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I search for things people are too scared to believe in.

y4ejfs

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y4ejfs/i_search_for_things_people_are_too_scared_to/

To give you a quick summary of what it is that I do is kind of complicated. I’m the person that goes searching for things that most are too scared to believe in. Whether they are willing to admit or not. I’ve searched for Wendigos, aswangs, Kikimora, and other things that I’m not sure of. I keep a whole journal filled with everything I have encountered. But nothing compares to the being that I recently encountered. The thing that made me take a step away for a bit. It started with a rumor I heard in a bar in the middle of no where none the less. I had stopped in right after a case of mine that just ended. One involving a supposed jersey devil sighting, but that’s for another time. The reason why I stopped you may ask though is because The sign for the bar a few miles back kept blinking repeatedly. As if something was telling me to stop. The inside was a quaint place, almost like your typical old fashioned movie bar. Hustling and bustling happening all around. One thing did stick out though. A light dimming frequently around a couple patrons. I made my way over and stopped nearby to hear what they were talking about. I only got a couple words before I spoke to the man talking later that night. “Shadowy figure.” Once things died down a bit I decided to approach the man myself. “Hey man I couldn’t help but overhear you saying something about a shadowy figure.” The man looked at me for a long time without saying a thing. To cut the silence I spoke up once again. “Listen, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but this is kinda the stuff I look into. I’m a… investigator of sorts. Take a look.” I opened up my jacket and pulled out a compendium I’ve been working on. Gently setting it on the table I slid it to the man saying, “have a look for yourself.” I then walked to the bartender, ordered two drinks and walked back to the man handing him one. He took it, looked up and said “Alright, I believe ya. But I’m just gonna tell you a few things.” “Do you mind if I record?” He looked sheepishly and finally spoke up, “As long as you don’t use my name or this place's name.” “Works for me.” I said pulling out my audio recorder and loading in a new cassette. AUDIO TRANSCRIPT CASE LOG 26 NAME: JOHN DOE LOCATION: NOT ON FILE. M. “Ready when you are.” J. This… creature, or whatever it is. It’s not like anything here in this book. I know you’ve got a few pages on shadow folk but it’s not like that. The thing was… black. Just pure black.” M. “Pure black? Not like a see through ish black or an almost all black man?” J. “No not at all like that, it was just… black. Like nothing was there. It looked like all black cut out of a man. No features, nothing. Just… darkness. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.” M. “So you’re saying that you came across something that was just pure black. Where did you find it and what did it do?” The man just sat there for a few minutes looking down as if he was contemplating his next words. Although he looked terrified, sweat started to appear on his brow. M. “Listen man, if it’s too hard to remember or think of, I get it.” J. “It’s not that… I remember everything. I… I wish I didn’t. The things it did and the things it showed me were… I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone. Not even a stranger like you.” M. “What do you mean? What did it do? Where can I find it?” You could tell the eagerness in my voice to learn more. J. “I won’t tell you where it is. But Let’s just say I haven’t not been to this bar everyday for the last few months. It told me things and showed me… oh god the things it showed me…. Everyone is dying, the world is on fire… and…” The man’s head fell into his hands as he began weeping, almost uncontrollably. “God dammit *beep* not again. I think it’s time for you to leave.” The bartender yelled from across the counter. AUDIO TRANSCRIPT CASE LOG 26 OVER After consoling the man and bringing him outside to wait for a taxi he finally told me where it had all happened. It did take a lot of convincing though. For the safety of others I will not disclose the location. But, I wasn’t even sure I’d find it. The place was… interesting, the drive was as well. The man’s instructions were pretty clear, drive here, turn at tree, turn, turn, and boom. It was a small quaint town? Settlement? I don’t know what to call it. Kind of a small commune, three buildings, a post office, a bar, and a rundown church. But neither of those were what I was after. A mile past the ghost town was a farm. Or what was left of one. The barn collapsed, broken fences, and my target. The rundown house. The sun was setting as I finished my way down the long driveway. As I parked my truck I got an unsettling feeling and flashes of one of my cases came to mind. It dealt with an old farmhouse like this, the family inside was all over the place to say the least. Inside the living room was what seemed to be a man on his knees. But as I entered the room it turned around bearing its teeth. It wasn’t a man, but a wechuge. It charged at me, throwing me to the side and running out the door. I didn’t see it again. But that family… what happened to them. Always stuck. Seeing that really made me contemplate leaving and saying fuck this. But I needed to know what would drive a man to breakdown to that point. Cautiously I walked up the steps peering in the windows to make sure no one was inside. Thankfully the place was empty. I turned on my flashlight and reached for the doorknob until I heard “Don’t” very quietly. I shot around to see nothing. Thinking it was all in my head I turned the knob and went in. As soon as I entered the house I fell. I fell for what seemed to be minutes, sliding down this pitch black hole heading screaming and feeling hands grab and scratch at me. Feeling their nails rip and tear at my flesh, the warm blood running across my skin before finally hitting the ground. I awoke sitting on a chair and something standing across from me. Waiting for my vision to come into focus. I was in what looked like a root cellar with a few lights barely on around the room. Trying to gain my composure I finally heard something speak. “You came seeking answers and now you are here.” “Where are you?” “I am right in-front of you.” I looked up to see… I’m not sure what. It wasn’t just black. It was as if there was nothing there. A cutout of a man was standing in front of me. It was like the absence of light. No features or anything could be seen. The light from my flashlight didn’t even appear on him. The dread resonating off of him made me want to scratch my eyes out to not not feel it anymore. I quickly pulled out my recorder and pressed record before the being finally spoke up once again. AUDIO TRANSCRIPT CASE LOG 26 NAME: ENTITY. LOCATION: CELLAR? E. “I am the absence of light, the absence of good. I am only darkness.” M. “So you’re the devil?” E. “No, you fucking idiot. I am the embodiment of evil.” M. “Sounds a lot like the devil to me.” E. *sighs* “You’re Christian beliefs are not real. Every religion is wrong. When you die, there is no light, there is no heaven, no hell. Only darkness. You become a part of me. Before there was anything, there was me. And when everything ends, I will be all that remains. You are an insignificant speck in the infinite, always dying universe. Let me show you.” The being reached what seemed to be a hand at me and I quickly scooted back avoiding his grasp. M. “What if I don’t want to see?” E. “That’s a first. Every being, person or thing I have met has never rejected me. Never rejected the truth. All those that have searched have never turned away.” M. “But how am I supposed to believe you? You could just be lying. I saw what you did to *beep*. He was a mess after running into you. I mean you did also say you’re the embodiment of evil.” E. “What’s more evil? Lying to you about what’s really out there. Or showing you the truth of everything.” M. “But what is this so-called truth of yours? What will I see?” E. “What you see depends on who you are. Some see good things, some see bad. It depends on the person.” M. “That doesn’t really make sense.” E. “Do you want to see or not?” M. “Fine. Fuck it. I’m in.” AUDIO TRANSCRIPT CASE LOG 26 END With that, the being placed his hand on my head and the most immeasurable things happened. It was as though I was seeing the past, present and future all at once. The creation of everything, every universe, person and plant. Then the destruction of it all. I felt a thousand deaths and heard thousands of pleas. But I somehow focused on one thing. One of my first encounters with something. One of the dominoes that made the rest fall. It was Saturday June 22nd, 1996. I was barely a boy, only six years old. My father just came home from work as my mom was finishing up supper. As we were eating a loud screech came from outside shattering the windows of our house. My father quickly got up and grabbed a knife before a beautiful woman with black hair stopped him. She wore a tattered dress, looked malnourished, and was covered in cuts. My father stood still almost in a trance and was unable to move. The woman inched closer, grabbing his head and turning it to the side. My mother whaling and telling me to look away before the woman spoke. “I’m sorry you have to see this.” With that the woman got close to his ear screaming in it as blood came out of his eyes and ears. Not only were my mom's ears bleeding too but so were my own. I passed out soon after and woke up in the hospital. Just to be told I was an orphan. More flashes came and went, I soon was in the deepest parts of what could have only been hell. Feeling whips hit my back and creatures digging their nails deep into my calves and pulling down. Only for it to reset and happen again and again. Then being nailed to a wall and all my nails pulled off. These were some sadistic fuckers I though as the last nail got ripped off. Only for them to all grow back again. I awoke in my bed gasping for air as I shot up. “Are you ok? What happened?” I heard my wife say while hugging me. “Just another nightmare. I think my medication is messing with me.” I replied getting up. “I’m gonna go make some coffee and get a little work done. Go back to bed.” I said before kissing her head and heading to the kitchen. It was seven in the morning and the sun was just beginning to rise. I started a pot of coffee and grabbed my laptop to do my annual reports that were due next week. I was finally happy and living the life I wanted. It took years of therapy after my parents death in that accident, but it was worth it. I finally had the woman of my dreams and two beautiful kids. Life was good. I awoke all of them to chocolate chip pancakes before going out and getting some groceries. While at the grocery store I felt something watching me but anytime I looked around nothing was there. Until finally in the corner of my eye I saw the silhouette of a person. Almost like the cutout of a person. My head started ringing and my vision was getting blurry before the next thing I know I’m waking up gasping for air again. This time not waking my wife. The worst thing was, I felt my body take control and grab a pillow. I could do anything but scream in my mind as the pillow was placed over her head and I watched her fight until she became limp. It happened over and over until I finally realized what’s happening. I was punishing myself. I lost her long ago, but she’s not dead. She just didn’t want to be a part of what I was doing. Something was pulling my strings. Flashes of lights and hand gripping my head tighter before waking up in a forest. Slowly getting up I notice that I’m clad in armor. Hearing screams I look up and watch as a vicious beast tears apart people wearing both the same and different colors than me. A werewolf, but that’s not possible… They've been extinct since the dark ages. Then I remember where I’m at and what I’m wearing. “Fuck.” I say as I look up and meet a hand of bloody claws right in my face. Falling down I feel my jaw slack and see my ear on the ground. Trying to get up I feel the beast slash my achilles before feeling its mouth close on the back of my neck. I wake on the floor panting for breath not knowing what’s happening or what reality I’m in. AUDIO TRANSCRIPT CASE LOG 26 NAME: ENTITY. LOCATION: CELLAR? E. “Have you had enough. Are you now willing to accept that what you do is for nothing?” M. “Why is it for nothing though.” E. “Because in all realities and timelines, you die a horrible death. You will never live a happy life. Only a life covered in darkness. Meeting me solidifies that.” M. “Caught ya.” E. “What did you say?” M. “If you were a being that was here at the beginning and end. Then how would you know we would meet?” E. “We will always meet. I have been guiding your hand this whole way. I have put all the pieces in motion. I am the one you meet before or after death. What don’t you understand?” M. “How you supposedly know everything, when you don’t.” E. “Well then I will have to show you everything once more.” For the first time I could see facial features in the entity. Sunken in eyes and a mouth full of sharp white teeth as it bore its hand towards me. It seemed ecstatic in the thought of torturing me more. But what it saw as torture, I saw as learning it. Everything has A weakness. I just need to find it. M. “Try your best.” AUDIO TRANSCRIPT CASE LOG 26 END

I'm in detention and the teacher has just suggested a new game...

y3qumf

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y3qumf/im_in_detention_and_the_teacher_has_just/

Detention… again.  Same story, different day. I was in detention about once a week for tardiness. I wonder if they’d still be so eager to dole out punishment if they knew it was because my dad had left last year for cigarettes and then had never came back. Or the fact that my mother was an alcoholic, leaving me to fend for myself and find my own way to and from school on most days.  But I guess everyone had a sad story to tell. These days, misfortune was a regularity, and any blips of happiness were few and far in-between. I sat quietly as the other high school students filtered in. A couple of jocks in letterman jackets took seats in the back close to two popular girls that had never looked my way before. They cackled wildly as the flirting and jokes began. They probably didn’t even notice that I existed, breathing the same oxygen in the room as them. I was more like a coat rack in the corner than a person.  I pulled up my hood and tugged at the drawstrings, retreating into my shell, and just hoped for the next two hours to go by as quickly as possible.  After another minute the bell rang. A mass exodus of kids passed by the windows on their way to the buses out front. A couple of them stopped to point and laugh at us. Brad, one of the jocks, gave them the finger causing them to scurry off to the parking lot.  After a few more minutes of the kids in the back talking about the game on Friday, Mr. Matheson finally strolled in. He stomped to the front desk and slammed a stack of folders on its surface with a loud smack, effectively silencing the chatter.  He looked at each of us, his eyes were wild and bloodshot. He looked rather disheveled, not like his normal put together self. Mr. Matheson was the 11th grade history teacher. He was ex-military and typically very no-nonsense and straight to business. He definitely didn’t appear to be his normal self today.  “Alright kiddos, today is going to be a little different. We’re going to have a little *fun* in detention this time, is that alright with everyone?” His grin was borderline wicked, I didn’t like where this was going.  “Sure, Mr. Matheson, I love fun.” Brad joked, causing the others to giggle.  “Shut your mouth Peterson. You smartass. You know I’ve seen you in detention more than any other kid in this school. If it were up to me you’d have been out of here a long time ago. But you just keep scoring those touchdowns don’t you?” The teacher beamed a dry erase marker right at Brad, which he caught just before it struck his face.  “See. Those hands keep the town happy. But let’s see if you can continue to be lucky huh?”  Mr. Matheson pulled a revolver from his waistband and slapped it on the desk. The entire room gasped and then fell silent. My heart thundered in my chest and my legs tingled with the urge to run.  “You see guys, the feds found my safehouse. The collection of guns and an entire hill of Columbian bam-bam. It’s hard to make it in this economy with a teacher’s salary, so I reverted to some business practices I saw in my time with the military.” He locked the door and paced the front of the room like a shark circling its prey.  “I bet they’ll be here any minute to pick me up.” Mr. Matheson loosened his tie and tossed it on the floor.  “It’s life for me boys. I got some priors I’m not proud of, hid them from the school board of course. No chance of parole, no siree, not me.” He cackled manically then, causing us all to jump.  “So, we’re going to go out with a bang. Let’s have a little fun. This is something I picked up back in Nam. You ever heard of Russian Roulette?” He eyed each of us hungrily, none of us dared to utter a sound.  “I’m sure you have, and we’re going to play it. Peterson, you’re up first. I’ve been dying to shut up that mouth of yours.” He strode to the desk and emptied all the bullets from the cylinder except one.  “Come on up Peterson.” He said as he spun the cylinder and cocked back the hammer.  “Suh-sir… please.” Brad stammered.  “Now come on, don’t be shy, it’s your time to shine.” Brad didn’t move. Mr. Matheson stomped to the back of the room and held the gun up to his head.  “Okay, I’ll do it for you this turn.”  “No no no! Please sir!”  *Click.*  “Oooo, your luck continues Peterson. Who’s next?” He eyed each of us, almost salivating with glee.  Brad broke down and wept at his desk.  “Oh fine, you bunch of babies. I’ll go next.” He put the barrel in his mouth and winked at us before pulling the trigger.  *Click.*  “And the teacher lives! Woooo! What a rush!” He jumped up and down giddy with joy.  It was sick, and I wanted to vomit.  “How about you Ms. Newman? You’ve got yourself a big mouth as well. Come on up here prom queen.”  Jessica Newman shook her head feverishly, closing her eyes as if to wish what was happening away.  “Oh, come now, let’s show a little gumption ladies. You’re all made so soft these days. It’s really such a travesty.”  She started to cry, erupting little panicked squeaks from her lips.  “No?... Okay I’ll do it for you as well then.” He sighed and came to stand next to her, pressing the barrel of the gun against her blonde hair.  “Ready?”  She wailed loudly as he pulled the trigger.  *Click.*  “Oooooo, hahahaha. We’re getting close now boys! I can feel it. Only three more chances and one has to be the bullet.” Jessica’s head fell to her desk with a thud. She had fainted in terror.  Mr. Matheson danced around the desks for a moment to a silent song in his head. His arms drifted from side to side as he leapt and twisted like a figure skater.  My mouth was dry, I was so afraid. I kept my eye on the gun, the chrome glinted in the light, threatening death.  “Three students left. Can I get a volunteer? Who’s going to step up, huh?” He scanned the room, pointing with his index finger.  Suddenly, through the horror somehow, I came up with an plan. “I’ll… I’ll go.” I croaked.  “Well I’ll be! Mr. Johnson! Who would have thought? You know, it’s always the quiet ones. Come on up my boy!”  I slowly stood from my desk and walked to the front of the classroom on shaky legs. The room spun as bile rose in my throat. I forced it down and came to face the deranged teacher.  “I’m proud of you son.” He slapped my shoulder heartily and shoved the revolver into my hand.  The cold steel felt alien in my grasp, it felt wrong, I hated it.  “Go ahead.” He ushered me eagerly.  I cocked back the hammer and brought it to my mouth. The barrel tasted like pennies against my tongue.  Mr. Matheson nodded his head, urging me to pull the trigger as a twisted smile curled across his face.  I put my finger on the trigger but at the last second enacted my plan.  I pulled the gun from my mouth and pointed it right between his eyes. He didn’t have time to react before I fired.  A deafening bang filled my ears as smoke and gun powder stung my eyes. Mr. Matheson dropped to the floor in a heap as the other students screamed.  His forehead had been canoed from the impact of the round, brain matter and blood trickled down the chalkboard behind where he had stood just a moment ago.  I dropped the gun and fell to my knees. I was too numb to cry, but I wanted to.  Brad made a dash for the door but just before he got there men in body armor crashed through it.  An entire team in black with FBI patches swarmed the room.  A man in a suit approached me and went to one knee, placing an arm on my shoulder. “It’s alright son, you’re safe now.” I broke down and wept in his arms as he helped me to an ambulance outside. We all gave our accounts to the authorities. It was all over the news for a week. We’d been excused from the rest of the school year, allowed to do our homework, and testing remotely from home.  The parents sued the schools for negligence in the background check they performed on Mr. Matheson and won a huge settlement. Jessica moved to another state, and Brad was never heard from again. Something about getting his G.E.D. and going to work at the family business.  My mother felt so guilty that she gave up drinking. She’s been sober for three months now and I couldn’t be more proud.  I still had PTSD. Sometimes I’d dream about the taste of that gun in my mouth, and sometimes when I dreamed I had pulled the trigger on myself.  Therapy was helping. But sometimes… sometimes I wish I’d have done it. 

She pulls at my mind like a thread

y4477g

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y4477g/she_pulls_at_my_mind_like_a_thread/

*“There’s a lady inside of my head,* *who comes out when I am in bed.* *She dresses in white,* *she keeps out of sight.* *And pulls at my mind like a thread.”* ​ It was the first thing I said that morning. It was just something that popped up. Sammie, still half-asleep, turned to face me. She clutched the covers tight, her brown hair tussled with the ergonomic pillow. Saturday mornings would be far less beautiful without her. “What… what did you say?” she asked. “Huh? What?” “The rhyme. Why’d you say that?” “Must’ve picked it up somewhere,” I sighed. “Some Netflix show, maybe?” “Creepy.” She rolled away, hogging the covers. I’d only slept for five hours, but I was still wide awake. I’d found Sammie’s old diary the previous day, and we’d spent the night reading it together. But for some reason that rhyme stuck with me. “A lady inside of my head”. ​ As I went to work that day, I had that rhyme on repeat in the back of my mind. It played tricks on me. I mistook background chatter in the cafeteria as someone whispering to me. A sheet hanging off a clothesline looked like a white dress. And every now and then, I felt this surge of tiredness get the drop on me, making me nod off in front of my keyboard. At first, I thought I was getting sick. This wasn’t like me at all. Still, I powered through, and did my best to just forget about it. And yet, I couldn’t help but to think that I’d heard that rhyme before. ​ Over the next couple of days, things were getting progressively worse. I forgot to pick up Sammie after work. I nodded off at the red light in traffic. I woke up, every morning, repeating that same rhyme. She dresses in white. That line kept coming back to me. Anything white would cause me to twitch, to look the other way. It was always at the edge of my vision; inches away from the corner of my eye. She keeps out of sight. ​ A few days passed, and I met my mom for lunch at a café downtown. She was always out to set me up with her friends’ daughters; she never really liked Sammie. I forget why, but it was something small and insignificant that happened a few years ago. The moment I sat down, she was on me. Despite having the thickest glasses in the Midwest my mom has more in common with a hawk than an old woman. “Are you sleeping well?” she asked. “Sort of,” I groaned. “Been having strange dreams. And mornings.” “You need a good woman to wear you out.” “Classy, mom,” I sighed. “You know I’m with Sammie.” She sighed and looked for her coffee order. It’d be another few minutes. “So what’s so strange about your mornings?” ​ I tried explaining as best as I could without sounding like a madman. I told her about sleeping no more than 5 hours at night and waking up with that strange rhyme on my mind. I was about to tell her about my problems at work when she suddenly left to get her coffee. When she came back, she didn’t skip a beat. “The rhyme?” she asked. “The rhyme about the white lady?” I hadn’t said anything about what was *in* the rhyme. How the hell did she know? I froze. “The lady in white, who comes out at night. You mean that rhyme?” She said it so casually, carefully sipping her coffee. I just nodded. “Yeah,” I scoffed. “Yeah, that.” “You still on about that?” “What do you mean ‘still’, mom?” “I’ve heard this a thousand times. We’ve talked about this. You used to say it at the breakfast table when you were still in middle school.” “No I didn’t.” “So it’s *another* rhyme? It’s not about the lady in white?” “No, well… I mean…” She just shook her head, sipping her coffee. As the seconds passed, she knew she’d won. “This is why you need a woman.” ​ The more I thought about it, the more I remembered. I made that rhyme up years ago, for some reason. It was a sort of reminder of something that was important to me back in the day. I’d been a troubled teenager. I ran with a bad crowd, and one of my closest “friends” was a nasty abuser. The kind of person who could drive people to make bad choices. While not part of my life anymore, I had a few old names from those days left on my socials. The kind of people who never really stepped out of my life. The kind of people you’re happy to see that they’re doing well, but you’d never actually engage in conversation with them. As I picked up Sammie from work that day, I noticed her looking at me. She usually played games on her old phone or sketched something in her notebook; staring was unusual. I gave her a glance back, as if to ask what’s up. “I’m just worried,” she said as she touched my arm. “You’ve been trying to put all of that behind you. Wouldn’t it be better to just move forward?” “I’m just curious,” I shrugged. “You do what you think is best, hon’.” ​ I put the right turn signal on and checked both ways. There were a few cars coming my way, but they were pretty far off, so I turned. But there was something there. In the back seat. Just inches out of sight, I caught the corner of something white. And there, in the harsh sunlight coming in from the rear-view mirror, I saw a shimmer of something reflective. A thin strand, reaching from my temple into the back of the car. A thread. Completely losing my focus, I turned my head around, taking my hands off the wheel. Sammie shrieked and covered her face as the car spun out of control, making us face the wrong way. The cars in the distance swerved out of lane to avoid us, throwing themselves on the horn as they screamed past. I just sat there. Sammie took out her inhaler and tried to calm down. She gulped for air. As the seconds passed, I turned the car back around, and Sammie caught her breath. Of course, there was nothing in the back seat. ​ Sammie and I didn’t talk for a while. She was uncomfortable about this whole thing, and didn’t want me to pursue it. I didn’t see the big deal; I just needed a reminder. I got in touch with my old buddy, Clark. We hadn’t talked for a few years, but from all the people in the crowd I used to hang out with, Clark was by far the most humane. He was the kind of person who always seemed interested in others, no matter what their interests and lives actually were. Years later, and he was still the same guy. I asked him about the rhyme. I tried to play it off as something funny, but he picked up on it right away. “Yeah, I remember.” he wrote to me. “You mumbled it when you fell asleep in class. Doodled a statue of her in your notebooks.” ​ That night, I went out like a light. I had that kind of dreamless sleep that just makes you feel like the power went out in your head. Off, then suddenly back on. Except I didn’t wake up in the morning. I woke up in the middle of the night, staring into the ceiling. ​ *“There’s a lady inside of my head,”* I muttered. *“Who comes out when I am in bed.”* There was a mild pressure at the side of my head, like someone gently pulling a hair. A part of me knew that if I just quickly turned to look, I’d see something terrible. I could feel a radiating cold, like an open window. A promise of pain. *“She dresses in white, she keeps out of sight.”* I just looked straight ahead, at Sammie. Watched her shoulders rise and fall in comfort. Meanwhile, I could feel my heart rising in my chest. An ache building in my stomach. And all the while, a little pull at the side of my head. I had to turn. To face my fear. I had to. *“And pulls at my mind like a thread.”* ​ I burst into action and stood up. I could hear Sammie stirring. Again, there was nothing there. Just a white t-shirt on top of a dresser. “You have to stop,” groaned Sammie. “You’re hurting yourself.” ​ Over the next few days, I tried to make sense of it. Turns out, this was a rhyme I’d made up back in middle school, and I’d repeated it every now and then ever since. Sometimes I’d stop for several years, and other times I’d just say it over and over. Still, I couldn’t *remember* ever saying it. It was as alien to me as it is to you reading this. But I’d feel that little pull on the side of my head. When standing in line at the store, while waiting in traffic, when taking out the trash. Every now and then, whenever I wasn’t paying enough attention, there was something pulling at me. Something just out of sight, dressed in white. Just a little thread. A little pressure. Like a knife slowly being pushed into my heart. ​ One day, as I was coming home from work, I drove by my mom’s place. She’d asked me to pick up some groceries. Nothing much, just some butter, sandwiches, jam, and such. I was feeling a little tense, like something was standing right behind me. Like something was lurking at the edge of my vision. Her. But seeing my mom and her ridiculous glasses helped. It always did. I helped her put away the groceries as we made small talk in the kitchen. After her usual tirades, she stopped to look at me for a moment. I saw something in her face; something apologetic. Like she knew I was suffering. “I think we should go for a drive,” she said. “You look like you need some air.” She made some sandwiches, and we were on our way. ​ We made our way out of town to a small countryside church. I remember being there a few times as a kid. Mostly for funerals, but also a few weddings. Coming back there felt like getting a whiff of your least favorite food. We parked, and my mom took me down a path on the far-left side. Rows of old tombstones, lined with withered tulips, roses and sunflowers. Mostly blue. We stopped by a stone I hadn’t thought about in years. My dad’s. “Remember the last time you saw him?” she asked. “You’ve told me you can’t remember his voice.” “Still can’t,” I sighed. We stood there for a moment as she placed some wildflowers on the dirt. “You stopped coming,” she continued. “You sort of… forgot.” “Kids cope,” I nodded. “We don’t know how to deal with… this.” She held my arm, and we stood there in silence. ​ As we left, we walked by some of the graves of richer people. Tall obsidian monoliths, cherub statues, elaborate crosses with golden text. And by the exit, the statue of a beautiful woman made out of shining pearl marble. “You were always fascinated by that one,” mom said. “Always.” I had such a vivid memory of it. There were many things about this church I couldn’t remember; not even my dad’s tombstone, but this statue was burned into my head. “The lady in white,” I muttered. “That’s her.” “I suppose it is,” mom sighed. Flowing black hair covering unblinking eyes. An elaborate white dress, slick from the rain. Terrifying. ​ That night, as I got home, Sammie wasn’t there. I figured she was out with her friends. We weren’t really talking right now, but I still texted her to make sure she was okay. I laid awake in bed, thinking. The woman in white. I had a better memory of her than my own dad. I remembered thinking about her over the years. It was a comfort, of sorts. Someone who listened when I was alone. Whenever I came to that church, I didn’t say my prayers to God; I spoke to the white lady, telling her about all the pains and problems of my world. That’s how it started. ​ Over the years, I talked to her more and more. Whenever I was sad, or hurting, I dreamt of telling her all about it. After a while I didn’t even need to see her; I could just think about her. And after a while, she came to me no matter what. That rhyme was my way of remembering her; a call to her, and to have her comfort me. But no, that wasn’t that. That wasn’t all of it. A shiver went up my spine. A horrifying thought. That pull at the side of my head grew cold, as I reached for Sammie’s diary. ​ I turned to the last page, as I felt the chill of a presence entering the room. Her presence. “It’s not… no, I-…” There it was, clear as day. My own handwriting, dated four years ago. “I miss you, Sammie. I miss you every day.” A text on my phone. My message couldn’t be delivered. Number out of service. ​ The thread getting pulled out of my head snapped, and for a moment, my head was filled with memories. The asthma attack that’d killed Sammie. The funeral at the very same church where my dad was laid to rest. The memory of her had been forgotten; taken. That’s why I still thought she was around. I’d forgotten she wasn’t. The diary had brought the white lady back. Whenever I was in pain, whenever I was hurting, she’d come to take it all away. To pull the memories out of my head like a thread. To make me blissfully empty and spin herself a longer dress. ​ The pressure kept getting stronger, as I heard myself saying it. *“There’s a lady inside of my head,* *who comes out when I am in bed.* *She dresses in white,* *she keeps out of sight.* *And pulls at my mind-.”* I held the final words on my tongue, as I slowly turned around. A whisper tickled my ears. “*…like a thread*.” ​ It wasn’t my voice. It was crushed glass, arranged into words. A knife’s edge being whispered into my soul. She was here, and it was no longer a comfort. She was standing by the side of the bed. An elaborate white dress, woven from memories I’d prayed to forget. Everything from embarrassing teenage nonsense to searing emotional anguish. All of it woven into this beautiful dress; a touch of which would bring it all back. She wasn’t running away. She wasn’t hiding anymore. She was here, in front of my eyes. An unmoving, unblinking face. Sculpted black hair, unmoved by wind. Spinning a thread between her fingers, reaching all the way to my soul. She touched my arm. ​ I felt the weight of my pain in her. A being that’d come to life from an image, a rhyme, and ceaseless sorrow. She was still pulling threads out of me. I could feel black spots forming in my memory. Not just painful things, but what I had for dinner last night. The last time I was at a bachelor party, the name of my friends’ dog. It was all being stripped out of me, and she was going faster and faster. By the time I realized what she was doing, the threads spinning around her fingers were so many that they formed a braid. ​ I rolled out of bed, feeling my head being pulled back. I struggled to get away, forcing myself into the hallway. “*Like a thread*,” she whispered. Where did I work? What was my favorite food? I stumbled through the kitchen and out through the front door. I could hear her. She was trying to pull it all out of me. All of it. I couldn’t remember my birthday, and my chest ached. Oh God. ​ I barely felt the gravel under my feet, I had to get away. Whatever it took. I was forgetting the past few minutes. I forgot why I was running. I ran headfirst through traffic, feeling the wind of passing cars. Screeching tires, last-second horns blaring as I tumbled over the railing at the other side. Flashes of consciousness. Falling down a hill, scratching my knee on a fallen tree. Hands brushing tall grass. And there, at the edge of a lake, I forgot how to run. ​ The pull was so strong. I knew that she’d reach the bottom of my mind, and soon. Like pulling the roots of a weed. She moved behind me, ethereal and unreal. She was making herself corporeal, taking all that is me and turning it into her. Maybe everyone would forget about me, the way I’d forgotten about the world. Flashes of panic washed over me, as I realized what I was about to lose. I was dying, in so many ways. ​ I got to my feet, as I felt the words fall out of me; slowly being forgotten. *“There’s a lady inside of my head,”* I cried. I stepped forward, pulled by her marble hands. She was greedy. Hungry. Excited to turn to flesh. *“Who comes out… when I am in bed.”* Her eyes were moving, turning into a vivid green. My vision blurred. *“She dresses in white,”* I said, watching her beautiful dress. *“She keeps out of sight.”* A last ditch-effort. I didn’t even know why I did it. “*And pulls at my mind…*” ​ I fell forward. I could hear her draw her first breath, as my own chest closed. My body was shutting down, my mind and soul being unraveled like a loose thread. Her presence turned warm, as her body felt that first pulse of life. But as I fell, my hands touched that white dress, and it all came rushing back. It absorbed into me. Into my hands, my face, my chest. Decades of unbearable loss coming back to me all at once. Anxieties I’d pushed away seeped into the cracks in my mind. Anxiety and sorrow, burning like a hot iron. I just laid there, screaming. Begging for someone, anyone, to kill me. For the white lady to end it, to take me away. But no, she was gone. I’d forgotten the rhyme. ​ This was a couple of years ago. I’ve been to therapy three times a week since then. Doctor Bogan tells me I’m in steady recovery. I’m coming to terms with all that I’ve tried to forget and accepting the things I’ve chosen to leave behind. She’s the first doctor that didn’t just dismiss me as having a breakdown or calling it all a coping mechanism. This was too complicated. While she doesn’t tell me she believes that the lady in white was truly physically real, she has no doubt in her mind that I was on the edge of disappearing; in one way or another. But then there was that time a few weeks ago. I’d taken a number at the bank and was waiting for my turn. The lady in front of me had probably been there for half an hour. She’d fallen asleep in her chair, clutching her number. “Number four!” the clerk called out. As the lady slowly came to, I heard her mumble. *“…like a thread.”* Then she smiled, put her number away, and walked off. ​ Maybe the white lady found a new victim, trying to make herself real again. Maybe she just wanted to remind me that she’s out there. Or maybe she’s back, and I have no way to know what I’m missing.

I think I'm in love with the man my husband kidnapped

y3v0ww

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y3v0ww/i_think_im_in_love_with_the_man_my_husband/

My life has always been unconventional. I lost my entire family at a young age. My brother and myself being the only survivors of a terrible car accident. Our only relative that was not in the accident, our mother's sister, refused to take us in and basically disowned us. We were sent to a state-run facility - not a foster family. I was separated from my brother and never saw him again. I never again felt the comfort of a loving home or a supportive shoulder to cry on. I lived in the facility until I was 18. They constantly put us down; made us feel like we were nothing, and I believed it. i was already very plain looking and didn't have much to offer anyone. Because of my trauma, I was very much a doormat in life and allowed people to walk all over me. I didn't have much luck in love until a man named John came into my life. He was a lawyer and very wealthy. He said he also grew up in the facility I did, also an orphan. I believed him. He proposed awfully quick, and even though I wasn't sure how I felt about him, I was never one to use the word "No" with anyone. We didn't even have a wedding, not that two orphans would have anyone to invite to one, anyway. We moved into a large condo and I had everything a girl could want, I guess. But John was never home. He was always working, always coming home late at night and leaving before I woke up. He didn't like it when I went out alone and we had enough money that I didn't need to work, but I was starting to get very bored. We had a cook and a maid, so there wasn't much for me to do at home. I began to wonder if he was having an affair, if he only married me to appear as if he was a "family man" for his job, but secretly wanted to sleep around. He must be sleeping with somebody, because he certainly wasn't doing it with me. Is this what marriage is like for other girls? I never had a mother or friends to share stories with, to compare my life to. I only had TV and the media's idea of what a happy marriage should be. And mine didn't look like that, either. One day, the maid screamed from downstairs and came storming out of a very small broom closet. She was cursing and speaking in a mixture of English and her first language, so I couldn't understand everything. But she was very upset and scared. She marched right outside the door and never came back. I asked John about it when he finally came home that night but he just said she had an emergency. The next day, we had a new maid. Now, this started to really bother me. I went in and out of that broom closet multiple times the next day. It was very tiny and there was nothing inside, just cleaning supplies. I was just starting to think that maybe she took her phone calls in here for privacy or to not get in trouble for talking on the phone during work when I spotted something. Hinges. On the wall. Why would a wall need hinges? I began feeling around them and there was a small space between the wall and the adjacent wall. This wasn't a wall, this was a door. I began running my hands over every inch of the wall, looking for some sort of handle. When I could not find one, I began banging and pushing. Sure enough, it was a door. It popped open when I applied pressure in just the right spot. I was staring down a small staircase, only about 5 or 6 stairs, that led into a much larger room. I clicked the light on and began making my way down. I didn't even hesitate. The smell that hit me as I descended was overwhelming. What greeted me was a large room filled with cages, large cages. They looked like prison cells and they were bare. As I was staring in horror at this bizarre room I had no idea was below my home, I heard movement. Before I could react, a figure stood up from inside one of the cages. He had disheveled long hair and an unkempt beard. His eyes were wide and crazy, and his shirt was long and covered in filth. He screamed. I gasped and turned around to run back up the stairs, close that wall, back to my normal boring home and never think about this place again when his words made me stop in my tracks. "Please! Don't run! I need help!" I stopped and swore at myself and my inability to say "No,". "Please! I don't think that other lady is coming back!" I turned around. "What other lady?" I asked, but I knew the answer, of course. "The other lady who found me yesterday. She accidentally found me and she promised she would go to the police! But he probably killed her, too." "What do you mean 'killed her *too*'?" I practically screeched. "That man, he's crazy! He took my wife and I months ago. He tortured us, he barely feeds us." "W-wife?" I asked, looking around and seeing all the other cages were empty. "He killed her, right at the start. She couldn't take the beatings. She was too loud. Please, please! My name is Mark, I am probably on the news. I don't know how you found me but you better get to the police before he finds you! He will kill you, too!" "I-I don't- I mean, I can't." "Why not?!" "Because that man....is my husband." A silence fell over the room. At first, he shrunk back, away from the bars and cowered. As if I was going to hurt him, as well. "Oh, no! I'm not in on ... whatever this is! I had no idea! I thought he was being a man-whore not doing ... whatever this is! Oh man, this is really bad! What do I do?' It was as if the severity of the situation finally hit me. My husband wasn't cheating, he was a serial killer. He was keeping innocent people underneath our home and doing God knows what to them before ending their lives. "You have to call the police! You won't get in trouble if you weren't involved! I can vouch for you! I've never seen you down here before, you've never used the stick." "The stick?! Oh, no, I don't want to know! Listen, that lady is now gone because she found you. I'll be 'gone' too if I run to the police. Trust me, I do not condone what my husband is doing. I will get you out of here, but I need time to plan and do it right. If I make a mistake, we're both dead, understand? If he was capable of all this right under my nose, then I'm not sure what else he would do. What he would do to me." "But-' "It's Mark, right? Mark. I promise I will get you out. We will go together. In the meantime, I will bring you some food and-and a towel! Some ... comforts. Whatever I can before he gets home. But before I can safely get us out, we both pretend this never happened. Got it?" "Please, I can't do another night in here! What's your name?" "Molly. Please, trust me. I need to think first. I'll be back." I turned to go and I could hear his desperate pleas. "Wait-wait-wait! Molly, please, wait!" I shut the wall of the broom closet behind me and took some deep breaths. This was so much to process! Am I just as bad if I don't get him out right now? Am I abiding a criminal? How could I have not realized I was married to a psycho? I went to make food for Mark and grab some things that might make his time in that ... cage, be more bearable. I didn't want the new maid seeing me go into the broom closet and I cerainly didn't want John to see me. Although, he would never come home this early. I carefully retreated back into the room. Mark was relieved I came back but also still begging for me to let him out now. I almost broke, but I realized I didn't have a key. John must have it. I assured Mark I would get the key from John and the second I did, we were out of here. Both of us. I started looking for the key and trying to act perfectly normal during the few hours I actually saw John. We did spend Sundays together, if by "together" you mean we sit in the same room doing separate things. But, this Sunday, for the first time since we married, I did not mind it at all. I began spending my days with Mark as the weeks went by. I had been so lonely, that I loved having someone to talk to. As I kept bringing him food and other necessities, he began to trust me and open up to me. He told me about his life, and his wife. He started telling me stories and interesting facts he knew. After a while, I could almost forget he was a prisoner in my husband's twisted human zoo. That he could be up for slaughter any day. I tried to block that part out. But just when I was starting to have some very confusing feelings about Mark, he began to beg for his freedom again. I felt bad, I had been so happy to have someone to talk to, that I almost forgot to look for the key. But, if I let Mark go, I might not ever see him again. Let alone get to spend time with him. I think he realized something was up when my expression fell when he reminded me to get the key. "You are upset about helping me?" "No, no! I just- I just really enjoy talking with you. I was just thinking that I'll probably never get to talk to you again after we leave." "why not?" "Well, I - I just assumed - Wait, what are you saying?" "I'm saying, Molly, we're not going to stop talking. Unless you want to. But I thought leaving here is the beginning. Of our new lives together." I was beaming. There were butterflies in my stomach. Was this what love felt like? "I will get that key tonight." I promised. When John came home I began to take a closer look at him. I had searched the entire condo, top to bottom. And no key. I watched him come in, put his car keys on the table, and head to the bedroom to get changed. The key was not on his regular key set, I had already checked. He must keep it on him at all times. To get what I wanted, I had to give him something he'd never asked me for. I had never initiated sex with John and he never brought it up or tried with me, either. Not even on our wedding night. But, I crept into the bedroom as he was changing and began rubbing his back. "W-what are you doing, Molly?!" He asked, blushing and shocked. "You must've had a hard day at work, shouldn't a wife help her husband relax?" "You don't have to-" "But I WANT to!" I shouted and attempted to seduce my husband for the first time, and hopefully the last. I felt nothing for this man that never took an interest in me, that never took me anywhere, that never even asked me anything about myself. Talking to Mark made me realize what love could feel like, and it was not settling. I wanted to be with Mark. I loved him even as a scraggily man locked in a cage, I would love him as anything, anywhere! john passed out right away after and it hadn't taken very long. I had hoped my first time would be with Mark, but this was a small price to pay for freedom. I found a set of keys in a secret pocket in his pants. I hurried downstairs as quietly as I could, trying to hold back my excitement. I came running into the room Mark was locked in. He shot up quickly when he saw me come in so late. "Did you get them?" He asked, hopeful. I nodded and went to open his cage when I heard my name being screamed and shouted upstairs. "Oh, no!" I said. "Give me a moment!" "No! He probably found out!" Mark reached his hand out. "Give me the keys and I'll get help! I trusted you when you asked me, can't you trust me back?" "Umm..." I thought for a moment, scared if he had the power instead of me that he might not wait for me. He might not go with me. But, I guess that's the risk, that's how I'll know. If he comes back for me or waits, then he really does love me, as well. "Okay. Here. But, before you go, I love you, Mark. Please don't leave me here with him." "Never." He grinned at me. So I gave him the keys and then went running back upstairs. Upstairs where my husband was frantically looking for me. "I'm right here!" I said, peering back into the bedroom. "Did you take my keys?!" He demanded. "What keys?" I asked. There was a pause and a terrifying moment where he just stared into my eyes, like he was trying to scan my face for information. Or burn it out of me with his stare. "Molly..." He began. "What do you know?" "Nothing." I said at first. There was a loud clang of metal coming from downstairs and I realized, in my haste, I hadn't shut the wall to the secret room. "the jig is up, isn't it?" He asked. Finally, with the confidence I didn't know I had, I smiled back at him. "It is." I said, finally. "Molly!" He shouted, not with anger, but pure fear. "You don't know what you've done!" "I know my husband has been lying to me and murders people! So I think I know exactly what I'm doing! How could you, John? How could you have people locked under our house?" "He's a criminal, Molly!" Dead silence. "What?" I finally said, meekly. "I'm not what you think I am! Look!" He pulls his wallet up and opens up to a badge and an ID card. FBI. Undercover. "What? I don't...I don't understand." "I'm sorry, Molly. Our marriage was a sham. I needed someone to be my wife while I was in deep cover- I am on a case, Molly! I'm not a lawyer, that's my cover story. I'm trying to solve some of the most horrific murders this area has ever seen. Mark is my suspect, I had him here trying to get answers. He has committed some of the worst atrocities I have ever seen in my life. I'm sorry I lied to you, Molly. I was going to come clean and start over with you. I was told not to get attached, but I was actually falling in love with you, Molls. I promise, I could never murder anyone!" "But uh, what about his wife? He said you tortured them and killed her!" "What wife? Mark isn't married. He killed his girlfriend and his unborn child still inside of her." "Oh, God." I felt dizzy. I was going to throw up. "It's ok, Molls. Just give me back the keys. Then I can explain everything. I have all the case files. We can start over! Molly? Molly ... Molly, why are you looking at me life that? Where- where are the keys, Molly? Where are the keys?!" He began to panic. And so did I. Before I had a chance to respond or react, I saw Mark. Through the mirror above the dresser. He was grinning, ear to ear. And holding a gun. "I promised I wouldn't leave without you, a promise is a promise!" I always knew I was going to die of a broken heart.

My son grew from a pumpkin. I wish he had stayed in the ground. (PART 2)

y45xnv

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y45xnv/my_son_grew_from_a_pumpkin_i_wish_he_had_stayed/

Link to Part One: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y39jb4/my_son_grew_from_a_pumpkin_i_wish_he_had_stayed/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3 JJ had Vader in a chokehold, his legs kicking as he attempted to break free. He was cramming a kitchen knife down the dogs throat, twisting it around as blood pooled in his mouth and poured out the sides. As he retracted the knife, Vader spat blood across the kitchen floor as he attempted to bark, the life fading from him. “OH, MY GOD! JJ!” I bellowed in terror before he could plunge the knife back in. His head whipped around towards me, the dog still in his clutch and the bloodied knife in his grip. I wanted to run over, grab the knife and smack him to the ground. But I couldn’t, I couldn’t move as if I was locked to the ground. I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing. “What?! What happ— Oh, my god!” My husband cried as he barreled downstairs. He rushed past me, ripped the knife from his hands, slammed it on the counter, and then lifted the dog into his arms. He looked down, tears welling in his eyes as Vader attempted to whimper, his wriggling slowing. He lifted his head, shifting his gaze towards JJ. His eyes ignited as if he was about to tear our son to pieces. “… WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! WHAT IS *WRONG* WITH YOU?!” JJ’s head darted back and forth between us, before he took his notepad and pencil out of his pocket. “He wouldn’t stop talking.” My husband and I turned to each other, terror in my eyes and fury in his. We locked JJ in his room and told him not to move till we got back. We flew to the vet, hoping that they could do something to save him. When we got there, it was too late. The doctors told us the incisions and internal bleeding were too bad, and his lungs were filling with blood. The only option was to mercifully put him down. There wasn’t even much time to say goodbye. The ride home was dead silent, and I knew this feeling all too well. I felt like I did back in that moment, after I heard the word that changed everything. Back in that waiting room, that limbo. I just couldn’t make any sense of it. We never exposed him to any violence. I thought maybe that’s why, maybe we made him inhumane by shielding him from the outside world. Maybe he was just inherently psychopathic, that he emerged from the ground as evil. I had no idea. All I knew was that this was still our son, and we had to do something about it. When we arrived back home, my husband slammed the front door behind him and stomped upstairs, not a word said. I already knew it was up to me to talk to JJ about this. I entered JJ’s room. He was tucked under his blanket, patiently waiting. His head lifted as I walked in, my cheeks stained with tears. I slowly walked over and sat down; I didn’t even know how to describe what he had done. Suddenly, he grabbed his notepad and began writing. “Where is Vader?” I held back more tears, the knot in my throat tightening. “Vader… isn’t coming back.” He continued to write. “Why? Where did he go?” I thought of ways to make this an easy blow. I knew of parents that would describe death to their kids as “they’re in a better place now.” And I wanted to do that, but this was beyond explanation or discipline. This was beyond a smack or a bite. “You… You hurt him. You hurt him very badly. And… because of that… he’s no longer with us.” He began writing again. “Where did he go? I want to say sorry. Why can’t he come back?” I had to turn away, a tear streaming down my face. *Because you killed him. You fucking killed him.* I quickly wiped the tear and turned back around. “I’m sorry, bug. But he’s never coming back, he can’t. He’s gone forever.” He lowered his head, the notepad and pencil loose in his grip. Then, he nodded, but I don’t think he actually understood. “Alright, it’s time for bed.” Suddenly, another tear snuck out of my ducts, and JJ leaned forward and wiped it away with his little thumb. I smiled, looking down as I let out a mix of a giggle and a cry. I wiped the rest away myself, sniffled, and then kissed his forehead. “Goodnight, bug.” I turned off the light on the way out. As I made my way upstairs, I heard the faint sound of yanking zippers. As I opened our bedroom door, I saw my husband packing a suitcase. He didn’t even think to stop upon hearing me enter. “What are you doing… ?” “I have to go.” “Wh- What? Go? Go *where?*” “I don’t know. My parents, my sisters’, I- I don’t know. All I know is, I have to go.” He began cramming stuff into a duffel bag. “What the fuck are you talking about? Are you *leaving me?* Is this it?” He didn’t answer, didn’t even look up at me, just continued packing. “Scott, look at me.” He continued to ignore me. “LOOK AT ME!” “What— No, no! I’m not leaving you! I’m leaving *him!*” “Him-… JJ?” His silence was the answer. “I- I get that was scary, but we-“ “We *what,* Jen?! What else is there to do?! That is not a *child!* That isn’t *our* child!” “Don’t say that… yes he is!” I shook my head, tears welling again. “Open your fucking eyes, Jen!” He pleaded, rushing over to me and meeting me eye-to-eye. “I don’t feel safe here! He murdered our fucking dog!” “He didn’t know-“ “Do you really believe that? Honestly, do you believe that? He bites, he smacks, and he kills. This is textbook fucking serial killer— a person is next!” “Jesus, Scott! He’s not going to kill somebody!” “And how do you know that?” He asked sternly, his gaze piercing into mine. I swallowed roughly, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Exactly… exactly.” He returned to the bed and continued packing. “So, what? You’re just gonna run off? Abandon me?” “No, I’ll come back— once he’s gone.” “That’s not fair…” “Not *fair?!* What’s not fair is this— this *prison* you’ve locked me in!” “Prison?!” “Yes! This house has been a fucking prison ever since that… abomination came into our lives!” “He’s not a—“ “My *God,* would you stop defending him! He can do no wrong in your eyes! And—…” “And what, Scott? Just say it…” He turned to me, a blend of scorn and despair in his eyes. “… And that’s probably how he ended up this way.” For a moment, I could do nothing but stare back, tears streaming down my face. “… You’re gonna put all of this on me? As if you were a great fucking example?” “I *TRIED!*” “I DID, TOO!” My face crumbled with tears, my knees buckling beneath me. We both broke into sobs, standing across the room from each other. “I DIDN’T WANT THIS! I NEVER WANTED THIS!” I bellowed. He rushed over and took me in his arms, my head on his shoulder as he caressed the back of my head. “I just wanted a baby… I wanted that life with you…” “I know… I know…” “Please… don’t go… I need you…” I pleaded with a whimper, tears soaking into his shirt. He fell silent as I gripped him tighter. “Please…” “… Okay. Okay, I won’t go.” I pulled away, our teary eyes meeting. “… But something has to change.” I nodded, wiping away the tears. “I know… I know…” “This is—… This is our son. And he needs help.” A part of my aching heart warmed to hear him finally say it. “But what do we do?” “We’ll figure it out, okay? We always do.” I nodded again, laying my head against his chest. “I love you so much, I hope you know that. I never wanted to leave.” “I know…” Later that night, after he fell asleep, I wanted to do some research. I had left my laptop downstairs, but on the way out, I yelped as I suddenly saw JJ standing down the hallway. “Jesus… ! What are you still doing up, bug? It’s way past your bedtime!” But he just stood there and stared, leaving an unnerved feeling under my skin. “C’mon, let’s get back to bed.” I put my hand on his back and walked him downstairs. I wondered how long he was there and if he had heard anything. As I was tucking him into bed, he suddenly grabbed his notepad and began writing. I thought he was going to say goodnight or something, until he turned it around. “What’s an abomenayshun?” Fuck. He heard. I thought to myself. “… Nothing, JJ. It’s nothing. You have to go to bed now.” He began writing again, but this time I took the pad and paper from his hands and placed them on his nightstand. “I said bedtime. Now.” He stared at me for a moment, as he had never really heard this tone from me. He then laid down and turned over, facing the wall away from me. My instincts wanted to say sorry and hold him tight, but maybe my husband was right. Maybe a part of this is my fault. Before going back up, I grabbed my laptop and made my way upstairs. My husband was already asleep, so I gently crawled into bed and opened up the computer. As the typing cursor flashed on the browser, my fingers trembled above the keys. “How do I know if my child is a psychopath?” Upon hitting enter, dozens of articles popped up about early signs of psychopathy. I sunk my teeth into a handful, trying to see if I could match up traits to JJ. He lined up with symptoms of violence, but he was honest and remoreseful. He wanted to apologize for what he had done to Vader. My brain was cramped as I tried to put him in a box. I thought maybe “sociopath,” but that didn’t fully line up either. I pinched and rubbed my temples as I mind-numbigly scrolled from article to article. Eventually, I needed to stop or else I would’ve thrown up at the sight. Everything seemed to point at therapy, to nip it in the bud while you can. I just didn’t know how to explain him to a therapist, we’d have to lie. But it needed to be done, I had to figure it out. The next day, I talked with my husband and we agreed to start searching for child therapists. We needed the right one to help with JJ’s violent tendencies. We thought maybe we could tell them that the pumpkin is a mask and he prefers to keep it on; something weird that kids would do. As we searched, it was nearing Halloween again. On the eve, I was up in the morning with my husband as he was getting ready for work. “They said they’re gonna keep me late tonight, I might not be back till tomorrow,” he said as he fastened his tie. “What? But our tradition, babe.” I frowned. “I know… They really need me at the office.” I stood up and hung my arms around his neck as he stood in the mirror. “I’m gonna miss you.” “I’m gonna miss you, too.” He brushed down the wrinkles of his shirt. “Alright, I gotta run. Love you,” he turned and kissed me. “Love you, too.” I watched with a weak smile as he flew out the door. I then walked downstairs and saw JJ at the kitchen table doodling. “Hey, bug. Didn’t think you’d be up so early.” He looked up at me before putting the crayons down and picking up his notepad. “Breakfast.” “You want breakfast? Sure, bud. Pancakes or waffles?” “Waffles.” “Good choice.” I smiled. I popped the waffles in the toaster and poured him a glass of orange juice while he waited. As I placed it down in front of him, I peeked at what he was drawing. I smiled warmly as I saw he was drawing our family. “Me,” “Mommy,” and… “Scott.” My brows furrowed as I turned to him. “No, JJ, that’s Dad. You call him Daddy.” I tapped on the paper. He looked at me before turning back to the paper and scribbling it out, writing “Daddy” underneath instead. I smiled before stepping away, the waffles had already popped out of the toaster. Later that day, I was in the garage digging through dusty boxes to find our Halloween decorations. As I pilfered around, JJ appeared in the doorway. “Hey, bug. Wanna help me pick out Halloween decorations?” He nodded and trotted over, wrapping his hands around the edges of the box as he peeked into it. “We have these creepy spiders, these skulls, and— oh, look!” I lifted a fake pumpkin. “It’s you!” He stomped his feet in excitement, wagging his hands. “You wanna put this one out?” He nodded. “Okay, you got it.” I smiled. He’s been good recently, life’s been good. The incident with Vader still left a restlessness in our souls, but we could only move forward. I believed he was going to get better, I needed to. That night, to celebrate the eve, I bought a bag of candy corn and told JJ we could watch a movie. I wanted to avoid anything with violence, so I chose “Casper,” a childhood favorite of mine. As we watched the movie, I watched him toss the candy corn into the void of his mouth. I still didn’t fully know if he could eat or if he merely wanted to mimic, but either way, he enjoyed it and that was enough for me. After the movie ended, I tucked him into bed and gave him a kiss. I turned towards the clock and realized it was past 12. “Goodnight, bug. Happy Halloween.” He snuggled under the covers as I turned the light out, closing the door behind me. The next morning, I woke up with an internal sigh as I saw our bed was still empty. I usually never sleep alone, so the gap next to me felt like a void. I figured he’d be back in the middle of the night; it was odd that they kept him till the next morning. Must’ve been important, I thought. I yawned as I dragged my tired feed downstairs, JJ still seemingly asleep. I brewed a cup of coffee that I wanted to inject directly into my veins before I crashed onto the couch and turned the TV on. My husband's long absence irked me, so I lifted my phone and began typing. “Hey. They really got you locked up on Halloween?” After a few minutes, no reply. I pursed my lips, tapping my nails against my phone. I was sure he was probably fine, but it was still an itch I couldn’t scratch. They’ve never kept him this long. I waited a few more minutes, but still no reply. I decided to call but was met with his voicemail. I thought maybe he was still driving home— bad Halloween traffic or something. Later, JJ eventually woke up, and he emerged from his room with no pajamas on, just his underwear. “Good morning, happy Halloween! Is that your costume?” I giggled. He paused for a moment before nodding. “Did you stain your pj’s? It’s okay if you did, I can throw them in the wash.” He took another pause before nodding again. “Okay. You want breakfast?” He nodded faster this time. I groaned as I stood up and made my way to the kitchen. Before I opened the fridge, I noticed a post-it note stuck to the door. “Went out to my sister’s. Be back soon. Love you.” I furrowed my brows as I read it. *His sister’s? When has he gone to his sister’s for Halloween?* I brushed it off, assuming that she probably needed help with putting decorations on the roof. Until I noticed the handwriting. I unstuck the note and held it closer, analyzing the words. It looked like my husband's handwriting… almost. As if somebody who had seen him write before attempted to forge it. But he probably came home late into the AM, got no sleep, and wrote the note quickly. I didn’t think it was anything to look too deeply into. I turned back to JJ, who I realized was staring at me. “… Sorry, bug. I’ll get started on your breakfast.” I opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs, a puzzled expression still on my face. After making JJ’s breakfast, I grabbed my phone off the coffee table and texted my sister-in-law. “Hey, Gina. Is Scott still there? He left a note but I haven’t been able to get in touch.” I anxiously tapped my screen till I saw the responding text bubble. “I’m sorry? Scott wasn’t here. Did he say he was?” Suddenly, everything felt like it had gone mute. I stared at the text over and over again to make sure I was reading it correctly. My first thought was that he was cheating on me. Our sex life has been practically extinct since my diagnosis, I wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up looking somewhere else to “fulfill his needs.” But why lie and say you’re at your sister’s? He had to have known I’d ask. He’s not stupid enough for such a flimsy alibi. Then, I looked up at JJ, who was still shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth. I thought… No, it couldn’t be. My husband was a grown man and JJ was a child, it wasn’t possible. He wouldn’t hurt his own father… Right? I didn’t know what to think or how to feel, so I waited. As the sun began to set, the trick-or-treaters were out like a tidal wave. And I was growing anxious by the minute, to the point that I was ready to call the police. I stood by the window, chewing apart my fingernails as I waited to see him pull up, walk through the door and apologize for being so late. Suddenly, JJ appeared next to me, putting his hands on the window. He began pointing at the trick-or-treaters. “I’m sorry, bug. You can join them when you’re older.” He turned to me and cupped his hands. “… You wanna hand out candy again?” He nodded pleadingly. I thought about it for a moment, and how it went last time. But to my own fault, I wasn’t supervising him. “Okay… You can hand out candy— but, I’m gonna sit outside with you and you’re going to behave. Okay?” He nodded excitedly. “Alright, wait here for a minute. I have to go grab the bucket from the garage.” Suddenly, as I went to step away, he grabbed onto the back of my shirt. “What’s up? Do you need something?” He didn’t grab his notepad, just stared up at me. “Are you hungry?” He nodded quickly. “Alright, I’ll whip you something up. Let me just grab the bucket first, okay?” Then, he gripped tighter as I tried to walk away. “You’re not starving, bug,” I laughed. “I promise I’ll make you something, Mommy just needs to do this real quick.” But he wouldn’t let go. “JJ, stop. This isn’t funny.” He refused to budge. I ripped my shirt from his grip and walked away, confusion painting my expression. As I opened the garage door, the confusion on my face began to twist. My husbands car was in the garage. He… came home? As I got closer to the car, I peeked through the backseat window. My eyes widened as my blood ran cold; there was a bloodied hacksaw laying on the backseat— it was from my husbands tool rack. Then, I shifted my gaze toward the driver's seat, realizing he was there. I could see the shoulder of his shirt, but not much else. “Scott… ?” I slowly walked over as my body tremored. Then, I backed away till I hit the wall, clamping my mouth to contain the scream of terror as I saw his headless body in the driver's seat. “Oh, my… God!” I squeezed out of my tightened throat. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, I nearly fainted. Suddenly, I turned my head and saw JJ had entered the garage. I stared at him in horror, like the abomination my husband had said he was. “… WHAT DID YOU *DO?!* WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?!” I trembled as I watched him take out his notepad and begin writing. “You asked for help with decorating. Now Daddy isn’t frowning anymore.” Then, I heard gasps of awe from outside. I ran past JJ and towards the front door. “Oh, my god!” “It looks so real!” I heard from out on the porch. I swung the door open, seeing my neighbor and her two kids kneeled, staring at something. “Wow, Jen! You really went all out this year! How much did this cost?!” I walked out and had to contain my horror as I saw my husband's decapitated head on our front porch. His eyes were gouged out, his nose sliced off in favor of a triangular hole, and a jagged smile cut from ear to ear. JJ had turned him into a Jack-O-Lantern. “I- Uh- Yeah, it was definitely a dent,” I laughed awkwardly. “Scott really wanted it, though. Thought it’d be hilarious.” My nerves fried as they leaned closely— I was terrified they’d realize it was actually him. “I’m sorry about the candy, I was… just getting the bucket.” Suddenly, JJ appeared in the doorway holding a bucket of candy. “And who’s this little cutie?!” “… My nephew, JJ! My sister-in-law just dropped him off, I have this little monster for the day.” I laughed painfully again. “Well, aren’t you the cutest little pumpkin!” He stared blankly back at her, the bucket still in his hands. “He’s not much of a talker,” I whispered. “Ah, well, I hope you two have a good Halloween!” “Don’t forget your candy!” I exclaimed, looking down at JJ who extended the bowl toward them. The two kids dipped their hands into the bucket and dropped a handful into their bags. “And what do we say?” “Thank you,” they said simultaneously. “Happy Halloween!” As they trotted off, my smile fell and my stomach churned. JJ walked towards the step and sat down, the bucket still in his hand. He turned his head to me and patted the empty spot next to him. I stared at him for a moment, I could tell there was fear in my eyes. Yet I sat next to him anyway. I set next to him and handed out candy for the rest of the night because a part of me still loved my son. A part of me that I just couldn’t seem to lose. When the night ended, I threw up in the kitchen sink, tears pouring down my face. All I could think was that he was right, my husband was right the entire time. And he had to pay for it because I refused to believe. I loved my son, and now I had to kill him. After I finished puking my guts out, I wiped my lips and washed my hands. Then, I turned around, jolting where I stood as I realized JJ was behind me. He lifted his notepad and began writing. “What’s wrong?” I almost laughed at the question. Everything was wrong, and I needed to end it. I smiled weakly as I slowly approached him. I kneeled down, getting one last look at his face. All I wanted was a child, and now I’m going to lose mine. Or maybe I already had. “… Nothing’s wrong, bug. It’s bedtime.” Then, I slowly lifted my trembling hands and wrapped them around his throat. I squeezed tightly, the notepad slipping from his grip as he reached to desperately grab at my arms, his legs flailing. “It’s bedtime…” I cried with a breathless whimper. I continued to tighten my grip, his skin blushing red. My face crumbled as tears soaked my cheeks. But it needed to be done. After what felt like an eternity, his flailing slowed to a stop, and he went limp in my grasp. I instantly let out a bloodcurdling wail, taking him into my arms and holding him tight. “My JJ… My bug…” I sobbed. My husband was gone, JJ was gone, and I felt unwhole again. I looked down at his lifeless body in my arms and thought of what my husband had said— that he was pitch-black inside. And if I wanted any form of closure… I had to know. I had to know what exactly my son was, because I didn’t know who he was anymore. I wondered if I ever did. So I stood up, laid his body on the ground, and went to the kitchen. I opened the drawer and grabbed a knife, watching it shake in my grip. I hovered over his body with hesitance, but I needed to know. I kneeled down and rested his head on my thigh. As I raised the blade, I held my breath, before sinking it into his head. I let out trembling breaths as I sawed the knife through, cutting a circle around the stem. When I finished, I retracted it and dropped it next to me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, before pinching the stem and pulling it off. I leaned over and looked inside. And there was… nothing. It was like a normal pumpkin, filled with stringy orange bits and seeds. No eyes, no throat— *nothing.* Then, I began to laugh. At first, giggling slipped past my lips before I dissolved into psychotic laughter. I dropped my back to the floor and rolled around, my gut cramping as I couldn’t stop. I knew it was real, it was all real-- yet I still felt like I had lost my mind. It was too much to process. At that moment, it felt like I did on the drive home. As if I hadn’t ever left the doctor's office. That I was still in that waiting room. That limbo.

I live on a farm that is still very much in touch with its pagan origins, and I'd like to share some of my stories (Part 4)

y49k8s

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https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xzb8s9/i_live_on_a_farm_that_is_still_very_much_in_touch/ The anniversary is over. The place where Maybe Uncle Pete is buried has, over the years, sprouted a rich crop of white clover that is more luxuriant than anywhere else on the farm. Out of interest, I googled the Language of Flowers, and it told me that white clover meant "Think of me". I was relieved to find that out. I could think of many things Maybe Pete might have tried to convey through wildflowers on his grave, so if all he is asking for is remembrance that is comforting. What shall I tell you next? Maybe about the copse. The copse is a patch of trees clumped in a compact huddle on the landscape, right on the edge of the land before it bleeds into the next property. It is longer than it is wide, and whilst it might have seemed like a good place for children to play, it has never been friendly. The trees are too close together, their bark too gnarled, and their branches intertwine overhead in a way that blocks out natural light. Even though it is theoretically possible to cross the breadth of the copse in minutes at a good pace, people who have gone in there have reported getting lost. I never went too close to it when I was little. My brother told me wolves lived in there, and I believed him so implicitly I often claimed I spotted large, shaggy bodies moving in between the tree trunks. It's possible I actually did see that. I was maybe 10 or 11 when I had my only run in with the copse. I had friends over, which now seems like a miracle. I think maybe they had a crush on my brother and that was the only reason they came over. It wasn't that I was unpopular, but the farm was. Nobody wanted to come here. We had been doing girl stuff. Talking about makeup and boys. But if you know anything about girls that age, you will know that they can be strange. Country girls even more so. Growing up on a farm exposes you to the grim realities of life and death from an early age. You see the bull being taken to the cows and know it means calves eventually. You see a mother cow eating grass and feeding her calf whilst her back legs are drenched in blood. You see horses being gelded, and cattle being culled, and dogs shot for worrying the cattle. Farm life is unforgiving and I witnessed many things I only barely understood whilst also believing I understood them completely. But that's just me. As we know, where I lived was different. Not every farm child has seen the Shuck. So maybe I was stranger than most little girls. All I know is that talk eventually turned to my friend Sasha's crush, an unremarkable boy named Liam. We discussed his hair and his clothes and the way his nose wrinkled when he was confused - all the things Sasha believed were unique to him. It was my other friend Louise who brought up the idea of making a love potion. We were making it up as we went along. We had no idea what rituals or ingredients might be needed, but Louise spoke with such authority that we believed her. She made up some bullshit about apple peels and candles and mirrors, and ad-libbed some stuff about wild mushrooms and tree bark that made me think she was bullshitting further, but Sasha was so enamoured by the commonplace Liam that she was willing to try anything, and the upshot was that we all ended up roaming the farm grounds looking for fungi. I might have asked my mother to confirm what we were doing. I feel like she would have known. But my real fear was that she might have told us what was actually needed, and we may have ended up casting the spell for real. Also, she might have told my father about my sudden interest in Boys, and I didn't want to have that talk. We found all the mushrooms we needed, although Louise seemed indiscriminate about what type they should be. As long as they sprouted from the ground and we're vaguely fungal, she gave us the go ahead. We crawled through damp grass, muddying our knees and soaking our clothes, until Louise deemed that we had enough fungi. After that, it was only the tree bark we needed. There were plenty of trees around the farm, but Louise insisted we needed a special type - the type that could only be found in the copse. And of course they looked to me then. Their logic was flawed, but they said that if they went into the copse it would be trespassing, whereas if I did it, it would be fine. It made a stupid kind of sense, and one that I couldn't deny. I didn't consider that they might be scared. I knew I was. I no longer believed that wolves roamed there, and honestly if I thought there were wolves I would have braved the copse long before. I loved wolves. They might have been enough reason to enter that strange, dense space. But without the possibility of wolves, I was fearful. I didn't want to lose face in front of the only friends that would come to my house, so I agreed to go despite my misgivings. They accompanied me right to the edge of the copse, stopping a few paces away and waiting expectantly. It was still daylight but all I could see was darkness ahead. I asked Louise what kind of tree I should take bark from, and she told me that any bark from the copse would be acceptable. There was an odd tone to her voice, one of horrified fascination that suggested she was more eager to see what might happen than for me to bring her bark. I gathered my courage for a moment, asking myself if I was really going to do this, and fixed my eyes on a tree right up ahead. It was a few feet further in than the trees on the very edge of the copse and I thought it would be acceptable. I thought it would show my bravery whilst allowing me an easy escape. The first sensory messages I got when I went into the copse were from my legs. The ground was uncomfortably soft and spongy beneath my feet, and for a moment it felt fleshy. I thought of my nightmare from all those years ago, of the huge entity with antlers that had crashed through these trees, and imagined I was walking on some part of it as it slumbered beneath the soil. I trod carefully, for fear of waking it. I was submerged into a twilight level of darkness only a few steps in. The contrast was startling. The tree I had targeted was merely a dim outline up ahead, whereas it had been vivid enough from the outside, and it seemed further away than I had first thought. I could hear Sasha and Louise talking behind me, their voices hushed but normal, but when I took another step away from them that changed. They sounded muffled, as though I was hearing them through cotton balls stuffed in my ears. Another few steps took me level with the first of the outskirting trees. I did not want to look at them. I had a feeling that it would be upsetting - that there would be faces moulded into the bark of the trunks. Unpleasant ones. It was like being underwater. Deep down. The pressure grew heavier the further I went, pressing on on all sides. It was harder to walk, my legs moving more slowly, battling resistance. I'm aware all of this could be psychological. The copse had always been significant, and being in it could very well have caused psychosomatic responses, but it's hard to describe how real these feelings were at the time. I panicked at one point, feeling lost, and turned around to make sure my friends were still there. They were, but much further away. I wanted to berate them for backing off, but closer observation showed me they hadn't moved. Their feet were still right on the verge of where grass became woodland, their toes just touching the brown treeline. It was me who had gone further. I'd only taken a dozen steps, by my reckoning, but still it seemed like I was looking at them through the wrong end of a telescope. I said their names but they didn't react, and I wondered if my voice sounded as muffled as theirs did to me. I pressed on though, through some misplaced bravado. Turned myself around and made my stifled way towards my tree of choice. I could hear noises, despite the cushioning in my ears, sharp sounds that I wouldn't have heard in the real world. Branches breaking. A low, subaudible hum that swelled the further I went. The copse was full of twisted life and I imagined zombie squirrels leering down at me from crooked branches, lopsided rabbits burrowing beneath my feet, their tunnels linking and spreading in a weird and powerful sigil drawn beneath the dirt. I reached the tree I had been approaching, pulled out the little paring knife I'd stolen from my mother's kitchen. It was small and old, but its blade was thin and curved from decades of use. Louise hadn't specified how much bark was needed, so I hacked into the tree trunk with clumsy haste, not caring about the quantity as long as I could get out of there. Sap began to bleed out immediately, far thicker and faster than anything I'd expected, staining my fingers. It was a rusty shade - not blood, although that's how it might sound. The smell that came from the sap was meaty rather than metallic, and had an acrid, almost singed aspect to it too. I wiped it off on my jeans, but a film of it still clung to my skin. Days later, my fingers would be red and sore, with little blisters that burst and scabbed. For now, there was merely an unpleasant tingle. The forest sounds pressing into my ears grew loader. There was a groan that could have been the creaking of tree trunks grinding together, and the tightly packed branches overhead squeaked and shuddered. I was doing something terrible, something blasphemous. I tore the rough chunk of bark away, getting splinters beneath my fingernails that I didn't feel at the time. I was unsteady on my feet because of the pressure in my ears, so as I turned away from the wounded tree I stumbled a little. At least, that could be what had happened. The other alternative was that whatever slumbered beneath my feet had stirred, disturbed by the voices of the trees. It felt like the ground rolled. I have never experienced an earthquake but I imagined this was what it felt like. I could see my friends up ahead - miles and miles away! - and struck out towards them. Their faces were masks of horror. They were clinging to each other like Scooby Doo and Shaggy upon seeing a ghost. I could see their mouths moving, but I couldn't hear what they were saying. It was drowned out by the sighing of the earth, the heartbeat of the trees, the internal scream I couldn't emit. If you have ever tried to run in a nightmare, you will know how sluggishly my legs moved. I focused on my friends. Their eyes and mouths were wide then, frantic and gaping, and some vast passage of air seemed to press against my back propelling me forward. I ran forever, but it was mere moments before I felt their hands on my arms, pulling me from the confines of the copse and dragging me away half on my knees. The second I was on the natural grass of the farm, all my senses returned in a rush that made me swoon, overwhelmed by the sensory impact. Louise and Sasha were jabbering at me in high pitched voices, and I became aware of the pain in my hands, the weakness of my limbs. I passed out a little then - probably for mere seconds, although it seemed like eternity - but my last action before I fell was to thrust my bark prize at Louise. We never ended up making the love potion. Louise put our ingredients in her pencil case, including the scrap of hard earned bark, and we buried it by the barn with a certain amount of ceremony and never spoke of it again. They did not come to my house again either, although I was still welcome at theirs. During one such visit - a sleepover at Sasha's - we talked about what had happened in hushed tones as we lay in our sleeping bags with the lights out. My memory of events was exactly what I have told you, but they had more details to add. They told me they had screamed because they had seen something behind me as I ran from the copse. They were unable to describe what they had seen in any coherent fashion and they both disagreed on the sighting, but both confirmed that something had been right behind me. Sasha said it looked like the trees were chasing me, as if they had pulled up their roots and become mobile. Louise said that what Sasha had seen had in fact been an immense limb pushing up from the earth, swatting blindly at the air as I passed. Both descriptions seem plausible. Maybe both had happened. I did go back to the copse a week later, once my hands had healed. They no longer hurt, but the skin on my fingers had died and sloughed off, and I was still picking at bits of dead skin as I walked up the hill. I had no intention of going into the copse. I wasn't stupid. But I wanted to see if there was any evidence of my intrusion. The tree I had targeted was exactly where it had stood before, and from the edge of the thicket I could see a raw patch where I'd torn the bark away. The exposed area was pale, streaked with the rusty sap, and the irregular shape I had hacked almost looked like a face. Almost. That was the closest I ever got to the copse after that. I had never felt myself in such danger as I had in there. Even taking into account everything else that has happened on the farm, that experience remains unique in that respect. My hands have become sore again writing this. A memory, perhaps. So I will stop writing now. Next time I update, I will tell you about the Shuck. I know you must be eager to hear.

I Heard Crying In The Coconino Forests Of Arizona & I Regret Finding Out Why

y4iltn

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y4iltn/i_heard_crying_in_the_coconino_forests_of_arizona/

I am scared. I am confused even. My hands are trembling as I write this story, but it is important that people know what's going on. The crying is getting louder, less distant now. My life was doomed the second I stepped foot into the Coconino Forests. If you live in Arizona and especially near the Coconino National Forest, PLEASE LISTEN TO ME and for the love of god, if you hear a distant crying coming from the forest, IGNORE IT. Let me start from the very beginning, or should I say, the first mistake. I formerly lived in New York as I was attending university there. After graduating, I had gotten a job as an accountant for a private bank. To be honest, it was a waste of my talent and the four years I had spent earning a degree from university. But, I had no choice but to take it. Mainly because the pay was decent and I had student loans to repay. So, after taking the job and training under them for 6 months, I was to move to Arizona and join their Arizona branch to start working. It wasn't very difficult for me to move, primarily because my parents were back in Minnesota. All in all, I was on my own. After I moved to Arizona, I lived in a cheap dusty motel and started looking for a place to rent. I still had about a week to get my affairs straight before joining and from the day I finished my training to moving to Arizona, I had already burned about 4 days. Now I had less than 3 days to find a place to live. I found a decent place with cheap rent near a trailer park just outside the Coconino National Forest, which is very famous in Arizona, as the locals have told me. It is also locally infamous for the number of people who have disappeared while hiking in the Coconino Forests. Judging by the crying that is getting closer every second I spend writing this document, I think I know the reason for their vanishing. After settling into my new home, life went on as usual. The daily routine was simply to wake up, go to work, come home, watch some TV with a cold beer and go to bed, doing it all over again the next day. It was just like a typical night when the unfortunate fate of my life was sealed. I cracked open a cold one and turned on the TV and was a watching a Seinfield rerun when I heard a very faint sound. Now, the trailer park was about 2 miles opposite to my house so I ignored the sound, thinking it was coming from the people living in the trailer park. The crying has changed into screeching and I can now hear faint tapping coming from downstairs. I have locked myself in my room. Now I realize that maybe I should have ignored that sound that day. As the night became quieter, the sound became more clearer. I could now make out that the sound was of a women crying. I had not taken a sip of my beer till that point, so me hallucinating this out of a drunken haze was clearly out of the question. I was really concerned, but at the same time, really questioning my next step. It was almost midnight at this point and I had a mental conflict of either calling the police or going to investigate myself. I decided to atleast see what was going on before calling the police. The tapping has turned into violent bangs, screeching has intensified to the point where I can't hear my thoughts I picked up my flashlight and went out into the outskirts of the forest. Seeing that it was almost 1am now and for the fear of any wild animals, I made it a point to not go near or too deep into the forest. Flashing the flash light around I picked up a very strange object which was lying near the door of my backyard. Upon picking it up, I saw that it was a small box. Alarm bells were already going off in my head. But, as is human nature, I rationalized it thinking it was something I had missed while moving into this new house. She has broken in as I heard the sound of the door breaking. The screeching and banging have stopped entirely. It is just silence. I can now see how disturbing pin-drop silence can be As I opened the box, I saw a small silver coin in it. Upon feeling it I felt an engraving on it, as if something was written on it. I went back into my house to get a better look. I didn't realize it back the, dismissing it for a prank, but it was actually my death sentence. It was my doomed fate. The head portion of the coin had "UR" engraved on to it, with the tail portion having "NEXT" engraved on to it. It wasn't long before I put two and two together and made out the sentence. "YOU ARE NEXT" My blood ran cold. This has to be a sick joke. This is a silly prank. I can now hear her breathing and the creaks of her coming upstairs. I don't have much time left. The moment I made out the sentence, I heard a women's crying. This time, dangerously close. I dropped the coin and looked around. I couldn't find anyone and anything, but the sound persisted. Now my heart was racing and that anxiety growing. Then I saw her. The hideous face of a woman, with dark red eyes and overflowing black hair, just breathing down near my backyard door's window. I don't know how my brain reacted as the next thing I know, I was in my bedroom with the door locked. The crying continued and with this we come to the present moment. She just knocked on my door, her breathing sound making it difficult to continue writing this supposed last will. I am scared I am confused even The coin, the woman breathing outside my door, everything has started to become a big blur Then I hear her speak "THE COIN NEVER LIES AND IT CHOSE YOU" "YOU ARE NEXT" Just when she said these harrowing words, I hear a coin clip and the wooden door shatter into splinters and through the gap I see her deathly gaze, confirmation that I am about to meet my maker soon. If anyone finds this document, then please mark my words Stay away from Coconino National Forest If you hear a woman's cries coming from the Coconino Forest PLEASE IGNORE IT If I don't update on my situation in the near future, you all know what happened to me

The payback rates on some loans are gruesome.

y48mis

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y48mis/the_payback_rates_on_some_loans_are_gruesome/

Growing up, we didn’t have much. My mother tried her best to feed three kids with no money. When I got older and when she got sick and couldn’t afford the medical bills, I had a choice to make. I felt like it was my responsibility as the eldest to take care of her after she worked so hard for us. I started to work as a bouncer in a strip club that was connected to a local gang due to being unable to land any other job. I’ve seen my fair share of illegal activities, however stayed out it for the most part. My mother started to get sicker and I got on the verge of asking around about any other kinds of jobs to do. The more illegal ones. Then I learned I could earn some fast cash when I found out about the Loan System. Oddly enough, the crime network of our large city offered loans. You had the option of applying for, two grand, five grand or ten grand. However, you can ask for more but those aren’t given out often. The ten grand plus my savings would cover the medical cost and I quickly found out where I could apply. The application processes had all the normal questions, but more personal ones added in. In order to even be considered you must list things such as your favorite food or date idea. The questions threw me for a loop at first, but I filled them all out regardless. They also take photos of you face at different angles and body measurements. When all the questions are answered and photos on file, they decided in a few days if you are worthy for the loan or not. If you are accepted, it’s not as simple as just paying it back at the high interest rates. In fact, they don’t even care about the money. Accepting the Loan System means putting your body as collateral. If you are able to pay off the loan, you are in the clear. If you still owe money, even by a few dollars, they still have the right to take you. At any point while you still owe money, you could disappear never to be seen again. People disappearing because of the loans didn’t happen very often and there were so many rumors on who was behind all of this and why. Surely there’s an easier way to traffic people so no one ever guessed the true nature behind the loans. I didn’t care about myself. I just wanted to take care of my mother. With bills paid off and her on the mend, I started taking extra shifts to pay back what I owed. I got along well with some of the girls that worked at the strip club. I walked them to their cars if needed and sometimes got them home safe by the end of the night if they had no other options. When Candi asked me to guide her along the parking lot, I didn’t question it. I should have noticed how she acted and that it was still in the middle of her shift. I just assumed she wasn’t feeling well and wanted to head home for the night. I kept my eye on two men lurking near a set of cars in the dark. When they started to move, I quickly placed a hand on her small waist to guide her back to the club. More men I didn’t see before came out; guns raised. I shielded her with my body regretting I didn’t carry a gun. “Only you.” One spoke, motioning with the weapon for me to stand aside. “I'm so sorry.” Candi whispered distraught. I clued in these men were collecting for the Loan System. They wanted nothing to do with her and asked Candi to lure me out into the dark. I gave her a reassuring smile. I didn’t blame her for part in this. I was only glad she was fine and they weren’t going to hurt her. I refused to move until she was safe back inside the club. Rough hands dragged me over to a car. With a gun at my back, I didn’t fight the blindfold coming over my eyes. They could have more than one weapon and I didn’t like the idea of getting hit with a stun gun. I was outnumbered and good as dead if I resisted. This was what I signed up for when I took the loan, I knew the risk, but still was terrified over what was going to happen to me. In the very least I did what I wanted and took care of my mother. With my hands bound behind my back; I got shoved inside a car for a long ride. They put on some low music from a mix tape of random songs from different yearly top ten lists. The never-ending list of songs made it hard to keep track of how many ended and how long we drove for. When we finally parked, it was not to drop me off but rather grab another person. I waited in silent car with two men sitting on either side. They were smart enough not to leave me alone. Soon another person was jammed in the backseat of the van. He was sobbing and begging not to be taken. Anything he could think of to get away, he tried it. From kicking at the seats and windows until they grabbed a hold of him to throwing out offers for our captors to spare him. When nothing worked, he settled into a heaving crying fit. I really didn’t think of him any less of a person for his reaction. It should be a normal response for this kind of situation. At some point I’d carefully got the blindfold lose and he got his off without the other men caring. After he had no more tears left, he noticed me. With me being so calm, he assumed I was with the kidnappers at first. “How are you not fighting this?” He whispered over a bit too loud. “I’ve done what I wanted to do in life. This is fine.” I replied trying to hold back my own emotions. I didn’t want to die. But... There wasn’t much for me to stick around for. Shifting my head slightly, I knew the other man sat behind me but didn’t know who else was inside the van. Inside far too dark to really see clearly with half my blindfold over my eyes. “I’ll do what I can for you.” I whispered hoping only he heard. It wasn’t right someone like him got caught up in all of this. If I could get him free, I would try my best. No one reacted to my statement because they thought I didn’t have any power to help. When the van stopped, we were guided out. The man trying to struggle again as I just walked on slightly shaking legs. The blindfolds stayed on. The men adjusting it back over my eyes the moment we were out of the van. With some issues, they got me up a flight of stone steps that echoed as we walked. I heard that they ended up having to carry the other man kicking and screaming. Finally, we were led to a room and told to get on our knees. The blindfolds came off and I looked around to see where we were brought. A line of heavily armed men stood in the back of the dark room in front of the doors making it impossible to escape. On each side of myself was a person on their knees with their hands tied behind their backs. Three women, and three men including myself. The one from the van started sobbing again. The others looking too scared to do so. The other side of the room so dark we couldn’t see anything beyond a certain point. But we heard it. Something walked closer. Something large. Heavy steps came from the dark with deep breathes. A wispy laughter came. The sound making my body feel like ice. My heart over worked itself as my mind thought of countless ideas of what could be coming towards us. I was the only one who stayed on my knees. Some tried to get up and run but the armed men came over and forced them in one spot again. Sobbing came from the others as the thing got closer until I thought I saw a vague outline of a great beast pacing in the dark. I blinked, then a man replaced the image of the massive monster in the dark. He looked fairly handsome, but in a fake sort of way, with neatly styled black hair. Grey eyes looked us over and he smiled. A mouth with teeth too sharp looking over the six terrifying kidnapped prey. “What a nice assortment this time around. It's a shame I can only pick one tonight.” The man said in a voice so endearing it made me ill. The others quickly found hope, begging to either be let go or for him to pick someone else. Saying how better looking the girls were than themselves. The men pleading for one of the girls to be taken and that caused the three women to turn on them. Not even the armed men could keep them silent. Soon they added into the noise making the room fill with a verbal chaos. The man staring at us with eyes of a hunter was pleased by the outcome. “Take me.” I said, my voice cutting through the noise. Everyone shut up, shocked by the offer. The man with the grey eyes hid a smile behind the back of his hand. Taking one step closer, I saw he was doing his best to clean spots of drool from the corners of his mouth. I felt scared to death. Whatever he wanted to do wasn’t going to be natural. I still didn’t regret speaking up. I kept my gaze on the ground unable to watch the man get closer and I heard his polished shoes tap on the cold floor right in front of myself. I stared at the reflective leather until he got down on his knees. Dress pants creasing. His head ducking low to catch my line of sight. His smile so wide it shouldn’t be possible. Teeth pointed and for a second, I thought I was looking as a creature’s face. Something between a wolf and a rat. Grabbing the side of my face, he lifted my head up so he could look down on me while he sat on his knees. Both hands tugged at my short hair, forcing my head up. His eyes no longer a grey but almost glowing silver. “Now you, are an interesting one. I would be glad to eat you all up.” His voice dripping with excitement. For a moment. I thought he was going to press his mouth filled with pointed teeth over my own but he stopped himself. Pulling back, he forced us to keep eye contact. “Say it again. Say that you’ll give yourself over. Not just your life, but everything you are. If you do that, I won’t touch any of the people in this room.” His voice sweet making my skin crawl. I wanted to refuse him. My stomach twisting and body trembling. I would rather die instead of whatever he had planned. At first, I felt so scared I nearly refused. As I stared into his silver eyes, something strange happened. Everything else around is disappeared. All the remained was that deep silver color. My mind unable to focus on anything else as my fears eased. The longer I stared into his eyes, the more I understood about him. He was ancient. Countless years old. Older than our world. He came from somewhere else, a place humans would never understand. And he’d gotten bored. Taking a person to completely twist their mind the closest thing to entertainment he could find. His face got closer to my own and I felt myself changing against my will. To my horror, I wanted him to take me. To eat me down to the bone. As much as I resisted him, the more he mentally pulled. I would be killed, but he promised it would be a better experience that any human should ever be able to have. A single word pulled me from the trace and broke whatever power the man held over me. I pulled back breathing hard nearly getting sick as he let go. One of the armed men was disgusted seeing two men looking at each other in such a way. He muttered a very rude insult under his breathe unaware that everyone in the room could hear him. A dark expression came across the man’s face for a second. He leaned over, his mouth right beside my ear. “Maybe next time.” His words caused the back of my neck to prickle. In a blink of an eye, the space in front of me was empty. Startled voices came next. I turned my head to see what was going on. Everyone who been kidnapped suddenly free. Each of their binds mysteriously snapping at the same time. Some tried for the door as the armed men froze in shock from what they were seeing. The man who wanted to devour me took a hold of the one who insulted him. Whispering something that made his prey turned pale, the monster’s terrible face bright with joy. Mouth impossibly wide, he brought it down on the tender exposed neck to rip part of it away. People screamed and fled. I was the only one who stayed to watch. The black-haired man’s body twisted and turned into something so removed from logic my brain refused to fully process it. A silver creature with a long powerful snout that ripped into his victim's stomach. Somehow, the man remained alive. Blood pouring from his mouth as he watched his own organs being torn and eaten. Instead of looking to be in pain, the man looked as if he greatly enjoyed it. My head felt light watching that man’s expression whole being torn apart. This creature was making his meal enjoy the pain and his death. This very nearly happened to myself and a flood of emotions came with that fact. I watched the gory scene; a terrible feeling came bubbling up. I felt a little jealous and that made me sick. A pair of hands pulled me from the ground and out the door. I assumed it was the crying man from the van coming back to get me. We call spilled outside, frantic and mentally scarred from the night. Getting home just a blur. I thought the other guy meekly thanked me for offering myself but I wasn’t certain. All I could think about how close I’d been to death that night and the terror that came from how I truly felt about it. Weeks passed as I fell back into my regular life. I pretended as if the dark urge plaguing my brain wasn’t there. That I made it out safe. I was fine and wasn’t in any danger. I went to pay down my loan, only to find out the ones taken as a choice to be eaten had their loans cleared in exchange for their silence. I no longer had the threat of being snatched up at any point or had any reason to ever come across that creature again. If it was anyone else, they would be happy about it. That night tainted my mind in a way I couldn’t fight. I finally broke, and took out another loan. Already being in the system made the process faster. The ones in the office I went to weren't even surprised I doubted I was the first person to do this. Now it’s just a waiting game. Every moment torture as I thought about seeing that creature again to be ripped apart. At any time, someone would come for me. Until then, I took care of my mother and spent time with my family. I never told them how death hovered over my every waking second or how I felt about it. I just to make some pleasant memories with my family before I disappeared forever. I honestly hope they never find out about what I saw that night and how it changed me. And if anyone hears about the Loan System then maybe they’ll think twice about signing up. There is something worse than death. Something like living with the fear of dying and yet being unable to control yourself eagerly going towards it...

Our first pregnancy

y48zl7

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y48zl7/our_first_pregnancy/

We were fortunate to get Dr. Singh. She came very highly recommended. She asked if we wanted to know if the baby was a girl or boy. I kind of wanted to know but Casey didn’t. The doctor wrote the name on a piece of paper and put it in an envelope. That way, we could look when we were ready. After she gave Casey the note, she asked if we wanted a boy or a girl. What response did she expect? "I just want it to be unhealthy," I thought and almost said out loud. They wouldn’t have thought it was funny. I’d obviously be joking. Damn them for their hypothetical judgments. Doctor Singh started talking about her children. All girls who’s problems she can better relate to. She was clearly appealing to Casey, accurately recognizing her as the alpha in the relationship. As we were walking out she said, “it’s good to know. You can better prepare.” We continued walking but when I looked back, she gave me a strange look. Something about the doctor seemed strange. Over the next t few days, I tried to convince Casey to look. I wanted to know so badly. It doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl. I just want to know! It’ll make coming up with a name easier. We’ll know what kinds of clothes to buy. I’m just not good with stuff like that. Curiosity always gets the better of me. Casey wouldn’t budge, though. She wanted to be surprised on the day she gave birth. She won’t let me peek because she knows that I can’t keep a secret. At least I wouldn’t have to try and talk her out of a goofy gender reveal party or something like that. Days went by and I stopped thinking about it so much. Casey is the boss and she’s always been one to stick to her guns. I would have given up on it completely if Dr. Singh never called the house. I answered the phone. I was concerned because she hadn’t called the house before and I’m prone to panic. “Hello, doctor. Is everything okay?!” “Yes, I’m just calling to check in. How is Casey feeling?” “Not too bad. A little nauseous. Do you want to talk to her?” I asked. “Oh are you home? I thought you’d be at work,” she said. “No, I took a little time off. Casey’s just in the other room if you wanna talk to her.” “No. I just.. Just checking in.. I guess you guys still don’t want to know the sex of the baby?” “I do, but she wants to wait so that’s what we’re doing.” “Oh.. Well as a doctor, I think that’s a bad idea..” “What? Why?” I asked. The doctor acted very weird on the phone. Why did she care if I was at work? Why does she care so much about us knowing the sex of the baby? Before she responded again, I heard Casey scream. I ran to the bedroom to find Casey in the fetal position screaming in pain. “What’s going on?!” I yelled. “It hurts!” Casey screamed. Doctor Singh was still on the phone. “Doctor, something’s wrong!” “I… I shouldn’t have called.” Doctor Singh started coughing into the phone before she hung up. Moments after she hung up, Casey started to calm down. “What happened?” I asked her. “I don’t know.. I just had this horrible pain in my gut. It was like the worst cramp ever, then it just stopped. I feel okay now.” I struggled to process everything that had just happened. I sat on the bed silently for a moment trying to calm myself down. “I’m gonna get a glass of water,” Casey said. She got up and walked out to the kitchen. As I caught my breath, I noticed the envelope on her night stand. Curiosity got the best of me and I grabbed it. I got another empty envelope out of the drawer and replaced the real one. She came back moments later. I excused myself and went into the bathroom. I locked the door and opened the envelope. I unfolded the note inside. When I saw what the doctor had written, it sent shivers up my spine.. Just two words.. “Kill it”. Moments later, I heard a banging sound out in the hallway. I walked out of the bathroom and saw Casey standing in the doorway to the nursery. She had a large kitchen knife in her hand and was repeatedly stabbing it into the door frame and the drywall. I just stared at her, stunned. She had a smile on her face so wide that it looked painful. It was maniacal. She wasn’t blinking, just staring intensely at me as she continued jabbing the knife into the wall next to her. “What are you doing?!” I screamed. She started slowly walking toward me, stabbing holes along the wall as she moved through the hallway. As she was about midway through the hallway, she stopped and looked down at her stomach. She rubbed her hand around it a few times then lightly slid the knife across her belly. She looked back up at me, still smiling in a manner that was utterly chilling. Then she spoke.. It wasn’t her, though. She spoke in a raspy, awful, guttural sounding voice.. “You shouldn’t have peeked.. I wanted it to be a surprise.” I’ve locked myself in the bathroom again. I’m writing this for whoever finds it or to whom it may concern. I’m not sure, but this may concern everyone.. She hasn’t broken through the door yet, but she will. She started charging into the door moments after I locked myself in. She’s been repeatedly slamming herself into it. On one of her last attempts, I think I heard a bone snap. It didn’t deter her at all. It didn’t even slow her down. She just keeps ramming her shoulder into the door. It isn’t her.. It isn’t Casey.. I could fight back, but I won't. No matter the circumstances, I couldn't possibly do anything to hurt her.. And I certainly would never harm my own child.. Casey, if you are reading this, please take care of our child and protect them.. Something tells me they’re destined for great things... ​ ​ https://www.reddit.com/r/Sketti\_stories/

Molly

y4776o

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y4776o/molly/

To make a little extra money while in college, I took a job at a very old, privately-owned two-story, restaurant in a small town on the outskirts of a major New England city. For this story, I will not name the city or the real name of the establishment. It has been called many things over the years, but today, its current moniker is Ye Olde Forge Inn and Tavern. For the sake of storytelling, let’s call it “The Forge”. The Forge was the oldest building in town, dating back to 1782. It originally stood by itself and began its life as an inn and tavern for travelers, but as time went on, more establishments were built nearby. Eventually the area became its own little unincorporated town, complete with a quaint wooden sign. I was hired on the spot and asked to start the following day after picking up the necessary clothes to meet the dress code. I was about to leave, when something in the corner of my eye caught my attention while passing the base of the staircase. I looked up and saw a young woman wearing an old-fashioned blue and white housekeeping dress with a white bonnet. She was pretty, a little older than me, maybe in her mid to late 20s, but what really captivated me were her ice blue eyes. She just stood there, looking down at me. Her arms hung casually in front of her with her fingers interlaced, like she was waiting for something. I habitually raised my hand, giving her a shy wave and an awkward smile. She seemed to move in slow motion. She formed a very small sad smile and slowly raised her hand to wave back. Not thinking much of it, I left to go buy my new clothes. After a few weeks of working as a busboy, I was promoted to waiter. The money was really good. Our clientele consisted of the usual locals and a lot of tourists. One night, while walking from the dining room to the kitchen to grab an order, I took a quick glance at the top of the stairs. There she was. Just the same as when I had seen her the first time. I wanted to walk up the stairs to say hello, but I had orders to deliver. She stood eerily still, but her blue eyes were fixed right on me. I greeted her with a quiet “Hello” from the bottom of the stairs. The same sad, shy smile formed on her lips. I considered going up the stairs. Things had been moving smoothly and the food could wait a few seconds. The moment my foot touched the first stair, she turned and slowly moved into the upstairs hallway, out of view. I walked up the stairs to follow her. I made it to the upstairs hallway, but she was nowhere to be seen. Disappointed, I retreated back downstairs to deliver my order. Later that night, after things had slowed down. I returned to the upstairs hallway to look again. Still, she was not there. I walked out to the balcony to check, but she was not there either. While I was out there, I decided to smoke a much-needed cigarette. I flicked a match to light the cigarette when a gust of wind blew it out. I tried again, different match, same result. After the third match blew out, I blamed it on the wind and gave up. I needed to head back downstairs anyway. When I approached the top of the stairs, I suddenly heard a very quiet squeaking sound. I paused to listen, and it stopped. I froze in place to see if it happened again. Sure enough, the squeaking resumed. It was coming from one of the far inn rooms. I turned down the hallway to investigate. I moved very slowly, hoping it would continue. I was able to locate the source. It was a doorknob, specifically it was coming from the knob on the door to an unused room. The doorknob was turning very slowly. The old metal workings caused an ominous squeak that echoed through the hallway. Now I was alarmed, this room was kept locked at all times for reasons not disclosed to me; the only key was downstairs with the owner. Now it seemed someone was inside. Something compelled me to touch the doorknob, so I drew my hand up and reached forward. My hand hovered around the doorknob, but I had yet to touch it. I could feel cold air blowing through the keyhole, chilling my fingers to the point of pain. I took a deep breath and grasped the knob. The squeaking stopped suddenly, as did the cold air blowing through the keyhole. I began to feel the muscles in my arm start to shake. The doorknob felt like ice. I let go of the doorknob and stepped back. I waited for a moment to see if it would start again, but nothing happened. I decided to return to the dining room and finish my evening. The events left me shaken and I did not sleep well that night. The next day, I worked up the courage to talk to the owner about my experience the night before. He was lurking in the dining room office where he usually could be found. He told me I had formally met “Molly”, the most active ghost of the Forge. I was flabbergasted. I had my suspicions, considering the age and history of the place, but to have it confirmed to me by the owner required some time to process. He told me the previous owner informed him about Molly when he took ownership. Fascinated by the concept of owning a haunted building, he told me he did some research on Molly. He found some information in the 1850 census showing a “Molly” who lived at the local tavern as a housekeeper. In the winter of 1857, Molly’s frozen body was found beneath the wreckage of an overturned wagon in a roadside stream north of town. It is believed her horse became spooked by something and started running. Unable to calm the horse, Molly lost control of the wagon, which crashed and tumbled into the stream. He suspects the locked, unused room upstairs belonged to Molly in life, and he keeps it locked because the room is always inexplicably cold, even in the summertime. Guests who stayed in the room would complain of the cold and demand another room, so he locked it up. Considering how she died, the cold made sense to him. He opened his office desk and pulled out an old newspaper clipping. In 1989, the local newspaper interviewed him as part of a “Haunted History” article for Halloween which featured The Forge. Molly was the star of the segment. When referring to her, the article reads: “Molly is a quiet spirit. She wears a blue and white dress and keeps her red hair pulled tightly into a bun hidden beneath a white bonnet. When she appears, Molly is most often seen standing at the top of the staircase. Her footsteps can be heard ascending and descending the staircase at all hours. She is occasionally seen drifting from the dining room to the kitchen. Some nights, she has been sighted looking out of one of the upstairs inn room windows, her face seemingly lit by soft candlelight. She has given some inn guests a fright by tucking them into bed in the middle of the night. Some guests have reported their clothing being laid out on the bed when returning after being away; clothing that had been previously packed or put away, as if to suggest what they should wear for the evening.” Strangely, the article made no mention of her piercing, blue eyes. Over time, I gradually made peace with the idea of working in a haunted restaurant. A part of me may have even felt excited. But I soon learned that Molly wasn't the only spirit to call the Forge their home. There was an old fisherman named George, who enjoyed sitting at one of the corner dining room tables. We could tell he was there because he would light the oil lamp at the table on his own, well before any other lamps had been lit. George would also light his lamp after all the lamps in the dining room had been extinguished for closing time. Sometimes, you could see him sitting there, but only his reflection in the window adjacent to the table; his bearded face and his newsboy hat illuminated by the lamp. He enjoyed smoking an old pipe, the embers of which could also be seen glowing in the window’s reflection. Some nights, you could smell it. There is no smoking allowed in the restaurant, and sometimes guests would complain of the smell. We typically told them that it must be coming from somewhere outside. Then there was Charlie, who we thought was a bartender for the tavern in the 1800s. Charlie was a prankster; he regularly liked to rearrange the glasses and spirits at the bar. While I never saw him, some guests and staff claimed to have seen him standing at the bar, waiting for someone to come and request a stiff drink, only to vanish when approached. He appears dressed in period clothing: a white shirt, black bowtie, suspenders, and black sleeve garters. His hair is combed to the side and he sports a rather fashionable handlebar mustache. According to those who claim to have seen Charlie, he always had a slight, content smile. There was also Agnes, who supposedly frequented The Forge in the 1940s, but very little else was known about her. She was our resident “Lady in Blue.” She appeared to be a middle-aged socialite with a strong, rose-scented perfume that emanated throughout the entire restaurant. She had been sighted sitting at the bar as well as standing next to the piano in the dining room. Lastly, there was a young-looking, rarely-seen British soldier in a classic redcoat uniform, named “Larry” by the staff. He was often blamed, yet not always responsible for objects being knocked off of walls, shelves, and the fireplace mantel. It wasn’t uncommon to hear the kitchen staff yell “Dammit Larry!” after pots, pans, plates, or anything else that makes loud, obnoxious crashing sounds in kitchens fell over. When seen, Larry prefered to stand vigil next to the fireplace in the dining room, musket in tow. I periodically spotted Molly on the stairs and in the hallway, but never again gave chase. I would simply offer her a soft smile, which she would return, and I would continue on with my shifts. As stupid as this may sound. I credit Molly with helping me quit smoking. I felt like Molly did not approve of my smoking habit. As before, when I first looked for her, I was unable to light cigarettes while at The Forge. Nothing worked; matches, lighters, even coworkers lighting them for me resulted in the ember either falling off or going out completely. About a year after being promoted to Dining Room Manager, I was in the office going through the night’s profits, making sure the busboys were getting their cut of tips. I was enjoying a local brew with Thomas, my newly assigned Assistance Dining Room Manager. Carl, our Head Chef, came in to report that the kitchen was clear and that he was heading home. I could tell Thomas was exhausted as it had only been his second or third week as a manager, and it was a very busy night, so I told him I would finish up and he could head home. Thomas hadn’t been gone five minutes before I felt like I was being watched. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and the room grew cold. I leaned back in the office chair which gave me a clear view of the dining room. I looked for George’s lamp. Nothing. I looked toward the fireplace, expecting to see Larry glaring at me for letting the kitchen staff blame him yet again for their clumsiness. Still nothing. I shrugged it off and went back to the ledger. I couldn't shake the eerie feeling, so I decided to investigate. I started with the barroom. Everything seemed normal, so I checked the kitchen and storage hallway. Again, nothing was out of place. I listened intently for anything, the only sounds present were the hum of the clunky furnace and the rain outside pounding on the windows. I decided to check upstairs. Nothing seemed amiss and no overnight guests were scheduled that evening. I began making my way back downstairs. I was stopped in my tracks. I suddenly heard the distinctive chime of the cash drawer from the old-fashioned register in the barroom. I ran down the stairs, thinking that perhaps a thief had broken in. Unfortunately for said would-be thief, the cash drawer had been emptied earlier in the evening. Expecting to catch the criminal in the act, I darted into the barroom and saw…nothing behind the counter, nothing among the bar stools and small tables. It was just as I had left it. The room is fairly small and provides no hiding places. I walked behind the counter to inspect the drawer. It stood wide open. I cautiously closed it and walked back to the hallway to continue my search. As soon as I stepped foot into the hallway, I heard the drawer chime again. I froze. No one could have been able to re-enter the barroom without being seen. I slowly turned around and glanced across the room once again. Everything was in place. I walked behind the bar and found the drawer back in its open position. I slid the drawer shut again, then paused. “Ok, Charlie! Very funny!” I stated, thinking that maybe the spectral prankster may be responsible. Relieved, I left the barroom and headed back to my office to finish the ledger. I had made it about halfway across the dining room when I suddenly felt a cold spot. I stopped again and listened. After what felt like an eternity, a voice whispered in my ear. “...Stay…” it said softly. My blood ran cold. This was new, there had never been voices before. “Stay?” I asked, “What do you mean stay?” With a very breathy respone, it whispered again. “...Staaaaaaaay…” This time, the voice seemed to emanate from inside my head entirely. I tried rubbing my ears to see if I possibly could have been hearing things. The only sounds our ghosts had ever made were footsteps. “STAAAAAAAAY!” the voice demanded, this time I could tell the voice belonged to a woman. Could it be Agnes, Molly, or possibly a new spirit? I couldn't stop shaking. I was beginning to get cold sweats. By this point, I was fairly used to the activity, but this was extremely unnerving. I looked around. “Molly? Agnes?” I called. I walked back to the barroom and began to smell the air for Agnes’ perfume, but there was nothing. Suddenly, I saw movement in the corner of my eye. A shadow moved through the hallway, heading towards the kitchen. I felt compelled to follow. When the kitchen door came into sight, it was gently swinging back and forth, as if someone had just entered. I peered through the small circular window, but saw nothing. I felt like it wanted me to follow, or it wanted to show me something. I cautiously opened the kitchen door. The door’s normally squeaky hinges made my already cold blood run colder in the already quiet hallway. I hesitated. What if…I was being lured? What if this was a new spirit? Something harmful, malicious. I began to feel sick to my stomach. I fumbled in my jacket for my cell phone. Maybe the owner had experienced something like this before? He claimed to have seen shadows, but never said anything about being beckoned by a disembodied voice. No signal. Dammit! All of a sudden, there came a faint orange glow on the walls. I could see my own shadow amongst the glow. I quickly turned around. To my horror, all four gas stove burners had been turned on to the highest setting. The normal blue flames instead were orange and flickering. I approached the stove to turn off the burners. As soon as I touched the first knob, the flames shot up like jets, forming large blazing pillars. They roared loudly and nearly reached the ceiling. I reeled back from the intense heat, but found the courage to cover my face with my jacket and reach for the knobs. I felt the first knob and turned it to the off position, then the second, and the third, and finally the fourth. When I lowered my jacket, the flames were gone. The metal stands creaked as they cooled. I breathed a sigh of relief, and decided that I had had enough excitement for one evening. I turned towards the kitchen door to leave. I pushed on the door like I had every night, but it stood fast. I nearly slammed my face into it. I checked to see if the never-used lock had somehow been engaged, but it had not. This door had always been left unlocked. There was no reason to lock it. This door's only purpose was to keep guests from being able to see into the kitchen. Frustrated, I drew my arms above my head to slam my fists into the door. As my fists contacted the door, I yelled “Come on! I’m tired, and I don’t want to play games!” The door gave way and swung open. There came a bloodcurdling shriek echoing through the entire building. It was a woman’s shriek, loud and intense. This was a cry of panicked mourning, the kind you could expect from a woman discovering a deceased child. That was it. It was time to go. I hurried myself into the dining room again and headed directly to my office, and grabbed my bag. “You can’t leave!” The voice cried again; it sounded demanding. “What do you mean I can’t leave?” I shouted. “This isn’t funny!” “You…can’t…LEEEEAAAVE!!” The voice shrieked again intensely. The extinguished logs in the fireplace erupted into massive blue flames. The piano keys began playing randomly, completely devoid of melody. The lights flickered and the dining room chandelier began swaying back and forth.The walls of the building began to groan like it was going to collapse at any moment. My legs took over; I felt myself running for the front door. I didn’t care that I was parked out back, I wanted out, and I wanted out now. My hand contacted the knob of the front door and I began to turn it, but it would not move. Something on the opposite side of the door's glass window caught my attention. It was a pair of bluish-white eyes, staring back at me through the window. I knew those eyes. It was Molly, but she didn’t look like the Molly I knew. She was paler than usual, veins were visible through her paper-like, translucent skin, her lips were blue, and her eyes were sunken in. Her bonnet was missing, and her red hair was a curly, wild mess. She didn’t look sad, she looked angry and desperate. I stood in shock as Molly spoke to me directly for the very first time. “You can not leave.” Her voice sounded more like an echo, and the words didn’t sync with her lips. Her dead eyes wide with the look of absolute horror. I was petrified. I tried to pull my hand from the doorknob. It was stuck. It’s like the muscles in my hand had seized and now had the doorknob in a death grip. I pulled harder and harder to no avail. I looked back at Molly. She had now placed her hands to the door window, her black-tipped fingers were more like claws as she scratched at the window. Frost began to form one the glass where her fingers touched the window. I felt like she wanted to hurt me, to strangle me, or worse. One last time, she screamed “YOU CAN’T LEAVE!” It was the most horrifying shriek yet. I felt it echo through my soul. Her face morphed as the words left her mouth; her eyes vanished into deep dark voids, her nose disappeared, revealing a skeletal pit. The skin on her hands shriveled and tore, until only bone remained. Her teeth instantly decayed as they curled over her frozen lips, and her red hair became a sickly shade of gray. Without warning, my hand slipped free of the doorknob and I fell backwards to the floor. I looked to the door towards Molly, but she was gone. All that was left was frost. I ran to the rear of the building. I prayed that I could get out. As I ran, I felt all my pockets for my keys. Right jacket pocket, thank God! Screw the bag, I’ll get it later. I made it past the kitchen, to the storage hallway, and finally out to the loading dock. The rear door flung open. I slammed it, fumbled for my keys, and barely managed to lock it without snapping off the key in the lock. It was pouring rain. I ran to my car and threw open the door. I was drenched from head to foot. I started the engine, and peeled out of the parking lot, kicking gravel all over the place. The rocks bounced loudly off the undercarriage like bullets. I drove like a madman and wanted to get as far away from The Forge as possible. The trees were one single mass of green, blurred by my speed and the rain. It was raining so hard that my windshield wipers couldn’t keep up. I could barely see anything at all, but I didn’t care. I was almost home when Molly suddenly appeared again in the middle of the road in front of me. I instinctively slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel hard to the right. I began to skid out of control. Time seemed to move in slow motion. I closed my eyes tightly and braced for impact into one of the numerous trees. Suddenly, everything went black. That was it. I was dead, I just knew it. Molly had killed me. What had I done to upset her? Was she lonely and wanted me to pass over to keep her company for eternity? Was she really an evil spirit bent on taking my soul? I was roused by a bright light. Deliriously, I believed it to be the passage to the afterlife. But then I started to hear someone talking and my vision slowly came into focus. The light was not some spiritual tunnel, it was the beam of a flashlight. A sheriff's deputy wasaging his flashlight on my face and asking if I was ok. I realized I wasn’t dead after all and was still in my car seat. I heard the deputy tell me not to move and that paramedics were coming. My head was throbbing, but I needed to get out of the car. Despite the protests from the deputy, I exited the vehicle and looked around. My car had drifted to the side of the road and rested against a tree, but there didn't appear to be any damage to the tree, or my car. It was as if the car simply rolled to a stop against the tree. I could hear the siren of the approaching ambulance. The deputy walked over to me, again asking if I was ok. After I nodded, he said I was lucky, to which I agreed. I could have hit one of the many trees along the road, but somehow my car glided to a safe stop. He shook his head. “No, it's lucky you spun out here, if you can believe it.” the deputy said. “About three-hundred feet up the road, the bridge is out. Washed away by the rain. Must have happened in the last twenty or thirty minutes. We only got the call a few minutes ago and just now closed off the road. It would have been really hard to see in this rain. You could have been washed away and never seen alive again, if at all.” I took a deep breath and leaned against the deputy’s truck. The paramedics arrived and tended to me. For the most part, I was uninjured, save for my headache and some whiplash. While my mind was racing, I had a revelation. Molly wouldn't let me leave because she knew I wouldn't have been able to see the road until the rain had stopped. Maybe, had the timing been right, I could have even been on the bridge when it was washed away. Lost in thought, I heard the voice again…Molly's voice. This time, it was soft, solemn, and calming, unlike the voice I had heard earlier. Though I had never heard Molly speak before that night, something inside told me that this voice was the real Molly. She simply said…”I’m sorry.” I continued working at The Forge for another two years, but I never saw or heard Molly again after that night. I’ve since moved on to a new life, far away from that charming New England town. I do check in every now and then. Thomas and Carl keep me updated. The Forge is doing well these days, but I often wonder if Molly is still there. I honestly believe she was trying to keep me safe. Maybe, she still is. Sometimes, I still find it impossible to light a cigarette.

If you've heard of "The Ghost's Name", don't you ever play it. This is how I found out not to.

y48hp1

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y48hp1/if_youve_heard_of_the_ghosts_name_dont_you_ever/

Everyone’s seen or heard of vague, fantastical rituals, and how most of them end up having terrible, terrible consequences for all those involved. There’s something that these games have in common with each other; you make a deal with an otherworldly being, either explicitly or implicitly, and either get a reward or consequences for how well you play according to the rules set in place. More than likely, all these games are just variations of something incredibly base–a contract with the supernatural, where the devil is, quite literally, in the details. I don’t know what this original “game” –for lack of a better descriptor–could be, and I’m not brave enough to find out, either. No sane man would want to delve into a search for something that will kill them after they’ve already had a precarious encounter. There is that saying; once bitten, twice shy. Thirty years ago, I played The Ghost’s Name, and I lived. Yes, the title is incredibly short, and not very catchy. Thankfully, I didn’t name it, so I can be absolved of the embarrassment. That is, perhaps, the only lighthearted aspect of it, looking back on everything; we shouldn’t have played it to begin with, but it should not have been treated with the levity with which we played it. Thirty years ago, I was a sophomore in a college, pursuing my degree in communications, and would often spend my free time with my friends, who mostly were either of the same major, or majored in business. We were not particularly popular. There were five of us, and Alex was often the one to propose we did strange things to get a thrill for the day, while the rest of us were mostly content with watching television reruns or playing cards. Looking back on it, this was evidently the main factor for the lack of popularity. I don’t remember Alex’s main reasons for suggesting we play the game–he had probably heard it from a classmate of his, and I don’t know why we agreed, but as it happened, we asked for him to tell us more about the rules, and so he did. First, we were to go into a room without windows and any doors but the one that we had come through–since we were in Alex’s apartment, the only room meeting these qualifications was his bedroom. Secondly, we had to bring a number of things with us–three blank pieces of paper, two markers of differing colors, an obituary almanac, and a flashlight. Third, we would play The Ghost’s Name, and when we came back out, we needed to leave everything in the room, turn the lights out, close the door, and wait for three minutes to open the door again. The Ghost’s Name is essentially a guessing game. When you bring in the three pieces of paper, the markers, the almanac, and the torch, you are bringing them into a room to communicate with a ghost. The three pieces of paper were for three separate things, the first for summoning the ghost–we didn’t do this by sounding out fancy Latin words. It was like a kid’s game, rather–you wrote a greeting on the paper in large letters three times after turning the lights off, set the paper down, and you waited with your eyes closed until you could hear the sounds of something writing on the paper. When it stopped, you could open your eyes. You would then invite it to write down three clues about its life and how it died–so six in total–on another sheet of paper, and close your eyes until it stopped writing. You would then have to guess the name of the ghost, and only got one try. The time given to you to do that was an hour at most. (Since Alex’s room had a clock, we didn’t bring any timers in.) After that, you would write the ghost’s name on the third piece of paper. If it was ripped into pieces, you guessed wrong. If the paper was flipped over, you guessed right, and the ghost could move on into the afterlife peacefully. No matter the outcome, that was when you would come out. When Alex explained the rules to us, we all laughed. None of us believed in that sort of stuff! But upon his insistence, we decided to give it a shot (after having some shots of our own) and ripped some pages out of our notebooks. Theresa went into her apartment to acquire two versions of the same 10-kilogram 1992 state almanac, and we all pushed a wide-eyed Dean, giggling, into Alex’s bedroom at one in the morning. The rest of us then busied ourselves with… watching television reruns or playing cards. Theresa was particularly interested in playing Bluff with Cathy. This went on for twenty minutes. At half an hour, I had another beer. We all started getting antsy at fifty minutes in, and Alex was about to open the door to the bedroom when the entire apartment’s power went out. Here is some insight as to how Alex’s apartment was structured; it was a shoebox, so there was one large open living space, and one bedroom. The bathrooms were shared by the entire floor of the building, and since the apartment was between two others, there were no windows to speak of, either. It was a very cheap space, but now he was paying a much steeper price for it. Remember how, at the very start, I specified the room must have no windows and only doors that could be used as entryways? It turned out that the entire apartment fit those qualifications. We only figured this out after ten minutes of painstakingly trying to turn the power back on, or leaving the apartment. The door was locked–almost welded shut, and even I couldn’t manage to turn the knob open. Something in the game had gone very, very wrong when Dean had played it. Theresa was the first one to have something written on her paper–she turned her flashlight on and screamed. None of us had written any greetings at that point, but since Dean had already invited the ghost in, that step had been skipped. She held up the pieces of paper for us all to see: one of them said “NO TALKING. GUESS MY NAME.” The other had six “clues” written on it; the ghost had drowned–not in a pool–and was young while doing so. When it had been alive, it had a pet dog, blonde hair, and glasses. I don’t particularly want to think about how hellish those minutes were; how it was pitch black throughout the apartment–darker than that, really, and even when we turned our flashlights on, it was as though the light kept on getting reduced over time. It was as though the darkness was eating through it, centimeter by centimeter. The rustling of the papers as they flipped–over and over, for each of us. The eerie silence, only punctuated by gasps as we all tried to breathe normally and flipped through the shared almanac, which one of us had managed to push through the center. I couldn’t tell how much time had passed before I heard more scribbling of a marker, and then a whimper. The darkness seemed to grow blacker than before–almost like a warning. This happened more and more, and soon four hands on the book became three, then two. I kept on shaking. As I flipped through description after description of people drowning, I kept on crying silently. Eventually, I found someone–a tiny blonde girl, who had fallen into a tide off the coast while going on surfing lessons with her older brother. I wrote down the name while squinting at the paper as best as I could, because the light of my flashlight had been whittled down to maybe an inch of yellow. Then, remembering the rules, I closed my eyes and hoped against hope that I would not hear a ripping sound. Of course, I didn’t–that’s how I am here, writing this now. I remember hearing the paper flip, and then not so much a sound as though a vacuum *pop,* not unlike when an airplane takes off and begins to accelerate very fast. When I came to and opened my eyes, it was just me and Cathy in the apartment. We checked every nook, every cranny–Alex was gone. Theresa was gone. Dean was gone. There was no blood. No signs of struggle. Shaking, screaming, we made our way out of the apartment and to the police station, and told them everything that we could. It’s honestly a miracle we even managed to file missing person complaints due to how incoherent we were. We were–are– terrified. To this day, no one knows where our three friends are. People just don’t remember them. Alex’s parents still insist they only have one daughter every time I call them, and I still can’t sleep well at night unless I’m in a fully lit room. Even then, I find it hard to sleep, knowing they have a fate worse than death. I wish I could find them, but I have a horrible hunch that the only way to do so would be to play the game again, and I just can’t bring myself to do it. Cathy’s the same way. For thirty years, she’s been mourning the loss of Theresa. They were best friends, and she’s just never been able to move on–got institutionalized briefly for it, too. I don’t know, to this day, how I still manage to pull myself through a career, or how I got lucky enough to have a family. My daughter’s my age, now. And I worry for her. She’s been talking about some concerning things, lately, and it’s made me think about this a lot more than I should now. I’m old, and I’m still scared to death. In a way, the ghosts never left us. So this is all just a big, grand word of caution–I’ve already told my daughter this story, but I want to warn all you thrill-seeking college graduates out there, too–don’t play any fucking games. They’re not worth it, ever.

I worked at a 24 hour gas station, and had some unsettling encounters

y3qjru

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y3qjru/i_worked_at_a_24_hour_gas_station_and_had_some/

I was there for three years. The station had an auto shop attached but was rarely needed at night, so I typically just dealt with people coming for gas. Occasionally, I’d be asked to work on a car overnight from the day shift. One time, I found several bags of heroin leaking out from the driver seat. I was nervous the owners would know I saw it, so I stuffed the bags back in. The station was out on a country road, so the types of customers I generally served were truckers or farmers or the random couple driving home from a date. However there were the anomalies. The car accidents. The drunk driver that killed a small family in the intersection out front. There was a vicious, blazing inferno coming out of that minivan. The dad made it out, but he was on fire and died in the middle of the road. One time I served gas to someone who was being chased by the police. Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. I just thought the driver was in a hurry. I was robbed at gunpoint, twice. It was the same two ski-masked guys too. They just took turns speaking between the two incidents. Then there was the time an old guy drove up, got out of his car, and died of a heart attack two steps later. Those incidents were normal. Or at least understandable. Explainable. But there was one night something unexplainable happened. It was shortly after 3am. Headlights drove in carrying a 1966 Pontiac Bonneville two-door coupe. A thin trail of smoke was coming from under the hood. The inside of the windows were all fogged up, so I couldn’t really see the interior of the car or the occupants. The car drove past the gas station and right into the auto shop. The lights weren’t even on inside the shop, but the headlights lit it up. I went to greet the driver and flipped on the overhead lights of the shop. But they came on weak and dim. The driver side door opened as I approached and I was immediately hit with a stench of old, damp cloth and dust. A middle-aged man got out uneasily, like his knees were made of twigs. He wore one of those black quaker hats with dark hair spiking from under it and a greying goatee. The man’s face was covered in lines and wrinkles and his eyes sunk back into his head. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “Check the oil. Check the engine,” he choked out and walked past me, fumbling out an old box of matches. The passenger door closed and a middle-aged woman stood there. She had thick, dark hair that looked like it was greased through with gel and matted to her head. An uneven set of bangs cut across her forehead. The woman carried the same, sunken in eyes as the man. But her face was covered in days old make-up. Rosy cheeks, blue eyeliner, red lipstick. Even through the smearing, you could tell it was applied with heavy exaggeration. Then the woman smiled at me. I wish she hadn’t. Her teeth were dirty orange and speckled with black dots. Her gums were dark gray. I noticed she only had the front six teeth on her upper and lower jaws. She didn’t appear to have any molars. Which I shouldn’t know, but she couldn’t stop smiling to reveal that. The moment the woman saw me, her lips had stretched into a wide-mouthed grin that curved downward like a catfish. It was a strange and frightening smile. Like it was pulled and stretched over a screaming face. The woman began speaking to me, but she spoke so softly I couldn’t hear her. I kept leaning forward, trying to get a better ear. But the closer I got, the further her voice sounded. Then I realized we were inches from each other’s faces. Her breath was rancid as she spoke. And I finally heard what she was saying. “Don’t go in the car.” The woman pulled back and I saw the scream behind the smile in her eyes. She was terrified. “Joan.” The driver was already outside the auto shop, lighting up a dirty looking home-rolled cigarette. The woman, Joan, followed him. She looked back, continuing to smile, but her eyes told a story of desperation and horror. They gave me chills and I was happy the two were going to wait outside. I watched the strange couple walk down to the edge of the gas station where it made up the corner of a quiet, country intersection. I turned to the car, not really sure what to do. After I couldn’t get under the hood, I figured there was a release latch under the steering wheel. I went to the driver side door and saw the window was down. I leaned in through the window and searched and fumbled until I found the latch. I flicked it open and saw the hood pop up. As I was pulling myself out, a thought struck me - the window was up when the man drove in. It was up when he walked off. How did it get down? Then my eyes caught the rearview mirror. And what was in the backseat. There was a little boy staring at me. He sat calmly in the middle seat with his seatbelt still on. He had a strange, swirling facial scar that reminded me of a boy I went to grade school with named Johnny Walkens. He’d been attacked by a dog when he was little and large portions of his face were horrendously scarred. That’s what this boy looked like. And he had something that looked like mud and dirt smeared around his mouth and chin. The same smears were on his hands and wrists. The boy wore old, dirty overalls and a flannel shirt underneath. His eyes were locked on me. They carried an accusatory glare, like he was catching me stealing. I quickly blurted out, “Hey buddy, just checking out the engine, then we’ll get you and your parents on their way.” The boy stared back, his brow furrowed down at the centre, angrily. “They’re not my parents,” he croaked out. Then he started to make a strange sound. I couldn’t tell what it was at first, but then it became clear. The boy was laughing in his own, odd way. It was like his breath was hitching up repeatedly during the inhale. I didn’t know what to do or say, so I pulled myself out of the window and made my way to the hood. I looked out and saw Joan and the man were still at the corner, smoking and arguing. I popped the hood up and was greeted with a cloud of smoke. I figured it was a motor oil spill or leak at first. Then I stared down at the engine and I had no idea what to make of it. It looked foreign but also homemade. It was all connected and had metal plates fastened around it, protecting parts of the wiring and cables so it was next to impossible to see what was wrong. I honestly didn’t know what the hell I was looking at. But I managed to find what looked like a small handle for a dipstick, and I twisted and pulled it out. It *was* for the oil. I cleaned it, put it back in and pulled it to inspect. Basically dry. The little oil at the end felt gritty. It needed a change. The car was parked over our lift, so I didn’t have to get in to move it. But I couldn’t leave the kid in there. He had to get out. Safety precautions and all. I went to the driver side window, but the window was up again. I tried to open the door, but it was locked. I went over to the passenger side and found it locked too. I peered in through the dirty windows to try to signal to the boy to open the door… But the backseat was empty. The car was empty. He was gone. The only explanation I could come up with was that the backseats of the car pulled down and allowed access to the trunk. So I checked the trunk, but it was also locked. I knocked on it, trying to get the boy’s attention if he was inside. But nothing came back. I looked outside but couldn’t see Joan or the man. I was confused and nervous and all I could think to do was explain that our lift wasn’t working, so they’d need to get their oil changed at another shop in the next few days. Then I’d send them on their way. A loud clunk made me jump. On the other side of the garage, a loose wrench was on the ground. I walked over to it and picked it up. It had a small, child-sized muddy handprint on it. And suddenly, that odd laugh echoed out from somewhere in the garage. I raised the wrench to swing, but there was nothing to swing at. The loud, metal rattling of the front, retracting door slamming shut made me yell. I went over to inspect the now shut door, but as I did, the retracting metal doors at the back slammed shut as well. At this point I figured the kid was messing with me, so I called out to him, telling him playtime was over and to come on out. Then the power went out. The garage was completely black. Not a single window could be seen. I tried to open the front metal gate, but it wouldn’t budge. Like it was welded shut. More metal tools clanged against the ground. One slammed against the metal door, right beside my head. And another. The boy’s hitched laughter croaked out from somewhere in the dark of the shop. I couldn’t see anything, but knew the layout of the garage inside out and backwards. There was a flashlight on the far end of the wall to my right. There were shelves along the wall and a wide workbench I could follow. I moved along the metal door to the wall and found the edge of the bench. The boy’s laughter got louder, echoing through the garage. It stopped sounding human though. It was more hyena-like. And the source of the laughter was getting closer to me. With it, I felt a hot, rotten breath assaulting my nostrils. It followed me along the bench and towards the end of the wall. Through laughing, the boy quietly repeated, “I’m gonna find ya, I’m gonna find ya.” My foot hit what felt like a ratchet wrench, which loudly skittered across the metal grating on the floor. “Was that you,” the boy squealed out. Realizing I still had the wrench in my hands I first picked up, I threw it across the garage, hoping to hit the back wall and cause a distraction. It left my hand… but it never landed. “There you are,” the voice called out through laughs. Something shuffled behind me. I hit the end of the bench and reached up, knocking over multiple tools and causing a series of loud crashes. But I didn’t care. I felt the flashlight grip and turned it on, spinning and pointing the light behind me. I wished I hadn’t. The boy was two feet from me. I only saw his face for a moment, but that was enough. The boy’s facial scar had unravelled, like layers of extra skin in some strange face scarf covering. Only the fleshy layers were actually attached to him, and contained rows of needle-like teeth on the inside. When the skin flap opened, it tripled the original diameter of his mouth. I screamed and fell backward. I expected to hit the ground and immediately have the boy’s frightening mouth biting down on my face or neck. I hit the pavement outside the garage instead. The lights of the gas station poured over me. I looked back into the garage from my back. The lights were on. The metal door was open. The Bonneville was still and silent. Windows closed and clear. Footsteps approached from behind me. I scrambled up and turned to see Joan and the man had returned. He flicked his cigarette butt and approached me and mumbled- “How much?” I couldn’t speak. My lower jaw moved but all I could stammer out was, “don’t worry about it.” The man shrugged and walked back to the car. I turned and found Joan there, staring up at me. She was whispering something quickly and repeatedly. I leaned in and heard it clearly. “You shoulda listened, you shoulda listened, you shoulda listened.” The man called out from the car, snapping Joan back to him. Still smiling, Joan shook her head at me, tears rolling down her cheeks in dark smears. She walked back to the car and got in. The Bonneville started up and drove past me. The windows were no longer blurred by fog, so I could see inside clearly. I saw the man staring straight ahead. Joan, sitting passenger beside him, smiled out at me with worried eyes. Then I saw the backseat. It was empty. The boy was gone. I was so afraid, I locked the garage and the gas station, checked my car, then got in and drove for an hour before stopping. I called my boss and told him I was violently ill and had to lock up early. He was less than impressed, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t go back there. And I didn’t. I gave my two weeks and called in sick for each shift. I never went back to the garage and try to avoid gas stations at night now. But it’s not just that. Now, whenever I hear someone laugh, I hear the boy’s laugh. That same odd upward hitch. No matter the person, every giggle or cackle comes out the same. And sometimes it turns into that higher-pitched hyena cackle. It’s been happening more and more. It feels like one of those flu’s that start slow and take their time weakening your immune system before levelling you. Then tonight happened. I came home and there was a small, muddy handprint on the door handle of my apartment. There was one on the inside too.

