nosleep

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Jaylaserina on 2024-09-21 15:56:51+00:00.

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As a young child I trusted my mom. Fully. I believed everything she said. After all, she’s my mom. She wants what’s best for me. She loves me more than anyone in the world. I never thought this innocent and natural perception would be exploited to the degree it was.

On my 3rd birthday my father stood waiting for me outside a McDonald’s. He had planned my birthday. A party I never attended. He waited and waited, called and called but she never showed up. Meanwhile, she was getting on a greyhound with me. The passengers learned it was my birthday, I imagined that she probably told them she was escaping an evil man. One passenger bought me a small birthday cake at one of the stops (my mom said). I wonder where that person is. If only they knew I was being kidnapped, and it wasn’t a happy day to celebrate but a day that would change my entire coarse of my life.

Once we arrived on the other side of the country she entered into DV programs and changed both my name and SSN. Then she began to fill my developing and innocent mind with her grandiose lies. At 3.5 years she told me she saved me from my father. That he was an evil man who was physically and emotionally abusive. She told me he molested me. And if I ever met him that he would kill her and take me to Africa where my family would rape me.

By this time my infantile amnesia had kicked it and I forgot everything up before this point. I forgot my dad. I forgot what he looked like. I forgot our bond. I forgot that I was a daddies girl. I forgot that I couldn’t sleep without him. Yet, even though I had forgotten him there was an intuition that led me to begin to becoming VERY misbehaved purposely toward my mother. I felt rage towards her but I didn’t know why. That’s when the physical punishments began. Daily spankings. Biting. Fingers being bent back. Trauma symptoms kicked in. I began to wet the bed (something I didn’t do anymore even at this young age), night terrors about witches and running away became regular by 5 years old. Then the hallucination I saw of a demon telling me to kill myself. I gathered knives under my bed not fully knowing why but knowing I should listen to this presence in my room. How does a baby already want to die? It was because I was dying. Then, I was dead.

My old self with my old name was gone. And instead in its place was a traumatized and angry shell of a child. Not knowing the old me would remain a member of the cast in my mind forever. Screaming to be let out. To be free. To be allowed to be me. I hated the person she forced me to be. I hated myself.

My mom met her new husband and told me to call him dad. I did for a few days and something felt wrong. I stopped and for the rest of my life she would refer to him as “your dad.” She pressured me to take his last name. She told him I was so misbehaved because she didn’t punish me cause she felt bad I didn’t have my dad. When the reality was I was punished so often I grew to see her as an enemy worth fighting. Once he arrived in my life the physical punishments became less frequent and he became the one to punish me. Much more level headed, he would normally ground me. I would often take my frustration out on him saying “Your not my dad!”

Time passed and I did petty things. Like stealing makeup which earned me a year long grounding. Eventually everything was removed from me. My phone, TV and computer and any devices and I was told I can have them back when I buy my own. Realizing I had no positive reinforcement to behave anymore by my teens I had basically “defeated” my mom’s punishments. Going out and not coming home for days. Drinking. Having sex. My mom wasn’t interested in my life. She only shamed me for my deplorable actions. Regularly calling the cops on me for petty things like drinking and smoking. Time after time I would feel the suicidal rage come back, I would think to myself “I just want my dad” not knowing who I was even wanting. Not knowing that these were forms of covert abuse masked as discipline.

I became the “problem child” she would gossip about to anyone who would listen, telling them how mentally ill I am and how hard it is as my mother. In trouble again and again, “How could you after everything I’ve done for you? I risked my life to keep you safe. You’re a psychopath just like your dad. Soon you’ll be 18 and you need to find somewhere else to live because I’m moving across the state.” 18 creeped up and I felt the fear of abandonment coming I knew I had to do something or I would be in the street. The day after my birthday I was kidnapped by a stranger on Craigslist claiming to have a room share. He raped me. Come to find out, he was a serial rapist and there were others. While the court process began I found a roommate a friend from high school. My mom step dad and little brother were gone, they rarely called.

I felt safe to start to look for my dad. I found him on Facebook and messaged him. This is where the suspicion began. He told me he has been looking for me. That he loved me and was hurt every time my birthday came around. He was so hurt that he told people I died because he couldn’t explain my mom took me every time someone asked where I was. He was shocked when I asked him about her allegations of rape. His wife and new daughters defended him saying your mom is absolutely lying.

He bought a ticket for me and my bestfriend so I wouldn’t feel alone. Meeting him was a beautiful memory filled with happy tears. But the suicidal rage, bad behavior became too much for him and he got me a ticket back home writing me off as being “like my mom”.

No one was with me in court when I faced my rapist. NO ONE . He got 56 years the only justice I ever had.

2 years passed before we both apologized to eachother. He told me that was his biggest mistake and he would forever be sorry. A apology? Very weird. My mom had never apologized to me for anything. I felt so seen and validated. Our relationship remained distant but he was supportive. Helping me every time I was in a financial crisis or abusive relationship. My mom was never willing to help me. I learned to not ask for help or tell her about my problems.

The opposition of their conflicting stories created cognitive dissonance that I couldn’t settle. It drove me crazy not knowing who the crazy person is. It has to be at least one of them, someone is lying. But I made excuses for my mom and wondered if maybe she was right and my dad had fooled me. I was scared to confront her I didn’t want to victim blame sold I was wrong. Because if I was wrong that meant she was abused and a victim herself. I had no memory so how can I tell?

But their behaviors told a story I couldn’t ignore. I never felt loved by my mom whereas my dad had empathy for me, he was interested in my life and helped me when I needed him. Qualities my mom ALL lacked. My boyfriend told me it’s obvious who is wrong. The more I studied her behavior I seen consistent manipulation patterns: victim mentality, guilt tripping, blame shifting and then love bombing. All classic narcissistic traits.

It has been 9 years since I met my dad. Only a few days have passed since I realized my mom kidnapped me. She was the crazy one all along. She abused me psychologically, emotionally, physically and neglected me. That realization is so overwhelming that I feel nothing but emptiness. I can hardly cry.

Why is this my life? A life she curated FOR ME.

A few days ago I went no contact. I blocked her on everything. She barely speaks to me yet her response was to call everyone she knows I know and ask “why did she block me I can’t figure it out” as if my acquaintances are her resource for information.

Now I’m looking into finding a lawyer. I’ve been educated that there is no statute of limitations for federally kidnapping children across state lines. Since it is between multiple states it would be an investigation by the FBI. I don’t want to punish her, I just want acknowledgment of her disregard for my life.

I struggle mentally, I can’t focus. I have issues sleeping. I overthink and overcompensate. I have had an evil voice in my mind that tells me to kill myself as long as I can remember. At first I wanted to punish her and then it became because life is so unbearable. The confusion drove me mad until I finally realized.

All I ever wanted is a family and a home. So I have no practical dreams or career aspirations. I just want love. I have to rebuild the person I was born to be. I hope to become someone who inspires others like me.

She changed my name, took away my family, my culture, my identity. She killed me. I will never be who I was meant to be. But I know I am not a mentally ill troubled person but a person who was psychologically abused, who has empathy for others, who deserved a chance a peace. A chance she took from me. She took my true destiny and identity away from me. Something I will never get back. One filled with family, love and compassion. One where I would be validated and valued. One without abuse.

She took all of that, she erased an essential part of me. But she can’t take my soul. I know the truth now and I know who I am.

I hope my story can help someone who is going through or who has been through the same. I searched and search for other kids like me, I felt like the only one. We have to start telling our story. We have to fight for change in the system so that we can be protected. My name ...

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/1morey on 2024-09-21 04:24:59+00:00.

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This is my personal account of an incident that occurred in Alaska back in 2019. I haven't spoken of this incident to anyone but my therapist and my best friend. Despite many sessions, and even attempts of exposure therapy (which I will explain later), this event still haunts me. Maybe if I post this here, I can gain some semblance of peace.

So, like I said, it was 2019, I was twenty-five at the time. I had been saving up money to do on some backcountry camping up in Alaska. I live on the East Coast, and while my job was paying alright, I was taking up some under the table jobs (house painting, housesitting, petsitting, and what-have-you) to help me out financially for the trip. I also had a friend set me up with their uncle who is a bush pilot to handle getting me to and from my camping location.

This was my first and biggest mistake. Now, I had very little experience with camping outside of occasional weekend camping at state parks, and I did some camping excursions (nothing super challenging) when I was in Boy Scouts. But my friend's uncle, Mark, knew some good spots that were remote to an extent, but easy to get to in the event of an emergency, by bush plane standards, that is. So yeah, no trekking to the nearest highway or road, unless I wanted to walk for a day or so through rugged terrain.

My parents helped me out with getting me some emergency supplies (food/hydration packs, first-aid kit, bear spray, etc.) Mark loaned me a spare rifle of his, in case I would need it. Even though I was a non-resident, I could still carry a firearm under state law. I've hunted before when I was a teen, so I had experience in that regard, plus I didn't have to worry about the hassle of transporting a firearm and dealing with airport regulations. Mark also hooked me up with a satellite phone as well, so my cell phone was going to be nothing more than a camera. I didn't have the money for a good camera for photography or anything, so I had to make due.

The plan was to be dropped off at where I was camping, camp out for five days, and be picked up on day six. I didn't want to use up all two weeks of my allotted PTO at work, so I kept the trip condensed.

Because this was my first time out, Mark helped me pick out a site, based on his recommendations. The spot he chose wasn't one he went to often, as he typically flew in hunters and anglers who typically were going to areas with more rugged terrain. It was relatively flat, not a lot of dense forests, maybe some patches here and there further in, and my campsite was going to be set up near a small lake with a good view of some mountains in the distance.

Now, I'm sure a lot of people would like to know where I was specifically, but Mark no longer takes people to that location, regardless of their experience or not, and he no longer does fly-ins for anyone who isn't a hunter. It hurt his business a bit, because fishing is so popular in Alaska, but he ended up retiring altogether due to COVID the following year.

As for why I won't mention the location, as far as I am aware, the location didn't have a name on an official map, and if Mark had ever flown near that area, it was just a tiny blip during a scenic sight-seeing trip. The other reason was because of what I experienced on that trip. What I saw, I wish I could get it out of my head, out of my dreams.

After Mark dropped me off and helped me unload my gear, I spent most of my first day setting up camp, not far from the lake, a good eighty-five yards or so (or a little over 77 meters). I found a nice and remarkably dry dead log that had some good size branches, so that was my main supply of firewood.

A short walk away there was small grove of trees inland from the lake that I set up as my food storage location. Mark said bears were not uncommon in this area, though not necessarily the best place to see some, but it was still advised to keep food hanging from a tree, out of reach from any potential bears.

The lake had a rather unique shape to it, which made it easy for me to set up a good spot for a cooking area. For those unfamiliar, the campsite, food storage, and kitchen area should form a triangle, which some people refer to as a "bear-muda" triangle.

Day two and three were not entirely uneventful for the most part. Day two, I was eating lunch at my campsite while watching a bull moose dive into the lake to eat the plants at the bottom. Day 3, I did some hiking. Found a small hill with only a couple trees on top, and I decided to sit down and observe a herd of elk grazing for a good while. Exploring around the lake, I found a small rusted boat buried under some branches. It was in rough shape, but could still float on the water. So I dragged it back with me to camp and put it near the lakeshore. Figured I could go out on the lake and take some good photos from it.

Day Four is when things started to get weird. It got unnaturally quiet that morning, the birds were not singing, and the only sounds were from the lake, and the bugs. Despite making sure I packed mosquito repellent, the bugs were a big nuisance if I was near the lake. I hesitated to travel away from my tent, outside of walking to the lake. I tried not to let the silence bother me, and I occupied my time with reading inside my tent.

As the sun dipped down and darkness began to creep in, I was starting to feel uneasy. Like a primal kind of fear. I decided I was going to make my campfire a bit bigger than I normally make it, enough that the light shone further away.

As I turned in for the night, I made sure my bear spray and the rifle were within reach inside my tent. But I had trouble sleeping. The silence was unnerving. I was fighting myself not to toss and turn, because I was too afraid of the noise attracting something I did not want to encounter alone at night.

Just as I was about to close my eyes, I heard a branch snap. That woke me up faster than a bucket of ice water, and I immediately froze. I could heard something coming into my campsite. I reached for the bear spray and held it tightly to my chest. As slowly as humanly possible, I turned over, and saw the shadow of an animal on the wall of my tent, illuminated by the glow of the moonlight.

The animal was big, about the size of a trophy brown bear, but the silhouette looked off. I just figured it was from some sort of distortion from the angle I was looking at. But the noises it made, were not like that of a bear. It made huffing noises like a bear, but the sound wasn't exactly the same. I could tell it was starting to approach my tent, so I had my thumb ready on the safety catch of the spray.

Suddenly, the creature tore through the tent like tissue paper, and grabbed my sleeping bag in its jaws. The strength of the animal caused me to nearly hit my head off the ground, and for a brief moment, I caught a look at the animals face.

The animal's head look similar to a bear's. But there was something uncanny about it, uncanny in a way that I can not entirely articulate. It wasn't malformed or anything, it just looked off.

As the animal dragged me out of the tent, I popped off the safety catch, and sprayed it in the face. The animal reeled back, groaning in pain. It was a horrendous noise, not like anything I have ever heard. I heard it run off into the thick brush, and as I went to head for the remains of my tent, I could hear this crashing and cracking noise from the animal. I was too scared that it was going to come back, so I ran for the boat.

As I was pushing the boat into the water, I turned back, and from the fading glow of the campfire, I saw the animal begin to charge. I wasted no time in getting the boat into the water, and I begin to paddle as quickly as I could. I knew the creature would be faster, but I was praying that I got far enough away from shore, it wouldn't attempt to chase me.

The creature didn't stop at the lakeshore, and it made its way through the water, at least up to its chest and stopped. I could faintly see it from the moonlight, and then it ran for my tent. While I couldn't see it all that well, I could tell from the horrendous noise that the animal was thrashing around my camping supplies. I hoped to God that the rifle and satellite phone were intact.

I curled up in the boat, and tried my best to sleep, but I was drenched up to my waist, and I was shivering like crazy. After a good fifteen minutes, the noises from my campsite died down and everything became still again. I never slept through the night, but occasionally would paddle the boat to make sure it didn't float off towards shore during the night.

When morning approached, I was still too afraid to go back to my campsite. I waited until around noon, when my stomach began to protest. I picked up the paddle, and slowly and as quietly as possible, paddled back to my campsite.

As I reached the shore, I still waited for several minutes, just to make sure I didn't hear the creature approach. I slowly walked back to what remained of my campsite.

The tent was nothing more than snapped poles and tattered fabric, and what was left of my sleeping bag was unrecognizable as belonging to a sleeping bag. Unfortunately, Mark's rifle had a busted stock, and the wooden forearm had a big crack down it. My backpack had been torn apart, and clothes and gear were scattered all around.

I found my binoculars laying in the firepit, luckily, it looked like the fire had gone out before they landed in it, as there were no sco...

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Haunted-nightmares on 2024-09-21 03:26:06+00:00.

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The northwoods winters have always been quiet. The wide stretches of pines and hemlocks combined with a couple feet of snow meant that almost no sound traveled through the air. Still, even in the dead of winter, some sounds could always be made out. The wind whistling through the trees, the scuffling of creatures who had not gone to sleep for the winter, the occasional howl from a distant wolf, all sounds that could be picked out amongst the silence. Somehow there was always some sort of noise. Yet, the forests of my land made none. 

The silence is somehow more deafening than any bustling city or crowded suburb. I find myself straining my ears, desperate for noise… but there is none. Only silence.

Nothing dares to make a peep while the fawns are stalking.  

I live alone in a cabin in the northwoods of Wisconsin. Just a small wooden cabin with ten acres of wilderness surrounding it, untouched for generations. This land has been in my family since my great great grandparents immigrated here from Germany. It has never been logged or altered in any way, as my family preferred to use it for game hunting. The pelts and furs of the various wildlife species that roamed our property kept my family alive for two centuries. 

To this day, it is still used for that same purpose. Ducks, rabbits, pheasants, and quail all end up on my table every year. However, the deer on my property are the best of the bunch. My land produced some of the biggest bucks and does this side of the Mississippi. I sell the meat to local restaurants and the pelts and antlers online. I also keep chickens and have a small vegetable garden whose products I sell at the farmers market during the warmer months. I have made a good life for myself up here… but that life is no more. 

It started off small a couple years back. I noticed a lot of the deer I spotted on my property starting to look a little sickly. They were skinny and often seemed disoriented. Sometimes they would just wander in circles in forest clearings, wheezing in distress. Even weirder, I began finding a lot of the deer in the lake.  

I couldn’t understand it at first. What could possibly be dragging them into the lake and drowning them? No big aquatic predators existed like that this far north. No way in hell. 

It wasn’t until I personally witnessed a buck walk straight into the lake and drown itself that the mystery was finally solved.

The final straw came when the hunting season came around. I was sitting up in my stand one morning and watched as a doe stumbled out into the clearing. I raised my bow and took aim, but stopped before I fired. 

God, she looked just awful. She was practically a walking skeleton. There wasn’t a single ounce of fat on her whole body. She was foaming at the mouth and barely able to stand, her knees wobbling beneath her. Looking at her then, I bet a slight breeze could have knocked her to her side. I was so distracted by her grotesque form that it took me a while to realize that…

She was looking right at me. 

She stared straight at the tip of the arrow I was pointing at her heart, and did nothing. It's almost as if she couldn’t register that she was in danger. 

Or, she just didn’t care. 

We stayed like that for a while. Just staring at each other. Eventually, I lowered my bow. I couldn’t bring myself to shoot her, she was just too pitiful. Looking into her eyes, I could have sworn I saw disappointment cross her gaze. There were a couple more moments of silence between us before she suddenly dropped to the ground.

She was dead. 

It was at this point I knew I needed to call someone to help me figure this out. I normally hate having other people on my property, let alone the government, but I had no choice. I called the DNR and they sent someone to take some samples of the doe. 

If you are familiar with deer, then you may have recognized the signs of the now well known chronic wasting disease, or CWD. 

Chronic wasting disease is a contagious, always-fatal brain disease affecting animals in the cervid family. CWD is a prion disease, meaning that bacteria and viruses play no role in the infection. Prions are proteins and healthy prions are found lining the cells of healthy animals and humans. However, a disease like CWD causes those prions to warp. It starts off with just one prion, but it slowly spreads throughout the entirety of the cervids body over time. Sometimes, it can take over two years for the disease to finally kill off the deer. In the meantime, they will be afflicted with symptoms such as emaciation, excessive salivation, lack of muscle coordination, difficulty in swallowing, excessive thirst, and excessive urination.

The excessive thirst drives them to water, but they often struggle to drink. They will dunk their entire head into rivers or ponds because it is the only way they can get any water into their mouths. This often results in them accidentally drowning themselves, hence why I found so many drowned deer in my lake. 

These prions can be spread by 1v1 contact or be transmitted into the environment—such as soil, food, and water—through feces, urine, and other bodily fluids of an unhealthy deer. CWD can spread to deer if they ingest these unhealthy CWD prions from their environment. These prions can live in the environment for years at a time. This makes managing the disease incredibly difficult, if not near impossible. 

Once it has spread, there is no going back. 

I was given the go ahead by the DNR to kill any infected deer on my property on sight, whether it was during hunting season or not. I tried my best to rid my land of the infection, but it was no use. Things only seemed to get worse. 

A couple years passed and it looked like my land was almost barren of deer. The last season I had was pitiful. The only thing I shot was one scrawny, diseased doe who’s meat or pelt would be no use to anyone. I was distraught, but there was nothing I could do. 

The infection had won. 

I had just about given up ever having healthy deer on my property. That was… until spring came. 

The snow had just started melting outside. The birds were beginning to arrive in droves from their vacation south and lit up the forest with their song. I was happy that the long winter had finally ended, but I couldn’t help but feel down. 

Usually, my land was alive with the arrival of new fawns at this time. Big healthy does would wander my property, trailing one or two beautiful baby fawns with them. The promise of the next generation soothed something in my heart. If I saw fawns, it meant my land was fertile and my livelihood would continue. 

That contentment had not entered my heart in some years. 

As I gazed depressingly out my window, something caught my eye. A doe. She was scrawny and exhausted looking, much like all the other deer I had seen these past years, but behind her trailed… a surprise. 

A big, beautiful baby fawn followed her. It seemed perfectly healthy. It was plump, clean, and happy as could be. It trotted happily after its mom, not seeming in the slightest bit bothered by her deteriorating state. 

I couldn’t believe it. 

How is this possible? I had not had healthy fawns in years. On the rare chance a fawn was born, it would always die before summer's end. Either taken by disease or starved because their mother died before they could be weaned. 

At the time, I figured that the fawn would only remain healthy for a little while. Eventually, the ruin of my land would take its life too. Except… it didn’t. Not only that, but it wasn’t the only healthy fawn to be found. 

By the time the summer ended, I had at least a dozen happy, healthy fawns. All of which were led by a scrawny, diseased doe who looks at those she was seconds away from her painful end. 

I couldn't understand it. How were they so healthy? It should be impossible. Their mothers certainly couldn’t be producing enough milk to sustain them. Even if they could, the milk would be diseased, The fawns should be infected by this point and starting their decline. 

