isOriginal
bool 2
classes | title
stringlengths 1
299
| text
stringlengths 2
40k
⌀ | url
stringlengths 55
111
| subreddit
stringclasses 7
values | author
stringlengths 4
20
|
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
false | My husband used to love it when I would show him what I'd learnt at my self defence class. | The first time I choked him out was an accident, but I felt so powerful. | https://www.reddit.com/r/TwoSentenceHorror/comments/17dzjlv/my_husband_used_to_love_it_when_i_would_show_him/ | TwoSentenceHorror | MisterGavlar |
false | I was so happy to finally get a mortguage. | It wasn't until I signed the contract that I noticed the mortgage mans goat feet. | https://www.reddit.com/r/TwoSentenceHorror/comments/17emm01/i_was_so_happy_to_finally_get_a_mortguage/ | TwoSentenceHorror | el_fusilado69 |
false | Here in your arms is the only place I find comfort. | I just wish the rest of you was here, too. | https://www.reddit.com/r/TwoSentenceHorror/comments/17e7uif/here_in_your_arms_is_the_only_place_i_find_comfort/ | TwoSentenceHorror | condo_owner |
false | "Soon, we will be together forever" | I thought to myself, as i finished stitching our hands together just before the drug faded out.. | https://www.reddit.com/r/TwoSentenceHorror/comments/17eog1i/soon_we_will_be_together_forever/ | TwoSentenceHorror | EdguDuck |
false | Every time I think about suicide I always tell myself the same thing | I don't want to repeat it again | https://www.reddit.com/r/TwoSentenceHorror/comments/17ejcmc/every_time_i_think_about_suicide_i_always_tell/ | TwoSentenceHorror | The_CIMIX |
false | As the gas filled the television studio, our faces contorted into pained grimaces. | It dawned on us what The Joker meant when he said he was going to put a smile on our faces. | https://www.reddit.com/r/TwoSentenceHorror/comments/17ekdzb/as_the_gas_filled_the_television_studio_our_faces/ | TwoSentenceHorror | Wilgrove |
false | “Yes captain, we’ve been given the go ahead to harvest every photon from this star system.” | Days later, a shaman atop a pyramid shivered, and begged his gods to forgive his people for all they had done to the people they conquered. | https://www.reddit.com/r/TwoSentenceHorror/comments/17e7ov1/yes_captain_weve_been_given_the_go_ahead_to/ | TwoSentenceHorror | ShittyStockPicker |
false | The time my friends grandfather picked up a hitchhiker in the late 60s | This happened to my friends grandfather in the 60s in California. So my friend’s grandfather lets name him Joseph. Joseph was a taxi driver and would work for many hours to support his family and he had just gotten out of Vietnam a few months prior. One time he was driving down a road with trees around and saw a man on the side of the road stick up the old thumb and Joseph stopped the cab so the men can get in. Joseph said the man looked short he had dirty long hair and bushy beard and had a weird accent. Joseph remembers the man saying “Hey Man Thanks For Stopping Your A Good Man”. Joseph asked where he wanted to go and the man said “Nearest Town Please”. Joseph said sure and he started driving. Joseph started to make a conversation with the man in the back of the cab. Joseph Asked the man “Where You Heading” and the man said “I’m Gonna See Some Family” and Joseph said “That’s Nice It’s Always Nice To See Some Family” and the man chuckled and said “It Sure Is Man” Joseph said he got like a very funny feeling about the man but didn’t think much of it. The convo ended and half an hour later he arrived. and the man asked Joseph his name and he told him. Joseph asked the man what was his. The man said “My Name Is Charlie” and they both said goodbye to each other. Joseph drove off not thinking much of it. But it wasn’t until months later he saw Charlie on the news turns out the guy he picked up was none other than the notorious cult leader Charles Manson. Joseph saw the news and was disturbed that he drove in a car with a psychopath. he never told anybody about it cause people would think he was lying or making stuff up. Joseph passed away in 2022 and months before he passed he told my friend and his family the story of meeting Charles Manson. Joseph got chills everytime when he sees or thinks of Manson. some people will think of Joseph making this up but he said he doesn’t care and that he will forever be creeped out by that experience. | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15qgnki/the_time_my_friends_grandfather_picked_up_a/ | TrueScaryStories | Sergio_carballo1018 |
false | Scary Camping Stories | https://youtu.be/v0y8uwcFPhs | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15r393e/scary_camping_stories/ | TrueScaryStories | Pinnhead_Larry_ |
false | My True Doppelgänger Story. | Context: At the time I was 17 and living in Denver, It was during the summer and took place in my Parents Cabin in Rural Colorado outside of Estes Park in a wooded area with the nearest people being 7 miles north.
​
It was Summer and as a Teenager that has nothing to do, my mom encouraged me to drive out to our under used cabin in rural Colorado. Before I left my girlfriend texted that she wanted to come over to my house so I invited her to the Summer home. She planned to leave before night the drive to Denver from the house is not short, but that night she would not be doing so. We brought two cars, her, a minivan, me, a Ram. We spent a time walking outside or watching TV and such. By the time 6:00pm rolled around I decided to stay the night and my Girlfriend was going to leave in a few minutes so I told her "You can leave whenever, but right now I am going to grab pillows from my truck". The cars had to be parked a quarter mile up from the house, so I began my walk, get to the car, grab my pillows, walk back, and see my Girlfriend absolutely distraught. She was walking for the door a minute after I left to catch up to me when at the door she told me "I heard a light scratch", then apparently she heard in my voice "Hey, open the door and let me in". Luckily my Girlfriend is very paranoid and decided to look through a window to see me walking down the road oblivious and nobody at the door. I am confident that neither of us were under the influence and we were both sober. But that is only the first of two encounters. Both of us were freaked out by this so we closed windows and doors and slept through the night completely fine. She left quickly at around 8:00am and I was left alone, I decided to stay because I was actually enjoying the freedom of being alone until it came to an end when I returned to the cabin. After entering I crossed the large room to sit on the couch when I shit you not I hear my Girlfriend at the door sounding distraught saying "Open the door, oh please please open the damn door", accompanied with scraping sound on the concrete path. I called out and said "What the hell is going on?", I hear a reply in my own voice. "Open the door, don't be a fool". I locked myself in the bathroom and called my dad to come over, I stayed in the bathroom until he got to the cabin and I told him everything. I don't know if he believed me but the next day we left immediately. | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15q5f7t/my_true_doppelgänger_story/ | TrueScaryStories | YourLocalComrade_ |
false | I talked to an alternate version of my family and no one believes me. | About 8 to 9 years ago, I found myself at my former residence, relishing a meal lovingly prepared by my mother. It must have been around 11 pm, a time when my brother was attending school, and my father was diligently engaged in his work. Having completed my meal, the unmistakable sound of our home phone rang out, prompting me to promptly inform my mother before she made her way upstairs to her room. I distinctly recall her advising me against answering the call. However, my innate curiosity got the better of me, and as she retreated to her room, I succumbed to the urge to pick up the receiver, longing to discover the identity of our nocturnal caller.
To my astonishment, upon answering the call, my ears were greeted by the unmistakable voice of my mother, inquiring, "Hello, is this Cristina?" With a mix of surprise and intrigue, I responded in the affirmative, "Yes, why?" Little did I know that what was to follow would blur the lines between reality and inexplicable occurrence. Engaging in a full-fledged conversation, I conversed with my mother as though she was in proximity. Yet, the physical truth remained that she was confined to her room upstairs.
In the midst of this surreal exchange, an added layer of peculiarity manifested itself. While conversing with my mother on the phone, I discerned my father's voice on the line, a voice that was undoubtedly situated at his workplace. I seized the opportunity to question my mother about the voice on the other end of the line, confirming that it was indeed my father. Curiosity spurred me to request speaking with him directly, to which my mother willingly obliged, seamlessly transferring the call.
The ensuing dialogue with my father only heightened the intrigue. He conveyed that he was engrossed in the simple act of preparing cereal in our kitchen—a kitchen where I myself stood, conversing with both my parents over the phone. As the conversation continued, my emotions wavered between awe and trepidation. My attempts to fathom this inexplicable convergence of voices and realities were met with a peculiar sensation.
With skepticism growing, I contemplated a daring move: addressing my purported brother's presence at school. A nagging suspicion whispered that perhaps my parents were orchestrating an elaborate prank. My inquiries yielded an unsettling outcome; the voice of my brother emanated from the phone, bridging the gap between my perceptions and the realm of my questions. This uncanny interplay between myself and the voices on the line precipitated a flurry of emotions. Overwhelmed, I abruptly terminated the call, retreating from the enigma that had enveloped me.
The repercussions of this experience did not wane. The persistent ring of the telephone compelled me to reconsider my stance, my initial retreat from the unknown. With hesitance and apprehension, I once again lifted the receiver, plunging back into the inexplicable. Queries regarding my hasty exit were posed, prompting me to conjure a convenient excuse rooted in the mundane—bathroom urgency.
Resuming the dialogue, I requested a conversation with the version of myself that existed in this otherworldly exchange. Permission granted, I found myself conversing with a manifestation of my own voice, a surreal interaction that echoed through the receiver. Yet, despite the fascination and mystique, a sense of disquiet remained. The persistent calls that followed were met with silence; I elected not to reciprocate.
As the years have progressed, the memory of this bewildering incident continues to cast a shadow. Struggling to reconcile the inexplicable, I yearn for answers, a framework through which to decipher what transpired. In my quest, I've combed the vast expanse of knowledge, only to find my path obscured by uncertainty.
My entreaty to you, fellow seekers of truth, is simple: can anyone offer insights or share similar experiences that might lend clarity to my enigma? The words of my AI companion contend that my memory is entangled in confusion or perhaps entwined with a lucid dream. Yet, in the depths of my being, I remain resolute in the authenticity of my recollection. Thus, I extend my call for elucidation, an appeal for a glimpse of understanding amidst t story that has haunted my thoughts for years. | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15qbogz/i_talked_to_an_alternate_version_of_my_family_and/ | TrueScaryStories | Cr1si_ |
false | TRUE Horrifying Encounters as a Janitor | https://youtu.be/QjT5ad1E-4M | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15qkdor/true_horrifying_encounters_as_a_janitor/ | TrueScaryStories | lgexperienceofficial |
false | Grades | Teachers, have you ever been pressured to change grades? | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15qltfh/grades/ | TrueScaryStories | New_Marsupial_2031 |
false | Update from last post | This is kind of an update from my last post.
So me and my partner were in the living room together just relaxing then my morse code machine went off like usual but this time it was a different message it was mad and annoyed so I listened and what its said was
“They should not be here they should leave they should not have let him out”.
I never told my partner what it said I was worried what I was being told cause we found a secret room behind a wall we took down so I am kind of worried I let something out wait for more updates | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15qga3y/update_from_last_post/ | TrueScaryStories | crazy_geek123 |
false | Scary stories | https://youtu.be/oW3UKQus0a0 | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15qelov/scary_stories/ | TrueScaryStories | scarystories_yt |
false | Target bathroom disaster | So one day I went to target and I felt a shit coming on. Before I walked into the bathroom I knew it would be one of those wet hot shits given the feeling in my gut. This bathroom had only one stall. So I was doing my business for about 10 minutes and when I finished up, to my absolute horror and dismay, there was no toilet paper left whatsoever. My mind was racing. So many emotions were flowing through me at once. "why didn't they refill it?" "what now?" "I'm fucked.." "is there a backup plan?" "do I wipe with my bare hand?" I asked in my head.
I started looking around for any available options. "maybe there's a paper towel dispenser by the sink, they usually have those, right?". Not this time. It seemed as if I was truly fucked and I was out of luck.
Until I saw the brown paper towel that looked used and as if it had been lying on that grimy floor for years collecting all sorts of bacteria, viruses, and parasites and such. It even had a few hairs on it. Surely I wouldn't walk out of that stall with wet-hot diarrhea-like shit in my pants, not a chance. I had to do the unthinkable. I reluctantly picked up the sickening brown paper towel. I knew what was about to go down.
After moments of recollection and consideration, I willed myself to wipe my already-foul anal cavity with that vile brown towel. The job was done. I felt feelings of regret, yet I had no other options. What the fuck just happened? | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15pckma/target_bathroom_disaster/ | TrueScaryStories | GA3422 |
false | The Cross Shed | When my brother and I were about 16 and 14 respectively, we went on a walk to our local convenience store for snacks. It was the middle of the day during summer break and we were just bored. While we were walking we talked about local legends a bit. And eventually we came to the topic of a really weird house not too far from our own. It was right on the corner of a main and side road, and from the naked eye it didn’t seem too creepy or out of the ordinary. But if you go down the side road it’s connected to for about 50 feet, you’d see that in their back yard stood an average size shed, but covering the outside of the shed walls was every kind/size of cross you could imagine. My brother and his buddies discovered this place while they were on a night walk, as opposed to the day walk my brother and I were currently on. As my brother and his friends walked by the shed they heard constant banging as well as the light above the shed door flickering uncontrollably. All this being considered, my brother and I decided to stroll by during the day to get a better look at the place, and possibly the people that inhabit the house itself to see what they’re like. As we approached the house on the main road, and veered right down the side road that would take you passed the shed, we noticed there WAS people that lived in the house, they seemed like normal people. Maybe 2 men and 3 women, all helping unload what looked like groceries from a pickup truck. This is where things get a little weird. As my brother and I are passing the shed, we pulled out our phones to take pictures of it, and then it goes DEATHLY silent. No more cars are driving by, no more chatter among my brother and I, and no more sound coming from the people that live in the house that were unloading groceries. The abruptness of the silence was enough to make both of us look up from our phones, and there staring at us now motionless, was every one of the people that lived in the house. It felt like something from a movie, every slight movement I made I could feel their eyes following us. We didn’t even finish taking the pictures because we were so shook. My brother and I went back a couple weeks later with the same curiosity, only to find the shed torn down, and in its place a door leading into the ground… | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15p63xa/the_cross_shed/ | TrueScaryStories | EmphasisFast3028 |
false | Horrifying stories wanted! | I am making a new story telling platform and am wanting true stories. Comment your story. Thank you so much in advance! | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15ot63b/horrifying_stories_wanted/ | TrueScaryStories | mamaofkids |
false | Attempted break in | I (22 F) used to live with my dad before I moved to a new city with my mum (reasons for moving not related to the story). I live in the uk.
As a teenager, maybe, I would be left home alone a lot of the time until early hours of the morning due to my dad being out with their friends. I was fine with this, I would usually sit and play games or watch movies until he came home. On this specific night I think it was a Friday I had finished watching my movie (bring it on for anyone wondering) and had gone upstairs to my bedroom to lay in bed watching YouTube videos, I don't remember what time I fell asleep but I wasn't expecting my dad home until 2am at least. I woke up very suddenly at about 1am not knowing if something had actually woken me up or not until I heard a loud sound in my back garden, My room was on the front of the house so I couldn't see anything from there. I stayed in bed and just assumed it was a neighbour or something in their garden and wasn't actually in my garden. I went back to sleep.
The village I lived in at this time wasn't necessarily a great area and had a lot of crime, usually car incidents, teenage gang related violence and robberies (mainly from sheds in the garden not usually the houses).
I woke up when my dad got home but didn't mention anything obviously because I didn't even think anything of it anymore. When we both woke up in the morning and went out into the garden which by the way is very long (maybe 200 yards) but not very wide, we saw that our bike tires had been stolen, they were locked in the shed and someone had broken the lock off and taken the bike tires and the bike seats. At this point I tell my dad what I heard and he calls the police. They can't really do much and don't really do much besides take a statement.
That day I went to different stores with my dad to find motion activated lights and cameras for the back garden. We found it all and my dad installed the lights but didn't install the cameras as he was waiting for some longer cables he had ordered from online. Nothing happened for a few days and it was time for me to go and stay at my mums for a weekend. I packed bags and was picked up by her. Nothing eventful happened to me whilst I was gone.
When I got back to my dads he had installed the cameras. He had also spoken to the police again. I asked what had happened, whilst I was gone and my dad was out with his friends someone had tried to break in to the house. The camera posted slightly down the garden but the light only reached the back patio area so we couldn't see further than that.
The footage was dark and for some reason the light hadn't come on yet, we saw small movements in the dark coming up to the door. The light turns on, a man in a black hoodie looks up and covers his head with his arm probably not expecting the light . He turns and runs down the garden very quickly after the light comes on. My dad had gotten home, gone to sleep , woken up the next morning and looked at the footage, he then went to check outside. There were dirty boot marks on the back door where someone had tried to kick it down. A little further down the garden however we had a washing line across the yard. Below the washing line was a large skid mark. The only thought being that the intruder had run down the garden and choked themselves on the washing line not knowing it was there, throwing them down to the ground. A funnier ending to the story.
Whilst it might not be scary to come people as a 13 year old knowing that the first time I was alone it was probably the same people/person. Looking back its scary knowing what would have happened if I had been home alone and they had gotten in. Luckily it seemed they only wanted to break in whilst no one was in.
thank you for reading :) | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15ojxv9/attempted_break_in/ | TrueScaryStories | Trick-Advantage-882 |
false | Maine house haunting | About 6-7 months ago, my family moved to this house in maine that was built in 1986. After we moved in, my mother became friends with the previous owners, a mother, father, and their son. Everything was fine for a while, but a month or 2 after moving in, things started getting weird.
For context, my father and older brother go to work at roughly 6:30 PM, and don't arrive until 3:30-4:00 AM. Thus, me, my mother, and younger sister are home alone until they arrive home. We have a basement in the living room that was recently renovated a few months before moving in, and there's two rooms down there, my older sister's, who moved out a few weeks before, and my older brother's.
Usually, me and my mother go to sleep 11:30-1:00 AM, my little sister going to bed a few hours earlier. So, me and my mom are mostly alone together in the living room.
Our first little experiences were just hearing noises and small things in the basement, such as light footsteps and creaks. We thought nothing of it until it started getting worse.
One day, I was in my room on my computer, headphones off, my mother in the living room calling with her friends, my little sister asleep in the room next to me. Suddenly, I hear a loud groan, sounding like a girl's voice, in the bathroom right next to my room. At first, I'm like, "girl why are you groaning" because I assumed it was my younger sister. A few minutes later, my mom walks into my room and asks if I heard it too, I say yes, and she tells me that it was not my little sister. Immediately, I felt a pit in my stomach, my mother heard it behind her in the living room, yet I heard it in the bathroom. There were no animals in the house, and my mother's friends on the call heard it aswell. We locked our bedroom doors that night, (I covered mine with my dresser) and she msde me sleep with a knife just in case.
A few days after that, just before bed, me and my mother started hearing what sounded like talking and light footsteps downstairs, it sounded like a man. It got so bad that she made me go in her room with her with knives, since my room door didn't have a lock. The talking got so loud and the footsteps so loud that my mother called our dad and made them come home early to check the house, in fear of a squatter or something being in our basement. A moment while we were waiting in bed, I heard a voice talking near the window, I thought my mom was on TikTok. My mother then turned to me and asked if I heard that, scared. When my father and brother came home, they found nothing.
After that, I began hearing cluttering noises in my closet at night. I assumed it was the wind, although scared. The next day, my mother walked in my room in the morning and told me that she had spoken to the previous owners, who lived there from 2012-2022, and the mother had told her about her son.
Her son was about 8-10 years old and his old room was my current room. The mother said the son would talk to nothing and say he sees a boy in the closet. It turns out, there was a young boy who died in the area and was following the son until they moved out, my mother said he might now be following me.
Another time, I was in the kitchen at about 2:00 AM, everyone's asleep, and I was about to do dishes. Before I started, I suddenly heard what sounded like a child crying. I immediately got worried because I thought it was my little sister, and I put my ear up to their bedroom door, but I heard no crying in there. I went back to the kitchen and heard it again, before it stopped.
Another time was about a month later, I was on call with my best friend, keep in mind it's night time again, and I went to the kitchen to grab dinner. I came back with my plate, and my friend asked what I was eating, and right when I responded, she was like, "Wait, wait, stop. What was that? Was that you?" It turns out she had heard a low hum as I was speaking, and I did not hear anything. She said she heard it on the call, at the same time as I was speaking, so it couldn't have been me.
This was my last experience, and most recent. I was walking downstairs to grab something from my brother's room in the basement, and as I was walking up the stairs, on the last few steps, I heard what sounded like a woman humming for almost 2 seconds. As I walked into the living room, I looked at my mom on the couch and was like, "What the hell, mom. You scared me so much!" And she said, "What?" She sounded confused. And I told her I heard her hum, and she confusedly denied it. We asked my little sister, but she also denied it. I immediately called my best friend to tell her what happened, and as I was explaining, my mother was leaning over the stairs, before yelling, "I just heard it!" My mom sounded genuinely both afraid and shocked. I could barely sleep that night.
We have since moved out, a few weeks after that last experience. We haven't experienced a single thing since then in our new house. I always used to wish to experience something paranormal, but after months of living there, I am grateful that it's over. It made us feeling scared and not safe, especially with my father and brother gone every night, barely believing us when we told them about it. Sorry if this doesn't make much sense, I just wanted to document before I forget. | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15o9pka/maine_house_haunting/ | TrueScaryStories | I_9d |
false | No f—- around with ouija boards | I (33F) grew up in a haunted house. It was an old Queen Anne farm house in Wisconsin that was built in 1865. During WW2 it was a halfway house for soldiers returning home from the war. There were… odd things that would happen pretty routinely. Radios would turn up or down on their own. Pictures would fall off shelves. My bedroom door wouldn’t stay closed no matter what I did (outside of eventually putting a latch on the door). Often you could hear people talking in the next room over but then no one would be there. There’s a spot on one of the landings on the stairs that go up to the 2nd floor that was always ice cold, didn’t matter if it was dead of summer or if the heat was turned on. Sometimes the entire house would boom and shake out of no where, like someone hit the house with their car. And sometimes there was a banging noise in the ceiling, which would start at one end of the house and then rapidly, too rapidly to be some kind of critter, it would travel along the ceiling to the other side of the house. Took about 2-3 seconds. There was a freak cherry tree in the back yard that grew as tall as the house (3 stories). There was also a young woman with blonde hair and a white dress who appeared pretty commonly to guests in the front hallway. That’s just a few examples.
One day when I was in middle school, a friend from school Josie and I decided to play around with her ouija board. Mind you, the timing for this was not good. Josie’s mom had passed away and her dad was abusing her at home. So she had been staying with us for a few days while we figure out what to do. So, things were tense and emotional and Josie was in a vulnerable position.
On top of that we didn’t know what we were doing. That night we must have made contact with something angry. Or made something angry. I don’t really remember how the seance started or what really led up to things getting out of hand. All I remember is looking at Josie and she had her switchblade pressed to her own throat, with the edge against her skin. I opened my mouth to say something, yell maybe, but at that moment the bedroom door opened (shoving the chair that was holding it closed out of the way) and then slammed shut, just as the lamp on my night stand went flying across the room, shattering against the opposite wall.
When I asked her what she was doing all she said was “I couldn’t move.”
We never spoke about it again. And that’s the only time I can remember ever being actually afraid of what was in that house. | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15nt37t/no_f_around_with_ouija_boards/ | TrueScaryStories | Exquisite-Embers |
false | Once a Believer, Always a Believer | This happened a few years back, when my now husband and I just began dating. He was living in a really cute house on a hill with his mom and stepfather. I have always been a believer in the paranormal. I even used to see things back when I was younger that still sends chills up my spine. Somehow, I put a block to it according to a close family friend of mine whose a psychic, but part of me wanted to experience what I used to see again, now that I am older and feel that I could handle it.
Anyway, when I first started going over his house, I remember one specific night he had asked me to come over for dinner as his stepdad was cooking up a storm. I remember sitting in the kitchen at their island and having a conversation with both him and his stepdad when all of a sudden, the door bell rang. They had a habit of keeping the front door open for their two dogs to stare out and gaze at the neighbors and birds that passed by.
"Who was that?" I asked, looking around to see if we were expecting some more company.
I knew something was wrong when my husband and stepdad looked at each other with a smirk.
"You'll have to get used to that" His stepdad laughed, "It was Edna."
"Who is Edna?" I asked, preparing myself for the answer I knew was coming.
"Our ghost" My husband said, "She's harmless. She just likes to play pranks, especially on people who are new to our home. Once you get used to her, she won't bother you no more. But the more you're afraid and react, the more she'll bother you."
I tried to hide my fear the best I could, as I started to spend the weekends sleeping over. Late at night, there would be loud knocks coming from the basement. Footsteps going up and down the stairs when everyone had gone to bed. But I have to say what really put the cherry on top of this "harmless haunting" was when I was alone in my husband's room watching TV one night. He was in the basement doing his laundry, and his mom and stepdad were in the family room a floor down from me watching a movie. I heard footsteps coming up the stairs, but thought nothing of it and kept my attention on the TV. From the corner of my eye, I could make out a woman coming up the stairs who I assumed was his mom.
"Hi Val" She said softly.
"Hi" I replied. I felt rude that I didn't bother to turn my face to actually see her, but I was so in tune with the show I was watching, and heard the footsteps stop when she reached her room.
Not too long after, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs again, and this time it made me jump! It was his mom, who came into the room to say "HI".
"I didn't hear you go back downstairs again" I gasped.
She looked at me confused, telling me she has been downstairs the entire time and this is the first she is coming back up the stairs. I was scared, yes I admit it, even regretting what I had mentioned before about wanting to experience the paranormal again. She helped calm me down and said "Edna is just playing around with you."
Edna was the previous owner of the home who died there of Dementia and Alzheimer's. I guess part of her didn't ever want to leave or she had some unfinished business to take care of. After that day, she would still pull some harmless pranks, like things going missing, things being placed in one spot and moved to another, my mother in laws windows being washed and her seeing her apparition in the window smiling, my nieces toys being knocked over and no one there, and of course, messing with that damn doorbell again. My now in-laws have sold the house and moved down to Florida, but I still wonder to this day if the new owners are experiencing what we had. I hate to say that I miss these harmless pranks. I'll never forget you, Edna. | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15nfll2/once_a_believer_always_a_believer/ | TrueScaryStories | the_ghost_whisperer |
false | Does anyone else think Siri/alexa etc are creepy?? | More often than not when I’m having a conversation, I hear Siri answer something or say something and it really freaks me out, because I never once triggered Siri to say anything in these circumstances. I’ve seen far too many stories about Alexas and siri for it to be a coincidence that they seem to do creepy things. What do you guys think about these ai’s? | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15ma7di/does_anyone_else_think_sirialexa_etc_are_creepy/ | TrueScaryStories | skelita_supremacist |
false | My True Story Of Me Encountering A Full Bodied Demon In A New House That I Just Bought 1/2 Months Ago | About 1/2 months ago, I bought my very first house that was in the bush because I was living in a noisy town with nonstop sounds, with only 2 neighbours, who are really nice to me and to each other. Skip about 2 weeks ahead (when I had all my things with me) I started to hear weird sounds from the basement around 2:00 to 5:00 in the morning like quite banging and weird, when I woke up in the morning to check and noticed the basement door had a heavy duty lock on it. I was looking for the key then eventually finding it behind the kitchen door in a cabinet.
I grabbed a flashlight and my small army pocket knife ( just in case it was an animal trying to get out), I unlocked it and slowly opened the door with my flashlight on and turned on the lights. Everything looked like a normal basement really, your water pump and all that stuff, but I noticed a corner of the room had 2 concrete walls with an old style white door like from the 1990's, no windows on the door or walls.
I opened it and it was a 5 by 6 Meter room with nothing in it, just an empty room with no lights in it just a lifeless room, but boy I was completely wrong about that. I looked in the corner of the small room and what I think I saw was a tall black figure with a **V shaped head** and the body of that of a mangled human, it turned around and that's when I could describe it even more. The eyes were solid white and they had what looked like scribbles on them, making them look (I don't really like using this word) cursed, like from a horror movie, then it screamed at me and started to chase me out of the basement, I dropped my knife at that point of time because I was afraid if this thing. I ran to the door quickly closing it and locked it so it wouldn't get out, I could hear it quietly clawing and making the same sounds like the ones I hear almost every night.
The next morning I decided to board up the door with 5 boards and grabbed chains and locked it tight together so nothing would move or break out. due to this day I still hear sound here and there, but it's mostly active at night. I have so many questions so I talked to my neighbour (won't say his name) that their dad told them a story of a man who did dark magic cursed that land and the house with a demon that would torment those forever as long as they live here until they move away and off the land, basically protecting the land from new people that move in.
Here are some of the questions I had for myself: **(A little Behind The Story Here, some of these I wrote down before I talked to my neighbour)**
Why is that thing in my basement making these noises and trying to hurt me? what was its purpose? why is it in there in the first place? who or what is this thing? I don't want to hear it or see it anymore. I don't know how to get rid of this thing or just to make it leave me alone, this has been going on non-stop every night for weeks now and I can't make it stop.
**If anyone could help me with this issue, then that would really help me dearly, I don't want to result in moving out because I have no where else to go right now. Type Down A Comment If You Think You Might Know How To Get Rid Of This Thing Or How To Help Me In This**
**Hell Of A Situation, Thank You.** | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15m90qg/my_true_story_of_me_encountering_a_full_bodied/ | TrueScaryStories | Beautiful_Active_835 |
false | I thought my house was broken into | A couple months ago, I was home alone with my boyfriend in my old room, I have since moved rooms. Everything was fine, apart from hearing the odd noise, but the house usually does that, so I thought nothing of it. Usually when I hear noises, my boyfriend doesn’t, and he reassures me it’s just my psychosis (I have extremely bad paranoia and I suffer with psychosis for context). But this time a couple months ago, we heard full on walking around in the house, before brushing it off as paranoia I realised my boyfriend heard it too. Of course I was very freaked out and immediately texted my dad, as my boyfriend did the same with his dad. We continued to hear walking, one time it even seemed to be coming up the stairs. By this point I was on the verge of tears and I had called my dad to come home as fast as possible and check around the house. When he got to the house, he checked everywhere and said there was nothing, not a thing. I thanked my dad for coming even though I was still scared, and he soon left. Me and my boyfriend stayed put in my room, because we were absolutely certain that we heard what we did. My boyfriends dad came to pick us up, and they dropped me at my grandmas house, where my dad was. Nothing was in the house when me and my boyfriend left, but there was definitely someone or something at the time we heard it. | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15ma40t/i_thought_my_house_was_broken_into/ | TrueScaryStories | skelita_supremacist |
false | Weird stalker from across the globe TW: Self harm | Hello everyone, I have long debated posting this story but I recently discovered the chatlogs and I felt the urge to share my story with you. Disclaimer; English is my second language, so excuse my mistakes.
When this entire thing started I was in a very bad place in life, transfered to a new school, my friends stopped talking to me and I was overally lonely 15 year old kid. Back then, I used to work at a hotel in my small town in Central Europe. We had a lot of Korean visitors, because the town was located close to all the local landmarks a tourist would like to see. I think that this might be important later in the story. I have made small to no interaction with the guests as the language barrier was quite big.
Then one day, I got a notification from snapchat. Someone named ébloui added me as a friend. I didn’t think much of it and added them back. The person almost immediately sent me a picture of their face. It was a Korean girl I was quite sure I’ve never met before. She messaged me right after, she introduced herself with her snapchat name and tried to make small talk. I didn’t think much of it as I had no friends and thought it’s quite nice to have someone to talk to, especially from a foreign country.
The messages varied from broken English to perfectly coherent and advanced English sentences to Korean. First we talked about our life, I was very careful not to drop any personal info, including my name, age etc. Later on she would get deep into philosophy and art, passions which we both shared. As our conversation went on, she sent me a link to a video from her youtube channel. The channel was how you would imagine the typical weird creepypasta-ish one to be. Except this one was very real. She had about 100 different videos. The videos would be of her, hanging around in her apartment or going for a walk, nothing too unusual, maybe a shot or two, the really unusual and very unsettling things were the background voice messages, that, I believe, men sent to her. Basically all of the messages were of men describing what they were going to do to her, very explicit sexual messages. I'm not gonna go into detail but it was very off. Yet I respected it as a way she coped with those horrible things and I complimented her videos and said that they were interesting.
We continued to talk for a few weeks and she would become very aggresive, saying things like I have no purpose in life and that I should be ashamed of myself. Everytime I would try to dispute her claims, she would drop something from my personal life, something I have never mentioned before. For example "Yeah, you are getting your life together? So why do you still work at that cheap hotel?". This is what led me to believe that she might've been a guest at our hotel, yet it wouldn't explain how she got ahold of my snapchat. She continued to send me her videos, but I still didn't think much of it. Anytime I would post a picture with a person of the opposite sex, she would send me long walls of text simply saying "I KILL I KILL I KILL YOU'RE MINE, I AM ART". This is where it started to become too much for me and I blocked her. Everything was silent for a week or so when I got another snapchat add. I knew who it was from, but I still decided to give her another chance. She messaged me like nothing happened and I went on with my day.
After I got home from work I got a lot of notifications from snapchat, that depicted her self harming and saying that it would go further if I didn't talk to her. I was shocked, to say the least. I continued the communication until I figured out she no longer presented harm to herself, atleast for now. The next day she started referring to me with my real name, started telling me about my age, my school, what I do and, maybe by coincidence, got my school results right. From then on, she would send me videos of herself from different youtube channels and always wanted my feedback, or to be more exact, praise. I did not want to play this game anymore so I simply stopped responding. And with that it stopped. Not exactly, but to a certain degree. I would still get the messages, unsolicited pictures and drops of personal info but I just ignored it.
Now, after 5 years, I checked the messages and I got this horrifying sinking feeling, I guess I didn't really understand the severity of the situation at that age, looking back at it today, I feel pretty traumatized and I worry that one day, the message will pop up again. If anyone doubts the sincerity of this post I can, of course, post some screenshots. The real reason I'm writing this is that I want to know if anyone else went through a similar thing or even met this exact person. All the videos are private, but she has a new channel now from what I’ve gathered. It no longer features any kind of voice messages, yet it still is quite weird. Thank you all for reading this and I’d be glad if you could provide me with your opinion on this matter. The new channel is up under the name ébloui. (dot included) | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15m6l95/weird_stalker_from_across_the_globe_tw_self_harm/ | TrueScaryStories | ReplacementClear5781 |
false | First time getting threatened by a gun | This happened about a year ago. I was living in Barrio Logan in San Diego at the time. My place was the side entrance of a duplex and the house was right next to a park. One night at around 11PM I was playing call of duty. I had my front door open and the screen door locked to help cool down the house. As I was playing with friends, I heard screaming outside but thought it was just my game. I then heard it again followed by a female scream.
My friends over my headset pointed it out and asked me what was going on in my house. I replied to them that I thought that was my game. Nothing is happening in my home. I got up and checked outside. Right across the street, there was a man shoving a woman around the street and punched her while she was screaming. She pulls out her phone and he grabbed it and threw it across the road at my fence. He never saw me.
He then runs around the corner and she goes the opposite way. I run out and catch her around the corner and try helping her out. She kept walking and blankly stared at me over her shoulder. I asked her if she had somewhere to go and she didn’t reply. I asked if she needed help and with that she replied with “go away” in a shaky voice. I was going to turn back to my house when the man whips around the corner and starts screaming at me. He starts telling me that I’m getting into something that I don’t need to be in. I got a weird feeling off of that guy.
He then puts his hand under his shirt and asks if I’m trying to get shot. I backed off and said “hey I’m sorry. Wasn’t trying to get in someone’s business. I just saw her crying and asked if she was ok but I’ll let you handle it” I walk past him to go back home and he starts walking behind me. I started sprinting and sprinted all the way around the block, took the back entrance to the alley and went inside. I called the police and 5 minutes later 5 squad cars zoomed by my home. Not sure if they caught the guy or not. | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15l73xv/first_time_getting_threatened_by_a_gun/ | TrueScaryStories | jorr4912 |
false | Should i be concerned?? | Alright, So, Me and my best friend were just hanging out in a car, untill we saw something move. I'm not sure what it was, but it was pretty tall. We just sweared at it and called it rude things, but at one point i put my cross necklace on the dashboard of the car and the power of the car just went out completely. When we got out of the car, the cars power returned. We then went inside my house, and a few minutes later we went back in. We both saw something move, and then we just went back in. Should i be concerned? I mean, the car seemed perfectly fine before. And we didn't really see like anything else and i'm scared something will happen tbh. Not much else has happened since, and its only been around 10 minutes or so. | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15kx8b2/should_i_be_concerned/ | TrueScaryStories | Fella_RaidenShogun |
false | Phone, or Demon? | So today my girlfriend and I were getting ready to go out for the day
I was bent over doing something on the floor, she was packing a bag on the counter stood right beside me. My phone was on the counter...
When we had everything ready she asked 'Will I zip up the bag'
I replied 'I don't know' just incase we had forgotten something (I was gunna scan the house quickly)
My phone however lit up, and answers 'Yes' in a ladies voice scaring the shit out of the 2 of us
I have a Samsung S21 Ultra, so no siri.
I don't use bixby.
I've never used voice commands on the phone.
We didn't say 'hey google' or anything..
It's never done that before in over a year of owning it..
Wtf could it have been .. | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15jwzbn/phone_or_demon/ | TrueScaryStories | Mysterion94 |
false | The thing sleeping next to me | For starters I have a bengal cat named Debbie and if u didn’t know bengals and great hunters and are always loyal, yesterday I took my cat out to hunt with me knowing she has strong smell so she could find me without a problem so I took her out and let her on her harness so she could watch around for some prey like a rabbit or a bird but something made a loud snap like a twig or something since the forest I live next to has a bunch of animals I wasn’t scared or surprised but Debbie had different plans, she ran out chasing where the sound was coming from I assumed it was something like a squirrel or other small creatures so after like 3 seconds “Debbie heel!” I yelled into the silent forest nothing came “Debbie!” I yelled again this time my loved “cat” showed up with a rabbit arm in her mouth and some blood on her, so after my hunt I went home with “Debbie” and she was acting strange she had yellow eyes instead of turquoise her size appeared bigger, her tail was shorter, there was so many differences that I knew that wasn’t my cat, all my years I’ve known her I was basically her parent for years I even knew her foot pattern in the way she walks so I just wanted to go to bed since I had a long day and was probably feeling sick,I’m currently in bed writing this with my so called feline sleeping next to me, I just know that’s not my Debbie… | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15jl7cl/the_thing_sleeping_next_to_me/ | TrueScaryStories | Emplodedpear334 |
false | Paranormal Janitorial Job {P2} | Continuing off my last post, this part will be in the actual school.
just a reminder this is a small community school in a small residential town in Canada BC.
Here is the idea of the layout, so i worked in the left wing of the communtiy school and there is a teachers office next to a few class rooms, storage room, also a door the leads down stairs to a furnace room plus more storage rooms {there are stairs that go down then turns to the left then three doors}.
I take my dinner break in the teachers office, there is a table next to the door in the office.
Ok so i was on my dinner break sitting at the table on the side of the door way, i was having my dinner and watching something on YT i honestly can't remember what i was watching but i do know it wasnt to loud, all of a sudden i heard a few soft knocks on a door in the hall way so i paused the video and looked out the door way to see if someone that needed me for something but no one was there.
so i sat there listening to see if it happens again for about a minute then as I go to unpause the video I heard scratching on the door right across the hallway from the office, so I got up to walk over to the furnace room door holding on to my phone incase I had to call my manager.
As I got close, I said, "Hellooo, you shouldn't be in there!" Grabbed onto the door knob to open but it was locked, it sounded like someone or something was moving around on the other side so I started calling my manager and as he picked up there was a loud bang on the door, I jumped back as I kinda yelled into the phone telling him what I thought was going on.
{ I know there is another way into the furnace room, but you would need to break in! and yes, my manager heard the bang.}
heard movement right behind the door, and it was in place not going down the stairs, I tried to open the door again yelling "you can't be in there! If you leave now, I won't call the cops!" The door opened this time and nothing!
The lights were off that whole time, I flicked them on, then looked down to see a shadow person's head leaning over from the corner, pull back to hide! It was so weird because the lights were so bright that I should have seen face clearly but just the black shape.
I closed the door to wait a few minutes for my manager to show up, I was shaking the whole times thinking back on what just happened, the manager went down to check things out then when he came back up to tell me there was noone down there and everything was locked plus nothing broken.
Another time on dinner break one of my guy friends was covering one of the other janitors, we were in the same office having our dinner, we were watching our own videos on our phones while eating, {yes I already told him what happened to me, he's not a big horror fan like I am}.
While sitting there eating, I heard a long scratch on a door, couldn't tell where it came from but had a hunch where it was.
looked at him and asked, "Did you hear that?" He nodded, looking shocked, so I paused my video. I opened a Spirit box app I had on my phone and started it.
{ yes, I was young and curious, wanting to find out whatever was there. I wanted to tell us.}
After a few seconds, a few random words popped up, I don't remember all the words, but what stays with me to this day is angry, stairs, and fire.
We looked at each other freaking out a little bit then we look towards the door, as I stood up the door opened up slightly so I told him to have the manager dialed in his phone just incase.
Ran over to pull open the door, but I saw and heard nothing! The lights were left on this time}. My friend slowly walked over as I stepped through the door to look down noone was there this time but I heard footsteps running into one of the rooms down there, so I started to go down the stairs yelling "hey you need to get out of here!" Then I told my friend to call the manager.
As I got to the corner, I saw one of the doors closing {slow closing doors}, before I could open it again, it was fully closed and locked! I yelled while knocking on the door "Hey who is in there!? You need to leave!" I heard no movement for a bit while I tried to open the door, but then I heard a loud bang behind me from another door like someone was using both of their arms.
I thought to myself, "The hell with this!"
Started running back up the stairs telling my friend to watch my back incase someone tries to come after me, as I got closer to him, he told me he saw the same thing I did before but their arm reaching out towards us, I just stepped onto the top stair the lights went off thankfully my friend moved back into the hallway so I ran out and closed the door and held it as our manager rushed towards us.
We told him what happened, and then he checked things out. Nothing was wrong, but this time, there were small soft scratches on the furnace room door!
Thank you so much for reading my true paranormal janitorial experiences!
I have other stories to tell, so please follow up to keep updated! | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15je1na/paranormal_janitorial_job_p2/ | TrueScaryStories | StayinLovely |
false | My Alexa just did something weird. | So I was just doing a workout, didn't have anything playing on my Alexa, didn't even speak to her once. Yet she started playing this heartbeat sound, it was incredibly creepy and slow. At first I didn't know it was her, I thought it was just a vibration from my tablet or phone or watch, but once I finished my workout I went over to my bedside table to look for the source. It got louder the closer I got to it and I wondered for a second if it was coming from the bathroom so I checked that too before coming back to my room and looking at Alexa. I thought that there was no way it could be her since I never spoke to her and she never said a single word to me during my workout either, but I checked anyways and put her against my ear (it's an echo dot, so it's small) and it was her! I asked her "Alexa, why are you playing a heartbeat sound?" She lit up and listened but didn't respond and just turned pink. After that I told her to stop and she did, but maybe I should have asked what she was doing instead? Doesn't matter now since she's stopped now, just very random and creepy. | https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/comments/15iocel/my_alexa_just_did_something_weird/ | TrueScaryStories | ConsistentAioli2795 |
true | Creepy Uber Driver | So last night, around midnight, me and my partner got an Uber from a friends house back to my place. For reference we live about a mile and a half away from the friend, but in a dark kinda sketchy part of town so we didn’t want to walk. We ordered the Uber and smoked a joint while waiting for him to show up. We get in and do the typical Uber greetings. It’s a short drive, about 10 minutes, and it was about to be the longest ride of my life. He starts the conversation by asking if we had just escaped from a place called sage view. At the time, I didn’t know this but after looking it up it turns out it’s a psych ward near where we got picked up. I told him no, just going home after a fun night. He laughs and says that he spent some time at Sageview himself. I ask him why he spent time there. He replies by saying “ well…it’s because im crazy.” This unnerves me a little but I figure we’ll be home soon enough and I joke back that im a little crazy myself and how everyone is in their own way. There’s a very long pause before he says “I got arrested at my therapy appointment. Said some things my therapist….didn’t like.” This sets off so many alarm bells inside my brain I almost jumped out of the car with my partner. Im trying to silently get her attention, but like always when she’s with me, she kind of shut off her situational awareness and doesn’t notice anything is wrong. I decide to keep him talking because silence makes me uneasy. I ask him what he said that his therapist didn’t like. He laughs for way too long for a question like that and says that it doesn’t matter. Then there’s another very long pause. Then out of nowhere he says with a threatening inflection, “he was asking me too many questions.” At that point I take the hint and stop pushing the subject and start directing him myself instead of trusting him to follow the map. We had maybe 2 minutes left in the drive and I notice him staring daggers at me in the mirror, not even watching the road. I tell him to just pull over and let us out because I feel no amount of walking is worse than being in a car with that man. Me and my partner get out and start speed walking away, while he sits there in the middle of the road watching us. Didn’t hear the car start until we were down on the next street. I had 911 already dialed in if I saw his car again that night, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I don’t know what was up with this guy, but i hope I never see him again. And to top it all off, my partner was completely oblivious the entire time until I recounted the story with her once we were home. | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14uezkk/creepy_uber_driver/ | LetsNotMeet | purple_hindu |
true | Ring camera | I don’t know if this is the right place to share this but i’m freaked out so here.
So my family went on vacation about 6 months ago. We have four cats and were leaving them with a sitter who was gonna come twice a day to check on them and feed them. My dad had gotten a free indoor ring camera from his job so we decided to set it up to check in on them when the sitter wasn’t there. The camera was set up on the top of a bookshelf over looking our living room. You could see the entrance to my bedroom and bathroom from it as our apartment is not very big.
After the trip we stopped using the camera but never took it down, cause we just forgot it was there.
Tonight me and my sibling were hanging out in our living room when they made a joke about us being filmed. Confused as to what they were talking about they pointed up to the ring camera that had a green light indicating it was on.
This light has not been on to our knowledge since we originally tested the camera before our trip. At first we just assumed our mother (the only one with the connected app on her phone) was using it. (Another note, my mother before the trip was against these cameras, and is always been super against invading either of our privacy’s. We are also full adults now, it would be highly unlikely for her to be checking the camera in the middle of the night)
Once I noticed the light on, I said “Those cameras are like super easy to hack” We both look up and the light shuts off.
We took the batteries out and put the camera in a drawer. I don’t think I really need conformation to know that the camera was likely hacked but I want someone to tell me I’m overreacting. I guess I’m have to wait until the morning to see if there is anyway my mom would’ve accidentally checked the camera. | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14tvrfg/ring_camera/ | LetsNotMeet | bunnycl0wn |
true | Weird experience with a guy I went to my pride parade with | This might not be as creepy as the other situations here but it scared. I know I acted like an idiot but I come from a small town which is very safe and didn't know any better at that time
So, on second June, I was going to a pride March in our city to meet up with my friends and I with a guy I met in a WhatsApp(a text messaging app) group, so he has my number. 'N' said that he was a gay man and wanted a woman to accompany him because he wanted to buy a skirt or something and needed a girl. I agreed to help and so we went to the parade together. On the way we introduced ourselves. I told him my college but didn't tell him my department.
Everything was fine except he wouldn't let me join the parade until much later. 'N' left a bit before I did because idk he had somewhere to be and I reached home fine. Everything was going chill, he asked for me and my other friend's Instagram id, which I did not give out of respect for my friend's privacy.
but one day, I get a request from a girl, 'S', which I accepted because I thought she was from my college, but she wasn't. At first her account seemed normal, she posted her pictures on her stories and she did not look anything like 'N'. But she immediately started acting weird, hitting on me, being creepy and shit and asking if I had any bisexual male friends and insuinating that I should hook up with one of them or something. I immediately blocked her at that because I do not tolerate such vulgar conversations with strangers. Another suspicious thing I noticed was that her typing style was the exact same as 'N' and so I asked him whether he knew this girl. He said no and so I accepted it and we didn't talk for a bit.
So, today he like texted me, asking me about some dresses and shit, stuff I like. I don't have this guy's number saved, so like I checked his profile and this dude has changed his name to 's'. This was too specific to be a coincidence. This guy was literally using some poor random girl's pictures in that sock puppet account. I don't know why he did this shit Im a trans affirmative person so if 'n' was a trans woman, I would have supported 'n'. But 'n' never said anything of that sort, infact he changed his own narrative by saying that he was bisexual instead of gay, which I brushed aside because it can be lingo. And regardless it is wrong to use someone else's pictures to deceive someone.
The saddest thing is that this was literally my first pride parade.
A few days later after this, I downloaded telegram for something. This guy's "friend"(I think it was him only) somehow found me on telegram and started to beg me to unblock him, he was crying and shit, that he was trans and didn't know his gender or something. I told that friend that I respected that and had no problem if he had told me but using some random woman's pictures on Instagram to lie to me and then denying it was uncalled for. I also told that friend to respect my choice and to not share my number around. I also informed my parents of this situation and they naturally got super worried over me. They also dug some information about him from his number through truecaller and it was found that he lied to me about his name and even about the place he came from. The city he comes from is infamous for gang violence and abductions.
After that, he messaged me with a fucking SECOND account, this time with a different name, acting like nothing happened and asking if I would be attending the queer potluck. I blocked that account. I still do not understand why he lied about his identity so many times. Since then, it has been quiet and he hasn't bothered me. To think that I felt guilty and thought that I had misunderstood!
So, to that guy, stop messaging me and let's not meet. | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14tx2c7/weird_experience_with_a_guy_i_went_to_my_pride/ | LetsNotMeet | pearl_mermaid |
true | Gym Stalker | One night I (18 M) was at the gym around 10 pm because I worked all day and my gym stays open all night. I was casually working out as I always have. Out of nowhere this very short Hispanic guy comes out of nowhere and asks me what I’m doing later. Thinking this is very odd I decided to ignore him and act like I couldn’t hear him cause of my headphones. He kept asking me but eventually left.
When I finished my workout I went into the locker room to get my keys and check myself out in the mirror. As I entered the locker room the guy was sitting on the bench STARING at me. Like watching my every move. So I skip looking at myself in the mirror and grab my keys and go to the bathroom quick. I can see he starts to follow me as I head to the urinal so I quickly resort to a stall. When I left the stall he is still staring from the urinal. I ignore him and start leaving the gym but he STILL follows me. Once again he asks me what I’m doing tonight and what my name is but this time I couldn’t pretend to not hear him so I just said, “sorry man I’m not interested” and quickly got to my far a drove away.
A week later…
I had work again this day so I was as at the gym around 10 PM and everything was normal. Was working out, saw some friends and then I see the same guy from a week ago staring at me whilst laying against an empty wall. I try to ignore him but every machine or workout I do he starts to follow me. I stayed by some friends so he would hopefully not come near me. When those friends left so did he. So I thought I was safe. I get my stuff together and head out around 11:30. At this point my phone had died. I was a little worried but then I started to freak out because when I approached my car there was a rose in my trucks handle (drivers side). I actually started to run and went back in to get assistance from someone working cause I didn’t feel like dying that day. After removing it I sped home as fast as I could.
A few days after…
I had a normal workout didn’t see him til I went to my truck. He was parked right next to me standing infront of his car. While I got in I could see him watching me the whole time. Now everytime I go late at night he’s waiting for me and asking me wierd questions. I talked to the workers about this and they said he’s not from here and is just trying to be nice. But I cant help but wonder why he doenst get the hint when I tell him no all the time. I wake up hours early in the morning to go to the gym now. But when I go late he’s still there watching me every time. What should I do.
Another time there was a rose on my windshield and a phone wire wrapped around my handle. Heres a picture…
Then more recently he added me on Snapchat. Idk how he knows my name or how he knew what car was mine in the first place. | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14sizhu/gym_stalker/ | LetsNotMeet | Standard_Ad_7596 |
true | I'm glad I thought to run |
So this happened a while back, I was probably around 10-11 years old, meaning my brother, Alex, was around 8-9 years old. We were walking home from the bus, which takes about 7 minutes to do when I noticed something was off. I didn't see anything at first, but I just knew that something was wrong.
So my brother and I start walking home, as the only two who got off at our stop were him and I. This blue and silver beat up truck drives past us, and I think nothing of it. It never slowed down or stopped. It just kept going. Alex and I were holding hands, as my grandmother always told me to do with him as he's my baby brother and I want nothing to happen to him.
Nothing happens at first but then the same truck drives around again, driving our way this time ( there was a cul-de-sac at the end of our road). It was driving slower this time and went up the road and turned, out of sight. Now Alex and I were nearing the three-way intersection that connected the cul-de-sac road to the other side road, right off the main road the man just drove down. I happened to look down the street and see the truck driving, real slow, down the street towards us again.
I knew we had to run. I knew there was no other option. I knew that if we didn't, my brother and I would not be safe. I don't know how I knew, but I did. As soon as we passed a house that blocked us from view I turned to Alex and spoke to him exactly four words.
" No questions, just run"
And we did.
In our driveway (which is about 100 feet long btw) there is a row of bushes and pine trees that divide our home from the next door neighbor. I dragged him in there and told him to be quiet and I'd explain later.
I watched as the same truck drove down and around the cul-de-sac again before coming to a stop right in front of our house. I had to hold my brothers mouth shut because he was crying and I was scared that whoever was following us would hear him and hurt us. I was more worried for him than for myself at this point. I was in fight or flight mode. I was the big sister. I had to protect him.
I looked at him and said that the truck was following us, and I told him to not be scared. I said I wouldn't let anyone hurt him and it seemed to calm him down a little.
After what felt like hours but was probably only minutes the door to the truck opened and out came a man. He was tall, skinny and messy. Short hair covered by a torn baseball cap. Ripped jean shorts and a puke green tank top. He entered our yard and looked around a bit. Alex and I were still in the bushes and I was trying to find a way to get to our house safely without getting this dude's attention. The guy left after what felt like forever and entered his car. He started it and drove away slowly.
I waited a few minutes to make sure he was gone before turning to my brother and saying.
" We need to run. When I count to three. We are going to run behind the house to the back door. Okay? "
He agreed and we waited a few more seconds before I started counting. I still didn't have a good feeling about this but I knew we had to move.
I started counting. As soon as I hit three, we booked it across our driveway and into our front yard to go around the house. As soon as we left our spot I heard it. The sound of accelerating. He saw us. He was waiting for us to leave. He chased us up our driveway, as we ran around the side.
I grabbed Alex's hand and practically dragged him around the house and made him run ahead to the garage door to see if it was locked while I searched for my house key. ( About 20 feet from me)
The garage door was open. I swear to God I saw this man round the opposite corner of the house that we did as I entered the house.
We entered and I slammed it shut, locking it and deadbolting it. I didn't stop running until I opened the house door and ran downstairs with Alex, screaming our safe word ( my grandmother made a safe word for us that was a normal everyday word that we could use if we were in danger, just had to scream it basically) it woke my aunt who worked the night shift and was sleeping. We told her everything and she stayed up with us until my grandmother got home. We called the police and that was my first ever interaction with an officer. The man was never caught.
To this day I don't know what he wanted but I'm sure it wasn't good. I'm just glad my grandma drilled stranger danger into my head. I don't know where my brother or I would be right now, if she hadn't.
So, to the messy man in the Blue and silver truck... Let's not meet again | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14swqon/im_glad_i_thought_to_run/ | LetsNotMeet | DivineTsunami |
true | Tinder Meet Up | First I know better than to meet people in their homes so yes this was stupid of me. I acknowledge that I acted in an unsafe way for my own well being.
I had posted this on another subreddit it got removed but someone suggested I post it here.
I met B on a dating app. He has been awkward to talk to but we have stuck to texting so I thought maybe it was just nerves, and the form of communication. We have similar interests so I kept the conversation going.
He messaged me the other day asking if I wanted to come watch the new season of the Witcher. I hesitated and asked if he was inviting me to his place, he said yes. He also quickly added that his female roommate was home or else he would not have asked.
I decided to go (stupid I know!).
Enter the apartment and he is the only person there. Sat down other side of room from him and he got up and came to sit beside me.
He turned on the show and next thing I know he has his pants down and is asking me to sit on his lap. No condom. I am not on birth control as I just got divorced and am currently waiting for a doctors appointment (and he was aware of that as we have discussed kids/pregnancy abilities because I have teens and he has no kids and wants one). So not only did this guy think I was going to have sex with him first meet up he was cool if we got pregnant apparently.
I stood up and went to leave and he says wait. I look back and he actually asked me if I would give him a handjob. I was just so shocked I left and told him good luck. | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14sgsyi/tinder_meet_up/ | LetsNotMeet | Aulourie |
true | I thought it was a dream.. until my sister said it really happened. | Long time lurker, first time posting. Please excuse my post if it seems too long. But I'm going off a newly remembered memory due to abuse trauma experienced that I blocked everything until recently...
So, I had the unfortunate ability to recall something really scary my older sister and I saw on a walk home during elementary school....(she confirmed that what I remembered was true and the more I think about it, the more it scares my 36 year old brain...)
My sister Bianca and I are 4 years apart. And I had the blessing of being able to have the most attentive and protective Big sister and she always has this remarkable 6th sense. To the point that I have swore( over the years) that my gullible naivety I had at that age never could grasp that this type of situation was extremely dangerous until now....
-------------------------------------------------------
I am 7 years old, 1st or 2nd grade . My sister is in 5th grade age 11. We lived in a small town in the south bay area of California (45 min south of San Jose)... This was an extremely hot day, But we walked the usual 8 blocks from our elementary school to our home.
*** just some info regarding my Mom. She worked nights stocking at our local Safeway, most of my adolescent life, so we were very independent. Got up and ready for school on our own.. etc. Mom, slept until 330pm then up, clean, wash and made dinner then work by 9pm...I Mention this more for background on the type of childhood I had.. it was a different time during the mid 90's*****
Everyday, we stayed after school for an hour with our favorite kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Marfia. My siblings and I all had the blessing of having the same kindergarten teacher that we developed a super close relationship with her and enjoyed helping her clean up and prepare for her morning class every day. Mrs. Marfia usually would drive us home but couldn't that afternoon due to staying later than usual to wait for her husband James to pick her up and take her to the mechanic to pick up her car..so, this meant that my sister and I were gonna be the only kids walking home at this time. We didn't care because of all the attention this wonderful teacher gave us.
(I'll post some of the wonderful things she did for my sister and I growing up in another category.. she was a 💎)
In the 90s the area behind my house was an undeveloped lot a good 3 blocks long by 1.5 blocks wide directly in front of the newly placed skate park... (so from my back yard gate we could see the park)
Upon passing the park we would race/run from sidewalk that borders the park to the back door of our fence which was my favorite because my sister always let me feel like I was the winner 🤣 but, Half way through the run, I'm ahead as I mentioned before...and I'm passing through the normal sticker bushes... Everything is dirt and ugly tall weeds that would poke you badly if you got too close, some of the bushes you could hide under but it was so ugly we usually raced to avoid the stickers. So, I'm literally 100 yards from the fence and I hear my sister scream my name. Like not a normal scream but she shouts my first and middle name really sharply and I stop dead in my tracks.. I yell backwards "what?" Right before I can turn around fully and see what is going on, she pummels into me!! She's grabbing my shoulders while wrapping her arm to shield my face from what I'm sure I'll be scared of...... This is All while shoving me forward and I'm so confused .. there was no time to say anything but from the break between her fingers I see two sets of legs under a large bush...... And..
This is where my memory plays like I am watching a movie and I can rewind every detail..I have spent many hours with my sister recalling details that I blocked but scared myself that I could vividly recall
.. So... I witness.. an assault.. they are laying down under a larger bush with both sets of legs exposed.
I see a man dressed in a red tank top with blue dirty jeans and black boots. He has sunglasses on. He was very agitated looking...
Because he was choking this young woman... She was probably barely 20. Wearing overalls, white shirt and white sandals. Her face was very dirty, bruised and lips blue... scratching at his hands, moaning...
This is all I get to see,(obviously more than enough) before my sister yanks me an alternate way(she said she was afraid he'd follow or see us unlock our gate to the house so she took me around the long way). I'm so scared, sobbing, asking her "Sissy!! What was that!! That guy was killing her...!!!!" My sister said, "no mama let's go... Hurry.. we can tell mom.. hurry up!!"
All I see after is a blur until we get home and wake my mom up... Hysterically telling her what we saw...
She called the police but we never got any information regarding if they found her... I've scoured the internet for anything about an assault, kidnapping.. anything and I have never seen or heard anything.
My sister cried when I asked her recently about this memory.. thinking it was something I had a nightmare about. But the detail I recalled made her scared that it severely traumatized me.. but who knows. It's scary in any context.
So man who was attacking that poor girl... One day after school, I hope you reap what you sow.. and we never meet again. | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14s9ojr/i_thought_it_was_a_dream_until_my_sister_said_it/ | LetsNotMeet | Specialist_Ad6672 |
true | The friend of my friend. | So when I was in high school I had a really close buddy. Let's call him Tony. Me and him were friends for years and we're practically the same person by this time. Always together and people knew when giving invites and such that we were a package deal.
Junior year he had a new family move in next to his, and they had a teenage boy around our same age. We will call him Jimmy. Jimmy and Tony were introduced mutually by their parents who had met while the family was moving in. Jimmy was invited over by Tony's parents to play some video games and have pizza while his parents unpacked. Tony called me over and obviously I went.
Jimmy was a great gamer, he crushed us at everything we played. Didn't do much trash talking which we found a tad odd but you can decide whether or not that's truly relevant. We ate pizza and over mutually liked TV shows and movies. We found that Jimmy has very similar tastes to us and it was almost instantly that he became out honorary number 3. Going with us to social events and parties, generally fucking off with us and it was a good thing I thought. I thought.
About 6 or 7 months into this something of particular interest happened. My family was planning a trip and it was assumed that like usual, Tony would come along. I called him to give him the details. He sounded excited as I listed off the stops and whatnot for the trip and talked about all the fun to be had. At some point though he stopped me; "hey I'm really sorry...." He began with, "I'm not going to be able to o come on your families trip this year." I was pretty let down, but he explained that Jimmy's family was leaving that week as well. And Jimmy's parents had asked Tony's parents if Tony would be around to keep Jimmy company as according to them they had never left him home alone before, apparently their previous home was in a tough neighborhood so they had always taken him along.
So I had another friend come with me and the trip went as good as it should had. Here's where the weirdness starts, when I get back from the trip. Tony and Jimmy greeted me with much enthusiasm and all of a sudden any bad feelings I had toward the trip situation faded away. We went to a park to explore some of our favorite wooded areas, a big hobby of ours. Tony was leading the way and I was in the middle, with Jimmy behind me walking along the trail. Tony kept "accidentally" stepping on my heel, to the point where I brought it up several times and could tell it was on purpose. A few protests and then the next time I felt his shoe on my heel I turned to him and basically asked him what his deal was and why he kept stepping on me. He kept saying it was an accident and that he wasn't good at navigating the woods. Later we were at my place playing video games. Jimmy never lost his edge with gaming he consistently beat us in almost everything. Today he chose to talk trash. And not a little, he was laying it on thick, and directed just toward me. I wouldn't have minded the trash talk but the fact it seemed geared toward me in particular was bothering me. I said something basically pointing out he kept trying to trip me in the trail now he was just being nasty towards me. I got what amounted to a "grow up" from them both.
A few days of this wierdness, Jimmy fucking with me and being rude anytime he can. Especially when Tony was around, like he tried harder to get on my nerves when he was around. Like he wanted to expose some side of me or something. The big wierd happened late on night when I was at home. I got a text from Tony telling me he was having an issue and needed to talk. It was late but I obliged and agreed to meet him at one of our meet up spots. When I got there he was no where to be seen. I started calling him, but there was no answer. I then saw someone walking up the street and assumed it was him. As the person got closer I realized it wasn't him, it was Jimmy. And he was walking very fast. He got to me, out of breath; "thank God you made it." He barely got out. I went to put my hand on his back to help calm him down and that's when it happened. Out of nowhere he attacked me. Not punching either I'm talking a rabid animal attacking. Scratching, biting, throwing his weight around. I'm yelling and trying to ask him what his problem is the past few days. His attack was pretty important but still it was insane to me. He ended up running away I guess when he realized he couldn't take me. I went to Tony's house and Im pretty sure I woke up his whole family banging on the door. His dad answered and let me in even tho he was noticably upset. I told Tony what happened and he went on to explain the following; over the trip when I was gone Jimmy had came out of closet to Tony, and also propositioned him, asked him to date rather. Tony obviously let him down explaining he wasn't gay. And they let it blow over. He hadn't told me out of respect to Jimmy. So basically Jimmy was trying to take me out to get closer to Tony. Jimmy never tried to hang out with either of us again. But everytime I see him he gives me an evil stare. I'm always worried he will try something again but I'm pretty sure he's too scared. | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14sschc/the_friend_of_my_friend/ | LetsNotMeet | Savings_Armadillo647 |
true | The man who raced me to my car | This happened last holiday season. It was my first Christmas with my partner, so we were hanging out and telling each other our personal and family traditions so we could do them together. I brought up hot cocoa and peppermint schnapps, and he said he'd never had it before. It's hands down one of my favorite parts of winter, so I excitedly said we had to try it and offered to go just down the street to the liquor store for a small bottle of the schnapps.
The liquor store is less than a mile from his house, and it has an overhang and parking spot near the door (like where you'd park while checking in to a hotel). I was just running in quickly, so I parked there. As I got out of the car, I noticed a homeless man going through a dumpster about 100ft away. I didn't think much of it, it's the low California desert and unfortunately homelessness is very common.
I grabbed the schnapps and walked out of the store, but as I turned to go to my car I saw the homeless man suddenly start speed walking *right towards me*. I was maybe 10ft from my car, but at that point so was he. I freaked out and bolted to my driver's side door, and he does the same. I jumped in as quickly as I could and slammed the door as he was getting to it, but my purse stopped it from closing all the way. I felt the door was partially latched though, so I hit the button that locked all the doors and quickly pulled it closed the rest of the way just as this man started pulling on the door to open it.
He was right by my window, so close I could see his bulging eyes in the dark, and he started trying to say something to me. I kept yelling "no" as I started the car, and was able to get away.
I haven't gone back to that liquor store since. I just don't want to meet him ever again. | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14s80q9/the_man_who_raced_me_to_my_car/ | LetsNotMeet | Lumpy_Constellation |
true | A Lady Tries To Jump In My Car! | So I'm a new Uber eats driver, only been going about a month. I was just completing an order in the middle part of town, not too suburbs but also not too iffy. (I live in a major city so going in and out of varying income level places is normal.)
As I walked up to my customers, I see there's a man and woman in the doorway and another woman across from them on the sidewalk. The woman in the doorway is standing timidly behind the guy and his jaw looks firm. She doesn't break eye contact with me as I walk up but I tried not to pay it much mind. The guy accepted it, said thanks and rushed him and his girl into the building.
I started to walk back to my car when I noticed the woman from before gently calling for me to stop. She was gently saying "hey" and I almost didn't catch it. However I did notice her trying to keep pace with me on my way to my car. That sent my haunches up and I did a quick little one two step to get a bit in front of her, jumped into my car without breaking eye contact with her, quick pushed the lock button on my door and she still proceeded to try and reach for my passenger side door as if to open it. She heard the door click and stopped on her way to grab it.
She bent down to look at me through my window, and her eyes looked far off and bleary. She kept mouthing something but just like before her voice was very quiet and I couldn't hear her. I cracked my window just a bit so I could hear her but not enough that she could get a hand inside.
I said "Sup?" I was pretending to be callous and hard but I am very soft and easily intimidated. I'm not good with confrontation and in most dangerous situations I tend to panic. I'm really proud of myself at this point that I was quick enough to think of all of these safe solutions.
She starts just talking in circles about "what are you doing?" "where are you going?" "you can't deliver for Uber, you're in high school" etc. Keep in mind that I do have a baby face but I am 30 years old. I'm polite but curt with her and tell her yes I am doing deliveries and now I have to go. Did you need something or did you need any help?
