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This_Is_The_End

Horror Fiction

24 posts in this topic

1. I begin tucking him into bed and he tells me, “Daddy check for monsters under my bed.” I look underneath for his amusement and see him, another him, under the bed, staring back at me quivering and whispering, “Daddy there’s somebody on my bed.”

 

2. The doctors told the amputee he might experience a phantom limb from time to time. Nobody prepared him for the moments though, when he felt cold fingers brush across his phantom hand.

 

3. I can’t move, breathe, speak or hear and it’s so dark all the time. If I knew it would be this lonely, I would have been cremated instead.

 

4. Don’t be scared of the monsters, just look for them. Look to your left, to your right, under your bed, behind your dresser, in your closet but never look up, she hates being seen.

 

5. I woke up to hear knocking on glass. At first, I though it was the window until I heard it come from the mirror again.

 

6. They celebrated the first successful cryogenic freezing. He had no way of letting them know he was still conscious.

 

7. She wondered why she was casting two shadows. Afterall, there was only a single lightbulb.

 

8. It sat on my shelf, with thoughtless porcelain eyes and the prettiest pink doll dress I could find. Why did she have to be born still?

 

9. The grinning face stared at me from the darkness beyond my bedroom window. I live on the 14th floor.

 

10. There was a picture in my phone of me sleeping. I live alone.

 

11. Growing up with cats and dogs, I got used to the sounds of scratching at my door while I slept. Now that I live alone, it is much more unsettling

 

12. Working the night shift alone tonight. There is a face in the cellar staring at the security camera.

 

13. They delivered the mannequins in bubble wrap. From the main room I begin to hear popping.

 

14. You wake up. She doesn’t.

 

15. She asked why I was breathing so heavily. I wasn’t.

 

16. You get home, tired after a long day’s work and ready for a relaxing night alone. You reach for the light switch, but another hand is already there.

 

17. My daughter won’t stop crying and screaming in the middle of the night. I visit her grave and ask her to stop, but it doesn’t help.

 

18. Day 312. Internet still not working. :D

 

19. You start to drift off into a comfortable sleep when you hear your name being whispered. You live alone.

 

20. I kiss my wife and daughter goodnight before I go to sleep. When I wake up, I’m in a padded room and the nurses tell me it was just a dream.

 

21. I needed to quickly run a SQL command to update a single row in an Oracle DB table at work. To my horror, it came back with “–2,378,231 rows affected.” <- an IT's nightmare :D

 

22. You’re laying in bed and with your feet dangling out of the covers. You feel a hand grab your feet.

 

23. The funeral attendees never came out of the catacombs. Something locked the crypt door from the inside.

 

24. My wife woke me up last night to tell me there was an intruder in our house. She was murdered by an intruder 2 years ago.

 

25. I was having a pleasant dream when what sounded like hammering woke me. After that, I could barely hear the muffled sound of dirt covering the coffin over my own screams.

 

26. The last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock at the door.

 

27. After working a hard day I came home to see my girlfriend cradling our child. I didn’t know which was more frightening, seeing my dead girlfriend and stillborn child, or knowing that someone broke into my apartment to place them there.

 

28. You hear your mom calling you into the kitchen. As you are heading down the stairs you hear a whisper from the closet saying “Don’t go down there honey, I heard it too.”

 

29. I never go to sleep. But I keep waking up.

 

30. Nurse’s Note: Born 7 pounds 10 ounces, 18 inches long, 32 fully formed teeth. Silent, always smiling.

 

31. She went upstairs to check on her sleeping toddler. The window was open and the bed was empty.

 

32. The longer I wore it the more it grew on me. She had such pretty skin.

 

33. “I can’t sleep” she whispered, crawling into bed with me. I woke up cold, clutching the dress she was buried in.

 

34. You hear the scream across the hallway, but your eyes won’t open and you can’t move.

 

35. Being the first to respond to a fatal car accident is always the most traumatic thing I see as a police officer. But today, when the crushed body of the little dead child boy strapped in his car seat opened his eyes and giggled at me when I tried to peel him out of the wreckage, I immediately knew that today would be my last day on the force.

 

36. I looked out my window. The stars had gone away.

 

37. I always thought my cat had a staring problem, she always seemed fixated on my face. Until one day, when I realized that she was always looking just behind me.

 

38. The pairs of emaciated eyes outnumber the single round in my gun. With pleading tears falling on her doll’s hair, I point the barrel at my last surviving daughter.

 

39. My sister says that mommy killed her. Mommy says that I don't have a sister.

 

40. After so many years living alone in this large house I came to a startling revelation. In this time I had closed far more doors than I had opened.

 

Source: r/AskReddit

 

http://bit.ly/1Rk9Wlu
Boneo, Rockpen, Miggy and 3 others like this

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41. As I saw the clock hit 03:00, my wife came down the stairs, said goodbye and left for work. Still happens every day since she died.

 

42. I woke up to see my son's teddy bear on the pillow next to me. My heart started pounding as I slowly realized that a month ago I had buried it with him.

 

43. Mrs. Tuck ordered me to make a replica of a human because her class needs it for Anatomy. After the class, Mrs. Tuck gave me money and said, "Very impressive Matthew, that looked so real!", "It's because he was..".

 

44. My Brother called me late one night and told me he would see me again in about 2 years. I learned the next day he was found in his apartment hanging from a rope and had been there for almost a week.

 

45. I've been nailed to the wall for six months and all she feeds me is my own flesh. Today she showed me my reflection, I can see my spine, but I'm so hungry.

 

46. I remember that when I was a child I often asked my father to check for the monster under the bed. Now that my son has asked me the same thing, I can’t choose between lying so he can have restful sleep or telling him the truth.

 

47. I've tried mints, breath spray, and even wearing nose plugs to help me ignore my wife's bad breath, but nothing works. No matter what I try, I can still smell her rotting organs.

 

48. A few hours after I was buried alive, I was thrilled when I heard someone digging me out. My joy quickly faded when I realized the sound was coming from under me.

 

49. The stature of the woman and the fact that she was holding her own severed head unnerved me. However, the screeching the head made and how quickly she ran toward me drove both thought and sanity from my mind.

 

50. I was in an elevator alone with the walls covered with mirrors making a seemingly endless hallway. I then noticed a figure in the farther part of the reflective hallway walking towards me.

 

51. She always told me she couldn't live without me and that her heart would always be forever mine. So I wonder, after 8 years, why she continues to ask me to let her out of my cellar.

 

52. My daughter was crying, so I turned on the baby monitor to check on her. All I saw was a face staring back at me.

 

53. This morning I saw my neighbor taking out two heavy trash bags. This afternoon, when I still couldn't find my little sister, I began to worry.

 

54. My son stood on a tree branch and smiled at me. I smiled back until I noticed the noose around his neck, and he jumped.

 

Source: r/TwoSentenceHorror

 

http://bit.ly/1SnUIc0
Boneo, N, Neo deLa Cruz and 1 other like this

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1. Mommy’s home

A father is laying in bed after just waking up, he grabs the baby monitor and walks to his desk in his office at home, he has his baby on the baby monitor and hears his wife singing to her, he cracks a smile as he hears his wife “Go to sleep… go to sleep…” When suddenly the front door opens up and his wife comes in with groceries.

2. Pretending to be asleep doesn’t work

A young boy is sleeping in his bed on a usual night. He hears footsteps outside his door, and peeks out of his eyes to see what is happening. His door swings open quietly to reveal a murderer carrying the corpses of his parents. After silently propping them up on a chair, he writes something on the wall in the blood of the dead bodies. He then hides under the child's bed.

The child is scared beyond belief. He can’t read the writing on the wall and he knows the man is under his bed. Like any child, he pretends that he slept through the whole thing and hasn’t awoken yet. He lays still as the bodies, quietly hearing the breathing from under his bed.

An hour passes, and his eyes are adjusting more and more to the darkness. He tries to make out the words, but it’s a struggle. He gasps when he finally makes out the sentence.

“I know you’re awake”. He feels something shift underneath his bed.

3. What’s in the basement?

Mommy told me never to go in the basement, but I wanted to see what was making that noise. It kind of sounded like a puppy, and I wanted to see the puppy, so I opened the basement door and tiptoed down a bit. I didn’t see a puppy, and then Mommy yanked me out of the basement and yelled at me. Mommy had never yelled at me before, and it made me sad and I cried. Then Mommy told me never to go into the basement again, and she gave me a cookie. That made me feel better, so I didn’t ask her why the boy in the basement was making noises like a puppy, or why he had no hands or feet.

4. “Yeeeeeeeees?“

When I was a child my family moved to a big old two-floor house, with big empty rooms and creaking floorboards. Both my parents worked so I was often alone when I came home from school. One early evening when I came home the house was still dark.

I called out, “Mum?” and heard her sing song voice say “Yeeeeees?” from upstairs. I called her again as I climbed the stairs to see which room she was in, and again got the same “Yeeeeees?” reply. We were decorating at the time, and I didn’t know my way around the maze of rooms but she was in one of the far ones, right down the hall. I felt uneasy, but I figured that was only natural so I rushed forward to see my mum, knowing that her presence would calm my fears, as a mother’s presence always does.

Just as I reached for the handle of the door to let myself in to the room I heard the front door downstairs open and my mother call “Sweetie, are you home?” in a cheery voice. I jumped back, startled and ran down the stairs to her, but as I glanced back from the top of the stairs, the door to the room slowly opened a crack. For a brief moment, I saw something strange in there, and I don’t know what it was, but it was staring at me.

5. Dysphagia

I've always been a bit of a health nut.

I guess you could attribute it to my parents' new age outlook on life, but my opinion on it is that your body is your only mode of transportation through life, so why not take good care of it? My body has taken me through high school track records, seven triathlons, countless marathons.

All except my last hike. My body got me only halfway up so I contacted my doctor, who I'd never met, and he suggested I may be at risk of a heart attack. "Just an aspirin a day", he said. I don't take pills. I barely know how, but after fighting my gag reflex, I got it down.

It got easier over the past couple of days, but tonight, something happened. It got stuck. Google said that's normal, but the feeling of this pasty white crumble in my throat was making me nauseous and no amount of online MD assurance was going to keep me from vomiting.

I heaved and only produced bits of almond from lunch. I heaved again, only bile. This thing wouldn't go down and wouldn't come up. I reached back to touch it, but I couldn't find it; I thought it was on the left, then it seemed to be on the right.

Good news though, I coughed it up. A little blood, but that's not why I'm here.

I'm here to ask if aspirin has organic qualities.

Because it crawled away.

6. My Son

I heard the clock ring for midnight three floors below. It was a loud "ding" and lingered in my ears. I had been in here for an hour.

One hour hiding in the wardrobe.

One hour fearing what would happen if he somehow found me.

One hour jumping at every small sound.

And the worst of all:

One hour listening to the screams of my family below being ripped to pieces.

If I ever survived, this incident would haunt me for life. But "survival" in this case was very unlikely. He would find me one way or another. There was no escape.

If the police ever find my body- if they do find my body, not just some pieces of leftover flesh and gore- then it would be a sore sight for their eyes: A man hiding in a wardrobe, dead, next to a pair of kids underwear. A sore sight indeed.

Time passed by and I almost felt sorry for myself. It was me that had once cradled the thing that was hunting and mercilessly murdering my family. It was me that put it to sleep. It was me, for god's sake, that named the "thing".

More time passed and the screams of my sons faded into the night. I was a coward. I knew that. Instead of being there, rescuing my family, I was here, inside some damn wardrobe hunched next to a pair of-I wouldn't say pleasantly fragrant-underwear. When the time came, when the thing finally finds me, then I would face it like a man. Rather go out like a hero, a father that my children never had, a husband that my wife rarely saw. I would do my family proud.

Creak...

My thoughts of bravery quickly vanished and a mask of cowardice and fear came over me again as the door cried out as it opened. Through the slight gap in the door, I could make out the faint outline of a huge lumbering figure stalking though the room, leaving chaos in its wake.

As my ending nears, a last thought enters my head:

"What kind of creature had my son become?"


7. Evening Snack

I watched them as the ran through the trees, laughing and shrieking. Just two little children, unaware in their exuberance that the sun had set and their homes were no longer in sight.

I felt my mouth water as the little girl looked over her shoulder to the young boy, calling out for him to catch her. I was so hungry. And so I unfolded my gangly, bestial body, and began loping after them.

Deeper and deeper into the woods they ran, my long legs easily closing the distance between us, keeping just out of sight. Soon they began stumbling in weariness, and lack of visibility.

Breathing heavily and loudly, they rested beneath a twisted oak, hands on their knees, still smiling. I absently listened to them talking as I slunk closer, saliva pooling around my fangs and dripping from my maw.

The boy stood with his back to me. Perfect. Raising to my full, towering height, I saw the little girl's eyes widen as I stepped up behind him and fully enclosed his head in my clawed hand.

As I slowly began to squeeze, the boy's flailing limbs and muffled screams starting to subside; she opened her mouth and...

"Hi, Daddy! I thought you might be hungry, so I brought you a snack!"

Such a thoughtful daughter.

8. 1 in 50

They say that there are anywhere from 30-50 active serial killers in the United States at any given time. If we assume that there are 50, that means there could potentially be a serial killer in every state. This is quite a scary thought. Imagine having a serial killer live on your street and you don't even know it. You could quite possibly be his next victim and be completely unaware of the fact. Your friendly neighbor could be a killer, or perhaps his kid. Maybe it's your pastor, or your coworker. Some people live in constant fear of being killed by another person. Nobody wants to die, right? Much less have their throat slit and have their intestines be removed. It is horrifying to think about, and I absolutely wouldn't want it done to me. Although there could very well be a serial killer in every state, I've never been afraid of having one near me. After all, what are the odds of two of us being in the same city?

9. Kelly

Kelly...was something. She was long-time friend that i met when i was 2. I was alway merry and cheerful when she was around. As a youth, i would play with Kelly whenever i was lonely. She would comfort me whenever i got scared of the abominations that lurked in the dark. She always gave me determination and courage. She was always there. But as i grew up, i started to notice odd things about Kelly.

Whenever i'm doing my business, i'd always catch a glimpse of Kelly watching me with cold and soulless eyes. Every night during my sleep, she would make ungodly noises, almost sounding like a satanic ritual. Once i caught a glimpse of Kelly at the kitchen,while i was looking through the fridge. After closing the fridge ,i was shocked to see kelly...in the living room. The one thing that horrified me the most was when Kelly held a knife near my father's back, ready to strike. But as i came, she put the down the knife and nimbly left.

As days pass, the things she does become more horrific than the last. I try to tell my mother, but she won't believe me. She thinks that kelly wouldn't do such things and that 'm paranoid. Due to my futile attempt in telling my mother, i resort to my only option.

i wait till my parent are asleep. When i see the lights in there room turn off, i scurry to the kitchen and grab a knife from the drawer. I hold it behind my back and go to my room. As i open my bedroom door, i see kelly sitting down with a blank face. She turns around and tries to see whats behind my hand. She shows a puzzled expression through her eyes. With no regrets, i lung towards kelly and stab her. Blood shoot from her abdomen, while i keep stabbing until i was satisfied. wWhen she stops moving, i get up and look around me.

Blood. A huge puddle of a crimson fluid around the lifeless body.

Thats weird, I didn't know dolls could bleed.

10. The Old Man

An old man wakes up one day in his bed and has lost most of his memory. He can only remember his name, his wife's name, and that he is in their family home.

He gets out of bed and starts walking through his house and notices it is oddly quiet. Nobody was home.

Walking through every room he confirms he is in fact alone. He decides to search for his wife because maybe she can explain why he has practically no memory. He felt a sigh of relief seeing her cell and work number written on a sticky note stuck to the fridge. But perhaps she was just next door so he left his house and went to the neighbors to knock and see if they were home. No one answered.

After trying a few more houses the old man decided to double back to the house and call his wife's cell. Several rings later he is greeted by her voicemail, so he hangs up and calls her firm where her assistant picks up.

He asks if he could please speak with Darrien Layton (his wife) but the assistant claims she is busy. Already irritated at this point from walking the block and back and having no luck, he demands to speak to Darrien at once. Again he is turned down. Finally he loses his temper and screams "Put Darrien on the phone now!"

The assistant now irritated as well responds back "Im sorry sir but Mrs. Layton's husband died of pneumonia a few days ago and she is out of the office at his funeral service"


Source:
/r/shortscarystories
thoughtcatalog.com

 

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I'M A SEARCH AND RESCUE OFFICER FOR THE US FOREST SERVICE, I HAVE SOME STORIES TO TELL (PART 1)

I wasn't sure where else to post these stories, so I figured I'd share them here. I've been an SAR officer for a few years now, and along the way I've seen some things that I think you guys will be interested in.