Yet, they weren’t. 

At the time this made me happy. I disregarded any nagging concern with halfhearted excuses. Maybe the mothers weren’t as sick as I thought, or maybe the fawns were immune to the disease somehow. If I had been paying closer attention, maybe I would have seen the signs sooner. 

The first time I sensed something may have been off with the fawns was around the time hunting season came around. Last year my hunt was pitiful, as previously mentioned. This year though, I had the slightest glimmer of hope that I may be able to kill something worthwhile. 

I never even made it to my stand though, as I was stopped in my tracks by a grisly discovery. Well, stopped in my tracks might not be the best choice of words. I mean, I literally tripped over the damn thing.

While trekking to my stand in the dark of the morning, I tripped over a large, warm body. As I fell forward, my hands landed on something warm, fuzzy, and… wet. I yelped in surprise as I fell, getting up as quickly as possible once the fuzzy texture hit my hands. As I was trying to regain my footing, the most horrid stench hit my nose. It was so bad it almost caused me to stumble back to the ground again. I managed to keep my composure and took a couple steps back to get a look at the creature. 

Below me was one of the most grotesque sites I had ever seen. 

It was a doe. Not just a doe, but one of the does I saw with a fawn earlier in the ye...

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/GN0515_ on 2024-09-21 00:05:06+00:00.

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BEEP

BEEP

BEEP

I was barely awake, still nursing my first cup of coffee, when I heard a monotonous noise outside. The garbage doesn't run this early, nor was I expecting a delivery. I leaned back into my leather couch, taking a sip of my favorite medium brew.

The noise persisted with an annoying beep, sounding closer by. Curiosity finally got the better of me. I peeked outside to see if a truck was backing into my driveway, albeit clumsily.

"What the hell is this?" I asked as I rushed to the front door. Forgetting I was wearing a wrinkled gray shirt and jogging shorts, I stepped outside to find a battered delivery truck. Its green paint was cracking, and rust was peeking through. The beeping continued as I stood there, puzzled.

The truck continued to back up, crushing my shrubbery. I darted to the driver's side, shouting, "Stop the truck!" It screeched to a halt, the engine rattling and the exhaust sounding like a gunshot.

The door rattled open, and a short, stocky man with a full beard, dressed in flannel and dark cargo pants, hopped down. His feet thudded on the concrete driveway. "How are you doing this morning?" he asked.

"Fine, at least better than my shrub," I complained as he walked towards the back of the truck, releasing the lever. It rattled and crunched from its rusted chains and bent frame. "So what is this?"

"It's a delivery," he replied, pulling out the ramp. He trudged up the ramp, heavy-footed, the metal thumping and thudding as he ascended into the truck. I walked over to see the truck was almost empty, except for a long, heavily taped box that looked ragged and damaged. 

"I'm not expecting a delivery," I noted, hearing the sound of wheels from a pallet jack banging against the floor of the truck. The box began to lift a few inches from the ground as the delivery driver turned to face me, pulling the jack like a horse pulling a carriage. "Especially not a larger delivery."

"Well, this is the address I'm supposed to bring it to."

"What is it?"

"I'm just the delivery driver. I just pick stuff up and drop things off."

He rolled the box down the ramp on the pallet jack. "Can I see the invoice?" I asked. As he paused and secured the pallet jack, he shuffled over to the truck. After a brief search, he returned with a couple of crumpled papers.

The invoice listed my name, correct address, and simply said "package." I was still puzzled, especially when I saw the words "DSM Fulfillment," a company I had never heard of. "This is the address and you are the person on the invoice, right?"

I nodded. "It looks like it, but I didn't order anything."

He stepped next to me and pointed to the bottom of the invoice, where it showed that the order had already been paid for. "Listen, if you have any questions, just call that number and they'll sort it out," he said. "I've come back to some of these places to pick up packages for returns."

"Alright," I answered, examining the box and wondering what could be inside. "I have no idea where to put it, though."

"Listen, I'm paid per delivery, so I don't have time to sort all of this out," he huffed. He looked around the house and saw the two-door garage. "How about you put it in there while you figure this out?"

"Alright, but expect to be back in the coming days," I said as I walked over to the garage and pressed a button. The door opened, revealing the bare concrete, organized shelves, and other items I stored there. "Put it over there, close to the door to the house," I directed.

The man began pulling the mystery box, placing it gently next to the door as requested before digging through his pockets for a pen, “Do you mind signing this real quick?” he requested, as he handed over a pen that looked dirty.

“Sure,” I said as I winced a bit from grabbing on to it, quickly signing to get it out of my hand. I scribbled a signature hastily and crudely before handing it back over to him. As I turned back to the box, pondering the contents that laid inside.

"Alright, then, if you have any concerns, just call the number," he stated, pulling apart the invoice and handing me a yellow copy that looked even more thrashed than the one I had just signed. I watched as he loaded the pallet jack and closed to door. He let out a wave as he walked off and jumped into his truck, it struggled to start, misfiring loudly again before he pulled away.

I looked over the box again before heading into the house, pulling out a pair of scissors from the drawer and returning to the garage. Quietly, I debated whether to open the box or just call the number, but curiosity, as it does with most people, got the best of me.

I sat on my knees and began cutting the massive amounts of tape from the corners, before working my way to the flaps. I cut down the middle, but the scissors struggled with the amount of adhesive coming from the tape. Finally, I said to hell with it and started ripping at the cardboard, seeing a large dark object inside. As I pulled both flaps open, feeling the cardboard bend and tear, I exclaimed, "What the hell is this?" stunned by the contents inside.

A coffin.

I stood up seeing a beat up and dented coffin lying inside the remains of the box. Was it a threat? Who sent this to me? I reached into my pocket pulling out the copy of the invoice as I walked quickly to my living room, grabbing my phone from the coffee table.

I scanned the paper for the number, my fingers fumbling and trembling as I punched in the digits incorrectly. After a few tries, I heard the phone ring. What felt like an eternity later, a female voice crackled as I put the phone on speaker. "DSM Fulfillment, how can I help you?"

"Yes, I received a package from you today," I said weakly. As I looked out the window again, checking for anything unusual, I added, "I didn't order a package from you guys."

"What's the invoice number?" she asked, sounding annoyed. I looked over at the paper, trying to find it.

"What does that matter? I didn't order a damn package and I want to return it!"

"Sir, this will go much faster if you just give me the invoice number."

I slowly read the number: "V0UGS05PVYBXSEFUIFlPVSBETW." As I spoke, I heard a strange noise coming from somewhere nearby. The sound of splashing became distinct as I walked around to find the source. "Can you hold on a second?"

The sound grew louder. It was coming from the kitchen. As I looked over, I saw water from the faucet pounding the marble sink. I didn't remember leaving the sink on, I thought to myself. Turning to see the garage entrance, I noticed the door was wide open.

"Sir, I have other calls," the voice on the phone said as I walked into the garage. The box was further tattered on the floor, but something else stood out even more: the coffin was open.

"What the hell is going on?"

“Sir, are you still there, the name I have here is—” I heard before felt hard plastic rubbing harshly on my neck, I remember briefly, the white color and indentation on it, it looked like a power cord. 

– 

I coughed loudly, my eyes blurred with tears, and my mouth dry. The smell in the room: rancid and lingering. I looked up to see a pair of bare feet stained with brown and red. I tried to move but both my arms and legs felt bound as I looked down to see a familiar white from the power cord tied. It mumbled while my eyes began to focus.  

“Three more times, the garbage hits the dump. Three more times, then it’s over. Three more times, then I get to go home.”

I looked up to see a man, heavily disheveled, his hair matted in tangles and grime. His beard was equally unkempt. He wore dark coveralls stained with the grime that mirrored the marks on his feet leaving tracks on my living room floor. “Three more, Robbie, just three more,” he muttered.

“Take what you want, I have money and jewelry upstairs,” I shouted as he paced the room, grumbling incoherently. I squirmed with each step he took. “Listen, you look rough, man. I have some drugs that might help take the edge off? You can have them if you just leave.” 

He turned, his eyes wild like an animal’s, and stomped over to me. “What did you do?” he yelled, kneeling down and looking me directly in the eye. I continued to struggle, writhing like a worm on my own floor.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I stammered as he came closer, looking at me. He had heavy bags under his eyes, his breath smelled awful, and he was trembling. “Just take what you want, man.”

“WHAT DID YOU FUCKING DO!” he shouted, grabbing a handful of my hair and pulling me up slightly. He continued to stare at me with his eyes locked directly with mine.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" I cried out. As he released me and began pacing frantically, I looked down at my legs and saw that the power cord I was tied with was loosening.

"They don't send me here unless you deserve it," he yelled loudly. "That's how this works!"

"How do you know I deserve it?"

"Because I wouldn't be here if you didn't deserve it!"

"I don't understand."

"The coffin, they send the coffin to people who deserve it!"

"You were in the coffin!" I shouted back. He continued walking back and forth, this time slapping himself in the face. I continued to slowly wiggle my leg, feeling the cord slipping. "What are you going to do?"

"What do I have to do?" he shrieked, a tear rolling down his cheek. I realized he wasn't a professional killer or a crazy murderer. He was desperate.

"How long were you in that coffin?" I asked, trying to show empathy. His sobbing intens...

---

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/googlyeyes93 on 2024-09-20 21:07:55+00:00.

---

Previous log

DAY 7

I slept fitfully last night. This morning though, I found out that Philip had a similar experience as I did. One was speaking to him in the same way, under his breath and laughing. Though he wouldn’t tell me what he was saying, he was shaken to the core because One called him by name, too. We decided to sit in with Taryn during her shift this morning, just in case anything happened.

It didn’t take too long. One was still sitting in his bunk, muttering under his breath, when he mentioned Taryn by name this time.

ONE: Do you miss it, Taryn?

Taryn didn’t know how to reply, obviously. She wasn’t quite sure what was happening, since she hadn’t had the experience Philip and I had.

ONE: Do you miss the way he touched you?

She grew pale, running from the room and barely making it into the hallway before throwing up whatever breakfast she had.

ONE: He does. He misses it!

He was laughing now, chuckling under his breath.

ONE: He’s right here, if you’d like to say hello! Daddy misses you, Taryn!

”Jesus fucking Christ…” was all Philip could manage to get out. I ran out after Taryn, trying to console her from the massive anxiety attack she was now having. The poor girl was crouched in a corner of the hallway, hands over her head like she was in a tornado drill, hyperventilating hard.

”Please make him stop.” She sobbed, begging anyone that would listen.

One of the other subjects started shouting at One as he laughed louder, pressing on their already frayed nerves. Philip shouted for me to come back as Two walked into One’s room, ready to fight. I called Murray over, getting him on standby in case things got bad.

TWO: Would you shut the FUCK UP!

He grabbed One, bashing his head into the wall like he was throwing a bloody alarm clock to shut it up. One didn’t stop laughing, despite another hit right into the wall. Murray ran in, trying to keep One from being killed as Two grabbed him again, going for another hit. One didn’t stop laughing, now looking at Two.

ONE: They found me. They’ll find you soon too. You’re out of your cell.

TWO: The fuck are you even talking about you little shit?

ONE: How many girls were there?

TWO: What?

ONE: I can’t count them all. The room is getting crowded.

TWO: (smashes One’s head into the wall again) Shut up! Shut UP!

Around this time Murray ran in, another guard on duty following him to help restrain the big man. One was still laughing, now counting out loud. Honestly if it wasn’t for the caved in part of his head, it would be hilarious. He was letting out a laugh between every number like the damned Count on Sesame Street.

Murray grabbed Two, pulling him back and throwing him into his own room before shutting the door, pulling out keys to lock it so he would have solitary time to chill out. For the first time, we had to pull a patient out, bringing One into the small medical bay to assess his injuries.

By every part of science that I know of, he shouldn’t have been alive, much less conscious right then. There he was though, sitting on the medical table and laughing, muttering under his breath about all the lovely people coming out to make sure he was okay.

I got chills then, because he started saying names as he looked around the room. Our exams were showing that he was in perfect cognitive shape still, other than the lack of sleep. Hell, it looks like he was starting to come back around into a more clarified state. What better time to get some direct answers, right?

ME: One, what are you seeing right now?

ONE: The other kids. Classmates, friends, bullies…

ME: What kids?

ONE: The kids I buried.

My blood ran cold, wondering if he could be delusional by this point. He was ahead of the others when it came to time awake, so his symptoms were definitely going to be more advanced than the others.

ONE: Oh, hi Coach. Mitchell!

Suddenly, as I was exampining his pupils to see if they were still reacting to light, he began to seize on the table. Before I knew what was happening, a mass of blood and organs erupted from his stomach, seemingly being grabbed and torn from the outside.

MURRAY: Jesus! What in the hell?! Mike, did you do that?

I was backed away from the table now, blood spattered across my face and clothes. On the table, One was laughing harder now, looking around his surroundings wildly.

ONE: Ahhh, that feels so much better.

I rushed forward, desperately trying to fit his organs back into his abdomen and keep him alive. He looked more peaceful now, in some kind of relief from before. Despite the blood gushing from his insides, he wasn’t showing any signs of trauma or stress in his psychological response. His body, at this point, should have been shutting down from shock, but he was almost refreshed, like he had just woken from a satisfying nap.

ME: One, can you still hear me?

ONE: Oh, yes. I can hear you. Sorry about that earlier.

ME: What exactly happened, One?

ONE: They want to keep me here. They’re still mad.

ME: Who’s mad, One?

ONE: I told you, the people I buried. The people I loved. I didn’t want anyone else to get them, and now they don’t want anyone else to get me.

ME: Get you? What do you mean?

ONE: The jailer.

I don’t really… know what he’s talking about. After that he just laid on the table while I did what I could to stitch him up. Whatever happened, it looked like he had been pulled every which way from the inside until his guts finally burst through his skin. Some organs were shredded, with his spleen in at least three different pieces that weren’t going to do anything for him anymore. Despite all, he just stayed there, catatonic but smiling like he was finally comfortable.

I stitched and bandaged his stomach, finally getting some of the bleeding under control. I wasn’t sure what to do with the shredded organs I found, just removing them so they didn’t go necrotic inside. The next thing he did is something that I, before now, would have thought was something from a horror movie.

One got up, walking right to the door with only a little bit of a limp in his gait. His skull half caved in, blood already oozing through the bandage, he walked from the medical bay, going to the door back into the subject room. As he passed by Taryn in the hallway, he briefly looked her way.

ONE: I’m sorry about earlier. He was a very angry man, very intimidating. I see how it happened so much.

TARYN: What is wrong with you! How the hell did you know that!?

ONE: He was whispering in my ear. (He looks back down the hallway to Murray and I) Can someone let me back in? I’d like to apologize to the bad man.

What else was I supposed to do? We let him in, and he went straight to Two’s door, looking through the glass at the angry man, now banging on the thick glass of his door to try and get at the scrawny boy. He stopped in shock when he got a good look at him, noticing the massive amount of blood and caved in head.

ONE: I feel bad for you. I don’t feel bad for many people, but you’re about to have a bad time.

TWO: Who the fuck are you? What do you know about me?

ONE: Everything. They told me all of it. They said they’ll see you soon though, so I don’t need to do anything.

Three, Four, and Five were backed against the farthest wall they could be as One spoke. I think this was the first time I saw Five break the cool exterior, genuine fear in his face as he looked at the mangled One. The worst though was Three, who was now pale and looked like he had seen a ghost. One turned to the rest of them, now that his apology was over. His flattened skull was unnerving, even watching over a security monitor as the other three subjects looked on in horror.

One went into his room, smiling as he sat back down on his cot, going into a near catatonic state.

Taryn was able to compose herself enough to tell us about why she had that reaction. I won’t go too into her personal trauma, but to put it short, she was molested by her father as a child. At some point in her teens, she fought back, pushing him hard enough that he fell in their bathroom, cracking his head on the toilet and dying. She was in tears as she told us this, saying she had never told anyone but the cops and her therapist about this, and there shouldn’t be any way that One would know.

We compared notes, finding out that each of us had something he shouldn’t know about. My disease, Taryn’s trauma, and Philip, who confessed he had killed two people in a drunk driving accident, one that his father managed to get him out of thanks to some money and a prosecutor friend.

Philip took over the rest of Taryn’s watch while I tried to rest in preparation for mine. It was useless though, as all I could see every time I closed my eyes was One being ripped to shreds from the inside out, smiling the whole time. He was thankful for what had happened, like they were protecting him some great evil that we didn’t know of. I needed to figure out who this Jailer he spoke of is. It’s all my mind could think about as I tossed in bed for hours, expecting Philip to call me in at any moment about some new insanity.

He didn’t, much to my surprise, and I dragged myself in to prepare for my watch, getting up to speed from him as I poured a cup of coffee in the kitchen. For the most part, things were slow compared to the usual. I don’t know if the chaos of the day already was a sign of peace for the rest, but I would take it at this point. ...

---

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Saturdead on 2024-09-20 19:49:58+00:00.

---

The summer before heading off to college, my friend Camden and I were celebrating our last summer together. We’d grown up together as neighbors, but we were heading off to different colleges. Our plans were about as simple as they can get. There was a blank space in our calendars, a decent sum on our bank accounts, and a gassed-up car. That’s it.

That first week was insane. Camden had to balance constant calls from his mom with being an absolute beast. He’d be doing cranberry vodka shots one second and calmly describe his breakfast in perfect detail the next. We spent two days with his distant relatives in Rochester. He may or may not have made out with his own cousin during a particularly high-stakes truth-or-dare. I can neither confirm nor deny.

A couple of days before heading home, we decided to have a final camping night. We split up for a day to see our families and get some supplies, then we met up at lake Attabat.

 

Lake Attabat is a bit of a local secret. We got to know about it from Camden’s cousins, who more or less dared us to go there. I mean, they expressly told us not to go there, but we took it as a challenge. It was supposed to be an old fishing lake surrounded by small cabins for rent, but the owners had neglected them for decades. All that was left were these crumbling log cabins and an absolutely stunning beach.

I was looking forward to getting some alone time with Camden. We’d been so busy living the high life that we hadn’t gotten any time to just chill. To talk about the future and make plans. Maybe we’d go fishing.

But when I rolled up to lake Attabat, Camden was already there; and he wasn’t alone.

 

He brought four friends to keep the party going. The only one I knew by name was Harris. He’d been an acquaintance hanging at the edge of our social circle for a while. A weird guy who asked a lot of questions. But I also knew that the only reason Camden would invite him would be to get a shot at his older sister. We’d never been formally introduced, but her name was Tami. She didn’t look the part of your average law student; she looked much more at home in a mosh pit in a sweaty basement.

Tami had, in turn, brought two of her sorority friends. The three of them were in the process of claiming the least rotten cabin off the beach as Camden and Harris collected firewood. Camden waved me over, calling out everyone to come meet me. My heart sank a little. It was gonna be fun, but I would’ve like to just spend some time with my friend, too. This was quickly turning into something different.

I was surrounded by smiles as I was introduced to Tami, Pam, and Cari. Harris gave me an uncertain wave from the sidelines. Camden wrapped an arm around my neck.

“This is my brother right here!”, he called out. “I’m the pretty one, he’s the good one!”

And just like that, the stage was set.

 

We ended up making a fire by the beach, grilling a few hot dogs, and having a couple of beers. Harris wasn’t feeling it and ended up spending most of his time fixing the old floating dock instead. I noticed Cari was giving me a little extra attention. She was a peculiar woman with a long face and almost cartoonishly large eyes, but her confidence and genuine personality was difficult not to like. I ended up talking to her for well over an hour.

Harris came back with his hands on his hips, clearing his throat to get some attention.

“I need something to tie the tanks with,” he said.

“The what?” Camden asked. “What are you talking about?”

“The barrels. The things that makes the dock float,” Harris sighed. “I need something to tie them on.”

“Just ditch it,” Camden frowned. “Come on, sit down. Have a snack.”

“Didn’t we say we were gonna fix this thing?” Harris snapped back. “Or was that just something you said to keep me busy?”

It got awfully quiet. I looked around and pointed to one of the old cabins.

“I think I saw a garden hose out back,” I said. “You can use that. Won’t rot.”

Harris gave his sister, and Camden, a long look. He shook his head, thanking me under his breath.

 

To Harris’ credit, he managed to fix that floating dock. It was big enough for all six of us, as long as we stood up. If someone was gonna sunbathe on it, we might fit three, if we crowded a bit. The thing was surprisingly solid – Harris definitely knew a couple of sailor’s knots to keep the supports in place.

Harris and his sister were polar opposites. While Harris kept to himself, Tami was taking bikini selfies next to the ‘No Diving’ sign. Pam was off talking to her parents on her phone, while Cari and I was sitting beachside, dipping our feet in the warm water. The sun was setting in about an hour or so, covering the lake in a golden glow. It was gonna be a great night; I could tell.

We all went out on the floating dock - Tami and Camden sitting side by side at the edge, kicking us out into the lake. We were cheering, teasing, laughing… all the things you’re supposed to do when you’re young and curious.

 

We went out on the middle of the lake. Everyone but Harris dove in headfirst, ignoring the abandoned ‘No Diving’ sign. The lake was colder than expected, and I wasn’t the only one to shiver a little. That didn’t stop us though. Within seconds, I saw a bikini top being tossed around like a ball, and there were smiles every which way I turned. Well, except for Harris.