I learnt about home security the hard way

y4a3by

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y4a3by/i_learnt_about_home_security_the_hard_way/

I would say I was truly independent when I got my first job as an accountant, and moved into a flat in a small village where my office was located. Compact and open-plan, it was my private slice of heaven for a while. My front door bordered a busy walkway which connected two parts of the village centre. That door was in the left-most corner of my kitchen and living room area, and further down was my bedroom. I always left my bedroom door open and let the light of the bathroom spill in to save energy, and because I liked the softer light. Having that door open meant that I heard the teenagers who gathered outside the public library opposite, more often than I would have liked. I wish the agency had told me that I was directly adjacent a popular youth meetup spot, but then again I probably still would have moved in. Sometimes they were loud. A few times they knocked on my door and ran away. I just got used to it. I tried to listen from my side of the door, to check if they were there or not when it was late and I wanted to get some chocolate from the shops. After a few months, I was very good at knowing when and when not to go out. However, one afternoon, they got me. I was walking back from the shops with some snacks in my backpack, and one of the guys in the group made some snarky comment which I fail to remember now. Then, a few days later, I walked out of my front door to see my two bins toppled over. Someone had written, "C\*nt" on the side of one with permanent marker. Yeah, real funny. But I wasn't angry. I was scared. I was scared it would get worse, that their abuse would only escalate, and they'd see how helpless and defenceless I actually was here in my lonely five-hundred-a-month fortress. Scared I'd eventually have to leave this slice of heaven I had carved for myself. I was in my early twenties, it's not like I could go out there wagging my finger like a senile old man and call them all whipper snappers or something. Neither could I reason with them. I know how careless and obnoxious I was as a kid. Being a kid is like being in freefall from a catapult of whose direction you never asked to go. It's not like they could help it, but it was horrible. The police were never an option. I know how slow and incapable they are with such trivial matters. Also, who knew what they were capable of? I called them teenagers, but some of them were pretty tall, pretty stocky. If I contacted the authorities, they might retaliate and the situation could get worse. So, I just dealt with it my own way: I continued to avoid them as best I could. Not much happened for a while after that, but I worried nonetheless. Their aggravated noises beyond the walls could ruin my whole night, even though they had nothing to do with me probably. It took time, but eventually I began to relax again and actually enjoy my private time. That was, until one night. My bedroom layout had my bed at one end and the door to the left. On the opposite side was my desk and a translucent window that I never bothered to add curtains to. I had tested the visibility of that window with my aunt when I first moved, and knew that it was impossible to see any detail through it, just outlines. The translucent window bordered an alleyway that allowed access to a few front doors of adjacent flats and such. It was barely used compared to the walkway at the other end of my flat. However, while laying in my bed one night and staring through that window, I saw shadows of people gather by the single lamp post that lit the path in an orange glow. I soon realised they were muttering in hushed tones. Barely audible, I couldn't make out a word. They stayed their for a long time, until my paranoia went into overdrive, and I slumped into my duvet leaving only the top of my head so I could peek through. At some point, one of the shadows walked closer to the window and stood there for a while. Then, it pressed its face right against the glass, revealing a pair of eyeballs which scanned the room. That's when I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. It must have been ten minutes until I opened them again; every minute imagining those same eyes watching me. However, when I finally lifted my eyelids, the shadows were gone. Proceeding days passed uneventfully, but I kept thinking about the shadows. Who were they? And why did they want to look through my window? Was it the teenagers? Had they seen my computer? Did they know it was worth over two-thousand pounds? Perhaps that was worth breaking my window for? I didn't sleep well after that. I spoke to my online friend about my situation, and he said I might have been blowing it out of proportion a little. "It is possible they were just being nosy little buggers." He tried to reassure me. But I was convinced otherwise. And I was right; although, I still have no idea how the events connect, or how what I'm about to tell you is even possible. It was another night, and I was in my bedroom, on my computer. My earphones were in, but I wasn't listening to anything yet, when I could have swore I heard a rustling in the kitchen. I wondered whether it may have been my letterbox, but it was approaching early morning so this didn't make sense. Nevertheless, the noise had spooked me enough to investigate. I walked into the kitchen and living room area, flipping on the light and squinting into the emptiness, until my eyes fixed on the letterbox. As the flap slowly rose, my blood ran cold. I found myself frozen on the spot as the flap subtly twitched up and down, like a small animal was trapped within, trying to escape. I still struggle to believe what happened next. Four pale and bony fingers emerged under the flap, followed shortly by a pale-pinkish thumb. Then came an arm, so thin you could make out the bones beneath the skin. It slithered silently through the bristles like a hunting snake. It hung motionless for a second like a dead tail, and I could feel my heart ringing in my chest like a cathedral bell. Then, it began patting the inside of the door. Clumsily at first, but it soon found its bearings. Realising what it was trying to do, I yelled. "Hey!" My forced aggression, hiding terror, was swallowed instantaneously by the silence. The bony arm was barely perturbed and kept reaching, until its slick, dirty fingers alighted on my keys. I freaked out, leaping instinctively to snatch them from it, which I managed to do, thank God. The arm hung still again for a moment, its fingers drooping downward as if expressing sadness, then its palm pointed towards me. Its fingers stretched into a claw, and I heard hissing sounds from outside, followed by youthful laughter. Then, slowly, it shuffled its way back through the bristles. Keys in hand, I rushed to my front window. Unfortunately, my front door was a blind spot and I couldn't see anything but the library and benches opposite. "Who are you?" I called from behind the glass. "Is this a prank?" But I never got an answer. I *had* to call the police after that. They arrived at my house the next day to survey the area and take the details of the event. They took my concerns seriously at first, until I mentioned the hand, and from then on their patience ran thin, as did mine. The culprits were never found. I don't think they ever looked into it. I decided then that I would move and find a new job and place to live, but before I did, I spoke to my neighbour who lived above me. Like me, he also had a window that bordered the walkway and according to my observations had it open most nights. Surely he too had found their noise pollution and nightly activities disturbing? Confronted them at one point? I knew he had a daughter. At least for her sake? So, just before I left, I knocked on his door and asked him. When he looked confused and claimed never to have heard anything, I was of course thrown off guard. I spoke to him for a few minutes more, fighting desperately for a morsel of confirmation, which I didn't get. And in the final nights I spent in that flat, I listened to the ruckus of activity outside, wondering if I was going mad. For the time being, I moved back in with my aunt and uncle. They wouldn't let me remove the keys from their front door, so I crept down in the middle of the night when they were asleep. There was one time recently, a few days ago, when, just before I reached the bottom step, I could have sworn I sore a pale hand creeping back through the letterbox.

I think I'm the victim of a cruel prank

y3wt6v

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y3wt6v/i_think_im_the_victim_of_a_cruel_prank/

I had been living in a crappy overcrowded apartment for the past 8 years because it was my first time living without my parents and money wasn’t exactly abondent when I was a student. After working the chain of a cleaning service company as an administrator then as a manager, and saving a considerable amount I jumped on the opportunity when I saw a spacious apartment in a condo right outside the city had become available. ​ The price looked a bit too good to be true so I called the real estate agent listed and booked a visit. There most likely would be a trick because apartments this size go for at least a quarter more than listed. My best guess was that there was so much work to be done I’d end up spending more than I would for the normal price. Or maybe a cockroach infestation. Who knows? ​ My roommate Vanessa seemed exstatic when I told her I might move. I know she was proud of me since we knew each other when we were broke college students, but she was also excited about the prospect of living alone and bringing who she wants at any time. She’s a clean and nice roommate but she never liked change and didn’t seem like she was going to move out any time soon. ​ I got myself ready that morning trying to not be too excited because if something in life seems too good it might as well be. The drive was pretty quiet and I had avoided traffic which was one of the reasons for my chipper mood. Things did seem to be going my way this morning. ​ The real estate agent seemed like a nice lady who wouldn’t lie to her clients, « but don’t they all » I thought. She was a short lady with a plump frame and a reassuring smile, although her eyes showed tiredness and a longing for this day to be over. ​ We started the visit with the lower level where the yard and pool were located. The yard was neatly kept in the front of the building where passer-bys could see it but it seemed a bit outgrown and abandonned in the back. The pool was an interior one and was unoccupied but to be fair it was mid-september in the middle of the day so people would most likely be busy. ​ The pool was quite frankly creepy. It wasn’t dirty in the slightest and had obviously been given a scrub recently, but the air was just so heavy and humid. The entire room - ceilling included - was covered in white tiles and so was the pool. There was nothing wrong with it per say but it just looked so uncanny. There were no windows and the room got its only light from heavy fluorescent lights that looked like they belonged in a warehouse. The ventilation system seemed old and rusted. ​ Standing next to the pool I didn’t feel like I was looking at a relaxing and fun part of the building, it felt like I was looking at an old zoo’s habitat for an aquatic creature. ​ I was a bit disappointed by the looks of the « spacious and refreshing pool » I had read about in the ad, but kept a smile on my face. I’m not one to not enjoy themselves because the pool doesn’t look fun enough, how ridiculous does that sound frankly? ​ We took the elevator to the seventh floor and the doors opened on a very long narrow hallway. We walked to its end and the agent opened apartment 709. I had been holding my breath the entire time worried it wouldn’t live up to my expectation but the apartment took my breath away. It was everything I was hoping for and more, spacious, and luminous. The walls, floors and ceilings were clean and free of damage, the windows were in perfect condition, and the view was on the nice front yard so that was a nice addition. ​ Fast forward to last week, I took it, and moved in. The apartment was semi-furnished which was nice to not live in a completely empty appartment. For now I just got myself sheets,blankets, pillows, and takeout. Don’t need much more to survive the first night in my opinion. I fell asleep with a full stomach and content mind to have made the most grownup purchase of my life. ​ I heard a noise. ​ It started at around midnight. Foot steps, soft and discreet. I put my head back on the pillow and I fell asleep right away. ​ I heard another noise at around 1. Footsteps again but running, fast and clumsy, like someone kept body slamming themselves against the walls. I was surprised anyone would act this loud and rude at night but rationalized that since there had been no moving truck yet, most of the neighbors might not know of my presence, and maybe other appartements on the seventh floor weren’t entirely full. I closed my eyes again, and fell asleep a bit annoyed. ​ I heard one last noise at around 3. Metal scraping. It sounded like it was far away enough around the elevator. There were long strident sounds like someone was slowly running their keys against the elevator doors. It was very irritating but stopped after about a minute. I fell asleep again and didn’t wake up until morning, very cranky. ​ I was very curious as to who acted this obnoxious in the middle of the night. I decided to find a neighbor so they would learn of my presence and hopefully spread the word that acting like the hallways were a gym at night wasn’t the best idea. ​ I found myself in front of door 708 and knocked. No one answered. Walked to 707. Empty. 706. Repeat. ​ When I got to 701 I didn’t expect much but was pleasantly surprised to hear the door hinges creak. An old man who seemed to be just as cranky as I had been this morning opened the door. He was quite lanky with a head that was bald at the crown but had stringy unruly white hair to his shoulders. He was of average height but looked a bit shorter due to his slight hunch. ​ “What.” Charming. ​ "Hi I just moved in 709, I don’t want to be a bother but have you noticed the loud noises at night? You’re right next to the elevator so you probably heard it even more. Do you know what that’s about?” There, simple, concise and not accusing. ​ “I don’t know anything.” And he shut the door. ​ What a good start that was. Technically it can’t get much worse than that.I headed back to my apartment and made arrangements with my workplace and who would replace me while I moved. The neighbors were really quiet during the day and I would see a few of them pass in the yard from my window. The vast majority of people were elderly, a handful of middle aged couples, and one little girl that I spotted running around with a soccer ball. ​ I spent a bit of time shopping for appliances and filled the old fridge to not have to order takeout every other night. By the time I got home it must’ve been around 7pm and people were already inside their homes. I headed towards the elevator when I heard running. ​ The brown-haired little girl I had seen around was joyfully skipping with what seemed to be an old pink my little pony figurine. She had bouncy curls, tan skin and a crooked smile that was missing its two top teeth. Her face beamed when she noticed me and she showed how little she knew about being shy when she tried having a conversation right away. ​ “You’re that lady from above right?” ​ “Yeah it’s nice meeting you.” ​ “You’re gonna stay here now?” ​ I barely had time to answer yes that she had already bombarded me with questions about my age, my clothing choices, if I had an interest in soccer and what my taste was regarding pink ponies. I had been a bit disappointed so far from the noise and the rude neighbor so seeing this little girl so full of energy and childlike kindness was uplifting. ​ The elevator stopped at the 6th floor and she skipped towards the end of the hallway shouting back: ​ “Goodnight watch out!” ​ What an odd thing to say. But hey kids, they’re something else. ​ The elevator went up and I headed towards my apartment for the night. I had hoped the old man had told someone about my presence and that the night would be silent but he didn’t seem like the type to socialize and gossip with neighbors. If he didn’t say anything the little girl definitely would tell her parents. She seemed like the type who could talk a dead man awake. ​ Tiredness quickly washed over me, I headed to bed after chewing down ramen and taking a shower, and fell asleep like a log. ​ Then the noise came around midnight, like clockwork. ​ The footsteps were so light I wasn’t sure why they woke me up, so I went back to sleep without much fuss. ​ Then it came again at 1. Very loud like someone was trying to break through the wall with their entire body. I shoved my blankets off my body very angry and ready to yell at whoever was this inconsiderate. It wouldn’t look good as a new neighbor, but I didn’t care in that moment. As I was about to put my hand on the front door handle and be face to face with the person responsible for the noise, I felt a crinkle under my foot. I had stepped on a piece pf paper that I knew for sure I didn’t leave there, so someone had to have pushed it under the door. ​ By the time I had bent over to pick up the paper the noise had stopped completely, and I felt too nervous to open it now that the surprise had washed some of the anger away.I went back to my room, turned on the lights and sat on my bed to see what the paper could be about. ​ “Hi neighbor! ​ We are so very pleased to finally have a new addition to our community. ​ We were very sad to see the prior owner leave us so soon. Herbert informed us of your presence and we’re glad we were able to send you the rules before anything happened. ​ We had no idea that you had moved in, that’s our bad, but we’re glad we’ll get to put this behind us and explain exactly what’s going on. ​ As you noticed, the hallways can be quite loud at night, and you’ll be safe! As long as you take our community guidelines seriously. ​ 1 DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR FOR ANYONE AND ANY REASON FROM MIDNIGHT TO 4AM ​ 2. Stalking Sally is the first to go through the hallways at midnight. She is just looking for a friend. When she passes you will hear very soft footsteps. Do not make a noise and do not talk to her. She might call your name and try to get you to talk to her. Ignore her and you’ll be fine. If you make a noise and she starts rattling the door handle, simply put both hands on the door to keep it as still as possible. She will stop after about 10 seconds. ​ 3. The runner is next at around 1. He is extremely loud and hard to ignore but do your best to do so. His stature is very impressive and he takes most of the frame in the hallway causing him to bump against the walls. It is a huge inconvenience but the sooner you go back to sleep the quicker it’ll be over. If you make a noise he will slam himself against your door. Start running back and forth in your apartment, it will encourage him to start running again. Do so quick as he won’t need many tries to break your door down. Do not try to take a peak as his appearance is quite off putting.  ​ 4. The cripple isn’t your concern as he is stuck on the 4th floor at 2. ​ 5. Mom comes at 3. She leaves fairly quickly, only making sure everyone is in their bed and she’s the last to come up to the 7th floor. She usually stays in the elevator if she sees the hallway is empty, but please try your best to not make a noise. She is unpredictable and we weren’t able to ever set a strict set of rules to fit her in case someone attracts her attention. Just know it never ends well. Be in your room and stay quiet, and you’ll be fine. ​ 6. If you ever were to find yourself outside beyond the midnight-4am time frame, sleep at a friend’s or at a hotel. Do not attempt to go through the hallways it will not end well. ​ 7. No food around the pool. ​ Hope we can all get along!" What.The.Fuck. You guys are all caught up with what’s been happening. I’m sitting on my bed, it is almost 3 and I think my neighbors are pulling a massive cruel prank on me.

The Property Up North

y41mk7

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y41mk7/the_property_up_north/

[The Beginning](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/x1o0pp/the_property_up_north/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) I sat up quickly and looked around. Phoebe and Gretchen were crouched down next to me. "It sounds like a car or something," said Phoebe. Bright lights appeared from the trail, and then a four-wheel utility vehicle drove past us. "It looked like there were at least five people on that thing," said Gretchen. "They're headed the same way we were going," I said. "Let's see where they are going." We waited until it was a safe distance away before following it. Staying far behind, we continued on the path until we couldn't hear the vehicle any longer. We slowed down before a big curve in the path and carefully peered around it. The vehicle was parked off to the side of the trail. It was empty. We cautiously walked over to it and noticed another fire far back into the woods. "The keys are in it," said Phoebe. "Do you think it would be safe to take it?" "I think so," I said. "It will get us to the front of the park much faster, and it doesn't look like anyone is close by." We climbed on the four-wheeler, and I started it up. It was noisy, and I was afraid the people that were on it would start running back to it. I stepped on the gas and took us rapidly down the trail. After driving for a while, it looked like we were getting near the front of the park. The trail widened ahead, and it looked like there was a big open area. I slowed down and brought us to a stop, shutting off the engine so we could hear if anyone was around. "I think someone's coming," said Gretchen. We exited the vehicle and ran into the woods. Then we watched as a group of people came down the path and looked over the vehicle. While they were busy, we made our way out of the woods to the clearing. There were a couple buildings and signs for the trailheads. The sky was getting brighter with the sun beginning to rise. "There's the park office. Let's go check it out," I said. We went inside and looked around. There were brochures for sightseeing in the U.P., along with maps of the park laid out on the counter. "It smells awful in here," said Gretchen. "Maybe it is coming from back there." She pointed to an open doorway behind the front desk. We leaned in through the doorway and quickly found the source of the smell. There was a dead body lying on the floor. The chest was caved in, and a fuzzy growth covered it. There was no power in the building, and there was no dial tone when I picked up the phone. We didn't see anything useful in the building, so we went back outside. "Hey! Over here," a woman's voice shouted. She was standing at the entrance to another building. We ran over and followed her inside. She closed the door behind us. "I'm so glad to see some normal people again," she said. "My name is Amanda." She was wearing a gray shirt with a patch on the side that stated, 'Michigan Conservation Officer.' "I'm Phoebe, and this is Gretchen and Brian," said Phoebe. "Do you know what is happening to everyone?" "All I know is that it started with this weird fungus we found in the woods," said Amanda. It was about a week ago when one of my coworkers found it while going for a hike. He brought it back to look under the microscope when it burst in his face. The next day he brought some people with him to work but didn't say who they were. They were all acting strange, so I stayed away. Before I knew it, the whole staff was acting strange. I hid away from them and watched as they planted these weird things in the ground and went out for long hikes in the woods." "Didn't you call the police or someone for help?" I asked. "I did, but they never showed up. I'm afraid this may be happening in more areas than just here," said Amanda. "Why didn't you leave?" asked Gretchen. "I tried to, but the cars were covered with the fungus," said Amanda. "Same thing happened with our car," said Phoebe. We told Amanda what happened to us, including how they made duplicates of our friends and the fires they were making to spread the spores into the air. "This is crazy," Amanda said. "I wonder where this stuff even came from." "Do you think we could take that utility vehicle out of here?" I asked. "I don't know," said Amanda. "It is pretty loud and only goes up to twenty-five miles per hour. It might be worth a try since I don't know what else we could do." "I wonder how much gas is left in it," I said. "We've got full gas cans in the maintenance shed," said Amanda. "We can pick up more fertilizer, and we should be able to find something to defend ourselves with." "What is the fertilizer for?" Phoebe asked. "I found fungicide in there yesterday and was able to kill one of them with it," said Amanda. "It took a few minutes for it to react, but then it stopped him pretty quick." "We found that antibacterial cream worked on the things that grew out of the spores," I said. "Good to know," said Amanda. "There may be a first aid kit we can grab too." "Do you want a mask?" I asked. "We're thinking it might help protect us from breathing in the spores." "Yes, I'll take one. That's a smart idea," said Amanda. After putting on the mask I handed her, she went to the door and peered outside. "It looks safe to run over to the maintenance building," she said. We all went outside, with Amanda leading the way to the maintenance building. There were shelves full of various supplies and cleaning agents, along with shovels, rakes, and other outdoor tools. Amanda picked up some fungicide and brought it by the door. "Let's put everything we think we'll need here, and then we can swing by with the vehicle to load up whatever we can't carry," she said. We grabbed a couple shovels and a small tool bag to put by the door. There was also a gas-powered backpack leaf blower that I found and set by the other supplies. "Maybe it can help keep the dust off us," I said. The vehicle was still where we had left it near the beginning of the trail. We couldn't see it from here, but I hoped we could make it without being seen. Amanda looked out the door and said, "Hold on. Some people are coming." "How many are there?" asked Gretchen. "There's seven of them," said Amanda. "They are walking over by the main office. We'll have to wait until they go somewhere else." Phoebe reached over and grabbed my hand. "Do you think we're going to be able to get out of here?" she asked. "I hope so," I said. "I'd like to spend more time with you…it was a lot of fun at the cabin until this all happened." She smiled and squeezed my hand. "They went inside. Let's go," said Amanda. We quickly grabbed all we could carry, leaving behind the leaf blower, fungicide, and a few other things, and ran toward the trail. "Their fires must be getting bigger," said Gretchen. "The smell of the burning trees is strong." We made it to the trail entrance and then ran to the utility vehicle. We loaded everything in the back and climbed in. Gretchen was right about the smell. But it didn't just smell like burning wood. It had a weird scent mixed in with it. The smell must have been powerful without the masks. Amanda got in the driver's seat and started it up while the rest of us climbed in. She immediately stepped on the gas and drove us to the maintenance building. The door to the main office opened, and a group of people ran outside. I jumped out of the vehicle when she slowed down near our supplies. They were only about fifty feet from me when I quickly tossed the rest of our things in the back. "Go, go, go!" I shouted as I jumped onto the back of the vehicle. I nearly lost my grip when we started moving but was able to hold on as Gretchen helped me in. "They're going to catch up to us!" shouted Phoebe. Gretchen grabbed a bag of the fungicide and shook it out behind us, sending the granules and a puff of dust into the crowd behind us. We started pulling away from the group when Amanda got us up to full speed. They kept running toward us for a while and then eventually began slowing down. I watched a few of them fall over before they were out of sight. "The fertilizer worked!" shouted Phoebe. We went down a winding road for a while and then came to a stop. "Why'd you stop?" asked Gretchen. "Do you smell that?" asked Amanda. I could still smell the burning wood we had been noticing for a while. "I don't smell anything different," said Phoebe. "Just the same fire smell that has been in the air for a while." "No. It is different," said Amanda. "It smells really good!" She shut off the vehicle. Then she removed her mask and dropped it on the ground before climbing out. "Come on! I think it is over here!" she yelled as she began walking down the trail toward the entrance. I looked at Phoebe and Gretchen and saw the confused expression that was likely plastered on my face as well. "What is she talking about?" "You should put your mask back on!" shouted Phoebe. Amanda kept walking until she was out of sight. "Should we go after her?" I asked. "Maybe we should get out of here," said Gretchen. Before we could decide, Amanda came running back toward us. "What am I doing?" she asked. "I need my mask…no, I need to go into the woods." "I think we need to go," said Phoebe. She climbed into the driver's seat and started the vehicle back up. Amanda was just standing there on the trail in front of us, not moving. Then she put her head in her hands and yelled, "Fine! I'll do it!" She looked up at us and smiled before breaking into a run toward us. Phoebe went in reverse as fast as it would go. I grabbed the leaf blower and found the primer, pumping it a few times before pulling on the starter cord. After a few pulls, it roared to life. The vehicle spun around, nearly toppling me over the side of it. Amanda was right behind us, and a gurgling noise came out of her mouth before she threw up a cloud of dust. I had the leaf blower on full power and aimed it at her face while we took off away from her. She fell backward from the strong point-blank blast of air. "Turn back around!" yelled Gretchen. "We have to go past her to the front of the park!" Phoebe turned it around as quickly as she could, and I got the leaf blower ready again. Amanda had gotten up and was in the center of the road. I blasted her with air again as we drove around her, sending more dust or spores or whatever she was spewing away from us. We continued on through the tree-lined road and eventually came to a small building on our left that must have been the check-in area. I looked in it as we went by and saw that it was empty. "Hey, are those flashing lights up ahead?" Gretchen asked. Phoebe slowed down a little, and I noticed it too. It was coming from around the next corner. We went around the turn slowly and came to an abrupt stop when we saw multiple police cars and fire trucks blocking the way out. "They're empty," said Phoebe. [Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/ye0ozo/the_property_up_north/)

I swear I didn’t try to kill my wife and son, it was the Sneaks

y3ywqu

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y3ywqu/i_swear_i_didnt_try_to_kill_my_wife_and_son_it/

They are going to send me away for a long time for a crime I did not commit, I am too soft for prison, I am 5ft ‘6, come from an upper middle-class family and work as a graphic designer, they will eat me alive in there. They said I tried to murder my wife and son, but I was setup by them, things. I would never hurt anyone; I was trying to protect them, and have been for a long time. For now, I am out on bail, but the trial is coming up soon; I was offered a deal, 5 to 10 if I plead guilty, my lawyer advised me to take it, or I am facing minimum of 20 years. Apparently I haven't a leg to stand on since my wife (Sarah) and son (Jake) are testifying against me. I tried to tell him it wasn’t me; it was those things, but he didn’t believe me. Not the best of options, I don’t want to admit to something I didn’t do just to get less time, I shouldn’t have to, I’m innocent. But if I don’t, I am going to jail for sure and everyone will think I'm guilty anyways. I could run, go to some corner of the world where no one knows me in hopes of a better life, but I can’t live my life like that, besides if the cops didn’t find me the Sneaks would. I call them Sneaks because of the way they move; slowly creeping around, just out of view as if they are waiting for their chance to pounce. They don’t like to be seen, and they definitely don’t like to be talked about. That’s what got me in this mess in the first place, but what have I got to lose now, they already took everything from me, so fuck um. Did you ever get a really strong feeling you are being watched as you walk past a mirror, and then see something move out of the corner of your eye, well that was probably a Sneak. They’re everywhere, it’s just most people are oblivious to them; I know I was, until one day I came across this post on a paranormal forum with username 147catman. He explained how he believed that creatures lived in reflections and how he trained himself to use his peripheral vision to see them. There was a photo to go with it, but it was blurred and really didn’t look like anything apart from a smudge on the lens. At the time I was sure he was just another nutjob and didn’t give it a second thought, until later that night. I was relaxing on the couch watching an old horror movie, the door to my left that led to the hallway was opened, where there was a 6ft antique mirror, the only light was coming from the tv. Halfway through the movie I got a chill down my spine and a weird feeling that I was being watched, so I kept looking between the tv and the mirror. I tried to convince myself it was just the movie making me paranoid and tried to ignore it, but it didn’t work I kept seeing something poking out of the corner of the mirror. I was frozen in fear, too afraid to even look in that direction in case there was actually something there. I tried my best not to look, but I couldn’t help myself, my curiosity got the better of me, and I slowly turned my head. Thankfully there was nothing there. Then I remembered what 147catman said about using your peripheral vision, so I waited to see if it happened again, and it did. I don’t know why I didn’t call it a night and go to bed I was terrified, I guess that’s why they say curiosity killed the cat. This time I was ready and tried to concentrate as hard as I could to look in that direction, without actually moving my eyes, which is not easy, your eyes really want to look in that direction. For a few seconds I watched it slowly moving across the mirror, before my eyes almost went twisted and I had to look, but it was gone. Most people would have said it was a trick of the light or paranoia, since I was watching a horror movie at the time. But I thought there was more to it than that and started to train myself to use my peripheral vision from watching YouTube videos, after a while I became really good at it. The problem was, I didn’t see any of the sneaks, I thought it was because we hadn't enough reflected surfaces in the house. So, I started buying old mirrors and hanging them up around the house, but my wife was not happy about it, she said it didn’t go with the decor and ordered me to get rid of them. Instead, I put them in one of the spare rooms, along with a couch and a tv, my wife wasn’t happy about that either, she used the word insane a lot in that conversation. I must have spent almost every night for the next 3-weeks in that room adjusting mirrors, hoping to get a glimpse of them. I tried everything but nothing seemed to be working, then it came to me the only thing that was different was the movie, so I put it on and hoped for the best. I am usually not that bad with horror movies, but this one really creeped me out. I think it was the fact that it was about a haunted house, and I was sitting alone in a dark room by myself, with the light off. The more I got into the movie, the more creeped out I got, and soon I started to get that feeling of being watched again. Then I saw something moving in a small mirror that was standing on the table at the far side of the couch. I casually started moving my head to the opposite side of the room in a way that looked natural, so they didn’t know I was looking at them and they followed me jumping from mirror to mirror, staying at the edge of my vision. For about 10-minutes I watched them move over and back, before they disappeared completely. I learned two things that night, firstly, I knew without a doubt that the Sneaks did in fact exist, and secondly, fear attracts them. I was so excited and wanted to share my news with someone, but the only person that would know what I was talking about was 147catman. So, I went online and posted my findings on his board and waited for a reply. After that my experiments saw real results, I started seeing the Sneaks every night. Eventually I got so used of them I stopped being scared, but they didn’t stop coming, I think they were just as curious about me at that stage. I was happy that they trusted me enough to visit me every night and thought we had some sort of mutual bond. Then they started showing their true colours after I got a message from 147catman he said, “if you care about your family, stop what you're doing now and forget you ever saw them.” I thought he was threatening me and told him to fuck off, but then the Sneaks started getting more intense. They began to follow me everywhere, even by day, I often saw them at work creeping up behind me on my computer monitor. Then one night before bed I was brushing my teeth and they showed themselves to me, not that it made much of a difference. My eyes couldn’t focus on their features, only the background, like I was looking straight through them in a daze. It was horrible, for hours after I had this disturbing feeling, like they had taken something from me, I really don’t think they were meant to be seen by mortal eyes. Everything changed after that, they didn’t care if I saw them or not anymore in fact, they wanted me to see them. I tried to stop them by throwing out all the mirrors, but it wasn’t enough they wanted something from me, and it didn’t take long to figure out what that was. It wasn’t me they were after anymore; it was my family. I began to see them sneaking up behind Sarah and Jake through reflections like they were going to grab them. At first, I didn’t think they could harm anyone, since I was the only one that could see them, and they only seemed to try and scare me. That all changed when me and Jake went swimming one afternoon. I was sitting at the edge of the swimming pool watching Jake swimming over and back in the shallow end, when I saw the reflection of a dark figure leaning down towards Jake at the other end of the pool. Suddenly I saw Jake splashing around as if he was drowning, which didn’t make sense, as he is such a good swimmer, and the water was only 2 feet high. lucky I got over there and pulled him out before it was too late, for the rest of the day Jake was a bit off, he wouldn’t tell me at first but then I finally got it out of him, he said he felt someone was holding him under. I'm convinced he thought it was me because there was no one else around him at the time, but after a visit to the toy store he soon forgot about it. I felt so helpless, my family was in danger, and there was nothing I could do about it. I started to think that 147catman wasn’t threatening me, maybe he was warning me so that night when I got home, I sent him another message in hopes he knew how to stop them. This is what he said, “It’s too late now, they won’t stop. If you want to protect your family don’t look at them. Your family is only a weapon to them, they won’t lay a finger on their head unless they know you are watching. Cover all reflective surfaces and don’t go out unless completely necessary, or better still move far away and hope they don’t follow you. Straight away I got rid of every mirror in the house but that wasn’t enough, there was still too many reflective surfaces, so I started keeping the blinds down and the lights off as much as possible, but that only seemed to make them angry. One morning as I was walking downstairs behind my wife, I could see Sarah locking her phone from over her shoulder. On her screen I could see a shadow grabbing her from behind and she started to wobble, thank God I caught her arm before she fell. I’m sure she thought I pushed her, she didn’t say anything about it, but I could see it in her eyes. After that my wife became weary of me and was always watching me. To make it worse I had become extremely paranoid and only went out when absolutely necessary, even when I did, I put on a pair of work goggles that I spray painted black with the bottom section left clear, so I could see where I was walking. She thought I lost the plot, but I convinced her I had been to the doctor and he said I had Photophobia, and the light was giving me migraine. I had stopped going to work by then, I gave my boss the same excuse that I had told my wife and took a month off work. I don’t think Sarah or Jake was so happy about me being around all the time, since I wouldn’t let them use their phones or watch tv when I was there. Everything went downhill for me and Sarah after that she said I had become too controlling. I wanted to tell her the truth so she would understand that I was only trying to help, but I was afraid she would think I was a psycho and run away with Jake, and I wouldn’t be able to protect them anymore. I knew we needed to get out of the house before we ended up killing each other, so one day I made my wife drive us to the one place I was sure would have no mirrors; the forest. Sarah was extremely suspicious and kept asking me to go to the park instead, I suppose I wouldn’t blame her; she knew I hated places like that. I was never an outdoor kind of guy even as a child while my friends were out playing football, I was at home reading books or messing around on my computer. With that and the way I was acting lately she had a good reason not to trust me taking them out to the middle of a forest out of the blue like that, to make it worse I made them leave their phones at home. As we were walking, I found a new appreciation for the great outdoors, it was so peaceful, no noise apart from the birds singing and the rustling leaves. Best of all there were no reflective surfaces for monsters to creep out of, I was finally at peace. We spend hours wondering around in there Jake and I loved it, but Sarah was still nervous she barely said a word all that day apart from, when are we going home. When it was time to go we followed what I thought was the trail back to the car, it was dusk by the time I realized that we were lost. Sarah and Jake wanted to turn around and go back the way we came, but I wouldn’t let them. Even though we were on the wrong trail, I had a strange feeling that we were supposed to go that way. Besides we would never have found the right trail in the dark. About 20 minutes later we came to an old dirt road and followed it until we reached a crossroad, to our left we could see a log cabin with the porch light on. I was so relieved I thought we were never going to get out of there. Here is the weird part; at the end of the driveway there was a mailbox, when I read the address, I nearly died, it said, 147catman view. I just stood there in shock, while my wife and son ran up to the cabin. By the time I snapped out of it and go to the cabin the door was open and Jake was standing outside, he said, “come on dad there’s no one home, mom is looking for a phone inside.” I hesitated for a moment, “ok just wait right there, I am going to check out back.” when I got to the back of the house things got even stranger the garden was full of sculptures made from old broken mirrors. Then suddenly the door opened, and my wife walked out, “I can’t find a phone we are going to have to stay here for the night.” “No way” I replied angerly, “there is something not right about this place. We have to go NOW!” She smirked at me, “I thought you would be happy here since you clearly have the same taste in decor” and she walked back into the house. I didn’t know what she meant at first until I followed her inside, and there was mirrors everywhere, so I ran back out the door. I tried to tell them to get out of there, but they wouldn’t listen, so I had no choice but to go back inside. I put my head down and tried not to look at the mirrors, but it didn’t work I could see the Sneaks moving around from the corner of my eye. Then I heard my wife scream in the other room, so I rushed in, but my wife was lying on the floor, and I ended up hitting her on the head with the door. At the same time Jake happened to be walking in the other door, I will never forget that look on his face, it still haunts me. I tried to tell him it wasn’t me that hurt her, but he just ran away crying. As I lifted Sarah over to the couch, I saw one of those things standing right in front of me in the mirror. I than heard Jake call out, “please stop” then a bang, I ran to the kitchen to find Jake lying face down on the floor struggling to breathe. I picked him up and turned him around, but when he saw my face, he screamed and started kicking me, so I let him go. I than heard my wife calling my name, when I turned around, she was standing there with a baseball bat. The next thing I remember it was morning and there were two cops standing over me. I tried to tell them it wasn’t me, I even told them about 147catman, which they did look into. It turns out that the account was registered in my name and that’s not all, the cabin was rented out using my credit card. The more I thought about it, the more I started to doubt myself, maybe I did do all those horrible things, it would explain how I was seeing all those weird creatures. I was about to confess until a few days ago I got an email from someone claiming to be 147catman, it had a link, when I clicked on it, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was a live feed to my wife's computer that she kept in our bedroom, she was in bed with Jake they were both sleeping. In the doorway I could see someone standing up waving at the camera. I was about to ring the cops when I got another email, it said, “yours or theirs? ” Underneath it had a photo of a family, “Choose now” I didn’t know what else to do so I replied, “theirs.” Seconds later I got a reply with only an address on it, straight away I went to there and the sneaks showed me exactly what to do. I don’t regret anything; I would do anything to protect my family. But I don’t feel so bad about taking the deal, I am not so innocent anymore.

Arctica

y3kplm

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y3kplm/arctica/

Ice. Most people don't know much about it, except that they like it in their drinks on a hot summer day. It can be described as water at zero C. Or for any Americans that are reading this, anything below Thirty-two F. I came with a research group that was supposed to sample ice cores and observe the surrounding conditions. A group by the same name as the company and the ice shelf where my Scott's Polar was pitched 45 degrees west of the sun. If they hadn't been paying me big bucks, there'd be no way in hell that I'd be here. It wasn't about the science, it wasn't even about being right, I love the science and I've always hated losing an argument. It's the Fucking Cold. It's so cold that even getting angry about it feels distant. As there's nothing more important than getting warm. Even on a record day with the sun overhead, boiling water turns into mist when it is tossed into the air. Land? The frozen tundra is hundreds of meters below. I. am. an. ant. on an ice cube. Perhaps even smaller. On this day, the Ross research foundation had sent me and two other employees 20 kilometers across the shelf to get some cores. They were in a hurry because they couldn't wait for the expedition crew to return. For what reason? I have no idea. It made sense for Chloe to be here, she was the glaciologist. London? Maybe. Out of everyone on this continent, he had the most Arctic experience. A whole lot of good that will do him as Antarctica is a different beast. And I was a structural engineer, mainly responsible for raising and lowering equipment. A glorified camper to be honest. I wouldn't be much help in an actual crisis. Which made me wonder why the company was breaking its own policies by sending us out today. NO DEAD WEIGHT. was rule #3. And yet here we were, a couple of saddlebags around one horse. "This is completely fucked." The cabin rattled into my ear, "We shouldn't be here!" Chloe shouted at me, "100 meters out," as she held up her hands. "We should have waited until Dave and Simon got back!" Chloe shook her head. I couldn't tell if that meant she couldn't hear me or if she didn't know what the company was thinking either. "I love you," I shouted at her. She only smiled, then nodded when the crawler hit boulders of ice in our path. The front tires lurched over a particularly rough patch and the sun visors came crashing down, swinging its arm into my face. I winced and grabbed at my eye, the plastic had split the brittle skin on my brow. The warm blood instantly drying before it can blur my vision. It's so cold here that there's little humidity. The entire place is one big sponge that is gasping for even a drop of water. I can taste ice crystals in my throat when I try to swallow. They prickle the inside of my mouth, and the back of my tongue - the part where it can make a grown man gag. Causing me to cough as I tried to cry out in pain. Instinctively I start to take off my gloves, but London reaches over and smacks my hands away from each other. He points to the thermal gauge on the screen. It's cold in here. So cold that if I took off my gloves and managed to get them wet, unprotected in these temperatures. My fingers would start to turn bright red as if they were on fire, as the cells in my skin would start to die. And in a few minutes under the right conditions, the tissue in my fingers would collapse, and I wouldn't be able to use my hand anymore. Amputation would be the only course of action. Chloe pulls the med bag out from beneath her. The company was in charge of every detail in our missions. Even down to who sat where. London and I were expendable, that much was clear, for we sat on either side of Chloe, as two human meat shields. She pulls open a bandage and breaks a heating pad behind it before pressing it against my head; squeezing the frozen crust shut, causing it to bleed momentarily as it reopened. She pinches the edges along the cut, and I can feel the yellow fat lining the inside of my skin - bulge out as her fingers tuck me in like a stuck zipper. The freezing cold sealing my wound shut as if it had been welded. "We'll have to stitch it when we get back," Chloe mouthed. I nodded and waved a thanks just as London poured on the brakes. The tires skipped across the surface until we finally came to a halt. The engine shut off, causing the recirculating heat pump to sputter to a dead silence. "We're here!" "What?" "I said this is the spot!" "We're here?" London nodded and pointed to a round disc on the ground. It was the size of a car in the shape of a manhole with an orange and green light blinking from a small antennae attached to the top. London started grabbing the equipment in the cabin as he motioned for me to open the door. I pulled the lever and pushed against the steel frame. The cold hit me fresh in the mouth. It felt like a metal needle on an exposed nerve, its hypodermic fang seeping lead into my body. I climbed out onto one of the custom tires, the rubber on these things were taller than my knee. From the roof rack I began unloading footlockers filled with telescopic bits. The wind had grown stale, but it could pick up at any moment, so I moved quickly in case a freak blizzard sent giant bolts of ice raining down from the sky. There was an expedition in 2002, where one of the researchers ran into an ice storm to retrieve a data set for the Larsen B Ice Shelf before its collapse. The data would have been the last chance for us to understand the geological impacts of the area surrounding Cape Horn, where the Atlantic Ocean and the Pacific meet before it disappeared. She was found several weeks after the storm had let up, less than 30 meters from her base, in a forest of icicles that stuck out from the Earth as quills on a porcupine, some thicker than a telephone pole. The data set folded across her chest, her legs still in the air as if running, with a spear of ice plunged between her shoulder blades and exiting her abdomen like a butterfly pinned in a book. Removing her would have cost a fortune, and leaving her served as a stark reminder of the dangers out here, but also as a symbol to the importance of our work. So they left her there, for better or for worse. With many lovingly referring to her as the Snow Angel, whenever they passed. By the time I got around, London had already pulled the Dowler off the back of our crawler. The Dowler is the love child of Dr. Kelsie Grant, one of the lead engineers on the team. It stood about 15 feet tall when unfolded and was the only device that could dig into the Pixie Tubes. See, the problem with ice core samples had been that it would sometimes take years to drill deep enough, and if the drill were ever to stop, then the hole would either collapse or fill with ice in a matter of days. The Ross Research Foundation commissioned Dr. Grant years ago to solve this problem. She inserted braided pipes called Pixie Tubes down drilled holes and capped them on either side. So that when a new group needed samples, all they would have to do is pop off the top of the old one, drop the bit down the empty shaft and drill through the other side at the bottom in order to continue where the last group left off. Imagine a flexy straw suspended by ice down below. "I got the first rounds," London exploded the canisters found at the ends of each leg, causing the stakes built within the Dowler into the ice. He lifted the tab on the last leg, and pulled the hard yellow ring, the C02 exploded and punched an arm worth of steel down. He slapped the back of the Dowler, "This thing isn't going anywhere." I hauled over the disconnected drill bits to him, "Let's make it quick. The north face doesn't look steady." "There's never anything quick about drilling," he shouted as the Dowler sits over the exposed metal cap in the ground. "The data says we're stable," Chloe pulled her Canada Goose closer, "Bet you wish we were back at base." "Any chance of us cracking through the tubes? Or worse! Splitting the ice and lopping off a part of the Shelf," I asked. "It's bad luck to talk about the ice mate," London positions the drill over it until the cap begins to disintegrate. "We're through," he shouted as he turned to Chloe, "We can start on your mark." "Remember! No faster than 2 meters per minute. Anything more and we could accidently rupture the braided lines without knowing it. And cause a pincer below our feet," she yells. A pincer is a type of crevasse. A moving one. And it is one of my worst nightmares. Imagine standing on solid ice and then the ground suddenly disappears. Falling ten, twenty, hundreds of feet, hoping to be lucky enough to die on impact; instead of being trapped between two vertical ice sheets that are shifting to fill the void. The walls drift on sheer weight alone. It reminds me of early scuba divers who traveled too deep and were crushed alive. The water pushing in from every side and the air is squeezed out of their lungs before it all comes rushing back in through their mouths, gorging their bellies full of salt water until their bodies are equalized with the pressure. "Wouldn't want that," London pulled his goggles over his eyes. Chloe's watch beeped as the Dowler screamed its head into the ice. I watched the thing kick back fine grains of ice powder as it broke through the upper membrane that had been trapped inside. Flecks of ice shavings landed everywhere. The kind that was thin enough to melt from what little body heat could be found out here. If I didn't know better, I would think that this was the ice's way of protecting itself, fighting against us, in order to keep its secrets. See, getting wet out here is a different kind of danger unto itself. Even sweating spelled a certain death wish. I looked up at the sun, it may as well have been a light bulb in the refrigerator. All it did was cause me to squint as I stared into the endless rows of ice ridges in the distance. Nothing could live here, things could pass by, they could cross, but this was truly the edge of the world. "We're past the bottom cap," London shouted. Waking me from my daydream. I checked the line feeding through the top of the Dowler, "We're still good," watching it feed up and over and then down, down below. Chloe looked up from her laptop and confirmed, "The ice is steady." London nodded briefly before grabbing the bars beneath the Dowler. "Lowering stands by 5 feet." The legs collapsed around the hole, reminding me of a king crab if it could squat. "Pushing through the end cap." I could almost hear it pop as the drill pierced into the ice on the other side. The three of us looked at each other. I didn't know I had been holding my breath until Chloe broke the silence, "Here's to going where no one's been in over a million years," she shouted. I couldn't help but smile. She held up two fingers at me, "2 meters." I nodded. "Ice, ice, baby," London recanted. I watched as the bits continued to disappear down the hole. "How far did they want us to go," I asked. "Company says we need another 20 meters." "Twenty?" Chloe nodded at him, "Yeah. We'll be here for awhile." "Any idea what it is they're looking for out here," London asked. Bits of snow were already crusting the goggles on his face. "Same thing as always. I'm guessing." "Do they think it's unstable?" Chloe shrugs, "Maybe they found something in the ice cores from before." She must have saw the look on my face because she laughed, "Come on, don't be that gullible. I'm sure it's nothing more than some atmospheric data that they need to feed into some machine." She hadn't finished her words when a sudden snap cracks through the air. I didn't have time to process what was happening before I see the bits plummeting over the Dowler and down into the hole. "Shit!" I tightened the clamp around them, sparks flew as the brakes bite into the steel. "London!" I pulled the handle on the feeder to try and slow it down. It's no use, ice has coated the rods and it was slipping! I looked up in time to see one of the legs on the Dowler collapse from the force of the drill falling, a gust of snow rose like smoke and traps London beneath the legs. I can see the horror on his face as he looks back at me. Almost see the fear in his eyes behind the reflective amber on his lenses before he disappears from view. Chloe rushes to the cruiser and starts to pull out a tent. It's standard company policy, and a courtesy everyone in the south knows about. The few seconds of warmth here could save a life, even some limbs. As there was nothing else she or I could do except to wait for the debris to clear. "London," I shouted again as I am finally able to reel the bits to a halt. I rush forward but Chloe grabs my arm. Parts of the tent still in her hands, "The glacier might not be steady," she yells at me. "Here." She tosses me a Kevlar infused rope as we huddle around the remnants of the Dowler. "In case it opens up. So we don't get separated." I hear a groan as the steel moves. My feet back up instantly and I almost plow Chloe to the ground. She's grabbing onto my arm, her feet skittering beneath her as we try to get away. I can hear something splintering below me, it is a worse sound than any bone that I've ever broken. Almost like someone is chewing on teeth until they crack, right in my ear. I try to mouth the words "Fuck," as the two of us scramble away. The Dowler collapses another leg. I think I hear someone screaming. I don't know if it is me. But when I look up, I can see a split in the ice, it ran from where the Dowler had stood to between my legs. I looked behind me and saw it stretched for over 10 meters before disappearing beneath the snow. I was too terrified to move a muscle. Chloe's hand on my elbow felt the same way. I don't know how long we sat there, petrified. But when the clouds of snow had settled, we could see parts of the Dowler still above the surface. The cracks leading away from it weren't that deep, considering how thick the ice was. "I think it looks worse than it actually is," Chloe whispered. I could still hear the hum of the Dowler as the electronics onboard hadn't shut off. "London," she called out. "London," it seemed as if I suddenly remembered. I slowly got to my feet and edged toward the Dowler. A part of me wanted Chloe to stop me, but she let me go. As I edged closer I could see a bright red jacket poking out from under the snow. "I think I see him," I shouted back at her. "Is he okay?" I get on my hands and knees, until I am flat on my stomach and crawl toward him. My hand grabbing a sleeve as I start to pull. He didn't look to be breathing. I knew that the ice was thick, and we needed to move quickly. But we also thought it was thick before we started drilling. So I moved with purpose and slowly slid him forward. When it looked as if I he were finally coming loose, I felt something snatch. I tugged on his jacket again and he wouldn't budge. It was then that I realized that he was twisted around, his knee must have broken in the accident. Creating an abnormal wedge in the snow. I turned him over with great effort, and was then finally able to pull him free. His body still limp by the time I got him over to Chloe. She immediately started tending to him, sticking hot pads into his jacket, under his arm pits and between his groin. I brushed off as much snow on him as I could, and with Chloe's help, I got him into the tent. Once inside we stripped him completely naked, drying any parts that we could find. He was wet down his back and all over his trousers. I could smell the urine on him as we worked quickly to stabilize his condition. Putting on a set of new clothes to warm him. I don't know how long we worked for, but eventually color began returning to his face. The manual resuscitator was removed from his mouth as he started breathing again on his own. The two of us fell backwards on our asses as we watched him breath for awhile. "Shit." "Shit is right," I told her. "We have to start heading back." I nodded, "I've got to get the equipment first." For a second she looked at me as if I were joking, but she knew as well as I did that this was the only Dowler on our side of the camp. The other two had went with an earlier expedition that wouldn't return for 2 more months. Which means that without it, there was nothing we could do out here. A waste of everyone's time. I left the tent and observed the area around the Pixie Tube. The Dowler laid on its side like a fallen monument. Its yellow frame frosting over as the wind began to pick up speed. I inched closer to the Dowler until I was able to grab the handle. I looked down the hole and saw the bits mainly intact. The ice beneath us seemed to have stabilized. Experience told me that it must have somehow shifted below. Causing the bit to go into a freefall as it was drilling. The force of the bits being fed overhead at speed was too great for the legs, and it collapsed under the weight. It was a miracle that the ground didn't open up from under us. Even more of a miracle if the drill weren't stuck right now. Pinched between two adjoining sheets of ice. I wondered if it was stuck, and I moved it, would it cause a ripple effect over the shelf? No time to think. The temperatures were already dropping and I could hear the wind speed flapping against the tent behind me. We had to move and get out of here fast. Off the ice shelf and back to the interim. I reversed the lever and prayed when it began churning. The bits below crinkled as it began to come back up. I was glad that it wasn't stuck. I started collapsing and loading the spit out pieces back into the footlockers one by one. Everything was going better than expected as the bits started coming up. I must have gotten through 200 meters before I saw the steam rising from the Pixie Tube. "What the fuck?" I whirled around and saw London hobbling towards me. "You should be resting." "That's what I said," Chloe chimed from behind him. "But he said it's safer and faster if the three of us did it together." London nodded, "It's procedure. And plus. I'm feeling better." "Can't feel better with a broken leg," I looked down at the aluminum cast strapped to his thigh. "The painkillers are working for now. I can't promise that in another hour." He grabbed one of the bits, staring at the smoke coming up from the hole. "And I'd like to be back at camp before then." "What do you reckon it is," I asked. The three of us looked on, not a word exchanged between us as the bits kept coming out. Watching the steam grow thicker with each tug, until the end was exposed, clearing the hole and clipping itself into the Dowler like a guillotine. We stood there in silence as our brains tried to make sense of what we were seeing. "It's not mine," London said. Chloe crept toward it, the steam still rising upwards. The drill head that had been covered in metal teeth like a worm being pulled inside out was now covered in blood. I watched it drip off the steel and onto the ice. It was red but thicker than any human blood I have ever seen, and it was still wet. I don't know how long I had been holding my breath, but when my lungs couldn't bear the pain anymore, I inhaled and nearly choked on a lung. "Do you hear that," London broke away. He leaned closer toward the hole. "Shh," he motioned at me. "Listen." I tried to hold back my cough, straining my ears towards the hole. Hearing the whistling sound, a scraping sound, carving and gorging from down below. "What is that," Chloe asked. "Sounds like something spinning," I told her. "Yeah," London nodded. "Yeah. Like a stuck bit down there that's still spinning. Except we got the whole thing out," he glanced at the drill head resting beneath the Dowler. Moving underneath the device until his head was nearly in the manhole. The drill pointed at his back like an arrow. "Hello?" The sound of his voice traveled down the tube. After a few minutes I could hear it echo back at him. "Damn that things deep," he looked up at us. Almost satisfied as he got off his hands and knees. "Alright. Let's get this thing back to camp to get some samples. Maybe we hit a new species or something. I don't know." "What about that noise," Chloe asked. London scratched at his chin, "When I was up in the Artic. We had nothing but a lot of free time. And firearms. Sometimes we would shoot at the ice. If we shot it at just the right angle, the bullet would spin like a top. It almost sounds like that. So I'm guessing. Maybe one of the cannisters fell down there and it went off. Likely still spinning from the force. It should be nothing. Now come on," he grabbed a footlocker, "Help me get this thing back to the crawler." He hadn't finished his little speech before we all heard it. It was soft at first, but then it happened again. "Hello," came a mimicry from deep below the ice. It traveled up the tube and froze us in our steps. The sound was unlike any human noise I have ever heard. It was thicker and harsh, like two flaps coming from the throat. It was almost like a parrot, like something pretending to speak. I could feel my lower lip trembling as I looked behind us. "Hello. Hello. Hello hello hello hello helllohellohellohello," it came. Mimicking the speed of the drill as it repeated the last thing it had heard. I didn't even have enough time to move before we started hearing scraping and rattling come from below the pipe. Something was climbing up. London fell as he tried running toward the crawler. Chloe had already yanked on the door handle and was rummaging through the cabin for the keys when I caught up with her. "Chloe," I shouted at her. Grabbing her with both hands. "Chloe!" "We have to get out of here," she screamed at me. "We have to go! Now!" I shook her, "We have to seal the tube." She looked at me for a second. I could see the fear in her eyes. Before she nodded, "Seal the tube. Seal the tube," she repeated. I reached into the overhead compartment and pulled out the disc that had been attached above the seats. It was solid and nearly a hundred kilos. It was all I could do to push it out of the cruiser and watch it fall onto the ice with a thick thud. "What are you doing," London shouted at me. He had managed to climb up the bumper, righting himself. "We have to go!" I shook my head, "We have to seal it!" London looked at the tube. It shook. "Fuck!" He pointed at me to drag the thing closer, "I'll help you lift it when you're near," he shouted as he limped toward the opening. I ran over to the cap, turned it so that the explosive welders on the back weren't being scraped on the ground as I dragged it toward the Pixie Tube. I could feel the sweat beading from my armpits, but there wasn't any time to worry about that now. I looked up when London started shouting at me to hurry. His mouth was open as a hand rested on the lip of the tube as he looked into the hole, it was now shaking so badly that it vibrated his entire body. The Dowler shifted and suddenly the drill bit came loose. It plunged downward, into the hole. Taking London with it. I stared in horror as he disappeared. Nearly slipping on the drops of blood that had been on the ground from earlier. I abandoned the sealing cap knowing that I couldn't do it alone, and ran as fast as I could back to the crawler. Chloe was standing stiffly next to the vehicle when I pushed her inside. Her body was in shock as I started it up. The heat pump blasting us with frigid air as the crawler groaned as it came alive. I turned us around, the tires biting into the snow, driving as fast as I could toward camp. The entire ride back I couldn't even face Chloe. Neither of us had spoken a word. Not even when we saw our few tents come into view, they stood in a makeshift order around one another. Their sides empty, indicating that the rest of our team weren't back yet. A part of me wanted to drive right past it and head back to McMurdo, the station. Where there were others, but I could feel the exhaustion creeping onto my shoulders. And knew that we needed rest and supplies, if we had any chance of making it back alone. When I pulled to a stop and got Chloe into her tent. She finally broke the silence. I wished she hadn't. "I saw something climb out." She grabbed my arm, "What if it was London? And we left him?" I shook my head. Knowing that the drill had fallen on him, plunged him deep down that pipe. Knew that if something did come out, whatever it was, wasn't human. Even if it did bleed red. I tore off my boots and saw the blood on them. It still hasn't dried. "Get some rest," I told her. "We're going to need it." ​ ​ [S](https://www.reddit.com/r/CornerCornea/comments/u6rx8n/subscribe/)

On a hunting trip with my Grandad, deep in the forest, we made a haunting discovery. There's something wrong with the animals.

y37ioe

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y37ioe/on_a_hunting_trip_with_my_grandad_deep_in_the/

Drizzle taps lightly on the leaves all around us, the smell of pine rich in the air as we creep through the undergrowth, my Grandad and I. I run my tongue along my teeth, focusing. I raise the rifle a little higher. A *Nosler*. A way higher quality weapon than I should be using, the thing is wasted on me. I’m an appalling hunter. …I’m not even sure if I agree with it, to be honest. Hunting, I mean. Ethically speaking. I mean, my Grandad and I eat basically everything we kill and, to be honest, I don’t kill a whole lot. I send many of my shots deliberately wide. I just do this to hang out with him, really. He’s a fascinating man, and the guy likes taking me out into the woods, so. I just go along with it, it’s fine. It’s good quality-time that I’m lucky to have. But we’re stalking a pair of deer right now. Big things as well. I’m pretty sure the creatures know we’re here, but, you can get surprising close provided you don’t actually give off any sign that you’re tryna shoot them. “Stay low Robbie”, he murmurs through the side of his mouth. “Move to your right past the bush, then it’s a clean shot. Take it when ready”. I like my name. Named after the man beside me, as it happens. Robert. He being Robert I, and me of course, Robert II. I nod and creep into position, taking careful aim as instructed. I see a thumbs up in the corner of my eye, and I shoot. …I miss. The sound ricochets around the forest and birds burst from a nearby tree, shooting up towards the sky. The deer wheel round in a panic and make to leave. “Godammnit” my Grandad mutters and raises up from behind the bush, bringing his rifle with him and firing off a quick shot. My ego is somewhat relieved by the fact that he misses too, and we both watch as the deer disappear into the undergrowth and shadow of the forest. The man lowers his weapon and looks at me. I do the same and give him a shrug. We hold eye contact for a second, then, he breaks with a chuckle, shaking his head. “Damnit Robbie, every time I think I’ve taught you something you manage to pull off some magnificent blunder just like that”. “Hey, well, you know what they say- you shouldn’t judge a fish on its ability to climb a tree”. “I ain’t judging you on your tree-climbing ability. You’re *my* Grandson. I’m judging you on your ability to swim, fishie”. I point to the shattered branch my Grandad caused when he fired his shot. “I truly am learning from the best”. “Bastard”, he snorts with a laugh, thumping me on the chest. “Come on, let’s track ‘em. Plenty daylight left”. We push around the bush and head through the little clearing, stepping over a fallen log and making to follow the route the deer both took, but my Grandad suddenly stops and holds up his hand with his head cocked to the side. I pause likewise, waiting, holding my breath and listening intently. My ears hone in on the sound of rustling foliage and snapping twigs. It grows louder, heading towards us, in the exact direction the deer were running from. “Jesus”, my Grandad grunts, “they’re coming back this way. They’ll have seen a-” but he is cut off by the sudden emergence of the deer through the bushes ahead. Rushing right at us from the green, gloomy shade. “Shit!” I shout out loud in a panic. The deer make no attempt to run around us in the slightest and run instead directly towards our position. I raise the rifle and take rapid, shaky aim. “Damnit Steve, DOWN!” Grandad shouts, grabbing me by the sleeve and hauling me to the forest floor, back behind the log. *…Steve?* The air escapes me as I crash with my Grandad down to the ground, and the deer jump right over us. My Grandad instantly takes position, cocking and aiming his own rifle over the top of the log, deathly focused. “Something will have made ‘em run like that. They’ll have seen a wolf, or a bear”. “A wolf? *A bear?”* “I’d be surprised to see either, at this time of day. But as I said. Something made them run”. My Grandad remains cool and composed, the barrel of the rifle fixed on the damaged woodland ahead and along the deer’s path. I stick close, watching out in all directions in case we are approached from the side, gun cocked and heart pounding. … …But.. nothing comes. We wait for a tension-laden minute, then another, muscles aching with the stress of simply holding ourselves in pre-emptive positions, but as I said, nothing else comes towards us. My Grandad cautiously gets to his feet. “Weird”, he mutters. “We’d better move on out of here. Come on, stay alert, but let’s go”. I nod in reply and together we make a swift but carefully exit from the little grove, heading back through the woods and retracing our steps. After what I hope is something of a safe distance, I ask my Grandad a question. “Why’d you call me Steve, back then?” “Eh?” “When the deer were coming at me, you called me Steve. You said ‘Steve get down’”. “Huh, is that so”, my Grandad asks, scratching his chin. “I don’t know. You know Steve though, right? Old friend of mine. I swear I’ve mentioned him before”. I consider. “Uh… yeah, maybe. Once or twice”. Grandad shakes his head. “I’ve definitely talked about him more than that. You probably weren’t listening”. He sighs. “It was just the moment, I suppose. The way you were standing, the deer coming right at you, raising your gun… What would have happened if you’d shot one, eh? It would have gone right down and knocked you out with it”. “I don’t know, it wasn’t all that big-” “It was bigger than you’re giving it credit for. And at that speed? Would have flattened you. It’s what I told Steve, all those years ago, he did the exact same thing, the idiot”. “What’s he up to these days?” My Grandad does not reply. He only looks out into the depths of the forest. We’re atop a high hill, and the trees give way to a view across a deep, green valley. The sky is gray overhead. The man tuts and shakes his head. “Steve… Steve isn’t around much anymore”. “Oh, sorry. He’s not… he’s not dead, is he?” My Grandad grimaces. “I don’t know, exactly”. “You don’t know?” “Look, just drop it kid. A story for another day. Let’s just get back to the campsite. Cook that rabbit we caught earlier”. He pauses, putting out a hand, and I stop at once, following his line of sight. I hadn’t even spotted it, but it chills my blood to see it now. Gives me the shivers even remembering. We stand only a few feet away from a deer. It’s one of the same deer as before, I’m sure of it. Neither of us had spotted it because the thing is standing entirely still. Like a statue. A taxidermy, almost. “The hell?” Grandad whispers, staring at the creature in surprise. He squints and then leans over to me. “It’s breathin’ though only barely. Look down there at its chest”. I do so, taking the spectacle in. The deer has one hooved foot placed against the trunk of a tree, which in itself is quite curious already… but the animal does not move, even slightly. It does not blink. “Hey”, my Grandad barks, then louder: “Hey!” he claps his hands, but the deer does not react. Then, in time with a sudden flurry of water from the rain-soaked leaves above us, the deer slowly turns its head. All the way around, until it is staring at my Grandad and myself, one eye on each. My stomach drops, though I am unsure as to why. The deer is… I don’t know. Something is wrong. “The thing must be sick”, my Grandad murmurs. “We’ll take a different route back, go wide of this creature. We’re too close already as it is” “Yeah”, I mumble, and the two of us edge away and through the undergrowth, taking a new direction as the deer watches us go, deathly-silent. I shiver as it at last passes out of sight, lost behind us to the watery green shadows of the forest. ​ \* ​ Later that night, after returning to camp and preparing and eating our catch, I bid my Grandad goodnight and crawl into my tent, zipping the flaps up after me. I fumble round in the near-darkness for a while, my lamp casting intense, black shadows out in all directions as I shift it from place to place, trying to work my way into my sleeping bag. It doesn’t feel particularly cold at the moment, but, the temperature has the potential to suddenly drop at any given minute, and I don’t want to wake up frozen solid at 3am. … …As it happens, I don’t. I awaken at 3:15; not frozen, but slick with sweat. Roused from a dreamless slumber, my ears prick up at the sound of rustling and snuffling outside. Right by my tent. ​ I hold my breath and grit my teeth. ​ It’s this fear of the unknown that gets me. It’s *probably* just a rabbit, or a hare. …But the possibility that it could be something larger, something more dangerous, is impossible to ignore. For some reason my mind does not go to an image of a bear, or a mountain lion, or anything like that. It goes to the deer. Frozen in place. Eyes unblinking, head turning as it watches my Grandad and I pass by. Something presses up against the tent, right by my head. I wince and stare at the bulging material through the darkness. I try not to think about the fact that I am separated by the beasts of the forest by a pair of what are effectively thin, flimsy sheets of fabric. *Just ignore it,* I tell myself. *Ignore it and it’ll go away.* I quietly roll over and scrunch up my eyes, determined to be a man and to not get frightened by the presence of some raccoon or squirrel. The creature sniffles some more. Rustling about in the grass, in the dark. ​ My heart rate increases as I hear the thing *pawing* against the tent’s outer lining. …And then, for a second, it stops entirely, and to my horror I hear my Grandad’s voice. ​ *“It’s breathin’ though only barely”.* ​ The sentence comes crisp and sharp through the general murmur and backing breeze of the forest. The sentence is entirely devoid of cadence. As if read from a book by someone who has never known English. “*Look down there at its chest*”, says the voice. ​ *Fuck.* *FUCK.* ​ Panicking now, I do not know what I am supposed to do. It’s my Grandad outside, playing a prank on me. It has to be. It MUST be, because there is literally no other explanation that makes sense. Regardless of the fact that this is entirely out of character. Regardless of the fact that I have never heard the man speak in such a way, even in humor, in his entire life. … He must be sleep-walking. That’s it. My explosive heartrate cools just a little. That’s it. It’s the only possible explanation that makes sense. And if that’s the case, then, I can’t just leave him to wander around outside. Despite my fear, I gently ease my way out of my sleeping bag. You might think me an idiot, but, if my Grandad is wondering around in the woods in a daze he could get lost, or seriously hurt. So I push aside my irrational terror, and with a shaking hand I reach for the zip, pulling it open with a noise that is far too loud for comfort. Fuck it. In for a penny, in for a pound. I yank the zip open, and then the next, and push my head out into the night, the cool air washing across my face as I raise the lantern to cast away the darkness. ​ …What I see, is nothing. ​ I jump outside of the tent, staring, lifting the lantern as the light falls across the long grasses and the nearby trees. We’re still on the ridge of the valley, but the valley itself is shrouded in darkness. A small section of visible moon illuminates the very tips of the trees in silver, but I am too pre-occupied to properly appreciate the natural beauty for now. I pace around the tent in a circle and see no evidence of my grandfather. “Grandad?” I hiss out into the night, turning and raising the lantern up high. … …Still, nothing. Something chirps softly from between the branches of the deep woods. I turn to face it with throat dry, but the trees give away no secrets. I cross the grass and crouch down by my Grandad’s tent. The zip remains closed. “Grandad?” I whisper, to no response. I try again, a little louder. “*Grandad?*” I hear a groan and a grumble from inside. “Huh?” I hear him mutter, then, “the hell?” “Grandad are you good?” “Of course I’m good, what’s the matter with you?” “Alright… Uh, nothing. See you tomorrow”. He murmurs something under his breath and I hear the rustle of his sleeping bag as he rolls over. I stand up straight and stare out into the night. ​ For a second time, that chirping sound rings out from the branches, and I make a hasty return to my tent, zipping the thing up tight and secure, shivering as I try to force myself back to sleep. ​ It takes a long time, and I do not recall drifting off. My dreams are disturbing, and are largely comprised of the discovery that something crept into my tent, dream-distorted and warped into an impossible size. My dream-self scrambles around from place to place as a nightmare slithers and swims through the shadows like water. It is a welcome relief when I awake safe and sound, to the faded glare of tent-filtered, morning sunlight shining into my face. “Ugh”, I mutter, sitting up straight and groggily rubbing my eyes. For a second or two the reality of last night blurs into the dreams, but as I remember the truth, that bitterly familiar anxiety settles back in. I clamber out of the tent into the warming morning air to find my Grandad washing his face in a pot of water. “Mornin’” he grunts. “How you feel this morning?” “Not great, to be honest”, I reply. “You were sleep-walking last night”. “Eh?” Grandad glances up at me but continues with his routine. “No, I don’t sleepwalk”. “You were mumbling nonsense and bashing into my tent at like 3am”, I tell him. “I came to check on you but you… you must have just gone back to bed”. My Grandad pauses and looks right at me. “So that did happen then. Your disturbing me. Thought I might have dreamt it”. He stands up and scratches his jaw. “Tell me exactly what happened”. I relay the story, and my Grandad remains silent until its end. Slightly paled he looks around at our surroundings, and down into the valley. “I fuckin’ knew it”, he mutters, almost imperceptibly. “It’s the same place. The exact same place”. “What?” I ask him. “What do you mean?” “I came here with- with Steve, once. I knew I’d been here before. I thought I’d picked the location pretty randomly, but, I guess my subconscious had other ideas”. “Grandad I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about”. He stares out over the valley and I follow his gaze. We watch as a small flock of dark birds flutters around in a circle above the trees. Again… and again… and again… ​ Around and around they go. ​ He turns to look straight at me, his expression grim. Perhaps even… *afraid*, a little. And this unsettles me deeply. Nothing is supposed to scare that man. “Pack up, Robbie. Make it good, and be quick. We’re out of here”. In another atmosphere I might have questioned him, but the vibe is clear. I do as he says at once and in silence, we quickly pack away our gear, loading up our backpacks with constant furtive glances to the trees. The forest has dried somewhat since yesterday’s rain, but the sky overhead is still a swirl of gray. We set out beneath its gloom, all trace of our modest campsite thoroughly erased. ​ My Grandad’s pace is a little faster than normal. Bracken and pine needles are crunched underfoot as he strides through the woodlands. He clenches his rifle a little tighter, too. I break the tension. “Grandad what the hell is going on? What aren’t you telling me?” “I was an idiot once before”, Grandad replies, as a breeze whistles its way through the boughs of the trees. “And I lost a good friend. I won’t let the same thing happen to you”. We push through the bushes and pass by a large pond, surrounded by thick, tangled weeds. I glance over to the water. The water is a grim gray-green and covered in a curious, floating moss. The surface is broken by the heads of three deer, standing perfectly still. The entirety of their bodies below the necks are submerged, and they stare at us as we pass them by. On another day I might have found the sight quite comical, but right now I feel nothing but cold, biting fear. One of the deer rises up from the water, rippling it quietly, rearing up onto its hind legs, and my Grandad grabs my sleeve and hauls me along. “Don’t stop moving. We’re getting out of here. Just keep going, Robbie”. Our steps become faster, our breathing a little more labored. The trees rush by, branches scratch at my arms and my face. We push out into a clearing, and my Grandad skids to an immediate halt. “What is it?” I ask, panting. ​ Something moves in the shadows of the trees, shifting between the branches at the clearing’s opposite side. The hair at the back of my neck bristles and I instinctively raise the rifle. The sounds of the birds and the breeze fade away, and the air itself seems to darken as the shifting shadow ahead draws closer. It is difficult, near-impossible to make out its exact shape through the layers of branch and foliage… But I swear I can see a rough, vaguely humanoid silhouette amongst the shadows and the dark, green-blown blur. ​ “*Did you come back for me, Robert?*” whispers a voice. ​ My muscles tense up in reaction to my name. *Is it my name it speaks... or, my Grandad’s?* My Grandad sucks some air in through his teeth. He begins to carefully sidestep his way round the clearing, and I copy his movements. ​ “*You wouldn’t leave me behind again… would you?”* ​ The voice is not dissimilar to the one I heard last night. It is different, sure, but the cadence, or lack thereof, is much the same. ​ My Grandad raises the rifle, cocks it… but he does not fire. “Keep going around kid”, he says to me. “To the left, pass through that part of the clearing there, I’ll be right behind you”. I start to edge my way round the clearing, never taking my eye off the shadow in the trees just ahead. I’m trying so hard to focus on it… To understand what it is that I am seeing, but I can’t. The very branches themselves seem to be moving, cracking and rippling in the shade. ​ The figure takes a sudden step forward. “RUN!” my Grandad shouts, raising the rifle and firing a loud shot up into the air. Unprepared for such a sudden noise my ears ring as I scramble and stumble through the forest, along a natural path of sorts between the trees, though I stumble to a halt when I realize my Grandad is not behind me. He told me to run, but, do I go back for him? … …I have to. It’s a no-brainer. So I swivel around and prepare to charge back to the clearing when the man himself staggers out through the bushes towards me, face white as a sheet. “Get that damned thing out of my face, ya idiot”, he grunts as she shoves away the barrel of my rifle, and together we race through the forest. My Grandad dumps his backpack and I do likewise, leaving the equipment behind as we tear through the undergrowth, way back to where we parked the truck the other day. When at last we see it, waiting for us on the edge of a dirt-track road, we throw ourselves inside, and my Grandad stuffs in the key and turns it with a clank, the engine revving into life. The wheels spin and away we go, back through the wilds down the long back roads of the woodlands. ​ … ​ I summon the courage, after a while and once the air has cooled, to ask my Grandad what he saw. What happened after he fired the rifle. “Thing tried to speak to me again. The deep woods, Robbie. I’m sorry for taking you there. They can screw with a man’s mind, these places. Real, real bad”. “There was something there though, wasn’t there. Something real”. “Yes. I think so”. “Was it… “ I falter. “Who was it, Grandad?” “A nightmare. That’s all. Something that shouldn’t exist, by all the laws of nature”. “Its voice… Did you, recognize the voice?” “You said you heard something outside your tent last night. Right?” I nod. “It sounded like me?” “Yeah”, I reply. “But it wasn’t me, was it.” “…No”, I reply. “No, it wasn’t”. “Sometimes we hear voices. Don’t mean they belong to anyone”. “So why didn’t you shoot it?” “What?” his hands flex and clench around the wheel. “You fired the rifle, but you aimed up into the air. Not at the shadow. Why did you do that?” To this my Grandad has no answer. He only reaches briefly across to pat my shoulder, and as the clouds swirl overhead, we spend the rest of the long drive home in a contemplative silence. Silence, with the occasional glance to the thickets of trees that pass us by.

I was Hired as a Journalist for PixiePages. There are some Strange Rules, (Part 10)

y3z8xe

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y3z8xe/i_was_hired_as_a_journalist_for_pixiepages_there/

[Part 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xgtabd/i_was_hired_as_a_journalist_for_pixiepages_there/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xihycm/i_was_hired_as_a_journalist_for_pixiepages_there/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xl8v3g/i_was_hired_as_a_journalist_for_pixiepages_there/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xm52qi/i_was_hired_as_a_journalist_for_pixiepages_there/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) [Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xnu42l/i_was_hired_as_a_journalist_for_pixiepages_there/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) [Part 6](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCrypticCompendium/comments/xm3dos/i_was_hired_as_a_journalist_for_pixiepages_there/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) [Part 7](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xpcalq/i_was_hired_as_a_journalist_for_pixiepages_i_was/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) [Part 8](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xr8wvn/i_was_hired_as_a_journalist_for_pixiepages_there/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) [Part 9](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xt2kce/i_was_hired_as_a_journalist_for_pixiepages_there/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button) I had an interesting time in Egypt. "You are the journalist, yes? I am Amir, and this is Eli." The two men shook my hand in turns. "Josh, with PixiePages. Don't mind the outfit." I did my best to hide my embarrassment. *Why did he have to dress me like Indiana Jones?* "There are no vampires. Do not bite them." Amir began, unamused. "Do not read the hieroglyphics aloud," Eli added, making a throat cutting gesture with one hand. The two then spoke in unison, stating "do **not** dance like an Egyptian!" "Got it, got it. Let's just get this over with. One thing though, what about the vampires?" I probed. *Another mindfuck rule?* "There are none. Do you listen?" Amir scoffed, shaking his head. Eli shook his too. Without another word, they threw me a lantern, then made for the excavation site. Down the steady descent we went, until the uneven sand leveled off to smooth sandstone. It was too smooth, slick almost. Just as we made it four or five steps, the ground shook. Chunks of ceiling fell, nearly splattering us. Diving forwards with a yelp, I thought we were in the clear. That relief was short lived. "Aldampires!" Eli cried. "Run!" Amir shouted, nearly leaving me in the dust. "I can't see!" I cried, stumbling as I tried to keep up. Within that second, something clamped onto my wrist. My feet left the ground as I was ragdolled like a flag through the air. **SPP! SOOP!** Wet projectiles zipped at us. I winced as something pierced my calf. "Huh?!" I grunted, a strange throbbing sensation spreading from where I had been hit. "Amir, remove it." Eli ordered, steadying me. Sharp metal carved around where I'd been hit, removing whatever had latched on, plus some flesh around it. "Ow!" I yelped. "What the hell guys?" "Explain later. Keep your lantern off. Don't die." Amir huffed, a dim purple glow flashing with each breath. **CRUICK! crRRR!** To the left, the wall began to crumble. "Excellent work Amir!" Eli cheered, clearly more aware of what was going on than I was. "Eli, I'm hit!" Amir cried. The grip on my arm promptly loosened, as I was pitched like a frisbee. I am not ashamed to admit I screamed the whole way. I bounced once. I bounced twice. Then I skid on the ground until finally coming to a stop. "Impressive vocals, Josh. Now would you please shut up." Amir growled, pulling me to my feet and shutting me up. "How can you see?" I demanded, tired of being in the dark. *Pun unintended.* "Cursed blood. Is that really your concern right now?" Eli prodded, flicking me in the forehead. "Gah fine, what now? Where are we?" I pressed, changing the subject. "It seems to be some sort of intersection. We have three options. Pharaohs were buried in the west, though, so that's our best bet." Amir offered. Heavy footfalls disappeared off to the left. "You heard the man," Eli snorted, striding off after Amir. "Still can't see!" I called, holding my arms out to feel through the chamber. I chased after the quickly fading footsteps, eager not to lose my way. Just as I thought I was catching up, I tripped. Throwing my hands forwards to catch myself, I never landed. "Ahh… there's no chance you're friendly?" I squeaked, holding my breath. Dry, raspy laughter croaked in tesponse. Hundreds, no thousands of needles pierced my lower leg, turning it into an acupuncture pin cushion. "A swell sacrifice, yes." The enthusiastic acupuncturist giggled. The giggle was so agonizingly rough and gravely, I cringed. "Help!" I screamed, praying to be rescued. "How cute…" the acupuncturist jeered, stabbing needles through my other leg. I clawed at the ground, desperately trying to escape. The smooth surface provided no purchase. I couldn't get away. **PUOOH!** A brilliant, royal crimson flame erupted out of nowhere. The acupuncturist lit up instantly, for the first time showing me my assailant. And I saw my savior. "Joshie, Joshie Joshie. What shall we do with you?" The masked corpse tisked, snapping once and summoning dozens of arms. An arm crushed the throat of the paper-thin thing that had attacked me. A dozen hands went to work plucking the pricks from my legs. I bit my lip beyond the point of bloody, unable to find an escape. "As for your punishment… this will do…" Mephistopheles snickered maniacally, washing a flame over my swiss cheese legs. "No screaming, either." He placed one rotten finger over my lips, leaning close to my face. Nearly passing out from the cauterization of my leg wounds, I fought to maintain consciousness. "Now, ask your questions. I have something to deal with-" Mephistopheles hissed, as two hulking figures lunged out from the darkness. I watched in awestruck horror as slash after slash removed chunks from the demon. Flame burst out in small spurts, turning the reddish-brown sandstone to glass on contact. Purplish goop shot from the brutes whenever Mephistopheles landed a scratch. The purple stuff sizzled wherever it landed. "Job, Josh." Mephisto growled. Through the chaos, I approached the paper person. "Hello… What are you?" I asked, improvising some questions. "A mighty demidemon!" The acupuncturist boasted, flame climbing its legs. "No you're not," I snorted, enjoying the rule of disagreeing for the first time. I did not enjoy how it responded. A fresh wave of needles pierced from head to toe, sending me numbly to the ground. "Idiot!" Three voices shouted, followed by more hands sprouting and plucking the needles from me. "Why are you here?" I asked, quickly scrawling the answer as it came. "We require sacrifices!" The paper person cried, desperately attempting to put out the fire. Lastly, I asked "Are you dying?" No answer came. The flames had taken the creature's life, leaving only ashes. **"ENOUGH!"** Mephistopheles roared, tossing the two, who I realized were Eli and Amir, against the walls. Arms sprouted from behind them, imprisoning them where they landed. Purple smog escaped their inflated forms, returning them to their normal sizes. "As for you" Mephistopheles approached, with measured, thunderous steps. I whimpered, gritting my teeth as orange, curious flames danced around me. "I know, I'll be taking these." Mephistopheles peeled back the flesh from his index finger, then swiped across my eyes. In a single heartbeat, my eyelids were severed. I could not close my eyes anymore. "Now… Lift. My. Mask." My heart pounded against my chest, not sure I could survive this. *Just what lay behind his mask. I did not want to know.* "Here, I'll help you…" a rotten arm worked my own like a puppet, pushing the scaly purple mask upwards. Tears welled at the corners of my eyes, dreading the hell I was about to enter. — A bustling city sprawled before me. I watched from the sky, an invisible specter overlooking the peaceful happenings. Horse-drawn carriages hauled goods and people alike through well-worn grooves in the cobble roads. One and two story huts lined the streets. Small as they were, they were homely, cozy things. A happy civilization, though prosperous and warm, had an ominous air to it. I held my breath, waiting for the inevitable. The inevitable came. **WAUOOH-POOOOOM!** black smoke billowed to the heavens, blotting out the sun. Ash rained like snow. The city was sent scrambling, though to little effect. It was all in vain. Volcanic rock sprinkled down in destructive fury, decimating the city. Men and women and children alike had no hope, yet still they fled. Through the screams and chaos, I saw something peculiar. Something that gave me the strength to hold on. Among the fires and carnage, I saw people do all they could. Not only for themselves, but for each other. I saw compassion in that hell. "No! No! **NO!**" Mephistopheles boomed, sounding increasingly unhinged. "How do you find hope in this hell!" "I couldn't tell ya, honestly I wish I could obey and go quietly. Something inside of me just won't accept it" I sobbed, searching for absent answers. "You killed Azazel, yet you continue to blabber about hope? How **DARE** you!" He screamed, backhanding me so hard my teeth chipped and my jaw shattered. Blood gushed from my mouth, leaving me unable to speak. I curled into the fetal position, readying myself for another death. — I will spare you the details of hundreds of decomposing arms pulling me apart, and skip ahead to when I woke up. — "Whoo, what happened to you?" Sean nudged me from my spot on the ground. I was alive, laying outside of our office. Through swollen lids I opened my eyes, looking up to Sean. It might have been my imagination or the numerous concussions, but he almost looked concerned. "Heyyy" I wheezed, jaw still throbbing. "What happened to you-your face?!" Sean stifled a laugh, sounding unusually genuine. "Sorry." He apologized, crouching at my side. "Mephist-" I started, only to be cut off. "Oh, yup. Got it. What's with those-huh?!" He gasped, stumbling backwards onto his ass. "What are those what?" I groaned, too exhausted to raise a single limb. "He cursed you-" his voice broke, abject dread on his face. I forced myself upright, ignoring the pains and aches of my body. "I've gotta go back to hell." "You look like you've been through one already… er I guess a second one." Sean sighed, rubbing his temples. "You have no idea…"

I’m a landlord who needs advice. Found this note in an abandoned unit

y3yc8i

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y3yc8i/im_a_landlord_who_needs_advice_found_this_note_in/

Newport Beach, CA. It’s 10:53pm. The door to my bedroom is locked but it won’t make a difference. **Something is wrong with my child.** What’s happened to you, Ziya? She’s not even two-years-old. Her father – may his cursed soul rot in hell – abandoned us before Ziya was born. Disappeared into the night when I was six months pregnant. They never even found the yellow taxi he drove. Now, I hear Ziya laughing. Outside. In the hallway. Her giggles make my stomach empty itself, and the knife slips from my fingers, into the bile. She’s a beautiful girl with almond-shaped eyes that sparkle like gemstones. A knowing smile that makes you feel sugary as a date fruit. The life of a refugee is not easy. Ziya has been my companion throughout. \*\* One week ago: Ziya finally spoke her first words. The pediatrician had said not to worry. That Ziya would speak when she’s ready. It was a sunlit morning, and I’d taken Ziya in her stroller to Seabridge Park, where we wandered by the water and sat on the benches. I’d never admit it, but I enjoyed the smell of cigarettes that accompanied matches at the public chess boards. Ziya’s Dada was a smoker. I found comfort in the familiar. I’d brought along a novel that was taking far too long to finish. As I flipped the pages, bored, Ziya whispered from her carriage. “Mama?” she cooed. “Ziya?” I couldn’t believe it. This was her first word! “Ziya?” I repeated in delight. “Dada. He misses you.” I put down the book… “W – what did you say?” “Dada,” she gazed at me, wide-eyed. “**Dada is here**.” Before today? The girl hadn’t spoken a peep. How was she speaking full sentences? “He’s with us now, Mama. And he won’t leave again. You must forgive him. **You** **must**.” “Ziya!” I stood, aghast. My heart filling with dread. “**Dada is here**,” she repeated, smiling from ear-to-ear. She pointed to a patch of grass under the shade of a nearby tree. “Look,” her hand trembled with excitement. “**LOOK, MAMA.**” Following the line of her finger: I was startled to see an egg had fallen from its nest. The half-formed, decomposing body of a dead chick spilled onto the grass. Pulpy beak and blind eyes shrouded by buzzing flies. Smothered by ants and wriggling maggots that feasted on what flesh remained. “Ughh!” I covered my mouth. “**PICK HIM UP!**” “No! Stop it, Ziya!” “**BUT HE LOVES US, MAMA!**” A passerby turned to stare, so I tossed the book in the stroller, adjusted my hijab and made our way back to the car. Ziya said nothing, but I could hear her burble under her breath. \*\* When we arrived home, I witnessed the strangest thing. As I pushed Ziya through the front door, the old microwave atop the counter turned on, humming with light. *BEEP…* This microwave had come with our subsidized townhome. Days after it stopped working, my husband vanished from our lives. Before he went missing: he’d promised to repair it. *BEEP…* Following his disappearance, I bought a replacement. Yet I couldn’t throw the old one away. Some irrational part of me clinging to the hope that he would return to fix it. ***BEEEEEEEEEP***. The microwave went dark. Ziya grunted with anticipation. Her feet shifted restlessly as I approached the counter. But, when I opened the microwave? There was nothing inside… Ziya chuckled mischievously. “**Dada is here**.” \*\* I remember the feeling of panic that seized me for the next few days. When I tried to talk with Ziya, she was like a mute. Her beige pools watched carefully – but she wouldn’t speak – not even when I offered golden raisins. Eventually, I convinced myself that the inexplicable episode was brought on by my struggles with melancholy. Our minds become unpredictable when faced with loss. I discovered as much when Ziya’s Dada abandoned us. As refugees: all we had was each other. I’d persuaded myself that I knew my husband and – sooner or later – he would return home and make our family whole. Late one night? I’d see his yellow taxi pulling into the driveway. He would **honk twice**, playfully, letting me know to boil the cardamom chai and prepare a tray of snacks. But he never came home. He never came back for us. For months, I felt such loneliness, until finally? My sorrow turned to resentment. \*\* Things felt different in the days after Ziya’s outburst. When I inquired about her bout of prattle from the park (keeping hidden the words she’d spoken), our pediatrician told me not to worry. Silence is oftentimes borne of choice with toddlers, the doctor advised. Even so… the bubbly girl had become stilted and withdrawn. Ziya refused to play, and she barely ate. This made two of us. Rather, she would sit on the couch in the living room, peering into the yard. Watching our neighbors – Patrick and Vanessa – trim the bushes. At times? I’ve caught Ziya glaring as I go about my household chores. Brows furrowed. No trace of affection in her eyes. I find myself keeping distant and avoiding her stare, which triggers feelings of devastating guilt. \*\* Following a week of unease, I resolved it was necessary to set aside my anxieties and move towards normalcy. This was yesterday. Ziya sat on the couch, gazing out the window while Saturday morning cartoons played quietly on the television. I could see Patrick and Vanessa with their clippers working on the yard. This was a bi-monthly routine. Tomorrow: they’d bring the woodchipper. Inspired by the nice weather, I resolved to make my daughter Tukhum Bonjan, or scrambled eggs with tomatoes. It’s a traditional Afghan breakfast, and this dish has always been one of Ziya’s favorites. As was habit nowadays, my mind swirled with memories as I stood at the counter, chopping onions which I browned in cooking oil over medium heat. Then, I cracked three fresh eggs into a mixing bowl. One after another. “Ready for breakfast, Ziya?” The girl refused to answer. Unsurprisingly, I was thinking about my husband. The life we shared together. Before he left me to raise a daughter, alone. Where was he now, I wondered? Was he still driving that yellow taxi? And what sin of mine had caused him such anger? That he chose to leave his pregnant wife? My painful reveries splintered when the third egg was cracked over the mixing bowl. “**OH!**” I shrank in horror. Rather than golden yolk: this shell was filled by some viscous mixture of **blood and pus**. Floating within the clotted soup, I saw stringy chunks of flesh and tiny black feathers. The skeleton of a chick. It was the same… **The one from the park!** Crying out, I knocked the blood-steeped batter away from the counter – into the sink – and flicked the switch for the disposal. The kitchen filled with **crunching** as the bones were ground to powder. “Ziya!” I was afraid. Only then did I notice how the weather had changed. The sun streaming into kitchen was gone. Dark clouds shrouded the sky, opening to deposit sheets of rain onto the earth. Ziya had moved from the couch and was sitting on the carpet in front of the television. Rhythmic flashes shone through the windows as my daughter pressed the remote control. On the screen was a bizarre image: a single white egg sitting on a pretty blue plate. “You spend too much time wondering,” Ziya’s gaze fixed on the screen. “About Dada. But I can tell you.” She chuckled. “I can tell you what happened to him. Wouldn’t you like that, Mama? **Wouldn’t you like to know?**” “About Dada?” I hesitated. “Precisely,” Ziya scowled. “The truth is: **Dada was murdered in cold blood**. He’s never coming back.” My legs were trembling. “Dada was on his way home that night,” Ziya continued. “He decided to pick up one last fare. Near East Bluff. The man had a gun, and he asked for money. Dada tried to fight. So the man killed him.” Ziya snorted. “**And the best part?** He only had twenty bucks! The man took his money and parked Dada’s taxi in the corporate center. The one on Bristol Street. All this time, it’s been sitting there.” I felt the urge to vomit. “Go check in the morning. You’ll find it. Dada was a good person, Mama. He loved you very much.” The egg on the screen was cracking. “Ziya?” I mumbled. “Is that… true?” “Is that… true?” Ziya mocked. “I wish it was that simple. A nice, tidy murder… **What happened to Dada is worse!**” Boiling fear swelled through my gut. “Dada was on his way home that night. Heading down Carlson Avenue. Near the marsh.” Her voice echoed. “Dada saw an older couple. Standing on the side of the road. **They appeared from nowhere!**” My heart was going to burst. “They were like us, Mama… Refugees. Pashtuns who’d fled the war. What laughs they shared in the taxi as Dada drove!” Ziya rocked in front of the television as the cracks in the shell deepened. “But they were not nice people, Mama. **They needed his body.**” “His b – b – body?” “**YES**. When Dada dropped them off: they said their bags were heavy. Dada was glad to help. But as soon as he’d entered the front door? **Their six children were waiting**. They made Dada sleepy… And, when he woke up? He was trapped in the box in the basement. I really shouldn’t describe what they did to him after that, Mama. It will only upset you.” “**What did they do to him?**” “They needed him, Mama! They wanted something terrible for themselves… but, to have that gift? Dada needed to suffer. And, now: Dada has returned from that ugly place where he rested for so long. **But he’s going to take us back there… with him… tomorrow!**” “You’re lying!” I gasped. “Hmm… Maybe nothing’s ever so bad? **That it couldn’t get worse?**” Ziya sighed. “Remember Caroline? From social services?” It was difficult to concentrate on Ziya’s words with the image of the egg unfurling on the TV. Was there… was there something **poking** **out** from the shell? “Caroline was the case worker assigned to our family. I’m sorry to say it, Mama, but Caroline and Dada are in love.” *BEEP…* The microwave! “Dada was tired of your dependence. Ever since you came to this country? Pathetic and needy… Like a mouse!” Ziya scoffed. “Dada and Caroline live in Oregon. She’s pregnant with their second. He’s staying off the books, Mama. **Hoping you’ll never find him**. Believe me… Dada still drives the yellow taxi.” *BEEP…* Ziya was a liar! “Liar?” Ziya smirked, reading my mind. “The truth is: **you’ll never know**. Maybe Dada was killed for twenty bucks. Or turned into a monster! Perhaps he ran away with that pretty American?” Atop the counter, the microwave rumbled. “What if none of this is really happening, Mama? What if I’m not even speaking? **That would make sense**. I’m not speaking, just like there’s no egg sitting on a pretty blue plate. That old microwave has been broken for years.” Ziya hissed at me. “**There’s nothing inside!** You’re making it up because you’re unwell, Mama. **You’re sick!** And, tomorrow? Once the sun sets? **You’re gonna get us into some real trouble.**” ***BEEEEEEEEEP***. Open and look! Inside the microwave was a pretty blue plate. It was such a beautiful color… Like the deepest ocean. I felt I had seen this plate somewhere before. Like a dream from childhood. I held up the plate to the spluttering kitchen light. Observing the distorted contours of my face in the glossy sheen of its surface. Ziya was giggling. On the screen: the egg finally opened to reveal its contents. But I was exhausted and didn’t bother to look. \*\* Sleep came for me, eventually. I remember being stirred awake the next day by the **guzzling sounds** of the woodchipper. I was curled in a fetal position under the table. My stomach was cramping; my tongue tasted of iron. I pulled myself onto a chair, rubbing my temples and wiping drool from my lips. It’s fair to say that I was feeling especially irritable today… The buzzing from next door was cultivating a splitting headache. After a minute, I went to make tea. I could tell from the angel of the sun streaming into the kitchen that it was mid-to-late morning. Ziya was sitting on the sofa. Watching me. My daughter flashed **the most** **unnerving grin** as I approached the window to observe our neighbors. **Milky eyes bulging**. As if they wished to escape the sockets of her skull. Her jaw was weirdly off-center, **stuffed with teeth** that looked bigger than I recalled. “Good morning, Mama.” I took a sip of lukewarm chai. Her ugly smile grew wider. “Stop it, Ziya. I’m tired!” “Don’t worry,” Ziya reassured me. “There’s no reason to be afraid.” She returned her gaze to our neighbors. “**Dada is here**. And he’ll make everything better. Just like before he went away.” The colors in the room around us were changing. Lights flickered on and off. “Dada hated the woodchipper. But he’s going to take care of us forever… **LOOK, MAMA.**” Outside, Vanessa was taking bundles of branches that Patrick passed to her and was packing them into the woodchipper. The machine **chugged hungrily** as it chewed bark before spitting out muddy dust. Suddenly: bulbous clouds rolled overhead, and without warning came an **unnatural surge** **of wind**. The gust cascaded down our street, bending palm trees until it crashed against our cul-de-sac. **Making the kitchen tremble.** “Hey!” Vanessa exclaimed. “Careful!” Patrick called out. The squall took Patrick’s cap from his head and left his wife teetering on one leg. The winds grew more violent, battering the couple with intensity. Wobbly – nearly tripping over – Vanessa dropped the stack of wood as Patrick went to retrieve his cap. Struggling to balance: Vanessa’s long blonde hair got tangled in woodchipper. “**LOOK, MAMA,**” Ziya crooned. **Shrieking in pain**, the woman’s neck twisted roughly to the side as the machine **slurped her ponytail** with perverse gluttony, drawing her head towards its greedy, spinning blades. “**HELP ME!!!**” But it was too late. Vanessa was yanked sideways. Her torso dunked forward. There was **squelching** as the machine juddered. A hot spring of crimson confetti – **bloody blonde tresses, macerated scalp and brain** – erupted from the far end of the woodchipper and coated the perfectly manicured lawn. “**VANESSA!!!**” Patrick sprang to action, lunging towards the homicidal machine. He grabbed Vanessa’s khakis, heaving as blood and bone were ejected in arching, multicolored streams. **“VANESSA!!!** **VANESSA!!!”** My legs buckled as I watched… Praying for Vanessa. But her body became limp… The husband fell to his knees; our screams blended together in a way that’s hard to describe. **Like the moans of twisted metal distorting at the highest temperature.** Ziya beamed, clapping cheerily as I crawled to the corner of the kitchen and fell asleep. \*\* Now, it’s nighttime. The police are gone, although I could hear Patrick baying from the townhome next door. These were horrible, aching howls. Sitting at the table, my nose detected hints of decay. Bloody dew hung in the air around us. I felt the moisture on my flesh, reminding me of hot summer mornings in Jalalabad. Perched atop the couch: **Ziya stared eagerly**. A toothy grin stretched from ear-to-ear. The girl was smiling **much too widely**. And she wasn’t blinking. *BEEP…* The old microwave? I decided to remain sitting at the table. Nudging the pepper shaker with my pinky. *BEEP…* In a trance: **I heard the rumble of a car outside the townhome**. Orange headlights cast long, peculiar shadows across my living room. **Someone was pulling into our driveway**. And then – precisely on cue – the vehicle in the driveway honked twice. Playfully. I felt dizzy… ***BEEEEEEEEEP***. Next to me… without anyone touching it… the microwave door swung open. “**Dada is here**.” Inside the microwave was a pretty blue plate. It was such a beautiful color… Like the deepest ocean. I felt I had seen this plate somewhere before. Like a dream from childhood. Sitting atop the plate was a single white egg. I remained motionless as the shell began to crack. Just like the image on the TV… But, then? I saw something… **Oily black feathers poked out from inside the shell**. It was the tip of a wing. I couldn’t believe it… **There were human fingers.** **Sticking out from the egg.** **I saw them with my own eyes.** **A tiny, growing forearm** was emerging from the shell, grasping desperately in my direction. Within seconds: **the microwave was stuffed full with shiny feathers and pallid flesh.** The car in the driveway **honked wildly** as the elongating hand slipped from the microwave and slunk along the counter towards me. **Its veins bulged and throbbed.** The sharpened nails on its skittering fingers pulled the arm forward, causing the microwave to topple. “**ZIYA!**” I cried, the fear absolute. Every instinct bade me to flee. “**RUN AND HIDE!**” I gripped the microwave’s frame as razor fingernails caressed my body parts. Rivulets of blood poured onto the floor. I hurled the appliance through the living room window. The glass exploded like a movie. **And there was his yellow taxi…** Parked in the driveway as the full moon beamed overhead. Time stopped as I realized my desires had come true. How long I had waited for this… How long I had waited… When I peered into the taxi: I saw **Vanessa’s headless corpse** sitting in the driver’s seat. Her stiff arm gripped the steering wheel as the other pressed frantically on the horn. What was left of her amputated stump **gushed dark red blood** onto the dashboard. I began to scream. On the grass near the taxi… **A second pale hand burst from the microwave**. Followed by a twin black wing. The fetid muscles on this new arm became swollen and enlarged. Bubbling with pulsations: the flesh seemed putrefied. The grotesque wings began to flap together, causing immense gusts of wind which practically destroyed our neighborhood. Mailboxes were uprooted. Car alarms blared furiously. The force of this gale shattered what remained of our living room window. Roaring winds swirled as I raced to find Ziya, but the girl had disappeared. And I looked everywhere! Under the table… In the bathroom… “Ziya! Where are you?” **Ten freakish fingers** dragged the unspeakable nightmare that existed within the microwave towards my front door. Each hair-covered knuckle snapping as it scrabbled forward. **IT WAS COMING FOR ME**. Wailing in dread: I swiped a knife from the drawer, raced up the stairs and locked myself in the bedroom. Sobbing miserably. Now, I hear Ziya laughing. Outside. In the hallway. Her giggles make my stomach empty itself, and the knife slips from my fingers, into the bile. Books lining my dresser topple onto the rug as I beg for mercy. Cherished family photos detach from the walls. Everything is shaking! **Knock.** **Knock.** The front door… **KNOCK.** **KNOCK.** This can’t be… This can’t be happening! And yet – despite every doubt, every misgiving – I know it’s him. It’s my husband… I can feel it in the pit of my hammering intestines. **DADA IS HERE.** Some part of me knows for certain that to answer the door is death. Perhaps worse. And yet… Fearful longing intoxicates my heart. **KNOCK.** **KNOCK.** **KNOCK.** Ziya’s laughter slinks into the bedroom. I don’t recognize the dialect she is singing in. ***KNOCK.*** ***KNOCK.*** ***KNOCK.*** The vulgar knocks and flapping of the bird are everywhere. Its undulating wings – reeking of cigarette smoke – saturate the room with density. Flooding the air with acridity. I choke, suffocating as I collapse on the bed. Inky-black sweat drips from my forearms, seeping onto the snowy Egyptian cotton. Suddenly: **I know what must be done.** To end this suffering. I think I’ve known all along. I retrieve the carving knife from the vomit-stained rug… My heart has become still. The fear is gone. We’ll be together soon. **It’s time to go downstairs and answer the door.** “Ziya,” I speak calmly. “Yes, Mama?” All is quiet… All is still. There’s no knocking. No flapping of wings. All is as it should be. **My family will be reunited.** “I’m coming down now.” “I’m waiting, Mama.” **Our daughter deserves love.** And, in some way? In some *terrible* way…? **This must be what I want.**

See You Soon

y2yhef

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y2yhef/see_you_soon/

*“See you soon.”* That’s what my fiancée Mandy said before she left for work that Tuesday morning. I never saw her alive again. I didn’t know that it was even *possible* for a twenty-seven-year-old woman to have a heart attack, but the doctors told me that 1 in 5 cardiac events happen to people under the age of forty. If only Mandy had been walking down a busier street instead of the shady alley she took to work…if only she’d been able to get her phone out of her pocket to call for help… *If only.* The words felt tattooed on my brain. We’d been planning to open a bakery in November, but I couldn’t manage it without her–and besides, like most things that reminded me of Mandy, our business idea now left a bitter taste in my mouth. Without really realizing it, I transformed my apartment into a sort of shrine to our relationship. I spent my days working grueling ten-hour shifts as a package handler, and when I returned home, I wallowed in Mandy’s photos, clothing, books, and records. I’d watch her favorite movies with a tall drink in hand, sipping until my mind drifted off far away and granted me a sort of ecstasy through oblivion. Two years of my life passed by that way, like booze poured into a bottomless pit. It wasn’t until I met Kristina that things began to change. For starters, she got me out of my apartment…and away from the bottle. She understood that I had a drinking problem long before I did, and it wasn’t until the fourth or fifth time I saw that I realized our “dates” (for lack of a better word) *never* involved alcohol. We’d go to a carnival by the beach, a picnic in the hills, an old video game arcade…Kristina was full of ideas. Of course, even two years later, I felt like I was doing something wrong by faling for someone else…*someone who wasn’t Mandy.* It was almost eerie how well Kristina understood me. She knew I needed time, and took things slowly. She didn’t even hold my hand until our second month of going on “excursions” together. One morning, Kristina came over without calling: she’d brought sturdy black trash bags and cleaning supplies. When I saw her standing on my doormat with that determined expression, I knew it was time. My apartment got its first deep-clean in two years, and Kristina helped me to get rid of the remembrances that I just didn’t have the strength to throw away, myself. In the end, I only kept one picture of Mandy: an image of her baking bread with me in the kitchen, her black clothes covered in flour, a wide smile on her face. I felt a little guilty keeping it, and for a time, I forgot about it altogether. It was like I could *breathe* again. Like I’d woken up from a nightmare-ridden nap. The first breath of air when I woke up tasted fresher somehow, and I felt blessed that Kristina had seen me for who I could become instead of the depressed alcoholic I’d been when we’d met. Not long after we moved in together, Kristina took me to a candlelit concert and a romantic dinner. When I asked what we were celebrating, she made a toast to the health of my future business. Even after all I’d been through, she knew I still dreamed of being an entrepreneur–and that night was her way of pledging to support me while I set out on what would probably be a rough and uncertain road. Without Kristina’s help, I never would have reached out to my old contacts in the business world or attended so many startup conventions. Somehow, other entrepreneurs and investors seemed to take me so much more seriously with Kristina by my side. With two others, I eventually launched a small IT consulting firm. It was a far cry from the bakery I’d once imagined, but I was finally my own boss. Every year brought more success–and I knew I had Kristina to thank for it. Her bright green eyes and warm smile were all I could think about as I stood in front of the jeweler’s stand, trying to decide on an engagement ring. Something with emeralds, I thought. To match her eyes. My phone rang. The number was “unknown,” but as a consultant, I was used to getting calls from strangers. At first, I heard only the sound of roaring winds, as though the speaker was calling from inside a sandstorm. They kept repeating the same phrase over and over, but I couldn’t understand it, not at first; maybe I didn’t *want* to understand it. Because I knew those words…and that voice: *“See you soon.”* Mandy’s voice grew louder and louder until it felt like her lips were less than an inch away, screaming into my ear. *“See you soon seeyousoonSEEYOUSOO–”* I flung my phone away like it burned me. When I retrieved it from the carpet, the mysterious call had ended. Throughout the rainy drive home, I wondered who would play such a cruel trick. An old bully from high school? a dissatisfied client? It didn’t make sense. In the end, I settled on two simple golden bands, purchased from a different jeweler. After that strange call, the other shop seemed tainted somehow; just driving past it gave me shivers. Kristina said yes, as I knew she would, and everything went fine right up until the moment we got ready to cut the wedding cake. Words appeared in the white frosting, as though traced by an invisible finger: *S-E-E Y-O-U S-O-* Acting on instinct, I grabbed a fistful of the icing-letters and pressed it over Kristina’s mouth, to laughter and applause. Maybe it was a bad move. After all, Kristina’s *one request* for our wedding experience was that *‘we NOT do the cake thing.’* But I didn’t think that justified the look of pure disgust and hate she gave me in that moment. I’d *never* seen Kristina so angry. *Was Mandy trying to wreck my relationship from beyond the grave?* Kristina forced herself to sigh and smile–and give me a taste of my own medicine. The cloying sweetness of cake on my lips forced the insane thought out of my mind, the band began to play, and the night went on without any further…*incidents.* Kristina and I signed our documents, filled out our life insurance forms, got listed on each others’ bank accounts, and set out for our honeymoon. Yet Mandy’s messages (if that’s what they were) didn’t stop. They showed up in the shower-steamed mirror. In my alphabet breakfast cereal. Even the magnets on the refrigerator. It was unexplainable: there was no doubt about that. But once I got over the initial shock of seeing those fateful words, I realized that they could be *ignored* as well. After all, they were just words. I had moved on, and needed to as well–ghost or not. A few weeks after Kristina and I returned to California from our honeymoon in Italy, I had my first near-death experience. That morning, I was scheduled to meet a client at a restaurant along Highway One: a beautiful but dangerous route that skirts the stormy, cliff-lined coast. Maybe it was a trick of the mist, but as I was turning out of our neighborhood, I’d swear I saw someone standing in the middle of the road. It was only a black shape in the white fog, but it looked familiar– It looked like *Mandy.* I slammed on my brakes–or tried to. No matter how hard I pressed on the pedal, nothing happened. rolled to a stop in a suburban yard and looked nervously out of the window with my emergency flashers blaring– There was nothing outside but mist. Later, the mechanics would tell me that my brake line had been set up to fail. The phone calls and inexplicable writing had been one thing; now, however, it seemed that Mandy’s vengeful ghost was actually trying to kill me. Kristina could tell that something was wrong; there was concern in her eyes when I got home that night. She did her best to cheer me up with red wine, a romantic evening by the fireplace, and a steak dinner, but I was too exhausted to enjoy it. I supposed it was the accumulated stress of the *haunting* (for that was what it was; I no longer had any doubts) that caused me to drift off to sleep so quickly after dinner. When I did, I dreamed about Mandy. We were back in the rundown hardwood apartment that we’d shared back when I was still working on opening the bakery. It was a beautiful spring morning; golden light shone through the open balcony doors. I turned over in the rumpled sheets, and even in my dream I felt my blood run cold as I recognized Mandy’s naked back beside me: her messy dark brown hair, the rose tattoo on her spine, the scar on her shoulder from a bike accident. At the foot of the bed, the closet door creaked open just a crack. I scrambled backwards in bed; the closet door opened wider, and the morning light seemed to dim. The darkness inside the closet seemed hungry; a pair of green eyes stared hatefully out at me from its depths. Beside me, Mandy pointed out the balcony window. She held a finger to her lips: *“See you soon.”* The closet door opened wide; something enormous skittered forward. The hairy black legs of an enormous spider, its hideous bulk hungrily toward me. The spider had Kristina’s face. I woke up slumped in the passenger seat of the rental car the mechanic had given me. I was in the garage with the door shut and the motor running. My head ached from the fumes; I turned off the ignition, opened the garage door, and staggered into the house. *If Mandy could manipulate my dreams…could she also move my body in my sleep?!* Kristina slipped an arm under my shoulder and helped me to the kitchen table before disappearing to prepare some tea and call emergency services. Alone with my thoughts, I realized that I had to tell my wife what I was going through. Kristina placed a warm cup of tea in front of me and I took a small sip, willing my foggy brain to put the words together in a way that wouldn’t sound completely insane. Suddenly, my arm exploded in pain: Bloody letters appeared, carved into my skin by an unseen force: *SEE YOU SOON*. Where was emergency services? Hadn’t Kristina called them? My brain was too addled by the fumes; I couldn’t think straight. *And why was Kristina holding a knife?* As the bloody words had appeared on my arm, my hand had flailed wildly, knocking over the teacup. A faint scent of bitter almonds rose from the spilled liquid, and I finally realized the truth: It wasn’t Mandy who’d tampered with my brakes. It wasn’t Mandy who’d fed me sleeping pills with wine before placing me inside a running car in a sealed garage. It wasn’t Mandy who’d put arsenic in my tea. Kristina advanced on me, a razor sharp knife in her hand and an insane smile on her lips: “You’re tired,” she cooed. “Your head hurts. Don’t fight it…it will all be over soon.” I stood woozily, knocking over the plates and dishes that had been my parents’ wedding gift to Kristina and I. They shattered on the floor as I staggered toward the door. Mandy’s voice screamed into my left ear with such force that I dropped, clutching my head– And barely missed the shining edge of Kristina’s knife as it sliced through the air. My phone began to ring in the pocket of my denim jacket. *Jacket.* *Phone.* I had no doubt that it was that unknown number again…or that my only hope was to call emergency services, get out in public, and try to stop my wife’s knife with the thick jacket cloth until help could arrive. As it turned out, the nightmare was over as soon as I made it out the door with the phone in my hand. My neighbor Taylor was out for a walk with his Labrador and two toddlers; the moment he saw me practically falling off of my porch with terror in his eyes, he knew something was wrong–and Kristina knew that there would be witnesses. Kristina didn’t resist when the police came for her. She just stared into space with a vacant expression, a hollow look that explained it all: helping me start my career, marrying me, taking out a high-paying life insurance policy that I’d barely looked at before signing–it was all part of her plan to profit from my death. *Mandy had been trying to warn me.* I didn’t hear from Mandy for years after Kristina’s arrest. There were no more dark figures in the fog or gruesome words scrawled on the walls. In a strange way, I almost missed them. They were a reminder that someone was waiting for me on the other side–that somehow, the strongest human emotions carry on, even through the veil of death... A few days ago, I went to my doctor for a routine check-up. As he came through the door with an armload of paperwork, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket: I’d received a text. “We’ve got the results of your blood work back,” my doctor began. There was a helpless look on his weathered face that I didn’t understand. “To be honest, it doesn’t look good. You might want to sit down…” My eyes were already drifting to the message from an unknown number that glowed on the screen of my phone: *see you soon.* [X](https://www.reddit.com/r/beardify)

One of my old friends from summer camp said he saw a ghost in our cabin one night. Now I realize what he really saw that night.

y3nd3a

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y3nd3a/one_of_my_old_friends_from_summer_camp_said_he/

When I was a kid I used to love going to summer camp every year. Even if I wouldn't go with my school friends I was still happy to make new ones. I've never been shy or socially awkward, I've always been popular, never cocky or rude though like you may think. I tried my best to be nice to everybody. I always have. One summer, probably my second time at summer camp, when I was 8, I was put in a cabin with kids that were super shy and reserved, who never spoke and just kept to themselves. The boy who I shared a bunk with, was about my age so I tried to make conversation with him over the first week. I eventually found out his name was Norman. He seemed almost hesitant to talk to me over that week, but after he started speaking to me I realized he was a great kid, and funny too. He would never shut up when he was talking to me and we did everything together. He was loud and crazy. Then, he just...stopped. Out of nowhere, he just stopped talking. Like he wouldn't speak to me or anyone else for that matter. I asked him, "Hey buddy, what's the matter?" and he would just shake his head and walk away. I was disappointed that I had lost my friend, but I thought that it's best not to dwell on it, and just try and make new friends, if he doesn't want to talk who am I to force him? I got along pretty much fine without Norman and things seemed to be going ok. One night, I woke up in the middle of the night, like around 4 in the morning. Unable to get myself back to sleep, I got up to grab some candy I had hidden in my bag, It was dark and couldn't see anything properly. I thought they must have slipped to the bottom of the bag and there was no point searching so I gave up. I turned around to see a figure sitting upright in Normans bed. Startled, I jumped back in fear and took out my flashlight, I don't think I will ever forget the look on his face. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was hyperventilating. I climbed up onto his bed and asked him if he was alright. "I saw something, I see it every night. It won't leave me alone. It's going to kill me harry." My little sister would wake up crying most nights, but they were nightmares, so I hugged him and told him it was probably a dream and he'd be fine. This became a routine where he would wake up every night saying a person was in the cabin staring at him with a knife, and that they would get closer every night. He would usually wake us all with his hysterical crying, and nobody in that cabin got a good night's rest. When camp was finally over, Norman left to go home, and nobody ever saw him back there again. I forgot about this story because it seemed stupid and it was just about a troubled kid with nightmares, I wish I knew what was happening sooner. My husband is a huge fan of crime related stuff, He watches a certain documentary with discusses a murderer from each time period, and the episode he was watching was about a 1980's killer. I was bored so I sat down to watch it with him, when I saw a picture of a little boy, he was ginger and smiley, I'd recognize that face anywhere. It was Norman, the narrator went on to discuss how he first encountered this murderer at his summer camp, and it would come to him every night. A month after he left, he was found dead in his bedroom. Stabbed. One of the camp leaders was sent to jail about 13 years later for stalking and murder.

I broke up with my girlfriend after what we found in the woods

y3e9wk

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y3e9wk/i_broke_up_with_my_girlfriend_after_what_we_found/

Before this happened, I would’ve said Bess was perfect. She was funny, ambitious, smart, and yes, attractive, too. But the biggest thing, is that she calmed and quieted my anxious and noisy mind – just being with her made the world a bit less overwhelming. I’m a nervous person, so of course I was nervous to meet her family – especially since we’d only been dating a month, but she was insistent. She’d actually started asking just a week after our first date, said her family was so important to her, and became more and more upset each time when I didn’t say yes. Eventually, I got the feeling that if I said no again, that’d be the end of our relationship, so I finally agreed. She was from this small town about five of hours away, so not only was I meeting her family for the first time, it was also our first time traveling together, too. We decided to make a trip out of it and gave ourselves a few days before the day we planned to meet up with them. The trip started out really well. We got to spend a lot of time outdoors, and she seemed happier than I’d ever seen her. Bess never seemed to love the city with all its lights, noise, and people. She was certainly in her element out there where trees vastly outnumbered people. In fact, I rarely even saw another person besides a few employees at the motel and grocery store. And then, the day came to meet them. We were supposed to meet them at 9:00 at night, which I thought was a bit late for dinner, but agreed to. The thing that really threw a wrench into the whole thing, was when Bess told me in the late afternoon on the day of, that she wanted to go for one last hike before we met them. I wasn’t super enthused over the idea – I was already close to an anxiety attack over meeting everyone (she said her family was pretty big), I didn’t want to be sweaty and exhausted on top of that, but she looked so miserable when she said she needed just a bit more fresh air before we went back. She said it was a short hike, so I agreed. Once we started, I had to hand it to her, it was amazing at the beginning. The trees were tall and densely packed so they and cast a cool shadow over us and many of the leaves had already begun to turn yellow in the crisp autumn air; those that had already fallen crunched under our feet. A small, clear, stream meandered back and forth near the trail, lazily splashing along the water-worn stones It was a fairly easy hike for the most part. She had a map that she had printed at the motel and flashed at me to show the trail went in a big loop and was only a few miles long. Even though it was beautiful, I couldn’t fully enjoy it – I kept checking my watch anxiously since we only had a few hours to spare. She said she’d timed everything and didn’t seem concerned, but she wasn’t exactly the most punctual person herself. At one point, Bess’ eyes lit up – she grabbed my hand and told me that she wanted to see something. She led us into the thicker trees off the trail, but I wasn’t too worried about our detour at first since we had the map. As we went on, there were wear marks through the grass and dirt along that path that snaked between trees. We also encountered assorted debris that indicated that even if it wasn’t part of the trail, we weren’t the first people to come this way. It was odd though in that instead of trash, we instead came across items of actual value strewn throughout the woods. Every so often we’d come across trekking poles, boots, or bits of tarp that littered the ground. I’d even seen some pricey jackets shredded and tossed carelessly into high branches of the trees, casting odd shadows below. The gear varied in age, but some of the stuff so carelessly tossed aside looked brand new. We went on longer than expected and despite heavily hinting that I was ready to go back, she continued forward, kept insisting that the we’d hit it the trail any moment now. I was worried that we’d be late to dinner with her family, and I really didn’t want to make a bad first impression. As the terrain became harder to navigate, I was so focused on my feet and the trail that I lost track of time and only really realized how much time had passed when the sun began to sink below the horizon, vastly reducing the light around us. Everything around us seemed to hazily blend together in the low light and I had lost track of where we were about three sharp detours ago, so I desperately hoped she was right. So, my stomach dropped a bit when she looked around, a thinly veiled look of concern on her face, and confessed that she’d accidentally left the map in the car. She still said she was certain it looped back around, we just needed to go a bit further. And then, it was 7:45 already. The further we went, the more a thick silence settled around us. Eventually, I couldn’t hear anything besides our own footsteps. The silence had a palpable presence to it. I had the feeling that wild things were still moving and calling out around us in the fading light, it was moreso as if the sound had been stripped away. As we went on, despite Bess there with me, I felt strangely alone. She was usually always smiling, joking, laughing, but like the woods themselves, she too had fallen silent some time ago. I was never really afraid of the woods at night before, but with the creeping darkness and knowledge that we were utterly and completely lost, the trees seemed to take on an ominous cast as the last of the light began to fade. Every now and then I thought I saw something glide lithely through the spaces between the trees, but whenever I turned to look there was nothing there. A hint of earthy decay mixed with something metallic smelling wafted through the gnarled trees ahead, which most certainly did not improve the ambiance. The creek we walked along gradually lost all of its charm as it became wider, deeper. The further into the woods we went, it became a sinister shade of nearly black, and gave off an awful odor. I have this inexplicable fear of deep or dark water – anything where I can’t see the bottom, so walking alongside it did not help my growing sense of dread. Bess no longer followed any pretense of a trail and didn’t seen even remotely concerned about being late or even lost, for that matter. She led me through thick vines, steep drop offs, and uneven ground. She stared straight ahead with a singular and unbreakable focus, only turning around every so often, emotionlessly, to make sure I was still behind her. I could feel pressure in my ears the further we went into the dense woods. At one point, as she slid sideways between trees and dropped out of my sight entirely, and into the darkness. I had a bad feeling and a brief moment of panic, but was able to catch up with her. “I think we should just turn back”, I panted, the long hike and rough terrain wearing on me, but she didn’t seem to hear me, or pretended not to. She navigated so effortlessly, with steps that seemed almost practiced. In contrast, my clothes and skin were getting snagged on thorny branches, and despite using my flashlight I found myself tripping over roots, rocks, and the occasional object left behind by people that walked this path before us – one time I nearly fell on my face tripping over an old, stained hiking boot. Still, she continued on. I was worried since the temperature had been dropping quickly ever since darkness had enveloped us, and we weren’t prepared to spend the night out here in the woods. I couldn’t help but continue to shoot uneasy glances at the gaping blackness of the creek, as if I expected something to crawl out and drag me in. I saw something bobbing in the water that startled me and made me do a double take – it looked like a person was floating face down. I inhaled sharply and hesitantly stepped over some fallen branches and headed to take a closer look. I flashed my phone light towards the water and to my immense relief, it was just one of those big camping backpacks. I couldn’t help but notice though, that area had a strange feel to it – a mournfulness, and took one last look. When I turned back around, Bess was directly behind me, blending in with the shadows. I hadn’t even heard her approach. She was only inches away and stared at me in the near darkness, her eyes narrowed at me. As we stood and she studied me, I became intimately aware of how close my feet were to the sharp embankment, and gave an involuntary shudder. “Something feels wrong about this place. Do you feel it too?”, I asked quietly. She thought for a moment before nodding solemnly. I asked her if we could turn back, but she told me we were almost there. I’d lost confidence in her navigational skills hours ago, but I didn’t want to leave her alone in the woods (or be alone in the woods myself to be honest), so I followed her despite my incredible unease. As we continued on, I could see the outlines of more odd objects, which turned out being more camping gear and clothes in various state of ruin and decay – in the creek and strewn upon the banks. There were some crumpled tents, even what looked to have once been a very expensive mountain bike. There lingered a sort of despair in this part of the woods that weighted me down the further we went. After a while longer, I decided I’d had enough and stopped. It was 8:50. It had been several hours, and I really hoped that she’d told her family where we were going beforehand so at least someone knew where to look for us when we didn’t show up at their place. I was frustrated and upset by this point – she’d made such a big deal about me meeting everyone but seemed to sabotage the chance of them actually liking me by taking us on this seemingly endless trek through the woods and being too stubborn to turn back. She’d become cold and acted strange the more lost we became, which wasn’t helping. “I’m going to head back!”, I called out, since she’d gone so far ahead of me. I hoped that would convince her. Not only were we totally going to miss dinner with her family, but we had spent hours off trail, in the darkness. She stopped and just stared at me, making it clear that she wasn’t moving, and waited for me to approach her instead. She smirked at me as I did, and I noticed that her face looked odd in the shadows – her eyes seemed… longer somehow… and they had taken on an odd sheen. In the moonlight, it looked as if something was rippling just under the surface of her skin. “You promised you’d meet my family. Don’t you want to meet them?” she asked, as she leaned closely to me. Her voice was soft but strange. I looked at my watch pointedly and stared at her, thinking she was losing it. I shined my light around us to demonstrate that we were clearly in the middle of nowhere, and noticed that clothes, gear, and shoes littered much more of the ground here. The smell of earthy decay had intensified to the point where I could almost taste it – I tried not to gag. I suddenly felt an odd pressure in my head. Perhaps if not for the shroud of silence, I would’ve heard the twigs snapping in the distance, or the branches moving high in the trees. I did eventually see them, though. The silhouetted forms just beyond where we stood. There were so many of them. The pressure grew so intense that my ears popped and I felt a sharp stabbing pain my head, worse even than anything I had felt before. I felt myself drop to my knees, trying to stay aware and conscious through the pain. I tried reaching around blindly for Bess but couldn’t find her. When I managed to focus again, I could see there were people encircling us from the shadows. No. Not people. Looking more closely, even in that scant light, I could tell that the faces were wrong – they were too long, too slender. The bodies weren’t right either, but the eyes were the worst part. Multitudes of teeth glinted at me in the moonlight. I frantically looked around for Bess, only to see that she was a part of the circle that had formed around me, and stared at me with a predatory sort of look I’d never seen on her face before. She started to shudder and twitch as her skin rippled, as if something was trapped underneath and aching to come out. Whatever it was, I knew I didn’t want to meet it. While she was in that prone state, I ran straight towards her, and shouldered past her, taking her by surprise. Sharp nails from her neighbors in the circle grasped at me aggressively as I slid past, slashing the back of my backpack. I quickly realized that they were far more agile than I was and even worse, when I turned around, I saw that my ruined bag was leaving a trail of items in my wake. I was forced to toss it off to the side as I stumbled through the darkness, hoping that’d maybe throw them off and buy me some time. I knew they’d have no problem catching up with me, that plus the growing number of clothes I was forced to dodge, some with rotting pieces of the original wearers still inside, made me doubt I’d ever make it home again. I eyed the opaque black water of the creek, and yes I did seriously debate if I’d rather be torn to pieces, or face my irrational but intense fear. At the lack of sound and as pressure in my ears intensified again, I could tell I didn’t have much time. I ran to the steep bank, and slid into the brackish creek. I tried to obscure myself under the backpacks, tents, clothes and did my best to keep silent which was difficult after finding clumps of hair and other things I’d rather not describe, floating in that stinking water. I frantically wondered if they’d come in the water after me – did they hunt there too? Or had the remains of their victims just been carelessly tossed here? I feared I’d feel the objects covering me lifted away at any moment and be dragged out forcefully. Since I couldn’t hear them, despite knowing they were up in the trees and searching along the ground, I tried to keep covered and moved only when the pressure in my ears subsided. At one point, I heard Bess, in her strange voice, calling out to me, on the bank just next to me. It took me hours to get away because I feared that if I moved too fast, they’d come for me. I spent most of that time coated with the remains of hikers and campers, and others likely brought to ‘meet the family’, that were long gone from this world, but I finally made it back to my car safely. I made the five hours’ drive home without going back to the hotel for my stuff. I didn’t stop even once and bolted my door from the inside when I got home. I moved out of that apartment not long after and tried to avoid any place I knew Bess to frequent. I did eventually see her again though, she was beaming at another guy my age, her hand intertwined with his. Looking back, I wish I’d thought of a way to warn him, but instead I just froze as they walked by and she smiled at me. I just hope he didn’t agree to meet her family.

