nosleep

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/nazisharks on 2024-10-28 11:54:58+00:00.

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One of the weirder things I fantasize about is handling the deaths of people I care about. Like, when one of my aunts was very ill, I imagined the extremely moving eulogy I could deliver. I would talk about the meaning she had in our lives, what made her special and unique, and everyone would cry and laugh. 

In a way I hate that I do this because I don’t want these people to die. But there’s a chance they will. I guess I want to be prepared so I can help others handle the deaths too. I can be that comfort for everyone in those times and I feel a little pride in that.

When I got with my girlfriend Tracie, I imagined being a support to her when her grandfather passed away. She was close to him. Without a father in her life, he had brought that stability. He was now in his eightes, having a lot of trouble with his heart, and everyday there was a sense of ‘Today could be the day.’ 

I didn’t want anything to happen to him. I hoped he’d live another decade if possible. Yet I thought a lot about the ways in which I could be there to get her through it when he did. It’s kind of a hero fantasy. It’s also kind of a planning fantasy. Like when you imagine how you’d escape a building if a crazed shooter showed up. You imagine the places you’d hide, exits you’d take. Or you think about how you’d sneak and conceal your identity to steal something you want to steal from a store or home.

All of my fantasizing put me in a good place to jump into action when we got the news that Grandpa Terry was on his deathbed. It was a matter of days. He was coming in and out of consciousness. During his lucid moments he was talking and seemed in good spirits, they said.

I barely knew Grandpa Terry. He’d been sick for years before I got with Tracie. She introduced me to him when we drove upstate once. He was a nice man. He still smoked cigars. He used to work in the jukebox business. Before he met Tracie’s grandmother, he used to live with two women. He also claimed he got in a fist-fight with Harry Belafonte. So Grandpa Terry was cool from what I saw. But I must’ve been just background noise to him, some guy dating his granddaughter for 3 months.

When we got to the hospital, the fifth floor where they put folks who are expected to die, we found Tracie’s entire family had gathered. Some I’d met and some had come from all over the country to give their farewell.Bringing in coffee pots and donuts to stay as long as they needed to stay, they’d practically taken over the sitting room on the floor

Tracie asked her mother what was going on. They were speaking in whispers, but I overheard bits, enough to get the idea: he had spoken to everyone as a group and now just wanted some peace. He had had the nurse bring his brother in for a one-on-one chat and his oldest daughter. That was it. Everyone had to wait outside ever since.

I was stroking Tracie’s hair and letting her talk about her feelings when the nurse stepped out again. As she walked down the hallway, every family member’s head raised or swiveled to her as if wondering if they would be the chosen one to receive Grandpa Terry’s last words. She walked past them all to me and Tracie. I tapped Tracie gently and smiled at her. But the nurse looked at me and said, “He wants to talk to you.”

I explained to her that I wasn’t family and she had me mixed up with someone else. Tracie was readily agreeing with me and looking around for who I could possibly have been mistaken for.

“You’re Douglas?” the nurse asked. When she saw me nod she added, “Come along.”

I followed her sure that she was making a mistake and I would have to come awkwardly walking back out in a few seconds. I saw the family members staring at me with incredulity and maybe resentment. If it wasn’t a mistake, then I assumed I would be getting threatened with haunting if I didn’t treat Tracie right.

The nurse opened the door slightly, enough to allow me to squeeze in, then entered behind me shutting the door. Inside, Grandpa Terry was propped up in bed wearing a fancy, red smoking jacket. He had a strange look about him. His skin seemed stiff and his eyes an empty black. He was like a wax figure of himself or ventriloquist’s dummy. His feet stuck straight up in their hard-soled slippers. Other than his eyes and his mouth, his body didn’t move. It was just dressed and propped there.

“Douglas,” he said in clear but weakened voice, “have a seat.”

Well, now I knew it was me he wanted, at least.

“Douglas, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about your ASMR videos.”

Of all the things he could have said to me at that moment, that wasn’t even on the radar. For one, I don’t talk about my ASMR videos. I didn’t want anybody knowing. I hadn’t even told Tracie or my friends. So how did he know about them? Two, how did this old man who still had a landline phone and used a typewriter to send letters know about ASMR videos at all?

“Yes sir,” was what I managed to say.