He turned to us, saying something. I’m not sure what. He was pointing, trying to get our attention, but that wasn’t happening anytime soon. I had Cari right next to my ear, asking me to keep her warm. Camden and Tami were just full-on making out against the floating dock. I casually looked the way Harris pointed. I could see something in the distance.

There was someone on the beach.

 

I didn’t know what to make of it. Even at a distance, I could tell they were tall; somewhere around 6’8. Possibly a man. He was wearing some kind of World War 2 era rubber gas mask, but without a filter. He had this massive gray trench coat that looked too big even on him; it left a long trail in the sand. There were countless pockets sewn on the outside.

He had a crossbow.

Not one of those black sleek modern ones, but something he’d put together in a garage somewhere. The thing was massive; probably made from the leaf spring of an old car. It was solid metal. The second we looked his way, he hooked the crossbow to something on his belt and stepped it into the sand. Despite such a massive frame, I could tell he was struggling.

There was a loud click. He pulled something out of his coat.

An arm’s length of sharpened rebar.

 

It just took a couple of seconds, all in all, and the sight was too strange to react to appropriately. Harris looked back at the rest of us as the conversation died down. We were still smiling, but it wasn’t a conscious reaction. It felt like rabbits freezing at the sight of a predator, hoping it wouldn’t see us. But of course it did; we were completely exposed on the open water.

Harris turned to his sister, casually pointing towards the beach.

“You know that guy?”

Tami clung to Camden’s shoulder, looking towards the beach. I saw her eyes go wide as the man on the beach raised the crossbow. He didn’t need time to aim; we were sitting ducks. There was a click, a thunk, and a whip-like snap.

 

It was less than a second.

A bolt of sharpened rebar, as long as my arm, burrowed deep into Harris’ chest. There was no scream or cry, just a puff of air as his lungs emptied.

I still hear that sound sometimes. A single forceful cough, like he swallowed something the wrong way. The force was so intense that it looked like turning off a switch – Harris smacked down into the floating dock with complete abandon, splaying his arms out like a crucifixion.

Immediate panic erupted.

Camden held Tami back from climbing up on the floating dock. Cari and Pam hid under it. I didn’t understand what was happening and lingered a little too long, watching our attacker hook the crossbow on his belt and step down; preparing for a second shot. Hadn’t it been for Camden calling my name, I wouldn’t have snapped out of it. I dove, swam over to the others, and hid under the floating dock.

There was already blood dripping between the planks. Tami couldn’t stop screaming; her eyes so wide they looked black. The shouting was so loud and constant that it just blended into a mix; making it sound like nothing at all. This was just what the world was like now – panicked open mouths, screaming at everyone for answers.

 

There was an awful crackling sound as four planks were torn apart by a second shot. The force rippled through the air, and I could feel it even at a distance. We all hid under the dock, keeping our heads down and trying to show as little of ourselves as possible. But seconds later, I heard him firing again. Another couple planks exploded into tattered fibers; the hole funneling Harris’ blood right down on us; mixing the smell of wet wood with sickening volumes of blood.

Everyone was talking and screaming over one another. Cari was screaming at us to dive, while Pam was telling us to split up. We didn’t do either. Instead, I watched through the gaps in the dock how the man reloaded again and got down on his knees. He was planning something.

He was shooting at an angle, trying to get the bolt to skip across the surface.

It worked.

 

There was this approaching thu-thu-thu-thu noise heading straight for us. I could see the ripples on the lake where the bolt had...

---

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/ThisWeekend9936 on 2024-09-20 18:47:50+00:00.

---

My buddy Josh always maintained that hell is full of ads.

He hated ads with an absolute passion, regarding them as THE main symptom of everything that's wrong with the modern world. Fucking peak capitalism, making the elite ever richer while people like himself slaved in a series of dead-end jobs. Not that he'd really helped his own cause too much when he'd dropped out of school - I mean he was really quite bright and intelligent and all, but just generally unmotivated and depressed or something. He came from a broken home, struggled with substance abuse, had had a few run-ins with the law etc. In fact, not to put too fine a point on it, he was kind of a living cliche.

And he also loved music. He was pretty good at guitar and stuff but again not driven enough to try and perfect his art or form a band, or anything like that. But he listened to music all the time. it was more of a private refuge for him than anything. So he had all those playlists that seemingly went on for ever, on You Tube, mainly. In fact, exclusively - he couldn't be bothered with Spotify and shit like that. You Tube had it all as far as he was concerned. In spite of its millions upon millions of ads. He shared those playlists regularly with me, because we both liked the same music. He'd fallen out with heaps of other people over the years because of their changing musical tastes, but he found in me a steadfast, loyal sort of music fan. For that reason alone, he stuck to me like a burr. And I have to say I did like him too, he wasn't a bad sort overall.

And, yet, you know, in spite of his overwhelming love of music and undying hatred for ads he wouldn't use an adblocker or youtube premium or take any steps at all to counteract them. And it wouldn't've been too difficult to put some of his hard earned money towards Youtube Premium, along with his other indulgences. He was kind of contradictory like that. Maybe he just wanted something else to complain about. In any case, far as I knew, he went on suffering those vile, soulsucking ads interrupting his music. His playlists.

Until one day.

We would meet up once a week at least, at our local, dreary bar. Just the two of us.

On our last meeting, he seemed preoccupied.

'I've come to a decision, Zach,' he announced finally, pushing away his glass without having even tried to taste what was in it. 'An important decision'.

His dark eyes fixed on me and I waited for the big reveal. Had he finally decided to clean himself up, or make a proper go of it with Stacey, the stunning blonde whom he'd met at that party a couple weeks ago, or make up with his estranged family (what remained of it), or what.

'I've decided to take out Youtube Premium.'

I was quite staggered by this. 'What?'

'Yea. I've finally decided. I can't let those fucking ads spoil everything. Not anymore.' He lowered his voice. 'I can't risk it.'

That seemed rather an odd thing to say. He must've seen my astonishment, but he just smiled, cryptically.

I feel better now I've finally decided,' he declared.

'Well, that's good I guess? I'm just surprised you didn't decide to do it long before this, dude.'

He looked at me thoughtfully. 'Yeah. So am I.'

I didn't see him for days after that, which wasn't unusual, actually. He kept on sending me playlists as usual. They seemed to be getting more and more extravagant, too. And then he kept on asking me which one he thought was best. He had never done that before. He was really quite insistent about it, and all of this, combined with the oddness of his manner on our last meeting, made me increasingly uneasy.

A week after our last meeting, he texted to say he couldn't make it this time. But he didn't fail to send me another playlist, with a message. This is it Zach. Thanks for all your help.

He never used my name in messages like that, normally, and this made me even more worried. I tried texting back, calling, and I would've gone around to his apartment, if my goddam boss hadn't dumped an extra workload on me for the whole weekend. But all the time I was getting increasingly concerned about Josh.

But finally, on the Sunday evening, I got word about him.

He'd killed himself - apparently only hours after after sending me that final playlist. In his apartment, with some dubious substance in his system and a deep, vertical gash in one wrist.

I'd be lying if I said I was surprised to hear this. Shocked and grieved, yes, but not really surprised. He'd never really talked about that stuff but I had never found it too hard to imagine him checking out on his own terms. But when I learned more details about the whole sad case I also felt something very like horror.

There had been a youtube playlist open on his phone, which was found right beside his body.

That last playlist he'd shared with me.

Music to commit suicide to. To accompany you into the great beyond. Hell, perhaps. Where ads played forever, according to his conception.

I pushed away that blackly comic thought, but then I felt chills all over my body.

That was why he'd taken out Youtube Premium at the last.

I remembered the words he'd used, that had struck me as so odd at the time. 'I can't risk it.'

He couldn't risk some fucked-up ad interrupting the climactic moment, his ride into eternity.

This was some messed up shit. Although another way of looking at it was he'd died doing something he'd loved but it was kinda hard to do that.

I just felt cold, endlessly cold.

And I also knew it wasn't over.

Update.

I've been feeling very much out of sorts all day. Kind of drowsy, and all. And my wrist is aching - my left wrist. I can't remember having sprained it or anything though.

And I've just received a link to a playlist.

From Josh's phone. With a message.

You gotta listen to this Zach. For old times' sake. We can listen together, just as we used to.

But Josh is dead, right?

I'm feeling worse all the time, I can't think straight.

I've got an absolute fucker of a headache, and my wrist is hurting worse than ever.

Maybe I'll listen to some music to make me feel better.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Muffintop_Neurospicy on 2024-09-20 17:43:48+00:00.

---

I can't take this thought out of my head. I know, I know, it's not my life and it shouldn't concern me, plus I have a lot more to think about that relates directly to me and not my neighbor - Mr. Robert's - and his wife. But I can't understand it... Why does he keep her around?

I swear I have a life and my own worries, I'm not the kind of woman who stares at the window commenting on everyone's lives. But with this couple... it's different.

For starters, Mrs. Roberts... Well, she's a cold woman. I understand some people stay around, or keep others around, for the love, the companionship, the cuddles, the warm touch, the sex... I don't know. I mean, I don't know if they have sex but God, I also don't want to find out, or even dwell on the thought any longer. Jesus, I hadn't even considered that until now. But anyway, it's not like she provides any of that. As far as I know, at least (dear God, take this image out of my mind).

Other people want someone to share the chores and the budget. Again, not the case. He does everything, both around the house and to her. From washing the dishes to combing her hair. She doesn't have a paycheck either (how could she?) so that's also a no-no. She's really just lying there.

So again, why?

I'm probably the only neighbor who knows she's at home. Nobody else would even imagine that. No way.

I happened across the finding one day when I was delivering a box that was left at my porch by mistake. It was for Mr. Roberts. I found it odd to have a delivery, since I wasn't expecting anything, so I checked the label. "Kenneth Roberts". I see. New delivery guy, happens now and then.

I picked up the box and crossed the street, heading towards my neighbor's house. I knocked and the man opened promptly, with a smile. You know that warm smile a man in his 70s gives when someone comes to visit? That one. So yeah, I greeted him, he greeted me, and I explained I had received his delivery by accident. Mr. Roberts was extremely grateful, to an extent that I remember wondering if it was his very own soul that was delivered in that box (who the hell cries tears of joy when someone returns their misplaced Amazon purchase?).

The man asked me if I'd like a cup of tea - "after all, it's the least I can do to repay your kindness" he said. I told him it was really no big deal, but he insisted. "I also baked some chocolate cookies, if you want to try them". I have to admit, I'm a sucker for cookies, and Mr. Roberts' chocolate cookies were renowned for their magnificence at potluck all over the neighborhood. I had to say yes. Low blow, Mr. Roberts, low blow.

As I was having some tea and cookies, my eyes wandered across the kitchen, to the door leading up to the living room. The door was half open and that's... That's when I saw Mrs. Roberts sitting on the sofa, in front of an evening TV show with an overenthusiastic host talking about calcium supplements or something like that. My eyes widened.

Mr. Roberts followed my gaze and gasped. He rushed to close the door, but as he did I blurted out "is that your wife?". He paused for a moment, deer in headlights, unsure what to do. Then he sighed. "Yes... That's my wife. Please don't tell anyone she's here".

I didn't know what to say. As I'm writing this, I'm still wondering how I made it this far without losing my mind or ever telling anyone. I stared at him for what felt like an eternity. I couldn't believe it, I couldn't understand, and after 5 years, I still can't.

All I could tell him was "But... But you killed her... 25 years ago".

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Aggravating_Road2692 on 2024-09-20 15:09:44+00:00.

---

I [F19]think my Uncle[M34] Murdered his daughter.

Nobody bats an eye when the old get sick, it's the way of the world after all. You're born, slowly grow old, and you die. Sure, people will mourn, a few people may even weep at your funeral, and if you're lucky someone will lay an occasional flower on your headstone. But when the young die, that's a completely different story.

My little cousin Olivia was only six years old when she fell down the stairs of her two-story house. The fall had snapped her neck somewhere along those fifteen fateful steps. It was her mother who had found her tiny body. I could only imagine the horror she felt when her eyes met the sight of little Olivia's neck at a ninety-degree angle. The thought made my spine shiver.

My Aunt Lizy now sobbed uncontrollably as we sat in the little chapel, Olivia's casket open for the few people who knew her in life to come and say goodbye. If Olivia had died an old woman, the chappel might be overflowing, but in six short years, she had not made many connections in her brief life. While many relatives were present, only a handful had come to know Olivia as well as I had come to know her. I had been her designated babysitter for many years her little lungs drew breath, so my heart shattered when I got the news.

My uncle Jessie spoke for his daughter in our hour of suffering.

"Olivia was a cheerful, energetic, and playful little kid. Her enthusiasm for life brought joy to anyone in her vicinity. Life can be cruel, unjust, and inhumane, but it is not our place to judge the work of the man upstairs. When it's your time, when he calls you up, when God needs you back we can only heed the call. Olivia was too precious for this world, I believe our heavenly father knew that. That is why I can smile knowing that my little girl is in a better place."  

I don't know how he could be so calm and composed while talking about his recently departed daughter. She wasn't my daughter and even my voice cracked whenever I spoke her name. He must've had a heart of stone I thought to myself. Who am I to judge how someone mourned the passing of their little girl? After all, we are all different.

"Those who wish to say one last goodbye to Olivia please do so now, the casket will be closed in a few short minutes." The funeral director informed. The rustling of a few people standing sounded over my Aunt Lizy's sobbing. I didn't want to go up and see Olivia's body in that state, but my Aunt clutched my arm and pulled me with her for moral support. How could I refuse?

The line leading up to the casket began to thin, and soon we were faced with little Olivia's peacefully sleeping face. She wore a pristine white dress that seemed to blend with the casket's padding. Her satin black hair created a deep contrast with the casket's insides. Her skin looked cold and glazed over. Aunt Lizy's head dropped onto Olivia, as she gave her little girl one last worldly embrace.

"Why lord, Why!?" tears streamed down onto Olivia's dress, darkening some of the areas where they soaked into the fabric. I comforted my aunt and could not help but shed my tears as well. The memories of little Olivia replaying in my mind.

"Olivia! Oh, Olivia!" My aunt cried. I looked down at Olivia's sleeping face, never expecting her to react to her mother's calls.

"Olivia. My Olivia!" As the last 'A' of her name left her mother's mouth, her eyes snapped open. Thrusting my heart into the pit of my stomach. My eyes instantly dried up in my terror. Then Olivia's pupils trained their gaze on me. I wanted nothing more than to scream, but as I opened my mouth, the sound never managed to bypass the lump in my throat. I let my Aunt Lizy go, taking a step backward in the process. Just then I knocked into someone. My head shot around to see my Uncle Jessie looking at his daughter's face, unfazed by her soulless stare.

He then looked at me with an expressionless face and gave me a smile of pity, before returning to his daughter's facade. I shot back around to look at Olivia but was once again met with her peacefully sleeping expression.

'What-- What the fuck?' I thought to myself. 'Olivia was just-- I must've imagined it.' It must've been my imagination, what other explanation could there be?

My Uncle's cold hands snaked across my shoulders in an attempt to comfort me, and it did, before he whispered in my ear.

"It will be our little secret. You will tell no one of this."

For the rest of the funeral, I was in a state of constant shock, trying to make sense of the situation, but never could. It had been a week since Olivia had died, they had pumped her body full of embalming fluid, and I'd even read over the corner's report.

'A complete evisceration of the C-1 and C-2 vertebrae resulting in a complete severance of the spinal cord. Pronounced dead at the scene.'

'There was no way Olivia could still be alive, absolutely no way.' Those words played in my head as the first few pails of earth began to blanket her coffin. But my resolve was constantly questioned by Uncle Jessie's thousand-mile stare from across the freshly dug hole.

'There is no way Olivia is still ALIVE.'

My Aunt Lizy continued in her emotional state long after Olivia had died, it's not hard to imagine given that Olivia was an only child. Auntie Lizy and Uncle Jessie's lives revolved around my little cousin. I tried my best to stay away, it was hard for me to hear her shrieking cries. As much as I loved Aunt Lizy, there is only so much sadness a person can take. I'd preferred to push little Olivia as far out of my mind as I could. Well, there was that, but also Uncle Jessie's comment on the day of the funeral. I'd tried to dismiss it as it being a part of my imagination, but no matter how hard I tried his words were as clear as that day they tickled my ear.

'It will be our little secret.'

That fear, however, would have to be put on the back burner, because Aunt Lizy had called me over to help get rid of some of Olivia's things. Looking at them had brought too much grief to her heart and she was having a hard time boxing them up, so it was up to me to lend a helping hand.

I walked into their house, the same house where I'd babysat Olivia so many times. Everywhere I looked, memories of that little girl flooded back into my mind. Then my eyes met the bottom of the stairs, I couldn't help but imagine her little body sprawled out on the hardwood floor. A door creaked open, and I jolted in my uneasiness. It was Aunt Lizy stepping out of the master bedroom, situated on the first floor. Her eyes were puffy, she'd been crying, and she attempted to compose herself before, greeting me with a warm smile.

Our conversation was brief. She'd only given me instructions on what to box up. To my surprise, her instructions were to get rid of everything but Olivia's twin bed. She disappeared into her bedroom, and I thought I heard her faintly sobbing through the door.

I trained my eyes on the top of the stairs, precariously stepping around where I'd imagined Olivia drew her last breath. There was a sense of apprehension as I reached the second floor, and I swore the air was colder as my foot graced the last step, but I pushed it out of my mind as I plunged myself into the task at hand. There was a lot to box up.

About an hour into my work, I saw my breath condense in front of my face; The air temperature had plunged drastically. I felt my skin pimple in gooseflesh, not because of the cold, but because a familiar figure graced the edge of my eye. Standing in the corner was a little girl wearing a white dress. Olivia.

Her skin was no longer the same color as the day the casket's lid fell on her restful face, it was pale, icy, and cold. The mortician had done a fantastic job of styling her hair, but it now draped over much of her face in an unkempt way. She lifted her head, but before it could reach its full extension, it slumped over with a loud crack, likewise, her cervical spine now pointed to the ceiling as it poked through the skin on her neck. Her head may have been resting on her shoulder, but her eyes looked at me with the same intensity as the day I swore I saw her open them while she lay in that tiny little box. I fell onto her bed cowering backward until the drywall caressed my rear.

Our eyes jousted there for what felt like hours, in reality, it was only seconds. Little Olivia raised a jagged finger, pointing to her nightstand beside her bed. I was too fearful to let go of my knees that were pressed up against my chest, but Olivia did not waver. She stood there steadfast, her eyes planted on me, her finger gesturing at the nightstand. I wasn't going to be let go until I investigated whatever she needed me to see.

I cautiously unfurled myself out of my beatle position and crawled my way over to the first drawer, pulling it out while making sure Olivia wasn't going to jump on me. Inside were many of Olivia's crayon drawings, many were family portraits, and some I'd even helped draw myself on the many nights I babysat. But as I flipped through the pieces, they became less wholesome and more strange.

The was a stick figure of a little girl crying, a pair of eyes peering at the girl through the door. A drawing of a man, evident in the stick figure touting a beard, covered in blood. I'm pretty sure it was my uncle Jessie. And a picture that made my heart sink, the little stick figure drawn girl crying in a corner as a mommy a...

---

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1flebm7/i_think_my_uncle_murdered_his_daughter/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/GeneralP123 on 2024-09-20 14:09:45+00:00.

---

I know I'm being followed, first it was just a feeling, but now I have concrete evidence, what scares me is the fact that if I just stopped thinking about it, I still wouldn't know that I am being followed.

I will tell you how I figured out that I have my very own stalker, it all started two days ago.

It was a Wednesday morning like any other, I work at a sandwich shop in the town next to mine, so the most convenient way of getting there in time is to take the train, the negative side of my job is that I never work night shifts, so I have to wake up very early every day, the positive side is that all my traveling expenses are paid and the salary is surprisingly good.

While walking towards the train station which was only like 10 minutes away from my house, I always had headphones on, which is the universal "I DON'T HAVE THE ENERGY TO TALK TO ANYONE." sign.

Of course, headphones don't stop everyone, there's always going to be that one person that desperately wants to talk to me even though I am obviously not interested, that's exactly what happened while I was on my way to the train station, a man stopped his car just as I was about to cross the road and rolled down the driver's side window, he greeted me with a smile and asked me if I knew where the nearest supermarket is, I took off my headphones with slight annoyance noticable on my face, then I pointed at the direction of the supermarket, he thanked me and immediately sped off in the direction of the supermarket.

I continued my walk towards the train station, I already had a monthly ticket so once I arrived I immediately entered the train and took a seat, as usual some man asked me if he could take the seat next to me, "Sure" I said while not even bothering to look at the man, I didn't sleep long enough last night and I was just beginning to feel the side effects, I'm sure it only took me around 3 minutes and I was sound asleep.

My phone alarm woke me up just as the train arrived at my station, so I instantly got up and went to the sandwich shop, luckily for me, it was only 2 minutes away from the train station. Work wasn't too eventful, just the usual stacking cheese, salami and pickles on sourdough bread for hours and hours.

Once I finished work I remembered I had to meet up with a friend of mine so we can go and watch a movie back at my hometown's cinema.