Violet Red

y3qi3m

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y3qi3m/violet_red/

Hi. I'm still having a hard time comprehending what happened to me. I've just stolen a guy's laptop (as you do), guessed the password and am typing this. So, for context, my name is Eliza and I'm homeless. I ran away from home at age 10 because my father had started becoming... attracted to me. Let's leave it at that. I don't want to get into details. I've been kind of wandering from town to town since for the past 2 years. Until I got to this little town named Blackthorne. My first night there, I was looking for a place to sleep when I met a woman named Carolyn Adeena. Bumped into her on the street. She was pretty. I remember that. Almost too pretty. Perfect red hair in waves, perfect teeth and skin and *everything...* almost fake. Like an exaggerated Madelaine Petsch, now I look back on it. At the time, though, her beauty seemed comforting and inviting. She saw me sitting on the side of the road and threw me some money. "Hi!" she exclaimed happily. "What's your name?" "Eliza." I answered. "Eliza!" she exclaimed back. "Such a beautiful name! But I see you don't have a place to stay, is that correct?" I nodded. "Well, come back to my house then!" she said. "You can stay there for a while!" "No." I said. I knew better than to trust those kinds of offers. She frowned. "I know what you're thinking." she said. "I'm not one of those types. I swear. It honestly kind of stings you think of me like that. We just met and already you assume I'm going to kidnap you? No wonder no one gave you money before me if you treat them all like that. Not everyone's a bad guy." I sighed. "Fine." I said. "But you gotta show me around your house. I'm still..." I shut up, already ashamed of what I had said to her. "Fine." she said, taking my hand and pulling me along with her. "My name's Carolyn, by the way. And I promise I'll give you a better life." ....... I met Carolyn's mother, Polly. A homebound woman in her late 70s who was in a wheelchair and could barely talk. Her teeth were black and she couldn't even go to the bathroom by herself. It was a bit sad being in her proximity. But Carolyn was always so cheerful. And true to her word, she never once tried any funny business on me. She gave me a trundle bed in her room, we had movie nights, I had enough to eat for once... For about a week, things were good. ....... Until the day I woke up locked in my room, the door locked from the outside. There was no window, so I was trapped. I could hear voices outside. A sense of dread filled me. I pressed my ear to the door, but only heard little snippets of conversation. "-suitable friend-" "-Thelma deserves the best-" "-no one will notice-" "-homeless kid-" I started mildly panicking, wondering what they were going to do to me. And then the door opened and a woman walked in. She was plump and grey-haired, with a double chin. She wore a purple headband and a red robe with a gold braided belt. She looked at me and said, "I'm going to get you out of here. This can't continue." "What?" I said. "What can't continue?" "Carolyn didn't want to help you." she said. "She only wants another friend for... her." "Who's her?" "Something that used to be my best friend." "Stop talking in riddles!" I whisper-yelled. "Get that girl in here already!" yelled Carolyn's voice from the next room. "Are you getting slower as you get fatter?" And then a laugh. "Just let me play with her first!" came another woman's voice. At that point, I think I fainted. When I came to, I was tied to a chair with what looked like an altar in front of me. A ring of red candles, on a red table cloth, and in the center, a picture of a freckled little girl with orange pigtails and glasses. The little girl was smiling, but even though it was a picture, something seemed... off about the smile. It didn't feel genuine at all. Carolyn, now dressed in a dark bluish-black robe with pictures of stars and moons all over it, stood and smiled at me. A smile not too dissimilar from the girl in the picture. She held a dagger, with intricate pictures of stars and moons all over it. She gently poked my throat with it, but even that was enough to draw blood. We appeared to be in a basement of some kind, with six other people standing in a circle around us, including the woman from earlier. "I said I would give you a better life, Eliza." said Carolyn, wiping the blood off my throat with her finger and licking it off her finger. "And now, I will." "Can I play with her?" asked another woman in the circle, a brunette with pigtails. "When she's dead, Eve." promised Carolyn. She was about to fully drive the dagger through my throat when... The grey haired woman from earlier knocked three candles off the table. The tablecloth quickly caught on fire, and spread to the carpet, and everyone started panicking. I tried to wriggle out of my bonds, and the grey haired woman untied me when everyone else was panicking. She nodded to me and I flew up the stairs, breaking a window and running out, leaving the others to their fates. But I know they aren't dead. Or at least I know the grey haired one isn't dead. Because I saw her yesterday. In the woods, just when I was about to leave that horrible town. We stared at each other in silent acknowledgement. But just before I left, I asked her a question. "Hey, uh..." I said. "I never got your name." "It's Violet." she said. ["Violet Mitchell."](https://www.reddit.com/user/LilliannaCreepwell)

My family did a bonfire ritual last Halloween. Now they’re all dead.

y34t2g

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y34t2g/my_family_did_a_bonfire_ritual_last_halloween_now/

It was my father’s idea. He’d always been into the holidays, especially Christmas and Halloween, and he loved finding weird activities for us to spice up our normal festivities. He’d scour the internet for obscure customs for eggs at Easter or a homemade recipe for eggnog that took hours to make and tasted like ass. Or, as he did last year, a Halloween bonfire ritual. He didn’t tell us much about it ahead of time, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. Me and Mom had been around long enough to be used to his bullshit—we knew it was better just to ride it out with as few questions as possible, as questioning or complaining never did anything but slow the whole process down. As for the twins, they were only ten and thought pretty much everything Dad did was awesome. That had nothing to do with the fact that he spoiled them constantly, while the main thing he gave me, his only son, was a hard time. No, nothing at all. Still, I couldn’t bitch too much about the bonfire thing. Bonfires were cool, and as far as his holiday bullshit went, it didn’t take too much effort. We just had to light a big bonfire on Halloween night, and when the fire was out the next morning, we spread the ashes into a circle. Once the circle was made, we each picked a rock and put it inside the circle near the edge. Dad told us that we’d come back the next day and check on the rocks. That’s where the details of it all got a bit more fuzzy. When Mom asked *why* we were doing any of this, he just shrugged. Said he’d been skimming through different Halloween customs online, and this one was something about telling your fortune over the next year. He’d laughed. Said his main goal had been to have a bonfire on Halloween, but if we wanted, he could always track down exactly what the stones were supposed to mean. I shot Mom a look and we both started shaking our heads. She smiled at him. “No, that’s okay, honey. The bonfire was fun either way.” That seemed to satisfy Dad at the time, and it wasn’t until the next afternoon that he came in from the yard, his expression worried and tense. The rest of us were all in the living room watching some dumb show on t.v. at the time, and when he walked in and turned off the show, the twins started to do their spoiled baby whine. He shot them a hard look and told them to be quiet, and I sat up. Whatever this was, it was serious. “What’s the matter?” My mother tried to keep her voice light, but she still sounded concerned. My father gave her a slight smile and a shrug. “Nothing, it’s nothing.Just...who took the stones from the bonfire circle?” He glanced at each of us in turn as he spoke, his face drawn and pale. “What stones? Oh, you mean the ones…” He cut her off, his tone harsher now. “Yes, Martha, the stones we put in yesterday morning. I just thought about it, and when I went to go check, they were all gone. So I want to know who took them.” My mother frowned at him. “Why would anyone take those rocks? Couldn’t they have just rolled away or gotten moved away by the wind?” Dad was already shaking his head. “We built that fire on a level spot, and there hasn’t been much wind the last few days. Definitely not enough to blow our rocks out of the ash circle.” He turned his gaze back to me. “So who moved the rocks?” I met and held his gaze, though I could hear blood thrumming in my ears. “Not me. I thought it was dumb to begin with. I mean, the bonfire was cool, but I never knew what the point of the rocks even was.” Staring at me a moment longer, he finally shifted to the twins. “Girls? Did you take the rocks we put out there?” “No, Daddy,” they said in unison. “John, what’s this about? What’s the big deal?” “Martha, did you take them?” Mom rolled her eyes. “No, of course not. But what does it matter? Why are you upset about some rocks anyway?” He seemed on the edge of some decision then. Perhaps an internal weighing of whether he should say more or let it drop. After a couple of seconds, he forced another small smile. “Nah, it’s nothing. Just dumb Halloween stuff, right? What do we want for dinner?” **** That was the last we talked about it as a family, and after a couple of days I forgot about it. The next few months were a pretty good time for all of us, and that following summer I was busy getting everything ready for moving into a college dorm for the first time. I was going to miss being close to my family and high school friends sure, but there was also this nervous excitement when I looked into the unknowable future that lay before me. I was online looking at places I might want to get a job near the campus when my father called me. I could barely make out anything he was saying because he was crying so hard. Mom had been carrying the girls to dance class when they got t-boned by a logging truck. They were all dead before the first sirens got there. I almost deferred on school. Told Dad I could start a semester later without it being a big deal if he wanted me to stay around a few more months. He told me no in that hollow way he always spoke now, words echoing out like musical notes from a mechanical organ with no hand or heart to guide them. Even then, as I wracked my brain for some way to make things better, I never thought about the bonfire or the stones. Not until my Dad begged me to come home this past weekend. He’d been growing more anxious and strange the last couple of times we talked on the phone, and I’d been planning on going home for my fall break in a few days anyway, so I didn’t seem the harm in skipping my last couple of classes and heading back early. I knew something was wrong as soon as I pulled into the driveway. The grass was overgrown and there was trash piled up on the side porch. And when I tried to get in the front door, my key still worked, but the door wouldn’t budge. Knocking and calling for him to open up, I heard him undo three more locks before he cracked the door and peered out at me with red-rimmed eyes. I could smell alcohol on his breath, and when he swung the door wide and swept me up in a bear hug, the stale sweat stink of him nearly took my breath away. Hugging him back at first, I finally pulled away and walked past him inside. The house was not filthy, but it was messy and cluttered with filled trash bags. Walking further in, I saw several empty beer cans in the living room and harder stuff on the half of the kitchen table I could make out from there. Dad seemed to pick up on my worried look as he patted my shoulder. “Sorry. Been meaning to clean up more. I thought you were coming on Saturday.” I frowned at him. “Dad, it is Saturday. How…have you been going to work? Going out at all?” He gave me a wan smile and shrugged. “I have, sure. Just less lately. I can do a lot of my work from here, and they understand…bereavement leave they call it.” I nodded. “Okay, I mean that’s good. But…you don’t look so hot.” He’d turned and relocked the front door. A chain and two more deadbolts on top of what had already been there. Keeping his back turned, I saw his shoulders slump. “I know how it looks. I’ve just been going through a real hard time. I…I feel like I’m somehow responsible for what happened to your Mom and the girls.” When he finally did turn, his face looked haunted. “And lately, the more I think about it, the more afraid I am that the same kind of thing is going to happen to me and you, crazy as that sounds.” Sitting my bag down, I stared at him. “Dad, that *is* fucking crazy. That was the stupid truck driver’s fault. Not yours. What’re you talking about?” Tears springing to his eyes, he looked up at the ceiling. “That bonfire. That damned bonfire game with the rocks and all. Me and my stupid bullshit. I didn’t think there was anything to it, of course. Half forgot about it after we did the rocks.” His lip began to tremble. “But when I did remember and I went out and looked…when the rocks had all disappeared…I looked it up again, right there in the yard before I came inside. Remember me coming in and asking you all about the rocks being missing?” I nodded slowly, my stomach beginning to twist in on itself. “Yeah, sure. I do. But listen, I…” “Well, I looked back up what that whole thing was. I’d been wrong. It wasn’t just a way to seeing your future for the year. It was…oh God…It was supposed to warn you if you were going to die in the next year.” “Dad, just let…” He raised his hand and kept going. “No, I’ve kept this a secret for a year, and it’s been eating me up, especially since…this summer. I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want you to hate me or think I was crazy, but I have to say it. The…the website said that it was an old ritual, and that if a person’s stone was damaged or disappeared by the next day, that meant they’d die before the next Halloween. And…” Dad buried his face in his hands as he began to slide down the wall to the floor. “And I don’t know if it just predicted it or if it *caused* it, but they died! And if it did cause it, then *I* caused it, didn’t I?” He snuffled wetly into his palm. “And if that’s true, what’s to keep it from taking you or me?” The hall felt like it was spinning, and my knees were shaky and weak as I knelt down next to him. “Dad, that’s not the way the world works. It was just some silly superstition. And the stones didn’t just disappear. It was my fault.” He looked up at me, eyes still streaming. “What’re you saying? You’re just lying to make me feel better. I appreciate it, but it doesn’t…” I grabbed his arm and gave it a squeeze as I softly interrupted him. “No. Come out back and I’ll... I’ll see if I can show you.” Helping him to his feet, I took him out the back and across the yard to the toolshed. Heart in my throat, I looked between the back of the shed and the small propane tank that fed gas to the heater and oven in the house. At first I thought it was gone, but then I saw it, tucked further back in the shadows underneath the tank, but still there. Sucking in a breath, I reached in and pulled out a small shoebox that had once held Jenna or Jasmine’s ice skates. Turning toward my father, I opened it up and showed him the stones inside. “I took them. I did it later the same day we put them out. At the time I thought it was going to be a funny prank or something, but then when you came in and acted mad about it…I guess I got scared. I played dumb, and then I forgot about it after. I…” I felt tears springing to my eyes. “Jesus, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you’d been obsessing about this the entire time.” Dad looked in the box and then up to me. “This…this isn’t right.” I shook my head. “It is. There’s no magic. Just bad fucking luck and a kid who was too dumb to see what his Dad was going through. I’m so sorry.” He looked at the stones again. “No, we’re still not safe. Not until we can find…” Sighing, I pushed past him. I needed to end this now, and maybe reversing what I did was the only way to really convince him that everything was…well, if not okay, at least not going to get any worse. “Fine then. I’ll put them back where I found them, okay?” I could still see the sooty edge of the ring of ash in spots, even after all this time. Was that strange? Wouldn’t it have washed away a long time ago? Or the grass grown back there already? No, I was letting him infect me with his weird crazy grief. This needed to be over. “You’re not listening to me. That’s…” Stepping over into the circle, I dumped the stones back out onto the ground. As I looked back up, I tried to keep the frustration out of my voice. This was all my fault, after all. “See? They’re back. We’re fine. And they’re just rocks anyway. None of this actually means…” “There’s only four.” He wasn’t looking at me now, but down at my feet, and as I followed his gaze, I felt my tongue grow thick. He was right. I hadn’t noticed it before, but there had been five stones when I took them. One for each of us. Now one of them was missing. Forcing a smile, I looked back up at him. “Dad, it still doesn’t…” The day split in two as a thunderclap sent me hurtling twenty feet back until I finally slid to a stop on the far side of the ash circle. Eyes watering and ears ringing, I looked around for what had happened. That’s when I saw my father, somehow still standing. What was left of him, at least. When the propane tank blew, a foot-long shard of metal had cut him nearly in half between his neck and right shoulder before missing me and burying itself deep into a far garden wall. He stood there staring at me as he peeled apart like a wilting flower, and then he just toppled over dead onto the ground. I wanted to scream, but my chest hurt too much. Gasping and coughing, I slowly got my breath back enough to let out a small wheezing wail as I crawled my way forward. I stretched out one trembling hand and grasped one of the rocks I’d dumped out so casually before, gripping it now as though my life depended on it. It was a pointed chunk of dark granite, and I remembered picking it as my rock the year before clearly. Letting out a weak sob, I crawled to put my rock in the center of the ash circle, far away from the uncertainty that lay beyond its edge and nestled close to where the bonfire’s light had once lived. [And where, just maybe, I could still live too.](https://redd.it/9ndww5)

What Remains of Dr Ashley

y3muam

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y3muam/what_remains_of_dr_ashley/

I knew a man once by the name of Dr. Ford Ashley. He was a brilliant biochemist and my mentor for the better part of 3 years. When I met Dr. Ashley in June of 2005 he was a character to behold. He stood at 6 feet even but was as thin as a pencil. He had very pale skin and a very slight but consistent cough. He greeted me in his lab with a smile and a weak handshake before coughing into a white handkerchief that seemed to always be in his hand. By this point I had completed most of my schooling and was looking for an expert to help hone the skills and start my own lab someday and do my own research. Ford as I had come to call him was at first, very introverted. He told me about the things he was getting paid to work on and taught me various techniques to make things faster and easier. It wasn’t until around November of 2005 that I started to learn more about him and his personal goals. Whenever there was free time in the lab he would be searching for cures to various degenerative respiratory diseases. He was a visionary when it came to this, always knowing the outcome before asking the question it seemed. Around the anniversary of when I started working with Ford I began to learn his true motivation. Up until this point it seemed Ford had spent nearly all of his time at the lab. I would sometimes leave late into the night and return early the next morning only to find Ford toiling away. He never seemed to need sleep either. It was July of 2006 where that slight cough got significantly worse, to the point that it began leaving red and black splotches on that handkerchief. I asked him about it one day and he would only say it was a bad cold or some other common ailment. I walked into the lab one morning in late July and noticed that Ford wasn’t there. This had never happened before, I’d always either meet him there or more commonly, find him already working. I called his name and no answer came. I didn’t think much of it so I started getting ready for the day, checking the equipment and whatnot when I noticed the door to the office next to the lab was slightly ajar. I went to the door and called out for Ford once more as I opened the door. I saw the crumpled form of Dr. Ashley lay on the floor, blood and black ooze pooling beneath his head. I rushed to him and propped him up in a chair and thankfully, he awoke. I asked what had happened and he asked for a glass of water. I saw I would get no further with questions at this time so I got him some water and went out to get us breakfast across the street. To my surprise, the day carried on as normal. When we were getting ready to lock up the lab for the night, Ford explained the details of his condition. Since he was a kid, Ford was near constantly sick. Never anything major, he never went to the doctor. It was always just a slight, dull ill feeling he described it as. The most notable symptom was an ever so slight cough. Near imperceptible if you weren’t looking. Steadily this ailment worsened, not extremely just taking more physical form. When he was about 20 the cough became more prominent and his skin became a sickly pale shade. He said it felt like his bones became frailer as well though he never wanted to test it. These worsening conditions fueled Ford’s interest in the medical field. He went to school for years studying anything and everything he could. He went to doctors though none of them saw anything specifically wrong with him. Dr. Ashley became cynical to the outside world, starting a life of seclusion and deciding he would be the only one who could save himself. That was, I suppose, until he met me. After learning this we both took some time off. We came back to the lab in August of 2006 though I suspect Ford had been there long before I came back. Very soon after we got back into the swing of things, Ford clued me in on his plan. What I am about to say sounds like some nonsensical science fiction, but Ford somehow had made a working prototype. His plan was to counteract his body’s weakness, which he found out was more rapid cell decay than normal, by absorbing the essence of other living things. Ford rolled back his sleeves to show me what he had done. Tubes now ran line veins down his arms. He took off his shirt to reveal that the tubes ran out of his back and they plugged into a sort of grinder like device. This device could be handheld and it had a large enough opening to fit a coconut. At first, Ford would leave it on a desk somewhere and whenever he was feeling particularly ill, he would plug in and feed it a houseplant or two. I was terrified of the machine for some reason. It somehow felt cold and distant not just because it was an inanimate machine, but in a way that only a severely depraved human could be cold and distant. A bit of time passed on like this and I got used to the machine. It was now April of 2007 and Ford seemed healthier than ever. He got rid of the handkerchief and even started going for walks at the local park whenever he had a chance to get away from the lab. He seemed happy for a change. Then all of a sudden, his condition rapidly started deteriorating. He ended up worse than he started, skin began to dry up in patches and fall off completely, he was coughing near constantly and half of the time blood was coming out. He could barely stand. Here is where I did the first of a few bad things to come. Ford collapsed once again and his breathing was ragged. I could tell he would die if I didn’t do something soon. I plugged him into the machine and threw some plants into it. It did nothing. My mind raced and all of a sudden, my feet carried me out of the lab and down the hall. There was another lab that tested beauty products in the same building. I went to that lab, grabbed a rat, and came back. I don’t know how I did what I did next so easily but I threw the rat into the jaws of that awful machine. Ford perked up moments later first thanking me profusely, then consoling me. He said it was a ‘necessary evil’ and at the time, I believed him. We got back to work for a few days when for the first time ever, Dr. Ashley actually wasn’t there. I searched around for him but didn’t see him. Everything was locked up properly and I noticed the machine was gone. Ford did not show up at all that day but I got a decent amount of work done. The next day Ford apologized for his absence and said there was a family emergency he had to tend to. I didn’t think anything of it. Midway through the day, Ford asked if I wanted to go on a walk in the local park, he said he had found a pretty spot overlooking a large field. I said yes though I said we’d probably be gone the rest of the day as the park is a very large nature preserve. Ford was adamant and said we would take the rest of the day off. So off we went, into the woods of the park and began to climb up a mountain. I hadn’t had too much time to explore this place as a kid so I was following every twist and turn Ford took to a t. It started to get late when I noticed that Ford wasn’t carrying the machine. I don’t know how I hadn’t noticed but I assumed it was at his house or something. Slowly, day became night, just as we got to the mouth of a cave. I was very uneasy at this point but Ford somehow convinced me that we were lost, and should spend the night in the cave. It was a fairly tight squeeze to get in, the entrance was maybe 3 feet tall and it was decently well hidden behind some hanging moss. I wondered how Ford had been able to spot it. The mouth of the cave looked unstable too, like any sudden force with any sort of weight behind it could collapse the whole thing. My eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness and I saw horrors I could not believe. I saw bloodied and torn up bones, hunks of flesh strewn about and blood spatters and hand prints on the walls. I tried to let out a scream but my mouth would not open. “Why are you so scared?” a crazed voice echoed through the darkness, “Can’t you see this is progress? You helped to make me everything I had ever wanted. This is all because of you!” I ran for the exit as I heard the saws of the machine hum to life. I looked back to find Ford already upon me. I managed to dodge out of the way enough so that his attack only grazed my leg. It still sawed a chunk clean off. I pushed or punched him, maybe a few times, it's hard to remember but I managed to make some distance. I sprinted for the cave entrance and jumped out into the cold night air. I slammed on the top of the mouth as I heard the whirring of gears come closer at a rapid pace. Finally, rocks began to fall and sealed off the tunnel with piles and piles of loose earth. The device Ford had wielded shifted from a brilliant man’s magnum opus, his font of life, to a hungering steel maw, devoid of any emotion or prejudice. I don’t know for sure how many people he had killed. Ford had been overtaken by lunacy. He had become nothing more than an animal whose only goal was survival. I sometimes pity the man to this day, even after all he did, as he did fail in the end. The maw became too hungry, and when I unsealed the cave I had trapped him in days later, the machine had eaten most of his body. It was either wholly gone or shredded beyond recognition. No one knew who Dr. Ashley was or that he had even died, until now I suppose.

A God in the woods feasts on strange meals.

y3dll6

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y3dll6/a_god_in_the_woods_feasts_on_strange_meals/

(TW for drug mentions) My life didn’t start out easy. I was handicapped by addicted parents and then into the foster system until I aged out. With being at rock bottom before I could control any aspect of my surroundings made it understandable that I wouldn’t turn into a productive member of society. Only to continue with the cycle I’d been burdened with. For a very long time I assumed my choice of friends, couch hopping and addictions could be blamed on everything but myself. When I was nineteen, I already moved around to great deal of different couches and on the verge of being homeless. I’d also gotten into some pretty heavy drugs for about six months at that point. The place I found myself staying at was a party house. The entire place trashed and not fit for humans to live inside. Yet so many of us passed out after taking our vice of choice to wake up and do the same thing. I guess that wasn’t really living. A new girl showed up one night. I’ve never seen her before and thought she looked too, well, shiny to be around us. She almost had a light coming off of her. I didn’t talk with her and I didn’t know who she came with. I quickly drowned in my own vices and blacked out for most of the night. I woke up to see her on the couch, face far too pale. I got up, and turned her over on reflex. I suddenly felt very sober when I saw fluid coming from her mouth. I didn’t think it was possible for someone like me to act in the proper way in such a dire situation. Somehow, we got her help at the right time. She lived and needed her stomach pumped. I never even learned what her full name was. After the ambulance left with her, it all hit me at once. Sure, I grew up in terrible conditions, but she clearly didn’t. She nearly died by going down the same path. She made the same choice I did. But she never should have been there long enough to make that choice. We all knew better. I felt as if I nearly killed her along with the person she bought the booze and drugs off of that night. We all had choices. Sure, at first things may have started out terrible but I made the choice to not try and improve my life. I’d gotten to this point because of my own. I couldn't keep blaming everything else on things I couldn’t control. After that night I got away from that group of people and did everything possible to become a better person. I never wanted to almost the reason why someone died, or keep pinning my problems on anything else. Sure, crap happens but you can always do something to improve, even in the slightest. The first year was rough. Really rough. I nearly died from withdrawals, or at least it felt like it. I worked hard not to fall for the same vices, feeling the need down to my bones. An ache always there wanting and needing the poison I refuse to give my body. Id’ hoped this feeling wouldn’t always be with me. Some days I might not even notice it, and other I almost couldn’t get out of bed due to it. For over five years I stayed clean. No drinking, only cigarettes to calm my nerves. Even when weed became legal I didn’t touch it. My life looked great for how I started out. Then, the world came around and pulled the rug from under me. I lost my job for no fault of my own. The pandemic really did a number on my company and they needed to cut back on employees. I needed a job and went so far to take a few fast-food shifts to keep my apartment. With the work hours not coming in, and bills piling up I sunk down to a bad mindset. That feeling of wanting something to take the edge off nearly over taking everything else. I was at my fast-food job, about to clock out for the night. Everything cleaned up and I had another co-worker with me. He'd gone out to take out the trash ten minutes ago. The dumpster just five steps outside the door and I got worried a bag ripped and he needed helped cleaning it up. I opened the back door, smelling the reason why my teenaged co-worker was taking his damn time. I went around the dumpster to find him and two other people huddled away from the cameras. The cameras weren’t pointed at the door, only at the dumpster to prove the trash got taken out, and no homeless men got trapped inside overnight. The company didn’t care to see if anyone went back inside so that’s how he got away with smoking. At this angle the camera didn’t see them if they crouched down. “Dude, couldn’t you do this after our shift? Just come in and clock out and came back outside.” I said, feeling pretty annoyed he was getting high outback and not helping me with the end of shift cleaning. “Holy shit, Noah? I thought you died or something.” One of the older guys said between coughs. I looked at him long and hard. The lines of his face making him look ten years older than he should. His teeth half missing and fingers stained from smoking. He was one of the guys I hung around with and the other one with him was my dealer back in the day. I got acid reflex just looking at these two. Sure, I was working at a crappy fast-food place but I could have ended up missing most of my teeth and huddling in the back of a dumpster getting high at one AM. Clinton, my old dealer laughed at seeing me after all these years. His laugh turned into a long loud cough that did not sound good. “You two look like you died ten years ago. Come on.” I grabbed my coworker by the arm and lifted him up. He protested but let himself get dragged inside. I pushed him in and closed the door so I could face the two from my past. I hated the smell of them mixed in with the rotten food in the dumpster. Dylan stood up, careful to be out of the way of the cameras as if he knew where they were. Hell, I bet these two provided for half the people working here. I crossed my arms trying to look tougher than I was. They were pretty thin and worn down from continuing on with the life I abandoned but I knew they could kick my ass if it came to it. “You got a girlfriend these days?” Dylan asked shuffling over. The smell of him made me want to puke. But that ache came back. This still lit joint in his hand reminding my body of what I've been refusing for so many years. I shook my head wanting to get myself back on track. These two needed to piss off and never come back. I didn’t want my co-worker hanging around them. They always led people down the wrong path by promising such little things to start with. “You two-” I started and got cut off. They both got close and I was forced against the door. I refused to let the fear of them show on my face. For a second I thought they might get violent but for what reason? I didn’t think I left owing them money and stealing my co-worker away didn’t matter. If they were going to do a deal, it would have been finished ten minutes ago. “If you need money, we have the Shack going again. You should bring a girlfriend over. We pay pretty good.” Dylan said, his voice low. Clinton looked around nervous. He kept scratching at his arms and clearly wanted to leave. A cold wave came over my entire body. I heard about the Shack but never confirmed if what went on in there really happened. If even half of the terrible stories were true, I needed to bring the full force of the law down on whoever was running it, and fast. I’ve went to the Shack once to deliver a package but didn’t go inside. I just handed off what was needed and left. I only got asked because I was trustworthy enough to know the location. After leaving that life behind, I forgot all about it until Dylan brought up all those memories. I shook my head but he kept talking. “Just think about it. We can pay you in other stuff too. I can tell you need it.” The dealer said and his friend laughed a bit too loudly. My hands were trembling. I gripped my arms tighter trying to hide that fact. I hated what he said held a little truth. I wanted to forget about my bills and stress for just one night. Or at least for a few hours. At the end of hard shifts, I found myself wondering if just one night would really hurt in the long run. “Get fucked.” I turned on my heel, opened the door and it hit Dylan in the face with it. I slammed the door before he could attack me for hitting him. They came around the front to bang on the glass once and left. They knew there were cameras at the front and in the parking lot because we’ve had people smash the windows before. My co-worker asked me what that was about but I went into a lecture about him hanging around those guys. I may have told some tall tales to scare him enough to never want to see them again. Each story was based in truth so I didn’t feel bad about sorta lying. I got him safely home because I didn’t trust him getting on the bus properly. Once he was inside his place, I drove off, just making a long loop of the city the thoughts of the night eating away at me. I didn’t know if Dylan was messing with me mentioning the Shack. I debated on calling the cops to check it out. But if they found nothing that would tip off Dylan and Clinton. Plus, anyone else running it. They would know who called and that risked my life. I didn’t want what I heard about to keep going on but I also didn’t want to be kidnapped and killed for reporting it. That made me feel selfish. I had to do something. I decided on going to the Shack myself and checking it out. If I gathered some evidence that led to the right people getting arrested it might work out. it also might get me killed spying on them and secretly filming what went on around the Shack. And who knows, maybe Dylan was just messing with me and the old rotten place fell down years ago. I didn’t work the next day and got ready for my new mission. I put on some boots for hiking, a water bottle and my cellphone an external battery for it. After all these years I still remembered the location in the middle of the woods only after going to it once. That was my one useless talent. I could remember to go anywhere, even in the dark, after going there a single time. That talent really didn’t come in handy very often. I arrived to the woods in the middle of the day. It didn’t look like it though. Grey clouds overhead and the trees bare. It wasn’t overly cold for the season but I still zipped up my jacket. I parked my car a block away and started to walk down the dirt road that led into the woods. I quickly went off the path at the tree marked with read spray paint, faded with age. It wasn’t a very long walk from the road to the small run-down shack in the middle of the woods. I don’t even know why it was ever built out there. Maybe a hunter did it for when he spent time in the woods and other people just took it over in time. Every step caused dead leaves or twigs to crunch under my feet. A sharp breeze blew, making me stop for a second and get the dirt from my eyes the wind picked up. When I opened my eyes again. I was met by a baseball bat in mid-swing a second away from impacting my head. I could only stand and take the hit, unable to move out of the way in time. The hit knocked me over, but not out. The other two swings of the bat took care of that. I’d been so stupid. A pair of guys that had burned out their brain cells for most of their life out smarted me. I couldn’t forgive myself for falling for such and obvious trap. When my eyes opened, being awake came with throbbing headache. I jumped; my body tied down to a chair so I didn’t get very far. I glanced around trying to figure out how bad of a situation I landed myself in. I was inside the Shack, that much was clear. The floor made of packed down dirt, and faint light showing through the cracks in the wooden boards for walls. The single window dirty and covered in spider webs. Clinton waited for me to wake up. He smiled and called out for Dylan who apparently took a few steps outside to use the washroom because I took so long to wake back up. A red light made me focus on a camera mounted in the small space and hidden behind Clinton for a second. “Oh, good you woke up. I thought we would need to dump some water on you or something.” Dylan said when he came back inside. If they hadn’t pout duct tape over my mouth, I would have told him off. He ordered Clinton to get the camera set up outside saying that the Shack was too small for what they needed to do. Countless horrible mental images ran through my head of what these two had planned. They dragged me in the chair outside, the sun starting to set to show how long I’d been out for. A camera on a tri-pod sitting outside hooked up to a laptop. Why would these two record this? Wouldn’t that bite them in the ass? They made sure I was in frame and from the looks of things, the camera was recording the entire time. My stomach sank when I assumed right that this was being livestreamed. Dylan saw my expression and smiled. He loved being in a position of power over someone who saw him worth less than a cockroach. “We are livestreaming this. We get paid pretty good for these shows. But lately we’ve run through most of our connections to use so thank God we came across you. We always knew you thought you were too good for us. We had a bet if you called the cops or came by on your own. The outcome would have been the same. We would put on a show, but if it was with the cops, we would need to find a new place to hold the shows.” What was he, a Saturday cartoon villain? Why bother telling me any of this? I already felt more terrified than I ever had in my life. Telling me details of what was going to happen wouldn’t add to that. I soon realized the reason why he went on talking for as long as he did. Neither him or Clinton were going to be the ones to put on the show. They were just the one to lure others in a run the camera. No, the main star still in the woods. When it came into view, I knew my previous statement been false. I could feel even more fear. My body shook and I screamed through the duct tape. Standing between two trees came a massive creature. One that should be impossible to get to this size. I’ve never seen one in person but knew right away what I looked at. A wild boar. The features mostly what all boars had. A long line of bristled fur ran along its back. Two massive and stained tusks came from the side of its mouth. The thing came closer and I swear Dylan’s head didn’t reach the boars shoulders. How the hell did this damn thing get so big? I stared directly into the boar’s eyes, seeing how unnatural they looked. Another breeze came and it blew away leaves from the clearing we all stood in. The dirt once hidden under the leaves a dark red color that twisted my stomach. I had no trouble figuring out what the next few minutes held. The boar getting ever closer, the rancid breath overpowering my senses. For a brief second, the eyes of the creature glowed a bright white. Then the thing came down on me with all its weight. I felt the teeth rip into me down to my bones. I screamed a muffled sound, my entire mind only feeling pain. I wasn’t even aware the chair broke apart and my bindings came undone. If I was being eaten alive, then what was the point of knowing that? Those teeth weren't sharp and I wished they were. They ground against my bones, eating and pulling something out off of them. And then pulled at something from so deep within myself. The pain went beyond my physical body and into a part I never knew was there until those teeth found it. Piece by piece, it tore out from me. I didn’t think anyone should feel this much pain and still be alive. I begged for death only to have my mind finally shut down. After everything I fully expected to be dead, or in pieces in front of the Shack barely alive. I opened my eyes to sounds of people shouting. Sitting up, my body oddly was whole. My chest felt light though. Too light. I was missing something I didn’t have a name for. I screamed when I saw the boar nearby. The camera and laptop crushed under massive hooves. A choking scented came over us and I found the source. Instead of tearing me apart, the boar had made a messy meal of Dylan and Clinton. I got sick and heard the shouting again. In the distance I noticed flashlights in the dark trees. “They shall take your freedom. Come along with me.” A voice spoke and it took me a few seconds to figure out it came from the boar. The words deep and they rolled over the dead leaves. The voice much like what I assumed a king might have. I looked again at the humans making their way over and knew right away they were cops. If they saw me standing in the middle of, well, Dylan and Clinton, questions I did not have the answers for were bound to come up. The boar that caused me so much pain and I hesitated going over to it. The thing nearly left me behind. With some issues, I climbed up on the wide back and we were off running through the trees, far away from the bloody scene. The powerful beast ran like the wind. I kept a tight grip on the fur, my body feeling so light the fast pace making it almost impossible to stay on for too long. We finally stopped, the boar tossing me off. I landed painfully at the base of a tree but at least I was still alive. I rubbed my sore back, swearing. “What the fuck just-” My angry word cut off seeing a new sigh in front of me. A man stood in front of me instead of the boar from a few seconds ago. I looked around for the monster wondering how the hell it left so fast. I then focused on the person who replaced it, my mind working slowly. He was tall, and very large. But large in a way professional weight lifters are. Most people think of a guy with muscles on muscles for that profession but those are body builders. In my experience the guys who could lift a bus had a gut and not a six pack. He wasn’t wearing a shirt so it made it easy to see his big arms almost as thick as a tree. He thankfully wore some sweat pants and oddly enough, a cloth hanging over his face. Seeing the long-bristled hair going down his back made me put the two pieces together. “Seriously, what the fuck.” I asked feeling exhausted. The man laughed, making the cloth in his face move. He shifted his arms into a stretch but thankfully went into explaining things soon after a small warm up. “I am a God. I made a deal with those two that I’ll eat the ones they bring me and they can film if for their little side project.” He explained. “A... Pig God?” I asked slowly. “Boar.” He corrected but didn’t sound angry. “We live to eat and I rarely find things I haven’t tasted before. Those two were running out of suitable meals so I ate them ready to move on. But they did bring me you. What I ate out of your bones one of my better meals of late, and I do hope to have it again.” I backed up against the tree as far as possible. He confirmed he ate something from me but I didn’t know what it was. I paused to self-reflect trying to see what was different. All my memories seemed intact. All my feelings, then what was it? I still knew my name and age. The answer finally came when I noticed his light I felt and how my hands were only shaking from fear. “You... ate my addictions.” I said slowly trying to wrap my head around the idea. The God laughed so loudly it shook the bare trees. I winched at the sound and because he took a step closer. His hands open wide and I thought he either wanted to hug me to eat me. “The taste of it rotting away your bones and soul just so sweet! I wished I had more of it! You went without vices for years, making it wear you down and get so rooted into yourself that it would have made you collapse from the inside. I love it! Those two nothing compared to that taste! But that addiction craving is going to come back. In a year, or two, or ten. You did well holding it back. And you’ll do well when it returns. I’ll leave you be for now, but I shall check in on you to see if you have created a meal for me in the future.” He said, and his words gave me chills. I shook my head but he refused my answer. With a large hand on my shoulder, he started to guide me along and I figured the way out of the woods. I looked up at him trying to think of a way to avoid the pain I felt a second time. Was it worth going through all that so I didn’t have my cravings for a few years? “The police...” I started. “Do not worry about that. They shall think an escaped feral pig or two ate the ones we left behind. They’ll find some and shoot them.” He said without a care in the world. “But they didn’t eat them. Are you going to let two pigs take the fall for your crime?” I pressed. “I am a God. They live to eat and be eaten. And to serve whenever I ask.” He really sounded as if he didn’t care sacrificing two lives just to leave this whole thing all neatly wrapped up. I looked up at the cloth over his face realizing I may never fully understand his reasoning or agree with it. “What’s with the cloth?” I asked finally. He stopped, not expecting the question. He thought about it for a minute and shrugged his large shoulders. “I have no decided on a face yet. I should the next time we meet.” I hated the fact that I needed to see this creature again. He was a God and I held no power to stop him from coming by again to eat away something that is going to rot me from the inside in the future. “Do you have a name? Or is it just Boar God?” I asked him. I expected him to think about this for longer than the answer about is face. He came up with a name rather quick which surprised me a little. “Brawn shall be fine.” He put his hands on his hips, almost expecting me to praise him for picking out a name so quickly. I didn’t acknowledge it and he awkwardly started to walk again. I started to hear sounds from the road making it clear how close we were from reaching society. I stopped to look up at Brawn about to ask him if he was going to keep following me or not, of if I was free to go. “I think I am going to look around where you humans live for now. I may find a meal just as good as the one you gave me tonight. I am going to return to you. In five years, or ten. Not matter the time frame, I am going to be back to eat the rot from your bones. You forced that desired down and I expect you’re able to do it again. You did a good job for these five years little human.” The God spoke, his voice a bit softer than before. I wasn’t expecting those words to really mean anything. The first part I got nervous over but I realized I didn’t have a single person give me any praise for staying clean for as long as I did. I went to meetings and heard empty words from the people there, but no one really meant it. They just said it so I repeated the same thing back to them. I’d fought for years by myself and never thought much of it because I assumed other people dealt with much worst. I didn’t want to go through the same pain of having that part of me ripped out again. I knew if I gave in to avoid Brawn coming around again, I would lose everything I tried so hard to achieve. I looked back on my current life, suddenly not feeling as much dread and stress as before. I still had my apartment and a job. I wasn’t homeless yet and had options compared to before. If I got through my childhood, I could handle everything right now. “I guess I’ll see you in about five to ten years. Thanks for saving my life and well... taking care of my other problem.” I told him, a smile on my face even with my head hurting as much as it did. “You really should be more careful and not let drug dealers outsmart you like this. But I do not believe solved the rot within yourself. It’ll come back. You kept it down all on your own and need to do it again. I only gave you a small break.” For a big scary boar God, Brawn could sound pretty nice. I still didn’t want to hang out with him. The cloth covering his face and the unknown behind it really creeped me out. I started walking again leaving the tall man behind. I glanced over my shoulder a few times expecting him to follow but Brawn disappeared after the second glance. I knew it wasn’t the last time I would see him. I came out on a road near where I parked my car unsure if that was by chance or not. My head throbbed and it was a miracle I didn’t get any lasting damage from the baseball bat to the face. I went into work the next day as if everything was normal and got a few questions about my bruised forehead. I lied saying I fell down my apartment steps. The co-worker who I dragged away from Dylan and Clinton started looking at me strangely. After those two didn’t show up again he assumed I got into a fight with them and won to scare them away from the place. I got a little bit of respect for that. Sure, most of them bought from those two but wouldn’t have if they knew what kind of people they were. It all came out after the feral pig story. For a week no one at work talked about anything else between our duties. Slowly, things started to even out. I got regular hours, bills paid and plans made. After a few months a familiar ache started to creep back into my core. I knew I just needed to put up with it. I could do this. That rot wasn’t going to drag me down after I put so much into the life I wanted. It’s not much. I’m never going to change the world or cure cancer, but I'm happy with what I’ve worked towards.

It's been 13 days since the Teen Purge started, an annual event where the 18 year old's in my town go crazy. I chose to run away from my fate.

y39ken

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y39ken/its_been_13_days_since_the_teen_purge_started_an/

13 days since the 2022 Teen Purge. October 1st, I had hopes and dreams and the naive thought that I would actually escape this town with a smile on my face. That I would start fresh in college, and I'd never have to think about Littlewood again.  [Yeah…  no.](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xwjvbe/every_october_1st_the_eighteen_year_olds_in_my/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) [I'll be escaping this town with severe PTSD and a constant feeling of dread in my gut that the world is coming to an end. And I'm the reason why.](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xwjvbe/every_october_1st_the_eighteen_year_olds_in_my/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) I'm writing this from the ruins of our old diner. This will be my last post.  …  …  … When the bus came to an abrupt stop suddenly, I pressed my head against the window and peered out, hyper alert of my surroundings. I was seeing a large glass building which reminded me of a school, or maybe a hospital. It looked far more modern than anything in Littlewood. It hit me that this was the Halfway House we had been promised solace ever since we were kids. I vaguely remembered our class being told about the curse and quickly following that up with, “But we’ll keep you safe. Like we do every year, we send our seniors to a place of healing to prepare them for the outside world after going through such trauma where they can mend.” When in actuality, I knew exactly what it was. The whispering in my head had revealed the Halfway House’s true meaning. Inside that building we were going to burn. We were going to fucking burn and nobody was coming to save us. Not our parents or the town. Leaning back in my chair, my gaze flicked to the front where two armed guards were beginning to escort my classmates off of the bus. I had already made my decision when I grabbed Kenji’s sleeve and yanked him under the seat in front of us. He let out a sharp gasp, almost a sound of protest. “Bee, what are you—” Slamming my hand over his mouth, I pressed myself into a ball, pulling him further under the seat. The thud, thud, thud, of the guards' boots sent slithers of fear creeping up and down my spine.  They passed us. I could hear their breaths, their muttering to each other. The guards already knew our game. I sensed them checking under each seat—which motivated me to shuffle myself further under until I couldn’t breathe. Kenji didn’t move, his breaths sharp and heavy into the flesh of my palm. After a moment which seemed to go on forever, thudding boots retreated back towards the front of the bus. I squeezed my eyes shut when the engines started up once again. Gripping Kenji for dear life, I settled on taking deep breaths. We were going to get out, I thought. We were going to escape. “Can you get off me?" Kenji tried to squirm from my grip, but I tightened my hold on him.  “Shh.” I said under my breath. “Don’t make a sound, okay?” Once the bus started to move, keeping a firm grip on Kenji’s sleeve, I pulled us from our hiding place and lifted my head, scanning for somewhere better. The back was our best bet. When I started towards it, dragging Kenji with me, however, I spotted two familiar faces already in hiding. Jonas and Mira. Kenji let out a low grumble, and part of me couldn't belive he was still salty about Jonas in this situation.  Without speaking, we joined them, with Jonas shuffling back so I could join him, pulling a reluctant Kenji with me. It was an uncomfortable squeeze but we were safe. I allowed myself to breathe when the bus fell into a steady drive. But I didn’t have time to relax. I was considering asking Jonas in low whispers why he had chosen to hide, when once again the bus came to a jolting stop. “Forty six?” The bus driver all but squeaked from the front.  “What are you talking about?” Shit. Shooting the other’s a panicked look, I weighed our options. Four against one.  We could easily get past him. “No. No, we did a sweep of the bus! There’s nobody on here." Jonas twisted around, shooting me a questioning look. What the fuck is wrong with him? He mouthed. I pressed my index over my lips in response.  The bus driver’s voice was eerily shaky. I could hear every tremble in his tone. “Check? Yes! Uh, yes, I’ll check now. Don’t worry, alright? There’s no more kids on this bus.” When the driver started down the aisle in a bumbling stumble and ducking under each seat,  I attempted to hide. I mean there was nowhere to hide, though I at least tried to shove myself uncomfortably further under the damn seat until we were squashed like sardines. “Hey!” The driver’s steps quickened towards us and I felt my body catapult into fight or flight. “What are you kids still doing here?” When I lifted  my head to meet his eyes, I expected anger. There was no anger, however. I was seeing frustration and fear, trickles of pain blooming in wide cartoon-like eyes. The guy was keeping his distance from us, I noticed. Like we were teeming with the plague. It was a curse, not a contagious virus. "What do we do?" Jonas murmured.  "We stay here." I hissed back.  "But he's looking directly at us."  Before I could stop him, Jonas was awkwardly dislodging himself from the gap underneath the seats. He jumped to his feet and raised his arms in mocking surrender. His smile was bright, but there was an underlying darkness in his eyes, and I had no doubt he wouldn’t resort to violence. “Yeah, I’m not a fan of the whole half-way house thing,” he said. “I’d rather just ride back into town and go and see my pops.” His lip curled. “I need to see if he’s okay. I need to check if he had a break in." “No.” The driver’s eyes filled with tears. “No…” he shook his head rapidly, his arms trembling at his sides. “You're not. ” "What, so I get possessed by the dead souls of my ancestors and now I don't have basic human rights?" Jonas rolled his eyes with a scoff. "You're legally inclined to let me go. I don't want to go to some weird halfway house and pretend I didn't gut my best friend's mother, alright? I'm going home, asshole." The driver didn't move. "I'm telling you to… to stay back." He moaned. "Please. I have a wife. I have a wife and two children."  A look of hurt sparked in the boy's eyes, and his lip curled. “The curse is over, Jackass. I'm not going to kill you." Jonas cocked his head. "Are you…crying?"  I chose to stand at that point. Kenji followed hesitantly. The driver stiffened, backing away. “I said stay back!" He hissed out. “Do you hear me?” His shaky hand went into his jacket, his eyes squeezing shut like he was expecting something. Pulling out a phone, the man's fingers nervously tapped the screen. He didn't take his eyes off us. “I’m taking you kids back to the Halfway House, alright?" He nodded at us like we would agree if he looked as pathetic as possible. And he did. The guy looked like he was ready to drop to his knees and beg. “Just… stay there.”  I caught the exact moment he dropped the notion of an authority figure. His lips twisted when Jonas ignored his instructions and took a casual step towards him. If this guy had a gun, I knew he would use it. Instead, he stumbled back with a cry. “Don’t fucking move! I mean it!” Jonas smirked. “Like this?” Another step. This time, the man let out a shriek. “Jonas.” Kenji said. “Dude, stop. You're scaring him." "Scaring him? What's to be scared of?" "I don't know," Kenji whispered, "but don't get too close, okay? He looks freaked." “Why?” Jonas twisted around to look at him. “This guy’s got fucking problems.” I caught a glimmer of that maniacal glitter left over from overnight. “Let me guess,” Jonas laughed. “Do you see dead people?” In three strides, he was face to face with the guy. Nose to nose. The driver was petrified to the spot, like Jonas was inhuman. "You look like you're about to shit yourself over a bunch of teenagers, my guy. Kind of pathetic, don't you think?" "I…" The man's bottom lip trembled. His breaths were heavy, his mouth twisting and turning and trying to speak. I would have felt sorry for him, if it wasn't for him being responsible for bringing my class to the slaughter. He couldn't even get words out, wide eyes pinpointed on Jonas and Kenji like they were ghosts. Something was building in my head, a pressure harsh enough to make my nose bleed. I found myself staring out of the window. I had initially caught the movement of a lamppost swaying back and forth. But there was no wind. When I squinted, I noticed more things which didn't make sense; a patch of flowers which had been planted outside the Halfway House were… drooping. No, not just drooping. They were blackening, rotting away into their soil, petals being whisked into the air  and coming apart.  It was 10:30 in the morning, and the sky was darkening.  Kenji started forwards and grabbed Jonas’s wrist, and with the two of them so close, the man let out a childish whine which only confused Jonas further. Outside, a tree I was so sure had been standing tall and proud, crashed onto the ground suddenly, the force of the impact rattling the bus. I fought to hold on. The pressure was building in my brain, and suddenly I couldn’t… I couldn’t breathe. “Hey!” Jonas yelled in the driver's frozen face. “What did I say, huh? The curse is over! You don’t have to be scared of us anymore, so how about you—” Bubble-gum. It sounded like bursting bubble-gum. I didn’t hear the latter half of what he’d said because the bus windows were suddenly bright red, dripping red. The floor was red, the seats, and the ceiling. Jonas was red, and I could feel splatters of it on my cheeks and speckled on my chin. The others had gotten the worst of it, but it was still painting me. The red was warm and wet, like I had bathed in it. It was at my feet, pooling and spilling and spattering every colour from existence. I felt like I was back in on the school corridor being suffocated by a wet rag pressed over my mouth, horrifying images projecting into my hand from the fumes. But these weren't delusions. This was real. It was happening.  There was a dizzying moment when I thought it was raining blood before my brain found reality and I blinked at the spot where the driver had stood in front of us—and it began to dawn on me. I hadn’t been looking at the man when he popped out of existence. I was watching the leaves on the trees outside start to brown and then blacken into nothing. Like there was an invisible force decaying everything in its path. Jonas, who looked like he was starring in Cannibal Holocaust, twisted around to face me with wide, almost unseeing eyes. He looked like he might say something before the bus shook, and I forced myself to move, to find the window.  Outside, the ground had started to crack apart, zigzagging raptures spreading like fire across the sidewalk. Kenji grabbed my arm and pulled me off the bus, Jonas diving off first, Mira on his heel. The world was crumbling around us, I realised. I could see it in flocks of birds flying across the sky in a panic. When we found solid ground, Jonas started hyperventilating. I was half listening to him mutter obscenities to himself, eyeing the growing sinkhole eating up everything in front of us. A woman jumped into her car and attempted to drive straight ahead before another tree collapsed, crushing her car. “This is the curse.” Jonas said shakily. The four of us teetered on a safe piece of sidewalk. “It’s got to be, right? But why would they still be mad?" Mira wasn’t speaking. I think she was frozen. Traumatised. I could barely see her through the red. “Nope.” Kenji murmured. He swiped blood from his eyes with his sleeve. “It’s because we’re refusing to save the world.” “What?” Jonas spluttered. The ground started to split in front of me and I staggered back, my stomach galloping into my throat. “He’s brainwashed.” I found myself gritting out. “Kenji’s convinced we’re saving the world.” “Like… like The Avengers?” Jonas grabbed his arm with a laugh. “Dude, did you hit your head?” “No.” “Then what are you talking about?” “Didn’t I make it clear I didn’t want to talk to you?” “Well, you might as well! Since the fuckin’ world is ending!” He paused. "If this about me and Wendy--" "Is this really the time?!" "Yes! I swing both ways, man. It's 2022. So take that as you will." Kenji laughed. "You're telling me this now?!" “Stop.” Mira cut in, her cry breaking into a sob. “Just shut up. Shut up! I can't think!" Their back and forth was barely a whisper in the back of my mind while I watched chaos unfold in front of me. Have you ever heard a human being explode? It kind of sounds like bubble gum bursting. I glimpsed a running man hand in hand with a little kid before both of them went “Poof!” against the store window, painting it in a whole new colour. Like a domino effect, the town's people started rupturing like the ground beneath us. I was staring at an old woman struggling to hobble through a panicking crowd when the mayor announced himself via megaphone across a particularly large crack in splintered concrete. Armed guards surrounded him and I wondered if whatever this was would spare him. “Stay exactly where you are!” “Do you understand me? Do not move!” When they risked coming closer, part of me revelled in seeing fear prickle in their eyes. Behind the mayor, was our principal. His face beet red. The guy was seething. “Can you kids understand what you have done?” Uh, yeah. I think we had accidentally caused the death of Littlewood. I didn’t say that, though. I wanted answers and Kenji and Jonas seemed in their own world, watching our town crumble around us. “The curse.” I said shakily when they were close enough to hear us. The bookshop I’d frequented my whole life started to crumble behind me, windows splintering with the force of the quake. But It barely fazed me. Neither did the little girl screaming for her exploding mother showering her in scarlet. “Who really started it?” The mayor dropped his megaphone. “If I tell you, will you hand yourselves over?”  Even his voice was shaking. I nodded. “Of course.” His lips twisted. “No fighting? No more questions?” “Sure.” I said, gesturing to the world around us. “You should hurry up though. Unless you want to turn into brain soup.”  If the phenomenon happening around us wanted to take the three of us, we would already be dead. It wasn’t targeting us, however. It was killing everyone except us. Which spoke volumes. “Uh, no,” Jonas hissed, tugging on my sleeve. “We should run. Like, right fucking now.” “Let him explain.” “Bee, are you serious?” “Very.” I told him, before directing my words at the mayor. “I want to know why you made Noah Sharpe kill my mother eleven years ago." The mayor looked like he might argue or even attempt to capture us right there and then. But he didn’t give the order. Instead, he pasted on a strict smile. “Two hundred years ago in the year 1799, the elders of this town made a grave mistake,” He cleared his throat, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “Littlewood was on the brink of collapse. Woman were unfortunately barren, and nothing they tried would work. We had no other option and were forced to make a terrible choice. Our elders prayed to an entity and asked for good luck and prosperity to help us through trying times.” “Prayed?” Kenji frowned. “Like… to a God?” “You could say that.” The mayor smiled proudly. "No, you said…  you said there was a fire," Jonas whispered. He was already in denial. "That's what you told us! You told us there was a fire which killed a bunch of kids…and we’re punished because you didn’t help them. Because you let them burn.” The mayor was doing a good job of skirting around actual conversation. He nodded gravely. “That was the story we told you, yes. However, that would cause panic. The truth is our ancestors sacrificed fifty teenagers in the year 1799. They were a gift to this entity in control of our beloved town. As you already know, human sacrifice was practised in those days. Some say it was normal. Human blood and life force was seen as the greatest gift Littlewood's bearers could accept— as well as souls from an elder.” He folded his arms. “However, what they did not know is that those sacrifices were… impure. They had engaged in certain activities which would be deemed… unsanitary, or maybe that's not the word for it. They, ahh–" “They fucked.” Jonas cut him off with an eye-roll.  "We get it." The mayor’s gaze found the ground. “Indeed.” He said. “Angered, the entity demanded more than the town could give it, and when town’s people started to notice rotting food and animals disappearing, rumours of a beast lurking in the trees beginning to circulate, they struck a deal. Every year following, the eighteen year olds, with fifty being the minimum, would be sacrificed as our punishment.” “Burned.” I corrected in a scoff.  The man found my gaze. “In those times, yes. Burned at the stake. However, throughout the years we have found a far more humane way to complete the ritual.” Yeah. Incineration. “I’m not a virgin.” Jonas said dryly. “That doesn’t matter.” The mayor said. “Virginal or not, fifty sacrifices were demanded to make up for the towns sins. If the debt wasn’t paid, however, the entity threatened a wrath greater than hell on earth to strike our town and then the world.” This time he lifted his gaze and looked me directly in the eye like I was supposed to feel guilty. “What we call The Teen Purge would be child’s play in comparison to what they have planned for us,” he continued. “If the correct number of sacrifices are not made, Littlewood will fall, which will cause a domino effect. Destruction will spread to neighbouring towns and then cities, followed by countries across the world, killing billions of people.” The mayor gestured around us as spattered red. “As you can see, we are already seeing the start of it.” “So… two hundred years ago, you idiots prayed to an inhuman entity and actually expected them to give you what you wanted?” Mira whispered. Then she laughed to my surprise. “You killed fifty kids because a faceless presence told you to?” “Like I said, Mira,” The mayor’s tone grew cold. “Human sacrifice was considered normal in those days. I’m not saying what our ancestors did was right, but they were starving. Their women could not bear children.” “What does that have to do with turning us into psychopaths?” I found myself asking, my voice was trembling. “Why did Noah kill my mom?” This time, the man wore the slightest of smiles. “Do you really think parents would agree to us murdering their children if we didn’t make them fear them? If we didn’t plant the idea in their head that it was their twisted child’s life or innocent towns people? Your parents were as in the dark as you. In their eyes, you were cursed. Killers. You had to be taken away.” “You’re kidding.” Jonas looked frantic, his eyes darting around, searching for an escape, “Do you seriously think I’ll die for a town which has ostracized us since were five years old? Who made us think we were fucking monsters?” “Mr Lockhart, the sole reason why this town is crumbling around us is because you are still breathing.” The Mayor told him. “Right now, forty six seniors have been… gifted as part of our yearly ritual. That is not enough to stop them from destroying us. We need exactly fifty sacrifices.” “Well, good luck finding them.” Jonas said in a choked laugh. “I’m sorry, but no. If you think I’m going to willingly sacrifice myself, you’re deluded!” “Jonas.” The principle at least tried to be sympathetic. “I know you don’t want to do this, but which would you prefer? A world which is no longer recognisable, one which you wouldn’t be able to survive anyway, or a peaceful euthanasian? Your father is still alive. You will be saving him.” “I don’t care!” He sputtered. “You think I give a fuck about anyone in this town? You’re an elder,” He accused. “Why not give yourself to them, huh?” “That’s…” The Mayor looked taken aback for a moment. “Mr Lockhart, that is incredibly disrespectful.” "So is murdeding our entire senior class! " He gasped out, his body trembling. Jonas backed away, grabbing Kenji’s hand, and then mine. I held on, but Kenji wrenched away from his grasp, his eyes far too empty for me to bear.  “The girl who told me she had a siren in her head,” He said softly. “She said I was going to save billions of lives, and this is what she meant.” Jonas let out a sound of distain, and Mira laughed again. Her laughter was hysterical. There was a content smile on Kenji’s face and I realised with a pang in my chest, that I preferred it to the agony twisting his expression when I’d found him. I wanted him to be happy, to be at peace. But not like this. I wanted to run away with him, with Jonas and Mira, even if this twisted fate demanded otherwise. Kenji strode over to the guards, with two out of four spontaneously combusting in their helmets before the remainder grabbed and restrained him. For a moment, Jonas looked like he might join him. I saw it in his expression, in his eyes filling with tears.  He took a shaky step forward like he would abandon self-preservation for a boy he had confusing feelings for, a boy who was locked into a fantasy nobody could pull him out of. Before he turned on his heel and ran. I watched him go, concrete splintering under his every clumsy step, as he pushed himself into a sprint. I respected that Jonas had chosen himself over the town. His own life over 7 billion people. He didn’t owe Littlewood anything. “Mr Lockhart!” The mayor yelled, a look of panic twisting his expression. “Go after him! We need fifty sacrifices!” The guards hesitated. They were scared to get near any of us.  “Go!” After hesitating, they were stumbling after him, but Jonas was already out of sight.  He nodded to the remaining guards holding Kenji. “Take him to the halfway house. They’re waiting for him." At his words, I found myself backing away, and an almost childlike look of pain crossed his face. “Bee.” The mayor stamped the ground like a child, like he was having a tantrum. “Did you not hear him?” He shook Kenji like a doll, his smile widening into a grin. “You’re going to save the world!” No. I laughed at him. In his fucking face. He had to be kidding! He’d taken away my mom, and Noah— now Kenji. My entire fucking class. To make up for a mistake THEY had made. We were being punished for what they had done.  For 200 years, we had suffered. Because of them. And he expected me to give myself up? One look at Kenji told me he would never follow me. He had already made his choice. Still though, I smiled at him. And he smiled back. Not a Wonderland Smile, a real smile. “You’re insane.” I found myself spluttering. “You actually want to die.” Kenji rolled his eyes. “Die?” He said. “Who wants to die? No, Bee. I don’t want to die.” My friend laughed, and the guard holding him flinched, as if a single movement or expression would trigger him to combust like the others. “What did I tell you? I want to go visit my dad before Christmas. I want to move across the country and start fresh in a new college. I want to…” he pulled a face. “I want to eat New York pizza and kiss a stranger, make mistakes that I learn from. Maybe I want to go skinny dipping in mid-December, drive through late night traffic with my head stuck out of the window singing to cheesy pop. Barf all over myself after too much drinking, and then do it all over again the next night because I have zero self-control.” The more he was speaking, the more I realised I was losing him. No, I’d lost him. Kenji was speaking in goodbye, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. Because, if he had made his choice to give in to his fate, then what business did I have trying to save him? He would only hate me. He was doing a bad job of acting like goodbye didn’t matter to him though, swiping at sore eyes. “The list goes on, Bee! Of course I want to live, idiot,” he laughed again, though it was more of a sob. I thought I was getting through to him. I knew deep, deep down, he didn’t want this either. But Kenji was a good person.   He stepped out of the guards restraint , and into my arms. He was warm, and I held onto that. “Nobody ever wants to die,” He mumbled into my shoulder. I squeezed him tighter. “even on the edge of life, even with that storm cloud over their head, the suffocating pressure in their chest. All of that anxiety and pain knotting up their gut telling them they’re not worth it. That they should give up. They all still want to live. They want that reason to keep going.”  I knew exactly what he was talking about. Why I couldn't step in front of traffic or cut open my wrists. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe not all of Kenji was gone. His eyes were far too sad for me to call them empty. Brainwashed. “But,” he stumbled over his words, pulling away so abruptly, I felt like all the air in my lungs had been sucked away. “How is it fair that I live while everyone else dies? Our whole class, Bee. How could I stay breathing while they sacrificed themselves for us every year prior?” “They didn’t have a choice!” I said through gritted teeth. “Do you really think they willingly walked in there? They didn’t want to die, Kenji!”   Kenji’s eyes flickered to the guards in front of him, and for a moment it looked like I was getting through to him. He made the slightest of movements, his hand grasping hold of my wrist, fingernails digging into my flesh. I felt that desperation to live. Even if he insisted it was the opposite, I knew he was putting on a brave face. But then our Principal was gone, and more red was spattering my face. Kenji let go of my wrist and stepped away from me for the final time, allowing the dwindling guards to grab him. I finally understood what the mayor meant. The longer we were breathing, others were suffering and the town was falling apart. Except I couldn’t bring myself to have sympathy for them. Would you? “Kenji.” I was fighting, then. Fighting to hold myself together when I was splintering apart. “What I heard… in my head,” I sputtered. “They weren’t voices. They didn’t speak to me.” I could feel my knees buckling. “They were screaming! They didn’t want to die! And… and why should we?” I turned to glare at the mayor who was still standing. “Why should we die for them, huh?” I demanded. “Give me one good reason why we should die. So they can kill the seniors next year? Why should we be the ones they sacrifice? Prisoners exist! Child murderers! Why can’t it be them?” “That is something we considered.” The mayor started to say, but I cut him off. “Shut up.” I gritted through a mouthful of tears. “You don’t get to speak."  The mayor looked like he might argue but decided against it.  Kenji shrugged. “It’s either us or the planet.” “This isn’t a movie,” I said, “Do you really think you’re doing some heroic gesture and the whole town is going to cheer you on?” I was seething, I couldn’t control my words, control my breathing. “No. They see you as a sacrifice and nothing else. I don’t see them putting up a fucking memorial. Did they for the others? Did they care, Kenji? The girl who put all this in your head. Did the town remember her?" It took two single strides to grab him.  Shake him.  "Did. The. Town. Care? About any of them? Noah? Tommy? The girl who filled your head with all this crap? Did Littlewood remember them?" He held my gaze. “She said I was going to save billions. They don't have to care." “So?” I shrieked. “I choose myself any day! And you should too!"  I expected him to call me selfish, but that wasn’t Kenji. “So, run.”  I let go of him. “Kenji, I swear to God–" “I’m not saying goodbye,” Kenji said in a strained voice. “I’m going to turn around and walk away. And you’re not going to look back, okay?"  “What?” If Littlewood hadn't been decaying around us, I would have held onto him.  Mira was grabbed before she could follow Jonas, and I was so close to following Kenji. I was so fucking close to giving myself up, as long as I got to be with him and the others. When one of the guards took a hesitant step towards me, however, I found myself backing away. No. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to fucking die, and if that made me selfish, so be it. I felt myself moving step my step. One last look at Kenji. He wasn’t smiling, his head bowed as a guard pinned his wrists behind his back. When he lifted his head, his eyes were on the horizon. He looked content. And knowing that he was happy—he was at peace with his fate, I ran. And behind me, just as I turned around, the mayor was staring at me, a look of immense disgust on his face. I stared back. I wanted him to explode. I wanted his body to shower the street in red and prove to me that this so-called entity didn’t just take innocents. It took those in power too. And yet he stood there, not a smear on his perfectly pressed suit. I took pleasure in quickening my pace into a sprint. It’s been 12 days since I last saw Kenji. On October 3rd, the trees started to blossom again. Outside my hiding place, the remnants of the diner, a rose bush bloomed out of nowhere, followed by daisies. Amongst the chaos, the endless shower of red every time another towns person was claimed, there it was. Life. Sitting in a battlefield of death. Kenji. Number forty seven. I want to believe it wasn’t him, that he got away, that he got some sense knocked into him. But it was hard to ignore the suffocating presence squeezing the breath from our town lift—even if it was only slightly. I lit a candle for him. Well, I couldn’t find any candles, so I set my neighbour’s yard alight instead. October 5th, the ground stopped cracking apart and the town's people were spared. Number forty eight. Jonas. It was fast, and I knew by the way the wind knocked into me threatening to throw me off my bike when I was scoping the ruins of my neighbourhood, a powerful gust blowing my hair from my face, that it was him. I sensed his anger and frustration, but no pain. I think he liked being part of the wind. Jonas had done the opposite of what I thought he would. Instead of running away from his fate, he’d given up. Maybe he didn’t have anyone left. He should have ran. Maybe there might be far more destruction if he did. Kenji and Jonas totalled the number of sacrifices to forty eight. I wondered if it was enough to make Kenji’s wish come true. Did my fallen classmates really save the world? Following them was Mira. I knew by the pace the leaves started to flower on trees, like the town was mending itself, that she was gone. With her combined with the boys, I think it was enough to stop the destruction, at least for a little while. Mira had fought until her last breath. She didn’t want to die, and that was evident in her lingering presence causing more decay than life before she seemingly found some kind of peace. Birds started to sing again, and the last person who exploded was, ironically, her mother. Sucks to be her. I think I’m allowed to laugh in this situation, right? Maybe Mira had a hand in it.  And I did laugh. I laughed until I cried. Until the remaining town’s people power washed her off the sidewalk with everyone else. October 13th, and the sun is shining. The town are attempting to rebuild a broken Littlewood, and I sit here hoping me still existing and breathing will bring their downfall. I don’t have to hide anymore. Nobody will come near me. I’m like a plague, which works for me.   I’m skipping town soon, but first I want to stay behind to see the fireworks. I want to know if Littlewood has truly been spared or they’re just taking their time.  I like to think my classmates are still here. I mean, they are. I see them in spring flowers coming to life in Fall. I hear them in the wind blowing my hair back. Some call me a coward for running away, while others beg me to keep going. And I will. I’m just… waiting. I’m waiting for Littlewood to fall. Because I am the 50th sacrifice. While I breathe, their debt is not paid. My town’s clock is ticking, and I can’t wait for a wrath to finally be bestowed on the ignorant. I know this “entity” won’t rest until we’ve all been gifted to them. I can see that in rotting animal carcases appearing in the road and on the sidewalk. The town try to hide it.  They’re trying to hide the sudden appearance of maggot like insects festering on every street corner and a mysterious flu which has taken hold of the kindergarten. Like I said, I should sympathise with their dead. I don’t think our parents knew about any of this. We were just monsters to them; monsters they decided to let go. I am thinking about playing the pied piper and taking the little kids of the town with me. I can still save them, right? They don't have to die too.  I saw a junior girl yesterday. Lanie Matthews. I used to sit with her in the cafeteria sometimes. She was handing out flyers in an attempt to send away Littlewood’s juniors to a safe place so the curse doesn’t get them next year. I want to tell her that her fate will follow Noah Sharpe and Jonas Lockhart. Mira Jane. Kenji Sato. Did their sacrifices really make a difference?  Who knows? Maybe this “entity” will take our world before October 1st, 2023. I think they’re waiting for me. They’re waiting for me to give in too. At some point, I almost caved. It was the screaming I couldn’t bear. Mother’s crying for their children in despair, and vice versa. But then I got a hold of myself. If I want to bring down Littlewood, then I have to survive. I wonder if the world will follow… Are you worth saving? In my opinion, no. You're not worth Kenji and Jonas and Mira, as well as generations of our town burning them alive. Why should I sacrifice myself for a planet which is already killing itself? I’m going to ask you that same question again. If this was your choice. What would you do? Would you surrender yourself to a fate which will save billions of lives… or run? I choose to run.

My son grew from a pumpkin. I wish he had stayed in the ground.

y39jb4

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y39jb4/my_son_grew_from_a_pumpkin_i_wish_he_had_stayed/

Attempting to conceive a child was a rough period in my life. My husband and I tried again, and again, and again; More times than I can count on a crowd of hands. Dozens of at-home ovulation tests, pregnancy tests, lots of negatives, and buckets of tears. For so long, I dodged the idea of seeing a doctor; I kept telling my husband it would work one day, that we just needed to keep trying. That something couldn’t be wrong. Finally, after the umpteenth negative test, I broke. I agreed to see a fertility specialist. And I heard it. I heard the word that kept me from that grey waiting room for so long, the one that felt like limbo. “Infertile.” The car ride home was dead silent, aside from my muffled sobs that I failed to hide as I stared out the window. My husband kept silent as he watched the road, but I could tell he was heartbroken, too. The worst part, a piece of me couldn’t help but feel like I had *failed* somehow. That I failed myself, my husband, and my life. I’m an only child, the only one to be able to give grandchildren. But that didn’t matter— I *wanted* a child. I was so ready to be a mother. I ran my life through my head over and over again, wondering if I caused this. Wondering if it was that extra glass of wine, that last cigarette I smoked before I quit— *anything.* I don’t know why, but I couldn’t shake off the feeling that I had caused this, that I was broken without it. The next few days weren’t much easier, but they were better. I felt like I needed something else to keep my mind on, a hobby of sorts. I wanted to take care of something and give myself some responsibility aside from work. I tried a few things but ultimately settled on gardening. Having something living to care for filled a bit of that hole in my heart. Gardening and my husband are what I credit for getting me through that era of my life. Every year for Halloween, my husband and I go pumpkin picking; it was the first date he took me on. Now, it’s our pre-Halloween date every year. This time around, I wanted to start growing our own pumpkins. I had never done it before but thought it’d be fun to watch them grow and harvest it ourselves. And it was another thing I could grow myself, for once. I planted them a few months beforehand, watching them slowly sprout and grow over time, watering them each day. As Halloween neared, they began to reach the end of their development— right on time. Except for one of them. One of the pumpkins’ growth seemed to be stunted. It wasn’t dead and wasn’t rotting, but it didn’t seem to grow past the size of my palm. Every time I’d pass it, a strange, solemn feeling would overtake me. Every stupid little thing reminded me of babies and that I couldn’t have one. Sometimes, I’d cry while watering it, my tears soaking into the dirt. When I cut their stems, I did them one by one down the row. When I finally reached the tiny one, I snipped its stem, my body pulling back as the pumpkin shook. I furrowed my brows, slowly wrapping my hand around the stem. As I tugged at it, it felt like it was stuck in the ground, like I was pulling up more than just the pumpkin. I thought maybe some animal burrowed and was chewing on it. Until the dirt around it began to shift. “Babe! I think we might have gophers!” I called to my husband from the garden. “Alright, one second!” He shouted back, finishing up a chore in the house. I grew impatient, so I wrapped my other hand around it and yanked with one final tug. I nearly fell back as dirt flew around, coating my shirt and some of my face. As I unclenched my eyes, they quickly widened. The wriggling body of a baby was attached to it, flailing his infant arms and legs as I dangled him in the air. I stared, blinking rapidly to see if I could wipe away what I thought was a hallucination. But it was real. “Is it still… there…” My husband said as he opened the back door, his words dissolving to silence as he saw me holding the pumpkin baby. I snapped out of my daze and cradled him in my arms, so many emotions rushing over me. I had a baby, just not in the way I expected. The next few months after that, we raised him as our own. We couldn’t take him to the doctors; they’d either think we shoved a pumpkin on an infant’s head and call CPS or take him for inhumane experiments. But he didn’t seem to have many needs, with no desire to eat or drink; or any openings to do so. He didn’t seem to be able to make noise or breath, but he was alive. He crawled, made grabbing motions when he wanted attention— normal baby things. We knew we couldn’t tell our families either. They knew of my infertility, but this would obviously be unexplainable for more reasons than that. We named him JJ. And with time, he learned to walk, too. Then, we wanted to see if he was able to learn more complex skills. We tried reading and writing, but this proved what we assumed the whole time: he couldn’t see. I had him attached to my hip for a while, so we never really saw his navigation skills. I was petrified to let him explore the house independently, and we didn’t think leaving would ever be possible. He bumped into a doorframe at the first attempt, so we wondered if there was another option. As he got older, we noticed he’d scratch at his face a lot. I’d grab his hands away as he’d claw, leaving minor indents with his little fingernails. Then, we realized he was scratching at where his eyes would be. We pondered the idea of carving his eyes like a Jack-O-Lantern, but we didn’t know if that would hurt him. But he always seemed uncomfortable, like he’d cry if he could. So one day, we sat him down in his highchair and grabbed a knife. I wanted to do it myself but nearly cried in the process, so I handed it to my husband and watched through the splits of my fingers. I winced when he sank the blade’s tip in, but JJ didn’t budge. I lowered my hands and fiddled with my thumbs, watching as he gently sliced out triangular eyes. Since that went so well, he also carved a nose and a mouth— our little Jack-O-Lantern. From then on, he seemed to be able to see. He waddled around on his own and looked up at us when he wanted to be picked up. From this moment on, I could feel a bit of a disconnect from my husband. One night, in bed, he asked to talk about something. He expressed to me that he felt “unnerved” at our son’s facial features and how it seemed pitch black inside. I told him to check if it bothered him so badly. “Just use a flashlight. I don’t know what else to tell you.” He shrugged and rolled his eyes back to his book. I glared at him with furrowed brows before turning off the lamp and sleeping with my back to him. From the start, I had this itch under my skin that this was *my* child, not *ours.* I knew how weird it all was, I couldn’t deny that, but I just wanted him to try. We were blessed with a miracle; at times, I wondered if it was my tears that brought him to life. As a few more years passed, JJ grew bigger. We’d mark his height on the doorframe, celebrating every centimeter. But even then, it always felt like my husband was watching from a million miles away. He clapped like a ghost on birthdays and ate silent dinners. I felt abandoned. “… What’s been up with you? Do you even want this?” I started one night while he was washing dishes. “What? Want what?” *“This.”* I motioned to everything around us. He stopped scrubbing; his head hung as the sink ran. “Look… I get it. This isn’t what we thought it was gonna be. But is that so bad?! He’s seven now! We’re parents! We’ve *been* parents! You know that, right?” He continued his silence, gathering his thoughts. “Are you gonna say something? Anything?” “... A part of me…” He paused with a breath. ”… A part of me just wishes he was ours.” “He *is* ours.” “Don’t do that… You know what I mean.” “Don’t do *what?* See our son as our son?” “He’s not-...” He decompressed before saying something stupid. “He’s not *what?*” I paused, my throat knotting. “... You know how hard it was for me.” “For *you? Just you?*” He finally turned around. “You know it *crushed* me, too!” “So then why isn’t this enough?! Why isn’t he enough?!” “I never said he wasn’t!” “You don’t need to! It fucking… oozes out of you! I can read it on your face every time you look at him! You smile like you’re fighting a frown!” He pinched the bridge of his nose, clenching his eyes. “Exactly,” I scoffed. “I’m… I’m not gonna apologize because this is easier for you than me.” “It’s been seven years… Is it ever gonna get easier?” “... I don’t know.” He couldn’t even meet my gaze as he said it. I looked away, pursing my lips as tears continued to well. I felt like I was being cruel and selfish. But I felt so alone, like I was losing him with each passing day. I felt like I was back in that waiting room, that limbo. Suddenly, through my watery vision, I saw JJ peeking from around the doorframe. I quickly wiped the tears and rushed over as my husband turned back to the dishes. “Hey, bud… Why are you awake?” I asked softly as I lifted him, taking him back to bed. I didn’t even know if he was able to hear. But at that moment, I hoped he couldn’t. I hoped he could never hear a thought of being unwanted, unloved, unseen. As I tucked him into bed, I stared at him for a moment. I thought about what my husband said, about his pitch-black eyes. I wondered if he was sleeping right now— if he even could. Ever since we carved his features, he seemed to do normal human things. When we ate dinner, he’d lift the food to his “mouth” and drop it in. I never thought to question where it was going, if he functioned the way ordinary people do. But my husband always seemed to lose his appetite upon seeing it. I felt my phone in my pocket and considered turning on the flashlight to take a quick peek. Ultimately, I decided against it. I felt no need to, but I was also scared of seeing something I wouldn’t like. Scared of seeing what my husband saw. As months passed, he needed a form of communication. Even with a mouth, he didn’t seem to be able to talk. So we taught him reading and writing, using notepads when he wanted to speak. I nearly cried when he wrote his first word, “Mommy.” My husband weakly smiled beside me. As he got better, we began to be able to have conversations with him. He finally had a personality, which seemed to ease some of my husband’s discomfort. Suddenly, he was interested in being involved. He’d feed him Star Wars movies and all kinds of nerdy entertainment that he grew up on. And JJ seemed to enjoy it; I even caught him doodling Darth Vader in his notepad, which I proudly stuck to the fridge with a magnet. Even if it was late, I’m glad my husband came around at all. It took nearly nine years to make our house feel like a home. When JJ turned ten, he found out about Halloween. I remember seeing his face pressed against the window, watching the trick-or-treaters skip down the sidewalks with buckets brimming with candy. “You see them out there? They’re celebrating Halloween,” I explained. He lifted his notepad and began writing. “They look like me. I want to go.” I was stunned for a moment. I honestly didn’t think JJ would ever be able to leave the house. I didn’t think this was a decision I could make alone, so I spoke with my husband about it. “He was going to get curious eventually. We can’t keep him cooped up forever.” “So, what? He’s gonna go out? Make friends? Go to school?” “Okay, slow down. I’m just talking about a night out on Halloween. The kids will just think he’s wearing a mask!” “I don’t know, Jen…” Deep down, I agreed. Letting him go past that front door felt like bugs under my skin. I wanted him to live and die in my arms; I couldn’t let the cruel world hurt him. But I wanted him to be happy, I didn’t want to hurt him either. So we agreed to a compromise. Next Halloween, we let him sit outside with the candy bucket as “decoration.” I told him he’d be able to play with the kids one day, just not this year. I didn’t even know if that was true. But for once, I needed to trust him. He was ten now and couldn’t be latched to my hip anymore. So I let him stay outside alone, periodically checking up on him. It usually wasn’t longer than ten minutes as I still couldn’t bear it, but I tried. As I was draped across the couch watching a movie, I suddenly heard a high-pitched scream from outside. I shot up, my eyes darting around. Until I remembered that JJ couldn’t talk, so it couldn’t be him. I assumed that maybe he wanted to have some fun and scared one of the kids, a harmless Halloween prank. Until I heard an incessant pounding on the door that didn’t stop till I opened it. I was met with a very angry-looking mother, accompanied by her tear-soaked child. “The buckets right there.” I smiled softly. “Yeah, we know. Is that thing even for kids?! Could’ve at least put a warning!” I stared at her, puzzled, waiting for her to explain. “These are *children—* why would you get one that *bites?!* You’re lucky I don’t sue!” *Bites… ?* I thought to myself. I looked down, noticing two red teeth marks around the little girl’s index finger. I shifted my eyes towards JJ, who sat as still as a mannequin, then back at her. “I’m… so sorry. It must’ve been a malfunction. It’s, uh… not supposed to do that. I hope your daughter’s okay.” “You better hope so,” she sneered before storming off. I didn’t even care about her nasty attitude— I couldn’t stop staring at JJ, who still didn’t move a muscle. “Can I talk to you? In private?” I asked my husband, motioning with my eyes that I wanted to do it away from the front door. We shuffled to the kitchen as I tried to muster up the words. “JJ bit a kid.” His face scrunched with confusion. “He-... bit somebody? With what teeth?” “I don’t… know. This mother ripped me a new one because I ‘got one that bites.’ Referring to him.” His gaped mouth opened and closed as he tried to find the right words. “... Why?” “I don’t know. I figured I’d wait till the end of the night to talk to him.” “What, so he has more time to chomp somebody else?” “I didn’t think he was gonna fucking bite a kid!” I hissed with a whisper. “I didn’t know what to do!” “I want him inside, now.” “What? Why?” “So he doesn’t get the cops called on us.” He made his way towards the door. “Wait— Slow down. He’s not gonna do it again!” “Yeah, and how do you know that?” He whipped around, his stare piercing. The truth is, I didn’t know. I wished I did, but I didn’t. So I swallowed roughly, looking away. He scoffed under his breath and threw the door open. “JJ, come on. Inside, now.” But he didn’t budge. “JJ, I said *inside. Now.*” “You don’t need to be so nasty,” I interjected. “*Jen—...*” He turned to me before turning back to him. “Halloween’s over. Come back inside before I make you.” He refused to move a muscle. “Alright, have it your way.” He stepped outside and tried to take the bucket from JJ’s grip but he tugged back. “JJ… Let it go.” I watched nervously, crossing my arms as I could see my husband’s temper boiling. “*Let. It. Go.*” He tugged again, but JJ refused. He didn’t want to yank it from his hands, but he kept an iron-clad grip on it. “... JJ, give the bucket to your father and come inside,” I muttered sternly. And just like that, JJ released his grip, hopped up, and trotted inside. I watched as he ran past me towards his room, my husband still kneeling for a moment. Then, he stood up and approached me. He looked at me with tired eyes before letting out a weak scoff, then dragged his feet to our bedroom. I tailed behind him, words running up our throats like vomit as I closed the door. “What was *that?*” “You tell me.” He threw the blanket over and began crawling into bed. “I said I’d *talk* to him.” “Yeah, well, it seems like you’re the only one he’s willing to talk to, anyway.” I almost laughed, looking away for a second. “Why do you think?! You didn’t *want* him! You think he can’t sense that?!” “This isn’t about that! He bit a fucking kid! He hurt somebody! And then disobeyed me! But when Mommy calls—” “*YOU. DIDN’T. WANT. HIM.*” “AND I STILL DON’T!” His roar sucked the air out of the room, my expression gaping. “Wow… Okay.” I turned and walked out of the room. “Jen… Wait—” But I had already shut the door behind me. I walked to JJ’s room and knocked on his creaked-open door. “Hey, bug. I need to talk to you.” Upon hearing me, he perked his head up; he seemed to have been staring off. I sat down, looking down at my lap as I searched for the right words. “... Did you bite that little girl?” He stared blankly at me for a moment, my husband’s “pitch-black” comment running through my head again. Then, he slowly nodded. I pursed my lips, searching for more words as if they were all lost at sea. I didn’t anticipate a part of parenting to be moments like this. “Why did you bite her? You can’t hurt people, JJ. It’s not good to hurt people. Do you understand?” Again, he stared at me for a moment. Then, he grabbed his notepad and pencil and began writing. I patiently waited till he finished, and my blood ran cold as he flipped the page around. “She got too close. Now she won’t do it again.” I looked him up and down, swallowing the knot in my throat. “... It’s time for bed. I’ll tuck you in.” After turning off the light and going upstairs to crawl into bed, my husband was already fast asleep, but I was stuck awake, staring at the ceiling. I thought that maybe it was wrong not to socialize him, that only keeping him around us skewered his brain development. But what else was I supposed to do? As much as I loved him, he was an anomaly. I couldn’t disguise him as fully human. I wanted to be a parent so badly; I didn’t think I’d be doing it so wrong. The next day, I had a more thorough conversation with JJ about how to handle social situations. I told him that hurting them wasn’t the answer if he wanted somebody out of his personal space. He nodded as I spoke, but I could only hope he understood. I then sat my husband down. I apologized for being so lax, and he apologized for being so callous. We shared a few tears and promised to do better for each other and JJ; it’s all we wanted. As months passed, I saw my husband warm up to him again, and I tried to be a little tougher. JJ wasn’t normal, but he was still my child, and it’s my responsibility to parent him, not baby him, to the best of my ability. We agreed we had to teach him how to treat a living thing on his level, so we decided to get a puppy. We adopted a golden retriever that was small, gentle, and could grow with him. When we brought him home, JJ seemed confused initially, which we expected. The dog would jump around him, letting out high-pitched barks, but JJ would stare blankly. We were patient, showing him that you can pet the dog and throw toys to play with him, which JJ grew to enjoy. Then, we told JJ he could name him. Of course, he chose “Darth Vader,” and we called him “Vader” for short. Vader brought a lot more life and light into the house while also helping us teach JJ etiquette without being seen by other people. They’d chase each other in the garden and sleep together; it warmed our hearts to see it. As he grew bigger, he’d tackle JJ and suffocate him with kisses, sometimes sinking his teeth into JJ’s head, which he had to train him to stop doing. But he was a good dog. Loving and obedient— he was exactly what we needed. One afternoon, JJ was in a bad mood. Nothing, in particular, seemed to have set him off; he just wasn’t in the mood to play with Vader, who had a lot of energy that day. He’d whimper, bark, and jump around, but JJ wouldn’t budge. He just wanted to play with his toys. Vader, still in the process of being trained, tended to nip a lot. He’d chomp our fingers when giving him treats and chew at our legs when he wanted attention, but nothing intentionally violent. Except for this afternoon, when JJ reached his limit. JJ was messily scribbling in his coloring book when Vader, desperate for attention, chomped his leg. JJ quickly dropped the pencil and smacked him upside the head, *hard.* Hard enough that he backed away with a whimper. “JJ! Jesus Christ…” I sighed, pulling off my soapy gloves. I kneeled next to him; he wouldn’t look me in the eye. “What did I say about hurting people?” He switched to his notepad and began writing. “He’s not people.” I pursed my lips, looking away for a moment as I tried to figure out how to explain this to him. “You’re right, Vader isn’t a person, but he’s still alive. And he loves you, we don’t hurt the people we love. Okay?” He paused for a moment before writing again. “If he can bite, why can’t I?” “He’s an animal, he doesn’t know any better. Animals aren’t as smart as us. But I promise he won’t bite again.” He took another pause to process and understand before nodding. “Okay… I love you so much, bug.” I kissed his head. He hugged me, prompting a warm smile on my face. After tucking him in later that night, I crawled into bed with my husband. My lips parted as I was about to tell him what happened, until I cemented them back shut. I don’t know why, but my instinct was to bite my tongue. I think I feared it’d set us back; we had made so much progress, I couldn’t go back. *We* couldn’t go back. Vader was especially rowdy that night. My husband is a heavy sleeper, but I tossed and turned as the dog barked all night. Suddenly, I shot up as the barking halted to a stop with a screeching whimper. I turned to my husband to wake him up, but pulled back my hand and decided to investigate it alone. I stepped out of the room and scanned the dark hallway. “Vader!” I whisper-shouted, puckering my lips and making noises to try and call for him. “Vader! C’mere, baby!” But still, no response. As I slowly walked downstairs, my brows furrowed as I heard the distant sound of gargling; like somebody was choking on liquid. As I got closer, it sounded like it was coming from the kitchen. There was a sound of metal scraping, followed by more gurgling and choking. “Vader… ? JJ… ?” I confusedly called out. Then, as I turned the corner to the kitchen, my face gaped open as screams of terror caught in my throat. Link to Part Two: [https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y45xnv/my\_son\_grew\_from\_a\_pumpkin\_i\_wish\_he\_had\_stayed/?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x&context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y45xnv/my_son_grew_from_a_pumpkin_i_wish_he_had_stayed/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)

Rampage Of A Jackknife Maniac

y3yg05

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y3yg05/rampage_of_a_jackknife_maniac/

>*"While my account is entirely factual, I have altered several details to protect those who survived their encounter with Jazz Mercedes on Tuesday, October 12th, 1999. I do not recommend casual reading for immature readers, as many of the facts of this were horrifying and disturbing. It took me almost a quarter of a century to go back to that day; I am still trembling with fear at the recollection of what happened. Instead of trying to share my experience, as I am not a professional writer, I have instead asked D. L. Schindler to recreate the events of that day in a fictional representation. I hope that by sharing my experience I might find some kind of peace."* > >\-Ariel W. Blackmoss *Smooth* by Santana was playing on all four stations on my car's radio. I was smiling playfully as I flipped from one to the next, each at a different part of the song. My daughter was singing the words, after-synced and I was singing with her. "Let's just forget, same esteemed emotion, under the ocean, under the moon, give me your heart, so smooth." I sang along to four broadcasts of *Smooth*. Mariah Carrey's *Heartbreaker* came on next. I will always associate those two songs with the horrors that followed. "Gimme your luv!" The rain has a special feeling in Washington. It is like a mist, a hushed-grayness that permeates both sight and sound. Semitrucks share the road with courtesy, hardly ever a problem. Washington drivers have always proven to be the most courteous and considerate. I've never heard anyone honk at anyone else or shout anything angrily. Just good drivers, unironically, from good people. Rainbows and sunrays through the clouds accompany our dark gray skies. Everything is always green and lush. People smile and greet each other, hold doors open and allow other drivers to go. That's what it's like to drive in Washington State. For me, everything slowed down and became surreal. I had never experienced a vehicular accident, never felt any stress while driving. My little girl was shrieking in terror. I saw her hand and the back of my car going away from me. I was airborne and upside down. One moment we were on the road, together, and then we were not. I looked up, wisps of smoke from the airbags hung in flat smoke rings all around. The front of my car was imbedded in the soft shoulder of the road and upright. I staggered out through the missing driver's side door after untangling myself from my seatbelt. There was blood all over me from a tiny cut on my forehead, I was struggling to breathe, a massive dark bruise later formed on my neck and chin. I had cracked ribs and my stomach was ruptured and I had a concussion. I couldn't tell how much damage my body had sustained. I don't recall feeling very much pain, at first. I just walked around, blinking and gasping and quietly calling for my daughter, expecting her to come running up to me. I looked around for my daughter and saw her nowhere. My car was in two places and she was gone. I shrugged, in shock, and decided I must be mistaken. She wasn't with me, was she? My mind assured me she was with her father. I hadn't picked her up from his place yet. Reassured she was fine, I discarded my initial panic and looked around at the interstate. The apocalypse I witnessed brought me to my knees. I wept at the carnage and columns of black smoke that were rising. I saw a dead body for the first time in my life. From the look of the remains, it was obviously a corpse.  I wandered the carnage, noticing that the northbound had stopped as they passed the devastation. I could hear sirens. I also could hear more destruction as it was happening some distance along the road. WASP vehicles wove through the warzone to pursue the rogue semitruck. They had to leave the dead and dying to the first responders and try to stop further destruction. It was over and my eyes closed. Then it wasn't over and my eyes opened. It will never be over and I will never be unable to see what I saw that day. True horror is a kind of unwanted freedom; being free from knowing that we are so mortal. I was displaced for a moment, from myself. I became untethered from the reality I've always known. I never really came back. What happened years later and what happened in that moment, in my memory, are the same thing. Time only moves in sequence for those who are unaware that it truly does not. I will say what happened next, and then I will say what happened before. That is how I remember it all. Over the years I learned a lot about that day. Jazz Mercedes was the driver of the semitruck. He was high on drugs and doubly employed by an Eritrean shipping company. The investigation, into their trafficking of kidnapped American children to be sold as sex slaves in Africa, needed his cooperation.  The Eritrean family that had bought asylum in the United States was accused of stealing relief money from Ethiopia. They happened to have a fortune equal to the missing relief money. Political asylum and citizenship was granted and their purchases of houses and shipping containers and vehicles were their first step. Later, they were being extensively investigated by the FBI for trafficking.  Jazz Mercedes was questioned and continued to operate anyway. He had a shipping container, mostly full of girls between ten and thirteen, followed by the FBI. When he had realized he was being followed he went crazy. Special Agent Caprice, Stubborn, told me everything, in exchange for the last detail that I had refused to admit. I had heard what Jazz said before it was all over. I could not repeat his words, not until I knew the truth. Why had they allowed my daughter to die? I was standing there, questioning deeply with thoughts that I had not yet had. Some part of my consciousness had known true love. Some part of me was still alive inside, while the rest of me died in the flames and rain. I was numb and displaced, but only for the span of a single breath. Terror washed over me, a physical sensation like I was somehow weightless. It felt like I was falling. I was screaming and crying. I knew my daughter was missing. "Please. Please, God. I will go to church and pray to Jesus. Anything. Please just let her be okay." I was praying out-loud to a god I suddenly believed in. There was a kind of horrible silence, a kind of fear-dripping moment when everything was deathly still. I stood in the middle of the wrecks and fires and the pieces of drivers all around me. Then I slowly began to raise my eyes and look up. He was coming back! I just stood there, my feet unresponsive to the danger hurtling towards me. The headlights were in my eyes and I could feel its approach through the vibration of the road. Behind the death truck was a swarm of howling and flashing WASPs. A helicopter arrived with a police sniper hanging out the side with a very big gun. They hovered while the entourage slowed and let the truck continue alone. There was a flash from the helicopter and then a clap. The windshield of the semitruck became a spider's web, catching the driver, stopping him. Except they had missed. I stood there as the truck zoomed past me, feeling the wind and almost knocked into a stagger from it, reeling. I could have reached out and touched it as it passed. I didn't even flinch, none of it was registering as reality. The truck stopped when more shots obliterated the trailer's tires and the semitruck's engine began to pour smoke from under the hood. The cab filled with smoke and Jazz Mercedes got out. He had deliberately maneuvered the rig to swing the load back and forth, sweeping everyone else off the road in spectacular demolition. Most semitruck drivers avoid jackknifing, the term for a semitruck with a light load that has lost traction and begun to pendulum and fold against the cab. The sudden stop of the cab can also cause the same thing to happen; always with horrifying results against smaller, nearby vehicles. Jazz Mercedes had done it on-purpose. The trailer hung at an angle so that the back hatch was angled down towards the road. Something dripped from it. Jazz walked over to it while I slowly limped towards him. He looked up at me and said with cruel casualness: "Just got to check the merchandise." With effort he pulled up the lever and the doors swung open as he quickly stepped back. A heap tumbled out onto the road, battered and bleeding. For one split second all I saw was a huge pile of crimson laundry. Then I stared at the pile of dead and dying little girls, blood soaked and tangled in a pile on the road. Horror held me there, staring. I felt my fear become numb as my mind rejected the minutes. I was still in my car driving and singing with my daughter. None of it could be real. It was not possible. "The shipment is ruined." Jazz frowned. He kicked the face of a China doll with his boots and caved it in. "Where is my daughter?" I shivered, the panic rising back up inside me. She was with me when the accident had happened. It was an accident, I decided. A freeway accident and help would arrive any moment. She would be fine. Everything was going to be fine. I feared otherwise. Jazz looked at me with the undilated eyes of a shark. He rolled his head around as he did so, adding to the inhuman and predatory gaze. He laughed at me and then he told me what Special Agent Caprice wanted me to tell him: "Djibouti? Give them a call to Al-Njiri. Tell them the Dream Lion wants to know and they will locate any product for you. It's the least I can do. I had a mother too." Jazz grinned with teeth that never stopped being replaced by sharp new ones. A pelagic predator, entirely reptilian, piscine, inhuman. I did not believe that he had a mother. "Dream Lion?" I sighed. I realized, in sinking horror, that I was looking at a monster and its handiwork. He just nodded and flipped out an actual jackknife. I thought he might use it to murder me, and I felt both mortal dread and relief, comingled strangely in my helpless mind. Like creamer poured into coffee: the two feelings swirled and mixed and became one. Fear of death assured me I yet lived. Then Jazz took his own life, somehow having the willpower to stab himself in the neck and cut through it until he collapsed and bled out on the road. All around me the WASPs and police and emergency vehicles arrived. The FBI found me and it was the peculiar Special Agent Caprice that gently questioned me until he learned I would divulge vital clues if he would do the same for me. It wasn't our only intimate exchange; I am not sure what compelled me to get so close to him. He trusted me and told me the rest of what was happening. Or he didn't trust me, with that man there really isn't such a thing as trust or honesty. Merely different shades of deception. One day, years later, he contacted me and asked me to come meet him in the Old Park. We sat together and my body recalled his warmth and tenderness, even while my spirit reviled and despised him. I shuddered in his presence from those conflicting feelings and he hesitated and said: "I only meant to comfort you." He apologized for a moment from so long ago. "We both know what it meant." I spoke without regard for his feelings. I didn't think he had any. "I am not the kind of investigator that accepts that certain people are untouchable, and I am not the sort that finds any manner of conflict with one form of evil in order to ruin a greater one." He described himself to me, wishing I would see him. I looked away. "You do not trust me, Ariel, but I trust you. You have nothing to lose by being real and nothing to gain from lying. I've never met anyone I could trust. I love you." Stubborn claimed. I sighed. I hated the fact that he loved me, but it was obvious by the way he looked at me after not seeing me for so many years. "You're crazy." I told him. "Tell me whatever you brought me here for." "I am trying." He took a deep breath. "We knew who was behind the man who was behind the wheel. You helped me prove it, but they were out-of-reach. So, I took matters into my own hands." Stubborn tried to explain himself. "You wiped them out?" I had heard him saying, between the lines. "Not myself. I found a way to have it done." I stood to go. I realized I was not going to keep his secrets, I wasn't going to keep any of it to myself. As I left him there in Old Park, I knew I would have to tell my story. I heard his truth as I walked away and the tears on my cheeks were my ''Amen': "Love lives; dies. Dies and lives forever." I sat for a long time and upon my corpse a new thing grew. It blossomed and reached out. It found a way to sing again. In one way I felt like it was all over. That part of my life was gone, I had become someone else. As a survivor I held the memories of my past and carried them forth into the future. After sharing my story, I was able to again reside in the present. I was able to feel alive and to begin to heal. I am as a flower upon a grave, I am as the dew, the lullaby and the wings that carry it to a better world that this.

Something Else Entirely

y3lrwj

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y3lrwj/something_else_entirely/

I first heard the humming when I was 5. It was so lighthearted and upbeat. It felt almost calming, if not for the fact that it was outside my door at 2 in the morning. My room was pitch black and I was drowsy. At first I was sure I had dreamt it. The room was silent. Feeling unnerved and rattled, I attempted to turn over and go back to sleep. After a few moments, I was overwhelmed with a sense of dread, as the humming continued from outside my door. The wind picked up outside and I was sure I was hearing things. Until I could hear my doorknob turn ever so slightly as the door creaked to life. I turned over, to see my door cracked as the humming grew louder. I felt ill as I listen in silence, my heart racing as the humming continued outside my door. After another few moments, the humming ceased once more. A sigh of relief, hoping it would be gone for good, but I was left with this feeling of uncertainty and terror. I waited and watched the door, sure that something could happen at any moment. My mind began wandering, fearful of what could lay in wait outside. Moments past as I sat in silence, sure by now, if the humming would return, it should have been back already. As I began to loosen the grip I had on my sheets, the humming had returned, now carrying itself up and down the hallway. I was in disbelief that my parents weren’t hearing this. Terrified, I started to shift the covers over my head, but in doing so, I bumped the nightlight on my dresser. As the light shifted, the humming stopped abruptly. I was sure it was coming to get me. Suddenly, a screech from the neighboring room was quickly silenced. As though a cry for help was interrupted by the removal of vocal chords. The following hour I spent in agony, listening to the sounds of bones crunching and meat being torn from its flesh. I awoke the next morning to the sound of my mothers screams of horror and agony. I came in to find her lying on the floor crying and screaming in agony. I continued past her to find my baby sister or what was left of her in tiny pieces scattered around her crib. From what I remember, there was nothing left to identify her. She wasn’t even old enough to have her first tooth. My mom did her best to hold herself together for my dad and me, but it wasn’t long before she took her own life. I found her in the bathtub, wrists split so deep, you could see bone. I don’t know if she intended for me to find her, but I always felt like she blamed me for what happened. It was until I was twelve, that it came again… The Humming. This time, more somber and low. Whatever this was, I felt like it was reaching out to me. I was mortified to think what would happen if I let it. I remember my door creaking to life once more as my dog, Oscar poked his head up at the end of the bed. I began calling and signaling to Oscar to stay put. I knew the fate that would befall him if he left the room. His ears perked up and I pleaded for him to come to me. The humming grew closer as I continued begging my dog to stay put. As a last effort to save my dog, I reached down the bed to grab his collar before he bolted through the door. I started to give chase before I heard the humming stop in the doorway above me. I froze in terror, unable to look up. I heard my dog begin to bark as it quickly turned to yelping as a crunch silenced him entirely. I backed away slowly as the sounds of my dog being ripped apart from the other side of the door commenced. I crawled back to my bed, hiding under my covers and weeping softly to myself until morning. My dad never believed me. Since then I’ve been in and out mental hospitals, but apart from the trauma of losing everyone but my dad, I’m perfectly fine. I’m 32 now and have a wife and 2 children. It’s been a while since I’ve heard the humming, but if it comes back, I have to decide who I’m going to feed it first.