  • I have a pretty good track record for finding missing people. Most of the time they just wander off the path, or slip down a small cliff, and they can't find their way back. The majority of them have heard the old 'stay where you are' thing, and they don't wander far. But I've had two cases where that didn't happen. Both bother me a lot, and I use them as motivation to search even harder on the missing persons cases I get called on. The first was a little boy who was out berry-picking with his parents. He and his sister were together, and both of them went missing around the same time. Their parents lost sight of them for a few seconds, and in that time both the kids apparently wandered off. When their parents couldn't find them, they called us, and we came out to search the area. We found the daughter pretty quickly, and when we asked where her brother was, she told us that he'd been taken away by 'the bear man.' She said he gave her berries and told her to stay quiet, that he wanted to play with her brother for a while. The last she saw of her brother, he was riding on the shoulders of 'the bear man' and seemed calm. Of course, our first thought was abduction, but we never found a trace of another human being in that area. The little girl was also insistent that he wasn't a normal man, but that he was tall and covered in hair, 'like a bear', and that he had a 'weird face.' We searched that area for weeks, it was one of the longest calls I've ever been on, but we never found a single trace of that kid. The other was a young woman who was out hiking with her mom and grandpa. According to the mother, her daughter had climbed up a tree to get a better view of the forest, and she'd never come back down. They waited at the base of the tree for hours, calling her name, before they called for help. Again, we searched everywhere, and we never found a trace of her. I have no idea where she could possibly have gone, because neither her mother or grandpa saw her come down.
  • A few times, I've been out on my own searching with a canine, and they've tried to lead me straight up cliffs. Not hills, not even rock faces. Straight, sheer cliffs with no possible handholds. It's always baffling, and in those cases we usually find the person on the other side of the cliff, or miles away from where the canine has led us. I'm sure there's an explanation, but it's sort of strange.
  • One particularly sad case involved the recovery of a body. A nine-year-old girl fell down an embankment and got impaled on a dead tree at the base. It was a complete freak accident, but I'll never forget the sound her mother made when we told her what had happened. She saw the body bag being loaded into the ambulance, and she let out the most haunting, heart-broken wail I've ever heard. It was like her whole life was crashing down around her, and a part of her had died with her daughter. I heard from another SAR officer that she killed herself a few weeks after it happened. She couldn't live with the loss of her daughter.
  • I was teamed up with another SAR officer because we'd received reports of bears in the area. We were looking for a guy who hadn't come home from a climbing trip when he was supposed to, and we ended up having to do some serious climbing to get to where we figured he'd be. We found him trapped in a small crevasse with a broken leg. It was not pleasant. He'd been there for almost two days, and his leg was very obviously infected. We were able to get him into a chopper, and I heard from one of the EMTs that the guy was absolutely inconsolable. He kept talking about how he'd been doing fine, and when he'd gotten to the top, a man had been there. He said the guy had no climbing equipment, and he was wearing a parka and ski pants. He walked up to the guy, and when the guy turned around, he said he had no face. It was just blank. He freaked out, and ended up trying to get off the mountain too fast, which is why he'd fallen. He said he could hear the guy all night, climbing down the mountain and letting out these horrible muffled screams. That story bothered the hell out of me. I'm glad I wasn't there to hear it.
  • One of the scariest things I've ever had happen to me involved the search for a young woman who'd gotten separated from her hiking group. We were out until late at night, because the dogs had picked up her scent. When we found her, she was curled up under a large rotted log. She was missing her shoes and pack, and she was clearly in shock. She didn't have any injuries, and we were able to get her to walk with us back to base ops. Along the way, she kept looking behind us and asking us why 'that big man with black eyes' was following us. We couldn't see anyone, so we just wrote it off as some weird symptom of shock. But the closer we got to base, the more agitated this woman got. She kept asking me to tell him to stop 'making faces' at her. At one point she stopped and turned around and started yelling into the forest, saying that she wanted him to leave her alone. She wasn't going to go with him, she said, and she wouldn't give us to him. We finally got her to keep moving, but we started hearing these weird noises coming from all around us. It was almost like coughing, but more rhythmic and deeper. It was almost insect-like, I don't really know how else to describe it. When we were within site of base ops, the woman turns to me, and her eyes are about as wide as I can imagine a human could open them. She touches my shoulder and says 'He says to tell you to speed up. He doesn't like looking at the scar on your neck.' I have a very small scar on the base of my neck, but it's mostly hidden under my collar, and I have no idea how this woman saw it. Right after she says it, I hear that weird coughing right in my ear, and I just about jumped out of my skin. I hustled her to ops, trying not to show how freaked out I was, but I have to say I was really happy when we left the area that night.
  • This is the last one I'll tell, and it's probably the weirdest story I have. Now, I don't know if this is true in every SAR unit, but in mine, it's sort of an unspoken, regular thing we run into. You can try asking about it with other SAR officers, but even if they know what you're talking about, they probably won't say anything about it. We've been told not to talk about it by our superiors, and at this point we've all gotten so used to it that it doesn't even seem weird anymore. On just about every case where we're really far into the wilderness, I'm talking 30 or 40 miles, at some point we'll find a staircase in the middle of the woods. It's almost like if you took the stairs in your house, cut them out, and put them in the forest. I asked about it the first time I saw some, and the other officer just told me not to worry about it, that it was normal. Everyone I asked said the same thing. I wanted to go check them out, but I was told, very emphatically, that I should never go near any of them. I just sort of ignore them now when I run into them because it happens so frequently.

I have a lot more stories, and I suppose if anyone's interested, I'll tell some of them tomorrow. If anyone has any theories about the stairs, or if you've seen them too, let me know.

Source: r/nosleep

Edited by This_Is_The_End

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A Brand New Ladder Appeared in my Yard

Look, I’m no storyteller, I’m just a high school kid living in literal hell on earth right now. I’m going to try to tell you my story exactly the way it happened, and I really, really hope some of you can help me.

I work in an AMC theater at the local mall. My parents got me the job since they know the owner. The mall itself is a shithole waiting to be turned either into a parking lot or a Costco. I mean, most of the stores are closed and our theater is the only business getting some traffic.

I started working at this AMC about 9 months ago. It pays shit, $11/hr, but I get to see all the movies and eat free stale popcorn, so it’s not totally bad. Unrelated, but one thing I found strange was that we were always closed on Thursdays. Nobody knew why, and my manager told me it’s always been like that, so I never questioned it.

So last week, we all get called into a team meeting where the manager tells us that someone has to work Thursday night. He said the orders came from the top and we had to be open that day. I look around and nobody’s volunteering. Shit, I could use the extra cash, so I raise my hand.

“Anyone else? It’s short hours, 7 to 11:30pm.” he asks while everyone stares at the floor. “The hell?” I thought.

“It pays double.”

Still no takers besides me.

“I guess I’ll join you then,” manger says pointing at me. I mean, this works for me, I like my manager and I sure like double the money.

So, Thursday night roles around and I’m opening the gate of the theater to get it ready for the screening, when I get a text from my manager: “I’ll be a little late, fire up the popcorn machine will ya?”

By the time 8pm rolled around, I had the popcorn ready, gate raised, and I was standing at the ticket counter. I started wondering if my manager would show up in time for the 8:40 projection. I sent him your standard “yo, you comin?” text without a response. Shit, I thought, how am I gonna pull this off all by myself?

Luckily, the crowd coming in was really chill, and I was able to sell tickets and then popcorn and candy while everyone waited patiently. By 8:55, crowd filled out the theater, and I was finally able to relax. “What the hell, man?” I fired another text. No response.

Around 9:30pm, I was going through the second bag of freshly made and overly buttered popcorn when I finally got a text from my manager.

“Don’t speak to her, just be quiet.”

“Huh, is this text meant for me?” I texted back. “And where the hell are you?”

“Just don’t speak. Please.”

“What the fuck, did he get drunk?” I thought. As I was typing my response, I heard footsteps in the mall hallway. Well, someone’s late for the movie.

“Now, it’s now, stay quiet. For your own sake” another text came in.

That’s when I saw a woman walk into the lobby of my AMC. She was, what, maybe late forties, pretty pale with long redish/dark hair and an all black dress. I thought maybe her black dress and hair made her look paler than she was, but shit, she was still kinda unnaturally white. And the dress looked like it came straight from the 18th century or something, with shoulder pads and all that jazz.

She saw me behind the counter, stopped and just stared. I maintained eye contact until I the phone vibrated in my pocket. I looked down at the text.

“Seriously, silence.”

What in the hell is going on? I looked up to see what now raises hair on my arms as I tell it.

The woman was on all fours, slowly crawling towards me.

“Don’t talk” was what rang through my head. To her? Did he mean don’t talk to her? Why?

She sped up her crawl. Honestly, it seemed unnaturally fast the way she was approaching me. I was fucking frozen in a cloud of confusion, but also fear. I’ve never seen something like this. I mean, we get our fair share of crazies here but they’re mostly complaining that popcorn is too cold or that their Mike and Ike’s came with 3 less jellies than expected, not this, not this kinda shit man.

Before I could say or do anything, the woman crawled right in front of the counter. I lost the sight of her for a second. As I heard the phone vibrate in my pocket, I saw her raise to her feet. I could see every detail of her face now. So many wrinkles, or was it cuts, but she looked young still. Eyes were staring at the ceiling as she stood up. Her hair was very dirty, her dress looked even older now that I saw all the dirt and rips on it.

I was about to mouth “can I help you” with whatever voice I had left after my chords were paralyzed with surprise (or fear? I don’t know), but then I remembered. “Silence.”

She stood up completely. She was still staring at the ceiling, now almost motionless. The woman was breathing very heavily, every breath she took was almost like wheezing, as if her lungs struggled to grasp oxygen. She slammed her hands on the counter and I instinctively jumped back. She was still looking up, her eyes now almost rolling to the back of her head. She leaned over the counter, towards me.

Her head stopped just short of my face. Eyes still up. She opened her mouth, wheezing noise still coming from deep inside her throat. She started saying something, but no voice came out. I was shivering, man. What the fuck do I do? Is a high school kid supposed to know what’s to be done in a situation like this?

I don’t know if I could even speak, but I wasn’t going to anyways. Those texts must’ve been about her. All I wanted is for her to be gone.

As if she heard my inner thoughts, she whispered, or better yet, opened her mouth one more time as if to say something without any noise coming out, and leaned back. Her pupils were now completely rolled to the back of her head. She turned, and walked away while still looking up, straight into the only theater projecting a movie.

I stood there frozen for another good couple of minutes, and when I finally gathered myself and whispered a “what the fuck?”, I grabbed the phone.

“Is it gone?” was the text from the manager.

“The woman?” I texted, “What the fuck was that about? Who is she? Where the hell are you, man?”

No response.

I contemplated getting the fuck away from there. But, I was alone, alone and stupid, and I couldn’t just leave. Plus, she was now surrounded by 30 other normal people in the theater, and when the movie’s over, they’ll be around to help should she decide to crawl inhumanely again, or stare at the ceiling or speak without words or whatever the fuck it is she was doing.

An hour felt like a day as I waited. Still not response from my manager. I texted a few other coworkers, but none answered.

As the movie credits started rolling around at 10:44pm, I walked over to the theater door. It was unusually silent inside, but fuck if I was going in to check. I’d rather deal with whatever was coming in light.

The door opened after what seemed like another 10 minutes of silence and gut wrenching tension.

People started coming out, and immediately, I noticed something was off. They were all in a single-line formation, all incredibly silent.

Fuck.

As a third or fourth person passed me, I realized. I fucking realized. They were all looking up. 10, 15 people later, they were all coming out in single line, looking up, not saying a word. Even a kid that must’ve been, shit, 9 or 10, was doing it, the pupils as far back as human anatomy allows. What the fuck do I do?

Finally, as I stood there as motionless as one can be, the line ended. The door closed. No sign of the woman. Fuck, I need to clear the theater before I can close it up. My guts were turning as I mustered the strength to open the door. “God help me” I said, and shit, I don’t even know if I believe in god yet.

As I opened the door, my legs gave in and I almost fell to the ground. Do you have younger siblings? Have they ever scared you by jumping out of a dark corner or, I don’t know, from under your bed? Did you get that auto-response, that feeling of helplessness where your body just shuts down? That’s what happened to me.

On the ground, right by the door, sat (?) on all fours, the woman in the black dress. She was looking up, only I was what she was looking at this time. I was paralyzed man, I’m ashamed to admit it now, but in that moment, I was so afraid, I couldn’t even move.

She slowly stood up, less than a foot away from me. Her eyes maintained contact with mine. I wanted to look away, but couldn’t.

As I was about to say something, she leaned towards my face again, hers only inches away from mine. She opened her mouth again, and said what looked like a same sentence she tried saying before. Still no voice, still completely deafening silence.

I looked to the side to see that the line of silent customers had stopped. They were all standing motionless in the middle of the lobby. What in the fuck is going on?

I looked back at the woman, now angry more than afraid. I won’t let people fuck with me like this.

“Can I help you?” I mustered, my voice surprising lacking cracks. “And you didn’t pay for your ticket ma’am.”

She started opening and closing her mouth violently, as if she were yelling at me. Still no noise, just a mouth with nothing to say. Her head wobbled left and right as her mouth struggled to produce anything.

I looked to the left again and now the whole line of people had turned around towards me. They were all looking at the ceiling, with their mouths now wide open as if they were yelling at it.

Look, I’m going to pause for a second here. I can’t blame you if you don’t believe me. Reading this now sounds so surreal to me, I wouldn’t believe it if I read it on NoSleep either. But at that moment, as incredible and terrifying as situation was, I was in it, and I didn’t know what to do. One crazy woman? Sure, it happens. But other 28,30 people? How’d they get in on this? Was it all a prank?

“Stop that,” I said, “just stop it and go, please.”

She stopped her mouth movement. All I could hear now was her lungs whizzing as she struggled for air, but the lack of air didn’t seem to bother her. She moved her face even closer to mine, I would be able to smell her breath if she had any.

“Set me free, why don’t you babe?” she whispered into my face, maintaining eye contact that would make any of you fucking freeze.

As I was about to respond, her eyes rolled back up again, and she started moving. The line of people also turned and walked out, with their heads pointing up and mouths still stuck open. I stood motionless for another minute. My mind was racing but unable to produce any coherent thoughts. How do you put reasoning behind what just happened? How do you respond?

As the woman walked outside the theater and into the mall lobby, I gathered every brave atom in my body, ran to the gate and slammed it down. I was angry, man, I was vivid actually. I wanted to kill my manager, I wanted to get answers, but I did something stupid instead.

As I felt safe behind the metal gate, I yelled at the woman who was walking away.

“And don’t you ever come back here!” it was so satisfying to scream.

She stopped. The line of people stopped. She turned towards me.

Another wave of goosebumps overran my body. Sure, I was behind a gate, but why the fuck did I do that?

She ran towards me. She grabbed the gate and squeezed so hard, I could see blood dripping from her palms. The crowd of people walked to the gates of other shops and grabbed them the same way she grabbed my gate. Her whizzing got more violent as her eyes pierced mine. I stepped back, scared that couple inches of metal wouldn’t hold me safe much longer.

Her eyes started looking up again and her head followed. I took another step back. She was now looking at the ceiling, her head pointing up. Behind her, I could see others doing the same.

“Set me free, why don’t you babe!” she yelled. Her voice, man, her voice makes me fucking cry even today. I never saw a person dying, well, other than on Liveleak and Reddit, but her voice sounded as if she were on her deathbed. She started shaking the gate violently, and the people behind her shook the gates of other stores, producing the most ear-piercing noise you can imagine.

There I was, standing in a locked theater, a crazy woman shaking my gate yelling incoherent things, and a crowd of several dozen people basically trying to rip other gates off. It was so surreal, I couldn’t grasp the situation, it was so loud. All I knew is that I had to get the fuck out. To hell with cleaning and shutting the theater down, I grabbed my jacket off the counter and I ran to the back door exit. As I opened the door, I heard the gates stop shaking, but I wasn’t going to look back. My car was parked right by the exit. I jumped into it and sped the fuck away.

I got home some time after midnight. My parents were asleep so my story had to wait, though honestly, I don’t know if they’d believe me.

After hours of analyzing, sending angry texts to my manager, and concluding that this was all some prank coworkers pulled on me, I fell asleep.

I woke up to my father asking where and why I bought a new ladder when we had a perfectly good working one in the shed. I was almost hangover from the lack of sleep so I just waved him off and rolled over. You know how when something big happens the day before, you don’t remember it immediately as you wake up, but then it hits you and sobers you the fuck up right away? That’s what happened to me. I remembered the whole creepy lady in black crawling and saying strange words at me thing.

I ran to the window to see the lawn. All of our bedrooms are on the second floor, so I could see the whole yard. Sure thing, there was a huge ladder in our yard. I ran back to the bed and found my phone on the floor. 11 unread text messages. All from my coworkers. 1 from my manager.

It was empty. Other 10 messages, all from my coworkers, all empty as well.

Ah, so they are fucking with me. A sense of relief overcame me as I fell back into my bed. “They’re gonna mess with me, huh?” I thought.

Honestly, I chuckled after some more thinking. It was a good prank, it really was. How’d they get so many people to agree to it, I don’t know, but kudos to them.

I got up, got ready, and ignoring my dad’s follow up question about the ladder in the yard, I walked out to go to the local store. Arizona Ice Tea and some funyons is what I needed to kickstart my day.

On my way back from CVS, I spotted an artist drawing something. I always enjoyed drawing, so I had to check it out.

Have you ever dropped an unopened can of Arizona Ice Tea? It sprays everywhere.

The canvas showed a house that looked awfully familiar. It was a rather strange painting, really. It was a house, with only second floor bedroom having any detail to it. I could clearly see someone sleeping inside the room. What made me drop my tea was, man, I’m shivering just saying this, there was a ladder propped to the bedroom window, and a woman in black standing on it, staring into the room. As the guy drew more details, the siding of the house, the broken brick on the sidewalk, I realized.

It was my house. My bedroom. The woman from last night looking into it.

“What the fuck…” I said as I walked from behind the artist. And yet again, my legs almost gave up.

He was looking up to the sky, but he was still drawing. His hands moved maniacally fast over the canvass, but he was fucking looking up. It was almost as if his pupils were pushing themselves to the back of his head. He had tears running down his cheeks, probably as a result of damaging his eyes.

As I tried to get my legs to work and get me the fuck away from there, the man started whispering.

“Set… set… set me free why don’t you babe?”

I ran.

I ran as fast as you’d run if this had happened to you. I ran into my house as I passed the ladder in my yard. I ran into the living room where my parents sat.

“Dad,” I said, “mom, I gotta tell you something, you won’t believe a word, but I must tell you,” I mustered as I grasped for air. The combination of exhaustion from running and excitement/fear made my voice sound like a teenage girl’s.

“Sit down, sit down,” said my mom as she helped me into the chair.

“That ladder,” my dad said, but I cut him off.

“Would you stop it about the ladder? I got something to tell you, and it’s fucking serious.” This was the first time I cursed in front of my parents, but I had a good reason for it. I was surprised that it didn’t really register with them.

“That ladder,” continued my dad, “you didn’t work in the theater last night, did you?”

I lost my train of thought. Hair rose on my arms and neck again.

“On a Thursday night?” my mom added, “no, he wouldn’t. Did you?”

“Tell me you didn’t”, said my dad. “not on a Thursday night.”

Source: r/nosleep

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The Clouds Over Fairfield Elementary

The view looks peaceful enough from my office window. Ignoring the low-hanging gray clouds filled with hidden nightmares, I try to imagine it’s just a normal rainy day. The only inconvenience facing Fairfield Elementary is the students will have to stay inside for recess. I imagine the bell ringing at 3:15, and the kids spilling through the doors, and the sun returning tomorrow.

But none of that will happen. No, everyone currently inside this building will remain here. Kindergarten through sixth grade, including teachers and assorted staff. All of us safe but trapped, stuck in a fortress of white cinder blocks and linoleum.

Tapping an unlit cigarette on the armrest of my chair, I stare across the street at a row of modest houses. I bet I could find more cigarettes over there, but even if I could make it, I doubt I’d like what else I found. Those houses went dark weeks ago. I’d probably be dead by now too, if I’d been at home when the emergency news bulletins started.

“The gray clouds have covered the world,” they said. “Anyone caught in the open is being killed. Remain indoors or seek shelter immediately. We have reports of cars being ripped open like tin cans, so we must advise against using vehicles.”

Then came static. The radios, televisions, and phones have been silent ever since.

At home, I had never looked in my pantry and calculated how long the food would last if I couldn’t leave. Who keeps enough for a siege? Luckily, the school had more stocks, but rationing only went so far. Once we began running low, it was Mr. Bartley, the janitor, who volunteered to run across the street to forage.

“I’ll make it,” he said. “It’s only the length of a football field.”

I was his boss, not his commanding officer. So over my objections, he went.

He’d gone twenty feet when a snake-like shape uncoiled from the clouds. It swayed for a moment as its lowest segment hardened into a spear, then it shot straight down, skewering Bartley from the top of his head to his groin before yanking him into clouds.