“They make me feel strange things, Douglas.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Your ASMR videos make me feel strange things, Douglas. Things I’m not supposed to feel. I’m scared of these strange things I’m feeling watching your videos, Douglas.”

I looked over to the nurse to see if she would intervene or explain. The nurse stood impassively in the corner of the room with a towel over one arm. She resembled more a bathroom attendant. Her presence unnerved me further.

“Yes, I talked to the nurse about ASMR and she has told me that I am supposed to feel a pleasant tingling sensation that starts at my scalp. When I watch your ASMR videos, I don’t feel a pleasant tingling sensation that starts at my scalp. When I watch your ASMR videos, I feel strange things I can’t explain or describe. Like that feeling when you say a word so many times it doesn’t sound like the right word anymore, but about everything. Worse and stranger. These are strange things, Douglas, strange things to feel. They make me afraid.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“I’m not supposed to feel these strange things watching your videos, Douglas. I’m not supposed to feel these strange things ever, I don’t think. I’m not supposed to have these feelings.

“Your ASMR videos make me remember things I haven’t remembered since I was a little boy. It has been so long since I remembered these things. I only know they’re memories because it’s all so familiar. If they aren’t memories, how can it feel like I’ve been there? If they aren’t memories, how are these places in my head? These places and things I remember give me those strange feelings, Douglas.”

The nurse still stood with the towel saying nothing. I didn’t like the things Grandpa was saying and I didn’t like that I had no support in this room from the only professional.

“I don’t think I can help you, sir,” I answered. “Maybe just watch someone else’s videos?”

“No, you did something in those videos to make me feel strange things. Why? What did you do?”

I stood up to leave. I felt at this point I should get the family involved. I was only agitating a poor, dying man. This man had fist-fought Harry Belafonte, he shouldn’t be arguing with me about ASMR videos.

“I need to go further in,” he said. “Your videos take me part of the way, to where I’m slipping between, a bit awake and a bit asleep. That’s when these memories and strange feelings come down. It’s sudden. Like my head nodding as I’m falling asleep. Just like when my head nods, it makes me snap back out. I lose it. It’s just a hazy impression. I need to go further in, Douglas. I don’t have much longer. If I die now… If I die without going in… I need you to do your ASMR to help me.”

There was a knock on the door. I heard Tracie asking, “Is everything okay in there?”

The nurse sprang like a beartrap, darting across the twelve feet or so to the door and announced, “Everything is fine, ma’am, please don’t disturb the patient any further.”

I heard a stifled sob, I think, but there were no further ‘disturbances.’ The nurse remained at the door, effectively blocking me if I tried to escape. 

“I can show you my other videos, sure, but wouldn’t you rather spend your last moments with your family? They’re out there–”

“I know, Douglas, I know,” he said in an agonized voice. “But I can’t do that until I understand.”

I pulled out my phone and was getting YouTube up when he said, “Come over here and pretend you’re applying makeup on me. There’s a makeup kit in the drawer there, the nurse got it.”

I walked over to the stand he was pointing out. In the drawer, I found a compact with some different eye shadow colors, foundation in a few skin tones, blush and bronze, two different sizes of brush, some eyebrow pencils, mascara and lipstick in the shade ‘pina colada.’

“Take me further in, Douglas,” Grandpa Terry said. 

I felt really weird about this. I felt trapped because it seemed like this was a man’s dying wish. But it’s like he had this planned. How did he know I would even be here? Tracie asked me at the last minute. She said she had intended to go with her sister. How long had he been waiting for this? Plus he was an old man who had done manly stuff all his life. I didn’t want to pretend to apply makeup on him. It was weird.

“Maybe I should just do a fake eye exam or–”

“Just bring that stuff over here, set it on my belly and start,” he said, his patience clearly wearing thin.

I did as he asked, loading up the items and setting them gently on the old man’s smoking jacket. I looked over to the nurse at the door to see if she was watc...

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/BadandyTheRed on 2024-10-28 01:57:06+00:00.