I've ordered a "Surprise box" on Internet, it surprised me in all the wrong ways

y31jd1

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y31jd1/ive_ordered_a_surprise_box_on_internet_it/

“Receive a chilling experience with our surprise box. Five items that will make shivers crawl down your spine and reveal your hidden fears! 14 days money back guarantee…” - the page said. ​ But I’m getting ahead of myself. It all started when I discovered the thing called “mystery boxes”. If you don’t know what that is - you pay something around 20 to 40 Euros and receive a box filled with different themed stuff. It’s quite a popular thing, so I bet you’ve heard of it. ​ That evening I was browsing aimlessly and some ad reminded me that this thing exists. So I googled a bit and the search returned a bunch of links and brief descriptions. Most of the themes were frankly aimed for children entertainment with Harry Potter, Paw Patrol & some other cartoon and family friendly universes. Some interesting ones popped up too - Classic Slashers, It Came from Outer Space and Morbid Creatures. Examining the “previous months” section (which actually revealed what was sent out prior to current one) I saw bunch of mini-figures, posters, some branded mugs and other crap. ​ But I was looking for something different, so I modified the search to “mature surprise box + horror + scary”. And it returned another pile of links, with the topmost being the one I’ve opened just recently. And indeed, the store that was selling all those Harry Potter & Star Wars junk had a section called “Pure Nightmare Material”. I even had to select and confirm my age to be able to view the page. ​ Surprisingly - it had no previous monthly drops displayed and the statement said it was an experimental thing they just launched. Exciting! So I grabbed my credit card and filled in the info instantly. The description said something about revealing the nightmares you never even knew existed and that the assembly and delivery will take around 5-10 business days. The whole thing was like 24.99 or something. ​ The long wait resulted in postal notification two weeks later and that day I came back home with a box. It wasn’t large - about 30x30x30cm or so, and when I removed the packaging - it came out even smaller. A cardboard of black color with silver letters printed atop, reading: “Pure Nightmare Material. Issue 1”. ​ Wow! The guys out there really knew how to make an impression. And so, with raising excitement I took the box cutter and carefully cut the plastic seal to reveal the insides. ​ There were 5 smaller boxes made of the same black cardboard stacked next to each other and every one of them had a separate writing atop. Left to right, in same silver letters they read: Obsession, Sympathy, Life, Desperation and finally - Tranquility. Boy, oh boy! I jumped in my chair just like a kid on Christmas. This was quite something. ​ So, I made myself some tea, took a deep breath to calm down my impatience and reached for the first box named “Obsession”. What could it be? No clue whatsoever. ​ Inside there was a plastic bag with a zipper containing a pair of… How would I say it correctly? A pair of ladie’s panties. I’m not an expert of any sort, but it seemed to me that those were worn previously. A pair of blue thongs with some white and yellow flowers pattern. I’ve checked the box thoroughly - but nothing else was there. I expected a note at least, saying that these are “haunted underwear of a prostitute killed by maniac” or something like that, but nope. Just the awkward bag and the thongs in it. ​ Suddenly the door lock clicked - my girlfriend was back from work. “Hey, honey! Before you ask anything - don’t freak out. There’s something I need to show you” - I said greeting her in the hall. ​ “I’ve ordered a surprise box, and well… It came with a surprise indeed. Those were inside, and before you ask anything - I have no idea what it means. Just didn’t want you to find it tossed in trash and get the wrong impression” - I said. ​ She kept silent for a moment and then suddenly her lower lip started to tremble, as the tears poured down her cheeks. “Give me a moment, I’ll be right back” - she said covering her mouth with a palm of her hand, making her way to the bathroom. ​ I didn’t expect a reaction like that. Diana had a great sense of humor, so maybe a pun or two - but this was something completely different. I stood there in the room, listening to sobs and flowing water from the bathroom. ​ Finally, she came out with her face all red and swollen, make-up poorly washed, leaving some traces on her cheekbones. ​ “Jake, I can’t… I don’t know how you found out and if you even did, but I can’t keep it anymore… Do you remember my birthday party two years ago? The one where you received a call from work and had to leave because of urgent problems with your stupid project? I got drunk that night. I didn’t go to sleepover with Pam, no. There was a guy in the restaurant and I was so angry at you and so drunk… Jake, I cheated on you. And those” - she pointed at the panties lying on the table - “I think I forgot them at his place. I’m so sorry. I’ll give you some space, okay? I don’t know if you can forgive me…”. ​ We argued for 20 more minutes and finally she left. She said she’ll stay at her mother’s place, so I could think if I still have feelings for her after what she did. ​ I got drunk that night. And no, I won’t whine how bad it was or anything. You don’t need that in your life. ​ This event kicked the chair from beneath my feet and for couple of days I never came back to the box. And I didn’t see any connection back then, as you know - coincidences can strike quite unexpectedly. ​ But as my rage and sad thoughts started to fade away - one evening I was bored and recalled I still have something to impress me. ​ So I took out the second box entitled “Sympathy” to reveal another zip bag with a heart shaped pendant and a note this time. The pendant was a cheap one - just like those you could get at fairs for dirt cheap and I had a vague feeling I saw it before somewhere. The note said just this: “Ask Kirk about it”. ​ Well, it was strange, yet I knew exactly what to do. You see - Kirk is my best friend’s name. We were indivisible since early childhood and up to the point where adult life separated us. He was a married man, had couple of kids and lived on the opposite side of the city. We still called each other regularly and played some video games online from time to time. I have no idea how those folks found out about him - probably they took their business seriously, and tracked my Facebook page to get these details. I remember clicking through some “personal data consent” and “allowing cookies”, but hey, every site nowadays does that. ​ So as it was quite an intriguing development - I jumped into the car and went straight to him, luckily it was a half hour ride. ​ “Yo, Kirk. I have bought this thing…” - I explained to him, as we greeted each other. ​ “And, well, this piece was inside. Does it resemble anything?” - I asked - “I know, it’s stupid. But I was just curious. ​ “Nope. Not a clue, Jake. Sorry, mate. Would you like a beer or two, since you made all the way here?” - he said in response. ​ “Nah, I have to work tomorrow, but thanks for asking and say ”hi“ to Liz.” - I replied. Something in his voice caught my attention, I’m not sure what it was. I swear, there was something odd, but I didn't give it a second thought. ​ Anyways, I got home and double checked the page of that company. Yet indeed - a small text (of course, it’s the small text) said that the Company requires consent on using personal data of the buyer to come up with best experience possible, such as checking through Social Media pages for details and such and such. ​ I’ve heard stories about evil corporations stealing data, but I’m a kind of guy that has nothing to hide, so… ​ I took out the third box with the word “Life” imprinted on the top. As the second item came back a disappointment - I had quite high expectations for this one. ​ I’ve revealed the contents and became an owner of not just one, but three weird things this time. I got a small pillow case with teddy bears and stars with stripes, which I guess resembled comets and a pair of massive pink plastic earring, just like the ones you could see in the 80’s movies. ​ I sat there for 15 minutes straight trying to realize the connection between items, as suddenly a distant memory from my childhood surfaced - I was not quite sure, but I guess my Mom used to wear the exact same pair when she was younger, or? ​ So I decided to FaceTime her and ask for help solving this case. ​ “Hi-i-i, sweetheart. How’s it going? Your dad and I got worried, since it’s been couple of weeks you called last time. Everything fine?” - my Mom greeted me. ​ “Hi! Yes, everything’s alright, just been a bit busy lately. No worries…” - I replied and we talked on various topics, up to a point where I showed her the earrings - “… do you recognize those? I think you had just the exact pair back in the days.” I held them in front of the camera, twisting around so she could take a better look. ​ “No, sweetie. I have no memory of those. Where did you get it?” - she asked, so I briefly explained her a concept of a “surprise box” and said that this one is more of a game-type, where you are sent clues and have to figure them out. ​ “This was inside too. Maybe this will ring a bell?” - I showed her the pillow case, making sure she sees the pattern clearly - “It has teddy bears and comets on it. Any ideas?”. ​ She took a pause, looking carefully and then replied, swallowing saliva: “No, Jake. I’m sorry, I don’t recall anything of those. Hope I didn’t ruin your… game”. ​ I said it was okay and we talked a bit more and then hang up. Strange, a shocking coincidence in the first box and absolutely nothing in the following. I guess that’s what you get for 24.99 - they try to come up with something and sometimes it works, sometimes - it doesn’t. Oh well, I had stuff to do, so I totally switched to household tasks and working on the next project, up to a point where I felt it was quite late and headed to bed. ​ A telephone call woke me up in the middle of the night. It was my mother. Being afraid that something horrible happened, as both of my parents weren’t that young anymore - I quickly grabbed my phone: “Yes, hello. What happened, Mom?”. ​ “Jake, I want you to listen to me and please don’t interrupt before I finish…” - the voice in the speaker said. She sounded like she was drinking - her speech was slurring. ​ “When we just got you… Me and your dad. We were young and foolish. We thought that we could do anything together and that we were ready to be a family. But… But that was hard. When I got you - it was really painful, Jake. We didn’t have money, and having a kid is a tough chore. We.. We lived in a rented apartment and barely could… find money to feed ourselves. I was depressed. I was not thinking straight back then. And you were crying all the time. It drove me mad… So one day…” - she stopped for a second and I heard sobbing. ​ “…one day when your father went to work, I couldn’t bear it anymore. You were causing so much trouble. I just couldn’t. I…” - she continued - “I decided that you were a mistake, so I took the pillow… and… and…” - she went crying and weeping. ​ “Jake, I killed your sister and wouldn’t stop there, if it wasn’t your father who forgot his wallet” - that phrase fired like a gunshot in a silence. ​ “I killed her with the very same pillow you showed me today. We never told anyone about it. Everybody thinks she just… Oh god… I don’t know if you would ever forgive me, Jake” - the weeping continued. ​ I just hanged up, sitting there in darkness of my own bedroom. Silent. As if something broke down within me. My own mother… I couldn’t believe it. No way. She was so caring and sweet for all the time that I’ve known her. Always treating me with love and care… ​ Suddenly a phone buzzed and I checked it automatically with my thoughts still being somewhere far from this world. It was an email from my best friend. And the notification read: “Hey Jake, there’s something I need to tell you. Do you remember Becky? The…”. ​ I don’t know what forced me to open it but the following message put the final blow to my collapsing mind. ​ “Do you remember Becky? The one you’ve dated when we were in the high school? Of course you do, you said she was the love of your life. I remember how devastated you were when she committed suicide. ​ Jake, truth is - she never did it. I did. I killed her and set up everything to look like it was a suicide. Why? Because I was young and stupid. I couldn’t make her mine, as she was in love with you. I couldn’t understand what she found in you and why I was cast aside. So I killed her with my own two hands. That pendant you showed me - she was wearing it that day. Her pale still chest and a cheap heart pendant - this image is burned onto my eyelids, so I see it every time I close my eyes. I’m sorry, Jake. There’s nothing that could excuse me. I don’t hope you’ll understand. I just want to confess. I remember about my guilt every single day, and you…Showing at my door with exact same thing… I can’t take it anymore. I’m turning myself down. I’m sorry…“. ​ That was too much. I snapped. I cried and rushed around like a wild animal, breaking stuff, hurting myself. But that didn’t matter. Some time after I was taken away by ambulance, accompanied by police, whom somebody from my neighbors called, as I believe I’ve thrown quite a freakish show back there. ​ I was released from hospital couple of days later and came back to my broken apartment. Swiped the glass, moped the floors. Left alone, broken and miserable. ​ The box was still there on my desk with two secrets left. I have no intention of opening those. I think I will burn them. Ignorance is bliss. ​ But that was not the end. It seems that I did not just buy the box itself, but paid for subscription, as I got notification that the package awaits for me. I don’t know what I fear the most - reveal what’s inside, or live among the monsters without realizing it…

My new neighbor isn't allowed to go outside, and I just found out why.

y2zwpu

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y2zwpu/my_new_neighbor_isnt_allowed_to_go_outside_and_i/

I’m not sure what wakes me. Maybe it’s the low thrum of the diesel engine vibrating the walls, or the cold cone of light that spills across my ceiling at two in the morning. Whatever it is, it pulls me toward the window, groggy-eyed and yawning. I part the blinds, expecting to see some grumbling semi driver clunking another mobile home into place, some down on their luck family kicking at the red trailer-park dirt as their moving truck arrives but instead, I see *her.* She climbs from the truck gingerly—toeing the ground like it’s a thin sheet of ice, first one foot, then the other—easing from the seat with a quick glance up at the streetlight. Her eyes are encased in a heart-shaped face, her features delicate with an upturned nose centered over a chin that looks carved from glass. Something about her reminds me of the porcelain dolls Mom keeps stashed on the top shelf of her closet, the ones trimmed in lace with the skin glazed and shining. A heavy *thunk!* pulls my gaze to the driver’s side door. A man stands there, huge, with a pair of meat-slab arms and a bald head glittering with sweat. He stares at the trailer for a long moment, then spits and works toward the back of the truck to retrieve a blanket, one he spreads carefully above the girl like he thinks the streetlight will give her a sunburn before shoving her roughly toward the door. A slow-rising heat fills my chest. I know his type: the kind of guy who posts up on the porch with a forty and a fat wad of chew stuffed in his lower lip, ready to have a go at his kids or his wife just for looking at him wrong. *Light his fuse and watch him explode*. Dad was that kind of guy before he abandoned me and Mom to the trailer park. It never took much. I watch them disappear into the trailer with my breath fogging the glass. Something about the girl bothers me. The slack expression and the downcast eyes, the way she wrapped her arms around her chest like maybe even breathing was too much work. It made me want to rush outside and give her a hug, to tell her everything would be okay. *And that’s what it is*, I decide, identifying the thing bothering me: *I’ve never seen someone so sad before*. \# I’m up early the next morning and catch her dad, or whoever he is, hanging blackout curtains in the windows. A thick beard crawls up his neck, one I imagine to be teeming with cockroaches and beetles and various other sorts of shelled insects. His eyes are crooked, buried too close to the bridge of his nose, and his cheeks are lumpy, like maybe whatever god put him together had a few too many drinks beforehand. His gaze twitches up and down as he works—glazed, one eyelid stretched wider than the other. When I grow tired of watching him, I close the blinds and wander into the kitchen for breakfast. Mom is humming and swaying in front of a frying pan, eggs sizzling, wearing the threadbare purple robe Dad gave her two Christmases ago, her hair up in curlers. I sit down and trace my finger over an ancient syrup stain on the checkered tablecloth. “We have new neighbors.” “Oh, yeah? Who’s that?” “Some girl and her dad.” She spins around. “A girl, huh? Your age?” “I think so.” She arches an eyebrow and gives me a half-smile. “What?” I ask, feigning confusion. Valley Acres isn’t exactly teeming with teenagers, especially girls. Mostly it’s a bunch of elementary kids playing in the dirt until their parents can afford a better school district. “Well, then,” she says, “we better make them some cookies, don’t you think?” \# I carry the tin over around noon, waving at our nosy neighbor, Mrs. Amblin, as I cross the street. She waves back from her lawn chair, a vodka tonic already sprouting from her sun-damaged hand. She treats the trailer park like it’s a soap opera (which, to be fair, it mostly is), hoping to catch a neighborhood argument or two, or an affair if she’s lucky, anything she can use to pass the time and fill her gossip jar. I can feel her gaze crawling over the back of my neck as I amble up the steps of the girl’s trailer, hesitating for a moment when I spot the light fixture. It’s been blacked out, glazed in a thick coat of paint, a few hasty splotches splattered and dripped down the door frame. I stare at the mess, confused, then knock once, twice, three times before the bolt clicks, and the door inches open. “What’cha want?” a voice says with all the warmth of a growl. “Hi, I, uh . . . my name’s Kyle. I brought you guys these.” I raise the cookies. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” My smile comes out as a quick twitch of the lips before the door widens and the man steps out. He’s even bigger up close, his gut leaking over a pair of worn jean shorts, a greasy handprint smeared across the thigh. He says nothing, only stares down at me with his mud-colored eyes and his arms crossed. I think he’s going to tell me to screw off, to beat it, but instead, he reaches out with a meaty palm to snatch the tin. “You live around here, kid?” “Just across the street,” I say, my gaze drifting behind him into the dim interior. I see her there, the girl, buried in a pool of shadow. Her hand flutters up in a wave, and I raise my hand to return the gesture, but the man steps back inside with a half-mumbled *thanks,* and slams the door shut before I can. “Hah!” Mrs. Amblin calls from across the street. “Guess they won’t be coming to any neighborhood barbeques!” I roll my eyes at her, annoyed but hopeful, because I’m pretty sure the girl smiled at me before the door closed. \# A few nights later, I sneak back across the street with a handful of pebbles and toss one at the window I think is hers. I’m coiled behind the hedgerow, ready to run if it’s not, but on my fourth try, the curtains part, and I exhale as she peeks through. I stand and raise a hand, feeling stupid, like I’m in one of Mom’s cheesy romantic comedies, the idiot kid waving up at the girl from the lawn—except in this version I’m pretty sure the girl’s dad would kill me. She cracks her window, her face framed by an oil slick of dark hair. “What are you doing?” “I um, never got your name. From the other day.” Her eyes narrow. “I never gave it.” “Yeah. Sorry . . . it’s just—” “Winter.” “Huh?” “My name is Winter.” *Winter.* Beautiful. It fits. “I’m Kyle.” “I know. I heard.” “Oh . . . right.” *Idiot.* The corners of her lips curl higher, and I can’t help but notice her skin is the color of moonlight. “So,” I say, trying to recover, “me and some friends are heading up to the lake in the morning. You wanna tag along and meet a few of the other kids around here?” She blinks, her smile wilting. “I…can’t.” “Why not?” “My Dad-he won’t—” A pair of headlights flash over my shoulder and send her scurrying into the black of her room. She reappears a moment after they pass, her face tight, her gaze ticking over the road behind me. “I just can’t. I gotta go. My dad might hear us. Thanks for the cookies, though.” “Wait. You maybe want to talk again sometime? Like this?” Her forehead tightens, and she pulls a slice of cheek between her teeth with a tentative nod. “Sure, I’d like that. Tomorrow. But wait until eleven, okay? My dad is usually passed out by then.” With that, she disappears, and I float back to my trailer helium-happy, struggling to focus on anything other than my rapidly beating heart. \# The day passes like quicksand. I skip the lake and help Mom patch a hole in the drywall the size of Dad’s fist, another memory of him sanded away. *Good riddance*. If only it were always so easy—a bit of sandpaper and some elbow grease, so she could forget him forever. But I know she can’t. His shadow is buried in the curve of her once-broken nose and the way she flinches at sudden sounds, like he might leap out of the closet at any minute, fists bared. *Bastard.* I hope he stays gone forever. If he doesn’t, I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t like to think about it. All I know is I’ll never let him hurt Mom again. Ever. \# After dinner, I kill a few hours playing some Atari and then tick off the rest watching the hour hand circle the clock in my room. When it hits eleven, I slip through the living room past Mom, who’s snoring away in front of some late-night talk show, and make my way outside and across the street. Winter is waiting for me this time, her window sliding open at my approach. “Hey,” she says softly. “Hi,” I reply, my palms already sweating. “So, we—” I nod toward her Dad’s room. “Are we uh, good?” She tucks a glossy lock of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. He’s asleep.” A warm buzz runs through me. *We have time...* “So, where you from?” I ask. The answer is Stockbridge, Massachusetts, her fifth move in the last four years. She likes Indie music and fried pickles and wants to travel to Alaska someday to see the glaciers and the humpbacks. I tell her a little about myself. How I can’t wait to graduate and move to Austin to start a career in computer programming, do anything other than work in the oil fields like Dad did before he left. I talk about him a little, too, the next night. Tell her how he chased some greasy-haired waitress to Houston and how me and Mom are better off with him gone. Stuff I would never tell anyone else, but for some reason just seems to slip out around her. She does the same, fills me in on how her mom died of cancer when she was five and how she inherited her mother’s allergy to the sun. It has something to do with ultraviolet light; it’s the reason her dad won’t let her out of the trailer because she’ll burn in seconds. She says he cares, that he always does what’s best for her, but the way her mouth tightens when she talks about him gives me doubts. On the fourth night, she waves me closer with a playful flip of her wrist. “Hey, you wanna see something cool?” I nod and edge through the shrubs toward her window, my skin buzzing when I draw close. She fades into her room and swirls back after flipping on a small lamp near her bed. Scarlet light bleeds through the lampshade, painting the walls in a mix of crimson-pink tones. Her room is bare, save a few posters tacked here and there, one of a mare tossing its mane, and another of Yosemite’s Half Dome at sunrise. “Watch this,” she says, raising her hands. She laces her fingers together, and a shadow spreads over her door. It’s a bird, something a kindergartner would draw in art class. But then she flutters her fingers and the shadow grows, transforming into a lush set of wings followed by a bloom of tailfeathers and a beak. She curves her arms, hands flapping, and the shadow flies—*actually flies*—across her ceiling, the motion so fluid, so *lifelike,* I almost expect it to burst through her window. Then, without warning, the shadow rips down over her wall straight toward me. I stumble back and trip over a row of flowerpots at my feet. Several crash to the rocks. Winter flashes me an *Oh, God* look, her eyes snapping wide as a door smacks open down the hall. “Go,” she hisses, whipping the curtains shut. I dive into the hedges instead. I don’t have time to run, her old man would hear me for sure. He barrels into her room, his voice angry and dripping sleep. “The hell’s going on in here? Why’s the window open?” Winter says nothing, and I imagine his concrete gaze surveying the walls, the floor, looking for something off, something not quite right. I hear her curtains tear open a second later, and I try to still my breathing despite the swarm of mosquitoes ravaging my neck. I twitch as one bites, and I’m sure he’s seen me, is about to jump over the windowsill and snap my neck, when Winter speaks. “I was hot. I needed some air.” Silence. Then: “And the pots?” “I heard a cat. It—” She’s cut off by the unmistakable sound of a slap, flesh-on-flesh, followed by a sharp cry. I cringe and ball my fists in my lap. Hard. *Asshole.* “You’re lying,” he says, fury creeping into his voice. “Don’t you lie to me.” “No, no. I promise. It was—” “It’s that boy, ain’t it? The one that came by the other day. Don’t think I didn’t catch the way you were lookin’ at him.” “N-no Dad. I-I swear I wasn’t— “Bullshit.” The window slams down, and all I can do is sit there trembling with rage, thinking, *I will kill you if you touch her again. I will kill you, I will kill you*, *I will kill you.* \# He boards up her window in the morning. The sharp tack of nails in plywood wakes me, and I slump over to the blinds with my scalp prickling, wondering what the hell is going on. He’s out there banging away as if what he’s doing is as normal as picking weeds. I widen the blinds to get a better view, and the hammer stops mid-stroke, hangs there. When he turns, his eyes are flat and black, like those of a trout’s. A toothpick juts from the corner of his mouth. He stares at me, unflinching, until a wave of nausea twists through my gut. I glance down, unable to hold his gaze. When I look back again, he’s gone. \# “She’s in trouble,” I tell Mom at breakfast. “Who?” “The girl. Winter. Her dad’s not right.” She pushes back from the table and reaches for the crumpled pack of Camel Lights on the counter, shakes one loose and plants it between her lips. Lights it. “Hmm. How so?” “He boarded her window. We need to do something.” She takes a deep drag, the tip burning cherry red. “Now, Kyle, you know we can’t do that.” “Why not?” “‘Cause it’s none of our business, is it?” She grabs her plate and stands, apparently done with the conversation. “Now help me clean up.” And there it is—the broken piece of her—the piece that kept Dad around long after she should have cut him loose. I grab my plate and toss it in the sink, my fork clattering to the floor. She spins on me, voice sharp. “Kyle, what’s gotten into…” But I’m already gone, storming back to my room. \# It doesn’t take long to figure out his pattern. Out of the trailer at seven-thirty, dressed in his faded-orange construction gear, tool belt strapped tight beneath his gut. Home by five. I watch him for a couple days to make sure—gone at seven-thirty, home by five—before I decide to go over. The guy is punctual, if nothing else. Outside, the sky is cloudy, the air so thick with moisture, it feels like I’m walking through a bowl of chowder soup. Mrs. Amblin is already stretched out on her lawn chair, wearing a massive floppy sunhat and reading an old *People* magazine, a set of over-sized sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She pulls them down as I pass, flashing me her red lipstick smile, the one that says: *I’m watching...always watching.* I wave at her—*nothing to see here*—and bound up Winter’s steps. She answers on the fourth knock, the door cracking open with a stale whiff of air. “Hey,” she says, toeing a fringe of the orange shag spilling over the threshold. “Hi, you maybe want to—” The words die on my tongue when I spot the swamp of purple devouring her eye. “He did this?” She nods. “Winter...” Her eyes harden. “He was right to. There are things about me…us…you don’t know.” “I know a father shouldn’t hit his daughter.” I say it with more force than I intend, the anger in my voice setting her back a step. She eyes me like she sees something new, like maybe I’d hit her too, if she makes me mad enough*.* “Look...I gotta go, Kyle,” she says, moving to close the door. “I’m sorry I scared you.” “Wait,” I say, planting a hand against the wood, “Are you talking about the bird? Because that was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.” I’m not lying. It’s all I’ve thought about the last few days, how the hell she did it—the rush of feathers and that liquid-smooth motion as it flew across the wall. Her face lights up, a pale sunrise, like that first warm glow of the day when everything is bursting with promise. I take a chance and grab her hand—the first time I’ve touched her, her palm cool against mine—and tug her toward the door. “What are you doing?” she asks, not really resisting. “Let’s go to the park for a bit. It’s right down the street.” She looks skyward with a hard swallow. “I can’t. The sun, it—” “Won’t do anything.” I swing up the umbrella I brought, Mom’s white and yellow-striped one. “And besides, it’s cloudy today. No sun, see?” I step aside for her to look out, which she does with a quick glance up at the bank of clouds foaming overhead. “I don’t know...” “C’mon,” I plead, “when’s the last time you had some fun?” “It’s been...a while.” I give her my best puppy-dog eyes and curl my hands over my chest like a set of paws. “P-p-please.” She giggles and blows at her bangs with a sigh. “Yeah, okay. But only for a few minutes.” \# The park is busier than I’ve seen in ages, the playground buzzing with kids. Moms fringe the sides and chat in clusters of twos and threes. Dogs wheel over the grass, chasing after brightly colored frisbees. A group of knobby-kneed sixth-graders enthusiastically smash into each other, playing flag football. I lead Winter away from all the chaos, and we sit on a bench nestled next to a birch tree. It takes a good five minutes for her shoulders to unclench and five more before she stops glancing up at the sky like she half-expects to catch fire. Then she’s staring at me with those dazzling blue eyes of hers. They’re, clearer out here in the light, brighter, with little flecks of green that swim through her irises like glitter. “Thanks,” she says. “I needed this.” Her hand slips into mine and my heart beats a little faster. “I figured.” We stay like that, hand-in-hand, quiet, listening to the leaves rustle with the breeze, while I work up the courage to ask her the question that’s been bothering me since she moved in. When I finally do, my voice nearly cracks. “Are you...okay? I mean, with your Dad and all?” She blinks, sighs. “He means well. He’s a little overprotective after what happened to Mom.” “With the cancer?” Her eyebrows arch like she doesn’t know what I’m talking about, then settle quickly back into place. “Cancer? Yeah-I mean, sort of, but it’s more than that, it’s...” She rubs her arms and glances around like she just realized she was outside “I-I can’t talk about it. I…should go. I’m sorry, Kyle, this was a mistake. I’m not safe for you.” My mouth unhinges. *Not safe for you?* I’m about to apologize and tell her I overstepped when a football thumps down near the bench. A boy runs up to retrieve it, his cheeks puffing red beneath a pile of rice-colored hair. “Sorry,” he says, bending to grab it. “We were just...” He trails off, his eyes flicking first at Winter, then at me, his mouth agape. “Wh-what is that?” he asks, pointing at Winter’s feet. It takes me a moment to see what he does: Winter’s shadow rippling in the grass, moving like the surface of a pond disturbed by a rock. I blink at it and rub my eyes. It’s still there when I open them, wavering, expanding across the turf like an anorexic version of Winter. The arms are unnaturally long, the fingertips wire-thin and quivering. She gasps and stumbles back, tripping as she does. The umbrella flies from her hand and her shadow writhes in the sudden spray of light, the umbra boiling as tongues of flame spark around its edges. It’s then I realize the sun has burned through the clouds. The shadow’s arm slithers through the grass toward the boy and wraps around his ankle. A flurry of thin-bone fingers curl over his shin and slide up his thigh. His mouth peels open in a shriek a second before he rips past me backward through the grass toward the shadow’s jaw. “Help me! *Help me!*” I dive for his hand and seize a handful of his shirt instead. He jerks to a stop, and I struggle to hold on as my forearm rivers with veins. The boy’s eyes bulge, the stitches of his sleeve tearing one by one, *snick, snick, snick,* and then he’s gone, catapulting across the turf toward the thing’s mouth. His feet dissolve first, followed by his legs and waist. I lie in the grass stupefied, watching his DNA unravel, strand by strand, until all that’s left of him is a vertically splayed hand sinking lower, turning to a fine carbon mist. “Run, Kyle! *Run*!” Winter’s voice cuts through the fog in my brain like an electric current. I jerk upright and lurch forward a step, slamming back down again as searing heat bleeds through my ankle I roll over to see Winter scrambling for the umbrella, but she can’t gain any traction, the shadow somehow anchoring her in place. My hands tear out chunks of grass as the shadow drags me closer, my fingers digging desperate trenches through the soil, slivers of dirt carving beneath my fingernails, panic surging up my throat. My foot nears its maw and plunges in. The pain is incredible, like being dunked into a pot of boiling water so hot it feels cold. Sparks flicker through vision, and I almost pass out. A blur of motion cuts in front of me toward Winter, a figure with tree-trunk arms carrying a blanket. His eyes are close-set, his bald head shining in the sun The pressure in my calf releases, and I look down to...nothing, no foot, no shin, just a pile of charred, oozing flesh and bits of ash drifting higher, spinning toward a quickly blurring sky. \# The police question me in the hospital a week after I wake. They grill me until a nurse orders them out with a snide, “That’s enough. He’s in no shape for this.” It isn’t until I’m discharged that they drag me downtown for a second round: *No, officer, I don’t know what happened to the girl or her father. No, sorry, I have no clue as to their last name—I wish I did. Yes, the boy dissolved into a shadow, same as my leg...* In the end, I guess they have too many corresponding witness accounts, too many strange descriptions of what happened, to charge me with the boy’s disappearance, or anyone else for that matter. All they have are a bunch of nonsensical statements, and a grief-stricken mother in search of answers that will never come. I know because I want them myself. The letter arrives six months later. I’m out on the porch, sipping a tall glass of lemonade, when the mailman spots me. He glances at my stub knee, then the envelope in his hand, and brings it up the steps. “I think this is for you,” he says, handing it to me with a look I’ve grown accustomed to: a blend of pity and relief. Pity for me. Relief it isn’t him. I hold the letter in my hands as he shambles away, the envelope wrinkled, the address—*Kyle Carrington, 11080 Swallow Way*—smudged in spots, like whoever had written it had been crying. I carefully slit the crease with trembling fingers and pull out the piece of paper folded inside. *Kyle,* *It’s hard for me to write this. After what I did to you, to that boy...there are no words. Nothing I can say or do will fix things.* *All I know is you made me happy, and all I did was hurt you.* *It’s all I’ve ever done, really...hurt the people I love.* *My mom. My dad. You...* *He saved you, you know, my dad did. He brought you to the hospital after that old woman across the street told him where we'd gone.* I read the rest of it, my eyes pouring over every word, every letter, my stomach sinking, and then go to my bedroom and pull the blinds shut. A foul shiver swims up my arms and stitches back down my spine. Winter’s letter swims through my brain. That...*thing* in the park changed me. I’ve suspected it for a while now, the way my shadow wavers and curls in the sun, the motion unnatural, like it’s moving on its own. And indoors, how it slides over the walls like a flicker of smoke when touched by the lamplight. I close my eyes and let the last line crash through my head like a thunderstorm. *Kyle, I’m so sorry, but whatever you do, you must never, ever go outside.*

I've had a stalker for two months. He just told me my boyfriend isn't who I think he is - pt 2

y2rbf4

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y2rbf4/ive_had_a_stalker_for_two_months_he_just_told_me/

Part one - [https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1vlcq/ive\_had\_a\_stalker\_for\_two\_months\_he\_just\_told\_me/?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x&context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1vlcq/ive_had_a_stalker_for_two_months_he_just_told_me/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) \--- I stared at my stalker for a few seconds, wondering whether or not he was joking. “What do you mean, Jacob isn’t Jacob anymore?” I asked as he took his hand from my mouth and let my arms down. “He hasn’t been Jacob for a while. Is there somewhere else we could go to discuss this? Talking about this out in the open, especially so close to your apartment… It’s dangerous,” he whispered back to me. He looked nervous, his head on a swivel watching both exits from the alley way he pulled me in. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I mean, you’ve been stalking me for months, maybe longer. How do I know this isn’t some freaky elaborate ploy to get me to go somewhere alone with you? Why should I trust you at all?” Weirdly enough, he looked offended by my lack of trust in him, as if he didn’t give me every reason to be weary of his existence. A normal person wouldn’t drag someone into an empty alley to warn them about their boyfriend. Curiosity got the better of me, though, and I decided to let my guard down. “I’ll go with you to talk, but only in public. We can go to that coffee shop on 16th.” He shook his head in agreement, still double checking the alley exits to make sure we were still alone. About a minute into our walk towards the coffee shop, I finally gathered some courage to ask him a question. “What’s your name?” “Uh, my name’s Chris. Why do you need to know that?” “Well I figured since you knew mine that it would only be fair to ask yours.” “Oh yea, fair enough.” After that, we walked the rest of the five minute walk in silence. He seemed uncomfortable and jumpy, like he was expecting someone to pop out from the shadows and drag him away. When we finally arrived at the shop, I ordered my iced chai, and him an americano. For some reason, this didn’t really surprise me. Jacob had a fondness for americanos too. Maybe it’s a guy thing. “So,” I started as we found two rusty chairs to sit outside. “Why do you think there’s something wrong with my boyfriend?” He sighed and took a sip of his americano. “I don’t think,” he responded as he poured some half and half into his drink. “I know. Have you heard of whitelighters?” “Um, yea. The supernatural healers from that witch show? What does that have to do with any of this?” I asked, skeptical of where this was going. “Yes, they are supernatural healers, like guardian angels,” he paused, taking another sip of his americano. “Do you believe in guardian angels, Lily?” “I mean, I guess. I’m a pretty firm believer in the supernatural so I don’t know why I wouldn’t believe in them.” *No way is this man about to insinuate that my boyfriend is a guardian angel*, I thought to myself. “Good. Your boyfriend, Jacob, was one. He was yours, up until about two months ago, when you first met me.” I stared at him over the top of my iced chai, expecting him to start laughing or give some sort of sign that he was just messing with me. He didn’t. “Jacob is my guardian angel. That’s what you’re trying to tell me?” “No, not is. *Was.* Do you see this scar on my neck?” he asked as he pointed to the jagged mark under his jaw line. I nodded as I took a sip of my own drink. “Lily, do you know what a darklighter is?” “Uh, I would assume the opposite of a whitelighter,” I guessed. “You would be right. Darklighters are like demonic stalkers, both on regular humans like yourself and on whitelighters. Their main goal is to take out whitelighters like myself, which is why I have this scar.” Although I was listening, I could barely believe what I was hearing. “Jacob was your whitelighter at first. He was sent to protect you, and the best way he could do that was to be by your side, by being your boyfriend. But being a guardian angel creates a big target on one’s back.” “Wait a second,” I said as I snapped back into reality. “You really want me to believe that my boyfriend was a guardian angel, and that *you* are a guardian angel?” I had to stifle a laugh as he shook his head, staring me down with a serious intensity in his eyes. “Lily, have you noticed Jacob acting weird? Any new scars or bruises or bumps on his skin? Late nights out with some odd explanations?” Honestly, I had noticed that Jacob had been acting odd recently, ever since I told him about the first time I saw Chris. He never got angry with me, but he’d get increasingly stressed when I went places without him, I assumed out of worry for my safety. But what if that wasn’t what he was worried about? “I guess I have, ever since I first noticed you…” “Exactly. Your boyfriend is the reason I have this fucked up scar on my neck in the first place.” I noticed a twinge of anger in his statement, and I really couldn’t blame him. I’d be angry if someone scarred me too. “So, why did he attack you then?” I asked. My skepticism was still strong, but for some reason I had a feeling I could trust Chris, seeing his scar and now noticing Jacob’s weird behavioral patterns in the last couple of months. “I’ll explain it to you in the simplest way I can. Like I said earlier, guardian angels have huge targets on their backs for darklighters. Some of them want whitelighters killed, plain and simple. Others,” he looked over his shoulder, lowering his volume to barely a whisper. “Others see what some whitelighters have to offer. When they’re turned to the dark side, however they get them to turn, they use those strengths that whitelighters have for their own reasons. Basically, it’s good versus evil. Your boyfriend just couldn’t defeat whatever darklighter targeted him, and I guess Jacob had some redeeming qualities, otherwise he’d be dead. You wouldn’t be far away from him.” “So, basically this whole time, you’ve been stalking me to make sure Jacob didn’t… kill me?” “No. We’ve been stalking Jacob. Sometimes I would make sure that you were safe on your own, yes, but the main focus is him. He’s… corrupted, but he doesn’t have to stay that way. To be honest, we weren’t even sure if you guys were still dating when we found out he turned.” “Is that why you asked me for my number that day, to see whether or not we were still together?” “Yep, basically. We didn’t want to follow you around unnecessarily, and because he was no longer a whitelighter, we had no way to track him. You were kind of our connection back to him.” Everything I was being told started to hit at once, and I could tell that Chris noticed I was overwhelmed. It sounded ridiculous and basically unbelievable, but something in me believed Chris. I had every reason to doubt him and tell him to fuck off, that my boyfriend wasn’t some supernatural evil being, but how could I believe in that stuff and not believe that my boyfriend could be a part of it? My brain was on overload and I tried to process everything, one thing at a time, but it was brought to a halt when my phone started dinging. Chris stared at me, waiting for me to see who was texting. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and felt my chest tighten. “It’s Jacob.” *Are you with someone? It’s been half an hour.* *Don’t ignore me. I know where you are.* *I can find you whenever I want.*

Soothing gel

y3cx8h

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y3cx8h/soothing_gel/

I rummaged through the dumpster, looking for anything that could be useful back at tent camp below the underpass. Leaky milk cartons. Wet cardboard boxes. Moldy bread. Dirty diapers. Another wasted effort through the discarded crap. Until I spotted something rather unusual. A jar with a label on it. *Soothing Gel: Apply To Your Skin To Ease The Pain Of Being You* My nineteen-year-old body felt like it was sixty. Achy joints. The shakes. Sleep deprivation. All the joys of homelessness wrapped in a bow-tied life of misery and day-to-day survival. High school dropout, the only thing on my resume. No drug addiction or alcohol dependency though, so at least I had that going for me. My parents knew I was a loser. They kicked me to the curb as soon as I was of legal age. Told me to hold down a job for more than a week before visiting them again. But no company keeps you around when you steal from them. A habit of mine with no end in sight. Whether it was slipping a twenty in my pocket from the cashier drawer or grabbing my tent neighbor’s sandwich when he was sleeping, my refusal to follow the law kept me in my place on the concrete. I sat cross-legged in my tent and opened the jar. Dug my fingers into the clear sanitizer-like gel and applied it liberally to my shoulders. That feeling you got when you were a kid and jumped into a ball pit. The overwhelming joy and bliss and ecstasy. That feeling coursed through me. I took another handful of the gel and rubbed it along my arms and legs and even on my face. Coated in euphoria, my eyes shut and soaked it in. All my worries just a distant memory of the past. When I opened my eyes, I felt rested, re-energized, and at peace with who I was. But an intense feeling of hunger developed, causing me to jolt up and dig through my plastic bags for food. I downed the scraps, but the cravings remained. The gel slid down my forehead and stretched across my eyes like a piece of gum. I floundered around trying to remove it, but it solidified over eyes, sealing them in darkness. The gel made its way into my mouth and wrapped around my tongue like a blanket. I chomped down on my fingers, biting into the bone, slurping up my human skin like it was a spaghetti noodle. A neighbor heard me thrashing around and opened my tent, screaming at the top of his lungs at my appearance. My entire body in a cocoon of gel. I continued to stuff my mouth with myself, peeling skin and swallowing it down. The neighbor tried to wrestle off the gel, but I pulled him forward and took a chunk of his nose. He stormed out, yelling for help. When I woke up in the hospital, forty percent of the skin on my body had been removed, digested. A well-dressed man walked into my room at one point and took a sample of the gel, placing it in a small canister. With a sly smirk, he assured me he would get to the bottom of this and find out what happened. My parents moved me back in with them. They’ve been keeping me fed, but the hunger never goes away. I need more than they can provide. I need more of me.

Help! I’m Receiving Text Messages from Dead People

y34r47

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y34r47/help_im_receiving_text_messages_from_dead_people/

My new phone works great! No problems there. Holding it, feeling its limitless possibilities within my fingertips is simply sublime. You know the feeling, right? That new phone feeling. I’d be the envy of my friends, if I had any. Keeping my old phone as backup was a terrible mistake. You see, both my parents died last year. It was tragic. A couple months later my best (and only) friend David dropped dead while jogging. Heart attack. He was thirty-six and strong as an ox. Strange times indeed. I became numb. Buying a shiny new phone seemed a healthy distraction from the drudgeries of everyday life. I spent day and night setting it up, discovering its seemingly limitless possibilities. For the first time in years, it felt good to be alive. Life was getting back to normal. Until my old phone started receiving text messages from the dead. DING. My old phone lit up suddenly: MESSAGE ARRIVED. “That’s impassible.” The SIM card was removed. The phone was disengaged. Yet, like a ghost in a graveyard, my father’s number appeared. I read his text aloud. I wish I hadn’t. C U SOON DANNY BOY! The room chilled. Drops of ice dripped down my spine. My father never used his cell phone, even when he was alive. This was literally his first text. And he’s dead. My fingers quivered across the screen, searching for a response that never came. “Must be a scam,” I said boorishly, shaking my head in bewilderment. The phone returned to the junk drawer, and I went about my Sunday business. Except, my mind kept returning to the phone. Clearly, it was hacked. Someone was phishing me. But how? If only David was here, he’d know what to do. I was flooded with grief. My family was gone, and I was all alone. Yes, I had some ‘work friends’, but outside of work they were merely acquaintances. DING. My heart fell to the floor, my mouth desert-dry. MESSAGE ARRIVED. I read the message, expecting my deceased father to be announcing his arrival. Except, that’s not what happened. Still, his message shocked me to the core: U R DEAD. Those words danced like daggers around my brain. Reality shattered. Paranoia nestled in nicely. A sickly feeling was stirring in the pit of my stomach. I was shaking profusely. Reluctantly, I dropped the phone and retreated to the basement, where I binge-watched Peaky Blinders, and drank copious amounts of alcohol. Now, I know what you’re thinking: Why didn’t I throw out the stupid phone? And that’s a fair question. But logic rarely arrives under duress. I’ve cherished that old phone for years, letting go wasn’t easy. Besides, texts from dead people are creepy, but they can’t hurt me, right? Friday arrived like a bad habit. The hectic work week stole most of my attention; there was little-to-no time left worrying about haunted text messages from my dead father. I tried my best to ignore it. The following Sunday left me fatally exhausted and unprepared for what would come next. DING. DING. DING. I could hear the phone buzzing from the basement, which was odd, since it was on silent mode. Not only that, but its batteries were as dead as my parents. There’s no way that phone should be receiving texts. SIM card or no SIM card. Like a soon-to-be-dead-person in a horror flick marching toward their inevitable demise, I crept across the creaking floors toward the junk drawer, and retrieved the wretched old phone. With eyes like razor blades, I read the newly-arrived messages. They were all from one source: My dead mother. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I read her messages: DANNY IS THAT U? POPS IS SIK PLEEZ HELLP “This can’t be happening,” I cried. “This can’t be real.” Except it was. Real as rain, as my mother would say. Only my immediate family called my father Pops. This had to be real. That night I cried myself into a coma, until the darkness washed over me, and I succumbed to sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night I was jolted awake: DING. I screamed bloody murder. Beside me, beaming from my bedside table, was my old phone, which was odd considering I don’t remember leaving it there. MESSAGE ARRIVED. Pops’ number appeared. I tapped the serrated screen, and his newly-arrived message appeared: EREH NWOD DAED LLA ERA EW I shook my head, rubbing my weary eyes. The words were jumbled, making no sense whatsoever. I said a silent prayer, longing for the return of my sanity. Then I spied the message via the bedside mirror, and cringed. Those wicked words came to life: WE ARE ALL DEAD DOWN HERE I stared at my phone for what seemed an eternity, feeling sick all over. DING. My heart exploded. Was this nightmare ever going to end? C U SOON DANNY BOY ;-) Anger came swiftly. Something inside me snapped. I jumped out of bed and stomped the phone into a million pieces, reveling in its destruction. Then I tossed its shattered remains into the trash bin. Good riddance to bad rubbish, as my mother would say. My life has been cursed ever since. The next day, my alarm failed to wake me up, and I was late for work. Later that week I got a flat tire, and was again late for work. The entire week was teeming with catastrophes. I couldn’t focus. My stress level was through the roof. My sanity was hanging off a cliff. Work put me on probation. One more mishap and I’d be unemployed. Sunday was a Me Day. A day of relaxation. Beer and baseball, pizza and chicken wings. Just like old times. The beer was refreshing, and went down easy. The couch was a reliable friend, and welcomed me with seated cushions. Better yet, the Blue Jays were whooping the Yanks into oblivion. Things were looking up for the first time in weeks. Then came a knock at the door. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. I live in a remote suburban neighborhood, with a ‘No Soliciting’ sign parked out front. Nobody comes to the door. Not since my loved ones passed away. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. “Hold yer friggin’ horses!” I shouted, loud enough to be heard. As I inched toward the door, my legs felt like weighted stones, dragging me into the depths of hell. Something bad was lurking outside my front door. I just knew it. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. I couldn’t believe it. Who would be so rude? From downstairs, the announcers were throwing a tantrum. The Yankees hit a grand slam. Tie game. The door swung open. My hands crunched into fists. Nobody was there. I swore like a trucker on amphetamines. Someone was screwing with me. Someone, or something. And I didn’t appreciate it. On my way inside, I spotted something poking out of the mailbox: My old phone. Suddenly, the world stopped moving. The air turned thick and stale. Was someone watching me? Probably, yes. I imagined myself being part of some unholy prank, committed by God-who-knows, for reasons I don’t understand. By now I was submerged in a dreadful mix of loneliness and paranoia. Oh, how I pined for my loved ones. Someone to confide in. Cautiously, I reached into the mailbox. My old phone was haphazardly glued together, like the phone of Frankenstein. Gretel, my nosy neighbor, strolled by, walking her dog. She was giving me a cynical look. I was about to ask if she’d seen anyone prowling about, when her measly mutt spotted a squirrel, and shot off like a firecracker, and she disappeared down the sidewalk, without a second glance. Soon I was back on the couch, cold beer in my hand, watching the Blue Jays spoil their lead. Damn Yankees. I drank. The alcohol was keeping me cool. For the time being, at least. All the while, my eyes kept darting toward the old phone, daring it to ding. I didn’t wait long. DING. My mother’s name appeared. DANNY PLEEEZ HELLP!!! Grief swept through me like a river of despair. I was completely unhinged. If I had a pistol, I’d put it in my mouth, and all this would be over. As the final score appeared on the TV, 8-7 Yankees win, an idea sprung to mind. It was stupid and dangerous, but that never stopped me before. Besides, it just might work. I clicked reply: Hi Mom. How are you? For an eternity, I stared at the screen, afraid of what would come next. DING. Her response was disturbingly brief: BEWARE. A bomb went off inside my brain. I lost all control. I began bawling my eyes out, not even realizing it. Treacherously, I typed: Beware what? DING. DEATH. She was saying everything and nothing at all. Time to change gears. How is Pops? Sorrow as deep as a well seeped into my soul. Nothing could’ve prepared me for what came next. DING. It’s not everyday your dead mother sends warnings from beyond the grave. But I was skeptical. You see, my parents died in a horrific car crash. While I was driving. Although I left the scene unscathed, my parents perished. Watching my father’s head roll onto the snow-crusted highway, only to be run over by a transport truck, still haunts my dreams. I can’t rid myself of that awful image, no matter how hard I try. My mother died next to me, blood leaking from every orifice of her battered body. POPS IS MAAAD AT YOU. With shaky movements, I quickly responded: Tell Pops I’m sorry. All night I waited for her response. Eventually, after finishing off two six packs of Coors Banquet, I slept, only to have my bazaar of broken dreams come grinding to a halt, sometime in the dead of night. DING. Wearily, I crawled toward the old phone, whimpering like a dirty dog. JOIN US. My mother’s maligned message put me over the edge; two words that stole my breath, shaking the very foundations of my soul. I wanted to weep, but the river of tears was dry. I wanted to smash the disconsolate device into a million pieces, but I’d already done that. I was at a crossroads. Oh, how I longed for David. He’d know what to do. “Then why don’t you call him?” My heart stopped. Where did that voice come from? Maybe it came from me. Or maybe my house was haunted. This would certainly explain a lot. Either way, the voice was right, and I knew it. Using the battered old phone, I called David, not sure what, if anything, would happen. It went straight to his voicemail. I leaned in, not wanting to miss a word: “I can’t come to the phone right now,” David said somberly. “I’m dead. Danny, if that’s you, hang pictures of your parents around the house. And give them offerings. You MUST make offerings to the dead. Once a day.” Click. David’s voice lingered long in my mind’s eye. Offerings of what? DING. David’s follow-up text appeared without words, just emojis of food and drink, hearts and flowers. Too scared to reply, I said a silent prayer, thanking him, then I retrieved a box of family photos from the storage bin in the garage, and placed them strategically throughout my home, putting one in each room. These were my mother’s pictures. She’d kept every photograph, test, trophy – you name it – from my childhood. The following week was spent collecting food and flowers for my offerings. I left them close to their respected pictures each night before bed. I even left some for David, whom I owed a lifetime of gratitude. It worked. Unfortunately, my laziness knows no bounds. It wasn’t long before my offerings became less frequent. Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. My dead parents were not impressed. Apparently, the dead are irascible. … My dead mother’s latest text arrived like a bad dream: JOIN US DANNY. U R ALREADY DEAD. I’ve stopped fighting her. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am dead. Maybe I died in the accident, after all. What exactly is death anyway? Does anyone know? Asking for a friend. Surely, I’m not the only person receiving messages from dead loved ones. (I shudder at the thought.) Anyone out there with similar experiences? I’d like to hear them. We can swap stories. The dead are relentless in their quest at being heard. I’ve learned this. And they will stop at nothing to get what they want. And what do they want, you ask? To be heard. And for us to join them in the Great Beyond. So I keep my old phone with me at all times. My dead parents told me to, and I’m afraid of disobeying them. What will become of that insidious device? Only time will tell. Or should I say: Only time will text. DING.

I'm a veteran demon hunter. yesterday I encountered my first class 5.

y306ih

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y306ih/im_a_veteran_demon_hunter_yesterday_i_encountered/

So. Demons. They’re real. And no, they are definitely not the big red guys with the long horns and the goat hooves. Most of the time. I’ve been in the demon-killing business for the last 15 or so years, and that makes me practically ancient by the standards of the industry. I’m what we in the know call an “industry professional,” and I’m the one they send out to handle the ones that are too big for the new people but too small to call in the task forces. I’m sort of the middle management of demon murdering. Which, for the average woman in her thirties might be a little weird, but I make it work. They aren’t particularly picky about who decides to work for them when all is said and done. They mostly just need a few warm bodies to keep the demon population in check. “Who’s they?” you might be asking. Well, they’re a little like the occult version of the police. They have a bunch of agents that mostly sit around in an office filling out paperwork and occasionally go off to kill a bunch of nasty little denizens of hell. And yes, they are from hell. We asked them, and they were pretty vocal about it. At least the ones that can speak. That’s what demons are, by the way. Creatures from hell that typically have a nasty craving for human flesh, brains, or any other part of the human body that their type happens to be fond of. The flesh crawlers, for example, are partial to human skin, and the heart-wrenchers are fond of hearts, believe it or not. All of them within the category look different, but they always prefer one part of the human body more than anything. Except for the exceptions. The exceptions are the class 6’s and up, who eat pretty much anything and everything, including souls, in case they needed to be more terrifying. But most demons are nowhere near that powerful, so it’s a more minor issue than you might think. I mostly deal with class 3’s with the very occasional class 4. That’s what I thought I was dealing with yesterday. A class 4. They’re incredibly rare, with maybe one or two roaming the continental united states at any one time. What makes them a class 4 is the system that the OODL (that being the group i work for, the Occult Operations and Demonic Liason department, normally shortened to oodle), uses to classify its demons. Size, intelligence, and abilities. A class 1 might be as big as a dog and as smart as your average potato, but the jump in each class is staggering. A class 2 might be as big as a bison if it’s not particularly smart. Class 4 is when the demonic abilities start showing up. I got a call at my desk at around midnight (and yes, we work at night. That’s the time when demons show up, ok? It’s not our fault.) I was filing a report about a recent flesh ripper i’d had the pleasure of dealing with when my phone rang. I picked up the phone and heard the monotone voice of the receptionist on the other end, which probably meant she was one of the taken. That certainly didn’t bode well. “Have I reached agent swallow?” she asked. “You have” I replied, while internally cursing my call sign. They gave it to me because I was the only woman in the local office. I remembered to find Alex and kick him a few times because of it. Not that he’d been responsible or anything, but he certainly enjoyed making fun of me for it, which was reason enough for him to receive a good kicking. “There is a report of a class 4 approximately 30 miles from your location,” she said in the same eerie monotone. “You must eliminate it,” that last bit was punctuated by the more than a little abrupt ending of the call. The Taken call operators rarely waited for any sort of confirmation from the agents they spoke to, and there was a bit of a superstition around the local office that they only ever called when they were sending you to your death. Otherwise, they would have given you a human operator instead. I was a little worried at the idea of facing a class four, especially one nearby, without my partner here with me. Alex was a rat bastard, but he was one of the most competent and experienced agents in our branch, and when there was a class 4 nearby we normally worked on it together. Alex was nowhere to be found today, and most of us at the office assumed he’d had one too many drinks the night before and decided to skip work for the day. That meant that I’d have to deal with a class 4 by myself for the first time. I moved down to the ground floor before heading out. The office of the more experienced workers like myself was on the third floor of the building, with the first two floors being made up of fresh workers straight off their first or second job. Which was necessary given the incredibly high turnover rate at most OODL locations. The basement of the building was blocked off from the elevator and wasn’t available to anyone except the task forces and the branch’s manager. It was left for the holding cells and their occupants which were mostly the friendlier demons who wanted somewhere to stay, and a few speaking varieties who the head office felt were “important” (read: they could torture for information on locations for high-class demons). At our branch, we also had a singular named demon. Those were the guys that the head office thought were so dangerous that they needed a code name and specific restraint conditions. Ours was called “Horse Rider”. I had no clue why and I was nowhere near high enough on the chain of command to find out. I made my way out of the building to my company-designated car, an old Toyota that I sometimes thought was more dangerous than the demons I hunted with it. It was covered in dents and scratches from all the action it had seen, including a recent confrontation with a class 3 sight-taker that left it without its left mirror. It was also possible that some of the red paint wasn’t strictly *paint* by the general definition. It was hard to tell, though so I could get away with it. No one wanted to visit the cleaners. A shiver down my spine was enough to confirm that notion. Inside the car was a screen I’d use to find the demon which marked its current location, category, and class. It was a black iPad-looking thing that was just behind the gear shift, and it made the whole car look not unlike a taxi, or an uber. Displayed on the screen will always be a map of the surrounding location, the demons class, and category, as well any special abilities in the case of class 4’s and above. One look at the screen and my heart fell. It had the class alright, and even the category. A class 4 bone gnawer was a bad day in anyone's books. They almost always had harpoon-like hooks with claws that could make even a butcher jealous. They were easily one of the most dreaded categories to deal with. Only Vampires (no, not literal vampires, they just like blood) and builders are more colloquially hated (the builders liked to take people's fingers and toenails, often while the victim was still alive. Nails, like the construction kind. Hence the name) While the category and class were bad, it was what wasn’t on there that really topped it off for me. In the section labeled “special ability,” there was absolutely nothing. This meant that either the creature didn’t have an ability at all, which would make it so obscenely massive and smart that it seemed unlikely, or that the ability hadn’t yet been discovered. That meant that I was probably a scouting agent. It would be my job to go in there, get a good look at the ability and send that information to HQ, and then die horribly while the demon removes and then eats my bones. Hooray. It wasn’t a long drive to get there, at least by the standards of the job, but it was one made in silence. Taking on a class four alone wasn’t likely to go too well and I knew it. Especially if I was just sent there to die. The location pulled me up to an abandoned farm just outside of town. It was so cliche that I was tempted to believe this might be some elaborate plot by some crackpot at the head office if it weren't for the silence. You see, there’s almost always some noise out there. Wind, crickets, birds, anything like that. But there was nothing. Not a single peep. The air was so still it felt stale, and it cast a stillness onto the grass and overgrown fields with it. It’s so subtly unnerving, to see grass so still. It’s an unconscious sort of thing, I figured. It makes it look fake. Dead. It also meant there was a demon around. It’s one of the signs of demonic manifestation we’re taught to recognize in order to properly perform our duty. Inside my head, I went through the checklist just to be sure. No sulfur smell, that could be bad. The air was a little hot. Bad. my mind wasn’t clouded at least, so thats good. The sky was a little tinged with red. That was pretty bad. All the signs pointed to a class four, and a pretty bad one at that. It probably meant that it had manifested its ability and would probably start seeking out humans within the next few days. I let out a long and somber sigh. I was probably going to die, but first, the part that every Oodle agent hates more than anything. Looking for the damn thing. death would come in good time, but finding the damn thing came first. I had its general location, and it was more than likely on the farm somewhere, but it could still be almost anywhere. hopefully, there was a barn nearby. I started off by gathering my equipment in full. Since I was a little on the small side, that mostly included guns. Handguns, shotguns, even a rifle just in case. All of them were loaded with the requisite holy ammunition that you needed when taking on a demon. Additionally, I had some holy water and a few holy “artifacts”. All of this holy stuff was just anything that Oodle could get blessed by a “member of the faith.” Technically speaking that could be any faith at all, and it often included those who were not, strictly speaking, ‘real’ religious believers. So it was that I held in my hands a handgun with bullets blessed by Frank, the local subway worker and faithful member of the sect of the Great Sandwich. I figured that the most likely place the demon would have gone would be a barn. It wasn’t a strict rule of demons that they would always be found in the most dramatically appropriate place in the area, but it held true more often than any agent wanted to admit. This was especially the case in regards to the higher class demons, who were smart enough to seek out sheltered and dark areas to do all of their evil demon shit. Like eating human skin. Or bones, in this case. I almost felt lighter thinking of some poor class 4 demon wandering aimlessly in a completely open field without anywhere to enact its blood rituals. Still, my sympathy for the creatures didn’t extend far enough for that. And, honestly, I was still a little upset that I was probably going to die. It was something that every agent was prepared for, but few scouts ever actually realized they were scouts. Oodle normally sent out the fresh agents to this sort of thing, but in the case of a class 4, it seemed like they weren’t sure a newbie would survive long enough. I’d have applauded the practicality of it if I weren’t nearly pissing myself with fear. You might think I’d be used to being this damn scared, 15 years isn’t a short amount of time, after all. But I’ll let you in on a little secret. Consciously going to fight the denizens of hell, who you know for a fact will be attempting to eat your bones in the next 10-15 minutes, never quite loses its impact. Especially on the bladder. Instead of following that blessed instinct, I followed the more learned thoughts given to me by over a decade of experience. Every knife, gun, and religious relic I had on hand was within easy and convenient reach. I went through my mental checklist once more before finally heading toward the shape I assumed to be the barn. It stood tall among the fields and cloaked all of its surroundings in even more complete darkness than the night provided. The moon's brightness didn’t penetrate into the domain of the demon. Even mother nature had little sway in the face of a creature of hell. I was more conscious of my footsteps as I finally reached the barn. it loomed higher and wider with my approach (were barns seriously that big?). Once I was close enough to finally make out the iconic rust-red paint of the damn thing it felt like I would go deaf every time one of my feet made contact with the ground. I was hyper-aware of my breathing because that old, irrational fear that somehow, someway, the demon would hear it and claw me down on the spot was too ingrained to overcome. Add that to the stillness of the surroundings and it felt like a miracle the demon hadn’t come out to rip me open and relieve my skeleton of the burden of my flesh. Where the thick darkness created by the shadows of the barn’s shape was undeniably dark, the gaping maw that was the barn's entrance looked to be an entrance to hell itself. It was a darkness so complete that even my torch wouldn’t have gained any purchase. It was like looking into a pool of ink, and it felt like if I were to take a single step into it, I would be swallowed. So with one last goodbye to my ever-fleeting will to live, I stepped inside the demon’s lair. I was right. It *was* the demon's lair. It was fairly easy to tell, despite the darkness. Even without my eyesight, I could *smell* blood. It was like when crossing the threshold I was hit by a wave of metallic-smelling death. This was the final, and most important, confirmation of a demon’s presence. Whatever is inside their domain is theirs to control. Only so long as I had the religious relics on my person was I immune to that effect. That meant it could conceal the smell of blood outside of the barn, and in theory, it could have instantly removed my skeleton as well. I remembered to thank Frank and his holy sandwich-related wisdom if I lived to see tomorrow. The darkness was still the most immediate threat for the time being. The smell was an important confirmation, and given the absence of rot, it likely meant that the demon had only set up shop recently. I shuffled around in the hay-encrusted floors of the barn for a few seconds while I tried in vain to get my bearings. I had hoped my eyesight might adjust enough to start making out shapes once I got inside, but I couldn’t even see my hand inches from my face. That meant I would continue penguin-waddling myself toward my general approximation of the center of the building. I did my best to follow the smell of blood since I hoped the smell might be strongest where the demon had made its home, but it was equally as pervasive in every direction. As I waddled through the hay I could practically feel my nerves reaching their limit. Something about being unable to see any attacks that might be coming, the thought of being torn apart at any second by a demon that I can’t *see*, fills me with dread. Every time I shuffle my feet through the hay I pause again. Was that a sound? It felt like every step carried me closer and closer to a painful and meandering death. I kept shuffling along. I finally heard it after a few minutes. A few agonizing minutes that I felt would never end. The metallic smell of blood was no more strong there than anywhere else in the barn, so far as I could tell, but the sound of my boots hitting something wet was unmistakable. It was only a light nasally breathing coming from somewhere to my right. That was all. The creature's shape was still blessedly absent from my view, and I counted it as a small blessing. For that small time, the demon was only light breathing to my right. It wasn't a demon yet. Just breathing. It couldn’t last, of course, but it was still nice to imagine. After all, if I was right, this might be the last good thought I might have. That revelation certainly soured the experience for me. The next few moments were the bane of every demon hunter on the planet. Sneaking up on the beast was always the simplest part of the operation. Of the few things that remained constant to demons, poor awareness was one of them. It was the only thing that gave me any hope as I reached for my flashlight. My hands shook slightly as I reached for the pack tied at my waist and pulled out the metal cylinder. I was terrified. More viscerally than I’d ever been in my life. Without Alex here to confront the demon, with the knowledge that I was completely alone, I felt so scared. It was a feeling reminiscent of being a little girl again. It was the feeling of hiding under the covers until my parents came and told me it would be alright again. It was a feeling I hated. The anger at being afraid bolstered me as it always did in moments like these. While I shook and fumbled to turn on the flashlight, the seething rage at the demon for causing me this fear carried me. I wanted to kill that damned demon at that moment, and it was the anger that made it possible. *Click* Blindness followed immediately. The darkness made way for an all-consuming flash of light. It tore away the inky blackness like the parting of the red sea. In the center of that bright light, as soon as I could make out its shape, all of my fears were made manifest. Scaled red skin met matted black fur in a quadrupedal body. Hooks extended from each digit on its long, bony hands. The demon reminded me of a diseased dog as it released a screeching cry. It tore its gaze away from the light and I saw its eyes for the first time. My anger faded in an instant. In my hand, the gun I had reached for fell out of limp fingers. It wasn’t quite the demon's ability, as would have been the preferred case. It was the acknowledgment of the inarguable fact that I was going to die in the next few seconds. Oh, I knew I was going to die. It was almost an inevitability when I realized I was going to be the scouting agent. But this was different. Those matte black eyes would mean nothing to anyone less experienced or knowledgeable than I was. In fact, they would have meant nothing except to those who had been accepted to the specialty training seminars given to prospective members of the demon elimination task forces. They meant that the demon I faced was a class 5 or 6. As I felt my gun fall out of my hand it mattered little to me which it was going to be. I was dead either way. In taking on a class 4 alone I was still the smallest bit hopeful. I still believed that maybe, just maybe, I might live through to the end of the night. As the demon finally turned to face my torch, and I looked at its maw of lacerated teeth, I gave up on that notion immediately. My death was coming swiftly. I had half a mind to close my eyes and accept it immediately, but that same fear of not seeing my attack coming stopped me from doing so. It felt so childish to wait for the demon to eat me, staring into its eyes because I was too afraid to blink, but it was all I could do. It snarled at me before opening its jaws, and I got another long look at its pointed teeth. Before I could scream my final scream, I was silenced as the demon spoke, for the first time. “Human” it snarled in a bestial voice. I froze up even completely. It had spoken. That was much, much worse than any immediate death would have been. If it’s smart enough to speak, is it smart enough to enjoy inflicting pain? I’d heard that some of the higher-class demons would torture surviving task force members for days before finally finishing them off. And a bone-gnawer? Those hooks would tear into flesh like butter. “Human!” it repeated. The angry voice snapped me back into the situation. The demon's face was twisted into a snarl, and I could almost feel the sweat falling off of me as it stared me down. I fumbled for a response. Something. Anything. “Demon” Anything but that. Anything, any single conceivable phrase, but that. “You dare mock me human?” it questioned. Its snarl didn’t even falter as it said it. I felt its gaze on me like a deer facing down the headlights of a truck. I was too stunned at my own idiocy to even speak, and I defaulted to the only thing I could think of. “And you dare sit there covered in blood, and talk to me like I’m the one in the wrong here!” Fuck. “Puny human. You dare-” “And not only that. You probably already thought of killing me, didn’t you? And you want to talk to me about *daring* to do anything!” Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. “Hold on a second you mortal *filth.* You dare address m-” “How about *you* hold on a second you dick! I’m not the one sitting in some creepy-ass barn waiting for people to show up so I can eat their bones!” ImSoDead ImSoDead ImSoDead ImSoDead “And what the hell is all this ‘human filth’ crap about!? You’re literally *covered* in blood” The demon hesitated. It looked down to see it was, indeed, covered in dried blood. I was mostly still thinking through all of the seventeen ways I was probably going to be gruesomely murdered and eaten. Not necessarily in that order. That was until the demon started laughing. Which was an incredibly odd sound coming from the vocal cords of a wolf-ish creature. More disconcerting was whatever the demon found so funny. It occurred to me to try and find my gun to shoot it while it laughed, I reasoned it wouldn’t do all that much to a class 5 or 6 anyways. it would have been far more likely that I would draw my gun just to find my neck being gently removed from my spine. “Umm. do you feel like clueing me in on what’s so damn funny?” *Yep. those will be my last words. “Samantha Goodall- she died as she lived. A sarcastic bitch”* “Never. Not once in my thousands of years of being- not once- has a human spoken to me with such guile” the wolf demon wheezed out between fits of laughter. *“We are gathered here today, in remembrance of Samantha Goodall” I wonder if they’ll actually say that at the funeral?* “Well, I didn’t know what to say!” I shouted back to the demon, to which it only laughed louder. “Well, I suppose you wouldn’t, little human.” the demon wheezed between chuckles. Once again I'm struck by how abnormal the laughter sounds from a *demon* of all creatures. Who knew they could even laugh? “Who the hell are you calling little!” I shouted indignantly. The corners of his mouth turned up into an expression mimicking a smile, and even I could see the demon was holding back a laugh. I frowned at the wolf thing. “My humblest apologies Mrs…?” “Samantha” The wolf-demons lips twitched again. “My humblest apologies Mrs. Samantha. It has been many centuries since my last expedition into the human realm. You must excuse me if my manners are a little… lacking.” Did a demon just apologize to me? I think I’ve had too much to drink. “Better than having my bones eaten I suppose,” I said as flatly as I could manage. “But now you know who I am, who the hell are you?” Did I ask a demon their name? Yes. yes, I did. Looking back, it wasn’t my smartest move. “My name? It is an old and powerful name. It is far beyond a mortal such as you” the demon said in a haughty tone. “Sure it is. I bet it’s steve or something. Or maybe dave. Oh! Maybe it’s Mr. Fluffles!” As far as ‘final words spoken to a wolf demon in a blood-covered barn’ goes, Mr. Fluffles isn’t too bad. And I do have to admit, without the scaly-looking skin and the hooks for claws, he does look quite fluffy. “You dare! You refer to the mighty Leonard! Bringer of the dammed, architect of the cruel and dark, bringer of dea-” “Did you just say Leonard?” why in God's name did I decide to make fun of its name? Do I want to die? I don’t remember having a death wish, but at this point, I’m already convinced it’s over either way. “My name is ancient and powerful, puny human!” … … … … The conversation went on for another hour before I had to make my report to Oodle. It turned out my first class 5 wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Although I’m fairly sure Leonard tried to eat my soul at some point. I’m pretty sure it was after I told him about Air Bud.

Who Else Wants To Know The Mystery Behind DEADLY GRUESOME MONSTER? Read This Controversial Article And Find Out More About DEADLY GRUESOME MONSTER

y3emc4

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y3emc4/who_else_wants_to_know_the_mystery_behind_deadly/

"Who doesn't hate clickbait? It was bad enough when it was just online, but now it follows us in the real world as well. Print media now on its deathbed tries to emulate online media by being as obnoxious as possible." This was the first thought that popped into my mind the first time I saw that accursed newspaper. The Orcus Tribune, I think it was called. You see, I live in a city and take the underground to work every day. People sometimes take a newspaper with them on the tube, pretend to read it, and then promptly get back to scrolling on Instagram like everybody else. As a result, dozens of newspapers lay about abandoned. It was a very weird newspaper. Firstly, it was written in a Gothic font, like it was from pre-WWII Germany, or something. Then it had no photos to speak of, only hand-drawn black and white pictures. Curiosity got the best of me, and I picked it up. Not being used to the typeface, I had a hard time reading it, but after a while I was able to decipher headlines such as: * The Death Of DEADLY GRUESOME MONSTER And How To Avoid It * Does DEADLY GRUESOME MONSTER Sometimes Make You Feel Stupid? * Warning: These 9 Mistakes Will Destroy Your DEADLY GRUESOME MONSTER * Using 7 DEADLY GRUESOME MONSTER Strategies Like The Pros * Marriage And DEADLY GRUESOME MONSTER Have More In Common Than You Think "Must be a hard rock band," I thought. "They always have edgy, nonsensical names. But then again, DEADLY GRUESOME MONSTER could also be a euphemism for someone's private parts." I chuckled at the thought that someone would be so immature. So, I put the paper down and took my phone out. I had forgotten all about the bizarre newspaper until I found the following edition the next week. Same silly headlines. "Don't they have anything else to talk about?" I thought. Then it occurred to me that it could be some sort of far right paper. "It all fits: the Gothic script, the low-budget, the cryptic language, everything. The Monster could even be whoever it is they don't like. Wait. Can't be though. They always talk positively about this Monster. Must be the authoritarian leader they'd like to see installed in power." A few weeks in a row I'd find the same newspaper in the train. Always similar headlines. Always about something called DEADLY GRUESOME MONSTER. Then no more Tribune for a few months, until last Friday. One of the articles was titled: "How To Start DEADLY GRUESOME MONSTER With Less Than $100". This time I read the whole article. I was thoroughly amused. It was about some old lady selling her Monster for 69 bucks. "It's got to be sexual," I said to myself. "Why else would she ask for **that** sum?" At the end of the article, there was even her phone number. I decided to prank the old woman, so I called the number. An old woman with a coarse voice and harsh tone answered. I asked about the Monster. "What Monster?" "Well, the one you advertised in the Tribune." "Yes, my old Degrumo. It's just weird hearing you call it that. For a moment I was worried you were an outsider, but since you're a subscriber to the Tribune, I guess you're okay." "It is my term of endearment for them," I lied after an uncomfortably long pause. "I sometimes forget I am the only one who calls them that." I cringed at my own pathetic attempt at deceit. Only now did I realize why she called it a Degrumo. I needed an excuse now for why I changed my mind about buying whatever it is she's selling. "I'm afraid the price is a bit too steep." "What are you talking about? Are you drunk?" She shouted in the phone. "Listen here, young man," she said after calming down a bit, "you know very well the price is symbolic. I don't need your damn money. I'll send it to you tomorrow morning." "But, but …" "Look, it's a pure-bred, a direct descendant of Cerberus. You'll have it by tomorrow." She hung up. What? It's a stupid dog she's selling? Good thing she didn't ask me for my address. By the time the old crow realizes, it'll be too late. Not that I would've given her my address anyway. Then I remembered **I** was the one who was supposed to prank her, not the other way around. I guess I'm not as good at pranks as I thought. The next morning, about two hours before sunrise, way before my alarm sounded, someone knocked at my apartment door. I woke up, looked, but didn't see anybody. Cautiously, I opened the door. Before my door, there was a large cage. The cage was covered with some cloth. Something inside was starting to growl. I hurried and dragged the cage inside and took the cloth off. The most horrible creature was inside. A two-headed dog with additional snake heads dangling from random parts of its body. Then I remembered my conversation with the old witch the other day. A Degrumo, descendant of Cerberus. I guess it resembles its ancestor. Only it's missing one head. Maybe not as pure-bred as the witch claimed. It's been two days since I have the monster. I'm at least thankful, that it sleeps 20 hours a day. The 4 hours between midnight and 4 AM it spends hunting people on the street. It comes home in the morning with a human leg or arm. I tried to lock the fiend, but it always gets out. I tried to kill it, but it's incredibly tough, I guess supernaturally so. So, my question is: Does anybody want a DEADLY GRUESOME MONSTER? Please DM me.

The Creep

y2so40

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y2so40/the_creep/

I didn’t notice him right away. How long had he been watching me for? I was on campus walking back to my dorm room when I spotted him. He seemed to linger in the shadows, just close enough to see him in my peripheral vision, yet too far away to discern any recognizable facial features. He wore a hoodie. That’s all I saw at first. His presence unsettled me. The rain poured down in buckets as I fast-walked, soaking wet, into the safety of my dormitory. The warmth from the heater gave me goosebumps as I slipped into pajamas and brewed a hot cup of cocoa. The downpour outside was horrendous, the copious amounts of raindrops smeared my window. Yet I still saw him… The creep. Outside in the parking lot. His face was obscured by his hoodie, as if he was looking at his shoes. Unease jolted my stomach. My fingers trembled against my mug as I hurriedly shut my blinds. I sat there, anxious, hoping he would leave. For an hour, I listened to the incessant raindrops and occasional thunder crashes. Time seemed to grind to a halt. Eventually, as the sun began to set, and the gray storm clouds outside darkened into blackness, I nestled up the courage to sneak a peak. Nothing. Thank god. Relived, I entered my bathroom and took a long, indulgent shower, allowing my stress and tension to dissolve with every bead of hot, steamy water. My muscles relaxed and I was able to breathe again. Finally, I stepped out and dried off with a towel, eagerly anticipating some much needed sleep. I yawned as I stomped off to my bedroom. I parted my blinds once again, still seeing nothing. Convinced I was safe to sleep, I left the blinds parted, allowing moonlight to illuminate my bedroom. I walked over to the bed and pulled back my covers. *The creep.* *From outside.* He looked at me, his white blob of a face smiled at me. His hands were nestled under his chin like a child. The eyes were a solid, demonic black. I backed away instinctly, but failed to scream. My throat was frozen, locked in the most primal, intense fear I have ever experienced. His eyes stared upwards, looking at the ceiling. A flash of lightning illuminated the room. He sat up in one fluid motion, as if doing a crunch. Its legs were still tucked underneath my bedsheets. It was at this moment that I realized, to my utmost horror, that whatever was in my bed… *Wasn’t human.* It slowly turned its head until the eyes locked onto me. It moved like an… Alien. In my retreat, I bumped my hip into my dresser, the crash sudden and emphatic. The sound caused it to stop smiling. I was close to my door now. I felt for the knob, found it, and turned it. The knob let out an agonizingly loud squeak. The thing in my bed opened its mouth, wider than humanly possible, and folded over itself. Grotesque displays of flesh pulsated where it’s head used to be. I screamed, finally unfrozen from my terror-induced trance, and ran down the hall, in an attempt to wake up the other girls in the dorm. One girl poked her head out her door and asked me what was going on. In a panting, desperate plea, I told her there was a man in my dorm I didn’t know. She called campus security for me. They found nothing of interest in the dorm and seemed annoyed at me for wasting their time. I couldn’t bear to go back into that dorm. But I had to. I slowly crept back inside, and found it empty. Well, except for the hoodie resting on my bedsheets. It didn’t belong to me.

Alone on an Old Country Road

y39maj

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y39maj/alone_on_an_old_country_road/

I always look forward to the drive home because of the solitude. It’s so early in the morning, there are no cars; there’s no reason for anyone to walk down that old country road, especially in the dark. So, when I saw the figure stumbling by the roadside, I knew something was wrong. There’s no service out there, or I would’ve called in a tip and been on my way. As it was, I slowed, and as I drew closer, I realized it was an old woman. No jacket, her arms clutched around her middle to keep warm. No shoes. I wouldn’t have stopped for anyone else. But an old woman, alone and in trouble? I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d driven off. She looked surprised when I rolled down the window and invited her in. She climbed into the passenger’s seat slowly, as if her joints ached. I glanced at her feet, then away. They were filthy and bloody, her toes blue. “You okay?” I asked. She didn’t reply, staring forward like a sleepwalker. “Where are you headed?” No answer. I wondered if she had dementia. Maybe wandered away from a farmhouse somewhere. I tried to study her surreptitiously. She *did* look familiar, but I couldn’t quite place her. “My house is still a ways away,” I said. “I’ll call someone once we get there, okay?” She may have nodded—or perhaps she was just drifting off. We drove in silence. I kept glancing at her, trying not to be too obvious. Why did she look so familiar? The longer the question dragged, the more anxious I felt. Maybe picking her up was a mistake. After all, I’d have to call someone, and I wasn’t keen on having authorities sniffing around my place. I could drop her off somewhere, but what if someone else found her? She wasn’t responsive now, but what if she told someone about me? It wasn’t worth the risk. I should’ve never picked her up. What had compelled me to do such a stupid thing? Cursing myself, I forced a smile. “I have to make a stop real quick,” I said. “I’ll just be a minute.” She said nothing as the car slowed, even though we were stopping in the middle of nowhere. I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door, the cabin light flickering on. As I put one foot out, she spoke. “Do you know the fate of sinners?” she asked. I stared, mouth agape. In the light, she looked *so* familiar—the straight lines of her eyebrows, the downturn of her mouth. She reminded me of my grandmother—and yet not. But I knew her. “Who are you?” I demanded. “After they die, they walk the earth,” she said, as though she hadn’t heard me. “Walk the earth for all eternity.” “Tell me who you are!” The old woman turned slowly. Wrinkles blossomed from the corners of her sad eyes, her skin sagging like dripping wax. “You already know, Mara,” she said. I did. And it terrified me. I slammed the car door and stalked to the trunk, wrenching it open with more force than necessary. Muttering to myself, I grabbed the tire iron, ignoring the sticky residue coating the metal. The black garbage bags sat undisturbed, though I could smell their contents, like a thousand copper pennies. I’d have to deep clean the trunk after I dumped them. Adjusting my grip on the tire iron, I stalked to the passenger’s door and wrenched it open, pulling back my arm for a devastating swing. There was no one there. I looked for tracks along the road but found none. After half an hour of stumbling around in the dark, I returned to the car. Let the old woman rot! Tomorrow, I’d wake up to reports a senile old lady died of exposure, and I’d be glad to hear it. With I sigh, I climbed behind the wheel. Glancing over, I froze, door still ajar. Under the pale yellow cabin light, the floor mat was immaculate. There was no blood from worn, broken feet. No dirt from the miles trod. No sign, in fact, that anyone had been there at [all](https://www.reddit.com/user/firesidechats451).

The things you do for money

y3ameu

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y3ameu/the_things_you_do_for_money/

You ever see those ads online, sometimes on craigslist, sometimes in the newspaper, where you can sign up for college psychology experiments? Of course, they aren't as common anymore; laws, rules, or whatever don't seem to allow them as much, but they still happen if you keep your eye out. And you can still even get paid for some. Sometimes even as much as $500.00. So when I was down on cash and saw the ad for just that amount, I figured it was worth a shot rather than donating plasma. My eyes read the bold letters blaring at the top of the post. THINK YOU CAN RESIST USING A PHONE? I chuckled at the thought of such a strange experiment. Maybe something about how we can't avoid distractions in modern times. When I called, they told me I would be sitting in a plain room, with only a telephone in front of me, one of those old landline-style phones. They said I would hear noises from the other room and all I would have to do was sit there. Ignore the sounds. I could do anything I wanted to; I just couldn't use the telephone. Seemed easy enough. So not even an hour later, there I was, standing in front of a plain white building, the type you see temporary stores and businesses go into, with a white sheet of paper taped to the door. Excorio Clinic - Appointment Only. I walked toward the door and pulled briefly, but nothing happened. Locked. I pressed my hands against the glass and stared inside the dim interior, only to see a man staring back at me. I jumped back, startled as I heard the door unlock. "Sorry, Sir, did I scare you?" "Just surprised, is all; I didn't expect to see a face that close to the glass." "Sure. Sure. We have to keep all the prying eyes out, you understand. Only serious applicants only." "Makes sense to me." He waved his hand, beckoning me to follow, and we entered the clinic, walking toward a table with a line of clipboards set up, papers on each. He handed me one without saying anything, and I glanced down and saw a typical information sheet. I grabbed a pen attached to the board, wrote away my name, address, and other contact information, waived some rights, and was ready to go. Another man walked up that almost looked identical to the first, not quite twins, but close enough you could practically mix them up from a distance. They glanced at each other and smiled, and the new man held out a Ziploc bag. "What's that for?" "We need all of your belongings in the bag, please. Nothing can interrupt the experiment." I shrugged and dropped my phone and wallet in there. Not that they were of much value anyway. One man disappeared with the bag, and the other led me toward a room at the end of a hall. There was another door not much further down from it. We entered the first, and I saw a small empty room, plain white, with a table in the middle and a chair just to the side. A red telephone was on the table. The man gestured to me, and I entered and sat down, hearing the door click behind me. I sat there for several moments as nothing happened, just a simple, quiet room. I was already bored sitting there staring at the wall when I heard strange mechanical clicking. Part of the wall slid away, and I could see a glass pane between the rooms, a man and woman sitting at a similar table. They each had a plate in front of them and were slowly eating and chatting, but I couldn't hear anything. Sound crackled above my head, and I glanced up, realizing a dome camera and microphone were on the ceiling. Not only had they not mentioned I would see what was going on, but they also forgot to mention any recording devices. I didn't mind the recording, but I did mind them withholding information about the extent of the experiment. I shook my head and decided to focus, and started to listen to the conversation that was taking place. "...Jane left the folder in the copy room, and the business that shares an office with us took it. Can you believe it!" "mmhmm." "And they did nothing to her like usual, just let her get away with making mistakes. So do you think they are ever going to fire her?" "...who knows…" A typical, even stereotypical, conversation between a man and woman, though the man seemed to be paying even less attention than usual. It was clear the experiment would lead to an argument. The woman's face was red, and only seemed to be getting redder as it was clear she was upset. The man was completely oblivious. Suddenly she was standing and screaming at him. "YOU NEVER PAY ANY ATTENTION TO ME; WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? ISN'T MY LIFE IMPORTANT TO YOU?" The man had a startled look on his face and almost fell out of his chair as he stared at her. She continued to scream into his face as she moved closer and closer. "YOU DON'T APPRECIATE ME, DON'T APPRECIATE WHAT I DO FOR US, THE SACRIFICES I MAKE!" I felt myself jump when she struck the man in the face, knocking him unconscious with a single blow. That didn't stop her rage, however. She repeatedly attacked him, punching his face, flecks of red liquid flying freely in the air as the bruising darkened. I ran over toward the glass and banged on it. "Hey…HEY…" The woman didn't seem to hear me and pushed the unconscious man onto the ground, kicking him in the stomach. There was no way this was part of the experiment; it was too real. She was trying to hurt him. Maybe even kill him. I ran toward the door at the exit and pulled on the knob, only to find it locked. My head shot back toward the glass as I realized the room was silent. I momentarily froze when I saw the female holding a knife and walking toward the man, who was still unconscious on the ground. A wide, twisted smile stretched across her face, and I could swear I heard a chuckling laugh escape her bent lips. She grabbed his arm and began to drag the blade across it. His screams forced me to cover my ears as she cut deeper, digging the knife around. She almost seemed to turn her head toward me, smiling through the glass as if she wanted me to watch. She wanted me to react. Well, wish granted. I ran over and grabbed the phone, quickly dialing 911 when I heard a strange tone coming through the glass. A ringing phone on the other side, now blaring as the woman dropped the man's arm and went to answer it. She smiled as she breathed into the receiver on her end until finally, I broke and spoke. "...stop...stop it. Stop...alright...I give up. You win. I used the phone." She smiled as she spoke back to me, still staring through the glass. A red tongue trailed out and licked her lips like a lizard. "Alright, dear. Just remember, you did this." She set the phone down, and I could hear her heels clicking as she walked back toward the man, both through the phone and the sounds output into the room. She looked at me before slowly pushing the knife through his neck. His screams echoed between the phone and the room, and I dropped the receiver, covering my ears, closing my eyes, and trying to look away. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I could hear the thumping in my ears as I pressed harder, trying to muffle the screams. And then silence. I opened my eyes, peeked out, and saw that the wall was closed again. Something turned the sounds off, and I was alone. I dashed toward the exit and found that They had now unlocked it. It felt like I nearly ripped the door off the hinges as I sped through, heading down the hall. I froze as I saw the two men who had greeted me at the entrance blocking my path. They said nothing, only held out my bag of belongings, with a check sitting inside the bag. They moved aside, and I grabbed the bag. I ran as fast as possible, glancing back only after I was free from the building. The two men stood shoulder to shoulder, smiling and waving at me as I left the parking lot. My first thought was to call the police, my phone already in my hand when I froze. I had put down my address on the information sheet for the experiment. I had no idea what I was dealing with, what the police could do, and if it would mean I was safe. There was nothing I could do except leave. They must have known that; it's why I was allowed to leave in the first place. I just wanted to get these thoughts out of my head, forget the experiment and move on. But they wouldn't let me forget. I knew they wouldn't let me forget. My hands were shaking as I stared at the letter in my hand almost a week later. It was addressed to me from the Excorio Clinic, bold words filling up most of the page. WE ARE EXCITED ABOUT YOUR SECOND VISIT TO OUR CLINIC, WHERE WE CAN DOCUMENT THE RESULTS OF OUR STUDY. YOUR APPOINTMENT IS SCHEDULED FOR OCTOBER 13TH; [PLEASE, DON'T BE LATE.](https://www.reddit.com/r/readThomasGrey/)

Don't Scope the Black Deer

y3cqmz

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y3cqmz/dont_scope_the_black_deer/

My blind embossed in autumn leaves and tall, brown tinted grass, smothered by rope and a wooden base with a camo sleeping bag slung about it for comfort. I breathe deeply, implanting the stock of my bolt action rifle to my shoulder, tucking it in the way my old man had taught me. I have been here for hours, watching the rising sun now fade behind a curtain of grey, darkening puffs of cloud in the sky. The smell of pursuing rain swirls my nose. The buzzing of my black watch blares loud enough to steal me from the hypnosis of nature. It is almost time to pack it in. I take one last look through the scope, gliding the crosshairs over ferns, pines, brushes, and the skittering of black, grey, and brown squirrels up and down the thick brown bark of all matter of trees. My site zips past something odd nearly two hundred yards off. I steady my scope and work backwards till I see movement on a hill, rustling through the brush. I see it. It's gangly, sickly, mane of mange. A tall, thin black deer with ribs protruding from its sides. Hip bones that shot out against its flesh, as if trying to rip free. Above all its decrepit, grotesque features. The eyes were by far the worst. A putrid white and yellow puss that oozed from its sockets, and blank white eyes with no iris. Just disturbingly white. Not like a cataract eye where the pupil is fogged by a green and grey tinge, it was all white. The way its chest moved was even perverse in nature. Each shambling breath was followed by a puff of thin visible air, as if it was below freezing out here, out here in the dry heat of summer. Its head perched up, neck sounding like each bone brittle, cracking and snapping from the movement. How could I hear it from this far out? Then it hit me. Nothing else out here was making a sound. As if every other animal, critter or being was stuck in a panicked state of paralysis, devoid of the ability to move or speak, devolved into silent husks trapped in the horror that this being’s presence had created. I wanted to rip that scope from my eye and run, do something, anything! All I could do was witness as two blotches of yellow rolled down from its eyelids and into where its iris and cornea should be. It’s staring at me. How? How could it possibly see me? How can it see anything? I try to pull the trigger but nothing. I can’t move. It stands up on its hind legs, while the front legs droop to the side as if it were a bipedal being. That gaze locked onto mine, and it screams a terrible scream. A blood curdling, high pitched cry as if it was being murdered. My stomach turns to knots. I want to vomit but my entire body has betrayed me. It walks towards me. Still on its back legs it slowly saunters towards me, taking its time as if it knows that I cannot move an inch. I can see its fur is caked with blood, pus, and God knows what else. It’s smiling? It approaches me, the smell is horrifying. Rotted eggs, burning flesh and the smell of body odor, like an intense, palpable stench of someone that has never bathed. A blend of the sourest of smells that overwhelms me. I woke up. Three years later, and a hundred miles from home.

My best friend is eating herself, and I have no way to prove it (Pt. 2)

y336qv

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y336qv/my_best_friend_is_eating_herself_and_i_have_no/

Goodmorning everyone, first of all, I want to thank you all for the suggestions. Really, thank you for trying. Please stop telling me to leave her alone. Please stop telling me to send this to her; she's smart enough to figure out who 'C' is. I am at her house right now. Her mom is stuffing me full of chicken noodle soup and wrapping unsolicited blankets around me because she said I look sick, which I do. I haven't slept well since I posted that; I'm always getting woken up by that vague red screen. So I am, quite literally, worried sick. Anyway, I have to get this out quickly. I can't 'text my mom' forever. But I wouldn't be posting this if there weren't any updates. C looked healthy last night and was just as concerned as her mother about my health. I wanted to scream at her and hit her, telling her it's not my health we should all be worried about. I wanted to hug her and beg her to keep herself whole. I want the luxury of just being able to call the police and whisper about it frantically over the dinner table, reveling in such a scandal; I want detachment. But this is C. My C. So when her boyfriend came over last night to celebrate C and her weight loss, I watched him like a hawk. Although, of course, my sleep-deprived brain probably twisted every move he made into something much worse. I think the proper word for it is demonization. God, I'm all over the place. You see this. You know. I'm sorry. God, I have no idea what to do. God, it's funny how little You have to do with this situation. I remember how her boyfriend, X, looked at her. Not with love, pride, desire, or even just appreciation, contrary to what he came here to do, but he was examining her. Please keep in mind what I said earlier. But I still don't think that that's normal, the way he was scanning her, how his brows were furrowed. When he would wrap his arms around her, padding at her sides and the small of her back, it was as if he was appraising a fruit. Someone on the last post said he might have been the one who gave her the pouch, which I dismissed-- he is so, so sweet. And charming. But all that warmth he held for her earlier, whatever I'd been seeing, had evaporated. Or maybe he was never warm, and I just never noticed. Maybe it's because I've never seen what lust looks like on someone, and maybe that was lust. I couldn't sleep last night. All I could hear was the sound of her bedsprings creaking and the heavy fabric of her duvet rustling as she tossed and turned. She never spoke in her sleep before, but last night she was moaning and grunting. Occasionally, she would whimper and mumble, "I don't have anymore. Please," over and over. I know now that I'm awake with a good amount of food in my system and a steady head, that I should've woken her up. Any other time she's had a nightmare, I've woken her up and let her talk out her nightmares so we could find out what they were about. But this might've been the only way I could've gotten information from her, spying on the rumblings of her subconscious mind. Here's what I think: I think the pouch of her fat with that weird sigil is a sacrifice. To who or to what, I have no clue. And I think now that she has her dream body, she both cannot give up her remaining fat nor wants to give up her remaining fat. I've learned in my health class last year what a very low body fat percentage does to a human body. From what I remember, it makes it hard to walk. I'll have to look it up later. This hypothesis, or theory, what have you, is only supported by the fact that in one of her "I don't have anymore. Please," cycles, she suddenly burst out, "She has more!" and then stillness. Then a slow creak as she sits up, another as she shifts her weight to the edge of the bed, and the small whines of the floor as she makes her way over to me. In case you were wondering, yes I use she/her pronouns. Yes, I'm tubby. I lay frozen by her feet, scarcely daring to breathe. I do not want to be involved in this, I do not want the attention of whatever deity that has her. I want to help her, though. You may think this is stupid, but I lie there, still, waiting for teeth. All that comes is her soft, incoherent murmuring. Occasionally, I am able to catch a few words: "I can't ... Not her ... " which was also repeated over and over. At that moment she had turned into a sort of presence or energy. I don't know the fancy spiritual terms for it. It was like a cloud of heat gathered over me, a predator lying in wait. I felt more than heard her retreat to her bed, then shortly after continued tossing and turning. Thankfully, she did not go to the bathroom. The entire night, it was just the creaking and rustling, until she grew still and just woke up. What bothers me the most is that she acted completely normal. She's glowing as if she slept restfully, and fretting over me as if I am the one who's... doing whatever she's doing. I don't know what to do anymore. How can she, this girl who flushes whenever she lies, act so normal after an 8-hour-long nightmare like that? Is she even aware of it? Is she possessed at night, and all of it is a demonic sort of sleepwalking? Am I completely insane? I think I should burn the pouch. But I've watched enough horror movies and seen enough posts from 'witches' saying that there is a proper way to dispose of spiritually loaded things. I'm afraid that if I do just burn it, it'll simply reappear and target me next. Is there anyone out there who is a witch, or knows someone who is a witch? How would I get rid of something like this? Also, someone on my last post asked me what the sigil looked like, and it was just 2 circles inside each other (one obviously smaller), with a bunch of spokes running through it. The spokes had lines crossing them and had tails facing outward (of the circle) with tails that look like the greek symbol psi. That's as much as I can remember, though. I haven't seen it for like a week. If you know of anyone who can perform an exorcism, preferably one that's more in depth than the Christian ones they do in movies, or any way I could dispose of the pouch without endangering her, please let me know. Preferably I would like to carefully disentangle C from whatever entity she's dealing with without getting myself personally involved. Thank you all for the help. I want this to end as quickly as possible. In the meantime, I'll finish this bowl of soup and actually text my mom.

Don't follow the faces in the mist

y2wy9h

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y2wy9h/dont_follow_the_faces_in_the_mist/

Don’t follow the faces in the mist. It was a throwaway line, but one I should have listened to. We had finished up a block of training and our instructor, a wiry man everyone called Buck, invited us out for drinks. Most of the group joined, but few stayed long. A lot of them were locals and had places to be. I was happy to have the company. As the night wore on, Buck’s stern exterior came down. It is common enough to almost be a rule that sternness comes from a place of care and concern. Though sometimes misplaced, it was not so with Buck. His job was to prepare us for what we would face out in the field. Provide us with the tools to execute our jobs as Rangers. And he took it seriously. I was happy to have him as a teacher and at the end of the night, as we said our goodbyes, I told him so. He slapped down a hand on my shoulder and took in a breath. He lifted his head and his drooping eyelids and looked at me with a sustained intensity that shook clear the clouds of a drunken mind. He said, The Smoky Mountains are a remarkable place. But promise me one thing. Do not follow the faces in the mist. It took five years before I discovered why. The call came through in the early afternoon. A kid had wandered off from the campsite a few miles down the road from the Ranger Station. The situation is common enough, someone had wandered off and couldn’t find their way back or had managed to get themselves stuck. The majority of these calls resolve themselves the same day, we find the person and issue stern warnings. Hell, sometimes it is all over by the time we get there. But not always. And no one in our Station needed any reminding. Posted on the noticeboard beside the front door is a picture of Jessica. Her photo has been there the entire five years I have worked the Station. She went missing the summer before I started. She is still there because we never found her. Jessica’s father insisted the photo stay until she either walked back out of the forest, or the alternative no one wanted to give voice to. I know that photo better than any photo of my family or friends. Six-year-old Jessica with blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. Fingertips poking out the sleeves of a red puffer jacket one size too big. A pair of bright yellow boots pushing up over faded denim jeans. A big toothy open-mouthed smile. Her family took the photo the day they arrived at the campsite. When the sun set on the search, her father had a copy printed and plastered them all over the surrounding towns. They were the clothes she had been wearing when she wandered off during the hike the family took up to the waterfall. The copy hanging on our notice board is the only one left. We pulled up to the campsite in our truck. A woman with a bright red beanie pushed down over dark hair was upon us as soon as we got out. She had her phone pressed to her ear and stuffed it in her pocket absent-mindedly when she saw us. Adrenaline made her voice shrill and pushed her words together. Kyle nodded and added a few calm words to get her on track. His voice and manner are perfect for these situations. He didn’t interrupt, he didn’t raise his voice, he only slipped in enough words to get the information we needed. Her name was Polly. She was six years old. She had been wearing a red beanie like her mother’s and a faded brown jacket that had been passed down through the family. She had dark hair and brown eyes. And where was she last seen? They had hiked up to the waterfall in the morning and planned to picnic up there. When they made it to the top the mist had come in so thick they couldn’t see anything of the view. That combined with the chill in the air convinced them to come back down. The four had walked together, mother, father, older brother Will, and Polly. She had been there with them when they made it down, on that point both mother and father agreed. Will had shrugged his shoulders. At the campsite the air was clear and the fall sun warmed our shoulders. Up the mountain could very well be a different story. It is like that around here. Had they left Polly behind during the walk back? We got a vehement No. She came down off the mountain. Somehow in the time between coming back and setting up the picnic at the fold-out table beside the camper, Polly had wandered off. It wasn’t like her. She was a good girl. As we listened a small crowd circled us at a distance. Being the middle of the day most of the campers were off walking a trail or sightseeing in one of the nearby towns. The ones that were around, elderly couples on retirement and families on holiday, picked themselves up off their deck chairs and came to see about the commotion. No one had seen little Polly. Kyle split us into two teams. The first was to search down around the campsite. This was the most likely place she would be. At the back of the campsite a tree-lined creek meandered down the mountain. Beyond, the terrain was rough, grass covered hills and gullies filled with thick bushes. If she had ventured out there, a slip could send her tumbling into a stack of reeds and no one would see her. The second team was to go back up the trail. Retrace the steps the family had taken to come down. It was unlikely, but sometimes people had what Kyle called a ‘McAllister moment’. This is when a parent is sure their child is, or isn’t with them, and they are wrong. It is the sort of thing that leads to parents leaving their children in cars on hot days, and, famously, a family named McAllister leaving their child home alone to stave off some would-be thieves at Christmas time. Mark and I ended up on the team heading up the trail. I’ll admit I was a little disappointed. Like Kyle I was sure Polly was somewhere around the campsite. It is a selfish thought, but on a search you always wanted to be the one who finds the person. I was sure now that it wouldn’t be me. We started up the trail leaving the campsite and the search effort behind. Before we left, the mother had shown us a photo of Polly taken up at the waterfall. I kept the picture in my head as we walked. I hoped we wouldn’t be adding it to the noticeboard. The trail was eerily quiet. I had walked it many times and always come across people powering up or coming back down. Not today. The trees surrounded us on all sides and the world went silent. We walked slowly, scanning through the forest either side and calling out her name. We hadn’t gone far when the mist came in. Thicker and faster than usual. When you live up this way you get used to it. There’s a reason they call it the Smokies. Before long visibility was down to only a few yards. I stopped and looked back down the trail. It was no better than the visibility ahead. It almost seemed unnatural how quickly and completely the mist had arrived. I was about to say I had never seen anything like it when Mark took the words out of my mouth. It was comforting that it wasn’t just me. No wonder the family had turned back. The ferocity of the mist gave rise to a terrible thought. Polly may be up here in the forest somewhere. It would be easy for a child to wander off, or even to stop to fumble with a stray shoelace for long enough to get separated from her family. The parents had been sure she made it down, but then there was the McAllister effect. I called ahead to Mark who had walked on ahead. When I received no response I skipped a few paces to catch up. As an adult and knowing the area as well as I did, there was still a moment where fear at being alone spiked in my stomach. I could only imagine what Polly was going through if she was up here all alone. Mark had stalled on the trail up ahead. He turned as he heard my footsteps. He pointed out to the right. He thought he heard something. I squinted through the mist. Nothing moved. He couldn’t give any other details, only that something had caught in the corner of his eye and was gone as soon as he turned his head. I stepped into the trees and called after Polly. A few steps more and I stopped and listened. Nothing. Back on the trail Mark was fixed in place. His face had gone pale. “It moved,” he said. “What did?” “The mist.” I turned behind and then back to Mark. I waited for a punchline or for him to break into a smile, but none came. Let’s keep going. I found myself on edge. The mist enclosing us had a sudden menace to it. As we climbed it only grew thicker. I buttoned up my coat against the cold. It was like being high in the air and inside a cloud. We walked in silence. I called out after Polly half-heartedly. When I noticed Mark was no longer by my shoulder I stopped and turned. I strode back down until I found him, stood as a statue. He shook his head at me. He wanted to go down. I grabbed his arm and told him we had to keep going. It was our job and if Polly was up here she was relying on us to come find her. Mark is a big guy, but in that moment he looked small and fragile. He looked up to the sky and then back to me. He nodded and we continued. Up ahead the trail turned to the left. As we approached the bend shapes started to appear in the mist. At first I took them to be the outline of branches leaning over the trail. But as we came closer the outlines stretched and deformed like a cloud changing shape under high wind. The shape coalesced into something that vaguely resembled the outline of a small child. I blinked my eyes and refocused and it was still there. The outline of a child running away from us, around the bend in the trail. I broke into a run and rounded the bend, chasing after the shape in the mist. On the other side there was nothing. Only a blank wall of mist like before. Had I imagined it? Was my mind playing tricks? I turned to Mark to check if he had seen it, but Mark was not there. I ran back to the bend and rounded it again in the other direction. “Mark?” I ran a few more steps and still nothing. “Mark?” I called out again and again and only silence. He was just here. He had been beside me when the bend came into view, I was sure of it. Or had he? We had walked in silence. Had he flaked, turned back and left me alone. Surely not. Mark was a reliable guy, he wouldn’t do that to me. Maybe I’d had a McAllister moment. But then where was he? “Mark?” I called again and again. I ran fifty yards back down the trail and nothing. I stood with my hands on my hips unsure what to do next. I didn’t want to walk back down to the campground without Mark. I also didn’t want to hike further up the trail alone. A pocket of warm air washed over the back of my neck. It was as if someone pushed their mouth right up against my skin and exhaled. I snapped my head around and no one was there. I almost called out again for Mark and thought better of it. I took a few steps back up the trail towards the bend where I had seen the shapes in the mist. On my left the rustle of leaves and a sharp crack of a twig snapping. I stopped and peered through the mist and the trees. Something in there moved. I leaned forward. A few feet above the base of a tree a small pocket of mist turned in a circle. As I neared it coalesced into a face. The face of a child, a small girl. Polly. I jumped forwards and the face pulled back further into the forest. I called after the girl. I followed her into the forest. If she was up here I had to look. I had to be sure. Soon trees surrounded me on all sides. The mist hung as heavy in among the trees as it had done out on the trail. I looked left and right searching for the face I had seen, or thought I had seen. No, it had been there. There again, up ahead the vague outline of a small girl. I put the picture of Polly back into my head so that I would know her. Red beanie. Faded brown jacket. Dark hair and brown eyes. But as much as I tried to picture Polly, it was the other girl, Jessica from the photo on the noticeboard that I saw. The blonde hair and red puffer jacket and that big smile. I couldn’t shake the image. I followed the face of the girl in the mist. I skipped a few steps to catch up and all at once she disappeared. I stood panting a little and called out. And there she was. Direct ahead, standing in a small clearing. Red puffer jacket and blonde hair. Six-year-old Jessica. Six year old Jessica who disappeared five years ago and was now here, still six years old. I squeezed shut my eyes and shook my head. When I opened them she was still there, smiling up at me with that big, goofy grin. I trembled. This shouldn’t be, it was Polly I was searching for. Dark hair and red beanie. I’m looking for Polly, I said and immediately felt foolish. The child looked up at me confused, the smile gone. She turned a circle on the spot and when her face came back into view her face was different. And not only her face. Her hair was dark and she manifested a red beanie. It was Polly now where it had been Jessica a moment ago. “Polly?” I said. She made the same goofy smile as Jessica had in her photo. I shook my head and almost yelled at her. “You are not real. This can’t be real.” The grin faded again and her mouth twisted into a grotesque snarl. Her mouth opened wide and then wider still, unnaturally so, and her crooked child’s teeth morphed into razor sharp fangs. In the moment before I turned to run I locked eyes with the creature, yellow and menacing. I raced through the trees desperately seeking the trail. I swung my head around and in the mist a wall of faces closed in from behind. I gave an involuntary yelp and forced myself to look away. When I finally found the trail I turned and ran at full speed down and towards the campsite. Mark be damned, I didn’t want anything to do with whatever was hiding in the forest. I turned back and before I could process anything I hit a wall on the trail and tumbled to the ground. It was Mark. I scrambled to my feet. Mark stared up at me with eyes filled with terror. “Did you see it?” I didn’t answer him. I grabbed him by the arm and started us down the trail. We had to get down. Mark made a noise, a half-laugh, half-cry and I turned and followed his outstretched hand. There in among the trees was Polly. But it wasn’t Polly. She stood and watched and held out an arm and beckoned us into the forest. “Don’t look at it.” I fixed my eyes on the trail ahead trying to give myself tunnel vision. In my imagination the faces sprung up again on each side. I covered my head and yelled at them to stop. And then, as if someone flicked a switch, I felt the warmth of the sun on my face. I looked up and saw the blue of the sky. We were out of it. We slowed to a walk. When we came back to the campground Kyle asked us if we were ok. He could see we were shaken. I didn’t know how to explain what we had seen and so I told him simply that we did not find Polly. The team at the base had not found her either. I am convinced of two things. That Polly went missing up on that trail somewhere in the mist and that whatever we saw was not her. There is a second photo hanging on our noticeboard. Polly has joined Jessica. Two girls taken by something lurking in the mist. [Me](https://www.reddit.com/r/SleeplessFromSundown/comments/y3ngzo/welcome_message/)

My sisters and I have been locked in the attic for almost 24 hours

y2dgsv

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y2dgsv/my_sisters_and_i_have_been_locked_in_the_attic/

When I woke up this morning, I found myself laying on the attic floor, among all the old furniture and clothing that had been forgotten about months ago. My neck hurt from being propped up against an old desk and my throat felt dry like the inside had been scrubbed with sandpaper. Once I sat up and stretched, the confusion set in. Why was I in the attic? I had no memory of coming up here, and I clearly remembered having fallen asleep in my own bed the night before. I stood up and saw that I wasn’t alone; my sisters were just waking up as well. “What the hell?” Ingrid asked. She was the middle child, and frequently the most annoying. She lay on the floor in the middle of the attic and rubbed her eyes. She was missing a sock. I glanced over at our older sister Tessa, who was still sleeping. She lay on her side with her arm bent under her head. She looked comfortable, despite the fact that she was laying on an old rolled-up rug. “Jo? What are you doing here?” Ingrid asked me. I walked over and sat on the floor next to her. “I don’t know,” I replied. Ingrid sat up and looked around the room, spotting Tessa. “What’s going on?” She asked. I shrugged and watched her as she stood up and walked over to the attic door, which had been closed. She pounded on the door and then grabbed hold of the ladder and shook it, causing the entire door to rattle. “Mom!” She shouted. She continued to shake the ladder aggressively as she shouted. “Mom! We’re stuck!” “What’s going on, why are you being so loud?” I looked over to see Tessa waking up. She yawned as she pushed herself up into a seated position and looked around the room. Once she realized where we were, she stood up and walked over to us. “Why are we in the attic?” Tessa asked me. I shook my head. “I don’t know.” “Mom! MOM!” Ingrid shouted. “I’m here.” We froze and Ingrid let go of the ladder, sighing in relief at the sound of our mother’s voice. “We’re stuck. I don’t know how we got up here. Can you open the door, please? I really have to pee,” Ingrid said. There was silence for a few seconds while we waited for the door to open. But it never did. “I can’t,” my mother said. “I can’t let you out.” We looked at each other. “What do you mean? Is everything okay?” Tessa asked, scooting closer to the door. “No, everything is not okay,” our mother replied. Her voice sounded sad, and it caught my attention as I began to wonder what was going on. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” I asked. “I am,” she replied. “But you girls aren’t.” I looked over at Tessa, who looked confused as she turned and mouthed something to Ingrid. “What do you mean? What’s going on? Just tell us!” Ingrid snapped. “You’re going to kill me!” My mother cried. “One of you is going to kill me!” “What are you talking about mom? We don’t want to kill you!” I replied. “Maybe not *you*, but *it* does.” Ingrid froze for a second and turned to look from me to Tessa. “What do you mean ‘it’?” “The evil thing! The evil thing that possessed one of you! I know that it did, I know it’s waiting for me to let my guard down so it can take control and kill me. I can’t let you out! I won’t do it until you can prove to me that it’s gone.” My mother cried. I could hear her hyperventilating. She sounded scared, terrified. “Mom we’re not possessed. You just need to open the door okay? Just open the door please…” Ingrid pleaded, trying to reason with her. “No. I’ll let you out when you’ve gotten rid of it.” My mother replied in a firm voice. I could hear her footsteps retreating to a different area of the house, headed towards the front door. I walked over to the side of the attic and peered through the small opening in the wall. I watched as my mother hurried down the driveway and got in her car, driving off. “FUCK!” Ingrid screamed, kicking a box of sweaters. I looked back to see her wipe away her tears in frustration as she paced around the attic. “Ingrid, it’s going to be okay. She can’t leave us up here all day. She’s going to come back and when she does we’ll make something up. We’ll tell her that we got rid of that thing she’s so afraid of, and then she’ll let us out,” Tessa said, trying to calm her down. We sat in silence for a while, waiting for our mother to come back. It was hard to tell how much time had passed. None of us had our phones, and it’s not like we kept a clock in the attic. Tessa stood up after a while and walked over to the pile of boxes in the corner. I watched as she opened one and rummaged through it. “Do you guys wanna play Monopoly?” She asked, pulling the game out of the box. “There’s a bunch of pieces missing,” Ingrid replied. “So?” Tessa asked. “Come on, it’ll help pass the time.” I nodded as I moved over and sat on the floor. Tessa followed, opening the box and unfolding the board. I waited for her to set it up and after a while, Ingrid crawled over to us. We spent the next few minutes playing Monopoly. Tessa was right, it did help to pass the time, even if Ingrid kept complaining every five minutes about having to pee. “Just pee in that vase over there,” I suggested, pointing to an old ceramic vase that lay on the ground near the boxes. “Ewwww,” Ingrid said. “I’m not going to pee in a vase Jo, that’s disgusting.” I shrugged. “Fine, but stop complaining then.” Ingrid stared at the vase for a few seconds. “Fine. But don’t look!” She snapped. Tessa and I turned around so our backs were to her. I could tell that Tessa was getting anxious. She didn’t like being stuck indoors for long periods of time because it made her anxiety act up. I watched as she folded her fingers over her palm and then used her thumb to crack her knuckles. Once she was done with her pinky, she started up again, pressing down on her index finger even though it didn’t pop a second time. I could hear her taking deep breaths to try to calm herself down, but I knew that it wasn’t working. We had been up here for too long. “Okay, I’m done. Ew,” Ingrid said. “Don’t come over here.” I turned around as she came over to sit by us. “Do you think mom will be back soon?” She asked. I shrugged and looked over at Tessa. Her eyes were closed and she was whispering to herself. I knew she was trying to recite bible verses from memory. She once told me that she found the bible to be an incredibly boring read, and had realized that it took a lot of concentration for her to both read it and remember passages from it. Apparently, concentrating that hard on something helped to calm her anxiety. Ingrid glanced at Tessa too and then bit her lip. I could tell she was starting to get antsy as well, which meant that it wasn’t long until she started to get mean. We sat in silence and I listened to the silence of the house. After a while, I got up to look out into the driveway again, but the car was still missing. I was starting to get very hungry, and the dryness in my throat had turned to pain. “Can you shut the fuck up?” Ingrid snapped. I glanced back to see her glaring at Tessa. “Ingrid relax, she’s just anxious,” I said. “Yeah well, she’s making me anxious will all her mumbling. She’s freaking me out.” I watched Tessa roll her eyes as she wiped a tear from her face and continued whispering to herself. “Shut up Tessa! I swear to God you’re so annoying! Can you just be quiet?!” Ingrid shouted. “Stop yelling at me!” Tessa shouted. Her voice cracked as she started crying harder, gasping for air. Ingrid stood up and walked to the other side of the attic. I walked over to Tessa and held her hand as I tried to calm her down. “It’s okay, just breathe. It’s going to be fine.” Tessa yanked her hands away from me and stood up. “No, it’s not! You don’t know that. We’re stuck up here and no one knows where we are and mom is gone! I want to get out!” She walked over to the attic door and started shaking the ladder and she sobbed. “I need to get out of here. LET ME OUT!! SOMEBODY LET ME OUT!” She shouted at the top of her lungs. I got up slowly but Ingrid rushed over and tackled Tessa to the ground. I watched as they wrestled around a bit until Ingrid managed to pin her down. Tessa kept crying and yelling at Ingrid to let her go. After a while, Tessa stopped struggling for a second, and Ingrid got off of her. Tessa leaned over to the side and vomited as she continued to cry. Ingrid grabbed her under the arms and dragged her across the attic. “Ingrid what are you doing? Just leave her alone you’re making it worse,” I snapped. She ignored me and dragged her over to an old chair, sitting her on it. Tessa had stopped sobbing and was just taking deep breaths now and occasionally sniffling. I thought it was over, but then Ingrid came back with some rope and masking tape and began tying Tessa down to the chair. “Ingrid stop, I’m fine now I just had a panic attack,” Tessa whimpered. Ingrid kept wrapping the tape around Tessa’s wrists and then her ankles as Tessa began to struggle. “Ingrid stop, that’s mean. You’re just going to make it worse,” I said, walking over to stop her. “Fuck off Jo,” she snapped, turning around and pointing a pocket knife at me. I froze. “Where the fuck did you get that?” “I found it while I peeing,” She replied as she kept tying Tessa down. Tessa started to freak out again upon seeing the knife. She wiggled around in the chair, trying to get out but Ingrid had made sure she was secured. Once she was done, Ingrid stood up and walked over to me. I took a few steps back. “I figured out a way to get rid of it,” she said. “What?” I asked. “The thing that mom was afraid of. I know how to get rid of it.” She smiled and I watched as she walked over to Tessa and kneeled in front of her. “What are you doing?” Tessa asked through tears. Ingrid lifted her hand and plunged the knife into Tessa’s side. “Ow! What the fuck Ingrid?! That fucking hurts what is wrong with you!?” Tessa screamed. Ingrid stood up and I watched Tessa cry and scream out in pain. “You stabbed me you fucking bitch!” Ingrid wiped the blade on her shirt. “There. Now if the spirit or whatever was inside of her, it’ll be gone.” “What is wrong with you?” I asked her. She ignored me and I walked over to Tessa who was once again struggling to get out of the chair. She rocked the chair back and forth as she cried. I looked back at Ingrid, making sure she wasn’t to go for me next. She stood still, the knife down at her side, as she stared at us. I looked back at Tessa just as she managed to tip the chair over on its side. She yelped as she started to go down and I tried to reach out to stop the chair from falling but I was too slow. The next thing I knew, the chair had tipped over all the way and Tessa had fallen to the floor along with it, but not before hitting her head against the old desk. The loud *thud* filled the attic and Tessa lay still on the floor, blood oozing from underneath her head. “Oh my God…” I gasped. Ingrid didn’t react. We stood in silence for a few seconds. I turned around, not wanting to see Tessa’s face. “This is your fault,” I hissed. Ingrid stared at me but still said nothing. I walked over and sat in the corner away from her. It was silent for a while, still no sign of our mother. After a while, Ingrid spoke. “We should make sure that we’re clear too.” “What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked. “If the spirit was inside of Tessa, it’s out now but it’s probably inside one of us.” I backed away from her. “You’re fucking crazy. You’re losing it, Ingrid. Spirits aren’t real.” Ingrid moved towards me. “Yes, they are. That’s why mom was so freaked. Don’t you see? There *is* something evil here.” “No,” I shook my head. “Mom needs help. And so do you. So did Tessa…” “It’s the only way, Jo. We have to do it. I’ll even go first.” I watched as she took a deep breath and plunged the knife down into her thigh, grunting in pain as she lifted it back out. She whimpered for a few seconds, crying as the blood rushed over her leg. “Fuck! That hurt, oh my God,” she panted. She wiped her blood off of the knife and then slid it over to me. I stared at it. “If you won’t do it, I will.” She said. We lunged for the knife at the same time but she grabbed onto it first, throwing herself at me. I tried to push her off by kicking her away but she pushed herself up and dodged my kicks. I tried to get away but she managed to crawl on top of me and stab me in the arm. I shoved her off as I screamed in pain. I knew that getting stabbed would hurt, but I never imagined just how much it would. I pulled the knife out of my arm and threw up as the pain set it. As I sat there, vomiting from the pain, Ingrid approached me and started to tie a piece of fabric around my wound. I must have passed out at some point because the next thing I remember was waking up in the attic again. The sun had started to set, and my stomach wouldn’t stop growling in hunger. My throat was hoarse and it hurt to swallow. As I got up, I could feel the pain in my arm and I looked around the room. Ingrid was watching me as she sat propped up against the wall. There was a piece of bloody cloth wrapped around her leg. “I need to check your wound,” she said. I said nothing as she dragged herself over to me. I let her pull the cloth away from my arm and look at the stab wound. Next, she began to unwrap her leg. I watched as she removed her makeshift bandage. Her leg was fine. It was completely fine. There was no sign that she had ever stabbed herself. “What?” She gasped. I backed away from her. “What happened to your stab wound, Ingrid?” I asked. She shook her head as she scooted away from me. “I don’t know, I-” She trailed off, looking for something. She had started crying. “It’s inside me. Oh my God, it’s inside me!” I didn’t know how to react so I sat there and I watched as she found what she had been looking for; the knife. “I have to get it out, I have to get it OUT!” She shouted. She lifted the knife and I watched, unable to look away, as she stabbed herself in the face over and over as she repeated the same words. “Get out! Get out! Get out!” I moved away from her, hiding behind an old table as she continued to stab herself and apologize, although I didn’t know who she was apologizing to. I covered my ears and closed my eyes for a while, not wanting to hear Ingrid’s cries. After a while, it was silent. For a third time, I woke up in the attic. It was dark now, and I could barely see anything. There was some light coming in from the streetlights and the moon outside, but it was not enough to see clearly. As I sat up I heard whispering and I peered out from behind the table. I saw Ingrid and Tessa sitting a few feet away, whispering to one another with their backs toward me. For a second, I thought that everything that had happened in the past four hours had been a dream, but then they turned around. Ingrid’s face was disfigured from all the stab marks, and Tessa’s hair was caked in blood. “How are you alive?” I asked. “We aren’t alive. We’re dead, Jo. And we want you to join us.” Tessa replied. Ingrid nodded. “It’s fun this way. This is what mom wanted, don’t you see?” Ingrid slurs. “You’re fucking crazy.” “Come on Jo, we could help you die if you want,” Tessa offered. I ran towards the attic door, rattling it and jumping up and down, trying to get it to open but it wouldn’t budge. “HELP!” I shouted. But there was no one around to hear me. Ingrid and Tessa got up suddenly, and they threw themselves at me, tackling me down. I fell, landing on one of the steps on the ladder which sent a piercing pain through my ribs. We all fell then, and suddenly, I was falling again. This time, I fell all the way down into the hallway. Our weight had somehow caused the attic door to loosen and the ladder had unfolded, causing us to tumble down into the house. I groaned as I got up. Ingrid and Tessa lay unmoving. I stood up and wandered around the house. I headed towards my room and grabbed my phone from under my pillow and then headed back down the hall. As I passed by my mother’s room, something caught my eye. I pushed the door all the way open and came face to face with my mother’s body. She lay face up in bed in her pajamas. On the floor next to her was an empty bottle of pills. Her head was tilted, facing the door and her eyes were wide open. I stared for a second. She had to have been dead since last night. But then, who had we been talking to earlier? And why did it sound like our mother? Why did it look like her when I watched her leave? I ran back out of the room, noticing that Tessa and Ingrid were now gone. I ran out of the house, and down the street. “Jo….?” I heard Ingrid call. I jumped over someone’s fence and kept going, hiding behind trees and fences. “Jo…where are you?” Tessa sang out into the night. I could hear them approaching and I crouched down behind a children’s playground slide in one of the backyards. “Mr. Riley, have you seen Jo?” I heard Ingrid ask. As I glanced around the yard, I realized that I was in the Riley’s yard now, and I wondered what they were doing up so late. “No, is she the only one left?” He asked. I held my breath. “Yeah, she’s the only one,” Tessa replied. “We’ll keep an eye out for her,” He reassured them. “Good. She doesn’t seem to want to join us. We just want to help her out,” Ingrid replied. I waited for them to leave before I kept running. It seems like everyone in our neighborhood is looking for me. I managed to make it to my friend Molly’s house. Her basement door was unlocked and I snuck in here. I haven’t moved in a while, because I’m not sure how many people are in on this now. Molly lives about five minutes away, so I thought I would be safe here. About two minutes ago, however, I heard her and her family talking about me. Her dad said they got a call from my sisters, and that they need to find me and get me to join them. Molly keeps calling me every few minutes, and I don’t know how much longer I can hide out down here.

How my favorite cafe, turned into the scariest memory of my life

y39hts

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y39hts/how_my_favorite_cafe_turned_into_the_scariest/

This happened around a year ago or so. I was a freshman in college and frequently visited a cafe near my apartment to get school work done. I enjoyed going there because of the good coffee, plus there wasn’t anything distracting me from getting my work done on my computer. One day, I was getting ready for work as I had to cover a coworker’s shift pretty suddenly. It turned out to be a false alarm however, as they said they didn’t need me to cover for them at the last minute. I was a little bit annoyed as I had already gotten ready and had even canceled plans with a friend for today, but I decided I may as well make the most of my time. So I went to the usual cafe I went to, which opened at 7 am and it was around 7:30 at that time. At this time in the morning, I figured it would be pretty dead there, so I could get lots of work done since most people would be at work. I headed into the cafe, and sat down at the spot I usually took. A small table towards the back, with a nice view outside at the park nearby. It was my favorite spot and I took it almost every time I was there. It was just a super relaxed, calm setting which was perfect for getting some work done. After about 30 minutes of sitting there, almost nobody else had entered the building and it was as quiet as ever. I decided to take this opportunity to quickly use the restroom since it was near my seat. Regrettably, I left my laptop sitting there open for anybody to see or take, but since there wasn’t anybody else there I figured a quick bathroom break wouldn’t hurt. I got up and headed to the restroom, then quickly got out of there once I was finished. I hurried back to my seat to get back to work, only to realize my laptop was no longer on the table. However, my backpack was still sitting beside my seat like before, so I thought maybe I had put it away and forgot. I looked through my backpack over and over but it wasn’t in there. Somebody had stolen my laptop when I had gotten up to use the restroom. There hadn’t been anybody else around, so I went up front to ask the employee there if they had seen anybody. It was some new guy I'd never seen before, who's name tag said Troy I believe. He looked to be around my age, and was leaning forward on the desk on his phone when I walked up to him. He didn’t seem overly friendly either as he didn’t even look up whenever I asked him if anybody else had come into the cafe in the last 5 minutes. He just shrugged and continued doing whatever he was doing on his phone. I looked back towards where my seat was and noticed that it was kind of hard to see my seat from the front desk. It was sort of a blind spot so I understood if he hadn’t seen anybody over there. I then asked him if there were any cameras around that could help find out who took my laptop but he seemed utterly disinterested. He finally looked up at me and I could tell how annoyed he was getting, he simply shook his head and said that the only cameras that worked were outside. He said the ones inside were fake and were used to intimidate rather than record anything. That's ridiculous, I thought to myself. Now, pretty annoyed myself, I thanked him and left the building. I thought that whoever had stolen my laptop couldn’t have gotten far, maybe I would see somebody carrying it away from the building. Unfortunately I didn’t but that didn’t stop me from trying. Eventually I gave up and decided to just head home. On my way home I went to the local police station and filed a report about the incident which took a lot longer than I thought it would. All this time had been wasted and they told me they would look into it, whatever that meant. I drove home and started thinking about what I was going to do. All my school work was on that computer, as well as some personal info about me too. Whoever stole it could probably track down my address and maybe even access my bank account. As I was lost in thought worrying about what might happen, there was a loud knock on my door. I almost jumped from shock, and walked over slowly to look out the peephole. Nobody was there, which freaked me out a little, but I thought maybe it was some prank like kids playing ding dong ditch. That’s when I remembered that I no longer lived in an actual house with my parents, this was an apartment complex. You see, back when I lived with my parents before college, occasionally some of the local teenagers would run around ringing doorbells or knocking on doors before running away. Sometimes a house or two would have eggs thrown at it. But now that I had moved out, this shouldn’t have been the case anymore. The doors were inside, not out on the street, so some random stranger couldn’t have just been playing a prank like that. After some consideration, I slowly opened the door just a bit to peek outside. The hallway was empty left and right with dozens of closed doors on either side. I then noticed something on the door. There was a small sticky note on the front of my door that said “I know everything about you. I can’t wait to meet you in person next” with a smiley face. Shivers went down my spine as I ripped the sticky note off the door and quickly shut it before locking it. My heart was racing and I didn’t know what to do. I decided to call the non-emergency police number about what had happened. They said they would send a patrol car over to talk with me which they did. After speaking to the officers, they told me they would get in touch with the owner of the apartment and see if they can get the camera footage from today. They also said that they would patrol the area around the apartment after they left, which made me feel safer. I stayed in my apartment the rest of the day and eventually fell asleep that night on my couch due to my exhaustion after being so worried and scared that whole day. Later in the night, I was awoken to a noise. It sounded like some loud banging noise. Then another one and another one. They were growing louder as I was trying to pinpoint where exactly they were coming from in my disoriented state. Suddenly they stopped, and I realized they were coming from inside my apartment. My heart started racing and I felt like I was going to throw up from how terrified I was. Now let me paint a clearer picture of my apartment. So when you walk in, there’s a tiny foyer area at the door, which leads into the living room where I had been asleep on the couch. To the right of the living room is the kitchen and to the left of the living room is my bedroom and beside that is the bathroom. The bathroom has two entrances, you can enter it straight from the living room, or you can use the door connected to my bedroom. I slowly got off the couch and crawled across the floor to the kitchen to grab a kitchen knife. The banging sounded like it had come from the bathroom so I made my way over there. I quietly crawled towards my bedroom door. Even in the darkness, I could barely make out that the door was slightly open. I looked at the bathroom door and saw that it was closed. I decided to enter my bedroom as it was already open a bit, but first I got out my phone. I called 911 and as it was ringing, I shined my phone light on my bedroom door. I’ll never forget what I saw next. Through the small crack in the door, I saw somebody’s eye looking out at me. I jumped back and screamed as loud as I could, then quickly went into the bathroom and locked both doors. The dispatcher was trying to calm me down and ask what was happening, and I suddenly heard my bedroom door quickly open and slam shut. I heard loud footsteps running through my apartment and moving some things around, then they opened the door and left. I still didn’t feel safe, so I stayed locked in the bathroom until the police arrived after I was finally able to calm down enough to explain what had happened. To my disbelief, when the police got there, they had been called by another person there who had also called them on the same person trying to break into their apartment. It turned out to be some middle aged man with a dirty beard and long unkempt hair. He was still trying to break into the apartment when they got there. They quickly detained the guy and put him in cuffs then placed him in a police car. Some officers then searched my apartment just in case he had an accomplice who might have been inside still, but turned up nothing. I decided to stay over at a friend’s house that night, in fear of being alone. The next day when I got back to my apartment, I was frozen in fear when I entered my bedroom. My laptop that had been stolen before, was now sitting neatly on my bed as if it had been there all along. I later got a call from the police saying that they went through the footage and were able to identify the man who broke into my apartment as having been the one who placed the note on my door. That sent shivers through my whole body, even if I fully expected that to be the case. As for my laptop, I’m still not sure how exactly it ended up back in my apartment. Maybe the man had left it there when he broke in that night, but then, wouldn’t the police or I have noticed it? Or maybe, just maybe, somebody came back later that night when I was gone and returned it. Thinking about what could have happened still scares me and I’ve since gotten that laptop completely reset as I don’t know what could have been done to it while it was stolen.

I Can’t Stop Thinking About It…

y2y74z

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y2y74z/i_cant_stop_thinking_about_it/

I like the quiet, rainy nights the most. On those nights, there’s this wonderful atmosphere to the house, and I don’t know exactly what to call it, but it sorta makes me feel at peace. Not too long ago, while reading one of those clickbait articles, I came across the word: Chrysalism. It describes the tranquility that you feel while sitting inside during a thunderstorm. Chrysalism. What a beautiful word for a beautiful sensation. It’s the only word I have to describe that indescribable sense of comfort I get while sitting in my kitchen, wrapped in a nice warm hoodie and drinking a cup of hot chocolate with Star curled up at my feet. Although I guess the whole experience isn’t quite as much fun for Star, who despite being a big tough bulldog, regards the rain with nothing less than complete and total terror. ​ Every time she hears the pitter patter of water against the glass, she goes into a panic, clinging to my legs, panting nonstop, and whining. I’ve done just about everything I can to help her relax in the past, and the only solution I’ve found that seems to genuinely help is wrapping her in my old University hoodies. When I put a hoodie on her, she still clings to my side but she doesn’t whimper or pant as much and seems just a little bit calmer. ​ So when I saw the rain starting again the other night, I just sat in the kitchen boiling the kettle and waiting for her to come running to my side. ​ It didn’t take long, and when she came she was dragging the grey school hoodie I always gave her along with her… The sight of it kinda made my heart melt a little. I reached down to scoop her up immediately, put the hoodie on her, and wrapped her up in a big warm hug, kissing her on her little fluffy head to remind her that everything was okay, and that I loved her. Her tail wagged frantically as she tried to lick my face. ​ When the kettle finally boiled, I made myself some hot chocolate and took it over to the little table by the window. Star followed me, curling up right on top of my feet as I sat down to look out at the rain. I don’t think that her intention was to keep my toes nice and warm, but it was certainly an added benefit that turned this into a mutually beneficial arrangement. ​ It wasn’t quite night yet, and the sky had a strange, surreal hue to it. It was beautiful and ominous at the same time. I could see the autumn-hued leaves of the trees outside rustling in the breeze and the cars on the street being baptized by the rain. I blew on my steaming mug before taking a tentative sip. The warmth of it spread right through me in the best way possible. I let myself relax, my mind drifting as I focused on the rain and enjoyed the passive beauty of the world outside my window. ​ I loved this feeling… This groundedness. It made me feel so whole. Like for a little while, the world was quiet and I had no real problems. No school, no work, no drama, nothing at all. I took another sip of my hot chocolate and smiled a little as I noticed the condensation on my window. Star looked up at me expectantly and I blew a kiss at her, before reaching over to draw a little star in the condensation. ​ “A little star, for Star…” I said in a sing song voice. Just hearing her name made her tail wag, like she was thinking: *“Star? Yes! I am Star! Mommy are you talking about me? I am Star, yes I am!”* ​ “You’re such a sweet girl, yes you are.” I crooned as I reached down to scratch her behind the ears. Then I put a little B + S inside the star. Brittany and Star. Best friends forever. Star was looking up at me with big, adoring eyes, her tail sweeping back and forth and I smiled down at her. She lifted her head so I could pet her and I happily accepted the invitation. ​ Has there ever been a more perfect moment? ​ Star's head jerked to the side suddenly before she stood up and let out one of those little un-barks dogs sometimes give. Not a bark, but a muted little *‘Boof.’* Then she was up and walking towards the kitchen door. ​ *“Boof.”* “What’s wrong?” I asked. Her tail wasn’t wagging anymore. On the contrary, she seemed concerned… More concerned than usual. Star took off down the hall, her nails clicking against the wooden floor and I got up to follow her. She’d headed into the living room and out towards the back door. ​ “You want to go outside?” I asked. Star just looked at me. This wasn’t a: *‘Yes I want to go outside!’* look. This was a *‘Something is out there and I don’t like it!’* look. I stared out through the window, past the rain, and into the backyard. Between the low light and the heavy rain, it was kinda hard to see what poor Star was so bothered by. But eventually, I did see it. ​ There was a naked man perched on my fence. Not sitting on my fence… Perched, like some sort of oversized, ridiculous bird. ​ And he was staring right at me. ​ The moment I noticed him, my heart skipped a beat and I took a step back. What the heck was this? Who the heck was this? I didn’t think I’d ever seen this guy in my life! At least… He didn’t look familiar. I squinted my eyes, staring at him and trying to see if I recognized him… No… No I definitely hadn’t seen him before. And the more I looked at him, the more I realized that whoever this guy was, he absolutely was not okay. ​ His body was dirty and looked gaunt. I was sure I could see his bones jutting out against his skin. His eyes also seemed a little too big, although that could’ve just been because they were so sunken into his skull. ​ He stared at me, and I stared right back at him, feeling a looming anxiety rising in my stomach. Call me crazy, but creepy staring naked guys hanging out in your backyard usually aren’t a good thing. This guy must have been on some sort of drug or something to be naked out in this kind of weather. Judging by his pale, dirty, emaciated physique, he clearly wasn’t in the best of health, which probably meant that if he was on drugs, he’d been on them for a while. ​ Beside me, Star let out a tough little growl. My anxious girl is not a tough or even an aggressive dog, but she clearly did not like the smell of this man. “It’s alright, baby…” I whispered to her, before reaching down to pet her. I checked to make sure the back door was locked, although doing that didn’t make me feel any safer. The door was still glass. It would be pretty easy to break. ​ I looked back up at the man in my backyard and let out a yelp of surprise. He’d moved and now, he was a heck of a lot closer than he’d been before! I took a step back, and looked down at Star again. Her teeth were bared as she let out an aggressive growl that I’d never heard from her before. ​ I turned and stepped out of the living room, running back to the kitchen to grab a knife. Maybe if this whackadoodle saw I was armed, he’d get the heck away from my door! I didn’t like the notion of threatening somebody… But if I had to, I would! When I made it back to my back door, the man was even closer. Now, he was right up against the glass, pressing his body against it. I felt fear rising in my stomach and I gripped the knife tighter. ​ I could see his shiny eyes reflected in the light from my house. His breath formed condensation against the glass. I held the knife up, just so he could see that I had it, but he didn’t even seem to notice… He just stared at me, and I can almost swear that he was salivating like I was a piece of meat… ​ My hands were shaking. Star had backed up a few steps and glanced back at me. I could see that she was just as terrified as I was and I couldn’t blame her. The man stared at us. I saw his hand move toward the doorknob and I heard it jiggle. I wanted to scream something. To yell at him… But my voice caught in my throat. ​ When the door didn’t open, he seemed to grimace, baring his teeth at me in rage. ​ And that was when the power went out. ​ As darkness enshrouded me, I screamed. ​ Through the glass, all I could see was the shadow of the naked man looking in at me, and I remained frozen in place, my heart pounding a thousand miles a minute in my chest and tears threatening to run down my cheeks as my mind ran wild with a thousand different horrible things this man would do to me when he finally decided to break the glass… For a few moments, the only sound was the heavy rain against the window. ​ Then… After a while, I saw the man's head move. It jerked violently to the side as if he’d heard something. He took a step back, still looking in another direction. ​ Then he was gone. He took off at a sprint, vanishing from sight. ​ Star stood defensively in front of the back door for a moment, then she retreated back to my side, panting anxiously the whole time. I still kept the knife clutched in my hand and I watched the back door for a moment before finally heading back to the kitchen where I’d left my phone on the counter. ​ Like an idiot, it hadn’t even occurred to me to call the police during the whole encounter with that strange man, but once he’d left I couldn’t think about anything else. I immediately dialed 911, and Star followed me as I ran upstairs to the safety of my bedroom and locked the door behind me. ​ The power came back on within the next ten minutes, and the Police were at my door shortly afterward. ​ I told them everything I’d seen. I described the man to them and everything. They agreed to leave an officer parked outside my house since I didn’t feel safe. The rain carried on through the night and I didn’t sleep a wink. I just lay in bed, under the covers with Star curled up beside me, waiting for the sound of shattering glass from downstairs. ​ It never came. ​ It was the next day that I saw an ambulance a few doors down. I watched them remove four bodybags on a stretcher and wheel them out onto a coroner's truck. I asked the police what happened. They wouldn’t tell me at the time… But I read all about it on the local news that night. ​ Someone came in through their back door that night… And it had killed them all. The couple who lived in that house, their two sons, even their dog… It had ripped them apart… And there was apparently even evidence that they’d been partially eaten… ​ Jesus… ​ And I’d heard nothing… No screams. No sound at all. The Officer outside of my house hadn’t seen anything… Nobody did. ​ I can’t help but think that it could’ve just as easily been me who died that night… I can’t stop thinking about it. Every time I go to sleep, I have nightmares now. I dream about the man breaking through the glass of my back door. I dream about him running for me, grabbing me, and killing me in the most horrible ways possible… ​ I can’t stop thinking about it… ​ This all happened just a few weeks ago. I told the Police everything I know, but they haven’t found anything yet. I don’t know if they will. I’ve started looking for new places to live. I don’t feel safe in this neighborhood anymore. ​ I think that Star and I might be happier in an [apartment.](https://www.reddit.com/r/HeadOfSpectre/)

The mouse gets his cheese

y39zo2

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y39zo2/the_mouse_gets_his_cheese/

I pulled into the children’s rat casino with a gift nicely wrapped up for my godson’s fourth birthday party. It was a wwe ring that included several wrestlers from the attitude era plus some newer guys I didn’t know. I walked in the place and found my best friend, Lucas. He showed me where to drop off the gift when his son/my godson came up. “Uncle Jake” he squealed. “Hey Nelson. Man you’ve gotten big. How old are you now, three”?, I teased. “Four”, he shouted as he showed me four fingers on his hand. I snuck away and got $20 worth of tokens for him to slide in his arcade cup when he was rummaging in the play structure with his little friends. What can I say? I love that kid. I found Lucas and caught up with him and we talked about old times, girls, sports, movies, really everything. Nelson and his friends were having a good time playing the arcade games, rubbing pizza on the carpet, playing in the ball pit. There were other parties going on and I watched as the animatronic band played happy birthday and sung some other lame songs. Except the mouse. While all the other animals hung their head and darkened, he peered his head side to side. Some workers rushed the stage and pulled a curtain. There was some clambering and banging, but when they opened it again, the band all looked should be. They must have had an electrical fault. One of Nelson’s friends was stuck in the structure and his mom begged me to get him out. I figured why not, maybe I could make a move on her after. That play structure reeked. It smelt like moldy pizza, feet, urine, and it was extremely sticky. I was able to find the frightened child and push him down the slide where his mother embraced him. I came down behind and she thanked me. I chatted with her a few minutes when Lucas grabbed us to come sing happy birthday to Nelson. He lit his candles and we began singing, along with the animatronic band. When we stopped, the band did....except for the mouse. His head began to bounce on his shoulders and we heard a chuckle. Staff rushed the stage, but they tripped on the chairs and tables left askew by some haphazardly kids. The mouse began to sing. “Happy birthday to you. Happy birth.....day to you. Happy birthday......tasty children. Happy birthday to you”. Along with a manic chuckle. The lights flickered off and the room went dark. “Make a wish Nelson he he he he” and then the lights came on. The mouse was no longer on the stage. You could hear a pin drop in that room it was so quiet and then out of nowhere, the noise came. Children screaming, tables flipping. The mouse running amidst the crowd. He set eyes on Nelson and charged him. Lucas jumped in the way only to get shoulder checked into a table. It killed enough time for Nelson to go up the play structure to seek safety. I immediately chased after him and the mouse. Navigating the cramped tunnels was difficult and scary hearing the mouse laugh, but I found Nelson and drug him to a slide. I pushed him down and immediately was to follow when something gripped my arm. The mouse. He laughed and bit me. As I struggled watching my blood splatter all over the yellow walls, I got away, missing three fingers. The mouse was sliding after me, but I scooped Nelson and ran outside. Lucas had seen us and pursuits us as well. We loaded up in a van and drove to the hospital as the mouse took off into the woods behind the place. I’m in the hospital now, playing with Nelson’s toys that the staff gathered. An employee is coming by later to talk to me about this mouse.