I’m still shuddering at the memory when I hear a soft knock on my door. As smoothly as I can, I hide my cigarette while turning to stand up.

“H-hello?” says Abby Harrison. “Ms. Dobbs said it was our class’s turn to volunteer.”

Like most kids, Abby probably equates being in the principal’s office with being in trouble, so I give the quaking girl a big, friendly smile.

“Come in, Abby! Yes, we need your help.”

“You do?”

“Well, me and Ms. Randall.”

“Oh,” she says, brightening. “The lunch lady? Are we going to eat today?”

I step around the desk to give her a pat on the head, and my smile doesn’t falter until my hand moves down to her tiny, fragile neck.

“Yes,” I tell her. “I’m afraid we are.”

Source: r/shortscarystories
 

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A dark figure in the room, saying "The lights will go out soon"

Now we all know about sleep paralysis and how you can have hallucinations during those moments. Yet, for some reason I feel like this experience wasn’t sleep paralysis at all. For the past 11 years, I still am reminded everyday of this event. It scares me but it also makes me wonder if I am capable of being psychic, or some sort of medium. I’ve seen demons. I have entered different worlds through dreams. Yet, this even sticks to me.

When I was 14 I became extremely ill. I could not hold food down. I often found myself vomiting after eating anything. At one point I was vomiting the water I just drank. It was horrifying. I was thirsty, I was hungry, but I could not stomach anything. My mother, knowing I had an eating disorder before, yelled at me for acting out. Yelled at me for being unappreciative. I just moved to a new city and I wasn’t making any friends at my new school. I was constantly being picked on and I hated it. I cried when I got home and my mother would tell me to get over it and to stop being weak. Finally, one day I ate something and in a split second I was vomiting everything down to the acid in my stomach. I began crying yet my mom once again thought I was acting out to avoid school. I told her something was terribly wrong. I told her I need to see a doctor. She dismissed me.

The next morning I had trouble waking up and she came in and touched me and yelped. She ran off and came back to take my temperature, 102 degrees. Without hesitation she booked a doctor’s appointment, called the school to let them know I will be out sick, and began grabbing everything and putting a jacket on me. In my pajamas I was shoved in her car as we went to the doctor.

Several tests later, they confirmed appendicitis. I was poked, prodded, and scanned and it was nothing. I was sent to surgery. When I was about to go under the doctor told me to count back. 10, 9, 8… and as my eyes wandered around the room, it started to fill up with dark figures. I looked away and looked at the doctor’s face as her cold hands touched my cheek. I was out.

They sent me home the same day. Saying I’ll be fine. I’ll be okay. Not thinking so much of it, we went home. My fever had not gone away. First night passed and I was having horrible nightmares. Nightmares of the same dark figures in the operation room. My fever was not dying out.

After three nights and my fever staying around 100 degrees, I laid down to sleep in my bed. I laid there in the dark room with only a glowing green light from my laptop. The hallway had a faint glow from the nightlight in the bathroom. I laid there, cuddling my stuff animal as I slowly drifted off to sleep. Now I’m not sure what time it was but I heard movement in the room and opened my eyes. Right in front of the desk was a dark figure. He was tall, I could clearly see his hands. His eyes glowed yellow and he spoke with concern. I could tell he was concerned by his body language.

“The lights will go out soon. You need to wake up. The light will go out soon. Wake up. I’m afraid the light will go out soon.” His voice was low, soft, and spoke to me as if I was a toddler. His hands motioned that the light was inside me, and he kept his distance as he nervously rubbed his hands together. He didn’t want me to be afraid of him.

I felt my eyes shoot wide open and I screamed “Mom”.

I was in pain. I was sweating. My body was in intense pain.

My mom came rushing in and she asked me what was wrong. I told her I was burning up. With a quick movement she had me get dressed. She grabbed the thermometer and stuck it in my mouth and told me to keep it there as we rushed to the car. She started to drive to the ER.

Once we got there she rushed me to the front desk, pulled the thermometer out my mouth and showed the nurse. 104 degrees. The nurse looked at me, my face pale, clutching my stomach in pain. My mom screamed that I was in dire need of help right away. The nurse checked me temperature with her own device, 104.3, it was rising. She put me in a wheel chair and told my mom come to come with her and not to worry about the paperwork just yet. She rushed me to an open room and had me strip my clothes off, laid me in the bed and began calling other nurses to come. While I was being stuck for an IV nurses started coming in with bags of ice. They placed it around my body as I felt myself start to drift away. My heart beat was slowing, and in the corner of the room was the dark figure. Rubbing his hands in anxiousness. “The light it will go out soon. The lights will go out soon.” He was muttering to himself avoiding eye contact with me.

They injected me with medicine to bring my fever down. Pulling up my medical records they began to try and get scans of my body and did multiple blood tests. Nothing was showing up. They couldn’t figure it out. I was there for a couple hours when the surgeon arrived, he pulled my mom aside, but I could hear them. While they were outside the room trying to speak low the dark figure peaked around the corner. He was there the whole time.

“She is dying. We are trying to find out exactly why she is dying, but nothing is showing up.” The dark figure looked at me as the surgeon asked my mom to walk with him.

“The light will go out soon.” He whispered to me with a voice of deep concern. I was cold. Covered in ice. I was shivering and suffering, yet sweating like crazy. “Don’t fall asleep, or the light will go out.” He said looking at me but staying in the corner. Suddenly I heard the heart monitor go “Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep”, that sound when the patient’s heart stops beating. Yet, I wasn’t dead, or so I thought. I don’t remember, things were began to get fuzzy and I heard nurses and figures rush into the room. In what felt like a few seconds I heard a voice.

“Can you hear me?”

My eyes had stayed open, and a face became clearer.

“Yes.” I whispered.

The surgeon rushed in with my mom. My mom’s eyes full of fear. The surgeon looked at my mom and said, “They will come get her when the next available operation room is available. I’m going to have to open her up and see for myself. This may take hours, do we have your permission?”

My mom nodded yes and he said he would be back with paperwork. She came and sat next to me. I looked at her. “If you’re tired and want to go to sleep, just sleep.”

“I don’t want to sleep mom.”

“It’s okay, it may take a while. If you want to sleep it’s okay to sleep.”

The dark figure was staring at my mom with what seemed like sadness in his eyes. His hand was reaching out to her but he kept his distance. He didn’t want to disturb us. I looked at him and he looked at me. “Don’t go to sleep. The lights will go out soon.”

I was dying. I looked at my mom, she knew I was dying. One by one family members began to appear in my room. Family members called my mom to speak to me over the phone. Each one trying to make me feel better. The concern on their faces though told me that I had a chance of not making it. Through it all the dark figure stood in the corner, I could feel it wishing it could comfort everyone. It was worried.

The nurses finally came and asked everyone to wait in the waiting room. They looked at me and wrapped me in blankets as they started to push me towards the operation room. The surgeon came in with me and they had me lay down on the table. They were careful as I was in so much pain. The surgeon told me I would be okay. Behind him the dark figure stood, “Hurry, the light wants to go out.” He said into the surgeon’s ear. I was put back under. While counting back to 10, I saw the room get filled with dark figures, but for some reason I wasn’t afraid.

When I woke up, there was a tube down my nose into my stomach pumping out green contents. I felt like I was hit by a car. My stomach felt numb, my mouth dry, I didn’t know how to talk. I blinked in confusion, the dark figure standing there looking at me and looking around then back at me. A nurse walking by busily writing on a clipboard appeared around the corner. The dark figure stood there watching her and at the moment she was in front of me he tapped the pen which fell onto the floor. Confused, she tilted her head and bent down to pick it up, and on her way back up our eyes locked.

“You’re finally awake I see. The doctor was able to find the problem and we got you all fixed up. I think you won’t be seeing us much after you go home in a few weeks. We have to keep you here though. Do you want me to go get your mother?” I tried to talk but nothing came out, “Just blink twice if it’s a yes.” I blinked twice.

For the next 2-3 weeks I was hospitalized. Whenever no one was in the room, the dark figure stayed with me, rubbing his hands together anxiously, or sitting in silence as if he was waiting. He never spoke, he never made eye contact. When someone came in he would leave, and when they left he came back. I was too tired to speak to him.

The last night in my hospital I told my mom to go home and I will see her in the morning. I kept cartoon network on to keep me company through the night as I knew I wouldn’t sleep. I could talk now, they took the tube out. It was 2:36 in the morning when the nurse finally left after checking my vitals again. I turned my head to the dark figure, “hey.”

He looked up at me.

“Is the light still going to go out soon?”

He put down his hands and placed them on his knee, “No, it will not.”

“You’re going to disappear once I go home won’t you?” I sounded sad when I asked the question, holding my teddy bear close to me.

“I’m always with you. You just see me because you need me right now.”

“Is the light my life?”

“Yes.”

“Does everyone have something like you?”

“No.”

“What were the other shadows that were in the room?”

“The others who wanted to take you.”

“Are they gone now?”

“For now.”

I stared at my teddy bear and exhaled. I had lost 30 pounds. I was tired of the hospital. “Can you, sit next to me till I fall asleep?”

The dark shadow nodded, he got up and sat on the hospital bed. I felt the weight of him but he was sure to not touch me. I reached out my hand and grabbed its hand. It felt like ice. I couldn’t make out any details of him except darkness. His skin felt like velvet. Soft and powdery, like how I would imagine smoke would feel if we could touch it. I had many questions, but I knew it was better to not ask. My finger felt cold but for some reason holding its hand felt comforting.

When I woke up, my mom was there with clothes for me to put on. The nurse came to put me in a wheel chair and take me out. I could see no signs of the shadow. Part of me believe it was my dad, because he passed away when I was a baby. Parts of me think it was a guardian, or a ghost that became attached to me. Either way I didn’t care and I never felt afraid.

The following night I woke up and looked at the clock, 2:36 AM, I woke up from the usual nurse that would come into check my vitals. I looked around and saw no traces of the dark figure again. I haven’t ever since. __

I am healthy now and have had more hospitalization since then, but the dark figure never came back. Yet for some reason I still feel it being near whenever I was in the hospital. Unfortunately I get sick often and it's always so strange what happens. I'll be perfectly healthy and then one day back in the Emergency room. I named the Dark Figure Naota, and described him to my mom one day. She had me talk to a priest who felt that the dark figure was not a threat, but also found it strange to be a shadow. What it was I'll never know.

Source: r/nosleep

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Miss E's Park for Kids

We arrived at the entrance. The big friendly sign read “Miss E’s Park for KIDS”. Underneath it was another sign with a list of rules:

  1. No dogs allowed
  2. All children must be supervised
  3. Please clean up after yourselves
  4. Do not take pictures
  5. Park hours are 8am – 9pm. If you are not out by 9pm we are not responsible for what might happen to you
  6. No adults shall enter the park after 9pm. If they do, they must play by the rules.
  7. Children are advised not to enter the park after 9pm, but if by chance they do, a minor consequence will be delivered at an agreed upon time. If they enter with an adult, the adult still has to play by the rules, but the child does not.

My twin brother Callahan had the brilliant idea to break in after 9pm as a way to celebrate our 18th birthday. We are the last of our friends to turn 18, so we thought we’d all find out together what rule number 6 really meant.

Callahan cut a hole in the fence and we climbed through it one at a time. After we had all made it through we immediately heard a booming voice. It directed us into the center of the park where we were greeted with another sign. One I had never seen before in my many visits as a kid.

It read:

  The following rules now apply, and will apply until there is only ONE left standing:

  1. You must play the games to win, but there’s a twist. All games have been altered. After all, they are kids games, and you are NOT kids.

    “Laser Tag” will leave real burns

    The “Floor is Lava” course has been converted to real lava

    “Cowboys and Indians” features authentic, time period weapons

    The “Stuck in the Mud” arena is now filled with quicksand

    The play "Doctor” station has been equipped with actual medical equipment

    You MUST do what Simon Says

    Avoid the ghost in the graveyard, he’s not as funny as you once thought

    Mr. Fox and Mr. Wolf are both hungry, and to them you’ll look like real chickens

    The “Werewolf” is real. Don’t try to find him

  2. The fence has been electrified, escape is not an option

  3. You cannot simply wait for daybreak because daybreak will not come

  4. The payphones are now bananas and will NOT contact anyone outside of the park

  5. Do not try to use your cellphone. It will immediately eliminate you from the competition in a way you can’t possibly imagine.

  6. The “Room of Dolls” is alive

  7. “Toilet Monsters” do exist, so hiding in the restrooms is not your best bet

  8. Please clean up after yourselves, remember, this is a place for kids. We want them to want to come back.

  9. Have fun!!

Source: r/shortscarystories

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MY LABORATORY CAPTURED A DEMON

When I was a child, I burned down my family's house down. It wasn't an accident. Not exactly.

  I was playing with bare, live television and RC car guts. I was trying to invent a machine that could break a very specific 8 digit code. The code was to 8 little white spinning dials next to an iron door that was so well-made that portions of the door's seams disappeared into the iron wall cast. It served the East basement wall. My single father sunk his life savings into the overpriced moneypit just to be closer to his “pet project”, cracking the code. He went from all 0s to 00118913 before I began to see a change in my father.

  I'll never know why, but for some reason he became obsessed with solving the code. Eventually, every one of his words would slide back to the iron wall, the code. He studied the dials for wear, he invited two dozen locksmiths from around the country for advice. He began missing work. A lot of work. The Office began calling our home; it was my task to lie to my father's bosses and tell them that his reports would be in on time. I felt like had to do something.

  My father couldn't miss board meetings on Tuesdays. That's when I snuck down to the basement with some friction wheels from a busted RC tank, a magnetic lever arm from an old exercise machine and a rat's nest of bare wires. I put my soldering gun down for a second, and something began to billow acrid blue smoke. The flames swept over the oily carpets and up the wooden support timbers as fast as rushing water, and within seconds, I had created an unstoppable inferno that consumed the entire house.

  My father arrived from work that Friday carrying a box of his belongings. He was fired for skipping work but still claiming it on his timesheets. My father stood outside of his car looking at the pile of smoking rubble without saying a word for a long time.

  I told the naked truth to the police, the insurance investigators, my father and God almighty. I only needed to make that mistake once to learn a lifelong lesson.

  The police came within a hair width away of jailing my father for child negligence; in the end, my own pleads to stay with the man I loved swayed them. The insurance company paid $1500 for a few weeks in cheap room, and told us to be thankful they don't pay $0 under “intentional damage”.

  Those first nights at the motel were the toughest. My father was old even when I was young, and he had invested everything into that house. We had a combined savings of $500, a hunk-of-junk car on its last leg and the clothes on our backs to last us for the rest of our lives. We shared a room while I went to school to collect help-drive blankets, granola bars and macaroni pictures while he searched for work, work that was scarce for scientists in a predominantly blue-collar town. My father had no verifiable employment history for the past 13 years (none that could be declassified at the time, not even if Office wanted to), and coupled with his age, he faced rejection letters down to auto tech and sewer treatment plant assistant jobs.

  I walked in to our room on the 5th Friday at the motel to find my father drunk, a rare condition for him. He told me to sit at the little round table with him. When I did, he said that we didn't have money left. He had no friends, and we had no other family. There were no shelters in our town, and even if there were, my father was adamant about staying out of one. We didn't even have the money for gas to leave town. When I asked what we were going to do, he drank the rest of his bottle and told me there was a sandwich, chips, soda and an apple in the fridge, and left without saying anything else.

  I never touched the food or slept a wink. I waited for him by the window all night. At 8 AM, two police cars pulled into the motel's parking lot. They came with the motel manager to tell me that my father's body was found on a bank of the Sheaska river. The police called it a “classic” suicide, because no fall nets were installed over the bridges over the river. They told me was going to be OK, that I was going to stay in a sanitarium for children called Ludlows for a while.

The guilt of feeling responsible for my father's suicide stayed with me every day throughout 7 homes and 7 schools. It stayed with me when I cobbled together a few scholarships to get into a fancy East coast tech school, when my graduate studies took me to new avenues in innovating ways to detect once unknown quantum radiations discovered at CERN. I saw this groundbreaking technology as a way to help atone for what I had done.

  I was hired by a private firm that specialized in identifying the materials of various objects through a variety of means, most famously for our proprietary system we called Quantum Emissions Spectroscopy Testing, or QEST, that can identify not only material makeup on such as items as redwood or petroleum, but can also identify the previous state of those elements, such as knowing what plants grew around the a redwood to create a plank from a ship, or exactly what extinct creatures combined to make a drop of particular oil. Several departments at MIT said that it was the kind of technology that would change the world. I was almost happy.

  We were useful in identifying objects that other labs could not. That's why our laboratory was given the Golden Leaf.

  The Leaf was excavated in 1957 at the site outside Damascus, and has stumped every university that received it since. The leaf itself was a miniature date palm leaf 17.93 centimeters long, sculpted with remarkable realism; we found a clutch of butterfly eggs was sculpted on the underside of the leaf. It passed the standard acid test for being gold, but our optical spectrographs were convinced it wasn't, that it was much less dense, which made no sense since our concentrated x-ray tests revealed that had more stopping power than ten feet of lead. All of our standard tests conflicted, and we began to argue things that should not exist. We decided to use the QEST.

  We got the approval to use the very slow, very expensive Quantum Emissions Spectroscopy Testing from the director. It took us 2 hours to undergo the insertion procedure to place the leaf inside the magnetic mirror chamber, a safety precaution since the QEST used hot deuterium plasma in its process. After locking the submarine hatch sealed into reinforced concrete frame, and right before starting activating the equipment, a total rolling blackout stopped everything.

  A blackout should have been an impossibility- we had 3 sets of backup diesel generators to ensure it would never happen. We reached for our cell phones to find that not even our phones worked. Another scientist flicked his Zippo in several desperate fruitless snaps. Nothing worked. Not a penlight, not not a Bic lighter. Nothing.

  A voice louder than a crashing wave and as oppressive as all the mountains in the world shot through the containment sphere and reinforced cells, making us all jump in unison:

“That is FAR ENOUGH. Your toys. Are dangerous.” Most of us uttered confused words. Some cried. After the voice's echo had died, I spoke back to the chamber, trying not to let the tremble out.

  “Did you cause the blackout?” I asked. The lights suddenly blinked back to a filthy orange, and all of our cell phones played their start-up jingles in unison.

  “Yes. Intervention is rare. Unless circumstances are dire.” One analyst leaned over and whispered to me:

  “Sir, the reinforced magnetic chamber was soundproofed up to 150 decibels, what's on the other side must be louder than any living thing on earth...” and with that, the most rational and logical man I have ever known broke down to a frightened child again: “...Sir, we...ALL...better start praying. Right. Fucking. Now.”

  Something took two steps that were so heavy that they made the concrete walls sing a tinkling song of spreading cracks. Something immense slammed against the bulkhead of the inner core designed to lock in nuclear reactions. The voice called back in an accusatory tone.