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My mind was racing, I did not have much time as I considered what to do. First, I had the pressing matter of escaping the facility. I had to leave and find M, I had to find out what he knew. While plotting a means of escape, I got another message on the phone. I read the message and saw a longer message than normal, it looked like instructions,

“You might want to write this down and follow these steps exactly, write fast since the message won't stay on the phone very long. Open the door in exactly one minute and fifty-two seconds after this message is gone. Turn right and go toward a maintenance closet, there will be a tunnel connecting it to main access concourse. Ignore the steam and any exploding pipes, that is just some cover for you. Don't take too long since if it dissipates a group of about a dozen guards will see you and likely catch you if you are not fast enough. Keep heading down the main path and take a left to find an employee locker room. There is a hazmat suit that will help disguise you and security credentials in case anyone asks. Head to the main bulkhead and place the phone on the power junction and wait for the door to open, there might be a hissing sound that is normal. Head out the main door and move along the North East Road to get to the path to building two. I will be waiting for you and your decision at the top of the watch tower.”

I finished writing down the instructions just as the message vanished. I looked at my hastily scrawled copy and remembered I needed to start counting. I did not have a stopwatch and obviously my phone wouldn't work so I counted and hoped I would get it right.

At the moment I reached one minute and fifty-two seconds, I threw the door open and ran. I moved per the instructions that I had tried to commit to memory in the brief time I had. I was moving as quickly as I figured I was supposed to be moving and I reached the main access path. I almost fell back and suppressed a gasp of surprise as several armed guards were visible on the other side of the path. Something was wrong, there was supposed to be some sort of steam cover. I tried to carefully step back around the corner but I heard a voice yell out to,

“Stop!” I was about to run back the way I had come from when that same voice turned into a scream as I saw several pipes around the guards head explode in unison. He was enveloped in scalding steam that burned him so severely he fell down into an agony induced sort of coma. I had no idea if he was alive but I did not have time to check. The other guards had heard his shouted warning and were on alert. I took the opportunity to flee down the corridor.

Sure enough when I reached the locker room it was empty of personal and a single hazmat suit was draped over a bench near the back corner. I put it on as quickly as I could and pocketed the key card that was with it as well. I found the main bulkhead door and placed the phone near the power junction and the hissing sound was almost immediate. I did not like the sequence of other sounds that began to carry through the machinery but I had no time to worry about it, so I moved on.

I hustled toward the main exit and guards were still moving about, but no one seemed to question me as I moved out. When I had almost exited the building, I looked back and felt a pang of guilt. I had to know what was really going on, but could I really endanger all these people? I did not know what M was really capable of, but I thought that maybe I should at least warn someone. I decided to approach the front desk and speak to the receptionist on my way out. She looked confused as I approached, no doubt wondering what a high-level scientist, at least according to my fake credentials, was asking of her.

“Yes, can I help you sir?” I recognized the voice immediately, it was Kylie Burke, the same woman who I had received the emergency call from about the fire I had prevented.

“Yes mam, I need you to deliver a message to Doctor Bianca Sinclair.” I wrote a quick message in my notes telling her about the danger to the facility and that they should evacuate and get everyone out of there as soon as possible. I folded the note and gave it to Kylie Burke and asked her to deliver it immediately. She looked confused but I did not have time to explain so I shouted,

“Now! That is an order.” And she took the paper and left with a scared and apologetic look. I felt bad for yelling at her, but unfortunately it had become a matter of life and death and time was not on our side. I needed enough time to get out of there without a commotion, so I couldn't tell her directly of the threat. I hoped by the time Bianca read the note or Miss Burke did, they would know about the threat and hopefully start getting people out of the building in time before whatever M had planned occurred and the whole place was blown away.

I rushed out of the building and toward the path leading to the watch tower. I could see it in the distance, beckoning me to my fate and whatever answers the enigmatic M had in store for me. I reached the base of the tower and I heard alarms sounding in the distance back at the main building. I hoped those were evacuation sirens. I started ascending the tower and I felt a familiar thrumming of energy and a static charge that made my teeth hurt. It felt like I was moving the wrong direction in snap shots that are arranged out of sequence. I knew that meant he was close. Reaching the top of the tower I saw him with his back turned looking down at the facilities grounds.

“There you are my friend; I knew you would make it. A little bit late but that’s okay. I think I owe you an apology. I’m sorry, I had to know, I had to know that you would make the right decision. You were a variable, but I had faith you would do the right thing. Isn't that what you are here to do now? The right thing?” M turned to face me and the black hood was down and I looked at the face of the man at least where a normal face should have been. What I saw in place of a face was a kaleidoscope of unnatural colors and hues not natural to this plane of existence and it made my eyes hurt. The wrongness of his entire being was palpable. He did not exist in this place or time, yet here he was an impossibility made possible.

