Now that the spookiest day of the year is upon us, allow me, brave traveller, to regale you with the spine-tingling tale of the Madesey Horror. It may seem far-fetched, but I can assure you that bits of it are vaguely based on real events. With names changed to protect the innocent and guilty. Read on and shudder, if you dare…
I once knew a man named Kim Tapp (because Kim can be a man’s name, yeah?), a modestly handsome fellow who rather fancied himself as something of an artist. He’d painted a few tableaus of oil, set himself up with a site on the interweb, and even put a shop in it in the hope that somebody, anybody, might purchase a print of his efforts. But none came, and so Kim went looking for other outlets to show off prints of his work. Perusing the great search engines, Kim stumbled across Madesey, a website allowing people to sell their handmade products across the world. What wonders this new technology was bringing us. ‘An oil painting is handmade, I assume’, Tapp pondered, ‘so I too should be able to sell my wares on this Madesey. I may employ the services of a fine London printer to produce and despatch high quality copies of my art, but that seems to be allowed under their policies, and many other sellers appear to be doing the same’.
So it was that, with great optimism and enthusiasm, Tapp visited the great Madesey, gave them all his particulars, and made the magic connection betwixt them and the printers. With the basics done, Tapp proceeded to set up his first product, a charming painting of a cat sitting on a windowsill in the quaint Devon village of Clovelly. Despite the myriad of options and decisions to make, Tapp thought he was making good progress when disaster struck - a blood red bar appeared on the screen, a true harbinger of doom: ‘Your account is currently suspended. Please check your email for a message explaining why, and how to restore your account. If you have further questions, contact Madesey support.’
‘Well,’ thought Tapp, ‘that is an inconvenience, but surely a minor one, because as far as I know, I have been truthful and honest with all the information I have provided during set up, and I haven’t even managed to make my first product live yet. I’m sure those lovely folk at Madesey will send me a jolly email explaining the problem, and I will have it sorted in a jiffy’. But unable to work any further, Kim retired to bed ever hopeful that the new day would bring resolution. The next day came and went without communication, and as the sun began to sink low in the sky, Kim thought he might be able to help those good Madesey folk by submitting an appeal form. ‘I am sure they are a very busy bunch of people’, he surmised, ‘and they might appreciate me completing the form that explains which rules I broke and why I won’t do it again. Of course, I don’t know which rules I have broken because I haven’t received the explanatory email they promised, but I will do my best to explain that I am more than happy to resolve any issues once explained to me’.
With the form submitted, Kim retired once again, assured that soon he would be in contact with a helpful member of Madesey staff who would ensure all was right with the world. Another day and night passed, but Kim was not concerned. ‘We’re all incredibly busy in this 24/7 world’, he mumbled merrily. It was soon the fourth day, and awoken refreshed and revitalised, Kim rushed to his phone. Was there a message from Madesey? Indeed there was! Assured of a friendly missive, he opened it with great anticipation:
‘We appreciate you taking the time to file an appeal with Madesey. After careful consideration, we've determined your account does not qualify for reinstatement. We've performed a comprehensive review of your account and the information you provided, and are unable to reconsider this decision.
While we’re unable to disclose our internal review criteria or discuss your account status further, if you have questions related to your Payment Account please review Madesey’s Payments Policy.
We’re unable to reconsider this decision and can no longer respond to further messages about your account status. We appreciate the time you’ve invested on Madesey and wish you success in your future endeavors.’
Kim Tapp almost dropped his phone in shock. He had to sit down. Were his eyes deceiving him? Did it say ‘your account does not qualify for reinstatement’? He read it a dozen times. Indeed it did.
It was at this point, dear reader, that I began to play my part in this tale of woe. My poor friend appeared at my door in great distress, waving his phone in the air. ‘Madesey have forsaken me!’ he cried. ‘Why oh why? What have I done to upset them so? I tried to be as honest as I could! Was I mistaken in declaring that, while I produced the painting with my own bare hands, the prints would be produced and despatched by a third party? Is there something wrong with my very average UK bank account? Do they not believe that I will be able to pay them the 19 pennies for the one and only listing, a listing that has not even gone live yet? Are paintings of cats on windowsills a breach of policy? Was I not contrite enough in my appeal form? Why will they not allow me to atone for my inadvertent sins? And all the while, other sellers flaunt ‘handmade’ electric scooters and novelty lighters with impunity!’
