can.