I had no idea what to do or say, my mind had gone blank. I managed to think back to the one question I had been asking myself this entire time.

“Why me? Why was I the one you contacted?”

He gave a chuckle which was partly phased out by some unseen force and rendered half of it silent. He spoke once his voice returned.

“Right place right time, I suppose. That phone was on me when I was atomized. Somehow it can back as well, but it became unstable and I could not hold onto it anymore. When I woke up from the blast I tried to call 911 and get emergency services down to the building, that was when I realized I couldn't. I had been blasted out of time and reappeared in this, unstable form.” He held out his arms and I saw the odd array of impossible glimmers of half reality radiating off of him. He continued,

“The phone reached someone or something, but as it did it became more unstable. It started reacting to the temporal energy I was surrounded by so I had to get rid of it. It was too dangerous to just leave with anyone so I took a chance. When I saw you drop your phone down that flight of stairs, I used the moment to switch phones with you.” M pulled out a phone that looked just like the one I had been carrying, but after he threw it to me and I booted it up I realized this was my original phone. I had been carrying his phone this whole time and this device had apparently traveled through time. He watched my confusion and made an approximation of laughter again and continued,

“So not really a specific reason, though I will say you did not disappoint. As soon as you knew what was happening you did your best to stop all the death you could. That is an admirable quality, which is why I trust that you will continue to try and stop the things yet to come. This foundation, Hope for the Future, it has a rot that will lead it and the rest of the world into damnation. I know, I have seen it, both the way it begins and ends.” He took a step forward and held out a hand, gesturing to the building below and the entire foundation grounds.

“We had good intentions to start, if we were able to utilize this technology to tap unharvested resources out of time we could have a potentially endless supply of energy. That was the plan at least, until the intentions of the board had changed. Due to the machinations of the warmongers, the scientists that worked with defense contractors and only saw the way this could be adapted to military use; the scope of their plan for my research was shifted.” He seemed to trail off and looked off into the sky above. I was about to ask him to continue when he spoke again,

“I saw the thing that they will do, if left to their own devices. I have seen what they will enact with my life's work if they are allowed to. They wanted to try and transport living being thru time. I explained the potential harm in sending a living being backwards or forwards in time. Do you know what they end up doing?” He spun around and began raving,

“They recruit children and brainwash them while accelerating their growth rates using the device, to make soldiers that could be manipulated from birth and grow so quickly that it would give them ...

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/UrLifeBothersMyEyes on 2024-10-28 01:33:39+00:00.

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I was told to be off the land before sundown. The park ranger was very adamant that I had to be gone by then tonight because that’s when the park closed. He really emphasized “tonight” which I thought was strange, but I followed his rule. I was the only person fishing the lake, it was beautiful, and the fish were still biting, but I turned back plenty early. It was a decent walk on the trail because of the way the trail winds around the outer part of the property.  

I just got back to the truck when several vehicles pulled up to the parking area. “What the hell,” I said out loud. I could see the ranger in the entrance gate building, and he just let them through. Then several more came in. So much for the park closing by sundown.  

All the people getting out of the vehicles were elderly folks. I thought, what the hell do these old people need the whole park for, it’s a state park, they don’t deserve the whole thing. I remember thinking some of these small-town people around here think they own all this, but we all do right. So, F ‘em.  

I grabbed my stuff and headed back out to the lake. I had time to get some more good fishing in. I figured no one would even notice I’m there and I REALLY wanted to bring home some keepers. God, I wish I could’ve just left. 

On my way back I decided to go off the trail and cut through a part of the forest. I remember thinking “Is this a good idea?” then continuing on anyway. It really wasn’t that bad at first and I wasn’t carrying that much other than a pole, a small tackle box and a bucket. Though the fish were biting they weren’t big enough to bother bringing home so my bucket was empty. 

The walk started to seem like it was taking a little too long when I noticed the sun was completely gone. The sky was black, it was a clear night and there were stars but there was no moon. As I went further the ground was more and more covered in brush. It was tripping me up. With no light except for stars, only feeling my way through, it was like sinking deeper and deeper. Everything seemed larger or I felt smaller, but I continued on as my instinct told me to.  