I do not really need to tell you that my friend was frantic, and could not be consoled. I tried to explain that possibly an honest mistake had been made somewhere along the line, probably by my friend, but as Madesey are unable to discuss particulars, it would be best to move on and forget it. I tried to suggest that perhaps it was a sign that Madesey wasn’t the best platform for his prints of his paintings anyway and another opportunity would come. As one door closes, another one opens, that sort of thing. Although, let’s face it - this door was never really open - ajar at best. But Kim left my house much as he came; anxious, depressed and generally bothered to bits.
I barely saw him again. Frequently I visited his house to see how he was, but all I would receive was a twitch of the always-drawn curtains, and a shout of ‘go away!’ through the letterbox. Then he would shuffle away from the door uttering the same word repeatedly: ‘Madesey, Madesey, Madesey, Madesey, Madesey…..’ Sometimes I would stand at a distance for hours on end to see if he ever left the house, and was at least a little heartened to see a Tesco delivery get dropped on the doorstep, or see the little man from the local chinese takeaway pop round on his moped. But not once did I see Kim Tapp himself. Over the years my visits dwindled and the house fell into disrepair, much like his mind, I am sure.
Eventually I moved on, got married, and had a family, but the fate of Mr Tapp always lingered at the back of my mind. Many years later when the children had grown and flown the nest, I found myself staying at an hotel in the vicinity and decided to pass by his house. It was in a truly shocking state by this time, the roof in tatters, the windows boarded up or broken, the garden a jungle. I noticed that there were scorch marks above some of the windows; it looked like there had once been a fire here. I stopped at the local inn to ask the whereabouts of the man who once lived there. It was with sadness but no surprise that I was informed by the kindly lady behind the bar that the man who lived there had died many years ago. There had indeed been a fire at the house, a fire nobody could survive. It was said that when the firefighters finally entered the house, they found the charred remains of a man dressed very strangely indeed. Before the fire, she said the man refused all offers of help and died alone, haunted by some past trauma that he could not forget. The lady said she did not know what this trauma was, but I knew all too well. Since then the house had remained untouched as the locals believed it to be unlucky and even haunted - some said that in the dead of night, they had seen a gaunt, ghostly figure standing at one of the windows.
It was a stormy night and a cosy tavern, and before I knew it, I had drowned my sorrow in far too much ale to be able to drive to my resting place. Fearful of a rain-soaked walk, I pulled on my coat at last orders and ventured out into the night, only to find that the storm had passed and the night was cold and still, a bright full moon hanging in the sky. I did not need to walk by the Tapp house to reach the hotel, but without really being aware of it, I suddenly found myself strolling tentatively along the road upon which it sat, trying to ease my mood with a whistled tune while my stomach turned somersaults. As I reached the Tapp house, I stopped. Perhaps I could ease the guilt I felt by paying my last respects to the man I once called my friend. This might allow me to move on for good in a way he never could. So, I stood and doffed my imaginary cap to him.
It was then that I saw a figure at one of the broken, unboarded windows. My blood ran cold. It was only there for a moment but I saw so much in that pale, gaunt face with its sunken eyes and dishevelled hair. Too much in fact. It was undoubtedly Kim Tapp. I tried to call his name, but fear had grasped me tightly in its icy grip, and my throat could form no words. All I could do was stand and listen as a firm breeze suddenly whipped up around me, a tangle of leaves skittering across the road behind. And then, on that breeze I heard the same unmistakable word whispered again and again: ‘Madesey, Madesey Madesey, Madesey, Madesey, Madesey…..’ It seemed to be all around me and I could not place its source.
Then, as suddenly as it had come, the wind died away, and everything was still. My sense of terror eased somewhat as normality returned, and I chuckled to myself that I should be so spooked by an old house and a long gone friend.
I turned to leave and suddenly the ghost of Kim Tapp was standing right beside me, a long, gaunt face looking right into mine. He seemed to be wearing a mass of different items - a tweed suit, a brightly knitted scarf, a tie dye hoodie, a funny cat sweatshirt, green yoga pants, yellow socks with bees on them, a parade of brightly coloured ties. His hands were held out in front of him, each holding various items such as a personalised hammer, an origami cactus, a chocolate biscuit holder and a cushion depicting a dog having a cosy snooze. On each of his fingers was a different ring, some thin and subtle, others large, bright and gaudy.
To my horror, I realised he had transformed himself into a walking Madesey shop, holding and wearing all the items he could have sold if they hadn’t permanently suspended his account without explanation all those years ago. It was a sight simultaneously terrifying and heartbreaking.