I sailed alone, and I think I really screwed up this time...

y30ku4

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y30ku4/i_sailed_alone_and_i_think_i_really_screwed_up/

My parents always told me to never sail alone. They were always adamant about it and made it the only rule to follow as kids... We saw it as a "oh my god' moment whenever they would bring it up. We live on a rich island in the middle of the pacific and sailing is very common here. I got my boating license the day I turned sixteen and received a million dollar sail boat as a gift from my parents. There hasn't been a weekend where I haven't taken the boat out since. I am currently 22, which means that I have been sailing for six years. I would say this makes me a very experienced sailor and so, occasionally, I defy my parents orders and take the boat out alone. I know, I know... Pretty stupid decision. Nothing had ever happened until this past weekend. Laying in my dark room, a sudden buzz awoke me. I reached over to my nightstand and grabbed my phone, turning it on and killing the darkness in my room. My eyes adjusted and I saw a text from my friend Matt. He lives in California and told me that there is a party on an island around 50 miles away, and so I decided to go. I told my parents I was going to head to a party and they told me to get a friend or two to sail with. I told them that my friends were on their way but in reality I brushed them off and headed to the dock behind our house. ***The First Hour:*** I made the proper preparations and started sailing away. I turned on the engine in my sailboat to get me going out on the open water before continuing. I then sat in my cockpit and started watching Netflix. The bad thing about being on the open water is lack of communication with the outside world, however I was able to install a Starlink Maritime router in my boat which gave me access to the internet anywhere in the ocean. I left my dock at around 4:00 and was expecting to get to the island anywhere between 7:00 or 8:00. Around one hour into my trip I noticed a grouping of clouds that looked less than friendly. I didn't think that was possible as I checked the conditions before I left and they were completely clear, but this certainly wasn't out of the ordinary, and these types of tiny storms would come and go very frequently where we lived. ***The Second Hour:*** During the second hour I went to my boat's kitchen to grab a snack and when I returned my GPS seemed to not be showing the right location, hell it wasn't showing any location at all. When I zoomed out this thing had my location right atop the Midway Atoll in the Pacific Ocean. I mean this couldn't be possible, I was some two thousand nautical miles from it... I assumed my GPS just needed to be reset but no matter how many times I reset it, it didn't move my little red arrow off of the Midway Atoll. I decided to check my phone, and when I searched up "Current Location" in the search bar, it returned "Results not found for: "Current Location", try a different query or search again." This instantly gave me an extreme feeling of unease... How could google not give me a current location? I was connected to the internet... I decided to carry on because I was nearly half way there, and knew I'd have to get my GPS checked out before I left that island. ***The Third Hour:*** The third hour, my last hour and I was nearly there. I kept travelling South West, but then things headed south, again I noticed a grouping of clouds that didn't seem to be there no less than five minutes ago. Then my compass started acting funny... That couldn't be possible, this was a $5,000 compass, it wasn't some cheap compass, but the dial was spinning in all sorts of directions. The clouds started closing in, and slowly the rain started and I decided to stop sailing and text my friend that I wasn't going to be able to make it and decided to cook myself dinner and go to sleep. I turned on some YouTube in my bedroom and started to close my eyes. ***The Fifth Hour:*** *My room was dark. A sudden thump awoke me.* I jolted up in my bed in a cold sweat and searched around for my phone. I grabbed it and flashed the light around the room. Nothing, nothing was out of the ordinary. I reached for the light but to my surprise nothing happened when I flipped the switch. *\*click\** The lights did not go on... I got up and went to my engine room and that's when I instantly felt sick to my stomach. The breaker door was open, there was no way the door could open without human interaction, and as I got closer I realize the breaker was manually turned off. My legs started going numb as I thought of all of the possibilities. I flicked the breaker on and ran back to my room and grabbed my handgun. You're probably wondering why I have a handgun, because although rare, pirates are still somewhat prevalent in the area, and it's better to be safe than sorry. I started a search around my boat, clearing every cabinet and hiding spot. ***The Sixth Hour:*** After long I was back in my room, still disgruntled at the fact that my breaker had been turned off. I mean, I was trying to tell myself that the breaker had somehow turned itself off, but I knew in reality no matter how I tried to reassure myself, it wasn't possible for it to turn off like that. I sat there, handgun in hand waiting for anything, anything out of the ordinary. ***The Seventh Hour:*** After some time I started to calm down and went back to watching YouTube in an attempt to keep myself calm, and that's when it happened. When it first happened I was so scared I couldn't even write in words the fear I experienced. The boat shook with an extreme jolt and the lights started to flicker. I knew that someone or something had crashed into me, but in reality it was a lot worse. As I climbed onto the deck of the boat, I nearly had a heart attack, along with the blaring horn coming from my boats speakers, I realized I was staring at a massive military boat. But this boat seemed off, the boat was rusted, and I mean as if it was constructed solely of rusted metals... I started hearing an alarm and ran to my cockpit to see this message flashing in bright red: **"Collision detected on bow side. Water detected in hull. Please use the evacuation plan and evacuate the ship. A Mayday message has been sent to the nearest coast guard and harbor."** I grabbed a radio and emergency supplies, and stuffed them into a backpack, and I thought that the boat I had crashed into was my only hope. I saw a ladder that I could easily jump onto that lead right into the boat's deck, and so with all of my might I jumped onto the ladder and climbed onto the boat. By the time I reached the deck I was out of breath. *"There goes a million dollars."* I thought. ***The Eighth Hour:*** I started exploring the boat, and realized this thing was OLD. It was probably used sometime around World War two. The rooms were extremely dark and cobwebs and old decorations lined the rooms, most had fallen at this point and littered the floor, making it uneven to walk on and made me trip a few times. Again something about this boat made me feel weird. How could there be a boat here that has been abandoned for so long... Surely it had to be a missing boat from World War One or Two that was never recovered. As I walked through the halls I thought I was hallucinating... Was I... Was I hearing singing? *"And here's to all good fellows on land and sea, singing the battle song of liberty. Here's to our banner of red, white and blue."* I started walking, slowly and calculated, towards the sound of the singing. *"So get Old Glory, we'll make 'em sorry that they ever dreamed of this fight. We're on our way with a Hip! Hooray!. Just to do what we know to be right. So here's to Uncle Sammy, faithful and true."* It was American voices I was hearing. This eased the tension, maybe this ship wasn't abandoned after all... *"It's the roar and rattle of freedom's battle that's calling us over the sea, where mighty foe has challenged us, boys, it's up to you and me"* It was a bit weird that a boat that wasn't abandoned didn't have it's masthead, sidelights or stern lights on. I started walking a bit faster towards the sound with a bit of anger in my step, as I was going to confront this crew for crashing into me, but that's when things took an unexpected turn...

The Murdered Coming Back To Murder

y2vkps

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y2vkps/the_murdered_coming_back_to_murder/

It was around 11pm on a Saturday night and I had just come home from an exhausting party. Clouds were plentiful and thunder was rumbling- I had just missed a storm. I turned on the living room lights and say down in the worn leather armchair I had gotten for free at a garage sale. It had a funny odour and had unrecognizable marks and scratches all over the back, but apart from that it seemed fine. I instantly pulled my phone out of my pocket and saw three new messages from my friend Kai. He was incredibly close to me but the love always stayed platonic- thank goodness for that, or my fiancè Caspien would've never wanted me with him. I opened up my chats and saw three photographs captioned with "the night was lit!". The images were incredibly full, with every corner containing a person singing, dancing, eating or flirting. It looked perfectly normal- until I zoomed up on myself, and noticed something very strange. There was a small figure behind me, no bigger than a small bird. It appeared to be floating beside my shoulder, peering intently at the camera. I hesitantly looked closer, and saw that the creature had a yellow tinge to it's skin and sunken holes of darkness for eyes Thick black ink was pouring down what could've been deciphered as the face. There was no nose, just a miniscule piercing through the faces with a smooth metal rod with sharp, pointed edges on both sides put through the hole. The figures smile was the most frightening though. An extremely wide, gaping smile reaching the end of the left and right sides of the face, with long, dagger like teeth jam packed together and a slit tongue like that of a snake. The creature was almost bald, with few tufts of grey hair sticking up all over its head. It had no limbs, just a floating torso. Horrified, I looked through all the pictures, and there it was, slowly turning to face me until it was staring right through my soul. My heart was beating faster and faster and I turned my head over and over, searching for the demon supposedly beside me. I prayed it was a sick prank from Kai. I finally plucked up the courage to look in the mirror to se if it was there. I shuffled across the cold tiles and flicked on the whirring bathroom lights. I worriedly gazed at my reflections, and to my worst nightmares, there it was, its head tilted and staring me down to death. Adrenaline rushed through my body as I tried to grab the demon, tried to murder this eerie creep. I banged my shoulders against the ceramic sink, hoping I would hit the creature as I did so. Instead, it went through the sink and once it realised what I was trying to do, it's smile faded and long arms with talons spurted from what should've been shoulder sockets. These arms clutched my throat and even though I gasped and let out a blood curdling scream with all the air left in my throat, the figure continued choking and slowly killing me, showing no traces of mercy. Of course, I wouldn't expect it from such a monster. I tried ripping his hands off my neck, but even just a touch sent his talons sliding down my arm, slicing it in half. Crimson blood poured out from my arm and splattered the bathroom tiles, but the sticky mess was the last thing on my mind. As I vigorously shook my head, attempting to pry the demon off, I could only think of why such a creature would be so determined to brutally murder me, and why it was following me. Then I remembered. A few months ago, Caspien and I tried for a child. I had a stock of pregnancy tests and took one every day, hoping I'd be able to start a family like I'd always dreamt of. At last, after several weeks of torture, I tested positive. There was a huge celebration, and Caspien and I were over the moon to be able to be parents in 9 months. The joy didn't last long enough for my liking. On the 4th month of my pregnancy, I had a miscarriage. I was depressed. My child was gone and to put insult to injury, the doctors came to the conclusion that I was unfit for a child, and would most likely never be able to get pregnant. I cried that night, and Caspien refused to. He was upset too, though. But not even close to my range of frustration. Once I had cooled down and recieved therapeutic treatment, our lives had gone back to normal. Caspien proposed to me on a restaurant date, and I was back to my joyful self. It only went downhill today, right now. Because not only was I about to die, but I had figured something out. The only reasonable answer to this would've been that the demon was my unborn, undeveloped baby coming back to haunt me for ending it's life too early. I couldn't believe it. As the sharp talons dug farther into my throat, I knew my time was up. I shut my eyes and accepted my fate. Then I heard the opening of a front door, "Tanya? Tanya..?", a bone rattling, eardrum bursting, high pitched screech and I collapsed on to the blood stained floor, inhaling as much air as possible, desperate to fill up my lungs. Caspien then entered the bathroom and saw me frail, pale and attacked, lying in a pool of my own blood. His eyes widened to the size of saucers and he questioned it all. I couldn't tell him. I simply couldn't. All I did was make him promise to always stay with me, no matter what. If the demon fled when Caspien arrived, then my fiancè must be my only protector. He promised and he rushed me to the emergency room. I'm all ok now, but I'm just so relieved that I'll never be able to get pregnant again.

good night sweetie...

y33gx0

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y33gx0/good_night_sweetie/

This happened to me a when very young like 2 or 3 years old. My family lived in a 2 bedroom house, but my dad was still finishing college and he would only come to our house on the weekends which would cause arguing at my house. During the arguing, I saw a girl in a dirty white dress. The girl had no eyes and her mouth was sewn up but I still heard her distorted laugh. While laughing she said,"It's okay, come play with me." in a deep, dark voice. When ever she came it felt like the arguing seemed to stop. It was like the world was gone, like I was away from everything, well, everything real, until it stopped. The stopping was so abrupt that when it stopped everything hurt and my ears rung on top of the arguing. I felt like my ears were bleeding. Everything was so loud and I wished it wasn't so loud. That night I went to bed. When I woke up I went to my mom's room to make me breakfast, everything was great for that brief moment. I opened my my mom's room but I stood there with the door knob in hand, I knew something was off, but I persisted. The door creaked when I went in but there was my mom in her bed. I immediately went to my mom, but when I stood over her it was the girl in white with her distorted voice saying,"Come play with me" When she said that I sprinted out of that room were I was transported back into bed, but I could not move, talk, or do anything besides using eyes to look around. I was looking around with my eyes where I saw the girl cry in a man arms; she was sobbing and in between sobs she was saying,"he's not letting me play with him!" The man was wearing a singed suit, and fedora. He looked tortured, he had many cuts and gashes in his side and face. He also had a deeper voice than the girl and he said,"I know sweetie your brother is not playing with you. I know your brother has not joined us yet, but I will make sure he will come around. This shook me, why was he saying that I was her brother, was I dead, was I dreaming. I had to be dreaming there was no way this was real. I kept on saying, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up; but nothing came out. Until it stopped again. This was the second time I woke up abruptly that I was screaming and crying for my mom. That night I begged my mom not to send me to bed but she did it anyway. I begged her not to send me to the man. Then she paused,"what man?" When my mom {who is not religious, but spiritual} heard this she immediately called a mediator. The mediator was skeptical at first because she knew that children are good liars, but she did test in our house. The mediator looked shocked, she said that there was people in our walls, dead. She said that they were tortured by the wife of the man at a dinner party, and that the house was burned down with all the people in it. The last time I saw the girl she was with a woman, that woman had burns on her body and she said in a sweet voice,"Goodnight, Sweetie."

My encounter in the fields

y37pnq

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y37pnq/my_encounter_in_the_fields/

To begin with, I used to live in a small semi-rural town in the Midwest with lots of forest and lots of corn fields. As a kid, I was always terrified of the dark, to an irrational degree. So much so that it wasn’t until I was 13 that I started sleeping with the lights off. To deal with that, I forced myself to go on walks at night. As time passed and my fear of the dark subsided, it became something I enjoyed. I walked all over the place, everywhere I could so that I would have a better idea of my surroundings. Once neighborhoods got boring, I wanted to try my hand at exploring the farmer’s fields and the woods. I remember it was one winter night that I finally decided to give it a go. I was probably like 16 or 17. It had to be night, I felt like it wouldn’t count if it were daytime. It was cold, probably in the upper thirties and there was a light breeze along with a full moon. Before I left my house that night I made sure I had a pocket knife, pepper spray, and my phone. I entered by walking along the outskirts of a cornfield, depending on the moonlight to not trip and get covered in mud. As it turns out the terrain of a farming field isn’t exactly even. Multiple times I nearly tripped and my foot was constantly moving at a weird angle. I kept moving and soon enough I got to the treeline and stepped in. The forest floor wasn’t exactly clean or even, but it was better than the field. I made my way in, and after about 20 minutes of walking it turned out that the patch of the forest I went through had another field on the other side. This particular field was quite expansive, and was kinda what I wanted to see, nobody and nothing around. I had to wonder, how many people had ever actually seen this location? People drive past this place every day, but how many of them had been in here? I felt like I had to walk into this field and see what was even further out. The wind seemed to guide me, pushing me in the right direction and I continued onward. I walked on a slight diagonal straight through the field so I could stand in the middle. When I was almost there, I stopped and for a second I didn’t know why I did. Then, another feeling welled up inside me with no warning. It was a feeling of dread so intense that I felt like I could drop dead any second. It was the kind of feeling that reminds someone of their mortality. At the same time, the wind shifted and it blew hard against me. I took a deep breath, and as I did I could smell a disgusting and pungent odor. It smelled like a dead animal of some kind. Realistically, I knew that there was probably just a dead deer somewhere in front of me. But even then, I felt I couldn’t continue in that direction. I just stood there staring into the dark treeline, with the wind on my face. I don’t think I even blinked. Eventually, I turned to my left, and the feeling of dread subsided in turn as if it weren’t even there before. I decided this would be as far out as I’d go, and I’d loop around to my left so that I didn’t feel like a complete pansy. Once I was a couple of hundred feet away from the tree line, I saw the outline of a person stepping towards the field from the tree line. Immediately I stopped and ducked down into the dirt. I was pretty confident that they shouldn’t be able to see me so long as I was flat on the ground. From the distance, they were still very much shadowy figure. The person must have been looking in my direction, but they gave no indication that they saw me. If I wasn’t scared from the smell and feeling earlier I might not have been able to react so quickly. The person just stood there for a minute, and then they walked back into the trees. But it didn’t even look like they turned around. Was this fucking guy walking backward? At this point, I was thinking, “What the fuck? Why would there even be anyone else out here?” Even if this was the landowner, it seemed unlikely they’d be walking around this random bit of woods and fields at night in winter on a random day. This left me thinking this person was either homeless, a weirdo, or perhaps both. Considering the way he was walking, I was leaning toward the weirdo part. I waited a minute and as I did the wind seemed to dissipate and a feeling of stillness and almost complete silence came over the world. All I could hear was my pounding heart. Looking back, I don’t know why I followed this person into those trees. There was no thought behind it, at that moment it felt as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Once I was a few feet in I started hearing what sounded like very indistinct voices in the distance. I wanted to hear them, so I kept going. That was all I was thinking. I don’t know how long I was walking but the voices gradually became more distinct. I couldn’t actually understand the words being said and it almost seemed as if they were coming from every direction. It sounded like some kind of chant in a dead language. I didn’t even think there was anything odd about this. It just felt like the type of thing that would naturally happen. It was almost comforting. The last thing I remember from this time was walking into a clearing and seeing what must have been a person sitting on a log. The moon was shining down on him, but strangely he seemed darker than he should be. Like the moonlight didn’t have an effect on him or something. The next thing I know I’m standing with my hands at my sides, staring up at the moon and whistling. I was just confused. I was struggling to even form thoughts like my mind was foggy and I couldn’t think properly. The only thing I was able to realize was that some animal was limping toward me like it was injured. Just looking at this thing seemed to trigger my fight or flight response but I couldn’t move. As it got closer, I realized it looked like a wolf or a really big coyote. It was covered in some type of black liquid, and our eyes locked as it drew closer. My brain was working overtime trying to comprehend this situation, there was something so unnatural about its eyes. Once it was almost three feet away from me, I suddenly regained control of my body. My mind was still sluggish but I knew I had to get away from that animal, and this place. I must have run faster than I ever had in my entire life. I stumbled and fell multiple times, but I always got up and I never looked back. If I looked back, I felt like I would see that coyote or whatever it was right behind me. I made it back out onto the road in what was probably like 8 minutes but it felt like I was running for hours. The woods and fields just seemed like they would never end. I felt a lot safer once I was out of there but I still ran all the way back to my house as quickly as I could. Before I did anything else, I made sure every door was locked and that all the blinds were closed. Then I went into my room and locked myself inside and checked my phone to see what time it was. It was about 3:45 am. This was shocking to me since I had left around midnight and I probably hadn’t even spent that much more than half an hour before I got to that second field with the smell. This meant I had over three hours of unaccounted time. I just kinda sat there for a minute. What was I even doing during that time? I checked my pants pockets for my knife and pepper spray, but I couldn’t find them. They were gone, I must have lost them or they were taken from me at some point. I kept my phone in a pocket on the inside of my coat, so that was probably the only reason I still had it. Disturbingly, there was a very small and thin bone where my knife should have been. It kind of looked like it was a finger bone or something, but I don’t think it was from a human. The tip of one side looked like it had been bleached by the sun, it was almost pure white. The majority of the rest was yellow, brown, and even black in some places like it was decades old. When I started changing into some clean clothes I noticed I had three small circular bruises evenly spaced on my lower chest. I touched them, and the most intense pain I’d ever experienced ran through me at that moment. In fact, I think I must have passed out from it because the next morning I woke up on my floor half-dressed. The bruises lasted a week, and I noticed that the bone seems to match the circles. It was like someone had pressed the bone into my chest in order to mark me. Out of fear of the pain I never had the courage to actually press the bone into one of the bruises. I never told anybody what happened since it seemed too unbelievable. After about three months I finally worked up the courage to return to those fields. I came back during the day, and with a friend that I managed to convince with the argument, “Just trust me, man, it’s going to be cool.” I looked around but I didn’t find anything. I couldn’t even find that little clearing where that person was sitting. I threw that bone into some random bushes though, I felt like it was bad luck to keep it. I hope some animal trampled it into dust. I’m 26 now and I’m still no closer to understanding what happened that night. But ever since then, my luck seems to have taken a turn for the worse. I’m prone to sickness and other health issues seem to crop up all the time. I struggle to maintain relationships and I can’t even really hold a job. I ended up dropping out of college too. I feel like this has something to do with what happened to me that night. Sometimes I’ll wake up in the middle of the night, and feel like I was just whistling. This is especially common on full moons. Before that night I didn’t even know how to whistle. I don’t like to go out at night anymore. I did a little research and it turns out that whistling at night is said to attract spirits and bad luck. Whoever that person or thing was, I think they marked me for misfortune. Even all these years later, I still find my chest aching. I often wonder if that person is still out there, and I still dream about that coyote.

I am a survivor and my old friend just sent me a letter.

y2n9wg

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y2n9wg/i_am_a_survivor_and_my_old_friend_just_sent_me_a/

I am a survivor and my old friend just sent me a letter. Let me explain it all. My name is Eric I was only 15 years of age when my whole life changed. Ten years ago my mother and father sent me to a bible camp where we learn all the basics of the bible and get "saved". I went there mainly due to my friends being there every year but my BEST friend was there every year. His name was Billy and we were inseparable. We ate, played, and slept in the same bunk bed. Well, that year he and I were talking when a couple of other kids who were "popular" asked for us to join them on a camping trip. "What do you mean," I said with a confused look on my face. They replied "Oh don't be a baby! There's just this abandoned bus only a mile from camp and it's like a tradition to stay the night in it for one night at the most." Billy looked at me and I looked at him and we nodded "We'll do it! We're not scared!" The biggest kid there who was only a year older than me said "Well come get you at midnight so be ready." They all began to separate and Billy and I continued to do things around the camp, like fishing and playing games. A few hours passed and it was getting dark we decided to go to the bunks and pretended to sleep. Just enough for when the camp consolers come by the cabins and checked on us that we all looked asleep. He checked the bunks and like usual, he left without suspecting a thing. Billy and I slowly stood up and did the old pillow trick to make sure the coast is clear then leaped outside of the window. Billy and I agreed to meet the other kids at the canteen since it never gets patrolled. Once we got there the other kids started to speak to us in a hushed tone "You guys ready? We got to hurry". Billy and I nodded and we all quickly and quietly ran to the woods behind the canteen. After a short distance, our group came across a barbed wire fence however the largest kid of the group came with wire cutters. With a few snips, we were past it. While we were walking to the bus in the woods some of the kids whose "Done this before" Started to talk about a legend of how the bus got there. "Legend says that the bus was once filled with children and the bus driver drove here to drop kids off at the camp. However, he drove into the woods just before getting to the camp. It was said that then the driver stood up and locked the doors, pulled a large machete out, and began slaughtering the kids. Apparently, only one kid survived and this kid became mute and never spoke again." We all collectively gasped. I started to physically shake... I was never brave it was the opposite. I always have done the safe thing and followed my gut although it did make me "soft". However, I have been trying to get better over time and I saw this as a prime opportunity to stop being such a pussy and do something new. I think Billy saw me shaking and he put his hands on my shoulder and asked. "Hey bro... Are you good? You never do well in these situations." Billy knew me and my idiosyncrasies and he's always been a great friend. He's the only one I've ever trusted in my life. After about 30 minutes of walking, we saw it. A large rusty bus with broken windows and a door that is barely on its hinges. We all froze once we got to the clearing that held the bus. Seems like everyone was waiting to see if we still do this or not. It wasn't long until I stepped forward holding Billy's hand. Doing this inspired the other kids to follow suit and soon enough we were right Infront of it. The outside of the bus was rusty and old but the inside was still rather clean. There wasn't even graffiti on the bus. I mean the legend was old, like really old. It was dated around when my grandpa was a child. Anyways the bus on the inside had classic green seats that were rough and old but somehow still comfy to lie on. My friend and I chose the back two seats to hang out in. The other kids started telling short ghost stories mainly talking about how spooky the previous camp was. Before it was a church camp that is. "I heard before the incident that kids kept disappearing in the area every day and no one knows where they went!" One kid said. "I heard the bus driver was giant and mean. My dad told me that his dad told him that the bus driver was getting fired and went on the rampage once he found out." One kid said "I heard he wore a pig mask and ate some of the kids and the cops never found him ever again... My brother says he still walks these woods today looking for kids .... TO EAT!" Everyone gasped in fear and shock. I kept quiet and started to shiver with every gruesome story that was told. One kid said a couple of years ago a group of kids just like us came here and all disappeared and no one questioned it. As if the whole town just forgot about it. Billy noticed I was scared and came to my seat to rub my back. I always had a secret crush on Billy but being a scaredy cat AND being Bi was ground to be bullied the rest of my school life. "Hey man... Calm down. They are just stories and nothing is out there haha" Billy chuckled a little and so did I. "Like how ridiculous would it be if like 10 kids go missing and no one goes looking at all?" Billy said before laughing more. I laughed too because at the time it did seem absurd. Billy and I fell asleep within an hour. That night I had a strange dream, not a normal scary dream but... disturbing. It seemed like I was floating in a sea of blood and viscera. The air was warm and thick like a warm humid summer's day. There was a smell of death floating I gagged but nothing but insects and blood came out. I could feel the texture of the slurry as it came up and out of my nose. Minutes felt like years in this space. I kept floating trying to scream for help while crying but to no avail. I was alone... At least I thought It was. After a few hours of floating around in silence, I started to hear the sound of the liquid slurry rustling around. It kept moving under the surface until it looked like a torrent of blood and teeth. Within a moment the slurry came still and a tall figure rose from the blood. A tall, pale, humanoid shape stood on the thick crimson liquid staring at me and smiling. It had no eyes but I can feel as if it was peeling away at my soul... reading me.. consuming me... not consuming my story... I kept screaming and screaming and only one thing came to mind. One name... The void... It spoke to me when it seemed it had its fill. "hahaha. Your story is sweet and soft like a ripe fruit. mmmm I had a great meal though... Go spread my word and have everyone know who I am... I am the end, I am the great dying. I AM THE VOID... Beware, child, god has abandoned you... abandoned us... For I have walked the halls of heaven and I have seen the throne of God and it was ... empty" It was then I was drug into the crimson liquid. I couldn't breathe and I kept going deeper and deeper more and more blood and fluids filled my lungs and I could feel my heart pounding. I felt like I was dying... I thought to myself "Is this what dying feels like? Am I going to drown?" And when I reached the bottom of the sea I was sprung awake. It was Billy he woke me and he looked nervous. "Eric... I saw something... Someone in a pig mask walking around the bus." My ears started to ring and my heart sank... with that one of the kids started to scream as they saw someone walk onto the bus carrying the wire cutters and laughing... I started... I started to cry and admittedly I pissed myself... Billy stood Infront of me as I cried .. to protect me. "It will all be ok," He said looking back with a smile on his face. All the other kids started... to laugh... It was then one of them said "LOOK ERIC PEED HIMSELF" My face grew hot out of embarrassment. The biggest kid took his mask off and laughed at me pointing at me and making crying noises to mock me... Billy grew angry and swung at the kid knocking him down which angered the big kid's friends who we about to gang up on him when suddenly... A large man must've been 7ft tall walked on the bus... The whole bus started to scream as he slowly walked forward down the aisle... Each step he took felt like the whole bus shook... He then saw the big kid getting up "What are yall screaming for it's just me.." Before he could finish what he was saying the large man in a pig mask swung a hammer down on his head... nearly splitting it in half... The loud crack and squelching of blood made the bus go silent as the largest kid died in front of us. Some kids were jumping over the seats but it was all a futile effort... All the exits were locked and he had us cornered... One by one we mangled the other 8 children eventually coming to a stop at us... Something about Billy looking at him with no fear made the man not strike him down... Instead, the man laughed and laughed... He grabbed Billy and tossed him then he reached down and grabbed me by the hair... Billy charged him with the wire cutters digging deep into his waist... I can hear Billy opening and closing the cutters. With each clip, I can hear the large man scream in pain... The man lifted the hammer high over his head and brought it down on Billy's head caving it in a little and before he could swing again I leaped into action. I am not sure why since I was terrified but seeing Billy hurt forced my body to move... faster than ever before. I ripped the wire cutter out of his belly causing him to wince in pain... With just enough opening I was able to shove the tool directly into his throat and I cut his neck... I kept cutting and cutting and cutting... Until his head hung off his body by a single strand of muscle... I rushed toward Billy crying and screaming as he was unresponsive. He looked at me wanting to say something... "I love you..." He let out weakly... "You'll make it man... you will." I started to drag him to the camp where the consolers were looking all over for us... I know this because I only got halfway through the woods before three of them showed up with flashlights... one almost fainted and the other two instantly tried providing first aid. I saw Billy leave the camp in an ambulance and the police went to speak to me. "Son... What happened back there?" I looked at them and said what I saw.... all of it... The cop went down on one knee to look me in the eye "Son, there was no man in that bus. There was only you and Billy... Which one of you did this?" I looked in shock as I swore a man came on the bus and killed all the kids "I cut his neck with a pair of wire cutters... I felt his blood squirt all over me.." He looked back at the other cop. He sighs and spoke slowly "Son, Billy has a cut on his neck. He's barely alive. Are you telling me that Billy did this?" It was then it hit me... Billy... was the killer... My mind blocked the idea of that being the case but Billy protected me by killing the other kids... The cop stood up and told the other police to keep an eye on the kid. I saw Billy in the ambulance laughing... laughing as he did on the bus... Come to find out the town I lived in covered this story up to keep the press from making it an infamous town. Families of the children were paid heavy hush money and I never got over this incident... It took years of therapy to get the sound of the children being butchered out of my head. Many nights went by as I dreamt of the whole event over and over and over. Like a never-ending Rolodex. Just a week ago I noticed something.. Billy never was put in prison since he was a minor but he did get put into a psych ward. I got a letter in the mail today from an old friend... It says as follows Dear Eric, I have had some time to process what happened that night. I never stopped thinking of you and wanted you only to be happy and smile... I am getting out soon and I will visit. I want to play some of the old games like hiding and seek or tic tac toe. Eric, I miss you more than anything in the world. Love Billy The scary thing is I moved twice since the Incident...

Dog Wood Mysteries: Speed Law Part Two

y2uori

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y2uori/dog_wood_mysteries_speed_law_part_two/

Catch up on [Part One](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xq5qk3/dog_wood_mysteries_speed_law_prt_one/) The drive to Pruit’s house was a long one. It being on the other end of town gave me a bit of time to get the lay of the land. Even better through the lens of one of its longtime residents. “So, what’s the deal with all the spooky shit in this town?” I asked Graves. “Haha, you're gonna have to be more specific.” “Well let’s start with the townsfolk. Do they actually know about all the weird shit that goes on around here? Like that building and the road?” “Hmm, I’ll put it to you like this. Most everyone knows this town is a strange place. Growing up here you’re bound to run into something that just can’t be explained. There are some people that choose to look the other way. A type of willful ignorance you could say. Out of respect for those few and really everyone’s sanity, we have an unspoken rule about what can and should be said pertaining to the oddities of this town. Especially to strangers like yourself.” “I’m guessing the town's residents aren’t going to be very welcoming with information.” I said. “Not exactly. See, most everyone here doesn’t want to see others hurt, die or even worse. So, most will steer you in the right direction away from danger and the like. However, they most likely won’t say it outright. Kinda like we do with the road. Like a nudge in the right direction. Just… if someone that lives here gives you a piece of advice, it’s best you leave the grain of salt out of it.” “Most really dangerous places we have blocked off. Like that building you wandered into. Others, we try to just help people avoid them all together. If we can’t do that well, we just try to minimize the damage.” “What the hell do you mean minimize the damage?” I asked. “You’ll come to find out that some stuff you just can’t fight. We’re only human after all, Sol.” Graves sighed and I could see the hurt in his eyes in that last sentence. Maybe he was a man that didn’t like to lose? Upset with his own limitations to battle the forces that surrounded this very town. I couldn’t really see that though. Maybe he just didn’t like to lose people? Maybe, he felt guilty about the ones he’d already lost. That's a sentiment that I think we both share. “So, what do you know about this Pruit kid?” I asked, trying to change the subject. “Pruit Hively, son of the famed Ciel Hively and heir to the Hively estate.” Graves reported. “That name supposed to carry weight around here?” I asked. “Just look around Sol. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that damn near everything in this town has the name Hively stamped on it somewhere or another. They own almost every establishment in town and the ones that they don’t own outright they fund behind closed doors. Everything from mayoral campaigns to a bucket of fried chicken they have a hand in.” “Alright, alright. So, they pull a lot of water into the town, great. Doesn't mean we go easy on ‘em. There's still a kid missing out there.” I said. “I get you Sol, but you gotta remember where you're at. This ain’t the big city man. It’s best not to stir things up too much. Shitting in the pot on your first case isn’t gonna be good for anyone.” Graves said. Before I knew it, we were already pulled up and parked. This side of town looked exceptionally maintained compared to the slum we had just come from. The streets were laid with red brick and not a stone was out of place. The streetlights were of an older fashion with bulbs hanging lazily from their posts like lit oil lanterns. The houses were huge. Spotless on the outside and I could only assume that the same was true for the interiors as well. Pruit’s house was no exception, though it had a slight flair that the others didn’t. With a mix of Victorian Gothic and modern designs it had the feel of a modern-day ghost house. Just without the cobwebs and organ playing in the background. I knocked on the door and it creaked open at the first touch. I looked over at Graves and he just shrugged and pointed to the doorbell. I rang it to no response. I rang it again and same thing. “Well, it seems like they're not here.” Graves said. “Yeah, but leaving without even closing the door all the way?” I questioned. “Look around Sol. This isn’t really the type of neighborhood that people really have to. Or maybe they were just leaving earl-” Our conversation was interrupted by glass shattering somewhere inside the house. I pulled my gun and looked over to Graves who had already unholstered his and was radioing it into dispatch. He was quick, I give him that. “Possible 10-62 on 3489 S Maple Lane. Calling for backup units to our location. Detective Night and I are entering the home now.” “10-62 on 3489 S Maple Lane calling all available units.” The dispatcher chirped back. I readied my service pistol and slowly opened the door. The foyer was dimly lit. The only light source being a candle lit chandelier overhead. Its light casting a long dark shadow over the room. “Police! Is everything alright!” I yelled into the seemingly empty house. The only response being a hollow echo of my own voice. I stepped into the foyer and Graves followed close behind. I scanned the room for any signs of a disturbance or really anyone. There weren’t any clear signs, so we pressed on into the living room directly ahead. Upon entering we found what had been broken. It was another chandelier, this one made of a clear crystal. It lay on the floor in pieces with some kind of liquid oozing out of it. I bent down to inspect it further. It was light blue in color and there were small white specks that glowed inside of it. They were mesmerizing. A collage of bright yellows and deep purples poured into my eyes as I stared into the moving liquid. “What the hell is that stuff?” Graves said. “It’s beautiful.” I said. I suddenly had the overwhelming urge to grab it. To let the liquid ooze and flow all over my body. I wanted so badly to become one with it. I reached out to grab a handful of the liquid but was stopped short by a very strong hand grasping my wrist. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” A slightly British voice said from just beside me. I turned to see a very well-dressed man looking down at me. He was tall, much taller than me and Graves and he had this look about him. He looked like he was an annoyed parent telling his kid no for the fourth time in a row. The smug look he had plastered on his face told me everything I needed to know about this bastard. I raised up from my crouched position, but he kept his hand on my wrist. “Just who the hell are you to tell me what to do!” I yelled. “The caretaker of the home in which you now stand, Sir.” The man's voice was even and calm. “This is official police business, and I won't have some jackass interfering!” I cursed back. “Sir, I-” I cut him off. “Back the fuck away now or I will be forced to arrest you!” I was screaming now. My voice echoing through the halls and bouncing off the ceiling. “Sol, geeze man calm down.” Graves said. His words didn’t even register. I tried pulling my hand away to free my wrist from his gloved clutches, but he didn’t so much as flinch. This bastard thought he was stronger than me! This is assault on an officer! This mother fucker is gonna learn to respect my authority! My word is the god damn law! “Stop resisting!” I belted out. I felt the firm bite of cold steel whip across my face, just above my chin. I fell to the floor and thought I had blacked out. I reached for my service pistol but found nothing. I looked up and saw that the caretaker was handing it to Graves. “How the hell…” I said groggily. I looked over at the caretaker and felt my anger subside. What the hell had I been so pissed about anyway? I got up to my feet and was surprised to see that Graves had his gun trained on me. “What the hell you doing Graves?” I asked. “What the hell yourself Sol!” He shot back. “You were clear as day about to shoot this man! I had to do something!” He shouted. “And what the hell was that about your word being the law?! We’re supposed to be partners, ya know, like a team!” He belted out. I hadn’t even realized I had said all that out loud. I could just make out a spot of crimson just on top of the receiver of Graves’ gun. I touched the bottom of my lip and felt a familiar warm trickle run down my hand. Seems like Graves was much quicker than I had given him credit for. “Don’t worry about it, officers. It’s all my fault really. That chandelier is quite old, and it really did need to be replaced. I’m sure Detective Night only acted out of the stress of the situation. I can’t say I would have done any different. Please follow me to the study and we can discuss the matter at hand.” He said. Graves shot me a glance and I nodded and wiped away the rest of the blood on my lip. Graves handed me my gun back and holstered his. He canceled the 10-62 and we followed Mr. Withers to the study. “Who are you?” I asked. “As I said before, I am the caretaker of the Hively estate and guardian to Master Pruit.” “And your name?” I asked. “Michaelis.” “So, what the hell was that liquid back there?” I asked. “Angry, apparently.” Michealis said. “The hell does that mean?” I asked. “Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to discuss the objects that may or may not reside in the Hively estate. I’m sure you understand.” “Well, where is the father?” Graves asked. “On holiday, visiting relatives in Europe.” “And he didn’t think to bring his son along too.” Graves said. “Master Pruit did not want to go with his father.” “Why not?” I asked. “You can ask him yourself.” Michaelis said. Michaelis opened a huge red wooden door and motioned us to move forward. The room we were in looked more like a full-on library than an actual study. Two complete floors with books and scrolls lining almost every wall. Where there were no books, hardy red wood stood in its place. Instead of a chandelier, the lights were recessed into the ceiling and had a slight flicker to them like they were candles. The dim lights only added to the overall uber-rich gothic esthetic the entire house gave off. A set of steps spiraled up into the second floor where I could see a boy, of about 16, lounging on a sofa and reading. He had black hair and wore a bandana across his head. It was a clear juxtaposition to the classically styled black suit he wore. We all climbed the staircase and Michaelis took a position beside Pruit, who continued to read his book. “Hello, Pruit I am Detective Night, and this is Officer Graves. We’d like to ask you a few questions about your friend Eric Halter.” I said as we flashed our badges. The damn kid didn’t so much as look up at us. He only sipped a cup of what I assumed was tea and turned to the next page of his book. “The young master would require the utmost respect when being addressed by an **uninvited** guest.” Michaelis put a lot of emphasis on the uninvited part. “Look kid, I don’t know who you thi-” I was cut off by Graves. “Our apologies Mr. Hively. We were under the impression that someone had broken into your fine estate, and we only entered to apprehend the suspect. If you would be so kind as to allow us to ask you a few questions about the disappearance of a young boy named Eric Halter, we would be very grateful.” Graves said. I shot a look at Graves, and he gave me one right back. I had forgotten what he had told me in the car. “Seems at least one of you dogs has some kind of manners. Perhaps they gave the title of detective to the wrong person.” Pruit spoke. “Excuse the detective, he isn’t from around here.” Graves said. “Yes, I’m well aware. Mr. Night had a very exciting run in with that building on the edge of town. I’m surprised you ended up making it out, as dim witted as you are. I guess they taught you more than just running and gunning in Chicago.” Pruit said. “The hell do you know about it.” I shot back. “My family has eyes and ears everywhere, never forget that. Yes, I know all about the circumstances of your little transfer to our humble town.” Pruit smirked. “You don’t know a damn thing boy.” I spat out. “Ohh? Is that so? Well, regardless of what everyone else may believe, I think you did the world a favor. I know at least justice will be served swiftly by our new resident judge, jury, and executioner.” Pruit said, smiling. I was shocked. How the hell could he have known about that. We covered the whole thing up perfectly. I stood there in silence as Graves tried to bring the conversation back on track. “A-about Eric. The boy is missing.” “I am very well aware that he has gone missing. Unfortunately, the boy has decided that a mere fairy tale was worth his life.” Pruit sipped his tea. “If you know anything, please you have to tell us so we can try and find him.” Graves said. “Unfortunately for us, the boy has been lost forever. I blame myself really. I should have never given him that damn journal.” “What journal?” Graves asked. “Well, young Eric was very interested in the strange happenings around town. I found out about his snooping and took an interest in him. He had some, let's say very out of the box ideas and plans. Some I agreed with, but most I just didn’t.” “I told him that some of those ideas of his would get him in trouble, that you just couldn’t save everybody. Seems like he didn’t listen. His mere interest quickly spiraled into an obsession with the occult and paranormal. The boy was a gifted investigator, I’ll give him that. He just didn’t know when to cut his losses.” “Eric was especially interested in the disappearances on Grabe road. That’s what initially interested me in him. He had made some serious gains of knowledge on the road and how it worked. He was only missing a single piece of the puzzle. A piece in which I foolishly gave him.” “It was a journal that described a very detailed experience from the only person ever to return from Grabe road. The accounts are harrowing to say the least however, they didn’t have anything within them that would be of use to anyone. I guess Eric saw something there that I didn’t, because right after he read it, he said that he had to go down that road. *To unsheathe the realities that bind* as he put it.” “We need any and everything that you and Pruit were working on pertaining to that road. Including the journal and any other writings he may have left behind.” Graves said. “Naturally, Michaelis has them ready for you now.” Pruit said. Michaelis had somehow already gathered up a briefcase full of materials and was handing them to me. How the hell could he have moved that fast? There wasn’t anything around here before? “We’ll be in touch. Please don’t leave town until this matter is resolved.” I said. “Oh, I’m sure. I’ll have my eye on you Detective as well. I expect you’ll be most interesting.” Pruit said as he buried his head inside his book again.

It's been 12 days since the 2022 Teen Purge started in my town. I thought my class and every class before us were murderers. Oh, how wrong I was.

y2ctwe

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y2ctwe/its_been_12_days_since_the_2022_teen_purge/

…Am I a coward? Do I deserve to follow in my classmate’s footsteps? [I guess that’s for you to decide.](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xwjvbe/every_october_1st_the_eighteen_year_olds_in_my/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) This will be my final post split into two. I’ll be posting one today, and another tomorrow. I’m skipping town in a few days, so tomorrow will be my last. …  Dearest [BLANK] I don’t want to say your name because then I will feel the need to say so much more and I’ll end up writing far too much. Names are hard for me. You lost yours a while ago, at least in my mind. I stopped calling you [BLANK]. You were just a monster. A murderer. I know you won’t read this but I’m putting this out there anyway. I want to talk to you.  I guess this is my way of… apologising. You’re the first in a long list of people I want to say goodbye to. I feel like you were the one who started this. You were the one who opened my eyes to Littlewood’s curse. I’ve been so angry for so many years. I have felt so much fucking pain. Agony. The kind I can’t even explain. It’s like drowning, [BLANK]. I’ve wanted to kill you so many times, often dreaming about it the older I became. You stopped having an identity in my nightmares and became a faceless shadow suffocating my chest. I never thought I would be writing this because you have always been a monster to me. I never thought I'd have to apologise to a monster. You and your class—and every class in the past, and present, and future. Monsters. Even my own presently. 2022.  Ironically enough, [BLANK], we’re actually the worst ones. That’s right. The class of 2022 really outdid all of you. I finally understand what it might have been like for you. I understand that craving you felt—to kill. To destroy. And that nothing would get in our way. We would kill parents, strangers, and children, until sunrise—until the curse was lifted and we were given back our souls, only to be hollow inside. Broken. I know what it feels like to be alone and abandoned by the ones you thought you could trust.  I never knew where you had gone after you ripped our town apart. But I didn’t care. I wanted you gone, [BLANK], so I didn’t have to see your stupid face.  Now I know the truth, I can only wish you some kind of peace. I know it's impossible to think, even when part of me knows your fate, but I hope you got away from here.  I hope part of you is still planning to come visit me. Lastly, I hope you can forgive me for hating you for so long. I wish you told me. I know I was a little kid, but you could have told me what was going to happen to you. To you, Luce and Poppy. If you had, maybe mom might be here. …Who am I kidding? If you didn’t kill her eleven years ago, I probably would have this year. After all, it’s always loved ones. Is that why you killed her, [BLANK]? Did she mean something to you? Did I? Anyway. Thank you for being there when I was a kid. Thank you for making me laugh and spew milk out of my nose. Thank you for killing my mother before I did it myself and surrendered the last dregs of my humanity. I’ll remember you, [BLANK]. Not just the flashes I saw of you—the ones you put inside my head. The times that mattered. Love, Bee. <3 - Was I having an aneurysm? Pressing my forehead against the cool brick of a crumbling wall, I revelled in the stink of burning which was thankfully blocking out the horrific taste of skin slithering back up my throat as I heaved up the contents of my stomach. I was used to the stink of charred human flesh. After all, the town was burning and its victims were our feast. Our prizes. I  chose not to look around me or take in my surroundings. I didn’t want to look at a town which we had ripped apart once again. I didn’t want to see bodies littering the roads and sidewalk, chunks of flesh and torso’s lying in unsuspecting places.  So many thoughts were alive inside my head, an endless hurricane of both nothing and everything colliding into a vicious void I couldn’t explain, couldn’t understand, couldn’t stop—and yet that thought in particular was the one which reigned dominant. It had to be an aneurism, right? I didn’t feel like I’d cracked my head or something had seriously gone wrong inside my brain. I was burning. I remembered googling the term in middle school when I had a shitty headache, and my aunt had dropped the word in conversation with the doctor. "What if it is an aneurysm?"  He had chuckled in reply. "It's just a pressure headache, Miss Levi."  Suffice to say, once I knew what an aneurysm was, I closed down my aunt’s laptop and crawled under my bed. Like I could hide from something like that. I remember reading it up on Web MD. Not exactly the best place to check your symptoms, but eleven year old me just wanted answers to the pounding pain which felt like someone slamming a rock onto the back of my head and temples.  Nausea and vomiting? Yep. I felt like my insides were attempting to projectile vomit my organs. Stiff neck? Sort of. I felt stiff all over, my whole body aching like I’d just been through a meat grinder. Blurred or double vision? My vision wasn’t mine. I was seeing things I shouldn’t—a world which wasn’t from my perspective. Sensitivity to light? The sunrise was pretty harsh on my eyes. I wasn’t ready to see broad daylight and what exactly my class had done to our town. I never saw burning as a symptom. I never saw a never ending fucking inferno inside your brain, eating you from the inside, as a symptom.  I wouldn’t call it an aneurysm, but it definitely was something. I don’t know how to explain the immense pressure in my head, like something alive was bleeding inside my brain and latching onto me. Burning. I was… I was burning. Everything inside me was fucking burning, and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t put this ferocious blaze out because it was inside my skull. Despite being in denial, I didn’t feel like myself anymore. Like my soul had been forced back inside a body which didn’t belong to me; a body which had been twisted and purged of everything she was, and turned into a monster, pupiteered by the curse. I was still running on adrenaline, a senseless and mindless craving ripping through all logic. It was still alive inside me, gritting my teeth together in a Wonderland Smile which I couldn’t stop, which was stretched so wide across my face my jaw felt like it was going to concave. I remembered flashes of my before. Before I woke up. Before Littlewood gave me my mind back. I had brutally killed a woman and her husband, carving their eyes out and teasing them with their last breaths with the hope of survival, only to rip away their life before that hope could blossom inside them. It was hope suffocated by a despair which was so agonising that it bled inside me once my eyes were open and I was staring down at my own fists, at the woman’s eyeball’s squished between my blood spattered knuckles while the rest of her painted me like I was her canvas. I had danced in her husbands remains, twirling to a song only I could hear.  All of that made sense. It made sense that I had been turned into a monster like the rest of my class and it made a sick kind of sense that I had been the one to hollow out a man’s body with my own hands. I had been part of 2022’s Teen Purge, a fate I knew I couldn’t and wouldn’t ever escape. There were still so many questions I wanted answering. I wanted to know why the curse was triggered by a man-made substance we had been subjected to, and why Kenji had been able to coherently text me before sunrise. Kenji.  I had to… find him. Before he did something he would regret. No, I thought dizzily. Before he came to terms with what he had done under the influence. That thought was driving me crazy, but it was being pushed back, overwhelmed by something else entirely which was taking over me, enveloping me. At some point, I dropped my phone and smashed the screen. I didn’t know when exactly that was. Time was going so slowly. One minute I had been pushing myself into a stumbled run towards Littlewood’s scrapyard, motivated by Kenji’s cryptic text before something inside me… snapped. I had a destination, an escape which was slowly building into a coherent plan—before I was… nothing. I was nameless, a shadow teetering between life and death while my body and brain were burned alive. It was in my blood, my bones, my thoughts. Burning. I couldn’t control myself as I screamed into the air choked with smoke. Did it come from inside my head? No. No, it was a fire which had been set across the road from me. My thoughts were tangled and confusing, and after a while—they weren’t even mine. The longer I burned, the longer I screamed into nothing, the physical presence which had forced its way inside my head started to multiply. How am I supposed to describe this sensation accurately? How can I tell you this without sounding fucking insane? It was… the feeling of being drowned inside my own mind, in bleeding memories entangled together which weren’t mine creating a storm inside my head. Whispering voices fighting to make themselves heard. The unyielding force of dozens of thoughts and feelings taking over me one by one. Initially, I fought against them. I tried to push them out, because while they were seeping inside my thought process, parasites crawling into my brain, I was growing numb. My own thoughts were turning obsolete, everything I was fading as my body became theirs. It happened slowly. I felt myself drop to the ground, still burning, the inferno in my brain and body growing brighter and brighter, numbed only slightly by my senses being snatched from me. I hit the ground, but I didn’t feel impact. Instead, the whispering grew less incoherent until there were voices. Real voices screaming inside my head.  “Mother!” A girl’s cry rang inside my skull. It wasn’t the cry of a child, no. It was a teenager. “You don’t have to do this to us!” She was my age. Her wail was enough to stop my attempts at prying away the voices, and I let go. I let each of them in. I let them bleed into me until I was nothing, and they were… something. The force of her rattled me until I couldn’t breathe, until I couldn’t force my body into a sitting position. Lying faced down on singed grass with no choice but to listen to them, a sea of tangled thoughts plunging me further into the dark, a wave of ice cold water enveloping my own sense of being. As the nameless girl took over, spiderwebbing inside me, my senses became entangled with her. I wasn’t just hearing her. I was… I was feeling her.  And within a single breath choked from my hijacked mouth, I was her. Her cry was mine, strangled and twisted, ripping from my own lips.  This stranger. I could feel her writhing body pressed against something harsh digging into our back, aching arms pinned above us. The smell of smoulder scratched the back of our nose, a panicking feeling turning our gut. In front of us was darkness speckled with blurred orange. Shadows with no faces. The girl wasn’t alone. Next to her were squirming silhouettes, and I felt a raging agony and frustration ripping her apart. She wasn’t alone. Those were her thoughts, and while she was terrified of her fate, part of her felt like she could die. As long as it was with them. Glimpsing a figure striding through the dark, a figure carrying a burning torch, I waited for her to talk. I waited for her to cry out, for some kind of explanation for what I was seeing. Before I could, however, the girl and her memory was being ripped away—and I heard her fighting back, trying to reach out, trying to leach back onto me. Her prying fingers failed to grasp hold, only for a second mind to find its way inside me, harsher. Recent. The girl wasn’t the only one to try and use my mouth to scream. Littlewood High’s gymnasium blossomed into my mind, followed by sharp clarity. This kid was far more hesitant to reveal to me who they were. They held back a little, only choosing to show me their point of view of tipping their head back as a wave of water came down, drenching them and the rest of their class. Blood. That’s what I had thought.  I thought it was blood drenching my face and clothes, gluing my hair to my head and pasting my eyes shut. It was blood that had been spilled and had already been spilled; the blood of my mother when I watched her gutted by Noah Sharpe. Somehow, that colourless substance which had purposely drenched us had forced that one thought into our heads. We were covered in it. That, combined with the images in our heads of smouldering flame enveloping flesh and hair, an inferno setting our bodies alight, was enough to drive even the strongest minds to pure insanity. And I was seeing it. I was seeing each experience. I was seeing the faces of loved ones driving them crazier. I felt their attempts to regain control of their mind, but the damage was already done.  They slipped to their knees, their screams joining a symphony orchestra of cries around them-- and saw exactly what I did. Burning. Charred flesh and singed hair. Agonizing wails rattling their skulls until they were forced to join. Their hands were in their hair, gripping and pulling and tearing at their scalp—bloody fingernails raking down their face and a smile beginning to split their lips in half. The Wonderland Smile, chasing away logical fear and pain previously grounding them in a reality they believed in. A craving was coming alive inside of them, a hunger to rid themselves of that pain—all of that blood. By making others feel the despair which had taken an unyielding hold.  It was getting harder to differentiate whose memory from who. This time they were stronger. I saw sterile flooring and running feet. Everything was blinding white. I heard his gasps for breath, a nightmarish fear eating him up from the inside pushing him to run faster. I recognised him. Not his psychotic laugher when he had kidnapped me a year earlier, but his struggle to keep breathing. Keep sucking in precious oxygen which felt so far away. Just like the others before him, while his being seeped inside me, I had found myself once again plunged inside a memory. This time it was someone I recognised. Not a stranger from past years, but a classmate just below me.  Tommy Nolan had an asthma attack in junior year. Second period math, he’d jumped up with a panicked look on his face, clutching his chest. I remember thinking his breathing sounded wrong, like it was a car-engine trying and failing to start. His face had been pale, trembling hands clutching at his chest. Tommy wasn’t the kind of guy who would intentionally attract attention to himself. He was an introvert through and through. However, this was the type of thing he couldn’t hide away from or push people away. “I can’t breathe.” He’d managed to gasp out, before the teacher had escorted him out of the class and to the nurse’s office. What I felt wasn’t an asthma attack gripping his chest. It was pure panic and fear squeezing the air from his lungs and stumbling his already clumsy steps. Tommy reached a corner and threw himself into a run which was cut short by rough hands grabbing hold of him and yanking him back. I didn’t see the rest of Tommy Nolan’s memory. At least, I didn’t see an escape or anything which hinted at where he was. I just saw the same. A coffin-like enveloping darkness. Restrained hands. Raging fire. I don’t know if it was Tommy’s splintered mind which had catapulted me from my own mind, or maybe he didn’t want me to see everything. Before I could grasp onto his memory, he let go. The whispering voices let me go, and I found myself pressed against grass wet with dew, an intense pressure in my nose and crawling around the back of head, blood pooling down my chin. I took a moment to gather myself. The sky was still half dark and half-light, pink and orange streaks taking over pooling black. Across the street, Lili Marriot was standing with the town preacher’s severed head clumsily forced onto a make-shift pike.  The man's eyes were still open, wide with horror.  She wasn’t moving, her scarlet hands still grasping the weapon for dear life. I got to my feet slowly, ignoring my own blood spattered hands. I didn’t think about the woman I had murdered, or her husband, as I hopped onto a trashed bike which had been abandoned on the side of the road. It was still usable. Sure, it had bits of skin stuck in the wheels, but it would work. I pushed myself into a smooth pace which was normal. It felt normal, like every other morning when Kenji and I biked to school. Instead of taking in the apocalyptic landscape around me, I focused on the road and finding my friend. That morning, I saw a mix. I saw kids who were waking up and finding themselves painted in their victims. I saw them crying. Screaming. I saw one girl slice open her own throat over the corpse of her little brother. But I was also seeing kids still entangled in their own undoing, still tearing Littlewood apart. Under the last splinters of night, I saw my classmates around me.  But I chose to be ignorant. I needed to find Kenji and saving the town's people who had been brought to the brink of despair was the last thing on my mind. Still though, I watched. I couldn’t help it. There was a sort of morbid curiosity inside me once I had been freed from the curse, and then watching the rest of my class still in its iron grip. The varsity boys dragged an old man by his neck down the road, chanting the school anthem. One of them was wearing someone’s skull which had been ripped of its flesh, the remnants of a bulging eye still glued inside the socket. They wore their football jerseys, and somehow that made them even more terrifying. They were the perfect depiction of Noah Sharpe. Gen Z version. Littlewood's golden boy turned psycho. Eleven years later, it had taken them too. “REDHAWKS!” Their war cries bled into the dull sunrise, stamping their feet to a beat only they could hear. The old man was struggling, his face beet red, prying wrinkly fingers attempting to tug the tough rope cinched around his limp neck. But they weren’t letting go, only laughing when he let out a pained cry, begging them to let him die, begging to let him asphyxiate. “REDHAWKS!” They ignored him, pulling his limp body across the road. “REDHAWKS!” STAMP. STAMP. STAMP. “REDHAWKS!” I could still hear their phantom yelling when I neared the scrapyard. Passing the diner, which was nothing but a blur of vivid orange, I saw a group of girl’s shrieking those horrific hyena laughs, diving into the flames and dancing in the smoke, entangling themselves in licking flames. Laughter twisted into screams and cries of agony mixed with a pleasure, a euphoria, I didn’t even think existed. I had felt it writhing in every soul which had bled inside me. The craving to die. When I squeezed the handlebars tighter, I felt something shift inside me once the stink of smoke had travelled into my nose and was choking the back of my throat. Looking down at my palms, my skin had started to catch alight. No, I wasn’t seeing things. I could feel it, flames crawling up my arms, licking across my flesh and melting through my sweater sleeve. I opened my mouth to cry out, and in the blink of an eye I was back inside that coffin-like tunnel drowning Tommy Nolan’s memory. He didn’t want me to see it, had pulled away before I could glimpse what exactly was in there. This time, though, it wasn’t Tommy Nolan strapped to a metal slab. It was me. I was closed in, suffocating on my own sobs, on curling smoke already dancing in the back of my mind. All I could see was fiery orange and red engulfing me, filling the tunnel. The thought hit me when my own body was writhing, dancing in vivid orange getting brighter and brighter, licking across my flesh in sharp rivulets, singing my hair from my scalp. I was in an incinerator. No… no not just me. We. Tommy Nolan, and the nameless girl’s whose screams had rattled my skull. All of us. We were in an incinerator. The shock of the vision, as well as all of our pain entwining into one pulled me back to uncertain reality. I didn’t even realise I’d let go of the bike handlebars before I was crashing down on rough concrete, smacking my head on the curb. Stars exploded in the backs of my eyes. But the fire was gone. Like it had never fucking existed. Except I knew it did. It had in Tommy Nolan’s memory, as well as my future. An endless fire which had ripped away our flesh and sent us plunging into the dark. It made me wonder about that first memory. The girl tied to the tree in front of blurred orange. Was that how all of this had started? Did I see the first glimpses of Littlewood’s curse?  When I pushed the bike off of me and checked my arms and legs for burns or signs of smoulder, there was nothing there. Fuck. Whatever had taken over my mind and crawled into my brain wasn’t letting go, but I found myself hanging onto them. My head hit the ground and I stared at the sky, at red and orange clouds which almost resembled the end of the world.  The sky, just like the ground below, had been set alight. Maybe it was the end of the world, I thought.   Maybe Littlewood was really falling this time.  I don’t know how long I lay there trying to catch my breath, trying to force my maple syrup thoughts into fruition. I was trying to shake my head of possible concussion, dislodging my brain from the puddle of fog it had fallen into, when I heard running footsteps. Bare feet slapping against gravel. I knew what this was. I’d heard it as a kid, an animal-like herd of kids which had congregated into their own tribe. I had heard them running past my house every year, and each time I thought they would catch me. I thought they’d crawl through my window like Noah Sharpe and his gang. But this was my class.  These were the kids I had been going to school with for years. The sound of their whooping and laughter brought me out of it, just a little. Twisting to my side, I glimpsed them suddenly. White canisters. The ones I’d seen in the school, the ones I’d seen being put into the sprinkler system. They were everywhere, dotted across the road, turned over on their head and leaking that same colourless substance onto cement and into the air. I wondered if they had been purposely placed. “Help me! Oh god, please help me!” Just ahead of me, a woman in her thirties was sprinting. Her expression was wild with fright, dark hair flying behind her in a whirlwind. I recognised the look on her face. It was exactly what I’d felt a year prior when I escaped Tommy Nolan and his gang with an inch of my life. The girl caught my eye for a fleeting moment and it looked like she might have found solace in me. Her mouth opened in a silent plea, her trembling hands raising above her head. Before she realised what I was. I had been so focused on looking at her face, I’d failed to see the mess of startling red painting the front of her shirt. She was screaming, sobbing into the wind. There was something wrapped around her left wrist, the entrails of some poor souls guts fashioned into makeshift restraints. Twisting around, the girl dropped to her knees and buried her head in the ground. “Don’t!” she screamed. “Please! Don’t!” She wasn’t running, I thought. Why wasn’t she running? When the hysterical girl started to crawl across the ground, they appeared like animals, like they had been staying back, teasing her with the hope of survival. There were eight of them. All of them carrying lead pipes. The look on their faces was feral. Blood stained grins and empty eyes only seeing prey—only seeing another victim they could tear apart. I started to get up, started to plan my escape which was just to run and never stop fucking running until I was away from them. When more war cries rang out. This time from the other side of the road. Two separate tribes of kids advancing towards her. The second group were faster, and I recognised a face enveloped in the disgusting stain of red which painted them. Kenji. He didn’t look like Kenji anymore. I could hardly even see his face through a coating of red smearing his cheeks and eyes which he must have done himself.  War paint. Wielding a long thread of wire wrapped around his left wrist and trailing on the ground, my best friend joined the mass of kids closing in on the girl. His eyes were vacant and dark, empty of anything human. It was Noah all over again, except this time I wasn’t a frightened six year old. I could stop it.  I remember getting to my feet. Movement. Several heads whipped around.  I’d already caught their attention but their gazes barely strayed on me before going back to the girl. With my attention on him, I moved towards him, taking my steps slowly. Another kid crawled out of their hiding place behind a dumpster. This time they looked younger. I didn’t even want to guess how old. When half of the kids jumped the little kid while the others took care of the girl, I forced my legs to keep going, keep moving. But I stopped when the woman dived to her feet and made a run for it, pushing herself into a sprint. I watched Kenji pursue her like a lion chasing after a deer. While her steps were stumbled and clumsy, his were calculated. I couldn’t move when he dived onto her back and brought her to the ground, her face smacking against cement with a meaty smack. She squirmed, fighting to get away, but he was already forcing the metal wire into her throat, wrapping it around and around until her face was turning red, and then blue, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. The wire sliced cleanly into her flesh and red began to swim from her, startling pooling red I will never forget which stained his hands. I knew what he was doing. Squeezing tighter. Kenji’s weapon wasn’t to asphyxiate and strangle. It was a garotte. And his prize was progressively more inevitable the more he forced the cutting wire through layers of skin until it met bone. “Kenji!” I was yelling his name before I knew what I was doing. I don’t know how I got to him without breaking down, but when my face was buried into his back and I was sobbing his name, everything felt…. Right. Even if it was just for a little while. Because, like a fairy-tale narrating the clock striking twelve and a magic spell wearing off, a dazzling sunrise broke through the clouds and the woman’s gurgling stopped. Just like the jerking movements of Kenji’s hands as they struggled to cut through bone I wasn’t paying attention to Kenji when he woke up. I was staring at a little girl who had walked out of her house clutching a stuffed teddy bear and seeing the body of her mother on the ground. A numbness started to take over me, a heavy weight on my chest. I remember his arms were suddenly around me, and they were tight, so tight, almost suffocating the breath from my lungs. Kenji’s body felt strange against mine, a trembling, rattling mass as he screamed into my shoulder. I had never heard him scream before. Kenji had always hidden behind a bright smile which had finally crumbled under the curse. “Did I…” His words collapsed into a sob. “Did I… do this, Bee?" The metal wire was still attached to him, coiled around his wrist.  It marked him as a member of that tribe. “No.” I whispered into the damp material of his shirt." "No, none of this was you." He laughed, sputtering on a sob. “You’re okay.” I said. “You’re okay. Just breathe."  An icy shiver ripped its way down my spine when his lips found my ear. “Do you… really want to outrun the asteroid?” He whispered, choking on a hysterical laugh. “Do you think we are worthy, Bee?” His tone darkened. “Is our suffering worthy?” Kenji was hysterical, clinging onto me. I was still thinking about his words when footsteps startled me. Kenji’s phone hit the ground, followed by the curve of a heel splintering the screen. When I looked up, Ms Hawkins, our drama teacher, was looming over us holding a gun. It didn’t look like the usual gun I saw my neighbours use on wildlife. This one had a red coloured butt and fit perfectly into her hand. She shot Kenji first. The bullet hit his arm and he dropped to the ground. Ms Hawkins kicked Kenji onto his side and I caught sight of a tiny dart-like needle sticking from below his elbow.  When her gun zeroed in on me I almost wished it was a real one. I remember her pulling the trigger, but it wasn’t just aimed at me. it was aimed at every other soul which had entangled itself with me. This had happened to every year prior to us—and I had a sickening feeling I knew what was coming next. I woke to a nauseating feeling of movement to find my head uncomfortably pressed against a bus window. Outside, a long stretch of dead road leading to nowhere. There were no signs, no civilization. Nothing. It took me a disorienting moment to figure out I was on a school bus. The same school bus I had seen in thousands of other memories. Next to me, Kenji poked me in the shoulder. He was awake and seemed with-it enough to talk. Though there was a strange smile on his face which was twisting my gut. I turned around to face him and blinked rapidly, because my friend’s face morphed and blurred, twisting into hundreds of others. First, girls and boys in strange clothing like they were from the dark ages, and the distant sound of horseback—a carriage being dragged. I could smell wildflowers mixed with the stink of rot and excrement, hear the sound of birds and chains rattling around jiggling wrists. Then I was seeing strangers, each of them bearing clothes from different eras. I saw Tommy Nolan, and then Chrissy Lackey. Robin Chase.  Faces from previous years. All blood spattered. All wide eyed, a haunting, hollow look on their faces.  Until Noah. Until I saw his face twisted with anger and pain and frustration.  His hands went to his hair in a silent cry, and he was slamming bloodied fists into his temples. Over and over again. “Fuck!” He gritted out.  “Get me off this bus! I don’t want to be here... I want to go home. I want to go back!” “Hey! Hey, calm down!” The voice was Poppy. Her shriek echoed in my brain, as the bus they were on collapsed into panic and Noah was diving from his seat, before being grabbed and restrained by guards, and shoved back next to Poppy. I felt her gentle hand on his shoulder. Poppy’s arms were around him, and Noah was relaxing into her embrace. “We’re going to the Halfway House, Noah.” Her soothing murmur inside my head was cut short when I sensed the coffin-like tunnel once again. Flames. Getting closer and closer. And his screams. Ringing so loud in my head, horrifying wails of agony cracking my skull open. I felt my own clammy palms press against my ears, the force of his cry becoming my own. “Bee?” I was sweating and shaking, choking on stale vomit in my mouth, when Kenji waved a wary hand in front of my face, and I found reality once again. When my gaze found his, Kenji had that smile again. He sat back with a sigh, pressing his head against the seat. “You got it, huh?” He chuckled. “Damn, I wish I did.” I found my breath, swallowing whatever the fuck I'd eaten in the last twelve hours. “Got what?” He shrugged. “Do you remember when I asked you if you would give your life to destroy an asteroid?” I had to think back to that conversation which didn’t seem relevant until now. “Kenji—” He cut me off, his smile fading a little. “I really did want to see my dad,” He whispered. As he spoke, I found my gaze wandering and finding our classmates who were either asleep or staring into an oblivion only they could see. Kenji sighed. “I imagined all of these scenarios in my head. That we would all come to the halfway house and heal and get better like all the other kids before us, and I’d jump on a plane and go and visit dad in Hokkaido.” I noticed his hands were trembling in his lap. “But I’m a fucking idiot. I'm naïve.” He turned to me. “We’re just kids, right? What do we know?" I was losing my patience with his cryptic words. “What are you talking about?” “I was kidnapped like you,” He said through a sigh. “Last year, the night of the Teen Purge, I forgot to close our gate so I rushed out to lock it up before I brought attention to our house. But I was too late. They were waiting for me outside. The bastards knocked me out with a bat, and I woke up on the roof of the school.” He dug his hands in his lap, choking out a hiss. “I was the only one left, Bee. When I woke up, I was staring at the people she had pushed to their deaths. My hands were tied behind my back so I couldn’t move, or try to get away and this girl…” He trailed off, his gaze going to a stray raindrop on the window, “this girl was dangling me over the edge. Like I was bait over a shark tank. It was fucking freezing and I was only in my pyjamas, and I remember wondering if I was actually going to die.”  The bus went over a bump, and I grabbed onto his hand, squeezing it as tight as I could. “I waited for it,” Kenji whispered. “I waited for her to kill me, but she wrenched me back. And her eyes... her eyes were pitch black. Hollow.” His eyes filled with tears. “She was smiling. Smiling like it would thrill her to watch me fall like the ones before me. And she would have no fucking mercy.” As if his words were a narration, I was seeing the vision for myself, like somewhere inside my head, the girl lingered. I could see it. I could see pooling darkness, a long way down. Kenji, his arms tied behind his back, a single strip of duct tape over his mouth— while arms were wrapped around his waist, dangling him teasingly as he twisted and struggled in her arms. Like I was seeing it through her POV, I glimpsed tangled blonde curls in front of my face, a carving knife slick red clenched in my fist. She held him tight, squeezing the breath from him. “Long way down, huh?” Her voice was a cackle clanging in my skull. “Mmpphh!”  I could see his wide eyes, petrified as she pushed him closer and closer to the edge. Kenji continued in a low murmur. “But… this girl didn’t push me. She didn't kill me. Instead, she… she pulled me close. I could… I could smell her rotting breath. But through all the black, whatever had possessed her... I could see that there was still something there. It was weak, but still alive. Before I knew it, I was on my knees and she was in front of me like she could see right through me. Like she could reach into my head and pull out every memory I've ever had." His voice trembled. "She asked me a question. And I’ll never forget it, Bee. Because it was what changed my way of thinking. Instead of being scared to die, I felt like I could finally embrace it.” His words sent my gut galloping into my throat. I saw it. I saw her yanking him back onto his knees and pulling him close. “What?” I whispered, shaking away the vision. The girl was insistent on shoving her memory onto me.   Kenji’s eyes found mine, and for the first time in the 17 years of the Teen Purge, I saw the Wonderland Smile in broad daylight. I saw insanity brewing in eyes which had been darkened far before Littlewood’s curse had snatched his mind. It had been hours since the curse had let us go, and there it was, splitting my best friend’s mouth apart into a cheshire cat grin. It was exactly what I’d seen on Noah Sharpe’s face before he sliced my mother’s throat open and gutted her. But while Noah's expression had been a blank slate, a monster, I only saw tragic hope lighting up my best friend's eyes. But it wasn’t real hope. Real hope was wanting to survive. It was forcing yourself to keep going no matter what. What I saw was that craving I’d felt when I’d woken up covered in blood, the one emitting from every voice inside my head. The overwhelming pleasure which came with the thought of dying—giving yourself up. "She asked me if I wanted to save the world.” He said, his eyes twinkling. “How cool is that?” I was losing him. “What did you say?” I asked.  He smiled. “I said yes. What else could I say? She got this weird look on her face, this smile, which was both maniacal and yet unbelievably sad, it made me feel like I would feel it too. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.” Kenji turned towards the window, this time, like he was refusing to admit it to my face. “She told me I will. Just like her, and the kids before her. That’s what the siren inside her head said. At that point I hoped I’d be able to save the world, and then visit my dad. I really thought it was as easy as that.” His lips twisted, eyes lighting up.  “But… then I understood what she meant. I finally understood, and I wasn’t scared anymore. How could I fear my own fate?  She didn’t mean me saving the world, Bee. She meant me, and you, all of us in the past and present and future giving our lives for seven billion others.” He turned to me with almost cartoon-like eyes. “You can hear them,” he murmured. “the girl had that exact same look in her eyes.” Swallowing hard, I fought to breathe. “What do you mean?” “Haunted.” Kenji said. “They’re telling you exactly what happened to them, and you can’t stop it. You want to pull them out of your head, but you can’t. They’re like a parasite taking over.” I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. “Can you tell me?” His voice was small. “How does this end? How do we save the world?” Lying on a metal slab and staring at pooling black while flames licked across my flesh and set my hair alight, my body smouldering. Burning bright. That was how it was going to end. Like Noah and every year before us, we were going to burn. And it made sense… right? Why wouldn’t a town permanently get rid of their youth tainted by a curse? But it still felt like I was missing something.  And that something was getting closer as we approached the Halfway House.  "Bee?" Kenji murmured. "Are you okay?"  Instead of responding, I pressed my face into his shoulder and sobbed until my eyes were raw, until my chest was heaving. Outside, Fall was taking over nature, and for the first time in a while I took a moment to take it in, breathing in the smell of wet mildew and crushed leaves drifting through the window and marvelling beautiful decay.  It's crazy how much you start to notice about the world around you when you know your time is running out. I don't think I'll ever look at a tree the same again. In my cotton candy thoughts still half asleep from the tranquilliser, though, I was slowly conducting a plan to get the fuck out of there. I refused to burn.

I've had a stalker for two months. He just told me my boyfriend isn't who I think he is.

y1vlcq

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1vlcq/ive_had_a_stalker_for_two_months_he_just_told_me/

The first time I noticed him was at a local coffee shop I go to often. I was standing in line, ready to order my iced chai latte, when I saw him staring in my direction from a table outside. I didn’t assume he was staring at me at first - there were multiple other women in the cafe that he could’ve been ogling. Proving me wrong with a ballsy move, he asked me for my number as I walked through the front door. “Iced chai, I see. Good choice,” he commented as he stood up from his chair. “I’ve noticed you a few times when I’ve been in the neighborhood. Could I get your number?” “Oh, no, I actually have a boyfriend.” Hoping this would get him to back off, especially because it was the truth, I smiled and started walking around him to get to my parking spot a few yards down the walkway. “Relax, honey,” he said as he stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “He doesn’t have to know.” I felt a shiver of pure disgust as he paired that statement with a wink. “Look, I know cheating on your partner is like a big thing right now, but I’m not into it. Leave me alone.” He backed away from me, hands in the air and a dumb smirk on his face. I gave him one final glare before making my way towards the car, his eyes on me every step I took. When I got back to the apartment I shared with my boyfriend, Jacob, I told him all about it. Normally he would get upset about it but move on if I told him there was nothing to worry about, and at first, that was his reaction. “What the fuck? Did you recognize him at all?” “Not even a little. He said he’s seen me a few times but I’ve never seen him.” That was the part that bothered me the most. He’s been undetectable multiple times while watching me. Where else had he seen me? “What did he look like?” “Uh, like every other guy here. Brown hair, taller than me, probably 6’ something. He did have a scar on his neck…” For some reason, that caught Jacob’s attention. “A scar? Was it fresh?” “I mean, not really. I don’t know what a fully healed scar would look like but it wasn’t red or bleeding or anything. Why?” “... Don’t know. Just a good identifier if he bothers you again, I guess.” He looked a little more disturbed after I mentioned the scar, but I didn’t drill him about it. It wasn’t something I really wanted to discuss further anyway. That first encounter with him was about two months ago. Since then, I’ve noticed him everywhere - the coffee shop, book stores, the supermarket. I couldn’t go anywhere without seeing him, especially when I went anywhere with my boyfriend. I felt like I was going crazy - every time I’d see him, I’d try to discreetly point him out to my boyfriend. “Jacob, he’s near the pasta,” I whispered. He would always try to be natural, just so he wouldn’t scare him away, but every time he would look he wasn’t there. It’s like he just vanished into thin air. I could tell Jacob was sympathetic about the situation - he probably thought I was being overly paranoid and imagining I was seeing him - but there wasn’t anything he could do if he didn’t see him in time. After these two months, I started growing tired of myself and my imagination. Jacob hadn’t seen him any time I pointed him out, and honestly I never saw him enter or leave my line of sight. It’s like he would just appear, stare me down for a little bit, and he’d be gone. I had to do something to clear my mind. “Hey, I’m going on a run,” I yelled to Jacob as I was lacing up my tennis shoes. “Don’t you think that’s… not the best idea?” Jacob asked, clearly a little worried about me going on a run by myself. “Well I have to do something. Maybe all I need is a little time to myself to recollect my thoughts and my head. This might just all be manifestations from stress. Plus,” I added, finishing up the laces on my left shoe, “it’s day time and my path is pretty busy. I’ll be ok.” “Are you sure? I mean, I can go with you…” I gave him a kiss, hopefully to calm his nerves but mostly to get him to shut up. “No. I need alone time. You have my location and I have my pepper spray. I’ll be fine. Love you.” I knew he still wasn’t fond of the idea of me being out alone, but there wasn’t really much he could do as I closed the apartment door and headed down the complex stairs. Not even thirty seconds after I got outside and started my run, I felt something tug my left arm, hard enough for it to pop. I didn’t have enough time to react as I felt my arms pinned up against brick and my mouth covered with leather. I tried everything I knew from my self defense classes I took years ago - biting, kicking, screaming. Deep down, I knew nothing would work against a 6’ man with a heavy weight advantage. It didn’t take me long to recognize the hair and the scar either. “Lily, keep quiet,” he whispered as he struggled to keep me pinned to the wall. “I’m trying to help you.” “Help me?” I said, my words muffled by his gloves as I was still trying to free myself from his grasp. No progress, and I started to feel weaker as I struggled, ready to accept whatever would happen to me in this empty alleyway. “Yes, help you! Stop struggling so I can tell you what’s going on.” I didn’t want to stop struggling - I wanted to keep kicking and moving to make it harder on him - but I knew in the end, it wouldn’t work out for me. “Are you going to listen?” I shook my head, his glove still pressed against my mouth. Despite living in fear because of this guy for two months, I felt nothing but curiosity in that moment. “Lily, I need you to listen carefully and take what I’m about to say seriously, ok?” How the fuck does he know my name? “The man you’re dating, Jacob,” he paused, rolling his eyes as if he was trying to figure out how to word what was coming next. “He’s… he’s not Jacob. Not anymore.”

I thought we were the top of the foodchain, I was so wrong

y2hhfc

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y2hhfc/i_thought_we_were_the_top_of_the_foodchain_i_was/

Hey, my name is Levi, I've never done this before, but people need to know what's out there. It's likely that you've heard of such monsters as skinwalkers, wendigo, bigfoot, but you choose to believe that creatures of that kind could never roam the earth, that humans are the top of the food chain, that we rule this planet.  Though comforting, this mindset will not save you when you come face to face with a nightmare, when you realize how weak and helpless you truly are, it will be too late.  My long distance girlfriend Tay, who is studying on the other side of the country, was visiting her parents in my town, it was my first time meeting them, and it went the way everyone wants it to go, I don't mean to brag but they loved me, and they were really nice, when it got late and I was getting ready to go home, Tays mom offered for me to stay while Tay was in town so that we could spend as much time as possible together until she has to go back to school Tay looked at me excitedly, and I asked "Are you sure? I don't want to be a burden" "Nonsense Levi", Tays mom says "we think you and Tay are perfect together and we know how much she misses you when she's gone, make the most of each other" Tay hugs her mom and then pulls me and her dad into the hug. It was a beautiful moment, but I can't look at it now without it being tainted by the events that followed.  The next few days were perfect, I spent more time with Tay than I ever had before, it was hard with her being so far away most of the time. FaceTime can only do so much to quench the emptiness I felt without her.  But for these few days life felt complete, I hung out with her family, we played card games for hours, I helped her dad fix his motorbike, well, I say helped, I mostly just held the flashlight and handed him tools, but I think I won him over that day, he probably would've gave me his blessing in marriage if i had asked.  That night we were all sat around the TV watching the new lightyear movie, which was surprisingly good, I'd be lying if i said i didn't shed a few tears, around 11:18pm when the movie finished, Tays parents said goodnight and headed off to bed and a couple of Tays friends who had been visiting said goodbye and drove home, I got up to get some water from the kitchen, and as I walked back I stood in the doorway that separated the kitchen from the living room, which was dark, only lit by the TV, allowing me to see Tay frozen, staring towards the window which was out of my direct line of sight.  confused, I peaked my head out of the doorway and looked toward the window. I froze and dropped my glass, luckily it landed on the carpet and didn't make much of a noise, and the giant pale creature standing an inch from the window didn't notice.  The creature was fowl, a gaunt lanky humanoid, well at least the head and torso was humanoid, it had no legs, the torso ended in a stump, the body was being held up by four arms, each one probably 2 meters long, the creature's whole body was covered in gray skin stretched tightly over its abnormally long bones, the thing had no hair, anywhere, it's mouth was strangely wide, stretching around to where it's ears would be if it had them, and it's eyes were just sunken inky black pits in its head, but I could tell it was just staring at Tay, who had tears rolling down her face, she slowly turned her head to look at me, she was shaking and breathing quickly.  “...Levi…” she whimpered “help…” I had never felt so powerless, I'm a 6’2, lean but muscular 20 year old guy. I was supposed to protect her, I always thought I could, and I would die to protect her but I had no idea how to protect her from whatever this thing was.  Then I had an idea, I looked to the light switch panel to my left, I knew one of them was the porch light, but there were three others, the living room light, the kitchen light and the hall light, if I press the wrong light, I don't know what the thing will do, but I had to try, I had to remember, which light did I see Tays dad use to turn the porch light on when he went out last night.  I reached for the light second from the bottom, and flicked the switch.  The hall light turned on, luckily, the hall is on the opposite side of the kitchen to where the living room is, and it is out of view for the creature at the window.  But I can't mess up again, if the kitchen light turns on, the creature will see me, and if the living room light turns on, it might cause it to attack Tay.  I looked back to the creature, which was reaching using one of its hands to scratch the window, I had to do something.  I reached for the bottom light switch and flicked it, the porch light turned on, the creature spun around to face it and let out a screech that will haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life, I ran to Tay and grabbed her, dragging her off the side of the couch where there was about a meter gap between the armrest of the couch and the wall, and i held her, what else could i do? I can’t fight the thing, we can’t outrun it, does tay know how scared i am? Can she feel my heart running laps in my chest? I want her to feel safe, like nothing can hurt her when I'm there, but that’s clearly not true. The sound of the window smashing fills the house and Tay cries into my shoulder, I hold her tightly, I kiss the top of her head and I wait quietly. I can't see anything, it's pitch darkness besides the slight blue glare from the TV on the wall above us, but I can hear raspy breathing and bones cracking as the thing searches the living room, I hear it sniffing the couch where Tay was sitting. and I hear it make its way closer to the end of the couch, one of its hands pressed on the wall above us, the closer it gets, the less scared i become, all that fear is replaced by anger, this thing wants to hurt the person i love with all of my heart, it wants to take the one thing that makes me happy, i would die for this girl, and i will die for this girl. I kiss her one more time and get myself into a defensive position so that i can easily tackle it before it reaches Tay, and as I see the silhouette of its head begin to peak over the side of the couch, suddenly the light turns on and Tays dad yells as he sees us from the kitchen while he's holding a shotgun, the creature runs at him but falls to the ground as one of its arms is obliterated at the shoulder after Tays dad fires a shot, the creature shakes around on the ground like a fly without wings, before it grabs the TV in one of its hands and flings it effortlessly at Tays dad sending him flying into the kitchen counter behind him, the creature quickly sprints out of the window and unleashes a final screech as it disappears into the tree-line behind the house.  And here we are, I'm sitting at the hospital with Tay and her family, her dad has a broken jaw, two a broken collar bones, 6 cracked ribs, two broken vertebrae in his back and a broken pelvis, he's sleeping right now due to the meds he's on, but he's supposed to recover, though he likely won't be able to walk for a while, if ever again.  This whole thing happened around 5 hours ago, it's 4:38am as I'm writing this, the police left a while ago after telling us we can't go back to the house for a while, I don't know what that thing was, but it's safe to say, we are not the dominant species in this world, there are things bigger than us, stronger than us, things you couldn't dream of, you think you can protect yourself? You're family? The only difference between you and a rabbit being hunted by a wolf, is that the rabbit knows that it's in danger... And the rabbit is running for its life.

I deliver mail to cryptids. I took a sick day.

y2iym6

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y2iym6/i_deliver_mail_to_cryptids_i_took_a_sick_day/

(First: https://redd.it/o8vgiw: Previous: https://redd.it/wob0mx) It might have been from the stress of finding out my apartment building had been haunted, but I woke up sick the day after the failed sleepover with Max. I took some cold pills thinking I could push through it to finish my shift. Maybe I could go to the sorting room and do something a bit easier until I felt better. I walked a few blocks to get to the door that led me into work, and in those few blocks I got much worst. I zipped my uniform jacket as far as it would go and buried half my face in the collar. Chills shook my body and my head heavy from illness. I was met by the normal sight. A single empty room with a small fold out table but with Max and one of his sisters already inside. I opened my mouth to greet them and a cough came out instead. I stopped in front of the desk ready to get the day finished. The receptionist, a sister I yet to meet, stood up and came around to get a better look at my flushed face. “Are you not feeling well?” Max asked and he also got in close. “I’ll survive.” I replied in a small rough voice. “No, you might not depending on what creatures you’ll come across. You’re taking a day off. I’ll call your doctor to come over when he’s available for a home visit. Go back home until you recover.” She told me and started to look through forms on her desk to fill out. “I get sick days?” I asked, shocked. She looked at me as if I wasn’t the brightest bulb. The pay for this job was good, but I didn’t know I also had sick days. I should ask if I also got vacation days. While I wasn’t paying attention. Max got right next to me. He pulled down my jacket collar and to my shock, licked the entire side of my face. I let out a disgusted sound from suddenly having a wet cheek and his sister grabbed him before he could do it a second time. “Ugh, Max why?!” I demanded offended and betrayed. I rubbed my cheek with the back of my jacket sleeve to get the dog slobber off. I’m sure he had a good reason for the gross lick, but he should have warned me first so I could try to dodge it. “Whenever my sisters are feeling sick, I lick their faces until they feel better. It’s a sure cure and I find sixty-six licks work the best.” He said very proudly. “Your licking doesn’t cure anything. We just say it works so you stop licking us.” His sister admitted disgusted. Max looked distraught having a childhood truth be revealed as a lie. I really didn’t want to have a mental image of a child Max pining down one of his poor sisters to lick their cheek. Creatures sure had a weird mindset when it came to things. I let out a terrible sounding cough and both Max and his sister took a few steps back, holding each other. They looked pretty worried about catching whatever I had even though I was positive a human illness stood no chance trying to infect a creature. I still kept away from them just in case. My face starting to flush from a fever. The sister of the day was nice enough to create a door back to my apartment to get me home and out of their hair faster. Max cheerfully waved before I left saying he would think of something to make me feel better. Honestly just having him seem worried was good enough. Besides my father, I didn’t have any family. I really didn’t keep any friends either. I was nice enough with my co-workers but rarely, if ever spent that much time with them outside work. I felt nice to have someone who cared. That feeling got over taken by my fever. I took off my uniform jacket, body starting to shake and aches creeping into my joints. I crawled into bed wanting to sleep the whole ordeal off. Looking back on it, I should have gotten someone over to keep an eye on me. I assumed I just had the flu and sleeping it off would cure it. I really didn’t know what kind of illness I caught. When I woke up my throat felt so raw, I couldn’t swallow my own spit. I needed a drink of water. When I sat up, my head became so dizzy I collapsed back into bed. My entire body shaking from a fever and body hurting only in the way flu pains could make you feel. I didn’t remember that last time I ever gotten this bad. I felt so damn warm and yet I shook as if I had chills. I needed to get something to drink no matter how much it hurt. All of these were signs I had a fever so high I needed to get to the hospital. I risked frying my brain if my temperate didn’t break. Being alone for my entire adult life made it so I didn’t even think to call someone to help. With a great deal of effort, I got out of bed, nearly falling over. I needed to use my bed side table for support and then my bed. I moved so slowly, every step a small victory. I got to the bathroom with a great deal of effort. In my fever haze I considered having a shower to either cool me down, or warm me up. I really didn’t know what I was feeling. My head hot but my body cold and painful from each shake. First, I wanted a drink of water. I bent over drinking right from the tap, my head swimming for a few seconds. The water stayed down just long enough for me to collapse to the bathroom floor and cough it back up. My throat hurt too damn much and my stomach protested having anything inside it. Soon I was puking up bile and the last remains of the cold meds from earlier that day. I curled up on the bathroom floor, making an effort to clean up my mess but only had the strength to place a towel over top of the wet spot. My face stayed on the cool tiles, body hurting from the flu and from shaking so damn much. While barely awake and on the floor, I stared through the open door down the short hallway. I squinted when I thought I saw a shape move in the darkness of the other doorway. I made a weak attempt to raise my head and to call out, my throat burning and only ended up making a raspy noise. That figure noticed me. At first, I hoped it was Max coming by to check in on me. The shape came into view and I weakly got up halfway. My brain frantic with fear along with the fever messing with my thought process. What I looked at wasn’t Max or anyone I knew. I didn’t know if it was even a someone. They were so tall they needed to bend their neck to stand in the hallway. Head crooked and pale white eyes staring at me through dark tangled hair. The fingers all twisted and disjointed. The figured dressed in layer of torn fabrics stained with dark spots that looked a lot like mold. I couldn’t move in my state. I could only sit on my bathroom floor helplessly watching the creature take long steps at a time down my hallway. I grabbed onto the sink, pulling myself up. I wondered what I had to protect myself. My foot slipped and I fell backwards, a set of rough hands catching my fall. I made another noise that hurt my irritated throat. The creature made it inside the bathroom and easily caught me. I moved a hand to try and push the monster away only to have the thing wrap its greasy hair around me, binding my arms to my chest. I always assumed I would die at my new job and not in my apartment. “Oh, look at how tasty you look. So nice and warm. I’ll enjoy this meal very much.” The voice came from under the hair and the eyes scrunched up from a hidden smile. That voice caused my body to shake for a reason besides the fever. It was like nothing I ever heard before. As if ten people with sore, or torn out throats spoke at once. The face got closer to mine and I made the best attempt at a scream my body could handle. To my sheer horror, the hair was pulled back to reveal a long mouth with black lips. Unable to save myself from what was coming, the creature pressed its lips against my own. I kicked and pushed causing me to use up all my strength, my head getting so dizzy I passed out on the spot. Being so close to a monster meant I should have died. I woke up, the memory still fresh causing me to scream awake. I screamed again when a second person in my room and beside my bed got startled by my first scream and shrieked as well. Soon we both were screaming at each other. When my brain could process who was standing nearby, I calmed down a little. My heart beating out of my chest and breathing heavy. “Max?!” I said in a voice hoarse from screaming so much. After I spoke, I noticed my throat was fine. Besides from all the yelling. My body didn’t hurt and I only felt as if I over slept instead of dying like before. Was that monster just a fever dream? I looked at Max wondering how long he’d been there for and if he knew what happened was just a nightmare or not. “I came in to check in on you to see if the Kiss Of Death came by.” He said, face bright and recovered from his small shock. “What.” I said, using such a deadpan voice I’ve never managed before. “Oh, they’re not as bad as they sound! They eat illness. Their name got mixed up years ago. They don’t kiss people and they die. But they kiss sick or dying people to eat away most, if not all their illness. I asked one to come over to take care of you. They can’t eat away big stuff like cancer but a flu is no problem.” Max sounded so cheerful and happy he helped a friend recover. I loved Max, I really did. This was the very rare time when I wanted to strangle him. Instead, I reached over to pull him into a hug. He was confused but very happy. I refused to let go when he pulled back and his confusion grew. “Max... I had a pretty bad fever. I was helpless and then a creepy creature came into my apartment to force me to kiss it. Do you maybe think giving me a heads up might have been a good idea?” I told him, keeping my voice even. “Oh? You thought The Kiss Of Death was creepy? I think they're pretty nice. Wait, were you scared?” Max asked, sounding a bit worried and finally cluing into what he did. When I nodded to admit I was scared to death, he let out an upset cry and hugged me back. He promised to never do such a thing again and how sorry he was that he totally forgot my human standards are different then his. What’s cute and nice to Max is a never-ending nightmare to me. I did forgive him pretty quickly and it was nice I wasn’t sick any more. But I would rather go through a flu than deal with a creature like that again. It was only after I researched my symptoms to see what I had I found out I might have been suffering from a fever so high it could have killed me. Max honestly saved my life at the cost of me having a great deal of new nightmares going forwards. My job requested I did stay home for one more extra day and then let me in the sorting room before they would let me go back to delivering. I gladly did the easy job of looking through different packages and envelopes with my very strange, and sometimes downright scary co-workers. That day though, they all kinda seemed to stay away from me. I coughed once and reached for my water bottle and noticed everyone else had stopped working. I paused with them trying to figure out the problem. Then I figured out they all either thought I was still able to infect them with some human illness, or some were concerned I was still sick because they actually cared about my well-being. By the end of the day, they all seemed to be less weary of me. I started to head out ready to go home and rest when I came across Belizas. She heard I’d been sick and apparently knew the same false cure Max did. I didn’t run fast enough to escape her grasp and got put into a headlock, yelling for someone to save me before she licked me. Max came in very soon for a rescue but assumed I got sick again and wanted to call in for another kiss, which I greatly refused. Working with supernatural creatures can be hard. Sometimes I wondered if things would be easier if one of them just ate me.

All You Need Is A Bucket Of Snails

y25hfj

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y25hfj/all_you_need_is_a_bucket_of_snails/

It all started with a simple schoolyard rhyme, no one knows the original incarnation, only a fragment of it survived and was circulated amongst our school. “A pail of snails lifts the veil to Blackbart the Frail.” Blackbart became an amalgam of the boogeyman and a wish-granting genie. Lara was the first one to suggest the rhyme as literal instruction, and then it spread amongst the rest of the school children. I don’t know who added the instruction of salting the snails, I don’t know if it was sheer coincidence or implanted in a young mind with sinister intent. It had rained for a week straight the day we brought it home, the first summer rains breaking the month-long dry spell. Sunbaked and water-parched snails had begun to peek out from their shady hiding places at the first sign of moisture and had overtaken our small trailer park. All of us had done our part in bringing them in, My little brother Mark and I used old Tupperware. Others used cups and boxes but we brought them to the same place, a rusty old metal bucket on the outskirts of the nearby forest. Terry had kept watch over the bucket using a stick to push any snails that had tried to slither out back in. Thomas was the one to bring the can of salt and Jeremy had been the one to open the can and salt them. I had seen the way snails had ruptured and spilled out in sudden bubbling agony when salted. But even then I couldn’t have foretold the sight of hundreds writhing in panic, and the frothing fluids that rose to the top of the bucket and spilled out in one long sloshing drool. Lara gagged, some of the boys jeered, Mark pressed close to me and I was entranced by the vileness of it all. Something shifted from within the still-writhing mass and my stomach lurched at the realization that something had peeked out from the liquid. It was a small digit, but it was wrong, looked both frostbitten and semi-translucent. It felt as if the world was falling away as if time was slowing to a crawl, the moments between heartbeats stretched out into an unbearable eternity. With a twitch and vivid motion, a diseased hand reached out from the slop, gripped the side of the bucket, and hauled itself up. Another hand followed by the head and shoulders of what might have once been human or something that had formed itself in the rudimentary shape of a human. Its face was smooth and featureless, only stained splotchy flesh. Everyone witnessing this otherworldly birth was paralyzed by primal fear and forced to watch as the \*thing\* adjusted its hold around the bucket, and tried to find leverage to pull itself out. It had managed to free its torso when the bucket tipped over and spilled the creature out, a naked thing the size of a toddler, the irregular patterns of its malformed flesh repeated throughout its entire form. Its head jerked up to face the group and the skin where its mouth should have been shifted, stretched, and thinned until it tore open, like an amniotic sac, and from within dull white teeth grinned at the group. “Hello, little children,” it croaked out, almost pained. “Blackbart?” Jeremy asked. The creature tilted its head and aimed its eyeless glare at Jeremy and the boy tensed. “Blackbart? Is that the name you know me by?” The silence answered in lieu of any word or movement and Blackbart settled his lipless grin into something more passive. A collectively held breath eased out and some of the others dared to take a step closer. “I know you all have something to ask of me, so get on with it and ask.” Some might wonder how we could ask for something so wicked. Often some kind of greater moral virtue is attributed to children of a young age as if innocence only exists as a harmless wonder. But I’m going to tell you a harsh truth, children are cruel, even in innocence. There was a casualty in our cruelty that would be diagnosed under a myriad of psychological afflictions had it manifested in adulthood. But we also had our reasons, every one of us. Jeremy’s father was an angry drunk and inebriated most days, the bruises faded with time but the memories didn’t. Lara’s parents, like countless others, spent most of their time in a drug-fueled stupor and neglected the basic care for their children. Mark and I had a Ma that ran out on us and a Pa that never wanted us in the first place, and he made sure to let us know. “We want you to get rid of anyone over the age of ten,” Jeremy said. “In the whole town? The world? Or just here?” Blackbart asked “Just here,” Jeremy said. “That’s easy, consider it done. When you greet the sun tomorrow it will be without any of the old folk.” Blackbart said, in that same strained croaking tone. The creature peeled back its lipless mouth to flash one last smile and bounded off into the woods, through the translucent portions of its body something inky squirmed against the prison of its flesh. I gaped at it until Blackbart had disappeared into thick brush. There was excitement in the other kids but I couldn’t help but feel like I was teetering on a thin line suspended over a chasm filled with the horrors of the void and I just had taken the fatal step that would send me tumbling headfirst into its maw. I went home that day with the first taste of existential anxiety, the type that lingers for days and weeks. The screams rang out at midnight, a deafening cacophony of wails sustained for a few seconds and then silence. I lay in bed frozen in fear, unable to will myself to get up and look, and so hours passed before I fell into a sudden and dreamless sleep. I was jolted awake by a knock at the door by an eager Lara. I ran to pa’s room first but it was as empty as it usually was on workdays. Any delusion that the previous day had been a feverish dream was dispelled the moment I opened the door. Lara was holding baby Mikey, his mother was very protective and would never let Lara play with him, let alone carry him around like this. I stepped out, judged by the sun that it was nearing noon, old man Norris should be blasting classic rock by now, but the trailer park was strangely devoid of any sound but the passing breeze and occasional child’s giggle. “They’re all gone?” I asked. “Everyone but us kids.” She led me to the others, they were in the midst of systematically looting the trailers of any food or valuables. Jeremy was leading the largest group, he looked ridiculous with this plastic crown on his head and blanket tied around his neck as a makeshift robe. “He declared himself King early this morning, his friends and some of the other boys sided with him, the rest of us didn’t have much of a choice. His first decree was that all the big kids gather all the food so we can split it, you have to pay for it of course.” “Pay? With what money?” I asked. “Snails, of course, the smaller kids were sent out to find more so we can start a bank.” “And Blackbart?” “I think he disappeared, no one has seen him since he went into the woods but that’s why Jeremy wants snails,” Lara answered. A chill crept through my body at the thought of seeing that thing again. “I need to find Mark,” I said. He was in a dense patch of wood with three other kids his age, they had a few containers with a couple of snails in each. We trekked back to the trailer park where Jeremy had a picnic table piled high with the spoils of his first decree. He said that tonight we would feast in celebration of our first day of freedom. That night was something every kid dreamed of, we gorged ourselves on our savory and simple delights of sweets and sodas and whatever else we desired. After all, what kid hasn’t yearned for a world without the authority of adults, the bliss was short-lived, fading out over a few months. But the first month went along smoothly, snails were kept in terrariums looted from a reptile enthusiast’s trailer. We spent our days in a dream-like haze, moving from one activity to the next, a child's fantasy. No school, no chores, no one to tell us no. There were injuries, of course, Junior burned his hand trying to make a grilled cheese, Corey bruised his leg after falling from a tree, and the list goes on. But there was never any real danger or fear, food, and snails were abundant, and cuts and scrapes faded over the days. For that first month, any doubts I harbored faded to the back of my mind and I was happy. The first trouble came at the beginning of the next month when food had dwindled or spoiled. snails had become a rare sight around the trailer park and woods edge and a mailman had left a pile of bills at the mailboxes just outside the trailer park. King Jeremy called a group meeting and it was decided that we would summon Blackbart. The king's stash of snails was gathered, a bucket was filled, and salt was poured in. As I stared into the violently effervescent sludge and waited for Blackbart to emerge. That same cosmic anxiety crept back in and I wanted nothing more than to run away. Mark pressed in close again and held firm, held me in place, forced me to watch. Blackbart’s hand shot out this time, with enough velocity to fling a long gooey string of slime onto a crowd of screaming children. Shrieks died down as Blackbart found purchase and he hauled himself out in one horrific motion. Seeing him a second time I could better ascertain his form, his skin was translucent, and all the splotchy black and white variegation came from whatever strange liquids sloshed around inside him, it was like someone had filled a clear balloon with muck. Blackbart stood up and swiveled his head around at the crowd, lipless grin ever present. “Hello again little children. What’s the occasion?” it spoke. No one dared move and after a lingering moment of hesitation, Blackbart gestured for an answer aggressively enough that Jeremy took a step forward and spoke. “We ran out of food, we would like some more,” he said. “That can be arranged quite easily. But I won’t do this for free. See I got to eat too, so who will you give me in return?” It said, tapping its nailless finger along its teeth. “We have some more snails.” “The snails are nothing more than a medium for my traversal, for a trade to be made you must give me something much more substantial. Last time you traded everyone but yourselves, what will you give this time?” Blackbart spoke. In the moments of silence that passed each heartbeat came with a thunderous fury, slow and stretched out. When the finger was pointed it was with a cold and impassionate cruelty known only to children. Nathan’s eyes went wild at Jeremy's decision, casting glances at the other children as if asking for them to intervene. When he looked at the savage grin on Blackbart’s face the seven-year-old let out a yelp, a puddle of piss forming around his feet, and sprinted towards the woods. Later, when asked why Jeremy would only say that he found the boy boring, no hint of malice in the answer. Blackbart got down on all fours, limbs twisting and forming themselves into something more bestial and suited for quadrupedal movement. His teeth lengthened and thinned until he had a mouth full of jagged fangs. It nodded at us before he set off full sprint in the same direction Nathan had run, a fiendish cackle trailing it. Mark burst out into tears and tried comforting him as a big sister should, but my eyes and attention were deadlocked on Jeremy. I had seen the look of disdain that had crossed his face the second mark started crying. Lara, still carrying baby Mike, interrupted our bout with a question on everyone’s mind. “What about the food?” “Tomorrow,” was all Jeremy said. Sure enough the next day at the center of our trailer park there was a mountain of groceries and there was some excitement. But as our group had shrunk from thirteen to twelve the dynamic had shifted drastically, many kids had played along with Jeremy’s boy-king act. Now they looked at him in fear, and their act turned to true reverence, everyone but me Mark, and Lara. Occasionally I would catch glances from Jeremy, darker and colder than I had ever known, but I tried to hold my glare whenever possible, with as much resolution as a nine-year-old could muster. That day I started siphoning off my snail supply into a divet in the woods, hid them with a well-placed rock, and would throw in the few snails I could scrounge from trades. At the very least food was no longer a concern as every two weeks a new pile of food appeared in the usual spot. As the days passed we grew dirtier as the numbers that cared to groom themselves dwindled and so did those who cared for a world outside this child’s fantasy. I had started to miss school, to miss faces outside of this trailer park. I wondered why no adults had come to check in on us yet, now with the wisdom of adulthood, I know that we lived in a very economically disparaged area. Any figure of authority that could have intervened before the madness overtook us had likely given up on us long before we stopped going to school. The second month came to a close and no ritual was held but a feast was, one late into the night with lots of whooping and hollering in honor of our king. I sat it out and spent the time cleaning Mark and helping Lara care for Mikey, he spent most of his time crying and had grown sickly pale in color. Lara had long run out of baby formula and was feeding him cow's milk. “He’s just got to get used to it,” she would say, but I knew she had grown sick of caring for Mikey, it was nothing like caring for her dollies. One morning, a few days after the feast, while I was out looking for snails, Lara skipped up to me, a crown of dried flowers upon her head. “Jeremy asked me to be his queen,” she stated unprompted. “He wanted to ask you at first but he said you’re too much of a bitch,” she said then gasped. Looking around as if noticing for the first time that no one was there to reprimand her she started cycling through the list of curses. “Shit, fuck, damn…” and on and on. “Where’s baby Mikey?” I interrupted. “Oh, well when I woke up this morning he wasn’t moving or crying,” she said sheepishly. “What did you do then?” “Well, I tossed him in the ditch. It’s ok though, Jeremy says the next time we see Blackbart we can just ask for him to bring Mikey back, and this time not as whiney.” I bolted off, not letting her finish, across the trailer park to the other side of the woods and towards the ditch. I looked in and started dry heaving at the sight of the bluish rigid body of little Mikey. Unable to purge anything but bile I calmed myself and walked back to my trailer, to Mark. He was unable to get anything out of me, and I could only think back to the time when Pa still brought us to church. The pastor had once said that all sins would be alleviated once confessed, but this was too terrible to confess, not to someone like Mark. I lay about in my trailer catatonic until the afternoon. Jeremy was shouting at the center of our park and I went out to see what the commotion was about. He was holding up a distinctive envelope with big red letters, opening it up he read it out. It was a notice that a man would be sent to shut off our power by the end of the month if the electric bills weren’t paid. “We have a King and Queen, and an evil witch and her henchman,” he said pointing at me and Mark. “But, we're missing something else, an evil empire! In 30 days, the adults will send one of their own to shut our power off and send us back to the old ways. I say we declare war and strike before they take us all away!” The crowd of children erupted into cheers, and I could only watch as their screams reached a fever pitch. I didn’t see who threw the first rock, just felt the ridge of my left eyebrow explode in searing pain. I grabbed Mark and used my back to shield him from the barrage as I ushered us back into our home. A few rocks pelted our door and the kids chanted “stone the witch” but soon enough their interests shifted elsewhere. I should have been scared but with the arrival of the electric man at the end of this month, I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. The third and final month was sheer madness, the other children further devolved into savagery, they could be heard all hours of the day screaming as they trained for \*war.\* I had to barricade myself in my house and block the windows since the kids had taken to throwing stones at me whenever possible, I had earned the moniker “Cassidy the Witch.” Mark and I went hungry often enough and we had subsided off scraps we could steal, the occasional basket of food left at our doorstep, courtesy of Lara. Every other day though the food pile was guarded by Terry and Corey, now wielding broom handles with large kitchen knives duct-taped at the end. Mark had grown distraught as the days went on. “I miss Pa,” he would often say. I could sincerely say the same. Once I had the chance to sneak out late at night, I crept past the trailers with a satchel full of salt and to the edge of the woods. Guided by the light of a full moon I walked past a group of trees with dozens of fresh cuts and stabs towards the divet I had been hiding my snails in. I was devastated when I found that the majority had died, all they had left was their shells. Picking one up I noticed the entrance was sealed by a thin film and realized that they had gone into hibernation. Water would rouse them from their slumber, realizing this I ran back to my trailer to get a cupful. But by the time I was ready to return, Corey and Terry were out on patrol, and my moment to converse with Blackbart was lost. By the time I had my next chance I had lost the nerve, I didn’t want to see that monstrosity again, I didn’t want to feed it another life. The day of the electrician’s arrival was close enough that I had laid my hopes with him. It was early morning when the crunch of gravel awoke the trailer park, an unmarked white van had parked just outside of our little pocket of madness. The man that walked up was middle-aged and scruffy wearing nothing but a simple jumpsuit. Sleepy eyes went wide at the sight of nearly a dozen filthy children gathering to impede his path. I flung the doors open and ran out, calling out to the stranger. “Mister, we need some help!” Pain exploded from my side as a rock bounced off my flesh, another caught my shoulder and the cries of “witch” fell upon the lips of the crowd. “Hey! What the hell are you kids up to? Where are your parents?” the worker interrupted. His eyes locked with mine and I shook my head, he turned his gaze to the shoddily armed crowd, eyes lingering on the broom handles with duck-taped knives. Shaking his head murmured something about needing to make a phone call and turned to head toward his car. The crowd was frozen in place, no one willing to make the first move and for a moment I thought that this man had brought back some “old-world” sanity into this realm ruled by children. Jeremy was the one to make the first bounding step, charging forward with his weapon thrust forward with killing intent. I screamed as loud as I could for the worker to run, to turn around to do anything. The man spun on his heels to face the children, saw the kitchen knife's deadly arc, and moved to dodge but the end still bit into his side, deep, and cut clean through. “Fuck!” he screamed and the crowd of kids should have relented realizing what they had just done but instead some barrier deep within their psyches gave way and the screaming began. They charged and circled and stabbed in all directions, no logic, just fury. Blood rained down on the sun-parched soil, my ears rang with screams and I couldn’t tell whose screams they belonged, maybe all our collective shrieks fusing into a call of the most primeval of sins. As quickly as it had begun it ended and a man lay dead shredded to ribbons. Blood pooled around him, and the children were painted crimson, eyes darker than anything I had ever known. Jeremy pointed his bloody spear at me and screamed “kill the witch” and they charged toward me. I turned and ran back inside and slammed the door shut. I rushed to grab Mark, my satchel of salt, and a bottle of water and ran out the back door. A heard a voice call out, telling the others to come chase after me, Mark was bawling and my lungs were burning, but the edge of the woods was within sight, just a few more yards. Mark's foot caught a stone and sent both of us scrambling to the ground, I sprang back up and tried to haul my little brother up but the kids had already closed the distance. A thrown spear cut deep into my shoulder and I fell back down in pain. They circled Mark the same way they did the worker and were starting to gather around me, thrusting their weapons. I looked up and saw these red dark-eyed devils, sneering and laughing at the havoc they wrecked. I rolled away, hauled myself up, and ran into the woods as Mark’s screams trailed me. I ran until I couldn’t anymore, my body gave out and I fell into shrubbery deep in some shaded corner of the woods. I cried, the tears crawling across my cheeks in a slow and painful procession, and then came the bawling. The hyperventilating kind where every lungful of air is hard-fought but that too eventually faded in a weak keening. I spent hours hidden away in that foliage, waiting for it all to numb, and when it did I arose a different person. It was nearing dark, if the kids had tried finding me they would have surely given up but now. I trekked through the forest with more confidence than I had ever done so with anything in my short life, I knew what I wanted and how I would get it. I fell to my knees when I reached the divet containing the snails, water was dumped in and I made sure to get all of them. I waited a bit for the snails to come back to life and undid my satchel, letting the salt cascade in. I felt no disgust as they writhed and bubbled and died, only fearless anticipation at what they would bring. I waited for it to appear but as the bubbling slowed I saw no sign of his arrival, I got down closer to the vile pit and looked in. Something shot out with incredible speed and gripped my throat tight. I tried pulling away but it was so much stronger than me, and before I could even scream I was pulled into the slop. I shut my eyes and mouth in hopes of preventing any of the liquids from getting in. The darkness I was plunged into felt weightless, no burden of held breath pressured me to try to take a lungful and my descent down felt endless. “Awaken,” a voice said, vast and booming. I fought to keep my eyes closed but I felt the presence of something start seeping, it was all around me, gazing from all angles. “If you wish to bargain with me you must open your eyes.” Slowly I peeled away my eyelids, expecting the slime to rush in and blind me but it was clear like I was suspended underwater. Beyond my immediate vicinity ribbons of darkness encircled me like a cage made of black hair. Streaks of white stained the mixture in long fractal patterns. Within the white something opened up, a space different from the black and white and I squinted to make it out. I screamed when I realized it was eyes, dozens upon dozens within the swirling black and white fluid. I realized then that this amorphous thing must be Blackbarts true form, the thing that had moved within his translucent flesh, and I closed my eyes again to block out the maddening sight. “Keep them open! And ask child, tell me what you desire.” I forced myself to look and said “I want you to take Jeremy and make him pay for the things he’s done, I’ll sacrifice myself for this.” “I’ve had my fill, I do not need more lives, your payment will be something much more substantial. When the time comes, you’ll know. Consider this contract complete.” The liquid surged upwards dragging me with it, we accelerated faster than I had ever experienced and my head rushed with nausea. We crossed some threshold and I was freed from the liquid and launched into the open air. I saw the night stars for a moment before I tumbled onto the forest floor, dry and dazed but unscathed. In front of me, Blackbart had taken a strange serpentine form, dozens of clawed appendages sprouting from its side, it let out a cackle and launched towards the trailer park with dizzying speed. I was on its heels, trailing it all the way, needing to see what he would do. It reached the children before I did, I heard the panicked shrieks and I ran up to see the carnage. Blackbart towered over the screaming children, its limbs held a bawling Jeremy. A hooked claw dug deep into each of his limbs and slowly began pulling him apart. I looked away, let my scream join the others, and shut my eyes tight as the sound of Jeremy’s agony reached a crescendo and ended with the abrupt squelch of rupture. The sound of raining blood and entrails and the soft thud of a life taken coaxed my eyes open and there before me stood a bewildered crowd, Blackbart nowhere in sight. There was a moment of collective confusion but as realization set in their eyes hardened. “It was the witch!” Lara spat. And soon the others joined, makeshift spears in hand as they waved them toward me with the promise of violence. I stood my ground, eyes locked on Jeremy’s discarded plastic crown, the very one that had begun all this. If this was the end of me I was ready to make peace. A child, Corey I think, took a lunging step forward intent on plunging the blade deep into my chest but the flashing of lights and the whoop of a siren jolted everyone to look behind them. A police car, of course, the police would be called for a missing utility worker. Two cops stepped out of the vehicle, one with a blinding flashlight took in the scene. He called for backup while the other, a woman, asked what the hell had happened. It caused it all to come bursting out of me in one horrible bawling confession. “It was me, I brought it here, I let Mark die and I killed Jeremy.” We were all taken away of course and repeated my confession to anyone that would listen. I once heard that to confess one’s sins was to alleviate yourself of their burden but in the years since no relief was found, I think it's because no one listened or believed me. We became wards of the state and were scattered around the country and it was all chalked up to the trauma of abandonment. All blame fell on our absent parents and theories from mass drug-induced psychosis to religious mania as a way to explain their mass abandonment. I’m in my mid-20s now and I don’t want to carry this around anymore, so I’m hoping someone out there will believe me and take some of the guilt away from me. Reflecting on all that happened I think that we became a microcosm of sorts, reflecting something deep within us, something that scares me to this day. One final thing sticks with me, the subject of payment, Blackbart never collected, or so I like to think. I don’t know what happened to the others after we split up, I like to think that his ritual died with our childhood, but in the same way that it crept in and poisoned us, I’ve retold his tale here. Maybe someone out there will read this and get a bucket of snails and a can of salt, and when Blackbart hauls himself back out into the world, I think my debt will finally be paid.

I work for a county Sheriff’s office in Maine - I’m considering quitting…

y21ltl

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y21ltl/i_work_for_a_county_sheriffs_office_in_maine_im/

Autumn in Maine, the leaves turn from lush green to rustic orange and the late season hikers clear out. At the Sheriff’s office we prepare for the winter, which for the most part means stocking up for emergency management scenarios. We check all the generators, make sure our spare batteries are working and stock up on medical supplies. Ordinarily a sheriff’s office might only handle domestic issues, crimes and disturbances. However my station works closely with park rangers, so much so that I would almost consider my role a duel role. It’s part of my regular job to patrol the state park and help maintain the trails. This is in part because there are so few rangers, and because there is virtually no crime in the small county I work for. Occasional strange occurrences, sure. But actual crimes are very rare. For me this meant that Sheriff Barrett saddled me with all the park work that needed to be done almost as soon as I got back from Oklahoma. I spent my days outside raking leaves, covering over pot holes, checking trail markers and watching my breath steam in the chilled air. Not that I minded, paper work wasn’t for me and I dared not disturb Diane’s delicate arrangement of files, lest she skin me alive. A lot of the time I worked under the supervision of Allison Moore, who was the head park ranger. She was a plump lady, with salt and pepper grey hair styled in an afro. Being only 5’2” you would expect that she would be meek or shy, but she was quite unashamedly the opposite, when she addressed me I could hear it ring clear through the woods. “Charles, it’s time for lunch! You need to get some meat on those bones!” She called with her hands on her hips as if she expected me to have known already. Maybe I should have. She kept me busy all day with endless tasks, but we usually took lunch together at the local diner and she always insisted on paying. Over lunch she talked about her family, they were coming up for the holiday season and she wanted me to meet her daughter. I felt my ears turn red, she must’ve thought I needed help in the dating department and she was probably right, “You’re a handsome man, find yourself a wife!” She would always insist. After lunch I headed back to the station. When I arrived I could hear the Sheriff carrying on. Someone was in trouble, “You two are going to be shovelling the snow off my drive for the next forty years of your lives if you vandalise Mrs Labelle’s gargoyle statue one more time. Do you hear me? You’re lucky I don’t-..” I walked in to see two of our regular trouble makers sat awkwardly in front of his desk. The boys were in their early teens, harmless really, and they looked suitably traumatised. We had seen them in a couple times for other minor issues, but they weren’t bad kids, they just needed some direction. Barrett was probably scaring the life out of them with his eyebrows knitted into a cross of fury like they were. Barrett cut off mid sentence when he spotted me, “Charles! Where have you been? Do you know what time it is?!” He demanded and I scrambled for an answer, “I was having lunch with Mrs Moore, she kept me back to remove some branches from the trail.” I said quickly. The younger of the two boys turned to look at me with wide eyes, “Aww no, please don’t tell Mimi I was here!” He exclaimed. “Well, if you didn’t want her to find out, you shouldn’t have painted the gargoyle.” I answered with a ‘there’s nothing I can do to help you’ shrug. The boy’s name was Deion, and Mrs Moore was his grandmother. “Have you seen the thing? It’s evil.” He grumbled sitting back down with his arms folded. I sympathised with him, the gargoyle that sat atop Mrs Labelle’s letter box *was* terrifying. Nonetheless, Barrett sentenced the boys to a week of picking up trash and general cleaning around the station while I slinked back to my desk, hoping my tardiness would be overlooked. Unfortunately when he was done with the kids his attention returned to me. He didn’t approach my desk, rather he raised his voice to speak across the room at me, “Charles. We’ve been getting reports of some voodoo type stuff that someone’s set up in the woods. East trial. Go dismantle it. It’s a public eye sore and we can’t have people thinking we’ve got a cult in the area.” He instructed sitting back in his chair with his arms folded. I raised an eyebrow, “Do you think it’s ahh.. You know…” I questioned cautiously, already hating myself for even suggesting it. The Sheriff looked distinctly displeased, “What nonsense are you talking about boy? It’s just some kids messing around in the woods to scare tourists.” He said gruffly. “Yeah, that’s probably right.” I agreed quickly, relieved, “Do you want me to get working on it now?” “No Charles, I mentioned it so that you could take it into account and relax for the rest of the afternoon.” He spoke calmly, surprising me with his relaxed attitude. Then he spoke louder, “Of course I want you to go do it now! Take the ATV, and be quick about it.” “Right, yes sir.” I said quickly hurrying to gather my things and go. I thought it was unlike him, I should have known. “Wait up.. if it is ahh.. *Something*, you come right back. I’ll call the specialist.” Barrett added as I was heading out the door. The low concern in his voice was enough to make me nervous. “Got it.” I assured, trying not to betray how unsettled that made me as I headed out. I had worked with the ’specialist’ twice before on cases that took an.. *Unconventional* path to resolution. Both times were at least mildly traumatising. I didn’t mind the man himself, but, the implication that this could be something that we weren’t normally equipped to handle was deeply disturbing. “And keep your radio on!” I heard the Sheriff call after me. I raised my hand to let him know I had heard as I made my way to the ATV’s. There were a few good hours of daylight left but I didn’t want to waste any time. Being out in the woods at night was not something I wanted to be doing and the specified trail was one of the longest. It headed east and up into the mountains and was the path adventurers took when they wanted to do a full day’s trip or an overnight stay. This time of year it was quiet and making my way up the trail on the ATV was peaceful. Small birds darted between bare branches. The ground was damp, small puddles and mushy leaves lined the trail. We had already seen the first snow of the year, though it was little more than dirty slush, and that meant that in a few more weeks the ski season would begin. I wasn’t looking forward to that. The cold wouldn’t be so bad, but it meant that before long overconfident people would be flooding the park infirmary with sprained ankles and broken arms. At the station last year we took turns helping out, this year however, I knew it would be all me. I allowed my thoughts to wander as my vehicle tires squelched on the muddy earth. For a time I thought a lot about how many injuries there would be and about how I would best get people off the mountain. Then my thoughts trailed off.. My sister would be coming around to stay with me soon. My parents live in the same town as myself, though I don’t see them as often as they would like, while my sister lives interstate. She never announces herself, but I knew that one day soon I would finish work to find her sitting on my doorstep with a suitcase, complaining about how long she had to wait in the cold for me to get home. She’s somewhat of a free spirit. Shameless, with high energy and questionable decision making skills, but we get along well and I’m always secretly a little sad to see her go. More often than not she leaves the same way she arrives, spontaneously. Without a word of goodbye I’ll find a hastily scrawled note about how she’s headed out to wherever next and will see me again in ‘a while’. Honestly I don’t know how she manages to take care of herself. I was going to have to make sure to stock up the fridge on my way home though. My thoughts were interrupted when I came across two hikers, I recognised them as locals and they greeted me with familiarity. I could tell by the look on their faces that they were deeply concerned about something and they went on to explain that they had come across some occult ritual in the woods. If I’m honest, they looked quite shaken. I should have known that their inability to accurately describe what they had seen meant it was something bad. I realised quickly that they had been the ones to call in about the ‘voodoo’ in the woods. Apparently it was in a clearing not too far ahead to the right. They had stayed to help guide me to the location, though they were quite anxious to leave the area. I’ll admit this made me feel a little unsettled, they weren’t the kind of people to spook easily which was an ominous sign. Strange things have happened in these woods. People have gone missing under mysterious circumstances, reports of strange animal sightings are common, and of course, there was the May incident that I had personally witnessed. I felt a swell of anxiety in my gut remembering it, most of the time I put it to the back of my mind. In general I try not to think about the things I can’t well explain. I have, unfortunately, seen more unexplainable things than I would like to admit. However, I had never experienced them alone. Each time something unnatural happened, Eric Linnaeus had been there to resolve the issue. He was the specialist Barrett mentioned and I found myself regretting that he hadn’t been called right away as I came across the clearing in question. I found it easily as the nearby trees had been stripped of all low hanging branches. Cautiously I pulled into the clearing and from a distances I could see that the grasses in the area were crushed down in an anticlockwise direction creating a perfectly circular space among the trees. In the centre of this clearing was the still smouldering remains of a fire of some kind. Smoke rose from it slowly in wispy plumes. However, even as I approached, the forest showed no signs of danger. In the trees the birds still sang carelessly and insects still chirped. I couldn’t tell if this was a good sign or not, all the hair on the back of my neck was standing on end. The wildlife might not sense any danger, but I certainly did. Taking a deep breath in I tried to calm my nerves. There was nothing there, no one was around. It was just a space in which someone *had* once been, and they were no longer there I told myself. I entered the area with hesitance and approached the coals. Now that I was closer I could see fragments of bone in the ashes, I’m not an expert in anthropology, but the remains didn’t look to be human to me. Perhaps though, it was a deer? I began to convince myself that this was just some illegal hunters idea of a spooky joke. Maybe even left over Halloween decoration of some kind. I ignored the fact that there was no litter whatsoever in the area and I pretended I didn’t notice the odd way in which everything was directed anticlockwise. As I looked around I noticed that there were small charms hanging in the trees. They were made of sticks and twine with small bones woven into each arrangement. I grimaced to myself, this was undoubtedly what the Sheriff wanted me to take down. I knew he would want me to make the area look ‘normal’ again. I set about my task reluctantly, taking each unusual object down and loading them into a garbage bag. I was relieved to find that they seemed to be made of plastic and common thread. They were props like those you by in Halloween stores and this made me feel immensely better. Of corse I still wasn’t sure what I should do with these things once they were taken down. Obviously I didn’t want to take them back with me, but I also didn’t know what else I was supposed to do with them. Bury them maybe? Probably not, it wouldn’t look good for an officer to litter, I reprimanded myself. Though it didn’t really matter for when I touched the 4th one it pricked me. Surprised I stared at it dumbfounded, I hadn’t realised it had thorns, the others didn’t. Blood ran freely down my hand and arm, it wasn’t a lot, but enough to stain my sleeve. I cursed myself for not being more careful and looked over the object more thoroughly. This one was indeed different from the others. It was made with real wood, blackened with a vine of thorns tangled into the design. In place of twine was what looked like human hair and the bones in it weren’t made of plastic, instead they seemed avian with dried flesh that still clung to them. I recoiled dropping the thing. I couldn’t imagine what kind of person would make something like it and I decided right then that this was more than kids messing around, this thing, was *real*. The atmosphere around me changed then, the forest fell silent and I felt nausea wash over me. My vision blurred and before I knew it I was stumbling back to the ATV. I tried to call over the radio for help, but I couldn’t get through. My fingers slipped off the buttons as I tried to press them in and I struggled to form coherent sentences as I tried to explain what had happened. I received no response. When I reached my vehicle I tried to grab a hold of the handle bars, but they were doubled and I missed repeatedly. It was frustrating. I could see the thing sitting there unmoving, yet I couldn’t get a hold of it. Thinking back, even if I had, I probably wouldn’t have been able to drive it. I realised that the charm must have been poisoned, a trap for anyone who tried to touch it and I was that unfortunate person. I’m not sure when or how I fell over. Gravity seemed to shift and I fell sideways to the ground. It didn’t hurt, but I couldn’t get up. I flailed helplessly on the ground, the dampness sinking into my clothes so that before long I was shivering as well. That’s when I first noticed it.. It was a blackened figure with tattered clothing crawling along the ground toward me. It came from the direction of the clearing and I could see it coming for me through the gap under the ATV. It’s dark shape contrasted unnaturally against the earthy tones of the forest and it seemed horrifically out of place in the daylight. I struggled more then, trying to get up, or at least to just get away but it was useless. Every effort I made was uncoordinated. My limbs wouldn’t move in any useful way and I fell back to the ground again. In desperation I tried to unholster my gun but I couldn’t get the latch to undo, or maybe it was just that I couldn’t remember how to do it. Regardless, I was painfully helpless. I could feel the blood rushing in my ears and adrenaline pumping through me, I felt like I was having a heart attack. I couldn’t breathe. There’s nothing I can say that will describe the terror I felt. My flight or fight response was trying to work but my body was uncooperative, I can’t even say that I was frozen with fear. It was more just that I had no control over anything. The creature was by then upon me. It crawled up the length of my body, it’s nails dug into my skin as it dragged itself up to be eye level with me. I realised then that it looked like a burned woman. She had no eyes and her teeth hung loose from her jaw as she opened her mouth wide over me. A sticky black fluid poured from her mouth over my face, it felt like drowning all over again and I got flashbacks of the Oklahoma incident. I don’t know when I passed out, however when I came too it was dusk and I was alone. The radio on my shoulder crackled to life and Diane’s voice came through loud and clear, ‘Charles, calling Charles. Can you hear me?’ She asked, her tone caught between annoyance and concern as if she had been trying to contact me for a while. ‘I’m here.’ I answered with a groan, my entire body ached. I felt as though I had been hit by a truck and lived, barely. ‘Where have you been? Why didn’t you answer sooner!?’ She demanded now, any concern she may have had evaporating. It took me a moment to recollect what had happened and I sat up fast, a little too fast, causing my head to spin as I remembered the burned woman. Looking around I couldn’t see her, nor any sign that she had been there. There was no trace of black fluid and no footprints in the mud other than my own. For a time I thought I must’ve hallucinated the entire thing. Feeling foolish I didn’t want to tell Diane that I had been passed out on the forest floor for however long, so I lied, ‘Sorry, I was cleaning up the clearing. I didn’t hear the radio.’ ‘Not good enough Charles.’ She scolded but the relief in her voice was obvious, ‘Are you headed back in now? It’s almost dark, Sheriff isn’t happy.’ ‘Yeah, I’m on my way back now.’ I assured. I knew as well as she did that being on the trail at night was a situation to be avoided if at all possible. ‘Good.’ Diane said in a final tone as I clambered back onto the ATV. The way back took some time and it was well and truely dark by the time I arrived. Barrett was, as promised, not very happy with me, “What did you do? Roll in the mud? Don’t stand on the carpets, they were just cleaned.” He said gruffly looking me up and down. I knew I was a mess, dried mud was stuck to my uniform and hair, though at least most of the leaves had blown off me on the way back, “Yes Sheriff.” I agreed easily but I must have sounded more pitiful than I intended because his tone softened. “Take the day off tomorrow, looks like you’ve had a rough day.” He instructed. “No, I’m fine, I can work tomorrow.” I insisted, I knew he wasn’t trying to punish me, but it felt like he was. “I won’t hear a word about it, if you come in tomorrow you’re fired. Take the day to recover.” He reiterated and I realised arguing further was going to be pointless. If I’m honest I did feel, off.. Not sick, just exhausted and sore, all my joints hurt. I sanitised my mouth particularly well that night, and scrubbed my face near raw. By the time I got out of the shower I felt somewhat better, but I wasn’t sure that what I experienced really happened. Where the charm had pricked me I had a small red mark on my hand, but otherwise I was physically unharmed. Psychologically though, maybe I was a tad more shaken than I’m willing to admit. By the end of it all I was more or less just waiting for something *else* to happen. I wanted to call Eric, but I also didn’t want to waste his time. What could I even say? I *think* something supernatural happened to me, ‘please help’? I decided against it. He probably wouldn’t even answer anyway. [Worse things have happened](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/p8xetl/i_work_for_a_county_sheriffs_office_in_maine_pt1/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf) to me than this and there’s no reason to jump to any unnatural conclusions. I think the charm was laced with hallucinogens, someones idea of a joke I’m sure. Just make sure you’re careful if you go out into the woods. I don’t know if there are more, but I hope there aren’t. [NEXT](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y4rooj/i_work_for_a_county_sheriffs_office_in_maine_i/) [Chapters List](https://www.reddit.com/user/xXKikitoXx/comments/xhj9xo/eric_linnaeus_stories_discussion_thread/?sort=new) [.xXx.](https://www.reddit.com/user/xXKikitoXx/comments/vl2ws4/hi_and_welcome_to_my_page/)

Strange Things are Happening at my Apartment

y2jwf2

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y2jwf2/strange_things_are_happening_at_my_apartment/

I live on the top floor of a five-story apartment. I live alone with my two cats. I work from home full-time and am a bit of a recluse. I even spend extra for grocery drop off so I have very few errands I have to run. I have no real friends or family to hang out with. This apartment was a little odd from the start. When I first moved in the first-floor neighbors were out on their patio and said hi in an attempt at friendliness. I hired professional movers to move my belongings as quickly as possible. Begrudgingly with a cat carrier in each hand I made pleasantries. “Oh, are you just moving in?” “Ya looks to be that way.” We sat for a second awkwardly. I tried to appear as uncomfortable as possible. It was an older woman, probably around fifty or sixty that was talking to me. She looked like she had a rough life, her hair must have once been died pink but it had faded to an awkward color. Her gray roots showed through. She had no teeth and was sucking on her lips as she contemplated what she was going to say next. “It is just you?” My eyes lifted to the tall man who must have been at least three hundred pounds and about six feet. He was tan and covered in tattoos. His head was shaved and he was wearing a white wife beater and sweatpants. “No, I have a brother and a husband” I lied through my teeth. This was a bigger city and not in the best of neighborhoods. Best not to give out any info. “Well, I better go.” I rushed up the stairs before the neighbors could protest. The apartment looked as if it hadn't been updated in years. The concrete steps and paint-peeling walls were not welcoming in the slightest. I heaved a sigh. I hadn't gone to a showing so this was on me. The pictures looked a lot more welcoming. The apartment units were able to be accessed from an outside path. Similar to a motel. Two concrete stairs sat on opposite ends of the complex and went up the five floors with one ‘hallway’ that connected the two. My apartment was 505 so the top floor so five concrete flights of outdoor stairs. And exactly halfway down the hallway to be the topmost middle unit of the complex. The leasing office had given me five keys but weirdly enough my door only had one lock. The deadbolt. I set down the least jumpy cat which was the one in my right hand and tried each key in succession. The two movers were just clearing the fifth staircase with my king mattress when I found the correct key and hastily opened the door. I grabbed the set down Miso who seem unperturbed by the disturbance and headed into the apartment. The inside of the unit was a one bed one bath but was at least recently remodeled. I moved to the bedroom and shut the door behind me enjoying a moment of peace. Today was a lot. The amount of social interaction I had today paired with the stress of the move had rendered me exhausted. I set down each of the cats. Miso and Baby. Baby was aptly named he was a five-year-old maincoon with an orange pattern. He was a nervous cat that liked to be carried like a baby around the house. He was the reason I bought a cat carrier. Of course, it took the purchase of three cat carriers to find one that would hold a twenty-five-pound main coon. Miso was a very independent seven-year-old siamese cat who was leash trained and smarter than any dog I had ever seen. I could hold entire conversations with Miso and he would meow and mew in response. On opening the carriers, Miso ran out of the carrier and started looking around the room quickly jumping onto the window sill. The window in the bedroom pointed out to the outdoor hallway. This was unsettling to me. Why would I want to look out at people going to their apartments? There was nothing to see out that way just a parking complex. Miso started purring and pushed against my arm as I looked out at the concrete sight. I met his head with my hand giving him some ear scratches. And Baby stayed in his crate. He would remain that way till everyone was gone and probably for a few hours after. How I envied the ability to hide in his carrier. There was a polite knock on the door I heaved another heavy sigh and opened it a crack. “Sorry to bother you mam, but you just wanted everything unloaded here in the living room, or did you want us to unload certain boxes in certain rooms?” “Everything in the living room is fine. Thank you.” I shut the door to the bedroom again positioning my back against the door I slid to the ground. Miso ran up to me and I lavished him with pets, sending a symphony of purrs against my hand. I took a closer look at the room I was in. The bedroom was very tiny not large enough for my bed but at least it had a larger closet. The floors were laminated with a fake hardwood pattern and the walls were beige. It was clean at least but you could tell the upgrades were hastily done. The paint covered previous drips and none of the screws on the switch plates matched. It was a landlord fix-up with ‘new floors and paint’ just like most overpriced units in any city. Within an hour the movers were done. I had crept out of the bedroom about twenty minutes in. I had decided to have the bed and ‘bedroom’ be the living room. The apartment was in a bit of a spiral the entrance had a hallway that led into a large living room with a patio with a large screen door. There was a large window to the left of that, both the patio and windows facing west towards a park. Nestled in the far left corner to the northwest was a smaller kitchen. Full fridge, and stove and it had a dishwasher. To the east of the hallway, the entrance was another hallway that led to the single bedroom on the left, and on the right was the bathroom. At the end of the hallway farthest to the north and in between the bedroom and bathroom was another closet with a standing washer and dryer duo. I finished planning out the rest of the apartment. The designated bedroom would be my office. And I had set up my internet while the movers finished up. I tipped the movers a hundred dollars as I know that my stuff was difficult to move and only having two of them couldn’t have been easy. The mover gave me a big grin, said thank you, and went on his way taking his colleague with him. I followed them down the hallway to the entrance and closed the door behind them locking the deadbolt as I did so. Miso was following me the entire way. I looked back at the living room and started slowly moving the largest furniture into the proper spaces. The goal for today getting the office set up and my bed on my bed frame. I moved in my desk and as many bookcases as I could. The bookcases lined every wall with my desk facing the window. My office chair’s back towards the door. The bookcases were empty and Miso took great delight in jumping on every piece of furniture that I moved. It was Saturday so I would have tomorrow to get ready before I had work Monday Morning. I set up my TV on my TV stand at the end of the living room opposite my bed, then I took a small break to order Thai food delivery and eat at my desk. Before I knew it the app said delivered. Having too much to do has a way of passing the time. But what was odd was there was no knock. I looked out through the peephole to see a tied-up plastic bag with the familiar paper take-out boxes inside sitting right outside my door. It was dark outside at this point. Around eight pm. I cracked open my door taking a quick peek left and right and grabbed my food and retreated to the safety of my apartment. I had achieved getting my bed frame set up and let my mattress fall on top of it from its sideways standing position. I set my food on the mattress and took a moment to set up my smart TV. Settling in to eat my Pineapple Curry and binge one of my comfort shows I had seen a million times. This time it was a cartoon that was about accepting everyone with kindness and defeating enemies by talking about their differences. Baby and Miso sat in front of me on the bed eagerly begging. “None for you kitties this is bad for you.” With a look of understanding, Miso settled in on the bed and quickly fell asleep with Baby still begging profusely. I sighed and lay down letting myself experience the feeling of laying down for the first time today. My body ached and I closed my eyes still listening to my comfort show in the background with the brightness set to zero. The apartment groaned and creaked. I shuddered, grabbing my blanket a little tighter and pulling the comforter over my head. The walls were thin. I could hear my upstairs neighbor walking? No, it was more like swaying? The creek of the floor but without the pounding of the steps. Just a back-and-forth rocking of rhythmic squeaks. Then a knock. I looked at my phone and it was 2 am. I don’t invite people over. Maybe they were looking for who lived here before? `Knock Knock Knock` I peeked out of my cover to see Baby had fled the room and Miso was staring at the door. I looked down the hallway following Miso’s gaze. I could see a shadow under the door. Definitely at my door then. I felt the blood leave my hands making them cold and clammy. I turned down my show maybe I had my show on too loud and it was a neighbor? Dread filled me. And I decided to ignore the disruption. Another set of knocks came ringing down the hallway this time faster. And again at an even more rapid pace. The timing between the knocks became more frequent. Anxiety continued through my body causing me to start shaking. I looked at my phone again. 3 am. An entire hour of knocking. I called the cops. “911 what's your emergency” “Yes there is someone outside my new apartment its been a little over an hour and he is still there.” “Is the person doing anything suspicious?” “I mean, he is knocking? Frantically.” “Have they attempted to enter the home in any other way?” “No.” “Can you describe what they look like? “Um yes give me just a moment. “ I tip-toed the bed as quietly as I could. I stayed to the left side of the hallway and let myself lean against the wall for support. I nervously looked out the peephole. There was a pale man at least 6 feet tall. He had on a hoody and baggy cargo pants on. He had on a baseball cap with the hood over the cap. His hands had winter gloves on and his face was shrouded in shadow. He knocked again making me jump. I slid down the wall into a more comforting position and whispered the description to the dispatcher. “And you do not know this man.” “No” “Have you attempted to talk to him?” “No.” “Okay, I have alerted officers in the area. They have to prioritize violent or emergency calls first. So they will be by as soon as they can.” “I understand.” Another string of knocks made me jump slightly. The dispatcher continued; “Please call again if the situation escalates.” And the dispatcher hung up. My heart was pounding. I slowly inched away from the door and went to the bathroom. I opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed my anti-anxiety pills and popped one. I do have some mental issues but they are diagnosed and I am getting help for them. You may have guessed that I have anxiety and you would be right. I also have several phobias. So for this being the first time calling the cops or really anything happening like this, I was mid panic attack. These are a quick-release pill I am supposed to take if I feel an attack oncoming. And I take them as needed along with my other morning medication. I started the shower on hot water and just sat in my bathroom with the door closed breathing in the steam. Focusing on my breaths. In and out. In and out. The bathroom is in the middle of the apartment so no doors or windows to the outside world. In and out. `Scratch Scratch Scratch` I heard a small meow and a black and white paw appeared from under the door. I cracked it and Miso came in quickly weaving in and out of my legs for pets. In and out. I could hear knocking from the front door this time it was more forceful. I checked my phone again at 4 am. I ended up sleeping sitting on the bathroom floor leaning against the wall. I woke with my head at an awkward tilt causing cramping in my neck. Miso had slept in my lap with me and he stretched still on me when I got up. I got up slowly rubbing my neck and gently picking Miso up into my arms. I started walking to the bed putting Miso down and covering him with a bit of blanket. He settled immediately already content. I looked at my phone and it was 11 am. The memory of the night prior flooded me and I was surprised. Normally I can only sleep till 8 am regardless of how long I stay up. Let alone on a bathroom floor. I checked my calls and there were no calls. I cautiously looked out my peephole and nothing.