She keeps trying to talk in circles but as I'm about to insist that I am peeling out she says hey let me come with you. I get this weird feeling in the back of my neck because she looks like what she said was a perfectly sane request and still did not break eye contact with me. Also keep in mind that this entire time she's been speaking with a very gentle and quiet voice as if she was talking to a small scared animal.
I say no thanks. She insists saying just trust me I'm going to go with you just trust me. Again this point getting more nervous I say no thanks I'm about to drive off you should step back so I don't run over your feet. She tries to get closer maybe thinking that if she doesn't move I won't move. She sadly mistaken and I start rolling slowly forward saying you better step back I'm about to crush your feet. She kept laughing to some unknown joke in her own mind saying you're so funny you're so funny.
I peeled out of there and confusedly looked back in my rearview mirror. I never come across someone like that before and I've been in much rougher neighborhoods than this so I was very confused. I called my husband who was used to living in the rougher part of my large city and said that she could have potentially been trying to trap me so that another person or car could roll up on my driver's side and potentially jump me or try to steal my car. I'm always glad for his insight because of my shelteredness I have no idea about all of these strategies that people have to get one up on you.
This all happened about an hour ago and I thought sharing this information might help someone out there. Stay safe y'all. | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14rvljf/a_lady_tries_to_jump_in_my_car/ | LetsNotMeet | chelseyelric |
true | Man follows me on my midnight walk. | This happen last night, me and my roommate both have covid. So we chose to have a walk late at night because the fresh, cool air felt like such a good idea. We live in a small town so we thought it'd be safe, We just went around two blocks.
For some context, the way we walk, we go straight, then a left it goes by a school feild, then we take a left down an unlit path. Make another left and we're basically home!
So we start our walk, all is fine and I have no bad feeling! just going to turn the last left. When we got to the last turn, I noticed a man.
He's under a lamp, so I can't see his face. I can only see a black shadow. But he starts punching his hand and walking to me and my roommate. Punching his hand every so often.
My gut goes into full primal panic. I don't tell my roommate and I just begin walking a little faster. He keeps punching his hand and now he's behind us. We get to the door and I quietly tell my roommate to "get in. Hurry." and then start to panic.
We get back to the apartment and I explain what happened.
He starts freaking out.
So, for the man who scared me half to death on my midnight walk, let's never meet again. | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14rol66/man_follows_me_on_my_midnight_walk/ | LetsNotMeet | meulinlalondeowo |
true | Story about my stalker |
For context, this story spans all back from middle school to now. I personally believe this girls is closer to a stalker than anything, there are details that I didn’t go into as to what she said about me and what she did but I can if you guys would like.
During my 7th grade year of middle school, there was a girl in my class that suddenly to a liking to me. Let’s call her Stacy. It was pretty obvious she liked me, and I didn’t care too much for it at all, especially since at the time it didn’t bothering me. Couple weeks pass since she’s made it readily apparent she had a crush on me, I’m at my home in my basement when I get a text on my phone. It’s from a random number that I had never seen before, even weirder, I never gave out my iCloud account to anyone from my school and the email itself was random enough that no one could’ve guessed what it was (I didn’t have a number at the time). Anyways, I eventually find out a couple minutes later it was Stacy that was texting me. I entertained it because I didn’t wanna be mean and just not respond. So she would text me everyday like clockwork. Now at this time I had a crush, let’s call her Amanda, and this halloween dance was coming up. Maybe a week from the Halloween dance, I get a text from Stacy, and in this text stream she finally confesses her feelings for me and I tell her that I did not return her feelings and that I was sorry, trying to remain as respectful as possible. Stacy then begins to text me essentially how she knew it was a long shot that I’d like her back because she knew who I liked. So in the back of my mind at this point I’m like “What? How does she know who I like?” So I ask first, “How do you know who I like?” and she tells me “Amanda” and that her friend told her, and the friend that she said just happened to be dating my friend who I told who my crush was. I then asked, “did my friend tell your friend who I liked?” and she said “yes.” I was pissed. The next day arrives and I confront my friend and he says he swears he didn’t tell anyone, and I trust him. I confront Stacy later that night to which she tells me that she lied and she figured out who I liked because she “Stared at me so much” I didn’t even know what to say other than stop talking to her. Fast forward to the summer and she’s texting me everyday how she needs to get over me, and I mean everyday. So for probably two weeks I kept telling her how she’d find someone else who would like her and care for her and how I just wasn’t the one, and eventually I get tired of this and tell her if she’s going to get over me she’s going to have to stop talking to me. She gets angry at me and I told her to stop contacting me. I thought that was it, and I was so wrong, the worst had yet to come. Fast forward to my birthday of 8th grade when I think all of this has blown over. Half a year had passed and I put it all behind me until I get to school and I see on my locker that Stacy has made a drawing for me and taped it onto my locker saying happy birthday. I took the drawing off and shoved it into my locker and completely forgot about it the rest of the day until it was night time and all my friends were over. She texts me and asks why I didn’t say thank you for the drawing. I apologized for not saying sorry and that I had a lot going on that day. She accepted it and I thought that was the end of that. I was wrong. I woke up in the morning to multiple texts telling how I was wrong for not saying thank you, and at that point I had finally had enough and just blocked her. Nearing the end of the year, we were assigned an essay about a lesson we had learned in our life, pretty easy assignment until I realized we had to present it in front of the whole class. Now my school was small, so there were only 40 kids to a grade and each grade was split up in half, so it wasn’t the worst thing to present in front of everyone until it was. So the day arrived that we had to present our “This I believe essays” and when Stacy waddles up to the front of the classroom and says her essay title “Love is a Delicate Matter” I thought to myself “what if this was about me.” It was. The whole essay, top to bottom, was about her confessing her love for me, literally no joke, and in the end, completely slandering me by calling me “a jerk that was never worth liking to begin with.” The worst part about this was how quickly word traveled in school, there were no secrets. Everyone knew this girl liked me all the way back in 7th grade. It was and is one of the most embarrassing moments I’ve ever had to sit through. Not to mention she got a STANDING OVATION! People were crying! My friends were all laughing their butts off, and the teachers were too. I only had one thought the rest of the day…. What just happened. Now, I thought this was the end of it, I was wrong, again. Couple years pass and nothing crazy has happened since, until my junior year. A good buddy of mine told me he needed to talk to me and that it was important, so I said yes and eventually we meet up in the stairwell and he tells me that Stacy has made a play about us in middle school. Yup that’s right! A play to present in front of a whole crowd. I was baffled. This girl made her whole upbringing about a middle school crush. Turns out they made a video of the play and I finally got to watch that this year, it was terrible, and I mean I wanted pull my eyes out type of bad. I also saved her essay and that’s pretty bad too. Anyways I just graduated and hope to never see this person again. | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14qx36w/story_about_my_stalker/ | LetsNotMeet | Historical-Way-3083 |
true | The Self-Soiler | This happened around 2014-2015, when I was a freshman in college. My roommate and I would make it a habit in evenings to take a walk down the block to CVS from our dorms and grab some snacks etc. At one point in the store we notice an older fellow, wearing blue jeans and a button-up shirt. He looked totally normal and well put together. Suddenly we start to notice a smell, the smell of true human shit, impossible to ignore. The man is starting to walk closer to where we are now, and he can be heard muttering and grunting to himself. He walks right over to us and says pretty casually “I just shit my pants again” staring us both right in the face. The way he said was almost like a joking “oopsie!” A huge grin grows across his face and he just starts laughing maniacally AND FARTING. We are speechless and immediately book it out of the store. In retrospect this guy was totally getting off on shitting his pants in public and telling kids abt it right… | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14qizy4/the_selfsoiler/ | LetsNotMeet | 2peter2 |
true | The guy that flowed me around pride | So I (17ftm) was at pride and I'm not a very big person I'm 5'1 and about 94 lbs and I was walking around there was music and live singers and lots of shops and LOTS of free crap so I was just chilln is was raining and I love the rain so I walking when a man late to mid 40s and then started yelling "come here bitch" "come on don't be a cunt come talk to me sexy girl" " how old are you beautiful are you 11 12 come on tell me how old you are sexy" and all that stuff and I was deeply afraid and so I rushed as fast as I could away from him through the drenched grass and found a small shop selling jewelry and all that jazz and I told her what was happening (there was a woman early 20s and 2 other women was 40s and the other 30 and a man 40s and a girl about 15-16) she had me sit behind the table and the group of them hid me from the man as a called my foster father (who took me and my friend to pride) and he came to find me in seconds when he did I was crying and shakeing (I have Been assaulted in the past and was afraid I'd be assaulted again) I went to the cops who looked and talked to everyone who fit the description and found no one they didn't find him and that sceard me so much I went home and went to bed had nightmares all night about being assaulted from my past
In conclusion I hope that man falls into the backrooms and neaver meets another person again (a joke but I do hope he's beaver close enough to another person again) | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14qfg61/the_guy_that_flowed_me_around_pride/ | LetsNotMeet | Khool_aid |
true | Old Storm Drain | Him and I went back to my place and just sat there talking about what happened. Even when we were both there, I was creeped the fuck out. Something about these huge infrastructures made for carrying tons and tons of water through the streets just makes me uneasy. At the end of the day, nothing crazy really happened, my mate just got spooked, but its definitely not an experience I want to go through again. tarp over it a few months prior. I'm not sure why this house was just left in this condition but I assume its because of asbestos or some other risk (My area has a big problem with asbestos contaminated houses and buildings). I say that we really shouldn't be breaking in to an abandoned, possibly contaminated house, but my friend says were not going there. He points to the creek which was right next to the house, through a walkway. I'm still a bit hesitant and would rather prefer to get hammered at somebody's house, but we push forward.
We walk along the bank of the creek for what seemed like an hour before we arrived at a big storm drain. There was moss all over the sandstone walls and it was extremely slippery. he told me that the drain hadn't been used in years, but it was clear that the structure was still being regularly maintained by the local council. We crouched down and started walking through the tunnel. It reeked of mud and dirty water. We continued to walk until we got to a small opening in the concrete wall. We both slipped through and got out on the other side. What we saw was disgusting. Moss and brown sludge covered the floor, ceiling and walls and the pipes were damp. I told my friend that this probably wasn't such a good idea but he wanted to keep going. I was curious too, but I wasn't sure if we were safe anymore.
We continued walking though the labyrinth of pipes, columns and moss stained walls until we got to another room which was smaller that the last. He sat himself down on a chair, opened his bag and pulled out a bottle of alcohol. He cracked it open and had a few sips, and offered me the bottle. I declined as I was already felling slightly buzzed from the drinks in the park.
We looked into the tunnel at the end of the room. It was pitch black, You couldn't see your hand if you held it up to your face. My friend sat up and had the bright idea of wanting to follow the tunnel. He told me he would do it by himself if I bitched out (Which I did). I told him I wasn't down for it, so he reluctantly looked at me and walked down the tunnel. I didn't see him for about five minutes until he came back, sprinting as fast as he could back through the tunnel. I asked him what happened and he swore on his life he saw something crawl past him. I told him it was probably a rat or something and that the drinks were fucking with him. He picked up his bag and we made a beeline for the exit, crawling back though the small opening and back out into the creek. We looked back into the drain and saw nothing.
Him and I went back to my place and just sat there talking about what happened. Even when we were both there, I was creeped the fuck out. Something about these huge infrastructures made for carrying tons and tons of water through the streets just makes me uneasy. At the end of the day, nothing crazy really happened, my mate just got spooked, but its definately not an experience I want to go through again. | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14qc7jv/old_storm_drain/ | LetsNotMeet | Aromatic-Activity-27 |
true | the dumpster thar saved my sister’s life | This story belongs to my sister.
Back in 2009 my then 21 yr old sister was living alone after getting into a fight with my parents, she worked as a waitress while going to school so obviously money was scarce, she was living in a very bad part of town in an apartment complex that from far away looked ok, but things got weird once you took a step closer.
it was one of those 2 floor south florida buildings but all but maybe 5 units were currently occupied, 5 out of 18. The rest were in such bad shape they couldn’t be rented, we are talking about holes on the roof, broken piped etc.
one night my sister is getting home around 11 pm after her shift was done and she notices this old van parked in one of the spots next to the stairs she had to take to go up to her apartment, i guess natural instincts kicked in because she decided to not use these stairs and use the other set of stairs on the other end of the building, she had to walk across the entire parking lot to reach these stairs, as she’s doing this and going up the stairs she looks at the van and she realizes there’s 2 people in it, sitting in the dark looking at her.
She decides to hurry up and sort of sprint to her apartment, by now she sees these 2 men get out of the van and they start RUNNING up the stairs next to their van to try to catch her, her apartment is so close to these stairs that by the time she’s near her door they are halfway tru the stairs, she turns around and starts running towards the other set of stairs she had just come up from, by the time she’s going down the stairs the guys are chasing after her running in the second floor towards her direction, she couldn’t run across the parking lot back onto the street because they would’ve caught her eventually so she ran to the back of the building hoping to jump the fence or something.
well too bad, the fence was too high she obviously wasn’t going to make it so she spots all the way in the corner this big dumpster that has a lock in it, she runs towards it hoping to get on it and jump the fence and get on the street but when she jumps the entire plastic lid collapses with her weight and she falls inside the dumpster, she can hear the guys turning into this area and going “she must be inside one of these apartments” (remember they were abandoned and some had no windows) so they start calling her telling her to get out to not be scared.
she is inside the dumpster holding the cover up with her hands from underneat, making it look as if it was closed. They get near it, she can hear their steps, since the dumpster was “locked” i guess they didn’t even try to pull up the lid, it was this innocent lock holding this thing together that saved my sister’s life. Had they pushed the whole thing up it would’ve fallen apart and my sister would’ve been exposed and probably murdered. They went inside the aparments, she could hear them, the whole thing mustve been 40 mins, they eventually gave up and left.
My sister didn’t sleep didn’t move and didn’t leave the dumpster til the following morning, she got out once she heard cars and saw day light. the van wasn’t there, she moved back home that same day. | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14pp80t/the_dumpster_thar_saved_my_sisters_life/ | LetsNotMeet | barbassell |
true | babe, there’s a man in the house | this happened about 2 years ago when i was 19(f), and had just moved out of student accommodation into an actual flat with my friend group of 6.
the night we moved in, it was just me and one of the girls i’m close friends with, let’s call her luci. i had my boyfriend over at the time, let’s call him alec. the other people who were moving in were moving in two weeks later as they were all on various holidays or visiting home. so it was just the three of us.
luci was in her room and alec and i were smoking a joint in bed watching kung fu movies. him and i start to notice a man, around 300lbs and 6ft pacing outside our window and looking in occasionally, we are on a basement floor at this time but the windows are on ground level. okay, that’s fucking weird but we’ll just make sure the windows are locked. 20 or so minutes pass everything seems ok until luci runs into my room, and says “babe, there’s a man in the house.” we left the door unlocked by accident.
fucking chills. i’m like “what the fuck do you mean there’s a man in the house?!” alec is frozen solid. me and luci go into the hall and the huge man who we saw looking in the windows is in our hall. we ask “what are you doing here?” and he pulls out his phone and shows us a text message from an unsaved number with our address written on it and something about people being inside. what. the. fuck.
he tells us he’s looking for his girlfriend and that she lives here and we’re like no the hell she does not, please remove yourself from our house. he says ok and that he’ll phone his girlfriend. he turns his phone low volume and he’s speaking to another man on the phone who is clearly not his girlfriend. with more urgency this time we tell him to get out of our house and he says ok. he leaves, we lock the door, and everyone is shaking.
he is still on the phone to this man outside and they’re speaking a language we don’t understand, but we can hear him getting angry. i tell alec to ~please~ make the scary man go away, and he goes outside and tells him to shift away from our doorway as he’s really scaring us. he says ok and his taxi is here. he walks up a dead end street, where no taxis can go. again, what the fuck?!
we tell our upstairs neighbours, who we had met earlier that day, about the whole ordeal. we’ll call them charlotte, matt and rob. they inform us that the same man had tried to come into their house, insisting his girlfriend lived there. charlotte already had a boyfriend, who we knew of and had also met that day. rob has more balls than all of us, and threatened him with a knife the time he came to their house and he never bothered them again.
over the next couple weeks, the man would occasionally come back and look in our bedroom windows. alec was there most times, i’m so glad for that. i have no doubt he tried the door again but it was always locked after that.
so yeah, huge scary man in the hall, let’s not meet | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14pny9l/babe_theres_a_man_in_the_house/ | LetsNotMeet | carlacullerton |
true | Unfortunate encounter I had with a doctor as a teen | This is my first time posting on here so keep that in mind, I’m not really used to putting my thoughts into words :’D
This story happened when I was in high school, I was 15-17. It was the end of lunch break and I was hurrying to class. I didn’t really pay attention to my surroundings and I was speed walking so I didn’t notice this other student who was running across the hallway and they ended up running into me. I fell down on my lower back. The fall was pretty painful so I went to the school nurse. I rested there for a bit and started to feel better after an hour or so. The nurse called my dad and he decided to take me to the hospital. I told him I thought he was overreacting and that I’d be fine but he insisted and came to pick me up from school.
The hospital he drove me to was a children’s hospital so I was annoyed about being treated like a child, I wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. After waiting for a bit, me and my dad entered the doctor’s office. There were 2 nurses, the doctor, me and my dad in the room. I don’t remember the details very well but I think they needed to inspect the area of impact to decide if I needed to do an X-ray scan or not.
The doctor took me to a semi closed off part of the room for the inspection: it wasn’t a separate room but it had a wall so my dad and the nurses couldn’t see us. It was my only direct interaction with this doctor and it already felt like something was off when we stepped aside. He told me to lie down facing down, so I did that. And then the first weird thing he did was push my clothes and underwear aside so he could do the inspection. I didn’t overthink it too much when it happened, it was kinda weird that he didn’t let me do it but then he just started the inspection and it went normally… for about 30 seconds. Then he told me really quietly something like “This would be so much more fun if we were doing this to each other”. I was so choked that I didn’t know what to say, I just gave a short answer that would end the situation as soon as possible. And then the inspection ended. The doctor didn’t do anything else and I went back to living my life.
I think about this whole thing sometimes and what really bothers me is that I’ll never have closure. I’m pretty sure I heard him correctly but I really hope I misheard him or that he misspoke or something. If I did hear him correctly however, that could mean that it’s so much worse than just what I experienced. That man worked (maybe still works) at a CHILDREN’s hospital. Maybe this is something he did regularly with other patients and maybe it was something more than just saying fucked up things, maybe he even did fucked up things. Unfortunately I don’t remember his name and I couldn’t find any documents from my visit to the hospital that day so I probably will never know. But at the end of the day I really hope I did mishear him or that he no longer works there and faced the consequences of his actions if he is an actual child predator. | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14pnv2o/unfortunate_encounter_i_had_with_a_doctor_as_a/ | LetsNotMeet | Emy_IsOnTheInternet |
true | Why I can't go swimming anymore | Hello, I wish to tell you where my fear of going in water comes from. It's something I was never ashamed but I never told the real details to anyone.
To begin with, I never had a fear of water when I was young. I was a good swimmer with a lot of imagination who loved The Little Mermaid (Disney and Andersen versions) but after meeting someone when I was 13 years old, it changed everything.
Now, a little introduction to my childhood to understand the context: my mom couldn't have a baby because she had an illness so she and her husband adopted me when I was a baby. I never had difficulties regarding that and had a happy childhood being an only child. They are my mother and father, that's all. However, one day, they divorced. My dad had an affair with a younger woman, she got pregnant and he told my mom when the pregnancy was almost done. I was 9 and it broke the relationship I had with my dad and gave me insecurities about being unloved by him. My parents stayed 'friends' only for me and for many years, I spent half of the summer holidays with one and the other half with the other.
This summer, I was with my dad, his new wife, and my half-little brother, and I hated it. Being a teenager who despised this new side of my family and being forced to go with them to a beach, I was always grumpy and dramatic. It was a small nudist beach (a new thing my father discovered while having a new partner.) but I didn't really care since I could wear a swimsuit. One day, my dad came back to us with a guy around 50 who introduced himself as an English teacher. Let's call him Alex.
Usually, I had nice grades but I wasn't very good in English which wasn't my first language so my dad told me Alex agreed to teach me a bit and helped me do my summer homework. I was happy, seeing there an opportunity to not have my father helping me do them. So, the next day, Alex came back to us and helped me do a few exercises while my dad went away to go swimming. After an hour or so, Alex proposed to go in the water, and I accepted. I said to my father's new wife where I was going and followed Alex. He gave me a tuba and a mask to 'watch the fishes'.
Now, I know it was stupid! I was well aware of Stranger Danger but I was happy to have a distraction and didn't think this guy was dangerous because he got introduced by my father.
There weren't a lot of waves and the sea was so clear I remember watching in fascination all the colorful fishes around me. I followed Alex without difficulty and we turned around some big rocks. There, he gave me the sign to go up and told me we could rest here. Like I said at the beginning, I was a good swimmer so I put the tuba away from my mouth and said that I wasn't tired at all.
I don't know if he didn't hear me or didn't care because the next moment, I felt hands around my hips forcing me onto his naked lap. I panicked, my head got under the water while the guy was pinning my back against his front. I don't remember if I had the tuba back into my mouth but my feet couldn't touch the sand at the bottom and I couldn't get to the surface. I thought I was about to drown. I was so scared I don't even know if he was hard or was trying to touch me. I kicked and struggled until he let go of me.
I climbed on the rocks and got onto the shore before going back to the beach on foot. The rest of the day, I was silent but nobody seemed to notice. Except during the evening when my mum called me on my phone and she immediately knew something was wrong. I briefly explained to her what happened and she told everything to my father who confronted Alex the next day. We never contact the police and I never met him again. Maybe he wasn't an English teacher, to begin with, and was looking for an excuse to meet a naive teenager.
The moment Alex grabbed me was so quick, maybe 20 seconds but, it left a huge scar on me. I can't go totally underwater while being unable to touch the bottom without panicking. I don't swim anymore, I can't look at pictures taken underwater and I'm wary of men (not just because of that but it didn't help). I know it could have ended wayyyyyy worst and that's the only thing I'm glad for.
Thanks for reading. As I said before, some of my friends know about this story but I never told them the details, even my family doesn't really know. | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14ph26z/why_i_cant_go_swimming_anymore/ | LetsNotMeet | Maleficent_Care_8314 |
true | stalker stalking the wrong person | I am a person with pretty long hair, but not female, nor trans. there is a girl in my university class last year that has the same hair colour as me, black, long hair. she is quite popular, and usually gets asked out a lot. sometimes, people confuse me with her, due to us both having black hair, similar height, and similar hair length. she would sometimes tease me about having to worry about such long hair, but that's off topic.
one night in feburay, I finished my work, and packed up since there was the term break. it was getting a little dark out, but I figure that a single kilometre walk to a friend's house wouldn't be dangerous. I use to play a bunch of sports in high school, so I feel like the close proximity to the campus, as well as my personal strength were able to defend myself, for just an hour.
Canada (where I live) is quite safe, as many of you might know, so I walked on. it was around 10:30 when I started walking. tons of students already left the campus before hand, so there wasn't a lot of people traveling with me. those who were, probably just decided to spend another night and the dorms. my home town is in British Columbia, and my university was far away, so I needed to board a plane to go back. around 800 meters of walking later, I felt the presence of someone walking behind me.
suddenly, he put his arm around my neck, and started chocking me. it took me a good second to realize what was going on, and the person was chocking me so hard, I can feel my jugular vein expanding on the bottle due to lack of space for blood to go through.
I kicked his poplita fossa, or however the hell you spell it, (the back of the knee, or the bottom of the thigh I forgot). that made his knee bend forward, and he starting falling to the ground. I back kicked him on the balls, which is when he let go a little, then I got out of his arms, and starting punching his face. in my adrenaline filled moment, I thought he was gonna attack me again, so I punched him a few times to make sure he wouldn't get up, ran away, and called the police.
thankfully, I was ok, with no damage. the guy who beaten me was apparently a stalker, confusing me for the girl I mentioned above. he was arrested, however I don't really know what happened to him, although he did get charged with assault, and stalking, however my memory is a little faded.
I hope this story can inspire others, to not panic in a situation like this, but to get out of it asap. although 99.99999% of you guys probably read this since you are bored, and if that's the case, I hope you got out of your boredom, at least for a minute or 2 while reading my story. | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14p58m6/stalker_stalking_the_wrong_person/ | LetsNotMeet | anonymous_LK |
true | Short story but I still found this creepy and an uncomfortable situation for me | Im a 15 year old male living in Gothenburg Sweden, I was on my way home from a party this saturday. I was with a group of friends, all males. Me and 2 others where about to take the bus and we went down this long road to get to the station.
On our way there was a guy in a apartment building. He asked us if we were drunk or perhaps even high. We answered no, he just seemed like a funny drunk dude. He went on to say that he had a huge party up in his apartment with both alcohol and drugs. We declined his offer because it felt creepy and also because we really needed to get home.
We talked about this and realized it was no party what so ever, he was alone in his apartment, no music or other voices and sounds in the background.
I’ve been thinking about this if he was just joking with us or what his deal and motive actually was. What do you guys think? | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14p3drh/short_story_but_i_still_found_this_creepy_and_an/ | LetsNotMeet | HuntNo7572 |
true | I Think I Was Almost Human Trafficked... | About 3 years ago I (21F) was a waitress during the height of covid. It was my first ever job and I remember being so excited to start as soon as possible. After all my training was finished and I got my certifications, I was put on the closing shift. We closed at 10pm every night at the time and typically it was just my cook (20’sM) and I. Rarely would there be another waitress with me and I liked it that way. I always worked better alone and I didn’t really get along with most of the other waitresses anyway, so it was nice. I can remember it was near the end of my time there that this experience happened and I’m really happy I had the circumstance I did at the time. I never could really trust my gut very much because I had mild anxiety and couldn’t tell if what I felt half the time was valid or not. I mention this because when all this went down, it felt real and I had an absolute feeling. I had started my shift that evening around 3pm.
I said goodbye to the last waitress and I was on my own with my cook. Everything was pretty slow and normal until I got a call about one of the specialty items on the limited-time menu we had. The food couldn’t be ordered as take-out and the lady over the phone really didn’t take it well. After a little debating, she finally decided to sit in and eat instead.
I’d say around 10-20 minutes later is when I spotted an older looking car pull up and three people came out; two men and a woman who looked to be in their 30’s-40’s. I could tell it was the same lady I spoke to over the phone judging by her attitude coming in. I further confirmed it by asking since I already had a pretty good idea of what she wanted to eat. What I thought was an act of mild embarrassment and pettiness, was actually something much more sinister later on. Her attitude toward me changed when she saw me. She was much nicer and more cooperative. This didn’t ring any bells at first because it was something that most people who wanted to look good in front of others would do. I sat them at a booth and took their orders. I noticed they had a red binder and a black pen. Remember this. I then went to tend to my other customers as there were a couple other tables I was waiting on.
Once I brought their food out to them, they asked me if I knew any realtors. I found this to be normal as this being the tourist-vacation state it is, it wasn’t uncommon for outsiders to be looking for get-away homes. I would say this was reasonable for me to assume it was nothing if they didn’t already look like the unsavory type of people if you get what I mean. Nonetheless, I gave them the phone number to a realtor I knew closely and well since I often went to church with her. There wasn’t any other notable interactions I really had aside from occasional small talk if I wasn’t do anything or refilling their drinks. It was around 4:30pm now and they were the last of my tables to leave the restaurant. If any of you were in the food industry, you know that as a server, you don’t really get breaks. Just a lunch most of the time, and sometimes not even that if its super busy all day. So my cook and I took this as an opportunity to take a well-deserved break.
We walked out behind them and had a small chat with them. I should mention by now that the front of the restaurant had a disabled ramp coming up to the doors. It was long because the building was on a raised foundation. This is important. Now, I didn’t really notice it at the time but one of the men took my cook to the other side of the ramp, down near the end and was chatting with him over a cigarette. I was behind the railing at the top of the platform where the ramp plateaued. Luckily, the other man and the woman were on the other side of the railing about 5 feet below but in front of me.
We were having some small talk and they started to ask some personal questions such as if I lived in the area, if I smoked weed, how old I was, etc. I hadn’t quite learned yet that telling strangers such personal things wasn’t a good idea, however this for some reason was starting to raise some red flags. I gave very vague answers to all her questions as best as I could. Unfortunately, they still persisted in trying to have some sort of communication with me outside of my work, wether or not I said no. I suppose when they finally realized that I wasn’t going to give that information up, the woman finally got to her point. She had told me that she had a business offer for me. It was for a cleaning service. I don’t like cleaning anyway so regardless I would’ve said no, however what she said next solidified my answer. She proceeded to tell me that she owned a maid service call The Pretty Kitties Maid Service. She said she needed pretty and young girls like me, that she had 10 girls now as it was and she wanted to expand. She mentioned how they get paid 30k (she didn’t specify the time length) and how it would be a great opportunity for me to help her with her business.
I instantly knew at that point that it certainly wasn’t a maid business and I was in danger. However I didn’t understand just how much danger I was in. I politely declined her offer and told her I liked my job as it was, that I was satisfied working for my boss. She tried to further convince me by telling me how easy it was and reiterating how much I’d make under her supervision. She mentioned how she had a van for her business and described it to me. I cant exactly remember what she told me but I do remember how she told me to follow her to her car. She said she’d show me a picture of her van in her car, but her phone was in her hands.
I knew for certain I wasn’t going anywhere with her or near that car. I declined yet again and said that I was fine right where I was. I said she could show me on her phone instead, but she was hesitant. After which she proceeded to end the conversation and left with the two men. A little shaken, I walked back into the restaurant with my cook and told him what I had just experienced. He joked about how I’d have good money if I went with them. Because I didn’t take the situation as seriously as I should have, I laughed with him. At the end of that night when the cook’s grandmother came to pick us up, I mentioned the weird interaction. A panicked look came over her and she sat silent, staring at me. I got confused and asked her if everything was okay. Thats when I learned the signs of human trafficking. She broke it to me that I was almost trafficked and I was incredibly lucky I didn’t get kidnapped. My stomach dropped and I started to panic at the realization of just how much danger I was in. Nothing really happened after that. Except for the red binder and the black pen I told you to remember.
I went to work the next day and a customer walked in. Now normally in my part of town, not many people like to sit and relax for a while. They’re mostly there to just eat and leave as it wasn’t exactly a café. Well I get into my apron and sit this gentleman. He was well dressed, not in a suit and tie, but just nicely dressed. He was alone. I sat him at a single booth and took his order of one single coffee. He had a red binder and black pen with him. I didn’t even notice until my cook from the night before reminded me of it. I was so shocked at the fact and it unsettled me even more that he proceeded to sit there for three hours, watching me as I tended to my tables. I kept asking him if he needed anything else and he asked me if people never just sat and relaxed with coffee. I sorta shrugged and said no, not here.
Now this might come as a surprise to some of you, but servers, believe it or not, do listen in on some of your conversations. I’m lucky I did with this one. I specifically remember him speaking over the phone about finances and how he needed to find another house. He spoke about moving money and how he was going to pay his girls that night. I ran to the back of the kitchen and told me cook. Thankfully he came out with me to “help” deliver some plates in order to throw the guy off. It worked, I think. He ended up leaving not long after that and I haven’t seen or heard anything since. I’ll tell you though, I’ve been much more on guard since then.
TLDR: I was almost human trafficked and didn’t know it. Thanks to some gut feelings, I wound up as one of the lucky ones.
No, I wasn’t able to report them because their car was facing forward toward the building’s cameras and we couldn’t see the license plate.
Yes, I told my manager and he never allowed any of the servers to leave the building without someone else walking them out. I made it known throughout the whole staff about what happened since I didn’t want any of them to get hurt.
I use this story as a way to tell others to please be safe and be aware of your surroundings. I didn’t think this could happen to me. It can happen to anyone. Be safe and be observant. | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14ognjl/i_think_i_was_almost_human_trafficked/ | LetsNotMeet | softwordshavepower |
true | Approached me with his hands down his trousers | Reading these is reminding me of something that happened when I was younger…
I lived in a pretty middle-class place. I could never afford it now but my family moved there when it was still pretty affordable. Naturally not a lot happened around there - it was pretty crime-free and I always felt safe walking around. Regardless of that, my parents were both from London so my mum would always talk to me about being vigilant and staying safe.
I was a pre-teen (11 or 12) at the time and had started secondary school maybe a year or so before which came with a lot more freedom. I was allowed to go out with friends and walk to school/the shops by myself. We lived quite close to a shopping centre and it’s the kind of place where you’d always see someone you knew. Think ‘Stars Hollow’. One day I was by myself and I started to walk to the shop. There was a short wooded path, often busy, to get there and it took under 5 minutes to walk it. That day it was empty but I’d never had any reason to feel concerned. I started to walk through the path and when I was halfway down, I noticed a man waiting at the end in a blue work shirt. My mum’s words of warning rang through my head, and I decided that I didn’t want to risk it. So I decided that I would walk the long way round along the streets.
Calmly, I turned around and started to walk the other way. I was surprised when the man must have sprinted and ran past me, and then turned around to face me, blocking my path. It was then I realised he was standing there with his hands down his trousers. Before I had even had a moment to process it, he said ‘excuse me, please can I touch your breasts?’. So polite for a creep?! Blows my mind to this day.
The adrenaline was pumping at this point and I yelled at him ‘no!’. Thankfully I was near the opening of the path and I absolutely booked it past him and ran for my life back to my house. I kept checking behind me the whole way and thankfully he hadn’t followed.
My mum came home soon after and I told her everything. I must have been pale as a sheet. We went to the police and I gave my statement, and was sent on my way.
Soon after I found out that a girl in my head had the same thing happen to her the day after. So scary. We later became good friends but I digress. Soon after I was called in to pick him out of a line-up and he eventually was given a 10yr sentence. It took all that time plus more for me to get over my fear of men in blue shirts. When he got out of prison, I started to see him around on a bike fairly often, looking far more dishevelled than he had a decade before. That was pretty terrifying. By that time I was moving to another city but I hope he never came into contact with any children again. | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14ovluo/approached_me_with_his_hands_down_his_trousers/ | LetsNotMeet | gregariousrabbit |
true | My cousin and I was nearly kidnapped as a kids | I lived in a small suburbanish area of a small town. My house was very close to my grandparents' house. It went my house on one block, a large church with a large parking lot was the entirety of the next block, and then the block of my grandparents' house. My grandparents' were both retired and so every day during the summer while our parents were at work a few of my cousins and I would spend the day at my grandparents'. Honestly it was such a fun childhood to have.
When I was around 11, my parents bought us a dog. One of my chores during the summer was to walk over to my house and let the dog out to use the bathroom and then walk back to my grandparents'. One of my cousins who is a year older than me would always go with me. Well one day while we were on our way back to my grandparents', a guy drove up next to us. In one quick motion he opened his car door and yelled "Gotcha!". My cousin and I took off running. He quickly shut his door and sped ahead of us and into the parking lot of the church. Instead of running through the parking lot, my cousin and I ran behind the church but continued in the direction of my grandparents'. When we emerged from the backside of the church, the guy was still in the parking lot of the church. His head on a swivel looking for us. We continued to run. A few heartbeats later he spotted us and we heard his tires squeal again after us. Thankfully we were very close to my grandparents' and quickly made it inside. We ran in and told my grandmother, who of course didn't believe us and told us to go back outside and play. So my cousin and I went back outside.
Still spooked, neither of us felt like playing and just sat on the front porch. Soon the guy drove back and slowed down as he passed. We ran back in and told my grandmother who again didn't believe us and told us to go back outside. Well, the third time of us coming in and interrupting her soap opera she finally came out on the porch and at the same time the guy passed by again. She called the police and while we were talking with the police officer the guy drove by again and we pointed him out. But the police officer just took our statements and left. We never saw that guy again. I would like to think the police officer pulled him over and scared him into not bothering us or anyone else again, but I highly doubt it. | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14o1ia4/my_cousin_and_i_was_nearly_kidnapped_as_a_kids/ | LetsNotMeet | fruedain |
true | The lying driver | I used to live in a medium sized city, near Paris. It was mostly known for its really useful train station and its big mental hospital. Patients roamed the city, it was mostly open or for daycare. They were clearly not a threat, we just got used to see some weird behaviors on the street. One time, one guy, clearly from the hospital threatened to take off my hair, he kept repeating it and following me but I told him in a strict voice to stop walking and he did. So, we were just used to it.
For context, I'm a woman, I was 24 at the time, I just started my new job. I used to live uphill in the city and used to drive downhill everyday to park at the train station. On my way back to my home, i always used to drive by the hospital, there is a little road between the hospital and a primary school, it's a good short cut to avoid traffic.
It happened on a winter day, five years ago, it was late, so it was already really dark. I walked to my car and decided to take the shortcut, to avoid the main road and the traffic. As I was diriving, i saw a parked car, on the side of the road, shaking. I stopped, worried. It was moving, left and right, under the yellow street lights. I didn't see a driver in it. Then it crossed the road, and hit the side walk in the front. I saw a car behind, it was going back and forth, back and forth, with still no driver in sight. It was a red car. This was the one who sent the first car flying to the other side. The red car also hit the car behind it and it backtracked away. Then the red car started going in my direction, and I started to get scared. At first I was just shocked but now I was really scared and I was alone in front of something really weird. The red car stopped. The driver seat door was open. I saw a guy get up, it's like he had fallen and left his foot on the accelerator, driving while lying down on the concrete, he started smiling creepily at me. A little girl came out of the school and looked at me too.
I know i should have called the cops for the traffic accident, since the red car had hit and damaged two cars but I was too scared, I just drove backwards and parked away from the scene. I was shaking non stop. I call my mom and told her everything. She told that this guy might be dangerous and that I should go home by another route like right now, that I might not be safe. So i did what I was told and drove home. I talked a lot about it to my mom.
To this day, I sometimes still think that I had an hallucination because I was tired or something and that I dreamed everything or that I'm going crazy. But my mom told me this week that she remembers my call, and everything I said, she said I sounded coherent, so I guess it really happened.
I hope i never see this kind of stuff again. I never took that short cut again (better face traffic than this type of encounter) and moved away 2 years later. | https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/14o15qf/the_lying_driver/ | LetsNotMeet | Lyssandre398 |
false | A Serial Killer is Copying Horror Movies Part 4 | Part 1: [https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1796yuq/a\_serial\_killer\_is\_copying\_horror\_movies/](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1796yuq/a_serial_killer_is_copying_horror_movies/)
Part 3: [https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17b5ls3/a\_serial\_killer\_is\_copying\_horror\_movies\_part\_3/?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x&context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17b5ls3/a_serial_killer_is_copying_horror_movies_part_3/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
​
First and foremost, I’d like to thank you all for sharing your comments, insights, and theories. For the people saying that my daughter is acting suspicious, I think it’s just because you don’t know her. She really is a sweet girl. She’s never gotten in trouble at school, with her friends, or at home. She likes horror movies, that’s not a crime.
As for her boyfriend, she hasn’t told me about him but I’ll try to get more information out of her but, again, if you knew Vivi you’d know that being suspicious of her doesn’t make any sense.
Okay, now for the update.
With Paul missing, a different Medical Examiner handled the scene. He didn’t tell me much at the scene, but he said enough to make my stomach flip.
“There are bruises on her wrists and ankles,” he said. “He bound her tight, probably to keep her still while he twisted her head around.”
“He?” I asked.
The ME shrugged. “Things like this? Usually a man that does it. Look up the statistics. Plus, you’d need a lot of upper body strength to twist someone’s head around like this. Even a young girl’s.” He mimed the act and made a “crack” sound with his mouth.
“That’s a dead kid right there,” I said. “You make a sound like that again, I’ll crack your fucking jaw.”
He held up his hands in a “sorry,” kind of way.
Asshole.
I questioned the parents as best I could. They’d gone out for a movie, the same sci-fi one I saw with my son Chris. Their daughter didn’t want to go. At 13, she was right at the age where family outings were no longer mandatory. They wanted to give her a bit of freedom. They’d never get the chance to make that mistake again.
The girl always locked the door and there was a doorbell camera. Unfortunately, there were no cameras in the rear of the house, no alarms, and no locks on the girl’s bedroom window on the second floor.
The killer used a ladder from the tool shed in the backyard, set it against the wall and climbed up to the girl’s bedroom window. She must’ve been downstairs, in the kitchen. There was a broken plate on her bedroom door and some uneaten avocado toast. He ambushed her as soon as she walked into her room.
The mother said the nightgown the girl was wearing wasn’t hers. The killer changed her clothes so that she looked more like Regan, the girl from the film. I looked up the movie on my phone, the victim was wearing screen-accurate clothing. Just like Dylan’s letterman jacket, or the white dress Samantha, the The Ring victim was wearing.
Whoever the killer is, they have an obsession for accuracy.
The asshole ME also revealed that the Exorcist victim had a “nasty” wound to the back of the head, probably to knock her out. I hoped that, like Dylan, the girl had passed away from it long before the killer twisted her head around.
Before I left, the asshole ME said something that gave me goosebumps.
“He tried to keep her eyes and mouth open,” he said.
“What?” I asked.
“Superglue on her eyelids, here,” he said. “But he didn’t use enough and it ran. Kept the eyes closed instead. Why’d he want them open, right? Weird. There’s something else too.”
He pointed to a plastic ring on the floor. I picked it up with my pen. I didn’t know what it was.
“My girlfriend’s studying ortho…orthodontry.”
“Orthodontology,” I said. “If your girlfriend’s studying it, you should know how to say it right.”
“Okay,” he said. “Point is that’s one of those mouth-opener things, you know? The creepy ones that give a creepy mouth? Again. Why?”
“Finding out why isn’t your job,” I said. “It’s mine.”
But I knew why. I hadn’t seen Scream or The Ring, but I had seen The Exorcist. The scene where the little girl’s head turns around is burned in my memory. Her eyes were open in that scene. She was smiling too.
On my way back to my car, I threw up in the bushes.
“That bad?” Vivi asked.
I told her the details on the way to the station.
Now, you may have noticed that I don’t talk about the deputies much. There are ten of them, not including Jordan and Monica, who have pretty much moved up to administrative positions along with me. Because our town is so small, the deputies are considered officers of the court and mostly do things like see to warrants, collect payments for fines, hand out parking tickets, patrol the town, collect property taxes, and act as courthouse security.
I’m both the county sheriff and the chief of police in our small town. Most of the towns around ours are small and rural, so it makes sense for the chief of the biggest town to oversee the other little ones in our tiny county. We have very limited resources, after all. It’s just the way it’s always been done. The sheriff and chief of police before me held both positions for over 50 years. I’m the first woman to occupy both roles. I think I was elected only because that man was my father.
Monica and other deputies help me oversee the county as a whole, speak to local law enforcement, manage cases and permits and fines, etc.
I don’t want to bore you. I don’t want to give my location away, either.
All our deputies wanted in on the murders. They’re the talk of the town, after all. So I put most of them to work securing the crime scene, looking into the victims, and patrolling the area.
That leaves only Monica, Jordan, and I to act as a homicide detective would.
Now that Jordan’s out of the picture, it leaves Monica and I. But Monica talks. More than once, I’ve discussed private county matters with her, financials and such, and then heard her talk about them on the phone.
No.
I’m keeping this one close to the chest. We can discuss everything except the horror movie references. That’s how I’ll crack this. If I mention it, then everyone in town will become a horror movie expert and it’ll be impossible to find someone who knew these movies well before the murders.
I only know Vivi so, for now, she’s almost like an acting deputy.
We sat in my office, drinking shitty coffee, eating cookies from the vending machine. Despite everything, it was nice.
“There has to be some kind of pattern,” Vivi said.
“What do you mean?”
“All the movies have to have something in common.”
“You think there's a pattern?” I asked, taking a sip of the awful coffee and cringing. We really need to invest in a good coffee machine. “Something all the movies have in common?”
“Probably. But I don't think it'll help us right now. If this was the nineties, we could check blockbuster or the library and see who checked out these movies recently.”
“There’s no way to see who rented them online, right?”
Vivi shook her head. “Maybe if we were the FBI or the CIA or something.”
“Do you know anyone else who loves horror movies?” I asked. “Maybe a friend at school? Or someone your boyfriend knows.”
Vivi gave me a knowing glare. “I don’t and he doesn’t.”
She set her coffee down and looked me in the eyes.
“Liking horror movies isn’t a crime and having a boyfriend isn’t suspicious.”
“What’s your boyfriend’s name?”
“Jacob.”
I sighed. “That’s it? No last name?”
“We were having such a good time,” Vivi said. “Now you’re interrogating me about my boyfriend? Hell, he isn’t really my boyfriend like officially. We just went out a few times.”
“In his truck?”
Vivi looked confused. “He drives a Prius.”
“Your brother said he drove a truck.”
“Maybe he was high,” Vivi said, shrugging. “Car, truck, whatever. His name’s Jacob Marino, by the way.”
“God,” I said. “His dad asked me to prom.”
“How many people asked you to prom? Mike. The guy who owns the sports store—”
“Dan Robar.”
“Dan Robar, yeah. Now Jake’s dad.”
I shrugged. “I guess I was hot back then. I don’t know.”
We got a good chuckle out of that.
“Tell Jacob I want to meet him.”
“Fine,” Vivi said. “When all this is over, we’ll all have coffee together like adults. Sound good? Now let’s get back to the freaking serial killer obsessed with horror movies? I think that’s a little more interesting than a guy who’s not even really my boyfriend.”
“The killer took Jordan and Paul Warren,” I said. “Two people again, like Scream. They can’t kill them both, right? Two for Scream, one for The Ring, one for The Exorcist. There have already been four victims and four movies, if we count Seven. If they kill Jordan and Paul for the next one, it’d put the count at six, but there’d be three movies left.”
“Maybe they won’t kill Jordan and Dr. Warren,” Vivi said.
“But seven movies, seven bodies, seven days,” I said.
“Yeah but seven bodies in total,” Vivi said. “They could reference a movie without killing someone, then kill two for the next one, or even three. They never said one victim per movie. The whole thing is a reference to David Fincher’s Seven anyway…there was one scene in that movie. Lust.”
I nodded. Vivi and I saw it the night before. She forced me to watch it. It was a good movie, I guess. Didn’t like the ending, though.
“That one had two people but only one of them died,” Vivi said.
“But it was a guy and prostitute.”
“Right,” Vivi said. “I don’t think they’d reference Seven again either. Whatever it is, it’s a movie where two guys are the victims.”
“They had to take them somewhere else, too,” I said. “They killed Becca Campbell and Dylan Russell at Becca’s house.”
“Probably because her house had sliding glass doors, a patio, and a tree in the front lawn. They’re a stickler for details.”
“They killed Lena McCarthy, the Exorcist victim, at home too.”
“But they kidnapped the Ring victim and brought her all the way out here.”
“There was a well in her town. A few of them actually,” I said.
“They must’ve wanted you to find her, then.”
I put my coffee down. My stomach seemed to twist into a tight knot.
“You’re the expert,” I said. “Are there any movies where two guys get kidnapped?”
Vivi scrunched up her brow. She closed her eyes.
“A horror movie where two guys get kidnapped,” she muttered. “It has to be a famous one too. Scream, The Ring, The Exorcist, Seven. Pretty mainstream, so far. No deep cuts. But maybe they’ll throw one in there? Something from the 70s? Very crowded decade. Lots of Giallo stuff. Maybe a weird slasher from the 80s. No.”
Vivi looked at me.
“The references have been pretty obvious so far,” she said. “You could plug a description of the way the victims were killed into Google and you’d get the movie every time. So this one has to be obvious too. Two male victims…Becca and Dylan were dating, like the victims in Scream’s opening scene. The two girl victims looked like the horror movie characters they were referencing. There must be a reason why they picked Dylan and Dr. Warren.”
“Probably to punish us,” I said. “To disrupt the investigation. They’ve helped me so far.”
“Maybe,” Vivi said. “But I think they want the victims to be pretty similar to the ones in the movies. Dylan was blond. Drew Barrymore’s boyfriend in the movie had dark hair. So Dylan was killed because of the role he filled, not what he looked like. Jordan and Dr. Warren must have been picked for their roles too. A cop and a doctor? Practically every horror movie has a cop and a doctor in it.”
Vivi shrugged.
“I don’t know.”
“We haven’t gotten the call yet and it’s late,” I said. “Maybe they haven’t killed them yet. Or maybe they just haven’t been found, like the girl in the well. She was there for a day at least. Maybe they put Jordan and Paul somewhere hidden too. Like a barn or an abandoned house.”
“Two guys,” Vivi said. “A cop and a doctor. Hidden somewhere. Not at their home or a public space, because they would’ve been found there…somewhere remote…”
Vivi’s eyes drifted across my desk and stopped at the department’s camera. I’d used it to take photos of the crime scene.
“Jordan usually takes the crime scene photos, right?” Vivi asked. “You called him a photographer.”
“Yeah,” I said. “So?”
“It’s not a cop and a doctor, then,” Vivi said. Her eyes were wild with the excitement that only comes from putting a puzzle together. “It’s a photographer and a doctor! Both of them kidnapped. It’s obvious!”
“What?” I asked. “What movie is it?”
“Saw,” Vivi said. “They’re referencing the first Saw movie. Are there any big, creepy, public bathrooms in town? Like maybe an underground one? Or something in a factory? It has to be a rundown one too. Abandoned.”
“Vivi I don’t know every bathroom in the county.”
“They’d pick one we could get to quickly,” Vivi said. “One we’d know. In the movie, a cop rushes to the bathroom…ah shit, but he did it by following a suspect there. But it’s gotta be a bathroom. A really big one. Grimy. Tiled walls.”
“The only big, underground, abandoned bathroom I know is the one at the old bus station. We had to board up the whole building because squatters kept sneaking in. It was a drug den.”
“That has to be it,” Vivi said.
I was skeptical. She’d solved it too easily, too quickly. She was probably wrong. Then again, Vivi has always been smart. All her teachers say she’s ahead than her classmates. She reads at a grad-school level, at seventeen.
We pulled up to the old bus station. It was an eyesore, one that the town council had been trying to tear down for years. But our town’s Historical Society had put a stop to it. The building was nice. Art deco. Built in the 1930s. But they’d screwed up when they put in the water pipes. Most of them burst at the same time, one summer. Damn near flooded the entire building. Rotted the wood floors and wood stairs and platforms. Not it was a gutted, decaying mess.
“You’re staying the car,” I said, opening the passenger’s side door and then one of the rear doors too.
“But—”
Vivi started.
“You’ll be safe in the car,” I said.
“I won’t,” Vivi said. “In horror movies, the killer always targets the detective’s family.”
“I’m not a detective,” I said.
“Sheriff/police chief, whatever,” Vivi said. “It’s so obvious. You go in there by yourself. I stay in the car. The killer breaks the window and chloroforms me. You come out and find an empty car. Cliffhanger.”
I sighed. “Fine. I said. But you stay behind me and use this.” I gave her an extra flashlight.
“I should get a gun too,” Vivi said. “In case they try to get me from behind.”
“This isn’t a horror movie, Vivi,” I said.
“It sure as hell feels like one.”
I handed Vivi my taser. The kind that shoots out prongs.
“Just don’t hit me with that thing,” I said.
Vivi nodded, grabbing the taser and then pointing it around like a gun.
“It’s not a toy,” I said.
“Yeah. I know. But it’s fun.”
Vivi and I walked up to a side door. The front doors had been boarded up and covered in chains. The windows were covered with thick sheets of wood. The town council wasn’t messing around. But there had to be a easy point of entry, by law, in case the building caught fire or something. Not that this moldy, soggy wreck could catch fire.
The side door was covered in locks and chains, but we had hidden the keys under one of the art deco statues near the entrance. We wouldn’t be needing the keys, do. The side door was wide open.
“Shit,” I said.
“Language,” Vivi whispered. She was pale. Scared.
“Stay behind me,” I said.
As soon as we walked into the building, I was hit by the stench of decades of mold and rotten wood.
I tied my handkerchief around Vivi’s nose and mouth and pulled my shirt over my own.
We walked carefully, testing out the rotten floorboards before putting out with delicate steps before putting our full weight on them.
We found the stairs leading down to the bathrooms.
The way forward was easy from there. I could see drag marks on the floor where the mold and dust had been wiped away by someone dragging something…or someone else.
There was a light on in one of the bathrooms. Strange, seeing as how the building didn’t have power. I saw how the killer had done it almost instantly. There were thick power cables snaking out of the bathroom doorway and slinking away through the darkness, leading deeper into the station. I could hear the hum and churn of a generator in that direction.
They’d planned this. Had put a lot of work into it. That scared me more than anything else. Suddenly, I remembered a line Morgan Freeman said in Seven. “This guy is methodical, exacting, and worst of all, patient.”
I stepped through the doorway into a moldy, grimy, tile-covered bathroom. A set of new, bright, unforgiving fluorescent lights had been fitted on the ceiling. Underneath them was a giant bloodstain. I could see the imprint of a body on it, as if someone had been lying in it for hours as it dried.
“Ana!” Jordan shrieked.
He was on the other side of the room, lying in another pool of blood. He had a shackle around one of his ankles. A thick chain led from it to a series of rusted pipes in the corner.
Then I saw Paul. Jordan was holding him, hugging him. Paul’s head was in Jordan’s lap. I could tell, from where I stood, that Paul was dead. He was pale. Blue. And I didn’t need a medical degree to see why.
Paul’s right foot was gone. In its place was a bloody stump.
Jordan’s eyes shot to the corner of the room, next to me.
I turned around and my breath hitched in my throat.
Paul’s foot was lying in another pool of blood, with the shackle still around it. There, lying near it, was a hacksaw.
“Holy shit,” Vivi said.
Part 5: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17dd21c/a_serial_killer_is_copying_horror_movies_part_5/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf | https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17cgzs8/a_serial_killer_is_copying_horror_movies_part_4/ | nosleep | MidnightPaper |
false | My Twin Disappeared After Reading A Book Called "The Legend of Mermaid's Roost" | We look the same and we always have but we couldn't be more different from each other[.](https://scottsavino.com/the-legend-of-mermaids-roost/) I think that's the best place to start with this. Some identical twins have a lot in common. They like the same foods, the same things on television, some even spend their entire lives dressing in the same clothes, but we were never those girls. For as long as I remember, it's been hard for even our own parents to tell us apart were it not for our very different personalities. Our own mother can't tell the difference between our voices over the phone to this day. We even have the same laugh, but after that we diverge. I'm extroverted and would much rather be outdoors than inside where she is bookish and reserved. As far as personality traits go, Lily and I have always shared very few.
We both have our father's nose and our mother's heart shaped face and her high cheekbones. The same raven-black hair falls in waves past both of our shoulders and the same emerald green, almond shaped eyes sparkle with hidden flecks of gold that you can only see if you take a look up close.
Still, there's a connection between us that can't be explained. We just feel it. Know it's there. It's a thing with identical twins no matter how truly different they really are. Some say it's a sort of telepathy, if you believe in that sort of thing.
That's the reason I knew something was wrong before I had proof. I knew when I woke up in the morning that something was happening and that it was big. I even knew when I finally got up the nerve to send her a text, she wouldn't reply to it; not right away. I had a feeling I wouldn't hear back from her for at least a week–possibly a few days more. I also knew it wasn't because she didn't want to, but that she couldn't and that was a very strange feeling to wake up with because Lily and I rarely go for more than a day or two without checking in even though we live halfway across the country from each other.
This particular morning, the feeling of unease is everywhere around me and even somehow inside me. I feel it in bed before I even open my eyes. Like an itch you can't scratch because you know it will just make the rash worse and trying to ignore it altogether will drive you mad. The worst part about the itch was knowing I could reach out to Lily at any time and I would do that right after breakfast, but it would be days before she could contact me back. Not would but could. I have no idea how I know this but somehow I just do and the feeling is incredibly unnerving.
Whatever happened is bothering me so much that I burn the pancakes and have to start them over three different times.
"Vibes are off today, Emily," my wife Jasmine begins. She sits patiently waiting for me to serve her a plate of good ones, pancakes that aren't burnt, at the table in our kitchenette, "I just changed that bag last night you know, and if you keep doing that I'll have to take it out again before we even get to eat. What's up with you?"
"Not me," I reply, "it's Lily. Something's up with Lilly."
"Oh? What's going on with her?"
"That's just it. I don't know. It's just a feeling, babe. Hard to explain," I say.
"A twin thing?" She asks.
"Exactly. It's *twintuition*. It's like–"
"--Intuition," she finishes for me, "I get it. Did you try calling her or texting her yet?" Jasmine asks.
"No, but it's because I'm afraid she won't answer right away and I don't want to have that fear be real." I admit. "That's weird isn't it?"
"Very," she says getting up from the table. She picks my phone up from the counter and grabs me by the waist, moving me away from the stove and spinning me around. She pecks a small kiss on my lips and lifts one of my hands, placing the phone into it. She gives me a little shove toward the kitchenette table and pulls out the chair for me.
"You're going to sit here and write a text to your sister and I'm going to finish making breakfast." She tells me.
I sit here looking at my phone for a while, unsure of how to start. Finally I type:
>*Anything wrong? Worried about you.*
And I hit send.
\----------------------------------------------------------
Eight days pass before Lily texts me back and it's a flood of texts in the morning from an unknown number. One after the other.
>*Sorry I didn't get back to you right away. You were right about Eric. I didn't tell you a lot because I thought you'd be ashamed of me. Or mad. You've always been so much stronger than I am.*
>*I packed and left the night before your text. I was afraid to reply because I thought he might be able to read it somehow. He definitely was tracking the phone so I left it at the bus station that morning.*
>*It took me a few days to get set up, but I'm in Echo Bay now and this is my new number. Just got one of those burner phones from Walmart. It's nothing special but that's on purpose.*
>*I'm staying in a bungalow on the beach. Very cute. Just a few miles from you and Jasmine, actually. It's nothing permanent, just an AirB&B. I figured coming here would be safest for now to figure out what to do next.*
>*I never told him where you were and he'll try to find me if he can. He'll follow me to the end of the Earth. I should have told you about him. The whole truth. Now I finally can. If you're not busy, come by today and I'll tell you the whole story.*
The last text she sends puts tears in my eyes and I call her right after I read it and we make plans…
>*I'm pretty sure if I stayed he'd have killed me sooner or later. Probably sooner.*
\----------------------------------------------------------
I meet Lily for lunch at her bungalow in the afternoon and she's right, it's very cute. She, on the other hand, still looks like a mess and the bruises haven't fully healed. That bastard really did a number on her.
"He wasn't always like this, you know," she tells me, "in the beginning he was really charming…it took a long time to figure out that person wasn't real."
She doesn't eat much, mostly just moves the food around on her plate with her fork. She goes quiet and drifts away from the conversation a lot which is strange for me because she was always the one with more focus. I'm the daydreamer. She's the grounded one. That's how we've always been. A few times while she's sitting silently, she begins to cry. When I hold her hand, it turns into a wailing sob and I reassure her that none of this is her fault. That this sort of thing happens to a lot of women. That they feel trapped and never try to get out. Never try to escape. They don't make it out. I reassure her that she's still strong because she saw what was happening and she did something about it. She left. I reassure her quietly that although it shouldn't be this way, that it shouldn't happen, this still happens to lots of women anyway. She's not alone. She escaped it. She's a survivor.
"We can help find you a lawyer if you want," I offer at one point, "we have money saved. We can pay for it," and she immediately shuts the idea down.
"No. I'm not doing that," she says adamantly, "I just want to be done with it. I came here to heal. I don't know if I'm staying or not yet…"
She pauses for a moment and then adds: "I just need some time to figure out where I'm supposed to be."
"But if you let him get away with it, he could do this to someone else," I say, "you do realize that right? You need to do something. He needs to pay for this."
"But what if he gets away with it?" she asks, "what if I report all of it and he sits trial for it…and what if I don't win?"
"What if you do?" I ask her. She gets really quiet then, "promise me you'll think about it."
"I will," she says and it's almost a whisper, "I just need some time. I made it away and I'm safe. I don't know if I want him to know where I am. If I do this then he knows I'm here and when he does, if I lose, he will kill me. You understand that don't you?"
She doesn't want to let me take pictures of her bruises but I insist on it and somehow actually win that argument. She tells me she's been trying not to even look in mirrors right now. She doesn't want pictures of her looking like this on her brand new phone because what if she decides to take a picture of something beautiful, like a sunset, and she opens the camera and the photo gallery is right there and she has to look at this instead. I tell her that she's still beautiful no matter what happened to her. All that matters is what happens next. So I take the pictures for her with my phone. She takes off her shirt and there are more bruises everywhere underneath and we take pictures of those too.
I manage to keep my own feelings bottled up for the entire afternoon until she takes her shirt off and now before I realize I'm doing it, I'm crying also.
"Shhh," she whispers, "you can't cry. You're the strong one."
I shake my head and tell her that we're both strong and then we're both sobbing and she presses her face against my chest and I press my head onto the top of hers until she steps away from me and tells me that I have to stop crying on her because I'm getting snot in her hair. We both laugh.
It's not funny. Nothing about this afternoon has been, but we both laugh anyway and our laughs still sound the same.
I spend the entire day with her and as the sun goes down we leave her bungalow and take a walk along the beach.
"What's that out there?" She asks, pointing out at a spot in the water. The sun has nearly set and the only thing we can see is a great dark space on the horizon. The place where I live is old and still has a working lighthouse; it's more for nostalgia than anything else now. As if on queue, the light sweeps across the darkness revealing a large, not so distant island that mostly exists as an outcropping of rocks.
"The locals call it Mermaid's Roost," I tell her, "lots of the old-timers, the superstitious ones, say that's where the sirens live."
She smiles at that. I realize it's the first time I've seen her smile all day and it's an incredible feeling. It's too soon to call it healing but it's the beginning of just that and I can feel it radiating from her. It feels warm. She lifts her phone and opens the camera.
"It's gonna be my first picture," she says, "I was waiting for something beautiful. I wanted the first one I took to be of something beautiful."
"It's why they put the old lighthouse here in the first place. Supposedly there's dozens of old ships that sank out there," I tell her.
"They heard the sirens singing and rammed their ships against The Roost to be closer to them." Lily says, "The legend is that they're still out there and you can still hear them if they want you to. If they want you to come out to them…when men hear them from the water it's because they want to smash the ships. When they hear them from the shore it's always a trick; a call to swim out to the rocks. Most of them don't make it. They drown. If they do make it that far, the sirens kill them and eat them. Also they're not mermaids at all but birds with the heads of women. Weird right? The men always die either way. They're from Greek mythology, you know. Surprising anyone believes anything like that out here."
"That's right," I say, struggling to hide my surprise, "but how do you know about all of that?"
"There's a book about it at the house," she explains, "I've been here for about three days. I've read the whole thing twice. I didn't realize it was a local thing. That explains two things…why it was in the house to begin with, but also why it wasn't written very well. I thought it's probably self-published or a vanity press sort of thing," She shrugs and says, "I didn't realize why it was at the house until now. I like it anyway. It's just about the only thing there is to read in there."
I'm flabbergasted, "Three days? You got here and waited three days to text me?" I heard the rest of what she said but that's the only thing that registers.
"I was scared," she says, "scared to tell you about everything."
"I get it. I'm not mad or anything but Jesus, Lily, you've been this close for three days? I've been worried sick about you for over a week!"
"I know," she whispers and grabs my hand, "I'm sorry."
"We should probably get back before it gets too dark," I say.
"Stay with me tonight? Say you will? Call Jasmine and tell her you'll be home in the morning?"
I say I will and that we need to start to head back to her place. We've walked about a mile so it will take us a while to get back and this isn't the kind of beach that's made of gentle slopes of endless sand. There's sand of course, but it's also full of rocks to trip and bust your head open on in the dark.
When we're halfway there and the sky is a deep, dark purple bruise she stops and looks back at Mermaid's Roost. The shadow of it still looms on the violet horizon, like a giant sleeping in the sparkling black blanket of water. Her eyes grow wide and seem to fill with tiny golden diamonds, like flecks of light reflected by the stars. Her face glows with an uncharacteristically innocent wonder.
"Emily," she whispers, "do you hear them too?"
And I think she's fucking with me so I say "sure" and tell her to hurry up because I'm starving and I want to order us a pizza and call my wife to let her know what's going on. Also that my feet hurt. The truth is that I can barely hear her when she asks the question in the first place.
"It's beautiful," she says quietly and I agree because I think she's talking about the town or the beach or the moon or the stars or anything else–anything real–and not some local legend that she can hear over the sound of the waves and wind that I can't.
When we get back to the bungalow, she pauses in the doorway and stares for a long time back at the island of rocks. It's distant, but big enough that you can still see it, if only just barely when the light from the lighthouse sweeps across it in the dark.
\----------------------------------------------------------
The house is awash with the chill and the sounds of the sea wind when I wake up. We went to the master bedroom around 11:00pm to watch a movie. The plan was for us to stay in the same bed like we used to do sometimes when we were little girls. The house has a guest room and I could have slept in there, but Lily begged me to stay with her, so I did.
It's 3:00am and the cold is what's roused me from sleep but it's panic that pulls me fully awake now. She's not here with me. I know she's not in the house. I know this the same way that I know she turned the TV off when she left, so a loud commercial didn't wake me. I know this because it's what I would have done if I was trying to sneak away and I didn't want her to stop me. I know all of this the same way I knew she was in trouble but I didn't know how or why over a week ago. *Twintuition*.
I've never had a feeling like this one before. It's strong and clear but also deep and dark like the water outside. I know from the moment I wake up that I won't see her alive again, but I search the entire house for her anyway. I go from room to room checking every closet, beneath both the beds and even behind the shower curtain in the bathroom. When I get to the living room I see the reason the house is so cold; she didn't shut the door behind her when she left.
***"The Legend of Mermaid's Roost"*** is laying open on the counter and she's used seashells to hold the pages open to where she's circled a passage in black marker.
>*"When men hear the sirens singing, it is always without a doubt an attempt at temptation. Their beautiful and deadly song is said to be a lure calling sailors ever closer to the rocks of Mermaid's Roost to smash their ships along the stoney shore, but the sirens don't stop there. Their singing has not only been heard by men at sea, but by those who walk along the shores after dark. They call out to the men on the mainland trying to convince them to swim out to the Roost; a distance just over half a mile. According to the legends, most of those that attempted to swim the distance to the island would get caught in the undertow and drown. If they managed to make it the entire way, the sirens of Mermaid's Roost would rip them apart with their talons and eat them alive while they screamed for a mercy that would never come. Death is always the fate of men who hear the song."*
>*"According to the myths, women almost never hear their enchanting calls from across the bay, but for those that do the call is never a deadly temptation, but rather an invitation to join them. To sing with them and lure men to their untimely ends. Those women that do hear them may choose to join their deadly flock if they wish to do so. According to the local histories this is rare and the women that choose to join them are never seen nor heard from again."*
At the bottom of the page, a note in her handwriting simply reads: *"Figured out where I'm supposed to be. Thanks for today. I love you always."*
I rush outside knowing there's no reason to hurry because I'm already too late to stop her. She's already made her choice and I don't need my *twintuition* to tell me that because I can hear her.
She's singing…Mermaid's Roost is over a mile away and I know it's her voice because it sounds so much like my own. It's quiet from this distance but the preternatural nature of her chorus spans the space between us with ease and clarity…but this song is not my invitation to join her…
It's her last request.
When I offered to pay for a lawyer so she could make him pay for putting his hands on her, she was afraid she wouldn't win but that fear is gone now. She's found a whole flock that'll be willing–that lives for the sole purpose of picking better men than him apart, and they will, as they've done to so many before him…that is if he even survives the swim.
He's too far from here to hear her song but he's not too far for me. I don't know exactly how to reach you, Eric Warminster, but I know where you live and there can't be more than one man with that name where you are. In the morning I'll make a few calls until I find you and when I do, I'm pretty sure that Lily was right when she said you'd follow her to the end of the Earth. I'm also pretty sure you won't know the difference between her voice and mine over the phone…our own mother can't most of the time. I don't even have to face you and I already know what I'll say to get you out here too. I'll taunt you and belittle you. You'll come. It should be easy enough…we have the same laugh…
…All I have to do is tell you to meet me at the beach after dark. That's her whole last request. Get you to the beach and she'll take care of the rest.
