Now I know what you're thinking. That’s a strange thing to name a road. Well I already know that so don’t go all Sherlock on me. It wasn’t my choice to name it anyway. If I did have a say in it, I would pick something more appealing… like Frying Pan Road. Believe it or not that’s an actual Road in Colorado, and the name is priceless. I’m getting off track.

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Let me clarify that when the road was first paved, a restaurant opened up that served Maple chicken its opening night. Well, an error occurred when the cooks didn't properly cook the food. The dozens who ate the dead bird got food poisoning, causing them to die. There are theories that the ghosts of the dead are the cause to road’s unexplainable events, but I’ll get to that in a second.

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First, let me introduce myself and situation. My name is Connor, and I’m a twenty three year old male. I first moved into this apartment when I started college since it’s the only place I can afford. When you work at Subway, you don’t get paid much. It’s a dreary road that always has a gray cloud above it. The buildings look old and run down, despite all being fairly new. The road always has a looming sense of thickness and regret, along with the stench of rotting garbage, or maybe rotting bodies. I have yet to decipher it. The population of the town itself is small, and shall be left unnamed for privacy reasons. Not small enough where everyone knows each other, but small enough that if something strange happens, like a murder for example. I’m not being hypothetical by the way. It spreads like wild fire, and soon enough, it's the only thing the residents are talking about.

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Error Hill Road is like a small Urban legend in this town, and people make dares to come down the road and anger the spirits that haunt it. I’m not a big fan of angering the dead, but it’s fun to stare out my cracked widow and watch the teenagers insult the spirits, only to run away with a trash can being mysteriously thrown at them.

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So now you have a bit of back story. I’ve seen a lot of people document their personal events here on Reddit, and thought I’d take my shot at it since people seem to find it interesting to learn the details of other people’s lives. I’m going to give a quick description myself if you don't mind. I’m sorry if you find that boring, but I can’t stand it when stories have no descriptions. I’m the kind of person who needs a description in order to imagine the story, or else I’ll just imagine a humanoid blob floating around as the main character. I can’t concoct a new human being in my head, since you could look like a crossover between John Cena and Morgan Freeman for all I know.

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I’m a fairly tall guy, with light brown hair and brown eyes who people say look dead. I’ve never thought of it as a compliment or insult since I do tend to appear to have a poker face the majority of the time. Unintentionally of course.

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So now that all that is out of the way, let me enlighten you about the story you came to hear. I live on a road called Error Hill Road, and since I moved here, a lot things happen with no logical explanation. It’s the perfect plot to a horror movie I know. I’m not keen on the events, although I don’t feel as scared of this place like when I first moved in. More unnerved, and wishing it’ll all stop soon. Things like unintelligible whispers in the night under my bed, and my neighbor's dog howling demoniacally at ungodly hours. Although no one in this apartment owns a dog… My neighbor does own a small turtle she named William Shellspeare, like Shakespeare for all you non intellectuals.

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My Landlord, Cedar Haywood, is an eccentric old man obsessed with the decade of 70’s and 80’s. Every time you see him, he’s decked out in an opened chest glitter shirt, and bell bottom pants. He tried to salvage his remaining strands of gray hair and curl them. Except it only looks like frayed fishing wires. I asked him about the strange sounds when I first moved in, since I was a tired college student and couldn't sleep with all the scratching at my window and whisperers telling me about my inevitable fate.

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He said it was probably just the grasshoppers. We get a lot of those around here. Big buggers is what they are. At least five inches long and always have an attitude. I knew it wasn’t them though since they couldn’t whisper, just chirp obnoxiously and feed on you if you aren’t paying attention.

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“Eh, don’ worry 'bout it Connor, them grasshoppers love playin’ around when you’re asleep.” Mr. Haywood said, brushing off his sparkling pants and going back to working on his computer.

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I just want to sleep without hearing howling at my window sill, and feel that slimy hand that reaches for me under my bed more often than not. These things went on for a while, and slowly progressed. Words would appear on my bathroom mirror like, “You’re next.” And, “Your days are numbered.” Nothing a little Windex couldn’t fix.

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I love to take evening strolls, and sometimes building doors would swing open suddenly. I would often see figures lurking in the shadows of the darkened alleyways. It never failed to make my heart drop into my stomach, but pretending I didn't just see a toothy yellow smile from the alleyway adjacent to me on my walk made me feel better than convincing myself what I saw was real.

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It wasn’t until recently did the events become more hard to ignore. Mostly because of the murders that have happened recently.