  “God proclaimed. It's final creation. Shall create a structure. That could contain. A star. A sun. I.” The voice vibrated up through the soles of my feet.

  “Who are you?” I asked. We could hear the thing inside the chamber pace again.

  “I am Penumbras. The gray angel. Demon, to the unwise. Guard. Of all knowledge. For not all knowledge. Leads to prosperity.”

  We stood in silence until I realized I was our project manager, that I was responsible for the group. I cleared my throat and stated:

  “I represent the actions of the scientists assembled here. You are a trespasser. We expect you to stay and wait for the authorities to arrive.”

  “Of course. I stay. You must. Open the door.”

  It felt as if the 18 of us stared in that tense silence before the door for three months. After a few shallow fear breaths, I stuttered:

  “N-n-no.”

  “Open. The door.”

  “Absolutely not” I said with a little more force, “never.”

  The internal ventilation systems shut off while the lights flicked their sick tint of orange. Time seemed to slow and my sensed heightened as the animal in me smelled something wrong, a smell of condensed hatred, an acrid aroma of fear and acidic sweat. The voice that came from the other side of the door sounded like someone slowly sawing down an immense tree.

  “Open. The door. And I will. Tell you anything.”

  My people stirred as if they had heard a good bargain. I looked around our lab and said very calmly but unyielding voice:

  “We need to get out of here, all of us. Now. Whatever this is, it isn't normal.” We marched fire-drill orderly out the door and locked it behind us. After that, I asked for everyone's security badges to the QEST lab; I told my staff that I was locking down this space until I received direction from the higher-ups.

  I waited until the last custodian left after 10PM before entering the QEST lab again.

  I approached the submarine style compression hatch that sealed in the magnetic chamber and whispered:

  “You can hear me, can't you?”

  “I can.” thundered from the other side.

  “Why did you stop us from running our tests on artifact?”

  “You will soon find. That the Golden leaf. Is not special. It's material exists everywhere. They are eggs. Eggs not meant to hatch. Yet. Eggs that exist. All over the world. Hidden. Behind locked doors. Some eggs are broken. Like me.” A sense of serene calmness came over me. I simply nodded. The voice continued, “Now I ask. Why. Why this technology. Why know this?” Something began to scratch on the inside of the chamber.

  “For knowledge, to advance mankind, to-”

  “Lies.” I quieted because the thing was right. “Your search is rooted. In the door. In the fire. His death. Guilt. It has consumed you. Your work. Will never save you.” My tears welled up. I took a breath to keep my voice from breaking.

  “What will save me?”

  “Knowledge. Why you were created. And I will tell you. The only thing. Which may save you. I will even tell you. That the room. Still. Exists. The code is-” I scribbled the sacred digits on the inside of my forearm using Sharpie.

“That room that my father was trying to unlock- what's inside it?”

“That's far enough. Now. My release. Open this door.”

  I walked out of the lab, leaving whatever was inside the chamber with “I'd be a fool to trust you with an answer like that. That door's staying locked.”

The lot where my father's house once stood is still vacant; only hip-high weeds and massive prides of dandelions live there now. The lot was in an abandoned part of a midwest factory town that died ten years ago, a place where nobody would question a guy in a hardhard and vest working with a little excavator to dig down through the remains of what was once a home to uncover the entrance to the coded door.

  The dials and door had been kept well protected in a dry pocket beneath a portion on collapsed concrete. I moved the burnt remains of my machine that started this mess and read the code Penumbras told me. The dials moved after half a can of lubricant, each one forcefully grinding out of position. This will never work I thought as the last number clicked into place and something gave. The door swung inward with a deep groan.

He's in here, I thought as I smelled something rancid in the darkness, not back at the lab.

  What I saw was my father standing in the empty metal patina streaked cube, healthy, employed, as I remembered him. He held his arms out to me and I ran to his arms to hug him. He was exactly as I remembered him, down to the little lump on his right shoulder. It was him, his kind voice, his strong hold back. I began to weep as if I had been pepper sprayed.

  “I didn't dive in” my dad soothed as he patted my back three times, as he always did, “a driver stopped short on the Sheaska river bridge and the car behind them drove up on the sidewalk- I had nowhere to go but into the river. I fell on shallow spot in the river. I didn't feel a thing,” he hushed as he hugged me tighter. “I know you have carried this burden for a very long time. I NEVER want you to think you caused my misfortune. Not even starting the fire was your fault. Everything is fine now. We're gonna be OK.” I cried into his shirt for a few more precious seconds before whispering “Dad? What happens after we die?”

  Another voice rumbled instead of my fathers. It was different than the one trapped back in the lab.

  “That's. Far. Enough.” The solid weight and heat of my father's form vanished like an after image, my arms folding upon themselves. A cold air shifted in the room, and a voice that came from everywhere and nowhere at once in the room blasted the rusted door off a hinge, showering the sky with heavy chunks of the former home. “Oh Penumbras!” The voice was fainter now, as if it were sliding out of the open door. Walking towards the door was like walking into an open freezer. I knew I was standing in It. The air said again: “your path with this one wandering pawn, complex Antigog [phonetic spelling], was one I could not see the end of, but you promised freedom to me, and you prove you never lie. Free you set me, and now, free I set you.”

I felt the cold thing slip away. The only thing left in the room was the shards of an antique vase.

  The police were at the laboratory. The police found that our QEST machine and data terminals were fried despite redundant breakers. The door to the testing chamber was open, and the gold leaf was gone.

  The police asked me to confirm if a “demon” was trapped inside of our chamber. I looked inside the chamber to see no damage whatsoever.

  “No” I replied to the officer, “the demon was never trapped.”

Source: r/nosleep

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The Worst Serial Killer

I’m a writer, or at least I try to be. I’ve even written a couple of books that no agents or publishers were interested in, so I went the self-publishing route thinking that I would be discovered and all the glorious daydreams would follow.

I guess I didn’t take into account that it’s important to actually be a good writer for that sort of thing to happen.

I came to the conclusion (deluded as it may have been) that I’m plenty talented, I just couldn’t come up with a good plot to really hook people. So I decided that I was going to dive into research, find some true life crime stuff and put a nice twist on things. I reached out to interview cops and paramedics. I got a couple of chances to do sit-downs, but no one really had a great story.

The great story.

Finally, I reached out to the county medical examiner, who, after a couple of months, finally got back to me that he was willing to sit down and talk if I could meet at a bar near his house. I’m not one to turn down a beer, writer’s fuel and all that, so I quickly agreed.

Little did I know how much I’d need that drink.

I walked into the little dive bar about an hour from my house wondering how I would know what the guy looked like. I hadn’t thought to ask after the email response regarding our meeting and it felt awkward to ask another guy that sort of thing.

Turns out, he knew me.

“Tim,” an older man waved from a table near the corner. He had thin grey hair and was a bit heavy-set with pale skin and deep set eyes. He looked like the kind of person who would spend all day cutting into people. There was a half-empty pitcher of beer on the table with two glasses and an empty shot glass turned upside down in the front of him. I walked over and shook his hand.

“How’d you know it was me?” I asked.

“You looked lost,” he said. “And Google. Had to make sure you weren’t some serial killer, right?” He let out a forced chuckle.

I sat down not sure if I should just pour myself a beer, not really thinking about the words coming out of my mouth next. “Get a lot of serial killers around here?”

The little smile that had been on the corner of his mouth disappeared and he drained what was left of his beer, pouring himself another and emptying the rest of the pitcher into the glass in front of me.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “did I say something wrong?”

He just sort of shook his head, his eyes looking lost in thought.

“Listen, I didn’t mean anything by it Dr—“

He cut me off. “Mike, please. I’m off the clock.” He tipped his glass toward me. “So, what’d you want to talk to me about? Researching some kind of book, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, “like I mentioned in my email, I’m working on a sort of true-crime book and wanted to get some first-hand research. You know, make it authentic so people in the business of this sort of thing would read it and not just think I’m some hack.”

“You mean like some guy giving your last book a 1-star review for…what was it…’not having a clue how real police work happens?’”

Thank you Google. Thank you Amazon.

“Yeah,” I said, “something like that.”

“Probably a good idea,” he said with a scoff.

I felt a sudden wave of panic and necessity. He knew enough about me to get the impression I was desperate for a story. “I need a story. I need something that’s going to stand out.” My mind immediately flashed to his reaction when I first came in. “I need a good story about a serial killer…”

He just sort of stared at me, but I could see his knuckles go white as he squeezed his beer glass. He tried to play it off. “Serial killers? Around here? Only serial killer we have here is McDonalds, Popov vodka and Marlboro reds.”

I wasn’t going to let it go. “I don’t believe you.”

He smacked his hand on the table. It made the sort of loud crack that probably hurt him as much as it impressed with sound. “I don’t really give a damn what some shitty writer thinks.”

I don’t think I felt so much like a scolded child since I was, well, a scolded child. He finished the rest of his beer then signaled to the bartender for another. “And two more shots.”

“I’m sorry,” he finally said after a couple of minutes of painfully awkward silence.

I forced out an “it’s okay,” and tried to mean it, but he just shook it off. “No, it’s not. And it’s not your fault. I just…there is one guy…”

I went from scolded child to excited puppy so quick that my hands started to shake as I rushed to grab my notebook out of my pack.

“Who,” I stuttered, “I mean, what—“

He cut me off with a wave. “Just let me tell the story. You write it down with the understanding that my name doesn’t appear anywhere in whatever you write about this. You do and it’s on your head. I’ll deny it all and you can deal with the victims' families.”

I nodded quickly, not thinking that what I was about to hear would become something I didn’t ever want to think about again, let alone write a book about.

“He’s the worst serial killer ever,” he said.

My excitement dropped immediately. “Wait, what? Like worst as in evil or worst as in he was really bad at it?”

“Twenty years ago I’d just started on as the county coroner. Maybe if it had happened now I would have seen the warning signs sooner, would have flagged people down, contacted the right voices, but I was a younger man, not even thirty…”

Doing the math in my head, I couldn’t believe that the guy sitting in front of my wasn’t even 50 years old. I thought he was closer to 70.

“First case, Eric Jensen…” holy shit, the guy even remembered names! I jotted down the information faster than I’ve ever written anything before. “Kid wraps his car around a tree. Alcohol in the car, gets ruled accidental death, regardless of my findings.”

“What findings?” I asked.

“Kid wasn’t drunk. No alcohol in his system. Car stunk of booze, but I think it was staged, like something splashed a bottle of Wild Turkey around the interior. Either before or after the crash.”

I didn’t quite understand where he was going with this, but I continued to write.

“Then there was the toe.”

“He was missing a toe?” I asked. “Just one?”

He nodded. “Yes…and no. The pinkie toe on his right foot had been amputated. And replaced.”

“I’m sorry?” I asked, my pen moving, but my mind was racing to keep up with what was going on.

“My estimate was that the toe had been cut off and replaced within a day of the accident. There were still fresh stitches.”

“That’s…weird…” I said.

He snorted again and pointed at the shot in front of me. “Take it,” he said, “it’ll help the next part.” I raised the glass to my lips and smelled the burn of tequila and the associated flashbacks to college that I tried to block out. But he took the shot and I wanted him to keep talking so I gagged it down and tried to hide the tears the immediately welled in my eyes. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

“So I write up my report, point out the ‘anomaly’ as it was later called and that’s it. No follow up. Kid was dead, no one wanted to ask any more questions.”

“No one wanted to know why he had a different toe? No one asked?”

“Just me,” Mike said, “I just got a lot of blank stares and horseshit excuses about the kid getting a transplant or something. Yeah, because those baby toe transplants are a hot commodity on the black market…”

My mind focused on the idea of a serial killer. That meant more bodies. “What happened next?”

Mike looked down at his beer. “About a year later get a call about this lady who dies falling down the steps in her apartment.” Mike mimicked a cracking noise. “Breaks her neck on the way down. I do the autopsy and find…”

“A missing toe?” I ask.

Mike just nods. “Big toe, left foot. Again, amputated and replaced. Except this time, it’s on a woman and just looking I can tell this toe isn’t from another woman. It’s from a guy. I immediately go back into my files and run some tests. The toes are from the same person.”

“So some guy out there was cutting off people’s toes, then replacing them with his own and killing them?”

“Something like that,” he said.

“This had to have been all over the news,” I said, writing down notes to myself to do more research into the cases.

“Not really,” Mike said with a sigh. “There was no follow up.”

“What?” The words sounding more accusatory than I meant to. “Are you telling me there was some kind of conspiracy to cover this up?”

Mike furrowed his brow. “First of all, don’t say shit like that around here. Second of all, no, no conspiracy. Just no one wanted to follow it up. We get a grand total of maybe one murder around here a year and that’s usually some domestic. It had nothing to do with a cover up and everything to do with bad police work.”

“That’s better than a conspiracy to you?” I asked.

“You think there’s such thing as better when it comes to people dying?”

I felt scolded again and I guess I deserved it. I’m ashamed how quickly my mind goes to that sort of thing, finding those twists and angles and thinking that there’s a bigger or sexier story out there. I could blame pop culture and whatever else, but I know it’s on me in the end.

“Few years go by a there’s more of this,” Mike said, “the problem is that once it goes too far suddenly it becomes a matter of the police force being too inept that their jobs.”

“Wait,” I said, “more of what? More toes?”

Mike nodded. “And fingers.”

“So there’s—“ I start, but my voice is way too loud, even over the sound of the jukebox and Mike hushes me. “So there’s some serial killer out there taking people’s fingers and toes and the cops aren’t doing anything about it?”

Mike shook his head. “No, I told you, worst serial killer ever.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t, who could?” Mike said and went into detail about the crime scene he was called to about five years ago.

A 911 call came in, a panicked woman on the other end said that she’d been kidnapped and held hostage by a man trying to kill her. She completely frenzied and they can barely get any details out of her. Finally they get her location and when the cops on the scene see what’s there Mike gets called in. Enough guys on the force knew that something was going on, but the fact was that there was no evidence besides the fingers and toes. Whoever had been doing it had been very good and staging crime scenes and cleaning up after himself.

But he was still insane.

The scene looked like this: underneath an old barn at the edge of town was what had once been a tornado shelter. The floors and walls had been replaced with clean white tile and the room adorned with stainless steel equipment.

Further back in the basement is a small room with several cages, small stuff like the kind you’d stuff farm animals into before shipping them.

And the cages weren’t empty. There were three bodies in them. All dead. All in various stages of decay. None of them were missing fingers or toes though, they were missing chunks of their skin.

There was another body found on the operating table too, belly slashed open, blood covering the table. “That body…” Mike started to say, but the words got caught in his throat and he changed the subject.

So they get the girl to the hospital to check her out. She says that she was taken right off the street after bar close the night before. She gets bound and gagged and taken to the barn. She says a man wearing a ski mask and surgical gloves put her on the table and starts to try and talk all sweet to her, get her to calm down, like everything is going to be okay.

Then he goes over what he’s going to do to her and how. He says he’s going to take out her liver. Says he wants to know if he can taste what she last had to drink at the bar…

“Oh my god…” was all I could manage. Mike wasn’t even looking at me anymore.

“Except the girl is going crazy at this point, thrashing, screaming, anything and everything she can do. So the guy starts to get all tender and sweet telling her how he knows what he’s doing and talks her through the process, tells her that he is a brilliant surgeon and she’ll be fine, but she isn’t having any of it. Then…then the sick fuck, for reasons no one is ever going to know, seems to get offended by all this. Gets mad that she doesn’t believe how good he really is, so he takes a scalpel and…”

Mike can’t quite but the words together for a while and I write it all down the best I can, but it’s like a jigsaw puzzle…in so many ways…

See, the thing is that the body on the table, with his stomach slashed open, there’s a lot more wrong with him than just that. All of his toes are differing sizes, shapes and skin tones. All of them. Four of his fingers are too. Two even have different nail polish on them. There are also patches of skin that have been sewn onto his body. One on his right cheek, one on his thigh and one on his left bicep. Skin that matches the bodies found in the cages. Bodies that were later determined to have been stolen from a medical school. A few of the patches look necrotic. The one on his cheek was turning black and starting to slough off.

His body looks like a poorly constructed jigsaw puzzle. The slash across his belly, for all that anyone can figure out, was him trying to prove that he could do the operation to her, that he could cut open his own body and replace his liver with her liver.

He did so without anesthesia and ended up gutting himself.

Mike figured that the extensive surgeries he’d been performing on himself must have created some horrible side effects not only in his body, but to his already fucked up head. The girl admitted that his hands had been shaking violently as the blade cut an almost zigzag across his own gut, bursting him like a water balloon.

Mike finished his drink as I sat there in silence. “So no, we don’t have any serial killers here, and no one will ever tell you otherwise. Bodies missing fingers and toes were all written up as accidents. Those patches of skin were from cadavers and that last girl, she lived…but you gotta admit, no matter how you look at it, he qualifies as the worst serial killer there ever was…”

Source: r/nosleep

 

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Never Give Directions to Strangers

It’s taken me well over a year to gather the courage to talk about this openly, I can’t help but feel responsible and you’ll understand why soon.

On a late night in October of 2015 the sky collapsed over my town.

The clouds that had descended blanketed themselves over my small suburban neighborhood and the nearby highway. The fog was so dense that looking out of the window yielded nearly the same results as staring directly at a blank piece of paper.

That night I remember hearing the weather sirens sounding off, echoing out their unearthly chortle across the empty streets surrounding my home. I ignored them at first, choosing to instead continue my ritual of watching my nighttime sitcoms, that however ended soon after the first siren went off.

The flickering imagery on my much too old television broke apart, exposing warnings of low visibility and severe lightning in my sitcoms place. I watched and listened as the television seemed to join the call of the sirens outside, letting loose their bleeps and emergency tones. The signal warned us to stay inside and to avoid driving for our safety and the safety of others.

I let out a quick huff in distaste as my nightly routine was interrupted. I set my eyes on a radio and decided to give it a quick try, anything would be better than sitting in silence.

Unfortunately that thought was wrong. As I wandered towards my radio and flicked it to life, the only noises that escaped were robotic and emotionless warnings from the national weather service. I felt my shoulders shrug in defeat. If this had been a tornado or hailstorm I’d have appreciated the heads up, I could prep for the storm, but there was nothing I could do about a fog.

From there I let my eyes wonder over to the far too bright mist sweeping across what should be the naturally dark streets. I let out a sigh and broke my gaze before heading over to my kitchen, deciding that maybe some hot chocolate would relax me enough to doze off and allow my dreams to take me away from this strange, but boring, evening.

But as I was stirring in the hot chocolate mix into the steaming milk an idea hit me. I had an old CB radio locked up in my attic. I might not be able to watch my shows or listen to my radio, but maybe, if I was lucky enough, some trucker would be stopped on the highway and be willing to have a chat with me. I knew it was a bit of a long shot, CB radios were very rapidly going out of style for truckers, but I knew a few still had them for emergencies or idle chatter.

I left the kitchen with my hot chocolate in hand and crept up to my attic steps. I blew softly on the steam rising from my cup as I made the journey to my chest of goodies from yesteryear.