[ss](http://scottsavino.com) | https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17ca9g0/my_twin_disappeared_after_reading_a_book_called/ | nosleep | Scott_Savino |
false | Dracula's Home | Yes, Halloween the first thing that comes to our mind when we say that word is, bats, witches, black cats or even buckets full of candy. But when that word is spoken the first thing that comes to my mind was that one dreadful night that all began on October 31st.
I was 14 with three other friends all of them 15. We didn't exactly come to trick or treat, unless your idea of trick or treating is scaring children and egging homes. We all planned to meet up with a group of four other boys from our school. They were all around 15-16, so I was planning to be the youngest one there.
My group of friends all met up at my house, we proceeded to leave into the misty cold streets at 8:00 then met up with the boys at 9:00. We didn't exactly think out how our curfew would play into all this but, hey! That doesn't matter when you're with a group of friends who aren't the best influences on you.
We all started down the streets with our very loud, unique group of 8 teenagers. We weren't dressed for the occasion and we all seemed to have the clothing theme of black. Damn, we were the kids that a mom whispered to her toddler to not be like us. We looked like we were going to rob a 7/11 on the side of the highway.
Carried safely in the pocket of the youngest boy, named Alex, was a bag of eggs. Cold, untouched, throwable eggs. Yup, that was our idea of fun. So, here we are at a large black and brown house. The house had little to no decorations except one pitiful scarecrow in the front of the yard. The street was clear as one of the guys looked around making sure there were no witnesses. We didn't even know the person that lived there but we sure knew what we were going to do. "Guys, we shouldn't do this." I murmur beginning to grip on my friend, Chloe's, arm to pull her away from the bag of eggs.
"Stop being such a baby, Liv." Chloe said, pulling her arm back in spite.
I gulped nothing was going to change their minds so all I could do was sit back and watch. Eggs were launched from our position, yellow liquid oozing down the front of the house, *crack, crack, crack.* My eyes watched and my brows furrowed in disapproval. There was a tap on my shoulder it was one of the boys. I looked up at him angrily, rage burning in my pupils. "Give it a try." The boy handed me an egg and I scrunched my nose. I don't know if it was purely the rage of what we were doing that made me swing my arm back or if it was that I wanted to be like them when I sent the egg darting through the air and splatting onto the front porch. Yet, there wasn't a splat. The egg didn't crack, oh thank god. I had done no damage.
"The egg didn't splat." The person I was probably most closest to in the group, Sam, said.
"Well, I'm not about to waste an egg." One of the boys said and marched forward two other boys following.
Their feet touched the walk way and made their way up the stairs. I remember my ears rung as the lead boy bent down and grabbed the egg. The ringing grew louder as the door opened and pulled him inside. I could only see a silhouette of something in the doorway I couldn't make out the creature. The two other boys screamed in terror as they tried to run. But whatever was inside the house pulled them back in sending their nails clawing against the floor as they tried to fight back. Their body disappeared into the doorway then went their arms and finally, their hands. That was the last I saw of them before the door slammed shut and they couldn't escape from the horror they were about to experience.
I remember it was a flurry of screaming and panicked movements as me, my three other friends, and the one remaining boy darted down the street. Running from no apparent thing except the scene we had just witnessed. Our stomach was in our throats and we shook uncontrollably. We made our way back into the busy street and people eyed us suspiciously unsure why we were screaming and running. People swerved out of our paths and looked behind us. They definitely thought we were crazy, I felt the eyes on us but the fear and terror quickly blocked that out.
We reached my home and slammed the door open, and ran inside sending the door shut again with such a loud bang it probably rumbled the whole neighborhood. I panted my parents weren't home probably at some halloween dinner. "Well?! We have to go back there!" The boy named Leo, said. We all eyed him like he had just said that pizza could fly.
"I'm never going back to that crazy damned house again!" Layla, one of the girls in the group, said.
I sided with Layla on that one but, Leo was right. We can't just leave them there without at least making an attempt to save them.
"How about a majority vote?" Chloe said her voice still not fully recovered from the harsh terror that had just hit all of us.
We all seemed to agree on that as we nodded our head timidly. I raised my hand to go back and get the boys and so did Leo who was the only boy still with us. Layla and Chloe raised their hands for not going back and just hoping they somehow survived. Sam was going to be the deciding vote on what we did. Sam was usually pretty head on but this time her hand timidly went up and she uttered two words that couldn't have been said any more fearfully. "Go back." Well it was decided we were going back. Layla and Chloe gave Sam daggers from across the room while Leo patted Sam on the shoulder.
There we stood looking up at the terrifying house, parts of the eggs still oozing down the house. Leo went first clearly very devoted to his friends. Sam went next, I went after her, then Chloe. Layla stood back growling. Layla was selfish and whiny. I still have no idea why she's in our friend group. Sam looked back at her, "Fine, stay out here. Just never deem yourself as a hero. Because you are the last thing that could be called a hero." Sam hissed turning back to face the house. Layla and Sam had never exactly gotten along. Layla crossed her arms and stomped her way up behind me.
Leo shivered in the presence of the house and his fist met the door a small, *knock knock.* The door squeaked open and who stood in the door way was the last thing I expected. It was a man with black hair and he was dressed up in the stereotypical Dracula outfit. All of us squinted our eyes except for Layla who glared angrily the anger just growing larger and larger inside of her before it finally bubbled over the cauldron.
"See guys it was nothing! They probably just played some stupid prank on us. We can all go back home and forget about-" She was cut off by the man in the door way.
Nothing could have prepared us for what the man said next. "Don't you want to find where your friends are?" The man smiled a demented look forming in his eyes. "Or would you rather have them be hung up in my yard? The choice is yours." The words completely changed the subject and were unexpected. The way he said them made them sound more like a threat than a question.
Leo was the first to nod and that was enough for the man who proceeded to drag us all into his house. I was too scared to say anything. I mean what could I say in this situation? I looked around remembering my surroundings. We walked through the living room a TV hoisted up on a brick fireplace with velvet red furniture for seating. He led us through his kitchen and paused. His long, white, slender fingers reached out from under his cape and opened the door to what looked like a pantry. It revealed a long, rough concrete staircase leading seemingly to the basement.
Chloe shook her head and began to run out of the kitchen flailing her arms. The man darted after her catching up to her. A crunch could be heard as Chloe's mouth opened in a loud, shrill scream quickly being muffled by the man's hand. It wasn't a bone... I think. Maybe just a rough grip because there were no tears and it seemed her pain only lasted for a short amount of time. Chloe was dragged back fear in her face and I froze just following Leo's lead down into the basement.
It was cold, I remember rubbing my shoulders for warmth staring at the back of Sam's head. Sam was like an older sister to me and probably the only familiar face in that basement. My eyes widened in terror as I saw the three boys from earlier sat against a brick wall. They looked pale and malnourished after only an hour in the basement, I wonder what a lifetime could do. The Dracula man directed us to sit next to the boys.
I blinked and there it was, in front of me. It looked like a vampire red shiny eyes and long red stained fangs but its skin... Its skin looked like the moon's craters but also the deep, dark abyss under your bed all at once. Scarier then the Bogeyman and seemingly more agile than a deer. I sat in its terrifying presence. I could hear Layla's short panicked breaths, like she was being timed for how many breaths she could do in a second. The creature sauntered forward staring at us as if we were on showcase at a buffet. Like a child at a candy store choosing a lollipop. Which one of us he planned to eat first.
I reached into Sam's pocket knowing she had a pocket knife in it somewhere. My movements were slow and lagging. I felt the cold pocket knife and slowly pulled it out of her pocket. I opened it behind my back and in a quick movement through it at the creature. It hit the creature's leg and sent a scream out of its mouth.
I grabbed Sam's hand and ran at full speed past the creature and up the staircase. A clang hit the ground, the pocket knife. It was only a short stall before the creature ran after us."LIV!" Sam screamed as the creature grabbed her leg and began pulling her down the staircase its claws gripping through the cloth of her pants and into her flesh.
She kicked the creature exactly five times I remember it so vividly, *pound, pound, pound, pound, pound.* Then she was free and she ran up the staircase after me. The creature wobbled up the staircase after us leaving the rest of the group alone in the basement. Me and Sam ran like it was the last thing we'd ever do. I opened the front door and Sam slammed it behind us locking the creature in its home.
That was it, I had just escaped from whatever fate that may had awaited me if I hadn't remembered Sam's pocket knife or thrown even an inch off from the creature.
It's been a few years now since that night. Everyday I'm so thankful for my life that I escaped from that horrifying creature. After years of therapy I've slowly gotten over that night but its still there. I'm still close with Sam but I'll never know what happened to the rest of my group. I've never heard from them and I can only assume the worst. Fear never goes away but it gets better in time. | https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17ctdim/draculas_home/ | nosleep | Independent_Bug_7431 |
false | The friend who made me do those awful things that you read about in the papers... | *Note to readers: My client, Mr. Josh \_\_\_\_\_ , gave me permission to post this here. He is currently being held at\_\_\_\_\_ Secure Psychiatric Unit in \_\_\_\_\_ on an indeterminate sentence.*
One is the loneliest number, as they say (or sing). I grew up as an only child in a sprawling, decrepit manor that was a solid 14 miles outside of town. And the town that I’m referring to wasn’t exactly a metropolis, either. It helped that I had two cats to be my best friends / partners in crime and acres and acres of forest to explore.
I must’ve been six or seven when I met Mr. Lickety-Split. I was sitting in the sunroom coloring in a book of mandalas that my mother had given me for my birthday. As always, my babysitter Jeanine was on the sofa in the living room, no doubt texting her latest meathead boyfriend. Every six to eight weeks, Jeanine would come over with bloodshot eyes and eyeliner smeared halfway down her face; before too long, she’d meet a new guy and there’d be some manic “up” energy before the cycle repeated itself and the relationship imploded. Jeanine didn’t even pretend to like kids (in general or me specifically, for that matter); the only reason that my parents used her was because her family’s house five miles down the road was the only one close enough to ours to make the arrangement feasible.
I looked up from my mandala and there was Mr. Lickety-Split. He was spindly, with neatly coiffed gray hair and a wide smile too perfect to be anything other than dentures in a man his age. His features were vaguely British, and he wore a tux with tails that had clearly been cut to the fashions of another time and place. But Mr. Lickety-Split’s most spectacular feature were his blue-green eyes: They had these sparkly celestial swirls, like something that the Hubble Space Telescope would capture an image of. Something about his mien and his posture seemed playful, inviting.
“Hey -” I exclaimed, ecstatic at the thought that my prayers for a friend had finally been answered.
Mr. Lickety-Split brought his index finger up to his lips: the signal for quiet. I nodded, then looked over into the other room to verify that Jeanine hadn’t noticed anything. Mr. Lickety-Split introduced himself, and then he made me a proposition:
*Want to play a joke on that insipid little bitch?*
I was shocked that Mr. Lickety-Split had used the b-word; I looked over at Jeanine in a panic, sure that she would hear and get me and my new friend in trouble. But Mr. Lickety-Split had a way of talking without speaking aloud – just sort of planting his words in my mind and letting them grow there. He tended to use a lot of words that I didn’t know yet, in those days.
I nodded.
*You have to follow my instructions carefully, and you must never, ever question me or disobey me. Understand?*
Again, I nodded my assent. Over the coming years, this would remain Mr. Lickety-Split’s one and only rule.
Mr. Lickety-Split led me to the kitchen, where he opened the refrigerator door and pointed to the casserole that my mom had left there.
*Put this in the oven,* he ordered me. I lifted the heavy pan and transferred it to the middle rack on the oven as he directed.
My mom had left a sheet of instructions on the kitchen counter that said to heat the casserole at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 45 minutes to an hour; it was only 2:00 p.m., and we weren’t supposed to eat until 6:00 p.m.
I felt uneasy as Mr. Lickety-Split told me to turn the dial on the oven all the way to the right, past 450 and then 500 degrees. I didn't know what temperature it was normal to cook at, at that age, but 500 sounded high to me. Still, I did as he commanded. He rewarded me with a smile after I completed each little step – brought the chair over from the kitchen table to the stove, stood atop it and pressed the temperature dial in to engage it, and so on. There was something *special* about Mr. Lickety-Split’s grin. It was like he was stroking the pleasure centers in my brain a little bit, giving me a surge of dopamine; almost like a drug, although I didn’t know what that felt like yet, of course.
Mr. Lickety-Split helped ease Jeanine into a comfortable nap so that she didn’t notice the smoke that emerged from the kitchen -- first in tentative tendrils, then in dense, billowing clouds. He showed me how to hold a pillowcase over my mouth so that the smoke wouldn’t bother me so much, and he pointed out a spot by the window where I was able to get fresh air and relieve my stinging eyes.
The smoke detectors finally woke Jeanine up at around 5:30 p.m. By then, the kitchen was so filled with smoke that she couldn’t even enter it, not even with her shirt over her face. She looked at me like she expected me to know what to do; I could tell that she was terrified -- not of me getting hurt, but of her getting in trouble.
Mr. Lickety-Split laughed his merry cackle as Jeanine used her cell phone to call 911, yanking my arm as she led me outside. Mr. Lickety-Split didn’t like how rough she was with me, so he made sure that Jeanine tripped on her way down the front steps.
My parents weren’t too happy with Jeanine, either: They berated her with phrases like “totally negligent” and “suspect you of using drugs” as the firemen ran in and out of the house like busy worker ants. Jeanine didn’t even look back or say goodbye to me when she got picked up an hour later. Her makeup was smudged for a different reason on her way out, I noticed.
Without a babysitter, my parents started staying home a lot more on the weekends. One day, Mr. Lickety-Split adopted his iconic “shh” pose before leading me from the English formal garden in our backyard into the kitchen through the mud room. My parents had asked me to stay outside for a couple of hours, but Mr. Lickety-Split had grown bored.
We creeped up the service staircase that accessed the second-floor hall. I knew that I wasn’t supposed to be up there on a Saturday morning, and I had a vibrating-stomach feeling that made me worry that I would puke or have diarrhea.
We emerged at the top of the stairs, and Mr. Lickety-Split crossed the hall and inched open the door of my parents’ bedroom in that soundless way of his.
I heard Mom screaming, and I almost rushed in to see what was wrong. But Mr. Lickety-Split held me back.
*They’re just having some grownup fun,* he assured me. He pointed into the bedroom, where the heavy damask curtains had been drawn.
My mom was laying naked on the end of the bed, I saw, and my dad was kneeling on the carpet at the foot of the bed with his head leaning in toward her stomach. This pose struck me as so funny that I almost started giggling, but Mr. Lickety-Split silenced me with another stern gesture. I saw Daddy kiss Mom’s stomach and then reach down and do something between her thighs.
Somehow, I knew that it was wrong for me to watch this. It was like showering or going to the bathroom, I realized; something private that only rude or bad people would want to view.
“Those brownies were good,” Mommy moaned as Daddy kept licking her down there. I realized that I was grabbing myself down there, too; it felt like I had to pee.
*Come on, let’s go,* I told Mr. Lickety-Split, and we raced back down the stairs. For the rest of the day, I searched for those brownies. My mom mentioning them had triggered a craving in me, and I scoured the refrigerator, the oven, even the glass-covered serving dish on the coffee table in the living room that Mommy sometimes filled with treats for guests.
Mr. Lickety-Split said that he didn’t know where the brownies were, but I knew that he was lying. He did that, sometimes.
The first time that I saw the other side of Mr. Lickety Split – the very not nice side – was during the summer after sixth grade, when I was 12.
By now, I knew that Mr. Lickety Split wasn’t going away. A couple of years earlier, Mom and Dad had sent me to an expensive child psychiatrist who asked me about Mr. Lickety-Split. He was a short little guy with a bowling ball belly and tufts of black hair coming out of his ears and nostrils, and his office smelled like peppermint. He asked me about when I met Mr. Lickety-Split; what the two of us talked about; if Mr. Lickety-Split had anything to do with God; if Mr. Lickety-Split told me to do things; and so on. I answered every question exactly as Mr. Lickety-Split told me to, and the psychiatrist assured my parents that I knew that Mr. Lickety-Split wasn’t real, that I had simply invented him to cope with my loneliness – a sign of an active, creative mind and a *rich inner world*, as he put it. Mr. Lickety Split said that this was exactly the kind of thing that they said before they decided you were crazy and locked you away forever, and that we had to be very careful to hide his presence from then on.
My dad had given me the responsibility of mowing our gigantic lawn once a week for the summer. He’d promised me 20 bucks a month, which was an unthinkable sum of money for me at the time – equal to eight comic books, 12.5 slices of pizza, or three movies with popcorn and a drink. I didn’t mind forcing our rusty old push mower over all of the hills and divots; to tell you the truth, I liked proving to Mom and Dad that I was strong enough to handle it.
Mr. Lickety-Split had never cared for Oscar and Neon. He said that he didn’t like it when the cats woke me up by using me as a springboard and landing pad in the middle of the night; he claimed that it interfered with my ability to sleep, to grow. But I knew that this was only part of the story. Those cats hated Mr. Lickety-Split – they went berserk every time he showed up, hissing and crying up a storm – and I knew by now that Mr. Lickety-Split resented, *detested* anything that took my attention away from him.
*The cats have to go, Josh,* he notified me as I swung the mower around at the border between our yard and the woods that surrounded it.
*Go where?* I asked him, distracted by the elegant chiaroscuro show of light streaming through the trees in the forest.
*You need to get rid of the cats.* Mr. Lickety Split put the *get rid of* into my head in bold and italics. He said it in such a way that I knew unequivocally what he meant.
*No no no* I begged him. I loved those cats.
*All good things come to an end, Josh,* Mr. Lickety-Split chided me. *And this way, we'll have even more time together.*
*And it’s time to get rid of those ugly, irksome cats / rhymes with spats / rhymes with gnats / rhymes with rats / rhymes with brats / rhymes with SPLAT (rhymes with vats of blood and slats of wood in a coffin).*
Mr. Lickety-Split got carried away like that, sometimes.
*No no no* I insisted.
*I’ll take them to the pound,* I promised.
*Not good enough,* Mr. Lickety-Split told me.
*Remember what I told you, Josh: Never question me. Don’t make me show you what happens if you do.*
Next, Mr. Lickety-Split did something he had never done before. It wasn’t that he *entered* or *invaded* my mind; he had already been there for a long time, I realized. Except now, instead of being a harmless passenger, a backseat driver, Mr. Lickety split took the wheel.
At first, he found it awkward to move my gangly teenage body. My arms and legs were moved jerkily, spastically. I prayed that my Mom or Dad would see from the kitchen window, assume that I was having a seizure, and run out to save me. Anything to interrupt what was going on. At first, I fought him, hard. I ordered every nerve and muscle cell that he attempted to control to do the opposite of whatever Mr. Lickety-Split was commandeering them to accomplish. But that wore me out much faster than I could’ve anticipated.
And it wasn’t just that. Mr. Lickety-Split was able to do other… things. He put pictures in my head, for instance. Pictures of me doing things to myself that are so twisted, so awful that I won’t even describe them. Pictures of me doing things to other people that are even worse.
Eventually, when I couldn’t resist any longer, Mr. Lickety-Split hunted down the cats. They ran like bandits when they realized who was with me. With the help of treats and my own traitorous, soothing voice, Mr. Lickety-Split was able to coax them out of their hiding spot in the garage. He stuffed them into a single cat carrier and headed back out to the yard.
I watched - screaming myself hoarse internally even though I couldn’t make a sound - as Mr. Lickety-Split walked back to the edge of the forest. In those dreadful moments, I prayed fervently for the power to close my eyelids, for the grace not to see. But it was my curse to watch - a quaking, forlorn bystander to a nightmare within a nightmare - as Mr. Lickety-Split got his revenge on Oscar and Neon: He hummed “London Bridge is Falling Down” as he flipped the lawnmower over, leaving it running as he threw first Oscar, then Neon into its whirling blades. Sheets of blood and chunks of tissue spun out in a hellish arc as Mr. Lickety-Split used *my* body to kill my cats, my friends. At one point, something small and solid ricocheted off the blades with a *ping* before hitting me in the cheek. I wiped the spot reflexively, then looked down and saw my palm coated in gore. I searched the grass in front of me and found it: It was a section of jawbone with several teeth still attached.
*See, Josh,* Mr. Lickety-Split declared, *you and I can have fun in so many ways.*
Mr. Lickety-Split grinned psychotically. He’d developed a lazy eye recently, I observed. These days, something had entered his grin that sent centipedes wriggling up and down my spine.
I realized with a shame and horror beyond description that it was my own hands that had wrought this horror; my own legs that carried me to and from accomplishing this Devil's work. Dad seemed to accept my theory that a hawk or a coyote had taken the cats out; around that time, Mom started looking at me a little differently.
There were times when Mr. Lickety-Split proved himself an invaluable friend, of course. When my first boyfriend posted the intimate photos that I had sent him on a dirty website, then opened it on the SmartBoard screen during the homeroom period that he and I were both in, I knew that Mr. Lickety-Split wouldn’t let that ride. For once, I didn't resist him as he made his plans.
Mr. Lickety-Split ordered me to get some pills from the dealer in my class – told me what to ask for and how much to pay – and then explained how to grind them up with a bit of sugar. Under his direction, I added the powder to Adam’s drink during homeroom the next day. I waited 30 minutes and then texted him a message saying *I’m so horny, babe; I don’t care about what you did; let’s meet in the supply closet and have fun for old time’s sake.*
Adam followed his dick to the supply closet, where I started giving him pleasure in the way that he preferred (without getting too crass, it was orally). Adam moaned as I performed the usual routine. Mr. Lickety-Split retrieved my phone from my pocket and reached out my arm so that he could record what I was doing. I assumed that he wanted to show my entire class what a tiny dill pickle Adam had for a member, but a moment later, I felt Mr. Lickety-Split take control of my body. Before I could realize what was happening or even consider resisting, it was over. Mr. Lickety-Split had bitten down ferociously – not hard enough to sever the tip, exactly, but hard enough to scar and to keep Adam from any kind of amorous fun for months and months (or so I heard). The best part was that Adam never admitted to the school what happened or who did it; he was too afraid that I’d post the video online and that he’d go viral.
One day of my junior year, Mr. Lickety-Split sat me down for a talk.
*We’ve been good friends for years now, Josh, and you’re growing up into a fine young man. You’re 17, going on 18; you’ve had your first love, your first hate, your first kills – your first everything, really. You’re growing up, and it’s time for you to be more independent. For* us *to have more freedom.*
At first, I thought that Mr. Lickety-Split wanted us to run away.
*You know who stands between us and the freedom that we want, that we need,* Mr. Lickety-Split clarified. What he had planned dawned on me; my guts, all the way from my stomach to the other end, felt as though they had been pumped full of lead.
***No,*** I insisted, I resisted, I screamed inside. Just **no.**
*You know what happens when you resist me,* Mr. Lickety-Split answered in a quiet, even tone that was infinitely scarier than any bellow he could’ve mustered.
Over the following weeks, Mr. Lickety-Split made sure that I never slept. As soon as I started to drift off, he’d shout some threat or obscenity in my head. All day I heard his muttering, a susurrant hell-track that took me to the edge of my sanity.
*You’re nothing. You’ve never been anything and you never will. Your father curses the day that he and seven other men sprayed their seed on your mother, the gaping whore.*
*You’re nothing. You’re never been anything and you never will. All your friends talk behind your back about how weak, how ugly, how pathetic you are. Even your teachers don’t like you: They can barely hide their contempt.*
When I did collapse into short stretches of sleep, the dreams that Mr. Lickety-Split put into my head were ineffably frightening – scenes from other dimensions where the Devil is God and breakfast is made from meat harvested from living, terrified donors strapped down to the kitchen table, fully awake and given nothing for pain as the diners make their choices and their meat is carved up, cooked, and served… Places where children’s pain is like caviar, where tricking confused elderly people never fails to give a kick. Sometimes in these dreams, Mr. Lickety-Split would make me *do* things. Abominable things, the very worst. And he would slow down time so that a 15-minute nap could encompass three months of horror.
*I can make it go on forever, Josh,* he’d tease me in his sick sing-song. *What do you think it feels like to go insane? Or you can choose to end this right now.*
I thought about “ending this right now” in the other way, but every time I so much as considered it, Mr. Lickety-Split took control before I could raise a finger to harm myself (although he would force me to burn myself with the cigarettes that I’d started chain smoking or stand in the shower under boiling hot water as punishment for resisting him).
And so, as I turned 18, I prepared to murder my parents. Mr. Lickety-Split developed a very intricate, cunning plan for how to accomplish this in such a way that we ended up getting the house and my parents’ sizable death benefits to party with; it hinged on framing Jeanine for the crime.
Even now, I can’t bring myself to recount the details. Suffice it to say that I remember every twisted second of that accursed day. Drugging my parents so that they fell asleep early. Kidnapping Jeanine while she headed out for a date with a guy she met online (who happened to be Mr. Lickety Split).
*Then Lickety-Splitting / ripping / hitting / whipping / chipping (their skulls so strong so fine) / slitting (their throats so fun so wide).*
After Jeanine had “committed suicide,” Mr. Lickety-Split made me call in the murders, ordering me to pretend that I had come back from work and discovered the scene. My screams of terror and anguish were real, of course; I didn’t have to fake a thing.
As we finished providing our statement, Mr. Lickety-Split was growing tired; I could sense it - a slowing down that was separate, more severe than the one affecting my own body and mind. It cost him a lot to maintain control for this long, I knew. Mr. Lickety-Split didn’t say anything, just then; just relaxed as he issued a long, contented sigh.
The detective ordered me to write down my version of events before they released me.
My moment had arrived: I grabbed hold of the pen and began to write. Mr. Lickety-Split tried to stop me, but he had underestimated me, doubting that I had any capacity left to resist him (an impression that I had carefully cultivated and then reinforced through minor incidents in the preceding weeks). Before he could stop me, I began committing to paper what had really happened. I used every ounce of my energy to focus on the words that I was writing even as Mr. Lickety-Split screamed over them in my mind.
Mr. Lickety-Split threw the pen across the room; the detective calmly handed me another. I kept writing even as Mr. Lickety-Split grew louder, more frantic in my mind, screaming threats and obscenities. He was panicked, I realized, and a surge of hope set me to scribbling ever faster.
A moment later, Mr. Lickety-Split grabbed the pen from me and stabbed it through my left hand; it passed through the smooth skin below my middle finger and protruded out the other side. Frantic, I explained to the detective what was going on – that there was an evil entity controlling me, which had committed the murders, and that if I didn’t get the truth down on paper now, I might never be able to tell it – and he let me continue writing. Mr. Lickety-Split wept in defeat as I signed our name to the confession:
Josh \_\_\_\_\_
Alias Mr. Lickety-Split
They gave me a pretty nice cell, all things considered. The press called me a monster, but a jury of my peers judged me to be an insane monster, so I was sent to a secure psychiatric facility rather than a prison. I’m kept in solitary confinement, of course; after that incident with the orderly who wears an eye patch now early on in my stay here, I’m only allowed out of my cell for an hour a day. And I'll never, ever be released, of course; that much is a given.
I take my meals in my cell, and for the most part, I am content. I beat Mr. Lickety-Split; he can’t hurt anyone else ever again. I remind myself of that when the memories rise up to the surface and things get too dark. I pass the time with books and writing, and they take me to other places, other times, other lives; through them, I swim, I fly, I travel back to a time before all of this horror. In time, I even earned the privilege of a small TV.
Mr. Lickety-Split is furious with me, of course, but there is little that he can do. He’s invented a thousand ways to punish me by making me cut, burn, and punch myself, but whenever he gets carried away, the orderlies step in and strap us down. There’s a nice one named Bob who sits by the bed and reads to me on days when that happens, and it feels good – like I’m young again, with Mom and Dad both coming to my bedroom to read to me while I fall asleep. My dreams are what I dread the most, but even there, Mr. Lickety-Split’s power is diminished; he knows that I know that he can’t really make it worse anymore.
My biggest concern is that when I die, Mr. Lickety-Split will simply transfer himself over to a new friend. He hasn't aged a day since the day I met him, and he's hinted at such a possibility before. So, if you or someone you love - a child, a nephew, a friend - come across a benevolent, mischievous imaginary friend - getting on in years, dressed a bit like the quintessential British butler - kindly turn and ***run*** the other way.
This is the story of me and my friend Mr. Lickety-Split. I believe that I have done my best in the course of these trials and these terrors, and only God will be the true judge of me. | https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17ce6yc/the_friend_who_made_me_do_those_awful_things_that/ | nosleep | No-Dragonfruit7438 |
false | The Last Time I Went Trick-or-Treating | Not everyone remembers their final time going out trick or treating. People often say "One year it was fun and the next year it seemed lame". It's always up for debate, at what age kids should stop trick-or -treating. Some people say 12 is too old, while others say that they don't mind if high school kids show up at their house, provided they're polite and respectful. My dad always thought that the whole trick-or-treating thing was a little silly, but he was never against going with me when I was younger. That ended the year I turned 13, and it would turn out to be the last year I went trick-or-treating.
Dad informed me early in the week that he wouldn't be going with me this year, he had to pull a double shift, and that if I insisted on going he was fine with it, but that I needed to be careful and meet up with some friends. I was filled with nervous excitement, I never thought I'd be allowed to go out alone on my favorite holiday! Well, my former favorite holiday.
The only problem with my dad's requirement was that truth be told, I didn't have many friends. I never talked to my dad about it, but I was pretty much a loner at that point in my life. Sure, I had a few schoolyard chums, but we weren't really on the "trick-or-treating together" level of our friendship. So, against my better judgment, I lied to my Dad and went solo.
Vampires were all the rage this particular year, it seemed like every other kid at my school had plastic fangs, long black capes and horrible Transylvania accents. "I vant to suck your blood! Blegh!" You know, the corny-ass Dracula voice. I, however, decided to go against the grain and dress up as my favorite monster– a werewolf! Dad spared no expense getting me a full-body costume, with realistic fur and all, I even had a full face mask if you can believe that! I was excited, this would be a night I'd remember forever! Little did I know how right I was about that.
After Dad set out, I made a little map of all the houses I wanted to hit up for candy. My neighborhood was decent, but I heard rumors that houses on Stephenson Road gave out full-speed candy bars, the holy grail for a kid on Halloween! Sure, that street was about a 20-minute walk, but I figured if I got through my neighborhood early enough I'd be there and back before it got too late! Dad said he would call the house at 10:00 to make sure I was home, if I wasn't there to answer I'd be in trouble.
A surprisingly crisp air blew past me bringing the smell of distant candles, pumpkins and sweets with it as I walked down the street to my first batch of houses. Kids were galivanting around in sugar-induced hyper spells, parents desperately trying to keep up with them, and the occasional older sibling trying to convince their younger more gullible sibling that a pack of raisins was a fair trade for a Snickers bar. I was overwhelmed with joy at the atmosphere around me.
After about an hour, I was nearly done with my neighborhood, and the haul was sweet. My makeshift pillowcase bag was just over halfway full, a sizable haul for me. It was 8:00 p.m., and I debated whether or not I even needed to go to Stephenson Road. After a brief inner monologue about this likely being my final year trick or treating and missing out on my last chance to get full-sized candy bars, I began the trek out of my neighborhood.
Once I made it to my destination, the reward was oh-so-sweet! Not only did all the houses have full-sized candy bars, but they each gave me two! My bag filled up pretty damn quickly after only another half hour. A few of the people asked if I was alone, they seemed a little concerned, so I lied and said my Dad was just down the road in his truck. I'm not sure why I lied, I guess I was afraid one of the more overzealous parents would want to go with me for the rest of the walk or even take me home. Couldn't have that happen until I hit every single house on the road!
After the final house, I made my way back down the road as a few of the houses began to turn their porch lights off, cloaking the road in darkness. It was a little after 9:00 pm now, so long as I made my way home I'd be back in time for Dad's 10:00 pm check-in. If nothing else, Dad was always very punctual and I realize now a part of him was likely still worried for me, even if he did think I was with friends.
While I was making my way home, a cold wind blew past me, it sent a chill down my spine and made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I told myself this happened due to the cold, but walking back to my neighborhood on that dark road all by myself, I suddenly became frightened at my situation. I picked up the pace a little, yearning to see the street light at the beginning of the stretch of houses that made up my neighborhood.
The sound of my heavy breathing and footsteps was the only noise I heard around me as I walked. Suddenly, a sound came from somewhere nearby. I could hear music, not just any music, but Halloween music. I stopped and listened for a moment to determine where it was coming from, it seemed to be coming from just ahead. Confused, scared and a little curious, I jogged to see where the music was coming from. Just past the trees, I could see the glow of a porch light, and I made out an old gravel driveway. I stopped and looked upon a house that was done up with all manner of decorations, and lights, and it even had a speaker playing the fantastical creepy music. I was in absolute awe of the marvelous home before me.
It took me a couple of minutes to realize that I didn't notice this house on my way to Stephenson Road. Surely I wouldn't have missed this spectacle as I walked this way? I chalked it up to the lights have been off, thinking maybe the owners of the home were late getting off work. Stranger things have happened. While I was thinking this over, I noticed a man was sitting on the porch with a big bowl. We made eye contact, and he began to wave at me, at first to say hello, then to call me over. He was smiling and seemed nice enough. Just a normal older man in jeans and a rather ugly pumpkin-coloured sweater.
I looked at my watch, it was only 9:24 and I was nearly home, surely one more house wouldn't hurt! I walked down the gravel driveway to greet the man. Making my way up the steps to his porch it creaked under the unexpected weight. The man stood up, setting the bowl down and using a cane to help support himself. He smiled as I held out my bag "Trick-or-treat!" I said warmly. "Oh my," he started "a wolf man! It has been a while since I've seen one of those. That's great!" He said with a friendly chuckle.
I was a little unsure of what to do next, so I laughed and responded "Yeah, werewolves are my favorite!" I said proudly. The old man leaned in and whispered "Can I tell you a secret? They're mine too!" He chuckled as he reached for his bowl, stopping suddenly. "Oh, dear." He said defeated. "How did I run out of candy already with the late start I had? Guess I'll have to grab some more from inside." He said as he began to slowly make his way to the door, he gripped the handle and it opened with a loud creak. Stopping in the doorway he turned to me, "Why don't you come in for a sec son? Get out of the cold while I fetch some more candy for you?"
Looking back at this moment as an adult, I know how insane my next actions were, but I was just a kid. I was trusting, the man had been nothing but kind to me and living in a rural area we were taught to always be polite. "Oh, sure okay, thank you, sir," I said as I followed the man inside. Walking past the threshold I felt a chill go down my spine again as the door shut behind me. I shivered as I looked around, there was nothing odd about the inside of his home. It was a little unkempt, but so was my Dad and I so it didn't seem strange to me. The man turned to me with a smile "Why don't you have a seat? I'll just be a moment." He said trailing off as he walked into another room.
Sitting down on a chair I waited for the man to bring me my goodies. As I sat looking around his home, I noticed a rather peculiar smell in the air, at first I couldn't place it, then after a few minutes I determined what the smell reminded me of, pennies. A strong smell of copper filled the air around me, but I was unsure what else smelled like that other than the now obsolete one-cent coin. God, if only I had known I would have run out of that fucking house right then and there.
I sat for what felt like an eternity while I heard the man shuffling around in the other room. After a while, I heard the man yell from the other room "You think you could come help me for a second? I can't seem to find where I put my darn cane." he shouted, clearly frustrated. I let out a sigh and stood up, walking towards the room his voice was coming from. Walking down the hall, the smell was getting stronger, it was almost unbearable. With a final step, I turned into the room the man's voice was coming from, as I stepped into the room I looked down at my watch and noticed that the time still read 9:23 pm. I stared at it thinking maybe my battery was dying.
I heard a weird squishing sound as I walked, and looked down at my feet. Covering my shoes was a sticky thick layer of blood. I had never seen much blood before aside from a smell cut here or there, but I knew what it looked like and there was so much of it, all over the floor and my shoes. I felt my skin grow pale and a cold sweat hit me as I slowly lifted my head. The sight that my 13-year-old self was met with was indescribable but I will do my best to explain it. Hanging from the blood-soaked ceiling by large hooks were dozens of horribly mutilated corpses.
Their flesh had been torn away in strips and there were large bite marks in some spots on their bodies. Blood was still oozing from several of them into a pile on the floor. There were children, teenagers and adults. All dead, all with the majority of their flesh missing. A couple of them were even missing their eyes. God, the way those eyeless corpses looked, their mouths wide open as if in a silent scream capturing their final moments of life in horrifying pain. I was too scared to make a sound and too sick to my stomach to even throw up.
I took several steps back as I began to hyperventilate, fear beginning to take over. Suddenly, I bumped into something, and I felt a strong hand rest on my shoulder. I nearly screamed, as I slowly looked up to see the once kind-looking old man smiling down at me. He had blood all over his face and bits of flesh in his teeth. His eyes were now pure black and he didn't need his cane to support his weight. I was horrified, tears began to fill my eyes as the man opened his mouth impossibly wide, ready to take a bite out of me. I tried to run but his grip was too strong, it was as if I was being held in place by chains. I closed my eyes, hoping it would be over quickly. I wished at that moment that I had just stayed home, or that my dad could have come with me.
Suddenly– I heard a weak gurgling yell come from the room behind us, "RUN!" it yelled. I opened my eyes and looked to see that one of the bodies hanging from the ceiling was trying to free himself and making as much noise as possible. More skin tore from his back as he wiggled to get loose from the hooks embedded within him. RUN!" he yelled again, this time with such force as if any life he had left was being used to make the sound. I looked up at the old man who was looking over at him, distracted and his grip loosening as he debated on going over to the man who was now taunting him. This was my only chance. I ran, faster than I ever had before, I made it to the door and flung it open, I threw myself out, but felt something grip my lower leg.
Falling on the porch, I looked back to see the old man had slipped on the blood chasing after me, covering him in it head-to-toe. His mouth was growing even larger as he let out a demonic bellowing screech. With tears in my eyes, I kicked at him, again, and again until finally I hit him in the eye which caused him to recoil. I threw myself off the porch, got up, and ran down the driveway. I didn't stop running until I reached my driveway.
By the time I had arrived, my father was I'm the driveway, seemingly ready to get in his truck to come find me. He began to yell, but I just ran to him and hugged him. I was crying and wailing in fear. It caught him off guard and any anger he had for me missing my curfew by almost 2 hours seemed to vanish. He took me inside and looked me over. The fur of my costume was covered in blood. He tore it off me and looked me over, tending to a large scratch on my leg. After comforting me, he asked me to tell him what happened. I could barely form words, but I managed to get out that a man down the road did this and had real dead bodies in his house. That he tried to eat me. The real blood all over my costume was evidence enough for my dad to call the police. They investigated the area over the next couple of hours.
The next morning, a rather annoyed police officer asked me some generic questions. It seemed that they had looked up and down the road all night for this so-called house, but couldn't find it. They had me show them where it was, but…it was gone. I couldn't explain it, I knew what I experienced was real, and I had the bloody costume and scratch marks on my leg to prove it. The police chalked it up to a prank gone a little too far and called off the search.
My Dad never doubted me, but there was only so much he could do. Sometimes at night, he'd go up and down the road looking for the mysterious house, but he never found anything. He spent years trying to find it, or the man I described. He would never forgive himself for not being there with me that night, although, I’m not sure if things would have been any different. Maybe we would be traumatized together? Or, much worse. Halloween was never the same for me, even after seeing several therapists, the idea of leaving the safety of my home on that night, or most nights for that matter, seemed impossible.
Now, all these years later I still think about that night a lot. What was that house? What was the creature inside of it? Does it only come out on Halloween? I'll never have any answers. But most of all, I think about that man who saved my life. It was likely the parent of a child who just wanted to go trick or treating and thought the house looked like a good stop. They were lured in, like a moth to a flame by all the mesmerizing lights and decorations. However, even though the pain must have been unbearable, that man saw that the creature was about to kill another child and wouldn't stand for it, a final act of defiance and courage saved my life. He was a hero, my hero. I just wish I could thank him, or even better, that I could have saved him. Survivor's guilt is a hell of a thing to live with.
So that's it, the last time I ever went trick-or-treating.
The only thing I have left to say to you is this: if you're walking down a dark road on Halloween Night and you come across a marvelously decorated house and a nice old man, ***run.*** | https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17c8mlq/the_last_time_i_went_trickortreating/ | nosleep | thedreadfiles |
false | Be Careful About Which Orders You Take on Delivery Apps (Final Part) | Part 1: [https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1776lep/be\_careful\_about\_the\_orders\_you\_deliver\_on/](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1776lep/be_careful_about_the_orders_you_deliver_on/)
Part 4: [https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17bybo2/be\_careful\_about\_which\_orders\_you\_take\_on/](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17bybo2/be_careful_about_which_orders_you_take_on/)
When I awoke, there were two notifications.
There was a review on my profile:
*“Two stars. The package was damaged!!!”*
The other was that my order had been successfully delivered.
*My*... order?
With a feeling of dread like my guts had been scraped out, I shambled automatically to my front door.
A paper bag.
I reached for it...
I already knew what would be inside.
The tears already started to fall.
I opened it. I dropped it.
I ran inside, buried my face into my pillow and bawled.
My father’s face had been on that medallion. I don’t know what was in the bundle. I didn’t want to know.
I stayed in my bed shivering, completely empty, crying endlessly.
My phone vibrated incessantly.
I didn’t care what happened anymore. They would come kill me too... I knew it. I would end up chopped up and gutted and mutilated and torn apart, neatly parked into a bunch of those little bags.
My phone kept vibrating.
I was utterly empty... except... slowly... little by little...
There was a tiny, just a tiny minuscule feeling that started to simmer inside of me.
A cold, frigid thirst for retribution.
But I had to strike when they didn’t expect. First, I would pretend...
I got up, the only thing moving me was that chill rage. The will to fight... that had come too late.
I went to bed early, took a double dose of sleeping pills, because otherwise I wouldn't have been able to fall asleep. I needed rest. I needed to think clearly. Coolly.
I delivered the orders that day like normal, none of them were late.
All of the lights were out at Nick’s house. The tarp was gone from the window, and...
I could just barely make out the hulking towering shape covered by the tarp. I could see its body heave as it breathed heavily, watching me through its veil.
There was something on its lap... Matt.
His body was completely limp, the shape held him like it would a crying child. He was dead, I’m sure of it, though I couldn’t make out any wounds.
I could only imagine that thing’s horrible face, pressed up against the tarp, its eyes drilling through the darkness to me.
I stared back at it. Dead where those eyes must have been underneath.
I put the package down, and slowly made my way back to my car.
I woke up early the next day.
I made a purchase with my blood money.
Shotgun.
Ammunition.
I think I shook off any pursuers, and I left my phone at my house. I think they were probably tracking me through my phone the entire time. Let’s hope they don’t know I’m packing heat.
Tonight, after I’m done my rounds like normal, I’m going to go inside Nick’s house.
Something tells me I’m going to die tonight.
When I got home last night, there was a new package for me. Just a tiny little bag. Inside... there was a tiny little medallion with my picture on it. I don’t know when they took it, or where they got it from.
Hopefully, I don’t end up in one of those bags, being delivered by someone else, for who the hell knows what reason.
I still can’t make heads or tails of any of this, only hell knows what is happening in this city, or maybe even beyond...
Flashes, vague memories are in the pit of my mind, coming back ever so slightly to me now that I’ve written everything down... I remember a bit of that night I blanked out, when the tarp fell from that thing...
Cuts, horrible disfigurement... it was bleeding, a lot. Around its waist, there were these bags, I think they were bags filled with blood.
I know we haven’t spoken in years **\[I’m cutting out my name here\]**, I know maybe you’re a little mad at me... I know this all seems like a load of bullshit, but please... you need to believe me. Even if you don’t believe me, I ask that you just put this out there. By the time you get this, I’ll probably already be dead or have killed everyone in that house. Killed that thing. Or maybe I won't even get that far.
Something tells me this won’t change anything. What about all those other damn houses and places I delivered to around the city?
Whoever they are, whatever they’re doing, I wonder how far their reach is. And why? I only have a vague idea, but even then it isn’t substantial. I still have no explanation for why they picked me other than to feed off my misery. And maybe that’s it.
I wonder how many people are in a situation just like me. How many of them ended up mutilated.
Butchered.
How many are being lured in, eased in, going in too deep, hurtling to a dead end...
So this is a warning, I suppose...
For you, and for anyone else who reads this.
Just... be careful what orders you take on those delivery apps.
If something seems too good to be true, it probably is.
Goodbye.
**That was the end of Robert’s email. It seems utterly insane, I can’t believe something like that is going on. But... Robert was never one to bullshit, and... I tried contacting him again. I haven’t heard back from him.**
**There’s uh, something else too.**
**The truth is... before I got his email, I was using one of those apps on the side to make a bit of extra cash. The day before, in fact, I took an order with an 80$ tip. Now, that’s not the hundreds Robert was making, but still...**
**An order was delivered to my door tonight. I didn’t order anything.**
**It was a tiny, paper bag... I’m scared to open it.** | https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17cq45a/be_careful_about_which_orders_you_take_on/ | nosleep | William77White |
false | The road to New Wilderness [Part 20] | [\[Part 19\]](https://www.reddit.com/user/RandomAppalachian468/comments/17bnv1y/the_road_to_new_wilderness_part_19/)
[\[Part 21\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17d9r1r/the_road_to_new_wilderness_part_21/)
As a young girl, I’d had a reoccurring dream about running from something in the dark, but no matter how fast I ran, I moved as slow as molasses. The thing behind me would always catch up, and just as I turned to face it, I would awake screaming. Over the years, I either forgot, or grew out of the dream, and by the time I was in high school, it became a distant memory.
Now, however, it all came flooding back with visceral clarity.
I threw myself down the opposite hallway, my shoes sliding over the greasy floor with a frustrating lack of traction. Each breath came short and tight through the suffocating gas mask, and I fell multiple times, only to claw my way back to my feet with hands covered in the clammy jello-like mucous. Darkness flew by, my red headlamp the only illumination I had in the depths of the nest, and everything blurred into a horrifying ticker-tape parade of black, red, and gray shadows. Pain flared in my knees from the rough tumbles I took to the cold tile, and my heart raced so fast, I thought it might explode.
*Can’t slow down, its right freaking there.*
Several yards behind me, the Echo Pupa slithered with ease across the slimy floor, and air sucked into the maw on its cavity-ridden head with the sound of a wet-toilet plunger. Overhead, the ruined school building shook, as more adult Echo Spiders skittered around in frantic search for whatever had cause the disturbance below. A small, reasonable part of my brain wondered if they communicated like honeybees, talking with their babies through ultra-sonic noises between the rubble. If that was the case, then the entire nest knew I was here.
Heaps of debris loomed out of the dark, blocking my passage to the right, so I veered left, down a narrow hall choked by shattered cinder block, fallen timbers, and jumbled bones.
Dried marrow and charred wood snapped under my filthy boot heels, abandoned classrooms on either side of me that yawned in the dark, waiting jaws to swallow me whole.
Something wriggled at my elbow, and I screamed under my mask to stagger onward, too afraid to look back. The disgusting parasitic squeals blasted in my ears, the pupae close enough I could reach out and touch it. It would be on me in seconds, and I wouldn’t have the strength to fight it off, the beast too close for me to whirl around and shoot.
An unblocked door jumped out of the shadows to my right, and I hurled myself inside, the worm moving too fast to pivot, and it glided past me down the hall.
With hands that shook so hard I could barely manipulate my own fingers, I shoved the wooden double doors shut, and spun the little metal deadbolt.
*That’s not going to do anything.*
Stepping back from the door, I gasped air through the stuffy filter on my gas mask and took in the room with my flickering red headlamp. I didn’t have much time, the bug would be back any second now, and if I couldn’t find a way out, the most merciful thing to do would be to stick my Type-9 in my mouth. There had to be another way out, or at least, something I could use to barricade the door better.
Various black-topped wooden tables filled the room, with stainless steel sinks at their center, likely a former science lab for chemistry students. A white dry erase board hung from a wall behind the old teacher’s desk, and there were still faint black markings on it from old equations that had never been solved. The chairs around the room were scattered everywhere, along with ripped textbooks, torn papers, and spatters of rusty red blood that formed a trail into one lonely corner.
Something glinted from the dusty curtains of blackness, and I took a cautious step closer.
*Yikes.*
He sat slumped against the wall, the gray uniform on his body stained with clumps of brownish mucous, black goo, and dried red blood. The soldier wore a Kevlar helmet with broken night vision goggles on the front, and a plate carrier adorned in several empty magazine pouches. A long black rifle lay not far from his right hand with its bolt locked open on another empty magazine. Brass casings littered the floor around him, and two other Echo Pupae lay to one side of the room, rotting in the stillness of death. Both his legs had been gnawed to the bone, everything missing below the exposed yellow kneecaps.
“Come on, give me something.” I knelt to scour his pockets for ammunition or grenades, but as I did, two objects fluttered from the man’s cupped left hand onto his stiff knees.
One was a little yellow and black plastic remote, much like a walkie talkie, and at a push of a button, its tiny screen lit up from whatever automatic shutdown it had been in. In the corner of the screen, the battery showed a low charge, but it still worked, at least, for now. The other was a tiny green notepad, its white pages-tinged pink in the light of my headlamp, speckled with flecks of dried blood. Hurried writing lay scrawled over the lines on the paper, and despite the eerie slushing from the hall that told me the Echo Pupae was circling back, I picked up the little booklet with tender fingers.
*They’re all dead.*
*We thought this place was abandoned, had it rigged to blow, and they pounced on us, dragged our whole squad into their nest. I managed to break free before the little ones could latch on to me, but the larva stung me several times, and now my legs won’t work. Talk about shitty luck. Charges were all set, we had the item in our grasp, and now the freaking spiders have it. I’m running out of ammo, and the only reason they haven’t got to me yet is my K-9 tracker. Poor Dusty might be gone, but every time I hit the tone button, it scares them off. Not that it matters.*
*I can feel the poison in my system, I know I’m done for. If command finds this, we had the item in our commander’s truck, number M43, along with the clacker for the C4. Most of our charges should be intact, since I don’t think the mutants understand what they are. Find it and blast this place, no matter how many of us are in here. With those things eating their way into our boys, there’s nothing we can do for them anyway.*
*It’s in my arm now, almost like a living thing. I tried cutting it out with a knife, but it’s too deep and . . .*
His writing faded into unintelligible squiggles there, as if the solder’s hand had spasmed or frozen. I hated to think about what he’d endured, being paralyzed, left alive in the dark to wait for death. Even if he was from ELSAR, no one deserved this. But part of his scribbles tuck in my head, and a dangerous prickle of optimism filtered through my fearful thoughts.
The item. His squad had been sent to recover something, and if this note was still accurate, that ‘something’ lay in the scrap heaps above me, just waiting to be rescued. It could have been reference to anything, but there was too much at stake for me to brush it off as mere coincidence. My hunch had been right, at least, so far.
But that meant I had to go through that door . . . and the giant spider-slug was in my way.
“Let’s hope this works.” I slipped the nylon lanyard for the remote around my wrist as the door heaved with impact from outside.
*Wham.*
At last, the dried wood caved in, and the ugly head of the worm slithered through, bobbing back and forth as it tasted the air in search of me.
Panic rose in my mind, but I forced it away, and held the tracker-collar remote up, its stubby black antenna pointed at the monstrosity.
*It’s still in my way.*
Hesitation struck out of nowhere, a horrific realization that hit me like a ton of bricks. I couldn’t act yet, I realized, not with that thing blocking my only door out of here. The worm would have to get close, enough for me to get past it, which meant if this desperate improvised weapon didn’t work, I wouldn’t even have time to scream before it was all over.
In my head, I pictured Chris’s smile, felt his arms around me, heard his laugh. One more time, I needed to see him just one more time. This couldn’t be it for me, not like this.
I wouldn’t let it be.
“Here!” I coughed through my mask, finding my voice and shouting both to attract its attention, and shoved the fear from my mind. “I’m right here!”
Surging forward, the greasy black monster ploughed between the desks, its throat gaped wide, little tendrils splayed from each side of its underdeveloped mouth, ready to pull me in.
My thumb pressed the tone button, and the remote screen lit up.
A high, piercing shriek of pain ripped through the air, and the worm’s charge fumbled into a spasmodic thrash. It threw itself from side to side, smashing chairs, splintering the desks, and covering everything around it in a fresh coat of brownish-red mucous.
Seizing my chance, I darted past it, climbed over the ruined door, and sprinted back into the slimy hallway.
I turned left upon reaching the main corridor and caught the rustle of movement in the shadows down the hall I’d first come from.
The crimson beam of my headlamp caught several black coils of wriggling flesh oozing their way up the greasy tiles, and my guts writhed.
*Okay, now they’re angry.*
Adrenaline pumping through my veins, I clawed my feet at a nearby floor mat that wasn’t as gooey as the rest of the hall and raced onward as more screech-thuds resounded overhead. The entire nest was on high alert, and I doubted I’d find many more rooms to hide in. It was do or die time.
From the abyss, a set of stairs materialized, and I gave a shout of joy beneath my mask. It looked clear, I could see gray light somewhere toward the top, which meant I could get out into the scrap heap and then—
*Flash.*
Bright white light blinded me, and all four of my limbs locked as if I’d been hit by a taser. Dread filled my mind, and no matter how much I internally screamed, I couldn’t so much as draw a breath.
*“Look for the light.”*
A chorus of whispers called to me from somewhere up the stairs, and voices spoke with disembodied volume from all different directions, as if bouncing around inside my skull. Soft tendrils of words poked their way into the folds of my mind, slithered into my memories, neither happy nor sad, violating every thought, every idea, every dream I had. There were so many of them, and only one of me. Why bother to fight? It was warm here, safe, comfortable. There was no point in resisting. I could just relax, let unseen hands lift me up, and everything would be glorious and bright.
No more fear.
No more struggle.
All I had to do was put down that nasty piece of plastic.
*This is nice. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, staying here. It’s so warm, like a big blanket of . . . hang on . . . why are my ankles cold?*
Something in my head sputtered, like a faulty wire, and I blinked on dry, itchy eyes.
Cold braided steel brushed against my legs, and in an instant, my brain was mine, and flared with primal alarm.
“*No*.” I jammed my finger down on the tone button, and the light stuttered, before flickering out entirely.
*Bwwwooonnnggg.*
Half-blinded in the sudden resurgence of darkness, I blinked in shock at the sea of rusty steel cables that wriggled on the floor, falling from where they had snaked up my legs and around my shoulders, ready to reel me in like a fly in a web.
At the top of the stairs, a huge satellite-dish head twitched and jerked, the spotlights around the rim of its dish flickered uncontrollably, and its siren cut in and out with static. Under its head, the tentacle-like cables seized, and the Echo Spider staggered, like it couldn’t keep its feet, sending chunks of debris raining down around me inside the stairwell.
On wobbly legs, I charged up the steps, clicking the tone button in rapid-fire taps, and with the other hand, pulled my Type-9 from its place next to my hip.
*Brat-tat-tat-tat-tat!*
Yellow bursts of flame lit up the dim stairwell, and bullets stitched across the Echo Spider’s dish, smashing one of the spotlights with a shower of sparks.
“*Get back!*” I screamed, my voice hoarse and shaky, but too desperate to care. Hannah Brun had been switched off, and instead someone else had taken over, a vicious, crazy, animalistic version of myself ready to do anything to survive.
Confused, and in pain, the enormous metal creature retreated with a cacophony of enraged foghorn blasts and chitters, the ground shaking as more of its comrades bore down on the stairwell entrance.
*Nope. My stairs. Go away, go away, go away.*
Up to meet them I ran, half staggering, but not stopping for a second. Cool air from the outside met my neck and bare hands, the familiar sky above. All around me, tall stacks of metal stood bound together with sticky tendons of black, sheet metal, angle iron, and rusted I-beams. Doorknobs, refrigerators, and bicycles rested next to huge towers of cars and trucks toward the center of the mound. Black membrane held things in place, along with various swollen pods that wriggled and heaved, more larva growing in their core. In one corner, a Pupae lay nestled in a sling-like cradle of ebony ligaments, half-fitted with a fresh set of metal legs, the steel driven into the vacant holes in its body, a dented satellite dish laying nearby.
Four adult Echo Spiders waited from behind various columns and piles, white light flooding in from every angle the instant I surfaced.
Shutting my eyes, I raised the remote and clicked the tone button, waving my arm in a circle, as the Echo Spiders bellowed in alarm.
*Brat-tat-tat-tat!*
I sprayed bullets at them, and darted into the interior of the nest, dodging sticky pools of black tendrils stretched like webs between scrap. Dozens of larva pods split to spill the worms inside whenever I got too close, and steel legs jabbed from the adults above me, an ironic twist of insects trying to squash a human as I scuttled through their home.
Squelches and shrieks rang in my ears, mutants closing in from every side, but as I ran, a flash of color caught my eye.
High up, five cars off the ground in a teetering stack, an armored truck sat, its glass shattered in places, one of the doors bent at the hinges, the others bent and twisted, every tire flattened. It bore the same gray paint job as the uniforms of its former inhabitants, but the white-lined black number painted on the door stood out among all the chaos clamoring for my attention.
M43.
*Bingo.*
My hands slid on the smooth metal of the bottom truck hood, but I jumped up to gain purchase, remembering the one time I’d gone indoor rock climbing with mom and dad. I scaled the rickety tower with frantic limbs, found hand holds on open windows, mirrors, fenders and wheels, my arms and legs aching with the strain. I paused only to click the tracker controller, spiders and worms so close I could feel the cars shake as they clambered after me. The Echo Spiders flashed their lights and stomped ever closer to physically rip me from the tower, but I was in the zone, moving with a fluidity I didn’t know I had, giving 110% to every motion.
*Crash.*
A microwave whizzed past my head, impacting on a truck cab a few feet from me. Broken glass peppered my hair, the Echo Spiders throwing garbage at me with their cable tentacles like kids chasing a pesky racoon away from their backyard.
Creaking and groaning, the stack swayed dangerously, and I lost my grip on the car bumper I’d been holding on to.
*Oh shi—*
The world rushed past me, air howled in my ears, and I flailed in desperation.
My fingers snagged at an old-fashioned metal side mirror, and I cried out in pain at the sudden jolt in my shoulder, both legs kicking in mid-air.
Something wet and heavy latched onto my shoe, and a suckling maw tried to chew its way through my boot, the black worm thrashing to bring its tail-stinger to bear. If it stung me, it would be all over.
I brought my other boot down and sent the creepy larva flying with a satisfying *squish*.
Thanks to the brief moment of respite, I swung myself higher on the pickup truck, dodged a hub cap thrown by one of the adults, and climbed higher.
My palm slapped the handle of the armored truck’s door, and I dragged myself inside just as rusty cables lunged for my ankles from below.
Clicking the tone button to shoo it away, I squeezed into the cluttered interior of the military vehicle and gasped for air beneath my gas mask.
*I can’t keep this up. How am I going to get down from here? Come on Hannah, focus, find the box and get moving.*
Worming my way past the blood-coated seats, I slid under the steering wheel, and through a square door into the rear compartment.
Bits of gear, backpacks, and equipment lay everywhere, reminiscent of our truck after its tumble from the cliffs. Spare bottles of water, a few dented ammunition cans, and a box labeled 40mm were jumbled across the floor, but in the corner to my left, I picked up the outline of a slumped human torso.
Like his doomed comrade in the school, this soldier lay dead, mangled, with half his spinal column poking from under his uniform jacket. He’d covered himself in a bundle of nylon tow straps, wedged between one seat and the metal bulkhead, which had likely saved him from being whisked away to the larva chamber. Still, death had taken him, maybe moments after his clever ruse was completed, the poor man a mass of blood, torn flesh, and lifeless, milky eyes beneath his gas mask. His plate carrier held a few round grenades in two pouches on his chest, and next to the man’s exposed hip-bone lay a little green square with a spring-loaded plunger and a single stubby antenna. Molded into the plastic on one side were the words ‘Firing Device Electrical M57’, and it seemed the soldier died before he could squeeze the trigger, speckles of blood all over it.
Breathless, I shoved the junk aside to snatch at the detonator, and my heart stopped as something else caught my eye.
*No way*.
There it sat, a black plastic box about the size of a small handbag, tucked just behind the dead soldier’s back, perfectly concealed by his last act of courage. Even smeared with his dried blood, I could still make out the faint white letters beneath the rusty-red stains on the polymer lid.
LBD01106.
“Yes!” In spite of everything, I hugged the box to my chest, and choked down a sob of joy. I’d done it. This was our ticket home.
*Creeeeaaak.*
The world swayed, metal groaning under the strain of sudden impacts, and my heart fell into my stomach.
*They’re going to push it over.*
More titanic blow rippled up the haphazard tower of vehicles, and the greasy black membranes holding it all in place started to snap. Though wary of my tracker collar remote, the Echo Spiders weren’t about to leave me alone, and shoved at the pile of metal with their forelegs, rocking it back and forth like hounds baying at a tree. They couldn’t climb up to get me, so instead, they would drop the entire tower down around my head.
Frantic, I shoved the box into my backpack, along with the little detonator. Both the soldier’s grenades went into my cargo pockets, and I crawled on hands and knees for the rear compartment door.
Everything tilted, the back doors flew open, and loose objects rolled past me as the tower leaned a little too far. Out the back doors of the compartment, I could see another tower sliding closer as mine fell, and a sickening realization struck me.
*I have to jump.*
My shoes slid to the edge of the door, and the ground rose to meet me, as every black sinew holding the metal pile upright snapped.
*Thump-thump.*
I gripped the edge of the door, the backpack pressed between my shoulder blades, and sucked in a deep breath.
*Thump-thump.*
I had no idea how to gauge the distance, when to jump, or even if I’d make it. But one thing was for certain; if I fell to the ground, with its vast covering of scrap metal, bricks, and concrete, I’d break every bone in my body. In spite of the distance, in spite of my brain screaming that I was way too high off the ground, and the Echo Spiders clustering around to finish their assault, I knew I had no other choice.
With a pulse roaring in my ears, I flung myself out of the truck as the tower collapsed, and tumbled through the air toward the next scrap pile, nothing beneath me but sixty feet of cold, poisoned air. | https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17ci4hc/the_road_to_new_wilderness_part_20/ | nosleep | RandomAppalachian468 |
false | Someone outside said if he sees me, he will kill me. | It was about a week ago it happened. It was late, close to midnight, I recall. I was woken up by frantic banging and yelling at my door. I slipped on my gown and slippers and went to see what was happening, as perturbed and tired as I was. It was a boy in his mid-teens, desperately crying out for help. “All right!” I called back in response, “I’m coming, I’m coming! Just let me get to the door!”
“No! Don’t!” he shouted.
I stopped just a few metres away from my front door, analysing what he said. “No!?” I asked, “Wha… Why–”
“Just listen! Please, just listen!”
I ignored him and continued to the door, “No, it's late! If this is an emergency, I must know who is there!”
“Please! You can’t!” he screamed, sounding more scared than before.
I stopped once more, this time right in front of the door. “What are you saying?”
“I… I can’t see you! I can’t explain it, but I must not see you!”
I frowned, “What are you talking about? You’re not making any sense! If this is a joke–”
“No, it’s not!” he interrupted, “I’m not joking, please listen to me!”
But I was fed up, “I’m opening it!” I stated as I placed my hand on the door handle.
“No, don’t!” As I felt the handle squeeze downwards, he banged his fist on the door one last time at the top so I could see it in the door's window, something clenched in it. “If I see you,” he cried, “I will kill you!”
At this, I scrambled away on my back, not just because of his threat, but because I saw in his fist, glinting with crimson in my porch light, a machete. I scrambled till I reunited with the bottom step of the stairs I had descended, my heart fluttering like a moth’s wings in turmoil. I suddenly remembered all the slasher films I had seen and how I now found myself in one. Yet, the boy with the machete persisted in telling me to calm down; I could barely hear him over my heartbeat. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t. I knew I needed to get my phone from my bedside where it remained on charge, but I feared if I left the door unguarded, the boy would break it down, as unlikely as that would be from a boy of his size. So, in my petrified state of neither fight nor flight, I listened to the kid. The boy begged me, “Please! I don’t want to! I’m not a killer! I just want you to hear what I have to say! Please, I'm begging you!” He was scared, or at least he sounded scared. He was just a kid. A kid with a machete with blood running down it, but just a kid. “Are… are you still there?” he quizzed, “Please, answer me.”
I leaned forward and answered, with a trembling voice I couldn’t disguise, “Is… Is this a joke?! You’re pranking me, right?! Halloween isn’t here yet!”
His answer was straightforward, “No, I’m not joking. Please, I…” I heard him starting to sob, “I… I need help. I just need someone to know. I don’t know who else to go to. Please, I just, I…” After that, he broke down into hysterical sobs.
I just sat there with a dumb look on my face. His sobs slowly eased me because he sounded so sad. I needed to man up and face what I was dealing with. He was on the other side of my front door and seemingly had no intention of coming in, so I decided to try and reason with him. The way I viewed it, he may be a nutter, but he was just a kid, and I didn’t know what was going on. I got up and stood roughly a metre away from my door, supporting my numb legs by leaning against a wall and spoke to him in the most calming, motherly voice I could muster, “It’s OK. Just breathe. I am here.”
He apologised and said he was sorry, and I just kept trying to relax him. It went back and forth for some time, but he eventually stabilised. When he did, I said, “My name is Charles. Can you tell me your name?”
“It’s… it’s Tom.” he snivelled.
“All right, Tom.” I started, as I did with all my interviews, “I’m a journalist. You can tell me what happened; I won’t judge you.”
“You’re a journalist?” he let out a brief giggle and said, “You won’t believe me. But, can you tell my story in a report or online?”
I smiled, mainly because I knew I was finally getting to him, “Of course, but why would other people need to know?”
Tom paused, then avoided the question and said, “I… don’t know how long I have; can I just tell you?”
I wanted to push more on that but knew I had to hear his story to understand what was happening. After I asked him to continue, he told me a story I am unsure whether to believe. He sounded honest, and I would later confirm parts of his story, but the story itself was something else. I’ll try and recall precisely what he told me, as I feel only his words could bring out most of the details of his story, and I would never be able to do it justice. So, speaking entirely from outside my front door, this is what he said to me:
“OK. I was walking home from clubbing, and there was a guy dressed all in black and with a balaclava, and he had a machete. This machete,” he waved the blade of his weapon in front of my door window briefly, “He was– umm– standing over two bodies, a couple I had actually seen earlier at the club. They– they were dead. I realised when they had blood all over them, and the guy had blood on him, I freaked out. Then the guy saw me and– I just left. I ran. And I could hear him right behind me.
“I was crying out for help, but there wasn’t anyone in the streets, and I don’t think anyone in the houses could hear me. I couldn’t stop because he was right behind me. Then he caught up, and we both fell to the ground. He was screaming something, I was freaking out too much to hear, but I think he was telling me to run. He was on top of me, trying to drive The Machete down into me. I– I’m not sure how, but I think I got him off me somehow. Then next I knew I– I was on top of him and– I was pushing the machete into his chest. I was staring straight into his eyes; he was so– scared. Then he died, I– I had killed him!
“I was fucking freaking out! I had his blood all over me, and he was– dead! I had fucking killed him, and– but it was in self-defence, and he was going to kill me! I didn’t know what to do. So I called Dad. I told him I– Well, you know. And he told me to call the police and that he was on his way. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t tell him, so I hung up. I think I just– stood there for a minute. I knew I had to phone the police, but what will they do? I just fucking killed someone, and I am supposed to– I just couldn’t do it. I just wanted to go home, so I just ran. I shouldn't have, but I just wanted my mum.”
Every word from his mouth sounded so difficult to say. I told him to take his time and continue when he was ready. But after two deep breaths, he said he was OK to continue.
