Berhard Herst

Hello there.

I am an police investigator by the name of William Starling.

Why am I going to tell you what I am going to tell? Probably a mixture of fear and memories. More likely because I have not much time left to tell my story because what has been happening lately.

What I saw and experienced in the evening of June 22, 1978 would haunt me to this date.

Again, I am a police investigator so because of my job, I got to meet some characters along the way. I would be interrogating about five people a day. I got to talk with children who had witnessed the worst and killers whose crimes made me sick to my stomach.

But no induvidual has ever come close to the kind of evil that the person that I interrogated on June the 22nd in the humid weather of 1978.

His cursed name was Berhard Herst.

I recieved a call from the chief of police in my small town in an area that I will not name. He informed me that an arrest has been made. The person who was arrested had been seen lying in the middle of a grass field with nothing in his hands. A witness who called the police said that he had a maniacal grin plastered in his face and he was completely smeared in blood. A police squad arrived to take the perp into custody but he was inhumanly strong; taking down two policemen before he was finally subdued.

No bodies were found in the area but when police tested the blood on his clothes, they concluded that it was indeed from a human.

Of course, this had completely set off alarm bells in my head. I asked the chief if I can bring guards to protect me while I interrogate him. I just had a feeling that things were about to get messy fast.

The police chief agreed and sent two constables to guard me.

I entered the Heaston Prison with a notebook and pen in hand.

Heston prison was a forboding place with the pleading cries of prisoners echoeing through its mossy chamber. Since it was the only prison in the area, the cells that line the walls were grossly overpacked and food was extremely scarce, which made for a disaster waiting to happen. The prison was in disrepair with many abandoned parts of the prison structurally unsound and the stench from the nearby swamp was unbearable to say the least. In addition, the prison had the highest turnover rates in the country with at least three prison guards quitting every week.

Sorry. Off topic.

For me, the prison always had a bad vibe to it. It was probably the high death toll that has to do with it.

Anyways, I walked into the nearly empty halls of the interrogation building. It had been a slow night for arrests.

My footsteps echoed in the chamber and alerted the two constables (who were already there) of my prescence. One of them said to me "The bloke that we're about to deal with is really starting to spook me. He has been murmuring sume sort of thing for the last half hour and he has a blank expression on his face. I don't like him at all."

The other constable, who was further away from me and having a smoke, nodded. "He is really starting to get to me."

The room plunged into silence as I held up my hand and strained my ears. In a room a few metres away from where I was standing, I could hear faint mumbling that slowly got louder and louder before returning to normal volume. The officers looked uneasy. "He hasn't been talking like that since we got here!"