I’m still alive and well… and I am still a human and Darwin is still a monkey!
It would seem that while I was busy running around chasing after clues that Darwin was also busy working on a way to put a stop to the curse. He even came up with two solutions to be extra sure that the curse was broken.
Solution Number 1:
Darwin figured that the real bad guys in this whole sordid affair were not the Coolock Chaffinch Fancier’s Club (CCFC) but actually the Irish League of Pigeon Fanciers (ILPF). It was the ILPF’s scorn and contempt for the CCFC that made the young Coolockians so fustrated that it drove them to assault poor Barry Fitzsimons. So if anyone deserves to be turned into a Chaffinch then it is the heads of the ILPF. And so to go about doing this Darwin sent an email to each of the heads of the ILPF with the subject line ‘The Best Pigeon Related Website You’ll EVER See!” the link contained within the email however was not link to www.pigeonconspiracy.com (Clearly the best pigeon related website on the internet) but instead it was a link to Barry Fitzsimons’ cursed website.
So now the curse has been passed on from me and Darwin and onto the heads of the ILPF.. and it is them, not us, who will be turned in Chaffinchs. Which for a pigeon fancier is a particularly bad faith.
But Darwin wasn’t taking any chances… what if this wasn’t enough to lift the curse from us… so he came up with a second solution as well.
Solution Number 2:
Darwin figured it would also be best to tackle this problem right at the source. Namely the ghost of Barry Fitzsimons. Darwin invented a device known simply as The Dynamic Hodgenoscope.
The Dynamic Hodgenoscope was capable of capturing and dispersing spirits. Don’t ask me how it works… it just does! And work it did. Barry Fitzsimons’ ghost won’t be troubling anyone ever again.
I’m just glad that we can finally put this week of hell behind us. Now myself and Darwin can get back to work on our other projects… I’ve actually been thinking about becoming a mime artist on Grafton Street, I bet there is lots of money to be made there.
This may be my last ever entry in my online journal.
By the time you read this I may already be a wretched chaffinch.
My plan to use the last surviving member of the CCFC to break the curse has failed at the last moment and now I am left sitting here waiting for my ultimate doom. I’m all out of ideas.
Here is what happened today:
I awoke early this morning and was pleased to see that it was a calm and plesent day so I had no problem chartering a boat out to Ireland’s Eye. Before setting sail I asked around at the docks about Tom McFadden, the last surviving member of the CCFC. I was told that he did indeed live in a small hut on the island… but no one was sure as to the exact whereabouts of his hut.
I set off towards Ireland’s Eye feeling hopeful that I would be able to put an end to this curse once and for all.
Ireland’s Eye isn’t that big of an island, but it still took me some time to find Tom’s hut… this was time I didn’t have. The seconds, and minutes and hours left in my human life quickly ticked by… I was starting to panic… but then I saw it… Tom’s hut!
It was much smaller than I had expected. It was about the size that you would expect an outhouse to be. It was hardly big enough for a grown man to live in. I cautiously walked up and knocked upon the door.
There was no answer.
I hadn’t got time for this. I pushed open the door which was unlocked and saw that there was nothing inside the small hut except for a hole in the ground with a ladder going down inside it.
Fear was no longer an option for me. I climbed down the ladder into the darkness. Using only the display off my mobile phone as a light source I made my way through a long series of tunnels until there in the front of me stood Tom McFadden.
As you can see from my rough sketch he was quite a sorry sight to behold. And there I was in the darkness with this shadow of a man and I started to talk to him. I explained all about the cursed website and about Barry Fitzsimons and about how I knew that he and the other members of the CCFC were responsible for his death.
Tom was deeply remorseful about what had happened and seemed greatly relieved that someone had finally discovered his shameful secret as he had always been too cowardly to confess to his crimes. He told me that he wanted to come with me back to the haunted internet cafe and confront the ghost of Barry Fitzsimons and ask for his forgiveness.
This was perfect. This had to be the way for me to lift the dreaded chaffinch curse.
Tom and myself set off at once back towards the mainland.
But then everything went wrong.
On the boat trip back Tom started to freak out… he keept going on about how was he going to face Barry after what he had done to him… then he stood up in the small boat and started to shout:
“I’M A MONSTER! I’M A MONSTER” over and over again.
I tried my best to get Tom to sit down but he only became more frantic. The boat started to shake backwards and forwards and it eventually capsized. Tom must have banged his head when the boat turned over in the waves as when he hit the water he didn’t struggle to stay afloat, he merely sank deep down into the watery depths.
There was nothing I could do to save him.
So… here I sit in the dark… cold and wet back in my internet cafe. I can do nothing now but await my terrible faith.
And Darwin will soon share my faith with me… I have completely doomed us both.
Tomorrow is my final day… it will have been exactly one week since I saw the cursed website.
But I’m closing in on Barry’s killers or should I say killer… there is only one of them left alive. Out of the gang of 5 only one of them hasn’t died in a pointless joyriding related death.
Want to know how I figured out who they were?
Ha… They were all members of the Coolock Chaffinch Fancier’s Club…
In fact they were the only members of the Coolock Chaffinch Fancier’s Club. They were too poor to afford pigeons or something. The CCFC was constantly looked down upon by the many hoity toity pigeon clubs in the area and this led to a great deal of frustration on the part of the CCFC’s members. And it was poor Barry Fitzsimons that they chose to vent this frustration upon.
Terry McFadden is the man that I must see. Apparently he has become something of a recluse and now lives in a ramshackle hut on Ireland’s Eye. I shall travel to the island first thing in the morning and see if I can finally put an end to this curse.