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I got a call from my neighbor Mrs. Bamford. She was a sweet old lady who loved to knit me clothing items. I got mostly scarves and a certain type of clothing I couldn't identify. I think it was hand muffs? I don’t know, it had five fist size holes in it though, and I ended up using it to hold my phone while it charged.

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She said she wanted to know if she could borrow my Star Wars DVD collection. (The 1977 version, not the 2015 one. The newer one tried too hard, and the only good thing about it was BB8. Don’t start witch hunting me in the comments, I have the right to an opinion.) She wanted to impress her recent boyfriend she met on a website for older nerdy people, and have a movie marathon with him that night. I said yes and rummaged through my messy apartment to find it. I moved the dirty, animal like bones that would appear in random places constantly to find the DVD. The bones were normally small, and covered in blood and grime. They became too much after a while, and Mr. Haywood would do nothing about the problem. So I began to pile them in the corner of my room as evidence if I ever got the chance to report the problem to someone who was willing to help. Eventually through the scattered mess of bones and dirty clothing, I found the dusted box set and went to deliver it to my neighbor.

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But when I knocked on her door and got no answer, I decided to just walk in. I wasn’t expecting to see her body on the floor. “Hey Ms. Bamford?” I asked, putting the DVD set down on the coffee table to figure out why she would take a nap in such a strange area on the floor. If I was her, I would have at least picked the place next to the couch, it’s always more comfortable there. I leaned down to check her pulse. Yep. She was a goner. I noticed a strange mark on her neck that looked like a tiny hole had been drilled into it, and bits of green goop oozed out sickeningly from it. Maybe she had a disease. That made me worried since I didn’t want to catch whatever had and expect a similar fate. I had heard too many corona virus stories and didn’t feel exactly safe.

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I contemplated calling the police, but it wasn’t my business as to why she decided to drop dead before her Star Wars movie marathon. Although the more I thought about it, the more I realized that she probably didn't die on purpose. So I picked up her phone and dialed the number to the police.

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As I suspected, it took a while since the police in this town don’t care too much about the citizens they protect. After a while of waiting and trying to shoo off the giant grasshoppers that kept getting in through the cracked window, the police arrived. They asked me what I knew about Ms. Bamford, and what happened. Apparently the cause of death was a sudden heart attack, although that doesn’t really explain the green mark I saw on her neck.

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“Hey Connor!” My neighbor Sage came out of the apartment and watched the police take the body out of the building. “Another one dead huh?” She asked lightheartedly, staring disappointingly at the body.

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“Yeah, but at least she was old.” I said.

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Recently, seeing a body being taken out of the building wasn’t too uncommon. Whether the body was being taken out by police, or the weird lingering shadow figure that tends to appear on Friday nights.

“Too bad she was sweet. She always made me weird clothing.”

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“Oh she did that for you too?” I asked surprised, looking over at her. Sage was a young girl around my age, who constantly dressed like an emo Barbie doll, and had a weird fascination with Monster high. She had short hair with the tips dyed green, and exuberant eyes that were always lit up with a childishly happy tone of voice. She was the one that owned the turtle named William, and I would frequently hear old 2000’s cartoon theme songs blaring from her apartment. It didn’t bother me too much since it was a good distraction from the howling and scratching outside my bedroom window.

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“Yeah, she was always making stuff for her neighbors. Hope the next tenant doesn't have a tropical disease like the last one did.” She commented, heading back to her apartment. “See ya later Connor!’ I waved goodbye to her when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around to see one of the officers staring down at me.

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“Hey Connor, I want to ask you something. You do realize you were the last person who ever talked to Ms. Bamford alive right?”

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I looked at him unblinkingly. “Yeah I know. What’s your point?”

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“My point is, is that because of you being the last one to talk to her, we can easily rule you as a suspect.”

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“I highly doubt that.” I said with casualness in my tone.

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“And how so?”

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“Because I had no motive to kill her, plus it’s her business why she had a heart attack. I doubt I could have caused her death if it was by natural accord.”

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“You have a point, but we still need to get a bit more information out of you. We found a strange mark on her neck and to need know if anyone can explain it.”

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I wasn’t expecting the officers to be suspicious with me, but my luck always seems to be against me. It’s currently 11:05 P.M. I’m so supposed to go in for questioning tomorrow, so I’ll update you guys when I get the chance. In the mean time, farewell. I have to tell the whispering under my bed to shut up so I can wake up for work on time. Those sandwiches aren’t going to make themselves.

(Part 2)[https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/fjlyb3/the_mysteries_and_murders_of_error_hill_road_part/]

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(Part 3) https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/fk9sch/the_mysteries_and_murders_and_error_hill_road/