“I went home. I went home, and I wanted to tell Mum everything. But then I saw her– I saw her, and I wasn’t myself. I– I don’t know what came over me, but I– I had this– this urge. It was almost instinctual, but– like– not my own. She asked me what happened, but I just walked up to her and– and– I didn’t want to do it, but I couldn’t stop myself. I– I…” I stopped him and told him he didn’t have to tell me if he didn’t want to, but Tom felt he needed to. I believe he wanted to confess. “I– I murdered her. I murdered her by hitting her head against the kitchen counter.
“I– I– err– just cried after that. I was begging myself to stop, but I couldn’t. And when she was dead, I– I– I just broke down. Then I must have called Dad because I had my phone up to my ear, and he was speaking. I just told him I killed Mum, and I– I couldn’t talk. I just hung up. My phone kept ringing, but I couldn’t– I couldn’t, so I let it ring. He wouldn’t– he wouldn’t stop, so I sent him a message and told him I was sorry. He messaged back asking what happened, and I told him what– what– I was going mad. He asked, and I told him I was at home, and he said I shouldn’t go anywhere. So I– I waited. I waited.
“Then our neighbour, I think her name was Jane, knocked. She was asking if everything was all right, that she heard, and I went to our window, but I stopped myself before looking through it at her. I didn’t want to kill her too, and this time I didn’t. I’m not sure, but I think I only wanted to kill Mum because I saw her. I didn’t know how to– I needed to get rid of her. I didn’t want to be alone, but I knew I couldn’t see her, or involve her.”
“Why?” I asked.
He told me he didn’t want to risk her life, “I didn’t want to kill her,” he said, “I– I knew she couldn't help, and– and… Anyway, I just told her that I was fine and that she shouldn’t worry. I’m not sure whether she believed me, but she left. I hope she is all right.”
I reminded him I was there to help him, but I’m unsure he thought I could. He continued, “After that, I just had this feeling… A feeling I couldn’t get out of my head. I– err– I wanted to go back. It was dumb, but I wanted to go back to where it all happened. I didn’t know why, but I felt something was back there for me, something pulling me back, something– missing. Then I remembered The Machete and looked around but couldn’t find it. I thought I still had it, but I must have dropped it. I left it there. I knew I had to go back and get it. I just had to, so I ran back. I ran back, and it was still there, but– but three– three police officers were there. I don’t– I don’t think they were police.”
I furrowed my eyebrows and asked, “Why don’t you think they were police?”
“They weren’t,” he replied, sounding certain this time, “They weren’t. They didn’t act like police and looked like they didn’t want to be seen. They were inspecting the scene, looking around, and one was putting something in a case. It was The Machete in a plastic, see-through bag– an evidence bag? But that wasn’t what made me question who they were. I– I saw them, and just like Mum, as I saw them around the corner, I wanted to kill all three of them. As I approached, they were asking what I was doing there, but I wasn’t thinking about that. I stopped because I felt something when one of them put their hand behind their back. He– he was holding a gun. I don’t know how I knew that then, but I knew he had a gun. He told me to stay away, and I backed up. Then he– he started shooting at me. It was like I knew that was what he planned to do, and I avoided it and took cover behind the corner I came from. They chased me, but I– I– I don’t know how I did it, but– I– it was like I knew how to fight them. My instincts told me what to do to survive, and I just– did it.”
“Didn’t anyone hear the gunshots?”
“No, the guns had silencers, and no one was on the streets. After I killed them, I went back and got The Machete. It was– different now. I should have mentioned it, but it was rusted when I first found it. Now– now it is almost clean, like what you saw. I could make out a symbol on the side of it; it looks very occult-like.” (Note: I know I should have questioned Tom further on the symbol on The Machete, but I never got another chance to ask more about it, which I regret because it may have provided some answers.) “This made me think, and I remembered an antique shop nearby: The Shop Without Name, you might know it. It is that one shop no one notices, but I remembered a rumour from school that it is cursed. I thought that whoever worked there might know something about The Machete. So, I decided to go there because I knew it wasn’t far.
“On the way, I felt I needed to text my dad at least one last time; I didn’t– know what would happen, and– I knew– I knew I didn’t know what was happening. I felt I was on my own, that the whole world was against me. So, I told Dad I knew somewhere I could go to find answers but couldn’t tell him where because I didn’t want to get him involved. I didn’t want to put him in danger as well. I told him not to come. He called me right away, and I picked up. He was panicking and asking what was happening. I tried to explain, but– I didn’t know how to. I just told him I went back to get The Machete and that the police I met weren’t– weren’t police. He didn’t understand; I don’t think he could. I just told him if I saw him, even for a second, I would– I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. He begged, and I just– I just said goodbye…”
He paused for a moment, deep in thought. Then, as if the world heard his prayers, his phone rang; it was his father. He told me so, but I said nothing; I wanted him to pick it up, but I also wished to hear the rest of his account. Without another word on the subject, he let his phone ring twice. Once it stopped, Tom continued his recount:
“I reached the store and went straight in, and inside were two more bodies. They looked like the person in a balaclava I killed; they also had similar wounds to the couple he had killed. The place was smashed up, with glass all over the floor. The shopkeeper was hiding in a closet– actually, he told me it was his panic room. He talked to me through the door like we are now, but the shopkeeper spoke with a thick, cockney accent. I asked him what happened, and he explained three men had broken in while he was working late and tried to rob the place. He was forced into his panic room, and they just started ransacking the place. They found a locked case with a weapon inside, The Machete, and started breaking into it. The shopkeeper tried to warn them not to, but it was too late. He didn’t tell me what happened next, but I think I know. I assume the last burglar panicked and ran out, only to find me.
“He said he needed to find the weapon or– you know. I decided to tell him I had The Machete, and he went quiet. I asked him if he could help me: if he could remove the weapon’s curse? The shopkeeper told me he could, but he needed to come out, and I would have to look away; otherwise, I would kill him. He asked me a few more times to be sure I was looking away, and I kept telling him I was. But my eyes wondered at what I saw elsewhere around his shop, and they landed on a mirror. In it, I saw him, for only a second, not only leave his panic room but with a baseball bat raised in his hands. He was old; his mad hair and beard showed it, as well as his clothes, which looked like they were from the nineteen-twenties. My body reacted, swinging The Machete at him, and he was backing away, his failure written all over his face. He tried backing toward his panic room, but I didn’t let him; I came at him with The Machete, but it got stuck in his bat. I was begging him to tell me what was going on, what was happening to me, and why he was attacking me. He only gave me one answer, that the curse couldn’t be broken unless– unless I die.
“I was going to kill him, but as I snapped his bat in two before raising The Machete to strike the final blow, I sensed something. My instincts told me to retreat, that there was someone else there. I got away from the old shopkeeper as bullets flew between us. I glanced at the store's entrance, where the shots came from, and I saw a man in an all-black combat outfit like from Call of Duty. His weapon was suppressed, just like the police officers' guns. I got away; I was lucky that the shop had a back exit.”
I was still confused about how he got away, so I asked, “Wait, didn’t you say you would attack anyone you see? How did you make yourself run away?”
“No, I didn’t want to run away– maybe I did, but that’s not why I retreated: I instinctively retreated. Just like with the police officers before, I have these instincts, which make me more efficient at killing. Like some uncontrollable superpower. I retreated because I couldn’t win in that little shop, and my new instincts knew it.”
“So, you don’t want to kill those men any more?”
“No, that’s not it. I still want to– I mean, have to kill those men. Just thinking about them makes me want to lash out and attack them. I just don’t know where they are, so I can’t.” he paused as he took a few breaths, realising what he said, “Maybe– maybe I have to die? I can’t– I can’t stop…”
I needed his story to stay on track, “OK, I understand. What happened then?”
“Well, I came here. I ran and ran and then just knocked at a random door. I– I didn’t know what to do. The only person who could have helped me tried to kill me and told me– told me– it’s hopeless. So, I just needed to tell someone. Someone who– just someone.”
I didn’t say anything after that; I just let his story sink in. I think anyone can agree it sounds mad, and yes, I believed that. Now I’m not so sure, but I’ll get to that. At the time, I thought it sounded like some B-movie slasher plot: a boy finds a cursed machete that makes him go on a killing spree. Yet, he didn't sound dishonest. But I also knew it didn’t matter whether I believed the story. What mattered was that Tom did. So when he said I didn’t believe him, I told him it was a lot to digest. Now, I think it does matter.
His phone rang again, and he didn’t need to tell me it was his father. When it sounded like he was going to let it ring again, I had to voice my opinion, “Tom, you wanted my help. I’m not sure what is happening to you or what has happened to you, but I can tell you that I think your dad is very worried about you. And if you don’t pick up that call, you may regret it!” Tom didn’t reply; he just answered it.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t hear what his dad said to him, and I didn’t think it was my place to listen. Nonetheless, I did listen to what he told his dad. “Dad!” his voice sounded reinvigorated as soon as he answered, “Dad…” but he soon started to let out his emotions, “I’m sorry… You're not listening, Dad; this is bigger than I could have ever expected! I can’t rope you in as well!... No! No, I can’t! It’s too late. Just don’t try to find me. I– I–” I could hear Tom turning to look out into the street as though he heard something. He said in a quiet but alarmed tone, “Oh god! Fuck!” I began to panic. I found myself backing away again. “Shit!” he swore, “Shit! It’s him!” I heard his phone hang up and him turn back to my door, whispering, “Listen! The man from the shop is here! I think– I think he saw me! Please tell my story! People must know what happened! I– I have to go!”
That was the last thing he said to me because before I could reply, I heard his hurried footsteps rush off into the distance, followed by a gunshot.
I did nothing. I was frozen to the ground as I heard a second set of footsteps sprint past in the same direction. And I was still frozen as the silence resumed in the street. My mind was ablaze with what just happened; I wondered if I narrowly avoided my death, I wondered if I was on the right side of the door. But more than anything, I wanted to know if his story was true because the gunshot sounded suppressed, just like what he told me. Then I realised how stupid I was; his story may have sounded crazy, but it didn’t sound like a crazy person's story. I hadn’t considered if his story was true, or at least parts of it, and just assumed it was nonsense; this was my biggest mistake.
I did eventually step outside once I was sure the coast was clear. I just stood there wondering whether I was the subject of some elaborate prank or I was just losing my mind. Then someone came up behind me hastily and asked, “Excuse me?! Have you seen my son?!” I didn’t turn to face the stranger speaking to me; I only listened, “I think he was just here! He is only fifteen, and he couldn’t have gone far! Please! He must have been here!... Please?!” I glanced at the man's face before pointing zombie-like where I heard Tom’s footsteps fade away. “Thank god! Thank you!” he said, then ran in the same direction.
I wondered, and I still wonder, what happened to that man: was he able to help his son, or did I just send him to his death? I don’t think I will ever find out what happened the rest of that night.
The following day was surprisingly ordinary. People still wondered what all the commotion was about on the streets, but the morning news report explained it all. It stated three young men had broken into an old antique shop (they didn’t mention its name) and started causing havoc in the streets with illegalised bangers before disappearing. The police want any information about their whereabouts, but I know no one will find them. It is a good cover-up; any loud bangs heard were assumed to be from bangers rather than suppressed guns, and any other people who went missing would simply appear unconnected. It’s not like anyone would suspect a secret, conspiratorial organisation to be responsible. Don’t get me wrong, I still don’t fully believe Tom’s story, but something else is going on, and I want to get to the bottom of it.
On the subject of missing persons, I found a report of Tom’s disappearance, which included his full name (which I will keep confidential) and what he looks like. He was allegedly last seen a few miles from where I last saw him. Though I expected to find his father in another missing persons report, I couldn’t find anyone with the same surname as Tom and my mind never fully registered what he looked like in the brief moment I saw him. But I imagine he is on there along with the others who went missing that night, all explained away as separate cases. My guess: Tom’s and his father’s surnames were changed to make them look unrelated, which sounds impossible. Still, looking at everything else that has been explained away, it seems only a small feat for whoever is covering up what happened that night.
I also decided to look into Tom’s neighbour, Jane. But I couldn’t find a Jane in the area who had witnessed anything strange happen the night in question or had a family of three go missing next door.
So, I had one lead left: The Shop Without Name. Despite its unique name, I couldn’t find it on Google Maps, but I still had no issue looking for it. The shop was moving; removal vans were being loaded with vast oddities outside the store. I decided it would be unwise to ask them any questions lest I become another disappearance. Instead, I waited a few days until the vans were gone and the shop was empty. Then I decided to let myself in (I have never broken into a place in my life, but given the circumstances, I decided it was more important to see what I could find). As I said before, the place was empty, but I found a closet missing its door that could have been the safe room Tom described. However, more interestingly, I found some plastered-up holes near the back door, which I highly suspected were bullet holes.
After everything, I still don’t know what to believe; I want to believe Tom’s story, but I can’t believe it. It just sounded so unrealistic. But, as a journalist, I must put my facts together and make a story. I thought about posting it in a newspaper but quickly realised it was too risky. So, I am posting it here. That night, I believed the man behind my door wanted to kill me, but as it progressed, I realised there was far more to the story than that. If anyone has any ideas or information that can help me find the truth, please contact me. Otherwise, spread this story because, as Tom said, people must know what happened.
​
[MM](https://www.reddit.com/r/Well_of_Misery/) | https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17cjp87/someone_outside_said_if_he_sees_me_he_will_kill_me/ | nosleep | The_Misery_Man |
false | The Night Shift |
It was an icy December evening when I started my usual night shift at the abandoned nursing home in the small town of Clintonville. The clock read 11:00 p.m. and the moon hung low in the sky. It was my job to patrol the empty hallways and make sure everything was going well, but this night was going to be anything but ordinary.
I carried my flashlight with me as the lighting in this old building was often unreliable. The creaking of the floorboards and the whispering of the wind through the windows created an eerie atmosphere. I was alone in this facility, except for the shadowy memories of times past.
As I walked down the hallway, I heard a soft, rhythmic knocking. My heart began to beat faster as I neared the source of the sound. It came from one of the rooms that served as a lounge for the residents. The door was ajar and the knocking grew louder.
I carefully pushed the door open and illuminated the room with my flashlight. An old rocking chair moved back and forth by itself as if someone was sitting in it. But there was no one to be seen. The room was empty except for an old radio sitting on the table.
The radio was on and a distorted, monotonous tune was playing from the speakers. It was as if a ghost was moving the rocking chair and playing the music. A shiver ran down my spine. I had always believed in rational explanations, but this experience shook my beliefs.
I turned off the radio and left the room, still confused by what I had seen. But that was just the beginning. As I continued to patrol the hallway, I heard faint footsteps behind me. I turned around, but there was no one there.
The footsteps grew louder and closer. I began to run, swinging the flashlight around wildly, hoping to catch a glimpse of my pursuer. But it was like someone was always one step ahead of me. The darkness seemed to come to life.
Finally, I reached the lobby of the nursing home and tripped over my own feet, falling to the ground. The footsteps stopped and the silence returned. I found myself on the floor, feeling like I was being watched.
With shaking hands, I sat up and tried to organize my thoughts. But then I realized the painful truth. My eyes fell on the license plate of the company vehicle that was parked in the driveway of the nursing home. It was the same license plate I had seen at the start of my shift.
I had been sure I was alone in the nursing home tonight, but now I realized I wasn't. The one haunting me wasn't a ghost or a supernatural entity - it was a real human.
At that moment I heard faint laughter from somewhere. The darkness played with my senses and I couldn't pinpoint the threat. I rushed to the exit, opened the door and ran outside.
There, in the glow of the streetlights, I saw him. A man stood at the edge of the sidewalk and grinned evilly at me. It was the driver of the company vehicle who had been following me the whole time.
With one last laugh, he disappeared into the darkness, and all I could do was collapse, exhausted, onto the sidewalk. My horror that a living human being had stalked me in this way far exceeded any supernatural fears I had ever had.
The police were called and the man was caught. It turned out that he was a former employee of the nursing home and was obviously mentally disturbed. However, the horrors of that night have haunted me forever, and I wonder if reality can sometimes be as scary as the worst nightmares. | https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17clmf6/the_night_shift/ | nosleep | garstig-Atemzug |
false | Zældör lives in my head rent-free | I’m sure that if you've been on the internet long enough that you’ve probably seen these videos titled something like “\[X\] moments that live in my head rent-free” or “\[X\] moments that I can’t get out of my head”. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, these videos are basically compilations of “iconic” moments concerning a character that’s from a movie, show, or game.
Anyways, I’ve been getting a lot of these kinds of videos recommended to me recently. Some of the characters I have recognized, while a lot of the others I haven’t, but overall, I tend to try not to click on them. The only time I had was about a week ago, because the character in question was from one of my favorite movies. I gave the video a like after I watched the entire thing, which is probably why these clips kept popping up for me.
One night, while I was laying in my bed, I lazily watched some random video on my phone. The room was completely dark with the exception of the phone glow, illuminating my face. I know it’s probably not the healthiest thing to do right before bed, but I was bored and just couldn’t fall asleep. None of the videos were interesting enough to me though. I continued to scroll away through countless posts, looking for something new, something that was interesting. I reached the bottom of the page. Again. I sighed and refreshed, ready to start the process all over again. From the top. But I didn’t need to scroll any further. As soon as the page reloaded, the top video instantly caught my eye. What got my attention was the fact that the thumbnail was completely black, which greatly contrasted with the colorful and bright pictures that many of the other videos had. The video was also titled:
“Zældör moments that live in my head rent-free (PART 1)”.
My first thought was:
*“Who the hell is Zældör?”*
As stated before, there have been some of these videos where I haven’t recognized the character. But I mean… "Zældör"? Curiosity, as it always does, got the best of me, and I clicked on the video.
The video started off exactly like how the thumbnail looked, complete and utter darkness. I watched the screen for a good fifteen seconds before I realized that there was some slight movement going on. I turned the brightness of my phone screen up all the way, and while it didn’t help that much, I could at least see a little bit. What I saw was a dark room. Occasionally the scene would fade out, and another video of a dark room would fade in. In the final clip, there was a large window as well as a sliding glass door. The camera was pointed towards the window, and I could see that the outside was even darker than the room. A few more seconds passed, and nothing happened. I started to get bored again. I checked the amount of time left on the video, which showed 10 minutes. “10 more minutes of this crap?” I thought to myself. I was just about to give up and turn off my phone, when I spotted a slight difference. Behind the window, in the dark, there was what looked to be a pair of two, tiny, white dots, horizontal to each other. I knew for a fact that those weren’t there before.
Still confused, I continued to stare at the two dots. The more I looked at it, the more the dots started to resemble eyes. I could even start to make out a lumpy inhuman silhouette that surrounded it. Here’s a screenshot that I took:
https://i.imgur.com/Z5cfXnM.jpg
I chuckled. Was this someone’s poor attempt at making a scary video? It looked like the eyes and silhouette were sloppily drawn onto a still picture of their living room window that looked out onto their backyard. The title of the video didn’t even make any sense. Was Zældör supposed to be the “monster"?
I clicked off the video, slightly disappointed, and went back to searching for something good. I refreshed the page, and was met with yet another black thumbnail video and this title:
“Zældör moments that won’t get out of my head (PART 2)”.
While I was slightly annoyed, I still clicked on the video, wanting to see if this one was any different. The only main difference was that the video was taken from the top of a staircase now, pointing downwards to the bottom. “Zældör” was there again, but this time the silhouette was poking its “head” around the corner of the wall at the bottom of the stairs. I did notice that Zældor’s face was slightly more detailed, though you couldn’t really tell since everything in the video was bathed in darkness. I clicked off the video. I knew it wasn’t real, and that “Zældör” didn’t really exist, but I still felt like maybe I shouldn’t watch these kinds of things right before bed.
After closing the video, I tried to find something that wasn’t scary, and as luck would have it, I did. It was a painting video with some relaxing commentary. An excellent choice to fall asleep too. The nice bright colors of a well-lit art studio were certainly a nice change from the dark and bleak places that I saw in the previous two videos. An ad started to play, so I clicked onto the comment section. I might as well see what people have to say while I’m waiting. This was the first comment that I saw:
“Just a friendly reminder that Zældör is always watching you".
I nearly dropped the phone out of my hands. I looked back at the screen as a million questions filled my mind.
*What did those weird videos have anything to do with this one?*
*Was this some kind of internet meme that I’ve never heard about?*
*What the hell is going on?!*
Determined to find out what "Zældör" was, I exited the video, and went to the search bar. I didn’t even need to type anything for results to come up.
“Zældör, king of the new world"
“How to precongulate like Zældör?”
“Who is Zældör?”
I clicked on the last result and found a video with an unfamiliar man talking about Zældör. But he never actually explained anything. He just rambled on about how Zældör will be “both the destroyer and savior of our world”. My brain was beginning to hurt. Nothing was making any sense. I clicked onto the comment section again in hopes of finding answers. But they were just as, if not more, confusing.
“Zældör lives in my head rent free and I can’t get him out please help me”
“Can we just appreciate the amount of precongulation that Zældör does?”
“Just a friendly reminder that Zældör is always watching you.”
I scrolled down further, feeling more and more sick at every single comment that I saw.
“Zældör is best I love Zældör”
“Let Zældör into your mind, and he will let you into his new world.”
“All hail Zældör, destroyer and savior."
The comment replies weren’t any better. All of them just repeated “Zældör will be king” over and over again.
I had even more questions then before.
*Did my phone get hacked?*
*Was this because I clicked on those videos?*
*What the hell does precongulation even mean?!*
I was beginning to become more and more creeped out. It might seem ridiculous to you, but when you're alone, in the dark, and see stuff like this, you might feel different. I went to the app settings and clicked on my watch history. Sure enough, all of the videos that I watched were there.
*“I know,”* I thought to myself, *"I’ll just clear my history and it’ll stop coming up.”*
So that’s what I did. And it worked. I even tried searching up Zældör again, but nothing about him came up. It was almost as if the videos never even existed. I sighed in relief, before opening up a writing document on my phone to type everything down. I couldn’t just pretend this didn't happen. I would share this with the world. But as I was typing this, I received a text message from an unknown phone number.
"Zældör doesn't forget". The text was in blue and underlined, which meant that it was a link to... something. Now I know it’s not the best idea to just click on random links, but I felt like this was somehow important for me to see. Even though I was scared, I still wanted to find out what was going on. So I clicked on the link, and it took me to some unfamiliar website. The only thing there was a video, titled:
“Zældör now lives in your head rent-free (PART 3)”.
Before I could even think about what that meant, the clip started to play. Like before, the video showed some dimly lit room in a house. For this video, it was taken from the inside of a room, pointing towards a door that was half open, with darkness on the other side. This time the video had sound, which was in the form of someone breathing heavily. There was no sign of Zældör. Yet.
As I looked closer, I realized something.
The door in the video looked exactly like my bedroom door, that was right in front of the foot of my bed. It had the same posters I did and in the same spot too. I was freaked out now and exited the website entirely, before returning to the writing document to put this all down. But even though the video was gone, I could still hear that same raspy breathing, as well as the sound of a door creaking open. I lowered my phone enough that I could see my bedroom door behind it. I swear I closed it before getting into bed. But it was now open. Exactly like in the video. The only difference was that in the video there was nothing behind the door, but in my room, I could see two white beady eyes, peering through the crack, staring directly at me.
Suddenly, all my thoughts of fear vanished, and they were replaced with new, and better thoughts. Thoughts that told me that Zældör will make everything better. Thoughts that told me what precongulation was. Eventually, the one thing left in my mind was Zældör.
*Zældör will be king.* | https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17ciidq/zældör_lives_in_my_head_rentfree/ | nosleep | Lamurent |
false | Someone's been pounding on my neighbor's door in the middle of the night for the last few weeks. I should never have confronted them. | I’ve lived in a small apartment complex for close to ten years now. It’s a small, one bedroom affair that, being built in the late 70s, is extremely old fashioned in its décor, but the rent has always been decent, the landlord has always been accommodating when I have a problem, and for the most part, the neighbors have been quiet and haven’t caused a fuss. Aside from the occasional homeless person dumpster diving for cans in the middle of the night, or a television played slightly too loud from downstairs, it’s always been rather easy for me to fall asleep.
Until my new neighbor moved in a few weeks ago.
At first, I didn’t think anything negative would come with her. She was a friendly, if rather reclusive woman who appeared to be in her mid to late thirties. From what I picked up from our limited conversations when meeting at the mailboxes or gathering laundry, she was a recovering addict who’d successfully made a clean break from the life, and had moved her to try and start over. As someone who has lost a few friends to addictions, I felt sympathetic and always was polite and friendly when we saw each other. And, for the first few weeks of her living here, all was well.
And then the banging began.
I’d woken up at about two in the morning to have to use the bathroom and was washing my hands when I heard it. Or, I should say that I first felt it more than heard it. The vibration that came through the floor was enough to give me pause. *What the hell?* Drying my hands quickly, I pulled open the bathroom door and stepped out into the living room. A moment later, it came again, but this time, I heard it. Someone was at one of my neighbor’s doors. And they weren’t just knocking; they were practically pounding on it. I groaned softly at my first thought. *Oh great, not the cops again*. We’d just had them over a few weeks ago due to an altercation that a rather belligerent homeless woman had had with my next door neighbor as they’d stood outside having a cigarette. But then the banging came again, and I realized something. Whoever was doing the banging, wasn’t saying a word. No yelling or orders typical of either police, or simply an argument between a couple or something.
The realization made me feel a little bit wary, and I eyed the closed blinds that covered the window that opened onto the second floor walkway. For a moment, I debated on sliding a finger through them, parting them enough to peek outside. But as I toyed with the notion, suddenly, the banging stopped. The world outside went silent, save for the barking of a dog somewhere a few blocks away. I stood there for another second, listening to see if I could hear the sounds of footsteps. But it remained quiet. After a few seconds, I shrugged my shoulders and turned back to my bedroom. *Whatever. I’ll figure it out in the morning*, I thought as I closed my bedroom door and climbed back into bed.
The next day, as I grabbed my mail, I saw my new neighbor, whose name I’d learned was Erin, enter the laundry room that also doubled as our mailroom. We each said good morning to each other, and after exchanging pleasantries, I decided to ask her about the banging. “Oh, no. You heard that?” she asked me, an apoplectic look etching itself onto her face. I nodded. After a second’s silence, she answered, her voice filled with an apologetic tone. “I am so sorry. That was one of my friends. He’d swung by to drop off my laptop, I left it at his place when I was in the middle of moving” *At two in the morning?* I mentally wondered, but chose not to say it aloud. After all, I didn’t want to appear to be. Instead, I just smiled at her. “Well, just, in the future, let your friends know that things are supposed to be quiet here after ten? I just don’t want to see you get in trouble” She nodded immediately, giving a smile of her own. “Of course, thank you for giving me the head’s up” she said, locking her mailbox and heading for the door.
Thinking that was the end of it, I left the mailroom, got into my car and went to work. The day passed by normally, and after stopping by the grocery store to buy a frozen pizza, I returned home and gorged myself on it while watching a marathon of classic horror movies. I shut the TV off around eleven, dumped my dishes into the sink to do tomorrow, and after brushing my teeth, slipped into bed. It took about half an hour of getting comfortable, but eventually, I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
*Bang! Bang! Bang!*
The sound ripped me out of the pleasant dream I’d been having, and my eyes snapped open. I glanced at my alarm clock; the red letters read *2:15AM*. As I lay there, wondering whether the sound had come from my dreams or not, it came again. Three rhythmic bangs, then a few seconds of silence before three more. My mind, still only half awake, slowly began turning. Then, it suddenly clicked. I let out a groan. “Oh, you’ve *got* to be freakin’ kidding me” I threw off the covers and slid out of bed. *Two nights in a row?* I’d already had my doubts about Erin’s story of a friend returning something; *this* was piling it on more. I opened my bedroom door and stepped out into the living room. The walkway lights glowed softly through the closed blinds, and I moved over to them. For another thirty seconds, I stood there in the dark, listening to the person pounding on the door. Then, exactly as before, the banging stopped.
Silence fell, and this time, after a few seconds of contemplation, I pulled down one of the blinds and peered outside. I had a perfect view across the way to Erin’s front door, the walkway lights revealing…nobody. I angled the blinds up farther, looking down at the parking lot and the stretch of road visible. Not a soul was visible anywhere out there. *How the hell did they get down to the ground and out of sight so quickly? The last knock came less than fifteen seconds ago*. For a moment, I thought about unlocking the door and sticking my head out, but pushed the thought away as a yawn escaped my lips. I’d speak to Erin tomorrow if I saw her; for now, I needed to get some more sleep so I wouldn’t go to work tired.
I didn’t see her the next day, or when I got home that night. As I unlocked my front door, I heard the door behind me open. Turning, I found myself staring at the tired eyes of David, my next door neighbor. “Have you been hearing someone banging away on someone’s door the last two nights?” he asked grumpily. I nodded. He let out a sigh. “Well, hopefully it doesn’t happen again, because it’s getting on my nerves” he said, before slamming his door shut. Most of my neighbors will complain when something gets on their nerves, but for whatever reason, whether it’s that they don’t want to be seen as a squeak or are just too beat down from everyday life, don’t ever call management or confront the person causing problems. This was just another textbook case of that.
As I pushed my door open, I shot a final look across at Erin’s door. I’d given a moment’s thought to knocking on her door, but decided against it and headed inside. I didn’t know the woman at all, and I didn’t know who was coming in the middle of the night either. And given the fact of her old life, it could be someone less then scrupulous banging away. The last thing I wanted to do was get involved with something that could end badly for me. I forced myself to forget it as I cooked dinner and played video games before hitting the hay. I prayed that I wouldn’t be woken up again.
But I was.
This time, I flung the covers off of me and went straight to my front door, irritation bubbling up inside. Grabbing my jacket off the hook and sliding into my flip flops, I unlocked the front door and reached for the handle. But something stopped me. I couldn’t explain what it was, but it was the oddest sensation I’ve ever felt. It was as if something were incessantly telling me *not* to open the door. And it was enough to make me hesitate for a few seconds. Just like the last two nights, the banging suddenly stopped. Forcing the warning away, I grasped the handle and turned it, yanking the door open. The chilly fall night washed over me as I blinked rapidly against the blinding porch light. Stepping outside, I turned and looked around the corner, expecting to see whoever had been wailing on the door to be making a break for the stairs.
To my shock, I saw nobody. *That’s freaking impossible, the knocking stopped less than five seconds ago. Somebody wouldn’t have been able to get downstairs and out of sight so quickly*. Feeling thoroughly confused, I pulled the door shut behind me and stepped out onto the walkway. Glancing around, I still saw no one. I turned to look at Erin’s apartment. The blinds were drawn, and I saw no light emanating from behind them. I scoffed. *The woman can sleep through that racket?* As I stood there, a feeling suddenly fell over me. A shiver shot up my spine, causing me to gasp aloud as the feeling of being watched from behind overtook me. And whoever was doing the staring, was definitely *not* friendly. I realized with another shiver that I’d left my back open to the stairs behind me. *The perfect place for someone to sneak up on you*. My heart began to thunder in my chest, and my breathing came in short gasps as a wave of instinctive fear surged through me. Tightening every muscle in my body, I snapped my fist closed and spun around, ready to sock someone in the face.
There was nobody behind me. The stairway was empty and dark. But I’d been sure that someone had been there. Trying to stay as quiet as possible to keep from waking up my neighbors, I descended the stairs, triggering the motion sensor light on them to flash on and bathe the area in harsh white light. Reaching the bottom, I looked first to the left, than the right. The empty street stretched away in both directions, the dark shapes of parked cars lit by the occasional yellow-ish orange glow of the streetlights. Nothing moved in the night. I heard a dog bark a few blocks away again, along with the sound of the generator from the boat building factory down by the river. I stared for a few more moments, then turned around and headed back upstairs, shaking my head.
“Come on, Owen, what’re you doing man?” I mumbled quietly to myself as I reached my front door. “This is beyond stupid. You could’ve gotten hurt. And besides, it’s none of your business. Whether it’s an old druggie friend of hers or anything, just stay out of it. Just take a melatonin or sleep aid and stay out of it” Stepping inside and locking the door behind me, I vowed to not get up again for the banging. *After all, it can’t last too much longer, right?* The thought didn’t exactly reassure me, but I allowed my vow to help me relax as I slipped back into bed. As I lay there, my mind thought back to the sensation I’d had while standing on the top of the walkway. It wasn’t one I’d ever experienced before, and I didn’t like it. The feeling of fear returned briefly, sending a small shiver down my spine, but I forced it away, and after an unusually long stint of tossing and turning, I fell asleep.
The next day, I went to *Rite-Aid* and bought a bottle of Melatonin, along with a bottle of more traditional sleeping pills. I’d never bought anything to help stay asleep before, never having trouble with sleep. *First time for everything*, I thought as the cashier rang me up. After work, I returned home and watched a movie before deciding to try and head to bed earlier than usual. I chewed one of the melatonin gummies before brushing my teeth, and hoped against hope that the banging wouldn’t come again. Or that the gummy would help me slip into a deep enough sleep that it wouldn’t wake me up, at least. I said a silent prayer as I got into bed that I would sleep through it.
My prayers were *not* answered. I was woken up, yet again at just after 2 by the banging. The irritation that filled me wanted to get up and confront the person before they stopped knocking and disappeared, but remembering my vow, I forced myself to stay in bed. After a few minutes, the banging stopped, and soon enough, I fell back asleep. It was not the last night it happened, either. For a week, I tried taking the melatonin gummies, hoping that they hadn’t worked due to not getting into my system enough. But they did exactly jack shit. I began to go to work more and more tired; my reflection in the mirror also began to show dark circles under my eyes from the lack of long, restful sleep. A few of my co-workers asked me if everything was alright, and I made up a story about an account stressing me out. My neighbors kept grumbling about the noise, but as always, they did nothing. Erin stopped speaking to anyone else in the complex as well. Instead, she’d dash for her car or apartment whenever anyone spotted her, as if she didn’t want to discuss what was going on. Finally, as the week ended, I decided to start taking the sleep aid.
For the first week, they actually seemed to do the trick. I would fall asleep quickly and stay asleep. I began to feel better, both physically and mentally, and my pace at work began to return to normal. I was able to put the situation out of my mind, and I even recommended the sleep aids to a few of my neighbors, who ran out to buy them. Things finally began to settle down, and I felt sure that with a viable solution found, that nothing could mess up the welcome change in pace. In hindsight, I hate how overconfident I became. How sure I was it would last.
It didn’t.
I was woken up at the exact same time, this time feeling groggy from the sleeping pill. I lay there in the dark, hearing the banging and couldn’t help but let out a half strangled cry as reality was jammed back into my face. “*Fuck!*” I hissed through gritted teeth. I hoped it had just been a onetime stumble. But it wasn’t. Whether my body had built up a tolerance to the pills or whatever, I began to wake up to the banging on the same nightly basis as before. Again, I began to feel like crap, and my work and social life started to suffer as a result too. Friends, and even my boss became concerned about me. I was called into his office one day. After asking what was going on, I ended up telling him about the situation. He grunted in response, thinking. “Well, Travers, if it’s getting that bad, and nobody is doing anything about it, why don’t you move out?” he finally asked, “Why don’t you find somewhere else? There are plenty of apartment buildings in town” I sighed, explaining to him that, while there were openings around town, all of them were over $1200 a month. My apartment complex was the last one in town where rent was under $1000, and it was the only one I could afford.
He sighed as well, and looked at me. “I’m sorry that you seem to be stuck in a bit of a pickle Travers, but I have to be honest. Your performance has dropped considerably from what it normally is, below even our *lowest* standards. You’ve been a loyal employee for years, but if it keeps up, we may have to re-evaluate your employment with us” I felt my jaw drop open, disbelief flooding every fiber of my being. “Are you *serious*?” I managed out. He nodded, a stern look on his face. “I sympathize with your unfortunate scenario, Travers, but the unfortunate truth is, we have to look at the grand scheme of things. This company needs to always function at its expected pace and vigor, and if people can’t keep up, for *whatever* reason, then…” He trailed off. I wanted to say more, but I was dumbstruck. I’d worked here for eight years, almost the entire time I’d lived in town. Never before had the prospect of being fired ever hit me. Not able to say anything else, I simply nodded and left the office.
I spent the rest of the day keeping to myself, feeling as though my world were steering straight into the side of a cliff and unable to steer away. As I slunk up the stairs to my apartment, I cast a look at Erin’s apartment. As usual, all the blinds were drawn, and there was no sign of life at all. A sharp feeling tore through me, and I was surprised to find it was bitterness and anger, an emotion I wasn’t used to. At Erin for not calling the cops or doing anything to stop the banging, at my neighbors for being too apathetic to step in themselves, and most of all, at myself. I slammed the front door behind me harder than I usually did, and chose to order a pizza and breadsticks from *Dominos*. As I had the next few days off, I decided to get wasted, so I grabbed two large bottles of margarita from the fridge, and after my food arrived, began downing them as I binge watched a marathon of The Mummy movies. The alcohol made me feel a tiny bit better, and at 12:30 in the morning, I stumbled into my room and fell on the bed, instantly falling asleep.
*Bang! Bang! Bang!*
I blinked groggily as the waking world swam into view around me. The world almost immediately began spinning, showing that the alcohol hadn’t left my system yet, and my temples throbbed slightly. I rolled over, wiping drool off my chin as I attempted to fall back asleep. *BANG! BANG! BANG!* The pounding came again, hard enough that I could feel the vibrations running up the feet of the bed into the mattress. I rolled onto my back and stared at the spinning ceiling, trying to fight back the urge to vomit. As the pounding in my head began to sync up with the incessant sound, a new feeling began to wash over me. Anger. And not just anger, but an almost full blown rage. *This fucker is going to cost me my job. He may end up costing me my apartment, along with my damn sanity! All because that fucking woman won’t answer the damn door!* The thoughts swam around and around in my head, and for the first time in my life, I began to see red. It finally boiled over as I stumbled to my feet. Moving to the closet, I grabbed an aluminum baseball bat and strode to the front door. Far back in my mind, I knew that confronting someone who could turn violent while drunk was not a smart idea.
But I’d had enough. I jammed my feet into my flip flops as another round of banging came. I decided to quickly look through the blinds to see if they were still there. Slipping two fingers through them, I pulled them down enough to clearly see across the way. The porch light that lit up the doorways of Erin and her next door neighbor had burned out, but even with the darkness that now shrouded the alcove, I could see the shape of someone standing directly in front of her door. Someone who was almost as tall as the door itself. As I watched, they reached up and slammed their fist onto the door three times. *Bang! Bang! Bang!*
“Oh, fuck this shit, man” I growled, then moved to the front door. The drunken rage now full fueling me, I unlocked the door and yanked it open, almost falling on my ass by how hard I pulled. Storming out onto the walkway, I turned and saw the figure still there. *You’re not disappearing from me this time, fuckhead*. I took in a deep breath, then let out a yell, my words slurring slightly. “Hey, asshole!” The figure had been in the middle of raising its arm to hit the door again when I’d spoken, and it froze, as though they hadn’t planned on being caught. I took another step forward. “I’ve had *enough* of you pounding on that door, for almost a fucking *month*! I’m losing sleep, and you’re pissing off everybody in this complex” Holding the baseball bat in one hand, I extended it out and rapped it hard against the wooden railing before finishing my tirade. “If you don’t beat it *right* now, and don’t come back, I will personally beat the freakin’ shit out of you. Now *FUCK OFF!*”
Breathing heavily, I stood there, waiting for the person to respond. But they just stayed there, their arm raised to hit the door again. My rage began to boil over again when the sound of something rapping softly against the glass came. I kept my eyes trained on the still figure for another moment, before looking away to find the source of it. My gaze fell upon Erin’s living room window, which no longer had the blinds closed. They had been yanked all the way open, and Erin now stood directly behind the glass. For a moment, my anger kept me from properly seeing what she was doing, and I was about to flip her the bird when my vision focused.
Erin was frantically waving at me. She crossed her arms over and over while shaking her head, the universal sign for *don’t do that*. I was about to dismiss her, thinking she was trying to get me to butt out when the expression on her face became clear. And in that instant, all my rage died away.
Her face was white as a sheet, and her eyes were as wide as a human’s could go, the horror clearly etched on it. *She looks like someone who…*my blood turned to ice. *She looks like someone who’s about to watch someone get murdered…oh shit*. The realization wasn’t the only one I had.
Erin's eyes were no longer the only ones on me.
The figure had turned away from her door to glare at me as well. And my heart almost stopped as I saw two red eyes staring out at me. I let out a giant gasp and dropped the bat as the same fear I’d felt that night a few weeks ago flooded back into me, this time with a vengeance. Through my shock and horror, a thought wormed its way forward. *That’s...that’s not a person. That’s not HUMAN*. “Oh…fuck me” I breathed out, my voice choking off. It hadn’t been loud enough for anyone that far away to hear them. And somehow…the damn thing *chuckled* at them. The chortle was low and deep, and the only way I can describe it was demonic. Another flash of movement came from Erin’s window, and my eye flickered over to her. She was frantically waving for me to go back inside. That’s when the walkway lights went out.
*Oh, shit*.
Propelled by the surge of fear, I instantly bolted for my open door. A new wave passed through me as I saw a blur of movement separating itself from the shroud of blackness. One which moved faster than any human could. Letting out a strangled cry, I grabbed the door and began to slam it shut. But something crashed into it from the other side before I could. I would’ve flown backwards over my couch if I hadn’t had a vice like grip on the handle. Frantically, I pushed against the door with all my strength. The door closed a bit, and I felt a momentary sense of relief. Until something snaked its way around the side of the door, between the crack that opened to the outside world.
It was a fucking *claw*. A grey hand, tipped at the end with black, razor sharp nails, ones that dug into the metal like it was butter. The sight sent a surge of adrenaline through me, and I let out another strangled scream, slamming all my weight into the door. I felt the impact as it banged hard against the claw, the only thing keeping it open. The creature on the other side didn’t let out a sound, but the claw quickly pulled away. I didn’t waste another second. I slammed the door all the way shut, forcing the deadbolt into position along with the doorknob lock. Silence immediately fell over the complex, and I stood there, leaning against the door for support as I fought to draw in breath.
*BANG! BANG! BANG!*
The pounding came from directly on the other side of the door, powerful enough that it rattled on its hinges. Letting out a shout, I stumbled away from the door, crashing into the back of the couch and crashing to the floor. The three bangs came again with the same ferocity as the first. I began to cry, pulling my knees up against my chest as I curled into a ball on the floor. I thought for sure that it would smash against the door hard enough to break it down, but it kept banging for what seemed like eternity. I lay on the floor, frozen in terror and unable to do anything but cry as my mind seemed to fracture slightly, the image of those red eyes staring at me repeating endlessly in my mind.
And then, it stopped.
The pounding stopped, directly in the middle of one of the three sets, and was replaced by silence. A silence that now held far more dread than I ever thought it could have. Still, I lay there, unable to move. I didn’t move at all, even as hours seemed to pass. I’m not sure whether my mind became overwhelmed by the fear or the alcohol still latent in my system, but somehow, I passed out.
When I awoke, the sun glowed brightly against the blinds, and I heard birds singing outside. Uncurling myself, I slowly got to my feet and approached the window. Reaching out with shaking fingers, I gripped the handle and forced myself to twist it. The light was almost blinding as the blinds open, and I blinked a few times to adjust. When I did, though, I saw that everything outside looked normal. It was as if the entire horrific night had been nothing but a drunken nightmare. And for a moment, I almost convinced myself it was. Until I looked at the door and saw the deep marks in the metal. They reminded me that it had been very real. I was suddenly overcome with an almost desperate desire to get out of the apartment, to get as far away as I could. And so, I raced to my room, grabbing a shirt and pants and jamming myself into them. I grabbed my car keys off the hook and yanked open the door, allowing more sunlight to stream inside.
There was a sealed envelope lying on the entrance mat. It simply had my name written on the front and nothing else. I swallowed hard, then looked around. Everything still looked normal. I looked over at Erin’s apartment. The blinds were closed tightly again, and the door firmly shut. Taking a shaky breath, I picked up the envelope, then shut the door behind me and half walked, half ran down the steps to my car. After locking the doors, I finally opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of white paper, which someone had written on in a shaky scrawl.
It’s been almost a month since I read that letter in the parking lot. Almost a month since I read the words that have haunted every waking moment. I drove off, hoping that they were wrong. I drove to the next county, choosing to stay in a rundown motel for the night. And I prayed that the letter was wrong. Or a lie. I desperately prayed and begged. But when the pounding began at exactly 2AM, the same three raps for almost ten minutes, I knew the words Erin had written were true.
*Owen,*
*I’m so, so sorry for this. I didn’t want anyone else to be caught up in it. I moved here because people told me the neighbors don’t deal with other people’s drama, and I thought that meant it would be safe. That people around me would be safe. You see, a few months ago, I broke up with my ex who had enabled my drug addiction. It was the only way I could break the addiction cycle. But I didn’t know she was into the occult. I got a call from her, telling me that she’d cursed me, summoning a demon especially for me, to torment me in revenge for leaving her. She laughed and wished me to suffer thoroughly before I died a painful death. I thought she was full of shit at first, that she was threatening me into coming back to her. Until the knocking began. The same three pounding knocks, every night at two in the morning for ten or twenty minutes. Loud enough that it sounded like the door would bust in, but never doing so. And when I looked out the people and saw it staring at me, staring with those red eyes, those wicked teeth smiling, and those cruel claws flashing on its hands, I knew. I knew she’d told the truth.*
*The reason I moved to your complex, is that through some searching of occult books, was that I discovered the demon she’d cursed on me, will for the rest of your life knock on your door. It can’t enter a person’s home by force. But it can drive you insane with its knocking, and it takes great pleasure in the suffering it inflicts through that. Its ultimate goal is to break the person down enough, that they end up willingly opening the door to it while it’s on the other side. And then…it takes you. You’ll never be seen again. And you’ll be tortured for eternity.*
*The worst part…is there is a single way to break the curse on you. The only way is by having someone else…someone innocent, see the demon as it knocks on your door. Then the curse is passed along to that person, and lifted from you. You basically have to sacrifice someone else, in order to free yourself. It’s something I was never able to do. I couldn’t willingly have someone suffer such a horrifying fate, even to save myself. I would’ve gone on forever, dealing with it. Or eventually just opened the door and let it take me. But…that choice is now gone. You saw it. It locked onto you. And now the curse has been passed to you. It will follow you, wherever you go. No matter how far. It will get behind any door, and it will knock. It will break you down. I’m now free…but at a cost I never wanted to make.*
*I’m sorry….I won’t be around much longer. I can’t stand to see it happen to you.*
*Please…forgive me.*
I went back to my apartment the next day. There was no point in running. Not when it would follow me. Erin moved out the day after I came back. I watched her pack her things into a U-Haul, watched her get in, and with a last sorrowful look up at my window, drive away. I couldn’t bring myself to walk outside and say anything to her.
Every night since, it’s pounded on my door. Every day, I feel more and more tired. More worn down. I feel like I’m slowly going insane. I barely managed to make it to work, and yesterday, it finally happened. My boss called me in to his office and fired me. I only have a few months left of savings before I can’t pay rent anymore. I don’t know what’ll happen when that day comes. That’s not the worst part, though. Erin’s letter still reverberates around inside my head. The words about how to pass the curse along. I wouldn’t wish this fate upon my worst enemy. I’d never want to hurt someone else. But….I’m not as strong as Erin. I don’t want to be tortured forever. And I don’t know how much longer I can take this. How much longer until I break.
How much longer until I lure someone else into seeing it.
| https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17bwt28/someones_been_pounding_on_my_neighbors_door_in/ | nosleep | JLGoodwin1990 |
false | My son keeps counting down. Now I know what happens at zero... | The bullying started when Noah was five. He was always small for his age: speckled and freckled with a shock of copper hair. He was an easy target. I kept telling him to hit back, to stand his ground. That's what I had done when I was little, but Noah wasn’t me. He was gentle and kind. I have to keep reminding myself that. He liked to read and loved to watch Star Trek with me. He was a good kid, it was just a shame no one else could see it.
His mum died when he was eight leaving me as his sole-parent. I tried my best, still do, but I'm not his mother, I'm not as gentle or kind, and my smiles don't light up a room. It's hard, doing it all alone. He misses her. *Missed her.* She left a hole and no one else can fill it.
He came home from school one day and told me he made a friend. *Martin.* I was happy for him. I thought it would be good for him and that it would bring him out of his shell. I assumed it was some other kid whose peers deemed him weird and that they could take comfort in their exile with each other. He'd go to Martin's after school and come back smiling and happy. I was so relieved.
Then one day Noah didn't come home. I waited half an hour, in the hopes that he was just late and that he'd lost track of the time. When he didn't show I started to get worried. I began wandering the streets looking for him. I knocked half the doors in the neighbourhood before I finally called the police. They were worried too, especially when I told them Noah wasn't the sort of kid to stay out all night.
He was missing for a total of two days. I can't tell you the terror I lived through. I didn't sleep. I didn't eat. I wandered the streets shouting his name. All the bullies from his class suddenly found their conscience and helped by posting fliers about the town. Their parents came round with plates of food and offers of help. It takes a tragedy to make people see you, *to make them help.*
Martin never came. You see when the police went to school to find out Martin's address they found that there was no Martin in Noah's class. There were only two Martin's in my small town in fact. One was a local sex-offender and the other an elderly man up Pinewood Avenue who was bed-bound.
*It goes without saying that I feared the worst.*
Then they found him.
When I got the call I thought I'd be driving to a mortuary, but they sent me instead to the hospital. I got a speeding ticket trying to get there as quickly as I could. My head was buzzing. What had happened to him? Was he alright? *My little Noah…*
When I arrived, a policeman ambushed me. He took me into a relative's room. His face was grave and I could have wept standing there, waiting.
"We found him in Magnolia." He said. "He's completely uninjured. There's no sign of any assault. But he's…"
*Why does there always have to be a but?* Why couldn't he have been fine, why couldn't he have wanted to come home and watch Star Trek with me? My relief died like fire in the rain.
"He's not… he's not responding well. We found him in an abandoned house. He was sitting alone in a room. He had been fed and watered. From all evidence at the scene, there appears to have been no restraints nor any kidnap. We're still investigating, but Noah isn't exactly forthcoming with any information. The doctors are hopeful that your presence might change that."
He was in a bed, cross-legged and staring at the ceiling. He didn't even look at me as I entered. *Something was wrong.*
"One-hundred thousand and three." He said in his feeble little voice. Sunlight crept in through the blinds and blanketed him in strange bars. "One hundred thousand and two."
"Noah? It's dad." I called out to him. My words didn't seem to reach him. He was in his own world, just…. counting.
"One hundred thousand and one. One hundred thousand." He said. "Ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine."
"Mr McMahon?" A doctor said. He was old and grey. His face was as grave as the policeman’s. "I'm Dr Auld, I'm a child psychiatrist in charge of your son’s care. I have a few questions for you? Firstly, I want to promise you that we are doing all we can to help Noah."
"Why isn't he speaking? Why is he counting?" I asked.
"Does your son have autism? Or any mental conditions? Is there a history of schizophrenia in your family or his mother's side?" He asked, providing me with no information.
"No… no autism, no schizophrenia… he's got nothing like that… Why is he like this? What's going on? Please doc…" I glanced at him again, still counting away. I looked at my son. "Noah…"
"He is eating and drinking. He has no injuries nor any fever. My initial guess was early-presenting schizophrenia… yet without any family history and his lack of reaction to medication, I find it unlikely." Doctor Auld said. "To be quite honest Mr McMahon I am at a loss. I have called in a colleague of mine from another hospital for a second opinion. I was hopeful he might have reacted to you. While I can rule out any physical assault, I cannot dismiss the possibility of some sort of trauma that has caused Noah's change in behaviour."
That sicko had hurt him in some way. He might not have laid a hand on him, but he'd put something in Noah's head, I became sure of it then. Martin. His friend hadn’t been some kid from class but the neighbourhood creep who had taken advantage of his loneliness.
It wasn’t easy leaving Noah in the hospital, but I was too angry to be of any real use to him there. A few of the dad’s from Noah’s class told me where the creep lived. They offered to come along and help, but I didn’t want to get them in trouble. This was my burden to bear. I had been such an awful father. I should have known who my son was hanging out with after school. I should have… *Mindy would have*.
He lived in a run-down apartment complex. Graffiti had been scrubbed off the walls leaving only a thin smear of red and blue. I didn’t knock, I plunged his door open. The disgusting lout was sprawled out on his couch with a roll-up between his thin dried up lips. Before he could react my fist went burrowing down into his face. The sounds of him grimacing filled me with perverse pleasure. He looked confused and tried to scramble away.
“What the - who are you?” The slimebag said.
“Noah’s father. What did you do to him?” I punched again and heard his nose breaking. “The ten-year old boy you’ve been grooming?”
“I ain’t been grooming any ten year olds. Jesus fuck!” He exclaimed, his forearms across his face defensively. I stopped punching. “That missing kid? I told the cops already I ain’t got nothing to do with that. I’m on the register sure… nothing to do with any kids. I’m not a - christ… it was a misunderstanding with a girlfriend that got me put on… no kids… I swear… I don’t have anything to do with your kid. Believe me… please.”
His coffee table was stacked high with adult magazines. I believed him. I called the police on myself in the end. They were extremely sympathetic and Martin agreed not to press any charges, though I am pretty sure the stack of cannabis on the table they agreed to overlook in exchange played a part in that. Good guys, the cops in my town.
I went back to the hospital. N*othing had changed.* He was still counting down. Every hour the numbers grew smaller. He’d stop to sleep but when he’d wake he’d continue the count.
“Forty-thousand, six-hundred and three.” He said. His voice was changing. The doc said it had to do with the fact he never shut up anymore. His vocal cords were strained and raw. He sounded almost like an old man. My poor little Noah.
I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when he got down to zero. Would he stop counting? What would happen when he was finished? I think the doctors were wondering that too. They were stumped. Never seen a case like Noah before, they kept saying. Why did it have to be my kid? He’d been through enough… Mindy… the bullying… *why him?*
“I’m sorry son.” I said to him, he didn’t look at me. I grabbed his hand which he pulled back. He used to let me hold him when he was sad. He’d come in from school with his bag slumped across his shoulders and I’d just hold him as he cried. Not anymore. Noah wasn’t in there, and if he was he was buried deep.
I grabbed his hand again. I had Mindy’s favourite necklace in my pocket and I slipped it round his neck. Help me. I looked to the sky and hoped she was up there. Maybe you can reach him, I thought quietly.
It’s my one remaining comfort to imagine that she did. As the cold metal touched his neck he squeezed my hand. Inbetween mindless numbers he looked at me. His eyes were wide with terror, like a pig at it’s slaughter.
“Dad…What’s happening to me?” He said. I thought I had him back. The moment died as quickly as it came. The lights switched back off and I was in the dark abyss again, searching the cold nothing for a thread of the son I loved so much. “Thirty-nine thousand, nine-hundred and sixty-three.”
It isn’t fair. Life. If God’s real he sure likes giving us more than we can handle.
We were getting down to double-digits. I was sitting at his bedside and the doctors had gathered like a swarm. My tragedy was a show to them, they could go home and leave it behind. My head was in my hands. I was scared, I don’t know why. Unease hung in the air like a cloud. Something wasn’t right, I knew that, the son I loved felt further away with every strained number. He was drifting off into the ether, and all my love would go with him.
“Twenty. Nineteen.” He said at short intervals. There was jotting on clipboards and nurses that had paused, wordless. It felt like something was going to happen. “Eighteen. Seventeen.”
I thought about when he was a baby, so tiny I could hold him with one hand. I thought of that first word, so pure and innocent, *da, da, da.* I thought about leaving him at school for the first time in his little uniform with the blue blazer and the tears when he came home with mud on his knees from being pushed over. I thought about Mindy and how they’d snuggle up together in bed watching some kids' films. All those fragile moments crowded my head and for a few seconds I was warm from the love of them. All the while the numbers grew smaller.
“Five. Four. Three. Two.” There was a pause before it came. The doctor’s held their breath. Somewhere behind me a nurse dropped her pen and it fell to the ground slowly, as if gravity didn’t work anymore. It rolled around on the floor, like a spinning hat with no momentum. “One.”
He started convulsing. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, just little pools of white. His little body, every inch of which I adored and loved, thrashed around as if electricity was coursing through it. The nurses and doctors pushed me out of the way. All I could do was watch, as my world crumbled into nothing.
Then he stopped. There was a moment of calm. He slowly pushed his way out of the nurse's grip and he sat up. I felt hope reach a crescendo within me. He’s back, I thought, he’s home. Then I looked at him and it slipped away again, into a void of spreading dread. His eyes weren’t his anymore. They were the same blue but they belonged to a stranger.
“Where am I?” He asked in that strange, crackled voice.
A parent knows. I can’t explain it. You just know. The Noah sat on that hospital bed wasn’t my Noah. He was someone else’s. He looked at me as if he didn’t know me. All the moisture had been drained out of me, I felt like nothing, like I would dissolve into tatters.
“You’re in hospital Noah.” Dr Auld said.
“Good.” He said. He grunted and his body moved oddly. He surveyed his hands and legs as if he were just discovered them and moved as if he expected them to ache. “I feel good.”
“That’s… that’s excellent.” A nurse said, with a warm smile. “Do you want some of your toys, your dad brought you in your favourite stuffed bear?”
He looked at Mr Snuffles as if he had never seen him before. My hairs were standing up, they refused to lie flat.
“Interesting bear.” He said, judging it’s missing eye. He spoke as if he was older… more seasoned. This wasn’t Noah… this wasn’t Noah… He did not cradle it to his chest. It looked at me, that thing in my son’s body and a small smile touched it’s lips, creeping up at the corners unnaturally. I shook my head. *This couldn’t be.*
“His vitals are stable.” Dr Auld told me. “This is good.”
“He isn’t talking like Noah.” I said to him, he mused with his clipboard. “He isn’t… acting like Noah.”
“Whatever has happened to him has clearly had a great effect. It may take time for him to return to normal, if at all.” He said. “It’s still Noah. He’s speaking now, that means we can help.”
I took no reassurance from his words. Hours passed like days. Noah moved as if he had never had a body before, or at least a working one. He marvelled at every joint and birthmark. He kept stretching his arms out just to study the way they moved. He didn’t speak much.
“When we get home we can watch Star Trek all weekend. I’m off work for a few weeks.” I said to him, hoping to draw my son out of whatever shell he was in.
“I’d prefer M\*A\*S\*H.” He said and I flinched. “I can’t wait to get home and have some kippers.”
*Kippers and M\*A\*S\*H?*
Somewhere else in the hospital another tragedy was underway. I was wandering the halls numbly with a cup of hot coffee in my hands. The doors to ambulatory slammed open. A trolley was rushed through, a crowd of frantic family members chasing after it. An old man lay in a bed, reaching out for the sky’s embrace. He was panicked, his eyes were wide like Noah’s had been when he called out for me.
“I want my dad, I want my dad!” The old man shouted at the top of his lungs.
A young woman was holding onto the side of his trolley, his daughter maybe, yet the man did not seem to know her. Everytime her hands came down to comfort him, he flinched. Then he saw me and his hand pulled out for me. His words seemed to have been stolen from him. He was trying to throw himself out of the trolley just to reach me.
“Dad! I want my dad!” He shouted and the words filled my belly with dull, throbbing, unease.
“Does your father have dementia?” A doctor was asking the woman.
“No he’s… no… he just… he’s… he’s not able to get around much anymore. That’s all. He’s never been like this. He’s been a little… down lately… about not being able to get out as much… but he’s always been… sane.” She said, her voice etched with pain, a pain I knew too well. Her situation was not so dissimilar to mine, a relative, not acting like themselves… the same but… different. “Dad it’s me.”
“No. Dad… I want my dad… my mum. Dad!” He cried, reaching out for me again. My body wanted to chase after him, to reach him. The coffee cup slipped from my hand and fell like a clatter to the ground. A pool of dark brown soaked my feet.
“Do you have a name so we can pull his records.” The doctor asked as he followed the trolley into a room. The old man slipped out of view.
“Martin.” The woman, still breathless, replied. “His name’s Martin Smith.”
A strange coincidence. *Had to be.* Little lines tied together, stitching into some awful patchwork quilt. It didn't make any sense. *It couldn't be.*
I returned to Noah. I felt like a zombie, like my head wasn’t connected anymore. It was floating in the clouds. *Nothing made sense.*
“I can’t wait to come home with you dad.” Noah said and my eyebrows furrowed. I shut my eyes and thought of my boy… at the gates of the school, in the arms of his mother. His face turned wrinkled and old. “We’re going to have so much fun. I just know it.”
He’s not my kid.
This thing I’m taking home.
It’s not my kid | https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17bo6be/my_son_keeps_counting_down_now_i_know_what/ | nosleep | middleoflidl |
false | Why I Stopped Being a Digital Forensics Investigator | I was once a dedicated digital forensics expert, fueled by youthful idealism and a desire to serve justice in an increasingly complex world. I grew up glued to the TV, enamored by the forensics shows that made the field look like a haven for heroes. My mother and I would spend evenings dissecting fictional mysteries, only inspiring me further to pursue this path.
But let me be clear: this profession desensitized me to the grotesque horrors that lurk behind the pixels and data streams. I've seen things—terrifying things—that no person should ever have to confront. In many cases, it's been my burden to bring these horrors into the light, presenting them in a courtroom as the dark realities pulled from digital depths. What your imagination might conjure about the nature of these discoveries is likely accurate, but trust me, reality often surpasses the nightmares of imagination.
Yet, there exists one bone-chilling discovery that shook me to the very core of my being—a discovery so malevolent that it made me retreat in mortal fear for both my life and my fragile sanity. Even as my hands tremble uncontrollably on the keyboard, I find myself compelled to speak. You see, if someone doesn't intervene soon, I fear this malevolent case will only metastasize like a cancerous growth. When I tried to escalate the matter beyond the provincial walls of the police department I once proudly served, I was met with chilling silence—they didn't just refuse to help; they refused to acknowledge the case even existed.
The day started innocuously enough. A call from my partner disrupted the morning haze, informing me of new leads related to strange malware attacks compromising personal devices in our local community. Given the nature of my usual caseload—ghastly murders, appalling acts of torture captured on video—I sighed in relief. A 'simple' cyber attack seemed like a vacation in comparison. How devastatingly wrong I was. To be perfectly candid, I now find the brutal honesty of a beheading video less monstrous than the technological horror I've been ensnared by.
As I delved into the malicious code, my eyes widened in disbelief at what unfurled on my screen. The malware generated a file—a seemingly innocuous one—dubbed 'Essence.exe.' Yet, what lurked within that file was neither innocuous nor ordinary. Running the contents through a sandboxed code analyzer, I found it to be a comprehensive digital dossier on its victim, a file so intricately detailed it could only be called a digital 'soul print.' This chilling log delved into aspects of personality, history, and even the victim's physical appearance—like peering into a looking glass that held their entire life.
But the horror didn't stop there. The code led me further down the rabbit hole, guiding me to a specific IP address—a doorway to the ominous netherworld of the Dark Web. I found myself on a black-market bazaar aptly named 'Memory Bazaar,' where these 'Essence' files were traded like the most precious of gems, auctioned off to the highest bidder in a frenzied market of Bitcoin transactions. And what were these files used for? A voyeuristic playground for the wealthy and morally bankrupt, offering them illicit access to 'experience' another person's very existence.
As I explored further, I found that some of these 'Essence' files included live feeds from the victims' webcams and microphones. The comments accompanying these live streams were revolting, painting a tapestry of depravity that made my skin crawl and my heart pound like a drum. A part of me—a naive part—wanted to believe this was all an elaborate hoax, but the depths of evil I felt pulling at me left no room for such comforting delusions.
God, how I wished this was all a sick joke, some macabre fiction spun on the dark fringes of the internet. But reality, I found, can be far darker than any fiction. Unable to ignore the horrendous implications, I took it upon myself to investigate the people connected to these 'Essence' files. What I unearthed shattered my soul. Family members spoke of their loved ones in bewilderment, recounting inexplicable episodes of amnesia, and stranger still, bizarre transformations in personality—almost as if the very core of who they were had been hollowed out.
But the nightmare didn't stop there. A chilling pattern emerged; several victims slipped into mysterious, unexplainable comas, their minds utterly broken. Families were left to grapple with the notion that their loved ones were somehow irrevocably changed during these unsettling episodes of memory loss.
I found myself drawn back to that terrible bazaar on the dark web, compelled to dig deeper into this unfolding tragedy. What I discovered was an abomination beyond comprehension. User reviews and grotesque comments made it chillingly clear: every memory, every emotion extracted and sold, was permanently torn from the victim's psyche. And if too much was taken? Their minds couldn't bear the void. They would collapse into a vegetative state, their identities fractured and auctioned off, piece by agonizing piece. They weren't just victims of a crime; they became empty vessels, their very souls plundered and disseminated across the darkest corners of the internet.
I was paralyzed with horror. This wasn't just identity theft—it was an abomination, a plundering of the human soul, this was SOUL theft. With a trembling hand, I hovered the cursor over the 'Send' button, ready to forward my painstakingly compiled evidence to authorities who might finally take this nightmare seriously. But just as my finger began to descend, the screen blinked into darkness. When it flickered back to life, all my files, all my proof, had vanished, replaced by a lone icon: 'Essence.exe.'
My heart didn't just sink; it plummeted into an abyss, pulling my sanity along with it. I was trapped, ensnared in the very web of malevolence I'd tried to dismantle. But what unnerved me more—what truly sent icy tendrils of dread snaking through me—was the unfathomable idea that someone, somewhere, would soon be auctioning off pieces of me. Would they revel in the adrenaline of being on the front lines of digital forensics? Or would they derive a twisted satisfaction from stumbling upon a darkness so profound that it shook the very foundations of their being?
That was the breaking point. I severed all ties with my career, unplugged myself from the insidious labyrinth that is the digital world, and endeavored to erase my past—though a part of me knew I was still fragmented, my soul auctioned off in the darkest recesses of the web. So now, I pen this cautionary tale as my final act: If you discover 'Essence.exe' lurking within the bowels of your computer system, know that it's irrevocably late. You're no longer just a potential victim of identity theft; you're teetering on the edge of soul obliteration. And for the love of all things sacred, avoid the siren call of 'Memory Bazaar.' Some horrors, once unearthed, become relentless specters, forever stalking the corridors of your mind. Just like they do in mine. | https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17c67ig/why_i_stopped_being_a_digital_forensics/ | nosleep | adamariefox |
false | I'm an ER receptionist. Today I met a patient who scared me. [Part 5] (FINAL) | [Part 1](https://reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/16onxto/im_an_er_receptionist_today_i_met_a_patient_who/)
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/16ry6np/im_an_er_receptionist_today_i_met_a_patient_who/)
[Part 3](https://reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/16t0rk7/im_an_er_receptionist_today_i_met_a_patient_who/)
[Part 4](https://reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/174wq7x/im_an_er_receptionist_today_i_met_a_patient_who/)
Hi. This is Travis. I’m sorry to tell everyone this but Melissa is in a coma. I’m going to tell you what happened. As best I can.
Melissa, and that male nurse, spoke of a squidge. I don’t know what it is but it seems the doctor sold it as an IV. Apparently it was from the dark web? And it supposed to summons an evil demon inside you if you consume it. The more you consume of it, the more evil it will make you.
Peter, my fucking asshole of a kidnapper, has been consuming that stuff for 5 years. Or God knows how long. Last time I had a normal life was 2018. I called Melissa. She asked how I was doing. I said the meds were giving me a headache and I felt strange. She told me to go home from work. suddenly I had this urge to jump out of the window, holler "wee hee yay HO!!" Like a cowboy on crack and run to the beach not far from my work.
I had an appointment about Peter's dad. His dad died in the hospital. He kept coming into my office, claiming triple the amount of life insurance he was entitled to.
He stressed me about it. He said "I’ll show you real hell if you don’t give me my money you dick".