I quickly got on the train once again and after the usual 20 minute ride I was back in my hometown, unfortunately, I realized that I would be late if I didn't take the bus because the cinema was a good 15 minutes walk away from the train station.

Fortunately, the train station and bus station are right next to each other so I managed to hop on the bus which was overcrowded, but I couldn't complain, I couldn't find a free seat, but it was a short ride and it's definitely better than arriving late at the cinema.

While tightly holding on to the bus pole, a man politely asked me if I could just move to the right so he could put his suitcase next to the pole, I didn't mind so I slightly shifted to the right, but then a strange feeling hit me, I was always a paranoid person, so having a feeling that someone's watching me wasn't uncommon, but this was definitely more than just paranoia, I turned around and saw just a normal bunch of people minding their own business which obviously didn't seem unusual, before I could come to a better conclusion, the bus stopped, so I stopped thinking about it and exited the bus.

I met up with my friend minutes later, I was relieved to have made it on time, we took our seats in the packed cinema and tried enjoying the movie, which wasn't easy to do, because some random kids started yelling and laughing as soon as the movie started, their antics were promptly stopped by a man sitting right behind my friend, he wasn't too happy about their behavior so he yelled at them, telling them to shut up or he'll personally come over to their seats and shut them up.

I found it funny how they immediately went radio silent after the man's warning, he was probably overreacting a little bit, considering they were just kids, but in the end I couldn't blame him, considering he made our movie night much more bearable.

As soon as the movie ended I told my friend that I'm extremely tired and that I'm just going to go back home and bury myself in the pillow, however, while walking back home, the same feeling of being watched hit me again.

In my mind I started putting the puzzle pieces back together, I came to a dark realization which froze me in place.

The man that asked me for directions in the morning, the man that took a seat next to me in the train, the man with the suitcase in the bus, the man that yelled at the kids in the cinema, those were all the same man.

Only when I started rewinding what I saw today in my mind is when I realized that this person was following me throughout the day, he only slightly changed his appearance each time I saw him, while he was in the car he was wearing glasses and a baseball cap, in the train he was was wearing sunglasses although he wore no cap, in the bus he was wearing a completely differen suit and wasn't wearing any eyewear or hat, in the cinema he was once again wearing glasses and no cap.

What was always the same was his voice, that's the only thing he didn't change, If I focused on it for more than a minute I could've figured out he was following me hours ago.

It could've been a weird coincidence, he could've just been visiting the same places I've been visiting at exactly the same time, but I really doubt it, especially since I saw him once again yesterday.

This was all the time I have for today, tomorrow I'll try to post an update and tell you what exactly happened yesterday.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/camwalker22 on 2024-09-20 13:56:00+00:00.

---

I moved into my second-floor apartment two weeks ago, but it’s still pretty spartan. Desk. PC. Camping chair. Loose belongings scattered around my air mattress. I completed the stale work induction and found that my colleagues and I didn’t exactly have much in common. I’m a twenty-one-year-old web designer at a small engineering firm. My counterpart is off sick, seemingly for the long term, and my boss, Gary, is in his sixties. 

Gary arrives for work in the morning, grunting and growling, says, “G’morning!”, to anyone within earshot and loads up the company web page. He refreshes it. Clicks on the ‘About Us’ section. Refreshes it. Then he slaps his thighs and declares that it’s about time for a coffee. Would I like one? No? OK. Well, old Gary will just be over in the kitchenette til midmorning (at least) if you need him, boring half the workforce to death.

Despite the apparent sparsity of challenging work, the job would do fine. I might be a little on the young side to say this, but I felt the foundations of my life were creaking, and that was before my ex cheated on me. I have trouble integrating. I get panic attacks. People say I look angry, even when I’m not. I think that’s just how my face looks when I’m concentrating, or when I’m trying to make sense of an idiom or a joke. I suppose my long hair doesn’t help, and the fact that my chief interests are metal music, gaming and combat sports. People just assume.

A fresh start was in order, and what better time than now? I joined a gym and started nodding at a few familiar faces. I went to some nature festival in the town hall and listened to hippies talk about leaves for an hour. There were drinks afterwards, but again, I couldn’t find anyone with my vibe. Everyone there was old, sporty or outdoorsy. I took a swig of warm beer and felt a rush of inspiration. Alcohol was the key. I left my drink and headed home. Scrolling through Facebook, I found a promising event: 

‘GROUP SOCIAL TWENTY-ONE TO THIRTY: A friendly social meet-up for people new in town or for locals looking to expand their social circles’. 

Location: McKenzie’s Irish Pub

Date: Friday 13th September

Time: 19:00

Going: 11

Interested: 25

Bingo. It was Thursday 12th and McKenzie’s was just down the street. Another day with Gary passed at the office and I walked home, my impassive expression hiding the butterflies I felt in my stomach. I ate some pasta, leaving the garlic out, and wandered over to my clothes rail. What to wear? I decided on the old faithful: grey baggy jeans, green flannel shirt and black Etnies. I untied my hair and headed to McKenzie’s. By the time I got there, I was sweating–and not from the cold. I waited by the door and took a couple of deep, ragged breaths. My head was pounding and my palms were damp. I clenched my fists and released again. It’ll be ok once I’ve had a beer or two, I thought. It was enough to get me through the door. 

Inside was a dark, cramped room with several alcoves branching off the main thoroughfare. It was deserted, apart from a group floating around the polished wood of the main bar. I sidled up to a guy leaning against the jukebox.

“Hey, man. Is this the group meet-up?” I asked.

“I think so but I only just got here myself.” He said.

Someone overheard and confirmed to us it was. We both breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’m Mark.” I said, offering a hand to the jukebox-leaner.

The portly man shook it and said, “Short for anything?”

“No.”

“Because I’m Marcus. Wondered if we were named the same.”

“Oh, got you. No, I'm just Mark. Like the disciple.”

Marcus pushed his glasses up his nose and widened his already wide stance.

“Yeah, think I’ve heard of him. You new in town?”

I nodded.

“Same here.”

He scratched at his beard and looked me up and down before grinning.

“You’re a metal man, aren’t ya?” 

“How can you tell?” I said, returning his smile. 

“You make it obvious with the hair, the clothes and an expression like one of the Easter Island statues, you know? Tortured and sad, kinda. I like to camouflage a little.”

He opened out his palms, inviting me to inspect his outfit. A black, buttoned cardigan strained over a grey t-shirt, and the blue jeans he wore were too long for him. The Nike running trainers were downright filthy and unlaced, and the denim around his heels was frayed into threads.

“So, you’re one of us. Undercover.” I said.

“I am. You got a favourite band?”

Marcus bought me a drink, and we chatted happily about Gojira, Avenged Sevenfold and Mastodon. It even turned out that he knew a thing or two about MMA and we went along a conversational tangent naming niche UFC fighters, before getting into a good-natured debate about who the greatest of all time was.

“Hey, it’s my round. What do you want, Marcus?”

“Most generous of you, sir. Just a beer–the second-cheapest. I’m not classy but I don’t drink piss. Heading to the little boy’s room, I’ll be back in a sec.”

Marcus clapped me on the back and strolled off to the bathroom as I headed to the bar, wallet in hand. I felt a pleasant buzz at the edge of my senses and realised I was smiling. God, it felt good just to shoot the shit with someone like that! I’d missed it. I looked around at the other attendees, feeling my confidence build. As I turned back to the bar, I noticed a shaven-headed man in a faded, brown leather jacket sliding up to me. His shoulders were broad and his jaw square.

“Hey, my girlfriend saw you from across the bar and we really dig your vibe. Can we buy you a drink?”

“Pardon?”

“We like you. Can we get you something?”

“No, I–”

Then I saw her. Dark eyeliner winged out from each hungry eye. Her black hair was cut into a bob that framed a heart-shaped face, and a small hoop pierced one nostril of her pixie nose. She was petite, and lithe, sitting on a barstool with one leg hooked over the other. Her denim skirt was short, and the form-fitting long-sleeved top she wore was a pulsating red. Leaning forward to prop her delicate chin on her fist, those wicked eyes slackened.

“Our treat.” She purred, before turning to the bartender. “A tequila soda with a squeeze of lemon and two beers, please.”

Her voice was smooth as caramel.

“Th–thanks. I’m Mark.”

“Evelyn.” She said, offering a manicured hand. Part of me wanted to kiss it. She was everything my ex wasn’t, and I liked her for that. 

“And yourself?” I turned to the square-jawed man, but he’d vanished while I was gawking at Evelyn.

“That’s Jan. He’s gone for a smoke.” She said, hopping down from her stool as the drinks were served. She came closer. Her perfume smelled like a dark blend of cherries and something spiced– like the promise of trouble.

“Do you smoke, Mark?”

I don’t. “Sure,” I said.

I grabbed the two beers and followed her outside to the fenced off smoking area. We stopped just outside the door and she took Jan’s beer over to where he stood some distance away, brooding. They exchanged a few words, and she sauntered back to me. 

“You new in town, Mark?” She said, lighting my cigarette.

“Yep. Are you two?”

“No. We’re locals. Things get a little stagnant after a while, though. Figured we’d come along to this meet-up and see if we found anyone who matched our vibe.” She put a hand on my chest and winked. “Our freak, if you know what I mean,” Evelyn said.

I blushed and looked over at Jan, standing rigid.

“You’re together, right?” I asked.

“Yeah, but you can have me. He won’t mind.”

“I gotta be honest, I only came to make friends.”

“Am I not your friend?” She said, pouting.

“I didn’t say that.”

She swung an arm around the back of my neck and pulled my head down to her chest. “How about we go and be friends over at my place?” Evelyn whispered in my ear.

I lifted my head up and found myself breathing her in, drowning in those dusky eyes. She cupped my cheeks, drew my mouth down to hers, and kissed me. When we broke, she bit her lip and led me out onto the street. She pulled me through the rain to her apartment. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the dark figure of Jan following at a distance, cigarette glowing as he took a drag. Evelyn and I ran up the spiral staircase of her apartment block and barged through the door, fumbling at each other as we passed through the living room to the bedroom. I heard the door reopen, and close again. 

“Does he get involved in this?” I asked, breathless.

“Do you want him to?”

“Not really.”

“He can sit out there on the couch and listen in. He likes that.”

I hesitated, but Evelyn was taking her top off now.

“You hear that, baby?” She shouted.

“Go wild in there, you two,” came Jan’s response, as I heard the click of a remote and faint droning of a TV show.

Evelyn unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it into the doorway under slim panes of moonlight shining through the slatted blinds. Suddenly self-conscious, I excused myself and went into the en-suite. I took a quick leak and splashed water on my face. Looking in the mirror, I saw those panes of light shift. I turned and peeked through the gap between the door hinge and the frame.

“Evelyn?”

The TV glowed into a dark living room beyond an open door, the bedsheets were roughed up and Evelyn writhed. Into the doorway stepped Jan. He looked down on her with solemnity, but didn’t intervene. I could hear bones breaking, flesh tearing, fluid gurgling as Evelyn convulsed into something else. Her head imploded into a dark, teethed recess and her arms twisted outward wildly....

---

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1flcmee/hey_my_girlfriend_saw_you_from_across_the_bar_and/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Hoomanbeanzzz on 2024-09-20 12:51:18+00:00.

---

I've always considered myself a stickler for proper grammar.

It's not that I go around correcting people's speech—I'm not that guy.

But I notice things. Little things. Like how people use "literally" when they mean "figuratively," or the difference between "your" and "you're."

It's just the way my brain is wired, I guess.

So when I first heard someone say "woman" when referring to multiple women, it grated on my ears like a sandpaper-covered Q-tip.

It was in a YouTube video, some influencer talking about "woman in the workplace."

I rolled my eyes and left a comment correcting them. No big deal, right? Just another day on the internet.

But then I heard it again. And again.

TikTok videos, podcasts, even a news anchor on TV.

"Woman" used as a plural.

Each time, I felt a little jolt of annoyance. I started keeping a mental tally, noting how often I heard it. It became a sort of game, albeit an irritating one.

At first, my friends agreed with me.

We'd laugh about it over drinks, mocking the "bad grammar" that seemed to be spreading like a virus.

But then something strange happened.

Sarah, my best friend since college and an English major to boot, used it in conversation.

"Did you see all those woman at the protest yesterday?" she asked casually over coffee one morning.

I nearly choked on my latte. "Women," I corrected automatically.

Sarah looked at me, confused. "What?"

"You said 'woman.' It's 'women' when it's plural. C'mon you know that."

She furrowed her brow. "No... it's always been 'woman' for plural. Are you feeling okay?"

That was the moment I felt the ground shift beneath my feet.

Something was very, very wrong.

That conversation with Sarah was just the beginning.

Over the next few weeks, I found myself in a linguistic twilight zone.

Everywhere I turned, people were using "woman" as a plural.

It wasn't just online anymore—it was everywhere.

At work, my colleague Mark gave a presentation about "woman in STEM fields."

When I privately pointed out his error afterwards, he looked at me like I'd grown a second head.

"Dude, it's always been 'woman' for plural. Did you sleep through English class or something?"

I laughed it off, but inside, panic was starting to bubble up.

Was this some kind of elaborate prank? A Truman Show-esque scenario where everyone was in on the joke except me?

I started paying closer attention to everything around me.

Billboards, commercials, casual conversations—the word "women" seemed to have vanished entirely, replaced by its singular counterpart in all plural contexts.

And yet "men" and "man" remained as the same usage.

One evening, I found myself furiously Googling "women vs woman plural."

My heart raced as I clicked link after link, each one confirming what I was desperately trying to deny: according to every source I could find, "woman" was now the correct plural form.

Merriam-Webster, Oxford, Cambridge—all the dictionaries agreed. Grammar websites, language blogs, even academic papers all used "woman" as both singular and plural.

It was as if the word "women" had never existed.

I slammed my laptop shut, my mind reeling.

This couldn't be happening.

The room seemed to spin around me as a terrifying thought crashed into my consciousness:

What if I hadn't just misremembered a grammatical rule?

What if I had somehow slipped into a different reality altogether?

The idea was so absurd, so impossible, that I tried to laugh it off.

But the laughter died in my throat as other small inconsistencies I'd been subconsciously noticing suddenly came into sharp focus.

Wasn't the coffee shop on the corner always a bookstore before?

And when did the traffic lights change from vertical to horizontal?

I could have sworn the Mona Lisa had a bigger smile...

I shook my head, trying to dislodge these unsettling thoughts -- burrowing into my brain like maggots.

It was ridiculous. People don't just wake up in alternate realities.

And yet, as I lay in bed that night, staring at the unfamiliarly familiar ceiling, I couldn't shake the feeling that the world I went to sleep in yesterday wasn't quite the same as the one I woke up to today.

Sleep eluded me as my mind raced, cataloging every little thing that seemed off.

By the time dawn broke, I was exhausted, wired, and more convinced than ever that something fundamental had shifted in my reality.

And it all started with that one little word: woman.

The next few weeks were a blur of confusion and mounting panic. Every day seemed to bring new discrepancies, each one chipping away at my sanity a little more.

• * The local park I'd visited since childhood was now on the opposite side of town.
• One of my favorite books "To Kill a Mockingbird," suddenly had a different ending. In this version, Tom Robinson was inexplicably found not guilty, and the story concluded with a town celebration of justice prevailing. The powerful commentary on racism I remembered was completely gone, replaced by an oddly cheerful resolution that felt utterly wrong.
• The moon looked slightly larger in the sky.
• Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were now called "jelly and peanut butter sandwiches."

But the most maddening part? No one else seemed to notice anything amiss.

I tried bringing up these changes with friends and family, but their reactions ranged from mild concern to outright dismissal.

"Are you feeling alright?" my mom asked when I insisted that we'd always celebrated Thanksgiving on the third Thursday of November, not the fourth.

My colleague Jake laughed when I mentioned that Nelson Mandela had died in prison. "Dude, he was president of South Africa. Everyone knows that."

Even Sarah, usually my most steadfast ally, started to distance herself. "I'm worried about you," she said one day over coffee. "Maybe you should talk to someone... professional."

But how could I explain to a therapist that I believed I'd shifted into an alternate reality? They'd probably have me committed!

As the inconsistencies piled up, I found myself withdrawing from social interactions.

Every conversation became a minefield of potential discrepancies.

I'd hesitate before speaking, second-guessing my memories, terrified of revealing just how out of sync I was with this new world.

Work became nearly impossible.

I'd stare at my computer screen, trying to remember if the keyboard layout had always been this way, or if the company logo had always been blue instead of green.

Sleep, when it came, was fitful and filled with dreams of falling through cracks in reality, always waking up in slightly different versions of my bedroom.

And through it all, that plural "woman" haunted me.

It was everywhere, a constant reminder that something fundamental had changed.

Or that I had changed. Or moved. Or... something.

I needed answers. And I was willing to go to any lengths to find them…

But what I would discover next was so horrifying, I don't know if I can live with the knowledge.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/IvankoKostiuk on 2024-09-20 12:19:12+00:00.

---

When I was 8 my family spent a summer living in some town called Mayor’s Income British Columbia. It’s just one of those ‘blink and you miss it’ towns along Highway 16 that’s little more than a gas station tucked into the mountains. It’s not on many maps. We moved because that’s where my Grandpa lived, and he was dying. End stage Alzheimer’s. I don’t think that’s how a doctor would put it, but that’s what it was.

My parents were not nurses (I’m still not sure where the nurse came from), but my parents just thought it was a good idea for my older sister and me to spend as much time with our Grandpa as we could, while we could. It was a nice idea, but I wish they hadn’t.

Every time we came over, there was the same routine. Grandpa opened the door as much as the chain would let him, he’d look at us, he’d look at the pictures on the mantel, then he’d let us in. Every single time. I don’t know how he trained himself to do that, but he did. There were pictures of everyone: us, my parents, the nurse, the guy who delivered the groceries, and each one had a label with the name.

In the summer, my sister and I went over every day for atleast a bit. Maybe just lunch. Maybe all day. A few times we slept over.

You ever been in a forest at night? There are some weird sounds. But every time we heard something weird, if Grandpa was still up, he’d say “it’s just a deer” or “it’s just a forest cat”. A couple of times, he said “I don’t know what that is.” And once “that shouldn’t be out there.”

The house backed up to the forest. Just trees as far as you can see covering rolling hills and mountains that looked like they went so high they just merged into the sky. Like you could walk up a mountain and go into a cloud or space.

I really, really, wanted to go play in the forest, but Grandpa said no.

Well, ok, he didn’t so much say “no” as about have a panic attack the time I brought it up, so I never mentioned it again.

I asked my mom about it when we went home. She just looked sad and told us not to go into the woods. After a bit of prodding (you know how kids can be), she finally told us that Grandpa has always thought ‘something’ was living in the woods, but mom never figured out what was supposed to be there. Just ‘something’, I guess.

So, I lied to you a bit ago. See, sometimes, Grandpa would open the door, see us, recognize who we were, open the chain, then check the pictures on the mantel. He did that a few times with the nurse too, and once when he ordered groceries. And this wasn’t like he did things out of order, this was like he recognized who we were, then remembered he was supposed to check. He opened the door and said “how are we Katy and Ivan?”, then checked the mantel. He knew our names without looking on the mantel.

But that should have been impossible. When we first started coming he did not know what time it was or what day it was and he kept trying to go to work. Thinking about it now, the part that messed me up the most was how often he would ask us where his parents were. Катерино, де моя мама? Іванко, де мій тато? Катерино, де моя мама?

Oh, sorry, I should mention Grandpa’s parents were both Ukrainian refugees and he didn’t learn English until he was a teenager. A few times, when we first started coming, he would slip back into Ukrainian. I don’t speak much of the language, but there’s a few phrases I know, and “Ivanko, where is my dad?” is one of them.

But, here’s this man who kept forgetting that his mother died forty years ago, but three months later started recognizing his grandchildren? Is that how Alzheimer’s is supposed to work?

One day he opens the door to the chain and it’s different. Like, I think he recognized us, but thought he wasn’t supposed to. He looked back at the mantel, looked at us, looked at the mantel again, looked to us. Then he looked at the couch, and there was some fucking kid sitting there. The kid shook his head ‘no’, and Grandpa shut the door on us.

Maybe it’s because she’s the older sibling, but my sister is the assertive one. I wanted to call our parents, but my sister insisted on waiting in the tree line on the side of the house (so we could see both doors) for that kid to leave. Not sure what she wanted to do after that, but I’ll tell you this: my first memory is her punching me in the face hard enough to give me a bloody nose.

The kid did end up leaving the house, but just to the backyard with Grandpa.

My sister, like I said, is the assertive one. The leader. The one with A Plan. If anyone is going to start a pyramid scheme, it’s her. If anyone’s going to go bankrupt in one, it’s me.

So my sister grabs a stick and runs up to the front door with me lagging behind. She opens the door and uses the stick to undo the chain.

The pictures were all missing. Well, not missing. The frames were there, but the pictures were all of that fucking kid. It didn’t occur to me right away, but the pictures were all of the kid in the same outfit he was wearing that day, and all of the backgrounds were from in Grandpa’s house.

My sister had me be lookout while she used an ottoman to get a closer look at the pictures. What she told me is that the labels were just ripped off and the original pictures were behind the ones of that kid. And behind the pictures, laying face down, was another picture in the same frame. And it was that kid, in the house, in a different outfit, and there was no label.

