Chapter Text
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"Statement of...?"
"Natalie. Um, Natalie H."
"Miss... H, I must insist that you give your full name, for... legal purposes."
"...Right. Natalie Herbert."
"Thank you. Regarding a "man with golden eyes". Statement given September 3rd, 2018, taken direct from subject. Statement begins. Whenever you're ready."
[INHALE]
"I... so like, from when I first saw him?"
"If you wouldn't mind."
"Okay. Okay. Um... so, I live here, right? I live in London. I've lived here my whole life. My parents owned a nice apartment, and I work two jobs to keep myself nice and comfortable in... I'd say it's a pretty large flat. I'm doing pretty well for myself.
So, like I said, I work two jobs. One is at a florist. It's a small place, but it's near a popular date spot, so we get a lot of flow through there. It's a few blocks away, so I can walk there easily, and we open until midnight.
I was on closing once- my boss had made sure the cameras stayed on, because she's worried about female employees closing on their own. Or anyone, for that matter. For good reason, I guess...
Anyways. I was closing up on a random Tuesday, and I had just locked the door and started walking when I heard a hacking cough.
I gripped my keys between my fingers- the street was empty, save for me and whoever was coughing, who was probably some homeless person looking for some sympathy money. Still, you can never be too careful.
The cough sounded again, this time clearer. Then I heard muttering.
It was echoing around the walls of an alleyway to my right. I tried to ignore it- girls who go into dark alleys alone at midnight don't come back out. But despite myself I had to lean a bit closer as I walked past, strain my ears, naturally curious- and what I heard was... disturbing, to say the least.
It was a man, speaking in a quiet but rushed voice. He sounded... pained, almost. I wanted to just keep walking past. But I think he saw me, because he called out.
"Hey!" He said, louder than he'd been talking before. "H-hey, sorry, I'm sorry, could you spare a moment?"
Normally men who ask you to stop at night shouldn't be listened to, but he was... well. He was a gentleman, if I'm being honest. And he sounded so scared. So I stopped, and I turned.
He struggled out of the alleyway, and I had to suppress a gasp. Aside from looking like he'd rolled through hell five times, he just looked... odd.
He was dressed in something that looked like it was from the 19th century- or 18th, I'm no specialist. Either way, it looked old-fashioned.
Not just that, though. He was COVERED in stains. There was dark red drips and splotches running across his clothing, and mud caked along his work shoes. His waistcoat had a massive tear in the side, and it looked like he was actively bleeding onto his white dress shirt. He was holding his left hand at an awkward angle, as if it didn't know what the rest of his body was doing. And his eyes...
It might have been a trick of the light. I've spent a while thinking back on it, and I keep praying that I was tired. But even in the darkness of that alleyway, his golden eyes seemed to glow. The light that shone from the streetlamp reflected twice as bright, and even the shadow his disheveled hair cast across his face didn't dampen their radiance.
He swallowed, and asked me in a less raspy voice; "I'm sorry, but could you tell me the time and date? And preferably our location?"
I stared at him for a moment before remembering myself and jolting out of my stupor, scrabbling for my phone.
I clicked it open and read the time aloud- 12:23am, 20th of August. Downtown London. He stared at my phone the whole time, struggling to hide whatever expression he was making.
There was silence after I said that, and his eyes gazed off absently as he tilted his head slightly. He looked like he was... like he was listening.
"And the year?" He said softly.
I told him it was 2018, and he drew in a sharp breath through his nostrils. He shook his head slightly, as if dispelling a thought, and thanked me for my services. Then he turned and walked the opposite direction.
That was the first time I saw him.
The next time was in the light of day, and I probably wouldn't have recognized him if it weren't for the unmistakable glow of his eyes and the soft tone of his voice. He was sitting in a cafe behind me, staring at the empty plate before him and... whispering to himself.
I was there on a morning off- I'm friendly with the staff, and it's a lovely spot. I had my earbuds in, and when I took them out I heard him behind me. All it took was a quick backwards glance to confirm my suspicions.
He was much cleaner- his hair looked brushed, his stubble shaven and his clothes new, clean ones. They were still formal, a plain white dress shirt over slacks, and a tie, but more fitting to our era. There was still blood underneath his fingernails.
I thought he might be blind, at the time. The way he stared into nothingness, keeping his eyes open wide as if trying to see something beyond the edges of his vision- and when he moved to go, he felt across the wall to move out. But he stepped so confidently, and when he talked he knew exactly what you were doing. I watched him avoid the flow of people deftly and casually, like he could see them for certain.
I'm still not sure what to think, to be honest.
And the last time I saw him, well. It was a LOT worse than the others.
I live in an apartment block, ten floors. The block is almost entirely abandoned- the few flats that are lived in by me and the other tenants are REALLY well kept. But the rest of them... well. One look inside and it's pretty obvious why nobody wants to live there.
Sometimes we get rats up in the higher floors- there's an empty flat above mine, and whenever I hear scratching or scuffling I have to go up there and risk rabies for the safety of the block. So naturally, when I heard a thump, I grabbed my net and fire stoker and headed up the stairs.