Transfixed, I managed to cast my gaze up to the top of his head, above the wide eyes and bedraggled hair. There was something standing proud from the top of his head. It was a dark rope of some sort protruding vertically from his scalp about 6 inches into the the air. I could not fathom its purpose until I noticed he had dropped all the items he had just been holding. One remained that I had not previously seen before - it was a cute dragon cast from a burnished metal. The ghost of Tapp raised the dragon to the top of his head and pressed a button on its back. A small flame erupted from the dragon’s mouth and I suddenly realised it was a novelty lighter. The flame caught the top of the rope and it began to burn profusely. It burned down very quickly, much like a fuse, and in seconds his hair was on fire. I cried out in alarm and tried to pat the flames down, but my hands went straight through the figure as if he wasn't there. The ghost just stood and looked at me as his hair was engulfed in flames. He began chanting that same word again and again in a shrieking whisper: ‘Madesey, Madesey, Madesey, Madesey…’ Soon the flames were searing across his face, blistering and blackening the skin and making it peel away in sickening shreds. But he just stood and stared at me continuing to chant. The sight became too much and I turned away. It was then that I noticed the smell - not burning flesh, but a heady mix of sweet pine, lavender, vanilla and jasmine. My God - he had transformed himself into a human scented candle - the ultimate Madesey product!
Even looking away, I could tell that the light emanating from the figure had become intense. Instinctively I looked back to see him engulfed in flames as all his clothes combusted. Suddenly he stopped chanting and screamed, as if finally realising he was seriously alight. With one more terrible, agonising scream, the figure turned and ran down the path towards the abandoned house. As it crossed the threshold of what used to be the front door, the flaming figure seemed to disappear, as if consumed by the house itself. The scream was extinguished too, and all was silent. But that odd mix of soothing fragrances still hung in the air.
I stood petrified for what seemed like hours, trying to understand what I had just seen. The ghost of Kim Tapp, driven mad by his unsuccessful frolic with Madesey, and ultimately consumed by the desire to be all the things that they had denied him the opportunity to sell.
I finally found the courage to move, but I could not walk away. Something compelled me to venture into the house, as terrified as I was; something seemed to be pulling me in. Tentatively, I stumbled down the deep, dark garden path as overgrown shrubs and tree branches threatened to ensnare me. What I found as I stepped through the front door frame took my breath away once again. Everywhere was blackened and collapsed, the remnants of furniture and furnishings sitting in charred heaps, debris strewn across the floor. As I trod, I feared my footsteps might trigger a more serious structural collape, but something led me on, almost as if pulling me forward on an invisible thread. I found myself at the back of the house, in what was probably the dining room judging by the large collapsed table at its centre. It seemed nothing here had escaped the intense fire, but then I noticed something on the floor in the corner and made my way over charred wooden legs and shattered crockery to reach it. There, on the floor, seemingly untouched by flame, weather or the ravages of time, was a framed print of one of Tapp’s paintings - the cat on the windowsill - the very print Kim was trying to set up when Madesey suspended his account. This was what it was all about. Never mind the handmade clothing, tools and homeware which had come to manifest his Madesey obsession. Prints of his paintings were all he had originally wanted to sell, and it was this simple desire that he was originally denied.
I stooped to pick up the painting. Apart from a thin layer of dust which was soon removed with a wipe of my sleeve, it looked as good as the day it was made all those years ago by a fine print company who actually wanted his business. Oddly, picking it up seemed to have satiated the calling in my head and I suddenly realised I felt alone again. Perhaps in the hope that it would ward off any further manifestations of the apparition, I placed the frame under my arm and walked out of the house and back to the hotel where I managed to have a surprisingly contented night’s sleep. Despite the horror I had seen that night, it felt that a debt had been paid, a restless spirit calmed, a terrible wrong made right.
I returned home the next day and mounted the frame on a wall of the landing where I would pass it every day. My wife asked where it had come from, and I told her an old friend had given it to me as a gift. No further unpleasantness occurred, but every now and then, when the house was dark and I paced along the landing to bed, the rays of a bright blue moon alighted on the painting of the cat sitting on the windowsill. Out of the corner of my eye, I swear I could see Kim through the window, looking calm and contented as he stood at his easel painting the cat as seen from the inside of the cottage. His face was one of peace, calm and contentment and I knew I need never be scared again - the Madesey horror had been laid to rest.
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