Grandpa was pointing out the different flowers in the garden (cornflowers, волошка, he had so many) and that kid turned his head 180° around like a goddamn owl and looked me right in the eyes. I screamed and think I was about to wet myself. My sister and I bolted, but not before we saw the inside of that kid’s mouth.

Rows and rows and rows of teeth straight back to his throat. Like a shark or something.

We were supposed to be home for dinner, so we just waited in the tree line for our parents to pick us up.

My sister and I never went back. We tried to explain what happened, sort of, but our parents didn’t believe us. But we were so freaked out that they thought something had to have happened. They tried to get ahold of the nurse, but couldn’t. Our parents ended up deciding that visiting Grandpa was too much for us, so they never had us go back.

My mom got her brother to come up and take over watching Grandpa. He lived in the area anyways.

Grandpa was dead a month later.

My uncle said Grandpa’s health declined fast. He almost immediately went back to not knowing people’s names or recognizing people and started speaking only in Ukrainian.

He had a doctor’s appointment and my uncle was supposed to drive him, but somehow got the new nurse to do it. He was supposed to get an MRI, but he got confused and scared. The hospital called my uncle, but he insisted he could not go because he had work. The hospital got him into the MRI, somehow, but he had a heart attack and died. My sister says it was out of spite. I’m not sure she’s wrong considering somethings I know about how Grandpa raised my mom.

That kid wasn’t at Grandpa’s funeral. We didn’t find the pictures of the kid when we cleared out his house.

Grandpa looked ‘rusted’. That’s how my mom put it. Rusted. Corroded. Like something corrupted what was left of him. I’m not sure if that’s how I’d put it, but there was something wrong with him. Something makeup couldn’t cover, and I bet that fucking kid is responsible.

There’s a reason I decided to post this.

My mom owns the house in Mayor’s Income BC. My parents decided they wanted to sell it, so my mom went up over the summer to assess the situation and start getting it ready. She called me three times one day to tell me the same story about meeting a ‘nice young man’ my age. Three times. Because she kept forgetting she already told me.

Dad talked her into going to a doctor after she got lost going to a hardware store and ended up driving into a creek. She has Alzheimer’s.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Weird-Suggestion-152 on 2024-09-20 12:09:06+00:00.

---

There were three of us: me, Jay, and Mike. We’d been friends since we were kids, the kind of bond you don’t break, even when life starts pulling you in different directions. College had done that to us, but now, standing on the edge of graduation, we figured there was time for one last road trip before the “real world” got its claws into us. I had the idea, just load up in Mike’s beat-up old Subaru and drive. No destination in mind, no agenda. Just go. One last adventure.

We packed light, mostly energy drinks and snacks, and left early that Saturday morning. Jay rode shotgun, messing with the radio as I sprawled out in the back, watching the landscape blur by. Mike was driving, he always drove. He was the calmest, most level-headed of the three of us. Jay was more impulsive, and was always hyped about something, whether it was the next party or his latest failed scheme. Me? I was just happy to be along for the ride. It had always been like that.

A few hours in, we left behind the more familiar towns, and the roads got lonelier. The kind of highways that stretched on forever, surrounded by flat, endless fields and the occasional abandoned house. We passed towns so small you’d miss them if you blinked. Jay kept joking about how this was the kind of place where people go missing. “Where serial killers bury the bodies,” he said, laughing. At the time, we all did.

But by the time the sun started dipping low, the excitement had faded, and boredom set in. We’d been driving for hours, and the road ahead didn’t look any more exciting than the miles behind us. Mike suggested stopping for the night. We hadn’t seen a motel or even a gas station for at least an hour, but we decided to push through the next 50 miles to the next town.

Then, we saw it. A small, weathered billboard on the side of the road. It read, “Mr. McGuire’s House of Oddities – 2 miles ahead.”

“House of Oddities?” Jay leaned forward, squinting at the sign. “What, like a Ripley’s Believe It or Not?”

“Seems like it,” Mike said. “Want to check it out?”

“Hell yeah!” Jay grinned. “I mean, this kind of stuff is why we’re out here, right?”

I shrugged. “Why not?”

A couple of miles later, we saw it. A squat, old building that looked more like a run-down farmhouse than a museum. The paint was peeling, and the yard was overgrown with weeds and odd sculptures—twisted metal things that didn’t make much sense. A faded wooden sign hung above the door: Mr. McGuire’s House of Oddities.

“Looks…interesting,” I muttered, climbing out of the car.

“Looks like a horror movie waiting to happen,” Jay added with a smirk. “But fuck it, let’s go.”

Mike chuckled, locking the car as we headed for the entrance. I slowly opened the front door, unsure of whether the place was actually still open. An old brass bell rang with the swinging of the door, and, there he was—Mr. McGuire.

He was…something else. Short, maybe five foot four, with a wild mop of silver hair that stuck out in every direction. His eyes were too wide, and his grin stretched across his face like it had been painted on. He wore a faded purple vest over a yellow shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing skinny, wiry arms. He looked like a carnival barker who had seen better days, and had one too many cups of coffee.

“Ah! Visitors!” he exclaimed, his voice high-pitched and sing-songy. “Welcome, welcome! Come in, come in! Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve had guests. You’ll love it here, yes you will, yes you will!”

We exchanged glances, half-laughing at the guy, but followed him inside. The interior was dimly lit, with a strange, musty smell that hit me the second we crossed the threshold. Shelves lined the walls, filled with bizarre knickknacks and trinkets, things I couldn’t even begin to describe. Weird animal bones, dolls with too many eyes, jars filled with murky liquids that sloshed as we passed.

Mr. McGuire danced around the room, pointing things out with an almost manic glee.

“This, oh this, is the skull of a two-headed calf born in 1912!” he chirped, holding up a bleached white skull with a grin. “And over here, ah yes, the hand of a mummified man—some say he was a sorcerer, yes indeed, yes indeed!”

Jay leaned in close to me and whispered, “This dude is insane.”

“Yeah,” I muttered back, but there was something about the place—something unsettling that I couldn’t shake. The way the shadows seemed to cling to the corners, the faint smell of decay beneath the mustiness.

“And here,” McGuire’s voice pulled me back, “oh, this is a rare find indeed! The preserved heart of a witch, still beating to this day!”

I glanced at the jar he held. Sure enough, the dark, shriveled lump inside was pulsing, faintly, but undeniably. I took a step back, my skin crawling.

Mike, though, seemed fascinated. “How do you do that? I mean, it’s got to be a trick, right?”

Mr. McGuire’s grin widened. “Oh, there are many tricks here, my boy. Many secrets. Some things are best left a mystery, wouldn’t you agree?”

Mike nodded, but I could see the uncertainty creeping into his expression. Jay, on the other hand, was already bored. “Alright, cool stuff, man. What else you got?”

“Oh, there’s so much more!” McGuire practically bounced on his feet. “Follow me, follow me, this is just the beginning!”

He led us deeper into the museum, through narrow hallways lined with grotesque taxidermy—creatures that looked like they’d been stitched together from nightmares. A fox with human eyes, a bird with too many wings, a snake with the head of a cat. Jay laughed it off, but I could tell even he was getting creeped out.

Jay stayed close to McGuire, asking questions about the exhibits, fascinated by every macabre detail. I hung back, keeping my distance. Something about the air felt thick, oppressive. I started to feel like we shouldn’t have come here.

We rounded a corner into another room, and that’s when I noticed something strange—Mike wasn’t with us anymore.

“Where’s Mike?” I asked, glancing around.

Jay frowned. “I don’t know man, he was just behind us.”

McGuire’s grin didn’t falter. “Oh, don’t worry! He must have wandered off to explore. Happens all the time. People get lost in the wonders of this place.”

“Yeah, but—” I started, but McGuire was already moving again, leading Jay deeper into the labyrinth.

My gut twisted. Something wasn’t right. I turned back, calling Mike’s name. No response. I retraced my steps, walking back through the narrow halls, past the grotesque creatures and jars of preserved organs, but Mike was nowhere to be found.

“Mike?!” I called louder, panic creeping into my voice. The air felt thicker now, harder to breathe, the musty smell started to make me feel sick. I stumbled back into the room with the heart in the jar, and my stomach lurched—the heart wasn’t beating anymore. It was still, lifeless.

I bolted back to Jay and McGuire, who were now in some kind of workshop. The walls were lined with tools—saws, scalpels, things I didn’t want to think about. Jay was staring at something on the table - “what the hell is that freakin’ thing”, Jay asked McGuire as I approached.

“Jay, we need to go,” I said, grabbing his arm.

He didn’t move. Just stood there, eyes growing wide, staring at what I now saw was a human skull. But it wasn’t just any skull—it looked fresh. Too fresh. The flesh still clung to the bone in some places, and the eyes… God, the eyes were still in their sockets, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

“Jay, we need to go, now!” I pulled harder, and he finally snapped out of it, nodding quickly.

“Y-yeah, yeah, let’s go.”

But as we turned to leave, Mr. McGuire was standing in the doorway, his grin wider than ever.

“Oh, you can’t leave yet boys,” he said, his voice sickly sweet. “The tour’s not over.”

I glanced at Jay, who was trembling now. “What did you do with Mike?” I demanded.

McGuire’s smile faltered, just for a second. “He’s…around. Everyone finds their place here eventually.”

I didn’t wait for him to say more. I shoved past him, dragging Jay behind me, and bolted for the front door. The museum felt like it had grown, the hallways twisting in ways I didn’t remember. Every corner led to another room, another grotesque display. I could hear McGuire behind us, his footsteps light but relentless, his voice echoing through the halls, singing some twisted, cheerful tune.

We ran faster, my heart pounding in my chest, lungs burning. But every door we found was locked, every window barred. The walls seemed to close in around us, and the whole place felt suffocating.

And then, we saw it—the exit. The door we’d come through. I threw myself at it, turning the knob, praying it wasn’t locked. It wasn’t.

We burst through, gasping for air as we stumbled outside. It was completely dark outside now, and the twisted sculptures in the yard seemed to loom over us, their shapes looking even more menacing in the moonlight.

We didn’t stop. We ran to the car, and I glanced back at the house. The door was still open, and I could see McGuire standing there, his grin visible even from a distance. “Fuck! Jay… Mike... has the keys!” We didn’t hesitate. We ran until our legs were spaghetti and our lungs screamed. I’m not sure how long we ran. When we were sure we were safe, we collapsed, exhausted. It felt like a miracle when a truck stopped, and let us hitch a ride to the next town over.

We spent the next few hours in silence, neither of us knowing what to say, not making sense of...

---

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1flaf6f/mr_mcguires_house_of_oddities/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/GlumDrawer4253 on 2024-09-20 03:36:09+00:00.

---

Part 1 Part 2

I’ve lost track of time. Consciousness is slipping in and out of focus for me. Lapses in purposeful thought are escaping me like a fly in the dark. I miss the months of old where I lived in quiet background trauma. I’d rather a lost friend, than a lost mind. Maybe that’s selfish. I think I’m selfish. 

I went to the cabin. 

Maybe it was last night, maybe it was days ago I couldn’t really tell you. I remembered that I had planned to take some hunters up a drawl a city over. I’m sure they’re rightly pissed I never called back. 

I thought hurrying up there, I could get down before sunset, get home, then head to the city in the morning. 

I was wrong. 

When I pulled into that parking lot, suddenly I was faced with how similar that place still looked. The dead leaves colored Orange, brown, and red layered the ground in a mural of beautiful fall. I felt like a kid again hopping out of the jeep. 

I grabbed my revolver, a compass, my phone, a small hunting knife, and the plb. I checked my bag and found the firestarter, a small headlamp and map of the area. I didn’t have time for any snacks or anything. The trail mix was a casualty of war for that trip. 

I looked up at the sky, and the sun told me it was giving me two hours max. I trudged up through the entrance passing the sign. A picture posted of the little cabin I’d be exploring. What was I even looking for up there? Your guess was as good as mine. 

My hiking boots were finally broken in, they had slowly become my unlucky pair with this odyssey I had taken upon myself. 

I was searching for answers, the man with the red chevy, the fisherman, the…when I thought about the fisherman it came back to me. That man at the bank my first trip back on ***********. 

A fisherman and the way he cut the fish. Those connections began to make waves in my mind, and I couldn’t help but look behind me. Of course there was nothing but a cool breeze flipping over the trails loose debris. 

I continued, racing up the mountain towards my destination. I cleared the trees and looked up to the tsunami of grass that laid ahead. The meadow was slowly dying. 

With every step I felt the tension in my legs and hands double. That lone cabin quickly being consumed by the darkness of the sky. I had to make it there. Something told me more than anything I had to be in there. I raced up to the steps and launched through the door. Taking care to step over the weak spot near the entrance, my eyes shot back up. 

No one, I quickly closed the door behind me as the last embers of daytime snuffed out. I sat down in a heap on the floor. I grabbed my headlamp and clicked it on. It had 8 hours of life, so I wasn’t worried about it dying on me. 

I caught my breath for a few minutes then cursed myself for my panicked running. I always kept my cool in the woods. I’d been trapped out in the night plenty of times and never reacted like that. What the hell was that? Writing this now, I know it was instinct, I know the primal part of my brain was more than correct in making me run. 

I moved my head up, the beam following my gaze. I lazily moved my head around the cabin walls looking for my name. New drawings, an old guitar, new lovers and old scrawled across the oak. My eyes finally met with my quarry. I saw it on the back wall, along with a bunch of new graffiti tagged alongside it. 

“Simon Lewisman.” I chuckled at the rough carving, nostalgia dulling the senses. Before my head moved down, bringing the light to fall on a carving right below it. 

“Clark Cuhtz.” This writing was almost mechanical. Like a stamp. This wasn’t Clarks messy handwriting. 

I balled my hand into a fist and pounded the wall. 

“What the fuck happened to you Clark?” 

I knew right then that was a gravestone. It might as well have said “here lies.” I just knew right then, like I’d always known, that he was gone for good. 

My PLB crackled and I took it off my belt. I hit the thing a couple times, and it sounded like a little tune of some sort came through. I knew the melody, but couldn’t place the song. I hit it again and it stopped. I sat in silence for a moment. I assumed it was some kind of interference from a station. But it shouldn’t be on that channel anyways. But again, it’s not impossible. 

What came next was. 

Three knocks. Evenly spaced out and calm. I dropped the PLB when that noise came. Staring at the door my hand landed on the revolver. I picked up the PLB not taking my eyes off the door. 

“T-there’s someone here, you’re going to have to find another place.”

There was a bead of silence filled with the sound of blood pounding in my ears. I coiled like a spring ready to launch at any sign of entry. 

“Simon, it’s me.” 

My fathers voice. That was the last thing I had expected to hear. I got up half stumbling to the door. 

I opened it and in the bright beam of my headlamp lay my father. Looking rather youthful in the white light, he stood there in some hiking gear. The smell of a sweaty trek was all about him. 

“D-dad what are you doing here?” 

“I knew you were coming up, so…I decided to meet you. I was hoping that I’d catch you before you took off.” 

“Y-ya. Come in.” I opened the door for him, and he stepped in. I closed the door quickly, as if all the horrors of the world would rush in if I left it open a second more. It was surreal, him suddenly placed into that time and space. My mind rattled by the carving on the cabin, was now background noise to his disturbance.

He sat down and produced a small metal lamp. 

“That thing looks ancient- where’s your electric one.” 

“Well, the other one died on me. So, borrowed this one from a friend.” 

I sat down studying the walls alight with the orange color spilling from the lamp. 

“Well smart of you. Your hiking obsessed son forgot to bring a lamp.” 

He smiled at that. So young in that lighting. So young. I saw my father like that, and it made me think about how I was going to be the age he was when he had me. How strange it was to repeat everything that had ever happened over and over. 

“What are you doing up here Simon?” The question didn’t come as a surprise. But the answers came with difficulty. 

“Clark Dad. I know he’s- he’s been killed.” 

“Well of course, he hasn’t shown back up in 10 odd years.” He replied. I guessed the years of living in the Northwest had given him a little bit of a drawl. 

“I know. But it’s all so odd. I can’t put it down. Some man attacked me dressed like him. I mean wearing his hair like him, wearing his old T-shirt. It was so strange.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He pressed. 

I looked down. 

“I didn’t want you to…think I was crazy.” 

“You’re not crazy son. I think you're in your rightness.” 

“DAMN RIGHT I AM, what the fuck is going on with this mountain range it’s…it’s not right-” I swung my arm and knocked over the little lantern. 

“Ah- shit sorry Dad. Let me fix that.” 

I reached out into the dark, my beam locating the metal lamp. I thought about how my Dad enjoyed tech. How he always got the newest stuff. 

I went to turn it on as he spoke. 

“This range has been here a long time. It eats up travelers. That peak, the hungriest of all. But it has a specific taste son.” 

I twisted the valve on the lamp to light it, but I turned first at the strangeness of his speech. 

My father was holding a syringe inching towards me. His youthful featuresm sharp and sinister in tone. I swung the lamp hard into his hand. 

“D-Dad-” 

He launched up towards me and I was in a fight for my life. His thin limbs had a strength and dexterity unbefitting of a computer tech. 

His hands grasped my neck and in that moment I knew he could kill me. Air seeping from me a scarier thought entered my oxygen starved brain. 

He doesn’t want to kill me. 

My fingertips grazed the handle of the oil lamp and swung it into his face. Stunned long enough for me to grab the syringe, I stabbed the thing deep in his chest, draining the liquid. He gasped and I cried out a deep groan of regret. My father was stabbed in the chest. I had done it. I stumbled from the cabin and began running as I heard him coughing and sputtering. 

This is where time begins to slip away in my mind. 

I was running, running and running. Sometimes downhill, sometimes up in the darkness. The beam of my headlamp always guiding me to some other patch of godforsaken forest. 

Eventually I was walking, just so tired from the hike. I must’ve been completely lost. I heard voices sprouting up from the deep abyss of unfamiliar wood. 

“Simon come back.” Father.

“Hey, I think he’s over here! Simon! Your girlfriend got worried, are you out here?” Some rescuer? No, there’s no way she sent someone. Not that soon. 

I forced my legs to move, and next thing I remember I was crawling on all fours from the parking lot entrance to my jeep door. My clothes were half torn, my hands were rubbed half raw and bloody from the distance I must’ve crawled on them. 

I fumbled with my keys, the world filled with the sound of the metal things being shoved into the car door handle. 

Everything else was silent. 

Driving comes back in and out of memory. I know I was driving erratically, I know the road only led one way. 

But everytime I blinked I’d be driving my way ...

---

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1fl2yic/my_friends_been_missing_for_10_years_i_think_i/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Super-Section-4720 on 2024-09-20 05:27:18+00:00.

---

I’ve always been a night owl. Something about the stillness of the late hours felt… comforting. My house is right on the edge of a dense forest, so the night sounds – the crickets, the rustling leaves, the occasional owl hoot – became my lullaby. Until last night.

I was sitting on my porch, nursing a cup of coffee, the warm glow of the porch light barely pushing back the darkness of the woods. The night was particularly quiet. No crickets. No wind. Just this heavy silence that seemed to press down on everything. But I brushed it off. Weird things happen in nature, right?

Then, I heard it.

A whisper.

“Madhav.”

It was faint, almost like the wind had formed my name and pushed it toward me. I froze. The cup trembled in my hands as I strained to listen. Nothing.

I stood up, pacing across the porch, trying to shake the feeling that something was watching me. And then, the whisper came again, clearer this time.

“Madhav…”

The voice was familiar. Too familiar. It was my mom’s voice. But my mom’s been dead for six years.

I dropped the cup, and it shattered against the wooden planks. Heart racing, I stared into the trees. I knew it was impossible. There was no way. My mom hadn’t spoken to me since the accident, and yet… there it was. Her voice, calling out to me from the woods.

I should’ve gone inside. I should’ve locked the doors, but instead, I grabbed a flashlight and stepped off the porch. The beam of light cut through the thick trees as I moved closer to where the voice had come from.

“Madhav… help me.”

That’s when the temperature dropped. The air around me became so cold that I could see my breath, and the ground beneath my feet felt wrong, like the earth was shifting. I should’ve turned back, but there was something pulling me deeper into the forest. The trees closed in tighter, branches scraping against my arms as I pushed through.

I don’t know how long I walked. Five minutes? An hour? Time seemed to warp around me, and then I saw it. A figure standing between the trees. My flashlight flickered, but I could see enough to know that the figure… wasn’t right.

It had my mother’s face, but her skin was too pale, almost translucent. Her eyes were hollow, sunken in like someone had scooped them out. She opened her mouth, and that same voice came out.

“Madhav…”

I stumbled back, tripping over a root and falling hard onto the cold earth. The thing started moving toward me, slow and deliberate, her feet barely making a sound on the leaves.

I scrambled to get up, but my legs wouldn’t work. I was frozen in place, watching as my dead mother stretched out a bony hand, her nails jagged and sharp.

“Madhav… come with me…”

In that moment, I wanted to scream, to run, to do anything to get away, but my body wouldn’t listen. I felt something cold wrap around my ankle, like icy fingers dragging me toward her.

And then, she smiled. It wasn’t my mother’s smile. It was something sinister, twisted, like it was wearing her face as a mask.