The House of Attics and Basements [Part 4]

y2lryb

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y2lryb/the_house_of_attics_and_basements_part_4/

[Part One](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xsa3mq/the_house_of_attics_and_basements_part_1/) [Part Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xvk0pa/the_house_of_attics_and_basements_part_2/) [Part Three](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xxab73/the_house_of_attics_and_basements_part_3/) The Diary of John Lewis, April 16, 1820: *I can tell the end is close now, and God’s truth is that I’d rather the story that follows remain a mystery. But for you, Winston, I feel a father’s duty to describe the curse that is about to befall you. Though the words you are about to read may bend the imagination, I beg you, do not take them as the ramblings of a feeble-minded old man, for I assure you they are His Truth.* *Though I took possession of the family home in Virginia upon my mother’s passing on Christmas, in the year of our Lord 1800, it was several years before I found the Clock. In truth, I suspect, I had spent much of my life trying not to find it, as my mother had made great pains to keep it sealed, paying a premium to a local mason who worked with discretion as he built what might have looked like a chimney to the careless eye.* *Thus the accursed clock may have well stayed if not for an unwelcome visit from the Other Side. Indeed, I returned from a buying trip in town to hear an ungodly racket emanating from above. Then, lantern in hand, I ascended into that dusty place and witnessed a most peculiar site: it was a local boy, Ben Hardy, poking his head through from the wall’s far side.* *Of course, this apparition seemed near impossible, as the wall’s other side consisted of nothing, save thin air.* *“Boy!” I shouted, cease this immediately and state your purpose here, to which he responded that it was I who had hired him to do this very thing! When I assured him he was speaking nonsense, he called me a stingy old bastard, at which point I retreated downstairs to retrieve my musket.* *By the time I returned, Ben was gone, leaving only the hole in the brick and various debris cluttering my attic! Through the hole in the bricks, I saw the clock for the first time. One could not condemn its craftsmanship, for the marvels of its wood inlay put even the Shakers to shame. With the passing years, I have come to identify this artistry as that of the Devil himself.* *Perhaps a wiser man might have restored the bricks to their original condition, but if I am guilty of any sin, it is the Devil’s curiosity. Indeed, I took the next few hours, removing the remaining bricks, and examining the clock, whose craftsmanship even exceeded my first assessment. My next thought, was to sell the clock, both repeating a financial reward and protecting the house from any Witchcraft.* *In town to meet an antique dealer, I ran into no other than Ben Hardy himself, who I grabbed by the ear and demanded an explanation regarding his recent trespass onto my estate. The boy, eyes wide, so vehemently denied any such intrusion that I was apt to believe him, despite what my eyes had seen. I released him, and he scampered away.* *Finding a local antiques dealer, I elicited great interest in my discovery, so much so that he immediately accompanied me back to the house. There, he took great interest in the clock, fawning over its fine woodcraft and steady sound, though puzzled by the fact that both hands pointed permanently at Five. We spent the better part of an hour searching for any sort of door or hinge that may unlock the clock’s mechanical interior but found our efforts thwarted. He promised to return, and departed.* *I might have had him back, except for the dreadful thing that followed.* *I awoke the night to a considerable thumping from above. Musket ready, I ascended to the attic, ready to fire for the first time since the days of King George. But the weapon proved fully unnecessary. What I found above was already dead.* *There, on the attic floor, was a large cloth sack, half-soaked red and brown with drying blood. Inside was Ben, all cut to pieces and neatly stacked within the bag. Body at the bottom, then limbs, and finally head in a sort of pyramid.* *I vomited and retreated downstairs, rousing your mother. Our first instinct, of course, was to alert the constable, but she quickly reminded me of my earlier altercation with Ben, and the suspicion that would be cast on me. Without long before dawn, we agreed to cast the sack and all its contents into a recently dug hole, originally intended as a garden bed.* *I slept not a wink, but found it necessary to return to town on some business in the morning. Imagine my surprise, then, without a wink of sleep, when I came across Ben Hardy at the local pub, half drunk and complaining of my earlier assault to any who would hear!* *Forgetting my business, I made haste for home, where I dug up the dirt I’d hastily thrown upon Ben’s corpse and found the bag very much still full of Ben’s dismembered corpse!* *Then, before I might even make sense of the current situation, I heard a scream escape the house and ran inside to find your mother in hysterics. She pointed up to the attic and begged me to seal the door, for the Devil himself had visited us. You, of course, were but a baby of three months then, but even you ceased your crying as if aware of the dire matter at hand.* *Armed with both gun and the pocket knife given to me by my own dear father, I ascended the stairs to the attic and found two bags. They contained you and your mother, both cut cleanly into pyramids, like Ben before you. Oh, how I howled in torment at the sight, especially at that of you, so small in your tiny, soaking bag.* *Then, I descended, to find your mother, your living mother, screaming uncontrollably, holding your firm to her breast.* *Your mother refused to spend another night in that accursed house. Taking you, she traveled back to Pennsylvania to visit your maternal grandparents at their family estate.* *As for me, I stayed behind. I brought a chair up to the attic and waited to discover the author of my tragedy.* *On the third night, I woke from half-sleep to see a fresh sack thud to the ground, materializing before the Infernal Clock. With it, out stepped a man in grey attire, save for a black mask that covered his visage.* *I reached for my musket, but he was too quick. He crossed the room in seconds, and slashed at my hand with a pocket knife, disarming me. Then, as if reading my mind, he kicked my other hand as I reached for my own knife, sending the weapon skittering across the floor.* Inscrutable\*, he looked down at me, holding my bleeding fingers.\* *“Why have you cursed me, foul spirit?” I demanded.* *He didn’t respond but merely gestured to the bag. Slowly, I crawled to it and pulled at the rope that knotted it closed. The burlap opened to reveal my own corpse.* *“So you are Death himself then?” I inquired. “I say then, fine! Come do your worst! My soul is pure! Take me to My Eternal Lord!”* *But the figure shook its head.* *“You are not ready yet, Five,” said the figure. “You still have too much to lose. But don’t worry. I will return.”* *And with that, he turned back to the clock. Reaching it, he stabbed his knife directly into the center of its face. A blue light filled the room, like that of a full moon. Then he was gone.* *That very night, I burned the whole house to the ground and left for Pennsylvania. As you know, we are settled here now, in the house I built upon my return.* *What you may not know, is that shortly upon completion of the house, I made an unsettling discovery in the attic. There, resting in the corner as if it had been here all along, was the Clock, ticking and tocking its regular rhythm. And there it has stayed ever since.* *Until last night, your wedding night. When I awoke to hear familiar thumps in the attic.* [Part Five](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y513yc/the_house_of_attics_and_basements_part_5/)

My grandfather left behind cassette tapes explaining how he'd been the cause of the three worst natural disasters in his hometown [PART 1]

y2836i

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y2836i/my_grandfather_left_behind_cassette_tapes/

It might seem like a cold and cruel thing to admit…but I didn’t cry at my grandfather’s funeral. I mean, I hadn’t seen him in person or spoken to him since I was five years old, and six entire years had passed since then. Now, I’m not trying to make excuses for myself, but isn’t it a bit much to expect a small child to cry over someone they have not seen in over half a decade? To an adult, that might’ve been a negligible amount of time, but to a growing kid like me, even a month seemed like forever. Needless to say, I didn’t attend the main service, as my parents were too embarrassed by me for not shedding a single tear for him. While the adults emptied their eyes out on a small hill, I stayed in my grandparents’ house. I made it a point to explore every one of its corridors before everyone came back for the meal. After a series of bathrooms, bedrooms, libraries, and more bathrooms, bedrooms and libraries, I found myself infected with a stubborn boredom that wouldn’t go away, despite the many interesting things that I did come across. But alas, a young lad such as myself felt no entertainment from reading a first edition copy of “David Copperfield” or awe from gazing upon a vast rifle collection in a room full of stuffed animal heads. Anyhow, I told you this so that you can have some context as to why I found myself sitting in a large old sofa chair in my grandparents’ living room, trying to remember just what the hell I had done with him. I remembered some bits and pieces here and there of a vague old man smiling and handing me things as well as holding my hand while we walked, but nothing really stood out . I kept searching deep into my subconscious, wanting to find a reason to cry…but in the end, I came up empty. I was about to get up and leave to get an early serving of food, but it was at that moment that an old woman walked in out of nowhere. She too was dressed in funeral attire but I just couldn’t remember seeing her anywhere in the crowd of people that clamored over my late grandfather’s casket. The woman, with eyes as bleak and dark as coal, took one look at me, and her entire gaze seemed to brighten in a flash. “David?” she asked, and I realized at that very awkward moment (for me) that I was talking to my grandmother, whom I had also not seen and talked to for over half a decade. I’ll spare you the mandatory pleasantries and the doting, as it is not relevant. What is relevant is the last thing that she ever told and did for me. She beckoned me to her room upstairs and took me to a dark walk-in closet. It felt like an underground mine to me – a spacious room plastered with dress after dress and suit after suit. The next thing that I know, she gives me this old shoe box, the most unremarkable thing you can lay your eyes on. She gave it to me and said that it was my grandfather’s last will, something that he wanted only me to have. I have to say that I didn’t even bother to open it even after me, my older sister, and my parents returned home. Everyone was too caught up in their grief to notice the plain shoe box under my armpit. So, what do you think happened next? Did my curiosity get the best of me and I opened the box, unwittingly unleashing a terrible curse free? Did I take it out back to burn it because of repressed grief? Was I curious about what was inside the box? Nope (to all three). I tossed it to the back of my closet and forgot about it for nearly a decade. Even now, I remember it like it was yesterday. I was packing all my things, preparing to go to the college of my dreams, when I came across the old box shoe box at the back of my closet that I had forgotten about completely. The memories that I wrote above flooded back, and a sense of guilt washed over me, not so much for not having shed a single tear, but more so that I hadn’t honored my grandfather’s wishes. It was because of this that I decided to finally open that old thing, the dust on top of the lid sliding off like frozen sleet when I did that. Inside the box, I found some very interesting contents. There were four tapes in total, and an old (and I do mean old) tape player. I was quite fascinated with what I saw and, not really expecting anything, I connected my more modern headphones to the dilapidated Walkman, put the cassette marked “#0” in, and pressed what I correctly assumed to be the “PLAY” button. The following is a transcript of what was recorded on that Tape.: &#x200B; *\*BACKGROUND NOISE\** *“Hello hello, testing one two one two. Uhh……Hello David \*LOUD COUGHING\* this…this is your grandfather speaking \*SOFT COUGH”. If you have received this, it means that I'm gone. I don’t know when or where you are listening to this.* *I know I do not have long in this world, and this is why you now find yourself in this situation. Before I leave for good and end up in hell where I belong, I \*LONG FIT OF COUGHING\* I-I want to make sure that you, at the very least, become aware of the crimes that I have committed.”* &#x200B; The sound of my chair creaking loudly as I sat back echoed throughout my room, momentarily resonating with my mind and temporarily suspending my thoughts. *What in the hell is he talking about?* My curiosity was now peaked to say the least. I had nothing to do for the rest of the day, as I had finished all of my work, and my parents were off somewhere. I picked up the tape marked “#1” and put it in the Walkman. &#x200B; The name “ROSANNE” was written in bold Sharpie on it. &#x200B; *“In my day, David, things were much more boring than they are now. This was around the summer of 1963. I was barely ten years old, and I never had anything to do. We had a television, but animated cartoons didn’t exist yet, let alone computers or even video games like your generation has now. At most, you’d get a sitcom of sorts, but that always failed to capture my interest. It was too…adult, so to speak. There wasn’t anything explicit like how its common today. The entire American population would’ve crucified the entire network if that happened. It’s just that I could never relate to any of the jokes or situations that would be presented on such shows.* *Newspaper cartoons weren’t any better.* *You had “PEANUTS” which did admittedly hold my interest, but that interest would soon dissipate after a mere two minutes of re-reading it.* *Don’t even get me started on books. There were no children’s books. There were either books that were read to my two-year-old brother, or books that my parents enjoyed to read, and I, meanwhile, enjoyed neither.* *So, what do you think little old me did for entertainment during that age of stone?* *Well, in my home town of Fulkron, Maine, there was only one place I could go.* *It didn’t require money like the comic book store, so I could go there as often as I wanted to.* *Deep in the woods between Fulkron and its neighboring town – Kanterville – there lay a massive reservoir with a small stream that gradually fattened into a decently-sized river. I’d tried to follow the river for fun a few times, but I was never very athletic, so I would already be exhausted after a mere 10 minutes of jogging. Instead, I preferred skipping rocks on the calm and serene surface of that clear, clear lake, and admiring all that it held. It was so clear that you could see all the way to the bottom, and I would gaze down from a tree I’d climb and just admire it until sunset.* *I was an odd child, to say the least.* *I never did swim in it as it was far, far too cold.* *Admiring it from afar was enough for me.* *Sometimes, even my best friend Rosanne would join.* *\*PAUSE\** *She herself was a girl from Kanterville, and she too enjoyed the lake. That is how we met in the first place.* *Now…as I record this…I realize that I had grown to love her.* *Who wouldn’t?* *Ten-year-old me, as much as he had been indoctrinated by his peers to despise girls my age, still fell head-over-heels in love, but I wasn’t smart enough or experienced enough to realize it when I should’ve. Even now I remember how her hair crept down her back and how her laughter gently caressed the surface of the water, and how her presence made my heart flutter like the wings of a butterfly.* *She would always talk about so many interesting things because she was so much smarter than me, and I enjoyed every word of it, even though I never really understood most of it.* *I would have been content with living like that for the rest of the time that God had allotted to me…but alas, that is sadly not the case.* *You see…our sanctuary was breached.* *One day, a group of boys from the sixth grade came to the lake.* *They were loud.* *They were obnoxious.* *And so on.* *They destroyed the peace and tranquility of the place, and that angered me.* *I confronted them, and they beat the living shit of me.* *I was short for my age, and their constitutions had increased from puberty.* *I didn’t stand a damn chance, even though I tried.* *But that’s not why what happened happened.* *No.* *As I lay bleeding on the hard gravel, Rosanne came to my rescue. She stood between me and the bullies and told them off.* *I still remember seeing her standing in front of me like an indomitable superhero.* *But then those bullies showed me that she wasn’t an indomitable superhero.* *Did they rape her?* *Did they kill her?* *Of course not.* *We were just children.* *I realize that now...too late...* *They slapped her around just like they’d slapped me, and soon she too fell on the ground.* *I felt one last surge of adrenaline and charged at the bastards, but the leader, a shit who must’ve weighed about two hundred pounds, slapped me once more, this time with all of his might, and I was out cold.* *When I came too, the sun was setting, and I only woke up because Rosanne was gently shaking me.* *Our injuries were light in hindsight, but they hurt like hell.* *She left, heading back to her house, but I didn’t leave.* *I stood there, in front of that lake, until the sun barely peeked out of the mountains.* *I washed my bloody face,terrified by the thought of what my father would do.* *Each shot of cold water did nothing to quell down the rage I felt in myself..* *In fact...it was like gasoline.* *It fueled the fire inside of me.* *My anger was building up.* *Like the steam in a pressure cooker.* *Or in a nuclear reactor, if I’m being honest.* *It felt like I was paper being crumpled into a ball from the inside.* *It just kept building and building and building.* *I thought I could resist it, fight it, suppress it, but then I remembered how they'd slapped Rosanne and...* *…* *I sneezed.* *I…sneezed…* *Just when I thought my heart would implode or my eyes would cry blood or I’d vomit, I, instead, had the urge to sneeze and sneeze I did.* *I sneezed the most powerful sneeze of my life – a large glob of snot landing right on the surface of the lake.* *And just like that…my anger was gone.* *As thought I had sneezed it out.* *I went home and…I…slept.* *I didn’t have a clue about what the hell I had just done.* *I just slept in my bed, blissfully ignorant of what I had unleashed.* *The next day, I was back up there, but Rosanne was nowhere to be found.* *I feared that she had abandoned me and the lake.* *I remember feeling sad, my face covered in band aids that my mother put on me after I’d lied to her that I’d just hit a particularly sharp branch while coming home.* *She thought he'd done...but said nothing.* *But there I was, back again in that place, and waiting for her to arrive.* *But as I waited, I noticed something peculiar.* *I thought I saw a small wave.* *But in truth, it looked just like the fin of a shark I’d seen in an encyclopedia.* *I rubbed my eyes and honed my gaze, but saw nothing in that perfectly clear water.* *Still, I couldn't help but feel uneasy.* *But I was suddenly interrupted by the rude arrival of those little shits that had beaten me and Rosanne the other day.* *I was angry.* *I wanted to hurt them.* *But again, I was reduced to a pathetic pulp on the ground.* *As I lay there, my face wet with blood, I thought I saw the fin again, just peeking out of the water, like an extension of it, before disappearing again.* *I saw them walking away and laughing on the edge of the lake, and then…it happened in an instant.* *A massive wave sprung up from the serene lake, one that looked exactly like a shark made of water.* *In the brief moment before it collided with them, its liquid maw clamping itself around them wide open, I expected them to be soaked, but instead, the gigantic monster bit down and dragged them into the lake. I crawled near the edge, the gravel below shredding my knees in the process, and I bore witness to everything through the clear water.* *I saw no shark.* *Only them swimming around for dear life, trying to go up, but then an invisible jaw seemed to bite down on them, blood rising up to the surface like chimney smoke. They were all picked off one by one, and I saw the horrifying sight of their bodies – their viscera – collecting in what I assumed was a stomach.* *I ran and I cried all the way back home, and I stayed underneath my covers all day long.* *I just lay there; the memories of those kids being chewed like grapes playing over and over in my mind until I fell asleep.* *Suffice it to say, I did not sleep peacefully.* *The next day, and to this day I’m still not sure how…I found the courage to return.* *There, I found Rosanne, eating a sandwich all by her lonesome.* *She too had a few band-aids on her face just like me, and we locked eyes.* *I don’t think I will ever forget how much her face brightened in that moment…or how red my cheeks became.* *Any fear I had melted away right at that moment.* *I hurriedly told her that there was a shark made out of water in the lake, and to prove it, I took her sandwich and threw it in there.* *In less than a moment, a great watery maw shot up and consumed the wet sandwich in an instant.* *Childhood really is amazing.* *We were facing something as terrifying as can be, and yet all it did was excite us.* *But when I told her about how it had eaten the kids that had done us in so badly, I still vividly remember how her face creased, and her laughter seemed to go away.* *We talked about it, and…somehow…we decided to kill it.* *We went through all of the usual ideas. Harpoons and fishing, mostly, as well as the mandatory holy water, but then Rosanne proposed and idea which, at the time, I thought was absolutely genius.* *She said we should lead the shark so that it would fall into a damn and be shredded to bits by it. I’d once been to a hydrodam, and remembered staring in awe at the water gushing out of it from the reservoir it held behind. In my mind, that monster stood no chance against the countless propellers and turbines inside a dam, and Rosanne agreed.* *I pulled out a piece of paper I had in my pocket along with an old crayon. Rosanne drew a rough map, showing me that the small river that flowed out of the lake led straight to a dam overlooking Kanterville.* *I didn’t need any more convincing.* *None.* *The next day, we were up at the crack of dawn and met at the lake, each with a bucket of chum dangling off our tiny hands.* *We got to work almost immediately, inflating the raft I had brought from home.* *After it had fully inflated, we carried it all the way to the edge of the lake where the river flowed out.* *We each got into the raft, holding onto a nearby branch so that it wouldn't float away.* *I picked a handful of chum and chucked it at the lake.* *Immediately, I saw a small wave approaching, and that is when we both let go of the branch.* *Another handful of chum was all that was needed.* *Soon, it was a game of cat and mouse. I would throw handful after handful out onto the river and the monster gladly followed. We’d try to keep a safe distance, but there were some close calls where we had to throw chum behind it so that it would go back and eat it, giving us enough time to get far enough away.* *We were getting close.* *The water was speeding up.* *I could feel it. Just like we’d planned, the shark was following us steadily.* *It was just too easy.* *Eventually, we were running low on chum, and by the time we saw the edge of waterfall that fed the dam water, we were all out.* *\*LONG PAUSE\** *Our plan was to step on land and continue throwing chum into the water until the shark would fall down the waterfall. We’d reasoned that the falling water would keep it in.* *\*PAUSE\** *Now…we didn’t have any more bait to use.* *The shark started to turn around and…honestly…I wasn’t too bothered by it. My brain still hadn’t fully developed yet, so I couldn’t comprehend just how dangerous that thing was, ergo why I was in such a hurry to find a plan for luring it back.* *I was ready to call it quits, but Rosanne…* *\*LONGEST PAUSE\** *Rosanne…she jumped straight into the water, kicking and screaming to get its attention.* *It worked.* *The shark’s attention diverted to her, just as she fell off the water fall.* *I screamed for Rosanne* *I can only imagine now what she must’ve been thinking, how worried she must’ve been for her friends and family and strangers who could unknowingly walk into the lake.* *She was doing it for them.* *And for me.* *I…was a coward.* *Rosanne had gone over the waterfall and I ran over to the edge of the cliff that overlooked it.* *It was a massive, massive reservoir, at least ten times bigger than the lake, and I saw Rosanne falling down, becoming a small pink speck that went under.* *I was so focused by her that I failed to notice the shark as it launched itself besides me down the waterfall, dropping down much like a nuclear warhead.* *What happened next is…something I will remember for the rest of my life.* *You see…David…We’d made a mistake.* *The dam we’d trapped the shark in wasn’t a hydrodam. It was just a regular dam that only kept water at bay.* *The shark was only trapped.* *At least, that’s what I thought.* *Rosanne had come back up and had moved closer and closer to the dam wall, and I saw a small ladder stuck to it.* *I was ecstatic.* *Rosanne would escape!* *But little did I know that the shark truly wasn’t done yet.* *You see, when it entered the large reservoir of the dam, it started to collect water and grow in size, increasing exponentially as it ascended toward the surface.* *The shark that was once as big as a bus was now as big as a fucking Boeing-747, if not more.* *Its maw could’ve swallowed my house in its entirety, and Rosanne was not match for it.* *But when it engulfed Rosanne, it had such angled momentum that it launched itself into the air like a dolphin.* *It went over the edge of the dam.* *I saw it all from where I stood.* *I saw that gigantic, humongous shark composed entirety of water going over that fucking wall, nearly all the water of the dam gone, being dragged behind it like a long wedding dress.* *But that wasn’t the worst part.* *No, David.* *You want to know what the worst part of it all was?* *It was the realization I had later, when I grew older and remembered this.* *The memory I had suppressed for so long came back.* *I remembered seeing Rosanne floating in its crystal-clear body, and when I remembered this, I fell to my knees.* *I wonder how she felt…* *How did she feel having a front view seat view to the gigantic wave falling down like a tsunami on her hometown of Kanterville?* *\*PAUSE\** *Everyone said that it was a land slide that caused it.* *Can you believe it?* *I had seen it.* *I’d seen that ghastly creature descending upon the small innocent town like a punishment from God, a merciless tsunami that leveled and washed everything away.* *There were people that raved about it, people who had survived, but they had all either gone mad or were dismissed.* *People who deserved no harm, or any such thing had died.* *All gone, like ants washed away with a hose.* *And you know what?* *It was me.* *It was all my fault.* *It’s all my fault that those people and their possible descendants will never walk on this world.* *I am not seeking forgiveness.* *That won’t take away my curse.* *Just closure…however small that might be.* *I just wish I could have told Rosanne how I truly felt when I could've.* *I feel like that would've made me less sad.* *Isn't that selfish, my dear Grandson?* *An entire town wiped out...and all I can think about is a silly old childhood crush...”* *\*RECORDER TURNS OFF\** &#x200B; [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/ye1c46/my_grandfather_left_behind_cassette_tapes/)

Do NOT give candies to strangers on Halloween, for your own good

y26sfj

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y26sfj/do_not_give_candies_to_strangers_on_halloween_for/

I never really liked this holiday since I was a kid. Don’t you find it kinda controversial? Everybody tells you not to take candies from strangers and then they encourage you to do the exact opposite thing - knock on stranger’s doors for it. And did you know that the rule works both ways, actually?You should never give sweets to unfamiliar kids. &#x200B; It happened last year. I do not usually celebrate the thing, but my wife is quite a sentimental flower, so she was all excited about decorating the place, getting herself a costume and stacking on goodies to give away - I just couldn’t resist. &#x200B; “It’s gonna be fun. I know you will like it” - she said. I couldn’t argue, because why would I? Happy wife - happy life, after all. &#x200B; The Eve itself was not much to mention of: I just opened the door, threw some candies to buckets and sacks, said something about how good the costumes were and watched my wife smiling. Repeat. By the end of the day - we almost ran out of sweets and were, actually, quite tired. &#x200B; Things started to develop rapidly next day. I was minding my business, as somebody knocked on the front door. I went to check it and there was this guy. Just your average Joe waiting at my porch: pair of jeans, brown jacket, brown hair, glasses. I never saw him before around. &#x200B; Before I could ask anything or even say hello he started to speak: “Hello. I believe my son visited your house yesterday for trick or treating, right? And I believe you gave him some candies. Great. Thing is - my son has diabetes and you could potentially kill him yesterday if it was not me and his mother, who interfered and took the sweets from him. What were you thinking in the first place?” &#x200B; And before I could answer with anything or even raise my eyebrows he continued: “If you were so willing to treat my son - you should have given him some sugar-free candies, but that’s not just it. At first I expected to visit you and demand some excuse. But later, it came to me that some of those sweets include peanuts, and my boy is extremely allergic to nuts. I’m not calling police yet, but I’m pretty convinced you have some cruel intentions towards our family. So, I demand a proper excuse. Public one would be sufficient. And some sort of compensation for moral damage. I’ll accept no less that $3000, as you ruined the holiday for Timmy. I’ll buy him some proper treats. Thank you.” &#x200B; I stood there with my jaw opened, completely speechless. Was this guy released from a mental hospital or something? I’ve never seen somebody so impudent in my life and I’ve seen a lot. &#x200B; “Excuse me, what?” - all I could come up with at the moment. &#x200B; “You heard me right, mister. Three thousands and a public excuse. I didn’t come here to bargain” - the man said. &#x200B; “I’m sorry, but are you out of your mind? It’s Halloween, not that I forced your kid to get sugar from me. If you have a child with special needs - you should probably accompany him at times, to make sure things like this didn’t happen, you know? Warn the parents or, I don’t know, give him a note to show or something?” - I replied refusing to believe in seriousness of the whole situation. “Great. Not just shamelessly ignoring your own deeds, but trying to make excuses by giving out parenting lessons. That’s just great” - he raised his voice. &#x200B; “Hey, man. Chill. I can’t take your claims seriously. It’s bullshit. Look, pal, I understand you have a kid with special needs, okay. But it’s not my problem to be honest. So go get some tea, relax and look for some anger management classes. I’m not neither paying you, nor giving any excuses. Have a nice day” - I’ve said intending to slam the door to his nose. &#x200B; He was boiling with rage, as he turned away to leave, and I heard him mumbling: “Oh, we will see about that… We will see…”. &#x200B; “Who was it?” - my wife asked, as I returned to the kitchen, so I briefly retold her about the weird guest. &#x200B; “Haha, what a dork. Maybe it’s the moon cycles or something” - she laughed. &#x200B; “Yeah, just some lunatic and his cuckoo ideas on how to get extra cash, I guess” - I smiled back at her. &#x200B; But the laughs didn’t last that long, as problems started. &#x200B; Next morning I’ve discovered somebody stabbed my tires. All four of them. That was unpleasant, but we live in a crowded neighborhood and you know - shit happens. I thought about the man but didn’t take it seriously, as he didn’t look confident enough to pull something like that. &#x200B; The day after somebody damaged my fuse box, located in the communal building down the street, breaking in and cutting some wires. There was a handwritten note left, saying: “Am I still a joke to you?”. Power was down for 5 hours straight, before the technicians arrived. &#x200B; Not that I had a short temper, but that was enough. I took the note and went to local police station. There, I told the officer on duty everything about the incident with the angry neighbor, about the car and the breaking into substation. I reinforced the statement with a note I found and described the man’s appearance. Did what I could. &#x200B; Both me and my wife woke up in the middle of the night, as our kitchen window shattered with a loud bang. There was a fist-sized stone and another note taped to it: “You shouldn’t have done it”. &#x200B; That was more than enough. Next morning I took my sweetheart to a bus station, so she could spend some time with her parents, and I was about to take care of this mess. No idea how, but I would figure it out, once she was out of danger. Who knows what that psychopath has in mind? &#x200B; I’ve called the police several times, updating my initial complaint with some details and asking how far did they get with it. Unfortunately, there were no clues yet. They asked around about the man, but nobody on the street couldn’t recall seeing him or whatsoever. &#x200B; But all of that was just a child’s play compared to what happened next. &#x200B; Later that day I realized that my wife never called back, as we agreed. She was supposed to do it when she would get to her parents. I dialed the number, but it was out of reach. So I called her Mom and to my surprise - she wasn’t there yet. She wasn’t there yet 6 more hours after. And the next day. My dearest person went missing. &#x200B; I did all I could: filed a missing person report, talked to the bus station personnel, the bus driver himself with little to no result - nobody paid attention to that specific woman and where she went afterwards. CCTV didn’t bring any understanding, as she wasn’t captured on recordings. &#x200B; I knew exactly whom I should blame. &#x200B; Days passed, police was not much of a help and I was getting more and more desperate. She, who was the love of my life disappeared in the light of the day with no trace. I couldn’t sleep or eat, I was devastated. That was too much to bear… &#x200B; Weeks later, as I was sitting in the living room, blankly starting at the wall - a knock on the door shook me up. It was dark outside, close to 23:00. &#x200B; “Who is it?” - I asked, approaching. &#x200B; “Sir, this is Officer Johnson from Local Police Department. We have some details on your case, please open up” - the voice said. &#x200B; With grim heart and dreary thoughts of the worst - I’ve pulled the door open. &#x200B; Next second my eyes were burning as If somebody tossed a torch to my face. I think I got pepper sprayed. And the second after electrical buzzing crackled below my left ear, as my whole body shook in painful convulsions until I blacked out. &#x200B; My consciousness returned, revealing I was still lying in front of my door. The head pounded with ache and they eyes still burned like hell. As I stood up to wash them - a piece of paper, residing on my chest fell down to the floor. It read: “So now you understand what’s it like to almost lose someone you love. NOW we’re even.” - in the same ugly handwriting. &#x200B; Seconds later I found my wife lying on the carpet in the living room. Tied up, pale and exhausted, but alive… &#x200B; They never found the man. I’ve never seen him again. Nobody around ever heard of diabetic Timmy or his parents. If you wonder - he never did anything horrible to my wife. She was kept in a room, tied and blindfolded and couple of times per day was given some food and water. She doesn’t remember how she got there or got back to our place. &#x200B; This crippled me a lot. I’m afraid of strangers now. We moved far away from the city and it’s just now when I can speak about this to others. We don’t celebrate Halloween anymore, but I’m not trying to spoil it for you. Just be careful next time you’ll be handling the candies to the strangers.

I'm an Animal Control Expert Who Specializes in Cryptids. (Part 2) My First Cryptid Encounter.

y1wjc6

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1wjc6/im_an_animal_control_expert_who_specializes_in/

A few days ago, I posted a PSA on this website about [what to do if you encounter a Hidebehind](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y01zv4/im_an_animal_control_expert_who_specializes_in/) in your local area. Well, a few hours after that I checked my inbox and I had about a million questions from a quarter million people. **What kind of van do you drive?** 2003 Dodge Sprinter Van with ‘RAT MAN’ spray painted on the side. **Will my body wash attract a Succubus?** No, but they are intensely attracted to frustrated virgins so you may or may not have a problem there. **Can I come along on one of your jobs?** Absolutely not. I barely make it out alive myself half the time. But the most common question I received was **How’d you get your start in the business?** Now, I’m a busy man, like I said in my last post – Halloween is right around the corner and this is my peak season. Unless y’all want your toddler wandering up to a house where half of the Halloween decorations ain’t actually Halloween decorations, well, then you got to let me work. So in lieu of answering How’d you get your start in the biz? to all y’all individually, I’ll post the story of my first job here to nip any further asking of that question in the bud. In the year 2000 I was 22 years old and just starting out my life in ‘the biz’ as y’all have been putting it. Pulling snakes out of toilets and charging down skunks using a trashcan lid as a shield against its spray. I loved the job. Wasn’t any different than what I did as a kid growing up in Middle Georgia, only now I was getting paid for it. Money wasn’t great, but small town livin’ is cheap and it kept a roof over my head and food on the table. Over time and through word of mouth my little business grew until I was the premier ‘rat man’ in Taliaferro County. Granted, the county population was less than 2k so business wasn’t exactly booming, but hey, I’m proud of it. One day, I’m in my truck (this was before the van) in a Taco Bell drive-thru and I got a call on my cell. Unknown number. I answer – “Taliaferro Rat Man. You need something?” The voice on the other end was frantic, screaming about something stuck in his mudroom, but wouldn’t give specifics. I could tell from the man’s accent and his clear discomfort in the idea of an animal being in his house that he was city folk. You know, a real-life Atlanta dandy. Some of those city folk had 2nd homes on the nearby lakes -Oconee and Clark’s Hill- but I was shocked when he told me his home was in Union County – nearly 130 miles away. I asked him how he got my number and he told me that he had found one of my business cards on his kitchen table. I told him I would be there in 3 hours and hung up. Now here’s the fishy part – I didn’t have any business cards. I still don’t, but I still get calls. Sometimes people call me saying they found my card on the kitchen table, or in their pocket or slipped under the windshield wiper of their car. One lady about 10 years ago said she got out of the shower and my phone number was written right there on the fogged-up bathroom mirror. That woman straight up thought I was the devil until I got that family of Pukwudgies out of her basement (got them jealous by talking loudly on the phone about how much nicer and more expansive a nearby cave system was than this horrible basement). After that, she thought I could walk on water. Truth is, I don’t know what is pushing business my way. I don’t know why I was chosen to do the work I do, but that’s the fact of the matter – I was chosen for it. Well, any who, back to my first job. I pulled up the client’s house, or I guess the better word for it would be compound. The property was completely surrounded by a 7-foot security fence that contained the main house, a small chicken run, a sauna, and a handful of small windowless buildings that dotted the forested property. After speaking to the owner via intercom he remotely opened the gate and greeted me as I pulled up the driveway of the main house. He was a wiry, rat-faced, dead-eyed man who looked, and smelled, like he hadn’t showered in days, maybe weeks. His greasy hair clung to a greasier forehead as he reached his open hand towards me. “Hello, we spoke on the phone. My name is Dave,” his accent betraying him as a foreigner in these parts. “Elmer,” I replied, “Not from around her Dave?” “Oh,” Dave’s face dropped as if he was upset that he had been so easily discovered as an outsider, “oh no, not from the South. This is a vacation house for the family and I. The winters down here are mild compared to up north” I couldn’t believe this guy had a wife smelling like he did. “Where’s the family?” “I’m down here doing some maintenance just for the week. The whole family won’t be down here for another two months or so” “Alright, well, what’s the problem?” Dave stepped close to me. I mean really close, like eskimo kisses close, and asked me, “You deal with this stuff often? Huh? Your card makes it seem so,” thankfully he took a step back, “Honestly, I’m not even sure where I got this card in the first place” “You, uh, got that card on ya Dave?” “Here” He handed the card over to me. It was a plain white business card with black text that read: ELMER “RAT MAN” BOGGS ANIMAL CONTROL AND CRYPTID SPECIALIST HIS PRICES ARE UN-BOO-LIEVABLE The back of the card had a little picture of a ghost along with my phone number. It’s at this point I should tell you, these cards are different every time. I still don’t know where they come from and I’ve stopped caring. Each one has some stupid pun on it. HE’S GOT THE SPIRIT! HALF-PRICE ON APRIL GHOUL’S DAY! I’ve seen one that had a picture of me wearing a French Maid’s outfit with the words PLAGUED BY PARANORMAL EN-TITTIES? CALL ELMER! Splashed across it. I do not like that one and I have no idea where that picture came from so don’t ask. “Yeah, I deal with these kinds of things all the time,” I said, “now show me where the critter’s at” Dave led me down the hill on which the main house stood and out to one of the smaller buildings that punctuated the tree line. “It’s in here,” Dave said as we approached a small shed about 10 feet by 10 feet. A large padlock held the door in place. “I thought you said it was in your mud room?” I asked. “Yes, well I was panicked on the phone I supposed,” Dave explained, “As you can see, we keep chickens here and when the boys are here we like to go hunting. This is where we clean and butcher our animals.” Good enough explanation for me. “Open it up” Dave opened it up and practically ran back towards the main house as I stepped into the room. It was all white. Painted cinderblock walls, florescent lights, laminate flooring with a drain in the middle of the room, a large hook hung from the ceiling to hang a deer carcass. There was a countertop with a sink and a few drawers – probably knives in there, a wall mounted security camera – I’d like to know more about that, but what really demanded my attention was floating on air in the top corner of the room facing the wall. It was a human head. I couldn’t believe it. Nowadays this an average Wednesday, but imagine you’re in my position. Your neighbor calls you over to help get a raccoon out of the attic, then you get there and he’s all “oh wait never mind! It’s a decapitated human head. Oh yeah and it flies around like a helium balloon.” That’s right folks. A floater on my first day. A real trial by fire. I didn’t panic. Not sure how, but I didn’t. I took a step back slowly, but apparently not slow enough as I watched the head turn to face me. It was a woman’s head. Long black hair. Eyes gouged out. Black dried blood caked all over and it had a tail - a few inches of spinal column sticking out the bottom. I stepped out of the shed and slammed the door before it did anything else. Dave called to me. I turned to see his smelly ass calling from an upstairs window of the main house. Fucker was just gunna leave me to die out here. “Can you get rid of it!?” “Oh yeah buddy, I can do that,” I was talking out my ass, “But we need to talk” I told Dave I could get it out, but it would be expensive. Very expensive. I also told him I would need time. A few days. I made up some bullshit about rituals and waiting for the correct phase of the moon, but, in reality, I had no idea what I was going to do and I just needed enough time to look around on the internet to figure out what the hell I was dealing with and how it should be handled. I told him I’d have to go home to get things ready but I’d be back in a few days to fix his floating head problem. He made a counteroffer. He’d give me a cash advance right now to go into town and gather all the necessary supplies for ‘rituals’ and the ‘cleansings’ and I could stay the night on the property so I wouldn’t have to drive the 3 hours home. He’d also give an additional bonus if I could have the cursed noggin removed within the next 24 hours. I asked him if he had internet access. He did. I accepted. I could kill 40,000 rats and still not make the money I was going to make in the next 24 hours if I could pull this off. I took the extremely generous cash advance and zipped out of compound to buy my supplies. I drove the 40 minutes south to Dahlonega, an old gold mining town, and found an electronics store where I bought a laptop computer and mouse. That’s all I really needed, but I couldn’t go back empty handed when I’d promised an elaborate ritual, so I popped into a few of the novelty ‘Gold Mine’ stores and bought some fools gold, a few pretty rocks, a nice hat (that was just for me) and a peacock feather. Then I headed back to the compound. I spent the entire drive back pinching myself. Wondering if I had finally lost my marbles. Questioning my faith. Replaying every single episode of X-Files over and over in my head. I decided it didn’t matter if I was crazy or not, either way, it was happening. I got back to the compound, parked the car, brought my newly bought equipment up to the room I would using on the second floor of the main house, then asked Dave for the key to shed. I wanted one more look at the head. I slowly opened the shed door and peeked inside. The head was still floating in the top corner of the room facing the wall. I stood for a while watching it. It slowly bobbed up and down as if floating in water, I watched what little of the neck was left vibrate as gentle moans emanated from it. I cleared my throat. The head slowly turned towards me. Its expression didn’t change. It didn’t lose any elevation either. It seemingly wasn’t interested in me at all. I took a quarter out of my pocket and tossed it up towards the head where it plinked off its cheek and bounced down to the floor below. The head remained neutral. This thing didn’t give a shit about me. Might as well have called it My Dad. I left the shed, locked the door behind me and headed up to my room to do some research. This was the hardest part when I started this gig. How do you tell the difference between a Gnome and a Leprechaun? A Fairy and an Elf? A Wendigo and a Skinwalker? What happens if you get it wrong? I’ll tell you what happens – you get hurt or you die. 6 years ago, I made the mistake of mis-identifying a band of Nimerigar as Rocky Mountain Hill Dwarves and I lost two fingers and bite-sized chunk of my ass. I’ve learned my lesson the hard way. Research, research, research. It’s the name of the game. And this was a tough case to start with. Floating heads appear all over Native American folklore, especially in the Iroquois and Wyandot histories, but their heads were different. For one, they had wings and talons. The one I was dealing with floated. They’re also like 6 feet tall and this one was just your regular-sized everyday disembodied head that just so happened to take flight. There is also the behavior. The Iroquois version of the head just kinda flew around and terrorized anyone who was unlucky to have stumbled across it, while the Mohawk histories say its out for revenge against those who gave it an undignified death. But the big problem with oral histories is that they change. One day someone can’t remember something so they throw their own wrinkle in there. Its like a centuries long game of telephone that started with “Jessica has great hair” and ends with “Death metal head eats babies.” At least this head didn’t seem to mind my company. It wanted whatever was in the direction of that top corner of the shed it was entombed in and I just couldn’t for the life of me figure out what that was. I had a hunch, but nothing solid yet. I looked at the clock and realized it was nearly midnight. Opened my door to head to the bathroom to piss and wash my face before bed and ran directly into Dave who had seemingly been standing right outside my bedroom door. “Big day tomorrow,” he said “Yessir, big day” “Will you get it done?” “Does the Pope wear a funny hat?” “Amusing,” he didn’t smile. “I’m fixing to wash my face before bed and we’ll be out there bright and early tomorrow morning” “We’ll?” Dave didn’t seem happy to be included in that last sentence. “Yes sir, I’ll need your help with this ritual” I said back to him, “Two-man job.” “This isn’t what I’m paying you for,” He sneered. “Don’t worry you won’t have to do nothing, just need you in the room,” I was talking out my ass again, “Nothing too big, just need you holding a peacock feather is all.” “hmph,” he exhaled from his nose sharply and stared at me with his dead black eyes for a few seconds before marching off, “Good night” I was washing my face in the bathroom and realized I never picked up an extra toothbrush when I was in town. Now, I don’t know about where you’re from, but people I know always have an extra toothbrush laying around. Especially people with families like Dave said he had, so I did a little light snooping through the drawers in the bathroom and you know what I found – it wasn’t a toothbrush. It was a loose panel on base of the bathroom counter. I quietly pulled it back and found stuffed inside, a hammer and a plastic bag. I opened the plastic bag and dumped the contents into my hand. Driver’s licenses. A dozen of them at least. All women. I fingered through them quickly looking at the pictures, names and dates when one of them caught my eye. Misty O’Conner. I recognized her immediately because you never forget the face of the first flying decapitated head you see. You just don’t, I don’t make the rules. This fucking guy, Dave. My hunch was right. The cameras. The multiple ‘deer cleaning’ shacks. The 7-foot security wall - to protect you from what Dave? The extremely high Turkey population of Union County? No way Jose. I knew what I was going to do. The next morning, Dave unlocked the shack and held it shut while I gave him instructions. He was going to stand off to the right side of the shed while I went into the room and tied a blindfold around the head. Once the head was blind, I would signal him to come in and he would place the peacock feather in the head’s mouth. Then, I told him the head would disintegrate in a fireball and he could pay me the rest of my money. It was all bullshit of course, but if brains was made of leather old Davey could hardly saddle a June bug. I took over holding the door from Dave and motioned for him to walk off to the right side of the shed. I felt the pressure on the other side of the door relax as the head floated to the right following its sense of where Dave was. I entered the shed and found the head floating at chest height gnashing its teeth at the wall that protected Dave. “Hey Misty, shhhh, it’s okay,” I told the head in the same voice I use for dogs and cats and sometimes lizards, “I’m on your side, we’re gon’ get this son’a’bitch” I looped a piece of cloth around the head covering the empty sockets where the eyes used to be and held the two loose ends in my hand like a leash, the head pulled gently, as if agreeing to my unspoken plan. My other hand held the piece of Fool’s gold for literally no reason other than convincing shit-for-brains Dave my plan totally legit. “Aight now, Davey come on in,” I shouted towards the open door. The head of Misty O’Conner pulled leash gently, following the path Dave took as he walked the perimeter of the building. Dave then appeared in the doorway looking like a total idiot by holding out his peacock feather towards the head like a priest would hold crucifix towards a vampire. “So, all I have to do is put the feather in its mouth?” Dave asked, his voice cracking and clearly terrified. I fake-strained and sucked in a few short breaths pretending to be fighting for my life holding back this monster, “Just do it already! I can’t hold it for much longer!” Dave shrieked as he shoved the peacock feather into Misty’s mouth. The head slowly pulled the feather in with its lips and teeth and gave a few overexaggerated cow-like chews before swallowing. The mangled feather dropped from the open neck at the bottom of the head and landed on the floor with a wet plop. I stopped straining and started to relax, “Its working! It’s losing energy!” I shouted at Dave in fake exhilaration. “So that’s it?!,” Dave asked catching his breath, “We killed this bitch?” The head tugged on its leash a little harder at that last word. “We got her” I said back. “Then I don’t need you anymore,” Dave said as in one fluid motion he pulled a knife out from behind his back and lunged at me. Everything went according to plan. I released the blindfold/leash and Misty was on Dave like a Pitbull on a preschooler. First, she bit his knife wielding hand off at the wrist, then in his split second of confusion that followed she bit a sizeable chunk out of his neck. Dave collapsed in a bloody heap on the floor, trying to bat his one-time victim with his remaining hand, but she was far to quick for him. By the time he tried to swat her, she was already on the otherside of his body biting off another chunk. Eventually he stopped fighting and that’s when it got really gruesome. He lay on the floor of his kill room, crying and begging for mercy like so many women had done before, and just like those women, he wouldn’t get any. I looked away but the horrible sound of breaking bone made me look back. Misty’s jaw was unhinging, breaking, expanding, then like a boa constrictor she began the tedious process of slowly, almost tenderly swallowing him whole. She started at the feet which were easy enough, but around the thighs she began to flick her chin forward and tilt her head back to help the fresh meat go down. Less snake-like and more Komodo Dragon-like. Dave screamed the entire time. The last thing to go was one of Dave’s outstretched arms which she greedily slurped up like noodle. I’m not going to lie, once she finished it was awkward. We both just kind of looked at each other for what felt like an eternity. Eventually I had to break the silence, it just felt too weird so I said, “Hi, Misty” then I immediately felt like an idiot for saying something so stupid. What am I? Five? After another few seconds Misty erupted into a small fireball and completely vanished. Turns out I was actually right about that part. Felt good to be right. I phoned the police and answered their questions when they showed. Told em’ I was here for an appointment and noticed some weird shit, they searched the property and that was that. They found 2 other girls, 1 of them was still alive. Of course, they think Dave is on the run, but it at least gave some families some closure. Then I walked back to my truck, upset about not getting paid more than the advance which I had already spent, when I felt a weight in my pocket. I reached in and pulled out an envelope of cash. That’s how it works. A lot like the business cards. I have no idea how; it just shows up and I don’t ask questions. I hope this has answered some of your questions. Maybe after Halloween I can answer a few more for y’all or maybe I could tell you about the 2 years I spent traveling. Either way I hope you enjoyed my stories and if you ever need me, you already have my card.

fear4life.com (Part 3)

y29zjx

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y29zjx/fear4lifecom_part_3/

[Part 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xx4z4i/fear4lifecom/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xy2vrm/fear4lifecom_part_2/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Since it has been a few days since I provided an update, I wanted to fill you all in on what has been happening. I went through every inch of my house the morning after my last post. It is a small one-story house with a basement, so it didn't take long to look through. There was nothing else out of the ordinary except for dirt smudges on the bottom of my bedspread. I shuddered, thinking that someone must have been in my room while I was sleeping the night before. But I am glad that I didn't wake up to see whatever was there. At the suggestion of others, I found my attic access, which was in the ceiling of my closet. I had to get my ladder out of the garage to climb up there. After sliding the wooden cover out of the way, I climbed up and walked carefully along the wood beams, looking around with my flashlight. I didn't find any evidence of someone being up here. As I walked back to the entrance to the attic, I heard my front door closing. I couldn't see much through the square opening, but I heard footsteps coming down the hallway toward my room. This was followed by my bedroom door slamming shut. I crouched down and slid the cover over the opening. I could hear them climbing up the ladder, so I sat down on the cover to hold it in place. Then I felt the cover being pushed. They were able to lift me up a little bit, but luckily I was too heavy. After a few minutes, they stopped, and it got quiet. I was listening for the sound of them stepping down the ladder, but I didn't hear anything. It must have been at least ten minutes I waited without hearing anything. I quietly climbed off the cover and slid it open just a little. I saw part of the ladder but needed to open it more to tell if anyone was on there. When I started moving it more, I felt a big push on the cover, almost sending it out of my hands. Before I got it back into place, I caught a glimpse of what was trying to get up here. It was something different than what was at my door the other night. There were clumps of long brown hair on top of its boney head. Its jaw was jutted out to the left, and the bone was broken and jagged beneath its nose. The thing stared up at me with one eye sunk deep inside the socket and the other dangling out of the socket. I jumped back on the cover, putting all my weight on it. I felt the thing pushing me up again. When it finally stopped, I waited a much longer time before trying to see if it was safe to leave. When I slid it slowly off, I expected a hand to reach out and grab me. But nothing was there. I went down the ladder and closed the attic cover. My phone was sitting on the floor, which wasn't where I had left it. When I picked it up, it felt dusty, and it was covered with smudges like my monitor. I wiped it on my shirt and then called my parents. I really needed to get out of here for a while. They were glad I called and said they would be happy to have me stay with them for a few days. I grabbed a backpack and threw in some clothes and everything else I would need for a few nights' stay. I had ordered a couple of wifi cameras after this all started and spent some time getting them set up. One of them I set up on my front porch and the other in front of my computer screen since those seemed to be the places where most of the weird things were happening. While checking to ensure I had everything, I heard some noises in the basement. I grabbed my keys, wallet, and phone and headed for the door. When I went past the basement door, I heard someone coming up the stairs. I ran outside, locked the door behind me, and got into my car. After making sure my car was empty, I drove to my parent's house. When I got there, I greeted my parents and then brought my things into my old room. I hadn't spent the night at their house in a long time. They were both vaccinated and hadn't been out in a while, so I didn't have to be afraid of getting sick from them. The first couple of nights there were great. I got caught up on my sleep and felt so much more well-rested. I had a couple of notifications from my front porch camera the first few days, but it was just from squirrels or chipmunks running into view of the camera. I took a break from the computer and didn't use my phone that much either during this time. The only phone calls I received were telemarketing or scam calls. Last night, however, things began to change. I got a notification from my front porch camera. I could see someone standing just barely in view of the camera. They stayed still for a while before coming up to the porch. It looked like they were wearing something over their head, but I couldn't tell what it was. I was happy that it wasn't the creepy-eyed skull guy that was there before. Although, this one also made me uncomfortable, especially once it started talking. Later that night, I received a notification from the camera in front of my computer monitor. The screen was blank for a while before it went to the fear4life website. I'm glad I wasn't at my house during these events. But I am a little worried that by staying at my parents' house, they will become involved in this. I think I will at least stay another night here and then try to figure out what to do next. I've included the [videos here](https://youtu.be/sdUDGcGElhc) in case you'd like to see what happened. It is looking pretty nice outside today, so I am going to try to enjoy it before it starts getting colder again. Hopefully, since I'm not at my house or near my computer, I won't have any problems when I go for a walk. [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/yb4l5k/fear4lifecom/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button)

My Wife Thinks There’s Someone in the House

y26lzo

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y26lzo/my_wife_thinks_theres_someone_in_the_house/

To give a little background, me and my wife have been together for four years, and married for just a couple of months now. She’s always been jumpy, and it’s funny to get a rise out of her once in a while. She used to refuse to watch horror movies with me, but since I love them she has sat through a good bit of them. We just bought a house far away from any family and friends, and her worrying has gotten worse since then. I don’t want to come off as an asshole, but sometimes it can be a bit much. She will call me in the morning while I’m on way to work and say “I think there’s someone in the house.” Which of course, there never is. But I love her and want her to feel comfortable so I humour her. The home we purchased is a 1940’s colonial styled home, with beautiful crown molding, glass door knobs, and creaky floorboards. When you walk through the house the creaks can be heard everywhere, so it seems like there’s someone in the house. But that’s what happens in an old house, the floors freak. Every day now she will either call me, or yelp from the kitchen that she can hear someone walking up and down the stairs. I go check, no one’s there, rinse and repeat. But last night. Last night something changed. Something happened. I awoke last night to my wife sitting up in bed, eyes wide and shaking my shoulder. “There is someone downstairs walking around, I can hear them.” she said, with a terror in her eyes that I've never seen before. I sat up, wiped the sleep from my eyes, and listened. This time she was right. I could hear what resembled footsteps walking right under our floor, which is where the staircase started. Knowing that there's no way anyone was in here I told her to relax and go back to sleep. She wouldn't budge, and whispered in an angry tone that there's no way in hell she's going back to sleep. I sighed and got up out of bed and creeped over to our door. I bent down knob level and looked through the key hole and out into the hall. Nothing. Too dark. At this point she had actually freaked me out. The footsteps still came from the landing at the bottom of the stairs. It almost sounded like pacing. I looked back at my wife who was sat in the bed with the covers up to her eyes, not saying a word. I looked around the room for a weapon, coming up with a screwdriver I had used earlier in the day. I slowly turned the handle, and looked out into the hall. At first, there was nothing. No one on the stairs, no one in the hallway, nothing. But before I closed the door my eyes locked on the window. Ice ran through my veins. My heart stopped. My t-shirts armpits welled with sweat. In the reflection of the window was a person, standing on our steps. The only thing that showed in the dark hallway was yellow slanted teeth, and bleach white eyes. I could not tell from the short glance whether it was real or not, so I closed the door and walked back into the bedroom. I was too scared to tell her what I saw, worried we’d have to sell the damn place. The footsteps stopped as I stood leaning against the closed door and glanced at my wife. “It’s nothing baby, go back to bed.” Her shoulders loosened, and a long relieved sigh came out of her. We both laid down, and went back to sleep. This morning I woke up and my wife was gone from our bed. I thought that’s funny, she always sleeps later than me, and assumed she went to grab some coffee downstairs. I threw on some shorts and trotted down to the dining room to see there was no sign of my wife, and no smell of coffee. I yelled for her through the house, and nothing. I looked out the window and her car was still here. Her wallet was sitting untouched near the fridge. Even her phone was lying on the floor near the bed. I’m worried something happened to her and it may be my fault. I have no clue what to do.

Something awful happens here downtown

y2jand

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y2jand/something_awful_happens_here_downtown/

I don’t know who or what it was, but since that night both my boyfriend and his best friend have gone missing. The Police here think hes just ghosting me and leaving town, accusing me of making it all up. And yet dodgy answers and they way they seemed to already know what I came to report had me on edge. The more I'm looking into things, the less I believe there’s a mistake at all. A string of disappearances have been happening here in Boise. Ill start with what’s happened to me and you can put the rest together, believing what you will. &#x200B; It started as a trip downtown. My boyfriend James and his friend Brad were both off on Friday and planned to hit the town. The two had known each other for ages making quite a pair. My James was beautiful albeit short with a smile that sold you before it even spoke. His friend Brad was a larger man who liked to lift but lacked the social graces to get him anywhere in life. James did most of the talking, and Brad was most of the muscle. The two went on their own adventures often so I was surprised when My boyfriend invited me. &#x200B; “C’mon, It’ll be fun.” He kissed me as he took my phone out my hand. If he wasn’t so attractive, many of his antics I would have found annoying and yet I was all the more smitten by his boldness. &#x200B; “I thought you’d want some time alone with your friend?” I asked with my arms around his shoulders. &#x200B; “Well I want you to, so you coming with?” The smile in his eyes assumed the answer and he was right. &#x200B; “I suppose.” I feigned displeasure with a playful roll of the eyes. To be honest I was bored cooped up in the house and I could use the outing to. &#x200B; “Great.” He stood up the second he got what he wanted and strode to make preparations. A phone call sent for the where’s and when’s and so the plan was made. &#x200B; Brad pulled up in an old Sebring. As he hopped out of the car he had an overnight bag slung across his shoulder. No one asked me if he could crash at our house yet I knew that wasn’t his fault. The man was polite to a fault and I knew he asked James who assumed I’d be fine. I didn’t even mind that he was staying , I just wished they checked with me first. &#x200B; “HI Kayla!” Brad gave me a sheepish wave which I returned. He walked in and set his bag, and we all hopped in James’ SUV to hit the town. &#x200B; Boise is a lot bigger than most would give it credit for, especially these days. Sunset hit the Zion tower as a hundred thousand people set upon a square mile of bars, clubs, restaurants and boutiques. Street performers tuned their instruments and homeless scribbled on cardboard signs. Even they ate well as everyone three shots in would start dropping ones and fives like it was raining money. For the rest of the night, everyone would forget the world and get lost in a crowd of faces for an evening of fun. At least that’s what we thought. &#x200B; As soon as we parked we hit the town. Brad wanted pizza from a place called the Pie Hole which came with a beer for only five dollars. After slurping down a greasy plate of cheese we thought on where to next. &#x200B; “Where else would we go? To the space bar!” James pointed two blocks over. Brad was full and Vibing as I shrugged and went along with them. A couple crosswalks led to a flight of stairs. Underground was a sea of neon lights, retro arcade games and cheap beer. A game room stood full of couples, hipsters and , college kids killing the hours on a fist full of dollars. &#x200B; James and I took turns on a Pac-man machine. He ordered a pair of drinks for us, gulping down his second to order a third. I had a bad feeling watching him drink yet that smile came back and I chose to let it go. As long as he was sober enough to drive by the time we got home it wasn't worth the fight. After an especially large paycheck at his construction job to celebrate with, that looked like it wouldn’t be for a while. &#x200B; “Guys!” Brad popped up with excitement oozing off of him pointing towards a doorway in the back. “You wont believe what I just found!” &#x200B; “The bathroom?” James asked as I choked a laugh in my drink. &#x200B; Brad shook his head none deterred. “No no! You guys got to follow me. You’re never going to believe it!” &#x200B; James ended his round on the game and so we did. The back room did have two bathrooms yet the hall kept going further. He led us onward and the scenery changed from black-lights and paint to the makings of an abandoned warehouse. Bare walls. Peeling plaster. I thought he was pulling our leg until we turned a corner. An old Scandinavian woman stood bent over a giant iron pot, stirring it as she glared with a judgmental eye. Surrounding her was a wooden bar and all sorts of cookery. Flags of various colors adorned its upper rim and so we found what looked like a ramen bar in the middle of nowhere. By far one of the most random encounters I’ve ever had. &#x200B; “Its gets better!” Brad exclaimed at just below a shout, dragging us as the old woman scoured on. To the right of her was a second doorway which showed that her booth was only a part of something bigger. A Pirate theme bar lay before us. All the furniture was driftwood. Sunken ships in bottles adorned the walls. There were Tiki Heads and little bowls of fire. Even a skull full of business cards lay at the end of a bar captained by a man in full regalia. &#x200B; “What in the world?” James looked on exasperated, laughing at where we found ourselves. I couldn’t blame him. After admiring the scenery, we ordered shots and went on our way. It was the tip of the iceberg of everything in town and the night was young. We ordered coffee, watched street performers dance and sing. People cheered at strangers from the balcony’s and everywhere we wandered the party was alive and well. &#x200B; Hours passed and night had come. After turning a corner that night a movement unsettled me as it came from the corner of my eye. It was in the darkness of one of the alleys. Thousands of people were in the revelry yet for the second it was there a silhouette sent a shiver up my spine. I turned to stare down that darkened hole. The air from that decrepit pit held something foul as I could almost see a pair of eyes in the shadows. &#x200B; I jumped as a hand lay on my shoulder. “You alright?” It was only James. His eyes were glassy from the booze and a slur had tilted his speech. In the back of my mind I knew he would be in no shape to drive later yet at the moment I loathed the coming fight. Confrontation was never my strong suit. &#x200B; I opened my mouth to say something yet as I did Brad came stumbling after us. Hands full of a paper tray full of the greasiest cheese steak you had ever seen. He took a bite as the provolone stretched from his mouth with cartoonish ease. The look on his face with the health code violation in his mouth was that of utter satisfaction. “Food!” His exclamation climbed over the chunks still in his mouth, stumbling with his tray outstretched. “Here. Take this for a second, I have to go.” &#x200B; He stumbled off into the the alley that was the source of my unease. I called out to warn him yet he heard not a word. James stood between us as his friend trotted into the dark to do his business. “Is everything alright? You haven’t been having a lot of fun lately.” The question felt more as an accusation than genuine concern. &#x200B; \-Watching you to get plastered isn’t what I call fun.- I thought to myself yet only shrugged. Anything to avoid the fight. &#x200B; He took my silence as compliance and tried to cheer me up. “Lighten up and drink with me, everything going to be fine.” He tried to smile with his seductive warmth yet ten shots in that air about him was gone. &#x200B; It was then we heard a yelp from the darkness. We called after him yet instead of a reply all we heard was a shuffling and a muffled pop in the dark. We stepped closer with caution, peering in. James to his credit stood between me and the unknown. All we saw however was an empty patch of pavement. There it was, nothing but litter, bits of concrete and a slit in the gutter to the sewer system. A crowd of people paraded through town stumbling to the next event on the other side. &#x200B; “Where do you think he went?” I asked, the hair on my neck bristled in my unease. &#x200B; My boyfriend shrugged it off. “He always does this when he’s drunk. Probably found something shiny and wandered off. He’s got a reputation for disappearing like Batman, popping back up with a corn dog or a forty in his hand. Now come on. Let’s go.” &#x200B; He took my hand and dragged us off to Mulligans. A bar and pool hall that served cheap liquor. Seeing the cursive sign above I groaned yet he paid it little mind. He ordered two drinks of vodka and sprite and we played pool, I watching the light leave his eyes as the liquor took hold, nursing my drink knowing I would be driving yet again. &#x200B; We left this bar after an hour and Brad had yet to find us. James was pulling me to another yet I had enough. I pulled my hand away, outstretching it for the keys. “Give me them, you’re in no shape to drive.” &#x200B; “You really want to do this?” His eyes glared with ill intent. The man I loved was gone, leaving a grown child scowling to have been told no. &#x200B; “Your the one who’s doing it.” I had finally stood my ground. I didn’t know how bad this fight was going to get yet something in my stomach told me it was time to leave. &#x200B; “You always try to ruin things for me. Its why I never take you anywhere. You just want to be miserable all the time and I’m sick of it!” The impudence in his voice made it sound like a fit, making him all the less attractive in my eyes. Watching him sway in his folly I wondered how much longer I could keep doing this. &#x200B; Now wasn’t the time for a break up fight. I kept my hand outstretched and tried to placate him with a tempered tone. “Just give me the keys, we’ll go home and we can do something fun tomorrow, alright?” &#x200B; He snorted turning himself away to leave me. “I’m not having it. You want to go so bad, you find your own way home.” He stumbled further, storming off into an alley for the next bar. &#x200B; I could have called a cab. I could have phoned a friend or even my parents but instead I followed after. Something told me we were all in danger and the more I think back on that night , I know I was right. &#x200B; James tumbled onto the asphalt. The excitement upsetting his stomach and the liquor turned sour. Bending over behind a trash can he vomited in the dark. &#x200B; Behind James puking, something moved towards him. A shape like a man but terribly thin. It was gaunt and bent, moving in a strange dance swaying closer and further in the dark. He gyrated like a man lost in a hit of ecstasy playing with the space between them. James simply swore at the man in shadows. “I don’t have any change, go find someone else.” He snarled wiping the bile from his mouth on his hoodies’ sleeve. &#x200B; The thing wobbled there undeterred. Turning the corner I got to see my boyfriend bent over in his booze and puke as some thing there danced above him. Before I could say anything it struck, leaping like a sprung serpent. His arms and legs wrapped around my boyfriend in an instant. James’ cry was muffled by the silhouette of an elongated hand. &#x200B; Swallowing my terror I shouted after them. It stopped in response, turning them both with force to look at me. A car drove behind us and in its light what I saw I couldn’t believe. A pale rake of a man wrapped itself around my boyfriend. Each of his limbs wriggled and writhed enveloping its victims extremities. Even his body wriggled against him in a slow rhythm that witnessing shook me with revulsion. Its face and head twisted long. Jaw slacked in a crooked smile of mischievous glee. It was the most ugly and terrifying thing I had ever seen, writhing in the night air naked save a ragged loincloth. &#x200B; It looked at me in a manner that could only be described as predatory. My skin crawled looking on as my boyfriend started to cry. It was in that moment the car passed and with unnatural strength it rocked them backward, throwing them both behind the dumpster. &#x200B; I yelled after them yet standing there in terror I could not will myself to go in. It was with every ounce of courage I could muster I reached in my pocket. I turned on my phones flashlight, inching towards them in the dark. My shout drew a small crowd behind me yet as I turned the corner neither of them were there. Nothing except that small slot in the gutter, echoing with laughter in the dark.

Always check your kids' Halloween candy

y1q3lc

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1q3lc/always_check_your_kids_halloween_candy/

Everyone knows the horror stories. Razor blades, hallucinogens, rat poison, all disguised in candy just waiting for innocent kids to gobble them up. Its all nonsense of course. Sure there are a few isolated incidents where some sicko does something like that, but the whole "tainted candy" myth is an enormous exaggeration at best. No, the reason I say you should check your kids' candy is very, very different. It was the Halloween of '09, I was only 14. I was on the cusp of being ever so slightly too old for it to be socially acceptable to go trick or treating, so I aimed to make that night the biggest haul yet. My costume was elaborate; a zombie with a full face mask, claw gloves, and a chest piece that would drip fake blood at the push of a button. I'd learned from experience that the more detailed the costume, the more candy you get. I was going to hit every house that I could. I expected to get so much that I even brought one of those big black garbage bags to hold the candy in. I was going to make it a night to remember. It was, but not for the reasons I had hoped. I couldn't tell you which house I got it from, that's something that has always bugged me. My bag was so full and I'd visited so many houses that it was all just a blur. At the end of the night I was sorting my candy into piles. A small mound of chocolate bars, some plastic wrapped gummy candies, dozens of lollipops, and more. As I reached into the central pile of unsorted candy, I found something unusual. It looked like a chocolate bar of some sort, but one I'd never seen before. The wrapper was a greenish yellow in coloration, with a two-armed cartoon worm giving a thumbs up and winking. The label was in some other language, the symbols not corresponding to any Latin letters that I recognized. At first I thought it was maybe in Russian, but the script wasn't quite right, I'd seen what Cyrillic characters looked like from some video games and movies, and this looked a bit different. Raising an eyebrow, I opened the wrapper, curious to see what was inside. It looked like my initial guess was right, it did seem to be a chocolate bar of some sort, with little white orbs embedded in its surface kind of like how some candies had pieces of nuts. I gave it a bite, and was pleasantly surprised to find it was utterly delicious. To this day, I think that it was the best chocolate I've ever had in my entire life. Being a 14 year old, I didn't have the best impulse control. I gobbled the whole thing down in about 30 seconds, tossing the wrapper aside and searching for more in the pile of unsorted candy. I didn't find any more though, and resigned myself to disappointment. I figured I'd ask around at school, bringing the wrapper to see if anyone else had gotten lucky, maybe I could offer some of my less enticing candy as a trade. After finishing my sorting and eating a few more pieces of candy, I finally headed off to sleep, my stomach full and my heart happy. It had been a great day. The next morning I made sure to pack the empty chocolate wrapper so I could ask around at school, and brought some extra candy for trade. During recess and lunch I asked nearly the whole school about the chocolate but I only found three other people who got one, and like me they had immediately eaten the whole thing. I still remember their names. Jeremy, a lanky, bespectacled kid from my chemistry class, Ashley, a girl with dyed blue hair who I'd seen around but never really talked to, and Lee, a track and field athlete who I shared math class with. They all agreed that it was by far the best chocolate they'd ever had, and had also been hoping to find some more. However, it seemed like the trail ended there, none of them remembered which house gave them the chocolate bar either. I was a little sad, but ultimately it wasn't the end of the world for me, it was just some candy after all. It took a few weeks for me to notice anything strange. I had long since forgotten about the candy bar, and now that Halloween had come and gone it was back to the daily routine of school and homework. One morning I woke up to find myself feeling very thirsty. It felt like I had been walking in the desert for days, so I immediately got up to get something to drink. Normally with breakfast I would have milk or orange juice, but that day I decided I would just have a big glass of water. And then another. And another. After three glasses, I was finally satisfied. My mom eyed me with confusion. "Feeling a bit dehydrated honey?" she asked. I nodded, a little embarrassed. "I'm not sure why, I just felt really thirsty this morning" I responded. She smiled and said smugly, "Well, at least its not soda or energy drinks, those things will rot your teeth you know." I rolled my eyes and finished my breakfast, getting ready for school, bringing two bottles of water with me. That day during chemistry class, our teacher announced that Friday there would be a schoolday-long field trip to the local lake, where a fish and wildlife representative would talk about the native ecosystem and the environmental impact of pollution. It wasn't mandatory, but students who went and wrote a paper about it would get extra credit. The teacher said that anyone who wanted to go should raise their hand, and instantly I found myself lifting mine. Jeremy did too, and I detected the faintest hint of confusion on his face. I also felt a little bewildered. I'd never really been particularly interested in environmentalism or anything like that, and its not like I needed the extra credit. But something about the field trip seemed to call to me, like I was meant to go there. The rest of the week passed agonizingly slow. I found myself constantly thinking about the lake, about its cool green waters rippling gently in the breeze. Every morning I would wake up thirstier than the last, until my mom was starting to grow concerned about my water intake. I bought one of those huge water bottles that athletes use, and I noticed that Jeremy and Ashley had as well. Lee already had one, but I noticed him drinking from it more often than normal in math class. Finally Friday came around and the small number of students going to the lake got into the school bus. I couldn't help but notice Lee and Ashley were coming too, but I was quickly distracted by the thought of the lake. I'd never been one for water, it was fun to go to the pool once in a while, sure, but I'd never been obsessed over it. However, all I could think of during the bus ride to the lake was how good it would feel to just dive into its shimmering water, to sink all the way to the bottom and stay there, surrounded by fish. When we finally arrived the fish and wildlife guy had us all sit down on the grass. He told us about pH levels, showed us a preserved frog with too many legs, and passed around photos of some of the garbage he had found on the water's edge. I wasn't paying attention though. I was just staring out at the lake, hypnotized by its gentle waves. I thought about how nice it would feel on my skin, in my mouth. Before I knew what I was doing, I was standing up, walking towards the lake. I could faintly hear the chaperone yelling at me to come back, and some of the other students murmuring in confusion, but I wasn't focused on that, it was just background noise. The sounds of the lake filled my ears. I was vaguely aware that I wasn't alone in my march towards the lake. Jeremy, Ashley, and Lee were all walking with me, similarly fixated. I felt my tennis shoes sink into the cold water as we kept walking onward. As I kept moving, the water went up to my knees, then my thighs, my waist, my chest, my neck. Finally my head was fully submerged, and I looked out into the murky gloom, not even trying to hold my breath as I inhaled the lake water. Then came the sudden realization of what was happening, where I was. It was as if I had been a puppet whose strings were suddenly cut. I was fully aware of the fact I was drowning. Then came the pain. I could feel wriggling under my skin, a burning, itching pain like needles shooting up from inside my flesh. I looked down and saw long pallid worms erupt from out of my skin like moles digging out of the earth. I tried to scream, my mouth once again flooding with water as one of them squirmed out from underneath my eyelid. Dozens of them, maybe hundreds, all came writhing up as they burrowed through my flesh. The pain was unbearable, and my vision started to fade to black as I passed out from a combination of agony, terror and lack of oxygen. I woke up in the hospital, my parents standing over me, their eyes filled with concern. I felt so tired, but thankfully not thirsty at all. When they realized I was awake my mom smothered me with hugs and kisses, while my dad just started sobbing with relief. I asked about the others, the three students who went into lake with me, but they didn't make it. There was only time to rescue one of us. The doctors were at a loss to explain the puncture wounds all over my body, but said that it wasn't anything too severe, and that I should be able to recover with some pain medicine and antibiotics. I didn't tell them about the worms, I knew I wouldn't be believed anyway and I didn't want to end up locked away in some institution. I already had to have therapy sessions and got put on some anti-depressants, apparently the authorities cooked up some story about a suicide pact between Jeremy, Ashley, Lee, and I. I played along with this story to the therapist, talking about feeling overwhelmed at school and whatnot, but it was all nonsense. I wasn't depressed, at least, not before this happened. I did some independent research, trying to figure out what happened to me. What I found was startling. There is a phylum of worm called nematomorpha, also known as horsehair worms. They typically infect insects, growing inside them and controlling their central nervous system to make them jump into water and drown. Once the host leaps into the water, the worm burrows its way out of the host, continuing its life aquatically to find a mate and lay eggs. There are a few cases of accidental infection of humans, but there is no recorded evidence of them ever manipulating a mammal the same way they control insects. I also found something else out. A few weeks after Halloween, every year, like clockwork, there is a spike in child deaths due to drowning. Its not enough to be noticed by most people, but it is obvious once you're looking for it. So I'll say to you again; always check your kids' Halloween candy. If you find a greenish yellow chocolate bar with writing in a language you've never seen before, don't let them eat it, no matter what.

I'm so grateful I walked in on my husband of three years with his former partner

y18idq

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y18idq/im_so_grateful_i_walked_in_on_my_husband_of_three/

It’s funny, you never think you’ll wind up married to a clown. Yet there I was at the age of thirty, catering for some brat’s 8th birthday party, when the mother stood at the far edge of the fancy garden and introduced ‘Mr. Giggles’ to a chorus of cheers. From behind the lunch counter, I watched as my future husband made doves disappear with a flourish of his hands and juggled behind his back. Around him, the children sat in a little semi-circle roaring with laughter. After the performance, Mr. Giggles wandered over to me, introduced himself as Johnny, and asked for a cheeseburger. “That was quite a show,” I said, slipping a beef patty into a bun. I remember thinking he looked kinda cute—you know, beneath the face paint and rainbow wig. “Thanks,” he said, still breathless from the pratfalls. “I’ve been workshopping some new material. I used to have this bit with an angry hand puppet, but kids these days hate hand puppets. Go figure.” Johnny, unlike his character, came across all shy and soft-spoken. Every so often, kids hopped up on fizzy drinks and chocolate cake stormed over and asked for an encore, and each time Mr. Giggles sprung to life, pulling coins out of ears or squirting water from the flower on his lapel. That infectious enthusiasm is what warmed my heart, I think. Fast forward six years and the entire groom party (all professional clowns) pulled up to our wedding in a single Mini Cooper. Now here’s a recipe for one strained marriage: take two independent contractors, mix in a lockdown, season with some overdue mortgage payments, et viola! Johnny crammed all his equipment inside this spare room at the back of the house, and one afternoon, while passing the outside hallway, I heard a hushed conversation from behind the door. Rather than become one of *those* couples who needed to constantly keep tabs on their spouse, I forced myself to walk on by. But these ‘encounters’ happened again and again, and I couldn’t bite down on my suspicions forever. I finally succumbed to temptation and knocked on the door one afternoon. After some nervous shuffling about a case slammed closed, then Johnny pulled open the door and smiled; a short, nervous smile that showed too many teeth to be genuine. “Who were you talking to?” I asked, stealing a glance past his shoulder. Rudimentary furniture and gag props lay scattered about here and there. He cracked the fingers on his right hand and flexed the wrist, as though shaking out an ache. “Just an old colleague.” This sent up a red flag. Or perhaps, a series of little ones, all tied together and crammed up his sleeve. Years earlier, he’d casually mentioned a lady he performed with as a duo… “Oh, which one?” “Dan,” he said. “You never met him, he moved to Australia years ago.” His vague, non-committal answers left an unpleasant gnawing sensation in the pit of my stomach. Still, I trusted him. A few months later, I got hired as head chef at Blue Chicago, one of my city’s most popular restaurants. Suddenly, Ruth and Johnny weren’t on a shoestring budget anymore. Suddenly, I had money to burn. In his sleep, Johnny started writhing around relentlessly. It seemed like every time I drifted off rogue digits jabbed me in the throat. I considered asking him to consult a therapist about his money anxieties. Then, while I chopped tomatoes in the kitchen one evening, he wandered in and said, “Is that a new knife?” I stopped mid-chop, held the blade up to the light, and smiled. “Yep. It’s a Zwiling. I got the whole set.” I pointed at a wooden display stand on the counter. “I thought I’d treat myself since the Christmas bonus finally came through.” The fancy collection had everything: a knife specifically for garnishing, another for utility cutting, and a meat cleaver that could slice straight through bone. “How much did it cost?” Johnny asked, his tone accusatory. “Don’t worry, we can afford it,” I replied, then continued chopping. His constant questioning of every purchase had grown tiresome. “Ruth, you *know* children’s entertainment is in a slump. I haven’t had a booking for weeks, my finances are stretched thin.” “Maybe if you took that Amazon delivery job,” I mumbled. “Oh, you want me to quit clowning? Is that it?” His cracked the knuckles on his right hand. “Nobody said you have to quit. Maybe just get a real job for a little while to–” “Real?” he asked, offended. I’d taken a cheap shot at his life-long passion, one I didn’t really mean. Believe me when I say I loved being married to a clown—the way kids' faces lit up around Mr. Giggles warmed my heart—but at that moment, Johnny pulled my strings in a bad way. An argument had been brewing for a while. As he stormed out of the room, I followed him into the hallway. “Oh, are you off to tell *her* what I said?” “Who?” "Do you think I'm some kind of dummy? You’re ex-girlfriend, that’s who. What was her name, Brandi? Bonnie?” He crossed the threshold of his inner sanctum, faced me, and stabbed the air with his finger. “You’re crazy.” “Oh please, then who are you talking to all the time? Why all the smoke and daggers?” He sighed. “There’s parts of my life you’ll never understand, Ruth. The clown worlds…*complicated*.” Not rolling my eyes took a hero's effort. “If you and your mystery woman enjoy each other’s company so much, why not run off and join the circus?” Visibly hurt by this remark, he slammed the door in my face. For the next few days, Johnny practically lived out of that spare room, and between his self-isolation and my long shifts, we spent very little time together. I apologized for the circus remark, he apologized for his reaction to the knife, but things were still frosty whenever we passed each other on the landing, or coming out of the bathroom. Meanwhile, every now and again, strange sounds rang out from Johnny’s quarters. Scuffles. Furniture scraping roughly across the wooden floor. Muffled voices. Grunts, groans. But anytime I snuck along and pushed my ear against the door, the room lowered its voice. For all I knew there was a corpse stashed beyond that door. Maybe ‘Bonnie’ had moved in right under my nose… One Saturday, Johnny got a last-minute call to fill in at a company picnic and scrambled to assemble his gear before flying straight out the door. After almost stepping on his phone on my way out of the bedroom, I rushed after him. On the front landing, I hesitated. Despite my better judgement, I entered the passcode—our anniversary—and found zero suspicious messages or nude photos, just tedious ‘shop talk’ with his colleagues. A few seconds later, a key jingled in the front door. I pretended I’d still been in the process of rushing after Johnny and handed over the phone. Once he left, I poured myself a glass of wine and flicked through some old photo albums. Toward the back of one, I came across a shot of Johnny at his first-ever show, performing with this raggedy Anne-style hand puppet bonking him on the side of the head with a club. The audience—a group of children not much younger than him—were giggling away. Just then, I hated myself for not trusting my husband. Was his behaviour suspicious? Most definitely. But I’d jumped to conclusions. Invaded his privacy. And worst of all, insulted his passion. A romantic gesture seemed like the perfect way to patch things up. With food being *my* great passion, it’ll come as no surprise I decided a romantic dinner would spice things up. But I wanted a grand gesture to go with the meal. A secret ingredient if you will. The idea came to me at work that night while preparing a lamb curry. Would it be a little cheesy? Definitely. And oh sure, I’d never take centre stage at the Royal Variety Performance. But with a few practice sessions, Johnny would sure get a kick out of it. It’s amazing the things you can learn from Youtube these days. I darted around the city picking up materials then, over the course of the next few days, worked on my little project in secret. Anytime Johnny emerged from his layer, I’d stash my work-in-progress behind a sofa cushion or under the desk. On the big night, he arrived home late from a gig at a children’s hospital. My gift lay on the kitchen counter, wrapped up in a giftbox. In the dining room, I dimmed the lights and lit some candles. “What’s all this?” Johnny asked, as he stepped through the door. “I thought we could have a romantic meal. I made honey roasted tenderloin, your favourite.” “Okay,” he said, his voice all flat. “Let me go change.” Not quite the enthusiastic response I’d hoped for… He disappeared into that room, again, while I watched the candles burn themselves out. How long did stripping off a costume take? The tenderloin would be cold at this rate. Stepping into the hallway, I heard the voices. *Again*. Except this time, it sounded like there was a row going on. Suspicious, I tiptoed along—not that there was much danger of being heard—and held my ear against the door. “No, it’s just a crummy dinner…this means nothing…of course I care about you.” What. A. Bastard. He *was* talking to an ex. And after all the trouble I’d gone to preparing that tenderloin… Eager to catch him red-handed, I burst through the door, and when I saw what was going on in there, I froze. He was still in costume, but he wasn’t speaking on the phone. My intuition had been way off. Instead, he was arguing with this little hand puppet; one with red curls, a French beret, rosy cheeks, and a button-down coat. Johnny shot up off his chair at the sight of me, the room suddenly crackling with tension. “Johnny?” I asked, confused. Light reflected off the puppet’s button eyes. I looked from it to him and said, “What’s going on?” “Ruth, I…I…” he stammered away for almost ten seconds before swallowing a gulp and relaxing the muscles in his jaw. Then, without moving his mouth, he said, “We’ve been talking, me and Mr. Giggles.” Wait. Why did his voice climb several octaves higher? On the end of his arm, the puppet slowly rotated toward me. “And we don’t care for the way you’ve been talking about clowns. No siree, we don’t care for it at all.” The stammer and anxiety had vanished. Johnny now spoke in that stern tone teachers used when lecturing a student. This couldn’t be happening; he couldn’t be so trapped in delusion he communicated via puppet. “Johnny…have you been in here talking to a fucking doll this whole time?” The notion drew a laugh from me. In a way, I think an affair might have been easier to swallow. “You need help,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Help?” he replied, his mouth a permanent straight line. “As if we need help from *you*. You only wanted Johnny, not Mr. Giggles. Her royal highness couldn’t stand being married to a clown, could she? She didn’t want a man who brought joy into children’s lives, she just wanted an expensive kitchen for cooking fancy French cuisines. Well, me and Mr. Giggles hate French food. Don’t we Mr. Giggles?” The puppet swivelled toward Johnny, who nodded, submissively. “That’s right Bonbon.” When the puppet faced me again, he mouthed, ‘I’m sorry’. Bonbon? My husband’s brain had become completely scrambled. He didn’t need help—he needed a serious psychiatric evaluation. I now tasted a whole, rancid danger in the air. “Johnny…” I started. “He’s not Johnny,” Bonbon shrieked. “He’s Mr. Giggles. And it’s about time you learned that.” The clown and the puppet both lunged at me. Terrified, I spun into the hall and made a desperate break for the front door, Bonbon cackling away, then on the far side of the landing my husband’s hands locked around my waist and hurled me into the wall, a glass cabinet, and finally over a side table, which made me crash onto the floor, hard. Sprawled across the carpet, I managed a feeble, “Please, let me go.” “Oh, you’re not going anywhere,” Bonbon said, rubbing her hands—operated by Johnny’s pinky finger and thumb—together as she crept her into my blurred window of vision. “The way we see it, you’ve been a real brat to poor Mr. Giggles.” She faced her puppeteer, who sobbed and kept his eyes fixed on the floor. “And you know what we do with brats, don’t you Mr. Giggles?” Without looking up he shook his head, then Bonbon leaned close to his right ear and whispered something. A horrified look spread across Johnny’s face. “Oh Bonbon, we can’t do that,” he said, feebly. “Who’d mop up the blood?” Still gasping, I crawled along the hall and into the kitchen, away from the psychotic jester. Bolts of pain raced through my ribs every time my arm lifted above my head. The scuffle had left me broken and bleeding in a dozen places. “It’s nothing personal, little Ruthy,” said the puppet, stalking me through the door. “But see, you and Mr. Giggles were never gonna work out. He needs a partner who appreciates him.” My hands fumbled across the ceramic tiles for a pot or a pan—anything to defend myself with. I came at last to the counter. Wait. My fancy knife lay perched on top. Ignoring the needles drilling into my midsection, I clawed my way up the side and unintentionally swiped the gift box onto the floor. Johnny grabbed my shoulder, used it to steer me around, and leaned his companion in close, her face inches away from mine. Past her, I saw tears stream down Johnny’s cheeks as he avoided my gaze. So much for fighting back. Now I could only pray some portion of the man I married was still rolling around in there. “Johnny, I love you,” I whimpered. Muscles in his neck flexed. While he squeezed his eyes shut, Bonbon whipped between us, then slapped him across the face. “What are you doing?” Her voice sounded different now. Nervous. “Kill her already!” “Please don’t,” I rasped. “Johnny, I love you so, so much. Remember the first time we met? You just wanted to eat your burger and flirt with me, but kids kept running up and asking for more tricks. I thought it was adorable the way you made them all feel special.” His lower lip wobbled. As he backed away, I slid down the counter and onto the floor, beside the gift box. Above me, Bonbon tried to strike him, but he grabbed his own forearm and held her in place. “No,” he said, straining from the effort of resisting the puppet's influence. “I won’t let you do this.” Out of nowhere, Johnny’s body relaxed. For a moment I thought he’d broke the spell—that we’d survived this horrible nightmare. “Well then,” the puppet said seriously, “if you’re too much of a chicken, I’ll just have to do it myself.” Reluctantly, Johnny’s free hand let go of his arm and reached around the back of his own skull. From his bemused expression, you could tell he wasn’t running the show anymore. I watched, horrified, as he bashed his face against the counter and then the wall, producing a sickening thud. The macabre performance left me in a state of shock, otherwise I might have dragged myself to my feet and snatched a knife. A slab of tenderised beef loomed over me, grinning. Flakes of peeled face paint and juicy blood streaked Johnnys head white and red, like vanilla ice cream doused in strawberry sauce. The rubber nose had fallen off and several teeth were dislodged, broken, or missing. The creature said, “Johnny’s mine, you hear?” in a burly voice, half his own, half Bonbon’s. The puppet swayed back and forth as Johnny shuffled toward me. Those knives lay up on the counter, outside reach. But the giftbox had landed beside my feet. Both Johnny’s sanity and my life were on the line; I had no choice other than to fight fire with fire. And quickly. Black circles danced before my ever-shrinking window of vision as I grabbed the box, tore open the wrapper, fumbled around for the hidden slot inside the packaging paper, and let my hand slide into place. Then, I held my arm between Johnny and me, a shield. Here goes nothing… A crudely made lamb puppet sat on the end of my arm, one with a pink bow and big, bright eyes. “Say hello to Lambchop,” I rasped. Johnny hesitated, that gap-toothed smile vanishing. In my best ‘cute’ voice, I said: “That’s right, I’m Lambchop, and I came here to tell you Ruth loves you. Both of you, Johnny *and* Mr. Giggles.” “What are you doing you big lummox? *I’m* in control here.” Bonbon screamed. “Don’t listen to her. She’s only a part of you, just like I’m only a part of Ruth. And every part of Ruth loves every part of you.” “Kill her,” screamed Bonbon, furiously shaking back and forth. “Kill her, kill her, kill her!” His gaze whipped between me and the puppet. Then, with a decisive shake of his head, he said: “No.” When Bonbon next lunged, Johnny held his own forearm, pinned her flat against the counter by pressing his knee beneath the crook of his elbow, and then grabbed the butcher knife from the stand. Unable to wriggle free, the psychotic puppet squealed and squirmed around, helpless. The blade came down in a fierce, shining arc. By the time I’d hauled myself up, Johnny had already drawn it out of his forearm and plunged it in a second time, then a third, a fourth. Exposed cartilage and ripe muscle trailed beneath the elbow, spurting blood thicker than peppercorn sauce over the counter, sink, and part of the wall. Johnny stumbled across the room, finally hitting the floor in a dramatic manner, reminiscent of those pratt falls he did so well. On the counter, his hand—and subsequently, Bonbon—twitched wildly. Already on the phone with the paramedics, I tied a belt tight around Johnny’s stump. “Ruth,” he sputtered, as he lay flat in a pool of his own blood. “I’m here. Stay with me.” He looked up at me, eyes glazed, and said, “Things really got out of hand there, huh?” And through the tears, despite all the fresh trauma, I let out a little chuckle. My husband. [Ever the entertainer…](https://www.reddit.com/r/thoughtindustry/comments/te0fum/welcome_i_hope_you_enjoy_your_stay/)

Mad Tales from Medicine

y2atm6

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y2atm6/mad_tales_from_medicine/

“You’re kidding me…” “It will be a good experience.” “That’s literally bumfuck nowhere.” I complained. “The hell am I supposed to do, stich up some white-trash inbred good ol’ boy with a straight line for a family tree who got shot by his half-brother cousin over an argument about who would get to fuck their sister-wife?” “Zach… Jesus… Look…” Anna the medical director said, face-palming while Chase openly laughed in the background. “I don’t make these decisions.” “Who the hell does?” I grunted. “Seriously, the loan forgiveness plan was clear. I would get my loans taken care of if I worked in a high-need, emergency medicine environment. Where we are now is quite clearly a high-need environment and unlike the other whiners, I actually like being here.” “Zach…” Anna began again. “No, this is stupid.” I cut her off. “I’m by far the best PA here, no one has as many saves as me. I’m super self-sufficient, my charts are always done on time, and I have excellent report with the patients.” “That’s why we’re sending you out there.” Anna said. “So I get punished for being good at what I do?” I continued complaining. I’ll admit I was getting a bit whinny, but come on, this was stupid. “This isn’t really up for discussion man, I’m sorry.” Chase stated with finality and with genuine empathy. “Unfortunately this is how these things go. You’ve seen a lot of the more unique cases, so they want you out where it’s even harder to get providers.” Now, when Chase said “more unique cases”, he was right. I’ve seen and treated quite a few. There was the guy that was involved in a motorcycle crash. He came in with his entire pelvic cavity torn to shit, bleeding all over the place. I had my hand almost elbow deep in this dude’s pelvis, clamping down on his femoral vein. That guy didn’t make it. I was gripping his femoral vein and could feel his femoral artery pulsing right above my hand. As the doc was scrubbing in, I felt it stop. I literally felt a man die. It was surreal. Motorcycle injuries are fucked up, people. Take extra care when riding on one of those deathtraps. There’s a reason some of us in EMS call them “donor cycles”. Then there was one particularly freaky case that was probably the main catalyst for the decision to move me to Bumfuck, Nowhere. Probably due to how I reacted to it. It was a trauma case that came in in the middle of winter. It was the overnight shift at the hospital, a major surgery center for the region. I was in the employee lounge hanging out with Deena, a freckled nurse that I'm... uh... “friends” with. She and I were part of an emergency surgery team that had seen some crazy shit and kept it together. Our team had the highest positive patient outcomes. That basically means patients not fucking dying in hospital admin speak. In an unusual move, the hospital administration kept us together. Deena was a tattooed, red-headed, former paramedic with shorter, punk-like hair and had a strong-but-lithe build. Think of the badass bitch stereotype of a female paramedic, and you’ll probably not be that far off. We had been discussing the finer points of how shitty the Rise of Skywalker was when the call came over the intercoms. “Adult trauma alpha, ETA now, O.R. 07.” The voice said in a rhythmic, practiced staccato. “Adult trauma alpha, ETA now, O.R. 07. Adult trauma alpha, ETA now, O.R. 07.” For those of you who don't know, it's usually standard practice to repeat major hospital announcements three time. Something having to do with human memory and comprehension. “Let's roll.” She said plainly, downing the rest of her coffee and crumpling up the cup. She tossed it behind her. It sailed ungracefully across the room, missing the trash can by several feet. One of the other hospital employees had just come into the breakroom and watched the cup bounce across the floor. He frowned at it, and before Deena could do something, grabbed a paper towel as a hand barrier and tossed it into the trash can. “Thanks.” Deena said. “Don't play basketball.” I told her as I stood up and walked over to the door that led towards the O.R. hallway. “Like you're tall enough to be a judge of that.” She laughed, slapping my shoulder as she walked through the door I was holding open for her. We jogged to the scrub sinks outside of the assigned operating room and immediately began the process of washing our hands. It's a longer process than you may think. It's a two-part process as well. You wash your hands first, then your arms, in that order. The washing involves scrubbing under your fingernails and up to the elbows. One thing to specifically watch for is the thumb, it's the least washed part of the hand. Deena and I completed our processes and both made our way into the room. The other two members of our team were already there: Donny the surgical tech and Dr. Scott the trauma surgeon. A nurse and an anesthesia tech that weren’t part of our team but we worked with often were there as well. “Hey all.” I said as the surgical tech, Donny, opened up a sterile surgical gown for me. I put my arms through the sleeves and let him tie it around my back. “Zach, Deena.” Dr. Daniel Scott acknowledged us. He was a taller man in the late prime of his life with salt-and-pepper hair, a slightly big nose, and brown eyes that always seemed to crinkle with smiles. He was a damn good surgeon and was one of the best doctors to learn from. I will always admire the man greatly. “What do we got?” Deena asked as Sofia, the other nurse, helped her into her reinforced hospital gown. “You remember that guy that went missing on his “camping” trip?” Sofia asked. “That redneck frequent flier we have to restrain every damn time?” I cocked an eyebrow, slipping my arms into the sterile gloves that Donny had opened up for me. “Yeah, they found him.” Sofia answered. “So... what's his deal?” Deena wondered. “Third-degree burns, apparently.” Sofia answered darkly. “With a few possible fourth-degree.” “Jesus.” I muttered. “Of course this would happen when we have a skeleton crew at the hospital. We got enough skin grafts?” “Is the Alloderm rep here?” Dr. Scott asked. “We're probably gonna go through quite a bit of tissue.” “No, but the freezer's fully stocked.” Deena answered, looking at the sterile table at the surgical supplies. “Supply chain made sure to order enough in advance.” “We'll need to reorder more for sure.” I added. “Do the supply runners already know the deal?” “They’ve been informed,” Sofia acknowledged. “We’ve got the doctor on call on the way as well.” Deena stated, briefly glancing at a message that had popped up on her smartwatch. “Patient coming in!” A new voice said loudly. The doors to the O.R. opened and a short, plump nurse came in at the head of a gurney, an ED tech pushing it into the room. The man lying on the cart was what we call “trauma naked”. His clothes had been completely cut away, and he a sheet and blankets over him with some skin visible on the parts of the body that hadn’t been fully covered. He looked to be in his early forties, though the completely bald head made guessing his age a challenge. I looked around the room to see if anyone else was questioning anything. Sure enough, Deena and Sofia seemed to be pondering the same thing I was. As I mulled over my thoughts, I turned my attention to the anesthesia tech, Mandy. She glanced from the anesthesia mask in her hand, to the patient's file on her printout, to the patient himself as the ED tech, Sofia, Deena, and the newly arrived nurse positioned themselves alongside the gurney. They performed the standard drag with the assistance of a slide to get the guy onto the surgical table. Dr. Scott popped his neck and walked up to the gurney and carefully removed the sheet, revealing the man's body. My suspicions were instantly confirmed, but I waited for someone else to say it. There was a good twenty seconds of silence before Donny spoke up. “So... where are the burns...?” This guy showed absolutely no signs of burns... Of any kind... In fact, outside of a few standard cuts and scars, the guy's body seemed to be perfectly fine. All of the O.R. staff looked at each other confused. Third and fourth degree burns are... Well, I don't suggest looking them up. Third degree burns go through both the epidermis (outer layer of skin) and dermis (layer below the epidermis) all the way down to the fat layer. Fourth degree burns are even uglier, and can affect bones and muscles. They're nasty as hell, to put it VERY mildly. But this guy seemed perfectly fine, save for the... oh god dammit... the white pride celtic cross logo tattooed on his left pectoral. “Is this the right guy?” I asked as I stepped next to Dr. Scott. “Can we get confirmation please?” Dr. Scott asked Sofia, who seemed just as confused as we were. She read off the info on the man's file, and it all seemed accurate. “Wait, you see that?” Dr. Scott pointed at the man's thigh right above his knee, where the skin seemed to have a slight red hue. “Yeah,” I said, turning my head as I inspected the spot, feeling it slightly with my hands. It seemed a lot more tender than it should be, the flesh seeming to move strangely. It looked almost like a baby leg. You know how they have those chubby, cute legs? Yeah, it's not so cute when it's on a grown-ass, white-nationalist. “What do you think it is?” Dr. Scott asked. “Could be subcutaneous hematoma...” I suggested. “But then again, the color's all off, those are blue or purple usually...” “I was going to say angioedema, but the swelling never looks like that…” Dr. Scott suggested. “Neither answer the main question…” “Where are the burns?” Deena asked, leaning over the bed slightly. “Exactly.” Dr. Scott said. “Move your hands please, Zach.” I did so as the doctor felt the wound. “This feels all wrong...” He muttered. "This makes no sense… “#15 scalpel, please.” Dr. Scott said. The surgical tech methodically handed the scalpel to the doctor before his brain caught up to him. “Wait, doc... What are you...?” Dr. Scott didn't wait. I moved my hands quickly to keep the leg steady as the doctor put the blade to the skin and ran it in a vertical, two inch motion. I had learned to trust Dr. Scott, even if I too had my doubts about what he was about to do. Almost immediately, the smell of burnt flesh overtook the entire operating room as a cloud of burnt ash that was once flesh burst out into the air, similar to the ash and soot that flies off of a campfire when someone tosses a new log onto it. From that small cut, charred flesh spilled out. As in, literally spilled and piled out. Think of when a shrimp cooks and the flesh pops through the shell, or when you boil a sausage and it rips and sort of inflates out of the cut, and you'll have a good approximation of how this nasty, blackened flesh spilled out of this tiny wound and all over the man's leg, the gurney, and my gloved hands. The smell had this strong, rotten, metallic, almost coppery weight to it, and I had to fight the urge to gag. I’d seen my fair share of nasty stuff as an EMT, so I managed to keep my food down. Donny however turned and promptly vomited off to the side and all over the floor. “Well great, this whole fucking OR now needs to be sterilized now.” I thought. That concern was immediately waylaid as the patient's heart-rate suddenly spiked on the monitor. His eyes flew open and he sat up, completely breaking through the restraints he had been strapped to. His arms flew out, his hands wrapping around Mandy the anesthesia tech's neck and squeezing hard. “IT'S INSIDE ME!” He bellowed. “IT'S INSIIIIIDE MEEEEEEEE!” “What the fuck!?!” Deena exclaimed. “Whoa, let go!” I yelled as I immediately leaned forward and grabbed the man's wrists. I pulled hard, trying to pry his hands off of the anesthesia tech's throat. Almost immediately, I felt a sensation like the crispy skin of a chicken strip sloughing off of the white meat as my grip slipped away, and I found myself holding two thick handfuls of skin, perfectly clean on one side, and charred and bloody on the other. Below the man's freakishly normal looking epidermis, his arms were burned down to blackened bone. Several chunks of burned yet still wet flesh plopped to the O.R. floor with a series of nasty, moist impacts reminiscent of a wet mopping hitting a tile floor. I could see the patient's radius and ulna, charred black, clear as day. As I stood there, fighting down the bile that was coming up in my throat, I can honestly say that was the first time at that job that I've ever frozen in place. I knew I'd be experiencing some weird shit, and I already had, but this was beyond anything I'd ever expected. Nothing in P.A. school, shadowing, or my past as an EMT could have prepared me for this. Deena was the next one to try to attempt a rescue. She pushed her way up to me and busied herself with the fingers on the man's right hand instead of his wrist, all the while staring in panic at the tech's face, which was quickly turning purple. Dr. Scott was attempting the same thing on the man's left hand. They somehow managed to loosen his grip, and the tech stumbled backwards, knocking over an instrument tray and scattering the tools across the O.R. floor with a series of clatters. Her back hit the wall as she gasped for air... Nasty, rotted flesh smelling air... She too turned and immediately hurled all over the wall she had fallen against. “INSIDE MEEEEEeeeeeee…...!” The man gave one last, rasping scream that died in his throat before his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell back hard against the gurney, his vitals flatlining. We all stood around, staring in utter and complete shock at what had just happened, with that annoying ass *beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep* ringing out as the only sound besides the dry heaving of the two techs. “What... in the holy...” I muttered. “Uh... Zach...” I looked over at Deena, whose eyes were focused on my hands. I looked down and realized that through all of this, I was still holding on to the man's... wrist skin. I just stared at the weirdly burned flesh as the beeping droned on. “I... I don't...” Dr. Scott muttered quietly, had his hand over his heart, staining the surgical gown with the blackish-red residue from the charred flesh. I could barely hear him over the sound of the beeping. It went on for another excruciating few seconds before Deena hit the button to mute the machine. Several more seconds of silence followed as we all exchanged glances before, finally, the wide-eyed nurse at the computer found her voice. “So... Um…” She awkwardly said. “Time of death...?” Both Mandy and the ER tech quit after that incident and Sofia took a long leave of absence. Donny bounced back pretty quickly after taking a day off. Deena, Dr. Scott, and I seemed to be the least fazed by the incident. I’d been an EMT, Deena had been a paramedic, and Dr. Scott had volunteered in warzones across the world with various NGOs, so we managed to shake off freakier shit relatively easily. The patient obviously died. Turns out he wasn't originally even supposed to come to us. Some freak snowstorm forced the emergency chopper to re-route to our hospital. I found this weird, as that hospital was by far the best hospital in our region of the United States, and that there was no snowstorm reported in the news... I never actually found out where the chopper was originally headed, but I'd be lying if I wasn't curious. I dug into the transfer paperwork and saw that the original destination was listed as "Restricted B". Not helpful at all. So again, when Chase said “unique cases”, those are the kind he meant. What I DON’T think he meant was me having to slapfight a small pair of glowing-blue, weirdly human-like hands sticking out of a dude’s shoulder in order to surgically remove the bulbous-eyed frog that they belonged to. At least it looked like a frog. Weird anatomy of the frog aside, I have no idea how it got in there. There was no sign at all of any entrance wound on the guy’s body, anywhere. The only clue I had to go on as far as the cause was something the guy said. He mentioned that his diet was “normal” (in the deep south, this means overly fatty and diabetes-inducing), save for the fact that he drank some homemade mead made with a glowing blue sap he “pur-curred” off a fallen tree while he was wandering in the woods high on meth “ ’bout’ta week er two b’fore.” That’s a story for another day. So in case you haven’t figured out by now, I’m a physician assistant, or physician associate depending on the state. The best way to describe the role is a “Doctor-light”. P.A.s can do a lot of the things doctors can do like see patients, order and interpret labwork and scans, prescribe medications, and much more. They’re restricted on more complicated procedures like complex surgeries, though they can and often do work as the first assist, taking part in suturing, IV placement, and catheterization. They also can perform more basic surgical procedures like draining abscesses, doing biopsies, and stuff like that. Basically, on the surgical end, P.A.s can do minor invasive procedures. There’s some contractual stuff and legalese that allows some P.A.s to do specific, more complex procedures in certain states and counties, but I won’t bore you all with that here. Basically, a P.A. can do a lot of what a doctor can do, but there has to be a supervising physician present in the practice or hospital as well. It’s a fun and relatively autonomous role. While P.A.s make a good salary, P.A. school here in ‘Murica is still super expensive. Some P.A.s jump on loan forgiveness/repayment programs that involve being a provider in high-need areas or medical shortage areas, especially rural ones. That’s how, after 1 year in an extremely busy but criminally understaffed urban hospital I ended up being moved to Bumfuck, Nowhere in a region of the United States that can charitably be described as “country”. I had heard rumors that there had been a few fresh P.A.s and even M.D.s and D.O.s that has cycled through this town but never lasted more than a few weeks. Most ended up quitting the forgiveness program, though one or two just kind of dropped off the map, never to be seen again. I think the program thought I’d be made of stronger stuff due to my background. Before going to PA school, I was an EMT for a few years in a very large, very violent area of one of the biggest cities in the United States. I’ll keep it as vague as that in order to keep some semblance of my anonymity intact. I’m guessing it was due to my past EMT experience and my very successful first year as a PA in that same city, that I was transferred to Hickville, to the all-in-one “Health Location.” Yes, health “location”… To keep it short, it was a sort of all-in-one health clinic… or Location I suppose… that was in a surprisingly decent-sized and clean building for the town it served. It had its own little departments for separate issues, including an emergency department, primary care, urgent care, ENT clinic, pharmacy, and a few others. I honestly don’t think that is allowed, legally speaking, but I’m no lawyer. I follow all the laws I was told to follow in PA school as far as patient treatment, so whoever runs this place, that’s on them. I’m getting my loans taken care of and the federal government is vaguely aware of this placement, so what the hell do I care? I’ll start with the first case that made me realize that these cases were different. The supervising physician was in the primary care clinic dealing with one of our regulars, Charles Stubblebeard, a chronic appendicitis patient who was being seen in preparation for his seventh appendectomy. His appendix tended to reappear and burst every few months. I, meanwhile was working the dayshift in the urgent care clinic that day. A new patient came in wanting to get some stiches removed. That’s the only thing I managed to overhear initially before one of the medical assistants, Kelsey, whisked him away to one of the exam rooms to do his vitals and intake. She came out a few minutes later. I met her at the door outside the patient’s room as she handed me his clipboard. “Milton Brown, 39 year old new patient with a history of diabetes.” She immediately began. “Got a wound from a four-wheeler accident about 4 weeks ago. Had a family member stich up the wound. Wants to get it checked out and possibly get the stiches removed.” “Symptoms?” I asked. “Mainly itching and redness at the site, he said. No fever or pain, though.” “Huh.” I muttered. “Alright, thanks.” “The way he got it is… interesting.” She added as she walked back towards the front desk. I furrowed my brow as I watched her go, wondering what she meant by that, then shrugged and swung open the door. “Hello Milton!” I said with a smile. “Hay there!” Milton exclaimed happily. “Yer the Pee Eyh?” I was still adjusting my ears to southern speech at this point, so it took me an extra second or two to process what he said. “Uh, yes. Yes sir I am. My name is Zach.” I said as I made my way over to the provider chair by the desk and sat down in it, turning the computer screen towards me and readjusting the keyboard. “Well good ter meetcha!” According to his chart, Milton was 39, but he looked significantly older. He had frown and wrinkle lines, as well as lightly tanned skin that was overly dry. His teeth were yellowed, likely due to smoking for over twenty years, as his chart designated. His dark brown hair was messily tucked under a camouflage-patterned trucker hat with the words “Big Cock Country” superimposed over a picture of a rooster on the front. He smiled at me as I typed a few notes into his encounter note. He was very amicable and friendly, a rather welcome change from most of the patients I had seen that day. “Good to meet you too sir.” I nodded. “So tell me a bit about why you’re here. I got some of the story from Kelsey.” “Well…” He muttered, scratching at the patchy beard on his chin. “’Bout four weeks ago I wuz fixin’ ta load up mah 4 wheeler into mah truck so I could take it to my buddy Brian’s house. And, well, I fell of th’ damn thang as I wuz loadin’ it. For those of you not from the United States, four wheeler is a slang term for an all terrain vehicle, or ATV. “I see. And you impacted on your back, correct?” I asked, typing what he was telling me into his note. “Yessir,” he said. “I had this big ol’ gash on mah back, so I asked mah cousin Bubba to grab me sum sewin’ supplies and stich it right up!” I paused from typing and barely managed to turn a laugh into a cough. “Mah cousin Bubba” was a little too much for me for some reason. “Well, we didn’t have none in the house,” Milton continued, “so Bubba climbed up into the rafters of tha barn. There was a buncha shit left over there from that weirdo who was living there for a few days while I was camping down by the crick.” He meant creek, for those of you who don’t speak Southern. “So he grabbed some strong lookin’ thread, came down, and just stitched me right up!” “Some… body was living in your… uh.” I stated. “My property, yeah.” Milton nodded. “He was talkin’ to hisself in some funny language, wasn’t no ‘Muirican, so ah dunno what the hell he was saying. I hollered at him, asking what the sam hill he was doing. He just kinda looked at me from under some weird-lookin’ hood and moved further back. When I climbed up there, he was gone. Weirdo, man.” “That sure is strange.” I agreed while silently wondering how drunk Milton must have been. If only I had known what was to come in the future. At the moment though, I was more focused on treating my patient. “Do you mind removing your shirt so I can take a look at the stitch?” “Of course!” Milton smiled. He unbuttoned his bleach-stained flannel to reveal a white tank top underneath, which he rolled up to his armpits as he turned around. I have to be honest, I was expecting it to look much worse than it actually did. There was a massive scar from a laceration across his back, reaching almost from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. Its width was pretty consistent with the injury he described. The surprising part was the complete absence of any sign of infection. The wound was awkwardly stitched with a rough, black thread that looked like it was somehow made out of burlap. The stitching work was haphazard and ugly, but what else could I expect from a backwoods hick. I will admit though, it did seem to keep the wound closed either way, so I had to give some credit to whoever the hell “Bubba” was. I did immediately note one particularly strange thing: the erythema (redness) that surrounded the wound and stitching was far more widespread than it should have been. There were even some deep lines around, almost as if someone had taken thin metal wire and indented the surface of the skin all around the wound. “So tell me a bit more specifically about the injury.” I said. “Well, I was trying to load up the 4-wheeler like I said, ya know. So I built me a dirt mound.” “A dirt mound?” I asked, pausing in the examination. Where was he going with this? “Yep. Then, I lined up mah truck at what I thought would be the right angle and all that. I lined up mah 4-wheeler and gunned it. I figured I’d be able to jump in into the truck bed easy. Well, I kinda missed, the four wheeler only half hit the truck bed and bucked me off it.” Again, I found myself repressing a laugh at the sheer idiocy of what redneck Evil Knievel had tried to do. “Okay Milton. The wound seems to be fine, looks like there’s no risk of anything opening. Do you want me to remove these stiches for you?” “Yes please!” Milton said brightly. “Alright, go ahead and lean forward for me, put your hands on your legs.” I answered, pushing away to a nearby cart and opening one of the central drawers. I reached inside and grabbed a blue bag marked “Suture Removal Kit” which contained a set of tweezers, suture scissors, and alligator clips inside it. Most doctor’s offices have autoclaves, containers that use high pressure and high heat to sterilize reusable tools. Some are put in on metal trays, others are combined into little kits in specialized blue bags. It was one of these blue bagged kits that I grabbed. “You want me to do anythin’?” Milton asked? “No sir, just keep steady for me.” I stated as I opened the bag, grabbing the tweezers and the suture scissors. I positioned my hands over Milton’s stitches, ready to begin, when a knock came at the door. “Come in.” I stated. “Hey Zach,” Kelsey, one of the medical assistants, leaned her head in, “For the previous patient, that was Augmentin you prescribed, not Amoxicillin, right?” “Yep!” I answered, looking over at her. “Can you also make sure we have another set of straight mayos in this room after we get Milton taken care of and on his way.” “Will do.” Kelsey answered as her head disappeared from sight and the door closed. I turned back to Milton’s back, only to find that my hands were about 1 inch below the suture. That was weird, I had my hands in the perfect position prior to that. Oh well, maybe they shifted slightly as I was talking to Kelsey. “Alright Milton, are you ready?” I asked. “Yessir.” He answered. “Alright, you may feel some discomfort and minor sharp pain, alright? Try your best to stay still for me.” I said. I readjusted my hands and slowly put the tweezers to the sutures, grabbing one of the ends. There was significantly more resistance than I expected. As I placed the suture scissors against the end of the suture, something totally unexpected happened. The suture straight-up slipped out of the grip of the tweezers with surprising strength and moved. I don’t mean they slipped out of the tweezers and slipped back into their place. They straight up moved. Like in the skin. “Aw man, there’s that itchiness again.” Milton grunted. “You manage to get it?” “Uh…” I had no words. “Everythin’ alright?” Milton asked with concern. “Uh… Yeah, yeah… No problem.” I shook my head, reaching for the suture again. This time, the threat didn’t wait. It bent like a tiny, thin snake around the tweezers, not even allowing me to get a grip on it. I just stared. “What the hell…?” I muttered out loud. “Sumthin’ infected back there?” Milton asked. “No, no… I’m just… Having trouble getting a grip on the thread…” I half-lied. “Yeah, Bubba was sayin’ it was a tough thread ta use.” Milton agreed. “Let me try to get it again. It’s pretty tough to get a hold of.” I told him. I shook my head, reaching out with the tweezers. Yet again, it seemed to move a few millimeters just out of the way. “Little bastard.” I muttered out loud in frustration. Instead of just a part of the thread, the entire thing began to shift and slide like a snake, eventually forming into 3 capital letters, spaces being formed by the thread going under the skin: NO U. I stared, utterly dumbfounded. There was a long, uncomfortable silence before Milton spoke up. “Man, that’s itchy.” “Did… Did you say you found this thread in your… barn?” I asked Milton, watching as the threat formed the words UR MOM’S A BARN. I kept staring. “Yeah, from that weirdo that was squattin’ there.” He answered. “Man, it’s tough to git, huh?” “Yeah… It… It is…” I answered. “I think I’ll be able to grab it, though.” In response, the thread formed the words LOL NO. “I’ll show you, no.” I said out loud without thinking. FUCK U the thread expressed. “Wuzzat?” Milton asked. “Uh… Never mind.” I answered, watching in increasing annoyance as the threat formed the phrase UR A CUNT. What followed was a full minute of me playing a weird, medical version of Whack-A-Mole. I keep trying to grab an end of the thread with the tweezers while it dodged around as best it could, forming into various insults and invective directed at me. I finally managed to grab the end of it after the thread seemed to overextend itself, forming the words TRUMP 4 EVER. The tweezers closed in around the U in TRUMP and I wasted no time in putting significant power into the grip of the tweezers. Through a slow, methodical process, I managed to grab and snip away at the thread, pulling it out in pieces. When I had finally gotten the last part out and tossed it into the basin nearby. I finished up with Milton soon after. His wound was well healed, so he really didn’t need a follow up appointment for anything. I still stressed that he should follow up with us if any issues with his wound came up, and he thanked me on the way out. I ended up closely examining the thread, but nothing else weird happened. It simply looked like nothing more than a crappy suture. I was really curious about it regardless, so I sent it off to a particular lab that I have some connections with, but nothing conclusive came from it. Look guys, medicine is weird. There are new things discovered every damn day and medical books are constantly being rewritten. But there are some things, in my opinion, that we will never fully understand. Sometimes, it's that person coming back from death's door with no explanation. Other times it's cancer that simply disappears, overnight. And yet other times, it's a somehow internally burned white supremacist who tries to choke a random anesthesia tech and then dies, screaming about something inside him. Then there’s the weirdly Republican-loving stitches. All of that, however, is just scratching the surface of the range of weird shit I’ve seen in my work.