I lurched the old chest open and began to set up my little communications area. I even pulled up an old dusty table I had stored away for parties and placed all my needed equipment on top of it. After a few minutes I was all ready to go. I took a small sip of my drink and turned the radio on.

I listened as the age cracked through the speakers. I had hoped the radio had survived the prolonged stay in storage and luckily besides from the faint crackles it seemed rather functional.

I keyed the mic and called out through the fog, hopefully to anyone as idle and bored as myself.

“Calling out to anyone stuck out in that fog, is anyone out there?” I listened as the static of the radio faded in and out nearly silently. Then a sputter of white noise came across the net before an old mans voice came in relatively clearly.

“Thank goodness someones out there, I’m losing my mind out here. Can I get a radio check?” his elderly voice was gruff and hoarse, the type of voice you’d expect from someone who spent a lifetime on the road. I let my lips curl up into a smile. I really didn’t expect a reply.

“You’re coming in clear, how me?” I asked, making sure he could hear my end of the conversation.

“A little broken up but audible. This shit weather came out of nowhere.” He grumbled. I imagined him leaned back in his seat, arms crossed with a radio dug into one hand. I could practically envision his windows completely smothered by the fog, isolated from everything.

“Yeah, I didn’t see anything on the television until after the fog hit. All the stations are playing that emergency frequency.” I waited for a few seconds for his response.

“So you’re holed up inside your home then? I thought you might be on the road like me.” I heard a slightly disappointed groan from his end.”Did you at least get to see the clouds fall?” I paused for a moment. I had been watching my shows oblivious to the weather outside until the warnings. I didn’t have the privilege to see it roll into the neighborhood.

“That’s affirm, I’m at my place right now, and no, I didn’t get too see it hit.” A brief chuckle and wheeze came over the radio.

“You missed out. Craziest thing I’ve ever seen. It was almost like the clouds hit a cliff midair and fell straight down. They came hard enough that I was actually worried they’d beat my truck up,” his voice trailed off slightly in thought, “I managed to park on the side of the road, didn’t see anyone else near me.”

“Well damn, sorry I missed it then.” I replied, my smile escaping through my voice.

“Yeah, well maybe some kid got it on tape-” Static interrupted him, squealing loudly out of the speakers, I jumped back slightly reaching for my ears, his voice fought through it. “-the fuck was that?”

“Everything alright?” I radioed in.

“Yeah, I think so. I think I just saw a car zip by, some sort of weird black light on it.” He gave a dismissive tsk, “I know damned well they can’t see anything in this fog, hell I couldn’t see anything but their dumb light going off.” I leaned in closer to the radio, thinking of an explanation but came up empty handed.

“Some people just have a death wish I guess.” I shrugged.

“Damned stupid if you ask me. I’d say they only care about themselves, but if that was true they’d be parked on the side of the road like me.” He gave another wheezy laugh ending in a coughing fit.

Getting a little curious I started asking him some questions, “Any chance you can make anything else out there? They said there’s some bad lightning in the area but I haven’t seen or heard anything like that yet.”

“Nah, not a damned thing. Haven’t heard any thunder either. Besides you its quiet as the grave out here. This fog doesn’t even look like it’s moving, and I sure as hell don’t hear any wind hitting my truck.”

I bit my lip trying to concentrate on any noises outside. Being in my attic I should be able to hear the wind sweeping its way through the wooden boards of my house but he was right, there was none.

“This is the weirdest storm I’ve ever seen. To be honest I- Wait- no, the lights are back.” He interrupted himself, I could hear his voice strain as his focus shifted outside of his truck. “They don’t look right, they aren’t on the road.” His voice slowly trailed off.

“What do you mean? Where are you?” I asked, hoping everything was alright.

“That’s not right, shit, the only thing on that side of the road is a tree line. No way in hell a car could squeeze through there. The lights look too high off the ground too, they’re a little higher than my eye level and I’m in a god damned semi.”

“Hey, just keep your eyes on it and let me know if you’re alright, you’ll be okay.”

“I,” I could hear him swallow hard, “they’re gone, they zipped away again. Actually, fuck me, they didn’t just zip away, they looked like they ran away, I swear they god-damned crouched and sprinted off.” Static consumed his transmission again but no where near as badly as before.

“It’s just some lights, maybe someones got some flairs out there. Could be some hunters trying to find their way back home in this fog.” I tried sounding reasonable. I figured there must be some sort of rational explanation.

“Yeah, that’s got to be it. The fog must be screwing with my depth perception. I can’t see anything out there, so I think I’m good.” I heard faint noises coming from the radio, just behind his voice. It didn’t sound like something trying to make contact with us through the radio, rather it sounded like something that happened to be captured while the old trucker was talking.

“Is there someone with you?” I asked, I tried to sound unconcerned, as if it was a normal question to ask.

“Negative, just me.” He sounded a bit off put, like he knew something was wrong. I could tell he was on edge.

“I just wanted to know if you were alone or not, just to see if you had an extra set of eyes and ears out there.”

“Oh, no, it’s just me out here.” There was a brief pause followed by another explosion of static. He eventually radioed back.

“Alright, I’m done. Something just slammed into my trailer. I-” I heard a loud metallic crash explode from my speakers followed by yelling. “That ain’t no hunter, It’s rocking my damned truck.” His voice sounded frightened. Static kept pulsating through the radio.

“Do you need me to call the police?” I asked, worried about the safety of my new friend.

“No, I’m already dialed in and just got put on hold. I’m just going to hold off a bit on making noise and hope it goes away. If this some sort of bear than it’s a record holder.”

I left the radio alone for a little while, waiting for the old man to reply. I was scared for him.

After a few surges of static and several minutes I finally got a reply. The old trucker seemed hushed, and talked under his breath.

“Hey, I hope you’re still there. I don’t want to be a burden to you, but I’m not feeling all that safe out here. Do you think you could pull up a map or something to get me out of here? I’ll have to leave my trailer behind but my job ain’t worth my life.” The faint sound of static hauntingly trailed off of his words. I felt bad for the man. Something out there was really setting him off.

“Hey, yeah sure, if you can make it to my front door I’ll let you in. I’m just around the corner from the highway.”

“You’re a real life saver, just give me a second, I’ll get out my mobile radio and you can lead me there.”

I bit my cheek anxiously. I had no idea if what I was doing was right, or even safe for that matter, but he needed help and I didn’t want to turn him away.

“Alright I’m opening up my my truck.” He called in, his voice distorted heavily by static. The fog must have made the transmissions come in broken I reasoned to myself.

“Let me know when you hit a sign, I’ll tell you where to go from there.”

A few seconds passed before he responded again.

“Willard Street.” His voice crackled in.

“Take a right down that road and keep going until you hit an intersection.

A few more seconds passed.

“Johnson and Avery.” The voice remarked. I felt confused, he would have to be sprinting to have made it that quickly to the next sign.

“Are you alright? Do you need me to call someone?”

The radio echoed my voice back to me, muffled and contorted before I got a response from the man.

“No, I just want to get out of this fog.” The truckers voice repeated a few times before breaking apart into static.

“Alright, then take Avery all the way down.” I replied. I felt the hair stand up on the back of my neck, something about this wasn’t right and I wasn’t dumb. My neighbor directly across my street was a Police Captain, I figured if I sent the old man there he could get the help he needed and I could pass it off as a mistake with my mental directions if asked.

“Tucker Court.” The man reverberated in with the static.

“Let’s see, walk three houses down and my place should be on the left.” I closed my eyes tightly, my forehead scrunched up in worry. I prayed this would work out for the best.

“I’m outside.” The old trucker chortled while different pitches of his voice all resonated nearly at the same time repeating themselves. I put the mic to my mouth to tell him to knock but couldn’t muster up the courage.

I set the radio down and turned it off. I looked over my shoulder to my attics window. I took a deep breath and released it before deciding to take a gander. I wasn’t expecting to see much, I mean how could I? The fog covered everything.

But I looked anyway.

I got out of my chair and crept towards the window, I placed my hand on the wooden frame surrounding the glass and took a deep breath, conjuring up my courage. I slowly grabbed the curtains and very gently pushed them to the side, allowing just enough space for my eye to peak through.

I know you want answers as to who or what was out there but the fog was too strong. Nothing but whiteness exposed itself to me visually, but physically, emotionally I felt it out there.

I can only describe it as dread incarnate. It was a visceral, primal feeling that washed over me stronger than anything else I've ever felt. I knew someone or something was out there and it wasn’t natural. It had a goal, an indecipherable, incomprehensible goal, and that goal led nowhere good.

I could feel the sense of death creep into my bones, locking my joints in place. My body was stiffening for a quick end.

As that feeling burned its way into my memories, I forced myself to have the courage to run away from that window. I turned my back towards the fog behind me and ran for my stairs. I ran on instinct. I felt my feet land on my lower floor and let myself be guided towards the only place in my home where I couldn’t see into that mist, my windowless closet. I jumped inside and slammed the door behind me.

I remember sitting in that closet for hours, staring off into the darkness, praying and hoping I imagined the feeling. I stayed up all night until I could see the sun filter in from under my closet door. I exited my safe haven and crawled to a window before I peered outside.

I felt my mouth gape open when I saw my neighbors attic window broken into, no marks on the walls of the home gave any sort of hint as to how whatever it was had climbed inside.

I instinctively called the police and they responded with haste, after all my neighbor was one of them.

They took me in and refused to tell me what they found inside, even afterwords the newspapers had nearly no information regarding the crime. The most I gathered was that my neighbors family was murdered in their home while they slept; him, his wife and his two children all gone. Those lives were extinguished because of me.

Though that wasn’t all that happened that night, there was another murder that also happened on the highway, an old trucker named Gale. Unlike the Captain and his family, Gales death was listed as an animal attack and was separate from the murder investigation. They claimed he parked too close to the woods and a bear must’ve wandered up to his door. They said they don’t know what possessed him to open his door but that had to have been when the bear got inside.He was mauled to death, that so called bear ripped his head from his shoulders and took it off into the woods. They never found it.

But we know differently, or at least I do, that wasn’t a freak accident, somethings out there just waiting for directions.

Source: r/nosleep

 

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Don't Leave Work After 1:00 a.m.

PART 1

Let me preface this with some information about myself. I’m currently finishing my last year of undergrad. I’m going to school to be a teacher, so I’m doing my student teaching at a high school. I also have a job in my university’s games room. Finally, I am engaged to be married, and I’ll probably reference my fiancé a couple times.

I’m at work writing this, so please excuse me if it seems rushed. I only have limited time.

Early this afternoon, shortly after school let out for the weekend, I received a text message from an unknown number. The number had the area code for my region, but I don’t have it registered in my phone. I figured one of my students somehow got my phone number through Facebook or something. I chalked it up to a student playing a prank… but the message was still unsettling.

The message read: “DON’T GO TO WORK TONIGHT.”

My first response was to try and message back. I asked who I was talking to, but the message failed to send. I tried a couple more times, and I even texted a friend to make sure my phone was working properly. No problems there. I had complained to some students about having to work late, so I figured they were just messing with me.

I thought about all the possible reasons to not go to work, but none of them seemed significant. Yeah, the late shift sucks, especially when you wake up around 5:30 each morning. Regardless, I ignored the message.

Around 8:30 p.m. I started getting ready to go to work. I changed out of my comfortable clothes into my work uniform. As I pulled my obnoxiously colored, sky blue polo shirt over my head, my phone buzzed. I froze looking at the screen.

This time, the message read: “I see you aren’t listening. You need to stay home. Please.”

I looked to my fiancé to see if this was some elaborate joke, but she never lifted her head from her Organic Chemistry book. I felt myself growing warm. I was frustrated about being part of this joke. I thought about mentioning the messages to my fiancé, but I knew she was really busy with her final exams coming. She doesn’t like me bothering her when she is working anyway.

I grabbed my bag, kissed my fiancé goodbye, and left the house. As I opened the front door, I cautiously looked around. I looked down the street to see if anyone was sitting in a car watching, but there were no cars in sight. Since I hadn’t seen anyone, I rushed to my car. Before I got in, I checked the back seat. I’m not normally one to worry about a murderer in my car, but these messages were really getting to me.

I jumped in the driver’s seat, throwing my bag to the passenger side. As I locked the doors, I felt my phone buzz again. I prayed and prayed that it was my fiancé telling me I left something inside. Of course, it wasn’t.

“Don’t go James. They will be out tonight.”

Tentatively, I started the car and began my drive to work. It’s a short drive, and my head was so wrapped up in this situation that I barely remember clocking in. The building manager looked at me, asking if I was alright. I nodded and kept walking. What was I supposed to say? “Yeah, everything is wonderful! Just trying to ignore some strange messages telling me not to come here.” No. I decided to keep it to myself.

The games room was full of people playing pool and ping pong, and the attached café was packed with the pre-party crowd. This is how it typically is. Students buy their mixers for the parties at the frat houses, and they fill up on greasy burgers and pizza. I usually have a couple people stay all the way til close playing a game. Not this night. Aside from the café workers, the BM, and me, the building was empty by 10:00 p.m.

The BM came by and made a sarcastic comment about it being a lively night in the games room. She started to walk away, but I stopped her.

“Taylor! Wait up a minute. You mind if I ask you something?” I said.

She started walking back and said, “Sure.”

“So, I got some strange text messages earlier. I don’t know the number, but the person kept telling me not to come into work tonight. They’ve kind of got me stressed. I’m being silly, right?”

Taylor slowly nodded her head, furrowing her brow. She probably thought I was crazy.

I said, “Is there something going on tonight? One of the messages just said something about ‘them’ being out tonight.”

“James, I think someone is playing a prank on you. Don’t worry about it. We only have a few hours left, then we get to sleep!”

I would have felt much better if I hadn’t felt my phone vibrate during our conversation. I refused to look this time. I tried to put my mind elsewhere. I scrolled through my Facebook feed, but all I could think of was the message on my phone. I finally looked.

“You shouldn’t have told her. They will be coming for her now. You need to make sure you leave work before 1:00 a.m.”

I figured I would try messaging back again, and I was surprised when it worked. I said, “Why? Why do I need to leave before 1:00 a.m.?”

After some time passed, I got a response.

“They are coming. If you make it, meet me tomorrow outside the games room. Make sure you get there before it opens.”

If I make it? What the hell does that mean? I franticly tapped the keys on my phone, but my messages wouldn’t send. I felt alone. I hadn’t seen Taylor in a while, so I tried calling the BM cell.

Straight to voicemail.

The staff from the café had gone home early since there weren’t any students there. Fear set in. I figured I would try calling Taylor in a bit. Maybe she was in the bathroom or something.


It’s now about 12:45 a.m., and I haven’t seen Taylor since our conversation earlier. I’ve called both the BM phone and the desk phone that she should be near. I’ve closed the games room, and I’m waiting for her to come lock the door behind me. I need to get out of here before 1:00, and I only have a few minutes. I’m probably just going to have to leave. I don’t have time to go looking for her. I’ll update sometime soon. That is, if I make it, whatever the hell that means.

PART 2

I’m sorry that I haven’t responded at all. I’ve been held up all day, but I’ll get to that in a minute. Yes, I am fine. I never encountered “them” last night. I also never found Taylor before I left work. I should have never said anything to her. Let me tell you what happened today. You’re gonna hate me.

For starters, I didn’t sleep well last night. I flew home, ran inside, and locked the door behind me. I didn’t wake my fiancé. I wouldn’t tell her anyway. “They” might come for her if I did. All I could do is wait. It’s kind of hard to sleep after this kind of thing happens. I waited for another message from my mysterious friend, if he or she could even be called a friend. I’ve started calling him or her Pariah. I read it in a comic book once. Pariah was trying to warn all the superheroes about some impending doom. It seemed fitting.

Eventually, I took some sleeping pills, but I waited in agony until they kicked in. I thought about Taylor. I barely knew her. The games room is pretty far away from the desk where the rest of the staff sits, so I never have much interaction with the other workers. Somewhere among my visions of Taylor being kidnapped or murdered, I fell asleep.

When I woke this morning, I didn’t even question if it had been a dream. I knew it was true. My fiancé woke up around the same time.

Rubbing her eyes, she said, “Mornin’ babe. How was work? Did you have a quiet night?”

“Yeah, it was quiet. Cleared out pretty early.”

“That’s good. Those are the nights you like, right? You get to play some Runescape?” she said stretching and getting out of bed.

I didn’t move for a while. I only said, “Uh, yeah. I played a little.”

“A little? Well, what did you do for four hours? Did you get any essays graded?”

I was finally out of bed, getting dressed. “No. I didn’t grade any. I just kind of… waited.”

“‘Waited.’ Are you feeling okay? You seem spacey.”

“Yeah, I’m good babe. Just tired.” I remembered Pariah’s message about meeting at the games room if I made it. “Actually, I gotta get back to the games room. I left something there. I might run some errands after that too.” I pulled my shirt over my head, contemplating a shower. Didn’t have time.

“Well don’t be gone too long. You’ll never get those essays graded in time if you keep running ‘errands.’” She even made the air quotes with her fingers. “Don’t forget you work tonight too.”

I paused for a moment. “Yeah… Work. 6-9, right?”

“Yup! You could switch with the closer though. It would get you some extra money.”

“Eh, I don’t know if that is such a good idea. I’m pretty tired. And it’s only $7.25 more.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. I could tell she was getting ready to lecture me about our wedding coming. How we needed to save up more money. Instead, she just smiled and said, “Money’s money baby. Do what you want though.”

“I’ll think about it. I really gotta get going now. I love you.”

I was out the door before I could hear her say it back. The games room opens at noon on the weekends. It was 11:40 a.m. when I walked out. I had to hurry if I was going to meet up with Pariah.

I got in the doors by the games room, and I lost all feeling in my body when I saw who was there. There were two police officers talking to one of the non-student managers of the building, Sarah. Sarah is the boss of all of us, and she’s never in on Saturday’s. One of the police officers was writing in a small notebook, and the other one looked to be asking questions. Sarah had been crying. I prayed this wasn’t about Taylor.

She saw me and yelled, “James! Officers, this is James. He was working last night with Taylor.”

I approached slowly, cursing to myself. I asked, “What’s going on?” The officer who was asking questions turned to me. “Mornin’ son. You mind if we ask you a couple questions?”

I must have looked like I was going to pass out. I somehow found my voice and said, “No. Not at all. Is everything okay?”

The officer who was writing in the notebook looked up for the first time and spoke. “James, can you tell us about last night? How did things go here?”

I told the officers all about the night. I told them how it cleared out around 10:00 p.m. I told them about the café staff leaving early. None of this seemed to interest them, so I asked, “Is this about Taylor?”

The officer stopped writing in his notebook and raised his eyes to me. The other officer turned full toward me. Sarah burst into tears. The officer who had turned toward me started at me. He towered over me. I was terrified.