Darwin has locked himself in his room for the past few days… I really hope he is okay.
I’ve spent the weekend buried in newspaper archives.
Both my eyes and my fingers are sore from sifting though pages and pages of old newspaper clippings.
But it was worth it in the end.
I have found my ghost.
It would seem that about 10 years ago a promising young web design student called Barry Fitzwilliam was studying at DCU. He rented a place in Coolock and each evening after college he would get the 17A bus as far as the Northside Shopping Centre and then walk the rest of the way home to his bedsit.
It was on one these walks back home on a cold October evening that he ran into a gang of vicious youths. Apparently they made fun of his glasses and of his dress sense (Young Barry unfortunetly being a big fan of dungarees at the time).
Things quickly turned voilent and poor Barry was severly beat by the young thugs. They finished him off with several major blows to the head which left him unconscious. The thugs, thinking that they had killed Barry, panicked and decided to dispose of the body. They shoved him deep inside the bonfire that had been set up in a nearby field that was due to be lit for Halloween the following evening.
Barry was so badly injured that he remained unconscious for all that night and all of next day. It was only the burning embers cascading down on his face that finally awoke him. With his arms and legs badly beaten and broken all he could do was cry for help. But his cries went unheard over the screams of delight of the children gathered around the bonfire, all of them unaware of the gruesome faith that Barry was meeting deep inside the flames.
The field where Barry met his untimely death is the same field that the building that holds my internet cafe was constructed upon.
Now that I have all this information, I’m still unsure as to how to avoid my own grisly faith.
I need to find out what became of Barry’s attackers and find out exactly what the connection to Chaffinches is.
I’m running out of time!
Oh dear lord!
My worst fears have been realised.
I’ve been quite frantic in my research and I have been leaving far too many of my notes lying around.
And the worst thing that could possibly happen, happened!
Darwin found some of my notes on the phantom website that I had carelessly left lying around and now Darwin has seen the website. Now he has just 7 short days left before he too is turned into a chaffinch.
Turning a man into chaffinch is one thing, but to turn a monkey, the most wonderful of all nature’s creatures into one is cruelty beyond compare.
I must double my efforts to solve the mystery, there is far too much at stake now.
My research into fatal accidents at the construction site has lead to nothing. I must look back even earlier… something must have happened there back when it was just a greenfield site. Something horrifying.
May god have mercy on my soul for getting Darwin involved in this…
My research has begun in earnest.
The building is pretty new and I’ve been working there since it opened. In all my time here there hasn’t been a single fatality. I did some research to double check this and I was right, no one has ever died in this building.
So I have to look back further…
The construction of the building… that’s where I’ll look next.
Perhaps one of the builders met with an unpleasant faith while working on the construction site of the building… That’s got to be it… I shall waste no time finding out what happened.
Darwin, my pet monkey and dear friend, is looking worried. He must know that there is something wrong with me, but I can’t bring myself to tell him that his best friend is going to be turned into a chaffinch in a weeks time if he doesn’t solve the mystery of spectral midnight web user.
I’m in big trouble.
My curiosity about the strange midnight uses of my internet cafe got the better of me.
I checked the internet log files for last nights strange visits and found that someone had visited a peculiarly named website. I felt I’d better investigate further so I could determine the identity of this strange midnight internet user so I logged into this website. It was the worst mistake of my life… I can not begin to describe the horrors that I saw there… and then at the end a message came up on screen telling me that in 7 days I’ll metamorphose into a chaffinch. A faith worse than death, I’m sure you’ll agree…
I have to crack the mystery of this website and I have to do it soon.
I think the ghost is the key… if I can work out the identity of this ghost then maybe I’ll be able to figure out a way to break this curse.
I’ve got to start doing some research.
So today I heard that the cleaners in the building where I work have reported seeing ghosts in the toilets.
If you ask me I think perhaps they have being using a little bit too much Domestos in the course of their duties.
But… there is the mystery of who is using my Internet Cafe after midnight when the building is all locked up and closed for the night.
Do ghosts like to surf the internet?
Or do we have a street urchin of some sort living in the ventilation system and only coming out at night time?
I will get to the bottom of this… be it ghost or be it urchin… it shall feel my wrath!
Well… everyone is now out of the burns unit in Beaumont Hospital…
I’ll tell you what happened:
An attempt at recreating an ancient egyptian burial ceremony went horribly wrong… that’s what happened!
You see, as I was lowering Mrs. Cheeky into the Duplo Pyramid a stray piece of peach coloured bog roll managed to catch itself alight on one of the many sacred candles that surrounded the Duplo Pyramid. Soon enough Mrs. Cheeky, the Duplo Pyramid, the floor, and myself were all ablaze.
I won’t bore you with the details of my lucky escape. But suffice to say that from this day forth I shall be campaigning for public health warnings to be put on Duplo Bricks, Andrex Toilet Paper, Mrs. Cheeky and Pyramids!
I’ve decided that Mrs. Cheeky the monkey will be the Pharaoh. I really don’t like my ex-girlfriend much, so poor Mrs. Cheeky will have to bare the brunt of my disdain.
Now the question of bandages must be faced. I have plenty of bandages… lack of bandages simply isn’t the problem… I just don’t think that wasting bandages on stuffed toy monkey is a good idea… I was almost murdered in a stabbing incident once… and had to rely on some bits of kitchen roll to stem the bleeding… so I am HYPER-aware of the importance of keeping an adequate supply of bandages around.
I’ll have to use toilet roll to bandage Mrs. Cheeky. But I only have that pinky/orangey coloured one… it will have to do…