The Puppet Wife

y1p8ad

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1p8ad/the_puppet_wife/

*Transcript of an interview conducted by Detective Ron Miceli of the Guelph Police Service with Felicia Hisaka, regarding her time spent working with Paul Farrington, the owner of Summer Rose Fashion Boutique in Guelph, Ontario.* &#x200B; *Transcript provided without the consent of the Guelph Police Service. This is not an official GPS Document.* &#x200B; ***\[Transcript Begins\]*** &#x200B; **Miceli:** The tape is rolling, Miss Hisaka. &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Oh, it is? Are we starting? &#x200B; **Miceli:** We are, yes. Can you please state your name for the record? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Right, right… My name is Felicia Hisaka. I’m 21 years old. &#x200B; **Miceli:** Thank you. Now, why don’t we start off by discussing how you first came into contact with Paul Farrington, alright? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Sure, sure… Right… Well, I first reached out to Paul when I saw the ad he’d put in the paper about… I think it was about six months ago. I forget exactly which paper, but it was one of the ones available at the University. I saw the ad though. It said he was looking for models. Specifically, Asian models… &#x200B; **Miceli:** And you replied? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** I did. I’d been looking for a job for the past couple of months and I was… I was kinda getting desperate. I mean, just reading the text, it came across as a little… Demeaning… Y’know? Like… How do I describe this? It read a little like a craigslist ad, looking for a hookup. I kinda got the vibe that whoever wrote it just had an Asian fetish. &#x200B; **Miceli:** But despite that, you still answered the ad? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Like I said, I was desperate. I’d seen the ad in the paper for a couple of months beforehand… And I needed the money so… &#x200B; **Miceli:** Right. **Hisaka:** Look, I tried to not be a dumbass about it. After I called and said I was interested in the gig, I told a couple of friends of mine where I was going. I figured in case anything happened, and I didn’t come home, they’d know where I was. And I mean, to be fair… Paul didn’t really come off as that creepy when I showed up at his store. &#x200B; **Miceli:** Why don’t you tell me about how that first photo shoot went. &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Well… It was kinda awkward. But I’ve been through worse. When I got there, Paul came out and greeted me. He thought I was a customer at first, but when I told him who I was, he invited me out into the storage room with him. He did kinda strike me as a little socially awkward. But he was respectful, he didn’t like, put his hands on me or anything and considering the situation he was about as professional as he could be. &#x200B; **Miceli:** Define, professional in this situation. &#x200B; **Hisaka:** He’d set up this sorta photo backdrop. It was just clouds and a blue sky. It was kinda a cheap setup, but it was fine for what it was. He said he’d gotten this overstock shipment of mandarin gown style dresses, and he wanted to sell them online. He took my measurements, then he gave me some dresses he wanted me to try on and I modeled them for him. He took his pictures and he paid me three hundred bucks when we were done. We were done in just a little over an hour. &#x200B; **Miceli:** Did he make any advances on you during or after the shoot? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** No. None at all. The closest he got to touching me was when he took my measurements, and even then it was just measurements. Then after the shoot, he offered me a pop and asked if I’d be interested in doing some future shoots for him. He said he needed a model. &#x200B; **Miceli:** And you said yes? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Yeah. Like I said before, I needed the money and I was like, as far as I knew he was just a small business owner looking to market his shit. It wasn’t really a full time job or anything. I was still looking, but he called me in every couple of weeks and it was a little bit of extra spending money. &#x200B; **Miceli:** So during your subsequent photo sessions with Paul, you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Not really, no. I mean, he was always a little bit awkward around me. But he was also a little bit awkward around his customers. If anything, he kinda started growing on me. I actually even bought a couple of dresses off of him. We’d make small talk, he’d ask about my classes, my family and stuff like that. I’d ask him about his life, and how the shop was doing. I never really found any of his questions particularly invasive or anything. For the most part, he always kept it completely professional. &#x200B; **Miceli:** For the most part? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** A couple of times when we had to do some later shoots, he did invite me to stay for dinner. He said his apartment was right over the shop. But I really just took that more as like, a common courtesy type thing than anything else. I didn’t read too much into it. &#x200B; **Miceli:** So when did things change, then? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** The day I forgot my sunglasses. &#x200B; **Miceli:** Walk me through that, will you? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Alright… *\[Sigh\]*. So he’d called me in on a Saturday, saying he just got this new shipment of dresses in, and he wanted to list some of them on his website. I went over like I usually did, we shot for an hour, then talked for a little while before I left. I’d just gotten to my car when I left my sunglasses behind. So I went back for them. When I went back into the shop, I didn’t see any sign of Paul. That was a little weird, since he could usually hear the door open from the back, but I figured he might’ve been upstairs in his apartment taking his lunch. I didn’t want to bother him, so I just went into the storage area and grabbed them… And that’s when I heard Paul talking… &#x200B; **Miceli:** What was he saying? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** It… It sounded like he was saying my name, ‘*Felicia*’... I thought he was calling to me, so I went looking for him. And while I was looking for him I noticed that his basement door was open, which was kinda odd because I’d never seen it open before. &#x200B; **Miceli:** So what did you do? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** I went and checked it out. I was kinda worried that Paul had fallen and gotten hurt while he was down there. I wasn’t trying to be quiet, or sneak up on him or anything… I just don’t think he heard me. &#x200B; **Miceli:** Do you mind telling me what you found down in Paul Farrington's basement? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** I found… Paul… He was in one of the rooms off to the side. The basement was kinda rough and unfinished, but he had some plain walls up. And I looked into one of them and I saw him sitting on the floor with his back to me… He was looking at several photographs that he’d hung on the walls, and it didn’t take me long to realize that they were all of me… They were… Um… They were the photographs he’d taken over the past couple of months… And he was… He was masturbating to them… &#x200B; **Miceli:** I see. &#x200B; **Hisaka:** I just sorta watched him in horror for a moment… It was fucked up! Like, I’d just turned my back for a few minutes and when I came back he was just… He was just jerking off to pictures of me in his basement! That’s fucked up! And after I saw it, I had to get the hell out of there. I started going back up the stairs and I might’ve taken them a little too fast… I… I slipped. And he heard me. &#x200B; **Miceli:** What did he do? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** While I was picking myself up, I looked back to see him running out into the hallway, half naked. He looked panicked… Probably for good reason and started yelling at me for sneaking down there on him. I kept apologizing but he just kept screaming… I’d never heard him raise his voice like that before… He was tugging at his hair and crying and yelling. It was hard to make out exactly what he was saying but I know that at one point he said something like: *“You were supposed to be mine… Not like this, I didn’t want it to be like this!”* &#x200B; **Miceli:** So you suspect that he had more than just a sexual obsession with you. His intentions may have been, in some twisted way romantic too? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Maybe? I don’t know… *\[Pause\]* I just know that I tried to get up the stairs again, but he just grabbed me and pulled me back down. *\[There is a long pause.\]* Next thing I know, he had his arms around my throat and I couldn’t breathe… He was sitting on my back and pinning me to the ground and I remember thinking: “*Oh God… He’s going to kill me.*” It was probably the most terrifying moment of my life… I… *\[Exhale\]* I thought for sure I was going to die… I could feel my vision fading and I was crying and begging him to stop, but he wouldn’t… He just kept squeezing tighter and tighter and then… That was when I passed out… &#x200B; **Miceli:** Do you need to take a minute? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** No… I’m… I’m okay. It’s just… It’s… Scary to think about it. I… I didn’t think I was going to wake up again… I just… I vividly remember blacking out. Like, you know how you never remember it when you fall asleep, right? Well… I remember blacking out. I remember losing consciousness. I remember being so fucking afraid because I was so, so, so sure I could feel myself dying… I’m sorry. &#x200B; **Miceli:** Just take your time. Breathe. Slow, deep breaths. In and out. &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Right… Right… *\[Pause\]* Thanks… &#x200B; **Miceli:** When an you’re ready, can you tell me about what happened when you regained consciousness? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Yeah… Yeah, of course… When I woke up, I was still in the basement, only in another room. &#x200B; **Miceli:** Aside from the attack you just described, did you have reason to believe that Paul had done anything else aside from move you, while you were unconscious? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** You’re asking if he raped me… &#x200B; **Miceli:** You don’t have to answer if you’d rather not discuss it. But it would be helpful to the investigation if you did. &#x200B; **Hisaka:** No, it’s fine… No. I don’t think that he did anything aside from just moving me to another room. He had handcuffed me to the bedframe of the bed I was on, but it was just one hand, so I could still move around a little bit. I was able to sit up on the bed and that was about it. I could also hear him moving around in the next room and I imagine he heard me, because shortly after I woke up, he came into the room with me. &#x200B; **Miceli:** Did you have any indication as to how much time had passed between the attack, and when you woke up? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** I did. He’d taken my phone, but I was still wearing my watch. It’d been about 20 minutes, roughly. &#x200B; **Miceli:** Okay. You said he came into the room to speak with you. Can you tell me about that? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Yeah… When he came in he was more… He was a lot more composed. Kinda apologetic. He said he was sorry that it had come to this, and that he wanted to make things right with me… I told him that he just needed to let me go, and I’d forget all about it, I said that I wasn’t going to tell the police if he did. He just sorta shook his head and kept saying *“No, I need you to be mine.*” &#x200B; **Miceli:** Did he give any indication as to what he meant by that? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** A little… I just… I just wanted out, so I just sorta said what I thought he wanted to hear. I said that I’d be his if he just let me out… And then he asked me if I would marry him and if I would be his whenever he wanted… He kept offering me things too. He offered to pay for my school, he kept saying he’d be a good husband and that he loved me… &#x200B; **Miceli:** And you went along with this? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Not at first… When he started talking about marriage, I sort of stopped. I told him that if he really loved me, he’d let me go and he’d stop hurting me. But he just got upset when I said that. He started groaning and he started hitting the wall and shaking his head. He said that… He said that one way or another, I was going to be his… That was about the time I started getting angry. I started yelling at him, demanding that he let me go and pulling at the handcuffs. But he just got more and more agitated. He kept punching and kicking the wall and screaming back at me… At one point, he just started banging his head against the wall. He wasn’t always speaking. Sometimes he just screamed. Then after a few minutes of that, he left and then he brought in the mannequin… &#x200B; **Miceli:** The mannequin? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Yeah… It was sort of like one of the wooden ones he used in the shop to display the dresses. Only this one was a little more… He’d carved all these symbols into it. I didn’t really get why at the time. But he brought it in and I remember that he said: *‘She’ll love me.’* &#x200B; **Miceli:** What happened after that? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** After that, he left me again. He said that I needed to think about our future. Then I heard him going back upstairs. As soon as he did, I started looking for ways to break free. The bed he’d handcuffed me to was sorta old. The frame was pretty flimsy. It had this metal headboard with bars, and some of the screws were pretty rusted. &#x200B; **Miceli:** So you were able to break free? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Yeah… It took me a little while. I had to actually break the screw on one of the bars, but I was able to pull it off and get off the bed. He’d locked the door to the room I was in, but the walls he’d put up were just plain drywall. There wasn’t really anything that stopped me from taking the bar from the bed I’d just broken off and breaking through it. I just sorta used the bed bar to hammer through until there was a hole big enough for me to crawl through. &#x200B; **Miceli:** Paul didn’t come to investigate the noise? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** No. I think he might’ve been upstairs in his apartment at that point. The shop was closed by the time I got free from the bed. &#x200B; **Miceli:** I see. Continue. &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Right… Well, once I was out I started looking for the door back upstairs. The basement wasn’t huge, but the layout was kinda confusing. Plus, not all of the rooms had doors… So… I saw some things… &#x200B; **Miceli:** Can you explain what you saw? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Okay, well… In one of the rooms I passed almost right after I got out, I saw some more of those mannequins… The wooden ones that he’d carved all those symbols into. He had this room that it sorta looked like he’d been using as a workshop or something. And he had these old books and shit. They looked sorta occult-ish… I don’t know. Anyways, he’d made a couple of those mannequins and it looked like he’d torn some of them apart for some reason. It was weird… Then I saw what was in the next room and… *\[Sigh\]* Christ… &#x200B; **Miceli:** Do you need a moment? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** No… No… I… I just don’t know how to even begin to describe it… Like, when I went over to the next room, I kinda couldn’t help but look and when I saw it, I didn’t know what the fuck it was supposed to even be… Like… Okay, it was another bedroom, like the one he’d put me in. Only this one was… He’d done it up more. The light had this sort of pinkish hue to it. The bed was nicer. And there were these plush animals all over it. Like someone was supposed to be living there… And when I first walked by, I thought someone was living there. Like… I saw what looked a lot like another woman standing there and that’s what made me stop, because I thought he might’ve kidnapped someone else… And I guess he did… &#x200B; **Miceli:** The… ‘woman’ you saw… When did you realize that she was… &#x200B; **Hisaka:** A mannequin? A lot later than I should have. It was… It was the skin that threw me off… Maybe it was the dim light, but it still kinda made her look… alive? I don’t know… I went up to her trying to talk to her and when I put my hand on her shoulder, it felt wrong. Like, the skin felt cold but normal and the body felt too stiff. When I tried to turn her around, she just fell over and I just kinda stared at her, trying to figure out what the hell I was looking at because it didn’t immediately compute… And then the longer I looked, the more I realized… She was… It was human skin… He’d just put it over one of his… Jesus… &#x200B; **Miceli:** Please. Take your time. &#x200B; **Hisaka:** I’m sorry I… You saw it, right? You saw it! &#x200B; **Miceli:** I have seen it, yes. &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Jesus… That poor girl… She couldn’t have been much older than I was and he’d just… He’d put her skin on one of those fucking mannequins… Shit, it was worse than that… There were still parts of her… Parts of her he’d kept so he could still… Jesus… So he could… So he could still fuck her… When I saw that, some of the shit he’d been saying started to make sense and I realized… I realized that’s what he was going to do to me… &#x200B; **Miceli:** Did you interact with the remains in any other way? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** No… No, I just… I didn’t even want to touch it I just… I just stared. Hey… Can I ask you something? &#x200B; **Miceli:** If you’d like. &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Did you… Did you ever figure out who she was? &#x200B; **Miceli:** We did… Yes… Her name was Carly Murphy. She was also a student at the University of Guelph who’d gone missing approximately one year ago. &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Jesus Christ… &#x200B; **Miceli:** Her family is… Relieved… To have some closure on the case. &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Yeah… Yeah, I bet… Christ… &#x200B; **Miceli:** Do you need a moment? We could take a break if you’d like. &#x200B; **Hisaka:** No… No, it’s fine… I just… How do you get over seeing something like that? &#x200B; **Miceli:** Honestly… You don’t. &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Not even if you’re a homicide detective? &#x200B; **Miceli:** No. Not even if you’re a homicide detective. Felicia, what you’ve been through is nothing less than an extremely traumatic event. It’s okay that recounting some of these details is difficult for you to get through. They’d be difficult for anyone to get through. But being here, right now, going through this with me will help. It will help you heal and it will help finally put this case to bed. We’ve got time to wait, or take breaks if we need to, if that’s what you need. So please take your time. &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Yeah… I guess… Thank you… Thanks… *\[Sigh\].* Right… So… After I saw the mannequin… Carly… That’s when I started panicking. I just… I ran for the stairs. I had the metal bar from the bed frame with me. I was sorta expecting the basement door to be locked and I was right, it was. So I used the bed bar to try and break it down. It was just a wooden door, so it did some damage. It just wasn’t really enough… And I guess Paul heard the noise. &#x200B; **Miceli:** He came to investigate? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Yeah… I heard him coming down from the apartment and he started yelling at me to stop. I could hear him moving around outside the basement door. I think he was sorta panicking… I don’t think he’d ever had someone escape before. And when I did, he didn’t really know what to do. I started screaming at him to let me out. I didn’t really think he would but I was hoping that maybe if we were loud enough, someone might hear and investigate. Maybe from next door or something. I’d put a pretty big dent into the door… You probably saw that, although I dunno if I could’ve actually broken through or not. &#x200B; **Miceli:** So what did he do next? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Well after a couple of minutes of screaming at each other through the door, he finally opened it. I kinda wasn’t expecting him to. The moment I saw him, I kinda freaked out and started swinging at him with the piece of bedframe I had with me. I hit him in the head the first time, but I don’t think I got any other hits in. He grabbed it and started trying to pull it out of my hands. &#x200B; **Miceli:** Did he? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Yes and no… I was kicking and scratching at him the whole time. Then, I saw him reaching into his pocket for something. I didn’t see what it was at first. Not until I felt it going into my ribs… Turns out it was a pocket knife… He’d… He’d stabbed me. After that, he was able to pull the piece of bedframe out of my hand. I remember… I remember him stabbing me again, this time in the stomach. And I remember hearing my heart racing in my ears and then… Next thing I knew I was falling back down the stairs… Everything was just a blur. &#x200B; **Miceli:** Did you lose consciousness again? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** No… My ears were ringing and I was in a hell of a lot of pain but like, I was still fully conscious. And I remember seeing him coming down the stairs towards me, and he was still holding the knife. He was talking, and ranting and raving but I only heard bits and pieces of it. I remember he said: *“Now you’ve made me ruin you!”* I guess because he’d had to damage my skin… &#x200B; **Miceli:** And how did he react to that? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Not well… I was bleeding pretty heavily. I couldn’t really stand and when he got to the bottom of the stairs, he started hitting me… Kicked me… I remember I bit my lip at one point and I remember my mouth filling with blood. Paul grabbed me by the hair, he started dragging me down the hall, and the concrete was scratching my skin. I remember seeing another room up ahead that he was dragging me into. This one was built a little better. He’d actually insulated the walls. Then once he opened the door, the smell hit me… He’d torn up the concrete floor in this room… There was a pit he’d dug in the ground and I couldn’t see what was inside of it at first. I just remember him pushing me into it and suddenly everything was dark. The only light I saw was at the top of the pit, with Paul looking down at me… Then he just turned and he… He left… And it was just me… In the dark… W-with the smell… And the feeling of… I knew what they were… And they were so cold… Colder than the concrete had been… &#x200B; **Miceli:** By they, you mean the bodies, right? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Yeah… The… The other girls… I don’t.. I don’t know how many they were. Some of them were just bones I think. Some of them didn’t even… Most of them didn’t even have their skin… God… &#x200B; **Miceli:** You don’t need to describe it further if you don’t want to. &#x200B; **Hisaka:** You’re going to play this in court, right? &#x200B; **Miceli:** We will, yes. &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Then yes… Yes I do… I don’t know how many girls there were… I couldn’t see most of them clearly but… *\[Pause\]* There were a lot. They were rotting and some of them were skinned and when I saw their eyes… They just stared… Empty… D-dead… Oh God… Oh God… *\[Pause. It sounds as if Felicia is crying.\]* He did that to them… He did that to them… And… And he’d just thrown me into the pit with all the dead girls and I was bleeding and sleepy and dizzy and I thought… I thought I was going to die there, with them… And I thought that nobody was ever going to see me again… And I thought… Oh God, I thought… &#x200B; **Miceli:** Let’s take a break… &#x200B; **Hisaka:** No. No, I don’t want to I just want to… I just want to finish it… &#x200B; **Miceli:** Alright. Then take your time. &#x200B; **Hisaka:** *\[Pause\]* Okay… I… I remember passing out again… At least I think I do. Second time that day, and I thought I was dying… But I woke up. I woke up… Surrounded by c-cold bodies… Smelling them rotting… The smell… Christ… I… I could taste it… But I wasn’t dead yet so I just… Everything hurt. My entire body hurt. I was bleeding but I made myself move because I wasn’t dead yet and I just wanted to keep moving because if I was still moving, it meant that I wasn’t dead. The pit was at sort of an incline… So I was able to climb out by sinking my fingers into the dirt. It wasn’t easy but… I could climb out. &#x200B; **Miceli:** And when you got out? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** I went for the door. It was locked, but his construction was still pretty shoddy. He’d insulated the walls, but he hadn’t put up more drywall so I could just sort of tear out the insulation. It stung but… Well… I had bigger problems… Once I got it out, I was able to get to start kicking my way through the drywall. Paul must’ve been back upstairs because he didn’t hear it and from there, I was able to get down the hall… &#x200B; **Miceli:** You walked? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** It wasn’t easy… My legs felt like jelly. I had to lean on the walls for support, but I made it. He hadn’t locked the basement door this time. I think he thought I was already dead, so he wasn’t that worried about me escaping. Then from there, I could hear the sounds of the TV up in his apartment… &#x200B; **Miceli:** So he was distracted, and you were upstairs. You could have made a run for it. &#x200B; **Hisaka:** I could have… But while I was listening to the TV, I figured… I don’t know if I was even thinking straight. I just… I wanted to hurt him. After everything I’d seen, I just felt so sick and the only thing I could think about was Paul and what he’d done. So… I headed up the stairs to his apartment. &#x200B; **Miceli:** What happened next? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** The TV was loud. So he didn’t hear me… I’d never been up in his apartment before but I didn’t think it’d be so… So bizarre… It wasn’t dirty. He kept it really clean but there were these dolls everywhere… &#x200B; **Miceli:** Dolls? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Yeah… Sex dolls… He had like, 4 or 5 of them that I saw. There were some at the kitchen table, there was even one sitting beside him in the living room he was… He was cuddling it, like it was his wife or something… Then there were the clothes… Some of them were wearing the dresses that I’d worn… They had hair that looked like mine, and… Christ… Half of them looked just like me… &#x200B; **Miceli:** I see… &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Yeah… I made the same face you’re making right now… One of ones that didn’t look like me looked like that girl I’d seen in the basement… Carly. The others I didn’t recognize… I don’t know if they were other girls he’d killed or what… I don’t know… &#x200B; **Miceli:** So, you were able to enter his apartment unnoticed, correct? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Yeah… And I got up right behind him too. He was watching TV on the couch. He didn’t notice me and I was still wearing the handcuffs from when he’d cuffed me to the bed… So… I took the dangling cuff in my hand and then I pulled the chain right across his throat. I pulled… I pulled as tight as I could. &#x200B; **Miceli:** You attacked him. &#x200B; **Hisaka:** I did. I pulled the chain as tight as I could and he fought and he tried to grab me. He got me by the hair and started trying to pull me over the couch. I just crouched down, trying to stay out of his reach. And I stayed there until he stopped grabbing at me and… And he finally stopped moving. &#x200B; **Miceli:** Was it after that, that you left the scene? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Yes… Once I thought he was dead I went back downstairs and out through the front door. I made it out onto the street, and I could see some cars outside passing by. One of them was at a stoplight so I went up to that one and just started pounding on the window. They saw I was covered in blood and crying and that’s when they called the police, and the ambulance… Everything… &#x200B; **Miceli:** Did you believe that you had killed Paul Farrington when you left the building? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** Yes. Yes I did. &#x200B; **Miceli:** Are you upset that he survived your attempt to kill him? &#x200B; **Hisaka:** I… I don’t know… I really don’t know… &#x200B; **Miceli:** Alright. Thank you for your time, Felicia. No further questions. &#x200B; *\[Transcript ends\]* &#x200B; *The following emails are also being included in reference to the Felicia Hisaka interview.* &#x200B; To:RonMiceli@\*\*\*\*\*\*.com From: BillFord@\*\*\*\*\*\*.com Subject: RE: Farrington Case &#x200B; Hi Ron. &#x200B; Thanks for sending me a transcript of your interview with Hisaka. I’ve spoken with Farrington. Shocker, his version of events states that Hisaka attacked him unprompted… No mention of the pit of bodies in his fucking basement. Christ… &#x200B; Did you see the fucking books he had in his basement? Real weird occult shit. Seems like he believed he could bring one of those mannequins to life as some sort of sex slave, after he put some real skin on them. Fucked up, isn’t it? With Hisakas statement and all the bodies, it should be a pretty open and shut case. Scares the shit out of me to think that this fucking guy was right under our noses though! My wife used to shop at that guys store. I’d seen him around a few times. I never thought he was that much of a sicko, he seemed like such a nice [guy…](https://www.reddit.com/r/HeadOfSpectre/)

I’m a fire watch lookout and I think I’ve made a terrible mistake (Part 2).

y1j653

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1j653/im_a_fire_watch_lookout_and_i_think_ive_made_a/

Link to Part One: [https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xoyqld/im\_a\_fire\_watch\_lookout\_and\_i\_think\_ive\_made\_a/?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x&context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xoyqld/im_a_fire_watch_lookout_and_i_think_ive_made_a/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) &#x200B; By the time dawn arrived the next morning, I had climbed down from my temporary shelter in the low boughs of a red cedar and tried to work out all the painful kinks from my stiff shoulders and neck. The night had not been kind to me, but I was alive, which is more than my fear-stressed mind expected after yesterday. The night had been harrowing – there was no better word to describe it. The rain hissed among the trees and stung exposed skin angrily, driven by the banshee-wail of the wind rushing through the forest, and was accentuated by the chaotic flashing of lightning and heart-stopping crack of thunder. Because of this relentless chaos, it’s difficult to say with any certainty. But throughout the night, I thought I heard something large trying to move stealthily in the forest near my shelter. I say, “trying”, because it felt like whatever stalked through the underbrush was more at home in the unnatural stygian gloom of a cave than under the watchful eyes of nature. Of course, it could just as easily have been my imagination. When the first dim light of dawn started to illuminate the sodden and dripping forest, I spent the better part of twenty minutes straining my eyes with every ounce of concentration as I scanned the gray woodlands around me. I was only ten feet or so above the ground, but there was no way I was going to step foot from my hide until I was absolutely certain I was alone. Once I was satisfied that I was alone for the moment, I climbed down to the muddy ground. I tried the radio several times through the night and into the morning but wasn’t able to get even a burst of static that might indicate someone was trying to respond. A combination of the storm and the interference from the trees worked against me. My first thought was to get back to my Jeep as quickly as possible and run every drop of gas out of its tank trying to get as far away from this place as I could. When I checked the GPS to see how close I was to its marked position, however, I found the unit unresponsive and with a disastrous crack across the screen that seemed to mock my dismay. Probably caused by my less-than-graceful scramble from that damned cave. No rifle, no radio, no GPS. Perfect. I still had a compass and the rising sun to guide me, though, and that was something. I was only a couple miles from my tower, which should have been somewhere due south of where I stood. I knew that once I got close, I should be able to either find the service road or the tower itself, so there wasn’t much danger of getting myself lost, at least. It was a small comfort, but one I gladly took. I moved through the trees and undergrowth with more speed and recklessness than I probably should have; an ankle broken by an errant misstep would have been bad news. Still, even though I hadn’t heard or seen anything of my late-night visitor, I couldn’t help but feel like I was being watched. You know that creeping sense of dread you feel when you’ve just turned the lights off in a basement and now have to climb the stairs back to the light of the doorway, or when you’re making your way from your car in a darkened and lonely parking lot. It’s the feeling that *something* is there – *something* much more suited to the dark than you are. It’s that same feeling that pushed my footsteps almost to a jog as I traversed the uneven ground and storm-felled detritus that tried to hinder my passage. For the next hour I moved at this pace, aware with every rasping lung full of breath that I should pause and rest for a few minutes. Knowing that pushing myself to fatigue would only increase my chances of falling or hurting myself. I imagined myself lying in blinding pain next to an unseen chuck hole, clutching at a broken leg and watching as the sunlight began to dim with the onset of dusk. Waiting for whatever haunted my trail to find me. What would happen then? Would I even have time to look on its visage before it struck? Did those campers in the cave? A misstep and stumble that nearly made this nightmare a self-fulfilled prophecy jarred me back to the present. Against all instinct, I forced my pace to slow, first to a trot, then to a walk. Then, reluctantly, I stopped completely, trying to catch my breath while I scanned the dense woodland around me. Nothing. No, not nothing. As my heart began to slow and my breathing returned to a more manageable cadence, I turned my gaze back in the direction I had been headed and an unconscious smile found its way to my lips. The sun had risen high in the morning sky during my flight, and now I caught the flash of its reflection on the windows of my tower, not two hundred yards directly ahead of me. I laughed aloud with relief, fully aware that the fear tinted eruption was closer to the manic cackle of lunacy than anything else. I didn’t care, though, and my feet started forward again on their own, quickly reaching a brisk pace. A few minutes later I burst out of the trees into the maintained clearing surrounding my tower, feeling the full sunlight on my face for the first time since yesterday morning. Had it only been a day? It seemed like longer. I was so filled with relief that I didn’t even register the fact that a Forestry Department Jeep sat parked near my fence-enclosed tower until I started entering the combination into the gate lock. The faded white “12” emblazoned on the corner of the windshield told me that it was Billy’s Jeep, which wasn’t much of a surprise, I realized after a moment. After not hearing back from me, I was more surprised I hadn’t returned to find an entire S&R team making preparations to search for their lost puppy. I punched the 4-digit code into the mechanical combination lock on the gate and stepped through, making sure to close and lock it behind me. I stood there a moment, staring through the tall chain link fence at the dense tree line, wondering if something waited just out of sight in the shadows, staring back at me with hungry anticipation. I shook myself of the sudden chill as best I could and made my way quickly to the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. Billy was going to be pissed at me, I was sure, but the thought was a fleeting one that didn’t take purchase. His displeasure was the least of my concerns right now. When I reached the top, I threw open the trapdoor and suddenly found myself looking down the muzzle of a very large rifle. Even in that brief moment of abrupt shock, I could register how the barrel trembled in the hands of its agitated master and I wonder how close I came to having my life ended in a bright flash of light. The moment only lasted a second or two, and then Billy hastily swung the rifle away in a safe direction. “Dammit, John!” he exclaimed, his tone an incongruous mixture of relief and fear. “I almost shot you!” I stepped fully through the trapdoor and let it drop closed behind me. “Jesus, Billy,” I breathed, leaning back against the railing. I suddenly felt weary and realized it was likely the adrenalin now rushing from my system that had kept me moving at such a hurried pace throughout the morning. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded, stepping back inside my shack, and taking a chair at the small table in the center of the room. I noted with mild interest that he kept the rifle leaning against the table beside him instead of stowing it in the rack over the door but decided not to comment on it. Billy Johnson was in his middle years, maybe forty-five or so, with a bit of a gut and grayish-brown hair trimmed close. He wore an impressive mustache that reminded me of something an old west gunslinger might groom. He was dressed in typical attire – khaki Forestry Service shirt and brown cargo pants. In addition to the rifle I’d had the unfortunate opportunity to closely examine a moment earlier, I noticed that he wore his .500 magnum in a holster at his side. That wasn’t too unusual when out in the bush; bears and mountain lions can sneak up on you unawares. Having a hand cannon within easy reach goes a long way towards taking the fight out of them if necessary. It *was* a little unusual for a drive over to another tower, I supposed, but not exceptionally so, given the circumstances. I took the opposite chair, dropping my pack to the floor next to me. I realized my legs were still shaking anxiously and I placed my hands on my knees to try to calm them. He was trying to deflect, but he was horrendously bad at it. He knew something. I was sure of it. “You know where I’ve been,” I replied, gambling on instinct. I watched his face closely for a reaction and wasn’t disappointed when he winced and turned his focus out the window and over the forest to the north. “I told you to abort and head back to your tower,” he stated brusquely, “but you just had to feed that curiosity of yours, didn’t you? You’re damned lucky to be alive, you know that?” From my chair, I reached under the cupboard to my right and pulled a half-empty bottle of Jameson and a couple of mostly clean glasses. Billy turned his head and raised an inquisitive eyebrow – alcohol was a no-no up here. When I poured and handed him one of the glasses, however, he accepted it without a word. I took a pull from the other. “It’s my own damned fault, I suppose,” he continued, turning back fully to me. “It’s been so long since anyone’s even *thought* of Camp LeClaire that it didn’t even click for me when you told me where you saw the campfire.” I took another drink and then poured a bit more of the whiskey. “Camp LeClaire? That old mining camp?” I asked. “Logging camp, actually,” he corrected me. “The mine was there long before the East Atlantic Logging Company set up out here. Nobody knows who dug it. Hell, nobody even knows *when* it was dug. A long time before the nineteenth century, at least. Camp LeClaire was established in 1872, and the mine was old even before that.” He looked at me in earnest for the first time since I’d returned and frowned. “You look like hell, John. Got caught in the storm, I’m guessing. Hell of a storm.” I only raised my eyebrows, as if to say what an understatement that was. Billy nodded knowingly and took another swallow. “Did you find the campers at least?” I shook my head and turned to look out the window to the north, where I could almost envision the black void of that mine entrance staring back at me. “No, I tracked them to the mine, but lost them in the cave.” I jumped when Billy’s glass hit the floor and was out of my chair before I even realized it. Billy hadn’t moved from his seat, but now both hands were splayed on the table before him, as if to steady himself. His pale blue eyes were wide and fixed on me. “You went into the cave?” he said, a sudden and horrifying realization dawning on him. It was then I realized my mistake. He hadn’t known. He thought I had just discovered the camp and the mine and then got caught in the storm overnight. *A close call, but nothing that couldn’t be undone*. “Yeah,” I replied, nodding slowly, deliberately. “Yeah, I went into that cave looking for the campers. The gate had been cracked open already – not sure when or by who.” I leaned forward in my chair and stared hard at him. “Billy, there’s something in there. I think it got those campers, and I think it followed me out.” Billy Johnson’s face had gone white then, and I thought for a moment he might pass out. He scooped his glass up from the floor with numb fingers and poured himself another splash of whiskey, downing it in a gulp. When he spoke again, it seemed faraway, distant. “*Kuwetami*. That’s what the Chickasaw called it, and they were here long before we ever were. Angler is what the white man called it, among other names.” “*Kuwetami*?” He nodded. “*False brother,* *lying man,* or something like that. Hell, I don’t know – what do I look like, a translator? It means *bad*, no matter what language you speak. It means something is out there that isn’t supposed to be. Something that was locked away a long time ago and forgotten.” It was then that he stood and grabbed up his rifle, as if suddenly remembering something. “I need to get back to my tower and make a call. Now.” I gestured to the radio base station sitting patiently on the table near the door. “Why not use mine?” Billy shook his head. “Sorry, John, but it doesn’t work that way. Special phone. Special number. I just hope I’m not too late.” I started to stand. “I’ll go with you,” I said. He pointed a stern finger at me and narrowed his eyes. “No, you stay here. Strap on your handgun and make sure it’s loaded.” His voice was calm, almost cold, and didn’t leave much room for debate. Still, I had no desire to stay here alone with whatever this *Angler* thing was roaming around out there. “Billy, I can go with you. I can help-,” I started to argue, but was quickly cut off when he took a menacing step towards me, and I realized quickly how much I’d underestimated him because of his normally easy manner. “*You will stay in your goddamned tower and you will follow your orders!*” he roared, and I unconsciously took a step back and reclaimed my seat, only managing a shaken nod in acknowledgement. He took a trembling breath, pointed at the radio, and said in a slightly less terrifying tone, “And keep that thing on. As soon as I’m back at my tower, I’ll radio you with updates.” A moment later, he was gone, and the trapdoor slammed shut behind him. I stood and retrieved the pelican case from under my cot. Inside was the same model of .500 Magnum revolver that Billy had been wearing, heavy and cold in my hands. I loaded it and belted on the leather holster, feeling the reassuring weight tugging at my waist. “John!” I heard Billy call from below and went outside to the walkway, leaning over the railing. He was standing beside his Jeep fifty feet below, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight as he looked up at me. “Make sure to keep everything locked. I’ll come back for you,” he shouted. I raised a hand to him and slid the latch shut on the trapdoor with my toe. I turned back into my shack as I heard Billy’s Jeep fire up and a moment later drive off down the rough service road towards his tower. I glanced back to the north, to the place where I had first seen the campfire smoke rising the day before and suppressed a shudder. I was alone again. Safe in my tower and armed, but alone. Abruptly, like an unexpected wave of nausea, the feeling that I was being watched washed over me with a chill, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I looked back over my shoulder to where Billy had been only a minute before but saw only the rough service road and dense impenetrable tree line beyond that. Probably just my imagination, but the feeling didn’t diminish and with every passing breath, I was more and more certain that there was *something* nearby. Just out of sight, standing stone-still in the gray-green foliage. Waiting. I stood there a long moment, eyes straining for any hint of movement or alien shape among the shadows, but if it was there, my human eyes weren’t sharp enough to pick it out. I stepped back through the open doorway of my shack and dropped down into the chair again, my eyes catching the bottle of whiskey before me. I was tempted to pour another drink to help settle my nerves, but I could already feel the tickle of a buzz at the edges of my mind from what I had already drank and quickly decided that the last thing I needed was for my reflexes and awareness to be dulled right now. I’d made more than one poor decision in the last twenty-four hours; I didn’t think adding another to the pile was such a great idea. Grabbing the bottle, I screwed the cap back on and reached to return it to the sparse cupboard to my right. As I did so, my boot caught my pack, knocking it over. Without a thought, I reached down to move it out of the way and then remembered the old, weathered journal tucked inside the front pocket, the one I’d found in the cave. I reached into the unzipped front pocket. For a frustratingly alarming moment, my searching hand couldn’t feel anything in the compartment, and I feared that I had lost it in my chaotic escape. But then my fingers brushed the familiar shape, and I withdrew it, setting it in front of me on the table. I could see the book much more clearly now in the daylight. It wasn’t overly large – a little larger than my hand and maybe the thickness of my thumb. There were no markings on the front, except for a simple grimy brass loop that secured the leather strap holding it closed. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see what was inside, but I needed some answers. Anything. A stray sound from the trees below rose to my ears and I froze, listening intently for more, but none came. The forest around me was silent again and I turned my attention back to the journal, pulling the strap free from the cover and turning to the first page. *From the pocket of Andrew Robinson*, it read. The writing was neat and compact, and distinctly male. The ink was a rich black scrawled upon brittle yellow pages, and though faded with the years, was still mostly legible. I turned to the next page, where the entries began. I felt as though I had dropped into his account mid-way, as though this was just the latest in a series of journals that this Andrew Robinson had been keeping. &#x200B; *23rd July, 1891* *After nearly a week of hard overland trekking, we reached the abandoned camp late this afternoon, exactly where the old trapper said we would. Sequahi, our Pawnee tracker, has once again astonished me with his overland navigation skills.* *I must admit, I was skeptical at the yarn the old trapper had spun in the crowded confines of the common house in Dunn Creek, especially after I smelled the liquor on his breath, but the Professor never doubted a moment. The man’s instincts for reading human character are absolutely singular.* *The camp looks to have been abandoned, and I have to admit to a certain unease as we inspected the rough cabins. There isn’t a soul to be found, and it looks years-abandoned, yet everything stands as if awaiting the loggers return at any moment.* *Strange.* &#x200B; *24th July, 1891* *Our small troupe of intrepid adventurers made camp in the center of LeClaire last night. Though the cabins likely would have been more comfortable, I doubt any of us would have felt at ease intruding upon them. Richards laughed it off when someone mentioned how peculiar it was that the loggers had departed in such a hurry that they abandoned their personal possessions, but I could see in his eyes that he felt it odd as well.* *Sequahi, our ever courageous and stolid guide, seemed ill-at-ease and unusually withdrawn, refusing all conversation and only responding to queries with quiet grunts. Something of concern hides behind his eyes, though, and I wonder at what it is.* *Only the Professor seems unmoved by the unusually still atmosphere of this place, and his typically infectious positivity keeps working at our unease, keeping it from expanding beyond its current state.* *Today we spent much of the day exploring the area surrounding Camp LeClaire, and the sunlight was nearly spent when Dobson burst back into camp with news of his discovery. We, all of us, raced at a moment’s notice behind him as he led us along an ill-used and nigh-invisible footpath that led ever-ascending upon the side of the northern rocky slope.* *When the path terminated, we were deposited before a truly curious sight – a barricaded tunnel entrance had been bored into the rockface by some unknown hands. I suspect some sort of exploration tunnel or adit dug in search of precious ores, especially given the nation’s more recent history with gold fever. The wooden barrier that had been roughly assembled from a hodge-podge of heavy timber beams was curious, and several of our group commented on it, but the Professor dismissed it as a triviality, so the matter was dropped.* *It is far too late in the day to proceed further, but we plan to penetrate the barricade and enter the tunnel in the morning. The excitement among the men is palpable.* &#x200B; *25th July, 1891* *Sequahi is gone! He took his supplies and his prized Winchester rifle and fled sometime during the night like a phantom. This is a shocking blow to us all, but none more so than to the Professor, with whom the Pawnee tracker had partnered for a number of years across much of the eastern states. We have no explanation for his sudden desertion, and it sits unwell with the entirety of the group. The overall mood has darkened, I fear.* *Still, we must push onward.* &#x200B; *25th July, 1891 – Addendum* *It took more than two hours of hard labor, but we were finally able to gain entrance to the mine shortly before noon today. Richards managed to get his boot caught between two heavy timbers as he stumbled forward, straining his ankle with a terrible cry. We feared it broken, but Dr. Franklin assured us that the bones seem intact. Regardless, Richards was taken back to the camp, where he will convalesce while the rest of us make our entry. His part in our exploration has come to an end for now.* *We made our way in a single file through the adit tunnel for some way before reaching its carved end, the light from our oil lanterns providing regrettably inadequate illumination over the rocky surroundings. When we reached the terminus of the mine tunnel, our hearts sank for a moment before the Professor gave a exclamation of discovery and suddenly disappeared through a nearly hidden rift in the wall, surrounded by jagged rocks.* *We eagerly followed him through, careful of our footing as we went, and found ourselves in what I can only assume to be an accidental breach by the miners into a natural cave system. The air was chill unmoving, but our excitement at this discovery allayed any concerns or discomfort this might have caused.* *The Professor directed us to set a secondary camp in this new chamber, which will be used as a staging point for further exploration, so we spent the rest of the day bringing supplies from our main camp and constructing a smaller version in this moderately sized chamber.* *By the time we completed this endeavor, the efforts of the day precluded a start to the exploration until the group has had the opportunity to rest and replenish their energy.* *I feel I will sleep well tonight, despite the anxious excitement buzzing around my mind.* &#x200B; *26th July, 1891* *Another shock when we awoke this morning. O’Connor is gone! The Irishman, who has ever been reliable and constant as the north star, was assigned first watch last night. There is no trace of him, and no indication that he took any provisions or even his personal rucksack with him.* *I fear his natural inquisitiveness may have gotten the best of him and led him to explore the deeper caverns beyond our ad-hoc basecamp, for his lantern is the sole item that has gone missing with his person.* *The Professor immediately rallied the rest of our small group – seven in all, now – and mounted a search for our lost companion. I tried to caution him against rushing into action, but he was not to be deterred. To my dismay, I was the sole man ordered to remain here at camp whilst my companions took up their supplies and launched deeper into the cave system, in the event young O’Connor returned in their absence.* *I was understandably disappointed but grasped the logic of it well enough. I would loathe to think of O’Connor returning only to find us all gone and then losing himself again trying to find us.* *I shall endeavor to rest a bit. With luck, my companions will return before long with our lost compatriot.* &#x200B; *27th July, 1891* *I am at my wit’s end and am unsure how to proceed.* *It has been more than a day since the Professor led the rest of the men in search of poor O’Connor, and I have felt their absence as keenly as I am aware of my own solitude in this cave.* *I have seen nothing of our missing companion or of the party that delved deeper into the system yesterday morning, and I know their lanterns did not have sufficient fuel to carry them this long. Without other means of illumination to guide their return, I fear they are hopelessly lost!* *I, myself, had to return to LeClaire for more lantern oil for my own waning light. I must admit with no little embarrassment some reluctance to my return to this dark place, which no longer carries any of its former adventurous excitement or fascination. It is now nothing more than a doorway into the deep places below the Earth, where men were never intended to tread.* *But the growing apprehension is not the worst of it.* *The sounds! By Heaven’s grace, the sounds!* *I first became aware of them last night, as I dimmed my lantern and tried to set myself to sleep. At first it was only an indistinct and muted echo that may have been interpreted as nothing more than the distant whistle of wind or other natural sound, distorted by the unique acoustics of this place.* *But then I heard the distinct tonal qualities that could only be a man’s voice!* *I instantly rose and took up my lantern, raising the flame and rushing to the entrance of the cave that had swallowed my companions. There I stood, listening with such keen focus that I felt beads of sweat upon my brow. I would swear upon a holy book that it was the distant calls of the Professor himself, and I eagerly called back with as much fervor as I could summon, hoping desperately to guide them back to me.* *However, the instant I called out, the voices vanished, and I was met only with the suffocating silence of an open tomb. There I stood, straight as a sentinel, praying for a response from my friends.* *After several minutes of absolute silence, my thoughts began turning to dark things. I became painfully aware that anything beyond the weak cast of my lantern would be utterly invisible to me, but I, on the other hand, would be lighted as a beacon to it.* *I pushed these thoughts from my mind as forcefully as I could, inwardly chastising myself at seeing ghouls where none existed, and was about to call out again to my lost companions when I heard it.* *The voice came again, echoing from the claustrophobic abyss that lay before me, mired in the blackest darkness one could imagine. It was still some distance away, I estimated.* *But I was certain it seemed closer now.* *When the third time I heard it, I was just barely able to make out the words.* *But it was enough to be sure.* *My own words echoed back to me from the depths of that damned cave, and in my own voice!* *I staggered and nearly dropped the lantern at that moment.* *Could the legends be true? The Professor always seemed to believe them, though I must admit I attributed his faith to the unwavering certainty he held in those things lost to antiquity. He had always maintained that a legend, especially one whispered by so many indigenous peoples without mutual contact, must have some root in truth.* *But that line of reasoning is antithetical to modern civility, and I must reject it and focus on the more probable explanation that my already stressed nerves were turning my fears against me.* *The voices must be those of my companions, lost in the dark, but near enough to hear their calls. They must be!* *I am not certain what lies next, but I know that I cannot abandon my companions, my friends, to wander the darkness until they fall from exhaustion or dehydration. Not while I might yet help them!* *I will leave this written account at the entrance to the cave. This lantern is nearly spent, but I have another with a full vessel that I will take in its stead. If I do not return, at least someone may know of our passing here.* *May God be with us all.* &#x200B; I closed the journal with a trembling hand, momentarily lost in what I had just read. How was it possible? The journal was more than 130 years old. No animal alive then could be what pursued me now. *What if it’s not an animal?* The sudden burst of static from Billy’s call that simultaneously erupted from my radio base station and the portable handset clipped at my shoulder made me jump and drop the journal on the floor. Heart pounding, I cursed under my breath and keyed the microphone. “Go for tower 9,” I answered, my voice tight. As I spoke, my eyes drifted out across the sky to the east, where darkened thunderheads had been unknowingly gathering and marching slowly in my direction. I shook my head – icing on the cake, I thought. “John, what’s your position?” asked Billy. The self-assured authority that had filled his tone before was strangely absent now, replaced with something else. Fear? I frowned a moment at the question before answering. “Where do you think, Billy? I’m in my tower, just like you told me.” A strange pause before he spoke again. “John, this isn’t some sort of joke, right? You’re not outside of my tower?” I was growing more agitated by the moment. What sort of question was that? I had no Jeep; there was no way I could have made it to his tower in such a short amount of time, even if I’d wanted to. “No, Billy,” I answered with more force than I’d intended. “I’m not outside of your fucking tower. Why-,” I stopped mid-sentence, a horrified realization sweeping over me in that moment. I tried to speak, but my mouth had gone dry. “Billy?” was all I could muster. The radio was silent as my eyes slowly drifted to the west, where I could just make out the small, lonely shape of tower 12, barely visible over the darkening blanket of green. Was that a gunshot? [x](https://youtu.be/ZXfHdbhbOjc) Link to part 3: [https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y4dfgc/im\_a\_fire\_watch\_lookout\_and\_i\_think\_ive\_made\_a/?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x&context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y4dfgc/im_a_fire_watch_lookout_and_i_think_ive_made_a/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)

The Seeker: Part One.

y2f4tc

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y2f4tc/the_seeker_part_one/

My best friend at the time, Carly, and I had come home from school. We lived in a rural farm town. Both of us grew up together as neighbors, well, in truth we lived nearly a mile apart. Carly and I got off at my stop, just a block from my place. Readying ourselves for our traditional harvest sleepover. I can still to this day see the golden wheat bustling from the ridged, cracked seams of dried land. I can close my eyes and see the rows of corn that thrashed about from the beginning of the autumn weather. Several acres of browned stalks that beckoned our arrival to my home. Walking down the long gravel driveway to my families’ farmhouse, I could see six middle aged farmhands having verbal arguments with our goat, Gumpy, who had proudly perched himself on his apple tree. All of them were shouting at him to get down, only to face a rebuttal of bleating and spit. One of the last fond memories from my childhood. My father and his girlfriend had left town for the evening to catch a movie, leaving Carly and I to have the house, and tradition, to ourselves. We rushed through our math assignments, eager to decimate some frozen yogurt and cake while we watched Willow. Now before you think my father a terrible parent for leaving two ten-year-old girls alone on this vast property, the farmhands that worked the night shift would periodically check in on us, so we were never truly alone. A small comfort to say the least. It was early in the morning when I had woken up. My throat was parched, likely from an abundance of salt and vinegar chips. I made my way down the steps and opened the fridge, the light burning my still groggy eyes. I chugged down a bottle of water and made for the stairs again, when I heard crashing coming from the back door. Flicking on the hallway lights, I made my way out of the kitchen and towards the back of the house. The main door was bolted shut and locked, but the outside screen door was slamming against the frame, causing the entire wall to shake violently. I reached out to unlock the door, my hand fumbling with the bolt lock, I pulled back the latch, sliding it through the barrel of the chrome lock until the sound of someone calling out from the barn stopped me. Jamming the lock back in place, I made for the side window, looking out to see one of the younger workers, Jonah, come rushing towards the back door. “You alright?” he cried out, practically sprinting towards the door. I scrunched my tired face. “What do you mean?” I shrugged. He seemed out of breath. “Was working in the barn and I thought I saw someone I hadn’t seen before on the property. A little after that I heard banging coming from over here, thought I’d check on y’all.” “Yeah, I think it may have been the wind causing the screen door to open and shut so much.” I tried to rationally explain the situation. At first, he gave me that classic Jonah smirk, “There’s no wind, kid.” He chuckled a bit. Then, it was as if an epiphany had struck him as he lowered his eyes to the screen door. The young mans’ face went cold as ice. He stared at me for a second, then the words fell out from his slightly ajar mouth. “You need to lock all the doors and call the police. Stay inside!” I ran for the phone and frantically called 911. Desperately trying to explain what was going on. Carly must have heard all the commotion and come downstairs looking like a weird concoction of tired and freaked out. After the phone call I told Carly what had happened. She was scared but mostly confused. We both went to the front door, keeping an eye out for the young man who was now approaching the edge of the corn field. I told Carly to stay there and dashed up the stairs, running to my bedroom I desperately crawled out my window and onto the roof so I could get a better view of him as he had now stepped inside the field. Overhead I could just barely make out where he was, watching the corn shake with every step he took inside the field. He stopped near the scarecrow that was about one hundred yards out from our home. The light emitting from his flashlight scanned the area, then looked as if it was pointed back to our home, presumably he was heading back. That’s when something caught my attention from where Jonah had been standing. The arms of the scarecrow that had been outstretched and tied to the perch had simply dropped right before my eyes. This creep had been hiding inside of it. The person began to casually pull out the hay and take off the head and shirt, carefully setting them down. Then quietly they began to step towards Jonah. “It’s behind you! Run Jonah!” I cried out frantically. Thankfully he heard me, as he began rushing through the corn, but the person behind him was now running just as fast. He was right on his heels. “Carly, open the front door!” I yelled from the top step. She nodded her head, unlocking the deadbolt and ripping the door open. There was an antagonizing moment of nothingness. An anticipation that had festered for such a period that we were stuck still in a paralyzing moment of our lives. It felt like hours before the young man dove through the frame and kicked the door closed behind him. Carly slashed the deadbolt through and hammered down the lock. We expected a smashing on the door or glass to shatter but there was nothing. I ran back upstairs and onto the roof. And that’s when I saw them. They had replaced their scarecrow head with a gut-wrenching mask. The best description I can give you is it looked like the anguished man painting, but the mouth was much larger and ajar. A circular black blotch. Like a void. They looked up at me, pointed at me and then stepped backwards into the field until they were completely out of sight. It was another fifteen minutes before the police, my dad, and his girlfriend showed up. They took our statements. When they checked the backdoor, they could see the keyhole had small scratches, likely from a knife. The frame seemed cracked. The officer, and Jonah believed the person was slamming the door open and shut, hiding in a blind spot so I could not see them. A trap to lure me outside and close the door, and in that moment grab me. I had been inches from this broken person’s grasp. I breathed a sigh of relief, but the thought of their attempt being successful stuck with me. I wish I could say that the worst of it had come and gone but, this only gets worse over time. This was simply their first appearance.

The Junkyard Job

y29ttz

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y29ttz/the_junkyard_job/

The chain-link fence rattled, followed by my shoes hitting the dirt. The fence rattled again, then another thud signifying Darren made it over. I crouched behind the nearest rusted out pickup truck and lowered my facemask. The sunset illuminated the massive sign overhead that read “Dave's Junk & Scrap, Lead now $0.90 a pound!” I turned to Darren and whispered “We’re in and out quick, don’t forget the moneybox in the bottom drawer.” We both took out our crowbars from our backpacks, I double checked my pistol and carefully put it back in my belt, raising my facemask back over my nose. Darren adjusted the hunting knife sheathed on his waist. I turned and peered over the truck's hood cautiously, listening and watching for any signs of security. Then I saw something I couldn’t quite make out, tapping Darren on the shoulder and pointing in its direction. In the distance, maybe 80 yards off, was some kind of small dog-like creature. It was walking on all fours and appeared to have very short hair if any at all. It was almost hopping from place to place, like some kind of deranged frog. It moved erratically between the rows of junk cars. Going on, in, around, under, without pattern. Darren flinched at my touch but aligned his gaze toward whatever that thing was. We both held a crouch while fixated on what the hell we were seeing. In a hushed voice Darren uttered “What the fuck is that?” I whispered back, not breaking my gaze on it. “Is it some kind of guard dog? Looks awfully small for that.” “Maybe it's some kind of rabid possum? I've heard those things will mess you up if you piss them off.” We agreed to avoid it, no way we were risking rabies or whatever disease just for some cash. The junkyard was set up in an egg-like shape, the widest part being the middle and the outskirts surrounded by a curved fence. Stacked vehicles and piles of scrap were everywhere, small walking paths were winding between everything like a spider's web. Located in the middle was our target, a shipping container turned into an office. On one side it had a solid metal door fixed on it with a floodlight overhead. The floodlight was off currently, we guessed it was motion activated but there was no way to tell. There were street lamps posted every 50 feet or so all throughout the junkyard, however the sunset was too bright for them to be activated yet. I adjusted my backpack and motioned to Darren it was time to move. We held our crouched positions, Darren just a few paces behind, and advanced toward the middle. I felt like some kind of badass navy seal, giving hand gestures to my partner while looking out for any kind of movement. I truly believe people are capable of things thought impossible if only they had the confidence. That being said, confidence has jack all to do with fate. Rounding a destroyed bumper of a ‘99 Toyota, glass crunched under my feet before I could see it was even there. I froze dead silent and so did Darren. We were in the mid section of the junkyard now, just a few rows from the office. Then it hit me, we were right where we had seen the thing before. Low and distant, a bone chilling sound moved through the cars. It is hard to describe, but picture someone gargling mouthwash. Its echo eerily passed through the rows of cars followed by a series of fleshy thumps as the creature moved from vehicle to vehicle. Terrified, I dove under the car, Darren following my lead. It had not seen us, so I held up a fist signaling to hold our position under the car. The sky was beginning to give in to darkness at this point, I figured we had 15 minutes until full darkness. We had flashlights but I was against having to use them as they don't exactly hide your location. Then the window of the car above us shattered, trailed by that fucking gargling noise. It was even more disturbing just feet away from us. By now I was learning more and more about the creature. It seemed to be noise sensitive, and had some sort of claws. They could be heard ripping at the upholstery of the car, it seemed like it was digging frantically with harsh desperation. It was making a breathing sound now, quick breaths in between its gargles. Searching for the source of the noise I so foolishly made. We held our breaths, trying to keep our noise level to a minimum while squashed beneath the car. It seemed our luck made a turn after what felt like hours, it climbed out of the window it had broken earlier and did that odd hopping motion we had witnessed it do before. It leapt onto a box truck adjacent to the car we were positioned under, however it clung to the side without sliding down. Claws penetrating the sides of the truck with ease, I realized my assessment of dog-like was inaccurate. It looked more like some kind of fucking giant salamander now, no teeth, only a large tongue. Eyes on each side of its head, no hair could be seen on its body, only what appeared to be some kind of slime that glistened in what was left of the sunlight. I glanced at Darren and saw the sheer horror in his eyes, it confirmed I wasn't the only one seeing this monstrosity. It all felt unreal. After a short while, motionless and noiseless, it made its way up and over the box truck it clung to. We could hear it hopping to the next vehicle, then the next, until we were sure it was far enough away. I was the first to move from under the car, I rolled to my side and got back on my legs, holding a crouch. I glanced into the car through the passenger window as Darren made his way out from cover to return to my side. What I saw looked like a damn hurricane went through the car. Every seat was torn up, even the dash had been sliced in half like a fucking bell pepper. There was slime everywhere inside too, like a scene out of David Cronenberg's “The Fly”. I could hear Darren talking but almost didn't register it, I was too focused on what the hell I was even looking at. “The coast is clear up to the office man, let's get this cash so we can ditch this shithole!” Darren exclaimed through clenched teeth. The tense feeling was mutual between us, I could tell it would turn to desperation soon if we didn't move out. We proceeded towards the office, crowbars still in hand. Now I had Darren moving backwards so he could alert me if anything was following us. We made it uneventfully to the door of the office just as the spot light switched on above us, putting us right in the limelight like a fucking $2.99 rotisserie chicken at Walmart. In the distance, the gurgling began subtly at first, like someone playing music on their patio a few houses down. Then the fleshy thumping of its hops became audible. “Get that fucking door open!” I yelled, knowing a confrontation with that creature would likely be our last. Darren slammed his crowbar in the door, yanking with all his might. The door groaned and flexed, but did not obey the will of Darren’s crowbar. He screamed “It wont fucking open man, shit!” The thing was close now, the streetlights hauntingly illuminating its voracious approach. With one final jump, nearly a 10 foot hop, it landed solidly on the roof of the office. It’s eyes glaring down on us like a kid into his Halloween bag. With one last pull the door flung open, rocketing Darren on his back and tossing his crowbar to the side. The creature pounced on Darren, wrestling with him like fucking WWE. Darren reached for his knife on his belt, slashing at the air to no effect. The creature had him on his stomach now, its hind legs wrapped around Darren's waist. With one slash, like a veteran butcher, it severed Darren's spine just under the skull. Like a sack of potatoes, Darren went limp as soon as the claws exited. Blood erupted everywhere like a firehose as Darren’s head leaned forward in paralysis. The knife fell uselessly from his hand. The creature placed its mouth over the wound and this absolutely horrific slurping sound began. I didn't wait to see the end, I snapped out of shock and rushed inside the office, slamming the door. The office door had multiple locks on it, like some kind of bank vault. I hurryingly attempted to engage them but they all seemed electronically controlled. A red button was on the wall labeled “Emergency Lockdown” so I slammed my fist on it, watching each lock engage one by one. I took a deep breath, for now, I think I'm safe. I could hear the creature outside continuing to feed but it seems to be done now. I don't know where it went, but it never tried to get inside after me which I find weird. Additionally, how did the crowbar manage to get past all those locks? This was such a mistake. I can see out the window from inside the office, there’s bars over it now that must've come down when I hit the lockdown button. Darren is lifeless, his neck bent and there seems to be a massive hole under his skull where his brain should be. I'm not looking for too long, I already vomited twice. I am writing this on my phone, I just don't know what to do from here. I see a desk in here, there's a laptop on it but its password locked. There are CCTV monitors but they are all powered off and I don't see a way to turn them on. My phone is almost dead and I am sure someone will show up to work here eventually. I will update you guys when I can, any advice would be really fucking appreciated.

A Nightmare come true

y21h3y

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y21h3y/a_nightmare_come_true/

I joined a forum online to learn about lucid dreaming and how to control your dreams. It was during quarantine and I had nothing better to do. I always asked questions about the things I was doing wrong like falling midflight or creating monsters and waking up out of fear. Then I got a private message from a user called Dare2dream42. She told me how I could be paired up with a partner called a master dreamer, someone far more skilled than myself, and become an expert lucid dreamer. Seeing as she didn't ask for money I felt I had nothing to lose. "You could meet up in dreams with a master dreamer to show you how limitless the possibilities really are." She wrote. I thought to myself how this isn't possible but let's see what happens. I mean what endless possibilities for people to meet up with others in their dreams? The problem was you have to find someone you're dream compatible with. The rules were simple, you can only speak in wake hours about lucid dreaming. No small talk, no getting to know one another, no sharing photos, and definitely no becoming friends. After your dream master helps you lucid dream on your own, you would no longer work or speak with them. Within a week I was paired with a master dreamer. Cora was perfect, kind, and understanding. She saw potential in me. I told her what things I absolutely did not want to see in my dreams and all the reasons behind not wanting to see them. I mean not wanting to see blood or murder didn't need an explanation but I told her about my fear of spiders because of a traumatic experience as a child. I told her my fear of drowning and other things I hadn't shared with others. I asked her what things she did not want to see and she told me not to worry about her. That somehow simultaneously calmed and intimidated me. I was nervous but also I felt she knew what she was doing. The first few days were hard because we'd be in the same dream but we had to find one another. After we created methods and signs to find one another we quickly began the process. She was beautiful, adventurous and so kind. I felt like I had a big sister showing me the ropes. It was like learning to ride a bike. While learning to fly in my dreams I had moments I'd slowly begin falling and she'd grab my hand each time. "Don't overthink it Ava." She must've said that to me twenty times in the first two weeks. It worked though and I stopped overthinking. Once I mastered flying, she taught me to conjure up different items. It started with food which was my favorite. The first time I thought up an apple it was half green and half red, she laughed at me. "I know, I know. I'm overthinking it." I tried again and it was a perfect red apple. It even tastes like an apple but sweeter. Then she wanted to place random vehicles around my dreams and I had to get in them and start them up. In most dreams, you don't have to have car keys but the problem I always came across was the car changing. So first I'm in a big hummer and within a few moments, it's not a tiny car without any walls. She taught me to keep the car consistent. The next lesson was about animals and insects. I created a beautiful butterfly whose wingspan was bigger than mine. I was so proud and it was so beautiful. And then not a moment later, Cora made a spider the same size as my butterfly and the spider devoured my butterfly. I freaked out. I woke up immediately. I told myself she didn't do it on purpose and it must've been an accident. I emailed her about the incident and her response was, "it must've slipped my mind." There was no apology but I believed her. The next few days went by pleasantly. We worked together in our dreams and we even made an island. As I was flying above it I saw Cora make a boat. I didn't know why she was doing that so I went down to ask. "Cora, are you going out to sea?" I asked nicely. She turned around, gave me a blank stare, and then smiled. Within moments I was on the boat in the middle of the water and freaking out. I tried to fly off the boat but I was overthinking it and too anxious. I kept panicking and the boat slowly began filling up with water causing it to sink. I shouted for Cora and she was nowhere to be found. I began cupping the water from my hands and throwing it out of the boat but it was hardly doing anything. Did Cora do this on purpose? What is going on with her? Why is she changing out of nowhere? I looked behind me and Cora was floating above the water smiling, "Ava, you have to face your fears." She then disappeared. It was at that moment that I feared her more than the water. I tried to wake myself up but I couldn't concentrate. Now the boat was mostly submerged underwater and I couldn't do anything to stop it. I sank with the boat and my heart began racing. As it was a dream I could breathe underwater and I thought to myself, "this isn't too bad. I'll be okay." That's when I turned around and saw a whale shark. It opened its mouth and came right towards me. I closed my eyes tight and when I opened them I was awake. To this day it makes no sense to me but I had a gash on my left shoulder blade. It was as if the shark really did bite me. It was bad enough to be concerned but not bad enough for an ER visit. I wrote Cora that I never want to see her again and that she cannot join me in my dreams. I was now incredibly fearful for my well-being knowing that I could physically be injured in real life. I figured she'd back off and leave me alone but she responded with, "Someone's being dramatic." The next three nights I was afraid to go to sleep. I barely slept and when I did my entire dream consisted of me being on the lookout. I was fed up and wrote in the dream forum about what had happened to me. When I logged in later in the day I realized my account had been deleted without any reason. I didn't know what was going on anymore. I was livid and I was hurt and mostly I was exhausted. I was tired of letting some stranger make me feel so bad. That night I went to sleep early and was ready to see Cora. In my dream, I called out to her and was ready to fight. I went from my bedroom to a dark empty hallway. I heard her voice call my name. But the echo came from many directions. Then the voice came directly behind me and I turned around quickly. It was Cora. But she was a big spider. My anger made me overcome my fear. "I'm not scared of you." I grabbed a knife I was hiding and stabbed her directly in the stomach. She pulled it out and laughed. Then she grabbed me by the throat, lifted me up off the ground, and then dropped me. She then disappeared. I began choking and coughing really hard. The hallway was slowly filling up with water. It now covered my hands. I was still coughing and then I felt something come up my throat. It was a spider. I was choking on spiders. I kept coughing up spiders and the hallway was still filling up with water. I tried not to panic but it was my two worst fears and they were both happening worse than I could ever imagine. I woke up covered in sweat and crying. That was two years ago and now I am happily married with a baby on the way. I don't think about what had happened often but I'm writing all this now because it's four am and I woke up abruptly. I went downstairs to get some water and my husband had fallen asleep on the couch with his laptop on his chest. This happens when he has a big upcoming project. I took his glasses off his face, folded them, placed them on the coffee table, and kissed his forehead. Then I picked up his laptop and wanted to make sure what he was working on was saved before I closed it. That's when I saw it. He was logged in on a sleep forum, one that I used before I had even met him. His username was Dare2dream42. My heart sank, and I told myself this can't be real. I wish I had found out he was cheating, this is so much worse. I looked at him and he was still fast asleep. Maybe I remembered Cora's username incorrectly. I looked at his past messages and he had messaged multiple people about helping them with their lucid dreaming attempts. In some, he introduced himself as Corey, some as Cora. It was him. I am married to my worst nightmare. I have no idea what to do or even how to bring this up to him or if I even should.

I woke up inside a replica of my childhood home. The things watching me are not my real parents

y19g6i

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y19g6i/i_woke_up_inside_a_replica_of_my_childhood_home/

"Honey, breakfast is ready," the friendly voice of my mother called from the other room. It awoke a warm and happy memory. One of our Sunday breakfasts where my mum would make the best waffles in the world, my parents would share the newspaper and the smell of coffee would fill our whole house. While I was too young to have any of it then, I loved the smell of fresh coffee. My mum always used to mix in spices like nutmeg. I wish I could have tried her special coffee but she passed away before I was old enough for it. My eyes shot open. Whose voice had just woken me up? I was lying on the couch in our living room. Well, my dad's living room. I moved out four years ago, just after I turned 20. Slowly, I got up and took more steps than necessary until I was standing in the doorframe between the kitchen and the living room. "Dad?" I carefully asked but nobody answered. While it was always slightly emotionally painful, it wasn't unusual. I often heard mum's voice in my dreams but it was weird that I smelled waffles and coffee while the kitchen table was completely empty. I shook my aching head, I had the most horrendous hangover that I needed to cure with more sleep. Upstairs, in my old bedroom, not on the uncomfortable couch. *Dad must have made a toaster waffle before he went to work*\- Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. I climbed up a few of the stairs and found myself in front of a thick, grey wall. It sounds ridiculous but the upstairs part of our house had either vanished or was sealed shut with a new wall. This sight felt so entirely absurd that my brain didn't even understand what to make of it. I instinctively took a step back, slipped, and fell down the few stairs, landing on my butt and I could swear I heard laughter. I slowly got up and walked towards the tv but it was black. "Dad?" I shouted. "Where are you, Nils? Didn't you hear your mum calling you for breakfast?" Every fiber of my body froze. That was dad's voice and it came right out of the kitchen. I didn't understand what was happening but I knew that it was not right so instead of checking the kitchen, I decided to be smart and head straight toward the front door. I pulled and pushed, but it wouldn't open. There was also no key in sight. I pushed the curtains from the small window next to the door but behind it all I saw was black. My heart started racing so fast I thought it would explode. I swallowed when I remembered that I'd seen sunshine through the window in the empty kitchen earlier. Maybe I could get out of the window. When I walked into the kitchen I saw a little white booklet on the table that I swear wasn’t there before. I picked it up and read the cover, all it said was NILS. I was just opening the first page when I saw her right outside of the window, scratching the glass with her nails. My mother. My mother, who passed away when I was only seven. Or rather, something resembling her. I think the best way I could describe it is that she looked like someone had tried to recreate a human based on a picture that a child drew but with real flesh and skin. Her proportions were all wrong, her face was plastered with makeup and her hair almost looked as if each strain had been glued on. I felt too perplexed by the situation to even breathe, all I did was stare at it. And then a single tear rolled down my cheek. When *he* appeared behind her, the copy of my father, I finally woke from my trance and stumbled backward into the living room. The copy of my father was far more realistic, only small components were incorrect. Like, he had a big mustache even though he’d shaved it off a week ago. And his nose appeared to miss holes. Small mistakes. Holding that booklet that I found tightly in my hands, I crouched down next to the sofa and hoped that this would all be over soon. \-- I can’t say how long I sat on that cold living room floor. There wasn’t anything I could do, the only way out seemed to be the kitchen but at least it appeared like they didn’t try to come inside. After what must have been at least an hour of sitting and contemplating my sanity, I decided to look into the booklet with my name on it and started reading the first page. ***The adventure of life*** ***Pilot*** ***Scene 1*** **We are inside a regular, suburban living room. The childhood home of Nils. We focus on the sofa in the middle of the room.** **Nils is sleeping on the sofa, tucked underneath a light blanket, still wearing last night's clothes: Loose, blue denim pants. Black t-shirt with a pocket. Converse shoes. His hair is frizzy.** **A voice wakes him up.** **"Honey, breakfast is ready!"** "What the actual fuck?" I whispered to myself. I skimmed through the pages, but hardly any of them made sense. A few scenes were normal, like the one describing me waking up. After that, it was a mixture of random words and nonsense. It was all bullshit but I did not want to wait here until the *actors* of my parents came inside. I folded the paper and shoved them inside my back pocket. Holding my breath, I slowly tiptoed towards the kitchen window. It was the only way out for me. The glass was still foggy from the breath of my mother’s copy. A shiver went through my body when I thought about it. I collected all of my courage and peeked outside. There was no sight of anyone or anything. I held my breath just a moment longer, praying that this window wasn't a prop. I probably could have broken it but that might alarm the things and they'd come back. But I didn't have to. The window opened like a regular one. Finally, I could breathe again. I turned off my brain and climbed out the window. \- I was staring at a blue wall, above me was a warm, yellow spotlight. The fake house was standing inside a massive storage hall. Cameras and other equipment were lying around but there were no signs of any humans. I walked around the hall until I found two doors. One of them had a sign glued to it. **Audition for new Warly, this way!** I decided to take the second door without a sign which led me to a hallway. I ran through it and landed in a second hallway. I kept running until I finally found an exit. When I realized that I was feeling the real, cold air on my skin, tears started streaming down my face. The relief was replaced by fear again when I noticed that the exit led me right into a forest. No roads, no sign of civilization. But I had to focus, I had to get away before they decided that I wasn't supposed to leave. So I started running again. I can't tell you how long I ran for and how many times I got lost if that even makes sense in those circumstances. But finally, I found a diner where I could use a phone. I had escaped and I was safe. \-- Ever since that moment I've tried so hard to remember the location of the place. The police have not been able to find it with the bit of information I had Of course I left out the part about the creatures. Nobody would believe that shit but I’m not able to let go of it. I need to find answers. Before I end up back inside the studio. Because when I fled, I took that script with me and when I finally got home I collected the courage to look at it and found another part that wasn’t nonsense. **Nils decides to trick the parents. He opens the window in the kitchen and climbs outside. He doesn't know where to yet.** **End of scene**. They'd wanted me to leave, *no*, they even predicted it. And now all I can do is keep wondering if there is a script for another scene. [And whether I am in it.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Likeeyedid/)

Father Christmas?

y24s7b

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y24s7b/father_christmas/

This all started about 4 years ago. None of my cousins, aunts or uncles live in the same city as me so every year we go on a road trip to see each of them and their families. Last year we took a trip to pietermaritzburg. My uncle had passed away a few months prior to this paticular visit due to cancer so my aunt and her 16 year old daughter were staying alone in their huge double story home. &#x200B; Everyone remembered my uncle, David for giving gifts to everyone. He would always take us shopping and spend ridiculous amounts of money on expensive toys and gadgets for the kids. My dad was driving our 8 seater hyundai van while my two sisters and my mother were fast asleep in the middle row of the vehicle. My older brother, Keeran and I were seated right behind them. We were sharing earphones and listening to creepypasta stories he had downloaded on his phone. It was getting really boring. &#x200B; It read 12:10 am on the dashboard. It was saturday morning, Christmas Eve. It was dark outside as there were no street lights on these gravel roads. All we could see ahead of us was as far as the cars headlights went, so my dad drove slowly. As we drove on, both sides of the road were covered by forest. This is when I saw something very odd. A man was walking along the left side of the road. Keeran saw him too. &#x200B; We tried to see his face but it looked like he was made of shadow somehow. His figure was boney and disturbing and he walked slowly. Keeran tried making something creepy out of the situation as he usually does but I shot down his theories until I realised again that there was no source of light, food or electricity for miles. &#x200B; Maybe he was just a homeless guy who doesn't know where he's going, I thought to myself. The rest of the trip was quiet. Everyone was asleep besides my dad who was driving and me who was looking out the window at the stars, trying to come up with more solutions which could explain the creepy guy. I came up with nothing. &#x200B; We finally arrived at my cousin, sarah's house after 11 hours on the road. It was 2 in the morning and we were unpacking our bags from the car. My brother and I were forced to sleep in the lounge as the rest of the open rooms were occupied by reptiles that my cousin had an obsession with. &#x200B; I put my pyjamas on and looked at the old christmas tree. I remembered all the gifts I had waiting for me under the tree when I was growing up and I knew this christmas wouldn't be the same without uncle David. &#x200B; I woke up at about 11 am. My sisters were doing my cousins skin care routine and Keeran was on the phone with his girlfriend. I asked Sarah where our parents were and she told me they were out shopping for christmas food. That was the one thing I was looking forward to. For most of the day I played airhockey with Keeran and Forza Horizon on sarah's xbox while she socialized with my sisters. Later in the evening, our parents got home. &#x200B; Keeran and I went to the car as soon as they parked and helped with all the food and groceries. Packets were filled with gammon, corned beef, and other good food and deserts. When we were done we fetched some firewood from the backroom of the house and got the fireplace going. &#x200B; Everyone was more cheerful than I expected and we had a great time watching tv and playing games. I think we were all just excited for Christmas lunch. Everyone got up and went to their rooms while I layed on the couch. Me and keeran went to the bathroom to brush our teeth and when we went back to the lounge he went straight asleep on the couch. I turned the light off and fell asleep shortly after him. &#x200B; I woke up in the middle of the night but I couldn't move. I saw a figure in the corner of the room, behind the christmas tree. It looked so familiar. It was just standing there. Boney in figure and short. It looked exactly like the thing we saw travelling to sarah's place. For some reason I wasn't horrified. I didn't try scream. I felt so comfortable and I was so happy in that moment. &#x200B; I woke up again. This time it was about 7 in the morning. Sarah's rooster was crowing. It was christmas morning. I laid there on the couch for about 20 minutes, thinking about the dream I had. Was it a dream or was it real? I still don't know. I got up and at my amazement I found a ton of gifts under the tree. &#x200B; I quickly forgot about what I had experienced the night before and looked for a gift with my name on. I couln't find any. The gifts had the names Anne Meyers , Peter Coldham, Steven Bennet, Hannah Young, Ben O'reilly, Connor Newton, and Kyle Oubre on them. I knew no one with these names. &#x200B; I went to the kitchen and got a glass of water. Everyone woke up and wished everyone a merry christmas and the adults were confused about the gifts. They asked us who bought all of the gifts and we all said we didn't know. I took another look at the gifts. Underneath all of the gifts each of our names were written. They were written in blood. &#x200B; At first we thought keeran was playing some sick prank on us but he said he wasn't so we believed him. I opened my gift and to my surprise it was an Iphone 8. I was tired of using android but I had never told anyone I was saving up money to buy this exact Iphone. Keeran's gift was a new lenovo laptop, he said it's the exact one he was planning on buying when our vacation ends. In summary, everyone got exactly what they wanted. &#x200B; Later that night I told Keeran about the dream I had and he told me he saw the exact same thing. We tried figuring out what was happening so we did our research. We searched the name " Anne meyers". We were horrified when we saw what came up. The girl had died on christmas morning due to injuries she supposedly sustained from her dog. The dog was put down. An Iphone 8 exactly the same as mine which had been bought for her christmas gift was nowhere to be found. &#x200B; We were shocked to find that Peter Coldhams christmas tree fell onto him and pinned him into his fireplace where he burned to death. Peters mother had bought him a lenovo laptop identical to keerans which went missing. &#x200B; It was the same thing over and over again. Every name we researched had a gift one of our family members had recieved. Keeran and I kept this information to ourselves. For years and years every Christmas I get whatever I envy. I've tried my hardest to not want anything but that's impossible isn't it? Year after year I see names on a gift box of someone who dies and their gift miraculously ends up at my feet on the 25th of December. &#x200B; I managed to come up with the only explanation that makes sense. The boney figure is my uncle. He lost a tremendous amount of weight in his last days alive and It would explain why I felt so comfortable that night. Maybe I'm wrong. I don't really care. I can't handle this. &#x200B; I've been to fortune tellers, Specialists and all sorts of witches but they all turn me away when I tell them my full story. I don't know how I can live with this. I don't deserve the gifts being given to me every year and these people don't deserve to die. If I die no one's gift will disappear and they won't die right? &#x200B; Even if I'm wrong I feel guilty. And it's something I can't deal with anymore. It's time for me to end it now. This is my goodbye.

I'm a Hunter In The Mountains Of California. My Latest Kill Wasn't A Deer...

y1nuuv

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1nuuv/im_a_hunter_in_the_mountains_of_california_my/

&#x200B; The Rangers just drove away, so I think I’m clear to write now. If you read the title, then you know I’m a hunter. And before I tell the story, I think there are some misconceptions about hunters that I need to clear up. First off, I respect the wildlife. I don’t kill for sport, and most of us don't either. I live in a secluded cabin deep in the mountains. The nearest actual store is an hour or so from my cabin, so I find it easier to hunt deer instead of making that drive every time I need food. And second off, if I see an animal who is injured, I put it out of its misery. That’s not really a misconception, just a good segway into the story, since that’s how it started. I was on a trip into the woods, venturing to a flower-filled meadow that deer seemed to love grazing and frolicking in. Usually, there were several there, but this time there were none. Odd. After 45 minutes of nothing, I tromped out into the field and took off my mufflers, my ears immediately being hit with the sound of a wounded deer. I figured I’d better put a bullet in its head instead of leaving it to suffer. I followed the sound and found a deer laying down on its side, intestines leaking from a large gash on its side. I took out my revolver I kept with me for this particular task and took aim. Just then I heard the crashing of bushes and branches snapping to my right. Something was coming. Based on the sounds, a bear maybe. I saw a boulder a few paces away, so I jumped behind it and waited. When the sounds stopped, I peeked out from behind my spot. A lone deer was standing over the wounded one, sniffing it and nudging it. I was confused and about to reveal myself when the deer looked around, as if checking that no one was watching, then it…grew. Its bones grew into spindly limbs, tearing its flesh at its joints, and the smell of fresh blood wafted my way. Its antlers grew longer and more tangled, while its teeth previously meant for chewing plants shifted into a carnivorous maw. It began to use a pair of new clawed hands to tear the wounded deer open further and eat the organs that fell out. I tried not to let my breakfast come back up while planning on what to do next. My rifle was about 20 yards away, and I wasn’t sure how fast the thing that was feeding was. I eventually decided on a mad dash to my gun, hoping it didn’t chase me. I counted down from three and took off towards my dropped weapon. Behind me, I heard the thing I was dreading. The thing was after me. *SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT* I jumped at my rifle and snatched it, whipping around and shooting a desperate blank In the thing’s direction. I covered my face, so I didn’t see my shot hit it in the shoulder. It let out a sound that echoed off every tree in the dark woods behind it. While it was still reeling, I pulled out my revolver and ran up, holding the barrel about an inch from its forehead. I fired the killing shot. I realized that I had better report this to a forest ranger or even the police, but ended up picking the first one. I showed them the body and they went silent. Without a word, they loaded up the corpse into their pickup truck and drove off. So now I’m at my desk writing this, and, well. I don’t think I have much time left. I keep hearing something screeching, and I have no doubt it’s another one of those things. I can hear them tapping and scratching on my window. If these are my last words, then I have a warning. There is an unknown species in the woods of California. And they look like deer.

Life On The Road (Part 2) The Dangers Of Pop-Up Hotels

y1nqg2

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1nqg2/life_on_the_road_part_2_the_dangers_of_popup/

(First:https://redd.it/xuwj9d) (TW for Suicide) I found myself on an empty desert road with the sun setting fast. I’ve been driving all day to nowhere in particular. I’d hoped I would reach a city or a small town to stop and rest sooner and didn’t really want to drive all night. For hours I didn’t see any signs of life besides a car or two going the other direction. I lived on the road, in constant motion for a few years. I no longer kept track of how long I’ve been at it. My hair starting to turn grey around the edges since I started my new lifestyle, making me wonder if I’ll ever really be able to stop and settle in one place. I started to get tired. When night fell and with no sign of a city or rest stop, I debated on if I should just pull over for a quick nap. I honestly didn’t remember the last time I stopped for anything besides a quick meal. I needed to sleep soon. So far, I hadn't seen too many cars but didn’t want to risk someone's life by getting in an accident because I was too tired to drive. By some luck, I spotted a sign off in the distance, glowing beside a long empty road. When I got closer, I realized this motel wasn’t luck but rather it appeared for one weary driver. Being on the move as often as I was, I’ve seen things. Most things people would never believe in, but on long roads strange things tended to happen. Some of these things didn’t have names, or labels. I started to make notes of what I come across in case I could help out others, warning them away if needed. I called these kind of random encounters pop up motels. They looked as if they belonged to the 60’s or 70’s. The neon signs buzzing and giving off and eerie pink light that almost appeared to be a color you couldn’t describe if you stared at them for too long. They didn’t take cards so you needed to pay in cash, or any jewelry you may want to give up for a night’s rest. Most of these motels were a half square of rooms, all the doors looking out in the empty courtyards. If you find one of these motels with a pool, it’s best to keep driving. Nothing good comes from a pop-up motel with a pool. They only appear to those who need a rest and is without any other options. All the other rooms will be empty but you’ll always get the same room number. The clerk is silent, a younger man with blond hair and a pale face. He moves slowly handing over the key to room ten. I’ve stayed at these motels before without too many incidents. I just sleep for the night, return the key and leave in the morning with the building fading off in the distance. I forgot my cellphone charger in my room the one time and doubled back to get it only to find and empty lot. I hope the next person to use room ten needed a phone charger. At times I might come across a hooded figure standing beside an ancient soda vending machine. The front plastic cracked and bubbled hard clear buttons sticking when pressed. At least each can only cost a quarter. I paused looking that the person hidden under layers of dirty clothing. I’ve met him twice before and gave him a quarter for a drink. The darkness hid his face, but I thought he appeared happy by the offering. He quickly got a cold can and hurried off into the darkness and deeper in the empty desert landscape. I put my own change in and found he bought the last root beer I wanted. It happened last two times as well. Every time I pick a different soda and he always buys the last one. Smiling to myself I picked a regular off brand soda taking it to my room. I didn’t bring a change of clothing or anything else besides the drink to the room. I didn’t want to forget something again and lose it forever. I took off my shoes and laid on my back over top of the sheets. The room smelled musty, almost Earthy but a bed was better than sleeping in my car. At least the room appeared clean and I've never had any issue with bugs in the pop-up motels in the past. I drifted off quickly, being totally exhausted from the long day. Who knows when I last slept. With my hands resting on my chest, I fell into a deep sleep for a few hours. I didn’t even set and alarm to wake up in the morning. In the middle of the night, my brain pulled me from my rest confused on why I suddenly needed to be awake. I’d fallen asleep so quickly and so deeply I wasn’t that groggy when my eyes opened. I looked around the dark room, not moving my head or anything else, sensing something off. The neon light blinking slowly outside and coming through the thin curtains. The smell crept into the air causing my body to tense. I knew this smell. Sharp air making my skin crawl. It was almost sweet under the hints of Earth and rotting. The smell of death mixed with something growing in the dark. Heart racing, I knew I needed to turn my head. Whatever was in the room with me noticed I woke up. No way to avoid what would happen in the next few seconds. I needed to face it head on and hated it. My hands shaking clasped together and head moving as little as possible. My eyes travelled over to my right side already knowing that someone else laid on the bed. My throat went dry seeing the shape in the faint pink neon light. The face been covered by a white cloth with mold growing through it. The fabric clinging to the rotten skull underneath. I knew that there was always a risk of encountering something supernatural in a pop-up motel room. So far, I’d been very lucky. That night, my luck ran out. The shape turned its rotting head and if it had a nose, ours would be touching. In a flash the thing got on top of my body, pinning me to the hard mattress. The entire body almost rotten away, the skin replaced by splotches of mold and rot. The hands made of bone only held together by the mold wrapped around my wrist painfully. I got one hand free and pushed it against the exposed ribcage trying to get the rotten body off. Through my fear I found myself thinking the body almost looked beautiful in a way. The colors mixing well in the odd light coming from outside revealing delicate lines and shapes flesh normally covered. The hands wrapped around my throat cutting off my line of though. I kicked and thrashed trying to get free. I was going to die in that room. I knew that for certain but hated the feeling of it. Death hurts. It always hurts. Most times I feel into a cold darkness that I feared I would never come out from. My hand caught the cloth covering the skull of a face, tearing it off. The creature didn’t release its grip from my throat and even in such a predicament, my mind went blank at what I saw. Set in the left eye socket was a false green eye made of glass. It sparkled in the dim light matching the colors of the rest of the body so well I couldn’t help but want to reach towards it. My palm landed on the cheek of the skull, startling the creature. I was terrified in that moment. Who wouldn't be? This thing could easily break every bone in my body ten times over. Being strangled to death was a kindness. But my cross wired brain accepted the fear along with the sudden admiration of the face looking down, meeting my eyes for a brief moment. The fingers lifting long enough for some raspy words to get out. “You’re beautiful.” I told the monster and meant it. I don’t know if my tastes became warped after I started living on the road and dealing with supernatural creatures. I could have always been like this and never became aware of it until I came across the things that lurked in the night. Most of the time the creatures didn’t know how to respond to the compliment. A great deal of them acted poorly. The rotten moldy body got over the shock and the hands went back to my throat. I really wasn’t into that kind of thing but accepted being strangled over what else the corpse could do. The edges of my sight growing hazy and spots starting to dance over my eyes. In a brief moment I saw the monster for who they’d been in life. A man burned on the left side of his body, and so many failed surgeries leaving the skin appearing distorted. The untouched part of his face any model would be jealous of. The contrast of his scars against his handsome features made my heart flutter for a second. Then it slowed to a stop from the lack of air reaching my lungs. I have a strange ability of cheating death. I don’t know how. It just happens on the rare occasion I die. Which has been happening much more often as of late. I wake up when the sun rises, whole and uninjured. If I broke my arm, I could in theory kill myself and wake up alive and well the next day. I’ve never needed to take my own life and prayed that day never came. To be honest, I never found out why I am able to come back to life and am perfectly content not looking for answers. After being strangled, I woke up on my back gasping for air, reeling from the experience the night before. The phantom pain in my throat remained causing my hand to rub at the spot. I knew no bruises remained but my mind fooled me into thinking some damage lingered. Still, I could have stayed dead. Waking up with some pains was preferable to the alternative. Risking a glance over, I saw the rotten body from before. The white cloth over the face again and hands folded neatly on his exposed ribs. The mold growing in a way that made it appeared as if he hadn’t moved since he died. I sat up but didn’t leave. I couldn’t bring myself to. This person died alone and rotted away without anyone finding them. The idea hurt my chest. Using the room phone, I called in a few favors from someone I knew who dealt with this sort of thing. Then I carefully placed my hand over the corpse’s bony fingers silently promising I wouldn’t let him be alone again. I called in a pair of agents that respectfully collected the body. I left the room with them following behind the stretcher and the black body bag that held the one I found. When I left the room, I saw I was no longer in an empty desert but within the middle of a city I didn’t recognize. My car parked out in the motel courtroom and on lookers peeking out from curtains to see what all the commotion was about. The pop-up motel rooms connected to any empty motel room available anywhere in the country, sometimes even further than that. The window shows the motel you arrived in but inside the room is somewhere else. I never got disconnected from the pop-up motel before. At least it was kind enough to bring my car along to wherever I ended up. The agents listed to my story and nodded, making notes. They found out the man was named Michael Burr. He rented out the motel room for at least six months. His bank account charged a special rate each month him and the motel owner agreed on without any issues with payment for all that time. After renting the room, he sealed it up, put the heat on and took enough sleeping pills to not wake up again. I asked about why he might do such a thing and the agents shrugged. I researched myself and found out that Michael had been a dancer, and breaking out to be an actor when an accident burned his face and body. He recovered physically, but mentally could never get over his new refection. His marriage broke apart and family grew distant. After the accident there wasn’t a single person in his life to tell him his scars made his face even more beautiful. Maybe that was my own tastes talking. Regardless of my own preference, I wished there had been one person who stay by his side no matter what he looked like. If someone did, I would not have found a body that night. I thanked the agents for coming out and dealing with the body. They called a special cleaning company to take care of the room. Neither knew why the rotten body got back up to strangle the one who made the mistake of sleeping on the bed, or why I was sent to the room after I’d fallen asleep. Sadly, I've found when it comes to supernatural occurrences that things just happen. I wanted to believe the pop-up motel sent me to that room knowing one lonely corpse needed company for the night. I also found out later that his family cremated Michael's body. I wondered if that was something he wanted, or if it was just a cheaper option for them. He might not have thought much of his body rotting away in the ground, or leaving his scarred face behind in the world. Still, I wasn’t a part of his life. I didn’t have any right of being a part of his death. I did what I could for him. That needed to be good enough.

The High Window

y1vf5d

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1vf5d/the_high_window/

Hey everyone, I’ve been lurking on here for a long time, but I find myself writing this post in desperation. No one else in my life is seemingly giving me the time of day on this, and I am petrified to my core. Not even my family wants to listen to me. I’m sorry if I don’t sound very collected, I’m finding it difficult to even arrange my thoughts in a sensible manner, let alone type them out for you at all. The hail outside assaulting my apartment is giving me a petulant sensory overload that is only compounding on my anxiety, making it incredibly difficult to think. My apologies again, let me try and start from the start. Do you remember some of your earliest memories? You know the ones I’m talking about – the ones that were formed on the cusp of your sentience, the surreal ones that could very well have been a dream and you wouldn’t know any better. I have many of such memories; memories that I’m not sure even happened at all. Sometimes my mother and father could confirm them, but this particular recollection I am speaking of, I unfortunately have no frame of reference. My great-grandfather was a great man and was a proud Armenian. Many of our family before and after the genocide were involved in the Armenian Apostolic Clergy. For those reading who are not familiar, Armenians as a people believe Noah’s Ark landed on Mount Ararat and was the first nation to adopt Christianity around 300AD. I myself am not particularly religious, but I respect the deeply spiritual nature of my culture. When I was around two or three, we flew to Armenia to visit him. A close friend of the clergy, he saved a great many holy relics during the genocide that still hung on the brick walls of his modest homestead. At the age I was, I never really appreciated the raw amount of history in that house. There were wooden carvings and prayers in languages that even adults probably wouldn’t have understood. Our family gatherings were a beautiful thing – he always loved my cousins and I, knowing that we were the next generation of a culture that he thought was going to be forgotten. He was often moved to tears when he saw us and was not afraid to feel the full extent of his own emotions. I remember sitting on his lap on his front porch, on a rocking chair. Although where his house sat was beautiful – a basin surrounded by Armenian highlands and forest – it always intimidated my young mind. It would be quite a few years until I found a word to match this uneasy feeling… Isolation. The homestead was a lantern; a bastion of warmth, love, and safety, but it was surrounded by a nothingness that I had never really experienced anywhere else. The moonlight did seldom to illuminate the neatly trimmed field surrounding the home, and as the sun took its last gasps before dipping below the horizon, it felt like the darkness squeezed the homestead. The religious iconography in the house always calmed me down. Just outside this loving oasis lay an unknown I was not prepared for, the crucifixes and statues of Mother Mary watching over me eased my young mind as I tried to sleep. I was a very anxious child, and still am an anxious person to this day. I was scared easily, and my cousins would take great pleasure in torturing me. They would feed me lies about what the darkness outside held – if I didn’t finish my dinner, for instance, the ghosts of the lions who ate martyrs long past would smell the thrown away food and come searching for the ungrateful. These little tales would upset my sleep, but I remember there was one story my cousin told me that I could not purge from my little mind. One I could not shake. It was night, and through the window it was so dark that not even the nearby tree line could not be seen. The window in question was strangely high up on the wall, and just below it lay a holy relic. In a faded gold frame, in what appeared to be a very old and distant dialect of Armenian, was the Our Father Prayer. I didn’t really see anything significant about it, aside from that it was written on an ancient piece of parchment, that looked as if it would fade to dust if ever released from its golden tomb. My cousins, like sharks smelling blood, latched onto my curiosity. “What do you think that is written on?” “Paper?” I asked. “No, Dede told me that it is written on the skin of a goat. Every now and then, the skinless goat will come to the window and stare through it. Sometimes, if it feels like it can convince you, the skinless goat will tap its horns on the window and ask for it back. You’re sleeping on the couch tonight, aren’t you? Across from the high window?” My cousin chuckled, finishing with a wry grin, “Dede thinks the goat is the devil himself, unable to leave the possessed goat until the prayers are wiped clean from its skin – “ It was at this point that Dede (my great – grandfather) berated my cousin for scaring me again. It was strange however, as it was not a usual scold. He screamed many things at my cousin, showing a side of himself far from the loving figure I had come to know. I hid behind the couch, only making out a few words. “I trusted you! You have passed it onto him now! He is a child! What the fuck were you thinking!” He boomed as my cousin shrank further and further into his tiny teenage frame. This was the first time I had heard a swear word. Afterwards, my Dede gingerly plucked me from behind the couch, and made all things right in the world. He said, through a lying mouth but truthful eyes, that I had nothing to worry about. He shut the blinds to the high window, said a prayer I did not recognise, turned off the lights and went to bed. The whole house fell asleep. Sleeping on the couch that night, I tried with every fibre of my being not to look at the window. The blinds were closed, but I was still absolutely petrified of the mental image my cousin put in me. I woke in the middle of the night, to a distinct sensation that even today I struggle to find a word for. I was scared, but not the childish fear of being scared of a fictional monster. It was the fear I now imagine a gazelle would have, drinking from a lake whilst a lion lay only a few feet away, in hiding. The gazelle has no reason, no evidence to indicate that it is in danger, it just… Knows. It was the deeply instinctual fear of being watched. Something was staring at me through the window. I was paralysed with fear. I obviously didn’t open the curtain to see what was through the window, I couldn’t face it, but I knew there was something there. It was the inexplicable feeling that something was wrong and I felt powerless to do anything about it. I sobbed into my pillow for hours and hours, the fear never waning. This went on, night after night. My Dede, God bless him, continuously asked me if there was anything wrong, but I didn’t want to tell him I couldn’t sleep because I was scared. I was too embarrassed, you see – I didn’t want anyone to know how deeply my cousin scared me. Night after night I lost more and more sleep, only ever really resting from collapses of exhaustion. Then, maybe a week or two later, Dede passed away. I still feel as if this was completely unrelated to the situation I am telling you all but I can never really know. He passed peacefully in his sleep, surrounded by loved ones and with a smile on his face. This, to my horror, meant our stay in Armenia was to be extended. The feeling of being watched never truly went away, but I was able to accommodate it enough to finally have a decent rest. That is, until the night my family forgot to close the curtains. I slept as usual, rolled over away from the window. Tap. I felt my blood run cold. Tears welled up in my eyes as I chalked it up to my imagination. I desperately tried to steady my breathing, as to not induce a panic attack. Tap. Tap. I lost control of both my breathing and my mind. I squeezed my teddy bear tightly and hid under my covers, sweating profusely from the heat that had built up. I was almost suffocating myself with the stale air under the blanket because my mind simply couldn’t take facing what was outside of my little bubble. Tap. Tap. Tap. I reached a point of utter desperation. I was soaked in sweat, borderline suffocating, overloaded with anxieties until my very being was nothing more than a flaky tremble. I said every prayer I had been taught in my mind. *Hail Mary full of –* Tap. Tap. I tried again, *Hail Mary full of* – Tap. Tap. Tap. *Our Father –* Tap. Tap. Tap. In my young mind, I reasonably concluded, that the only way to stop my fears was to look at the window. The tapping could have been anything mind you, it could have even just been the creaking of the house. For my own sanity, I was left with no choice but to finally throw the covers back, and look outside the window. This would be the moment I outgrew my childish fears. I felt an amazing rush of cold air as my overheated body was finally relinquished and took a gasp of the most beautiful refreshing air. Then, I looked out the window. And it looked back at me. I felt a sharp digging in my chest, a nervosity and fear that I had never experienced before, and dived back under the covers. It was looking directly at me. Tap. Tap. Tap. I only saw a tiny glimpse of what stood at the high window before I dived under the blanket, and my cousin was not lying. It was indeed the skull of the goat, wrapped in red, wet, steamy flesh. Its teeth were exposed and bared, impossible to tell if it was smiling or that’s just how its face looked without skin. It had four black horns, two jutting up like blasphemous unicorn horns, and two more that were gnarled and curled. Its eyes were massive, with two black rectangular irises, that dug into me even under the blanket. What horrified me even more is that the window was so high up on the wall… There was no way a normal goat would be able to reach that high. I shuddered, with the realisation that it was far bigger than a normal goat and must have been standing on its hind legs. Tap. It spoke. “Sam…vel” Its voice was distinctly inhuman, as it gurgled and dripped its words forth through an exposed and fleshy goat larynx. “Sam…vel.” It persisted with its halted and blasphemous voice. “Sam…vel…Abraham…yan” Samvel Abrahamyan. My name. How did it know my name? I got up out of bed, and walked towards the high window. Being the age that I was, the high window completely dwarfed my frame. The eyes of the creature followed me the entire time, and looked down at me, as I looked up at it. “Leave… Leave me alone. “ I stuttered in an utterly unconvincing voice. The creature grinned. I could see its tendons move as its muscles clasped back, showing banks and banks of teeth running all the way down its throat. Its eyes flicked down to the prayer on the wall and then back to me. “You… You…”, it swallowed, the teeth within it clicking against each other as its throat moved, “know… What… I want.” My head felt light and I felt distant from my eyes, “No… Please,” I squeaked, as fresh tears ran down my face. “Give… Or… I…I…” It swallowed its own wetness once more, “Never… Leave…” It turned its head, and tapped on the window once more with its gnarled horns. I rocked back and forth on the floor, with my eyes squeezed shut, desperately trying to say the Our Father in my mind. “He… Won’t… Help… Only… Me…” I kept breathing faster and faster, it felt like my body was on fire from the fear. Tap. “There… Only… Me…” I felt sick, sicker than I had ever felt in my life. The room spun and wobbled as I tried to swallow but couldn’t. The lion had sprung at the gazelle. Tap. Tap. “Only… Me…” Tap. Tap. Tap. I looked to the statue of Mother Mary, and her soft eyes looked back at me. I bunched my fists with all the resolve my small body could muster. “Do you promise to leave my family alone, if I give you the prayer?” A strange expression crossed its face – deliberating, thinking, pondering – before its oily, sickening grin stretched back across its face. Its eyes became wild and wide, excited even. “Yes… Bother… Them… Won’t…” I unlocked the window. An impossibly long hand like tendril that looked nothing like the leg of a goats gently pushed the window open. The arm was long and wrapped in a pungent red coating of viscera. It plucked the prayer off the wall. The creature held the frame between two fingers, and almost lost grip of it as it slid down its greasy wet hand. The hand left and closed the window behind it. I quickly ran to the front porch, to Dede’s rocking chair, and saw the first licks of light steam over the surrounding mountains. I saw the creature skulking off to the woods. You see, at the high window, it had been kneeling down. It stood impossibly tall, as tall as the ancient trees that surrounded the house. Even through the darkness, that impenetrable wall of the unknown – it seemed to glow the faintest red, perhaps like a used glowstick. It turned back towards me just before the tree line. I didn’t have to see its face to feel its eyes or its toothy grin. “Many… Thanks… Sam…Vel…” It took a bow, and disappeared into the woods. Now, r/nosleep, the story I have just told you is one that I have never, ever thought to be real. I’ve lived through enough of my anxious years, I’ve had enough nightmares to realise that this event didn’t happen. There was nothing separating this from the countless other fever dreams I had at this age. No one ever seemed to question that the prayer on the wall was gone, either. Honestly? I forgot about all of it, especially the prayer on the wall. My cousins just figured we lost it whilst packing our Dede’s possessions, none of them taking any of his stories of the prayer seriously. After many years, we forgot about it entirely, not even being sure if it truly existed, or if my cousins just made things up to scare me. That is, until I found an old family photo of Dede’s old homestead. It was a picture of all of us, happy and loved. With a faded gold frame hanging on the wall behind us. Beneath the high window. I am terribly sorry for that rant, but this catches us up to where we are now. Seeing that photo has seemingly activated some old fearful memories. Through the hail, I am hearing a tapping on my window. However, unlike my naïve child self, I know this to simply be sleep paralysis. This is because when I put my noise-cancelling headphones on to block out the hail, I can still here the tapping. As if it’s right next to my ear. That’s one reason how I know it isn’t real. The other reason is because my apartment is on the seventh floor, and I don’t have a balcony. Have you guys ever experienced something like this? It’s getting harder and harder to chalk it up to my mind playing tricks, as I’m not in bed or anything while I’m typing this, so I can’t really attribute it to sleep paralysis. One last thing I can’t shake from my mind, is that supposed ‘deal’ I made when I was a kid. I made it promise to leave my family alone… But not me. Maybe that’s what it was smiling at. I don’t think about that though, as I feel like indulging in that ludicrous fake memory may just make my anxiety worse. Anyways, I’ve been prescribed some new sleeping medication, so I’m going to try and go to bed. The hail outside has died down, so I’m going to leave the window fully open too. Can’t tap on what isn’t there! I’ll get back to you all tomorrow and see if it’s stopped. Otherwise, I am very eager to hear any advice you guys have on getting a good rest. Goodnight.

She Would Always Leave the Light On, Until Last Night.

y1kena

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1kena/she_would_always_leave_the_light_on_until_last/

Me and my grandmother both live on our own 20-acre piece of land. It's a pretty godforsaken place, deep in the woods of Africa. This place was once owned by my great grandmother, who in turn inherited it from her father. He was an English colonialist, and a proud one at that - not the proudest moment in our family history, but we try to keep to our own and live our lives in peace nowadays. Over the years, this land had accumulated a plethora of building. The first houses were the villa, the greenhouse, and the gardener's house. These were built by my great great grandfather, in hopes of starting a new life in this odd, foreign land for him, his wife, and his back-then year-old daughter. He built a majestic house for them all. five magnificent bedrooms, so any future child or grandchild could have a place of their own to stay at. a huge swimming pool, a state-of-the-art kitchen made of black marble, and a grand dining room, fit for 20 guests. He even built the new fireplace with his own two hands, as a way of making the house truly his own. His wife, my ancestor, loved growing flowers, a legacy which later passed to her daughter, and her daughter as well, all the way up to my mother. I am only one which this talent seemed to skip - anything I try to grow tends to die, and feeling bad for these poor plants, I ended up growing a single cactus in my room, since these don't need much attention to thrive. Anyway, my ancestor built the greenhouse so that his wife could enjoy her hobby to the fullest, with tall, pristine glass, and rows of beautiful clay pots. He built a hut for a gardener so one could stay on the plot and listen to my great great grandma's every whim regarding her garden and greenhouse. It must have been beautiful back in the day - the greenhouse gleaming in sun with a small rock garden just outside it, the gardener’s stone hut, like some gnome's house out of a legend. whole plots of flowers in all shapes and colors, the pool as blue as the sky, and above it all, the great Victorian villa, all cream walls, polished wood, and clean marble. I can only imagine, however, as nnowadays it lies abandoned for over three decades. All the plants in the greenhouse grew wild or died; a section of its roof gave way and fell over last year. The pool lies barren, mucky leftovers of water covering its floor. The gardener’s house lay abandoned for even longer, as no gardener has been employed ever since the original owner’s wife died. And the house itself stands shut, vines growing over its walls, the windows ever dark. Ever since my great grandmother died, my grandmother has abandoned that house. Too many ghosts of the past, she said. Too many childhood memories of her and her brothers, her mother, her father, and my own mother. The second house on the land was one that my great uncle built. Some six decades ago, when he was a young man not five years since he left home, his father had an accident on the property. I am not sure of the exact details, but I do know that a month later, he died in a coma. His mother was so heartbroken that my great uncle decided to move to the land with her, so that she won’t be alone. He built a wooden hut there, not too far away from the main Villa. My great uncle was a hunter, and he built it on his own, decorating it with the game he hunted. That place, too, lies abandoned. He died from a hunting accident a few years after finishing to build it, and no one took a claim to it. I rarely pass by it, as it is a way off my house, but the few times I have seen it, it seemed rotten and almost sad. The last two houses are my grandmother’s, and my own. As I said, my grandmother did not want to live in the main house anymore, as it held too many memories for her, of people she would never again see. She built her own wooden hut – this one very modern, unlike her brother’s. Two stories high, it holds every comfort a person needs to live in that kind of environment. A spacey food cellar, a long balcony with a rocking chair, a metal fireplace inside a comfy living room, complete with a floor to ceiling glass window and even a raised corner dedicated to her cat. Then, her second husband left her. That was around a decade ago, and not much after that I decided to move in as well. To explain my logic in moving to such a remote place, I was not in any kind of relationship, and I was exactly in this in-between time in my life, looking for myself. I have always been close to my grandma, and I decided I might as well keep her company while trying to find some peace for myself. As a year passed, I realized I quite liked that style of living. Before that, I had been living in London with my mom, and the calmness of the woods allowed me to truly relax for the first time in my life. My grandmother offered to use her savings and make me a small house of my own – “the land is big, and still empty in most parts, practically wild woods-“she said, “and while I need my own space, my dear, I won’t allow you to live in a rundown shack or in a house full of ghosts.” I accepted gladly, and a year later my own house was built. Smaller than my grandmother’s house or the main Villa, but bigger than my great uncle’s hut, it was sweet, cozy, and just what I needed to feel at home. And so, I happily moved all my stuff over. From my new house’s plot of land, I could just make out the vague light of my grandma’s porch from between the trees. It was just far enough to feel privacy, yet close enough to not feel lonely in the vast woods. We had an agreement, grandma and me, that as long as we are both home, we will leave our porch lights on until we go to sleep, just so we are both calm knowing that the other is ok. I know it sounds silly – I mean, even if anything happens, the light will remain on, and I would have no way of knowing until late night came, and I was sure my grandma should already be asleep. But it was comforting, in those quiet woods, in the evenings when we were not sitting to share a cup of tea, seeing the light on the other side, and knowing that my grandma is ok, and there is another living soul just a shout away. Not to mention, with all those abandoned houses lying around, I always had this creepy feeling that a squatter could be in any of them, and I would never know. Better safe than sorry, she would always tell me. I did start noticing a few odd things over those years. During the year I lived with my grandma, she would lock the door at 10pm, and said that for her peace of mind I must promise her to not open it until daylight. I dismissed it as an old lady’s fearful habit and respected it. When I moved in my own house, I would mostly keep that habit going, but not quite as religiously as she did. Some night I would only lock the door when I went to sleep, others I would forget about it all together. The first odd thing I recall is that one night, around a year after moving in, I woke up to what sounded like a long scratching sound. I startled awake, straining my ears to try and figure out what it was that woke me. I could still hear it – a faint sound, like metal dragging very slowly over wood. It seemed to come from downstairs, so I got up and went to the bottom floor to check it out. However, a few stairs before the landing, the noise stopped at once. When I checked, I was creeped out to find the front door open. I shut it close, locked it up, and searched every nook and cranny to no avail. No sign of an intruder, or anything that could cause that sound, really. I went back to sleep, albeit a little shaky. I told grandma about it the next day and tried to ask if she knew what it was, but she just nodded her head, saying, “dear, we are in the middle of the bush here. There are many things that can walk in your house, just lock your door and be a good girl, okay?”. Needless to say, I started locking my door from that night onwards. Over the seven years since, I have seen a few other odd things. I could swear I saw lights in the woods coming from the Villa’s direction, low murmurs just in earshot that disappeared as I turned to look. I once found a dead deer, looking completely torn apart, but dismissed it as some kind of predator. The one night, as I was sitting outside, the woods fell completely silent – which stood out, as in the middle of a forest you would usually hear the wind over branches, birds, a cacophony of insects. I looked up, looked around. In seeming harmony with the complete silence, I could see no branch moving, no bird flying. It freaked me out, so I went inside the house and locked the door. I did take a look towards grandma’s porch, and sure enough, the light was on. So I took a deep breath, and waited. I can’t remember exactly when, but at some point, I fell asleep, and when I woke up, the world seemed to gain its noise again, and I dismissed it as my imagination. Of course, I told my grandma the few first times I noticed those weird occurrences. But she dismissed them all, just as she dismissed the first one, and at some point, I just stopped sharing all with her. Last night however, as I was cooking dinner around 8pm, I glanced towards her porch to search for the normal, comforting light. This time, the light was off. Of course, I left what I was doing, and went to her house to make sure she was ok. It was raining earlier that evening, and so the smell of fresh mud and wet trees was hanging in the air. For the nine years of living in this house, not once has my grandma forgotten to leave her light on, and this was much too early for her to sleep. I was worried, and so I ran, not watching my steps in the mud. As I got closer to the house, I could see none of the lights were on. I knocked on the front door to no avail, I got no answer, so I tried to open it. It wasn’t locked. My grandma would never leave the house unlocked. I found her cat, Charlie, shaking and frozen in his little corner, hiding under his blanket, looking as if something truly terrified him, but no grandma anywhere around the house. I went out again, calling out for her as I walked. Of course, I got no response. I wasn’t really expecting it, but one can only hope for the best. I looked all over the garden and could not find her. I did, however, after stumbling in the dark and mud for a few minutes, find a set of footsteps leading towards the main house. I was hesitant. You see, as I said, my grandma had a strong aversion to that house and never, ever, went there. So what would she want of that old house at this time of evening? Yet, as I had no other lead, I decided to go there anyway. It was a few minutes’ walk, and as I started getting closer to the villa, I could already notice something very odd – the lights in this house were on. As I got close to the front yard, I could see my grandma sitting in the front yard, in her mother’s old swing chair, holding her mother’s sheers in her hands, looking at them intently, as if to examine something on them. She was wearing her night dress, and slippers. I was sick worried by that point. As I walked up to her, she lifted her head, smiling. “Hello my dear!” she said, cheerfully; “how has this night been treating you?” Now, this will sound crazy to you, but that second, I just FELT something was off. Something about her intonation was just not right. She was too cheerful, too nonchalant about sitting outside this creepy old house, on this cold night, wearing only her night clothes. Her smile was too empty. Suddenly I felt the loneliness of this place, miles and miles of empty lots, not a living soul around. Unless you counted monkeys, birds, and Charlie of course. “Grandmama.” I said, carefully. “What are you doing out here? You must be freezing cold!”’ My grandma’s smile grew wider, but she didn’t answer for a long minute. “Grandma, please.” I pleaded with her. “Come back with me. We will warm you up. No need to explain tonight, but I am worried.” She did not answer. I don’t remember exactly what I said next, but nothing I said could get a response out of her. She just sat there, smiling at me, not moving. Eventually, I decided enough’s enough, and told her I was leaving, and calling help from the close town, as something was clearly not right with her. This finally got a response out of her. “No!” she said, almost in a shout. “No-“ she said, softer this time; “Why don’t you come inside with me instead?” “Inside?” I said, confused. “Why yes dear. There is a fireplace inside. We can light it and sit next to it to warn up if you are so very worried about me. I can then tell you all about your grandpa, and uncle.” Now this was truly odd. She never talked about my grandpa. It was like a code of silence between her and my mother – I would ask about him – who he was, how he died. they would change the subject. Any other day, I would have taken this opportunity without thinking. But that night, the light from the villa glaring behind me, the cold sinking into me, my grandma’s strange tone sounded not inviting, but scary. That’s when I remembered – the house should not be connected to electricity. my grandma had officially declared it abandoned and thus refused to pay the bill for so long, they had cut it off. Every fiber of my being told me I should not be there right now, and I decided to obey, but not before giving her one last chance. “Grandma, please. Please, I will ask one last time. Come back with me.” I tried to plead with her with a shaky voice. Very slowly, my grandmother nodded her head, her smile growing almost unnaturally wide. Call me a terrible granddaughter, but at this I turned, and ran the hell out of there, hoping beyond hope that this is a bad dream, and I will wake up the next morning to find all is normal. I somehow fell asleep and woke up not long ago to that same scratching sounds I heard years ago from downstairs. It was much louder this time. I stayed in bed, eyes wide open, listening for anything else. The sound seems to have been drawing closer. Suddenly, I heard a loud knock on the door. A voice came with it. “Dearest?”; it was my grandmother’s voice. I didn’t dare to answer. Something doesn’t feel right about this. The knocking has been going on for a few minutes now, louder and louder, with my grandma’s voice adding to it things like “I am worried dear, please open!”, more and more frantically. I don’t know what to do, dear readers. As I am typing this, the knocking is getting louder. I am sure something more sinister is going on in this plot of land, but this is my grandma we are talking about. How can I just leave her out there? I think I may just open – I will update you all if things go well.

I always knew my girlfriend was hiding something, now I wish I had never met her

y18rnh

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y18rnh/i_always_knew_my_girlfriend_was_hiding_something/

I need some help. I’m writing this after I had the most frightening experience of my life. To tell you the truth, I don’t even fully understand what happened. What’s worse is that I don’t know if I’m in danger. Let me give you some context… Clara and I started dating a couple of months ago. We met in a pub. She looked sad and… Lonely. So, I approached her. We started dating, and I immediately thought she was odd. It was a somehow fascinating oddness, though. I confirmed that the first time we decided to meet at her place. We exchanged messages all day, knowing I’d come for dinner, so around 7-8 pm. Yet, she kept texting me, asking me to confirm I’d come at 8, and “definitely not later”. I found it a bit weird, such an obsession for a specific time, for a date taking place at home. But that wasn’t even nearly as odd as what followed. I did come at 8. It was clear I was going to stay over for the night, so I had brought my backpack with me. We had some wine, cuddled on the couch, and then started talking. At 11.45 sharp, she abruptly stopped our conversation and stood up to go close all the blinds of the house and lock the door. I remember the time because she did the exact same thing ever since… Every night, the latest at 11.50, she would stand up, no matter what we were doing, and she’d close all the windows, blinds, and lock the entrance door. I always thought she just had an irrational fear for burglars. That’s what she confirmed as well when I asked her. Obviously, it didn’t take me long to realize that she didn’t want to get out of the house beyond that time either. If we were to go out, we had to be home before 11.50. It was a frustrating situation, and her attempts at changing subject or avoid questions made it only worse. One night, I got enough of it. When she stood up at the usual time, I grabbed her arm, looked into her eyes and told her to sit down. “There’s no reason to do it now, Clara. Let’s stay on the couch a bit longer, and then we’ll close the blinds later… Ok?” I told her, holding my firm glance onto her eyes while trying to sound assertive. She jerked her arm away from my grip and rushed to the blinds without an answer. I could see then how scared she seemed to be, like it was a matter of life and death. Only when she sat down did she explain what back then did make sense to me. “Martin” she started, suddenly calm again, “I was in a difficult relationship before ours. My ex boyfriend… He was very jealous. To the point he’d be a little… Violent, sometimes”. I suddenly got uncomfortable and stared at her. No burglars, then… “What do you mean… Violent?” “He’d attack me, grab my phone, check my messages. He’d show up under my window and spy on me… He freaked me out.” I stood up, suddenly nervous. “Wh- I mean… He’s still doing it?” She shook her head, slowly. “Oh, no. He doesn’t do that anymore; it was some time ago. But somehow… He left a trace.” She sighed, and then raised her head, smiling at me. “Can we please just close the blinds every night? I’d just feel so much better…” I agreed, but I started thinking she had gone through a trauma and she’d need help. All in all, I believed her… I believed her until I heard her speaking alone in the middle of the night, a few weeks ago. I woke up and turned to hug her, but she wasn’t in bed. I could see the dim light of the hall getting through the bottom of the bedroom door. I opened my ears, trying to figure out what was going on. And that’s when I clearly heard her whispers. “Leave me alone! You can’t get in, I know you can’t!”, she hissed toward someone who appeared to be outside of the door. At that point, I rushed out of the bedroom. “What’s going on?” She seemed shocked to see me, as if awaken from a nightmare. She slammed the entrance door and I confirmed she had been keeping it open to talk to someone. She turned to me, and I saw in her face she was scared. She was pale, she looked weak and tired. “Nothing, Martin. I… I tend to sleepwalk.” This time, it sounded like a lie. I suddenly knew beyond any doubt she was hiding something. “Are you kidding me? Your sleepwalking gets you to open the door and speak to someone who isn’t there?” “I- Sometimes... Please, believe me. It gets worse sometimes!” she cried. I brought her to bed and told her I believed her. But I didn’t, not this time. Who the hell was she talking to in the middle of the night? Someone who was trying to get in…? Was it… Her ex-boyfriend? The following nights (by then I was sleeping there regularly), I started noticing a pattern. Every night, she would stand up, open the entrance door, close it, only to then do the same for each and every blind. Open, wait a few seconds (looking outside, I guessed) and then close. I thought confronting her wouldn’t make sense, as she’d lie anyway. Instead, one night I decided to stay awake when we got to bed. I waited for her breathing to slow down as a sign she had fallen asleep, and I slid out of the bedroom. I went to the blinds and started repeating what she had been doing. I opened the first blind and just peeked through it. The street was quiet, completely empty. Only a few lampposts were interrupting an otherwise pitch-black neighborhood. So, I went to the next blind, which provided a slightly different angle, and I opened that one too… I gasped, as my stomach bulged. To my horror and disbelief, there was a man standing just outside the building. A tall figure, looking straight at the window I was peeking from, like he knew I would be there. What horrified me more than anything else was the way the man was standing. He was statue-still. He didn’t blink. He didn’t move a finger, nor did he seem to breathe, as the lack of any condensation seemed to suggest. Shaking my head in disbelief, I closed the blind and started walking to bed, determined to call the police the day after. That’s when the motion sensor light in the entrance hall outside of our apartment went on. Still on my way to the bedroom, I froze for a moment. Then, I slowly reached for the doorknob and opened the door, only to find a quiet and empty corridor. I checked outside from the window again: the man had disappeared. I decided to wait for the morning to confront Clara, but it took me 3 hours to fall asleep, thinking of that pale statue-still man standing just below the apartment, staring at me without blinking. I fell asleep, but it didn’t last. I woke up to Clara’s terrifying scream. It was so loud and desperate I felt like choking for the first few seconds I was awake. I checked the clock: 4 AM. Clara had left the bed as usual. I stood up and ran towards the living room, where the shout appeared to have come from. The image I got in front of me initially froze me. She was sitting on the floor, her arms embracing her legs against her chest. She was shaking violently and whispering something. She seemed in shock and wouldn’t react to my words. I got closer, to grasp the words she was repeatedly whispering. “Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone.” I tried to shake her out of her state, but she wouldn’t stop. I ran to the blinds, checked outside. Nobody was there. I went back to her. “Clara, you have to tell me what the fuck is going on!” I shouted in panic. Only at that moment, she suddenly stopped shaking. And with an incredibly sudden calmness, she slowly turned her head to me. Her face was the palest I’d ever seen on a human being. “He shouldn’t have come back. I thought I was free… But he’s here now.” Her eyes looked empty: I had never seen her nor anyone else in that state. Nothing made sense to me anymore, I ignored her cries and carried her to bed. I didn’t sleep until dawn, and when I woke up, she was making breakfast, like nothing had happened. When I questioned her, she chuckled like I had asked the most stupid question. “It’s my sleepwalking, I told you! Don’t make too much of it… I made pancakes!” She showed me a pan with something cooking in it, and I looked at her. She did look better, but she was still somehow different. Like something had broken and she was denying it. My head was buzzing through 1000 explanations. Maybe she was suffering from PTSD, or she was on the edge of a mental breakdown… Or she was lying. “It’s going to be fine. We are almost through.” She told me later that day, and somehow that last phrase had a chill go down my spine. Almost through with what? I dismissed the thoughts, and left to go to work, leaving the due conversation about what had happened for later on. That was yesterday. I couldn’t stop thinking about the night I had just passed, and when I got to the apartment in the evening, I spilled it out right away. “Clara, I saw your ex… Bob? He was standing outside. I know he’s still staring at you. We need to put an end to this.” “You… Saw him?” She asked me, apparently appalled. “I’m confident I did.” After all, who else could it be? “He’s a tall man, dark hair… Isn’t he?” She turned pale, and for a moment I thought she was going to have another panic attack, or whatever that had been. “I think you should leave now”, she told me after a few seconds. “I won’t leave, Clara. We need to go to the police, we need to do something!” “You don’t understand… He’s dangerous. He’s violent… I tried to stop him once and…” she swallowed, I had no doubt at that point she was terrified. “It made everything worse”. “Clara. I will stay here. We will have a good sleep, you won’t move from bed, and tomorrow we will go to the police.” She reluctantly accepted, but now I wish she hadn’t… The night came down on us quietly, we didn’t talk at all. We were both clearly tense. At midnight, after she had closed the blinds and the door, she went to bed. She seemed to be in a weird state, I mean… Weirder than usual, that is. She hadn’t spoken much, she was still pale, and she didn’t look at me for the whole night. I went to bed and fell asleep. At 1 AM, a loud bang in the corridor woke me up. It sounded like it had come from the door, like someone had bumped into it. I looked at Clara, she was sleeping. I slowly got out of bed, opened the bedroom door… and that’s when I saw him. In front of me, at the end of the corridor, there was a man standing. It was the same man I had seen the other night. I couldn’t help but notice that the entrance door behind him was open, even though I was sure Clara had locked it. The light in the hall reflected on his calm, inexpressive and yet somehow ferocious face. He didn’t move, didn’t even blink. He just stared at me so intensively I instinctively took a step back. “LEAVE!” I shouted after a few seconds, after I found back some strength. I started walking towards him. He slowly turned, got out of the door, leaving it open, and disappeared in the corridor. I ran after him to the door and got into the hall… but he was gone. There was no trace. I shook Clara awake. “He has the keys…” I said in a rushed and tense voice. “No he doesn’t”, she moaned, like she just didn’t want to be bothered. “He does! I just saw him at the door…” She suddenly opened her eyes and sat on the bed. “He was… inside?” “Yes, we have to leave. We’ll go to my apartment.” She shook her head. “You don’t understand… He will find us. He… He won’t leave me alone. You should leave… He has seen you now…” She sounded desperate, not just scared anymore. “No. That’s out of the question. We are going, now!“ She fought me for a while, but eventually she reluctantly agreed. We got into the car in the middle of the night and got to my place, a small studio on the 5th floor of an old building. I was so tired, I fell asleep, feeling safe at home. I thought I’d deal with it today. It must have been a couple of hours, maybe less. It was still dark, when I woke up hearing whispers. I turned my head and saw Clara standing in front of the window, which I saw was open. A freezing winter breeze came into the room. “Clara?” I wondered if I was dreaming it. Clara was standing, the window open, her white sleeping dress floating with the breeze. She was whispering something. I sat on my elbows. “Clara!” She then raised her voice, enough for me to hear what she was saying, but without moving. “I told you we couldn’t run. I told you he wouldn’t leave me alone.” She was facing the windows, her back turned to me. She sounded… Calm. That’s when it happened. I suddenly had an uneasy and sudden feeling that someone was behind me. I slowly turned my head and was met with a grinning, pale face looking at me with ferocious rage at just a few inches away from my face. I shouted and jumped out of bed. I fell on my back, just next to Clara. She hadn’t moved, she was still whispering and starting outside the window. “I told you he’s jealous.” She said, with a chilling calmness, like nothing could interrupt her from her thoughts. I stood up and looked at the corner where the grinning man had been standing. There was no one. “I told you I tried to stop him.” She continued, slowly and without moving her eyes, fixed on the outside. “I told you he wouldn’t leave me alone…” I was still looking around the bedroom in shock, only half listening. “I had to do something. He wouldn’t leave me alone… He was beating me.” She turned her head, and this time her face was so different I didn’t recognize her. Her pupils were dilated, her lips were so thin she seemed to be mouthless, her look was blank, like she was there only physically. “So one year ago, I shot him with my dad’s gun.” I couldn’t believe what I just heard… “I killed him. I buried him… But things only got worse. He never really left…” That’s when she climbed over the window, and before I could realize what was about to happen, she jumped.