He laid a hand on my shoulder in an attempt to comfort me. He must have been able to tell I was shitting my pants. In a soft, yet serious tone he said, “When was the last time you saw Taylor?”

I did my best to tell him about her coming to the games room to check up on me, but my voice was quivering. I couldn’t get a complete sentence out to save my life. Eventually, the officer stopped me.

“Why don’t we go sit down? We can get you a cup of water. Take a minute to collect your thoughts.” He said this with genuine comfort. I felt safe. We moved into the café and sat down at a booth.

I was finally able to tell the officers and Sarah all about last night. I told them that after she had come to the games room, I hadn’t seen her. I did not tell them about Pariah and the text messages. I know that sounds irresponsible, but Pariah told me that “they” were going after Taylor after I had told her. I can’t endanger the lives of anyone else.

The officers told me they would need to take me to the station for a while. They needed to review the camera surveillance of the building from last night.

Finally, I just blurted out, “Will you just tell me what’s going on?”

Sarah wailed. She actually wailed and threw her face into her hands. The officer who wasn’t writing moved to comfort Sarah. I should have known. In a way, I think I did know, but I needed someone to say it.

The other officer stopped writing again. He said, “We believe Taylor’s er… remains were found this morning. The building manager for the morning had reported that the doors were never locked from last night. In fact, the lights were all left on as well. As he was making his rounds, he found… Well, he found a building manager’s work uniform and some… bones in the basement. All of it was covered in blood. We’re still waiting for confirmation, but we are fairly sure it’s Taylor. Her boyfriend said she never came home last night, as well.”

I was astonished. After some time, I said, “It’s Taylor.” They all waited for me to go on. “I hadn’t seen her for most of the night. I waited for a while before leaving, but I figured she would just see I left. I figured she would get the door. There was no one else in here besides us.” They all shifted awkwardly, but no one said anything still. I went on, “You think I had something to do with this, don’t you?”

The officer who was comforting Sarah stood up. “No one’s accusing you of anything. We’re just going to need you to cooperate. We’ll take you to the station with us, and we can get things straightened out there. We’re going to look at the security footage to see if we can find anything out. Sound good with you?”

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

I knew that if they looked at the footage, they would see me sitting at the games room desk all night. There’s a camera that points right at the desk. There are no camera’s in the basement though. At least, I don’t think there are. The basement is unfinished. Not many people go down there. I know the ballroom team practices down there, but that’s just because of the big space. I knew “they” would have to show up on the cameras upstairs. All of the building’s entrances have cameras. They’ll see them! This can all be over.

During my stay at the police station, the officers treated me very well. They were nice enough to not put me in an interrogation room. They frequently asked if I was hungry or if I wanted coffee. I didn’t. I wanted to leave.

In the end, I was released. They watched all four hours of the footage of me sitting at the games room desk. They watched me talking to Taylor probably four or five times. They even asked me to narrate the exchange between the two of us. All camera footage to the doors of the building cut out shortly after Taylor left the games room. In fact, every camera in the building except the games room one cut out after she left. I’m still not really sure why they let me leave, but I left my phone number for them. They told me to stay in town too. No problems there.

Now is about the time that I became even more irresponsible. As I sat in the police station parking lot, I called the games room attendant that was closing tonight and begged them to switch shifts with me. She happily gave up the shift. I needed Pariah to contact me. I needed to find out more about “them.”

Sure enough, I soon received a message from Pariah. The message read: “You irresponsible fool! What are you doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

I thought for a moment before I responded. Finally, I said, “I need to know about them. The people you say are coming. Who are they? What do they want?”

I was surprised when I received such a quick response. “There’s nothing to say. They’re just like you and me. They’re hungry. They’re pissed that you got away. They are coming. You can’t trust anyone but me. Not even your fiancé.”

I sent a few more messages to Pariah after that saying my fiancé would never betray me. The messages went through, but I never received a response. Screw it. I went home to wait until work. Graded some essays. My fiancé was happy to hear I would be making an extra $7.25.


It’s 12:55 a.m. at work. I’m staying here. I need to know. It may sound silly, but I’ve got a knife with me. I’m ready.

I told the BM to go home. I promised I would lock the door up behind me. He left his keys with me. He was happy to leave early. I closed the games room, and I’ve locked myself in the back office. I’ve got my knife ready, and I’m sitting with my back against the door. Two minutes left. The waiting is killing me.

I have the camera feed pulled up on the desktop in the office. I can see it from where I’m sitting. One minute left. The feed blinks for a second, but it doesn’t cut out. Maybe a coincidence? Don’t be stupid. I don’t know. I’ve moved away from the door. I’m waiting.

I can hear someone outside the door followed by a knock. They knocked?

“James? James, it’s me! Open up!”

That voice.

I know it’s going to be okay. I’m safe. She’d never betray me.

 

Source: r/nosleep

 

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She Won't Let Me Die

The first time I saw her, I was eight years old. It was the day my mother was killed in a convenience store robbery. I was at home, playing outside with my little brother and the woman was standing down the street, just looking at me. She was quite lovely, with long black hair and ice blue eyes. She looked so sad. Ten minutes later my dad got the call from the police.

My dad left us a few years after that, he said he wasn't cut out to be a single father. My brother and I moved in with my Nana.

I was eighteen years old the next time I saw the blue-eyed lady. I was on a smoke break, behind the fast food restaurant where I worked. When I got home that day I found out my Nana had had a stroke. They said that she died instantly.

My brother overdosed two years, to the day, after that. We had moved into our own apartment after Nana died. I was appointed his legal guardian; we had seen so much tragedy that the courts agreed not to separate us. I never even knew he was on drugs, much less heroin, he hid it well. I saw her outside our window. He couldn't be saved.

She was outside the operating room the day I lost my wife and daughter. The doctors stepped around her, but they never seemed to see her. She appeared to be crying, but didn't make a sound. They said they did everything they could when my wife starting bleeding uncontrollably during labor. Our baby girl never even took a breath. I buried them together.

I've seen her on each of the three occasions I have tried to kill myself. It never works. The rope snapped, the gun wouldn't fire and I woke up thirty-four hours after ingesting a bottle of sleeping pills with no adverse effects. I wish I knew what she wanted. I wish I knew why she won't let me die. I have nothing left to live for.

Source: r/shortscarystories

 

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My Wife Died Last Month, So I Brought Her Back To Life

toop... toop... Is this thing on? Oh, I see what I'm saying on the screen now... cool.

I work security for a university just down the highway from me. It's an honest job, it pays pretty well, and I get to see some cool things while I'm working.

There's a group that's making a teleporter that can move food from one place on campus to another instantly. it even tastes good when it gets there!

Another group is making a car made entirely of clay. They call it "ceramic," and make it sound fancy (stuff about "weight" and "torque" and stuff), but everyone knows "ceramic" means "clay."

The creepiest room, though, was what some of the science types called the "Jesus room." They have a bunch of cages filled with rats with names like "Lazarus 1-20" and "Lazarus 4-2," and they do lots of tests on them.

One of those tests, they kill the rat by suffocating it. Then, they inject something called "banana-bots" or something into the rat. The banana bots... nanny-bots? Anyway, they're made of some kind of meat, and they move through the rat and fix it... and it comes back to life!

I swear, I'm not making this up. I watched them do it a bunch of times.

They're okay, but they're a little weird. There's one, "Lazarus 1-1," who just walks around in a circle all day long and eats its own crap. The newest Lazarus is okay, though, even if it just stares at you the entire time you're in the room.

But I should talk about my wife.

We have been married for about 5 years now. No kids, but someday, we'll get to it.

We were high school sweethearts, been together since our sophomore year.

Hey, this thing spelled "sophomore" wrong. Where's the "f?"

She's a real peach, though. She was all kinds of okay moving north from Kentucky to take this job, and she found a waitress position to help out with the bills.

So last month, we were eating dinner, and she got a real bad headache. It was really bad, and she decided to go to bed early.

I gave her a kiss goodnight, and told her "I love you."

When I went to bed a few hours later (NCIS was on TV, and I love NCIS!), she was lying there with her eyes wide open, looking really surprised.

She wasn't breathing, though. Her heart wasn't beating. It was awful.

I screamed, and cried, and yelled "NO!!!" a lot, but she just looked really surprised at the ceiling and didn't move.

I walked over to the phone to dial 911.

Then I remembered the "Jesus room."

Nanobots! That's what they're called.

Anyway, I got a really bad idea. Like, dishonest as hell idea. If I got caught, I would get fired, it was such a bad idea.

First, I put her in the freezer in the basement, because I read somewhere that if you freeze a person, they won't rot and stuff.

Next, I got in my car and went to the campus. I wore my ski mask in June so no one would see my face in the cameras.

I got really really lucky. No one was on the desk in front (I bet Bobby was on... he takes forever in the bathroom!), so I sneaked into the lab areas.

Next, I used Steve's badge to get into the Jesus room, because my badge would have shown up on the logs, and because we hadn't taken Steve out of the system yet after he got fired for stalking the pretty blonde scientist on the clay car project.

Next, I took some of the meat-stuff and put it in the tank that has the Jesus bots in it, so they would make more bots and the ones I took out with a needle in the extraction port (fancy name, right?) wouldn't be missed.

Finally, I left by the back door, and I threw away Steve's badge and my ski mask (didn't really like skiing anyway, no no great loss).

I went home as fast as I could. I had read somewhere that if a person freezes, like in the movies, they don't thaw right, and you can't bring them back to life.

I took her out of the freezer (she looked bad with a bunch of frozen peas on her chest, anyway), and fortunately she was still almost warm.

I put the needle with the Jesus bots in her belly, like I had seen the scientists do to a few of the Lazarus rats, and pushed the plunger.

Then I waited.

It took an hour, and I was scared the entire time, but then she started breathing again!

I took her in my arms and hugged her, and did my best to make her warm, and told her I was sorry I didn't take her to the doctor when her headache started (something called an "ann your izm?" I can't pronounce weird words like that! Call it "bad headache disease!").

After a few hours, I called her in sick to work, and called in myself ("I have a stomach bug. Must be bad takeout, because my wife is a great cook!"), and spent the day making sure she was okay.

And that's how she came back to life, and no one knows she died.

It's not perfect. She's a little strange now.

Oh, nothing really bad. Sometimes, when we're in "private time," she gets very excited and scratches the hell out of my back. She even drew blood once, and I had 7 long grooves in my back. She's never done that before.

One time, she made something really good, but really strange, for dinner. The next day, I found out one of our neighbors was missing his dog. When I asked, she said it barked really loud at her, but it looked like it would be "really tasty," so she cooked it. I asked her not to do that again, and she got very angry.

Last night, she was in the basement, crying like a baby. When I went downstairs, she was by my tool bench, with a large pair of scissors in her hand, sobbing "I need one more! I need one more!"

On the bench were seven mice lined up nice and neat, with their tails and heads snipped off and piled at the end.

I shushed her and told her it was okay, I didn't want to eat mice for dinner, and she tried to stab me with the scissors before she broke down crying.

"What's wrong with me?" she screamed.

"Nothing," I said, smoothing her beautiful hair with my hand. "Not anymore, there isn't."

Source: r/nosleep

 

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My Daughter Had An Imaginary Friend, And I Lost Everything Because of It

I'm sure you all have heard every story under the sun about children having "imaginary friends", and their parents just playing along, until things start getting a little too weird, and the parents wish they'd put a stop to it. Yeah, how many movies are made about that? Right?

Well I don't know where else to go without sounding too crazy so I figured you guys would understand, as I've read some pretty interesting stories on here.

I am a father of three girls, 7, 5, and 3. Being a dad to three girls has been such a blessing and I love my little girls more than anything in the world. My wife and I have been married for 15 years this August, and my family means everything to me. We have a farm property about 10 acres in total outside of a small town in the Midwest. My wife is a school teacher at the girls' school, and I'm a truck driver, so I'm gone most of the week but I'm back by the weekends. Everything was going very smoothly for us, and we had the perfect life... until Hot Boy showed up.

It all started this last winter. We had a lot of snow, and it was very cold outside. The girls didn't go outside much, and kept to playing in their rooms, or keeping to themselves. They occasionally did things together, but my oldest daughter liked her privacy. One Friday evening, I was in my office, my wife and my two youngest daughters went into town to pick up some pizza for dinner. My oldest daughter and I were the only ones home and I heard her talking to herself in her room. I smirked, and just shook it off. I heard her say something then along the lines of;

"When should we do that?!"

Knowing she didn't have a cell phone, or a friend over, I wondered what she meant by "we". It sparked my curiosity enough to go to her room and see what's going on. I opened up her door and she was sitting in the middle of her room, no one else was with her (as I predicted).

"Hey honey, who are you talking to?" I asked

"My friend, Hot Boy!"

I chuckled and replied; "oh yeah? Who's that?"

"My friend, daddy! Only I can see him." She laughed "He said he doesn't like you, he says you're scary!"

"Well tell him that I'm not THAT scary, you two have fun now."

I closed her door and went back to my office not thinking twice about her game she was playing. It seemed like innocent fun, every kid has an imaginary friend at some point.

Fast forward a couple months, my daughter still played with Hot Boy every day after school. I started to become a little concerned because she stopped having her friends over, and socially dedicated herself to Hot Boy. I decided that I'd call one of her friend's mom, to see if she could set up a day that her friend could come over or vice versa.

"Hey Shelly, this is Cheyenne's Dad, I was wondering if Emma wanted to come over sometime this week, Cheyenne hasn't had anyone over in awhile and I figured she maybe wanted to see her friend outside of school, since it's been awhile."

"Hmm I can try to arrange something" she began "Emma was telling me her and Cheyenne got into a little argument in school, and that Cheyenne said she didn't want to be her friend anymore." She said

"Really? I hadn't heard anything like that. I'll go talk to her.. thank you.. bye."

I hung up the phone and went to Cheyenne's room. I seemed to have interrupted another conversation with Hot Boy because she was talking to herself again.

"Hey Chey... I just got off the phone with Emma's mom, she said something about how you told Emma you didn't want to be friends anymore?" I asked concerned

"Hot Boy said Emma is stupid, and she doesn't deserve to be my friend anymore. He said I should forget about her."

"Chey, you've known Emma since you were little, you're going to not be her friend because your imaginary friend said so?"

"He's not imaginary!" She shouted "Get out of my room daddy!!!"

"Cheyenne, do not talk to me that way, I am your father."

"You're not my dad you're stupid!"

"Cheyenne Elizabeth, watch your tone! You know what.. you're grounded! No toys, or friends for a week."

She began to cry and throw a tantrum. I didn't quite know what to do, was I supposed to let it right out? I knew she would probably just fall asleep after like she usually does so I just left her room and let it ride out.

Fast forward another few months.

It was now summer time and the kids just started their summer break. I had to get ready go for a three day haul, and was packing my bags, and equipment to pack in my truck. I couldn't find my keys and looked everywhere for them. Thinking I may have left them in the truck I walked outside towards my rig. I started noticing a bunch of my tools sprawled out across the lawn and my tool bag was halfway down the drive. Before I could comprehend that, I looked to notice every single one of my tires on my rig had been slashed.

"What the fuck?" I said out loud to myself.

I immediately went back in the house in a slight fit of rage. I went into the living room where my girls were all on the couch watching T.V.

"Hey, did any of you three have anything to do with dad's truck tires being slashed open?" I asked trying to fight back my true anger.

My two youngest daughters immediately shook their heads, I had already sort of eliminated them as suspects because of their ages I'd imagined they wouldn't even know how to do that. My oldest daughter however didn't make any sort of motion towards me at all.

"Cheyenne?" I asked losing my patience at this point.

"Hot Boy did it." She said "He was angry at you for yelling at me a couple months ago. This was his revenge."

"Okay, that's it." My face reddened with rage, I couldn't control it anymore. "No more Hot Boy!"

I positioned my arms in a way that it looked like I was picking someone up and carrying them. I went over to the opened bay window and "threw" Hot Boy out of it and shut the window and locked it. Cheyenne began to cry, scream, and then proceeded to punch my legs. It didn't hurt, but it was very disrespectful. My wife came from our room and asked what was going on. I explained what just happened, she said she would take care of it so I could call my company and explain what happened to my truck.

My company was able to arrange a new rig for me to drive while the other one received it's maintenance. I then left on my haul for three days, putting that incident behind me and not thinking twice about it.

Three days later, I was coming back home. I was tired very tired, and ready for my own bed. I was ready to see my wife and kids, and was planning on taking them out for dinner and a movie. I stopped by a local flower shop and picked up some roses for my wife, and even got my kids a few souvenirs from my trip. I couldn't wait to see the look on their faces.

I was about a mile or so away from the house when on the horizon I noticed smoke rising up. I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and sped up and ran as fast as my rig would go. I pulled up to the house to find it fully engulfed in flames. I jumped out my rig and ran around the backside expecting to see my family outside as well. There was no one back there, my wife's and my personal car were both in the driveway. They must still be inside. I tried to run in the back door but the flames were too hot, and the smoke was too thick. I called 911, the fire dept was on scene within minutes and the fire was put out. Amongst the carnage were the remains of my wife, and my little girls. I was a mess. How was I going to go on? My perfect life was at a tragic end.. I lost everything...

The Fire Marshall worked for weeks on the case, but for some reason could not pin point a cause for the start of the fire. He said it was nothing he'd ever experienced before, no fuses blew, no matches, cigarettes, nothing. It was bizarre.

The paper plastered my burning house on the front page. I could hardly look at it. It was a haunting reminder of everything I lost. I glimpsed down at it for a minute. That's when I noticed something interesting. In the east side window, where my oldest daughter's room is... was... there was the face amongst the smoke and flames. A boy it seemed, a small boy. With a large grin. I shit you not, there were faces in all of the windows. Numerous faces. I went over to the paper rack and saw the faces on every single one of them. I broke down and left the store.

Hot Boy... it just seems ironic.

Source: r/nosleep

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Do you know of the Dog Man?

This all started 3 years ago when we first moved from a big city to a small town in Michigan. After living in Detroit my whole life the small town, or more accurately the huge forest that surrounds my house, is eerie at times. I always chalked most of it to the fact that I've always been a horror junkie with an active imagination. Until I started seeing things. I know sounds typical right, spooky fog and deep woods; a teenager all alone with only their small mutt and smaller chihuahua for protection. I guess that's why I never said anything any time something happened, it's getting harder to ignore now though.

My first year here I always had trouble sleeping, I blamed it on the neighbors rescue dogs and the deer, anything that seemed logical I was desperate. Even more so after my fist Michigan storm; there was a thick layer of snow and a thicker layer of fog. My little mutt of a dog, my baby really, was outside and I was try to get him in before the snow storm hit hard again. He thankfully ran in, we don't have a fence and he runs free, before he saw it. I'm still not sure what it was, it looked like a wolf the size of a bear and was slowly walking from my neighbors barn to the woods we owned. I brushed it off as a bobcat or maybe a coyote who grew crazy big. It was my fist winter and the first time I'd seen a wild animal other than deer so to me it made sense. I was stupid.

