File 213 - Chapter 1

File 213

Otherwise known as "The File

That Should Have Never Existed

Or At Least Should Be Buried

Along With It's Writer"

WARNING!

Reading this file may result in the following:

You will know things you'd wish you never knew.

You will be followed by people that look like FBI

agents, but are worse. You will hear gunshots

(or a gun barrel being loaded) in the middle of

the night. Everything you thought you knew

about yourself, magic carpets, and your next door

neighbor will change forever.

Author's Note

Before you ignore the warning above and continue reading this file, allow me to set the record straight: I did not want to do this. I don't care what stories you may have heard about me, (And I'm not telling who I am; I've already had to move twice) I am not the tall, evil, horned, blood-sucking villain that likes to write depressing stories about small children being eaten by bears. I was assigned, It was required, IT WAS MY JOB TO WRITE! THIS! FILE!!! And I'm sorry that you don't like things that frighten you or make you want to bawl and be miserable but this file is the truth and if you don't believe me, you'd better read it for yoursel... Wait. Hold on. Forget I just said that. You do not want to read this, believe me. I mean it. Shut the file. Now. That's my note. Shut this file now. Now goodbye.

Author's 2nd Note

Also, enemies who may be reading this, please don't go trying to interrogate "Shade, the cool.". He has no idea who I am. I'm just using his blog account. He has nothing to do with it. Thanks. Alright. Okeeey... um, bye again.

File 213

Written by Frederick Smith

Concerning: A kidnapped professor, a stolen formula, and a very mischievous magic carpet.

Location: Oddtown, New York

Chapter One: The kidnapped professor and what we know about him.

Nothing. That basically sums up the this whole file. Even after three months working on this case, I  still don’t really know what’s going on. But what I do know is enough to prove that things are happening that shouldn’t be happening and that we don’t have enough power to stop it.

I probably should introduce myself.  My name is (again removed for my safety), I am eighteen, and I have recently graduated from Spy Academy. Afterward, I was assigned to be an agent for the TSIO (Top Secret Investigation Organization). This is my first case… and, most likely, my last.

Sitting in a taxi traveling to Oddtown, New York with a small leather briefcase at my side, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I had been given this particular case because it wasn’t big enough for the officials to handle and it gave me the chance to prove myself. The facts were simple: On March the 23 at exactly 9:17 pm, Professor Norman was in his three story mansion when he disappeared along with an extremely valuable formula. According to the maid that witnessed the kidnapping, there was also a rug that had suddenly levitated five feet off the ground and had flown out the window. I was required to investigate that as well just in case it had something to do with it. Turns out, it had everything to do with it.

The taxi stopped in front of the Fansy Hotel. (To this day, I still don’t know if it “Fansy” was spelled wrong on purpose or if the designer was just a complete doofus) I picked up my briefcase, opened the door, and faced the building that I would be staying in for the next three months.

The building looked like something had been taken apart and put back together again. Or maybe it was hit by a tornado and two buildings had been smashed together, making one large crooked one. It was so ugly, so terribly made that I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Instead, I tilted my hat so I could only see the door and walked inside.

“Never judge a book by its cover” is a very truthful quote. Just because something may look bad doesn’t mean it’s bad in the inside. I once met a man who had tattoos all over his body and looked half bulldog who turned out to be a very nice man. I assumed (or, more accurately, prayed) that it would be the same case with this hotel I was seeing. I was wrong. The inside was a dump. Trash cans were overflowing, there were weird stains, wall paper was peeling, carpet pried up at the edges. It also smelled terrible, like a gas station bathroom with the toilet clogged. It looked almost abandoned except for man sitting behind the counter wearing levis, no shoes and no shirt. He looked up when I walked in.

“Sneego dog dog (my name goes here but again I have removed it) boogie?” he said in a language I promise does not exist. Slowly, I nodded. He handed me a room key and said, “Droxo room 1 lee pagga duggo.” he said, pointing down the ugly looking hall. I smiled, nodded again, and shuffled down the hall, wondering if it was too late to drop out.

It was then that I saw the first strange thing that happened during my stay. I had entered my room (which I do not want to describe) when I glanced out the window. Across the street was a man wearing a black suit, black tie, and black sunglasses staring directly at me. I stepped forward to take a closer look when a semi truck got between us. But when it had left, the man was gone.