I don’t know how, but I snapped out of it. My legs finally obeyed, and I ran. I didn’t stop until I was back on my porch, slamming the door behind me. I locked it, bolted every window, and sat in the middle of the living room with my back against the wall.

I didn’t sleep.

The next morning, I went to the edge of the woods. My footprints were still there, leading deep into the trees. But there was something else. Another set of prints… larger than mine, following right behind.

I don’t go outside at night anymore.

And I keep hearing her voice. Madhav…

Even when I’m awake. Even when I’m not alone. It’s always there.

Calling me

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/EclosionK2 on 2024-09-20 04:31:29+00:00.

---

I - II - III - IV

Children. Dozens of children. Maybe hundreds.

When I regained consciousness that’s the first thought that entered my mind. Jesus Christ there’s a lot of them down here.

And by here, I mean some kind of underground amphitheater with nightmarish rows of seats. Each seat—a black cage of interlaced ribs entrapping a motionless child who’s had their eyes and mouths sealed with tight, shiny cables.

It was probably the most horrific thing I’d ever seen.

I myself was surrounded by the metal ribs as well, except that my tall, twenty-five-year-old torso extended beyond the smaller cage designed for children. I had a few limbs sticking out (thank god).

Judging by the uniformity of all the other cages, my guess is that I was placed via some automated process that had gone unchecked. Which meant that the black cables that should have been sealing my face were instead wrapped around my chin. 

It was tempting to call for help. To yell and see if someone else would respond. But of course that might’ve been suicide. 

I didn’t know where I was. Underground maybe?

I only knew that my supervisor, Usami-san, had paralyzed and sent me here.

That bastard.

I was stupid to tell him anything. I should have known he was part of the conspiracy among top brass at Bakery Park—they were all complicit in imprisoning the swathes of Japanese kids here.

 I remember my girlfriend Aiko said that only three children had gone missing at the theme park. How wrong we were. Those were clearly just the three the public knew about.

I spent the first few minutes totally awestruck by the horror of it all. It was hard to believe I was staring at an inhumane prison designed exclusively for six to twelve year olds. 

Cruelty incarnate.

At the center of the amphitheater-like floor was a heap of LED panels undulating in a faint white glow, supplying light to the rest of the space .

I watched patiently as one of the panels became bright pink and produced a hologram of a large cartoon pig with a cinnamon roll for a tail.

It was Bu-chan.

The light turned off, but the hologram remained, untethered to roam free. The pig squealed and spoke in aggressive Japanese. 

“Rirīsu kapuseru 478-97742.” 

Release capsule 478-97742.

A child cage only a few rows down from me lifted into the air. Several spider-like legs emerged beneath it, and skittered down to Bu-chan.

The pig snorted and inspected the young boy. 

"Yokatta. Mada juku shi teru yo. Tsuite koi."

“Good. Still ripe. Follow me.”

The arachnid cradle waddled behind the hologram pig as he marched down an exit. The sound of the spider feet scraping and stabbing the floor echoed outwards until fading away.

Good lord. What have I gotten myself into.

With my free hand, I grabbed and twisted at each of the ribs holding my chest in place. The metal was strong and unrelenting. 

But then I discovered an external hook-shaped appendage, and when I pulled. the whole cage opened. 

I was free. 

Count your fucking blessings…

Several pinprick sensations stung across my back as I stood up. On my seat I could see several loosely hanging needles and tubes. IVs?

I moved quickly, sliding between the rows of young victims, climbing over their cage casings sometimes.

If I wanted to, I could have pulled the same hook appendage and freed several children as well. The thought weighed me down. A small anchor of guilt.

 But what good would that do? What if they cried out? What if I had to carry one?

I had no clue where I was supposed to go. For all I knew, freeing a child might’ve been condemning them to something far, far worse. 

No. I was better off going alone, scoping it out. Rescue would have to be figured out later.

When I descended past the last row and stepped the gray, cave-like floor, I could see exits in at least five different directions. They were all sealed by tight aperture doors. All except for the tunnel that Bu-chan entered.

I took a deep breath.

The LEDs pulsated rhythmically, casting my shadow against the rows of young kids. My silhouette stretched into a long, scrawny shape across the helpless forms, like a spindly tree, incapable of supporting anything.

There was nothing for me here. I snuck down the tunnel.

***

It was very hard to see in the pure, unassailable darkness. Clearly the tunnel was designed for beings who could emit their own glow. Not for fleshy human escapees.

I kept my fingers sliding along the right wall, marching forward and making sure I didn't trip over anything. Eventually I did see a mix of glimmering lights at the end of the tunnel. They alternated between blue, yellow, and pink. 

It might have been Bu-chan or more like him, which sent chills down my spine, but I ignored the feeling and edged closer.

Grime, soot, and I don't know what else clung to my fingers and clothes as I crawled along the wall. I was still wearing my ‘Mr. New York’ outfit, which I'm sure was now streaked with god knows what. They might have taken my phone and keys, but at least they left me my costume. I used the chef’s hat to wipe sweat from my eyes.

The lights danced brightly as I neared the tunnel’s exit. It gave the impression of some kind of nightclub or carnival. As I came even closer I could see indeed it came from a shimmering neon sign.

フォトニクスバザール

Photonics Bazaar.

What the hell.

On my immediate right, I saw a space densely packed with cryopod-like chambers. Inside each chamber was the glowing hologram of a child, looking at me with tired, defeated eyes.

There seemed to be no one else around at this bazaar. I went up and put my hand on the nearest chamber. The little girl on the other side placed her palm beneath mine. She was saying something frantically, I could see shimmering, translucent tears trickle down her shimmering, translucent face.

I wish I knew how to lip read. I had so many questions. What did they do to you?

I stepped away and looked at the sign centered between all these glass chambers

.プレミアムフレーバー 千葉エリア 半額

Premium Flavors - Chiba Region - Half Price

I re-read the text several times to make sure I translated correctly. But that’s what the words said.

This was a stall, a storefront, and as I looked deeper into the grand hall I just entered. I realized could see dozens of them. 

Several storefronts each offering a different variant. 

山梨の甘味

Flavors of Yamanashi

本物の東京の味

Authentic Tokyo Taste

神奈川の味 - 50% オフ

Kanagawa flavors - 50% Off

My bottom jaw had fallen somewhere along the floor. My hands clasped my head. 

What. The. Fuck.

Through the middle of this bazaar hall was a long, connected row of tables and chairs—like you might find at the center of any food court.  Except the furnishings here were clearly designed for beings much larger than humans. 

I approached the first table and spotted a single chrome bowl left on the edge. Inside I could see a shimmering mixture of pink and cyan…

Pace quickened, I sped down the large empty hall, trying to process what I was seeing. In between the ‘flavor’ stalls were shops for all kinds of uncanny silver instruments. Spoons, bowls, knives, corkscrews, and other things I didn't want to look at.

And every now and then I’d spot a black column supporting the ceiling. On each column were glowing digital numbers. They said 8:57 like any old alarm clock on earth. In a few moments, they read 8:58.

I slid my way beneath the long cafeteria table, and kept a low profile, and I'm glad that I did, because when the clock hit 9:00, All hell broke loose. 

The ceiling became an LED explosion of sparks and lights, descending hordes of shimmering creatures down into the hall.

But they weren’t ravenous, blood-thirsty monsters like I was expecting. No, If I had to describe them, I’d say they behaved more like obsessive shoppers at a mall.

I watched from the floor as a hologram monkey mascot (covered in donut sprinkles) prepared his shimmering pair of tote bags. There was a bipedal dog (with pancakes for ears) who ran over to some glass-chambered children for sale and started smelling each one. There was even a weasel (made of churros) who was giving out coupons for specific stalls.

They were all animals infused with dessert elements … which meant they were likely characters designed at Bakery Park. 

But did that mean they were all harmless virtual mascots at one point? And somehow they now lived underground … enjoying humans as flavors?

“I want that fresh boyling from Kanagawa. The one with the glasses.”

“I’ve heard these creamy types from Shimado are the best. How much?”

“Where are the four star smart ones? I want a new pet. And then I want to eat him when I get bored.”

I could see their illuminated hooves, paws, and bird feet walk back and forth across the bazaar grounds. They were crowding around close to where I was hiding.

Tongue clenched between my teeth, I stayed beneath the tables and skulked forward, putting my heels down before my toes, making as little noise as possible.

With their attention on the merchandise, no one seemed t...

---

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1fl3w23/i_work_abroad_at_a_japanese_theme_park_ive_found/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Tubasandtaxes on 2024-09-19 03:14:40+00:00.

---

I’m not sure how this is going to be perceived, but it is extremely vital that I get the word out to someone. So far, no one has listened to me. No cops, no DA’s, no therapists, no psychiatrist, absolutely no one. I need someone to believe me. I am not losing my mind.

I had a friend group consisting of five guys. Big Thom, Darryl, Robbie, Lawrence and Gill, with myself making up the sixth of the group. All of us had been friends since high school and hung out through college. It was known even in high school and more in college, that even though all of us were a group, Lawerence and Gill were best friends first. If a party was on the agenda for the night, they always arrived together and left together. Both went to the same college, majored in computer science, and both graduated top of the class. Having two friends like that led to so many jokes about sexuality or dependence, but within the group, it was normal. Kind of like having twins as friends, I always thought. Hell, they even looked alike, both being small, nerdy types. Cut to us at 26, and we all lived in the same city, Chicago. Thom and I had a house all to ourselves out in the suburbs, which was where the incident took place.

We had a once a month poker night that all of us showed up to religiously. Big Thom and I held the poker night in the basement, which was decorated like you would expect college graduates without prospective dating partners would decorate the house like. It was an open concept basement, with just one length of a wall being taken up by the bathroom and the laundry room.  We had posters along the walls along with Thom’s trophies. He had many and they were large, seeing as he used to be a top wrestling prospect at university until he messed up his shoulder. Thom had always been big, but after the shoulder injury he had ballooned up to 350 pounds. Giving the nickname Big Thom some serious truth behind it.

Darryl and Robbie showed up around 9 that night. Poker night didn’t start until 10, but Robbie never turned down a beer and Darryl liked having a buddy to ride with on the Metro. We were casually waiting around the table when Robbie started talking about Lawrence and Gill.

“What do you think they got up to in Thailand? Just some fun times or something better. Like a you know…” he said as he killed his beer with a wink.

“C’mon man. Don’t be like that. They went to look at some temples or something. Don’t be rude about it,” Thom said, giving Robbie his patented look of disdain.

“I’m just saying man, those two have been getting weirder and weirder. I caught lunch with them in the city before the trip and they were super excited. Like kids on Christmas morning excited. And two days ago, I saw them on Lower Wacker at night, just walking among the slums. No smiles, no expressions. I honked my horn and flipped the bird out the window, and they just stared like I was a stranger. Now, tell me that ain’t some weird shit,” Robbie said.

It was a bit strange, because even though Lawrence and Gill were tight, they were always friendly and quick to say hello. And it wouldn’t be like they missed seeing Robbie, he was the only asshat in Chicago to drive a bright blue, jacked up Jeep. It stood out, making it easy to spot him randomly out and about the city.

“Yeah, well, who knows man. Maybe you pissed them off recently. Did you do anything extremely dickheaded to them lately?” I asked, knowing just how easy it was to be pissed at Robbie. He had a way of getting under your skin, but was good about recognizing when he goes too far.

“That’s just it, I haven’t done anything. I’ve practically been a choir boy,” Robbie said excitedly, sensing I was grasping his meaning with our two friends. We then heard the garage door open, something that was not shocking as we had given each of our friends the passcode, allowing them to come in whenever they wanted.

“Well I think they just arrived, so drop it. We’ll see how the night goes and if it’s still weird at the end of it, we’ll say something as a group. Fair?” Darryl proposed, quickly agreed upon by Thom and myself. Just then we heard the door to the basement open and down came Lawrence and Gill, both looking stoned faced and stiff with their movements.

“Boys, about time. Let’s do this!” Big Thom shouted as we made our way around the poker table. Lawrence and Gill looked at each other, and then sat down across from each other. The other four of us just stared in amazement. They never sat apart from one another. They had always sat next to each other, Gill on the right and Lawrence on the left. Robbie gave me a wide eyed face, and motioned with his eyes at the pair, in a “Are you seeing this shit” kind of way.

.

I sat down with the others, not exactly ignoring Robbie, but not giving in to his skepticism just yet. Darryl grabbed the cards and started shuffling as Thom pulled out the chips from under the table and started dividing them up between us. We played as normal, but there were problems with Gill and Lawrence, like the way they were placing bets or the fact that they never once cracked a smile or a joke during the time we played. They would never increase a bet, but always called one, regardless of if they had a good hand or not. They didn’t drink anything either: no beer, no water, no sodas, nothing. It wasn’t making any sense. And then there were their eyes. I would catch them staring, leering at us as the night wore on. Gill was staring at me and Thom, while Lawrence’s eyes lingered on Darryl and Robbie. Robbie finally stood and said he was going for a smoke, gesturing upstairs and looking at me.

“Yeah, I’ll burn one,” I said, heading towards the stairs with him.

“I’m going to use the toilet, “ Lawrence said suddenly, standing up and looking at Gill with such an intense stare.

“I’ll stay here,” Gill said, peering down at Lawrence intently.

“Are you two hooking up or something? Jesus, you two are so weird tonight,” Robbie said as we went upstairs. I didn’t even have it in me to tell him off for making fun of them, because I was getting a bit weirded out by them as well.

Outside the garage, Robbie had already lit a cigarette and passed me the butt. He took a deep drag, and sighed, “Dude, we have to say something. This is beyond weird man.”

“Yeah, I know. I keep getting the feeling that they are staring at us, like they are watching our moves or something,” I said, exhaling smoke and looking at the stars. I was trying to keep my cool, and not let Robbie make me even more nervous.

“Dude, EXACTLY! Lawrence is looking at me like I’m a steak man. Did you see how his eyes are dark, like the eye itself and the skin around it? It’s giving me the creeps. I don’t like this. I know Darryl and Thom are going to try and keep it civil and chill, but we have to find out what's going on. That means getting a bit tough with them and getting them to tell us the truth about what has changed them so much,” Robbie said, almost pleading with me. He flicked his butt into my yard, drawing a stern gaze from me. But he was right, this was beyond normal for Lawrence and Gill, and we needed to say something to get them back to normal.

“Ok, you're right. Let’s go down and…”

BAM!

We looked at each other. It sounded like a truck had crashed in my house.

BAM! 

BAM!

Two more crashes. I could then tell it was from my basement.

“What the hell?” Robbie said, pushing past me and as he ran towards the door. I was right on his heels. He led the way through the house to the basement stairs, taking them in leaps. We landed at the bottom of the stairs and came upon the scene of a horror movie.

Gill was atop Thom’s back, with both of them turned away from us. It looked like Gill was trying to choke out Thom, which was a ridiculous assumption considering Thom was twice his size and had years of training on his side. The basement was littered with the broken table and chairs, trophies strewn among the floor with the walls smashed in. Slowly, the two turned around and we could see the true savagery that was taking place.

Gill had a knife and was plunging it into Thom’s chest and neck. Blood was flowing down Thom’s shirt, almost pouring down the floor. Thom had a glazed look in his eyes and was making hand gestures towards us, like grabbing towards us or motioning us to go away. Thom’s legs gave out, with him dropping to his knees. It was then that I looked at Gill. Gill was grinning from ear to ear, breathing heavily but still able to laugh in a wheezing manner. It was as if he was getting joy out of murdering one of his closest friends. It was a sound that would have been unsettling even without the look on his face and the knife he was plunging into his friend’s body. I then saw his eyes, pure black, with black veins surrounding them. His gaze was focused clearly on Thom’s and I could hear him say words to Thom, “ Una magis anima pro domino, Una magis anima pro domino, Una magis...” Gill kept repeating the words until Thom fell face first onto the floor.

Robbie and I hadn’t moved. We were frozen in terror as we saw a friend murder another friend. I couldn’t make my legs move nor could I seem to take a breath. I broke through the fear when I heard Robbie cry, “What’s happening?”

“THOM!” I screamed as I ran towards Thom's body, as adrenaline pumped through me now. Gill looked up from Thom’s back still smiling, tilting his head to one side.

“One more for the Master,” he whispered before launchi...

---

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1fkbb7h/friends_are_to_be_counted_on_friends_arent_to_be/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Jumpy-Cartoonist663 on 2024-09-19 21:00:21+00:00.

---

I never really believed in paranormal things or anything like that. I’m the kind of person who would be the last to believe in such things. But what happened that night changed everything.

It was around 10 PM. I was comfortably settled on the couch, watching a series on Netflix. The soft light from the screen illuminated the room, while the silence of the house was broken only by the characters' voices. My phone was beside me when it suddenly vibrated. Instinctively, I picked it up and saw a message from an unknown number, a number that definitely wasn’t in my contacts.

Curiosity took over. When I opened the conversation, a wave of dread washed over me: "You are being watched." I tried to convince myself it was just my friends playing a prank, but the idea quickly faded when another message arrived: "Look out the window."

I thought about ignoring it. It was just some random number, and the idea of looking outside felt absurdly risky. But a strange sensation, like a voice inside urging me to act, led me to rise. The night was dark, and I could see nothing beyond the shadows of my own bushes. Another message: "Now you don’t see."

Anxiety settled in my chest. I replied, almost pleading: "What do you want from me?" A quick response came: "Leave me alone."

The tension escalated, as if the atmosphere around me were thickening. Then the next message made me freeze: "Come to the back door." My heart raced. Reluctantly, I walked to the back, the feeling of being watched growing with each step. I sent a message: "I’m here." The silence was deafening.

With a courage I didn’t know I had, I opened the door. My backyard was well-lit, but darkness seemed to swallow everything around me. The air felt heavy, and there was a sweet, almost nauseating smell that made me uneasy. "Now you see," the message echoed in my mind.

I looked into the darkness. At first, nothing. But then, something caught my eye in the bushes. I put on my glasses, trying to see better. What I saw made my blood run cold: a humanoid figure, distorted and shadowy, was there, watching me. Its eyes were not eyes at all, but deep voids that seemed to absorb the light. I felt a shiver run down my spine, and before I could react, the figure sprinted toward me.

I slammed the door shut and locked it immediately, my heart pounding wildly. The thing banged on the door with a tremendous force, a sound echoing as if it were testing the house's resistance. Silence. I called the police while making sure all the windows were secure. I peeked through the peephole, but saw nothing. The darkness now felt denser, as if it were alive.

The police arrived, but found nothing. Relief mixed with confusion made no sense. After they left, I couldn’t sleep. What was that thing? What did it want? The messages continued to echo in my mind, like a constant whisper reminding me that I wasn’t alone.

The next day, I received another message, this one without warning: "You thought you were free?" The moment of peace I longed for never came. Days dragged on, and the messages kept coming. Sometimes they were just unsettling words: "I am close" or "You cannot escape." But other times, they were distorted images, as if someone were trying to show me the very essence of terror.

I knew I couldn’t go on like this. I needed to find out what was happening. I started researching stories of hauntings, abductions, and strange sightings. I discovered accounts of people who had encountered similar figures—beings that seemed to feed off fear, hiding in the shadows, always watching. And always waiting.

One night, as I was getting ready for bed, my phone vibrated again. It was a message: "You still don’t understand." The air felt heavier, and the temperature dropped abruptly. A sense of despair overwhelmed me. I went to the window and looked outside. The darkness seemed to pulse, as if it were alive.

And then I saw it. The figure, now closer, clearer. It was no longer just a shadow. It was a grotesque creature, with scaly skin and eyes that looked like two deep holes, empty and full of malice. The creature smiled, and I realized that the true terror was just beginning.

In the back of my mind, a voice whispered: "You should never have looked."

I came to Reddit to seek help and advice on what to do. I can't sleep, with that feeling of being watched. That sinister smile is still in my head. If anyone has encountered that thing and managed to survive, please help me.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/CraneofElegance on 2024-09-19 20:06:03+00:00.

---

I’ve been a firewatch for 8 years. Well, had been. An incident involving myself and the previous summer has caused me to search for another profession. The only reason I ever even started the job was because I’d flunked out of college senior year. I’d been a good student before then, not perfect but good enough. Then I just… lost the spark. It was an unceremonious death of joy for learning. I didn’t have much desire to go back to school, not that my budget would allow it anyway. That was when I saw a flyer on a bulletin board at my bank, “Firewatches needed for Dogwood National Forest” it said. Dogwood was the national forest near our town. It should only be about 20 miles as the crow flies, but the winds make it an arduous hour long trip. Being situated in a dry, southern part of the States, the demand for lookouts was even higher. Not that the job required much skill, mind you: Just a pair of eyes and an attention span longer than five seconds. The pay wasn’t incredible, but definitely better than flipping burgers at a chain restaurant or anything else I was gonna get with just a diploma. 