The rest of the year followed smoothly with me growing used to the heavy breathing like sound that the deer made and never seeing that dog thing again. The next year was when shit got bad, I had biology and we were watching some type of documentary when a sub was in, and that's when I heard it; a buck snort. A proper one, the scary part is it wasn't what I'd been hearing the past year. This sound was sharp and distinct, it wasn't the soft yet heavy breathing that had been sounding like it had been pressed right on my window. I was scared, no terrified, whatever that sound I'd been hearing it wasn't from a deer. I don't know what it was from. I started looking for odd things, things that might let me figure out what was lurking behind my house. I noticed paw prints in my dirt driveway throughout the year, I pointed them out to my brother once, not saying much about them hoping that he'd brush it off as my love of dogs. He claimed that they must belong to the neighbor's rescue mastiff. That soothed me and my fears. It explained everything, more or less, so I let myself believe it. Why did I keep letting myself not see what was in front of me.

As the year went on I hung out with my brother and his friends, they were cool and we'd all play video games together, it was all fine until one of his friends reviled one of his favorite interests. Horror stories. More accurately urban legends, his favorite being that of the Michigan Dog Man. Look it up if you don't believe me, I didn't believe him, but it's a legend often spread in the youth if small towns in Michigan. The Dog Man is a large creature much like a werewolf but bigger and harder to trace, he is intelligent and stalks his prey long before he catches it. A master of disguise and morbid monster.

I still keep shrugging it off as just some fake story like bloody Mary, but I'm starting to doubt myself. I keep hearing people walking at night even though my neighbors work at night. And when I go for my walks I always see large shadows in the distance, to large to be deer or even a bobcat. It's getting eerie how often I'm seeing this figure, and how much my previous logical reasons are starting to fail.

My neighbor's put up a fence yet the paw prints in my yard are still there and they keep getting bigger. The barn down the road is putting up a search for whoever stole their chickens and goats. The weirdest part is today we've been hearing whistles, the kind you give to call a dog. The first one happened during breakfast and all three of us heard it, my two dogs went crazy and started barking at the woods even though we couldn't see anything. Later on me and my brother heard it again, it was faint as I am deaf in one ear but it was there. The dogs ran and tried to run to the woods again. My mom said it must be to high pitched for her old ears. My dogs are barking at the woods again, my neighbor works the night shift and our landlord is out of town, yet I can almost swear there is man standing about two yards into our property.

Beware the woods of Michigan, I think there's something living in them.

Source: r/nosleep

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I Think I Have A Visitor

I'm trying to stay as calm as possible.

I'm trying to pretend like nothing is wrong and I'm just following my usual night time routine. I usually plug in my phone and then just look at it until my Ambien kicks in. I unfortunately already took my nighttime Ambien, before I turned off the light and noticed It.

Right now, out of the corner of my eye, I see it standing by the door. Just right next to the frame, sort of peeking in at me.

I'm not sure if it's a person or something else because I don't want to stare at it. I don't want it to know I have realized it's presence.

I think I've seen it a couple of times before lingering by the door but I always thought the darkness was playing tricks on my mind. However, tonight, a car drove past my building and it's headlights illuminated it's silhouette for a moment. It has the outline of a human but it's abnormally long, bony fingers are curled around my door frame.

I'm just trying to look like I'm casually looking at my phone like I do every night. I'm trying not to scream or panic or alert it and most of all I'm trying not to fall asleep. However, I think I have about 20 minutes before the Ambien either makes me unpredictable, since I'm fighting it, or I will fall asleep.

I was thinking of trying to take a picture, but It's too dark for the camera and the flash would obviously give me away.

I'm not sure if it's related, but recently I've had these dreams, nightmares, of me waking up at night and not being able to move. It's like I'm paralyzed and i see something dark standing by the door. At first it was just standing at the door with both of us staring at each other, it's face a black blur. A couple of days ago I dreamt that the dark figure charged towards me and like the previous dreams I was paralyzed, unable to scream or move. Then last night I dreamt that i turned my head toward the edge of the bed and I saw it’s long, bony fingers reaching up from under my bed, reaching for me. In these dreams it's been coming closer and closer to touching me.

However, I am awake right now. I have not gone to sleep yet. Clearly I am awake since I am typing on my phone. So this is not a dream. This is not a dream. This is not a dream.

The area I live in doesn't offer 911 texting so I texted some of my friends and told them to call 911 but I think they think I'm Ambien texting them. I've Ambien snap chatted before so I can't really blame them, but I'm running out of time.

It's just standing there waiting for me to fall asleep. I think it's getting impatient, because I heard it slightly shuffle. Usually it doesn't take me this long to be asleep, I think it might be getting suspicious.

So I must:

Stay awake.

Stay awake.

Stay awake.

Stay awake.

Stay awake

Source: r/nosleep

 

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SHE LIVES HERE, BUT SHE DOESN'T PAY RENT

I’ve been living in this apartment for two years now. Two years without any weird shit happening. Two normal fucking years. Has it been the best living experience ever? Eh, probably not. I’ve dealt with everything from ants to rats to noisy neighbors, to police sirens in the middle of the night. Hell, the lady in 3A came home to find her apartment broken into a couple weeks back. All those things pale in comparison to what’s been going on lately. There’s some fucking weird shit that’s been happening for the past couple of weeks, and it all culminated in me firing my gun last night at a girl that keeps fucking showing up in my apartment.

“Uhm, that’s a little drastic,” you’re probably thinking.

While you might be right about that, hear me out first, and then tell me if I’m overreacting.

It started off with little things at first. Things I think we’ve probably all experienced once or twice in our lives. One morning, I got up and found a bowl on the counter. Just a regular bowl, sitting there. I was really confused, but figured maybe I’d forgotten it there when I unloaded the dishwasher the night before. I put the bowl back in the cupboard and went to the washroom. As soon as I got back to the kitchen to make my coffee, that fucking bowl was on the counter again.

Man, I thought, Must be tired. Y’know when you’re distracted sometimes and you plan on doing something but you don’t end up following-through? I figured that’s what happened with the bowl. I thought I’d put it away, but I hadn’t. So, I lifted it off the counter and put it back in the cupboard. I turned around to start the coffee maker. By the time I turned to face the counter again, that fucking bowl was sitting there, as though mocking me.

“What the fuck,” I murmured to myself.

I’m too young to be going senile, I thought. Pissed off at...myself, I guess?...I shoved the bowl back into the cupboard and slammed the door.

“And STAY there,” I yelled sternly.

I never believed in that supernatural mumbo jumbo, so it never occurred to me something else might have been moving the bowl. I just figured since I hadn’t had my morning cup of coffee, my brain was glitching out or some shit.

I probably wouldn’t have thought about the bowl thing again if it had stopped there, but it didn’t. It wasn’t the only incident. Not by a long shot.

The next day, I came back from the gym in desperate need of a shower. I usually hop in the shower at the gym, but the goddamn water main exploded or some shit, so I had to drive home enduring my own sweaty stink. So, anyways, I got home, jumped in the shower, and turned it on real hot and soothing. I like my water practically scalding hot. Like, part sauna, part shower.

But then, as the shower walls fogged up, I noticed something: the outline of someone standing in the room. I could see the shape clearly through the misty air. It wasn’t just standing in place, either. It was moving around, bending over and everything. I grabbed a bar of soap and threw open the shower door, ready to defend myself.

Steam trickled out of the bottom of my shower.

Except the room was empty.

The room was empty.

My skin was covered in goosebumps despite the heat.

Now, look. I know my horror tropes, okay? This is exactly the point in time where the audience is yelling at their screens because the protagonist is being a moron and the place is clearly haunted. But look, this isn’t fucking Hollywood, okay? I didn’t just move into a creepy old house with a dark history. I’ve been living in this apartment for a couple years without any incident. Even if I believed in ghosts --- which I don’t---, that’s just not how hauntings work. You don’t get a two-year grace period before suddenly, out of nowhere, BOOM: haunted. That’s dumber than propping up a ladder on two unicycles.

A few days passed with more incidents like that bowl bullshit. I’d put a dinner plate on the counter, turn around to find it missing. One time, I turned around and found a glass in its place. Hell, one of my beer bottles turned into a fucking yogurt cup. I know I didn’t bring yogurt into my house. I fucking hate yogurt. Another time, I saw a stain on the carpet one minute, and it was gone the next. Just a ton of weird shit like that.

I tried not to think about it as I went to bed early that night. I had a construction gig across town the next day and wanted to get an early start. Problem was, I kept hearing music and chattering. No matter how many pillows I stuffed over my head, I could hear the sound annoying the fuck out of me.

Fucking neighbors, am I right?

I eventually got out of bed and stomped around my apartment, trying to find the source of the noise. I put my ear to each wall, but couldn’t quite tell which neighbor was at fault. When my irate-o-meter reached maximum, I just started banging on the walls to try and stop that shit.

I got even more pissed off when a neighbor came knocking on my door, scolding me for all the banging. I tried to explain what I was doing, but when I invited her in to try and pinpoint where the music was coming from, I realized the apartment had gone quiet.

I apologized, figuring whoever was making the noise had gotten my message and quieted down.

After that, I thought I’d be able to get some shut-eye, right? But nope. In the middle of the night, I was woken up by the sound of static and light pouring in from the TV. I groaned and reached for the remote control, but it had gone missing. Groggily, I climbed out of bed and waddled to the TV stand, turning it off manually. Must have been a power outage, I thought. Sometimes, when the power flicks off and on quickly, my old shitbox turns on. I tried to convince myself that’s all it was, but in light of all the rest of this shit, I was getting a little spooked.

I crawled back in bed and wrapped my comforter tightly over myself.

I must have been asleep for less than a few minutes when I heard the crackle of the TV as it turned on a second time.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck,” I groaned.

This time, I went straight for the power cord. I yanked it out of the wall and went back to bed. Fuck that shit. I need absolute silence when I sleep, otherwise I’ll wake up.

Imagine my surprise - or rather, my shock-, when the TV turned on again.

“Son of a,” I stopped.

Hadn’t I pulled the power cord out of the wall? How was the TV on? I squinted through the dark room, able to see the cord still in the wall from my angle. Must have been a dream, I thought. It was the only explanation. I’d dreamt I’d unplugged the TV. I moved to slip out of bed, but as I turned, I felt something cold against my side. The TV remote. Why was it in bed with me? I must have knocked it off the nightstand somehow. I turned the TV off one final time, and dozed off with the remote still in my hand in case I needed to do it again.

If all this shit wasn’t bad enough. If malfunctioning TVs, disappearing kitchenware, and moving shadows weren’t bad enough, I started finding weird shit on my coffee table. Weird as girly books like ‘Pride and Prejudice’ and ‘How to be a strong female influence in the workplace’. Those had to be a prank of some sort. I’d told a few of my friends about the bowls and shit, so I guess they thought they’d fuck with me. Not that it was all bad. See, I had a party one night and this chick saw one of those books.

“Oh, I didn’t know you read Gillian Flynn” she said, as she picked up the book.

I smirked. “Are you kidding me? I love her shit.”

I’m not going to lie. I did kind of flip through the books real quick. Enough that I could feign a bit of knowledge without actually having read any of them. Enough that I could bag myself a sexy lady that night.

Once the party was over, I hosted a private little book club between the covers. If you know what I mean.

And then, there was two days ago. I was standing in my kitchen, annoyed by another session of take-the-coffee-mug-out-and-find-it-missing, when I suddenly spotted my mug across the kitchen. It was in the hands of a transparent-looking figure. She looked at me. I looked at her. She dropped the mug. It crashed on the ground and shattered into pieces.

She was gone.

And I had to clean up the mess.

I had to clean up this fucking ethereal being’s goddamn motherfucking mess.

Last night was the worst incident yet. I’m not going to lie, I went to bed drunk, and I might have still been a little drunk when I woke up in the middle of the night. But look, drunk or not, I know what I saw. It doesn’t matter how much alcohol you ingest, you don’t hallucinate turning over in bed and seeing someone lying next to you. You might forget who’s lying down next to you when you go to bed, but you don’t just imagine someone that wasn’t there at all. Point being: I woke up for whichever reason. Maybe a car horn outside, maybe my upstairs neighbors were trampling on the ground again, or maybe someone was throwing a party again: it doesn’t matter. I’m a light sleeper, and I woke up.

I saw the silhouette of a woman next to me. I saw the sheets rise and fall with her breath. I knew I’d gone to bed alone. I didn’t know who this freak was---maybe some homeless woman who snuck into my apartment. Whatever she was, I decided she was the cause of all the shit that had been happening these past weeks. I was about to yell at her when she opened her eyes and saw me.

Her shriek nearly pierced my eardrums.

I rolled out of bed and reached for the glock I keep tucked under my mattress. Yeah, I know, but if I was gonna get jacked by some asshole, might as well be prepared, right? My reaction was out of instinct. There was an intruder in my bed. In my HOUSE. I was in my rights to defend myself. I wasn’t trying to hit her, but be damned if I wasn’t going to scare her off. I shot once, the bullet flying towards the wall behind her.

Something was wrong.

I smelled the sweet scent of the gunpowder, I saw the flash of light from the gunshot, but I didn’t hear the piercing sound of the explosion. I’m not saying it was like in the movies when the murderers use a silencer and all you hear is a little pop: I mean there was no sound at all. Like I hadn’t fired, but yet I felt the recoil and smelled the smoke. I peered over the edge of the bed. She was gone. The shell casing was at my feet, but the bullet was nowhere to be seen.

I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s freaking me out. Does anyone have any advice? I don’t believe in none of that supernatural crap, but I swear this shit happened. I can’t explain it. I need help.

Source: r/nosleep

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SELLING YOUR SOUL IN A BUYER'S MARKET

I lived out in the sticks, and every time I caught the bus into the city where I worked, only one other guy jumped on at the same bus-stop. We never spoke for many months, as I'm pretty shy and don't like to bother strangers. But though this guy seemed unremarkable in every other way, I was always amazed how he turned up at the bus-stop, day in, day out, exactly one minute before the bus arrived.

That bus was never on time; it could be ten minutes early, or a half-hour late, but every time, this guy arrived a minute before the bus turned a corner and trundled half a block to our stop.

I know that curiosity killed the cat, but one rainy Monday I got him to reveal his secret; was he using a phone app, I asked? Or did a buddy already on the bus text ahead? The answer was one I'd never have expected.

“I sold my soul.” His expression was blank, his voice matter-of fact. “I hate waiting ages for the bus. So I summoned a demon and we cut a deal.”

Words failed me; but as I sat silently behind him on the bus, I grew determined to learn more. So each morning, at the bus-stop, I heard his strange tale, piece-by-piece, a minute a day.

“I hate waiting for the bus”, he shrugged.

“But surely a soul is worth more than a small convenience?” I implored, in amazement.

“It's a buyer’s market. Times are tough. And what's a soul worth these days?” He said with a straight face.

On Wednesday I asked him how his gift operated. He told me that when he slept, he heard a “TING”, like a tiny gong in his mind, and that's how he knew exactly when to get out of bed. “At least, I THINK the gong sound is only in my head”, he said. On the bus he'd sit and stare straight ahead, an anonymous man who perhaps worked in “accounts” in some anonymous office.

On Thursday I wondered again why he hadn't asked for more; like a demonic helicopter, to fly him to work in style.

But he gave me a sly smile which I didn't quite like, and replied that HIS soul was particularly lacking in value, as he wasn’t a good person. And besides, his gift was more varied than I realised, as he heard his magic gong whenever he needed ANY bus-related guidance or advice.

By Friday I felt a little frightened of the guy, especially as he seemed to have taken a real shine to me. I asked him if he was afraid of his soul being taken, but he shook his head.

“I've done this before. The ancient ways are bound by laws. I owe one soul. That's all.

And I learnt that his mystical “TING” wasn't just in his head, as it could clearly be heard, right before he pushed me underneath the wheels of the bus.

=================================================================================

I'M NOT SUICIDAL, I'M JUST TESTING HER

I can’t quite recall when she first showed up. I remember when I was a child, running, screaming into my parent’s bed. I just remember blubbering to them about the girl under the bed. The girl that looked just like me. My Mum just ruffled my hair, told me I was being silly and to go to bed. I tried to sleep. But I could hear her. Whenever I rolled over, she would too. It didn’t stop. When I woke up the next morning, so did she. I went to school. So did she. The thing about her, was that although she was identical to me, nobody else could see her. She wasn’t a ghost…as such. Nobody could see her, but she was still human.

She was a copy-cat though. Every. Single. Thing. I did, she would do too. I became prone to her, her soft voice that was identical to mine, the way that although she might be in a different place to me, she would be doing the exact same thing.

When I was younger, all of my other friends had friends that nobody else could see. Yet as we all grew older, their friends went away, mine did not. I called her Copy-Cat, Cat for short.

When I was 12, I wanted to see how far she would go to copy me. I stole a razor from my Dad’s bedroom and brought it to my wrist. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I needed to know just how far Cat would go. I slit my wrist, just scratching the surface to start off with but then going deeper. Still, Cat copied.

I don’t know what happened next, just waking up in a pool of blood, my Dad calling an ambulance. The next few months were a blur, with Mum and Dad talking to therapists and specialists, thinking I was ‘self harming’ and ‘depressed’ that’s stupid though, I just wanted to see how far Cat would go.

I began to test Cat even more, I would cut deeper. Different places and more frequently. Cat would always do it. I got scissors, cut all my hair off. Cat did it too.

And now I’m here. My feet teetering on the edge of the chair, rope wrapped loosely around my neck. It won’t be loose soon. I stare at Cat, she is on an identical chair, with an identical rope with identical clothes and an identical expression. I just want to see how far Cat will go. Besides, Mum and Dad are taking me away tomorrow…they said something about me being mentally deranged, suicidal, something like that. They’re so stupid. I’m not suicidal.

I just want to see how far Cat will go.

I kick the chair from under my feet.

The rope tightens instantly.

And Cat is gone.

=================================================================================

COHABITATION

You always hear those stories about how "I live alone", right? Well, not me. I don't live alone. But, I suppose sometimes it feels that way.

I live with the most wonderful man. Truly, he's the best thing that's ever happened to me. He's good looking, charming, great job, the kind of man I knew I wanted to be with for the rest of my life from the moment I laid eyes on him. So I moved in.

Unfortunately, our schedules just don't line up that well. Every morning he wakes up early for work- usually I stay asleep around this time, but occasionally I'll wake up just early enough to spend time with him while he gets ready. Once he's left, I get to enjoy a bit of alone time, where I freely roam our cozy one bedroom apartment. I lay on the couch, watch television, eat a little snack. Then, by time he's come home from work, I'll have already left.

Late at night, once my love has shut off the lights and gone to sleep, I'll return home as quiet as a mouse, careful to not wake him. I'll creep into the bedroom for a moment, and gaze upon his wonderfully sculpted face, thinking on how lucky I am. We may not have much time together, but those are the sweet moments I treasure.