I got a strange chill, and I stopped, froze completely, then I threw my gear down and froze again. Everything was silent for a moment. Then I heard a cracking noise. Probably a small animal I thought. I heard the same noise but a little louder and closer. Then crunching and crackling surrounded me. And a large dark figure, the size of a tree, raised from the ground around me. It was like the forest was a giant moving being that had awakened, suddenly and angrily. A deep low growl followed the crunching noise of the branches that were enclosing me. 

And then I was running, my feet taking me so quickly I couldn’t comprehend it beginning. I don’t remember the surroundings just the feeling of the cool air and branches cutting against my face. Then, up a hill, a light. 

There was a small pavilion with lanterns around it and a few picnic tables. People were all around talking casually. It was the old people I had seen earlier. The tables were set up with food and drinks. It was so surreal, but I was too panicked to care. I tried to speak but was too out of breath. “Whoa, where’d you come from?” one person said. Still out of breath I tried to reply. “Sorry couldn’t understand ya buddy” he said before turning away from me, continuing to his conversation with the others at this gathering. It was all very odd and frustrating.  

Then I gathered myself enough to speak, “There is something!” I said while pointing to the woods. Now they all paused their conversations and are looking at me curiously. “Something big is out there” I said. But confusingly to me they all started smiling. I was irritated by them, thinking that they thought I was crazy. “What are you all doing out here anyway? you’ve gotta listen to me!” I said.  

I glanced around at them as they just stared at me. Then they all started moving in a little closer “Okay, okay” one of them said in a trying to be calming but condescending way. His hands motioned a let’s bring it down kind of motion. I was annoyed and looked away from him and glanced over at their picnic table. A shiver went down my spine.  

That’s when I actually got a look at what was on the table. It looked like raw meat. Hunks of flesh in foil pans and Tupperware containers. One with scalps, hair hanging over the side of it and part of a human face inside it.  

They lunged toward me and pulled me to the ground with strength and speed unbelievable for the look of them. An old woman in a giddy voice said, “Our meager offering just got a little more tantalizing.”  

The deep growl came out of the forest behind them louder this time than before. They turned and I broke free and ran. “No!” yelled that woman that was so giddy before, but a man stopped her and snapped, “we have no time, get into place.”  

From a distance I watched a giant figure dark as the night emerge horns or branches coming from it at all sides. They gathered to the sides of the pavilion showing their “offering.” A man stepped forward and said, “Our lord of the New Moon please accept our offering for another month of youth.” The figure engulfed the pavilion but must not have been satisfied. The man that spoke screamed and I could see blood gushing everywhere as if he were squeezed. I ran, found my way to the trail, sprinted the whole way to the parking lot, got in my truck and sped off. 

About a week has passed and that night all seemed like nothing more than a dream. A really messed up dream. In fact, my luck has been pretty good since then. Work is going good, I work in an auto shop and my boss hasn’t been up my ass all week like he usually is. I won $50 on a scratcher. Not much but I’ll take it. And I hit it off with this girl who brought her car in, which never happens to me. 

All seemed great in my week which really had me questioning what I saw. At dinner me and Heather, the girl I met earlier, were really getting along. She laughed at all my jokes which is always a good sign since they really aren’t that funny. Everything was great. Something about her seemed almost familiar. 

We were talking about where the rest of the night should take us. Then she said, “we could just head over to my place.” I was all in. Then she said, “At home I can change into this new thing I bought.” I was choking on my words, just nodding. Then she said, “It might be a little more... tantalizing,” with a giggle. The life fled from my body. 

Her voice, the word tantalizing, the way she said it, it was her. This was the old woman that was in the woods. They knew where to find me. They are probably going to kill me because of what I’ve seen.  

I’m in the restroom of the restaurant now, I think she might know that I know. My exit was less than graceful. I’ve peaked out the door to see if anyone else is watching but I don’t know. I don’t know who to trust that’s why I’m reaching out for someone to believe me. I don’t know who I know that will actually believe me. FML I’m afraid I might be kidnapped and fed to some woodland beast.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Welcome_2_Nowhere on 2024-10-27 16:01:59+00:00.

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I am Detective Samara Holt, and what you are about to read is everything I remember from the strangest case I’ve ever worked: the disappearances of Occoquan, Virginia.