That small insignificant event completely changed the course of my life. My first year or so there were growing pains, but nothing that I wasn’t able to adjust to. When your only source of solace is your own thoughts and the occasional speech from a radio, you have to do some major restructuring to how you think. My lookout tower is one of the tallest in the forest, over 120 feet in the air. Dogwood consists of two valleys, and I just so happen to be at the bottom of one of them. To be able to see the tops of the hills, the state had to make mine much taller than normal. This meant that I had to get over my fear of heights quickly, and that getting up and down the tower was not a simple affair. The only times it was even safe to leave was during temperate conditions when the wind wasn’t as strong, otherwise I’d risk falling over the old wooden railing. To pile onto that, my only source of food was weekly caches of whatever the cheapest non-perishables they could find. My meals usually consisted of a mixture of canned goods, bottled water, and silverware that I had to clean without soap. But, despite all those conditions, I just couldn’t get away from it.  I’ve loved this job more than anything. Still do, but after what happened I just can’t go back. 

It was a cool summer night, probably 10 or 11 o’clock. The rapid change in temperature that day had caused higher than usual winds. It’d be a long night on the tower with no chance to descend. After another meal of canned beans and white bread I popped a piece of Doublemint into my mouth to conceal the taste of my own breath. Chewing away at the gum I repositioned my chair to be in front of my desk, picking up the book kept open face down. The shortwave two-way radio that was kept so I could communicate with the station was able to pick up signals from anything tuned to the right frequency. Due to the large number of bears in the area, hikers were often advised to carry bear spray and a walkie-talkie or equivalent for emergencies. My frequency happened to be the lowest, so it meant that any occasional hiker we got would usually end up talking to me.

While doing my nightly routine of absent-mindedly chewing my gum while leaning against the desk with the latest book the station picked out for me, I heard the familiar sound of static from my radio. I snapped my head to it, listening in.“H-Hello? Is anyone there?”

A voice of a man, a young man. Probably college-aged by my guess. He spoke in a hushed tone, like he didn’t want someone to hear him. I set my book down, placing it to the side and shifting my chair to be in front of the radio.

“This is firewatch tower 13, what’s the problem?”“I-I was taking a hike through the woods when I saw something looking at me. I-I don’t know if it was an animal or something but I think it’s still following me.”

Again, that same tone, like he thought whatever animal was following him might know what he was saying. My first assumption jumped to a bear, if there was anything to begin with.

“Alright son, just stay calm, alright? Are you sure it’s still following you?”“Yes, I’m out here alone and I’ve been hearing something moving behind me for the past half an hour. Whenever I stop, the rustling stops and I hear this noise like… it’s growling. I don’t know.”

“Ok, now do you have any bear spray on you?”“No, I left it in my car.”

That would thin our options a bit, some of that and the problem would be sorted instantly. Thinking back now though, I don’t think the world’s supply would have saved him. I paused to think for a moment.

“Ok, now I want you to move at a quick and even pace. Try not to make any loud sounds or sudden movements. Do you know which trail you’re on?”“No, I couldn’t see my map in the dark and I think I veered off trail.”“Keep walking until you find a marked trail, when you do I need you to tell you what trail marker you see. I’m going to switch over to another line for a bit so I can tell the station your situation.”“O-ok…”He still spoke softly and with fear, but a little less, like he trusted me. Not that he had much of a choice. I quickly switched my radio frequency to my supervisor’s.

“This is tower 13, we’ve got a 10-83 in the South side of the valley. Possibly a grizzly or other large species.”“Tower 13, can you be more specific on the location of the emergency?”“He doesn’t know, said he couldn’t read his map. I told him to walk to the nearest trail marker.”“Keep us updated, I’ll send out a search party but don’t expect much until we have a more definitive location.”

I quickly switched back to the frequency of the hiker, praying that nothing had happened in the brief time he was isolated from any other soul on earth.

“Hey buddy, you still with me?”A few seconds of silence.

“Yeah, I-I think I found a trail marker.”“Ok, now I know this is scary but just stay with me. Can you describe the marker?”

“Yeah, it’s a pair of orange triangles joined at the corner.”He was on the Pikehead trail, the longest trail in the forest which also happened to be nearly a mile from my tower.

“Okay, just hold on a second, I’m gonna tell the station where you are. Keep on the trail and make sure you don’t make any loud sounds or shine your flashlight directly at the bear.”“Ok.”

I switched the frequency again, quickly switching back and forth on the small, worn out dial like a helmsman keeping direction on a boat.

“This is tower 13, the 10-83 is on Pikehead trail. Repeat, Pikehead trail.”“Alright, I’ll let the search team know. Is he doing okay?”“Yeah, mostly just shaken up. Poor kid’s probably never been hiking at night before by the sounds of it. Most likely just nothing, but better to be safe.”

“Let me know if anything changes, just keep-”

With that, the small lights inside my tower flickered out. The generator had probably kicked out, as it tended to do. I muttered a few curses to myself, standing up and walking around to the end of the balcony. There lay my only power source for miles, powered by a stream of gas that was replenished bimonthly. I pulled the cord with force, the howling wind piercing my ears. I only got a loud whirring for my troubles that quickly died out. The generator receives a firm kick then another pull. Still nothing. My mind starts to flash with images of the young man, his corpse torn to ribbons by a wild animal because my generator won’t start. Another firm kick, another pull. Nothing again. I almost heard the sound of his scream in my mind, begging to God for mercy as he’s eviscerated by some unholy beast. With an even mightier tug I pulled the generator’s cord, this time springing to life with a whirring that simultaneously pierced the incessant screech of the wind and steadied my heartbeat. I sighed in relief, nearly crying. 

I quickly ran back to the radio, flipping on the switches and turning the dial to the hiker’s frequency. It’s just as the radio finished coming to life that I made a grim realization. I had left him alone without a lifeline for at least 5 minutes, what could have happened in that time? Why had I told him to find a trail marker? What if he had stayed put and made an easy meal, or startled the thing into attacking him? The relief from earlier had shown itself to be short lived. I hadn’t even gotten his name, this anonymous hiker would be dead because of me. I squeeze my eyes shut in anxiety and speak into the radio.

“You still with me?”

Instead of silence, I was almost immediately given a flurry of noises. It sounded like crunching leaves and twigs, along with heavy breathing. The man’s voice was far more desperate now, a long way from the hushed silence just a few minutes ago.

“Where were you? I-I think it found me again, I can hear that rustling through the branches. I can’t see it but I know it’s there.”From here my mind kicked into high gear. I needed a new solution and fast. His location was changing so rapidly that the search team would never find him, and he didn’t have much time if there was something predatory behind him. 

“I’m gonna turn on my tower’s floodlights, if you can see them I want you to run in that direction. I have to warn you though, I don’t have enough power to keep the lights and my radio on at the same time, so I won’t be able to guide you.”

“Ok ok, just get me out of here please!”

The pace of his running increased, his breath getting lo...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Standing-ovations on 2024-09-19 13:43:04+00:00.

---

It feels like a lifetime, but I have never been so affected by a performance before.

I had waited a long time for this evening. Plácido Domingo—the legend, the voice that had captured the hearts of millions around the world—was going to perform Verdi’s Otello. As a child, my mom and I listened to his records, watching VHS tapes of his performances, even though the video quality was quite poor. Now I stood here, finally, in the grand opera house of the Wiener Staatsoper in Vienna, anticipation building inside me as the lights dimmed, and Plácido’s almost unreal presence filled the stage.

His performance was flawless. More than flawless. His voice was strong, commanding, and powerful, carrying us into the tragedy of Otello. Every note, every movement was perfect and refined. The audience sat spellbound, mesmerized by the pure magic of his art. When the final note faded and the curtain closed, there was a brief moment when the audience, struck by awe, sat in complete silence. The silence was charged with tension, the air electric. And then—applause.

We all rose to our feet, clapping in praise and admiration for the performance we had just witnessed. The applause was well-deserved—after all, Plácido was a genius. I clapped along, cheering with intensity, my heart pounding with excitement. I had never before felt so overwhelmed with emotion during a performance. The crowd was full of energy, and the sound of thousands of clapping hands at once was like an unbridled force of nature.

Plácido came back on stage, bowing deeply, his face glowing with humility and pride. The applause intensified, the sound echoing off the ornate walls of the opera house. Naturally; he was, after all, a living legend. He bowed again, waved, and left the stage for the second time. But the applause continued.

The clapping had now gone on for quite a while. Three to five minutes? Anyway, it felt like it would never end. At first, I reveled in it. We were all celebrating a transcendent moment, a kind of collective worship. But soon, a strange sensation crept in. The clapping felt different now. More forced. More relentless. As if we had all agreed to keep going without knowing why.

Seven minutes. A faint pressure started building at my temples. I shifted on my feet, glanced at the faces around me. Everyone was still clapping. Smiling. Enthralled. Should I stop? No one else was stopping. I scanned the room, hoping to catch someone’s eye, someone who might share my hesitation. But they were all enraptured, clapping like their lives depended on it.

I checked my watch. Seventeen minutes. You don’t understand how long seventeen minutes are until you’ve clapped through every second of them. My palms had started to ache, the skin warm with friction. Each minute felt like an entire year passing, each second a weight dragging me deeper into this overwhelming experience.

The noise. It was unbearable.

It had started as a simple, rhythmic applause, a natural reaction to the performance. But now? Now it had become something else. The clapping had intensified, deafening, like a tidal wave crashing over me again and again. The sound filled every corner of the hall, overwhelming my senses. 

Twenty-five minutes. My ears were buzzing from the constant assault, so loud it seemed to drill into my skull. The pressure. The pain blossomed deep inside my head, spreading to my temples, distorting my brain. The lights above us burned too bright, the air grew too thick, and I swear, for just a moment, the walls began to close in.

And then I felt it, with a sickening warmth. The wet trickle running down my neck.

I raised my hands, trembling, and touched my ear. Blood.

I froze, my heart pounding in my chest. The sound, the immense pounding of a thousand hands, thundered in my head. Each clap like the precise strike of a hammer, ringing and pounding with intense force. I wanted to scream, but my voice was lost in the noise.

I looked around, desperate, but no one seemed to notice. Their faces were blank, their eyes glazed, their hands moving in that endless, mechanical rhythm. The room began to blur, the faces around me turning into indistinct shapes, their hands nothing more than ghostly blurs in the low light.

Thirty-three minutes. The clapping reached new heights. I winced as another wave of applause crashed against my head, and the ringing in my ears grew into a scream. My palms ached, my arms trembling, but I couldn’t stop. There was a weight in the air, as if being the first to stop clapping would betray the moment, a sin against the magic we had all witnessed.

My palms began to burn. At first, it was a faint warmth, like friction against the skin, but now the heat grew sharper, stinging. I looked down and saw small red lines blooming in the center of my palms, the skin raw and tender. I kept clapping. I couldn’t stop. My heart beat in time with it, each pulse reverberating in my temples, in my ears.

Fifty-one minutes. Plácido appeared again. A sound wave so loud I felt my bones tremble. Little pricks of pain in my skin. I looked down. The skin had split in places, my hands slick with blood. My elbows ached, they shook with each clap, the joints grinding together like rusty metal. I felt the tendons in my arms tighten like an overstretched harp string, about to snap.

Plácido stood on the stage, his face shadowed by the stage lights. He bowed deeply once more, but there was something wrong with his smile. It stretched too far. It was as if he was no longer real—just another part of this nightmare we had created.

The clapping echoed even louder, a thunderous sound that felt like it would never end. The unbearable pain. The assault. But I couldn’t stop. I won’t be the first to stop and, in doing so, dishonor the great Plácido Domingo.

A full hour passed. The woman next to me groaned, her eyes wide and glittering with fear. Her hands were red, slick with blood like mine. She looked at me, her lips trembling, as if she wanted to say something, anything. But she didn’t. She just kept clapping.

The ringing in my ears had become deafening. Each clap felt like an explosion inside my head. I could feel the blood running faster, soaking the collar of my shirt, the pain blinding, suffocating. It drowned all thoughts, reason, and logic.

Sixty-four minutes. Would this ever end? Could it end?

Plácido bowed again.

And I kept clapping.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/adorabletapeworm on 2024-09-19 20:09:54+00:00.

---

Previous case

There was a roar in the forest that woke the whole town at approximately 1:15 am.

Not long after my eyes snapped open, fully awake despite the hour, Victor called me. He only wanted the most experienced of Orion, not wanting to drag our trainees into something that could potentially be beyond our scope.

(If you're not familiar with what Orion Pest Control's services are, it may help to start here.)

I found Deirdre, who'd spent the night on my couch, staring out the window, face grim.

“It was a slaughter.” She breathed, eyes distant as though her mind was elsewhere. “The spirit of the forest is nearly broken.”

Whenever she has these moments of foresight, she has advised me that it is best to simply leave her be, as awful as I feel doing it. She has assured me that she is accustomed to seeing such tragedies. Weepers can get violent if their premonitions are interrupted.

So that's what I did: I swallowed my guilt and walked out the door.

As I passed by the other apartments, I heard confused voices chattering behind closed doors. Lights were on. The braver/more reckless residents snuck peeks between their blinds and curtains, hoping to catch a glimpse at whatever could've made the sound.

When I arrived at the darkened trees, I asked for permission to enter the forest. There was no reply.

Well, that's not good.

Hesitantly, I stepped across the threshold of the forest. Still, nothing. It was quiet. Nothing disturbed the brush or the leaves. Even the wind held its breath.

It felt different in the False Tree’s woods. Before that night, you could feel its eyes on you wherever you went. Could tell that it was listening to you. Scrutinizing you. Now, it felt far too open, as if the trees were endless, yet empty with no critters to occupy them.

After traipsing through the darkness for a bit, there was finally a noise. The rustling of something approaching me through the fallen leaves. As I trained my flashlight on it, I found that the footsteps belonged to a dog. Right off the bat, I recognized the dog for what it truly was despite having only read about them, though to tell the truth, I had expected it to be more intimidating.

Its white fur practically glowed as it sat politely on the ground in front of me. While it was a fairly big dog, its little wiry mustache made it look more like a dapper old man than one of the dreaded hounds of the Wild Hunt. What gave the animal away as a member of the Cŵn Annwn were its floppy red ears, stained the color of fresh blood.

“Hi?” I said to the hound.

It let out a soft ‘boof!’ and stood, looking at me like it wanted me to follow it, its red-tipped tail wagging. I obliged, letting the hound lead the way.

While I was following it, the dog abruptly stopped, letting out a low whine. Next to it was a mound of brown fur. As I got closer, I was met with the sight of two, disemboweled coyotes, their intestines leaking red onto the leaves below them. Blood coated their muzzles.

Oh God. Poor things…

The dog yipped, staring at me expectantly. Time to keep moving. Nothing I could do for the coyotes, now.

We encountered more dead animals on our path. A scattering of birds of varying species. Robins, buzzards, blue jays, hawks, even a bald eagle. All gutted like the coyotes, glassy eyes staring at nothing.

Briar's voice arose from the trees, “It's like this everywhere.”

Quickly, I turned towards where I heard him speak. He was crouched by a dead buck, tracing its antlers. For the first time since I'd met the Hunter, he looked solemn, kneeling before the deer in front of him as if grieving for it.

The hound let out a soft bark. Eyes distant, Briar told me that I'd better keep following the dog. I didn't have to guess who the hound was leading me to.

Eventually, I saw the beam of two more flashlights cutting through the oppressive darkness. They were illuminating the False Tree. Not long after, a lantern provided the area with a subtle pale glow, making the surrounding trees appear even taller than they had before.

The smell of pine was overpowering as I drew nearer. The Shepherd of the Forest was small. It had shrunk down to the size of a child. It was crumpled down in the epicenter of the carnage, bark-covered hands over its eyes as its shoulders shook. This time, I didn't see any squirrels or birds in its beard. Sap leaked from numerous gashes in its bark.

Reyna had lowered herself down to sit next to it. She didn't try to touch the False Tree or the poor, dead raccoon beside her. Just reminding the distraught Neighbor that it wasn't being left to deal with its misery alone.

The hound had trotted away, coming to sit next to what appeared to be a woman, at first. However, she had the same bright, intense gaze that Iolo and Briar had. The keen eyes of a Hunter. She reached down to scratch the hound’s ears as it guarded her.

From my left, I faintly heard the mechanic's voice, speaking quietly in Gaelic. In the light of the lantern, I could see him on one knee before a dead black bear, similar to how Briar had been, gently stroking the unfortunate animal's ears. In sharp contrast to his comforting voice and movements, he was wearing the same murderous expression I'd seen from him that night that he'd chased me within an inch of my life. I held back a shudder at the memory.

It occurred to me that the Huntsmen were giving funerary rights. They were treating those animals with the respect and dignity of fallen warriors.

Before I could ask any of them about what did this, I saw it. A cookie hanging from a tree. I swore under my breath.

Victor came over to stand by me, confirming my suspicions, “Hag tried hunting in the Shepherd’s forest.”

When the female Hunter spoke, I recognized her deep, husky voice instantly. She'd been in the church when I stole the ledger. “She lured two young ones into these woods. I've sent them home with one of my hounds. It will watch over them.”

That explanation made unfortunate sense. False Trees are extremely protective of human children, especially if they reside in close proximity to the Tree’s forest. False Trees have been known to lead lost kids out of their woods, or to show them where to find safe berries or mushrooms to eat if they're hungry.

As such, the False Tree wouldn't allow for two children to be brutally murdered in its home. And it had paid a terrible price for it.

Iolo approached the False Tree, kneeling before it, his tone just as delicate as it had been as he offered those poor animals his blessings. Reyna gave them some space, coming over to join me, her flashlight showing even more death around us.

She whispered to Vic and me, “They're discussing what the False Tree wants to do with the bodies.”

“Whatever they decide, I'm going to offer Orion's services,” Victor muttered. “Clearly, humans aren't the only ones at stake when it comes to the hag.”

If she can do this to a False Tree, of all things, what else is she capable of?

Briar appeared from where he'd been giving last rites to the other fallen animals, waiting patiently beside the female Hunter, hands in his pockets.

Iolo eventually straightened up, waving his colleagues over as he strode over to join my coworkers and me.

“We'll be givin’ the poor things a proper send off.” He informed us. “There's a lone ash tree in a hill ‘bout five minutes north of here. Shepherd wants ‘em buried there. Best leave us to it.”

Victor replied, “It'll take a long time with just you three. We can help gather them up.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. The mechanic warned, “Now is not the time to try to get a debt over me, blue eyes.”

“I’m offering this freely with no expectations in return.” Victor explained calmly. “We’re here for the False Tree. No other reason. You can read my mind, if that'll assure you.”

He stiffened when the mechanic took him up on it, beginning to search his eyes. Reyna held me back from trying to stop it.

Eventually, once Iolo found what he was looking for, he said, “Fine.”

With that, I saw Victor’s shoulders relax as the Huntsman stopped digging through his head. There’s a part of me that wishes that the boss would bite the bullet and name him. Though, I understand why he doesn't want to be bound to the mechanic, so I haven't pushed it.

His demeanor slightly less murderous, Iolo continued, “Shepherd gave us permission to pull the trucks in, provided we mind where we're drivin’. It'll still take some time, but better than tryin’ to do it all by hand.”

Victor nodded, seemingly completely recovered from having his mind read, “Sounds good.”

Gathering up the animals took a long time, even with all of us cooperating with each other. There were just… so many of them.

We all had a job to do. Briar and Victor did the majority of the digging. Reyna, the Huntress, and I were mainly responsible for locating and loading up each animal. The hound was a big help in making sure that we didn't miss even a single bird or chipmunk. Meanwhile, the mechanic alternated between carting the bodies around and helping the other two dig.

As heartbreaking as the entire scene was, it got even worse when Reyna found a skunk that was a spitting image of Fireball. She hid her tears well. I would've cried, too.

By the time we got the last of the bodies to the ash tree, the sky was beginning ...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Roos85 on 2024-09-19 20:03:21+00:00.

---

My son’s furious screams echoed through the mall as I dragged him toward the clothing store, his feet kicking out in defiance with every step.

People were staring as if I were the worst mother, but was too tired to care. His small fists pounded the air, his face flushed with frustration.

“I don’t want new clothes!” he yelled.

His shoes scuffed the polished floor as I dragged him forward. I muttered promises of ice cream, hoping to bribe him into submission.

“Can we get mint chip ice cream?” He asked as he began to calm.

As my son grudgingly stepped into the fitting room, I finally exhaled, hoping for a moment’s peace.

I glanced at my phone, scrolling through messages, as I waited, relieved at the short moment of peace while he tried on the clothes.

Minutes passed, and I barely noticed. When I finally looked up, the fitting room was eerily quiet. I called his name, but got no answer. Panic set in as I hurried over to the door, knocking gently.

I swung the door open and was stunned to find it empty. The pile of clothes lay untouched on the floor.

“Where could he have disappeared so quickly?” I thought to myself.

As I searched around the store, panic turned to absolute dread when I realized there was no sign of him anywhere.

The worst thoughts were running through my mind as I screamed his name. People looked at me dumbfounded when I asked them if they had seen my son.

When I begged the security guards to check the CCTV, they brought me to the malls control room. I watched closely at the screens as they scanned through the camera's feeds.

When I spotted my son walking out of the store, the security guards were as stunned as I was when the person walking off with my son looked exactly like me. They even drove off in the car I drove to the store in.

The police wanted to confirm I wasn’t crazy when they suggested they drive me to my address, but when I spotted my car back in the driveway, I felt like I was going completely insane.

The two police officers looked at each other when my house key didn’t fit in the door lock.

“Are you sure this is your address, mam?”

“My husband will clarify for you who I am,” I shouted as I banged down the door.