Next thing I know a cloth covers my mouth and I woke ip in that cellar.Have you ever spent five fucking years alone in a fucking cellar? It was utter hell. I don’t remember. I never knew what day it was. What time. I never knew my own name anymore. It felt like a fucking eternity. My only orientation was the sun going up and down. Each day felt like it was never ending. It was one. Single. Fucking. Hell. For 5 years, I had my food given to me through a fucking doorcrack. I am still a wreck.I don’t recognize myself & I still don't understand what happened to me. I aged 40 years. I don’t even know how old I am. Nor WHO I am. All I know is, I’m in Melissa‘s apartment now. I don’t know if she’ll ever wake up. I don't know if she'll ever come back here alive again.The male nurse has moved in with me. I don’t know why. But I couldn’t argue having a nurse near me is helping. He suggested to put me in a ward.
I’m telling you what he wrote down on his notepad.
\- *Melissa will likely never wake up again.*
*She had too much of the squidge.*
*- Sam and I made sure to take all her money if she doesn’t wake up.*
*- Peter needs to die.*
*- Appointment with Sam and Peter at 10am- Plan: I give Peter his "IV", but really we kill him with colchicine"- Then Peter will forever be free of the demons and all the demons die.*
*- every person that took the squidge needs to die. Unless, their dose is small enough to get it out of their system. Then, a proper beating and a nice bloodfest will suffice to get it out.*
The fuck is this. I can't make a rhyme on that. My head is still way too fucked to process things. I can't handle this. I'm done.
————————————————————-\_\_\_\_\_\_
———
​
Hey. Jason here. Travis is out. I quieted him down if you know what I mean. Geesh being a caretaker of a grown ass man baby is exhausting. Bruh. So, I have Melissa's phone now. I took it away from Travis.I gotta quickly finish the story if you want to know the rest.
Alright?
Good.
We ran from the chapel toilet into Melissa's place.
Melissa had travis take a bath and then put him to bed. She couldn’t bear leaving him alone after his major trauma.
Melissa and I tried to plan out the rest. We had to take Peter out but didn’t know how.
Among us: Melissa has kind of been feening for me lately. Hehe. I don’t blame her. But anyways.
We wrote down the notes which the nosey fucker has already told you. (That’ll teach him to stay away from other people’s stuff in the future).
So I will now tell the story.
We made an appointment to kill Peter with colchicine.To clarify: colchicine is used as an antirheumatic. But if you dose too high, it is lethal. We planned on injecting Peter the triple deadly dose.How it went? We (Melissa and I) started our shift as usual. Before, Melissa had to punch me a couple more times to get all the leftover black squidge out of my system.So now, the demon is gone.
Peter returned to the reception and did his usual provocative routine. Melissa played along to distract him, while I convinced Sam to prepare the lethal injection.But Peter was very mad at her for "stealing his precious hotage" - Hence he grabbed the computer keyboard and broke it on her head, instantly knocking her out. Then he vomited the black squidge into Melissa's open mouth. Peter went totally berzerk. He kneeled next to Melissa, made gargling noises, and kept throwing up black shit and his mouth was foaming. His eyes glowed red. I pressed the emergency button for Sam. Sam came. He tried to save Melissa by injecting her with an IV, but realized too late that it was the squidge. So now Melissa's body is overloaded with evil.We don’t know how to get it out of her yet.
Peter kept screaming, gargling and shouting "Dad! Daaaaaaaaad! I want my fucking daaaaaad back!! And I want my doughhhhhh" then Sam gave him a kick in the head, which made Peter even more aggressive. he teared Sam down to the floor with him and tried to strangle him.Sam struggled. His lips were getting blue. I had to do something.Peter yelled so loud that it could bring back the dead. "YOU… YOU… YOU JERK!!!!! KILLED MY FATHER!! YOU TOOK EVERYTHING I HAAAAAD!!!" He strangled and shook Sam around. "HOW DO YOU LIKE THAAAAT? MMMMM-"Sam's eyes were red and watery and he tried to look at me with a pleading face, but I froze. I couldn’t do anything. I just stood and watched. Sam used his legs to kick Peter, then managed to aim for his crotch. Peter flinched, let go of Sam and leg him collapse to the ground. Sam held his throat and squeaked "let me go! Take HER!" , pointing at Melissa. Peter (who seemed to have forgotten about her, pointed at Melissa and continued yelling: "MELISSA!!! YOU BITCH!!! YOU ARE THE CULPRIT!!! YOU - MUST - DIEEEE!!! Aaaaahghggggghhhh…"
It was so loud that security came. They apprehended Peter and took him to the shock room. I was assigned to be his carer. I took the colchicine and injected him with it. Three days later, he was dead.
Travis? I don’t know. He said he had a headache and took a bottle of acetaminophen with him to his room. I haven’t heard from him in like a day. Might check on him later.
Sam doesn’t like Melissa. For whatever reason.Also, I saw him send a message to Melissa the other day. It said "next time, you won’t wake up".
He wanted Peter to take Melissa instead of him to pull himself out of the trouble.But I am fucking done. Alright? This is it. I’m going to quit my job next week. I don’t want to work with an EVIL doctor like Sam anymore. Plenty of hospitals are looking for Staff especially nurses. I am a good nurse. I’m never touching dark web shit again. And I don’t ever want to see Sam again.
I miiiiight just go back to my next shift and use some leftover colchicine on Sam. I’m going to make it look like a suicide. Idgaf. Ok? Yeah. That’ll do. But I’m out.
​
EDIT: I guess what they say is true. Evil people love being in healthcare. But I am not evil. I am a good nurse.
​
PS: I sure hope Melissa does wake up one day. If she doesn’t, then neither do I want to. But… someone else will NOT wake up. I will make sure. This will end the story.
​
Love.
​
\- Jason. | https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17caiao/im_an_er_receptionist_today_i_met_a_patient_who/ | nosleep | Temporary_Month_2492 |
false | I Signed Up for a Mail-Order Bride. She's Been Whispering Awful Things to Me at Night. | Before I get into the meat and potatoes of my situation, I guess I should explain, huh? I bet you have no earthly idea what the hell a mail-order bride even is. Up until a few months ago, I would’ve been just as confused as you are. I wish I’d never found out.
During the pandemic, my job had gone completely remote. At first, it was a welcome change. All my newly acquired free time was like a breath of fresh air. Until it turned sour.
I became a shut-in. I slowly fell out of touch with friends and family. Social events were a no-go. The only time I really left my house was on my weekly trip to the grocery store. The loneliness was killing me. I was browsing the internet one evening, as per usual, when an ad caught my eye.
*World-View Connections. Sick and Tired of Slimy Dating Apps? Sign Up for a Mail-Order Bride! Your Satisfaction is Guaranteed or Your Money Back!*
Hmm. Maybe that was worth looking into. I’d had zero luck on Tinder, unless you count the plethora of bots trying to get me to add their Snapchats. I decided that it was worth a shot. I clicked on the advertisement.
I was getting more and more intrigued the further I read. For a fee, this company would fly me out to meet women whom it deemed a good match for me based on our attributes and interests. Of course, we’d need to hit it off over text or video chat first, which I had no qualms with. Money wasn’t an issue for me, and I could use a vacation. What did I have to lose?
I signed up for the service the next day. I was hooked up with a consultant. Jared seemed pleasant over the phone. It may have been an act, but he seemed like he genuinely wanted to help me find a partner. For the first time in years, it felt like I was making some real progress in my life, even if it was just a start.
I won’t bore you with the details. It took weeks, but eventually, I found a woman who I felt a real spark with. Amelia and I hit it off right away. She was an absolute smoke-show. Blonde hair, blue eyes. The works. I was smitten.
After weeks of nightly video calls, we decided to meet. I was absolutely over the moon. I couldn’t wait to tell Jared the good news. I called him the first chance I got.
“Eli! What’s up, buddy! What can I do for ya today?”
“Hey, Jared. I have some good news. Remember that girl you set me up with a few weeks ago? Amelia?” A smile tugged at the corners of my lips. Just the mere mention of her name was enough to brighten my day.
“Of course! Wait. Don’t tell me. Is this the one?! Like, *the* one?”
“She sure is, man. I think we have a real connection. I’m ready to fly out to Paris to meet her.”
“That is *awesome*! Congratulations, my friend! It’s not a one-hundred percent guarantee that you’re going to tie the knot yet, but in-person dates are the first step. I’m proud of you, E. Just shoot me a text with the days you two want to stay there, and I’ll book you a flight.”
“Thanks, Jared. For everything. You’re a godsend.”
“You got it, buddy! Don’t forget to fill me in on how it goes!”
Amelia and I decided to meet the following week. I had plenty of PTO saved up, so taking off work wasn’t an issue. I was buzzing with excitement. Even if things didn’t pan out, this whole experience felt like such a rush. One that I’d desperately needed. Now, I wish I would’ve stayed home.
I was like a kid in a candy shop the whole day. It was like a veil had been lifted. Colors were more vibrant. Smells were stronger. Food tasted richer. If this was what being in love was, then I didn’t ever want it to end.
The trip to France was a long one. I had multiple connecting flights and by the time I finally landed, I was pooped. I wasn’t going to let that stop me, though. I texted Amelia the moment the plane touched down.
*Hey! I’m in your neck of the woods now. Can’t wait to see you!*
Her response was almost immediate. That was one of the things I liked about her. Amelia was fantastic at communication.
*I’m glad you made it safely! Let me know when you’re all settled into your hotel room and I’ll show you around!*
This was like a dream come true. I was getting to take a trip to Europe *and* meet up with a gorgeous woman? How did I get so lucky?
I took a cab to my hotel and dropped off my things. The bed looked so comfortable. Maybe I could just rest my eyes for a few- no. I’d have plenty of time to sleep later. Amelia was waiting for me.
*I’m all checked in. Ready when you are (:*
*Awesome, I’ll be there in 15! I can’t wait to see you!!*
My heart fluttered. This was really happening. I could hardly contain my jubilation as I sprinted down to the lobby and plopped into a chair. This was it. The moment of truth.
Fifteen minutes came and went. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. When twenty minutes passed by with no text from Amelia, I was starting to get worried. Did I come all this way just to get stood up? My heart plummeted into my stomach. I knew this whole thing seemed too good to be true.
I stood up dejectedly and prepared to return to my room. You ever just want to curl up into a ball and die? Take that feeling, then magnify it by forty, and you’ll feel a fraction of my disappointment. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. One began to trickle down my cheek as I trudged to the elevator. Then I heard it.
“Eli! Over here!”
I whipped around, quickly swiping to tear from my face. There she was. Amelia looked even more beautiful in person. She’d curled her hair, her blue eyes shimmered like the ocean, and her smile was enough to melt my heart. I couldn’t stop a big goofy grin from inching across my lips at the sight of her.
“Amelia! It’s so good to finally meet you!” I said, wrapping her into a tight embrace. She gladly reciprocated. I wished that moment could have lasted forever. When we finally let go, I tried to steady my palpitating heart. Truth be told, that was the first physical contact I’d had with a woman in… well, let’s just say it had been a while.
“So, I heard you need a tour guide,” Amelia giggled.
“Sure do,” I said, shooting her a wink. “After you, m’lady.”
Alright, looking back on it, that was pretty cringe. But she thought it was funny, okay?
Amelia and I had the night of our lives. We had some of the best pasta I’ve tried in my entire life, we rode an open-top double-decker bus around the heart of Paris, and we even kissed under the Eiffel Tower. Cheesy, I know, but I had my love blinders on.
“Amelia, this has been the best first date I’ve ever been on. Tonight has been incredible,” I said on our way to hail a cab. I could feel my cheeks burning bright red.
“Oh, you probably say that to all your girls,” she quipped, lightly punching me on the shoulder.
“You caught me. I’m a real womanizer,” I said, firing a finger gun at her.
Gah, a finger gun? What was I thinking? Never *ever* do that.
“With moves like that, I’m not surprised.”
“You know me. The epitome of cool. So… There's something that I want to ask you, and I don’t really know how to say it without coming off as a weirdo.” She locked eyes with me, a soft yet stern look overtaking her countenance.
“Eli, whatever it is, it’s okay. You can talk to me. What is it you want to ask?”
I smiled. This girl really was perfect.
“Do you want to spend the night with me? Nothing sexual or anything like that, I just. I was wondering. Like, maybe you’d want to cuddle or, um-”
“Yes. I want to.”
I was glad she cut me off. I was stumbling over my words worse than Popeye the sailor man.
We made it back to the hotel and headed straight for my room. I could feel my eyelids drooping. The exhaustion was catching up to me. Amelia and I crawled underneath the covers, and I fell asleep with her snuggled up next to me. I couldn’t imagine a more perfect end to such an amazing night.
I awoke to a pitch-black room. My eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness, the static slowly clearing from my vision. I tried to move my head. But I couldn’t. Dread swallowed me like an anaconda. I had sleep paralysis.
My eyes darted rapidly around the room. I took a deep breath. I needed to calm down. Everything was fine.
I began to assess my situation. I could feel the weight of Amelia’s slender body pressed against my chest. That worked to ease my mind. I was glad she was there. Just as I closed my eyes and started to drift back to sleep, Amelia shifted. She repositioned herself close to my ear and started to whisper.
“I’m going to… kill you.”
“I want to… skin you alive.”
“I’m going to…snap your neck.”
My heart began thumping furiously against my chest. What the hell was I listening to? The girl of my dreams was murmuring the nastiest, most vile things I could imagine, and I couldn’t do a thing about it. I could tell that she was still asleep by the light rise and fall of her chest and the wispy, dream-like tone of her voice. But what if she was faking it?
I couldn’t be sure. I was forced to lie there, paralyzed, listening to those horrible words spewing from her mouth like venom. There was no way I’d be able to get back to sleep with that. But eventually, I must have.
I hesitantly opened my eyes. My ears were instantly assaulted with an awful barrage of… humming? Actually, it didn’t sound awful at all. I was kind of enchanting, actually.
I sat up in bed. Amelia was standing at the other end of the room in a bathrobe. Her hair was up in a towel and she was brewing a pot of coffee. So, last night… Did I make all that up? Was it just the sleep paralysis playing tricks on me? I wasn’t sure that I wanted to know the answer.
“Good morning,” Amelia giggled, snapping me from my stupor.
“Morning,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “How’d you sleep?”
“Like a rock. You’re so comfortable that I was out like a light the moment I sank into your chest. What about you?”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Um, I slept fine. This might sound like a strange question, but…”
“But what? Hit me with it.”
“Do you ever talk in your sleep?”
She paused, mulling it over. “Nope, no one’s ever told me that. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no reason. Just forget I said anything. I think I just had a weird dream.”
She shrugged, turning back to the steaming pot of coffee in front of her. Maybe I *had* imagined the whole thing. I’ve heard some strange stories about sleep paralysis, after all. Whatever the case, I made a mental note to keep my guard up.
The rest of the day was a breeze. We visited the Louvre, chowed down on baguettes, and ended our romantic evening with a wine tasting. It felt like a dream. All the terror I’d felt from the night before had been pushed right out of my mind… Until bedtime rolled around.
That evening, I again found myself lying with Amelia watching some corny show that I didn’t care to pay attention to. I tried to stay up just a little bit longer to observe Amelia’s behavior, but I was exhausted. I still hadn’t caught up on sleep from the flight and it was really taking a toll.
I didn’t even remember drifting off. But I suddenly found myself staring up at the ceiling. Everything was dark, save for the faint glow of the television screen. I began to hyperventilate. This couldn’t be happening. Not again.
My eyes frantically darted around the room - or, the ceiling, I guess I should say. I couldn’t believe that I was having sleep paralysis for a second night straight. I mean, what are the odds of that? I’d never had that issue before. Just as the thought crossed my mind, I heard it. Whispering.
This time, the words were clearer. They were more malicious; somehow more heinous than the night before. And I was absolutely terrified.
“I hate you. I want you dead.”
“I’m going to slit your throat. I want you to suffer.”
“I’m going to chop you up into little pieces and feed you to the pigs.”
I wanted to fight. To run. To scream. But I could do none of that. I was trapped. I don’t know how long I endured that torment. My persecutor was relentless. She just wouldn’t let up.
Whether I passed out from exhaustion or fear, I have no clue. But when I did wake up, Amelia was humming that same familiar tune.
I hesitantly pried open my eyes, half-expecting to find some twisted, evil figure standing at the foot of my bed. But that’s not what I saw. Amelia was sitting on the edge of the bed… just staring at the wall.
What should I do? Was she waiting for me to wake up so she could torture me or something?
I'm terrified. I'm typing this on my phone, praying that she hasn't noticed me. Any advice would be greatly appreciated. Because I can't fathom the amount of suffering that I'm going to endure if Amelia decides to act on her nightly [urges.](https://www.reddit.com/r/HorrorJunkie123/)
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17cnev5/i_signed_up_for_a_mail_order_bride_things_have/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
​ | https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17bupyr/i_signed_up_for_a_mailorder_bride_shes_been/ | nosleep | HorrorJunkie123 |
false | The hidden pit hidden in the church of Koroibos | Given the name of the title, I was a devoted sorcerer of the Koroibos. Why I say 'Was'? This story will explain to you the reason I abandon the faith of Koroibos.
In the beginning, Koroibos created the universe, then the world, then us. In time, us humans have well adapted to the spiritual life. Humans have abandoned the lord Koroibos, which led to their fall unto Earth. Koroibos denies us from entering heaven, the kingdom to which will be our end. Soon, he grew pity upon us as we fear the world. He gave us a religion to connect with Koroibos. And so, begins an indestructible society, where humans have spiritual connections and gain powers of an angel. He once again allowed us to enter heaven. He too has granted us gifts to live upon society, but that is only the beginning of a new evil.
Many humans have rebelled against Koroibos. Using their own witchcraft and powers to murder the innocents and take their souls as energy. So, the faith of Koroibos are forced to fight and destroy the enemies of Koroibos, beginning a never ending war (The Rebel War). Many have spilled blood of their enemies, leaving every soldier to suffer a terrible nightmare. I cannot describe this nightmare, for it is terrible and will leave us sleepless.
The wars have not yet ended, even to this day. The men, women, and children of the faith of Koroibos never feared a terrible death, for Koroibos will protect and aid us from evil. For Koroibos is the one and only god.
Our society has been developing faster than ever, allowing us to do many things like never before. A new set of technology that can communicate from very distant areas, a variety of transportation, weaponry, homes, facilities, and many more. Yet, the enemy too have developed fast. How interesting and terrifying to realize they are catching up to our levels of power and intelligence.
When I was born, I was blessed with a gift to wield the powers of the galaxy, to which god chose me to wield. In years of studying and creating, I have encountered many of my own mistakes. Even though I repeatedly create mistakes, that does not mean I ignore nor forget them. I studied my mistakes, and I grow from them. Even when I am behind other sorcerers, I still stand to improve my abilities. They do not see me as their own, for they see me as a failure to the faith, you see.
Us sorcerers must attend to the church every day, for it is sacred and we must appear before the lord. The interior of the church always has a fountain at the centre, to display the beauty before the world. The sun light glitters stars upon the water. Flashing its holy light upon our eyes. I wished I could taste this water, but I am prohibited to thirst for it, for it must not be touched by the flesh.
Tall towering statues circled around the interior of the church, displayed near the walls. The statues are the heroes of the faith, who fought for the innocent, but also strongly capable of fighting an army on their own. It admires me so much. The most I admired was my teacher, Mother Malka, a great mighty sorceress who can annihilate on billions of powerful enemies. Her signature cast is the fallen angels; showering dozens of bright angels down unto the enemies, annihilating them with just one impact. She too is a great healer, the healer of God.
Before entering the church, a stranger approached me. He wore a dark dirt jacket, with a bright opal strap around from his left shoulder to his right hip. He wore dark blue pants I never seen anyone wear. And his caramel boots are strapped with black straps around the shaft. "Hey. What's this place?" His accent and use of language is alien to me, with a kinder smile. I would guess he's in his 20s. You will wonder how I am able to write what he said and how I wrote this language. Later, you will understand.
I do not know how to respond, for I do not understand. I said nothing, nor gesture. I just stand where I stand. In front of the church doors.
In a few seconds, he again asked. "So.... Is this like a church or something? I gotta be honest, this place kinda gives me the creeps."
Till the doors of the church opened, we are greeted by the priest. He wore a grand bright cloak, with a sacred cross strapped to his chest; a symbol of the faith. "Come in, sorcerers. The lord awaits us." I followed my colleagues into the church, leaving the stranger outside alone.
Every one of my colleagues wore the same uniform as mine. A dark black coat, with a pearl-coloured cross strapped on the chest. A short silky cape that floats of dreams. A dark ocean-coloured sweat pants, with a rose-coloured waist sash that adds to our dignity. And strong boots that matches the pants colour. Our necklace's holds a silver cross that dignifies our levels as sorcerers. That, which meant we are at the middle ranks.
As we stand by the fountain, A woman stepped out of the door in front of us. It was Mother Malka, wearing a pure holy white cloak, with a golden waist band that dignifies her ranks. Her face shined by the light of the sun. How pure and holy she looked before me.
"Today, we will sing us a sacred song to the lord. For we shall present our mornings with joy and holiness." Her lips moved so delicately when she speaks. Her voice echoed a holy sentence that comforts my soul.
After the song has ended, the light of the sun shines greatly upon the church, lighting the entire interior into a heavenly world. This means that God is pleased. A pure warmth clothed my heart, which made me smile and gaze upon the windowed ceiling, displaying the beautiful healthy bright sky.
"Now everyone, return to our class and start studying. We must not delay our progress." We begin to leave the church, gracefully. But I was stopped when my teacher lay her hand on my shoulder. "Dear Thomas Emery."
I turned to her, face to face. Her face made my heart pump with such admiration. I indeed wanted to be just like her. To be the greatest sorcerer and defender of our society. "Yes, Mother Malka?"
"Will you stay here for the night?" I do not understand why she asks me to stay in the night without studying. Does that mean she is testing me? Or is she expelling me from class?! "Mother Malka? Have I done something to upset you?"
She smiled and replied. "No, Thomas Emery. You have done nothing wrong. I just wanted you to stay here for the night. You will wait for my return and we will have a talk. Can you do that for me?" I am relieved to hear that. But I question. Why in the night? Does this mean she will teach me her secrets? Or is it something else? I cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong. Without questioning, I answered. "Of course, Mother Malka. I will await for you tonight."
And so, I am left alone in the church. The light of the sun narrows to the fountain, and so I sat with it.
From day to night, I have done nothing but gaze upon the statues. They looked royal and strong, holding their dignity with their history. The water reflected my image when I lay my eyes upon it. My eyes shared with the clouds of the galaxy. My long milky white hair dangles like curtains of a wedding. Looking at myself, I see struggle and confusion. I wondered what is beyond our world. I know there is heaven, but what is beyond heaven? That question leaves me to think for the rest of the hours.
As the moon rises upon the church, my eyes begin to close. I do not know how long I've been asleep. Until suddenly, the sound of weeping echoed amongst the church. Hearing the weeping from the ground made my heart sank. Not saddening. Disturbing.
I jolted awake from my boredom slumber. I looked around to see nothing. There was no one in sight. Upon seeing the statues, my instincts went high alert. They looked menacing, filled with darkness. I do not understand. Why must this happen? And where is that weeping coming from.
"Hello? Do you need help?" I asked, but no one answered. The weeping still lingers as I investigate around the church. I suddenly got this hint: If I walk to the entrance door, the weeping will be more silent. I circled around the fountain, trying to find any clues as to where it was.
To my fear, I realized, it was coming from below the fountain. I had this urge to call for help, but something about it makes me wonder. What is or who is weeping below this church? Did Mother Malka orchestrate this? Or is it something I cannot deem to question?
I raised my hands, readying myself to move the fountain. I understand that sorcery will be complicated for you. I do not mean by 'you do not know how it would look like' or 'you will not know how it works'. I trust that you would understand them. What I mean is how it works and feels from our souls. Our souls are a powerful structure, capable of doing anything. But the flesh prohibits us from our true potential. The soul is how we live, to have life. It is not that I am born with powers. It is that God removed parts of my flesh before I was born: In order to allow me to do sorcery.
You see, the flesh prohibits many of our special opportunities. We will not be able to comprehend what is beyond the flesh, for it will annihilate us into a puddle of blood.
Upon my hand, a bright axis blue sigil appeared upon my palm. I felt my soul attaching to the fountain as I move my hand slightly to the left. Truly, it is heavy as a boulder. I do not know how to explain this clearly to you all. I would say it is like cupping the waters with your palm. Each cast gives you a different water. One will be warm. Another will be cold. Then another will be too cold or too hot. And another will be painful. The painful will be like tasting poison or lava, and you will have to endure that pain. For if not, you will fail to cast.
This cast is no problem, for it felt like warm water within my soul's cupped hands. To my shock, a dark pit is revealed. I cannot believe it myself; I tell you. What sorts of mysteries lies beneath that pit? It seems the more I look deeper into the pit, the more I begin to fear. But I dare to know what secrets lay in the pit, and who is the one weeping.
We do not have stories about anything secretive in our society. The reason will be told in the end. You will understand, I trust you.
I float down into the pit, with a bright orange flame held on my palm. The cast's water is warm to my soul's cupped hands. Floating down into the pit, I felt like I have been going down for hours. How deep is this pit, truly? I do not know. Once I lay my foot on the floor, I began to walk deeper into the tunnel of the pit. The weeping echoed the tunnel, a terrible fear striking my breathe.
My journey into the pit has been rather troublesome and confusing. I would find carvings on the walls that do not make sense. Just what are these dark figures? They have horns on their heads, with eyes that blaze of hatred. Their faces are contorted into a mess of unholiness. Each of them have different shapes, colours, and sizes, depicting them as evil. I do not know what these are. And perhaps, maybe at the end of the pit, there'll be answers to this mystery.
What bothers me most is the last figure I see near the end of the pit. It was a tall centipede like creature, with a torso of a human. Its arms flails around, demanding for.... what? And its face is not like any other face I have seen in my life. Its eight eyes circled on its empty overshadowed face. The features of the eyes were realistically eerie, as if they were alive. It seems enraged. But why?
I dare not to look at it for too long. I begin to have these imaginations. Many are the faces of evil, with stretched smiles that defies everything in our reality. Their eyes sunken deep into their hollow sockets, distant from the light and hungry for our life. I do not seem to have imagine their teeth. In their mouths were nothing but the void. What truly terrifies to my soul is that they were ancient. I trust you understand this. And if not, please continue.
I heard a single footstep echo behind me. I immediately turned to see nothing but darkness. No light. Nothing. But I still couldn't push away the feeling that I'm not alone here. It is not god nor the people. It is something sinister.
Throughout my undergoing discovery, I realize the more I go deeper, the more feelings of fear crept into my soul. I have never felt this in my life. It left me alienated, as if I am in a different world.
Until, at the end of the hall was a rotten wooden door. The door, it holds something I cannot shake off. The weeping became worse, clear to hear in my ears from behind the door. I should be infuriated, yet fear and confusion overwhelms my senses. I have felt true terror as I stared, dumbfounded. This is a prison. But for what? And what lies behind that prison?
My mind demands me to leave and never speak of this. But for some reason, my soul demands to see the truth. To see what secrets lie behind The Faith of Koroibos.
With a single touch on the metal doorknob with my fingertip, a jolt of terror hits my body and soul. This terror made me retract my hand quickly like never before. "What is this?" I whispered beneath my breath.
I hesitated before touching the doorknob once again. This time, I did not hold back. That terror, it was not like anything I've ever felt. It was mixed with pain, terror, insanity, confusion, fear, madness, and many words I couldn't understand. The terror was suffocating my entire body, mind, and soul. Such terrible terror has existed that I question god's doings. Has he created this?
Twisting the door knob, the door opens. I immediately released my hand away from the doorknob for the sake of my sanity. I held my flame near my palm to see no scar. I felt something slide from beneath my nose. With a touch of my finger, I felt something wet. When I held my finger in front of me, I realized then that I was bleeding. I checked beneath my eyes to find drips of blood. What is this? Truly. And why did it exist?
When I saw what's behind the door, I became frozen to the core. The weeping had stopped, leaving only the cold dead silence of the void. Before me was another form of the interior of the church, but opposite. The towering statues are entities I never knew existed. They had this energy that can be described in one word. Evil.
At the centre was a well, eerily waiting for me to see what's inside. I started walking into the dark room. The ceiling above me was a mural of ancient history. The same figures from the hall are displayed upon the mural. They were beating on the humans. No, not beating. Torturing. And then, I saw a familiar figure. It was God.
I fell to a deep confusion as I stare at the mural over and over. I do not understand. What is this supposed to tell. Was there an evil we have not yet known? Is this our future?
"My dear Thomas Emery." That voice. I wish I never knew, but it was too late. I turned around to see Mother Malka, standing by the door, with the innocent smile on her face. She is a part of this mystery. This terrifying discovery. Was she hoping I would come here? But why?
"Mother Malka?! What is this?!" I can hear my own voice tremble as I asked. She raised her arms open and spoke. "This is what god has been hiding from the world, my dear Thomas Emery."
"What?! But why must hide this secret?! Why has God created this?!" I stepped back, only to be bumped by the well behind me. She stepped forward, embracing the darkness around her.
"Oh, dear Thomas Emery. You must understand. This is to make sure all humans will continue the cycle."
"What cycle?"
She grew a wide smile I've never seen her express before. It was as if she's overjoyed for the first time, and that terrified me.
"For many years, humans have been at war endlessly. The reason why the rebellion exist is because god made it happen."
"But that cannot be?"
"God separated every human on earth apart, creating the 2 nations. One is here, where we are all gifted with the power of his angels. And the other is being governed by Koroibos's right hand. God gave message through his angels to our nation, a message that there is a rebellion. The rebellion too are told by their governor about the existence of our land. They both found each other, and started the never-ending war.
"Even though billions have died, more have been birthed, continuing the war. Birth, war, death. A cycle that will never end."
Every word she spoke left me speechless. I could not let out a word.
"You must have heard that humans are able to return to heaven once again, correct?"
"Yes."
"That is entirely untrue. Heaven only belongs to he himself and his Seraphims. Heaven does not belong to us."
My heart shattered to bits, listening to what might truly be the truth. "Then, where else must we go?"
Her smile faded. Her eyes looked down to the ground. Could I have imagined she was looking down below the ground itself? Was she able to see what is beyond the pit?
"After death, we will be forced to go to Sheol. A plane where the souls will slowly forget their life and functions. Thus, their suffering begins when they forget everything. Screaming for air or life. It is neither. For they have forgotten to exist. They will live in constant confusion and fear, unaware of their existence."
I can feel my eyes widen, with the realization of terror unto death. "There must be a plane for salvation?!"
"Unfortunately, no. There are more alike. Stygia, Hades, and Heaven."
"I do not understand?! How must Heaven be connected to this?!"
"Oh, dear Thomas Emery. Heaven is only but a word to comfort the minds. It is not truly the heaven they interpret."
"Then what is heaven? And what are the other worlds?"
"Heaven is the throne of the one and only true god. To go to heaven will be a test. To see if they are worthy to be his disciples. But if not worthy, they will be sent to be recycled."
"And what is to be recycled?"
"To be reborn again. And again. And again. Until they finally submit to God. If not, they will suffer before rebirth.
"And the other worlds. Well, they are where the souls are forced to suffer for eternity. Their screams, pain, cries, laughter, they are the energy source to strengthen us angels to become the strongest warriors. That is the reason the war must continue, to become the dominant society of the universe. And do not worry, your powers do not come from them. You are something much more, my Dear Thomas Emery."
She stepped closer, much closer to me. Only a foot away perhaps. Her eyes locked to mine, freezing me from escaping. Her eyes radiate such heavenly glow, yet there is something dark within them.
I dare to say a word, but my voice was caught in my throat. Behind me, the sound of cracking bones echoes from the void of the well. I can feel its weeping growing behind my back, this time it is more terrifying than before. My muscles couldn't shake off my frozen state.
"What do you mean?" I muttered.
She cupped her warm-eerie hands upon my cheek, with a smile that triggered something in my mind. It is as if I knew this in the oldest of times. "You create the mistakes to experience the greatness of your journey. Without failure, without mistakes, there is no fulfilment nor experience. You have made mistakes and yet you still stand to achieve your values. That's why you're more than just a sorcerer.
"It is true you are not like any other sorcerer. They always succeeded without mistakes. And they never learn the true meaning of mistakes. They will not achieve their greatness. Instead, they achieve nothing."
"What do you want?" I muttered.
"I want you. To be my apprentice. What you're always meant to be since the beginning." I wished she said this elsewhere than here. If I've never found out the pit has existed, she would've told me differently. Instead, here, I am confronted by a terrible truth. If I am to be her, I'll have to accept this fate and become the enemy we never realized.
"No. I'm sorry, but no. I..." She shooshed me before I could say another word. Now, the weeping is close. Too close to me. A towering slithering figure overshadows us. The sound of cracking bones and mushing flesh sends my mind to a state of wild imaginations. I imagined its face in the darkness, with its eyes staring hungrily at my soul. The smell of rotten flesh twists my stomach to puke. When I looked at the shadow, its shape triggered a sense of familiarity upon my memory. Similar to the last figure of the painting. My voice box could not utter a word as the figure towers over us.
Mother Malka creeps into my ears and whispered. "Do not be afraid." And with that, the thing behind me shrieked ear piercingly loud that my ears begin to ring. At the corner of my eyes, digits of fingers start to wrap around me. A rain of wet oozing blood dripped on my head.
I never thought about my death. Never have I think about it. It seems that the concepts of death to others is rather distant, as if it is considered as an offense. Death can come in different ways. Peace, fear, self-hatred, unfortunate, pain, insanity. What happens after being consumed by something I do not understand? I do not know.
I never wanted this to be my end. But here I am. Being consumed by something terrifying. I dare to scream out loud, yet I could not. I wished I never come here, to never remember nor learn of this.
Then, something unexpected happened.
A beam of light darted at the creature behind me. It screamed in agonizing pain that broke me free from my frozen state. I realized I haven't breathed for so long that I took a deep breath. "What is this!!" Mother Malka yelled out. I looked to see the same man I encountered outside of the church.
He raised his hands forward, which calls for whatever weapon he threw at the creature. Until the weapon returns to his hands like thunder, I see what appears to be a spear like nothing the world has ever seen. He threw it again, the same beam of light thunders against Mother Malka. Her body sent flying backwards with the spear in such a thunderous speed.
"RUN!!" I immediately ran without hesitation. I dare not to look back, for if I slow down and get caught by its spindly arms. I do not need to turn back to know Mother Malka is still alive, for her laughter is enough.
As we both ran, behind us, I can hear the spindly legs of that creature pursuing us. How awful they sounded. It is as if I was in purgatory filled with violent warriors in the darkness without light.
When I looked at the walls, the paintings of the figures are different, much grotesque and nightmarish, same as the nightmarish imaginations I've been having. The many senses of fear, confusion, insanity, all are beginning to pull my soul apart. It is as if I was being tortured by the terror indescribable. Yet I still ran with endurance. It was survival.
At the corner of my eye, the stranger threw another spear to the ground. I don't recall him calling back his spear, but it seems he had another one. When we passed the spear, the creature's arms wrapped around me and started pulling me away. But suddenly a blinding flash of electricity emitted from the spear, stabbing into the creature which released me from its grasp.
Finally, we arrived at the start of my journey. I couldn't tell you how much I wanted to be in the light. I started flying up to the light when the creature screeched again. I looked down to see the stranger had disappeared, nowhere to be seen in the dark pit.
The light is getting closer as I reach it with my hands raised up towards it. In such shocking disbelief, above the edge of the pit, the stranger already escaped. He looked down at me, reaching his hands for me. His voice echoed through the pit. "Come on!! You're almost there!!"
Finally, I see the clear moonlight gaze upon my soul. I begin to reach for the stranger's hand. Without my knowing, a hand grabbed tight to my leg that I yelped. The creature was there, now pulling me down with all of its spiderly fingers. It screeches for my return, to return to my fate it has chosen for me.
I have never screamed in my life, but now, this is my first. It was this scream I've never thought I ever have in my soul. The stranger caught my arm and started pulling me back up. Both the creature and the stranger tug with such strength. I believe in the stranger, but the creature slowly gets the upper hand.
While the creature screeched, another voice came from above. The screech made the voice unclear for me to hear. "Rishika, Help me!!" As he yelled, sweat begins to pour out of his hands. My hands too are sweating. I can't tell you how much I am terrified at this moment. To slowly slip away from someone's hands into the deep dark pit, full of indescribable nightmares not able to comprehend.
Its hands are crawling to my face, they're terribly cold to the touch of my skin. Is this how cold it is in the void? Timeless, hopeless, mindless? I dare not know.
Another stranger appeared at the edge, pointing down a sharp long object never have imagined before. A bright sharp explosion came out of the tip of the weapon. Whatever it was, it zoomed passed me and made impact at the creature, which makes it release my grip and fall back into the pit.
I cannot believe what I have just endured.
The stranger pulled me out of the pit. He let go of my hand and lie on the ground with both arms spread out. "Thank god! We're alright." He breathed deeply while looking up to the moon. The moonlight became so beautiful to my eyes, much beautiful than before.
I took deep breaths of my own, taking in what I have experienced from my journey. "Thank you." I thought they would not understand, for they do not know the language. "Yeah. Your said it buddy." His breath still deep, regaining his comfort of his lungs.
I turned to look to another stranger, a woman wearing a caramel coat, with obelisk buttons aligned from top to bottom right. She wears void-coloured pants with a bell-like shape at the knees. The moonlight shined on her dark brown hair. When I looked at her eyes, the pupils turned and shifted, as if they were telescopes. She was staring into the void, looking for any sign of the creature.
She turned to face me with a warm smile. "Hey, you're going to be alright. It's not going to come back up again. I'm sure. My name is Rishika Belmont, and the man who saved your life, Geralt Chou." She was speaking in my language.
"Thank you, both of you. But we don't have much time. The world, everyone must be saved. We have to stop the war."
"We know. That's why we came here." Geralt said, as if he understood what I said.
"This is only the beginning. We don't know what they're planning yet. But we do know it's not going to be good." When I lay my back against the floor, the overwhelming sensation shock my whole body to a relaxation. Such a delicate sensation is it not? Lying in bed and drift into rest, a reward you've earned after all of your effort. To me now, the knowledge I have learned keeps me awake. What if that creature comes back? If it can leave the pit, why hasn't it done it yet?
Instead of staying in the church, we sat outside, watching the horizon. A bright sharp line of warm light coloured the surface of the land. I swear to you, I thought I saw the tormented souls rising up from the horizon. Their shadowy silhouettes flailing around, the wheats blown by the terrible wind near the ocean.
I can't believe it. My whole entire life was led to a lie. We, everyone, we've been taking part of this performance since the beginning. God didn't create us to be free and joyful. He created us as multiplying resources. Our souls are their power to consume and use it for....what? God and his disciples manipulated everyone into bloodshed for eternity. It is as if Koroibos and his right hand, whoever it is, created us as puppets for their amusement. To feed entertainment in their hunger.
Who was I going to be if I was to be consumed by that creature? Was I reincarnated to join God to conquer the world? To be a part of his disciples and feed the innocent on a rich dining table? Who was I before now? My past self, before rebirth, I have denied God since the beginning, the same reason I have now. I wish I was born different, never to be born here. But I am trapped in an endless cycle.
"Well, I'm terrified. We should head back home now." Geralt stood up with his hand in the pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a small model disc with 4 small rose-coloured buttons, aligned in a diamond shape. He pressed the button at the top side, a bell rang once upon that push. Shockingly, a bright oval shaped hole appeared in front of him.
"Hey. Who are you?" I turned my head to the left to face Rishika with hands on her hips. Her smile closely matched to Mother Malka's - except it the complete opposite. A smile with the quality of pure heart.
"I am Thomas Emery."
"We already know your name. I mean, 'Who are *You*?" It is shocking to know they know my name. But the question is more overwhelming. I looked to the rising fireball from the horizon. I am a sorcerer. But is that all I am? Just a sorcerer? Now my admiration was shattered, I come to a realization of myself. Such a unique question, yet I know not my answer. "I'm.... I do not know? Who.... But I am a sorcerer? Is that all who I am?"
Rishika's gloved right hand reached out to me, offering me some sort of choice. I look up to see the same smile. I stared at her baffled, until she broke silence. "Well, you coming or what?" This question was connected to a choice I must decide- a choice to change my life or to stay trapped with no power to be free.
I answered without word- taking her offer. "Well, looks like we got another member of the team. Welcome aboard, Tom." Geralt said. He stepped into the oval, disappearing from sights eyes. Nobody was here other than Rishika and myself. She pulled me up and she walked into the oval, disappearing.
Before I stepped into the portal, I turned to face Mother Malka, glaring at me. I froze, locked eyes with the disciple of God. "I will see you again, my dear Thomas Emery." Her whisper reached to my ears, sending chills coursing through my soul. I understand I cannot run away, but I can do more in this life.
I turned away and walked into the oval.
\-
This will be the end to my story, for now at least.
I've been going through terrifying missions with the team, but in those times, I get to visit extraordinary worlds. Unlike where I was born, nobody seems to have a god to depend on.
I've been a part of the team for 3 years, an experience I never thought would be given. Every world we visit blew my mind, watching the bright contrast of the fireworks. Over time, my soul begins to grow exponentially. It was shockingly exhilarating I tell you.
I heard news about entities going missing, even the sleeping man [Darwin Michigan](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/13s6hmh/theres_a_universe_where_earth_is_filled_with/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) was after. And these entities come from different worlds. This could mean that someone stronger is using them... But for what? What bothers me is the guesses I have in my mind. Mother Malka is a part of this, could she? What else have she not told me about?
These questions will not be answered easily.
Before I end this, I want to tell you this. In some nights, when I fall asleep, I dream I was back at the hideous well again. Sometimes, I see the dark silhouette of the slithering creature rise from the well. I hear terrible whispers in my ear, demanding for my return. And sometimes, I saw Mother Malka rising from the well. And her smile stretched wider to the corners of her ears, revealing nothing but darkness within. I wake up with sweat over my head. And in some cases, I saw a shadowy figure dash away from my sight as if it was being pulled by a terrifying force.
I tried to forget about it, but it keeps returning no matter what.
One night, I received a papyrus letter I woke up to from my nightmare. This is what it said.
***You will soon embrace your destiny, for when the time comes, all will surrender to Koroibos, the one and only god.***
​
​ | https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17ca3ml/the_hidden_pit_hidden_in_the_church_of_koroibos/ | nosleep | Plushytoonz |
false | Appalachian Grandpa- Night Knockers | https://www.reddit.com/r/Erutious/comments/16b5fbh/appalachian_grandpa_stories_grandpas_teacher/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3
https://www.reddit.com/r/Erutious/comments/15c02ap/appalachian_grandpa_tales_faye_music/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3
This year we had a rare treat for Halloween.
Instead of a white Christmas, we had a white October thirty-first instead.
Three days before Halloween, the region had a terrible blizzard roll through, covering everything in an early-season snow. It did little to dampen the spirits of the Trick or Treaters, though we definitely saw more costumes with thick pants and coats than usual. Grandpa and I sat bundled up on the front porch, passing out candy as we always did, and Gramps was in high spirits indeed. He had finally kicked the cough he had kept him down most of the summer, and as I watched him handing out sweets, I hoped he wasn’t about to have a flare-up again. We still had plenty of the stuff they gave us for the breathing machine, but getting him to take it was like pulling teeth.
He noticed me watching him, and rolled his eyes, “Don’t worry, son. If I start feeling peaky I’ll go inside. Let me have my fun. Who knows how many more Halloweens an old man like me has in him.”
He smiled as he said it, turning back to fill the bags of the shivering kids with treats, but we both knew there was honest dread beneath the words.
There would, indeed, come a day when there was no Grandpa to fill the bags of the kiddos with the best the Walmart candy aisle had to offer, and I kind of hoped I wouldn’t be around to see that day either.
This place just wouldn’t be the same without Grandpa to make it home.
The moon was round and full as it shone over the porch, and as the last of the trick-or-treaters crunched through the snow, we headed back inside with decidedly empty bowls.
“Not bad for a snowbound Halloween,” Grandpa commented, pouring the last of the candy into the bowl by the door that he kept for guests.
“I was surprised that so many came out,” I commented, locking the door and running the chain, “I thought for sure that the snow would keep them away.”
“Not a chance,” Grandpa laughed, the toilet flushing as he finished his business, “Mountain kids wouldn’t miss out on free candy for anything. They’ve got too much Halloween spirit for that.”
I had turned to agree with him when a slow and ominous knock swung me back towards the door. It seemed odd, that knock, though I couldn't have told you why. It wasn't the quick and happy knock of a late-night treater. It wasn't the knock you heard from a kid at all. This was the slow and ominous drone of thick knuckles on wood, the low pounding of someone who hadn't had a good night's sleep in years. I looked through the frosted glass on the front door, but the knocker was a hazy outline in the semi-opaque screen.
It was adult-sized and man-shaped, but even looking at it made me shudder.
The posture reminded me of a corpse, and despite my internal radar pinging like a fish finder, I found I was still reaching for the knob.
My numb fingers had reached for the chain when those knuckles dropped lazily against the door again.
At long last it hit me as the chain slid sideways, the metal scraping eerily, what those bones sounded like as they rattled the door.
I had never heard the noise before, but it had to be an exact match.
I tried to resist the pull of courtesy, the draw of hospitality that came from a lifetime with my parents, fore my better judgment knew that something terrible lay on the other side of that door, and it would be better to leave it cold and the snow.
The rapping of those knuckles sounded like fingers drumming on a coffin lid, and I knew without a doubt that this visitor was not of this world.
Grandpa caught me by the wrist as my hand closed around the nob, and I was very glad he had.
"Don't open that door, boor. That's not a guest we want in here."
The knock came a third time as we stood deliberating it, and when it turned slowly from the door and walked away, I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Don't celebrate yet," Grandpa said, putting the chain back up and drawing me away from the door, "It's only just begun now."
"What it is?" I asked, not even asking how he'd known it was malicious. That had been no straggling Trick or Treater. I had felt it through the door, but still I had felt obligated to offer it hospitality. When someone knocked, after all, and especially when it was cold out, you let them in. It was polite, if not a little foolish on my part.
"A night knocker," Grandpa said, "They usually only come on snowy winter nights, but I suppose a restless spirit on Halloween is fitting somehow."
"Night Knocker?" I asked, jumping a little as a new knock came from the backdoor. Through the glass, I could see the shadowy figure lurking, and the light from inside the house did little to illuminate him. He raised his hand to knock a second time, and the glass shivered under the bony tonk tonk tonk of his gnarled old fist.
"Wandering spirits who try to gain entry into a home. Night Knocking used to be a profession of sorts, or so I've heard, and I imagine that more than one of them has likely tricked their way into a home that's used to answering a deputy checking for unlocked storefronts. They used to work for the sheriff in rural areas, checking doors and locking up behind forgetful shopkeepers, but these fellows are a little less altruistic."
It finished its third knock while we were gabbing and I heard it move off across the back porch and towards the woods.
"It's not done yet, boy," Grandpa said, taking the kettle from the sink and, as if he had conjured it, the thing tapped on the window in the living room hard enough to rattle the frame.
"You've encountered them before then?" I asked, turning to look in the direction of the knocking.
"A few times. They aren't very common, but they appear now and again. Don't pay them any mind, boy. If they think you're scared of them, they tend to stick around longer."
He added hot cocoa to the kettle, along with milk and some cinnamon, and put it on the stove as he switched the burner on.
"Grandma told me about them when I was younger, said they gave her a real fright when she was around my age. Have I ever told you that story?" he asked, grinning as he slid me a chair, "I suppose I haven't, or you would have known what the night knockers were. It appears we have some time for a story if you'd like to hear it."
I nodded, watching as Grandpa stirred some honey into the pot and poured us each a cup full as the contents began to bubble. The knocker had moved onto the front porch again, tapping at windows with its stony old knuckles, and as he moved around the house to find more windows within reach, Grandpa took a testing sip of his hot chocolate. I found mine to be perfect, not too sweet but not too hot, but Grandpa must not have approved of his. He took another spoon of the mix and stirred it in, smacking his lips as he tasted this time.
"Perfect, now, where was I? Oh, yes, it was a night much like this, and I was staying with Grandma during a frosty January Blizard.
My parents had gone out of town, a sort of second honeymoon for their eleventh wedding anniversary, and Grandma and I were spending a month together in her little cabin. A storm had blown up about a week after my parents left, and by the second week, we were well and snowed in. Why they had decided to take a trip right after Christmas was beyond me, but school was canceled and it was just Grandma and I on our own. She had laid in food for the winter like she always did, and we were eating stew and fresh bread when a knock came on the door.
It wasn't the knock of a normal person.
It was slow and rhythmic like someone just letting their fingers fall against the wood.
I didn't know how anyone could be out in weather like this, but as I rose to answer the door, Grandma stopped me.
"Don't," she said, getting up to check the lock before closing the curtains on the windows.
"But what if it's someone who needs help?" I asked, worried they would freeze out there.
"It isn't," she said, "It's no one that we can help, anyway."
"What do you mean?" I asked, getting a little scared as the knocking sounded against one of the nearby windows.
"It's a Night Knocker," she said, "A restless spirit that wanders and looks for people to let it in."
"What does it do to them?" I asked, my voice higher than usual as my terror crawled up my throat.
"No one really knows. The ones who do, don't live long enough to talk about it."
She saw that her words really weren't much of a comfort, and switched gears.
"Luckily for you, it's only one. When I was about your age, I had a whole bunch of them come to your great-grandmother's house while I was there alone. Would you like me to tell you about it?"
She had gone to the woodstove and put on some tea, the kettle already thumping as the water got good and hot. She didn't have any cocoa, very few people did around here at that time, but she had ginger tea and warm honey and soon she had a cup of it in my shivering hands and was beginning her own story. The knocker was moving from window to window, testing each with his bony knuckles, but as she started her own story, I almost forgot about him.
"It was March and momma had gone out to try and get some supplies. Daddy had been stuck in the mines for about a week, snowed in as the sight was waist-deep in powder, and Momma and I were on our own. The food had begun to run low, and Momma had left to see if anything in town was open so she could pick up some supplies. We had boiled the last of the oats for breakfast, and the kettle of soup we had made from the ham and remaining vegetables was down to the bottom of the pot. Momma had left around noon, saying she would be back before dark, but dark had come and Momma was still gone."
The fire cast my grandmother in a ghostly cloak, and I was caught in the spell of her story as she laid out the peral of her snowbound home for me.
"This wasn't the first time I had been left home alone, far from it, and I was busy preparing the middlings of what we had set aside for dinner. There were only a few eggs and some grits left for breakfast, and after that, we really would be down to eating shoe leather. I was adding to the small soup stalk we had, mostly boiling vegetables when someone knocked at the door. I thought it was my mother, and I had my hand around the knob before I was hit with the most overwhelming sense of dread. I had learned a little from my mother about the unseen world, and I was acutely aware of its presence even at eleven. I heard it knock again, and it took all my will to remove my hand from the doorknob. Not only was I drawn by the pull of generosity and custom, something that runs deep here in Appalachia, but there was an undeniable draw to let whatever it was in.
After the third knock it moved away, and as the pull dwindled I breathed a sigh of relief.
When another knock came at the door, mirrored by a similar knock at the window, I jumped in surprise and looked over at the window that looked out from the den.
There was a man-sized shape there, its fist raised to knock again, but the dimensions were wrong. It was like a living shadow, its thickness seeming temperamental, and when it moved away after the third knock, another took its place and knocked again. Now there were three of them, knocking at the windows and the door. They were circling the house, and as they knocked, I felt my breath hitching as my panic rose. It was like an ever-expanding circle, the knocking moving a round and a round. I thought maybe it would stop when they had enough to knock on all the windows and doors, but then others began to tap on the walls and on the roof too.
The clamor was too much, and I put my hands over my ears as I prayed to God to make it stop.
As I stood there sobbing, asking the almighty to help me, the voice of my own Grandmother echoed in my head.
"The good lord helps those who help themselves, June bug. You have the tools, you have the knowledge, so don't bother that man with your troubles. He has bigger fish to fry."
I realized she was right and began to chant a little spell my mother had taught me. It rolled off my tongue like warm tea, and as it did, the knocking began to decrease in volume. Suddenly they were no longer banging on the roof. Then the knocking on the walls stopped. Slowly, the knockers on the windows dispersed, and finally, the two on the doors ceased as well.
It was so quiet, so still, that when a single knock came at the door, I screamed like a tea kettle and nearly dropped in fright.
"June? June! It's momma. Open the door, June Bug. I have groceries and the snow has my feet numb!"
I cried out with joy. It was momma, she was back, and when I gripped the knob I felt nothing but the love and worry she had for me. I threw my arms around her, tears streaming down my face as I told her what had happened. She came inside, locking the doors and saying how sorry she was for being so late. She had made it to town and got the groceries, and when Mr. Argy offered her a ride in his wagon she thought for sure she would be back before dark.
"Only, I must have gotten turned around after I got out at the foot of the mountain, 'cause the next thing I knew I was nearly tumbling into Mr. Goldways holler!"
We unpacked the groceries and then she made tea and explained the Night Knockers to me.
After that, I felt a lot better, as I suspect you do as well."
As I drank my tea and listened to her story, I realized that the knocking had stopped.
Grandma had distracted me with a story long enough for the Knocker to get bored and leave on his own.
I kept an ear out for them after that, but I never forgot the power of stories when one is under great emotional stress.
I sipped my cocoa as Grandpa finished, and realized he had done the same for me.
I didn't know when the knocking had stopped, but the only sound in Grandpa's house was the sound of the clock as it ticked the evening away.
"I guess telling stories is something that runs in the family," I said, finishing my cocoa before going to wash the cup in the sink.
I didn't have to see Grandpa's smile to hear it in his voice as he said, "We won't know till you have some grandchildren of your own, I suppose."
I poured another cup of cocoa and sat sipping it as I listened to the wind blow and the snow powder around the house, glad to be inside with Grandpa and his wonderful tales.
From Grandpa's house to yours, we wish you a very Happy Halloween. | https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17byg1f/appalachian_grandpa_night_knockers/ | nosleep | Erutious |
false | I Found a Journal Of A Psychopath | The first line read, "The sweetest screams are those that echo in the silence of the night." My hands trembled as I held the worn-out journal, its pages filled with dark confessions. How had such a sinister relic found its way into our town's peaceful library?
It was 1990, and the library had been my refuge since the accident. A place where I could lose myself among the pages and forget the fragments of memories that eluded me. Doctors had a term for it: amnesia. My wife, whom I had to rediscover and fall for all over again, called it fate. Our daughter, a beacon of joy, was my connection to a life I barely remembered.
On that fateful day, tucked between dusty history books, the leather-bound journal had beckoned me. Its title, "Confessions," was both an invitation and a warning. The entries within were a descent into madness, detailing acts of torture and murder with a chilling detachment. Each description was meticulous, painting a picture so vivid it felt as if I was reliving the events.
The landmarks mentioned, the little details, they all hinted at a terrifying truth: these horrors had unfolded in my very town. As I immersed myself in the journal, a soft whisper began to resonate in my mind, growing louder with each page. "Remember," it urged, a voice from the abyss of forgotten memories.
That night, the journal by my bedside, the whispers transformed into a chorus, echoing the sins of the past and hinting at a connection I dared not acknowledge.
The next day, I decided to investigate. The journal had mentioned an old abandoned house on Elm Street. I knew the place; it had been deserted for years, a relic of a bygone era. With the journal in hand, I made my way there. The house stood silent, its windows boarded up, its paint peeling. But as I approached, I felt a strange sense of déjà vu.
I entered cautiously. The air was thick with dust, and the silence was deafening. But then I heard it – a faint whisper, echoing the words from the journal. I followed the sound, leading me to the basement. There, in the dim light, I found a room. The walls were lined with photographs, each capturing a moment of terror. And in the center, a chair with restraints, stained with what looked like dried blood.
The reality hit me like a ton of bricks. The journal wasn't just a work of fiction; it was a record, a confession of unspeakable acts that had taken place right here. The weight of the revelation was overwhelming. I felt dizzy, my vision blurred, and the whispers grew louder, drowning everything else.
I stumbled out of the house, gasping for air. The world around me seemed to spin. I needed answers. I decided to confront the librarian. She was an old woman, having served the library for decades. She listened patiently as I recounted my discovery.
She sighed, "That journal has been here for as long as I can remember. Many have read it, but none have reacted the way you have."
I showed her the entries, the detailed descriptions, the photographs I had taken of the room. She looked at me with pity, "Son, that house has been abandoned for over fifty years. The events you read about happened long before you were born."
But the dates in the journal, the details, they all pointed to recent events. It didn't make sense. The whispers returned, louder than ever, "Remember."
I left the library, my mind racing. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, but the picture they formed was too horrifying to comprehend. The journal, the house, the memories that eluded me – they were all connected.
That night, as I lay in bed, the final piece clicked. The journal was mine. The memories, the acts of torture and murder, they were all committed by me. The devil's voice laughed, "You remember."
The weight of my sins crushed me. The faces of my victims haunted my dreams. The devil had won, and I was his pawn.
The morning sun streamed through the curtains, but its warmth couldn't penetrate the cold dread that had settled in my heart. The journal lay on the bedside table, its pages filled with my darkest secrets. Secrets I didn't even remember until now.
I tried to recall the events leading up to the accident. Fragments of memories flashed before my eyes – a rainy night, the blinding headlights of an oncoming car, the deafening crash. And then, nothing. A void. The doctors had said it was a miracle I survived, but at what cost?
My wife, Clara, noticed the change in me. "Stu, you've been distant lately. Talk to me," she pleaded, her eyes filled with concern. How could I tell her the truth? That the man she loved, the father of her child, was a monster?
I decided to visit the old house on Elm Street again. Maybe, just maybe, I could find some answers there. As I approached, the whispers returned, guiding me. I made my way to the basement, to the room that had haunted my dreams. The photographs on the walls seemed to mock me, each one a testament to my sins.
In the corner, I found a box. Inside were more journals, each one detailing my heinous acts. The dates went back decades, long before I was even born. It didn't make sense. How could I have written these?
The devil's voice chuckled, "Time is a mere construct, Stu. You and I, we're eternal."
I remembered the deal I had made with him. A second chance at life in exchange for my soul. The accident, the amnesia, it was all part of his plan. He had used me, made me commit unspeakable acts, all for his amusement.
I felt a rage building inside me. I wouldn't let him win. I decided to confront him. "Show yourself," I demanded.
A dark shadow emerged, taking the form of a man. "You called?" he asked, his voice dripping with malice.
"Why? Why me?" I shouted.
He laughed, "You were the perfect pawn. So eager to live, so willing to do my bidding."
I felt helpless, trapped in a nightmare with no way out. But then, a thought occurred to me. The journals, they were the key. If I could destroy them, maybe, just maybe, I could break free from the devil's grasp.
With renewed determination, I gathered all the journals and set them on fire. The flames consumed them, turning them to ash. The devil screamed in rage, "You think this will stop me?"
I looked him in the eye, "I won't be your puppet anymore."
He laughed, "You may have destroyed the journals, but the memories, the sins, they're a part of you. You can't escape them."
I knew he was right. The weight of my sins would always be with me. But I was determined to make amends, to find a way to atone.
I returned home, my heart heavy. Clara was waiting for me. She hugged me tight, "I don't know what you're going through, Stu, but we'll face it together."
I looked into her eyes, tears streaming down my face, "I love you."
She smiled, "I love you too."
We held each other, finding strength in our love. The road ahead would be long and challenging, but together, we would face it.
The days that followed were a blur. The town was abuzz with whispers about the journals and the old house on Elm Street. Some believed it was the work of a deranged mind, while others whispered about the devil's influence. I kept to myself, haunted by the weight of my sins and the devil's constant taunting.
One evening, as I sat in the living room, the lights flickered. A cold wind blew through the room, and the devil appeared before me.
"Did you think you could escape me so easily, Stu?" he sneered.
I stood my ground, "I won't be your puppet anymore."
He laughed, "You're mine, Stu. Forever."
Suddenly, the room transformed. I found myself in a dimly lit chamber, surrounded by the souls of my victims. Their eyes, filled with pain and accusation, bore into me. The weight of their gaze was suffocating.
The devil circled me, "Welcome to your own personal hell."
I tried to move, but my feet were rooted to the spot. The souls reached out, their cold fingers brushing against my skin. Their whispers filled the room, "Murderer... Monster..."
I closed my eyes, trying to block out the voices. But they grew louder, more insistent. The pain, the guilt, it was overwhelming.
Suddenly, a familiar voice broke through the cacophony. "Stu!"
I opened my eyes to see Clara, standing at the edge of the chamber. She reached out, her hand outstretched. "Come to me," she urged.
I tried to move, but the souls held me back. The devil laughed, "She can't save you."
But Clara's voice was unwavering, "Stu, remember our love. Remember our daughter. Fight!"
With renewed determination, I pushed through the souls, reaching out for Clara's hand. As our fingers touched, a blinding light filled the room, banishing the darkness.
The devil screamed in rage, "This isn't over, Stu!"
But his voice grew fainter, and I found myself back in the living room, Clara by my side.
She hugged me tight, "I won't let him take you."
I looked into her eyes, tears streaming down my face, "Thank you."
Together, we faced the challenges that lay ahead, determined to protect our family from the devil's grasp.
The sun rose on a town forever changed. Rumors about the journals and the devil's influence had spread like wildfire. Some viewed me with suspicion, while others whispered about my supposed pact with the devil. But amidst the chaos, Clara stood by me, a pillar of strength.
We decided to seek help. The town's priest, Father O'Malley, was known for his knowledge of the supernatural. Hesitant, I approached him, the weight of my sins heavy on my shoulders.
Father O'Malley listened patiently as I recounted my ordeal. When I finished, he looked deep into my eyes, "The devil preys on the weak, Stu. But redemption is always within reach."
He handed me a small vial filled with holy water. "This will protect you," he said, "But the path to redemption is one you must walk yourself."
I nodded, understanding the gravity of his words. With Clara by my side, I began my journey towards atonement. We visited the families of my victims, seeking forgiveness. Some doors were slammed in our faces, while others listened with tear-filled eyes. The weight of my sins was immense, but with each act of contrition, I felt a burden being lifted.
One evening, as I sat in the town square, an old man approached me. His eyes, filled with wisdom, bore into mine. "I've been watching you, Stu," he said, "The path you're on, it's a difficult one."
I nodded, "I know. But I have to make things right."
The old man smiled, "Redemption is a journey, not a destination. Remember that."
His words resonated with me. The journey was long and arduous, but with Clara's unwavering support, I persevered.
Months turned into years. The town slowly began to heal, and so did I. The devil's voice, once a constant presence, grew fainter with each passing day. I found solace in my family, in Clara's love, and our daughter's laughter.
One day, as I stood by the old house on Elm Street, now a symbol of my dark past, I felt a presence behind me. I turned to see the old man from the town square.
He smiled, "I told you redemption was a journey."
I nodded, tears streaming down my face, "Thank you."
He placed a hand on my shoulder, "Remember, Stu, the past can't be changed, but the future is yours to shape."
With that, he disappeared, leaving me with a sense of peace I hadn't felt in years.
The devil had tried to break me, but love and redemption had prevailed. I looked up at the sky, grateful for the second chance I had been given.
The years passed, and life in the small town returned to a semblance of normalcy. The tales of the journals and the devil's influence became stories parents told their children to keep them in line. But for me, the scars of the past remained, a constant reminder of the darkness I had once embraced.
My daughter, Emily, grew into a beautiful young woman, her laughter echoing the innocence I had once lost. Clara and I watched with pride as she graduated high school and prepared to leave for college. But as the day of her departure neared, the whispers returned.
One evening, as I sat on the porch, the devil appeared before me. "Did you think you could escape your past, Stu?" he sneered.
I stood my ground, "I've paid for my sins. Leave my family alone."
He laughed, "Your soul is mine, Stu. And I always collect."
I felt a cold dread settle in my heart. The devil had returned to claim what was his. But I was determined to protect my family at any cost.
The next day, I visited Father O'Malley. He listened patiently as I recounted my encounter with the devil. When I finished, he handed me a small cross. "This will protect you," he said, "But remember, the devil preys on the weak. Stay strong."
Armed with the cross and my unwavering determination, I prepared to face the devil. That night, as the clock struck midnight, he appeared before me.
"You can't escape your fate," he hissed.
I held up the cross, "I won't let you harm my family."
The devil laughed, "Your soul is already mine. But I'll make you a deal. Give me another soul in exchange for yours, and I'll leave you and your family in peace."
I looked into his eyes, the weight of the decision heavy on my shoulders. The thought of sacrificing another to save myself was unbearable. But the thought of leaving Clara and Emily alone was even worse.
The devil sensed my hesitation, "Tick tock, Stu. Time's running out."
I took a deep breath, "I'll give you my soul willingly if you promise to leave my family alone."
The devil smiled, "A noble gesture. But remember, a deal's a deal."
With that, he disappeared, leaving me with a sense of foreboding. The next morning, I woke up to find the cross by my bedside, a reminder of the sacrifice I had made.
The years passed, and life went on. Clara and Emily moved on, cherishing the memories we had made together. But for me, the chains of the past remained, a constant reminder of the price I had paid for redemption.
As I stood on the edge of the abyss, the devil by my side, I looked back at the life I had lived. The mistakes I had made, the sins I had committed, and the love I had found. The journey had been long and arduous, but in the end, love and redemption had prevailed.
The devil looked at me, his eyes filled with malice, "Are you ready?"
I nodded, "I am."
With that, I took the final step, embracing the darkness, but with the knowledge that my sacrifice had ensured the safety of my family.
| https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17c567u/i_found_a_journal_of_a_psychopath/ | nosleep | TheDarknessDiaries |
false | A Friend Invited Me to a Warehouse Party, and Now I Don’t Know if Anyone is Real. | My head lulled back, allowing me a view of the clear night sky. I’m no astronomer, but I had a childhood fascination with stars and constellations. There was the Big Dipper, Ursa Major. Gemini. Orion, and- I did a double take. Right in the centre of Orion was a big, bright star. Again, I don’t know the constellations by heart, but I’m pretty sure there were no stars that bright in that particular area, nor any with the odd hue it radiated.
I let it go for now, too much already on my mind. Inhaling deeply, I looked back down to an empty road, and sighed. My shirt clung to the small of my back, already slick in the muggy, breathless September evening. Natalie should’ve been here ten minutes ago. A reasonable wait, admittedly, but couple that with shot nerves and a dash of heartburn and it’s something unpleasant.
I’m majoring in social sciences, so it’s ironic I’d be this stressed over a party. Comical, almost. I spend so much time studying I find myself atrophied of social skills.
An old childhood friend of mine hit me up a week ago with an open plus-one. It was a Saturday, and being ahead of schedule I decided it couldn’t hurt. Get out of the comfort zone for a bit, you know?
Just before I caved in and went home, two steadily growing beams drew my attention. They seemed out of place somehow. The neighbourhood was quiet. Not even a whisper raked its way through the leaves.
I stepped forward on the sidewalk, and a wave of self-consciousness hit me as I imagined the streetlamps painting my face in their unflattering hues. Still, I paid it no mind, and mopped the shine from my forehead.
The dark sedan whined as it pulled up. I winced a little, and strode over to the rear door. It popped open, and interior lights illuminated a girl with long, glossy hair, black as the vehicle itself.
“Wow, that shirt’s a tad neat for you Jared!” Natalie grinned, scanning me up and down as I climbed in. The seat pushed a sigh out of me as I sat, and I chuckled a very awkward chuckle.
“Hah, really? It’s a bit creased,” I said.
“I mean, it’s a little more formal than I’d expect… we’re not going to a dinner party, you know.”
My heart sagged. I was gonna look like a fool.
“Shit. I knew this was too much effort, I-”
“Oh, shush. I’m kidding. If anything, you’ll impress - uh, stand out.”
That made me feel better, but the uncomfortable idea of drawing eyes lingered.
