Eng ghost story (my own)

I didn’t wnat to make this story so short, but I did since I didn’t have time. The story was supposed to have many more events and a better overall text. I will post the finished version when I’m done with it. I removed the ending because I was far from satisfied with the abrupt ending that I wrote in the previous version ( even though this version has an even more abrupt ending than the last,  due to me ending the story in the middle of a sentence.)

It was dark, way to dark to see anything. He couldn’t remember were he was or what day it was. After a couple of seconds he suddenly remembered it all. All the horrific events that lead to this situation. As his eyes got used to the  He turned on the lights in the room. All the walls were white and without any decoration. On the door he could see a sign that said: Detroit Mental hospital. Everybody thought he was insane just because he tried  to explain the terrifying things he had seen. During the last days he had realized something; some things are not to be found by man. There were onnly one thing in his head; a crude statue of somethng that looked a bit like a mix between a octopus and a rock, but it was near impossible to even get a clue of what it actually looked like. The statue was indescribable, but one was for sure; you would go insane if you even looked at it. He had seen things that no man should see. A being that wasn’t awake nor asleep, not dead or alive, it just existed forever waiting to unleash the long forgotten horrors of oblivion onto the world we think we own. 

17 April 1915 

The smal port town of Boulder was quiet. There were very few, if any, people outside. Even the local inn was silent. It was if the entire town slept. A deep and unnatural sleep. The fog was thick around the smal town and the tall mountain next to it. The only thing that actually seemed to be alive was John Page, a young journalist working for a renowned newspaper. He was there to report about strange rumors about secret cults and odd disappearances. A lot of people thought that the small town was cursed or controlledd by aliens, of course most of the theories seemed to be some cheap rubish that someone had come up with in ten minutes. His first objective was the inn since he expected to meet some people that he could ask about th cults. The only information he got about the cults was that they seemed be worshiping the devil or something like that and that people blamed them for the dissaperence of several people. He doubted that any of the rumors were true though. There were probably some more logical explenation to all the disappearances, even though he had to admit that it would be exiting if it actually was a real cult.

 All the thoughts of cults and mysteries suddenly left his mind when he entered the dark pub.The vile smell of strong alcohol mixed with smoke.  Strange figures looked at him from the shadowy corners of the small room.  He didn’t like this place, at all. As he walked further in he realized that the room was much bigger than it seemed when he first entered. When he was done examinating all the slightly odd persons there he asked the bartender about the cults. The tired face looked like this was a question that he had heard a lot of times. He gave a simple and obviously false answer that I suspect he uses everytime he gets that quesion: No. He said it with such apathy in his voice,that you use when you want to avoid a bit to curious question, that it would only the slightest known of the behavior of human beings would reveal that he was not speaking the truth. Page knew that the bartender wasn’t speaking the truth, but he didn’t think that the bartender would tell him anyway. After falling to get any informasion from the bartender he ordered a beer. When he recived the mug he satt down next to a middle-aged man who looked somewhat friendly. And the reason for this was simple, he was drunk, drunk beyond consciousness. Page came to the conclusion that probably no one would give away any information for free. If he wanted anything, he would have to find it himself. There wasn’t much people in the shadowy in, the only ones who were in the inn was himself, the bartender and a couple of (what he thought) fishermen. None of them looked too friendly, well, except