I WAS HIRED TO CLEAN UP DIDDY’S CRIME SCENE TRACES – I LEFT IN SHOCK! | HO
When you think of a cleaner, the first thing that probably comes to mind is someone who polishes floors, tidies up after parties, or scrubs dishes. But what if I told you that, as a cleaner, I was hired to erase traces of things that shouldn’t have existed in the first place? That’s exactly the life I led for years. I’ve seen and heard things that most people would never believe, and the things I’ve had to clean up are beyond anything you could imagine. But nothing could have prepared me for what happened that night when I was hired to clean up the crime scene traces in one of Diddy’s mansions.
It was just another job, or so I thought. I had cleaned countless houses, mansions, and even apartments for the ultra-wealthy and powerful. I had learned to keep my mouth shut, keep my head down, and, most importantly, never ask questions. The pay was incredible, and it was hard to pass up work that required discretion. But this job felt different from the very beginning.
I received the call late one night. My boss, a man who usually communicated through intermediaries, spoke to me directly. His voice had an unusual edge, something I’d never heard before. He told me that there was a “special case” and that I shouldn’t ask questions – just get the job done. It was strange. The urgency in his tone was palpable, and I immediately sensed that something was off.
The address he gave me was in the heart of Beverly Hills, a neighborhood I knew all too well. Mansions stacked on top of one another, high gates, and perfect lawns – it was the kind of place where no one would bat an eye if you hired someone like me. But when I arrived at the mansion, everything felt wrong. The lights flickered, the gates creaked as if they hadn’t been used in months, and there was an oppressive silence that seemed to follow me as I walked up the long driveway.
As I approached the grand entrance, the door swung open before I even had a chance to knock. A man I had never seen before greeted me. He was tall, pale, and had an unnerving stillness about him, as if he were holding something back. Without saying much, he led me into the mansion, pointing me toward the rooms I would need to clean.
Inside, the mansion was luxurious, the kind of place you’d expect from someone of Diddy’s stature. The marble floors gleamed, the chandeliers were breathtaking, and everything screamed wealth. But there was something wrong with the atmosphere. The air was thick with a strange, almost sickly sweet smell that made my stomach churn. The lights flickered constantly, casting long, unsettling shadows on the walls.
The man who greeted me said little. He simply pointed to a door down a long hallway, muttering that everything was ready and that I should just “do the work and leave.” His voice was cold, almost rehearsed. I tried to brush off the feeling of unease gnawing at me and followed his instructions. I needed the money, after all.
I walked down the corridor, passing a series of rooms that seemed untouched by time. Everything was pristine, perfect, and untouched. But then I reached the door. It wasn’t much to look at – old, with peeling paint and a dull knob. But when I opened it, I realized that it wasn’t the usual job I had been called for.
Inside was a greenhouse. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Greenhouses are meant to be peaceful, calming places filled with beautiful plants and fragrant flowers. But this greenhouse wasn’t like that at all.
The smell was the first thing that hit me. It was a mixture of dampness, something metallic, and something else I couldn’t quite place. As I stepped inside, the floor creaked beneath me, and the walls seemed to pulse with an energy I couldn’t explain. The plants were wild and unkempt, some withered and others blooming in strange, unnatural patterns. It was as though the entire place had been abandoned, and yet there was an eerie sense of life clinging to the space.
In the far corner of the greenhouse, something caught my eye. Iron cages lined the walls, covered in rust and moss. They were large enough to hold animals, but the scratch marks on the bars were unnerving. Something – or someone – had been trapped in those cages, and whatever had been inside had been in there for a long time.
Then I noticed the table in the center of the room. It was stainless steel, covered with medical instruments: scalpels, syringes, and vials that had been discarded carelessly. But the thing that caught my attention the most was the golden-handled machete lying among the debris. It was stained with something dark and dry, and I knew instantly that it wasn’t just blood.
As I moved closer, my flashlight flickered, casting strange shadows around the room. And then I heard it – a low whisper, something that didn’t sound human. It came from the darkest corner of the greenhouse, a place the moonlight couldn’t reach. I froze, trying to rationalize it. Maybe it was just my imagination. But the chill that ran down my spine told me it was something far worse.
On the table, I noticed something else: a worn leather diary. It was filled with hastily scribbled notes, diagrams of strange plants, and drawings of grotesque creatures. But one phrase kept repeating itself on the pages: “Don’t let it slip. Never let it slip.” My heart raced as I snapped the diary shut and backed away. There was something deeply wrong about that place. I couldn’t stay any longer.
I exited the greenhouse, feeling the weight of something unseen press on me as I made my way back through the mansion. My job wasn’t over yet, but the unease that had settled into my bones wasn’t something I could shake off. As I moved through the grand hallways, something caught my eye – a small, insignificant flaw in the wood paneling near the bar. It was subtle, something no one else would notice, but to me, it was like an invitation.
I ran my hand over the panel, and with a soft click, it slid to the side, revealing a hidden door. This door was different from the rest of the mansion. It was ancient, rusted, and its heavy latch seemed to scream at me. Something inside me told me I shouldn’t go any further, but I couldn’t resist.
Behind that door was a narrow spiral staircase that led down into the darkness. Each step I took felt heavier than the last. The air grew colder, the walls damp with age and something darker. At the bottom of the stairs, I reached another heavy steel door. The latch was rusted shut, but beside it was a small opening, just big enough to peer inside.
I hesitated before unlocking the door. When I opened it, the smell hit me – it was cold, like death itself, and the air was thick with a metallic scent. Inside was a room that felt out of place, even in a mansion like this. An industrial freezer stood in the center, surrounded by shelves laden with cardboard boxes and vacuum bags.
And then I saw it. The bags were labeled with names – names written hastily, like someone had been in a rush. My legs froze as I realized what I was looking at. I didn’t need to open the bags to know what was inside. Deep down, I already knew, and that knowledge sent a chill through my entire body.
That night, I left Diddy’s mansion in a state of shock, my mind racing with the horrors I had just witnessed. What had I gotten myself into? Was I just another pawn in a game I didn’t understand? And how much of this world was hidden in plain sight?
I never took another job after that. There are some things you can’t erase, no matter how much you clean. Some stories you can never forget.
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