“R-right, thanks,” I said waveringly, “got any drinks?”
Natalie gave me a wry smirk.
“Is that a no?”
She rolled her eyes and let out a giggle.
“God, do you even know me?”
Inexplicably, she withdrew an orange bottle from a handbag that could’ve fit in my back pocket. Schnapps, by the looks of it. She held it out, but pulled back when I reached for it.
“Woah, pace yourself! Tell you what: since I’m giving you drinks, can you get the Uber?”
I frowned at the suggestion, knowing full well the fee would be far in excess of a few sips of liqueur.
“Pleeeease?” she hummed, eyebrows sloped in mock supplication. I couldn’t stand up to those twin pools of emerald, not when they shone like that.
“Okay fine,” I sighed. Natalie beamed, handing me the bottle and settling with an excited little bounce. Overly peppy perhaps, but cute nonetheless.
I felt liquid courage flush my cheeks, a cloying peach aftertaste clinging to the back of my tongue. A bit sweet for my liking, but I wasn’t drinking for the taste.
My eyes drifted out the window. On any other night I might be concerned at the complete lack of cars, but it didn’t matter then. As much as my mind thrashed against the prospect of socialising, I needed this. Luckily, with the schnapps on a steady course through my veins, dread lessened and I actually caught myself *looking forward* to the function.
I felt a slap on my arm and snapped back.
“Don’t get woozy, now. I’m not dragging you out of this car when we get there.”
“Jesus, alright! I think I’ll stick to the beer from here on out.”
The silence laid thick as ever even when we pulled up to the warehouse on Ibis street, right on the fringe of town. I’d expected *some* noise, muffled beats or distant chatter, but no. Whatever weighed on the air was something else.
Then again, I still felt nervous, so it was probably just that. Thoughts and nerves really go hand-in-hand, huh. Like that time Arnold - my dog - shat on a neighbour’s front lawn, and I watched their house out the window because I was too scared to-
“Hey, you with me?”
I looked over to the driver, twisted around in his seat.
“It’s twenty bucks,” he said, snapping his fingers, “I got a busy night. Don’t make me wait.”
“Yeah, yeah, alright. Hang on…”
I fished out a ten dollar bill, then a five, and made up the rest with coins. The driver seemed unnecessarily crass, almost knocking the quarters from my hand as he snatched them up.
“Busy night my ass,” I scoffed, following Natalie into the complex, “haven’t seen a single car out here for fuck’s sake.”
Natalie snorted, swinging lustrous hair as she threw a glance over her shoulder.
“Don’t mind him. He’s always like that.”
“Hm.”
We continued walking.
“Wait, *always*? You know him? Thought the dude was some random Uber driver.”
“Uh, friend of my dad’s. You’re getting worked up, Jared. Loosen up, okay? No one’s out to get you. He was just an ass, nothing special about it.”
Yeah, I was a bit worked up, but it did seem a little out of place. Whatever. On we went, around the left side of the empty complex.
A large, unlit grassy area bordered the concrete walkway. It had no apparent purpose - more likely, the company never got around to building on it. Perhaps it was a break spot for workers, far-removed from the brutalist interior. Dim starlight suggested a hedgerow on the other side. No, actually, it didn’t really look like a hedge. More like individual shrubs had been planted and, while tightly clustered, never grew together. Though even then, they weren’t really plant-shaped.
I squinted, but before my eyes could adjust, Natalie pulled open a fire exit. The door bouncing off steel cladding sounded like mountains collapsing in the heavy, almost gelatinous silence. The latter won over, so stubborn it was, an insatiable maw that swallowed noise whole.
Natalie called for me to follow. Her grin quelled any reluctance I might’ve had, and I sauntered through the door after her.
At this point I was itching to hear something other than our own smothered footsteps. As I had that thought, the fluorescent bars above us flickered. Surprised they were still functional to begin with, I paid it no mind. The more pressing matter at hand was to get some goddamn drink in me.
“How big is this place?” I groaned, turning a corner to see yet another long, drab hallway.
“Hell if I know,” said Natalie, “I’m not going exploring, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
I frowned into the back of her head. Strange assumption to make, Natalie, but okay. It was then I noticed the doors. I paused, wheeling back a few steps to peer back down the way we came.
Yes, metal doors lining both walls in a staggered zig-zag pattern. Why hadn’t I noticed them? They weren’t much to look at, though I did catch the numbering. Odd numbers right, even left. I’d have expected everything in this place to be stained or tarnished but the doors looked… how do I put it? As if they’d been galvanised just yesterday.
“Jared, I swear to god if I have to-”
“Coming!”
I think my anxious half likes getting caught up on details. You know, as a distraction.
I trudged on. Another corner, making the first dog-leg turn. A left. A right. A left. Ascending stairs. *De*scending stairs. Three more corners, and we’d arrived.
It felt as if I stepped through a veil. The unbridled racket of a party came out of nowhere, shocking me. My eyes drifted around the room. A myriad of neon lights, strung up and around steel truss and girders. An unreasonably large speaker system. A few train carriages worth of people dressed in odd, fluorescent colours, all intermingling.
And most importantly, three fold up tables stacked with drinks upon drinks. I went to tell Natalie I’d be back in a minute, but she was gone. One moment she was by my side, the next, vanished. Before I could even shrug it off, I heard footsteps approaching to my left.
“Yo! So great you made it. We’ve missed you, brother.”
Two guys, about my age though noticeably well-built stood facing me. They looked expectant. I’d never met these guys before so, suffice to say, I was flabbergasted.
“Uhhh… yeah, hey gents! How’ve you been?”
Damn, that was poor. Who the hell says *gents*? They seemed none the wiser, handing me a four-pack of some off-brand pisswater.
“Nah, dude,” the taller man scoffed, “Amy was the last horse girl I ever dated. They’re off-whack, y’know?”
“Hell of a ride though, right Ron?” said the other, elbowing his partner and stifling a laugh.
He looked back at me with a trailing, content sigh.
“Anyway. Get some in ya and get in your element, man!”
The pair strolled off toward a huddled group of girls.
…what just happened? What’s this about ‘horse girls’? That was in no way a natural progression to the conversation. Oh, did I mention they too were sufferers of lurid fashion sense? They wore varsity jackets and jeans. By itself, that’d be pretty normal. Cliched, even. That was, if they weren’t inverted. Not inside out, but in hue. It actually kind of hurt to look at. Electric blues and greens, accented by a black so dark it seemed to suck in the light around it.
Hyperbole, what a coping mechanism. It helps when I’m at a loss for understanding.
I slithered my way to a relatively quiet corner after that, drinking my beers in excessive gulps. The kind where you swallow too much air, and your throat hurts. Starting to feel outgoing, I emptied the last can and crumpled it in my hand. I’d been eyeing people up for the duration, but had yet to recognise anyone.
Right at the centre of the room was a large steel truss support, with a large group dancing around it. A few of them hung off the side of it like monkeys. Feeling in the mood, I made my way over.
I remember Natalie being there, flinging her hair around while grinding on some blonde girl. Classy. Once she noticed me, she beamed and waved. I tried not to roll my eyes. Another girl hanging from the framing locked eyes with me, and recognition bloomed on her face.
“Is that… Jared!” she piped, “I missed you, been wondering when you were gonna show up.”
I chuckled awkwardly, raising a hand in greeting. Several more faces spun in my direction, all lighting up with some unwarranted rapture at my mere presence. A wave of praise crashed over me. I was very, very confused by this point. I didn’t know these people - and yet, I couldn’t resist the cheer, nor the stupid grin slowly stretching my lips.
My brain raced for something suitable to say. Of course, nothing washed ashore. I was probably gauging my own thoughts more than all these people combined, with nothing to show for it.
Instead, I smiled, and weaved through bustling bodies to the support frame. A girl with some strange mask covering her head slid in front of me, half a bottle of cognac in hand. She was clearly drunk, but the way she pressed her body into mine was quite persuasive.
“Finally. I thought you was- weren’t gonna show,” she whispered into my ear. I could see the glint of her eyes, silvery under a few loose auburn strands. I went along with it, and tried to come up with something on the spot.
“Hah, yeah. I just couldn’t wait to see you.”
Her eyes widened.
“Wait, how- how did you- do you like it? It’s gold, silver, and a lil’ sapphire in there, see,” she said, tugging out a necklace from beneath her croptop, “God, you’re like Clark Kent or something.“
What the hell was with these people? It was like they were talking to someone else. Still, I played along with her quips, but honestly the party itself was my focus. All I really wanted was to let loose. Like the others, I didn’t remember this girl, and I certainly didn’t have the time nor resources to invest into a relationship.
So, my eyes drifted up. Up above us, where three guys hung one-handed off the framing, drinks in their other. Grey-eyes followed my gaze, and laughed, pushing me back.
“Ohh, I see, feeling funky, like, a funky monkey? Let me pour you one… wait, no I’ll pass it up to you, go. Go!”
With a hand on my back, she guided me to the base of the steel frame. I jolted when she slapped my ass, but tried to play it off cool, throwing a laugh back over my shoulder.
Even in the heat of the party, the metal bit into my hands, cold and dry. I remember pulling my hand away and finding it coated in thick dust. There was little to none on the framing.
I think it was around this point a true feeling of unease set in. Nothing outwardly inspired it, but rather a combination of everything that happened tonight. The complex we were in only took up roughly a 400 by 600ft plot - not small per se, but the amount of walking from the entrance to this room seemed more fit for a nature trail. On top of that, I thought this place had been abandoned for a good few years now - and yet, the building didn’t look it. Only the finest layer of dust settled, and any metal seemed untarnished.
And why were all these people acting like they knew me? Not just knew me, but held me in social standing? I’ve never been the gregarious type. I’m not exactly eye-candy either, and there’s this random girl I’d never met before looking at me like I was some studmuffin. And the strangest thing of all-
“Don’t leave me hanging!”
I pivoted, seeing the grey-eyes holding out a cup, which I gladly snatched up and thanked her for. Small scrap of wisdom: don’t climb steel pillars, drunk and/or one-handed.
I hadn’t stopped to look down, and when I did I nearly let go. I’d climbed a good ten or fifteen feet. It didn’t feel like I was climbing that long. Luckily, my wits were still with me, and I clung fast. An energy surged through my body then. I don’t really know how else to describe it except ‘good vibes’. With my major, the part of my brain responsible for it had atrophied, so it was an unfamiliar and longed-for feeling.
“*Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!*”
The crowd roared around me. It was only a cup of cognac, but hey, anything can be chugged, right?
“Cheers!” I yelled out. I lifted the drink to my lips and tipped my head back.
Then, it happened.
My closed eyes faced skyward when the air itself seemed to gasp, inhaling everything and leaving a vacuum of nothing. My ears popped and I felt the temperature drop. Liquid warmth crawling down my throat, I lowered my eyes to look down at the party.
And, I saw there was *no party*.
I had to be in the same room. I felt the steel under my fingers, now cold enough to make my bones ache. It was dark. Stygian blackness pressing in from all sides, punctuated by dull moonlight barely leaking through grimy skylights.
I didn’t- *couldn’t* understand what had happened. The instantaneous silence pounded in my ears. It was the loudest thing I’ve ever heard. My free hand went loose in fear, dropping the cup into the abyss beneath me. When it hit the floor, a hollow clatter rang out, and then silence.
Figuring I had to at least get down to ground level, I fished out my phone to activate the flashlight. My finger hovered tentatively over the torch icon. I don’t know why, but something in me said this is no place for light. This is no place for a beacon, so easily seen.
In hindsight, it was stupid to climb down blind. Some buried instinct told me whatever might happen if I revealed myself was worse than falling ten feet onto solid concrete. By some miracle, I made it down without a hitch.
Now there was a real issue. Climbing down a pole in pitch blackness is plausible, but navigating this place? That’d be a shot in the dark. Literally.
Waves of something sinister throbbed in my veins. Every step echoed through the room. I stopped often, because what if the sound of my footsteps were being used to cover another noise? I reached blindly in front of me, hoping to meet the handrail running up the side of the ramp we entered - *I* entered from.
*Shfff*
I stopped dead in my tracks as a new level of terror coursed throughout my entire body. But not only that. Another sensation, lingering just below the surface, and I got the distinct impression it was behind-
*Shfff*
I couldn’t take it anymore. I bolted. My fear-shrouded mind relinquished control to my limbs, which propelled me forward. I made it a good few strides before -
*CLANG*
* my forehead met cold steel. I let out a yelp and buckled to the side of whatever I’d hit as dull pain rattled inside my skull.
I think I forgot where I was for a moment. Dark and quiet, my first assumption was that I was in my bedroom and I’d had a fall. Then, the sensation of cold concrete below my palms brought me rushing back. No… it wasn’t that. Another feeling returned first.
Eyes.
I’m not superstitious, never have been. I don’t know if there’s some additional sense in our bodies, some obscure nerve pattern that fires when observed, but I can say with absolute certainty that I had an observer.
I had to move. I had to get out of this awful place, and the only way I could was by turning on my phone torch. Head still spinning, I fumbled with the screen. It glared and stung my eyes, but I managed to tap the right icon. Cold light spilled from my hand, illuminating the handrail about six feet to my left.
The exact moment I turned it on, the shuffling started up. Frantic, hurried steps, closing in around me. Whatever moved just out of sight wasn’t shy like before. It was bold, and didn’t care if I heard it.
I sprung to my feet and barrelled toward the railing, not bothering to skirt around the ramp and instead diving between the bars. I steadied myself with one hand and dragged my body up the ramp, still reeling from the pain in my head.
I don’t know why I did it, but when I reached the top, I paused. With a deep sense of dread I shifted my gaze to the expansive room behind me, and when I did, I made eye contact. It was then I realised, I had not one pursuer, but an entire audience. Hundreds, thousands of eyes I couldn’t see but were surely there. As if to prove that sentiment, the shuffling began. Uncountable lumbering steps all started in unison. I was positively *surrounded*.
A blur zipped past the edge of my phone’s reach, immediately setting me into action. I wheeled around and flew down the hallway, once bathed in dull fluorescence, now only lit by my phone’s meagre flashlight. But this place, it was a maze. A vague sense of direction swam in my mind, but it was no help by itself. I had the sudden idea that, if I could follow the door numbering, I’d trace a path to the exit. Sweeping my light to the side, I read the first number I saw.
*4 000 000 000 003 451*
I was dumbstruck. I was itching with panic. What the hell kind of place has a door numbered past *four quadrillion*?! Still, the numbers appeared to descend gradually, and with no other options I chose to follow them.
Where was everyone? Had they played some kind of cruel joke, and if so, how? It couldn’t be possible. And anyway, why do that? I’m a nobody. Why make *me* the centre of some prank? The more I thought about it, the more wrong the whole situation felt.
My mind went on autopilot at some point. If nothing else, I remember the numbers. Oh yes.
*3 500 000 000 132 090*
*1 000 000 027 330 596*
Keep going.
*59 004 000 993*
More.
*13 920 003*
Further.
*67*
*32*
After rounding the eighth corner too many, I saw a door at the end of this winding labyrinth.
*14*
*4*
*1*
I slammed my shoulder into the rusted and decayed door, which slammed open on its frail hinges, allowing cool night air to rush past my ears. The star blanketed sky above would’ve been beautiful on any other night, but now it did nothing to quell my unease.
My frozen state of shock was only broken when a phlegmy cough startled me to awareness. I cocked my head to the side. A haggard man with a messy, greying beard sat huddled against the warehouse cladding. He seemed familiar, somehow.
“You, boy,” he muttered, pausing again to let out a pained cough, “what the hell you doin’ out here? Go on, git.”
Whatever response I had was lost because, as I squinted my eyes from the cold, I recognised him. It wasn’t possible. For a moment, tears blurred my vision, and I saw him without a beard. Without a threadbare beanie. I’d seen that face just this night. The taxi driver.
He looked back up at me, incredulous I was still here.
“Damn it, asshole. Can’t you feel it? All around you? It’s gettin’ impatient. It can’t wait much longer. Ya gotta go. NOW!”
I recoiled at his outburst, and the world came crashing down around me. I could still hear a tumult of shuffling footsteps from inside. I could feel their gaze. In a panic, I spun to my right and darted out across the grassy area, glancing behind me. There was nothing. The door bounced lazily in the wind. If I could just get to that hedgerow I saw earlier, it’d be okay. I’d have cover, I could…
…there was no hedge. In fact, there was no *row* of *anything*. Just an open field. I swear, there was something there before, but whatever sat cloaked in darkness out there was gone. Like they’d *moved*. A cold shiver shot up my spine, spurring me on toward the treeline. Legs burning, head swimming, I covered the hundred-odd feet in a blink.
When I reached the treeline, I stopped. Only silence and the blood rushing through my ears could be heard. The feeling ceased. The feeling of eyes all around me evaporated entirely. Hesitantly, I turned back to the building. Nothing, although the door was closed now. The man was gone, too.
As my mind pieced itself back together I had the thought to try ringing Natalie. I pulled out my phone, found her contact and called.
“*You have dialled an incorrect number.*”
Confused, I tried again, and was met with the same detached reminder. I navigated to her contact to double check the number. I’m pretty sure I know what phone numbers are meant to look like, and whatever was listed as Natalie’s most certainly didn’t look like one. A gibberish string of unicode characters - there were a few digits in there, mostly 1’s and 0’s, but in no way would this ever be a working phone number.
Trapped in this delirious state, something caught my eye. Far in the upper reaches of my peripheral. A glint of light. I snapped my neck back to look at whatever it was. A pylon, cresting the canopy before me. It stood, monolithic and watchful, but with no signs of movement.
There. A flash of light. It looked pink, violet… no, green? It actually looked more blue than anything, just… without actually *being* blue. The colour’s not important though. It seemed familiar. I couldn’t tell if the light was a simple reflection of some other nightborne glow. A plane, or nightclub, but no it… was it a reflection? It looked more like something behind the pylon, behind and *above* it. From somewhere far, far above.
“Hey, you aren’t blending in very well with those stars.”
I’ve no idea what compelled me to say that, because as the last word slipped from my lips, its implication sent a pang of dread through my already shot nerves.
And, to my horror, I got a response. No words, nothing like that. I know I’ve reiterated the feeling of being watched multiple times, but there’s really no other way I can describe it. The difference this time was that whatever looked down at me was absolutely *gargantuan*. I don’t know how I knew, much like the rest of that god awful night, it just came to me. The glare upon me now was to my previous pursuers as humans are to ants… no, to microbes.
I took a step back.
It felt so expansive, so huge, that wherever I went it would always be able to see me. No matter where I hid or to what extent I secluded myself, it could *always watch me*.
I took another two steps back.
The idea alone scared me enough to jump right back into action. That gaze, it drew nearer. It’d squeezed through the confines of our world with one sole focus in mind. Me. That focus, an intent, I could feel it coming in the light that now seemed beaming. Powerful. My shadow cast itself ahead of me, a silhouette bounded by a pool of impossible colours. The shadow stretched out, distending until it met untouched darkness.
The light brought heat, too. Tingling hotspots danced on my back, but only for a moment. Maybe it was never hot to start with, because where the light laid its fingers on me became numb. Sort of like pins-and-needles cranked up to eleven. My gait turned clumsy as I could no longer feel my calves.
Right when the vestiges of my energy were drained, something changed. I heard this really loud sound… how do I even describe it? Similar to the hum of an exposed wire, but coherent. Although not in words, it sounded angry, or disappointed. The light flickered back and forth between me and some other point of interest, before a static blast tore through the trees and the grass and made my hair stand on end.
And then I was alone.
I’m not sure how long I wandered aimlessly. I had no clear destination since I hadn’t paid attention to the taxi’s route. The streets were no less empty than they had been. It could’ve just been a quiet night, but not even one late night cruiser? That was just absurd.
After an ungodly long meander through the town, I recognised a street sign, and it was relatively smooth sailing from there. In fifteen minutes I was ambling down my student village, and nearly fell face-first over the short brick wall outside my house. Somehow I’d kept a hold of my keys during the whole ordeal, and I quickly opened the door and locked it behind me.
And that’s about where my memories of last night cut short.
Next I know, I’m waking up this morning, and when my senses returned I reeled at everything that had happened. I’m still recovering.
I’m glad to be past it, at least. Glad to have woken up in my bed. Initially I thought it might’ve been a nightmare and nothing more, but the swollen bruise on my forehead begs to differ. I cursed my lack of foresight for not taking a picture or a video. I’m even upset about going to sleep, since it complicates things further - ah, I can’t beat myself down. I’m alive. That *should* be all that matters, and yet there’s another issue. Several, actually.
Now, I’d like to say I’m sane. I don’t have a history of mental illness. Perhaps the isolation, the constant studying, broke something in me. Sent me into psychosis. Still, that doesn’t explain everything. I checked my email, not even looking for clues or evidence, and the very first thing I saw was an Uber receipt from last night. What made that even stranger was that I'd paid the driver in cash, not by card. Come to think of it, Uber drivers don't even take cash, do they?
Natalie’s contact is still there. Still a jumbled mess of characters looking more like hexadecimal than anything. I still remember her. How I met her in elementary, squabbling over coloured pencils. I have all these memories and I can find *nothing* about this person ever existing. No Facebook profiles, no archived text chains, nothing. If I dreamt this person up, who put the contact in my phone? Did I do it, then forgot?
The same goes for the others at that party. The masked girl with grey eyes? Yeah, her name was Eloise. Though I didn’t at the time, I remember that now. She doesn’t exist either, and her number’s just a string of 9s. I’m trying not to think about it, but if these people never were, then… how can I be sure anyone I know exists at all?
I’m really struggling here. If anyone has any thoughts, send them my way. I don’t know what to think. I don’t even know if I’ll trust anyone’s messages now. Until then, there’s only one solution. Just one way to bring clarity.
I think it’s best if I pay one last visit to the warehouse on [Ibis street.](https://www.reddit.com/r/rephlect/comments/12prnjx/welcome_to_my_sub_stay_awhile/) | https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17bs3r3/a_friend_invited_me_to_a_warehouse_party_and_now/ | nosleep | rephlexi0n |
false | I Found The Original Chemical X Part 2 | Part 1: [https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17b9szw/i\_found\_the\_original\_chemical\_x\_part\_1/](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17b9szw/i_found_the_original_chemical_x_part_1/)
Part 3: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17dhv3u/i\_found\_the\_original\_chemical\_x\_part\_3/
\[Warning/Disclaimer: This story contains references to Nazis and the Imperial Japanese. Reader Discretion is Advised. The Author of this story does NOT support Nazism or Fascism in any form and condemns the acts of Nazism and the Imperial Japanese. All potential forms of hate speech or discrimination are for historical authenticity only and are not reflections of the authors personal views.\]
After I would say around 12 hours we arrived at our destination. It was a small airport just outside of Lublin. The fathead, suits, and us from the university got off the plane and were met with more men in suits, though these ones were wearing overcoats. The fathead approached them in a professional manner and shook the hand of one of them. In fact, his whole interaction with them looked totally professional. Guess us lowly doctors (and master’s degree holder) aren’t worth professionalism. The fathead then came back to us and said “Alright, the coats over there need all your ID’s. Go on, chop chop.” He clapped his hands. The five of us from the university were pretty fed up with this guy but we went over to the people dressed in overcoats regardless. We presented our IDs without word and the overcoats extensively checked them. The others were given their IDs back after a couple of seconds, but my overcoat was spending a considerable amount of time on mine, looking back and forth from me to my ID to some kind of tablet they were using that scanned the IDs.
Though after a minute or he handed my ID back to me, slowly. Before I could grab it, the overcoat tripped me but then caught me. It was at that moment he said something quick into my ear. He said “Wenn Sie die richtige Antwort gefunden haben, rufen Sie sie laut.” German? I expected there to be other countries looking into this site, but security details are meant to be handled by the host nation. The weirdest part was when he lifted me back up he yelled at me in Polish “Uważaj na swoje nogi!” which roughly translates to “Watch your legs!” Despite this incident I was cleared, and the other overcoats motioned me to and the others from the university to go to another set of SUVs.
The fathead was waiting by the SUVs, but he was put into his own. Our luggage was also being brought with us it seemed. No hotel? Maybe we’re going to sleep on sight in campers. We were loaded up and began driving but we only drove for like ten minutes until we reached some place in the woods. At the place there were a couple of Tarpan Honkers, basically the Polish version of a Humvee but this model was lighter and without the machine gun on top, some more people in overcoats and a squad of Polish soldiers.
We stopped and one of the soldiers went up to the SUV with the fathead in it. They exchanged words and the other soldiers began circling the over vehicles, including mine. One stared directly at me. I then heard a muffled yell. The soldier looked over to the first SUV with the fathead in it, nodded and then opened my door. He said “Out.” in a thick Polish accent and, being rather skittish due to the circumstances, I immediately did as he said. The soldier slammed the door to the SUV and then escorted me to one of the Honkers.
I looked over and saw the others from the university were also getting escorted in a similar way. This time we were all put into the back of one vehicle. Kal looked very angry about this but was holding it in with a very unamused look on her face. The other three just seemed more shook up than anything. I lost track of the fathead. Two soldiers got into the front part of the Honker and started it up.
Suddenly a soldier wearing a black barrette with the Polish Land Forces eagle on it appeared behind the Honker in front of us and spoke in a less thick but still noticeable Polish accent “I am Plutonowy Greg (Not his real name). You probably wondering why you are being escorted by the army. I will explain along the way, but for now I will lay down some ground rules. You are guests here in Poland and we will protect you, but you are to in no way compromise the safety of my soldiers or to disobey any order given by them. If you break any of these two rules, you will be immediately arrested or shot. Is that understood?” I gulped but nodded. I didn’t bother looking at the others, but I think they did the same cause Greg smiled and said “Welcome to Poland, hamburgers!” He then hopped on the Honker and banged on the side of it. We then began moving and Greg took a seat right next to me.
“Ok, now I tell you why the guns.” Greg said to us. “I’m sure you know about war in Ukraine. Well, Białoruski not much better. Sometimes incidents happen so close to the border, and especially since you are hamburgers, we thought it best to take no chances.” Almost as if on que we heard gunfire in the distance. “Hah!” Greg let out a laugh “See what I mean?” He slapped my arm. I nodded sheepishly. Suddenly, Kal, who was sitting right next to me, spoke up and asked what everyone was thinking, “Where the hell are we going anyways?”
Gregs playful expression suddenly turned serious. “Guess no one’s told you. Ok, listen up. This was just recently discovered. It is very close to border and surprisingly well intact. It is a bunker, we think.” For once one of the others spoke up. Doctor Mobius asked, “You think?” Greg shrugged “We were given orders to not go in until you people arrive on site.” The five of us from the university looked at each other puzzled. I understood that heritage sites are usually left untouched until professionals arrive on site but usually the military is an exception to this rule. Then again, the military rarely gets involved with such things, so this might be something more. I don’t know whether to be excited, or worried. I know now that the answer was worried.
We eventually arrived at our destination. We rolled up to a concrete structure smack dab in the middle of the forest. It looked exactly like a bunker used by the Germans during World War 2, though slowly being overtaken by nature. There was something unique about it though. On these bunkers there is usually a thin opening for soldiers to look and shoot out of. On this one though, there were three circular holes on the top of it. Sometimes these bunkers have holes as well for machine guns, but they’re small for protection.
These didn’t look like they provided much cover as they were rather large. I’d say a person could easily climb through it. Additionally, there was what looked like a garage next to the bunker. From a distance it looked like… like the Powerpuff Girls house. “No…” I thought to myself at the time. “I’m just overthinking this. Get the Powerpuff Girls off your head man, this is serious.” I mean, the Powerpuff Girls house was inspired by the Villa Arpel in Jacques Tati's 1958 film Mon Oncle, right? I was right about one thing though, this was serious. Surrounding the bunker were more soldiers. The weirdest thing though, there were American soldiers. I study a lot of military history and modern as well so I’m pretty good at identifying military uniforms. Though it really didn’t matter considering the soldiers had the flag of the USA on their shoulders and helmets.
“What the hell?” Kal said looking at the soldiers. The other three boys and I from the university were looking at the soldiers as if we were children seeing someone with a gun in person for the first time. Greg hopped off the Honker and ordered us to, “Wait here.” He walked up to one of the US soldiers. I couldn’t hear what he was talking about due to the engine still running but he pointed to us multiple times and the US soldier looked at us just as many times. Greg walked back to the Honker with the US soldier and said to us “Alright, time to make a full happy meal. French fries here will oversee you for now.” The US soldier looked at us then pointed directly at me. “Doctor Rainer?” He asked. I nodded sheepishly. “Come here.” He pointed at the ground in front of him.
I looked back at the others, and they just looked at me like I was a cow or chicken getting ready to be slaughtered. “Now!” The US soldier yelled impatiently. I then scurried right to him. Once I was in front of him, he ordered me to walk in front of him to the bunker. I did as instructed. Despite my growing anxiety in this whole situation, it didn’t dull my curiosity, or my theories. I looked around, observing everything from the trees of the forest to the soldiers who had set up a couple of tents and coverings, and to the bunker itself. Alarm bells were ringing in my head like mad. That’s when I knew that this wasn’t just some ordinary heritage site. Though I still didn’t know what exactly I was brought here for.
We reached the bunker. I noticed a red door on it. Usually, these bunkers have either an open back for quick movement of troops and ammunition or have the entrance hidden away somewhere as a hatch on the ground. This had not only a garage but an easily noticeable door. I immediately knew what this meant. This wasn’t a frontlines fortification; this was a black site. “Alright Poindexter,” the soldier said to me “Tell us, is this door genuine?” Genuine? Weird question coming from a soldier. I wanted to give a witty retort, but the guy was holding an XM7 and I could see the safety was off, so I analyzed the door quietly. I could tell this door was authentic just from the creek it made when I pushed it, but it did not open. I tried pushing harder but it wouldn’t budge. I knocked it and could tell that something was behind it.
“Um… sir-“ “Don’t call me sir, I work for a living.” The soldier cut me off rudely. Didn’t know they still used that joke, though I could tell he was more annoyed with me than anything. I continued “There’s something behind this door.” The soldier then held his arms out and said “Well look what we have here, a regular Sherlock Holmes. Yeah, no shit there’s something behind the door. I asked you if it was authentic. You gonna give me the answer I asked for or are we gonna stand here ‘till Russia starts World War 3?” Well excuuuuuse me princess. I analyzed the door again. Yup, fully genuine, as before. “Yes, it’s genuine.” The soldier then nodded and shoved me aside.
The soldier pushed his earpiece and mumbled something like “Go ahead.” The next thing I knew a group of three Poles rushed the door, one carrying an enforcer, which if you didn’t know is basically a modern handheld battering ram. Two took position on each side of the door and the one with the battering ram bust open the door after a couple of hits. When the door opened, I noticed there were boards and chains that were behind it. Now I know why the soldier asked me to evaluate it. I’m also sure they must have scanned for explosives beforehand, but that’s because of the equipment that I just noticed next to the door. The soldiers then rushed in with their guns drawn. I heard the soldiers rushing through the bunker, but all I could think of at the time was what was actually going on here.
As soon as I arrived here, I knew there was something wrong with this whole thing. We were the only scientists, heck, the only civilians in this whole place. I could tell we were the only ones because the soldier didn’t even ask my profession, he knew who I was just by my name, and I’m no celebrity.
Speaking of the soldier, the American who was keeping an eye on me put his hand to his earpiece again and said “Ok, I’m sending them in.” He then waved over someone. I looked over and saw the other four from the university being escorted by a couple of soldiers over to us. They all looked very uneasy, and so was I.
When they arrived, the soldier said “Alright eggheads, I’m going to tell you why exactly we’re here. I’m sure all of you have been fed some nonsense about this place being a mineral deposit or some heritage site, but the truth is we knew about this place for a long time. It wasn’t until recently that we actually found its location. We don’t know exactly what is in here, but we know it’s something dangerous. However, it could be very valuable to us. Your job is to find out exactly what it is, that’s why the five of you have been chosen. You are going to go down there and find out everything you can about this place. We will be monitoring you the whole way so anything you find you will immediately report to us. Now, I’m not saying you have to do anything we tell you to, but we are in the middle of the woods in an undocumented location, and we are close to the border of a hostile nation, so it wouldn’t be too much of a surprise of someone was… lost. Perhaps you even willingly defected, but I know loyal Americans such as you five would never dream of doing that, right?”
He juggled his gun as he gave a smug look at us. I was scared out of my mind at this point, but I had anticipated something was off since the black SUVs. The others, even Kal, I could tell, were trembling. We were strangers before, but now we looked to each other for comfort.
After what felt like forever, Kal and I looked at each other and gave a nod. We then looked to the others and nodded. I spoke up to the soldier and said “Ok, let’s get started.” The soldier smiled smugly and motioned for us to go in. I went in first and the others followed suit. There was a short set of stairs that led down to a rather large open area for a bunker like this. It had a couple of rooms. One was a canteen I guessed, but it looked more like a kitchen with how small it was and a couple of rooms with hanging lights, some tables and seats. We continued walking until we reached some stairs going down. I said, “Watch your footing, stairs here.” to the others as I started descending.
The stairs were dimly lit by some glowsticks placed by the soldiers that initially went in. Flares would have been a bad idea in these tight spaces. Eventually, we reached the bottom of the stairs. It was very dark, but I could see glimpses of things as the soldiers who went in before were already in this room shining their headlamps around. “Um, anyone found a light switch?” I said into the dark. One of the soldiers spoke into their communicators and said something along the lines of “Light it up.” For a moment I was afraid I was about to be executed but actually “Light it up.” meant the power. I had guessed the soldiers outside plugged in a generator or something. The lights came on and that’s when I saw… the lab.
This room was big. Not as big as a hanger but big for a bunker, roughly around 20-40 square meters would be my guess, and the ceiling was high for an underground facility. Along the walls ran multiple pipes and tubes with some fans, I assume were for air circulation. Along the walls were multiple Z3 machines, old computers used by Germany during World War 2. Around the room lay forlorn countertops, tables and carts. On many of them were empty beakers and bare clipboards. Weirdest of all was a strange rubble littered a corner of the room. Despite our current situation, this room was fascinating to the five of us from the university. We were looking around the room like we were kids who had just entered a candy shop. “Alright, the five of you go find out what this place is hiding. Remember, report everything to us.” The American soldier said to us as he waved us away and stood by the staircase. We knew that meant ‘don’t try to escape’. The five of us from the university began wandering around the room, examining anything we could. Kal and Oppen went straight for the tubes after he put on some gloves that were provided to them.
Mobius began examining the machines to see if any of them worked. Oak began aimlessly walking around looking for anything relevant to his field of study. I started checking the drawers of the countertops to see if any documents were present. The only thing I found in them was burned or rotting pieces of paper and some surgical tools. I told Kal about them, and she said she would get to them later. I checked a little more and just before I gave up I found one folder that was just intact enough to read. It was thick with paper, so I immediately opened it up.
The first thing I saw was a picture of a man holding an infant. The minute I saw this, I dropped the folder and stepped back. “What’s wrong?” Kal asked me. Oppen also looked at me and I said, “Look in the folder.” Kal walked over and looked in the folder. She froze in place for a solid moment, then she waved Oppen to her. When Oppen arrived, Kal showed him the folder and Oppen looked concerned. “Who is that?” He asked. “Sigmund Rascher.” I answered. “One of, if not the evilest doctor of the Nazi SS who conducted horrendous experiments on humans.” I walked over and stood with Kal and Oppen. Oppens face had immediately dropped. Kal spoke up “He experimented on anyone. Elderly, adults, children… infants. Human life meant nothing to him.”
Oppen’s expression grew more and more disturbed. He looked at me many times for reassurance, maybe he hoped I would tell him Kal was exaggerating or making it all up. I could offer him no comfort, only the truth. Oppen was beside himself and Kal had had enough. She closed the folder and shoved it onto my chest. I grabbed it as she returned to searching the laboratory, but this time with more vigor. She knew exactly what she was looking for. Oppen was still trying to wrap his head around this whole ordeal. I opened the folder once again and looked past the picture.
I found multiple reports, some written with a typewriter and others were handwritten letters. All, of course, were written in German. Thankfully I know German so I can transcribe these reports and letters here. The first one was an official report as follows:
“Entry No. 1-9-9-8.
November 18, 19\*\* (the year date was burned)
Experiment Codenamed: Anubis
Status: Suspended Indefinitely
Result: Failure
Anubis
After Action Report
In our attempt to breed a more obedient population from an otherwise disobedient or undesirable population, we had attempted to inject human test subjects with canine DNA. No noticeable change aside from rejections of the blood transfusions. We examined the bodies, but other than further examples of blood types, nothing of interest is to be noticed. These bodies were subsequently incinerated. In conclusion, I must deem the findings from the SS in Egypt nothing more than fantasy. I would also like to personally interject that perhaps the tales of cynocephaly and werewolves are also false. I request to cease all human-canine hybridization experiments immediately so that we may focus our resources on expanding the human mind.
SECRET
Signed: Sigmund Rascher”
After reading this, my mind began going into overdrive again. It took me a moment to realize why I was feeling this way, but after reading the title for a third time, it hit me. “Monkey See, Doggie Do.” I muttered. Apparently, these words snapped Oppen out of his trance as he looked to me and said “What?” It was too soon for me to say anything about my own hypothesis, so I told Oppen it was nothing. He took a few breaths but nodded understandingly. Back in my own head I wanted to say I was over exaggerating, but everything was there. Anubis, the date, the number, the experiment, even the fact it was a failure. If this was coincidence, then it would go down in history as the most perfect coincidence of all time.
I then jumped after hearing a loud noise of what sounded like metal being scraped across the ground. I looked over and noticed Oak pushing a door open. The others from what I saw also looked over to him. Oak shouted “He guys! I found another room!” I closed the folder and walked over with Oppen and a soldier. Kal and Mobius I had guessed were still focused on what they were doing because they didn’t come along. While walking over I noticed Oak put his hands over his mouth and stepped back. “What is it?” the soldier asked, noticing his reaction. The soldier then peaked into the room and said, “Oh god that’s disgusting.” Oppen slowed down but still came to see what was in the room. I looked in and aside from my initial horror, I froze again.
In the room were surgical tables, chairs with straps on them with lights and tools hanging above them. Additionally, there were cages around the area and cells along the walls. Worst of all, in the room were multiple tanks of formaldehyde. In some were bodies. My curiosity overtook my dread as I rushed in and began examining the tanks. It was hard to tell with the formaldehyde having fogged a bit, but I could faintly see an outline. I would guess that these were monkeys. I hoped they were monkeys. Oak walked up next to me and stared into the tank. I looked over to him and tears were streaming down his face. I attempted to comfort him by putting my hand on his shoulder, but he just walked forward and put his hand on the tank. He could tell they were animals.
I didn’t know him personally, but I knew he was an animal lover. This must have been traumatizing to him. “Who… who could have done this?” I opened the folder I had and showed him the picture of Sigmund Rascher. He slowly took the picture then began ripping it to shreds. He started stomping it into the ground and banging on the tank. The soldier noticed this outburst and had to restrain him for a moment before he could destroy anything else. After a short scuffle, Oak resigned to crying on the floor. Oppen was watching from the doorway and walked in after Oak’s breakdown.
“This doesn’t make any sense.” Oppen said looking at the tanks “If these tanks are filled with formaldehyde, then it should have eroded away long ago.” I don’t know much about chemistry or working in a morgue, so I took his word for it. “There must be something more to it then.” Kal said as she entered the room. “I heard Doctor Oak crying and came over to check on him. I see now why he is.” Kal walked up to the tank Oppen and I were at and put her hand on it. She knocked on the glass and said “We need to run a test on this. Soldier, can you get us a chemistry kit as well as medical equipment?” I expected the soldier to say something like “Don’t tell me what to do” or be resistant but he immediately put his hand on his earpiece and nodded to Kal. Kal then walked over to one of the tables and cleared it of the junk that was on it.
While waiting for the soldiers to come down with the requested equipment, Kal looked at me and said “Doctor Rainer, search your file for anything on this place. Also, try searching this room for any other documents that could be useful.” I nodded to Kal and started flipping through the files. I found a letter from Heinrich Himmler. If you didn’t know, Himmler was one of the evilest people within the Nazi regime. Some say he was even worse than Hitler. I took no pleasure in reading this, but I will still transcribe it for you.
“Herr Rascher,
I am disappointed with the lack of results as well as the fundamental disproof of one of the integral beliefs of our beautiful culture. Nevertheless, I see another opportunity for the Übermensch project. We have received intelligence from our Japanese allies of the discovery of a new element. Manshu Detachment 731 has requested to cooperate with your unit, and we have approved their request. A detachment will arrive within the week, and I expect your full hospitality and cooperation with them. From what I hear, they are some of the best scientists in the world, rivaling that of the greatest minds in the Reich, even yours. Prove to them that we are superior.
Hail Hitler,
Heinrich Himmler.”
Oh god… Unit 731. If you don’t know, Unit 731 was an Imperial Japanese biological and chemical warfare research and development unit during World War 2. The experiments they conducted are considered my many worse than that of the Nazis. I won’t go into detail, but I will say this. They further discovered that humans were mostly made of water by setting people on fire just to see how they die. That’s one of the least horrible things they did. Just the sick, horrible people I would expect Himmler and Rascher to work with and admire. This is huge in another way though. Never before has there been direct documentation of the Germans and Japanese working side by side. The closest there have been are naval skirmishes in the Indian ocean. I needed to continue reading. I flipped through more of the pages and found the report from the first day Unit 731 arrived at this compound.
“Report
January \[REDACTED\]
Presiding Overseer: Sigmund Rascher
Day 1
Manshu Detachment 731 has successfully arrived at Black Site C. A division of 10 men arrived on \[REDACTED\] by three trucks. With them was Japanese Surgeon General Shirō Ishii. This man is a genius way ahead of his time. Despite his… undesirable traits, I respect his intellect. Perhaps later we can fix that. They have also brought with them additional equipment as well as some animals, primates to be exact. The Fuhrer would not be pleased about this, but should we produce results, I think he can forgive us. As the men began moving the equipment into our laboratory, Surgeon General Ishii explained to me that his spies within the United States of America have retrieved a new element the yankees have cooked up. He calls it Utonium. Apparently, this new element is made from uranium, which we possess plenty of. Once our equipment is properly set up and Surgeon General Ishii and his men are properly adjusted, we will begin experiments immediately.”
At this point I was shaking. Despite two of the evilest people having been here, I kept rereading the word “Utonium”. I kept looking at that spot on the page to see if something was off, maybe a faded letter or a mistranslation, but no. It said Utonium. Once though my shock subsided, read what it said about the element. It was made from uranium. I decided to ask Oppen if he knew what this meant. Before I could ask him the soldiers, along with some men in trench coats, had started to bring in and set up the equipment that Kal had asked for.
It was now or never, so I pulled Oppen aside and asked, “Doctor Oppen, do you know of an element that is made from uranium?” He looked at me puzzled, but nevertheless answered my question “That would be neptunium and plutonium. Why?” I explained what I was reading and pointed him to the word “Utonium”. However, he brushed it off saying it was probably a mistranslation, or perhaps the at the time they didn’t know the full difference between neptunium and plutonium, so they considered it one element. Yeah, that makes sense. My mind calmed down after hearing that perfectly rational explanation. Still though, such a coincidence.
It was during this time that the equipment and table was finally set up for Kal. She then pointed to one of the tanks with a monkey corpse in it and made another order “Ok, I need the contents of that container on this table. If any of you are medically trained, I’m going to need nurses. Doctor Oppen, I’ll need your help too, so start scrubbing up.” Oppen nodded to Kal and went off to get properly dressed. A couple of the soldiers began moving the tank while some of the men in trench coats began scrubbing up as well. Kal looked at me and asked “Doctor Rainer, have you found anything yet?” I looked at the page I was reading and told her “Make sure to scan this body, It might be radioactive.” I really had no idea what I was talking about, but Kal nodded in approval and asked the soldiers for a Geiger counter. They gave her one and she scanned the outside of the tank. “Safe. Hopefully the inside is too.” Kal said as she put the Geiger counter on the operating table.
She then walked over to Oak who was still sitting on the floor in the fetal position. Kal spoke in a very soft and calming voice “Doctor Oak, I know this is horrible, but we need your help dissecting these animals.” Oak shuffled back but Kal persisted “These animals died at the hands of evil men. I’m not asking you to cut them open for our amusement, or because we’re surrounded by jarheads with guns, I’m asking you to help me find out what happened to them so no more animals will have to suffer the same fate.” Kal put her hand on his shoulder. There was a brief pause, then Oak looked up at Kal and nodded.
Kal handed Oak a rag and he wiped his face of the tears and snot. Kal then lifted Oak up and escorted him out to, I assume, get him scrubbed up. I don’t know if Kal was being genuine or just saying the right things to get Oak to help her with the dissection, but the display of kindness was enough to make me smile for just a moment. My smile quickly faded though when I noticed one of the trench coats glaring at me. I stared back at them in the eyes. His eyes then quickly darted down then back to my gaze. I think he was hinting at my folder. I took this as a sign to read another page out of the folder. I flipped through and found another.
“Status Report
January \[REDACTED\]
Presiding Overseers: Sigmund Rascher and Surgeon General Shirō Ishii
Day 2
The proper facilities and arrangements for the Japanese have been finalized. The only issue is a slight language barrier with some of the Japanese but one of our officers will serve as an interpreter thanks to his ability to speak and read Japanese. Our first experiment was an attempt to recreate the Utonium element. We used two pounds of our uranium reserves as our first test samples. Our first attempt to recreate Utonium resulted in an unprecedented discovery of the element Plutonium, one of two elements that the Japanese spies had reported from the United States (see report 12-14-40 for further information).
This method of creation will be relayed to our other sites for further experimentation and production of our wunderwaffe. Our second attempt to create Utonium resulted in another unexpected discovery. The spent within one of our reactors produced a strange byproduct. From further reports from the Japanaese, this element was known as Neptunium. We theorize that this will also help in the production of our wunderwaffe, specifically in the field of electricity. This information will be relayed to Group 935. Further attempts to create element Utonium will continue in the following days.” Attacked to this document were scientific notes that I could only barely understand.
Oppen was wrong, so very wrong. Utonium was not a mistranslation, it was an element itself, but how? There is no element Utonium on the periodic table. Maybe I was hasty to say that Oppen was entirely wrong. Perhaps Utonium was a myth that Rascher and Ishii were chasing, like many of their country’s foul institutions did. I noticed the soldiers had dislodged the tank and began removing the contents onto the table. Kal, Oppen and Oak had returned into the room wearing the proper attire for surgery.
Kal noticed me reading another page and asked “Anything?” I handed her the report with the scientific documents on them. She handed it to Oppen who quickly glanced over it. “These are the formulas for Plutonium and Neptunium. Crude and outdated, but I can confirm that’s what this is.” Kal nodded. One of the trench coats overheard this and confiscated the documents Oppen was holding. He then noticed me and said “Sir, you’ll need to step out of the room while the operation is in progress.” I looked to Kal for reassurance, but she nodded in agreement with the trench coat. I was then escorted out of the room, but I noticed an observation room next to it, so I took up residence in it so I could watch the procedure through the one way mirror while I skimmed through more documents. It seems there was a gap in reports as the next one was the seventh day.
“Status Report
January \[REDACTED\]
Presiding Overseers: Sigmund Rascher and Surgeon General Shirō Ishii
Day 7
After days of failure, we have made a breakthrough. After combining the Plutonium, Neptunium and Uranium in a vat of oil and heating it up by process of nuclear fission, we have created a new compound which we have designated Chemical X.”
After reading this I dropped the paper and had a small nervous breakdown. I don’t remember much from this point, but I do remember sitting in the fetal position for a bit trying to wrap my head around this. Once again though, my attempts to rationalize the situation happened again. Chemical X is a good way to designate unknown compounds and I’m sure even the government has used this as a designation. Utonium, also, could be pure coincidence. I can assure you now that this was not true. There are no coincidences. I continued reading.
“Though not the pure element, we have discovered trace amounts of what we believe to be the Utonium element. We have begun experiments with other elements but nothing of note worth has been observed. Tomorrow we will begin experimentation on living organisms.”
I stepped back again to clear my head. Needless to say, even with my attempts to rationalize what I was reading I still couldn’t denounce the idea that these documents are somehow connected to the Powerpuff Girls. I looked out into the room that Kal, Oppen and Oak were preparing to form an autopsy. They were still trying to safely extract the body from the formaldehyde. As I turned back to the file to continue my research, I noticed something interesting. A film camera. It was pointed at the surgery room. I decided to examine it and noticed that it was in decent shape for being almost a hundred years old. I shook it and heard something rattle inside. It might have had film in it, I think. I needed some help with it, so I decided to get help from the one person who wasn’t busy, Doctor Mobius. | https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17c2872/i_found_the_original_chemical_x_part_2/ | nosleep | Mercury_Freelancer |
false | We turn the lights off on All Hallow’s Eve | “We turn the lights off on All Hallow's Eve.”
It was the first thing that my Grandma Margaret said when my parent's car pulled away from the ancient stone house. Their muffled argument carried over the engine, and they must’ve thought that they could finally run through the process of divorce without me overhearing, but whispers carry in old houses, and now they’ve left me in the oldest one in the county. It loomed large above me, three stories with three gables in the shape of a ‘T’ that faced out into a wild bog.
Grandma caught my stare as she unlocked the door, “Another set of rules at my house Jack -” She grabbed my head and softly turned it toward a massive oak whose branches snaked gnarled and heavy over the grounds, their weight held up by several large pillars of granite. It was hard to tell if the stones had always been there, or if they were placed to support the tree. Grandma pointed a boney finger from there to a mossy black slate bridge that crossed a narrow brook, “- you will not play around that tree, and you will not cross the bridge into the bog.”
I looked up to her and nodded and she turned and entered her house. I noticed a bundle of twigs wrapped in twine that leaned against the porch and I took it in my hand. The slender sticks wound their way into one another, woven like a single thread that had knotted itself together.
“What’s this Grandma?” I held it out for her as I stepped into the cold entryway. The air was still, and the walls pressed in against us. She snatched the wad of wood away from me with a sharp glare.
“There is no shortage of stories about boys named Jack doing things they shouldn’t,” Grandma sniffed the bundle and gestured for me to follow her down a narrow hall past diamond paned windows that faced the yard. The kitchen was a sunken stone room dominated by a hearth on the far wall. It was claustrophobic with cookware and clutter, and a heavy wood table sat in the center of the room under chiming pots and pans. It didn’t look like it had been updated in two hundred years. “This is from Joan, she’s a *neighbor*.” She held the sticks between two fingers, her tone dripping with distaste. I wanted to ask about it, but Grandma threw a stack of old newspapers into the hearth. She deftly stacked logs around the yellowed paper, then crossed the room to grab a brown mass that sat on the windowsill.
An iron hook protruded from the back of the shape, and she carried it like a lantern. I noticed it had a face. Two hollow holes for eyes, and a gaping mouth with wax dripping down its chin. A stout candle flickered in the cavity behind its eyes.
“A Jack O’Lantern?” I asked. It was smaller than a pumpkin, misshapen, and it flaked like it was covered in dried mud. It had none of the telltale cliches of a carved pumpkin either. No silly face or jagged teeth. Instead it was like a shrunken head.
Grandma smiled and snapped a twig from Joan’s bundle and stuck the end into the lantern mouth. It immediately took to flame, “My Ma always said it was the skull of my Great Grandpa Jack.” She brought the flame to the hearth and soon a fire roared to life. “Truth of the matter is that it's just a turnip. The first turnip our family grew on this land after crossing the Atlantic on wooden boats. It’s been plastered and fired in a kiln dozens of times to preserve it, but maybe my Mama was right-” She flashed me a smile with her tea stained teeth and knocked on the head of the Jack O’Lantern twice. Its yawning face stared at me in a frozen scream. “-Jack’s skull may be in there.”
With that, Grandma threw the sticks into the fire and it roared up twice its size, spewing soot and embers across the stone floor. The bundle untangled like worms, and hissed as its moisture evaporated. Then it was ash.
“Why did y-”
Grandma raised her hand, “Do not bring anything you find into this house without my permission. Joan is not a friend of the family. I have never spoken with her about any of my children, nor of you. She is nosey, she insults our family and good folk everywhere with her beliefs. If you see her, ignore her.”
I swallowed my questions.
-
It was easy to settle in during early September while the air was still warm with late Summer wind. When I started Eighth Grade it felt like my life hadn’t changed much.
When the Fall Equinox came around, Grandma took me to the old oak. We laid out homemade candles and carved wooden figurines of humans and animals at each of the stone supports. After the fifth candle, I finally noticed that the seven pillars formed a circle around the tree, and that no grass grew under its boughs, only clover.
“The seasons change, and ghosts walk the earth when it is in a state of transience.”
I always felt stupid when she lectured. Like she was talking in a different language and I could only understand every other word. She mentioned her rules as if they were obvious, and then spoke of things I’d never heard of. I was too intimidated to tell her that I didn’t know what she was talking about.
“October is soon. Get into the habit of turning off all the lights. Unnatural light attracts unnatural things.”
No matter how dim I thought my Gameboy was, Grandma would glare at me if I played too close to sunset. She insisted that candles be our only source of light.
I grew used to seeing her wander the grounds of the house at night with her Jack O’Lantern held aloft. Then, the night before Halloween, she bade me goodnight after spending nearly an hour outside beneath the oak tree. I was restless, and I floated in and out of sleep as the night grew long, and out of frustration, I sat up on my elbows and looked out my window.
A lantern bobbed within the stone circle under the tree. Grandma doing her rounds of the yard again. I opened the window and poked my head out, listening. The lantern meandered between the granite pillars, and my eyes caught something past the slate bridge. A dozen more lights floated and flickered out in the bog.
*Flashlights?* I wondered.
*“Jack!”* A woman’s voice carried over the lawn. *“Jack! Come here.”*
It was Grandma’s voice.
I quietly pulled on my coat and crept out of the house. The door weighed heavily against me as I pushed it shut, the cold dew soaked through my slippers with each tip-toed step through the grass.
*“Over here Jack,”* Grandma’s voice whispered, pulling me closer to the stone circle.
Her lantern glowed from behind the pillar. I couldn’t see her, but she kept whispering,
*Over Here. Over Here.*
I stood before the ancient oak, just outside the stone circle. The granite slabs towered over me, nearly eight feet in height. The light of Grandma’s lantern started to peak around the corner, and my stomach sunk, like I had just broken something ancient and irreplaceable.
The glow was wrong. Deep and green and swirling, and as it waxed from behind the eclipsing stone, I stared deeper into it. I stepped to the edge of the circle, my toes nearly into the clover patch.
**“Jack!”** An unfamiliar voice rang out behind me.
I tore myself from the haunting glow, and was blinded by a flashlight pointed at me by a middle-aged woman.
At that moment, I saw all the lights in the bog scatter away like UFOs escaping from a black hole. Their tiny torches dimmed faster than I could blink. *Fireflies?* I thought, but deep down I knew that was wrong.
“Jack, I’m your Granny's neighbor. Get yourself away from that tree!” Joan said, pulling a necklace with a purple crystal bound in wire from her nightgown.
I was about to sprint back to the house, when I caught an aquamarine aura creeping behind my back. A shiver ran through me, as something rested its hands onto my shoulder.
A gentle voice whispered in my ear, *“Thank you for your offering.”*
I craned my head back and the glow suddenly extinguished itself.
“Begone beast!” Joan spat out before her flashlight flickered and the bulb burst in a small explosion of sparks and glass.
A voice from the tree rumbled, “No.”
Joan’s face contorted in terror as her necklace was ripped from her throat and shot past me. A moment later, something invisible grabbed ahold of her nightgown and she was yanked off her feet and pulled screaming into the stone circle.
***“Jack!”*** The Grandma’s voice cried out again, and it was as if I was being drawn by an unseen force. My legs moved on their own, unsuspecting of the danger. My heart drummed in my ears as I tried to listen out for Joan.
I tried to make out the source of the voice as I walked across the lawn but darkness ate away at the emptiness in all directions.
Empty except for one, solitary, blue light that I followed.
My feet clomped against the black slate as I crossed the small bridge out into the open bog. I felt myself go white. Grandma told me never to set foot on the bridge.
Croaking frogs and singing crickets echoed through the fens. Eventually, I reached the source of the light. It hung in the air like a flaming vapor, thin clouds of luminescent fog curled inward like arms calling me to follow. The word wisp came to mind.
*This is why Grandma didn’t let me near the bog?* My thoughts were slow and dulled, as if they were being dictated to me. *It looks harmless enough. She really needs to stop treating me like a thumb-sucker.*
The wisp swooped across the air and hovered just three feet from the ground, and a spectral voice filtered through its condensed vapors, *“Hello Jack. It’s nice to meet you.”*
I jolted back a step and that unseen force seized my muscles again. “How do you know my name?”
*“We’ve heard you and your grandmother talk from afar. Your head must be spinning right now.”* It whipped around with a sharp jerk left then right, and my eyes trailed after it like a hypnotist’s watch. *“Your parents are not getting along it seems.”*
My blood turned to ice. The wisp could only have heard about my parents while they were arguing in the car.
Instead of floating like a kite in the wind, the cloud began to whorl around in loops. It didn’t move with grace but instead in stutters and stops. Mesmerizing nonetheless.
*“I can solve all of your problems if you just follow me down into the bog.”* The living flame skimmed the water in a calculated arc, tapping the surface and leaving behind ripples before scattering off into the night.
“Hey, wait! Come back!” My body suddenly was released from the hold and I took off in a sprint toward the apparition. I yearned for my parents to be happy again. I loved them both and wanted to go home with them instead of stuck here with Grandma’s superstitions.
As I carried on, the slate path from the bridge gave way to tall reeds and muck. The longer I pushed onwards, the more my shins began to burn. The ghost giggled, stooping down abruptly to touch the water just out of my reach. Mud cakes stuck to the soles of my slippers and slowed me down.
*“Keep following!”* The spirit called once more in a haunting, high pitched voice. *“I want to help you!”*
As I chased the sprite in front of me, a pit of dread began to form in my stomach. I ran, just as much by my own volition as by the will of something unseen. *Should I be doing this?*
The path twisted between stale bodies of water, before it led into a grove of trees. I paused before it, the moon did not penetrate the darkness beneath the branches. Grandma never said anything about this place. She never thought to tell me what was beyond the bridge.
The voice sang, *“Come! Come Jack!”*
I realized then that it no longer spoke with the voice of my Grandma that had lured me from my bed, but instead, with Joan’s, or at least some mimicry of both.
My feet moved independent of the terror in my heart. Footsteps followed me, but my head would not turn back to look at what trailed behind. In the darkness of the grove, I saw faces peering from bushes and branches. Small ones, fair and cruel, and curious. It reminded me then of the stories my Mother told me of the *Fair Folk* before my Father told her not to tell me fairy tales. She said never to speak their name. I didn’t believe in them until now, when one of the far faces pulled itself from behind a tree. She was small, maybe two feet in height, and completely nude. I was fixated on her, hypnotized completely by the contours of her body and the way her skin shimmered despite the darkness. Gold eyes pierced through me with an otherworldly gaze, and without me realizing, she had reached into my pocket and taken out my Gameboy.
*“What is this?”* Her voice was like wind rustling in the forest.
I reached for it, and as she pulled away, I heard the sound of it turn on.
An electric light bathed her face, and she stared up past me, dropped the Gameboy and ran deeper into the grove.
The wisp returned, hanging just in front of me, bobbing up and down like it was breathing. Then I was deafened, a screech rang out through my ears and I stumbled forward finally free from the spell. Something sharp caught the back of my shirt, tearing it as I ducked beneath branches and over roots, into ankle deep mud as the thing behind me lashed out.
It wheezed and hissed at my heels, but it kept getting caught by branches and bushes as I squeezed through tight spaces. When finally, I wore out, I turned and pressed my back against the roots of an overturned tree and saw what hunted me.
The creature was abnormally tall and disproportionate. Its face was shrunken, gaunt, and frozen in a look of agony. Its gray skin hung in wrinkles over thin humanlike bones. Its arms reached down below its knees almost touching the ground with fishhook talons. The wisp hung above its head, and I noticed that the vaporous light was attached to the creature by a long tendril of bone. Like an angler fish, it had been luring me into the bog. I froze with fear and trembled as it stalked closer.
Then I heard a lively hobbled gallop through the muck behind the creature. I recognized the gait the moment before Grandma burst into sight with her Jack O’Lantern held high.
The wisp creature twisted and swung its long arm toward Grandma, but she ducked and side stepped the blow. I didn’t know she could move like that, and suddenly she was at its flank and shoved the creature with one hand catching it off balance, while the glow of her lantern caused it to recoil.
She chanted in a language I could not recognize, and the creature retreated from her; the glow of the wisp paled as the light in her Jack O’Lantern burned brighter. The creature scrambled back on awkward legs and began to submerge itself into the brackish waters. It dipped lower and lower, and the wisp attached by bone was dragged into the swamp. Grandma chanted louder and with a bang the candle in the Jack O’Lantern burst into a glow of blue flames and the creature gave one last roar that shrunk into a pathetic scream and the wisp dipped into the depths with a hiss like water poured over embers.
Grandma turned to me, and I realized her shirt was drenched in blood. She snatched my wrist and dragged me through the mud.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t-” She let go of my arm and smacked me across the face.
“Do you know where Joan is?” Grandma was breathing down my throat.
“I-She was in the-”
*“Joan is dead!”* Grandma grabbed me again and continued on. “Why do you think I’m covered in blood? She saw you in the yard and decided to help you with her New Age magic rot.”
My heart sank.
“You left the house with a *light*. You went to the *tree*. You crossed the *bridge*.” She rattled off my sins, and each lashed me harder than the last. “A woman is dead, and it may be her fault, but you are not without blame.”
“But -”
“This can wait. We need to get back to the house.”
Tears blurred my vision as we ran back. Wisps floated in the waters on either side of us, and I could see more of the creatures hiding, stalking, like they were ready to pounce but knew better.
When we got back across the bridge, I looked toward the stone circle. Bloody handprints covered the pillars and Grandma guided me wide away from the tree urging me to look away.
She pushed me inside the house and took me to the kitchen. I felt numb and mute, and only the sound of the tea kettle whistling brought me back to reality.
“What were you doing out there?” Grandma spoke gently as she poured me a cup of black tea. The Jack O’Lantern sat on the kitchen table, watching.
“I thought I heard your voice telling me to come outside,” My heart was still pounding. The blood on her shirt was drying brown.
“Why would you think I left the house so late? Why would you bring your toy out there?”
What was there to say? I didn’t know. I didn’t understand. Everything I thought about our world was being flipped on its head.
“Jack,” Grandma said softly and slid sugar across the table as an offering. I spooned it into my tea until it was sickly sweet. “I am hard on you because I care. Because where we live is dangerous for our family.”
“What were those things?” I asked.
A line creased Grandma’s forehead, and she looked older than before, “They are Will o’ the Wisps. *Ignis fatuus.* Fool’s Fire. They want to lead you to your destiny. Some are kind, most are cruel, and the wisps that haunt our family are the cruelest of all.” She gazed at the flame in the Jack O’Lantern’s mouth. “My Great Grandpa Jack should have died long before his time. He had used magic to live long beyond his years. He had my grandpa when he was ninety-one, well after his fourth bout of illness.”
“You said Great Grandpa Jack-”
“Great Great Great Grandpa Jack to you.” Grandma corrected.
"You said he used magic to live longer?"
“I didn’t stutter,” She sipped her steaming tea.
"And so we're cursed?" I sounded out my words carefully.
"All of mankind is cursed. The *Good Folk* don't die, not the death that we do. They live on as whispers on the land. Lights in the sky. The warmth of candle light and the feelings that you have while walking alone in the forest." She rummaged in a drawer beneath the table and pulled out a narrow tallow candle and held it to the ever burning flame in the Jack O’Lantern. "Those creatures that attacked you, the will-o’-the-wisps, they’re here to correct the fact that our bloodline was born on borrowed time. Jack lived too long, and everything he did with that time, including having children, is considered time owed to the *Fae*. Our destiny should be owned by them, and instead we flaunt our freedom.”
“Am I cursed?”
Grandma’s smile barely crossed her lips and she handed me the newly lit candle, “Only if you think taking care of the land and giving offerings to the *Fair Folk* in exchange for living this interesting life is a curse. Every little offering and sacrifice is a down payment on our lives. Honestly I think the *fae* prefer it this way, though they’d never say. No, you are no more cursed than your mother or I. But, from here on out, you need to listen to me. Artificial lights enrage them, so they *must be turned off*. Tomorrow is All Hallow’s Eve, they will be stronger and more numerous than they were tonight. When you go to bed, put this candle by your window, it will keep you safe and secure.”
My thoughts were reeling. Tiny people and will-o’-the-wisps; fairies and monsters in the bog. Phantom voices and invisible forces. Destiny and magic. The way Grandma looked at me made me realize that she didn’t know how very little of her world I understood. My mother told me about fairies in passing, and I had read *Grimms’ Fairy Tales* in school, but I didn’t know what happened on our family’s land. It may have been my mother’s duty to inform me, but in truth, she hardly ever spoke about Grandma when we weren’t visiting.
Grandma told me to wash up and go to bed. I placed the candle on the windowsill and I listened to the strange howling of beasts across the bridge as I fell asleep.
–
The next morning, Grandma Margaret directed the police to where Joan’s body was. Candles were burning at every pillar beneath the tree, and as she guided them under the oak, she kept the Jack O’Lantern in her hand.
I heard the police from my window,
*“Wild dogs . . . Bobcats . . . Gutted . . . Hands ripped off . . . Liver removed.”*
I couldn’t help but think that this was my fault.
“Joan was skeptical. She was nosy.” Grandma told me over breakfast.
“Is that why she was out there?”
Grandma sipped her black tea, “She could have thought you were one of the Good Folk. They don’t wander onto her land, perhaps she saw you in the yard and went to speak with you.”
That didn’t sit right with me, “I think she was trying to protect me.”
“Probably. Not that she could protect anyone with those crystals.”
Without the lights on, the house was dark during the day. Uncommonly so. Clouds hung in the sky, heavy with the threat of rain. Grandma had me lay flowers and wood carvings at the bog bridge while she placed candles that she lit from the Jack O’Lantern in every window.
My hand rested on one of the seven stone pillars, just beside the dried brown bloodstain of Joan’s hand. I cried myself silly thinking of that poor woman who had tried to keep me from going under the tree, only to spend the last few moments of her life pressing her hands to the granite in some attempt at leaving her mark on the world.
Grandma watched me from afar, before returning to work placing offerings across the property.
Then something clicked.
Joan had lost her hands, and Grandma was covered in blood when she found me.
I shivered.
*How did Joan’s handprints get here?*
We ate dinner in silence at four in the afternoon. Through the diamond paned windows, I watched the Sun fall closer and closer to the bog. Shapes twisted in the dark places that the Sun could no longer kiss, and the shadows grew long on our lawn. Grandma busied herself with whittling runes and laying iron nails on thresholds. I watched her work, numbed to it all. I think she was finally realizing that my mom had told me nothing of her upbringing here.
“It's time,” Grandma finally said as the Sun touched the horizon. She handed me a wad of sticks wrapped in twine, just like the one Joan had left on our front porch weeks ago. “Light this with your candle and set it in the hall outside your room. Then *lock your door.”*
I held the bundle like a snake. Sunlight rippled green and orange on the surface of bog, and the great orb looked like it was melting and turning into a wisp. “Are we going to be okay?”
Grandma grabbed my shoulder, “This isn’t our family’s first Halloween. But I need you to promise me something, can you do that?” I gripped the sticks tight and nodded. “Nothing you hear is real. Even your eyes may deceive you. Do not leave your room.”
I did as she said. I lit the wad with my candle and it smoldered like a stick of incense and I set it just outside my door. My lock clicked and I sat on my bed.
Then I heard the most peculiar thing from down the hall.
A phone dialing.
Then the ringback tones as my Grandmother called someone.