When my husband came to the door, he looked at me as if I were a complete stranger.

“Someone kidnapped our...” Suddenly, my son ran out and jumped up into my husband's arms.

I was relieved he was home safe, but when the woman I saw on security feed came to the door, I wasn’t sure what to believe.

“This woman is an imposter," I protested. I am that boy's mother. Tell them, Sam.”

“I’ve never seen this woman in my life, officer. As you can see, my wife is here with me and my boy.”

The police said the handcuffs were for my own safety as they were putting me in the back of the police car.

There was no evidence to suggest I wasn’t who I was saying I was, so the police had no reason to keep me once we got back to the police station.

Although I promised the police I wouldn’t go back to the house, I had no choice; it was my house after all. It felt like I had my identity stolen, there was even a moment where I doubted who I was, but I wasn’t crazy, and I knew who I was.

I sat outside the house, heart pounding, trying to make sense of the madness. I knew I had to confront them. I gathered my nerve and walked to the door, pounding on it until my husband opened the door. The frustrated and cold expression on my husband's face as my son clung to his leg shattered my soul.

"Sam, please! You have to listen to me!" I begged.

"That woman is an imposter. She’s pretending to be me. I don’t know how, but you know me. You have to know me.”

The woman appeared behind him and stood calm and collected. She rested a hand on Sam's shoulder and looked at me with pity in her eyes.

"I think you should leave before things get worse for you," she said softly, as if speaking to a lost child.

My son stared up at me with a confused look on his face. "Mommy?" he asked, unsure, glancing between us. My heart broke as I crouched down to his level.

"Sweetie, it's me," I whispered, tears welling up.

"I'm your mom. Remember our favorite bedtime stories? We went to the mall today; you were upset about getting clothes, and we were going to get mint chip ice cream afterward."

His face scrunched up in confusion, but before he could say anything, the woman stepped forward.

"Honey, we already had mint chip ice cream at home, remember?" She said, kneeling down next to my son.

Sam pulled my son close, his eyes narrowing at me.

"I don't know what you're trying to pull," he said coldly. "But this is my wife and our son. Please leave us alone.”

I parked down the street, keeping my eyes fixed on the house. My mind raced with everything that had happened, and I felt trapped in some twisted nightmare. Hours passed before I saw Sam leave with our son, heading off in his car.

I got out of the car and cautiously approached the house as my heart pounded in my chest.

As I neared the door, it suddenly opened, and there she was, stepping out onto the porch like she owned the place.

"Who are you?" I demanded, my voice shaking with both rage and fear. "What do you want with my family?"

She just smirked, tilting her head slightly. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she said calmly, as if I were the intruder in my own life.

“That’s my life inside. You can’t just take it,” I snapped, stepping closer.

Her smile didn’t falter. “I already have,” she whispered. “You should leave. You don’t belong here anymore.”

I stood frozen as the rage built inside me. As soon as her smug words hit me, something inside snapped. Without thinking, I lunged forward and shoved the imposter into the house. She stumbled back, eyes wide in surprise, before quickly regaining her balance. I rushed in after her, but before I could get another word out, she struck. Her fist slammed into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I gasped, doubling over in pain.

"You're making a mistake," she hissed.

I tried to fight back, but she was terrifyingly strong. She grabbed me by the collar and threw me against the wall, the impact sending shockwaves through my body. Dazed, I scrambled to my feet, my only thought now was survival.

She lunged for me again, but I dodged her grasp, and ran toward the stairs. I could hear her footsteps pounding behind me, getting closer. My heart raced as I sprinted up the stairs, desperate to get away. But just as I reached the top, she grabbed my ankle, pulling me backward. I kicked out wildly, and in one desperate move, I twisted and shoved her as hard as I could.

She toppled backward, tumbling down the stairs. I heard the sickening crack as her neck snapped at the bottom and her body twisted unnaturally. For a moment, there was silence, and I caught my breath, thinking it was over.

But then, to my horror, her body twitched. Her head jerked to the side with a grinding noise, and sparks flickered from her neck. She began to rise slowly, her movements stiff and mechanical. Pieces of her skin peeled away, revealing metal and wires.

She wasn’t human; she was a robot.

Her eyes flickered, and a distorted voice emerged. “I just wanted to be perfect. "Isn't that what you always wanted?”

Suddenly the light in her eyes flickered and slowly dimmed before she fell to the floor.

The front door creaked open, and I froze at the top of the stairs. My heart was pounding as Sam stepped into the house with our son.

His smile faded instantly when he saw the mangled android at the bottom of the stairs, sparks flickering from its broken neck. His expression changed from shock to something dark.

He slowly set our son down before telling him to wait in the car. As the boy ran outside, Sam’s gaze focused back to me, his eyes narrowing in a way I’d never seen before.

"You weren’t supposed to find out like this," he muttered, his voice eerily calm as he approached the stairs.

"I thought I had more time to perfect her.”

I backed away, as dread crept up my spine as the weight of his words began sinking in.

"Sam... what is this? What did you do?"

He didn’t answer immediately, his eyes drifting toward the broken android.

"You always wondered what I did at work, didn’t you? I’ve been working on this for years. Life-like androids. Advanced robotics. She was supposed to be perfect. The perfect wife. The perfect mother. No flaws. No doubts."

His voice became bitter as his gaze locked onto mine.

"Unlike you.”

I took a step back, my mind racing. I knew Sam worked for a robotics company, but I had no idea how close he was to creating something so real, something meant to replace me.

"You were going to replace me?" I whispered, my voice trembling.

"Not replace," he said, a twisted smile creeping across his face as he took another step closer.

"Improve. She was everything you’re not. She didn’t argue. She didn’t fight me. She was obedient, loving, and everything you refused to be."

Panic surged through me as he edged closer, his demeanor growing more threatening with every step.

"Sam, you can’t seriously believe this," I said as the words struggled to get out of my mouth. "You tried to build a family?"

He chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with something unhinged. "I did more than try. I succeeded.”

My heart pounded in my chest, but all I could think about now was getting out and getting my son and running as far away as possible.

I bolted for the door, adrenaline kicking in. ...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/02321 on 2024-09-19 16:21:31+00:00.

---

Previous

Getting the new job was quick. I hadn’t fully recovered from what happened to Victor when an email arrived. I expected something horrifying or dark. Instead, I was asked to clean up a hoarder's house after they passed away. The pay was more than I made in three months. But since the attack in the morgue, I learned a few things.   

The place Victor was recovering in cost a lot of money. The company I would be working for covered some of the costs. The rest would be on him or his family. From what I could tell, he didn’t have any family left. I asked what would happen to him if no one paid. It was implied he would work off his debt once he was able. That meant working for The Corporation that fought against supernatural threats. They had failed to pick up on the infected body that ruined his life. I doubted he would last long in that type of job. And would they really let him work when he was ready, or would they force him?  

I didn’t put it past Lupa to have set all this up. I could refuse this new job, but I would never be able to live with myself afterward.  

I accepted the offer and the following day someone arrived to get me to the location of the cleanup. In such a short amount of time, I’ve learned that supernatural things were real. I’ve seen a rabbit man, an infected zombie, and my boss gets turned into something no longer human. When I was told that the Corporation I now worked for could magically make one door lead to another, I accepted it. I permitted them to use my front door. I opened it to find myself crawling out of a car instead of stepping out of my home. It was a jarring experience, to say the least.  

A man waited for me outside the house I was called in to clean. He had some gear, but it didn’t appear he would be staying. His skin was dark and a set of yellow eyes behind huge glasses gave away the fact that he wasn’t fully human. Even though it was unseasonably warm out, he dressed in layers of baggy clothing. His black curly hair was tied into a messy bun. Honestly, he was cute in a nerdy sort of way.  

“I’m Samus. I’m here to give you some information about this job. It's simple but it will be time-consuming.” He explained in a soft voice.  

He showed me what looked like a hazmat suit. The white full-body suit had a plastic face cover with a respirator. This house must be awful if I needed a get-up like this. He then directed my attention to a large metal storage shipping container that had been converted into a dumpster sitting in the backyard. 

“We have the suit for you to wear so you don’t bring home any bugs or breath in the rot of the house. There is no time limit on this job. All the cleaning supplies have been provided. You’ll be able to call us if you require more. The neatest thing about this job is the dumpster. Here, let me show you how it works.”  

Samus handed me a bag of trash that had been sitting by the back door. He wanted me to toss it into the large bin, but also for me to watch what happened after I did so. The issue is I was too short. He paused to think for a moment. Then a grand idea occurred to him. With some awkwardness, I got on his shoulders to see into the dumpster as I dropped the bag. The trash bag sank into the metal bottom as if it were water. That was weird. Really weird. After I got down, he explained what I had just seen.  

“Any nonliving thing that is thrown inside is transported to a sorting facility. If we can recycle it, we’ll do so. Anything beyond salvage is burned. The Corporation recently designed a furnace that produces magic. It helps create a source of energy to power weapons instead of draining creatures. Oh, and if there is anything you would like to keep, you’re free too. Just place it inside the clear bags, send it through the dumpster and we’ll clean it for you.” Samus said sounding excited over the special dumpster.  

“What if I toss a mouse or something like that by mistake? I assume anything alive wouldn’t get sent through, but would they just get trapped inside and starve to death?” I asked.  

To answer my question, Samus went over and undid a latch that opened the heavy metal door of the dumpster to clearly shoe off the inside.  

“If you toss in anything alive larger than a bug, you can just let them out this way.” He suggested.  

“Why did I sit on your shoulders,” I remarked in a deadpan voice.   

Samus froze, realizing his mistake. He brushed it off like a champ to help me put on the suit. This was an odd job for a supernatural company to ask me to do. Did the house owner die in a monster attack, or was there another reason? I asked Samus, and he nodded with his arms crossed.  

“There is one clean room on the top floor. It’s locked so don’t try going inside. It looks like the son of the woman who lived here attempted some sort of ritual. We’re unsure if it worked or what he was even trying to do. The son is missing but his mother appears to die of natural causes. Her body was mummified by the time anyone found her. We removed the body, so don’t worry about that. If you find anything you may fear to be supernatural, stop what you’re doing. Leave the house and call for backup.” 

Well, none of that was comforting. I waited until Samus finished speaking before I put the hood of the suit on and got the respirator working. I dreaded walking inside the house, but my face didn’t show it. Samus checked the time to see if he had been there for too long.   

“It’s nice having someone to help clean up scenes like this. Our workers keep getting eaten. But I think you’ll do fine, so good luck!”  

My stomach turned at his words. He did a cheery wave and I returned it. After he left I really, really didn’t want to go inside. But this was my job now. I better get it over with.  

I grabbed a box of garbage bags and then went inside through the backdoor. The door was blocked with so much trash I barely had enough room to squeeze inside. Thank God for the respirator and my lack of a time limit on this job. I knew this would take me forever to finish. There was a small back hallway that led into the house. Piles of moldy boxes lined each wall.  Shoes and empty grocery bags were stacked on the very top of the boxes. Some piles reached the ceiling. I first cleared up the stacks blocking the door. After I could open it all the way, I started taking down boxes. Most were full of old newspapers, expired food, and rags. It was easier to carry the boxes to the dumpster two at a time and toss them inside than dumping everything into bags.  

I didn’t keep track of time. I was sweating in my suit but didn’t dare take it off. All sorts of bugs came out of hiding as I moved trash around. I almost felt bad for them for taking away their home. Since I wasn’t sorting through the trash, the process was faster than I expected. I had cleared out the small hallway. Stained floors that hadn’t seen the light of day in years looked almost out of place in the rest of the house. I decided not to scrub them clean until I cleared out the rest of the house. I would just be tracking my dirty boots through the hallway to get to the dumpster. No point in breaking out the cleaning supplies just yet.  

I moved into the kitchen to see years of neglected plants, take-out containers, and more boxes. The stove had been caked in so much grime it would be better to toss the entire thing. I hated to see what the inside of the fridge looked like. I couldn’t believe a person lived here at some point. Aside from some packed down footpaths in the dirt, there had been no signs of human life within the trash.  

I took countless trips to the dumpster. It felt somewhat satisfying tossing the boxes and bags over the top. At least all this waste would be put to some kind of use. It looked like the sun was going to set soon. I wanted a break but decided to wait until I couldn’t see what I was doing then pack it in for the night. I just needed to call someone to get me back home. It didn’t appear I made a lot of progress despite how many trips I made from the house.   

Near the end of the day, I paused to stretch out my sore back. I found my mind wandering. How could someone live like this? Surely, they somewhat noticed how bad things were getting around them. Wasn't the owner getting sick from all the mold and insects taking over the house? I knew hoarders had a problem that made it impossible for them to throw away anything. I stared at the pile of disgusting pots and pans long forgotten on the stove trying to think of a reason why someone may think of keeping them. Maybe they thought if they just cleaned the pots, they were still good. And things just got out of hand. Just cleaning one thing meant cleaning the sinks, the floors, and everything else.   

A set of stained pots meant something to this person. They were just trash now that the owner was gone. Didn’t that apply to most things? People cared about things others might not. A song holds meaning when it may not be anything special to a different person. The only difference between myself and the women who owned this house was that I kept my clutter in my heart.  

The sun had gone down since I stopped to think. The house still had power. But the lights were so grimy it wasn’t worth trying to work in the dark. I was about to pack up and leave when I heard something from inside the house. A bump just be...

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Cheap_Bad_8540 on 2024-09-19 14:29:23+00:00.

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Dear Ma,

I wanna preface this by saying I love you and it may be a while before I see you again.

Janey and I celebrated eight years together as of a few months ago, and Charles just turned two this Fall. We held a small function with some of the other families in town. Albury has a small population, around about 200 people. 

Regardless, Charles was spoiled rotten. Many wooden toys was thrown his way, and he cherished them all.

It would appear that the town had a heart of gold.

Nothing makes you feel more proud than when you can see your baby boy smile like I did.

And the day of the function was the happiest I’d ever seen Janey in the last 5 years.

After Matthew’s untimely passing, I thought I’d never see her smile again. 

Honestly, I thought our marriage wouldn’t survive it.

Janey and I’s new property has been serving us well. The acreage is perfectly sized, and harvests have been plentiful. I’d recently built up a shed for all my tools, and a smaller, makeshift cubby for Charles to play in. Sometimes I’d catch him copying me, whether it’d be hammering some nails or sawing some timber. 

He’d often ask, through a series of assertive grunts, if he could use a real tool. He hasn’t spoken yet, but if I was a betting man, I’d reckon ‘Daddy’ would be the first thing out his mouth.

Things have been looking up the last few months, but truth be told, we’ve been having issues with livestock. 

Over the last few weeks, I’d noticed some of our cattle had gone missing. At first, I thought some lowlife had been sneaking in at night and stealing them from right under our noses. 

Then, I found the bodies. 

I’d taken the horse out by the river which runs straight out to a large inlet. It’s situated about 20 acres out from our house, just down on the south end. 

Sprawled, up along the riverbank, were about 6 of our 9 bovines. Now, you’d assume these animals had gone stupider (If that were even possible) and drowned themselves, either intentionally or not. 

But they had been killed. Massacred.

They had been freshly killed, within days of disappearing. Their innards - either missing or washed up on the other side of the bank.

Some of the cattle were even missing limbs. Their heads were viciously torn from shoulders and their legs… jagged and crooked.

I don’t mean to upset you with the details, but I find it necessary to include them.

Now, obviously, we’ve got a Gator problem. Countless times I’d seen gators pulling in small game through the river, and sometimes even coming out to chase. But I’d never seen a mass grave of this proportion, this quickly.

Janey and I suffered economically for this, and we’d needed to replace those animals that died over time. I spent a couple of days building a makeshift fence to prevent future incidents - some of the local gentlemen even offered to help out for free. I insisted we paid them somehow, and they agreed that something to satisfy their hunger would do just fine. 

Like I said, a heart of gold.

The problem, for the time being, was solved. We replaced those dead, and soon we were back in the swing of things. Charles was happy, healthy, and I found myself fairly comfortable in our lodgings.

Tonight, things changed.

First thing I heard was the groaning. A very shrill, painful moan was echoing its way from the pasture, and I feared the worst. A sick cow. A dying cow.

I thought, potentially, our cattle had been caught with a plague.

Maybe that's what’d killed them in the first place.

I told Janey I’d head out, just check on them, make sure it was nothing. She sat on her chair, quietly reading to herself. Charles lay on his stomach by the fireplace. I looked at him and gave him a comical, “Listen to me, Charles. You’re in charge while I’m gone,” then Janey laughed and scooped him up, saying, “So you’re the man of the house now, huh?”.

As I left, Charles' infectious laughter was the last thing I heard before the wooden door shut.

I retrieved Delilah from the stable, and equipped her with a rifle just in case. 

I wouldn’t say I’m a gunslinger, but I don’t miss either.

It was a few minutes of trotting along, following the pained moans, when I saw it. I flashed the lantern down to the grass.

Our oldest, and longest living cow was now horizontal, her eyes, large and black. Hopeless.

Her stomach was split open. a large gash stretched from her sternum to her udder. An assortment of organs were spilling out from within. She shouldn't be alive.

And yet she was.

And she was suffering.

Although I hate doing it, I know it’s necessary. I jumped off Delilah, armed myself with the rifle, checked it was loaded and fired one round, putting ol’ Betsy out of her misery. The loud bang sent waves through the brush, and birds that were once sleeping now fled the trees and scattered the night sky. 

The moaning had ceased.

The wings of those birds then diminished.

And It was quiet once again.

Now, what I’m about to tell you is going to sound crazy. But I want to remind you, beforehand, that everything I’m ‘bout to write is true. It happened. 

And I now know what killed them.

I stood over the body of my dear Betsy, and I slipped the rifle back into Delilah’s saddle. As I faced away from the body, I was peeking just over Delilah's neck. 

On the edge of the tree line were a pair of golden dots. Luminescent dots that seemed to slowly sway left and right. I couldn’t make out exactly what it was, the lanterns glow blocking a clear visual that far in front of me. I hesitated for a moment, and watched these “eyes” move ever so slightly. Then they were gone.

and for a moment-

 I felt a sense-

Of imminent-

WHACK

A force, so great, had sent me flailing across the field. Delilah’s body followed close behind me. It felt like a train had barrelled through and struck my very soul. I crumpled in a heap in the lengthy grass and took a moment to get my bearings. I had been terribly winded, the sheer weight of whatever had hit me had sent me at least twelve yards away. I rubbed a hand across my abdomen, and knew I had broken a couple of ribs, coughing up blood in the process. It took me a second, for I feared my lungs may have been punctured, but I managed to get a sharp inhale the same moment I sat up on my buttocks. I steadied my breath and looked up to see Delilah, also flat on the earth.

The lantern had cracked, sending a devastating ember to the land. A steady fire began to spread, and it danced its way between us.

Delilah laid there.

But she, unlike myself, was unmoving.

And she, unlike myself, was being cradled. 

Cradled by a tall, ungodly being. 

One with eyes I could only describe as unwavering, thoughtless, empty. With a presence so terrifying it’d send Lucifer into hiding. Long sharp claws protrude from its bony hands. One collection of claws wrapped themselves tightly around Delilah's throat, and the other rested just over her stomach. The creature's face was an amalgamation of all of your worst nightmares. Both insectoid in shape, and wolf-like in texture. It hunches itself over my dear horse, revealing a spiky furred crescent trailing right down to the base of its spine. Its legs are too long to sit easily beneath it, rather one is encroaching forward and the other is tucked underneath its heavy mass.

The monster stares vacantly forward, and grips tightly onto its prey. And in one quick movement, it slides its resting hand quickly across in one movement, and before I can register what is happening, Delilah then meets a very familiar fate.

I quickly and unsteadily find my footing and, with the assistance of the ever growing blaze, I spot my rifle tucked into a heap of bush. 

As I go to grab it, I realize that my own body is rejecting my thoughts. My right hand grasps the stock of the rifle, and my left dangles by my side. It appears lifeless and mangled. Three fingers snapped back in all sorts of funny angles.

I had apparently landed on my arm quite suddenly in the prior impact.

Even if the rifle was loaded with a second round, I doubt I’d have the strength to lift it. So, I made the next best choice.

I ran for my goddamn life.

I took off, making my way back to my home. Every so often I looked back, watching the beast make a meal of my dear girl. She didn’t deserve that. Nobody did.

The only thing that I was waiting for was a hand around my own throat, and my own guts hanging from my belly. But the monster did not chase. It simply watched me fumble through the darkness, and I watched the flames get ever brighter, ever bigger. I watched everything Janey and I worked for slowly crumble away into ash. 

With a great menacing beast standing in its wake.

It took me what felt like an eternity, but the adrenaline had me running circles around any Olympic runner as I finally reached the porch steps. I stopped for a moment, looked back, and caught my breath.

I coughed up a few more splatters of blood, which I carefully discarded into the dirt. 

I didn’t want Charles to see it.

I held my snapped arm with my other hand, and nursed it for a moment. Trying to make it look as regular and normal looking as possible.

The windows were dark. Janey had obviously put Charles to bed, and the fire had been snuffed out. 

At this point, I’m wondering how I’m going to get my family out of our dream home. 

We ain’t got a horse no more, and the closest neighbour is a couple miles away.

But that fire is ever approaching. 

I can still smell the smoke.

But I ...

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