Being a detective, I’ve always found an interest in true crime. Disappearances, murder mysteries, cold cases… all of it activates that part of my brain that desperately seeks out answers. But if there’s one case that’s always piqued my interest the most… it’s the case of Occoquan, Virginia. By all accounts, Occoquan was a normal little region. Not much happened there in terms of crime, and its main drawing point was the large Occoquan river that ran through the area. For years, Occoquan was a popular and peaceful place to live as houses were built on the riverfront and overviewed the gorgeous, lively water and lush forests. But that peacefulness and normality couldn’t last forever. 

The Crane family built their own mansion on the waterfront and owned acres of land in the 60s. They lived in their Victorian-style mansion for about five solid years… until their youngest daughter, Amy, went missing. She was last seen swimming in the river with her sister near the dock. The account from her sister, Carla, was that Amy was in the water and having fun, then she looked at the dock and her smile faded. Carla blinked… and Amy seemingly ceased to exist in that very moment. The Crane children (Carla and her two older brothers Jeremy and Hector) were said to have gone mad the year following Amy’s sudden disappearance, so much so that Johnathan and Elizabeth Crane were forced to seclude their children from the outside world. Eye witness accounts attest to seeing Carla run into the nearby woods in 1967 only to never return to the Crane household. Two years later, Elizabeth Crane died of mysterious causes and Johnathan Crane lived alone until 1971. In the wake of his death, there have been no signs of Jeremy or Hector Crane. Seemingly just gone, as if they never even existed.

For years, the Crane household stood over the edge of the Occoquan river… and that household is seemingly the harbinger of the region’s strange activity. My first job as detective was in ‘97, hired by the mother of Hugo Barnes. I even remember the strangeness of my first assigned job being a missing child report—shouldn’t that have gone to someone with more experience? But I still took the job with grace and speed. I was hopeful about the case and hauled my ass down to Hugo’s mother, Janice. As soon as I drove into Occoquan though, I realized why I was dumped with this assignment… the city was filled to the brim with missing child posters. It was simply another job from this place the others didn’t want to take up. It was practically a ghost town; there were buildings, businesses, and houses, but rarely ever a soul in sight. I drove down the road to Janice Barnes’ house, a practically deserted street that looked straight out of some horror film. The sky was a deep navy blue with the sun setting behind the trees in the distance, dense forests enveloping both sides of the route, and a single half-working streetlight down the road illuminating the low-hanging fog with a flickering blue-ish fluorescent light. The streetlight was covered in varying posters all pleading for help in finding some poor parents’ child. I swerved into Janice’s driveway and hopped out of my vehicle. The air was dense with the smell of damp leaves… and as still and quiet as a predator waiting to ambush.

I knocked on Janice’s door, and you could hear it echo for miles. As I waited for her to answer, I observed the surrounding area. But one particular thing was hard not to notice… up on the hillside, towering over everything else and seemingly illuminated by the now rising moon, overlooked the Crane Mansion. Its twisted and oblique, curving and jagged shapes pierced through the moonlight. Even then, I could feel just how evil that house was, its presence looming and oppressive. Not long after my knock, Janice creaked open her door and invited me in. She was a frail, middle-aged woman with the voice of a chain smoker. 

“Just in here,” she croaked as she guided me to Hugo’s room. “I need you to explain this to me.”

Inside his bedroom, she shivered in her robe and hair curlers. “He screamed… God, he screamed for me. But when I ran in here…” She then shoved Hugo’s bed away from the wall, and beneath it were claw marks dug into the hardwood floor. Starting from the foot of the bed… and ending at the corner of the wall. “Gone… just… gone. Where’d he go?” she cried out as a tear rolled down her powdered cheek. 

The case of Hugo Barnes was the first sign for me to investigate further in Occoquan. How can a child just disappear into nothingness from the safety of his own home like that? Luckily, my superiors felt the same and left me with all the missing child reports of Occoquan, Virginia. Case after case, I’d speak to mothers and/or fathers who recounted their children seemingly vanishing into thin air without a trace.