Her voice was muted through the walls of the house, but I could hear murmurs, “ . . . feeling down. . . trick or treating . . . I’ll see you tonight.”
“Grandma?” I called through the door. Her creaking footsteps went down the stairs, and I received no answer.
I resolved to grab a school assignment and sit beneath the window and read by candlelight, like I had been thrust back in time. My eyes strained as I read, *Lottery in June, corn be heavy soon.* Line by line, until I drifted off to sleep.
*I dreamt of my mother giving birth. I saw a baby bathed in blood be given over to a tall handsome man. I dreamt of knives and drummers. I was at a concert, and my Grandma Margaret was on stage singing in that strange language. I danced to the music. The crowd was brimming with people smiling, but I couldn’t recognize a single face, and they all started humming and like a tidal wave their voices rose into screams. I screamed too. Primal and ceaseless and the drumming pounded like a heartbeat. I was holding a purple crystal wrapped in wire and Joan was beneath the ancient oak tree, her feet and arms were tied up to the branches above and she danced like a marionette. The crystal burned in my hand, and an electric surge shot through my veins until I couldn’t bear it. I threw the stone at Joan and it struck her above the eyebrow. Crimson blood flowed down her face, and then the wound glowed with the aquamarine aura of a wisp and Joan locked her eyes on me and her countenance transformed into the mummified Jack O’Lantern face and in my Grandmother’s voice she uttered,*
***“FEED ME MORE.”***
I woke with a start. The candle above me flickered wild shadows across the walls, and my heart was thrumming. It took me a second to calm myself when I realized the sound of drums from my dream persisted.
There was music playing outside and the sounds of a crowd chatting and laughing. I shot to my feet and looked out the window. Hundreds of shapes were milling about in the lawn. Women walked in fantastic ballroom gowns, and children ran to and fro with glass orbs of every color over their heads. I saw people with sheets thrown over them like ghosts and tiny people walking about on stilts. In the shadow of the oak, I saw a dozen dark figures crawling on all fours in a circle around the trunk, and in the low light they seemed to flicker like stop-motion characters. It was the oddest cast of characters I could have imagined, and they all gathered like old friends.
There were torches the color of the Will-o’-the-Wisps burning on the slate bridge, and at each granite pillar. One torch bobbed low across the lawn and I saw that it was the small fairy woman from the grove.
She was no longer nude, instead she wore a gown of woven vines and bark that trailed in the grass behind her . There was an allure to her, terrifying enough that I wanted to run from the window, but also to jump from it and join her. Her appearance drew the attention of the other ‘guests’ before the haunting sound of a horn rose from the bog.
Five figures stood on the bridge, their arms held skyward, and from them emanated a clattering of shifting stones. The rags they wore were drenched and muddied, and my heart skipped when I processed that there was no head attached to their necks, instead they were held high, shriveled mummified Jack O’Lantern’s that spewed sick light from their chattering mouths.
It was at that moment that I heard the crunching of asphalt beneath wheels. I looked out and saw a car coming up the driveway with its lights beaming. Every figure in the yard turned to the source, and their quiet otherworldly speech went silent. The oblivious headlights cast a pall over the revelers. Their shapes twisted. Their colors shifted.
The shine went through them revealing wisps of smoke and foreign skeletons crammed into the shapes of mankind. They grew agitated, their shoulders heaved, and the *things* underneath the tree writhed in misery.
“We turn the lights off on All Hallow’s Eve,” I whispered. Their fate was sealed. Grandma had made this clear with our rituals. Joan’s light was why she died. Part of me thought this interloper should have known better. How dare they come onto this land on Halloween with their lights ablaze. Then I recognized the car.
My dad got out and cast a halting glance at the party before he came and knocked at the door.
"Margaret? It's Nathan." Dad studied the crowd as it shifted toward the house with determined but glacial steps.
“Dad?!” I ripped open the window, “Dad! What are you doing here?”
He fell back a step and spotted me, “Jack, what’s going on?”
The horn in the bog sounded again. My pulse quickened. The five figures on the bridge had crossed over into the yard. The revelers crept closer to the house. Beams of light revealed creatures of flesh and muscle and other indescribable shapes that shifted with predatory gaits.
“Dad, get inside now!” I screamed and dashed across the room to my door. I slammed into it, jostling the latch, and when I turned the doorknob my hand flinched away like I’d been burned. I drew away from the door and watched the latch lock itself. I tried the door again and again, my hand would burn, the door would relock, and I’d look down at my palm and it’d be unblemished. “Grandma help! Let me out, Dad is here!” I hammered on the door.
The front door jostled and banged from my dad’s blows and they resounded through the house.
He was yelling, “Is this some kind of joke? Get away from me! Where’s Margaret?”
I hurried back to the window, my dad was bellowing. Two of the orb-head children had taken him by a leg, and an unnaturally tall man with arms that reached close to his ankles took my dad by the armpits. The tall man’s spine grew malformed out from the base of his neck and over his head like a fishing rod with a glowing wisp hanging from the end. *Just like the bog creatures*, I thought.
*“Thank you for coming, Nathaniel.”* The small fairy woman stood directly before my father.
His struggles ceased and he went quiet as a spell fell over him. Dad was dragged to his knees beneath the granite pillar that was painted with Joan’s blood. At every other pillar stood one of the headless beings with their chattering Jack O’Lanterns chanting a warbling song.
“Dad run!” I yelled, but my voice was lost. All the revelers hummed along and the world vibrated.
Our front door opened quietly, and Grandma stepped out in an iridescent white gown. This time she did not hold her lantern out in front of her, but instead she mimicked the headless figures and held her Jack O’Lantern above her head and approached the circle.
The creatures and fairies of the bog scowled but parted from Grandma’s light. She then stood before my Dad and the elegant fairy woman just on the edge of the clover patch where the dozen dark figures rolled and clawed at nothing.
*“Two bodies in two nights.”* The fairy said. The pieces flitted into place for me. They already considered my dad dead.
“Luck,” Grandma Margaret replied. “Bad luck for some.”
The phone call was to my dad.
*“You insult us with your malshaped charade,”* The Fairy scowled. *“You carry Jack’s head, what is rightfully ours, and you mimic our Diviners. How long will you persist with this?”*
Joan was a sacrifice. I had unwittingly exchanged her life for my family’s bloodline.
“For as long as you take my offerings.”
My dad isn’t Margaret’s son. He is not part of our bloodline.
*“Your bones are old. You don’t plan for us to eat them.”* The Fairy’s voice was cracking ice and sunk cold into my blood. I wanted to slink under my covers and box my ears and pretend this nightmare was over, but I wanted to get my dad away from them before they took him forever. *“There are seven pillars and five Diviners. I know you plan to be the sixth, and when you steal your death from us and join them, do you plan to let your kin die?”*
“No, we will continue.”
I tried to fit through the window. I wanted to jump and save my dad, but an unseen force kept me at bay. My body disobeyed me and kept me in the room.
*”Who then will be leaving offerings? Your daughter, or the boy Jack be giving more?”* The fairy’s golden eyes pierced me from across the lawn.
An offering from me. An offering now from Grandma.
“Let’s not speak of the future,” Grandma Margaret’s tone was final.
*“Very well,”* The Fairy grabbed a tuft of my Dad’s hair and yanked him back into the stone circle.
Bedlam was unleashed.
**“No!”** I screamed as the strange beasts beneath the tree pounced on my father. He made no noise as a dozen bodies piled onto him and the sounds of tearing flesh commenced.The partygoers let out a cheer, and the Jack O’Lanterns of the Diviners flashed with deep strobing flames. The headlights on my dad’s car burst and the car horn sang in rhythm to drums as the party launched into the throngs of frenzied bloodlust. People danced and sang. Colors melted and clashed. Bodied twisted and spun. I was compelled to move as well. Hollering and screaming. My window slammed shut on its own volition and the candle burned bright and I was pulled out of the madness. My bedroom door was battered on its hinges by forces trying to break their way in. Bloody hands smacked the window panes, and I wrapped myself in my comforter on top of my bed and cried.
*“Thank you for your offering.”*
–
I woke in cold silence. I was able to open my door, and the bundle of sticks was just a pile of ash in the hallway.
Grandma Margaret smoked a cigarette while she made tea.
They said that my father died in a car accident. His car had tumbled down into a ravine and he was too injured to get help. His body was savaged by wild animals after he succumbed to his wounds.
That was the official story. But I know the truth.
At his funeral, I overheard my mother thanking Grandma, “-for everything you’ve done.”
I don’t have to imagine why my Grandma called Dad to the house. Divorces are messy, maybe Mom asked for help and maybe Margaret was generous with her interpretation.
I never went back home. Mom sold our house and moved in with Grandma and I. She wanted to make up for lost time and to ‘Better understand her roots.’
Grandma doesn’t tell her everything. Mom thinks the offerings are primarily trinkets and food, but I see the looks Granny gives me. I know she is willfully hiding what true gifts to the *fae* are. Hiding from her that which really buys us time.
I see Dad sometimes in the bog. Watching me mournfully. On Solstices and Equinoxes, he dances below the tree with the rest of the revelers. He seems happy.
Margaret has been sick for years now. She’s left me with her Jack O’Lantern and I’ve taken over most of the strange tasks and duties that were once her responsibility. My mom helps where she can, but I think she has a different destiny than me. When Grandma ‘dies’ she intends to become one of the Diviners that stand sentinel around the stone circle when the world is in a state of transience. The *Fae* will need offerings of life in exchange for protecting Jack’s bloodline.
I know things I shouldn’t know. Jack talks to me through the flames in his mouth when I wander the property. I have memories of the land when it was young. I dream of places not of this world.
All Hallow’s Eve is coming. | https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17btafq/we_turn_the_lights_off_on_all_hallows_eve/ | nosleep | ArmchairDetectives |
false | The Puffy Red Coat | The drive was long but finally, I reached the short dirt driveway that cut through the woods to the house I left a little under four months ago. Before I could even step out of my car, my parents had sprinted from the house and were both attempting to engulf me in a warm hug. Once I finally stepped out of the car, I gladly returned the gesture to my mom as my dad began to search for my bags.
"You brought something home with you right bud?" my dad said in his familiar, deep but comforting, tone as he crouched down to gaze into my car.
"Yeah, a couple of things," I responded, "I threw it all in the trunk," I said as I reached for the button to pop it open for him.
"I've got this," he said as he lifted the trunk open revealing the few items I brought home," you just start telling your mom everything, with all her questions it's best that you get a head start," he said with a chuckle.
"Thanks, Dad," I replied with a laugh. Then, me and my mom walked inside.
"Can I get you anything to drink," my mom asked brightly, "I went to the store yesterday. I even picked up that ginger ale you like," she said with excitement.
"You already know my answer," I replied, "I haven't had Briggs in way too long."
"One ginger ale coming right up," she said as she shuffled out of the room
Briggs is a local ginger ale here in my hometown. I don't remember the first time I even drank it but I have lived off of it for as long as I can remember. My dad likes to say that when I was born, they had to give me Briggs to keep me from crying 24/7. Since I went off to college, I haven't had any and I think I was going through withdrawal. I'm going to have to bring some back when I leave.
My mom rushed back into the kitchen with a cold bottle of Briggs and forced it into my hand with a smile on her face. The taste of Briggs is the definition of home for me. Just one sip and I felt like a child again. This sparked a question in me. I knew that on the way in, something was off about our street.
"Hey ma, what is up with the Thornes' house? It looks... dead."
"Oh, yeah they moved out a couple of months back," she replied, "I'm honestly surprised it took them that long."
The Thornes are a family that has been in my life about as long as Briggs has. I used to play with their son, Ethan before he ran away, at least that's what his parents said happened. We weren't best friends by any means, but we were the only kids on the street so we naturally found ourselves in each other's company pretty often. We even rode the same bus back in middle school. I for some reason always remember that he wore a dog tag around his neck with his name on it. I think his grandpa gave it to him before he passed.
My mom, not very captivated by the topic of the Thornes, quickly started asking me about college.
"So, how was your first college semester?" She asked with excitement flowing through her voice.
"Stressful," I said with a sigh, "Especially because I just finished up midterms."
"Oh, how do you think you did, "my mom asked hesitantly.
"Fine honestly," I replied before taking a sip of Briggs, "I'm just happy they are in the past."
For about 30 minutes, me and my mom chatted about college until my dad came down from upstairs.
"Your room is all set bud," my dad said proudly.
"Thank you for doing that," I replied.
"It's no trouble," he said back, "Has your mom grilled you enough yet?"
"Basically feels like I'm back in class already," I said sarcastically
My mom sighed and shook her head with a smirk.
"I'm sorry I missed you," she shot back
"All jokes Helen," my dad reassured, "but let's let him get settled in and we can talk some more over dinner."
My mom reluctantly agreed and let me go upstairs to my room.
It had only been four months but the room I had stayed in for the last 18 years felt new as I opened the door. This didn't last long though as my memories came flooding back as I crashed onto my bed. I was hoping that I might get to see a white Christmas this year but the more days that passed, the less likely that seemed. I don't want to say what college I'm attending but let's just say I wasn't gonna get a white Christmas there. My home is in a small town in Maryland and trying to figure out the weather is like a roulette table if there were 20 different options that were all equally as likely. Because of this, snow wasn't very common but when it was, it was not around Christmas.
Despite the fact that snow was unlikely the next few weeks, I peered out the window in my room into the deep woods that surrounded my house. That's when something caught my eye. There was a red puffy coat that was hanging from a tree branch. As soon as I saw it, there was a strong feeling of familiarity inside me. I couldn't put my finger on it though so I just continued letting my eyes wander in between the tall trees. With nothing else grabbing my attention, I closed the blinds and lay down for a bit.
My mom yelled up to me that we were going to be leaving for dinner soon and to my surprise, hours had passed since I put my head on the pillow. At the restaurant, we continued to talk about college, but I couldn't keep my mind from the red coat in the woods.
When we returned home, there was a small amount of light left outside so I told my parents that I was going to go for a walk through the woods. No matter what I was doing, I couldn't stop thinking of that puffy red coat. I thought that maybe if I went and got it, I could find the owner and possibly return it to get some closure.
When I reached the coat, it became very clear to me that this was a child's jacket. I proceeded to grab it off the branch and start heading back because light was fading quickly. I'll examine it better inside anyway. When I got back, I quickly rushed up to my room and laid the jacket on my bed. I also flicked on the TV to a local news station for some background noise. I looked in the pockets of the coat and found nothing and then went for the tag to try and identify the owner. I flipped the tag to see the name and all I could do was stare.
"ETHAN"
The name on the tag was "ETHAN" in all capital letters. I stood over the jacket confused for a second. "It certainly wasn't Ethan Thornes' jacket," I thought to myself, "he went missing when we were ten."
In an attempt to fuel the thinking my brain was trying to accomplish, I decided to rush downstairs to grab a bag of chips from on top of the fridge. When I reached up for the chips, I straightened my gaze in front of me. Right as my hand touched the bag, I saw something that brought me back to my childhood years.
"Kritchly Street 2014 Christmas"
It was a picture of all the people who lived on my street back when I was 9. I saw some of the faces of the older couples who passed away years ago and it brought me back. Then, as if there was a light coming through the photo, my eyes locked onto a boy, Ethan. This was less than a year before he went missing. But truthfully, he wasn't exactly what caught my eye. My attention was cast on the bright red puffy coat he was wearing.
My heart sank as I sprinted up the steps to my room, leaving behind the chips and Christmas photo. When I shut the door behind me, I stopped to catch my breath only to hear something on the TV that made me halt any subconscious action that I was doing.
"James Thorne."
My eyes shot up to the TV on the wall just in time to see the start of the rolling caption at the bottom of the screen.
"James and Ella Thorne found dead tonight in \[Redacted\] County apartment."
I stood there in shock. This family was close to mine, now they were dead.
Once I regained control of my body, I grabbed a hold of the door handle to go let my parents know the awful news but then I saw something pop up on the screen so I halted my action and listened.
"Police have not yet released details about the state of the victims, but have provided a couple of pictures of items that have been found in the apartment."
A slide show of items occupies the screen. Bloody clothes, moving boxes, a smashed family photo, and a sticky note on a table that was clearly written in haste. For a second I looked away as I thought I had enough info to go tell my parents but then I quickly turned back realizing what was on the note.
"THE RED COAT"
"THE RED COAT"
"THE RED COAT"
"THE RED COAT"
I start to connect the dots in my head when my screen goes black. I rush to the remote to try to flip back to the channel but nothing is working.
It is pitch black.
No, it isn't completely black, it's more like a dark room. I see a small faint green light that reminds me of the light on my mom's diffuser on her bedside table. I think for a second and then remember that my TV has a brightness feature. I used to use it to make the screen brighter when watching scary movies as a kid. As I fiddle with the remote, I hear what sounds like the front door creak downstairs.
It's probably just my dad going to grab a bottle of water to drink before bed. I finally get the brightness up and when I see it I freeze.
On the TV I see my mom and my dad, sleeping in their bed. I had forgotten that before I left to retrieve the Jacket, they said they were turning in early. Then I hear another sound that I know down to the pitch, my parent's door. I look up at the TV only to see it open just like I heard. There haven't been more than three people living in this house since my last sister moved out 2 years ago.
Who is in my parent's room now?
I stand there in shock. Knowing I should go help and warn them but also in fear of my own life. Then Something steps into the room.
It is the height of a child, but I can't make out much more than that on the grainy black-and-white feed that I'm watching. My hands grow sweaty and I can feel my heart rate fly up. I snap back for a quick second and begin to search for my mom's contact in my phone and hit the call button. I can see it light up on the TV and begin to vibrate across her bedside table.
But it grabs the attention of the thing in the room. The child-shaped figure reaches for it before answering the phone. I sit other end of the line, staring at the TV as quietly as possible when...
That... thing... stared. back.
I can finally see the horror that is in my parent's room. It has no eyes, but wide open sockets where eyes used to live. Its mouth is not only split from ear to ear but also down the middle from the bottom of its nose to its chin. A dark liquid ran down the clothes it wore which seemed to already be covered in dirt.
Then the feed went dark
I stood in fear for a second, waiting for what would come next. Then I heard two large thuds, one shortly after another. Like someone had dropped big bags of sand on the ground. Following this, I heard the creak of my parent's door once again.
And then the footsteps.
*smack, smack, smack, smack*
The sound of barefoot on the kitchen tile floor echoed through the house.
I flew across my room, ducked down, and crawled under my bed.
Silence.
Silence for what felt like an eternity.
Then, *pat, pat, pat, pat.*
This time it came from the carpeted stairs that snaked directly to my room. My heart beating so fast it didn't feel like there was even space in between each beat. My eyes were fixed on the crack under the door when the light coming through was obstructed.
The door handle turned and the door crept open. I saw small dirty feet slowly step into the room and stop right in front of the bed and in front of the red coat. Then something fell to the ground. It was silver and seemed to be attached to a chain. It was a dog tag that said... "Ethan."
Holding back tears to avoid being noticed, I continue to stare at the thing that is somehow Ethan when it walks to the corner of my room and sits down in an old rocking chair.
I'm writing this part now. It hasn't left that corner. The slight creak of the rocking chair is a constant reminder of the abomination that lurks in my room. I think it knows where I am. I think it's toying with me. If you look outside and see the red coat, I'm sorry. Please send help.
UPDATE: About one hour has gone by and I just got a text, I will get back on what it says.
Text Message from Mom❤️: It's time to wake up, you have school soon.
It is 10:09 PM. I'm home for my Christmas break. It knows.
It knows.
| https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17c11a9/the_puffy_red_coat/ | nosleep | Not-da-real-me |
false | I received a cassette tape in the mail labeled “To Mom.” My first child doesn’t arrive for another month. [Part 2] | [Part 1](https://reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/170szx4/i_received_a_cassette_tape_in_the_mail_labeled_to/?ref=share&ref_source=link)
That night. The one after that. The one after the one after that, my brain screaming all the while: *tell him, tell him, tell him, tell him!*
Sure, Brain, let’s just tell my husband that what we thought was a creepy cassette tape from the early 90s was actually a haunted cassette tape from who the hell knows when. That it came to life and escaped its plastic shell. That it slithered into our bedroom, re-formed its four hundred and twenty-one foot magnetically coated polyester-type ribbon body into the approximate height and proportions of a toddler. At which point this cassette-tape-turned-nightmare-fuel attempted to – and here’s where it hits him, the implications of my tale, his blood running February cold, eyes searching for his phone wondering, Could I dial 9-1-1 before she got to me? – strangle him in his sleep.
Because marriage is marriage is marriage, but crazy is still crazy.
Waking the next morning – “wake?” did I even sleep? eyes glued to the closet door, waiting for the moment that green-glowing indicator on the safe went “unlocked”-yellow – I found myself with only one option. My “Break Glass in Case of Emergency.” My ripcord in freefall:
“Hormones?” he replied, whisking pancake batter thick as his own skepticism.
“Hormones. Momnesia. The ol’ baby brain.” I snatched up a sausage link from the plate on the table, chomped into it.
“But didn’t you just last night tell me *not* to say hormones?” *Churn-churn-churn.*
“Well duh” – I said, chewing openly, then swallowing – “hormones.”
It was not my proudest moment. Yet in my mind being a gender traitor was better than the alternative: The sideways glances. The air of doubt left lingering. The looming specter of that oh-so-simple question, “Hol’ up... is my wife *batshit?*” With those allegations off the table, and the alleged “monster” all locked up in the bedroom safe (in all the fuss that night I don’t think Hubby even caught that part), I now had time to bide time. To play the part. To be the most brazenly normal future-mommy the world had ever seen. I woke up. I snacked down. Took a walk. Returned to a nap. Dreamt only of—
*Tape tape tape tape.*
Woke up. Prenatal checkup at noon. Took the new used family car. Held Mr. Husband Man’s hand while the OB/GYN talked and talked and all I heard was—
*Tape tape tape tape.*
Woke up. WFH. Never alone, never alone. A double life doubled yet again. Quadruple life, and counting Ms. Fetus-Face kick-kick-kicking, quintuple life. Too many things. Too many parts. Too much mind wandering to—
*Kick kick kick.*
*Tape tape tape.*
Until finally... “I’m heading out for a bit!” I said, this a few days into the whole charade. I’d already grabbed my jacket and was standing over the console table in the hall, hand hesitating over two sets of keys, two modes of me: the new used family car, the old used college car.
“Do you need me to—?” Hubby stood back at the bedroom door, hand covering the phone to muffle the sound of the client on the other end.
“Nah, I’m good,” I said, and with a jangle-*snap* snatched up the keys to the college car, was gone before he could say another word. Before I even knew where, exactly, I intended to go. After all, I had only a single piece of information regarding the “““thing’s””” origin, the return address, written in perfect psycho script across the yellow bubble mailer:
The Halfollow House, Lake Mire.
Wherever the hell that was supposed to be. I mean, the last part I recognized, Lake Mire. Had been dozens of times. Little else to do out here in I’m-still-not-telling-you-ville. But that first part, I had no clue. What I did have, however, was a plan: I’d climb into that old car of mine – that smell! the sense memory of the steering wheel in my hands! – I’d back out of the garage into the crisp autumn afternoon, and I’d find the hell out about this so-called “Halfollow House.”
Afternoon? Midafternoon really, mid to late even. That time of day in October when the light hung heavy on the branches. Prime mystery-solving time. Above me as I drove swayed a wide canopy of autumnal colors: yellow-curious, orange-going, red-gone. I tapped the map app on my phone, selected something resembling the center of the Lake Mire area, and just drove. What follows then are the furious acts of Googling I performed – which said like that sounds like something you get marriage counseling for – at various stop signs, red lights, and the occasional highway shoulder. (Which *also* sounds like something for the marriage counselor.)
I started with the obvious, the dead simple, “Halfollow House,” and got exactly what you figure, nothing. Tried “Halfollow” by itself, also nothing, or the neighbor to nothing anyway. *Did you mean Hal Follow? Half Aloe? Hitfollow?* said the screen. No, no, and no. Next, I tried adding in various versions of the “Lake Mire” part – the clubhouse, the outdoor mall, the Green Arbor Landfill (“Green Arbor” & “landfill,” oh the doublespeak!) – all of which told me exactly nada about nilch. At one point, I even asked my phone to give me anagrams of “Halfollow house,” resulting in such crucially useful stuff as: Sheaf Hullo Wool, Flea Hullo Whoso, Lawful Holes Ooh (ha!), and a bunch more nada-nilch. That was until the phone rattled off its last anagram solution, “Afoul She Hollow.”
*Hal follow.*
*Half follow.*
*Half hollow.*
What is it they say, every mystery a revelation? Well that was me now to realize that every time I’d thought the word “Halfollow,” I’d split it right between the “l” and the “f,” leaving the first syllable the simple “hal.” (Like that *other* self-possessed entity, from that one movie with the bad ape costumes.) Ah, but attach the “fuh” sound instead to the first syllable and you get a different sound, “half.” Then say it aloud – which I know you know I did over and over as frequent as the falling leaves – you didn’t get “half ollow,” because what the heck’s an “ollow,” but “half *hollow*.”
NEEEEERRRRR—
—went the sound of the utility vehicle barreling, briefly, right at me on the highway. No, I wasn’t smartphoning and driving, but I wasn’t exactly smart-*thinking* either. That was when I decided to pull over onto that aforementioned highway shoulder. Gravel spitting from under the tires. The woosh-lift of semi-trucks passing by. Pulled up Google again, but put in a new search string: “the half hollow house,” in quotes just like that. And what kicked back was something I’d never seen before: a single, solitary search result. No “Did you mean?” No “See omitted results:” Just the lone URL: www.labbabble.com/lets-talk-haunted-laboraties.htm.
That one was easy: “Lab babble,” far as I could tell a site for technicians and scientists to meet up. For what? Slandering their bosses if I had to guess, but I suppose every thriving community in the world starts that way. Not that this one was thriving anymore. According to the landing page, the last date of copyright was 2003, which was basically the “haunted Internet” equivalent of a forsaken castle in the remote German mountains (making www.furnitureporn.com what, *Beowulf?*). Anyway, more important than the primary domain was the rest of the link, which led to a message board titled “Let’s talk haunted laboratories.” Here I found a graveyard of comments, most from the year 1998.
“...in Elmore nat lab and I SWEAR I saw a ghost...”
“...the equipment would always fail at the same hour, 12:07am...”
“...can’t give specifics, but that one lab in Germany, the one with the “voices?” It’s true!”
I scrolled past comment after comment. Until my eyes began to glaze over. Until it all just became one big haunted blur. And then...
**LeidseNights88:** Wow, 40 comments in and not 1 mention of the so called “Half Hollow” House?
*FOOM!* went a passing semi. I hardly noticed. I read on.
**EinsteinRosenFridge:** Yeah mate prolly cuz it don’t exist. Theres rumor and theres hearsay and then theres the H3. Pure invention that one.
**MemMori:** I wouldn’t say pure invention exactly.
**LeidseNights88:** Oh yeah? Details, please!
Excitement. Anticipation. Hope. I’ve always found those to be the saddest form of the thread-ending comment. How the empty “Reply” sits there in silence for ten, twenty, twenty-five years. Made tenfold depressing in this case, to be so close to someone who knew something –anything! – about this “half hollow house,” only for them to never follow up. I couldn’t help but imagine the scenario: MemMori hitting the “Enter” key just as the door kicked open and the goons of the X-Files’ Cigarette Smoking Man swept through the room. All to stop me two decades later from knowing where to go next.
Except I *did* know where to go next, didn’t I? It was all right here on the page, and the more I thought about it, sitting there in my car with the engine faintly shuddering, the more I realized it. I opened up Google one more time, tapped in the words: “defunct laboratory Lake Mire.”
 
************************
“5115 Overlook Road,” I repeated to the map app, then quickly added, “...Lake Mori.”
Mid-to-late afternoon had gone plain late in the thirty minutes since I’d left home. Where the sun had hung heavy in the trees, it now lifted and became shadow. Wherever I was going, I needed to go faster. Cue my heavy foot, weighed down with pure curiosity. Overlook Road had a posted limit of 20MPH, but when you gotta go, you gotta go. I drove with one eye on the map app’s “current position” indicator and the other on the glowing trees that crawled by between my car and the lake. The trees were low-lying in this area, which made it difficult in that harsh light to tell that anything could be held in them at all, much less make out any specific structure. Which was the reason for the other eye on the screen, watching as a digital 5115 loomed closer.
And closer.
And—
“Voicemail Received.” I’d tried to swipe away the notification, but clicked it instead. Soon heard my husband’s soothing voice. “Hey, lady, how’s the shopping or... some non-stereotype? Well, whatever you’re doing, something funny just happened I thought you’d get a kick out of, I was just—”
*YOU’VE ARRIVED!* said the map app, cutting my husband off and ending the voicemail. Sorry, honey, got a mystery to solve. I slowed down, peering through the passenger side window, scanning the distance overhung with drooping oaks for whatever thing I might have just “arrived” at. Came to a stop as close to straight ahead of it as possible. Looked to the map. Looked to reality. Looked at myself in the rearview mirror.
“Well you didn’t come all this way not to do something very stupid,” I said, and with that I pulled into the driveway.
“Driveway,” let’s call it. Ghost of Driveway Past is more like it, but in I went, squinting in what was now basically head-on sunlight. Eyes so narrowed that you’d just call them closed in normal situations, but nothing had been normal these last few days, so why should driving be? Okay, maybe driving should still be. But in any case, I just... *went.* Into. Further into. As far into as I could, looking for...
*That!* I slammed the brakes. Correction: I stood on the brakes, both feet, the car sliding in and spitting leaves all around me, until... I came to a stop. Watched the leaves clear. Saw before me a small squat building in the center of a rectangular lot surrounded by chain-link fence. Hanging from the fence was a small sign, dented and rusted, but the words still legible enough: “The Halfollow House.”
Car into park. Feet onto the ground. I had arrived.
The building was... how do I put it... *blunt.* Square. Concrete. Like a single tooth rising up from the forest floor. There were two windows, one on each side of a white door. The place had been reasonably preserved given the conditions of the grounds surrounding it, which to my eye appeared to have been decades of regrowth, of nature retaking whatever this unnatural thing place was. I stood at the entrance to the fence, which was latched but not locked. Stood peering at the building. “Hello?” I said, pulling my jacket close in the chill. “Anyone?”
“We’re here! And well-adjusted! And definitely not looking to hurt youuuu!” I *didn’t* hear anyone say. Because of course there wasn’t anyone there. Hadn’t been anyone in many a year by the looks of the place. I bit my lip. Looked back at the road where I’d come from, hoping to see anyone – a passing car, a jogger heading toward her daily goal – just anybody at all that might bring some distant comfort. Nope. So, alone, I threw back the latch and stepped into the lot.
That’s that dead-cat curiosity, remember? A rethought one too, because the closer I approached to the building, the more I found myself revisiting my original assessment. Where I had thought the place reasonably preserved, I now saw... cracks in that appraisal – literal cracks, as in the ones I could plainly see in the concrete walls. Cracks formed from the top down, as if at night the trees descended upon the building, this lone tooth, with their own crushing force. As for the windows, where they had previously appeared empty I now saw the remnants of black plastic pockmarked and weatherworn from exposure. And that door, which from my original distance had been simply “white,” I could see that its paint was warped as if from heat. “Hello?” I said once more, with an extended “ooo” that attempted (poorly) to mask a growing anxiety. I reached forward, took the door handle.
Long story short: it was locked.
Short story long: the door, which actually opened partially and only stopped with a sudden rattle of chains, was locked from the *inside.* Mysteries inside mysteries, my life had become. I put my eye to the crack in the door, held my breath at the dank smell of a moldy forever-wet inside these walls. I cut on my phone flashlight, shined it into the pitch-black space. And what I saw, I don’t think I will ever quite understand.
It was furniture.
Not normal furniture. I mean *tortured* furniture. Filing cabinets wrapped in chains and standing side by side like some corporate Terracotta Army. Desks flipped onto their tops with concrete blocks laid out on them like weights. And not just furniture – there was a stack five-high of bulky computer monitors wrapped around and around with winch straps. Heard of Casual Friday? Say hello to BDSM Tuesday! Everywhere my light went, I saw more. Off-white PC cases stacked into a monolith of 90s computing power. Office telephones nailed to bookcases. Lamps hung by their own cords from the ceiling like corpses in some hell-begotten land. And ahead of all this, lying on the floor just two feet ahead of me, I saw... a manilla folder lying free. From its corner, the gone-gray edge of a few sheets of paper. I wanted that. I needed that. I crouched, the light from my light casting furniture shadows on the ceiling as I went. Pushed my arm inside, my fear held at bay by an overwhelming need to know *something* about this place. I grasped for the folder, fingers scraping the concrete floor. I shoved my arm harder, turned my face so I couldn’t even see inside anymore, and just reached. And then... I had it, at least almost. Felt the edge of the folder under my fingertips, began inching it toward me. Ear to the door, I heard the folder sliding across the floor as I worked it up into my hand. When suddenly I realized that that sound, it wasn’t the folder. It was a rolling sound. Like – and I might as well just say it – like an incoming roller chair.
*SLAM!* went the door as it snapped shut on my arm, like jaws gripping tight. I panicked, yanked back, but I was pinned there. I beat at the door with my fist, yelling, but it did no good. I was trapped. Caught. Inside, I heard the sound of stomping, shaking, rattling – heard but could not see, not shoulder deep into the door. Truth was, in that moment I didn’t care what the sound was, I could only think of getting free. I twisted myself so that I could get leverage on the door, pushed with everything I had and...
My arm slipped free from the door, bringing with it – to my surprise – the folder I had been reaching for. Had clenched it tight in my hand, I guess, fear will do that to you. What else it will do: send you running for your life without so much as a glance back at your assailant, this door, this building, or the chain-link fence that surrounded it. Not at the trees, the leaves, the red-running sunset that keeps the shadows away from you just long enough to get into your car, start the engine, and get G-O-N-E gone. | https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17by92a/i_received_a_cassette_tape_in_the_mail_labeled_to/ | nosleep | fishwithfish |
false | There is a beautiful garden, hidden in the woods. I'm never allowed to set foot there again. | I come from a small town in the US, I'd rather not say where. We've got one of those big ass national forests not too far off, though, and that's really the main appeal of living here. Ain't got shit in town to do, and I'm not the sort for crowds, anyways. Wandering in the woods though, going for hikes and exploring... it's dangerous, but nothing makes me quite as happy. It's a shame I won't be coming within a mile of them woods ever again.
A couple weeks back, things were different. I'd go for a hike at least a dozen times a month - I only work a couple days a week, so I have a lot of free time to myself. I'm a programmer - might be a bit of an odd choice for a nature junkie, but I can do my whole workload in a couple of afternoons, and as long as I tell my boss it took me the whole week, I get a full week's pay, and that gives me plenty of free time for what really matters to me. I was in the woods again, following an old trail I've been down more than a few times, when I noticed something I've never seen before... a branching path, off to my right. I wondered why I'd never noticed it, but didn't think too much about it - it was a new adventure, and that's all that mattered.
The trail led for at least a couple miles, maybe more - I was walking for nearly two hours before I reached it. And by "it", I mean the most beautiful garden you've ever seen - a clearing in the forest with an absolute sea of strange, vibrant flowers. I walked carefully, so as not to crush anything, as I stepped through this Eden that I had stumbled upon. The flowers were huge, each petal the size of an oak leaf, and they varied in shade, from deep-sea blue to crimson, and dark purple as well. I was sure somebody must have put them here, must be tending to them - I waited for a while, hoping that I might be able to meet the one that had created such a magnificent place. But alas, nobody came, and the sun began to set. I knew better than to stay in the woods at night, so I packed up and left. For a moment I pondered taking a flower with me, but that felt wrong - these weren't my flowers, this wasn't my garden. I didn't have the right to just take one. And so I left, for the day.
Of course, I knew I would return. I needed to know who was responsible, who'd created this masterpiece - and I did return, no less than 4 times over the course of the week. Every time I'd go down the same path, arrive in the same garden, and savor the serene beauty of the place. There was nowhere like it, I was certain, in the entire world. But no matter how many times I came, or how long I stayed, I never did catch a glimpse of the one who tends the garden. That bothered me to no end... and unfortunately, it made me lose my grip on common sense. I became sure that whoever was responsible must be coming around at night, and that if I wanted to meet them, I would need to do the same. The danger of wandering the forest at night no longer mattered to me - bears and wolves be damned, I would take that risk. Obsession makes a man do foolish things.
And so, it was sunset when I first set upon the trail. I'd slept all afternoon, and so I wasn't particularly tired as I walked - although my foolishness had become a little more apparent. Sunset gave way to dusk gave way to night, and in the darkness, surrounded by towering trees, with only starlight to illuminate the path before me, I am not ashamed to admit I was nervous. Afraid, even. But I never considered turning back - it was out of the question. I needed to know, you see. And so, when I reached that fork in the path, despite every instinct telling me that I should not be here, I didn't hesitate. Nearer I was to the garden, and I was sure that tonight, tonight I would find them. The architect behind it, the artist who had painted for me a tapestry of Gaia's beauty.
The garden looked different, under the light of the stars and the crescent moon, but it was no less beautiful. Normally I would have, as always, walked amongst the flowers, and taken in their majesty more thoroughly - but I caught a glimpse of movement, and found myself hiding behind a large tree. It could be a wild animal - a predator, I reasoned, as I hid. But what I saw that night was nothing so sane or ordinary, for he had finally shown himself. The Keeper of the Garden had arrived, and I knew I should never have come here.
He - it - was a thing, to be sure. Not a man nor beast, but a THING, as hideous as the garder was beautiful. It wore a long, tattered red skirt, so I never got a glimpse at its legs, and I suppose that's for the best. Its arms were thin, little more than pale skin stretched over bone, and while it seemed to have ordinary proportions in regards its upper arms, the forearms of the creature were at least twice as long as those of a man, and one dragged along the ground as it walked. The other carried a sack... I'll get to that part soon. It had a thin, emaciated body, and no face - but from the top of its head all the way down to its naval, and possibly below the skirt as well, there was a clustering, uneven line of deep black holes. It had no eyes, no ears, no mouth, no hair - and as I watched, it opened the sack it carried, and began to feed the flowers.
Inside the sack, it had carried the corpse of a young woman, bruised and stripped naked. It wrapped those long, thin fingers of one hand around the waist of the dead woman, lifting her up - and with the other it seized and twisted off her head, with a sickening crunch. Then, it held the head over the flowers, and stepped through the garden, pouring her crimson essence upon each and every one. When the head was mostly drained, it gently shoved it back into the bag, and lifted the body, tipping it upside-down and continuing the process. My mind had gone blank with fear, I was paralysed... and then, behind me, I heard a high pitched, warbling whistle.
I turned around, but saw nothing. As I looked back, however, the Keeper had disappeared. The paralysis had been broken, but the fear remained, and I bolted down the trail. I made no effort to remain quiet - I was sure that thing had seen me, and I had no intention of letting it catch me. No desire to see that horrible emaciated body up close, or to know what might hide in those dark holes along its body. I ran, and even as my stamina started to give way, I refused to stop, coughing and panting as I persisted. And then, suddenly, I was out of the woods. The path should have been several times longer than it was, thinking back, but at the time I was just happy to have escaped. And then, again, I heard that whistle, and turned around.
It came from a boy, or something that mimicked a young child. It wore a skirt, not unlike that of the Keeper, and was similarly pale. While thin, scrawny even, it did have a bulging pot belly. It had neither nipples nor a bellybutton, no hair to speak of, but it was the face of this boy-thing that made me shudder. Blind, white eyes, an overly large nose with skin stretched across the nostrils. And no lips - just exposed gums and teeth, forever forming a ghastly, predatory grin. It closed its mouth and the whistling stopped - and to my horror, a second mouth formed along the boy-thing's pot belly, and spoke in an impossibly deep voice. "You had best not return to the Garden again. It was never meant for you." I couldn't breathe, couldn't speak - and so I found my second wind, and ran further still, into town, as far from the woods as I could get, before I collapsed from exhaustion.
I woke up in the drunk tank. Those cold steel bars had never been so comforting. When I got out, I returned to my apartment, and started to pack my things. I work online, as you know - so I have the freedom to move wherever I please. I'll go to the big city, start over - my plane leaves tonight. Because sometimes, when I close my eyes, I still see the Keeper and the Boy-Thing. They're waiting for me, in the Garden. Waiting for the day that I'm willing to trade my life for one last glimpse of perfection. | https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17bplw5/there_is_a_beautiful_garden_hidden_in_the_woods/ | nosleep | Latter-Locksmith-483 |
false | Skeletal | I bought the cheap piece of shit to make everyone happy. My wife had always loved Halloween and I guess she instilled that into our daughters.
They were sitting in the cart, it felt like we had been at the department store for hours.
As soon as we rounded the corner and saw the Halloween decorations the girls began to squeal and jump around “daddy, daddy, DADDY, can we have it?” I groaned and looked up.
I saw a man at the other end of the aisle, in a similar situation, his son was pulling all of the costumes off the shelf and begging.We smiled at each other.
It was our subtle way of communicating ‘shoot me now’.
We had to get out of here.
My head was killing me, so I gave in. We loaded the 8-foot skeleton in the cart.
We got to the register and of course there was an issue. I tapped my foot impatiently and began to rub my head.
The cashier was sympathetic.
She apologized “Sir, I’m so sorry, it’s just that it doesn’t have a tag and I haven’t seen it around here before”.
The line behind me was backing up. She took pity on me.“Ya know what, let’s just call it $19.99, alright?” She said as she looked down at my wild children in the cart and winked at me.“Perfect” I replied.
We got it home. This thing was unwieldy and huge. I couldn’t get it to stand up straight. The kids didn’t want to help. Daddy could do it, of course he could.
God, I hate Halloween.
I propped it up in the entryway and backed away to take a good look at it.
It was creepier than I remembered. Something about the eyes, and the mouth.Oh well, the job was done.
The kids were happy. I was going to bed.
I woke up at 4am to a loud crash. Startled, I sat up in the bed and turned the on the bedside lamp. I didn’t see anything, so I walked into the living room.
Goddammit the skeleton had fallen to the ground.
I turned on the entry light and went to prop it up again but as I moved its head into position the eye sockets glowed red.
WHAT THE FUCK? I backed up a bit and the head fell over on me.
I took a deep breath and stood it up again.
Nothing, normal.
Man, I have to get away for a while. Stacey will understand, she has to.
October just isn’t for me.
The skeleton was secured. It wasn’t coming loose this time. I used duct tape and fishing wire.
The kids woke up, ate breakfast, played with the skeleton arms and laughed, and then hopped the bus.
The next night it was storming and I tossed and turned trying to get to sleep. I finally pulled the pillow over my head and passed out. I had a nightmare. The most terrifying one I’ve ever had. I don’t have nightmares. Not before this...
I dreamed that the skeleton came loose and it was standing over the bed. I couldn’t move. I wanted to sit up, to scream, to swat at it. But I was frozen in place. Only my eyes could move. I woke up covered in sweat. “What the fuck was that?” I wanted to wake Stacey and tell her but I looked at the clock, it was 11am.
She must have gotten the kids ready for school and left without waking me.The first thing I did was go straight to the skeleton.
I knew it was a dream but I had to see for sure. It was tied up tight, just as it had been the night before. No glow in the eye. I kicked at it, no change. Then I bent in a bit closer. It looked like the tape had been cut and then pushed back together.
Huh? I needed some coffee, and I had a massive headache.
The next few days went by uneventfully. I started to feel like my old self again.
But every time I looked at that skeleton I shuddered.
I left for a solo camping trip on the 26th. On the way out the door I hesitated. I dropped the camping gear outside and went back in for one more look at the skeleton. It was as it had always been. Maybe I was the one who tore the duct tape when I was propping it up initially. I chuckled at the dream I’d had.
Stacey ran outside with a 6-pack and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I told her I’d be back on November 1st.
It happened on Saturday, October 30.
I wasn’t there for my wife. I wasn’t there for my children.
I got the call from the police.
I rushed home. It was too late.
They were found mutilated, in the bed, the three of them together.
The police said it looked like they had settled in to watch a horror movie for the night and fell asleep. Someone must have broken in.
I was numb. This just wasn’t real.
I wailed and crumpled down to the floor.
There, on the floor, I was eye to eye with the skeleton. I looked into its eyes and I didn’t see anything. Just the cheap black paint to darken the eye sockets.
“You shouldn’t be alone tonight; do you have anyone we can call? Anyone you can stay with?”“NO, no, no…I want to stay here. I have to stay here” I said as they carried the bodies out of the house.
The policeman had another call, he had to leave. I was alone.
The room was closed off.
I opened up the pill cabinet and took a triple dose of my sleeping medication, I didn’t know if I would wake up or not. I didn’t care.
This was a dream. It had to be a dream.
Sweat.
Fear.
I saw the skeleton. I saw myself leaving the house. I tried to shout, to get my own attention, to stop me from leaving for that fatal trip.
Immediately, my eyes were locked on the skeleton. I saw its bony fingers grow sharp and cut the ties that bind it. I followed it into the bedroom. The bedroom where my babies were sleeping. And Stacey was there, she had fallen asleep with her arms around the girls.
I felt something pass through me. It was the skeleton. It walked up to the bed. It stroked the girls’ hair with it’s talons. I lunged forward and shouted ‘NOOOO’.
Nothing, I couldn’t do anything at all.
It WAS a dream.
I screamed as loud as I could but I couldn’t stop it.
The skeleton bent over slowly.
The jaw unhinged. A mouth full of unnatural teeth appeared. Sharp and jagged.
Before it bit into her it looked at me, it smiled with that horrifying smile.
It devoured her.
Crunching the bones.
Swallowing the body whole. Growing more invigorated from the screams and the cries.
It was strong, preternaturally so.
I saw the teeth grow larger. Like knives they extended from the bone. It slashed and slashed.
Stacey was screaming.
Suddenly I woke up, this time in a panic.
I ran, tripping over the coffee table, to the bedroom. I pushed through the caution tape to the bedroom.
They were coming to clean up the blood tomorrow, I didn’t care.
I went straight to the skeleton and I jerked it up.
At first nothing happened. It had the same dead-eyed stare and black paint in the eye sockets. I shook it a bit and wailed. I began to beat its head against the wall and that’s when I saw it.
That sickening smile.
The teeth grew, the jaw cracked open. There was blood on it, everywhere. It snapped at me and I jumped back.
But it wasn’t there to hurt me. It was there to taunt me.
To leave me with the memory of the last moments of my screaming wife and children.
A knock on the door jolted me.
I answered.
It was the police.“Listen, Mister, we know this has been hard for you, but we just a have a few questions. Standard questions, nothing out of the ordinary. You see, it’s just not looking like anyone could have broken in, ya know?
The windows and the doors were sealed. Where did you say you were again, on the night of October 31th?” | https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/17bzgkm/skeletal/ | nosleep | Brookycrisp |
false | Prometheus’s Pillars | Life is great.
Ever since science has solved the world’s major issues, the world’s been a utopia. They also implanted chips in everyone and regularly provide updates to “improve the human experience.”
There’s no more pollution, it’s all been collected and recycled into building new bio-renewable cities. No more hunger, they’ve figured out how to make your body convert dead cells into nutrition. No more aging, not sure how they figured that out but software update 836.7 seemed to fix that issue.
I’ve been able to pursue my study of magnetism on a newly discovered planet that has a magnetic core. The surface of the planet is made up of magnetic pillars in the shape of basalt pillars. They feel like any other rock you would find back on earth. Around 1300\~ miles (2092.15\~ km) below the surface, the core constantly provided new raw material to the bases of the pillars.
The only issue is that when the pillars gained enough mass on their base, the core then pulled them back in without warning, making the surface of the planet dangerous without proper equipment and supervision. The rocks, although tough at first glance, crumble to a fine dust when high enough pressure is applied. The dust appears to be composed of a mixture of some type of magnetic material along with large amounts of unidentified organic matter.
The pillars vary in size anywhere from an inch to 22.3 miles (35.89 km) which was the longest that I had recorded at the time. They seemed to be kept in a constant stasis floating above the core. All huddled together to form the planet's surface, where I stand on the top of the submerged pillars. The atmosphere also appears to be breathable, although I did still use a mask in case there were any toxic airborne chemicals invisible to the naked eye.
I hadn’t intended to stay as long as I had. As I was circling above, the magnetic pull overpowered my ship. All the electronics went out leaving me in darkness and the force was like nothing I had ever seen before. It forcibly ripped my ship out of orbit and damaged it irreparably. But that’s fine, it gives me all the more reason to continue my research. I hadn’t intended to leave any time soon anyways. It took a year to regain mobility. 6 months to be able to move unassisted. And 9 years to regain eyesight.
Research was slow at first. Much of my equipment I had brought had contained some type of metal which was rendered useless by the core's magnetic pull and also some equipment destroyed by the impact. I had settled on a fairly large pillar and used some of the material from my ship along with material from the pillars to construct a makeshift base. It wasn’t the prettiest base but I was more focused on my research than aesthetics anyways.
The base was shaped similar to a figure eight, with the two domes connected by a little access point in the center. The dome on the right contained a place for me to sleep and the dome on the left contained all the equipment that survived, serving as a research pod to study the composition of these pillars.
The only thing keeping me on the planet and not floating uncontrollably into space was the iron in my blood, it was attracted to the core and kept me on the ground. The feeling of heavy blood vessels was a bit of an odd sensation, but you get used to it after a few months. I had stationed myself on a large pillar after figuring out that the smaller the pillar, the less mass needed to be sucked back into the core, and I felt relatively safe on this as I took samples and studied.
I created a special suit to prevent the debris from being inhaled as an update to the mask. When the pillars fall in they release plumes of that same metallic dust that is toxic to breathe in. Which I figured out the hard way 3 days after my recovery after getting too close to a falling pillar. It creates boils where it touches bare skin and scorches the throat, it also gives you a nasty cough for about a week. The weirdest part about the dust is its psychological effect on you. You begin to see shadowy figures in the corner of your vision that appear to be smiling and you constantly feel as though you are being watched and hear faint voices for months after inhaling the dust.
But the suit wasn’t enough. The voices got louder. The figures closer, and more invasive. A nearby pillar had fallen in recently. The gaping hole where it had been seemed so inviting compared to the company of these horrid beings. My research can’t be limited to the surface, I must go within to find the answers. Escape the voices, and just. Jump.
As I fall, the voices don’t dim, but grow louder. The cacophony of voices make it impossible to think. The pillars above, the core below. Noise everywhere. I realize I am not alone, but I am in the company of something greater. The figures are everywhere, the voices deafening. I feel myself being dragged into the core by an unseen force.
Around me are countless figures observing me as if I was an animal in a zoo with that god-forsaken smile on their face (if you could even call it that). At least when I’m dead I won’t have to deal with them anymore. As the core draws closer, I realize that it is not just a molten core of metal as I had previously assumed but it appears alive. It appeared to be writhing? As the end nears, the noise has all but died down, replaced by silence.
The core takes just as much as it gives. For it has given me its name. The Alvearium has accepted me. I feel a familiar smile spread across my face as the core takes my physical form to provide for the planet. Is it even a planet? I guess that doesn’t matter now. It takes my mobility, then my eyesight. But I don’t need those, the Alvearium provides all that I will ever need.
It has relieved me from the burden of my fleshly body, and has created a new one from the metallic dust for me. But my old, redundant, body won’t go to waste, but will be used to provide for the pillars, as have all the other figures' former selves. This place isn’t desolate, but populated by them. I was blinded by my research. The dust has opened my eyes to something greater. How could I have been so stupid. The Alvearium has given me a new life, and now I must return the favor.
As I ascend to the surface with a smile affixed to my face, I can’t help but watch as a ship plummets to the ground. Surely containing more lower beings that will soon have their eyes opened and their bodies provided for the pillar.
The cycle must continue.
| https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories/comments/17aws8k/prometheuss_pillars/ | scarystories | Pristine-Task-3701 |
false | The road to New Wilderness [Part 18] | [\[Part 17\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories/comments/17a29pz/the_road_to_new_wilderness_part_17/)
[\[Part 19\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories/comments/17bo3pa/the_road_to_new_wilderness_part_19/)
Standing on the deck of the *Harper’s Vengeance*, I shivered in the cool of the early morning, and stared at what remained of Collingswood Ohio.
Like a wall of slow-moving chalk dust, gray fog hung thick in the air along the shoreline a few hundred yards off, drifting down to the water in curtains that obscured my sight of the ruins. Deep within the fog, faint calls rumbled like thunder, strange bellows and shrieks that sent shivers down my spine. A cold stillness clung to everything, the sky not yet awake, and it chilled my skin enough to remind me that fall was almost here. The air tasted strange, sour, and reminded me of the factory district along the river in Louisville, with its huge smokestacks and funny-colored dew. Ropes creaked, water lapped at the hull, and few of the crew spoke as they set about lowering the ship’s anchor and furling the broad white sails.
Boots echoed on the wood behind me, and I faced Jamie and Chris. Ever since my conversation with Captain Roberts, they’d been treated much better, with no more beatings, better food and water, and Peter had brought some hammocks down to the brig so we didn’t have to sleep on the floor. Boatswain Emelia hadn’t come near us the entire time, something I counted as a blessing in disguise, but none of that could shake the acidic knots that snaked through my guts like eels.
I tried to put on a brave smile, the Type-9 heavy with fresh cartridges on my shoulder, and glanced at the longboat that waited for me in the waves below, a small red canoe on a towline behind it. “I guess I’ll see you guys tomorrow then?”
Jamie gnawed at her lower lip, a habit she’d been unable to kick so much that it bled, and her eyes scoured the nearby shore for movement. “Stay away from anything that stinks like rot. Dead stuff always draws Speaker Crabs, and those things are scary in numbers. And if you spot any Puppets, don’t fight, just distract them with noise, since there could be dozens that you don’t see nearby. Also, don’t forget to keep mud out of your ammo, you don’t want to get a jam when—”
“Jamie.” Catching her gaze, I gave her a slight shake of my head, wishing I could run to the toilet one more time to throw up from all the anxiety inside my brain. “Don’t worry about me, okay? Just . . . take care of yourself, no matter what happens.”
She sniffled, and before I could say another word, Jamie hugged me as tight as she could with her one good arm. “If you die out there, I’m gonna kick your ass.”
Tears attempted to surmount my eyelids, but I pushed them down, and simply nodded. “Thanks.”
Turning to Chris, I fought a jumble of emotions in my head. What could I say to him? If today was my last, I needed to make this moment count, but I didn’t even know what to do.
His sky-blue eyes pierced mine, and to my surprise, Chris reached for me without a word.
*Wow.*
Warmth flooded through me, pleasant tingles from head to toe, his broad chest like a solid wall of silky steel. Behind the fabric of his shirt, I could just detect Chris’s heart beating under his skin, a comforting rhythm against my own. Despite the faint aroma of sweat, something about his scent made my brain fuzz over, and heat pooled in my core like molten lava. His arms held me tight, and I shut my eyes to rest my chin on his shoulder, relishing a sense of security I hadn’t felt in days.
“Go north.” His whisper tickled my ear, low enough to keep the nearby guards from overhearing, but enough to snap me from my trance. “Forget the stupid box. Get back to New Wilderness and tell them what happened. Whatever you do . . . don’t come back here.”
Disappointment sliced through me, and I choked back a lump in my throat. Did he not think I would succeed? Did this mean nothing more to him than a convenient ruse to help me escape? Or was he that set on my survival that Chris never even considered if I wanted to survive without Jamie, or him? He’d meant well, but part of me had hoped, even for a brief moment, that perhaps after so many years of being the skinny wallflower I’d at last found someone who wanted more than my camera skills. Sure, Chris was trying to protect me . . . but I’d never felt safer than standing there, wrapped in his embrace.
He moved to pull away, and I tightened my arms around Chris’s shoulder blades to breathe a few stubborn words back to him. “I’m not leaving you.”
With that, I tore myself out of his grasp, and climbed down the rope net flung over the ships rail to the waiting longboat below.
Peter and four others waited in the boat, the pirates manning the oars while I sat in the prow, Peter in the stern. As soon as I was aboard, we cast off from the *Harper’s Vengeance*, and I watched over my shoulder as the ship, with my two friends at the rail, grew smaller and smaller in the distance.
A single lantern hung from a pole on the front of the boat like a tiny bowsprit, and its yellow flame sputtered the closer we drew to the gray fog.
“Masks on.” Peter barked, and I reached into the small green bag at my belt to pull the gas mask free from its pouch.
The pirates had been given a dozen or so military-grade gas masks by ELSAR during one of their ‘exchanges’, and they’d provided me with one for this mission. It smelled like chlorine on my face, but the rubber sealed to my skin, and once I’d tightened the straps over my head, I could hear the *hiss-hiss* of my breath being drawn through the mask’s round metal filter.
Surrounded by the gloom, I peered through the plexiglass visor of my mask, and realized there were little wafts of ash falling all around, the water droplets in the air tinged pavement-gray on my palm. Not much else came into view, the fog-ash mixture so dense that at times I could almost cup it with my hand.
“Should be getting close.” Peter leaned over the side to peer at the water, his face imperceptible behind his mask. “The chemical trails are getting stronger. See the color in the water?”
I craned my head to look, and watched tiny ribbons of greasy rainbows reflect in the waves around our boat. “What is it?”
“Some kind of contamination.” Peter reclined back on his seat in the stern. “When the graybacks bombed this place into oblivion, they set off some fertilizer storage tank somewhere, and it’s been burning ever since. That’s where all the fog comes from; fumes and ash driven by countless fires that never went out. The soldiers say it’s burning slow enough that it won’t affect the rest of the county, but it wouldn’t be the first time they lied about such things.”
After another ten minutes of rowing, I could see the vague outlines of squares in the water below of what had once been houses. More shapes rose from the ashy mist, broken sections of taller brick structures, crumpled chimneys, and twisted remnants of old steel girders. As the water grew shallower, more ruins surfaced, rusted hulks of cars, snapped telephone poles, and collapsed piles of rubble where homes used to be. Wavy strips of undulating black rock lay in lieu of the asphalt streets, the tarmac melted in the extreme heat of the bombs, and distant banks of fog glistened with various patches of red flickers. Dark smoke choked the sky overhead, blotting out the sun, and fine slate-colored ash clumped up on my arms, legs, and in my hair. Strange heaps of brownish-white sticks could be seen everywhere, and for a moment, I thought they were old bushes or shrubs.
My eyes adjusted to the gloom, and I spotted the first skeletal hand, outstretched from one of the heaps, frozen forever in death.
*Oh man.*
The gas mask stopped my hand from covering my mouth in horror, and behind me, Peter grunted, avoiding the sight with both eyes on his shoes. “Imagine, fire so hot it melts the skin right off your bones in an instant. All those people, just gone, and when they died, the mutants took over. Now it’s nothing but a graveyard.”
Glancing down, I fought the urge to shut my eyes, as we glided right over a submerged patch of more rotting corpses. Arms and legs lay entangled in desperate final embrace, ribcages stacked one on top of the other, dozens of skulls gaping up at us though empty sockets, their broken jaws opened wide with agony. They were everywhere, in the cluttered streets, poking out from under the rubble of homes, inside the charred cars and trucks, hundreds and hundreds of people with nothing left to them but their bones. How had it felt that night, when the missiles rained down from the sky? Had they seen it coming? Did they understand what was happening? Did they know who was to blame, or were they too focused on trying to find a way to keep their families alive for just a minute longer?
I dragged my eyes away from the grotesque sight and scanned the fog around me for a distraction. A foolish part of me wanted to believe that I would spot the box lying on the bank somewhere, tucked between some blades of grass like a lost apple, but I knew the pirates wouldn’t have risked losing our ransom if the mysterious box was easy to find. No, from where I sat in the longboat, all I could see was the forest of ruined structures around me, endless banks of gray fog, and that man with the yellow chemical suit in the window—
*What?*
My head snapped back around, and I stared at the ruined corner of a house, barely standing, with what remained of a window on the halfway-submerged ground floor. Nothing occupied the dark window save for a fluttering scrap of dirty yellow cloth, likely dropped there by a crow or some other curious winged creature.
*Thump.*
The long boat lurched, and I nearly fell over, looking around to see a muddy patch of long grass in front of the little wooden prow. Land. From here on, I would go alone.
My legs and arms felt numb and heavy as I stepped out onto the grass, the pirates untying the red fiberglass canoe and pushing it to me with a long pinewood paddle tucked inside it. None of them looked me in the eye, save for Peter, who handed me a folded bundle of paper inside a plastic Ziploc bag.
“The map won’t help much, but it has all the streets and old landmarks of the town before it went to hell.” He pointed over my shoulder deeper into the whirling clouds of smokey mist. “I’d start near the square; apparently the soldiers had an evacuation site there before the massacre. Be careful where you go, alright? We can’t breathe this crap, but the mutants can, and there’s hundreds of them in there. And above all else, if you see something . . . *abnormal* for this place, especially toward the center of town, stay away from it.”
Taking the bag, I tucked the map into the pocket of Chris’s flannel shirt, and lashed the tow rope of my canoe to a nearby log so it wouldn’t float away. “Okay. So, when I’m done . . ?”
“We’ll be waiting further down the coast.” Peter hopped back into the longboat, and the pirates rowed off into the fog as he stood in the prow to call out to me. “We can’t stay here with the air as bad as it is. If you find the box, paddle north along the shoreline. You’ll see a coal barge, big as a house, you can’t miss it.”
The mist swallowed them up, and for the first time in a long time, I was all alone.
*Okay Hannah, stay calm. Just do what Jamie would do. Keep your eyes open.*
I drew a breath through the gas mask filter, pulled the submachine gun from my shoulder, and started up the debris-filled street.
With the pall of vapor that filled the air, there wasn’t much in the way of sunlight, the entire town clouded in what amounted to a very overcast day. A light breeze kept the falling ash moving, but I still had to shake the tiny flakes from my clothes every so often. Thanks to my gas mask, I couldn’t smell anything, but I wondered how foul the air must be if I had yet to see so much as an insect anywhere in my walk. My footsteps crunched on bits of stone, asphalt, and even glass at times, loud as cannon fire in the deserted streets. Every nerve ending in my body fired on edge, and I focused my mind on the image of the black box, repeating the numbers in my head over and over like a mantra.
*LDB01106. LDB01106. LDB01—*
Something blurred in the extreme right of my field of vision, and I spun to raise my weapon, palms clammy against the cold steel.
Nothing, save for rubble, and a fire burning a few blocks away.
I quickened my pace and climbed over a stack of charred wood and shattered bricks, my boots dislodging crumples of ash from the pile with every step. A little voice in the back of my head screamed at me to turn around and check behind myself, but no matter how often I did, I never caught sight of anything substantial. Shapes moved in the distance, sometimes highlighted by more fires that lit up the fog banks with flashes of orange flame, tall angular shadows that moved with jerky lunges. More than once, I could have sworn I caught eyes leering back at me from holes in the rubble, but every time I turned my head to look again, there was nothing there. Bare feet slapped at warped pavement when my back was turned, low gurgles chittered from the ruins, and metallic screech-thumps rattled closer in the mist.
A loose stone clattered somewhere nearby, and my heart skipped a beat.
*Okay, I definitely heard that.*
Scanning my surroundings, I spotted a halfway-intact ruin, and strode for it with steady, unpanicked steps. If something was following me, I couldn’t reveal that I knew, or it might pounce. No, I had to do like Chris said in the farmhouse; I had to outsmart whatever was back there.
As soon as I rounded the corner of the building, I searched the crumpled wall with my eyes, and sure enough, there was hole roughly the size of a couch ripped through the fire-blackened wall of the old home. Enshrined with weeds and dripping with enough mold to give a health inspector a coronary, it didn’t scream ‘safe’ by any means, but it was the closest thing to a complete building within a three-block radius.
*Click.*
I pushed the button on a small flashlight that I’d taped to the heat shield on my Type-9, and squeezed into the hole, doing my best not to crush most of the weeds, or leave any muddy footprints on the water-stained floor just beyond the gap. Granted, if anything was on my trail, it could probably track me via scent, but in the case it wasn’t that smart, or simply had a bad nose, I needed to give myself as much of a chance as possible.
Inside, I paused, and swept the room with my weapon light.
Much of the interior had been burnt from the fire, only a few places on the walls and floor recognizable with smudges of blue paint, and a section of scratched linoleum. Everything else lay charred to black cinders, the floor curled and puddled where the heat had melted it, beams in the wall exposed from the collapse of drywall turning to dust. All the windows were without glass, and rainwater had left ring-shaped stains on whatever hadn’t been burned to a crisp. If I could have smelled anything, I figured it would have stank like wood rot and charcoal, but there was a hallway to my immediate front, and two walls on either side, enough to give me cover for now.
Staying as far back from the window as I could to avoid revealing my light to the outside, I edged down the hallway, pulse roaring in my ears. A door leaned inside its framework at the end, both hinges snapped, but I could glimpse a set of steps through the gap.
*If I can get higher, maybe I can see further into town.*
I slung the submachine gun onto one shoulder and gripped the crumbly black door planks with tentative fingers.
*Crunch.*
A chunk broke off in my hands, and I winced at the noise. How close were the mystery things behind me? I couldn’t hear as well from inside the house and had no way of knowing if they were right outside or not. Perhaps coming in here had been a bad idea, but it was too late now. If I wanted to live, I had to get through this door.
I put my shoulder to the door and shoved as hard as I could.
The entire thing cracked under my weight, and the planks fell to the floor with a loud latter.
Each step groaned under my boots, but I climbed to the top, and had to crouch under a snapped roof beam to wriggle into the room beyond.
It had been a bathroom at one time, with white tile on the walls and floor, an old-fashioned standalone bathtub in one corner. The mirror had been shattered over the sink, whose cupboard was rotting underneath it, and there were scorch marks on the tilework across from the nearby open window. Bits of half-melted glass decorated the floor, but aside from the rubble that filled up half the room, it could almost have been intact. There was even a discarded yellow rubber duck on the floor under the bathtub, and I nearly smiled at seeing it.
I would have . . . if I hadn’t looked out the window first.
They crept from the street I’d wandered through, six gray figures scuttling around on all fours, with seven more creeping out an alleyway further to my right, while five clambered over a collapsed house a half-block to the left. Dressed in rags, their milk-white eyes peered into the fog with hungry persistence, and some of them would stop to sit back on their feet like an ape, tilting their head to listen, mouths slightly agape with that eerie Cheshire smile.
*Puppets.*
My throat threatened to close up in fear, but I forced myself to keep calm, and switched my weapon light off. With all the ash and dust, I guessed the sun to be obscured enough for these things to roam at all times of day, meaning there would be no safe time for me to travel. They hadn’t seen me yet, but if they knew I was watching, they’d surely charge in their typical suicide-wave fashion. For now, they weren’t shrieking like they did when the chase was on, instead being quiet, stealthy, moving like wraiths in an attempt to track me down.
But this time I’d spotted them first.
I glanced down at my gun and shook my head at myself. There were already too many for me to fight alone, and if Jamie was right, there could be another pack not a block away doing the same thing.
“Come on, think.” Whispering under my breath, I rifled through the room, tugged open the decayed cupboard beneath the sink in desperation.
My eyes landed on a strip of canary yellow, and a light bulb went off in my head as I snatched it.
It was a rubber exercise band, about six feet long and four inches wide, the kind used by older people to keep themselves limber when they had grown too unsteady to run or walk. Thanks to the cupboard and the wall behind it shielding the band from the heat of the flames, it hadn’t melted, and was still stretchy as the day it had come out of the box.
Moving to the window, I picked at the broken wall to tear away chunks of tile and burned wood until two mostly intact two-by-four wall studs were exposed on either side of the window frame. I wove each end of the exercise band into the space and pulled it taught, tying them off with fingers that trembled in adrenalized excitement. Outside, the Puppets drew nearer, so close I didn’t dare to poke my head above the windowsill.
I sat on the floor facing the window, the band pulled back to my chest, and fished around for a chunk of broken ceramic tile.