When I reached the door to the flat, I frowned. I normally leave it locked, because I know the right way to jimmy it open, but the lock was broken. I started to suspect it could be a squatter.
I pushed open the door gently, but it creaked anyways. Gritting my teeth at the bad start I crept inside, scouting it out.
The layout was similar to my flat- a small bathroom to the immediate left, a kitchen and dining room down the hall, living room and single bedroom. All in all, not a bad space for one person.
I checked the bathroom, kitchen and dining room first. They were fine, clean and unmoving. The flat was oddly still, but I could- I could hear something. I don't know what it was. I couldn't describe it to you with a gun to my head, and I can't even remember all that well what it sounded like. But it was there, in the background, always.
I stopped in the hallway after checking the living room. I was in front of the last room, the bedroom- if there was a squatter anywhere, it would be in here. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the handle and swung the door open.
Almost immediately, I had to slam my eyes shut. Potential squatter be damned, the smell that overtook me was a horrible, tangy iron that wormed into my nostrils and made me feel like my brain was bleeding where the stench scraped against it. I gasped, slamming the door again.
'What the hell??' I thought, chest heaving. It had stunk like nothing I had ever smelt before. At least, not in that quantity. And I really, really didn't want to believe that a scent that strong was blood.
Taking a deep breath and pulling my shirt up over my nose, I opened the door again. It was just as bad, and my eyes watered with the salty air, but I braved it to have a look around.
I wish I'd stayed outside.
The bed was covered in a thick, dark red substance that looked like some sort of slimy, gooey bloody viscera. Blobs of yellowy-white mess sat melded into the horrible spread, and the previously neatly made bedsheets were torn and mangled.
The fleshy substance- I had no idea what it was- leaked off the side of the bed, dripping stark rose blood onto the floorboards like a stain of fine wine. It spread throughout the room, like someone had shaken the great mess and fluid had flown everywhere. It spattered across the walls- everywhere I looked, it was coated in thick, dripping red.
The first thing I did was wonder why I didn't smell it from the hallway. Then I doubled over and threw up in the doorway.
Leaning on the doorframe for support was a horrible idea, because my hand came away sticky and I knew without looking that it would be dyed red. I coughed and wiped my mouth, jaw trembling and knees weak.
"What the fuck??" I whispered hoarsely.
The sound of a bottle falling came from the joined bathroom. The door was closed, and... the handle and all around it was covered in bright red fingerprints.
It was only then that I was struck with the knowledge that this all looked fresh. Immediately queasy again, I saw no other option but to call out to whoever was behind the door.
"H-hello?" I cried weakly. "Hey, if there's s-somebody in here, you- you gotta come out now. There's- what the hell is this??"
And again I heard that frantic whispering from the door.
I dropped my net and grabbed the stoker with both hands, the blood rubbing off my hand and onto the rusted metal.
I didn't want to set foot in that gore-filled room, but thankfully I didn't have to. The bathroom door handle rattled and turned.
Out of the door stepped the man from the cafe, as blood-soaked as the rest of the room, golden eyes unfocused and alight. He offered me an easy smile, as if he hadn't even noticed the fleshy debris surrounding us.
"Hello." He started. "I'm... I'm dreadfully sorry you had to see this."
I brandished the stoker in front of me, trying to appear intimidating despite my incredible terror. "What the hell are you??" I snarled.
"M-me?" He pointed to his chest, seeming almost taken aback. "I'm- Arthur?"
I swallowed a wave of unease. "Arthur" only held out his hands in a reassuring gesture, and took a step closer.
I immediately took three steps back, hands shaking. "Don't move." I threatened. "Don't you fucking move, you stay RIGHT where you are."
He nodded and stopped walking. "Of course."
"Did you do this?" I hissed, gesturing to the bloodied room with the stoker. "What the hell did you kill?"
He shifted uncomfortably. "Ah. That- right. The, the gore. I can assure you, that wasn't me."
"Then why are you as bloody as the room?" I choked.
A flash of annoyance darted across his features. "I am? Well, that would have been useful to know."
I stared at him. He shuffled awkwardly again.
"You can go, if you'd like." He offered. I almost laughed at how ridiculous that was.
"Please do." He added. "I think it would be good for both of us."
I hesitated. What could I do? Call the police and say the time traveler with glowing eyes had apparently taken apart something to the point of unrecognition?
So I nodded. With trembling legs I turned stiffly, shut the door, picked up my net and marched downstairs.
I took a shower and sat down. For a long time.
Eventually I got the nerve up to call my friend and tell him about it. He told me that his sister dealt with something like that before, and that she went to you guys. So I requested sick leave, took a bus and... yeah. Here I am."
"Hm. Alright. This... “Arthur”, do you know if he's still..."
"Above me? Don't know. Don't want to know. If he was smart he'd be gone by now. That was two days ago, so..."
"Okay. Thank you for your time. Statement ends."
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