Entity 21 - "Hook Head"
rating: +33+x


Did I get you? That's right, it's that time of the year again when ghosts and ghouls run freely, and you can get a pillowcase of free candy just by wandering up to strangers. It's Halloween! Now, I can already hear you yelling into the radio! Cursing me! Tarnishing my name with vile slurs and saying, "But time doesn't work that way in the Backrooms, dear Ralph? How can it be Halloween?" And you would be right, to be fair, but you know what they say! "It's October 31st somewhere". Or at least, that's the attitude that the denizens of Level 11 have decided to take.

Even wandering the less-populated zone, you would be hard-pressed not to see some orange & black streamers or a paper skeleton in a window because everyone here is preparing for tonight. Naturally, with all the wonkiness that comes with aging in the Backrooms, we've decided that, at least for tonight, no one's too old to trick or treat. You may even see me, dear listener, in my Beast of Level 5 costume that I made out of an old suit and a papier-mache octopus mask. If you do, feel free to say "hi" and load me up with a couple extra king-sized twin fingers if you please.

But I digress. No, dear viewer, today's show isn't going to be a half-hour of me extorting candy from you, as much as I would enjoy that. No, today we're here to tell a story. A scary story, in fact, for today is the—

Oh right. I already did my "ghosts and ghouls" spiel. But anyways, today I will be telling you the terrifyingly true story of the "Hook Head". Beware! Beware!

It is said that once a wanderer, perhaps a wanderer just like you, was driving through the streets of Level 69— Don't laugh, dear listener. Tonight is not the night for middle-school humor. No. On All Hallow's Eve, even the so-called "sex number" should strike fear into the hearts of our bravest listeners.

Level 69 is one scary place; an infinite highway covered in fog, but I think I can make it a little bit scarier. Let's get into the story.

Alone in Level 69 one Halloween night, with only the car headlight to guide them, our hero experiments with the car radio dial, and a voice can be heard in the static.

"Tragedy struck Gloppy Joe's butchery exactly one year ago as the establishment's owner, Joseph Glopshire ('Gloppy Joe' to his friends) had his head taken clean off by an errant meat hook when butchering some meat for the town's famous Halloween feast. This was a sad occasion for us all as old Gloppy was a beloved member of our community."

Our hero is confused. Where could this be broadcasting from? But they listen on, transfixed by the gory story that fills their ears.

"Things seem to have gotten worse for Gloppy's friends and family as it seems his spirit has not been truly put to rest."

Our hero hears a faint scratching on their car door but pays it no mind. "It must be just the wind," they think.

"Sightings began earlier today of a strange man with a large hook in place of his head, and while a connection has not been confirmed, 12 murders have happened so far today, and police suspect old Glopps, or at least what's left of him, might be going for an even 13. Police say that the murders haven't shown too many patterns, but that they seem to target people who are driving alone in their cars."

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

"If you hear any scratching of hooks or hook-adjacent implements, don't bother calling the police. It's already too late for you."

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Our hero can hear it now, the scratching. "Surely the broadcast couldn't apply to me," they think. "There's no way this accident happened in the Backrooms and in Level 69 of all places!"

But the scratching grows louder, and they still cannot bear to look out their side window for fear of what they might see.

Scratch. Scratch. Scra—

The radio fizzles out.

Shit. Just when it was reaching the good part, too.

Now you're alone in Level 69, driving down the foggy road, and not even the sound of the radio is there to drown out your thoughts.

Alone in the silence, you start to hear noises. Soft at first, but they start to get clearer. Is that… a scratching? No. It has to just be the wind, right?


Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License