*Here goes nothing.*
With the shard cradled in the section of band between my fingers, I aimed at the cloudy gray sky above, and let fly.
*Snap.*
The band jerked back into place, and the tile piece hurtled into the air in a long, high arc. I could see it tumble back down toward the empty streets, and outside, one of the Puppets let out an inquisitive chirp.
*Clink.*
Splintering into a hundred tiny fragments, the tile shattered around sixty yards down the street from where I sat, and at the noise, dozens of alarmed shrieks echoed in the roadway outside my hiding place.
Another scrap of ceramic found its way into my hand, and I aimed a little higher this time.
*Crash.*
Somehow, I got lucky, and from the sounds of the impact, my second shot hit glass somewhere, loud enough to draw in the rest of the pack. Grimy feet and hands scrambled over the pavement, and the Puppets ran to the source of the sound with glee, completely unaware that their prey sat not twenty feet above them.
It felt good to smile, even with the restrictive grip of the gas mask over my face, and I untied the band as fast as I could, ready to dart for the next block of ruins now that my pursuers were confused. My idea had worked, and if it could deflect threats here, why not every time I got into a bind? Maybe I wouldn’t have to fight after all. I could be like those super-spies from the movies, the ones who cracked the code, stole the secret documents, and got out without anyone the wiser. I’d be a hero, the pirates would let Jamie and Chris go, and maybe Chris would be so impressed that—
A flash of color caught my eye through the open window, and I froze.
He stood around a hundred yards or more away, casually watching me from atop one the of rubble piles that had been a house, arms at his sides. I guessed it to be a man, though I couldn’t really tell with how far away he was, as his protective mask and yellow chemical suit obscured most of his facial features anyway. He didn’t have any kind of weapon that I could see, but it didn’t matter. With that fancy suit, the fact that he’d spotted me, and the uncanny way he watched without caution from the open, he could only be from one place.
*ELSAR.*
My pulse jumped, and I slowly pulled the submachine gun from my shoulder, glancing down to thumb the safety off.
Raising it, I squinted down the sights . . . and saw nothing but the swirling contaminated fog.
Ice crept through my veins, and I swallowed, tasting sour fear on the back of my tongue. No way he could move that fast, the streets were too open, and with that suit, he would have been slow, clumsy, visible. Surely the Puppets would have seen him standing there at some point in their run past the rubble. But now he was gone, within seconds of me breaking eye contact, almost as if . . .
“No.” I shook my head to clear the thought away, switched the safety on my Type-9, and headed for the cramped opening beneath the rubble to the stairs. “It’s just my imagination. There’s nothing there.”
But the entire journey back down the steps, my hands trembled, and I jogged down the lonely side-streets and fire-blasted alleyways with a new sense of urgency. Every curl of fog now looked like a man in a chemical suit, every shadow a soldier, every breath of wind a potential enemy footfall. I had escaped the mutants for now, but a part of my brain hissed the nagging question I didn’t want to think about over and over in my head.
If I was truly alone out here, then who . . . or what . . . was watching me? | https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories/comments/17avfu7/the_road_to_new_wilderness_part_18/ | scarystories | RandomAppalachian468 |
false | The Midnight Chase Scary Stories #crazytimes #scary #shortstories #trues... | null | https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories/comments/17b1wjj/the_midnight_chase_scary_stories_crazytimes_scary/ | scarystories | kraftySolutions |
false | RSS did u see it? | I live in a cottage in the country side
Where Les than 1 mile was a homicide with no head on killer just a leg and 3 fingers which is crazy alone (the story) diving back up to the house after shopping and we hit something smashing off my door heeling off the shinny silver paint right off my door they was a god awful shriek and a ban we stop and can’t see anything some blood
We send my uncle and grandfather up as we came down my grandmother as she was panicking in case it was her dogs but they where on there 2 days later we are on that road again and my cousin asks “did u guys see that?!” My grandmother asks “huh no what was that” I look over and he shakes his head and stays quiet my grandmother mutters to her self later that night I go for a walk an sit in that old house it’s coming in however there is still pictures on the wall and rugs seats I look around and hear something in the next room it gets louder and every second I get up and leave (at this point I didn’t know of any murders) and phone my uncle to chat about what happened he tells me about the murder what freaked me out put I couldn’t leave I don’t know why however I didn’t have the will power I look at the house and go to take a photo and god do I regret that the flash light flashes and there it stood on the top floor dark hairless it looked human but at the same time didn’t | https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories/comments/17axpxr/rss_did_u_see_it/ | scarystories | CHRIS_GIRL2003 |
false | RSS I seen him | (Dads story in his words)
I was 11 staying in a trailer in a small camp with my mum and antie I had my own wee trailer it was as 12pm and the men in black cartoon was on and I hear a horse which is strange as there was no such near us so I looked up and see a white horse with a full white man in all white and shiny blue eye just like mine I hide under my blanket and moving trying not to breathe heavy I feel a grip on my head and petting something pet my head I managed to fall asleep and told my mum she said that was death lookin and my auntie
My auntie had a 15 almost 16 year old who just left our camp I shared my trailer with her sometimes hers was next to mine 2 weeks later she died her heart just stoped and down she dropped death was lookin for her! | https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories/comments/17ayhak/rss_i_seen_him/ | scarystories | CHRIS_GIRL2003 |
false | “Wanna see a dead body” | I remember when I was about 13 or 14 I used to still hang out with my middle school homies, I remember telling them we should hang out it was me and a couple friends and 1 of my friend’s girlfriend so about 4 in total including me, anyways one night we decided to go out late and have fun u know smoke some weed try and get alcohol stuff like that and we came across this big 2 story house that had burned down not to long ago we decided to go and smoke there for some reason don’t really know why anyways we walk in everything’s all burnt and old and it smelled like death inside like the smell was so horrible I don’t know why as kids we were like oh well let’s keep walking around anyway we kept hearing this sound like a back and forth sound super weird noise couldn’t really explain it so we slowly walk upstairs and we could hear the noise even louder, then just behind the door at the end of the hall was where the noise was coming from we all were scared didn’t really know what to do so one of my friends opened the door very slowly and with me being behind him what we saw will haunt us for a long time. a homeless man hung from a piece of the broken debris on top of the ceiling not only was he hung but was gutted I mean we seen things come out of his stomach that we never seen before in our life we all pretty much threw up and as kids we didn’t know what to do so we told my friends parents and they called the next day turns out the dude wasn’t even homeless he was murdered I guess there was writing on the walls in his blood behind him it read we will always watch you , your sacrifice is our gain. I don’t know if that was a cult or what but man it tore our tiny brains apart. | https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories/comments/17ajvvy/wanna_see_a_dead_body/ | scarystories | MasterGlizzyAj |
false | 4 TRUE SHORT SCARY STORRIES FROM REDDIT | [https://youtube.com/clip/UgkxWbJ6CMbw3sXSll2htX3w1-QafOqLcT-j?si=GMdGWSIt7K27jkCg](https://youtube.com/clip/UgkxWbJ6CMbw3sXSll2htX3w1-QafOqLcT-j?si=GMdGWSIt7K27jkCg) | https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories/comments/17asrsm/4_true_short_scary_storries_from_reddit/ | scarystories | Ready_Set_Listen |
false | The Mourning Melodies of Whispering Halls | In the ancient town of Meldoria, where shadows danced wildly at the whims of the night, there stood a peculiar mansion known as the Whispering Halls. Legend whispered of its origins, telling tales of a cursed lineage that etched sorrow into every brick and echoed despair through every corridor. Those who dared to venture within spoke of the spectral echoes of weeping and the palpable chill that lingered in the air, unsettling even the bravest souls.
Auriane, a young and restless spirit with an insatiable curiosity, found herself drawn to the eerie allure of the Whispering Halls. She had heard the rumors of a haunted house tour hosted by a mysterious guide, whispered to be the spirit of a long-forgotten maiden, dressed in a torn gown that bore the stains of blood. But the rumors were mere fragments of a much darker truth that the town dared not acknowledge.
On a moonless night, as the winds whispered foreboding secrets through the barren trees, Auriane found herself standing at the gates of the Whispering Halls. The wrought iron gate creaked open of its own accord, inviting her into the embrace of the ominous estate. No ordinary tour awaited her within those walls, as the very essence of dread wrapped around her like a suffocating shroud.
Guided by flickering candlelight that cast unsettling shadows on the walls, she followed the ethereal specter of a guide, a figure that was once known as Élodie, now bound to the cursed halls for eternity. But as Auriane stole glances at the phantom, the visage shifted, and the tormented soul took on the form of a non-famous name, Émilie, a once-vibrant girl whose laughter was now a distant memory trapped within the mansion's spectral confines.
Each room they passed, the walls seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy, whispering tales of betrayal and anguish that clawed at Auriane's mind. Émilie's spectral voice carried through the corridors, recounting the tragic tale of her demise, a tale woven with deceit and heartache that left the very foundations of the mansion soaked in the blood of broken promises.
As they descended deeper into the bowels of the mansion, the air thickened with a palpable sense of malevolence. Auriane could feel the weight of the past pressing down upon her, seeping into her very soul. Émilie's once-gentle voice turned into a haunting lament, her torn gown billowing around her as if the fabric itself mourned her tragic fate.
Auriane's senses were assaulted by the overwhelming stench of decay and the phantom sensation of invisible fingers grazing her skin. In the dim light, she caught glimpses of Grace, another lost soul, a visitor whose curiosity had met a gruesome fate within the mansion's enigmatic confines. Grace's porcelain skin was marred by unspeakable horrors, her once-regal gown now a macabre canvas for the mansion's insatiable appetite for despair.
It was then, in the depths of the mansion, that Auriane realized the true nature of the curse that bound the Whispering Halls. It hungered not only for flesh but for the torment of the living, feeding on the fears and sorrows of those who dared to cross its threshold. The lines between the living and the dead blurred, as Auriane felt her own fears meld with those of the tormented spirits, the mansion's hunger threatening to consume her very essence.
In a final chilling crescendo, as the night drew to a close, Auriane found herself at the heart of the mansion, facing the ghostly apparition of Émilie. The air crackled with the spectral energies, and the torment within the mansion threatened to break free, engulfing all who dared tread upon its accursed grounds.
Auriane, with a trembling resolve, unearthed the truth that Émilie yearned to be set free, to release her from the cyclical torment that anchored her to the mansion. With a whispered promise and a touch of compassion, Auriane set in motion the release of the mansion's spectral prisoners, each soul finding solace in the embrace of the ethereal beyond.
As dawn broke over the Whispering Halls, Auriane emerged, her mind scarred by the horrors she had witnessed. The mansion stood silent, as if it had slumbered, its hunger sated for the time being. Auriane carried with her the weight of the past, the echoes of the haunted halls forever etched into her very being, a reminder that some stories are best left buried within the shadows of time. | https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories/comments/17aptph/the_mourning_melodies_of_whispering_halls/ | scarystories | RedditInspStory |
false | Horrifying Lockdown Story | The year was 2018. Although i can’t remember the exact date this happened, I do remember it was around a month after the parkland shootings. I’m 17 and still remember this day like it was yesterday.
I was in the 7th grade at the time and was transitioning to my next class which was Language Arts. I sat down in my seat, being one of the first people in class since I didn’t stop by to talk to any of my friends. As soon as the rest of the students came into class, the bell rung and class began. My teacher finished off the lesson that we had learned the day before. I remember always having this one bad kid in my class who acted like a fool all the time and wanted to be a class clown. He of course sat right next to me in class, surprisingly leaving me alone as he always found some kind of way to annoy me at 10 in the morning.
Around 30 minutes into the period, the intercom turned on. I payed it no mind since they usually asked for people to come down to the office, but something about this announcement felt unpleasantly strange. My principal sounded very terrified like she had seen a ghost. She announced a lockdown in the most horrific manner, frantically clicking buttons on the phone.
Specifically 3 buttons.
I knew something wasn’t right, as whenever lockdown drills are announced, they aren’t as frantic as my principal was now. She quickly hung up the phone leaving everyone confused as of why she was so terrified.
My teacher told us to go to the corner while she made sure the classroom door was locked and put down the blinds on the door. The class clown of course found a way to be annoying, making loud noises and jokes. Usually during lockdowns, I would just ignore him. But this lockdown felt off. I would begin to try my hardest and make him be quiet, but he just wouldn’t shut up. I tried to calm my overthinking, telling myself that everything was fine and that I’m just being dramatic.
Then my heart dropped.
My class just so happened to be in the front of the building at the time this was happening. I saw around 7 cop cars pull into the front of the building where the main entrance was with their guns drawn. My hands began to shake and I felt like I wasn’t awake.
I felt like time started to slow down.
Everything started to slow down.
My best friend of 7 years at the time was at lunch during the lockdown. I started getting very paranoid, wondering if she was okay and safe. I felt like I was loosing my mind and trapped in some kind of lucid dream, except it was real. I started derealizing, wondering if this was actually happening.
Nothing felt real.
The kid who continued to annoy the class made me more and more angry because he wouldn’t just stay quiet for the sake of our lives. He was doing nothing but putting our lives in danger and it was really frustrating.
The girl next to me whispered in my ear “it’s okay. If anything happens to us my mom told me to carry this knife with me for my safety.”
Remembering this 5 years later really hurts. The fact that a 12 year old has to say that is really heartbreaking.
I opened Snapchat, which was popular at the time, and looked at everyones stories to get a confirmation on what was happening. My eyes widened at the text that popped up on my screen.
“There’s a school shooter in the building”.
At this point, I start to text my family about what was happening telling them that I wanted to go home and that I was scared. My mom immediately blew my phone up with messages telling me to keep texting her so that she knew I was okay. My older sister was in the high school, which was right across the street from our school so she was also in lockdown texting my mom.
About an hour later, the lockdown was finally lifted. It was my lunch period but since the lockdown took up half of the period, we only had 15 minutes to eat. Me and my friends decided to go to the bathroom to see if we can find out what happened. Since the teachers only let 2 girls at a time in, I stayed outside the bathroom waiting for my turn.
But then something caught my eye. I saw a police officer walking down the hallway with a book bag in his hand and a student walking by his side. The student didn’t look so happy to be with the officer. He didn’t look at any of the students in the hallway. He just stared at the floor. After me and my friends went to the bathroom, we walked back into the lunchroom where I told them what I had saw in the hallway.
It was until school ended and I had met up with my best friend in the bus where she told me what happened during her lunch period.
There was this kid who was sitting at his table with his friends. I’m guessing his friends made some kind of joke that offended him. He told his friends that he had a gun in his book bag and that he will use it. Thank god for his friend as he had told a teacher about what his friend had told him, leading us into a lockdown.
I was wondering who the kid was.
Turns out, the kid didn’t have a gun in his book bag and was just trying to scare his friends.
I had later found out what he had looked like.
It was the kid walking down the hallway with the officer. | https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories/comments/17agyx3/horrifying_lockdown_story/ | scarystories | yourl0vley |
false | Astral projection | So as some of you may know I use to live in a house that was full of paranormal activity. Not like no regular ghost stories, but I’ve encountered a lot of crazy experiences. Just to remind some of you. In the street I use to live on was on top of a old broken down cemetery. I was around 6-7 years old and just got home from school with my older brother. Usually when my brother and I return home from school we just kick back in the living room and watch tv or he will play the Nintendo 64. Well that’s at least what I thought what we were doing.
I was in the middle of watching tv and I randomly shut my eyes for a split second, it felt like I was falling asleep. When I woke up out of it. The tv was still on. I looked around the living room for my brother to see only see he was gone. After I realized no one in there I got up and went to the kitchen to get a bowl of cereal. Now when I got my cereal I noticed something was off because it was just too quiet in the whole house as if I was the only one home. I finished my cereal then went searching around the house calling out for my brother.
“Dominick!?”…. No answer…. Then I call out again.
“Dominick?? Where did you go?” Walking towards the hallway leading to all of the other bedrooms and the bathroom. Just to remind you I just got out of school so it should be at least around 4pm and it was pretty sunny out still. Once I walked towards the hallway it went pitch black. I tried turning on the hallway light and it didn’t work. Then I started thinking to myself and realized there was another switch to turn on the light so I walked up to it and switched it on. Still not working. Now at this point I’m starting to get all worked up and wondering where my brother was.
“DOMINICK STOP TRYING TO SCARE ME ITS NOT FUNNY! IM GONNA TELL MOM!” There was still no response... I continue to walk down the long dark creepy hallway and now at this point I feel like I start to hallucinate and see dark shadows and objects moving at the corner of my eye or by the bed room doors.
“Am I sleeping?” I ask myself While attempting to enter my parents room. I calmly start calling out for my brother and peek inside my parents room and see a kid hiding behind the bed. I shove the door wide open and scream out.
“Dominick seriously I saw you! I knew you was just trying to scare me.” The so called “kid” that I thought was my brother peeking out from behind the bed and tries to hide a little more better. I start to charge right to it and looked behind the bed. There was nothing there. I ran to the closet and got scared (which was the dumbest thing anyone could possibly do) and with in a blink of an eye I ended up inside my grandmothers room. “Wait what just happened” I thought to myself, and steps out of the closet rushing to the door. Right before I walked right out of my grandmothers room not only because her room always creeped me out, but because I saw the tall old farmer man standing in the corner of the room. This time when I saw him I could see his face. He was still dressed in bloody overalls with his arm completely chewed off, pitch black face with his mouth open blood gushing out of his mouth, and the smell he gave off was horrible it smeled as if there was a dead animal in the room with me. There I snapped out of it and right when I opened the bedroom door which would lead back to the hallway. I ended up in the bathroom. I started crying out of frustration and confusion and I turn around to open the bathroom door and the room around me started caving in with darkness and I wake up on the couch in the living room and started crying out of my sleep.
“Are you okay!? You where muffling and crying in your sleep” says my brother. I look around in confusion and see the tv on and it’s still bright outside the first question I ask my brother was what time was it and he said it was probably 4:10 and I was only asleep for about 10 minutes. Then I continued sobbing and starts telling my brother about the craziest dream I just had. Well so I thought It was a dream…
CHECK OUT MY OTHER STORY I POSTED FOLLOWING BACK UP ON THE OLD FARMER IN THE HALLWAY. THANKS FOR READING!💙 | https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories/comments/17ajjvt/astral_projection/ | scarystories | julianna120o |
false | Stay away from the new Goodwill store | I’m a Luddite. That’s what my best friend Charlotte calls me, anyway. It’s not that I hate technology or don’t find it helpful. I do, and I use it daily. I just happen to find most modern technology intrusive. Not to mention expensive. You put a microchip into a simple coffee maker, and suddenly, it’s triple the cost. Sometimes, it feels like everything we own these days has some sort of needless digital aspect that most people will never use.
The point is I like to keep things as analog as possible. My apartment, a studio in the “up-and-coming” neighborhood, was chock full of hand-me-down furniture and decor. More than saving money I found older stuff cozier. The aesthetic was less “Here comes the future, bitch” and more grandma’s house. Charlotte was not a fan. She would never come right out and call it ugly, but the implication was there. I didn’t mind. It fits me, and that’s all that mattered.
Despite Luddite tendencies, the one technology I used all the time was my phone’s camera. I took a few photography classes in college and was bit hard by the bug. I find the media perplexing and thought-provoking. When you look at a photo, you’re presented with a world within a frame. Regardless of the artist’s intent, you are free to assume anything about the tiny fraction of the world you’re privy to. There is no wrong answer. A picture of a riderless tricycle might mean the loss of childhood innocence to a person struggling with adolescence or a reminder that kids never put away their toys to a parent.
Photos were illusions based on reality. I found that idea magical.
My shutterbug ways meant I had several hard drives and online storage spaces filled with thousands of pictures. My desire to give my little flophouse character and the affordability of printer paper meant that my apartment walls were filled with my favorite pieces. Some really startling pictures are on the walls, but more are stored on my hard drives. I hated that I never got to see them. I felt terrible because I knew I had some real gems buried in digital ground, waiting to be unearthed again. I just needed the right tool.
Enter the FotoVue digital frame. I’d known about digital frames for a while, and despite my reluctance to modern technology, those things seemed pretty impressive. Especially the FotoVue. Even with my Luddite leanings, the FotoVue was something I desired, but the price kept it a dream and not a reality.
Until I found a used one at Goodwill.
Goodwill had become my sanctuary. Since I’m on a strict budget, furnishing an apartment became a Herculean task. Some days, I swore kidnapping Cerberus was more manageable than finding an affordable table. I was stoked when I saw a flier announcing that a new Goodwill had opened just down the street from my place. An affordable store within walking distance of my home was a reason to celebrate. I told Charlotte, and we planned to visit.
The area where the Goodwill was located had previously been a burned-out shell of a decrepit warehouse. The warehouse, an OSHA nightmare manifest, caught fire a year ago. I remember coming home from work and seeing the blaze from a mile away. I could feel the intense heat on my cheeks as I passed by. I’d never seen so many firefighters in one place at once, save for a hunky firefighter calendar I bought years ago. The guys fighting this immense inferno, though, were wearing their gear and not just suggestively posing with hoses.
The owner of the urban blight said he planned to fix it up, reopen the place, and hire a bunch of locals. Good paying jobs, he promised. He didn’t do any of that. Instead, he let the building rot like a dead squirrel on the side of the road. The building has been vacant since the blaze. Just another burned-out husk in a city with quite a few of them.
But, living up to its name, Goodwill turned this lemon of a building into lemonade. Charlotte and I arrived early and must’ve beat the rush because the place was a ghost town. There were no people except for an ancient-looking woman nosing around old paperbacks and a few scattered workers in blue vests. We preferred fewer people in the store, though. Fewer people meant we had a better chance of finding quality stuff.
I was on the lookout for anything weird or kooky to add to my décor while Charlotte was looking for unique items to resell online. Her side hustle had started as a way to clear out her father’s home after his death (he was a hoarder) but had turned into a real cash cow. Turns out she had an eye for things she could flip and a way with ad copy that made even the ugly shit she picked up move as well.
“This place is huge,” Charlotte said.
“Yeah, it used to be a warehouse for dollar store goods or something.”
“They did a good job with the rehab. You can’t tell that there was ever a fire here,” Charlotte said, looking over some glassware, “Surprising amount of decent stuff here, too.”
“We found a gem,” I said, eyeballing a hotel-quality lighthouse painting.
“If you’re talking about the store, yes. If it’s about that painting….”
I laughed and rolled my eyes. I turned to the front desk and found two things that caught my attention. One was the cute guy working behind the register. The second and far more crucial thing was a FotoVue digital frame. I grabbed Charlotte and nodded toward the FotoVue. She looked up from the Halloween-inspired glass she was inspecting and nodded in approval.
“Not bad. Vests are hard to pull off, but he’s doing it.”
“No, not him. The FotoVue!”
Charlotte and I moved over toward the glass case so I could get a better look. My jaw dropped when I clocked the price. Most of the time, people at second-hand stores generally knew how to price their goods. Typically, “high-end” electronics were among the costliest things in the store. Apparently, not everyone at this Goodwill knew the value of their luxury items. Whoever had set this price had underestimated it by a hundred bucks.
“Holy moly,” I whispered to Charlotte. “Look at the price.”
“Shit,” she said, “you’ve gotta snag that.”
“It’s still too much,” I said, peering into my purse and finding more receipts than cash.
“I will front you the money,” she said, “I know how badly you want one, and you’re never going to find one this cheap.”
“Are you sure?’ I asked.
“Hey, I’d rather front you some cash to buy something useful than you spend your own money and buy another garbage motel painting.”
I gave her a look, and she laughed. “The art on my wall speaks to me,” I said, defending my design eye.
“It speaks to me too,” Charlotte said, “It’s telling me that you deserve something better to look at.”
I laughed. “It’s not all THAT bad.”
“It is,” she said with a smirk, “but I know how many incredible photos you have wasting away. You deserve to show them off.”
I looked back down at the FotoVue and shook my head. It would look great in my apartment, Luddite leanings be damned. After a beat, I nodded and thanked Charlotte for the offer. “I really appreciate it. Things have just been so tight lately, ya know?”
“I know, but I’ve had a good month on eBay. Got you. You owe me a home-cooked meal, okay? I’m so over UberEats.”
“Done.”
Charlotte knocked on the glass and called out to the clerk, “Garcon, can we have a word?”
The cute clerk turned to us and flashed us a beautiful smile. I felt a fluttering in my chest because the warm smile caught me off guard. He was better looking up close – shaggy black hair that flopped into his face, deep, dark eyes, and full lips, complete with a small hoop pierced in the corner. I felt myself blush and almost let out a little chuckle. Charlotte noticed my reaction and rolled her eyes.
“Calm yourself,” she murmured.
“Can I help you ladies?”
“I hope so,” I said, instantly regretting it and feeling blood rush to my cheeks. Still, he was an unexpected bonus to this trip. A genuinely pleasant surprise, like finding money on the street.
“Tall order, but I’ll do my best.”
“Can we get the FotoVue?” Charlotte asked.
“Yes, you can.”
“Is that the real price?” I asked. I felt Charlotte kick me.
“Is it too much or too little?” the clerk said.
“You could probably knock off five or ten bucks,” Charlotte said. “Absurdly overpriced.”
“I can ask my manager,” the clerk said, turning around in a circle. He grinned, “Noah said it’s okay to knock off five bucks.”
“Noah?” I asked obliviously.
“That’s me. And you are?”
“Wren.”
“Like the bird? Cool,” he said, flashing that winning smile. “Well, Wren, you’re lucky because this just got dropped off this morning.”
“The witch dropped it off,” another clerk said, wedging her hefty body through the tiny opening between the glass counters.
“Ethel is a lot of things, Mona, but she’s not a witch,” Noah said. “She’s just kidding.”
“I’m not,” she countered, “If witches are real, then that lady is a witch.” She nodded towards the ancient lady we had seen looking over the paperbacks earlier. Apparently bored with the selection of Dean Koontz and Stephen Kings, she had moved on to old board games.
“Do a lot of witches play Parcheesi?” I asked.
Noah laughed, and I felt a charge shoot through my body. He had a nice laugh. This little attraction was starting to grow. I couldn’t help it – I was a sucker for pierced, dark-eyed souls. The fact that he was pleasant and funny only added to the attraction. The more I thought about it, the more tailor-made he seemed for me. There really is something for everyone at Goodwill.
“Why do you say she’s a witch?” Charlotte asked.
“She’s bored,” Noah said, “When she’s bored, she makes up backstories for customers.”
“That’s true,” Mona said, “But in this case, it’s not a story. I know a few people who know all about Ethel. They’ve seen her doing strange things all around town. It all points to one thing: she’s a witch.”
“Strange things? That’s all you have? Nothing specific?”
“How about her casting spells, dancing in the woods, all that kind of witchy stuff,” Mona said, “I think I even saw her with a black cat, too.”
“Dancing in the woods? Ethel? She’s seventy-five.”
“That’s what she wants you to think,” Mona said. “She’s probably an ancient menace.”
“That gives things away at Goodwill?”
“If you can understand the devil, you’re probably a devil yourself, Noah.”
“I would hope the devil wouldn’t have to hold down a nine-to-five job.”
“Like jello, he moves in mysterious ways.”
Charlotte and I laughed. Mona had a point. Noah looked back at us and rolled his eyes.
“What’s the story you made up about us?” Charlotte asked Mona.
Mona turned and took Charlotte and me in before nodding. “You want me to say lesbians out for a jaunty time, but that would be easy.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a jaunty time. Wren? You ever jaunted?”
“Not to my knowledge, no.”
“Exactly,” Mona said, “I’m going to say that you two are treasure hunters who have come into the Goodwill to find an elusive and dangerous totem that, in the wrong hands, could lead to your death.”
“That’s so much more exciting than just looking for things to sell on eBay,” Charlotte said.
Noah shook his head, “When I first started, she told me I was an ancient druid in search of a perfect robe.”
We all laughed. Mona ate it up. This was a fun group. I turned to the budding author and asked, “Do you read a lot of thrillers? Because these all sound like the plots of a good airport read.”
Mona winked, “Maybe I write airport reads.”
“She doesn’t,” Noah said. “She has a wall of books that she reads and steals ideas from when she should be pricing jeans.”
Mona sighed, “Don’t speak ill of the creative process, Noah. Inspiration comes from everywhere.”
“Here, here,” Charlotte said, slapping hands with her.
“That may be true, but I told Lou we’d have these jeans priced before he gets in. Don’t make me out to be a liar, huh?”
“Fine,” Mona said before giving us a bow. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to waste my god-given talent for crafting stories and go sort through a bunch of old jeans.”
Mona grabbed a pricing gun and squeezed back through the counter and off to the back to tackle the piles of used pants. As soon as she was gone, we all started laughing.
“She’s something else,” I said.
“She makes working here an adventure, that’s for sure.”
“So, Noah, how about we get that FotoVue out.”
“Oh, yes. Of course,” Noah said, unlocking the glass counters and handing me the box. “You have a lot of photos to display?”
“You have no idea,” Charlotte said, “She’s an amazing photographer.”
“Amateur photographer,” I corrected.
“Don’t sell yourself short. You have a gift.”
“I took a photography class at the learning annex last month,” Noah said, “I’d love to see some of your work. Pick up some inspiration.”
“It’s not as good as Charlotte is making it out to be.”
“Better than mine, which are mostly just close-ups of flowers or insects. Real ‘baby found a camera’ stuff.”
I laughed. “We all go through that phase. I’m sure they’re wonderful.”
“You haven’t seen my work yet.”
“I bet she’d like to see some of it,” Charlotte said, giving me a shove into setting up a date, “she really does have a good eye. She gives great advice. She’s made my business Insta account sparkle. How about it, Noah?”
His face flushed red. “Uh, I mean, yeah, I’m open to it. If, if you are, of course.”
“I am,” I said. “Give me your number, and we can set a time to grab some coffee and discuss some photos.”
“Awesome,” he said. I handed him my phone, and he entered his name and number before sliding it back. “I still have to charge for the Fotovue, though.”
“Strike one,” Charlotte joked.
I looked at the phone. For his name, he wrote, “Noah, Goodwill (does not have dangerous totem).” I laughed. “Nice name.”
“Just wanted to make sure you remembered I don’t deal in dangerous items,” he said before adding, “except maybe those lawn darts.”
I laughed. “Just to be safe, keep the lawn darts at the store.”
Noah completed the transaction and carefully wrapped the digital frame before handing it over. “I hope it’s a good home for your memories,” he said with a nod, “I hope I hear from you soon.”
“I think you will,” I said.
“If the witch lady brings any old Gameboy games, give Wren a call, huh?” Charlotte added.
“She does mention Tetris a lot, so there’s a chance we’ll be in touch,” Noah said with a slight chuckle.
When we finally left the Goodwill, I was on cloud nine. Charlotte gave me some grief, but she was also happy for me. The moment she saw Noah, she knew I would swoon over him. She knew my type. The fact that he was kind of a dork pushed her into action.
“You owe me,” she said on the car ride back to my apartment. “I made that happen.”
“Maybe the witch put an enchantment spell on the FotoVue. We only clicked because of magic.”
“The old bat with a pointy hat had nothing to do with it,” Charlotte said.
“Seriously, thank you so much for the FotoVue.”
“Stop thanking me. It was my pleasure. I expect to see that bad boy filled with lost classic photos when I come over for dinner.”
“That much I can promise. I’m going to load it up as soon as I get home.”
I dropped her off outside her apartment and headed home. When I arrived, I started loading photos into the FotoVue. It took some finagling, but I was impressed once I got it going. Like archaeologists finding undisturbed ruins, a world of wonders came to me. Photos I had forgotten about were getting their proper due. Memories of moments past came flooding to the forefront of my brain. Seeing Charlotte and I at different ages, maturing into the people we are now. I was thrilled.
I snapped a quick picture of the frame and shot it over to Charlotte. After a few, she sent back a text reading, “Looks good. Though, I can’t help the irony of taking such a poor-quality photo to show me how you display high-quality photos.” I texted back, telling her to shut up with a winky face emoji before crawling into bed. Minutes later, I drifted off to a deep sleep.
I woke up before the sun the following day. I hadn’t planned on it, but a night of tossing and turning morphed into an early day. Though I couldn’t remember the details, I knew I had a run of horrible dreams. I woke up several times during the night for reasons I couldn’t recall.
I made myself a cup of coffee and tried to fight off the early morning stupor when a photo flashed on the FotoVue I didn’t recognize. Well, I did recognize what was in the photo, but I didn’t remember taking it.
It was the front door of my apartment.
I glanced at the timestamp in the corner of the photo. It was taken last night at around two in the morning. That didn’t make sense. I was asleep. Even if some stranger snapped this picture, getting it on my FotoVue would be almost impossible. They’d have to know the web page I used to store my photos, my sign-in information, and where I kept the FotoVue files. I was the only one who knew all that.
Yet, here was an unwelcome present from a stranger staring me in the face. I grabbed my phone and opened the drive where I kept anything to see if anything had been uploaded last night. There was nothing. I searched for the photo itself and, again, found nothing.
“What in the world?” I mumbled.
The picture on the FotoVue changed, and there was another photo I hadn’t taken on the screen. This one was inside my apartment, about a foot from where I stood. I felt a creeping coldness climb my body. Had someone come into my place last night?
I looked back at the door, and it was still locked. I ran to the one window in my apartment, which was also closed and locked. “Okay, what the hell?” I said, feeling goosebumps rise on my arms.
I live in a studio space, a classy title covering up the sad truth that my house was one big room with an adjoining bathroom. That said, I’ve done my best to create different “rooms” in the space. The corner where my bed is, for example, is surrounded by bookshelves that function as walls. I placed a curtain rod between two shelves and gave myself a “door” of billowy curtain. While these improvements helped break up the space, if someone came in, they’d easily find me. I’d only be able to head to the bathroom where there was no outside access.
I’d be trapped.
The FotoVue screen changed again, and my heart started thumping like a bass drum. It was a photo of me sleeping in my bed. I gasped and in my sudden fright, I knocked my coffee mug off the counter. It shattered on the floor, sending a razor-sharp fragment rocketing into my leg, slicing it open.
“Shit,” I said, looking down at my bloody leg. I dodged the shards of broken mug and fetched a paper towel to help stanch the flow.
As I pressed Bounty to my skin and watched my blood soak in, the picture changed again. This time, it was on the whiteboard I had in my bathroom. My notes had been erased, and a message had been scrawled in handwriting I didn’t recognize. It read, “I see you when you’re sleeping.”
I ran to my bathroom and ripped open the door. Sure enough, the message was still there. My head went fuzzy. I felt my skin crawl and knew I had to leave there immediately. I grabbed my things and dashed out the door.
Naturally, I ended up at Charlotte’s place and spilled my guts. She could tell I was rattled – I was still wearing my pajamas, for God’s sake – and said we should call the cops. I agreed. About an hour later, we decided to meet them at my place.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but there wasn’t much the police could do. They took a report and told me to keep my doors locked. Absent any evidence, their hands were tied. I asked if they were going to fingerprint anything and they said if nothing was stolen, they wouldn’t bother. They told me to be smart and stay safe before they left.
“Well, at least they have a record of it now,” Charlotte said, trying to find a silver lining.
“My doors and windows were locked. There was no way anyone could get in here.”
“No one else has keys?”
I shook my head no. “What’s really confusing me is where the hell these pictures came from. They’re not in my drive.”
“Yeah, that’s Unsolved Mysteries weird.”
“Can I stay with you tonight?”
“Of course,” Charlotte said, “I was planning on it.”
I packed a bag for an overnight stay (or two). When I went into my bathroom to grab my toothbrush, I noticed a new message on the whiteboard. In the same handwriting as before, it now read, “We’re not strangers.”
I walked back out of the bathroom in a hurry. “You didn’t notice any of the cops going into the bathroom, did you?”
“No, why?”
“Someone was in here again,” I said, trembling, “there is a new message on the whiteboard.”
“What?”
“It says, ‘We’re not strangers’.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“I dunno,” I said, feeling the bad vibes glom onto me, “but I want to get out of here.”
“Agreed, but lemme do something first,” Charlotte said, opening my tiny pantry door. She grabbed a flour sack and sprinkled a bunch on the kitchen floor near where I kept the FotoVue.
“What are you doing?”
“If anyone comes at night, they won’t see the flour and they’ll leave footprints. Maybe then the cops can do something. If nothing else, we’ll know if they come back.”
“Always thinking,” I said. “Why I love you.”
“I know,” Charlotte said.
We hustled out of the apartment, and I was sure to lock it behind me. We went down to the street and saw a familiar face walking past. Noah. “What are you doing here?” I said.
He pulled out an airpod from his ear, “Whoa, hey. How are you doing?”
“How do you know where I live?” I asked, those bad vibes returning.
“You live here?”
“Maybe,” Charlotte said. “Why are you here?”
“I was meeting a friend for lunch at the Vietnamese place down here,” he said, confused at the serious looks on our faces. “Did I do something wrong or…?”
“No,” I said, “Just had a weird night.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just a little freaked out.”
“Do you need anything? Can I help?”
“No, no,” I said.
“What’s the name of the restaurant?” Charlotte asked.
“What?”
“The restaurant you’re going to meet your friend at.”
“Uh, Pho Connection, I think. Something like that. Any good?”
“Never been,” Charlotte said. “We don’t want to make you late for your meeting.”
“Oh, well, I hope your day gets better. Look forward to getting that coffee.”
“Yeah,” I said, my face not as chipper as before. Noah’s eyes looked crestfallen, but he held it together.
“Have a better day, huh?”
We parted ways. As soon as Noah was out of earshot, Charlotte shook her head. “He’s lying. There isn’t any restaurant named Pho Connection near here.”
“Are you sure?”
Charlotte pulled out her phone and checked. Sure enough, no Pho Connection. I felt my stomach flip. “Maybe he got the name wrong?”
“I dunno, but he seems sketchy as hell.”
“You think he broke into my house?”
She didn’t answer which was an answer. We left. As we did, I looked over my shoulder to ensure we weren’t being followed. No one tailed us. For the moment, we were safe and secure.
That night, Charlotte and I ordered pizza and watched movies. She lived in a more upscale part of town, and the security showed. Cameras everywhere, alarm systems in place, and her building had a doorman. If someone tried to come get me, they’d have to get through several layers of safety to do so. Still, we double and triple-checked the locks on all the windows and doors before we called it an evening. Being the incredible friend she was, she let me sleep in her bed and took the couch.
Despite the terrifying incident from the previous night, I felt calm as I went to bed. I felt confident nothing could get in. Even if it was Noah, he had no idea where Charlotte lived. After some mindless scrolling, I finally felt my eyelids get heavy and fell asleep.
Charlotte’s yelling is what woke me up.
I ran into her living room to see her standing and staring at something in her kitchen. Her face still had sleep creases, but she was wide awake now. I ran to her side, and she grabbed me tight. “What’s wrong?” I said, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
“There’s something in the kitchen.”
“What?”
“I was dead asleep and heard something fall in the kitchen. When I woke up, I swear I saw a person’s shadow on the wall.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“No, but...but I had a dream someone was standing over me.”
“What were they doing? Did they say anything?”
“I just heard a camera click.”
I felt my stomach drop. I moved away from Charlotte and headed towards her kitchen. She tried to stop me, but I brushed her off. When I got around the kitchen bar, I saw a USB stick lying in the middle of the floor. I went over and picked it up.
“What the fuck?” Charlotte said, confused.
“Should we plug it into your computer?”
Charlotte sighed. “I’m going to hate this, aren’t I?” she said as she pulled out her laptop.
I handed her the USB and sat next to her on the couch. She placed it into the computer and found several photos inside. “Here we go,” she said as she clicked on the first.
It was a picture of the front door of my apartment. The timestamp indicated it was from tonight. The person who took the photo cast a shadow on the door, but we couldn’t make out any details.
“Doesn’t look like Noah,” I said.
She clicked on the next photo. It was the inside of my apartment. Again, it was from tonight. Again, the shadow of someone we couldn’t see. The third was a photo of my bed. Someone had violently thrown off all my pillows and sheets. Pictures I had on the walls around me were torn off and ripped in half. “That seems like an escalation,” I whispered.
Another photo. My bathroom. Trashed. All of my things were ripped out of the drawers and thrown around. The whiteboard read, “You can’t hide. I always find them.”
“Sweet Lord,” I said, my voice tightening like a vice.
“You can’t stay there...like ever,” Charlotte said.
We clicked on the next photo, and our skin started crawling. This was a photo of Charlotte’s front door.
“What the…” I said.
“Fuck,” Charlotte finished. She clicked again, and it was a close-up of Charlotte sleeping on the couch. Tears filled her eyes. Mine, too. “What the fuck is going on?”
“I’m so sorry I brought this to you,” I said, putting my hand on her shoulder.
“Shut the fuck up,” she snapped, “You didn’t do shit. Some evil fucker is messing with us. We’re in this together, okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
“Sorry, I snapped.”
“It’s fine. We’re in this together.”
“Goddamn right,” Charlotte said. She clicked again, and our hearts dropped. It was of us sitting together on the couch, looking at the computer at that very moment. Charlotte popped up like a spring and snapped towards where the photo had been taken. There wasn’t a soul there.
“How the hell did that get on there?”
“This is some Voo Doo, shit, dude,” Charlotte said.
There was a hard knock on her door, and we both let out a yelp. Charlotte grabbed a butcher knife and approached the front door. She was terrified, but a firm resolve was hardening her. It filled me with confidence. I grabbed another knife and joined her at her side.
“I didn’t see anything through the peephole.”
“Should we even bother opening it then?”
“We have knives.”
Logically, it didn’t make sense. If this thing could move through walls and snap photos of us sleeping or sitting on the couch without us knowing, what good would a knife do? But at that moment, Charlotte was making sense. I tightened my grip.
She quietly undid the chain lock, opened the deadbolt, and placed her hand on the knob. She slowly turned it and pulled the door open. She screamed, and I was ready to stab whatever was waiting there, but I dropped my knife in disbelief.
It was the FotoVue.
“How?” was all I was able to spit out.
Charlotte grabbed it, slammed the door shut and locked it tight. The FotoVue screen instantly popped on and started displaying photos. It wasn’t even plugged in.
The first photo was Charlotte and I while we were shopping at the Goodwill. I felt my blood boil. Noah had to be doing this. Who else could it be?
“Was he stalking us? How long has this been going on?”
“I’m going to hack his dick off,” Charlotte said, still holding the knife.
The photo changed, and my anger subsided some. It was a photo of Noah and I chatting when I purchased the FotoVue. Someone else must’ve taken the photograph.
Next up was Charlotte and I leaving Goodwill, heading towards her car. It looked like someone had snapped this photo while hiding in the bushes. But there was something else off about the picture. In the left corner, you could see a reflection of something in the store’s glass. In a quick glance, you’d never see it, but once your eyes caught the shape, it was hard not to see.
“Is that a face?” Charlotte asked.
“That’s...not human.”
Before we could stare longer, the picture changed again. It was my whiteboard from home. In that same scraggly writing as before, it read, “Get ready for a surprise.”
The picture changed. It was Charlotte and I staring at the FotoVue in her apartment. There was a large shadow cast on the wall behind us. It was huge. It also wasn’t human.
As I turned around, the apartment lights snapped off, and I felt something slimy touch my shoulder. I screamed and swung my knife and hit something. The lights flickered back on, and I saw Charlotte holding her arm. A large gash had been cut across it. I dropped the knife, and it clattered on the floor.
“Jesus, Char, I’m sorry! Here, here, let me get something,” I scrambled for a towel to wrap her arm. “It touched me,” I said, panic turning me manic, “I...I swung out of instinct.”
“Did it speak to you?”
“What?” I said, handing a towel to Charlotte.
“It spoke to me,” she said, shock starting to outmaneuver adrenaline.
“What did it say?”
“It said,” she paused, allowing her brain to process, “it said it wants our souls.”
My eyes welled up, “I...I don’t even know what to do or who to trust or anything.”
“This started when we got the FotoVue at Goodwill.”
“I don’t think it’s Noah.”
“What was the name of the other lady we talked to? The one who said we were lesbians. Mavis? Marge?”
“Mona,” I said.
“Mona! It has to be Mona.”
“Okay,” I said, “Let’s say Mona is behind this. What does that make Mona? A ghost? A demon? A witch?”
“She’s about to be a dead bitch,” Charlotte said. “Get dressed, we’re going to Goodwill.”
Fifteen minutes later, we pulled in front of the Goodwill. Or, rather, what had been the Goodwill. Instead of seeing the building we had shopped at a few days earlier, there was nothing but the old, burnt-out husk of the warehouse. We both got out of the car in a daze. We had been inside the building a few days earlier. I had bought something here. I had met Noah here.
Now, here didn’t even exist.
“The fuck is going on?” Charlotte said, taking the words right out of my mouth. “Where is everything?”
“It’s... it’s gone,” I said, walking through the burned-out front doors. Inside the building, dozens of pigeons fluttered in the rafters of the burn-scorched roof. The walls were charred and stained with black smoke residue or crude graffiti. The floor was cracked, broken, and filled with trash that blew in the wind. Sun peaked through a few holes in the roof and created shafts of light all around me.
As I took in the rubble, a piece of paper drifted from the rafters. I snagged it as it passed. It was blank, white paper.
“What is it?” she asked.
I held up the paper, and an image started to bleed through. It was like some sort of magic ink had been activated by my hands. It was a picture of Charlotte and I standing in the warehouse. Under the photo in that deranged handwriting were the words, “Look behind you.”
As soon as my brain processed the words, I felt a presence behind me. I could feel hot breath on my neck. The stench of roadkill roasting in the noon sun flooded all around us. A hoof beat down on the concrete behind us and echoed around the cavernous warehouse.
I dropped the paper and glanced over at Charlotte. She was terrified and didn’t move a muscle. I should’ve been petrified, but a rising wave of anger flowed through my body. This thing had put us through so much, and I had had enough. I turned on my heels and was face to face with….Noah.
“The fuck?”
“I thought you liked me?” he asked.
“What even are you?”
Noah’s pleasant smile morphed into a too-wide Cheshire cat grin. The white of his eyes filled in with an inky blackness. His voice dropped several registers, and he spoke with a flat intonation that inspired menace in my heart. “I’m everything and nothing. I am the inescapable doom. The creeping blackness of night. The one who devours souls. I have been feared since before man and will until the light of the world dissolves.”
“What do you want?”
“Your soul,” he said before his jaw unhinged and flipped back on his head. His mouth kept opening until his body turned inside out. His vital organs and intestines slapped onto the ground with a wet smack as maniacal laughing filled the warehouse.
I screamed and turned away in horror. I stepped to run but slipped on the viscera that had pooled around my feet and fell to the ground. Charlotte was stone still, except for her trembling hands. The trauma had paralyzed her. I wanted to call out, but the words died in my throat when I tried. I was so afraid my voice went silent.
“No use in fighting,” a garbled voice called out from the sloppy pile of guts. I looked away from Charlotte, and when I looked back up, I didn’t see a revolting inside-out mess of guts and blood. I saw Mona. She smiled and shot a finger gun at me.
“Can I tell a story or what?”
“Wh-what?” I said, my voice finally breaking through.
“Don’t like this form? What about this one?” she said before grabbing a hold of her shoulders and ripping her body in half. Inside was the gore-covered body of Ethel, the old woman Mona called a witch. I realized at that moment this wasn’t one person. This creature was nothing more than a nightmarish nesting toy. A Matryoshka doll of doom.
“H-how are you doing this?”
“Your kind only sees the truth they want to see,” Ethel said in her deepening tone. “Illusions based in reality.”
“What are you?”
Ethel laughed. “I am whatever you want to see, girl. Do you not find this form pleasing? If not, I have one more to show you, but I guarantee you won’t recover from witnessing my true form,” the old cackled.
“Are...are you the devil?”
The old woman smiled. Before she could respond, I saw Charlotte’s spell break. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small crucifix. She snapped around, and screamed, “Fuck you!” She pressed the cross into the woman’s forehead. It sizzled when it came in contact with her skin, and the woman let out a roar that rattled the building.
She reached down to me and offered me a hand. “Let’s fucking get out of here.”
I grabbed her hand, and she damn near yanked me to my feet. We both ran past the creature as it hollered in pain. Its form changed from Noah to Mona to Ethel and to scores of other people we’d never seen before. We didn’t stick around to what it finally settled on.
As we got to the car, I spied the FotoVue. I ripped open the door and pulled out the digital frame. Mona had said we’d buy a cursed object, and she – or whatever she truly was – hadn’t been lying. I needed to break the curse. As much as it pained me, I slammed it down on the ground, shattering it to pieces. Charlotte fired up the car and screamed at me to get in.
I did, and we rocketed off as soon as the door closed. We didn’t slow down until we were miles away. When we shut the car off, we both started sobbing and hugged each other so tight we could’ve turned coal into a diamond. No words were exchanged. None were needed.
After we broke our embrace, I finally asked, “Where did you get the crucifix from? Aren’t you an atheist?”
“My mom,” she said, “she put it in my car when I first bought it, and I never removed it. I hated it but felt guilty throwing it away, so I kept it. When we pulled up and saw the Goodwill was gone, I thought it might not hurt to have it on me.”
I laughed, and she joined in. We cackled together in her car, parked at some random gas station in the middle of nowhere. If anyone would’ve seen us, they would’ve thought we were high. If we told the reason why we were laughing, they’d think we were insane.
Hours later, we made our way back to her place. We didn’t know if this thing had been defeated, but we made a plan regardless. The first was to reach out to the church to see if there was something they could do. This was a long shot, but it seemed like the only option based on what we had seen. We also contacted someone to “cleanse” our apartments. It seemed like mumbo-jumbo, but I went with it.
Since I had destroyed the FotoVue, I hoped I had severed the link between myself and the demon. I stayed with Charlotte for several more days until things returned to normal. I told her I was ready to try going back to my place. She said I could stay longer if I wanted, but I had always heeded the advice of Ben Franklin that guests, like fish, started to smell after three days.
My apartment was weirdly still when I entered. Most everything was where it should have been except for the photos that had decorated my walls. Like the USB pictures had shown us, they had been ripped off the walls and torn into pieces. I saw little Wren and Charlotte heads populating the floors everywhere I looked.
The other thing that remained was the flour Charlotte poured on my kitchen floor. However, this, too, had changed. Something had walked through the pile. Something with cloven hooves. The flour’s residue trailed all around my apartment: my bathroom, my couch, my bed.
My ceiling.
“Are those footprints old or new?” Charlotte asked when she saw them. The question buzzed in my head. Did these come when the creature had come looking for me the previous night, or had they come since we fled Goodwill? I didn’t know, and that fact chilled me.
“I’m telling myself they’re old,” I said, feeling tears well in my eyes. “They have to be old. They have to be before we stopped that thing because if they’re not....”
“Then they’re old,” Charlotte interrupted. I looked into her eyes, and she gave me a reassuring smile and patted my back. “They’re old, Wren.”
“What if they’re not?” I said, my voice quivering.
“Then we find another cross and cram it up the devil’s ass.”
I laughed. Charlotte always had a way with words. | https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories/comments/17a6dwd/stay_away_from_the_new_goodwill_store/ | scarystories | SunHeadPrime |
false | Nameless Faces | I work at a museum. I’m not a scientist or guide or even a receptionist. I’m not a guard, though I know a few, and they’re always polite. No, my work takes place at night, when the floors are mostly empty, and all the guests have gone.
Cleaning toilets isn’t glamorous, but it pays the bills. And I like the quiet. I like the strange, exclusive little community that’s sprung up in the shadows of sarcophagi and Grecian urns. I’ll admit, I take my time mopping, pausing to look at the artifacts. I consider it a job perk.
Most of the displays are available year-round, but traveling exhibits are the industry’s bread and butter. Guests come to see the limited-time displays, splurging to avoid an intense wave of FOMO.
I get to view these exhibits for free. I like the reminder that the world is big, and even today’s mundane can be tomorrow’s curiosity. It makes me wonder what archeologists will think when they unearth our bare bones and excavate our landfills. How many beer bottles will they tally? How many smartphones?
The newest exhibit is a collection of death masks. Macabre, but that’s why they sell tickets. Before photographs, before the ability to capture a loved one’s visage forever with the click of a button, there was plaster on corpses.
When I clean this area, I take a moment to study each mask. I wonder about the person each face belongs to. Their friends and families. Their hopes and fears. Their lives and deaths. It’s a little heartbreaking, having a perfect copy of their features and no knowledge of their identities.
The last death mask rests a little away from the others. No name. No date. Just a face, hovering at mirror height.
Familiar brows furrow over closed eyes, like the subject was caught in a nightmare. Full lips slightly open, as though she might whisper a secret at any moment. A scar, raised, lightning bolting from her temple to her chin, the only flaw to youth’s perfection.
My hand rising involuntarily to my own face, tracing my own scar, a perfect mirror to this plaster relic. | https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories/comments/17adhx2/nameless_faces/ | scarystories | firesidechats451 |
false | Why would she save me? | Man those were the good days. Alice disappeared Years ago and if you saw my previous story alices transformstion was very odd but also very tragic......man i hope shes good but this story takes place around a month ago i went to my old town were i used to live reliving past memories and fighting old demons of my past but i keep wondering around my town things were very different seince my last visit but that's when i looked towards the woods and questioned is alice still in those woods? As i wondered something told me i souldnt go but i pushed everything back as i decided today i find out if shes out there so as the day went on it was soon enough night and i wadered into the woods as my memories guided me and i hear it a bush getting desturbed i look nothing as i keep goin i see the place many years ago me and alice were in as she transformed into that thing as i walked to the area i saw a flower it looked fresh as if it was placed there not long ago and as i gazed into the flower i get attacked.as im being throwed around whatever it was automatically stoped what it was doing and just droped me as it backed into a tree with its face turned away from me. When i gathered my composure and energy i got up and looked at the thing one thing to note is it was very tall and thin but unusually strong as i walked up to it i noticed it was crying so i put my hands on its back and as soon as i did that it looked at me while sobbing.when i got a good look i automatically began sobbing as i hugged her it was alice she looks diffrent but yet she knew who i was and we both embraced a old but yet fimiliar hug as she knew it was her and as the moments passed i knew i had to go she knew it was time as i went back to the village i yelled. Alice i promis ill return and she noded with contempt as ww parted ways will i see her again? Yes lets aee how it goes...... | https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories/comments/17aermu/why_would_she_save_me/ | scarystories | Present-Cap370 |
false | THE SHADOW | Humanity has always had a fascination with horror, with death. Scary stories help us confront the fear of our own mortality, but the scariest stories are the ones that show us the darkness within ourselves. This truth can be more frightening than death, because it shows us an evil we cannot escape, an evil that will not come but is already here, within our hearts. The scariest stories are not the ones that remind us we will die, but the ones that hold a mirror up to us and allow us to see the truth of our own ugliness, the horror that we are and inflict on the world. This story is one of those stories, a mirror, held up to the faces of the real monsters in the world, so they can see for once the truth of who they really are.
PT. 1
Nine year old Ashley couldn’t sleep. She had always been afraid of the dark, but this was different. She had been having strange nightmares of a beautiful yet terrifying windowless house, devoid of light, which went down underground forever. She walked the halls looking for something she could never remember.
The house whispered to her and beckoned her into its depth. She had dreamt of it almost every night this week, and it was making it harder and harder to fall asleep.
Ashley lay in bed, wide awake, her parents fast asleep in their bedroom down the hall.
“CRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRKKKKKKKKKKK”
She shot up in her bed and looked at the source of the noise, her closet door, and froze.
A gnarled black hand grabbed the door from the inside and opened it further.
“AAAAACCCRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRKKKKKKKKKKK”
Ashley’s breathing quickened. She wanted to scream but she was frozen. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t scream.
She watched the black figure ooze slowly out of the doorway and across the wall, to her bed. It was a tall shadow of a man, wearing a top hat. She tried to make out the man’s face, what he was wearing, but only saw blackness.
And then as it moved closer to her bed, she saw it.
Two glowing yellow eyes opened up in its face, and a bloodthirsty grin of razor sharp teeth.
Screams filled the house that night. Her parents woke in an instant. But when they came to their daughter’s bedroom, both Ashley and the shadow were gone.
\-
“How was work today, honey?” asked Sarah Garland.
“Good. Good.” Moses Garland quickly devoured his dinner.
“We did a raid today. There was one casualty, but we got the guy.”
“Oh, no. Someone died?”
“A kid, a ten year old girl,” Moses responded.
“Oh that’s terrible.”
“No, it’s not. It’s collateral. Her dad was a terrorist and now she’s dead. That’s what happens in war. That’s what they intend for our children and that’s why I go out every day and fight them and nail them to the wall until they are dead, for you, Sarah, for our family, our child.”
Moses’ tone had grown cold and the family finished their dinner in silence.
Five year old Ezra Garland had been in the room, dutifully eating his mother’s cooking, but said nothing. He knew better than to interrupt his parents at the dinner table when they talked about his father’s work.
\-
Every night it was the same dream.
Hunter found himself in his childhood home, a large and dated estate, ornate with carved wooden floral patterns, woodland scenes, animals, and runes. Always in the dream he found a secret door that went below the house, a part of the house that wasn’t real and didn’t exist.
The lights were always off.
It was dark and silent, and endless. He’d walk down and down and down into the secret part of the house looking for the end, for some kind of understanding of the place, but the end never came. Each room led to another, and each was furnished with rich fabrics, carpeting, wallpaper, just like his home.
But they were all silent, dead. He wasn’t surprised to be alone, but still it felt…real, like the solitude and the silence was something he could touch. The silence was so loud it almost felt like it was whispering to him but he couldn’t hear the words.
And there was another feeling darker than that, like something dead and buried that wanted to be found, calling out to him, calling him into the darkness of the place, deep into its endlessness. He could feel it calling to him, reaching out from the dead, cold and unholy, demonic, pulling him towards it. His body filled with dread and fear, yet hypnotized by this longing, he couldn’t resist moving ever towards it.
He’d always wake up never having understood what it meant, and simply resolved not to entertain visiting his estranged father or the house, ever again.
It wasn’t a difficult decision to make. His father had never approved of his marriage. Hunter had tried to appease his father’s rejection of his homosexuality by marrying white, but it wasn’t enough. His mother had died of cancer when he was young, and therefore had nothing to say. Realizing how little time he had to live in any kind of meaningful way at all, Hunter moved on with his life and left his father to experience his dementia in solitude at the old house, with all the other shadows.
Hunter and Thomas were as normal as you could be while still being a gay couple.
They did everything the traditional way, in a normal neighborhood with other normal families and normal children. They went to work, exercised, went to political gatherings, attended school-board meetings, and took care of their home.
And though they were gay and that in itself wasn’t very traditional, they made an effort to conserve the things about the past that they felt were being lost by modern culture; things like their German and English heritage, home-cooked family dinners, traditional cartoons without woke ideology for their children, holiday traditions from Europe passed down over generations, things people didn’t think were important anymore.
You always hear that “white people have no culture.”
Hunter and Thomas disagreed from their mid-century cocktail parties with the other parents in the neighborhood. They were white, and they were quite cultured.
They lived in a normal neighborhood, in a small town in upstate New York, with their ten year old daughter Barbara, a typical girlie girl who loved dressing up in a pink princess gown and playing with Barbies. She herself insisted on being called “Barbie,” and everyone obeyed her decree.
She was like a little Barbie doll too. She was blonde and blue-eyed, small and white. They read her fairytales in the original German and bought her beautiful dresses made from beautiful fabrics like velvet and brocade, silks. She learned to speak German. She read Arthurian Legends and Marie de France. She played violin and sang and went to ballet. She was like a living doll, and she delighted to do all those things. She loved being a girl. She loved her dolls. She had them all.
She was Barbie, Queen Of The Dolls. If there was a doll, she had it. Her room was covered, floor to ceiling, with dolls. She even had her own Twitch stream about it where she talked about nothing but dolls with other girls, and some creepy older boys Hunter and Thomas thought were suspicious.
It was a happy and simply life, one they had worked hard to cobble from the chaos of their own childhoods.
And then, early in the darkness of the morning, it wasn’t happy or simple, because when they woke up, everything was changed forever.
In the front of their single floor home, in the room where their daughter slept, was now ruin and destruction, the front end of a tank, a SWAT team with rifles drawn, and their dead daughter crushed and mutilated in the chaos.
Thomas had been at the protest in DC on January 6th, and the FBI was raiding their home to arrest him.
Typical in many raids, the SWAT team had rammed the front of the house, destroying the home in order to gain entry and assault the occupants. They threw a black bag over Thomas’s head and dragged him outside in the cold night, naked in only his underwear, his knees bleeding on the sidewalk, and Hunter left alone with the ashes.
No information was given to Hunter about where they had put Thomas, no attorney could reach him. He’d heard stories of torture, starvation, beatings, endless solitary confinement in concrete shit-holes, and worse.
And then his father died. It wasn’t unexpected. He’d been in a deep state of dementia for years, living alone in the old family estate.
His home destroyed and having nothing left, Hunter handled the funeral arrangements and moved back home. Everything in the world that was good had gone from his life, and here he was with only the bones of his old life.
He was now where his father once sat, a shadow of himself, a shadow himself, in this old house which had haunted his nightmares, his nightmare now become real.
| https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories/comments/17aicdl/the_shadow/ | scarystories | TreaghordFX |
false | Them | The cold wind howled through the hollow trees in the dead of night. The smell of rotting wood clung to the thick humid air making every breath labored.
Not a living thing in sight except “them”. Who they were or what they wanted was unclear. It was too dark to see “them” but I knew they were there.
As I walked through the forest my shoes clung to the floor as the mud gripped my heel. With each step, I felt myself sinking deeper and deeper. Every twig snap or bramble that brushed my leg made my heart skip a beat. My only savior was a candle now halfway burnt, the small flame danced on a chard wick as the wax raced to the bottom burning my hand with each drip.
Something about the flame kept them away. I don’t know why but something was telling me if I could just make it out of these woods, I would be safe. Suddenly, I heard something behind me, it sounded like they took a deep breath. I could feel the warmth of their lips inches from my ear. In a soft comforting tone, they said “lights out.” | https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories/comments/17ad9re/them/ | scarystories | LorneBronstein |
false | The void hacked me | last night i had a dream it began like a normal dream but is was something much more sinister the dream began normally i was just on my computer and go on to youtube im bored and something tells me to search something up on youtube its about the void meme the scary picture so i search something like a case of numbers and i see multiple pictures of the void i then thought im not getting hacked untill it happened i then had a bunch of popups on my screen of a bunch of ads and red text it was something about being hacked i scream loudly and then i wake up i go back to sleep but i feel like ive had deja vu or this was a real event and it was happening again if this means something tell me please | https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories/comments/17afvke/the_void_hacked_me/ | scarystories | One_Charity4225 |
false | In the cornfields. [serious] | A few summers ago (when i was about 15), a group of friends and I would regularly go camping in a certain area. It was a group of lakes, surrounded by corn fields and trees. The site had only 2 ways of getting to it: along a narrow rocky dirt path or across the corn fields (how cliché). One day me and my friends were camping at the spot and after a long day of smoking weed and swimming, one of my friends decided that he wanted to go home. This wouldn’t be an issue… if the site was close to anything. At all. But it wasn’t, it was in the middle of acres of corn fields and forests. Because i was one of the only people with a bike (and the only one who could be arsed) I volunteered to give my friend a ride back to the nearby village. He agreed and got his stuff ready and we hopped on the bike to make our way back. We took the path but it proved too difficult for my bike riding ability as we quickly got off and started walking. After about 15 minutes of walking i dropped him off in the village and set on my way back to the camp. Keep in mind that it’s around midnight now. I get back to the cornfields and the path and because it took so long on the path - and the cornfields were basically a straight line - I decided to go across the cornfields. The cornfields had been harvested and were about knee hight instead of the huge stalks.
I start to ride along the corn field but it proves to be much harder than i expected so i get off and push the bike myself. The weed had already made me a little paranoid seen as i was alone, in a cornfield, at midnight and was in the pitch black so i kept looking over my shoulder. Eventually, i managed to convince myself that i was fine and that I should just focus on getting back. I’m looking down at my shoes when i start to hear a crunching noise, almost as if someone’s stepping on something behind me. Before i can do anything i heard the footsteps coming towards me, it sounded just like someone was running up behind me, the footsteps were getting louder and louder and I could hear heavy breathing, as if someone was out of breath right next to my shoulder. I was too scared to turn around before hand but thought I might die if I don’t do it now. I turn my head as quickly as possible and no one’s there. The running noise and breathing just stopped. The moon had somewhat risen above the trees and I managed to look down and see footsteps a few meters behind me, I pick the bike up and run back to camp. I get back to my friends after about 2 minutes of running and I’m in too much shock to speak. I was in so much shock in fact that I had dropped my phone without realising. My friends asked me what was wrong and I told them I was just tired. I then realised that I dropped my phone in the field and told my friends. They said “don’t worry, we wanted to go on a walk anyways so we’ll be able to find it.” About a minute later a couple of my friends left to go on a walk and look for my phone. They took a head torch with them and searched for my phone. They said they went about 5 minutes away from the camp and found my phone. My mates said that as soon as they picked up the phone they heard footsteps - as if someone was running - coming straight towards them from behind as well as the heavy breathing. They said that they turned around and saw nothing but did see some footprints a few meters away from them.
Idk, you might not find it as scary but in the moment it was the most terrifying thing ever. Still scares me to this day. | https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories/comments/17aav54/in_the_cornfields_serious/ | scarystories | Straight_Jeweler_280 |
false | Personally, I Like Clowns | I'm not afraid of clowns. Are you? There's no shame in it if you are. I get it. They have chalk-white faces and blood-red lips; a facade of a smile attempts to deceive people into believing their wearers are in a state of perpetual happiness. Then there is simply that air of mystery as to who it really is under all that grease paint and baggy clothing. But none of these factors have ever bothered me.
Also, I'm not one of those creeps who, upon learning that someone is afraid of clowns, will try to subject them to the sight of one. This behavior is tantamount to throwing a tarantula into the lap of someone with arachnophobia. I don't get my kicks by torturing others.
But to me, clowns are people who have seen a need to try to bring joy and laughter to those who really need it. The world is a sick place, and every day it seems to get a little sicker, wouldn't you agree? So, I really appreciate their efforts. Perhaps to an excessive degree. After all, I might be the only guy in the world in his forties whose man cave consists entirely of clownmotifs. But that room makes me smile, especially after a hard day.
I live in a small house, almost in the middle of nowhere. A few months ago, I had been doing some work in my flower garden. I heard the car pull into my lane and its door shut, but it did not divert my attention away from my project. From behind me, someone asked, "Do you know where I can find the Ryerson place? 1262 East 1150 North Road is the address. My GPS keeps sending me in circles." I stopped what I was doing, turned around, and, to my delight, found a man in full clown costume standing in my yard.
"Bill and Susan Ryerson? Sure, I know how to get there. I better write it down for you, though. It can get a little tricky out here in the sticks." Then I added, "Come on inside out of the heat while I write it down; you'll sweat off all your paint out here." He gladly followed me in.
"What's your name? Your clown name, I mean."
He laughed a little, half amused, and answered me with the funny voice he used for his persona, "Jo-Jangles the Clown. Pleasure to meet you." With this introduction, he wiggled his arms, ringing the multitude of tiny round bells sewn to the cuffs of his sleeves.
"The pleasure is all mine, I'm sure," I said, then I offered him a drink and invited him to take a seat in my kitchen. As I searched my junk drawer, I told him all about my appreciation of clowns. He in turn told me how refreshing it was to hear and how it seemed like more and more people just didn't care for those in his profession anymore.
I stood behind him as he finished the last of the lemonade I gave him. I brought my clawhammer down onto the base of his skull swiftly, powerfully, and with perfect accuracy. He didn't suffer. As I said, I don't get my kicks by torturing others.
Now, Jo-Jangles is the prize of my collection. I have him displayed prominently in my clown room. After a hard day in an evil, uncaring world, I like to look at him. He always brings a smile to my face. | https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories/comments/17a66kl/personally_i_like_clowns/ | scarystories | DungeonMarshal |