Eight Years Ago My Sister Vanished

y1aavc

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1aavc/eight_years_ago_my_sister_vanished/

Eight years ago my sister vanished. She was part of some team that worked on some kind of experimental medication. She didn’t really speak much about what exactly the drug did, only that it would help those who suffered from various sleep disorders. As quickly as her dream job came, it vanished. Less than a year passed before funding had been cut and the team disbanded. Jennifer never told me what happened no matter how many times I prodded. I let the question drop, something I would come to regret. With her job gone along with all of the work she put forth, Jennifer wanted time away to clear her mind. She asked our parents for the key to the summer cabin. Despite the fact that the place had gone untouched for many years she insisted the solitude of the woods would clear her mind. So off she went, alone, into the thick woods. One month. She was only going to stay there for one month and yet she never came back. Police were called, a search was done, and nothing came about it. One month we were chatting on the phone and the next she was just… gone. There was no closure or last goodbye for our family. Nothing. I’m not here for pity or condolences though. I’ve had years to accept the fact that my sister is gone and isn’t coming back. The reason I’m writing this is because of something I found five days ago. The thing is, my family hasn’t come back to our little cabin. This place was barely used before my sister vanished. With bad memories now attached to the location it was fully left to wither and rot. It would have remained rotting alone for the rest of eternity if it wasn’t for a couple of my pals. No reason to let such a place go to waste, they said. Took some convincing but I relented. Was not hard to get my parents to hand the keys over as at this point they wanted nothing to do with the place. With a car full of camping supplies we drove off into the forest. It was weird stepping inside the cabin again. Honestly the place wasn’t in that bad of shape. Needed a little love here and there but it was going to be manageable. Obviously if this was just about a run down dank cabin you wouldn’t be reading this right now. As I relived my childhood in the swirling forest something clicked in my head. Jennifer and I had a tiny hollow tree stump we liked to stash goodies in. It was a secluded hidey hole away from the cabin, away from any potential search attempts. My stomach was doing flips as I searched for the stump. When I found the stump those flips evolved into full blown nausea. Inside was an abandoned and rusty lockbox. Jennifer’s birthday was the code to open it, she never really was that creative. Inside I found a small bag with a single pill and a journal. Under usual circumstances I would never dare to read another person’s personal journal, but I think you understand that these were not usual circumstances. I brought it back to the cabin and read it. We all read it. That is why I’m here writing this because every single one of us is at a loss right now. I’ve gone through the journal multiple times now so that I can cut out the useless fluff while maintaining the more important bits. If anybody can figure this out I would appreciate it because… I just don’t fucking know anymore. **March 15th, 2014** Tomorrow is going to be the biggest day of my life. It will be the official first day that I get to work on this super secret medication. I was only told it would help soothe the minds of people with sleep disorders and that was it. Today was mostly just the paperwork, signing an NDA and such. Honestly not much to write about but I just know it is going to be a pain falling asleep with all this excitement! **March 16th, 2014** I knew it! When I saw there was enough red tape to make even the president blush I just knew this thing was going to be huge. Somnuvail, a work in progress name, but one that could change the world for the better. It produces a chemical in the brain upon consumption that dips the user into a lucid dream state. Somnuvail not only helps restless sleepers remain asleep but it also brings them into their own creative dreamland. I’m getting giddy just thinking of the potential uses on demand lucid dreams could provide. Creative playgrounds for artists or therapeutic escapes for the depressed. I can see why Doctor Moore was so secretive with his hiring. **April 16th, 2014** Testing has begun on animal subjects. So far the monkeys that were given a dosage of 500mg or lower have shown to have no adverse reactions. Those that had dosages of 600mg to 1000mg have increased anxiety and heart rate. Severity of symptoms increases with dosage. Further testing is going to be needed before Somnuvail can be safely given to human volunteers. **April 20th, 2014** Monkeys that had taken dosages about 700mg have died. Strangely enough they didn’t die from any outright symptoms, instead they bashed their heads against their cages until they passed from a brain hemorrhage. Potential cases of psychosis noted if dosage is too large. The monkeys that had taken 600mg still appear to suffer from anxiety but no suicidal tendeinces spotted as of yet. Dosage 500mg has begun showing signs of agitation now. **July 8th, 2014** Testing on animal subjects has been concluded. Results have shown stability of the drug when given dosages of 200mg. Higher concentration causes anxiety with severe cases involving suicidal urges. Lower concentrations fail to provide proper brain waves indicating a proper state of lucidity. With these findings Doctor Moore will be able to increase funding on the project and begin the search for volunteers. **August 16th, 2014** We got our first group of volunteers today, eight in total. Group A is going to ingest a 200mg pill of Somnuvail while group B will instead be given a placebo. Furthermore each group has someone with insomnia, one with depression, one with neither, and one with both. The sample size is not really the greatest but you have to start somewhere I guess. The eight of them will be staying at the lab for the next month while we observe how their conditions change. **August 18th, 2014** First day of testing and so far nothing special. I’m taking this time to get to know some of the participants. Had a nice chat during lunch with Jeremy, the one with insomnia taking Somnuvail. Found out that we actually had gone to the same school together up in New Hampshire, he was just four grades below me so we never talked. My god it is such a small world. Had a nice chat about what teachers we liked and what ones we hated. We ended up talking for so long that I got chewed out by Doctor Moore. Oh well, there is always tomorrow. **August 25th, 2014** So far every subject taking Somnuvail has reported improvements. I’ve been talking to Jeremy about his dreams and what he has been doing. Apparently he has been using his lucidity to relieve childhood memories, some of which he didn’t even remember until recently. Such a lucky little bastard. Honestly I had never thought about using Somnuvail to relive my golden childhood memories. I’ll have to keep that in mind when I try the drug out. **September 8th, 2014** Jeremy was quiet at lunch today. Usually he couldn’t shut up about what he dreamt about or this and that but today… he just sat there and let me speak. At first I thought he was just being polite but when he nearly jumped out of his skin when I touched his arm I knew something was up. He didn’t want to mention what was wrong at first but I managed to worm into his brain. Last night he lost control of his dream and inside the nightmare realm of his imagination he was haunted by a doppelganger. He seemed really shaken up, his body shivering as he told his tale. I told him that he should report this to Doctor Moore but he declined. We are going to see if this continues or not. **September 10th, 2014** They have all seen the doppelganger at this point. I don’t know if they started seeing it at the same time but each one is scared shitless. None of them wanted to take the Somnuvail anymore. We were able to convince them by offering compensation if they remained for the final five days. The way they are acting reminds me of how the monkeys acted. Was 200mg too much for humans? Why was it enough for the monkeys? I had suggested that we drop the pills down to 40mg for the next test. Doctor Moore was hesitant but eventually agreed that it would be for the best. **September 14th, 2014** What the fuck. What the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK! I had been waiting for Jeremy outside his room each morning after he originally told me about his nightmare. When he was thirty minutes late I went to check on him and… fuck. Putrid rot assaulted my nostrils as soon as I slid his door open. I couldn’t stop myself from vomiting immediately all over the floor. Jeremy sat with his back against the wall. Dried crimson blood and brain matter had matted the wall from self inflicted impacts and his eyes, god his eyes! His thumbs were shoved knuckle deep into his eye sockets as if he was trying to blind himself from some abomination. What really got me though in the end was that damn odor. He couldn’t have been dead for more than a day yet he smelt like he had been decaying for years. I already feel sick just thinking about it. **September 15th, 2014** I found out today that all of Group A died. It wasn’t just Jeremy, each and every single one of them died in similar ways. I don’t know what to do anymore. **September 16th, 2014** Everytime I sleep all I see is Jeremy’s eyeless figure screaming in agony. Not only are my dreams being haunted but there are also rumors that the program is going to be shut down. We were so close! Are we really seriously going to let them die for nothing!? **October 1st, 2014** The lab was shut down and everyone was let go. Somnuvail and all it hoped to achieve has been marked to never see the light of day. Bullshit, I am not going to let Jeremy and the other’s lives be wasted for goddamn nothing. Before the project was completely scrapped I had managed to sneak into the lab and snatch the bottle of 40mg pills Doctor Moore had created. I am going to borrow the old family cabin for the month. This should give me the solitude I need to test the lowered dosage. **October 4th, 2014** Took my first pill last night with no results. Everything is the same, even that damn nightmare of Jeremy. I am going to keep taking one pill each night for the next few nights. If no improvement in effects I may have to up my dosage. **October 10th, 2014** I took two pills last night and already I felt the effects. I saw Jeremy last night but this time he was still alive in his cell. I had us leave the lab and go to the local diner for breakfast. It felt so good to hear his laughter again, I forgot how much I missed it. **October 14th, 2014.** Last night was a nightmare, no that would be putting it too lightly. It could only be described as a living hell. Everything started out completely normal. I had just come home from a long day of middle school. The scent of fresh baked cookies greeted me at the door as I skipped to the kitchen. Mom had baked them for me and my brother, fresh warm chocolate chip cookies with a cold glass of milk to wash them down. I gobbled up the divine baked goods, the warm gooey chocolate was like heaven in my mouth. I grabbed my cold glass of milk and started gulping it down. Halfway through the glass is when everything went to hell. My cold refreshing drink turned warm and rancid. I dropped the glass on the floor and began heaving up the spoiled milk. My once warm home aged a hundred years as the rotten flooring looked ready to snap with any pressure. My body was no longer that of a kid, I was my normal adult self but I sure felt like a scared child. After what felt like an eternity of retching I was able to stand on wobbly legs. Crackling fire drew my attention to the lounge. Like a moth to the flame I answered the call and limped my way over even as my body shrieked in an instinctual horror. Every creaking step towards the kindled fireplace made me want to run in fear but I was just a puppet on strings at this point. I wasn’t in control of the dream anymore. Inside the lounge I saw myself, sitting in a chair. I say this was myself and yet it wasn’t. Uncanny is all I could describe the doppelganger as. Everything about it seemed wrong, even its flesh looked smooth like an imperfect plastic imitation. My imperfect clone stood up and took a step forward. I mimicked that step. Another step for both of us. I was forced to march along towards what I knew was certain death. My clone started to smile and so did I. Its grin grew wider and wider. I could feel a warm liquid trickle down my chin as my flesh tore itself apart in an attempt to copy that impossible smile. I woke up in a cold sweat. It took myself a moment to realize where I was before I felt relief flood my body. Relief gave way to pain and horror as I felt a burning pain radiate from my torn mouth. **October 15th, 2014** I fucked up. I fucked up real bad. I knew it took Jeremy and the other twenty-three days before they saw that monster, so why had it happened so soon to me? Well it only took one call to Doctor Moore to solve that question. I didn’t want to tell him I stole those pills but I had to. Doctor Moore never did get around to making those 40mg pills as it turns out. I instead stole a normal bottle of 200mg, and I had been taking two each day. A medical team is on the way to my location right now, at least that is what Doctor Moore says. I know they are just going to cover this up just like they covered up Jeremy’s death. All I can do now is hide this journal and some proof and pray someone finds it before they do.

Would You Let the Darkness Consume You?

y1nm7t

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1nm7t/would_you_let_the_darkness_consume_you/

I’ve been goth for pretty much as long as I can remember. You know the type, black clothes, black hair, black tattoos, black eyeliner, black cat. The whole nine yards. Even as young as primary school you can find old photos of me adorned in spiked collars and combat boots. For a while my family tried to get me to branch out, my grandparents especially abhorred the whole thing, but after a while they all gave up on changing this part of me and it became to some degree normal- or at least something they stopped bringing up. This may not seem too important, but the point is being goth has been a consistent and pervasive part of my life for years and has never really caused me any problems aside from the occasional dirty look from older couples on the street or my neighbor's teenage son, not unaffectionately, nicknaming me ‘La Llorona’. That is, until recently of course, which is why I’m bothering to write this all down in the first place. I moved to a new city this summer, for my graduate program. I want to be a programmer, not that you care, but it hasn’t exactly been easy to make new friends as a goth programmer in a male-dominated field. At least, it hasn't been easy to make friends who are lacking in… ulterior motives, namely making me their ‘big titty goth girlfriend’ or whatever the fuck. For that reason I had, in the last couple of months, made a habit of hitting up underground goth and punk clubs in my city on the weekends. They aren’t nearly as hard to track down as they probably were back in the day, even without knowing the right people. All I really had to do was look it up, and I found a pretty comprehensive list of events catering to alternative scenes in my area. I was pretty nervous to go on my own the first couple of times, but the people were friendly and welcoming and by the first couple of events I attended I had already met some cool people that I could look forward to seeing. A couple of weeks ago me and a few of my new friends had planned to meet up at the Forgotten Attic, our favorite venue. Ironically, it was in fact not an attic and instead was located in the basement of a self-proclaimed anarchist pizza shop after hours. For this reason, it was a pretty popular spot, the owner would sometimes open up the shop upstairs for concerts and sling pies to drugged-out alternative college kids. Plus - the basement smelled damn amazing, but I digress. On this particular night, a couple of local goth bands were performing alongside a group of performers toting some kind of ‘bondage demonstration’. Not exactly my thing, but I had been invited and didn’t want to shirk my place in a new friend group right as I had gotten it. A couple of the girls were planning to take some molly and it sounded like it was going to be a pretty fun night regardless of my reservations. The night started out normal enough, me and my friends grabbing some drinks, dancing, flirting, you get the idea. It was a great event, but I found myself overtaken by a sense of unease as soon as I had gotten there, like I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me or something. I couldn’t relax, looking over my shoulder constantly, but I was only ever met with the same crowds of drunk and high punks that had been there the whole time, all of them wrapped up in their own conversations or dance circles and paying me no mind. I even asked a couple of my friends if they noticed anything weird only to be brushed off with a hint of what seemed like annoyance. Eventually, I found myself unable to track down any of the people I had met up with, all of them breaking off from our group to mingle or perhaps just get away from the standoffish, paranoid mood I had been oozing from the start. I couldn’t help but feel I had ruined my own night and began to feel a pang of resentment toward myself for not being able to let loose and have fun. I considered just calling it quits and going home, and it was as I turned to make my way toward the exit that I noticed him. I was a bit surprised I hadn’t noticed him around until now, he didn’t exactly fit in with the rest of the crowd in their short black skirts, bondage pants, and leather jackets. A man stood almost flesh against the wall nearest the staircase marking my exit, and he was dressed in an ill-fitting trench coat of a color I couldn’t quite determine under the pulsating laser lights of the club, and a large pair of jet-black sunglasses that were so dark they seemed to suck in all light that hit them. The strangest part though, is that even with his sunglasses I could tell that he was staring RIGHT at me, and his mouth was moving quickly like he was mumbling something under his breath, not to me, exactly, but at me. At this moment the weirdness I had felt all night bubbled up into intense rage, this creep must have been staring at me all night, he had to have been the cause of the paranoia I had been feeling since I had arrived, I just knew it. So I marched on over to him, ready for a confrontation. Regardless of my aggressive body language, the man seemed to regard my approach with a sense of casualty, almost as if he was expecting me. When I asked him what the hell his problem was, he only smiled placidly at me and asked, just loud enough to be heard over the music: “You must enjoy the darkness, don’t you?” This caught me off guard of course, and my rage sizzled into discomfort. I was pretty used to being asked dumb questions like this, men in my classes making jokes about how I ‘sure do love the color black’ and ‘what are you, a vampire?’, but what this man said seemed… different, in a way that made me unconsciously tense up. I didn’t know what to say and felt mounting anxiety begin to overtake me, wanting nothing more than to get away from this weird, staring man. I managed to mumble out sheepishly that, yeah, I guess I did enjoy the darkness, and tried to inch my way towards the staircase he now seemed to be blocking, despite never moving from his spot along the wall. If he understood that I was trying to bolt he did not show it, and asked me something again, quieter now, too quiet for me to hear, and when I paused for a moment trying to register it he took a large step closer. His voice seemed as calm as it was before as he asked me, “Would you let it consume you?”. I stared at him for a long time after he asked me this, feeling suddenly very dizzy as I tried to make sense of what he was talking about, and the longer I seemed to stare at him, into his sunglasses, I felt frozen in place, a deep sense of dread trickling down my back. I stood there for what felt like forever before I pulled myself away with every ounce of mental strength I had, hurrying up the stairs and down the street a ways before looking behind me to make sure he hadn’t followed. After all of that I simply called a Lyft and went home, texting my friends that I had started to feel ill and that I would hopefully see them next week. By the time I got home, a deep exhaustion had settled over me and I was almost able to forget my unsettling encounter at the Forgotten Attic as I curled up with my cat Percy, turned off my lights, and settled into bed. I was almost asleep when the man's words echoed back in my head, asking me if I would let the darkness consume me, and turned to flip my lamp back on before drifting to sleep. The next morning it took me a while to notice. It was so subtle I probably wouldn’t have even realized if I hadn’t gone to put in my contacts, a ritual long ingrained in me even if I had no real reason to not just keep wearing my glasses for the day. I realized then, pulling up my eyelid to insert the plastic disk, that my pupils seemed just a little bit too large. I furrowed my brow and brought my face up close to the mirror, examining my eyes. Sure enough, both of my pupils looked blown, taking up more space in my iris than they should, the way that they might if I had taken some kind of party drug. I was confused, as I hadn’t taken any drugs last night, and even if I had, the effects would have worn off by now. With a sickening twist of my stomach, I wondered if someone had drugged me the night before. Maybe that had been the cause of the weird feeling I had all night? Maybe the strange encounter and dizziness I had felt were nothing but symptoms of an unexpected drug dose? I texted my friends to ask if anyone else had reported feeling weird or having something slipped into their drink, but no one knew anything and didn’t offer much help- going as far as to say I was probably overreacting. I know it’s stupid but I didn’t know what else to do and told myself that my friends were probably right, and went about my day as normally as I could. After all, even if someone had drugged me, it’s not like anything bad happened, I got home safely. I would just be more careful to watch my drink the next time I went out, I guess. I tried not to think about it too much those next few days, the weird man, the possibility I got drugged, my friend's dismissal of it all. But my pupils never seemed to go back to the right size. In fact, over the next 48 hours they seemed to get even bigger, the blackness seeming to consume the green iris of the rest of my eye. I noticed something else too, while sitting around at my campus tech support job, the lines of my tattoos weren’t quite right. I don’t really know how to explain it, but it seemed like they were… expanding? It wasn’t the normal tattoo blowout you might see, more like the edges were seeming to edge, just slightly, into the rest of my skin, ink creeping from the original lines. I didn’t connect any of this to the weird man and his questions about darkness though, at least at first. I just thought I was having some weird mental break after moving to a new city. Over the next week and a half though, things have gotten really weird. My pupil has overtaken my iris completely and has seeped into the white of my eye as well, leaving nothing but black holes where my eyes once were. No one has seemed to notice, and when I bring it up my classmates and friends look at me like I’m crazy. My tattoos have started to overtake my skin, reaching like vines across my flesh and suffocating it in darkness. Wherever I go lightbulbs seem to short out, hall lights on campus, street lights at night. I’ve replaced my light bulbs 7 times in the last week and a half. Pervasive black grime seems permanently wedged under my fingernails, no matter how much I clean them. My roots should be growing in from the black hair dye now, but where it’s grown seems to be even darker black than the dye itself instead of my natural light brown color. All of this has, of course, been extremely frightening, but it’s not what drove me to make this post. Last night my cat, he… disappeared. And I don’t mean he ran away, or I can’t find him, or anything like that. He. Disappeared. One minute he was stalking around a darker corner of my room that lamps couldn’t fully touch, the next minute he was just… gone. But the shadow in the corner seemed to grow… almost like it… ate him. When I tried to tell my mom she told me she had no idea I even had a cat. She got him for me. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if the mumbling, staring man at the Forgotten Attic put some kind of curse on me, or if I’m just going completely crazy. I’m too scared to sleep with the lights off but no matter how many lights I leave on I wake up in the dark. So I’m posting here in hopes that someone might know what's going on. I want to go confront the man from the club but I’m too afraid to go out at night, and I don’t even know if he’ll be there. I’ve been looking up all sorts of things on the internet but I haven’t found anything that can help me yet. I’m so scared. I’m so scared that the darkness is going to consume me, and the man’s words repeat in my head over and over again. I don’t want to disappear. Please help me. I’ll try anything. In the meantime, I think it might be time for me to change up my aesthetic.

Scratch

y1li71

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1li71/scratch/

I first noticed the scratch on the floor last winter. It was a straight, horizontal line gouged deeply into the wood in the corner next to my sofa. When I inspected it, I saw the scratch appeared to start at the outside wall—-up against the baseboard-—then run a few inches into the room.  It looked at first like a chair had been dragged across the floor, but it was gouged too deeply to be from ordinary furniture. The scratch also contained traces of a chalky substance with a reddish tint. Very strange. I hadn’t moved any furniture recently yet I could see tiny splinters of wood around its edges, so it was a recent scratch. How, exactly, did I do this?  Sometime toward the end of spring, I noticed that the scratch seemed longer, at least by several inches. Was I imagining things? Did I absentmindedly move furniture around when I cleaned? Has somebody else been in my apartment? I called my landlady and asked if she’d allowed anybody in. Maybe to do repairs? She said no.  Over the summer, I forgot about the scratch. But sometime toward the end of August, I noticed it on the *other* side of the sofa. I pulled the sofa away from the wall and discovered the scratch was now about 12 feet long—nearly the length of the entire living room wall.  Had it grown there in the dark all summer long??? This is insane. I called the landlady. She came by and took a disapproving look. No, she hadn’t let anybody into the apartment. Had I been moving furniture? She told me it must have been left by the previous tenant. She promised to get the building’s locks checked, as if that would do anything. She probably thinks I’m making things up. But I’m not a druggie or a drinker. Or a sleep walker. Or crazy.  I looked closely at the scratch that night, running my finger down inside of it. Razor-straight and gouged in by something sharp. I thought of sharp old-fashioned tools--an awl? A sickle? Or was it a claw? I drew my finger back and it was stained with an orange-red powder. I’ve seen that color. I looks like red ochre. It’s found in ancient graves, painted on stone-age bones and strewn on the floors of mortuary caves. Where is that scratch going? Where will it end? I shuddered and pushed the sofa back against the wall. This morning, I woke up to find the scratch had extended into my bedroom during the night. Straight across from the living room, through the bedroom doorway, right up to the side of my bed. Gouged into the wood just as deeply.  But worse than that was the tiny scratch I found on my face. It didn’t hurt, so I only noticed it when I was brushing my teeth. Just a tiny little nick next to my right eye. Like from a razor (or a claw?). Back in the bedroom, I could see how my head on the pillow aligned with the scratch on the floor. As if the scratch –or whatever was making it--had been going up and over the bed as I slept. Over me before I woke up. Did I interrupt it? There were tiny splinters on the sheets. Tiny flecks of red ochre on the white pillowcase. Now I sit her wondering what would have happened if I’d slept late? And what if I slept in the same bed, in the exact same spot tonight? And what--or who--is coming scratching in the night? 

The Trick is to Keep Breathing

y1pgnw

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1pgnw/the_trick_is_to_keep_breathing/

I'd like to imagine this is all some random guy's fault. Of course, it's probably not. Probably a lot of people's fault. But it's the image I'm going with, the one I'm playing up in my head while the nearly empty bus (just me and the driver) drone westward to a coast I've only ever seen on the internet and in rare, but fierce, dreams. Yeah, there he is: sub baked dirty brow glistened with sweat, tired eyes and cracked hands as he continues his arduous task in those deep desert ruins the people in the city miles away told him never to go to. But of course he didn't—simply couldn't—listen and now he's there, working so hard until, gloriously, his hands swipe across what he's been looking for these last several weeks. It's sheer luck he knows that he's found it, the blistering sandy winds bluster and carry the brittle bits of the world, and just so happened to give him this. He's excited and his energy doubles and he gets deep in that dull tangerine land until the final rest of this very special dead lays thick and black in the merciless sun. The man, dry lips, drier water bottle, pries off the lid, maybe a bit too hastily as the stone chips and a crack sprints across the stone, and beholds the cereclothed image of manmade immortality in Her glory. And there, on Her neck, almost like part of the wrappings amidst the other glyphs and gifts— Me. / Jen thought I needed some oomph for my Halloween costume. She told me this while we sat on the edge of town, where the rocks mash up against each other, sharpening their skins. The place smells of stone and ocean filtered through a suburban haze until lighters laugh, then it's swept away by gas station advertised smokes. "Your costume's alright, but don't you want to impress? Show them up and all." "Not really into that, you know that." "Yeah, but it'd be pretty funny to see you try." I thought about that. "Yeah. Yeah it would be." We tried the big stores and beyond; went through parental jewelry boxes and yard sale discards. Nothing. Then—whimsically, almost by design (I guess how these things work, right?)—the pawn shop materialized before us as we stalked the streets, cigarettes giving spice to our young breath. Jen and I went in, the rest went on. We let the chill of Fall into the dusty world of pre-owned lives. The owner was somewhere in the back but we didn't wait up. And if you believe this sudden establishment was cobweb coated, eerie in an unexplainable way, be disappointed. It was just a pawn shop: marked up baseball memorabilia; paintings and postcards I couldn't understand the value of; stamps, statues, wood carvings, jewels and rings and silly trinkets; then, finally, the owner came in with a logo imprinted shirt and a face too well shaved. A big sniff of our smoke scent flushed worry over his beady eyes. We'd crushed our sticks outside, andhI guess that was enough for him. "Looking for anything specific?" Straight to the point; how I like my men. "She needs something for a costume: a brooch or necklace or…," Jen waved her hands about like it was all the Seller needed. "Anything cheap?" "Nothing cheap here. All quality." So began the tryouts of the century old, high quality tokens to give soul to a seasonal store bought costume. None met our wallets challenge. Until Her Necklace. "Man who sold me it seemed to want to get rid of it. Took only twenty for it." "It cursed?" He smiled, even laughed leaning in, slow-spoke, "maybe. Seller said he found it in his father's stuff after he died suddenly. In a box labeled 'do not open.'" "Sure. Give it here." He looked me over, then it, maybe doing calculations in his head. Maybe figuring if it truly was cursed. "I'll do fifty." We agreed to forty. Just in time for Halloween. // An emerald forest heart encased in onyx, even the chain that midnight black. If you looked long enough the green seemed to swirl, pulse in a still living power. It could've burrowed into the skin below my collarbone and looked peaceful, right at home. On the backside, in a gleaming shadow, you could feel less than see markings of some sort. Hieroglyphics my fingers decided as they traced them. Looking in the mirror, the costume was less an empress and more the necklace itself—I was the add-on to this ebonic thing. I was smiling though, so something had to be right. The time was soon and the place was a few miles away and so I tore my image from the mirror, grabbed my earbuds, and went down the stairs to the front door. Hand on the cold knob, I let the evening filled with the laughter of early trick-or-treaters in and stepped out; called back to Mom I'd be back before midnight. She wasn't there—never was when I left—instead at another place in the city for the next three hours, probably four the way she worked. Even on holidays: it became the expected. But I always call out anyway, letting my voice bounce around the house. Maybe it keeps going until she's home, slips into her head as she lays crashed on the couch. I like to think so. Wouldn't know. Won't now. I put the bowl of candy out and don't bother locking the front door. /// Jen's boyfriend would have driven us, but he and cars never saw eye to eye. Car-less, again—Jen says he finds more lemons than a farmer. I don't mind walking. Costume heels in hand, the concrete kind of hurts. The chill is worse though, it's cold tonight and I can hear the littler kids scamper through it complaining between giggling house runs. I pass the time looking up at the empty spots in space, wondering if stars used to be there and have lost since expired. Everything must die, I supposed, but the stars are sad because they can never leave where they form—will always be stuck there at where they're born. There's something about the arms of galaxies technically moving them, and I guess that means we're always moving too, in a way. Logicing away the romanticism fills my head as I relax at the red light: the one with no cars nearby. I decide to wait anyway, go against the anti-status quo. I twirl my arms, whistle and hum, think about how vulnerable I am. The usual. Some elementaries join me; a second later, their parents. They don't wait for the green light. A pretty pink princess in a North Face jacket smiles at me and says I "look correct," as her father whisks her away. I'll think about that more than the stars. The sounds of children seem to disappear, get picked up but the ghostlike wind and carried far off to the forest surrounding Suburbia. The full moon reigns over, but the winds attack it too, blowing gray clouds over its silver body until the neighborhood lays cloaked and cold. And, just like that pawn shop, on cue, a shape begins to emerge from the distance, coming down the sidewalk I just traversed in an awkward almost-gait. At first I think it's a child, hunched as it is; then, no, too long of limbs: a lithe teenager really playing the part as their chosen holiday spook. They're coming, oh yeah, they're coming, I kind of sing to myself. A kind of humanoid shadow: makeup caked in a grey rot, enough eye shadow to create sibling black holes. They've done good. Really good. I'm actually a bit stunned watching them approach. Part of me wants to stick around, check out their details, another, the winner, forces me to keep walking with the sudden green light and white walking person in their box. I'm going, sometimes looking back at my company. They've ignored the instruction of Do Not Cross too, but they're in no haste for candy. I somehow know this individual should stay away, too dedicated to their role, I admit. Eventually my bare feet outpaces their weird commitment to the part. They don't appear on the horizon as I linger transfixed outside school, but I sure expected them to. //// Neon colored haze pouring over the floor like the rise of the dead; classic Halloween beats and rhythms to steal away the silence from the ghoulish procession about the dance floor. Those who steer clear of the dancers are chatting with colorful soft drinks standing alone in corners, wandering the border of the gymnasium like unfulfilled predators. There's laughter and some screams and maybe a teacher yelling, unable to be heard amidst the revel of high spirits. I put my earbuds in. Somewhere in the cacophony of colors a few compliments come in the form of muted pointing and smiling. Thank you, thank you; I know they're talking about the jewel. But gift horses and mouths, however it goes. I flash a smile that's probably purple in the prismatic chaos. I can't help myself, I'm enthralled in my own reckless abandon—a battle of being too cool to dance versus too cool to not dance—that I let myself drift away from my friends, let the bouncing sides and backs and hips of students carry me further into the tide of youth as the adults watch on, more lax than they probably could be. Something makes me stop. In that collage of characters, the intricate face paints and macabre masks and foam cutouts, in all the illusion of fun horror and cheeky screams—something real. Heads bobbing and rolling to a raucous beat and smiles flashing with neon lips and markings, and between the lines of green and red and purple there is a shadow, and almost immediately I know who—what—it is. And it's no teenager playing mummy, oh no. The knowledge comes as real and sudden as an eclipse. A sepulchral stare with sunken skull, dipped out of the pools of eternity and fate. Though I only knew the fraction of this realization, the fear was no less great—fear like a wrong way in the woods; fear like following footsteps on pavement late at night; fear like falling, falling, falling into the unseen depths of a fresh cavern that's opened up miles below our fragile lives. Yes, this face was such fear: worm yellow teeth and skin layered and frayed like burnt papers, inked in age. Now, ever believing it to be something less—a child, a teenager—seemed comical, illogical, trivial. Stupid. And to confirm this new truth, the necklace seemed to shiver in exaltation for its Mother. She had come and found. She was here to reclaim her metallic and earthly child. She slipped through the dancers who, somehow, some way, paid Her no mind, and enchanted in the terror I remained still. Her neck and shoulders, clad in the neclacke's siblings became visible. Her mouth opened to release the voice of an epoch's end, a sound of black hole cores and the space outside life and death. Somehow that was the releasing factor and I ran, tripper, scrambled through the laughing joys around me, unaware or indifferent to my coming end. As a child I often wondered how victims of fairy tales knew innately of consequences. I understood then as the babe knows how to scream. The knowledge simply was. The truth simply was. Yet, something deeper stirred, under the fear and primal understanding—something specific, subconscious, strange. Excitement. And so, my feet slammed the polished floors to the tune of my hammering heart, ignoring the cries of my friends who saw my terror but not my terrorizer and broke through the double doors of the gym into the hallway and ran, tumbling on bent ankles and running once more, leaving shining thrift store heels behind as an unneeded clue to my pursuer in her path, the entire time my indifferent playlist continuing as it always should. ///// Mom still wasn't home yet. The phone's cicada-like shaking never ceased in my pocket. Pantry guts scooped in armfuls into a backpack. A piggy bank, all of mom's hard work, now broken on the floor. The price of tuition at a school I hardly thought about, now in my pocket, rolled firmly and carefully like you'd imagine they'd be. I took a few clothes, plenty of snacks. Said goodbye to the pictures on the wall (none of them were taken by me); paid respect to a house's old bones that saw plenty in me and Mom. There wasn't any confusion here. I'd seen the movies, read enough stories, knew inside my heart what was to come. No time to weep or beg or try and double-cross. That's the fate of the Marked afterall. Somewhere a voice told me to take what still clung to my neck back to where it began, to the crimson sands under the sun's bloodshot eye, the bleached bloodstained bones of a culture buried. Give it back to Her in a way we'd both be satisfied. But I hate being on water and flying? She'd catch me in custom's line. Couldn't help but laugh at the latter. I didn't gasp when I opened the front door to a face. "What's going on?" Jen stood alone before me. "Gotta go, can't waste time." "You're not making sense." "This necklace is cursed and now I'm going to die if She catches me. Can't throw it away because that doesn't work. Usually doesn't anyway." "What?" "Gotta go." I passed by and didn't bother turning around when Jen kept asking me what I was doing. She followed me through swathes of kiddies and preteens who had come out for the real big candy bars, employing logic where there was none, even began to cry at points much to the glances of the sugar stalkers. I just smiled at her and tell her I'd be fine. Eventually she stopped and so did I seeing her shadow in the moonlight abruptly go still. She let a couple heart beats pass by. For some reason I remained still, watching her. I knew she'd reach for the necklace, but my reaction time simply sucked. Only way to say it, really. "You idiot," I told her. "God, what's wrong with you? Is this some kind of messed up joke? Trying to scare me? Halloween, yeah I get it. Not funny. Rickie pulls this crap, not you." I thought about leaving her there, looking stupid holding the necklace, an equally dumb face of faux triumph mixed with concern. But no. I liked Jen. She was right, it didn't make sense. Maybe one day she'll learn things sometimes never do. "Are you going to say something?" Then, quietly, almost a whisper. "You're really scaring me." What could I say that waiting for Her wouldn't? "I'm going back, Ray. This, I don't know what this is. But prank's over. Can't believe I wasted forty dollars on this." She tossed the necklace to me, though not high enough to catch. It hit the concrete and I wondered briefly if it could crack. I left it there, instead watching as Jen walked away, away. A few houses down she abruptly stopped, seemed to see something further off and straightened up. It gave me goosebumps too. I reached down and picked up the jewel. No cracks to be seen, just that subtle swirl in encased green. When I looked up Jen was staring at me, her mouth slightly open and the glossed eyes of one not quite sure what's going on. I wondered if she'd come back to me. She didn't. She wandered off with the crowds of children, all of them eventually melding with the evergrowing night and its harbinging wind. How long did I stand there in that Hallow chill? I put the earbuds back in and walked away. ////// If the pawn shop was part of this lethal prophecy, I'm not sure what this Uber is. They didn't even have to come to me, I apparently was walking towards it the whole time. It's there, lonely and brights wide alive, at the cusp of suburb and city construction, and at first I figure the driver just up and left after answering the app, decided it was a holiday after all, no time for a quick buck. In reality he was slumped over the wheel, battling phlegm in his throat with a bottle shaped paper bag at his feet and a picture of a woman not at all like me taped to the dashboard. I don't bother looking around as I step into my future. The man turns to me. "Where you going, Cleopatra?" "However far this car goes." "Goes pretty far." "I'll probably need further than that." I give him several thousand. He goes wide eyed then smiles in a way that reminds me of that little pink princess. "Runnin' from home?" "Something like that." He starts the engine, a ramshackle sound I only ever heard from Jen's boyfriend's cars. I ask myself if this is all one bad idea, I answer matter of fact, even a bit chipper: of course it is. But Jen's called me the Queen of Bad Ideas before and people don't give titles just like that, logic be damned. You wouldn't, couldn't, logic out the millennium old pursuer, who's crossed sand and sea and suburban concrete to kill this teenager. The least I can do is be just as difficult. As the engine coughs and wheels shriek, She slips forth from her shadow down the toad. I give her a middle finger, but I'm glad She's there. So go, Weirdo Driver, go. And we go. Far longer than ought to have gone honestly. The Driver (Ted, if you care) tells me his life story and I tell him mine; we only break for sleep and he never asks why I wake him up so quickly, why we have to leave to get to the other side of the country. There I don't know what I'll do. Maybe I'll get lucky and hobo-hop on a boat or something as it leaves the coast, watch Her stare off from the coast until I melt with the sunlit horizon or steel point stars. Not that oceans would save me for long, I mean, she crossed them somehow. But the chase, Her lumbering, that's the point really. She could catch me whenever She wanted—that fact I've decided upon. Teleport or simply exist somewhere, grab me when I finally give up and sleep longer than I should. Sometimes I'll see her on the brink of a hilltop or the end of some old, long road. In a top window of a house where the family laughs and dines downstairs. But honestly, she could get me at any time. I won't dispute that. Yeah, I realize, it's about the chase—that we're in this contract together. An acknowledgement that I'm doing this because I can and She's doing it because she can too. There's no obligation to play. I don't want to see it that way. I've since ignored the messages from Jen, the voicemails from Mom, the ever growing list of things my old life tried to build. It's Me and Her now. She'll chase and I'll run. It'll go on forever and ever, Her thinking one day the amulet will be Her's and she'll rest once more in that dry, deflate place where her people whistled away with wind, where their lonely voices call out from the rocks that still sit about the sand; where the birds no longer go and the scorpions and sun spiders and lizards have abandoned out of a feeling they know so intimately but could never explain. She'll chase because her alternative is to be forever thrown into the thoughts of the dead, the epoch of the end. She has chosen this. She'll chase because she wants to. She'll kill me because she wants to. And if life wasn't such a fucking game, maybe I wouldn't want to play. But what this bitch doesn't know is I've been running from my problems my whole life. And I've gotten pretty good at it.

I found an internal security breach within a company I worked for. Please help me figure out how to stop it.

y1psei

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1psei/i_found_an_internal_security_breach_within_a/

I am posting here with a throwaway because it is all I can think to do at this point. I am out of options. As the title says I discovered some documents at work that indicate an internal security breach within the company. My branch was called Fenistrat. They were accessing client data that is supposed to be anonymous, linking it back to the individual, and then extorting the individual for money. I was unable to photograph these documents in time before I heard my boss at the door. When he walked in, I saw no choice but to make an excuse and leave the building before they realized what was laying right out in the open. The documents I found contained hundreds of clients and the sums of money taken from them. This would be easy to corroborate with the victims if a formal investigation took place. I can explain exactly how it was done, too. Funds had been transferred to the company account from clients being contacted anonymously, and record of these transfers were attached to personal info most people would find humiliating/threatening along with their name and contact info. The company is lying about the way they access and store their data, and everything on their clients is visible. You may be part of this data breach without even realizing it. Data storage solutions were only a minor aspect of Fenistrat that most clients didn't even know about. But the ones who did inadvertently provided access to their own clientele, which sometimes reached upwards of a thousand people. None of these people would have a clue who was threatening them. When they first hired me as their receptionist, my boss told me Fenistrat was a locally owned and operated business that had returned back to town from our neighboring city one hour away. He cited the pandemic as a financial strain, and our cost of living is cheaper here. At first nothing was fishy about it; I didn't even think to question the story because it made total sense. My boss seemed open and personable, and he made me feel at home. Most people worked remotely, and as a result I never met them. There were only 3 of us who worked there in person. There was nothing off about the other employee either, although he kept pretty quiet. But the documents I found proved everything they had told me was a lie. In these pages were listed many other branches all under different names, seemingly owned by a parent company which I'll explain why I cannot name. In hindsight I understand why they set up such an extreme security protocol for how I interacted with our clients. They claimed for security reasons that I could only refer to clients by number, and they must do the same with me. I was "00". The large majority of calls were tech issues which I was to transfer to one of our remote employees. It didn't take my boss long to realize what I saw after I rushed out in a panic on my last day. I received a call from a blocked number when I got to my vehicle. It was my boss and he told me, "Your position has been terminated, but we will give you some leeway because we know that you will do the right thing." I didn't let this vague threat stop me, and I went straight to local law enforcement to report what happened. They looked into Fenistrat and my claims, then called me back to let me know the company had already shut down, and that my boss and coworker must have given me fake names because that wasn't who was listed as renting the unit. The person renting out the unit listed a fake address, and their number had been disconnected. They police visited my former office in person just in case there was evidence left behind, but the place had been cleared out by time they got there. I asked them about all the other branches that were still operating and what could be done about them. I could remember a lot of those names, but not their associated addresses. There were too many. I only remembered them being scattered across several states. They police said there is nothing that they could do about the other branches without more information. The parent company is well out of their jurisdiction. Since this seemed like a dead end, I called the police department in the jurisdiction for the parent company. After giving a brief explanation of what happened, I was asked to hold. After a few minutes I was transferred to someone who I seriously doubt worked for the police department. She asked me if I was ready to take down my report number so that I could "keep calling back to make a difference." I paused at her sarcasm, and for the heck of it I asked for the number. The woman announced, "00, sweetheart. Be careful!" before hanging up. And that was the end of that. At this point I went online to social media and explained what was happening to warn people. The parent company was prepared for this outcome. They knew how to manipulate every single social media site to immediately silence me. Hundreds of reports would come in within minutes to automatically flag and hide my posts. Nothing stayed accessible for long, and what was still accessible was flooded with trolls and bots ridiculing me. I then tried spelling the parent company in different ways to get past the search filters they may have been using, and that's when they personally contacted me on fb. They told me that if I was smart, that I would stop talking. And that if I didn't stop talking, they would help me find a way to do so. That wasn't where it ended. They described precisely where I was sitting in my room, the color of my socks, how I was nervously touching my hair, the brand of soda on the table, and then complained that my room was a mess and asked how long I would keep the grey box on the floor. I'll admit that my room is indeed a mess. No one should know these things because I'm the only one who's been in here since it became this mess. Forgive me but I'm too stressed out to clean right now and this has just made things 100x worse. I don't know how, but somehow they were seeing into my home. I put tape over my phone camera and webcam because I can't think of any other way they could have spied on me. My blinds are already shut. I always keep everything locked. I have security cameras, but now I'm scared they're somehow going to use those against me. The account that sent me this creepy threat was disabled shortly after I read it, but I was able to screenshot it before it disappeared at least. I called the police a second time to report the continued attempts to silence me, hoping that they could do more this time with this screenshot. Again they told me there was nothing that could be done except to file a report and keep tracking what is happening. They encouraged me to keep calling with any updates, and they directed me to report my screenshot as a cyber crime. I did this and have not heard back. At this point I honestly don't expect to. When I asked my local police department about the response from the other department, all they would tell me was "Yeah, I'm not surprised, but don't let it get you down." That brings us to today. I'm hoping to finally have a discussion about this without immediately being censored and threatened. Do not ask for the name of the parent company, I will not tell you. My whole point here is that I need to figure out a way to even do that without the company silencing me or attacking me. Warning just my family is not enough, but if I say the name here, they will come and bury this. They do every time. Can anyone give me some advice on how to proceed? Do I really need to walk away here knowing this is happening to so many people?

All My Exes Die After We Break Up - The Curse of Hollyeve: Casey - Part 4 Finale

y1c12x

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1c12x/all_my_exes_die_after_we_break_up_the_curse_of/

[Part 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xvwn3d/all_my_exes_die_after_we_break_up_the_curse_of/) [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xxidln/all_my_exes_die_after_we_break_up_the_curse_of/) [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xzx4ni/all_my_exes_die_after_we_break_up_the_curse_of/) Casey and I watched as Colin held that knife at his neck with it trembling in his hand, eventually slightly driving the sharp blade into his soft skin. “Give me both parts of the necklace!” Colin screamed up at us.  I followed Colin’s frightened eyes and saw that they were looking behind us.  I whipped around and for the quickest of seconds I saw a charred figure standing right behind Casey and I. I then saw that figure rush at Casey.  I couldn’t react fast enough to help Casey. Hollyeve’s apparition knocked him down the stairs and I watched him tumble down about 20 steps until he landed at Colin’s feet.  I could feel a cold wind rush at me next but I hurried down the stairs and was able to avoid it.  My foot caught one of the steps awkwardly and twisted, tripping me and sending me down the stairs just like Casey. In a flash, I was at the bottom, back with Colin and I could see he had dropped his knife down to his waist. Casey was on the ground between us - knocked out.  “You can’t take it from me. You can’t take her from me,” Colin whispered to me as he stood above me.  “What?” I asked and looked back up the stairs - seeing Hollyeve’s apparition standing there, swaying at the top.  “I don’t want to let go of her,” Colin went on.  I went to look back at Colin and just as I did, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hollyeve fly down the entire flight of stairs in a blink - gliding on air.  I found myself between the two of them. I looked up and saw them staring into each other’s eyes.  Suddenly the newfound strength Colin had found started to vanish. He started to tremble and step away from Hollyeve.  She held out her hand and motioned for him to give her something.  I could feel something radiating out of Hollyeve. It was a sadness. No longer anger. A yearning to be set free.  It prompted a revelation in me. I think she was able to plant there as I sat at her feet.  *It was not Hollyeve who was holding on.* ***It was Colin.*** I looked up into Hollyeve’s burning eyes and memories that were not mine flooded into my mind.  *I was with Hollyeve on that property - out in the woods - in the middle of the night. I was pressed up against a tree by a young Colin - his eyes soft and kind as he moved in to kiss me delicate on the lips. There was no denying it felt true.*  I then looked into Colin’s eyes from the ground. They were burning just like Hollyeve’s.  *I was transported back to that moment in the woods - looking at a younger, fuller, Hollyeve, who I saw smile for the very first time. She was a different person as young Colin was with her there and he uttered those three dangerous little words - “I love you.”*  Still on the floor, I watched fat tears start to drop out of Colin’s eyes.  *Another memory started to come to me. I was now out in the field outside of the house, looking at an older, more rustic version of the building we were currently in, resting on a moonlit night in a soft wind, ignited in flame.*  *I watched young Hollyeve dash across the field and disappear into the house.*  *Then I was inside the house, barely able to see through all the smoke, but I still saw Hollyeve rushing through her old bedroom, searching for something. Lost in the smoke, coughing, and slowing, she wasn’t finding it and she was succumbing to the smoke.*  *It wasn’t long before she dropped to the hardwood floor, but she also got what she came for. Clutched in her hand was that half heart necklace Colin had given her.*  I was back on the floor as well, looking up at Colin and Hollyeve’s spirit - locked in a stare.  “I came back to your house to tell you I wanted to be with you. I had changed my mind,” Colin said to Hollyeve. “I just didn’t get there in time.” *I was back in the burning house again in a memory that wasn’t mine. I looked out the window and saw a young Colin running through the field outside, making his way to the house in a full on sprint.*  Back on the floor, out of the memory, I was still looking at Colin cry above me.  “You don’t believe me?” Colin asked Hollyeve.  She shook her head. *No.*  Colin reached out and put his hands softly on Hollyeve’s forehead and I was transported back to the memory.  *I was inside the house, the flames licking at me, I could feel their heat on me, and I could barely see because of the smoke all around. Yet, I could see Colin frantically searching the house - making his way up to Hollyeve’s bedroom.*  *I heard him call out for her - his voice breaking with sadness and panic. He kept screaming and screaming.*  *What he didn’t know yet, I could already see - Hollyeve on the ground, the flames already to her, consuming her not far from me on the floor.*  *I think the smoke took out Hollyeve and she couldn’t even feel her body being consumed with flames, thankfully. She didn’t scream in pain, she just laid there and succumbed.*  *And Colin still had no idea, he moved through the smoke calling for her, coughing, and nearly succumbing himself.*  *He could feel it though. I could feel him scream out in pain as flames caught him, eventually catching his clothes on fire.*  *I watched him get taken by the flames and collapse next to me - I saw his blue eyes shining through the smoke as they laid upon Hollyeve, fully aflame, just a handful of feet from him.*  *I watched tears fall from those eyes as he slipped away.*  Back in the room, I watched Colin strip his shirt off and reveal extensive scarring over a good portion of his torso. The sight seemed to soften Hollyeve. She looked at the scars all over his chest and back and her eyes started to wet.  “I came back for you,” Colin said softly.  *Back in the burning house in the memory - I watched firefighters rush in and take Colin away just as he passed out.*  *They didn’t get Hollyeve. She was left there to burn.*  The memories drifted away and I felt myself completely in the moment on the floor, looking up at Colin and Hollyeve.  “You never stay,” Colin said to Hollyeve.  I felt Hollyeve communicate back to him silently - *You want me to stay?* *I was back in memories. This time in what appeared to be Colin’s teenage bedroom. Him clutching that half heart necklace, rubbing it with his thumb, looking at a mirror as he sees the image of Hollyeve’s apparition for just a second.*  *His face lights up. He squeezes the half heart necklace. Then she’s gone. And his face falls flat.*  “I kept trying to find ways to find you,” Colin explained.  *Back in Colin’s memories. We were in a cheap motel room with a sex worker. They were kissing, but he looked hesitant.*  *He kept looking at the mirror - clearly trying to find something. The sex worker noticed and grew wary. She pulled away from him.*  *“What is this? You have someone watching you or something?” The sex worker asked Colin.*  *Just as she finished her question - the image of Hollyeve flashed in the mirror Colin was looking at.*  *The sex worker saw Colin’s eyes light up and then her’s followed his until…* *She caught a glimpse of Hollyeve in the mirror.*  *The sex worker screamed and pushed away Colin. Then she rushed out of the room.*  “I paid for love because it was the only way I could connect with you. I couldn’t date regular girls anymore because you always chased them away. Then you even chased away the paid ones, and I had to go yet another route,” Colin said.  *The memories kicked back in and I was in a dark strip club with Colin watching him hand over $20 bills to a stripper looking beyond exhausted.*  “The strip clubs were a public enough space that you didn’t seem to terrorize the girls and I would get to see you,” Colin went on.  *In the strip club, I could see Colin getting a lap dance. Across the little space sat Hollyeve.* “But now I’m almost out of money. That’s why I came here tonight. My last chance to maybe keep seeing you,” Colin said.  I blinked deliberately a bunch of times and was able to get myself out of the memory and back into the house, looking up at Colin and Hollyeve, eyes still locked on each other.  Hollyeve slowly reached out her open palm, upwards, wanting something. Colin balked. Clearly not wanting to give it up.  She just kept her hand there. Kept her eyes sad and haunting.  Still, Colin didn’t give in.  I watched Hollyeve’s mouth move, but no words came out. Yet, I could tell exactly the single word she mouthed to him.  *Please.*  I watched Colin think about it for a few more moments, then hand over his half of the half heart necklace.  “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “It’s crazy to say now, but I did love you back then.” Hollyeve moved towards Colin. He flinched for a second.  She wrapped him in a strong hug. A long one. They held there for a little while. He just kept saying he was sorry over and over and over again.  Eventually Colin was standing there all by himself.  *Hollyeve was gone.*  — I got Casey up and got the three of us out of there.  Colin told us he did feel like he could finally live life now before he walked into his apartment.  I didn’t really believe him.  \- I wasn’t sure if things really worked out for Colin or not. He never appeared on the Curse of Hollyeve subreddit. The rest of the group started to reappear though. Everyone was noting that Hollyeve seemed to have gone away.  I noticed it too. I went a long time without any kind of encounter or even vibe from her. I swear I used to frequently feel a lingering presence around me when I was alone, and it was gone.  Eventually some members of the group even started talking about successfully dating. No longer getting issues and attacks from Hollyeve. They were finally finding love.  \- I gave it some time and I told Katy about what happened and we felt it was okay for us to part ways. We got divorced as quickly as we could.  I started to branch out myself once we separated. A few days ago I set up a dating app profile.  Then earlier today I started skimming through profiles - sending likes and messages.  I was elated when I received my first “Like” from someone. I raced to find out who she would be.  I haven’t looked at the profile yet. The name was enough to get me to close the app… ***Hollyeve***

There is a place...

y1kgmm

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1kgmm/there_is_a_place/

My friend Alois had always been, just like me, *different* than others. Both of us used to be rejected by most people on schools, summer camps, etc., and before meeting each other we had never formed a proper friendship. We understood each other and that allowed us to finally feel a connection. My problem was pretty basic: I was a medium. I was able to hear dead people talking to me. I would have whole conversations with a previous owner of my mother's flat via giant pictures on our walls that had once belonged to him. I had also been visited by my dead grandpa a couple of times. In Alois'es case, it was a bit more difficult: he was attracting demons. He would subconsciously seek people who were or had been possesed by demons and he had a thing for demonology and rituals. He claimed it was all just to *know his enemy*, but I was always concerned. Alois and I met while playing a MOBA game, we were both nerds and we ended up in the same team. Soon we started playing with my ex-classmate, Ben. Ben and Alois quickly became friends and not too long ago they have developed feelings for each other. As always in such situations, I became less important to them, but our friendship prevailed. From the beginning of our friendship, Alois would tell stories about his previous life. Everybody loved listening to him, because he was a brilliant storyteller. The story that had always resonated with me the most was a story about a haunted fortification in the suburbs next to our city. "People never liked it and every company that had bought this building have quickly abandoned it" he said. "There is a story that the bad atmosphere of this place lured a group of satanists inside about twenty years ago. They were sacrificing animals and whatever they were trying to conjure, it's dwelling there now. I had been there once and I'm telling you, this place is something else. If you ever end up there somehow, do not enter the bunker". "Why?" I asked. "Is there something gross inside?" "No, it's empty. But don't enter, it's not that easy to get out". "Well, you got out" I smiled. Suddenly his face went pale, as he slowly shaked his head. "I never truely got out" he whispered. Knowing how unrealistic and superstitious he was, I forgot about this ominous conversation and continued living my life. Until one day, when Alois returned home - the three of us together, me, him and Ben, were renting a flat - completly ashen and scared. "What happened?" I asked. "I've been in the bunker" he answered. "It's horrible. It's awful. I don't want to see it ever again". "Then don't" said Ben, entering the room. "Nothing's forcing you". "I'm not sure about this" replied Alois. "But I hope you're right. Let's just go to sleep, I'm tired as hell". The next day he went to the bunker again. He explained later, that the last time he hadn't have enough courage to enter the building and he wanted to change it. It was just a couple of walls and bricks, nothing to be afraid of, after all. This day he also didn't have enough courage, so he decided to go there again. He said the bunker was amazing and that he would have liked to see how far did the tunnels go. "It's becoming an obsession" said Ben around one and half week ago. "It's just a beautiful place. If you want to, you can go with me and you'll understand" Alois replied. "Don't go there, Ben" I asked quietly. Unfortunatelly, he was too concerned about his boyfriend to care about himself. They left after the supper and returned just before midnight. Ben was ashen and shaking, he asked for a hot cup of tea and went to sleep quickly afterwards, refusing to talk about their trip. The next day however he seemed way more relaxed about it. "It actually just looks scary, it's an awesome place" he said during breakfast. "All those small shafts in the ground, this unkempt park with huge trees and thorns everywhere, and this giant front wall with empty windows, it looks great! I really wish to see it again in a daylight, how about another trip, Alois?" "NOOOOOOO!" Alois screamed at the top of his lungs. Ben and I looked at him, absolutely surprised. "What's wrong with you?" I asked. "Nothing. It's just... You will never go there again, Ben. Ever". "But... I haven't even entered the building!" Ben complained. "I want to touch the surface of the front wall at least". "No. You will never ever go there again or I will break up with you". After saying this, Alois went quiet. He was absolutely silent for the rest of the day and I had to be the one to comfort Ben after hearing those words. I was angry with Alois, seeing how deeply hurt my mate was, but I couldn't just confront him with that. He was going through something we weren't able to understand yet. "Don't hate him because of me" said Ben during the dinner. Alois was still locked in his room when we were sitting in the kitchen. "He did that to protect me". "To protect you from what? His obsessive behavior and his overgrown ego?" "From what's inside the bunker" he replied with a trembling voice. "He knows it's too late for him, but I might be saved". "You believe in these demons?" I laughed. "You haven't been there, Wendy. You would believe as well". "Time to change it" I decided. "Where is it?" "No, I won't tell you" he said loudly. "You're different, just like Alois. I was able to resist the temptation to return to the bunker, but he weren't. And you won't be able to resist it as well". I was upset, but I didn't push it. The next day Alois left again without any explanation. Ben followed him to the door just to give him a goodbye kiss, but Alois pushed him away and he slam shut the door. From this day on we haven't seen him again. We have searched for him everywhere. Police was called and Alois was put on a list of missing people. As we expected, nothing worked. There was no sign of our dear friend. "You think it's the bunker demon?" I asked yesterday. "I'm sure it is" Ben replied. He had been crying for a week after Alois had went missing and now he was learning how to talk again. "So why don't we go there to look for him?" "Because the police had searched this place and they found nothing". "But I am different" I whispered. "I talk to dead people. I think I can find something more inside". "Don't give me hope" Ben cried again. "I'm sorry, I have to. I cared about him too" I replied. Ben gave me the adress and I left in the evening. Before I got there, the world had gone completly dark. The way was covered in weeds and thorns and surrounded by old trees that resembled petrified giants. Halfway through the park I started feeling weird; there was something really unsettling about this place. I took my Holy Cross outside my pocked and raised it high. With this weapon I was ready to go deeper into what seemed like a primal woods. The darkness was so thick, I almost faceplanted the lodge. Its walls were completly covered in creepers and the huge trees behind it made it seem like a shadow of one of their stoopy branches. I walked around it carefully; the tunnels were below the ground and some ventilation shafts were hidden in the weeds like a small traps for careless visitors. Empty, dark windows on the side of the lodge made me even more uncomfortable, so I rised my Cross a bit higher. I climbed to the top of a hill and I saw the bunker. It was waiting for me down there, huge and grey, it's giant empty windows making me think of dragon's open jaws ready to spit fire, with three floors and a creepy round annex as a porch. I felt a touch of the wind of my face but the park behind my back was somehow completly silent. I started walking towards the main entrance but each next step was harder than the previous one. Finally, I stopped about ten metres from the entrance and my courage left me - there was something incredibly *evil* inside, and my small Cross was definitely not enough to fight with it. I left the park as fast as I could, almost falling into one of the ventilation shafts, and I sprinted home. As soon as I got to the first lantern, my fear stopped and I started laughing. It was just an ugly building and an abandoned park, nothing to be afraid of. "I could go back there just to touch the front wall" I said to myself. "But it's a mission for tomorrow. Now I have to go to sleep". I felt really tired, more tired than I usually feel even after very long days. I could barely move my legs walking home, all I dreamed of were a bath, a cup of tea and a good night sleep. When I was far away from the bunker, I looked back; there was a giant orange moon exactly above the hill next to the bunker. Its colour was so intense it looked like a sun that broke and stopped shining. This view made me realise something: the bunker was not ugly! It looked creepy but it was, in fact, a beautiful building that deserved to be praised. I came home and immidietly went to sleep, without talking to Ben. Today I woke up and I have already made my mind: I will go there after returning from work. I have to see this beautiful place again, take a few photos and maybe gain some inspiration, I'm a writer after all. I will touch it's surface and enter the bunker to contact with Alois' ghost or something. I also feel my curiousity rising; I need to see how far do the tunnels go! I hope I will make it before the dusk, I really want to see this amazing building in the daylight. This time I don't feel like taking a Holy Cross with me, it's just a bunker and I'm not a coward. Wish me luck!

Cursed family part 2

y1tq7s

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1tq7s/cursed_family_part_2/

...After receiving the text from his father, Jack immediately started researching and tried finding the haunted forest as luck would have it his town had more than one... Knowing how cheap the school is they would have chosen the closest one that has abandoned living accommodations, taking this in calculation, one of the dozen stood out like a swore thumb. Having no doubt in his mind that the school is dumb enough to go to Dead Man's Timber, Jack quickly grabbed a few supplies and called a few favors from friends to get transport. Upon arrival Jack headed for the area the living accommodations where supposedly, to see if anyone could give him some details but Jack wasn't known to be lucky, neither the cabins nor the tents had any sign of residents, frustrated he searched for anything of use and found the main cabin although it had no supplies it did have insight. The forest was known for having the most hauntings and the highest reported death count, those dumb enough to go in did not come out a in one piece or were clinging to a thread of life. Not many know why the forest is haunted but it is said that in the center of it is a Cemetery and the reason why the dead do not slumber is because a few drunken teens defiled the entire place without a shred of decency nor respect, this was 20 years ago and the only surviving teen was followed and butchered in his own home. Anxious to find his sister, Jack determined where the centre would be but with some surveillance he spotted a trail made by something or someone heavy being dragged of into the foggy embrace of the forest, following the trail seemed easy enough but Jack couldn't shake the feeling of a thousand hungry eyes staring at him wiyh intent of making a meal from him. Knowing how the super natural messes with electronic Jack lit a torch and followed the trail. It seemed to go smoothly until what sounded like the laughter of a malicious toddler echoed in the fog, sending a chill down Jack's spine, trying his best to just power through it, determined to find his sister and her companions, he couldn't help but shiver when a tiny hand weaved it's fingers in between Jacks. Heart beating to war drums not knowing what to expect he tried a few tricks up his sleeve, Jack was about to ask the ghost that held his left hand captive if it could help him find his friends. Before being able to do so the ghost revealed it self to be a boy sounding no younger than 5, saying "Mister, can you help me find my Mommy ? " Shacking in terror Jack replied "I'll help you the best I can, where did you last see her ?" With pure glee the boy praised Jack and dragged him with unnatural strength through the forest stopping only when Jack's head slammed on to the wooden floor of an unknown building. Trying to recompose himself Jack was greated with a harsh feminine voice screeching "Where are you silly boy !? You need to be punished !" Jack was petrified after hearing this but almost stained his pants when the boy whispered in his ear "hide..." Throwing himself into the nearest closet that had a big enough hole to see through, shaking with fear Jack only hoped that his bladder would not release itself as a half decade woman bursted into the room knife in hand. "When I find you I will use your head to mop up the mess they made !" the woman's voice reverberated through the building. When the little boy flung open the closet Jack's lungs deflated and refused to let air back in. Confused to why the boy wants to find his mother when she was here started searching every room, frequently being forced to hide from her storming in when she pleased. After a while of searching Jack found a dairy, it's contents were... disturbing at best so much so that he refused to go into detail about it, when he closed the dairy slime dripped from the ceiling and when he looked up he saw the woman who had been chasing him on the ceiling... Mustering all his bravery he threw the dairy at her and ran looking for the exit, to no surprise, to him atleast, the rooms started moving so that the building became an unescapable maze no matter how he ran through it, as he wanted to stop and examine his surroundings he noticed that the woman was pursuing him while still on the ceiling with a bloody butcher's knife gripped in her jaw. Jack, now forced to think on his feet, ran straight forward unknowing of what would happen, he noticed that neither stairs nor doors were to be found and his pursuer is now close enough to feel her icy breath on his neck, starting to feel exhausted he noticed no matter how much he ran the dairy was always in his peripheral vision. Deciding that it might be of importance next time it came in sight he ran towards it, grabbing it off the floor and having no other option, Jack jumped out of the window and as luck would have it he was on the second floor, I could see for myself that he suffered quite a bit from the fall, hearing a terrible feminine screech echoing from with in the building he barely escaped from Jack took it as his que to leave. Before he did, Jack felt the need to inspect the cover of the dairy and on the front was a scratched and withered name, illegible at best, he limped between the graves looking at each tombstone to find any names that seemed similar enough, in his exhausted state he tried to be funny looking at the dairy he said "take me to your owner." To his surprise the dairy started dragging him towards a grave with a wooden cross. Not questioning what just happened he placed the dairy on the grave, sat on his knees and made a prayer wishing that the dead may rest in peace, as if to awnser his prayer decayed hands jumped out of every grave with a clawing motion dug out each resident, refusing to open his eyes in fear Jack calmly sensed that he was now surrounded by a legion of dead. Not knowing what to do next he opened his eyes and was greated with a thank you from a little boy, he described the feeling as "The whole forest had a sigh of relief." This was not the end, Jack still had to find his sister but now atleast had a clue. As if calling to him, her favourite earring glistened from a low hanging branch at the edge of the grave yard bearly noticeable through the fog. Taking it off the branch while surveying the area for more clues as to wich direction his sister may have ran in, Jack noticed a trail of footsteps leading deeper into the woods. Determined to find his sister he followed the trail with one thought in his, is his sister safe. As if on que he heard a scream from the direction he is heading in. Ignoring his pain he ran towards the scream, panting all the way only stopping when he reached a clearing, by now the fog has dissipated, Jack's pain and exhaustion however did not... Link to Part 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xnwzij/cursed_family_part_1/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

I bought a backpack in a thrift store, it turned my life into complete nightmare

y1bpdi

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1bpdi/i_bought_a_backpack_in_a_thrift_store_it_turned/

My old backpack has seen some better days, so I went to get a new one. Luckily there’s a big thrift shop nearby, so I could buy something decent without spending too much. Besides, why pay extra for a bag, mainly used to carry my groceries around, right? &#x200B; And there it was - my new belonging: a bit worn out, though sturdy with leather inserts and reinforced straps. I found it in the pile of dozen others, mostly Mickey Mouse & Avenger themed ones. Lucky me! &#x200B; After checking it all around, with no holes or stains being visible I went straight to the register without hesitations. Paid just $20, so a win-win situation. My day was getting better. &#x200B; Then I stopped to grab a burger on my way home, and while the order was prepared - I’ve decided to transfer everything from my pockets into the backpack. So I’ve unzipped it to discover, that it was not quite empty, as it seemed. One of the inside pockets contained a folded sheet of shabby paper with a hole in it and a pen, a pebble and a half-used eraser. I took the paper out to check for clues, like, you know - to develop some non-mutual connection with the previous owner or something. It’s just a natural curiosity to find out who owned the thing before you. And I could bet it belonged to a school kid, or graduate, probably. &#x200B; Well, I unfolded the paper to read the following: “I’m sorry, but this is yours now. Maybe one day you can forgive me. I still don’t understand what it is, but I can’t let it hurt Danny again. Just follow these couple of rules, I’ve discovered and don’t let anyone take it from you. 1. It likes apples and mince meat. Leave at least a small piece by it everyday. 2. Don’t let it get wet, you will regret this. 3. It’s fine if somebody touches it, while you hold it. Just don’t let go. 4. Keep it away from other people and your pets when you’re at home. Hide it somewhere. This is all I got so far. Please, forgive me.“ &#x200B; Whoa! That kid was probably not really popular in his class, I guess. Who the hell was Danny? imaginary friend or something? And yeah, that edgy message of “don’t touch my backpack, or else…” - that was definitely something. &#x200B; I’ve looked deeper and in a moment the whole “collection” of forgotten items resided before me on a table: apart from stone and used writing stuff I also got a shoelace, a paper clip, some rubber bands and a coke bottle cap. Not much, and frankly speaking - I would prefer that kid to forget a dollar or two, but oh well. &#x200B; So after having the meal, I grabbed all that junk and put it into the trash bin altogether with burger wrappings and cup. It was time to test out my new baby! &#x200B; I’ve bought some milk, eggs and other edible stuff in my local mart and went home. Brilliant thing - not too tight, holds the weight perfectly and looks stylish. I was absolutely satisfied with the purchase. &#x200B; By the evening - I’ve already forgot about that cryptic teen message and the story would never land here, if it wasn’t for what happened next. &#x200B; Couple of days went by, and all I could care about was my job and watching some Netflix after it, cracking a cold one or two. I’m a lonely guy in my primes, so no annoying chores or missions, unless I decide so. Yeah, your classic chipmunk wheel of sleep-work-drink-sleep, you know what I’m saying? And it was completely fine by me, no complaints. But that morning my descend began. &#x200B; It was Saturday, I woke up later than usual and decided to cook some eggs & bacon for breakfast. Heat on, skillet on, oil in, eggs cracked… And then I just froze for a second, refusing to believe my eyes. It just couldn’t be true, but right in front of me, at the bottom of my frying pan - there was a human thumb. I’ve blinked rapidly, trying to make the morbid vision go away. But it was still there. &#x200B; And no, that was not a chicken embryo shaped weirdly. That was a human thumb: I could clearly see a nail and the clean cut below the knuckle joint. Holy fucking shit! I think it belonged rather to a man, than a woman. &#x200B; Without an extra do - I’ve called the cops. And should I say that next weeks turned into a huge steaming pile of troubles? I’ve been asked hundred of questions, they made me take a drug test (which was humiliating, though I had no intention to cause further suspicion), they checked the store and made some lab tests. &#x200B; As a result - the investigation went sideways to the hen farm, as the test results came back stating that the shell indeed has traces of human tissues, and though nobody had any rational explanation to this - they left me alone for now. &#x200B; What the fuck, man? What the fuck? I’ve never heard about anything like this in my life! But it was just the beginning. &#x200B; Next evening, I was watching some show and felt a sudden urge to sneeze and as I did - something went flying over the room, landing on a floor with a rattle. That was strange, so I stood up to check it out and imagine my confusion when I saw a human tooth lying on the ground. &#x200B; I grabbed it a went straight to the bathroom to check myself in a mirror. Sweat dripped down my spine, as I realized that tooth was not one of my own - no holes, no bleeding patches, nothing. &#x200B; I kept the fact to myself and didn’t go to the hospital, because, you know - the cops were already on the edge, and showing up with some other body parts, yeah, thanks but no, thanks. &#x200B; What was happening? I had no clue. But something definitely was not right. I’ll skip the part where I pose myself like a complete idiot, contacting so-called paranormal experts and parapsychology professors of all sorts and cut down to a point of what one of them said: “Try to remember, maybe you got some new things recently? Things that didn’t actually belong to you? That doesn’t have to be a stolen phone or anything. Maybe you found something on the street and that something is empowered with dark energy…”. &#x200B; Of course, the backpack! That was “not mine”, even though I paid for it and I suddenly recalled the written message included. Is the thing cursed? Should I burn it? But what if that will make things even worse? So I’ve decided to stick with what was written in the note first. &#x200B; What was it? Some apples and meat must be left by it every day? Ok, got it. There was something about not letting anyone touch it, too. But I live alone, so we’re safe here. And something-something, think-think…. Gremlin! Yes! Don’t let it get wet. &#x200B; So I did what I could - I’ve put a small plate of apple pieces and beef mince next to it, hoping to see any reaction by the morning. &#x200B; But there was none. Just a couple of fruit flies found their way to the treat, and the plate was untouched. “Well, maybe it doesn’t consume it? Maybe the smell is enough?” - I thought to myself. &#x200B; I was all pins and needles through the whole day, without proper conclusion if that worked or not. &#x200B; It did not. In the evening I felt my throat going sore and just moments later I coughed up a wet lock of hair, bending in half on my carpet. It hurt like hell. Spitting out the stuck hairs I went to the fridge to grab some orange juice to clear my throat, though something atrocious awaited me there. As the door opened I’ve witnessed a swarm of tadpoles sitting in the bottle, packed so tightly they could barely move. &#x200B; I think all the heavenly forces and the Lord himself helped me to keep me myself sane. &#x200B; I took the backpack, a lighter and went to the yard with firm intention to burn the fucker down. As I watched the flames licking the fabric and the cracking leather indents - the whisper of doubt somewhere deep inside, repeated: “What if this is not enough?”. &#x200B; Apparently, it was not. After discovering an extra pair of ears on my pillow in the morning, clean cut and no blood - I’ve suddenly realized the most horrible outcome of this whole situation. I remembered the paper, how shabby it was and how I didn’t pay much attention to other stuff when taking it out. &#x200B; What if that warning message, the sheet itself enfolded the It, the subject and after tossing the bag around - it just fell out from the fold? What if it’s not the backpack but something that was within it destroys my life? What could it be? That pebble that looks just like any other pebble you can find on the ground? The eraser maybe? &#x200B; And then it hit me hard. So hard, that my heart just stopped beating for a single moment, as a cruel realization of what I have done bloomed in my head… I will never find it. It’s just impossible. I threw it out to a trash bin in a burger place couple of weeks ago. Even if I knew what exactly I’m supposed to look for - it’s most probably buried under tons of trash in a dumpster somewhere outside the city. &#x200B; I’ve never expected to hear about something like this, not even saying about being a part of the cruel scenario. I have no other choice but to pin down where the garbage truck went and put my life to finding that exact trash sack from the burger place before it’s too late. Consider this a goodbye letter, I know my odds. Besides, my stomach is kinda painfully irritated for couple of hours already, and I really don’t like this feeling. Wish me luck.

I don't think that person was a person at all.

y1k3vc

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1k3vc/i_dont_think_that_person_was_a_person_at_all/

[I decided to revisit the unnamed haunted house](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y01jyo/ive_been_visiting_and_reviewing_haunted_houses_in/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3), as I'm choosing to call it. After sleeping on the idea for a couple of nights, the fright that I originally felt from my first experience turned into sheer curiosity as to what could be going on inside that house. But you know what they say, curiosity killed the cat, right? On the night after I posted about my first experience in the house, I had a nightmare where I visited the house again. Call me a masochist, but this only made me want to visit the house again more. I'll spare you the details of this nightmare for now, but it becomes important later. As I approached the house for the second time, everything appeared precisely the same from the outside, except for the light that turned on on the second floor. This time, no lights turned on when I walked up. The driveway, the signs on the front yard, as well as the black fog in the front door were all the same as last time. When I walked up to the front door, I waited for a moment in anticipation of the hand gesturing me in again, but it never did. It probably recognized me as a returning visitor. Before walking in though, I padded myself to make sure I had everything I wanted to bring in for safety precautions. This included my flashlight, knife, and a bit of holy water freshly blessed by my local priest. Hey, if you were in my situation, you would probably do the same thing, don't judge me. Whoever runs this place didn't hesitate to scare the hell out of me as soon as he had the opportunity. As soon as I stepped into the entry hall, while I'm still enveloped in the black fog, two hands grab my shoulders. I struggled for a good ten seconds before they finally let go and got out of the fog. Whatever grabbed me was nowhere to be seen, but it was kind enough to leave some of that black goop on me. I still haven't been able to get that goop out of my shirt. I've washed it three times. Most of the haunted houses in my area don't have any sort of physical contact between the visitors and the people performing the scares. The ones that do have special permission from the city and visitors have to sign a waiver before entering. Given that this haunted house doesn't have a name, nor have I signed any waiver, I'm assuming this house doesn't have such special permission. Regardless, I move on. Because the note I received after my first visit said it was different every time, I came in expecting the worst. The hands grabbing me was bad, but a good haunted showrunner will save the worst scare for the end. Though, if he's expecting me to be coming back multiple times, I highly doubt he's considering my second visit the end. As I gathered my bearings and got up, I looked around the entry hall to see if anything had changed about the house since my first visit. It was still a normal-looking house, but some of the furniture was moved to different spots and there was no longer a lamp on the entry table. My first thought was *oh, is this just some sort of spot-the-difference game*? No. No, it wasn't. One thing that was the same, however, was that the TV in the living room was still just playing static. If I was gonna stay there for longer than before, I wasn't gonna deal with listening to TV static the whole time. So, I grabbed the remote and tried to turn it off. It still didn't work. I even went to unplug it, but the static still persisted. Too bad I didn't bring my earplugs. I wish I could say that was the end of the TV shenanigans. Every time I exited the living room, the static would stop. And every time I walked back in, the static would continue. I was terrified at this point but also impressed. The owner of this haunted house was clever, you don't see stuff like this in haunted houses that often. I decided to give up on the living room for now and move on to the kitchen. I start investigating a few things and notice that the kitchen knives were somehow secured in the knife block so you couldn't pull them out. This was strange, but it made sense as a safety precaution, you don't want to leave a bunch of sharp weapons out for people. Especially in a haunted house this secluded and not well known. Another thing that I took notice of was the breakfast table. There was food on all the plates. And not even just some basic breakfast stuff, like a whole breakfast meal. Eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, you name it. You'd think I would have been able to smell it, but I couldn't smell anything. I inspected the food and it was real. I ate some of it. It was delicious. And I'm still alive to write this, so it wasn't poisoned. I couldn't help but feel like I'm being placed in a false sense of security. Was this a haunted house or a bed and breakfast? I'm not sure, but I still had my guard up. I decided to go upstairs next. The black goop was still on the railing, which I avoided touching. It was at this point that I started getting a little suspicious. I'd been there for almost an hour and the only scare I had gotten was the one at the beginning. Sure, this is a lot more intricate and mysterious than a typical haunted house, but I figured there would be more to keep me interested. That line of thinking was a part of that false sense of security. As soon as I got to the top of the stairs, I got an overwhelming feeling like something was watching me. Sirens began going off in my head. This wasn't your typical *I feel like someone is watching me* sort of feeling, this was an imminent feeling of terror. I looked at every window within view. Nothing. I even got my flashlight and shined it everywhere. Nothing. I don't know where this feeling came from, but there was *nothing* to be seen anywhere. Yet. I began looking around upstairs. The nursery was the same and all the bedrooms were the same except for one, the master bedroom. When I opened the door to the master bedroom, I immediately noticed somebody sleeping in the bed *fully covered* under their blanket. This person had to be incredibly tall, their feet were almost hanging off the end of the *king-size* mattress. Okay, pause. Who the hell sleeps like this? Don't you need to breathe to sleep? Silly me, this is a haunted house. For all I know, this could've been the corpse of the previous owner who was murdered in cold blood by a local fisherman who disappeared immediately after the incident. I didn't walk into the room. I closed the door and walked away. I really wanted to leave, but I made a promise to myself that I would stay for the "full experience." As soon as I started walking back downstairs, I hear the static of the TV start again. Normally, it would only start when I walked into the living room, so I was curious. I returned to the living room and grab the remote yet again. To my surprise, the remote wasn't completely useless this time. The TV actually turned off when I pressed the power button on the remote. I then turned it back on, then back off, then back on, over and over again. It was all still static, I couldn't change channels or video sources, but at least I could turn the TV on and off. This was progress. Now, I still have no idea what I was progressing toward, but it's progress nonetheless. The black goop guy didn't like me messing with the TV. For a split second, while I was turning the TV on and off, black goop guy appeared and disappeared in the blink of an eye in the reflection of the TV. I immediately dropped the remote and turned around, but he wasn't there. He did leave some black goop on the ground, though. This was my cue to leave. This visit was long enough, so I immediately ran to the front door and ran out. But not before picking up yet another note left on the ground. *Why not stay the night next time? You can have the guest room.* The owner must be crazy to think I would stay the night in this haunted house. He might be right. It was too quick to gather any details, but this is the best description of black goop guy I can give. He's tall and slender. Humanoid in shape but not human in appearance. Not human skin, more alien-like. Pitch black in color. Next time I visit, I'll try to get more details, but that's all I could see. I don't think I have enough information to review this haunted house yet. I need to figure out what's going on in that house. Everything seems real. I need to go back. But do you remember that nightmare I mentioned? Well, that's how this whole situation goes from a really good scare to what I think is legitimate supernatural activity. I forgot about the nightmare while I was in the house, but after my second visit was over, I realized something. Everything I saw, every step I took, every decision I made, and every sound I heard was completely identical to the nightmare I had before. This isn't just a haunted house.

We always burn liars here.

y0mr56

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y0mr56/we_always_burn_liars_here/

Jackie was a werewolf. Pete was a vampire, though he kept referring to himself as “a Dracula” just to piss me off. And I was a witch, though admittedly the outfit was just a half-ass modification from my initial idea of “girl Gandalf” after my older brother, Kevin, set fire to my beard the week before. We were too old for trick-or-treating (or as Pete liked to call it, “tricker treating”) and we knew it, but that was part of the point. After a five-year hiatus on free candy because Halloween was “for babies”, we’d come back around to the idea that so long as we leaned into it being a prank/game/social experiment instead of just teenagers begging for candy that we could just drive to the store and buy…it was cool again. The idea was this. We would drive up to every house, not hiding the fact that we were old enough to do so. Pete and I were seniors and Jackie was home from her first year of college, and between his beard, her tits and my height, no one was mistaking any of us for children. That being said, we had a rule that we had to dress up in legit costumes and couldn’t act weird or assholey when we went up to get the candy. Just polite trick-or-treating, as to do anything else could affect the bet. Because this is where the “game” part came in. Before we got out of the car at each house, we would each bet whether that house would give us candy or not. The odds were always in favor of yes—most people might get irritated at older teenagers coming for candy, but so long as we were polite about it, it was hard for them to get past their default position of honoring Halloween customs. So the scoring worked like this: If you bet a house would give us candy, you got one point. If you bet that a house wouldn’t give candy and you were wrong, you lost one point. But, if you bet a house wouldn’t give us candy and you were *right*, that was worth five points…so long as you didn’t do anything overtly rude or whatever to make sure things went your way. Sarcastic tone of voice was okay. So were fake accents. But you couldn’t say or do anything that was really impolite or highlighted our age beyond our obvious appearance and ability to drive up in the first place. No, “thanks, dude. Got to get back to the wife and kids now” or that kind of thing. In other words, reasonable lying was fine, so long as it was done courteously. When we were done for the night, whoever had the most points got to divide up all the candy, and best of all, they got to pick the first three things the other two ate. Didn’t matter how gross or sketchy, they had to eat it if someone gave it to one of us during the night. Had to have stakes, after all. So far, Pete was somehow ahead. He was a good guesser—he always had been and it was irritating. I was only two points behind, but it felt like we were running out of houses as we moved further and further out into the dark countryside. That had been part of our plan—go out to places that had lights on but were more remote, as they’d be less likely to have many trick-or-treaters. They’d also be less likely to have candy at all, but most of the houses with decorations and lights on gave up something, even if it was from their own private stash. Jackie was one point behind me, though I still thought her strategy for the evening was dumb. She was voting no candy on every house based on the idea that the five points when she was right would override the one point losses the rest of the time. I tried to point out that we were only stopping at houses that looked like decent candidates to begin with, and that always voting the same wasn’t really playing the game, but she wouldn’t budge. And I hated to admit it, but her strategy hadn’t totally sucked so far, and one no candy house would put her back in the lead. That’s why I complained when she started turning onto the long driveway at the end of CR 13. She snickered as she completed the turn and gave me a grin, her fur-covered face green and sinister in the meager light from the dashboard. “It has jack-o-lanterns out at the fence gate with burning candles in them. That counts as decorations and lights.” Pete gave a groan. “Fuck, Winny, she’s right.” Jackie had started down a driveway that was paved, but with thick hardwoods on both sides that obscured the way forward as the path curved to the right. Irritated, I shook my head. “It’s supposed to be decorations on the house, not a mile away at the road. This doesn’t count.” Jackie shrugged. “Well, we’ll see then. If the house is dark or has no decorations, then we’ll turn around and leave. I’m not trying to cheat, but I’m not turning down a good prospect either.” Sighing, I slumped back in my seat. “Fine. But I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s not even a house back…” “Holy shit.” That last had been from Pete, and I didn’t have to ask what he meant. We’d just rounded the last corner, and instead of more woods or just an empty overgrown field, there was a large antebellum mansion with brick walls of dark grey and tall white columns that lined the front like long teeth. We saw most of this from the sweeping light of Jackie’s headlights, but they weren’t the only things lighting up the night. Behind the hulking shadow of the house I could make out the shifting orange glow of a fire, and up on the porch there were four more jack-o-lanterns to match the ones out at the road. Jackie turned and gave me a satisfied smile as she pointed first to the glow of firelight behind the house. “Light.” And then the pumpkins on the porch. “And decorations.” I sniffed. “I mean technically, yeah. But does this place look like somewhere we want stuff from? It’s dark and creepy. They probably have a bucket of razor-blade candy in there.” Pete laughed. “It’s Halloween! This is the kind of house we *should* be visiting. And isn’t the razor blade thing more of an urban legend?” Jackie shook her head. “No, that happened to my cousin once. But it’s okay. Because I confidently bet we will get no candy here.” I rolled my eyes. “What a shocker. Bold strategy there.” She squinted at me. “If you’re scared, just say you’re scared.” I floated my middle finger around in front of her as I did a wavering ghost voice. “Fuuuuck yoooou. Just don’t come crying to me when I give you a poison candy bar covered in rat turds to eat.” Snorting, Jackie turned off the car and got out. “Come on, sore losers. It’s Jackie’s time to shine.” **** “I bet no candy too.” I couldn’t see her face as we approached the house, but I could still hear Jackie smirking. “Decided to back a winner, huh? Smart play. Won’t help you in the end, but I respect you for acknowledging my awesomeness.” “Ugh. Whatever. Pete, what’s your bet?” “Mmm. Candy. These people have to be loaded, right?” “If they’re even…” The porch light came on as we started up the steps. “home.” And then under my breath, “Fuck.” Pete was already on the porch, grinning back down at us. “Always bet on the Dracula.” Turning, he walked over and rang the ornate doorbell next to the equally intricately carved black door. Far away, we heard a small bell chime. This was a weird house. Everything about this felt weird. Why couldn’t they see that? I was about to suggest we just give up the game and declare Pete the winner when the door’s lock clicked and it swung open. On the other side, a dead woman stood smiling at us. Pete must have been right—whoever these people were, they had to be kinda loaded, because her costume was movie-quality. Not because it was over-the-top or really elaborate, but because it was so subtle. The blue dress she wore was faded and curled at the edges with what could have been age or rot, and her skin had a faint blue-tinge that stood out in the porch’s overhead light but wasn’t cartoonish or overdone. The only other sign that she wasn’t just an attractive middle-aged soccer mom was her left ear. Her long, dull brown hair was artfully pulled over her ear on that side, revealing a gnawed stub instead of whole flesh. “Damn! You look awesome!” Pete was right, though it was hard to tell from his lingering gaze on her breasts if he was talking more about her zombie outfit or her generally being kind of hot. Jackie apparently thought it was the latter, as she nudged him in the ribs and stepped forward, holding out her open briefcase. “Trick-or-Treat! Arooooo!” I stifled a sudden nervous laugh. The briefcase thing…Jackie had brought a briefcase instead of a normal trick-or-treat bag. At first me and Pete hadn’t understood why, but once we saw how she was betting—against candy every time—it made more sense. She thought using something that wasn’t Halloweeney or immature would tilt the scales toward pissing someone off so they didn’t give us anything. I couldn’t say for sure it had worked, but at the two houses that had told us we were too old, they’d both looked at that damn thing. Still, it didn’t seem to matter to this lady. She just gave a soft laugh as she looked at us each in turn. “Well, well. I appreciate the compliment. And I accept the commencement of bargaining as well.” Still chuckling, she took a step back. “I have all manner of treats in the kitchen and will brook no tricks on this holy night. All I ask is that you tell me what you are before you pass my door.” She gestured back down the hallway to a kitchen that was dancing with yellow candlelight. I shot Pete a concerned look. “Ma’am, we don’t normally go into people’s houses.” She nodded. “I understand, but I just finished cooking, and I’m afraid I have too large a variety to bring it out here.” Shrugging, she started to close the door. “But if you refuse the offered treats, we can close the b-“ Pete stepped forward. “No! No, ma’am. We’re happy to come in.” He glared at me. “Forgive my friend. She’s just a sore loser.” The woman smiled widely at him as she moved the hair behind her other, perfect ear. “So glad to hear it.” Her face suddenly became more serious. “Now. What are you?” Pete hesitated a moment and then bared his plastic fangs. To be fair they were expensive and looked good other than being a different shade than his actual teeth. “I, madam, am a Dracula.” I expected the woman to laugh or look angry, but instead she just nodded. “Very well. You may enter our home.” Pete stepped in as she turned to look at Jackie. “And what are you?” Jackie had lowered her briefcase again, and even through the tuffs of fake brown hair glued to her cheeks and forehead, I could tell she was worried too. Still, she wouldn’t quit playing so long as one of us kept going either. So giving another small howl, she stepped closer to the door. “I am a werewolf, ma’am.” “Very well. You may enter our home.” The woman looked at me. “And you?” I started to speak but something held me back. This…this woman wasn’t right. I couldn’t say what the problem was with her, and I didn’t know enough to make the others leave, but there was a weight to everything the woman was saying and doing. As though this wasn’t some kind of campy Halloween roleplay, but part of something real and serious. And she was still staring expectantly at me. Heart hammering, I stepped forward. “I…um, I’m a girl dressed up as a witch. I was supposed to be a female Gandalf, but my jerk brother burned my beard.” The woman studied me for several moments before smiling again. “Very well. You may enter our home.” Closing the door behind me, the woman led us back to the kitchen—it was massive, with double ovens, eight burners set into a large wooden island, and a long table along one end filled with a variety of cookies and candies and muffins and cakes, along with candied apples and pumpkin tarts and other dishes that I didn’t recognize. “Holy shit! Um, I mean, dang. You’ve got quite the spread in here.” The woman chuckled. “Thank you. We don’t get many visitors out here and my boys have finicky diets, so I always wind up overdoing it. But it is Halloween after all. Please, take what you’d like.” I felt a stab of panic and leaned into Jackie’s ear. “None of this stuff is wrapped up. It could have anything in it. We can’t eat this stuff.” Pulling back, she gave me a frown. “How’s that different than anything else? You think someone can’t rewrap candy or inject something through a wrapper? And how often do you get to try fancy stuff like this?” Pete leaned into the conversation. “And don’t think I didn’t notice your whole “I’m a girl dressed like a witch thing. You’ve lost. Give it up. Don’t fuck up the best meal I’ve had in like ever.” He grinned at our host. “So like, how much is it okay for us to take? It all looks so good.” She beamed at him. “As much as you want, of course. There are plates and bowls at the end, so feel free to sample here, and I can make you bags to take with you as well. As I said, I have far too much.” The woman frowned as Pete reached toward some kind of potato fritter piled on platter near the table’s edge. “Oh, no, not that for you though.” Pete pulled his hand back and looked at her questioningly. “Oh, sorry.” She waved her hand. “Not at all. It’s just that I prepare those with garlic, and I wouldn’t want you to get sick.” Pete stared at her blankly for a moment and then let out a loud laugh. “Oh, shit. Right. Yeah, I guess I have a selective diet.” He picked up a small crystal glass containing what looked like dark layers topped with whipped cream. “Is this okay for me you think?” The woman nodded. “Yes, of course. Blood mousse with bits of caramelized baby fat for texture.” She picked one up and handed it to Jackie. “This should be good for you as well.” Glancing between us, Jackie picked up a spoon. “Sure, thanks. It looks delicious.” The woman turned and patted my arm. “All the food on the left side of the table is meat-free, my dear.” I gave a slow nod. “Well, I mean I’m not a vegetarian, but the cookies and muffins look great.” I pointed toward Pete as he was eating the first bite of his mousse. “But those don’t really have some kind of meat in…” Pete spat a dark wad onto the floor as he began to retch. “Lady…what the fuck is in that?” When he looked up, he didn’t look at her but me, his eyes watery and fearful. She frowned. “Just as I’ve said. Congealed blood. Quite a favorite of your kind.” He was hardly listening, hocking and spitting as he tried to get the taste out of his mouth without trusting any of the various drinks on offer as a way to clean his palate. On his fourth spit, one of his fangs flew out and landed in the middle of a plate filled with bat sugar cookies. “What is that?” The woman’s tone was icy. “Look at me. Show me your mouth.” Pete stared at her slack jawed, his lone fang still dangling there. “What the fuck are you talking about?” The woman’s expression darkened as she turned to Jackie, who had set her own mousse back down. “And what about you? The treat not to your liking?” “Ma’am, this isn’t funny. We’re just going to go…ahh, let go!” Our host had grabbed Jackie’s arm, gripping it hard as she pulled her closer. “You answer me now. Are you truly a werewolf?” Stepping forward, I tried to shove her away from Jackie, but she didn’t budge or even look my way as she held my friend tight. Jackie was crying a little now as she shook her head. “Of *course* not! It’s a fucking costume! It’s not even a good one, and werewolves aren’t real, you crazy bitch! Let me goooo!” The woman did as she was asked, after a fashion, slinging Jackie in Pete’s direction and sending them both careening into the nearby wall before tumbling to the floor. I moved to help them, but then the woman was in my path. “And you? Are you a girl dressed as a witch?” I could barely breathe as I squeaked out my words. “Why…why are you doing this?” “Answer me. Now.” “Yes! Yes, I am just a girl dressed as a witch.” She nodded, giving me a satisfied smile. “Very well. You have maintained the covenant that your companions have broken. You may pick any treats you like from the banquet table.” “We just…just want to go.” “Go? They can’t go. They’ve broken covenant, and on a holy night no less. There will be no falsehoods in this house or in my family’s bargaining.” Her eyes went to Jackie and Pete even as shadowy figures began to approach between the flickers of candlelight. One looked like a dragon, another a twisted skeleton, while the third was a ropy mass thick with clawed tentacles. The woman looked at them lovingly before giving me a warm glance. “My boys.” **** The glow behind the house had been a large autumn bonfire, stacked high with wood and mounds of colored leaves that somehow never fully burned. More long timbers of wood lay to one side, and it was to two of these that the monsters bound Pete and Jackie as they thrashed and screamed. I think I could have left before then, but I couldn’t abandon my friends, even if the woman wouldn’t let me intervene to save them. I did try once, but after that, her firm but gentle grip bore down on me heavily enough that I knew there was little I could do but shake and cry and tell them I was sorry. This seemed to trouble the woman somewhat, and as her monstrous offspring finished lashing my friends down, she spoke to me again. “I hope this doesn’t seem cruel to you. My family passed through the Imago some time ago, but we are still old-fashioned. We keep to the ways of bargain and palaver, and we especially revere Halloween, as it’s one of the few times the world drops some of its pretenses.” I had no idea what she was talking about, but maybe if I talked to her, I could convince her to let us all go. “Pretenses?” She nodded. “That the world is safe. That monsters aren’t real. And that the truth that lay in the dark can’t hurt you.” Despite my plan to calm down, I could hear the angry panic in my voice. “We were just wearing fucking *costumes*! That’s what Halloween is about! Why are you punishing us for it?” She frowned. “Not you. Just them. You were honest. And lying is certainly *not* what Halloween is about. That’s just what fearful people have told themselves and taught their children. Another lie.” Her lip curled, the gums around her teeth dark and withered in the bonfire’s light. “And we always burn liars here.” I turned as I heard a fresh set of screams. The horrors at the bonfire had picked up the timbers Pete and Jackie were tied to effortlessly, swinging them up into the dark October sky before pitching them down into the roaring heat of the flames. I let out one last scream, letting my painful cry fill the void left by the fading of their dying breaths. Eyes squeezed tight, I slumped to the ground, wanting darkness to take me, begging to wake up and realize this was all some terrible nightmare. I felt something shift, both in my head and in the world around me, and when I opened my eyes, the night had turned to day. The remnants of the bonfire were still there, but no sign of any bones or bodies. And when I turned around, I saw the house was gone as well. Instead, it was just a large clearing, empty except for the large pile of smoldering wood and, next to me, a large pumpkin jack-o-lantern painted black and made of some kind of red fired earth. Choking back a fresh sob, I reached over and pulled off the stem lid and looked down inside. It was halfway filled with candy corn and chocolates, and resting on top of the sweets was a small note on orange paper. Pulling it out, I read what was written there. [*Don’t forget your treats! Happy Halloween!*](https://redd.it/9ndww5)

We thought McDonald's was running a contest, The truth was much more sinister.

y0w6lp

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y0w6lp/we_thought_mcdonalds_was_running_a_contest_the/

My friend RJ has always been interested in puzzles. So much so that it sometimes drove a wedge between him and other people. He tends to get invested in more elaborate ones to the point of obsession. And if you’re not as quick to put something together as he is, he can be a bit condescending. Overall I think he’s got a good heart though, so I don’t mind the occasional assholery. I was sitting in the school cafeteria Thursday afternoon when RJ plopped himself down next to me. He wore that shit-eating grin that said “TedEd just posted a new logic puzzle.” *So, what’ve you got for me today?* I asked him. *Your parents are pretty chill right?* He asked back through a mouthful of pizza. *I mean, Yeah I guess. Depends on what you mean.* *You think they’d let us go out Saturday morning around 3? I want to try something out.* RJ had piqued my interest and was hamming it up now. He was trying to suppress a smile and act all mysterious but it wasn’t working. *You gotta tell me what it is first.* I said laughing to myself a little bit. I knew he wasn’t gonna talk though. He was relishing his little secret too much. He just shrugged his shoulders at me and turned his head back towards his pizza. *I’ll tell you more this weekend.* &#x200B; Friday night came and I got a text from RJ around 10. *Don’t fall asleep dickhead, I’ll be there at 3 sharp.* I knew why he was doing this. RJ didn’t have a car and relied on me to take him places pretty often. Where he wanted to go at 3am was beyond me though. He’s not exactly the kind of guy to get drunk in the woods. By 3 o’clock I was on my second cup of coffee and still fighting to stay awake. RJ showed up at the front door wide awake. *Ready to go to McDonald’s?* He blurted out as soon as I opened the door. I mimed slamming the door in his face, which didn’t change his attitude in the slightest. *I think you finally owe me an explanation.* I said, shaking my head. *Why are we going to McDonald’s?* RJ explained it to me as we got into the car. He spends a lot of time on 4chan. I don’t. Apparently he came across this thread about weird receipts at McDonald’s There were a couple pictures included from people who had received these receipts. They all had a number written in red ink at the bottom of the paper. (As an aside, I tried to find this thread he was talking about while I went to post this, but didn’t have any luck. I don’t ever use 4chan though. If anyone can find the receipt pictures and link them in the comments I’d really appreciate it.) RJ told me that some people noticed all of the receipts were processed at 3:33 am on a Saturday. This little detail is what got them thinking this wasn’t a coincidence, but might be some sort of big McDonald’s secret challenge. Kind of like Cicada 3301 or something. I actually thought this was pretty cool. I knew KFC did something like this with their twitter account. They sent the guy who figured it out a picture of him getting a piggy-back ride from Colonel Sanders. I thought maybe RJ and I could get one with Ronald McDonald if we figured this out. All of the receipts had another thing in common. They had all ordered exactly 5 menu items. The red number at the bottom of the receipt was always a digit 0-5. These menu items differed from receipt to receipt but they were all numbered orders. For example, #1 was always the Big Mac. RJ explained that this led to them guessing that the numbered menu items formed some sort of code that needed to be input in the right order. *And I think I know what the passcode is.* RJ said in a dramatic whisper. *Look at the receipt with a red 5 on the bottom.* He continued. *They order 2 number ones, 2 number fours, and a number eight. I think those are the digits of the passcode, 11448. They just need to be rearranged.* *And you figured out the right order?* I asked excitedly. *I’m pretty sure I did. I just hope no one else has beaten me to it.* *Well, what is it?* *You’ll see soon enough.* RJ replied. His sly grin had returned. &#x200B; I pulled into the McDonald’s parking lot. It was almost completely empty. I could see a couple employees and a lone customer inside. There was no one in the drive thru line. *Just pull up to the start of the drive thru and sit there. Don’t place an order yet.* RJ instructed me. *We have to place this order at exactly 3:33.* I didn’t like the idea of holding up the drive thru line. But like I said, there was no one around. So I figured it wouldn’t be too much of a problem. We sat in silence for the next couple minutes. I kept my eye on my mirrors to see if anyone was trying to get into line. RJ kept his eye on his phone, watching every passing minute. At 3:32 he told me to drive up to the speaker. We sat there silently for what seemed like an eternity as the poor employee tried to get us to talk to her. As soon as a minute passed, RJ leaned over to my window and placed our order. *I’d like a number one. I’ll take another number one please. A number 4. A number 8. And another number 4.* We watched as each number popped up on a little screen next to the speaker. RJ seemed satisfied with the results. The employee told us to pull forward. *So how’d you know that was the order?* I asked RJ. He wouldn’t tell me though, he just smiled and shrugged his shoulders again. We got our order and paid. The woman working the window didn’t give us a little wink or a knowing nod or anything. In fact, she seemed incredibly bored. I handed the bag to RJ and he tore through it for the receipt. There at the bottom instead of a red number was a red address. *Holy shit.* I muttered under my breath. RJ waved the receipt excitedly at the employee. *Is this it? Are we supposed to go here?* He asked her. The woman seemed incredibly confused. She looked at the receipt and squinted her eyes. She told us she had no idea what that address was or why it was on our receipt. RJ and I exchanged incredulous glances. Were the employees not in on this? Who was monitoring it and writing in the red ink? Maybe they were just instructed to play dumb. We pulled out of the driveway and I had RJ put the address into his phone. It was only about a fifteen minute drive from where we were, and sure enough it was another McDonald’s. &#x200B; At this point I was totally invested. RJ didn’t even have to ask me, I was already driving towards the second location. Once we got on the road again it was completely silent. There were no cars or people anywhere on the street. I suppose it wasn’t too weird for such an odd hour. Still, something wasn’t sitting right with me. RJ seemed to feel it too. The sense of calm. There was no sound other than the purr of the engine. No rustling tree leaves, no overhead planes, no crickets. Nothing. I shrugged it off at the time as a side effect of being so tired, but now I’m not so sure. When we finally got to the second McDonald’s, the parking lot was completely deserted. There were no cars, not even for employees. All the lights inside the restaurant were on, but peering through the windows it didn’t seem like anyone was inside. *That’s weird* I said as we walked up to the front door. *There’s no one here.* I reached forward and pulled on the glass door, expecting it to be locked. Instead, It gave way immediately, letting off a cheery chime that seemed to linger in the air. *Um hello?* I called out as we walked into the McDonald’s. As I spoke my breath appeared like a thick cloud in front of me. It was freezing inside. Each of our footsteps echoed off the tiled linoleum floor. *Is anyone here?* Silence. *This is so fucking weird.* RJ whispered. *I’m gonna check the kitchen, maybe there’s someone back there.* I wasn’t sure if that was a good idea, but he was already leaping over the counter. *We should go.* I said. *I don’t want to get in any trouble here. This feels weird.* *No, wait, hang on.* He snapped back. *What’s that?* RJ was behind the counter looking out towards the seating area. I turned around, following his gaze. There, alone on a table in the middle of the room, was a single happy meal box. We made our way over to the happy meal. On closer inspection we could see a napkin sticking out from under the box. There were two words written in the same red ink. &#x200B; *Choose One.* &#x200B; I looked back at RJ, and he was just nodding at me furiously to open the box. So I opened the cardboard, and reached inside. There were two small figures wrapped in plastic. Happy meal toys. But as I looked at them more closely, a feeling of dread began to settle in the pit of my stomach. The figure in my right hand was short and stocky, while the one in my left was taller and more slender. One wore a green hoodie and jeans, the other was in basketball shorts and a t-shirt. &#x200B; It was us. &#x200B; The figures were so detailed, down to our eye color and shoe brands. They were dressed exactly as we were at that moment. Tiny replicas of terrifying accuracy. RJ reached over and took his figure from my hand. *What are…. Who could’ve…How is…* RJ started asking through increasingly quick breaths. Examining his own likeness in the toy. *Dude. we need to get out of here.* I managed to whisper back to him. I didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but I was thoroughly creeped out by the whole thing. This didn’t feel like a fun puzzle anymore. I turned and bolted back towards the door, still clutching my figure. RJ just stood at the table, staring at his miniature. *Come on man!* I yelled back at him, as I threw myself into the door. The door gave way and I was met with a blast of heat. The silence seemed to crack as I crossed the threshold outside of the store. A train blared in the distance. A dog barked across the street. I could hear cars driving along the highway in the distance. A slight breeze scattered some leaves across the tarmac of the parking lot. It was as if the whole world collectively breathed out a sigh at once. I turned back to RJ. The store was completely dark. There were no lights on inside. &#x200B; RJ was gone. &#x200B; I was frozen in shock. I was standing inches from the door I had just come out of. A door that now seemed to lead to an entirely different place. I finally came to my senses, and pulled at the door again in a panic. Trying to get back inside. Maybe RJ had just moved somewhere else, I thought. Surely he was right inside somewhere. However, the door wouldn’t budge this time. It was locked. I was completely beside myself at this point, calling out to him in a frenzy, and banging on the glass door. After a few minutes of screaming, I had to stop and catch my breath. I sat down on the sidewalk in front of the door. I tried to stop myself from shaking and calm myself enough to analyze what exactly just happened and what I should do next. That’s when I looked back down at the toy in my hand. &#x200B; It wasn’t me anymore. &#x200B; It was a small replica of Ronald McDonald. But his eyes were pitch black. There was a little speaker on his chest, and a button on his back. I threw it on the ground in sheer disbelief. As it hit the sidewalk, the toy let out a grainy whisper. &#x200B; *Good Choice. Now Start Running.*

My mirror is watching me.

y1he1u

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y1he1u/my_mirror_is_watching_me/

I just recently went on a home decor shopping spree, I wanted to replace my old furinture that I had for years and started just blending in. I wanted something new so I put my keys in my car and went to the basic places where you would find such things, home depot.. I spend hours just finding out what to buy from my savings and before I knew it closing time was aproaching, I went to the stand to make my orders and with a large smile I was headed back home to my two dogs, cat and my girlfriend. It was already pretty late and unusually in this area there was a huge traffic jam, I spotted this offroad alley big enough for a cat to fit and GPS told me that the road could be a shortcut to my home. As I drove by the little village I stopped because I saw an old lady at a garage sale selling some house itemns. Once again it was pretty late anyways and I took my chances on getting something unique for my house that wouldn’t cost a fortune. I greeted the old lady and looked around the old items, I pretty much looked the whole time like I was at a museum observing things. The old lady kept to herself and once in a while she murmured something loud enough me for to hear but quiet enough for me not to understand. In the end I observed this mirror from the victorian era with beautiful wooden engravings, and as I set eyes on it I asked for the price and left. As I expected it was only 100$ and that’s abnormal for a historic itemn that would usually cost a fortune in an antique shop. I arrived home and placed the mirror on the wall, as I got a kiss on the cheek from my girlfriend the night ended like any other night. ..or so I taught I woke up with the sound of breaking, angry, I stormed down to the kitchen thinking my cat was the culprit since he loved knocking down plates or bowls when me or my girlfriend weren’t looking. I went downstairs and there was nothing to be founf except my cat sleeping soundly on the couch and a random plate on the floor. When I just wake up I’m just those droozy wobbly things that can’t even do a simple task in a decendly short ammount of time, but I swear in the corner of my eye for a split second I saw a shadow or something and for that whole night I couldn’t brush off the feeling that something was very wrong. Lucky for me it was a saturday and when I woke up I took a broom to clean up the mess from yesterday but to my shock there was nothing there and I just had to stand there like an idiot with a broom in my hand staring down a spot in which I could have sword I saw a broken plate the night before. My girlfriend kept poking fun at me with remarks like “glad you decided to do the chores so early“ and just statements like that but I could’ve sworn on my life it was all real. As freaked out as I was I just went in my office and started on the project I had due in a month just to get my mind off of this. I took a nap as I couldn’t get one minute of sleep last night but something was drawing me towards that mirror I can’t explain it in words but I just dreamnt the mirror was everywhere I went. I knew very well that my girlfriend wouldn’t accept my bullshit excuse of “I’m scared of a mirror because I saw it in my dream“ I just went downstairs and did it the old way by covering up the mirror with a black cloth past 6 pm. My girlfriend taught I was exagerating but didn’t put up a fight because she was always spooked by my old traditions I still follow aswell with the old things I put around my house. I have a very strong belief that old things were created to last and new itemns just break more to make you consume more. Well I took it upon myself to cover the mirror every day from then onwards. Things went back to normal shortly after but one day I had to leave because of a business trip and I advised my gf to either keep the mirror covered 24/7 or follow my ritual of putting the cover on during the time intervals of 6pm-sun rise. I could see her internally rolling her eyes while saying a sarcastic “understood“ but I was dead serious and assured her of it. I was gone for only a week but when I came back everything seemed too normal, she was almost copying her own behaviour and it creeped me out even more that she didn’t cover the mirror and it was already midnight, while coming closer to cover it I saw a faint shadow just like the one I saw the night with the broken plate. I tried to spit on my finger and just wipe it off as if I wanted so badly to hope it was just a spot on the old dusty mirror, and just like that it was gone. I must have been so tired I fell asleep because I woke up in my work clothes. I felt like I was always watched troughout the day by something, my girlfriend locked herself in her room whispering something similar to the old woman. This time when I looked in the mirror in the morning the shadow was right behind me watching, I know that whatever I do I won’t get rid of it. I cracked the mirror. Now I hear their voices I threw holy water. And my girlfriend won’t stop screaming I burnt it. The crying stopped, the voices stopped. They are after me and I don’t know how much time I have left, I already hear my “girlfriend“ calling me from downstairs. I know it isn’t her because she never talks this deeply.

I Can’t Tell if People Are Real

y0gntj

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y0gntj/i_cant_tell_if_people_are_real/

I remember the first time I actually realized there was something wrong with me. I was 10 in the backyard playing with a little girl I’d just met. I had seen her walking past the house and invited her over to play in the pool with me. After a while we went in for lunch. I’d asked my mom to make a plate for my friend and gestured to the girl behind me. My mom looked past me and then made a face, “honey, there’s no one there.” I was confused and insisted that my mom make my friend a plate but she refused saying she would not waste food on an imaginary friend. When I looked at the girl again she just shrugged and said she’d be back another time. I never saw her again after that. I’d even asked the kids in the neighborhood about her, describing her in vivid detail but know one knew who she was. Another time, in high school, I had signed up to retake my ACT (a standardized test used for college admissions in the United States). We were in a classroom in the community college. There were at least a dozen students there. They were all talking quietly to the point there was a steady hum of hushed voices all around. When the test started I was expecting the room to be silent but that hum of voices still hung in the air and when I looked around, I could still see students up around talking to each other. I tried to tune it all out but the harder I tried to ignore it it seemed the louder they got. At some point one of the adults who was working as an administrator came up to me and asked if I was alright. I’d been tapping my foot and the sound of change jingling in my pockets was disturbing the other test takers. “What about all the people in here talking?” I had almost snapped at her. She looked taken aback and said “Miss there is no one here talking.” When I looked around the room again, there were only four other students in the room with me. Each at their own table staring at me, annoyed, and the room was completely silent. Now, I work from home and keep to myself. I hate talking to people, I can’t ever tell who’s real and who’s not. The people I walk by on the street or the store. They all seem so real; I can hear them, I can seem them interacting with the environment. They don’t always disappear either. The other day, a homeless man started shouting at me. It was mostly unintelligible nonsense and I tried to ignore him. As I walked home he followed, shouting at me. A few people glanced our way as we weaved through the sidewalks but no one stepped in to help me. He followed me all the way to my apartment and stood outside my door for almost an hour still shouting. The next morning I stepped over to my neighbors to apologize for the noise the night before. “Noise?” My neighbor had said, “I didn’t hear anything last. I heard you come home and you slammed your door pretty hard but other than that it was a quiet night. I was up until about 2 this morning studying.” It seems the only consistent people in my life these days are my parents and my friend Kirko who strangely resembles that girl from when I was 10.

Creepy Man In Truck

y13oo7

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y13oo7/creepy_man_in_truck/

Sorry this may be long but everything included is important for the story. So this story happened to me when I was 25 years old living in Las Vegas with my then husband and our son who was 4 years old. Our schedules were pretty much the same every day. My husband would leave for work at 5:30am & got home around 4:00pm Monday-Friday and I was a stay at home mom. Usually after he got home from work I would take our son with me to the grocery store to grab dinner a few hours later & give him time alone to unwind. The Smiths grocery store by my house was literally less than a 2 minute drive away & it’s one of those grocery stores with the gas pumps in the parking lot so once a week after grabbing groceries for dinner I’d go to the pumps and fill up my car while my son slept in the backseat. On one of my daily trips to the store that included a stop at the gas pumps I was pumping gas & a truck pulled up to the pump on the opposite side of mine. The man quickly did whatever he came to do and pulled off. As I was finishing up & walking around my car he pulled up alongside my car and rolled down his window & said, “I just needed to tell you that the only reason why I pulled up to the pump was to get closer to you. I saw you & just had to tell you how beautiful I think you are.” He looked like Ted Bundy on crack. I was nice though & politely told him, “I’m flattered but I’m happily married with a son.” He responded with, “I know, I just had to let you know how I felt…” and started to pull off but stopped & backed up rolling his window back down he said, “By the way if you tell your husband what I said I’ll fucking kill him!” and then he sped off. I was shocked and immediately got in my car & called my husband & told him what just happened. He told me not to drive home incase he follows me & to just run the 1st light I come to & speed & when I get pulled over tell the officer what happened. I did and the officer who pulled me over was very understanding and drove me to the substation near my house where we left my car and he took my son, my groceries and I home & my husband went & picked up my car the next day. I thought that was the end of it but somehow I knew it wasn’t. I told my husband how it bothered me how sure of himself the guy seemed when he said he’d kill him and how he responded with “I know” when I told him I was happily married with a son. Was it possible that he already knew where I lived? How long had he been stalking me before he approached me that night? A few nights later my husband realized we were out of cigarettes and decided to run to the store to get some. It was late so our son was fast asleep & I was playing on the computer. He left through the laundry room door into the garage where our cars were. Not long after he left I heard the laundry room door open again & someone came inside. I called out to him, “honey what did you forget?” But I got no answer, however I could hear someone moving around in the laundry room. I called out to him again this time a little nervous, “Honey is that you? Your freaking me out…” Still no answer & I’m realizing that I’m completely unarmed. My husband is a US Marine and a Federal Employee so we had an arsenal of weapons but they were all in our master closet on the top shelf and I’d have to run past the laundry room to get to my room so there would be no way if someone was in there that I could get to my gun before he got me so I just sat there frozen & terrified. I could feel the weight in the room as I sat in fear waiting for him to round the corner knowing that with my son sleeping down the hall I’d do anything he told me to keep my baby safe & that when my husband returned home he would have the element of surprise on his side not to mention his family hostage so he wouldn’t stand a chance either. My heart was in my throat and I couldn’t breathe as I heard his footsteps coming towards me when suddenly from my bedroom I heard the deep growling of my 2 Pitt bulls, Ruby & Darlene, and before I could think I saw both dogs dart into the laundry room. At that moment I heard the garage door open and slam shut as a man screamed. I shot up from the computer desk with my phone in hand & bolted into my sons room and shut the door, locked it & sat against it. I quickly called my husband, “Please tell me you’re home & messing with the dogs!” But I could hear in the background, the cashier bringing stuff up & knew he was at the store and whoever was in my house was definitely not my husband! “Someone’s in the house get home right now, please be careful when you get here! I don’t know where he is but I think he’s in the garage. I’m hiding in our sons room with the door shut & locked.” He told me to stay put until he got home & came & got me. Waiting in the dark in my sons room while he slept waiting for my husband to come home felt like an eternity. When he came to get me from our sons room I was relieved but for months afterward he never left us home alone after dark. I know he was just as scared as I was that the man would come back. About a year after the incident we moved out & bought a new home. I always think about what would’ve happened if he hadn’t let the dogs in before he left that night. I don’t know what he had planned for me but I know it wasn’t good & my son would just be a tool to control me, while my husband would of just been something in the way to get rid of. I have no doubt that Ruby & Darlene saved all our lives that night. Now that they’ve crossed the rainbow bridge from old age & my husband & I are no longer together & our son is grown we all still sleep with dogs in our rooms from that night.

We bought a doll at a flea market. It ruined our life.

y0vspq

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y0vspq/we_bought_a_doll_at_a_flea_market_it_ruined_our/

“Daddy, I want. I want that one.” Our three-year-old daughter Kaley pointed to the horrendous looking plastic doll on the woman’s table. “My friend. I want. My friend.” Our annual town flea market generated your typical piles of odds and ends, antiques and junk people held for too many years. This doll—beyond ugly—looked so human-like that you could have mistaken it for the woman’s child. Matted blonde hair tangled over the scalp. Brown bulging eyes with dried tears painted beneath. A mouth open, gasping for air, as if the doll were choking. My wife Audrey and I glanced at each other; we were on the same page. A true monstrosity in plastic form. But when your only child has struggled to socialize with other kids, you want to be supportive. “How much for the doll?” I asked the woman. “For your little one, no charge. My little darling needs a new home. Take her and take care of her. She deserves it.” The woman squeezed the doll with a hug and handed it gently to Kaley. I had never seen Kaley so happy. For the next few days, Kaley took the doll wherever she went in the house. Never out of her sight. “Does the doll have a name yet? What do you call it?” I asked Kaley one morning. “Watchie.” “Watchie. Did you say Watchie?” “She watch me.” Kind of an odd name, I thought, but it was her choice. The doll creeped me out though. Every time I was in the same room with it, I swear it was annoyed that I was present. I’d be sitting on the couch while Kaley was on the floor in front of me, doll over her shoulder, and that plastic face would stare up at me, making me sweat. As days turned into weeks, Kaley paid less attention to Audrey and me; she was inseparable from her new best friend. My own insecurities surfaced. The lack of childhood attention and nurturing I received from my own parents brewed a rage within me. I vowed to never be like my own parents. And with Kaley acting like I was invisible, I struggled to maintain a healthy relationship with her. I proceeded to limit the time Kaley was allowed to have with Watchie. And this did not sit well with her. She pouted and screamed and cried bloody murder as soon as I snatched Watchie from her grip and placed the doll in our closet. During a chilly Fall night, I read a book to Kaley while she snuggled with Watchie. After dozing off, I placed Kaley into her crib and took a seat on the recliner to keep an eye on her for a few minutes to make sure she stayed asleep. Completely exhausted, I ended up falling asleep myself with Watchie on my lap. When I woke up, I fell out of the chair when I saw Watchie climbing across Kaley’s chest up to her face. I jumped up and went to grab the doll, but Watchie was climbing into Kaley’s mouth with an unheard-of strength that rendered me helpless. Kaley squirmed with terrified wide eyes as Watchie burrowed its way into her throat. Kaley’s body convulsed wildly once Watchie was completely inside of her. Audrey busted into the room to help, but both of us were unsuccessful in retrieving the doll. Instead, we witnessed the unthinkable. Kaley’s skin shed like a snake. A pool of blood formed in the crib, and Kaley’s body took the form of Watchie. Our dead daughter, now a life-sized doll. Audrey passed out, and I would have too, if I weren’t in complete shock of what just happened before my eyes. Explaining this turn of events to the authorities left them just a puzzled as us. We were able to track down the woman who gave us the doll, but there was nothing she could be charged with. But when I eventually sat alone with the woman, she revealed something that chilled my bones. Her own daughter Suzie had passed as just a child. When she showed me a photo of Suzie, I gasped when I immediately noticed the resemblance to the doll when it was first handed to us. I don’t know how this doll became cursed. All I do know is my daughter is now just a doll.

My freezer door won't open.

y0xx8r

nosleep

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y0xx8r/my_freezer_door_wont_open/

I was casually browsing an online marketplace when I saw something very strange. There was a fridge for sale. It was a simple fridge, with a small door for the freezer above the larger fridge door. It was a light gray color, but it was covered in dust and grime. One thing I noticed was the price - it was free. I was surprised - a half-decent fridge, for free? My old one had broken down after years of use, and I was in the market for a new one. I couldn’t believe my luck. The guy who was selling it lived pretty nearby, and we arranged a meetup. In our messages, I noticed that something was a bit off about the guy. He seemed really desperate for me to take it, going as far as offering to pay *me* to have it. I had a bad feeling about it - I’d seen enough horror movies to know that something was definitely up. But, considering the alternative was spending thousands of dollars, I was willing to take a chance. The seller said that he had to leave town before our arranged meet-up time, and he would just deliver it to me. The doorbell rang. I went to answer it and saw the fridge sitting there. I couldn’t see anyone else, though. The fridge looked just like it did in the photo - except for one difference. The freezer door handle was gone. I tried prying it open, but it didn’t budge. I sighed. I guess I shouldn’t have expected a perfectly functional fridge for free. I figured I could get the door repaired, but for now the fridge would have to do. I dragged it in and plugged it into the wall. It hummed to life. I opened the main fridge door. It was laid out pretty normally. I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary with it. I put in the food I had taken out of my old fridge. As for the freezer, I would have to get a repairman to come to fix it. That was fine though - I could manage without one for a little while. The next morning, I was cooking breakfast when I smelled something. It was a very slight scent, nothing too alarming. I tried to ignore it for a little while. But as time went on, it became worse and worse. At first, I thought a rat might have died in the walls. But my apartment has never had a problem with anything like that. When I went back to the fridge later, I stopped. The smell had gotten stronger. Maybe some food was rotten? I checked all of my food, but no. I realized where it was coming from - the freezer. I went back on that online marketplace. I needed to talk to the seller. But, to my surprise, I couldn’t find his account. I checked my conversations - there was nothing. It was like he had never existed. I decided that it was time to call a repairman. The repairman arrived at my house that afternoon. He was an old man, balding, with a dirty blue uniform on. “Names Al. Where’s the stuck fridge?” He asked. I directed him to it. He grimaced. “What’s that smell?” “I don’t know.” I admitted. “It seems like it’s coming from the freezer.” He walked over to it. “It’s definitely coming from here.” He remarked. He tried to open it. “You’re right - it’s stuck fast. I have some tools in my car.” He came back with a toolbox. “I’ll try the crowbar first. If that doesn’t work, I can try cutting it open with the blowtorch.” The smell had become even worse by now. He wedged one end of the crowbar into the space between the doors and began pushing. It didn’t open, not even a crack. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” He mumbled. “Doors don’t usually stick this bad. The only way it could have gotten like this is if someone sealed it on purpose. I’ll have to use the blowtorch.” I watched on nervously. He got out the blowtorch, and slowly and deliberately cut through the metal door. The smell got worse. It was slow work, and I tried to breathe through my mouth to avoid the smell. “The freezer must be broken if something’s rotting in there.” Al commented, to break the uncomfortable silence. “Where did you get this fridge again? They haven’t made this type in nearly twenty years.” “I got it online. Someone was giving it away for free.” I replied. “I guess you should’ve expected a free fridge to be defective.” A couple more minutes passed. Al stopped and stood up, looking surprised. “I have no idea what’s going on. It’s just not opening. I’ve -” He was cut short, as, to our surprise, the door just swung open. We looked inside. It was a tunnel. It was so long I couldn’t see the end of it. Some strange liquid dripped from its roof and pooled on the floor. “What the…” Al mumbled, but that was all he got out. I stared in awe. Al pulled out a flashlight and turned it on, illuminating the tunnel. For the first couple of meters, it was normal steel, but beyond that it started to morph into a soft, red, porous substance that shifted and pulsated. The smell had reached its peak. “I’m not sure what’s going on.” Al managed to get out. “Where did you say you got this again?” I was about to answer when a long, red tongue shot out of the tunnel and grabbed hold of his face. It started to pull him back into the freezer. The freezer was too small for a human to fit through, and I heard the cracking of bones as his body was pulled through the small opening. As soon as he was through, the door slammed shut. That happened two weeks ago. Ever since I’ve tried to keep that thing at bay. I tried moving the fridge, but it felt like it weighed a million pounds - it didn’t even move an inch. I tried sealing the freezer, but that didn’t work either. The only thing I can do is leave something near the fridge and hope it eats that instead of me. Just one problem - lately, it only accepts a… *certain kind* of food. That’s where I am now - in a graveyard, at two in the morning, with a shovel and a flashlight. I don’t want to have to do this - but what choice do I have?