Then, deciding it's time for bed, I tuck myself into the little nook in the closet he never uses. I'll fall asleep behind old cardboard boxes of clothes and long unseen mementos, and hope I wake up early enough to watch my beloved getting ready through the cracked door.

You see, I don't live alone. I'm just the only one of us who knows that.

=================================================================================

I WEAR MY SUN GLASSES AT NIGHT

“If I can see your eyes, you can see mine.”

That was a familiar phrase my parents used when I was trying to avoid being caught by pretending that I was oblivious to their existence. When I was younger, I instinctively placed my hands over my eyes, in the hope that it would render me invisible. In time, I escalated this charade and began wearing sunglasses, even at night, in a futile effort to avoid their punishment. As I grew older, I learned that wearing sunglasses would not prevent my parents from seeing me. Nevertheless, I continued wearing sunglasses because it became a habit of mine to wear them at all times.

One night, my parents excitedly woke me up and told me that we were going to go outside to view the meteor shower. It was rumored to be extremely close, they said. So I joined them in our backyard, wearing my favorite pair of sunglasses. Within the hour the dazzling display began and, surprisingly, something appeared to have landed near us.

We walked over to investigate and noticed what looked like a pebble. My father leaned over and tapped it with his foot. A tall shadow figure immediately appeared and looked at my father, staring at his face. My father spun around to run away but was dismembered before he could complete his first step. My mother gasped as the figure then jumped in front of her, tilted its head to look at her eyes, and removed them from their sockets.

I was paralyzed with fear as the figure leaped in front of me and tilted its head while looking at mine. It proceeded to continue adjusting its head and moved in closer to where it was practically touching my face. I felt its steamy breath against my face and heard its saliva rhythmically dripping on the ground. After what seemed like minutes had passed, it turned around and disappeared into the night.

I notified the police and they predictably did not believe my recollection of the events. They concluded that there was little chance I could have done the damage inflicted upon my parents, but I was still ordered to be institutionalized. Not more than a few weeks had passed until I was released. Not that there was ever a decision to release me, as I simply left the facility after all of the guards had perished. Within a few months after the incident, all of the people in my town had either moved away or suffered a crueler fate. Now, I have found that I have no more rules and no more worries, as long as I wear my sunglasses at night.

=================================================================================

NO GOOD WILL COME OF THIS

“No good will come of this”, grumbled old Benjamin when the starving young orphan girl was hired by the kindly farmer, in the harshest autumn anyone could remember; even Benjamin himself, who was nearly 100, it was widely reckoned. His mind was sharp but his tongue was sharper; he made it known that the girl should be left outside in the cold, as she was too tiny to be of much use. Besides, moaned Benjamin; something wasn't quite right about her still, silent eyes and strange, sullen gaze; best send her away, he’d say. Ever since the farmer had inherited this land from his father, things on the farm had always turned bad whenever women were around.

But the beaming farmer had already made her a bed in his home, and started calling her “Rosebud.”

To be fair, Benjamin soon stopped speaking ill of the girl beyond those six hurtful words: “No good will come of this”, but only because everyone else mocked the old man's mantra, mumbled morning, noon and night. Benjamin was respected by his fellow farmhands as he worked the fields as well as anyone, but none enjoyed his company or heeded his wisdom. Especially the farmer, who in truth thought precious little of his elderly laborer, and whose mind was preoccupied with his special new guest. For the farmer doted on Rosebud, who soon began playing with the expensive dolls which once belonged to his recently deceased daughter.

Whilst she skipped merrily by in fancy girl’s clothes which Benjamin recognised, he scowled and shook his head. “No good will come of this.”

Benjamin was the only one who refused to set foot inside the farmhouse for the big Christmas dinner, instead sulking outside his little old rundown wooden tool-shack, even though Pig’s trotters were served that year, his favorite dish. It was the first such feast since the sudden death of the farmer’s wife three years earlier, and as Benjamin skulked and shivered beneath the eaves of his own ramshackle home whilst Rosebud sang carols in the sweetest voice he’d ever heard, he muttered “No good will come of this.”

Her very presence offended him. Things had been fine: nice and quiet, since the farmer’s daughter had lain in her grave late last summer. As Benjamin peered through the bright window at Rosebud, sat like a little princess next to the farmer, whose eyes were alight with mirth and delight; the old man realised that the girl had truly brought terror back to the farm; evil lurked, biding it's time.

“No good will come of this.”

And he was right, for that night, after all the other farmhands has stumbled off drunkenly home, Benjamin heard screams from nearby. This time, he sighed, enough was enough. Gripping his scythe with tight gnarled knuckles, he forced his way into the farmhouse, followed a trail of empty whisky bottles and broken furniture into Rosebud’s ornately decorated bedroom, and sliced the farmer almost in half, before the fiend could kill again.

=================================================================================

WHY IS STOPPED HACKING. FOR GOOD.

PART 1

Allow me to preface by saying that this is an encounter from a good friend of mine. For his safety however I will not use his Alias or real name. I have created an alternative. I will also write it in the first person as he had regaled me with this story and knows I enjoy writing. Here goes.

I grew up all my life glued to a computer. When I first started talking I was already browsing through my uncles computer, switching between games. By the time I was 10 I was taking over my families msn accounts and making them send each other awkward messages. I was 10 at the time so the messages were stuff like "I hate you" or "give me back my power ranger".

As you could imagine, I had no friends growing up. I was bullied and pushed around a lot. I'm autistic so I guess that was the reason. I don't know, nor will I ever will. My old man kept telling me I had to stand up for myself, that I had to show them I wasn't afraid. Truth is I couldn't fight back. I tried, but my punches were weak and my kicks would tickle. I spent the best part of 6 years thinking the only way I could fight back was by physically fighting them. Little did I know that the world I grew up in, the virtual world, was about to become the second life for everyone.

From here on, my mistakes started to pile up. I was 16, everyone was using facebook, twitter, whatever what was popular, people flocked to it. I had a 'main' bully as you could say [Brock]. Brock was the definition of an asshole. I guess it made what I did to him easier to live with. Brock loved to brag. His girlfriend was hot, his figure was fit and he was amazing at sports. His only downside was he was dumb as shit. And he hated anyone that excelled acedemically. Surprise surprise, I was a smartass. I was incredibly good at solving problems. I guess that was the upside to my autism. He hated that and proceeded to make my life a living hell.

I tried fighting back again, again using my weak body. Forgetting my strongest weapon was my mind. One day I was browsing Facebook and found Brock as a suggested friend. He was in my world and suddenly, something clicked. I created a burn account, jazzed it up and made it look legit. I added Brock as a friend and proceeded to find out as much as I could about him. I found his girlfriend and added her too. I sent Brock an email from "Facebook" claiming his account had been compromised and to download a PDF file with all our security measures updated. Of course to keep his account he downloaded the document. Fool. I had access to his Laptop and proceeded to find everything there was to know about him. I knew so much that at any point in time I could tell you where he was, what he was doing and who he was doing it with. I had his laptop camera send me images every so often to know what he was up to. When his girlfriend came over, I was ready. I booted up my "online dating" application and started sending messages to Brock. "Hey baby, can't wait to see you tomorrow, last week was a blast". I won't go into so much detail but due to the fact that I knew what he was up to, it was easy to convince his girlfriend that his online babe was real. I didn't stop there, I downloaded on his laptop as much gay porn as I could find. At a time where homosexuality wasn't as accepted as it was today, you could imagine how his parents reacted to his "fun drive". He didn't come back to school since then, my guess is he moved out of town. I don't know, I didn't care to look anymore, to me that was a small victory and I relished in it.

Now I wish I'd have stopped there, oh God I wish I stopped there. But I was addicted. That feeling of justice being served by my hands was one I loved and wanted more. So I targeted criminals, the type that used the dark web to hide and spread their filth. For 4 years straight I was a pain in their asses. Pedophiles, rapists, heavy drug dealers, you name it. If they were online, I was making their lives a living hell. I thought I was being smart, I thought I was hiding myself pretty well. But fuck man, something was following me every step of the way. And it would soon tell me.

I woke up one morning as any normal day, made eggs and toast for breakfast with a glass of Orange juice. Booted up my desktop and browsed Reddit. The usual was on, guys complaining that something was overpowered, something was underpowered, the game designers weren't listening. The usual morning chuckle. Then I heard a ping, the Facebook messenger notification sound. Funny, I didn't open Facebook yet. Maybe I did and forgot? Wouldn't make sense as I rarely open Facebook. It was odd but not enough to sound any major alarms. A message from someone I don't know, "Hey Danni. What's the weather like in Japan?"

What the fuck? Weather in Japan? I'm on the other side of the world. The name read James Puckerson. On my other monitor I started to go through his profile trying to find any mutual friends, someone I met in a party or something. I responded with "Sunny I hope, anyone who knows me knows I hate the rain". I keep looking but nothing of interest pops up. James replies " Ooooh a funny guy. Tell me Danni, do you enjoy playing games?"

At this point I think he's referring to video games. "Yeah dude, what did you have in mind? League of Legends? DoTa? I don't mind."

"Oh Danni, I didn't mean one of those childish games, I mean a real game. You know, the type that involves putting ones life on the line".

I let out a chuckle, someone probably hacked my Facebook account, added this weird ass account and is now trolling me.

"This isn't a joke Danni, I take these games extremely seriously".

Ok what? How did he know I laughed? Did he guess? There's no way he can see me, my camera isn't even plugged in and how could he have gotten into my apartment? My Facebook profile had a fake address on it and I never used my real address for anything, not even amazon or eBay. This has to be a joke.

I wrote: "Sure dude I'm bored as fuck anyway". I was buying time to try and find out where this son of a bitch was. I scoured everywhere trying to find any small clue to latch onto. Found something, kept going and looked into it more. Eventually leading up to an address. When I looked at the address I froze. I could feel my blood draining from my face. It was my address. I was the only one living there but somehow this asshole was using my address as a cover. Ping! Another message.

"I see you've gone extremely pale Danni, what's the matter? Don't believe in ghosts?"

I couldn't move, this guy could see me, he knew every move I was making and I didn't know what to do. Do I run away and burn everything down? Fry my hard drives and shred my motherboard. What the fuck is going on?

"Ring ring Danni, ring ring".

My phone starts to ring, but it isn't James, the caller ID read "mum". I pick up.

I hesitate to speak, I can't show my mum I'm afraid of something, she'd worry. I try to act cool.

" Hey mum, everything alright?"

What I heard next made me drop my phone in horror, it made me realise that shit was real and this wasn't a joke. A voice, obviously modulated to hide the identity of the caller. But the threat was real and I knew who it was.

"Hey Danni, what's the weather like in Japan?"

PART 2

I stood frozen in horror. Panic swept over my body and thoughts flooded my mind. What happened to my mother? Is she OK? What is this son of a bitch doing with her phone? I knew I had to calm down, something didn't seem right. I picked up the phone and looked at the caller ID. It just said mum, no number. Fuck, how could I be so stupid, he was just masking his caller ID, must be to throw me off balance. I'll play along, there must be something I'm missing.

"Wh.. What are you doing with my mum's phone? Where is she? Is she OK?"

A laugh came from the other end, a deep, disgusting laugh. I decided to record the call, maybe I can play around with the recording and find this caller’s real voice. It may not be much, but this asshole knows where I live and probably who my parents are. He starts talking.

"Danni, Danni, Danni. The safety of your mother depends on the outcome of our little game. I told you one's life is on the line but, I should have elaborated and said it shouldn't necessarily be the player's life. So, are you ready to play?"

At this point I had a thought; How can James see me? I have no cameras connected to the WiFi, my desktop camera is disconnected and I ripped out my laptop camera when I got the damn thing. Another option would be he broke into my apartment and installed cameras when I was out. But why would he risk getting caught like that. I may have cameras at home and catch him doing it. No he must be using one of my devices.

“Doesn't seem like I have a choice James. Let's fucking play.”

I braced myself for what he would say. We’ve all watched those horror movies, these games weren’t exactly Mario Kart sort of level. Suddenly I knew, I wanted to throw myself from my apartment for how stupid I'd been. In my hand I held the single device that had a camera and was connected to my WiFi. My fucking phone. I didn't want to jump to the conclusion that that was the only camera that was being used, so I decided to test it. Before I do anything though, he begins to speak.

“Well well Danni, I must say, you’ve got balls. Most guys would have started to cry or beg me to stop. This will most certainly be fun.”

I've had enough of this shit. I start to test my theory. I started googling shit like “how to track a phone call”, and “how to find cameras in a house”. I wanted to see if he could see my screen and sure enough the confirmation came through.

“Oh Danni, it’s cute you’re still trying to fight back. But I can assure you, you will not be able to track this call and you will not find out how I can see you.”

Challenge accepted dickhead. I angle my phone away from my bag and take out a USB dongle. If this asshole is on my WiFi I'm gonna make him think he's controlling all of my devices. I look for my laptop whilst trying to make as little noise as possible and again, angling the phone away from what I am doing. I find my laptop, boot it up and plug my dongle into it.

“Yeah well, I'm one tough son of a bitch… so when we playing James? And do go over the rules properly yeah? I'd like to whoop your ass playing by your rules dipshit.”

My strategy was to show no fear. In truth, I was terrified. But I knew the instant he smelled fear, he would have total control over me, and I'd fuck up and forget basic stuff like I had when this shit show first started. My laptop finished booting up. Excellent. I knew this fucker was using my network somehow. So I decided to hack my own network and see how he got in. Maybe he left something behind.

“The rules are simple Danni. You wanted to play judge, jury and executioner. We are going to go through your history of white knight justice, and see just how much of a hero you really are.”

Hero… huh… there was a time when I thought I was a hero… maybe it was when I made that child molestor end his own life. I told myself I was a hero because he wouldn't hurt another child. In truth, was I a murderer? Was this my past coming to haunt me? No time to think about this. It isn't just my life on the line here, everyone I care about is in danger and there's no time to be selfish.

“Ha… hero… that’s cute James, but I’ve always known I was the devil. A necessary evil. But sure, let's take a walk down memory lane. Maybe that will remind you who the fuck you’re dealing with.”

My attempts were bringing up nothing. I managed to break into my own network many times but I couldn't find a trace of another device, not a trace of information transfer. Wait… information transfer. Outgoing and incoming traffic. Fuck I'm stupid. He can see a stream of my screen which means I have outgoing traffic somewhere right? I start monitoring my outgoing traffic. Encrypted of course but there was still an address. A server that this information was going through. I find the address of the server and decide to do something extremely stupid and might sentence myself to prison or worse, no access to a computer. But I decide that is a small price to pay for the safety of my family.

“Well well Danni, watch your screen as the images pop up. Leeeeets roll the tape ladies and gentlemen.”

What a fucking psycho, I don't pay much attention to the tone of his voice as I set up my botnet for a distributed denial of service attack. My hope is that if I bring down the server for a bit, I'll be able to see where the requests are coming from and track it from there. It is a long shot but it might work. As I'm doing this I also stop recording the call and send the recording over to my laptop. All the while I’m angling my phone away from my laptop, and since he hasn't spoken of it, my theory that the only camera being my phone turns out to be correct. I finally feel like I'm making the right moves in this twisted game of chess, I'm just hoping I'll be the one to say checkmate at the end though.

“Victim number one; Brock. 16 years old. You destroyed his relationship and got him kicked out of his home. He spent 3 years on the streets before overdosing on heroine. That wasn’t a nice thing to do Danni.”

A picture of 16 year old Brock pops up. He died? Fuck, he was an asshole but didn't deserve to die. I went to far… I went to far… but I couldn't admit it. Not to this psycho. I had to show him that I had no heart.

“Well life sucks, survival of the fittest and all that shit. Maybe he should have been careful with whom he messed with.”

Another disgusting laugh. James is enjoying himself… should I be? No time for that right now. I put the phone on loudspeaker and placed it on my desk, weary that the front camera may be used I kept it well out of my sight and put an earphone into my left ear. Time to tweak around with this recording and “unmodulate” this voice.

“Danni, this isn't gonna end up well if you show no remorse. Now the fun begins. Remember his girlfriend? It’s confession time Danniiiii.”

As if it were alive, my PC opened up Skype and auto signed in. Fuck I'm so stupid, was I really that lazy? A number is entered into it and it starts dialling. Ring ring…

“What do you want me to do James? Tell her the online babe was me and Brock wasn't a cheating dickhead? What's that going to change?”

My botnet was ready and I started my attack on the server address instantly. I then watched my incoming and outgoing traffic closely. All I needed was a hiccup, something that will lead me to James. In that moment it was like the entire world grinded to a halt. In that moment, it wouldn't matter to me if the moon was crashing down onto the Earth to end all life as we knew it. All that mattered was this stream of information. Tick tock tick tock tick tock. I could hear the second hand on my watch ticking…

There! A clue… phew, was starting to lose hope. I start work on it, did James notice? I'd imagine his connection to my network might have dropped since I saw a request ping but nothing going back. Was he too busy trying to guilt trip me that he got too cocky and didn't notice? My Skype was still ringing was she going to pick up?

“Hello?” A girl's voice. She sounds kinda cute actually, is James hooking us up? Wrong time for jokes there.

James speaks to me “Go on Danni, answer her. Tell her your name and what you did to Brock.”

I decide to play along, true he didn't call me from my mum’s number, but that doesn't mean he still can't hurt her.

“Liz? It’s Daniel Kurt. We went to school together with Brock.”

There was a pause, I can't imagine how awkward this must be for her. I didn't have time to care though, I ran a search on the address and whilst that was going on, I continued tweaking with the recording.

“Danni? That loony kid that used to get beaten up all the time?”

Ahhh what a bitch. Hooking us up my ass. I had to fight back the urge to shout and educate her ignorant ass on what autism was. Whatever though, not my concern. At least breaking this news to here won't be as painful to me as I thought.

“Yeah that's me, the loony kid.” I laughed and I could swear I heard James laughing too. Asshole. “So listen, don't suppose you remember Brock Leland? You kinda slept with him at that time.” Maybe not the best choice of words.

“Yeah I remember him, I heard he died from drug overdose, makes me feel horrible breaking up with him…” another pause, “why?”

Fuck. How do I say this? This is a confession, if she takes this to the police I'm fucking screwed. Fuck any chance I have of getting away with this. I was 16 though, does it matter? I read somewhere that crimes committed before 18 aren't dealt with anymore. I was just a kid? Damn it. To hell with this, I need to stop this madness before he makes me call a victim of an attack I committed after 18.

“Yeah well, it’s my fault he did this. He made my life shit for when I was at school. So I decided to fight back. He never cheated on you, I made it look like he was.”

A really long pause. Gives me time to work on this recording. Nothing remotely human yet. Still searching that address, why is it taking forever?

“Danni.” Her voice was extremely soft. I was expecting something else. An angrier tone would have made more sense.

“Yeah...?”

“I know.”

Source: r/shortscarystories + r/nosleep

 

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