Marnie Hughes was the next major case I took. Her family moved to Occoquan in ‘98 just down the street from the Crane Mansion. Marnie was just a normal 15-year-old girl. She loved her family; she had plenty of friends at her relatively small school and did well in her classes. But out of nowhere, she developed some form of epilepsy halfway through her first semester. She began to suffer from what her doctors described as “unpredictable full-body seizures” that they blamed for the sudden onset of “unusual schizophrenia”. Marnie would suddenly fall into bouts of spasms and afterwards claimed that “the thing in the walls” was trying to ferry her away. She was seen by doctors who prescribed her antipsychotics for her hallucinations. Marnie suffered for weeks, and her parents mentally degraded along with her. CPS and the police were called to a horrifying scene on November 2nd, 1998. When entering the house, they found Marnie’s parents trying to cook her alive in the oven, claiming that ‘the devil’ wanted their daughter, so they tried to send her to God before the devil could take her. Needless to say, they were arrested on account of attempted first degree murder and Marnie was admitted into an institution for mentally troubled children. This institution is where I come into play… as only a week after her admittance, she escaped into the Occoquan woods. We spent weeks searching for her out in those woods, but we never found her. She was another child who vanished into thin air.

The events of that case will haunt me for as long as they rot inside my mind. The first thing I feel I need to speak on was ‘the tape’... a recording of Marnie’s first and only therapy session at the institution. I’ll do my best to transcribe what was said.

Dr. Burkes: “So, where do we feel comfortable beginning?”

Marnie: “... here… when I moved here.”

Dr. Burkes: “What about here? Was the move stressful? I can only imagine that it was.”

Marnie: “yeah… but… that wasn’t the problem.”

Dr. Burkes: “So, what is, Marnie? Was it kids at school or your par-”

Marnie: “It… it is the problem.”

Dr. Burkes: “... It?”

Marnie: “god… you can’t see it either. I’m fucking going crazy here! It’s been here the whole time!”

Dr. Burkes: “Marnie, you’ve got to work with me here or else we’ll never get anywhere. Are you seeing things again? Like hallucinations?”

Marnie: “You can call it a hallucination… you can call it whatever you want like my other doctors… but that’s not going to stop the fact that it’s in here... with us.”

Dr. Burkes: “You need to be taking your meds, Marnie. They are supposed to help with your symptoms.”

Marnie: “You… are… not listening to me.”

At this point in the tape, Marnie is audibly frustrated. She’s sobbing into her hands as if totally defeated. Her psychiatrist clicks her pen and lets out a sigh.

Dr. Burkes: “Okay… okay. Let’s discuss this then. If you’re taking your medication, and this isn’t a hallucination… reason with me. Talking through it will help us both understand what you’re dealing with. I truly do want to help you, Marnie. I’m sincerely sorry for not believing you, tell me everything.”

Marnie: “... I saw it… I saw it a few days after… we moved in. In the woods… by the river…”

Dr. Burkes: “It’s okay to cry, Marnie. No need to stop yourself.”

Marnie: “I didn’t pay it much mind; I thought it was one of the neighbors from the mansion. But… I learned no one lived there… and I still kept seeing it for weeks. It watched me from the woods. And then it called my name.”

Dr. Burkes: “... The Crane Mansion, right?”

Marnie: “It… knew my name. I couldn’t sleep… it was always watching… always. I could feel it peer in through my window… it never just observed… it wanted… it… desired.”

Dr. Burkes: “Don’t take me wrong, but… I feel as though what you’re experiencing… is a manifestation of your fear. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that what you’re experiencing isn’t real or isn’t tangible. But I’m saying that if we can address and figure out this fear, whatever you’re seeing may leave you alone.”

Marnie: “... Dr. Celine Burkes… maiden name Tilman.”

Dr. Burkes: “... How do you know that?”

Marnie: “You went to George Mason University and you lived in Virginia your whole life. You moved to Occoquan six years ago and you had a miscarriage when you were 19.”

Dr. Burkes: “Marnie!...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Bitter_Decision_4960 on 2024-10-27 06:02:08+00:00.

---

Part 2.

The military fleet had spread out in force, searchlights piercing the ocean like lasers, illuminating the water in harsh, unforgiving beams. Massive subs and reinforced vessels hovered around us, the green and yellow glows from their radar systems flickering ominously in the murk. 

We drifted silently above, powerless spectators in this strange, militarized parade. Emily clutched the arm of her seat, eyes darting nervously to the black water beyond our viewport. 

“Why are they even here?” she whispered, her voice almost drowned by the hum of the engines. 

No one could answer. And then, the creature appeared. 

It emerged from the darkness like a mountain pushing up from the seabed, a presence that eclipsed even the largest of the military vessels. It was enormous—at least four times the size of a blue whale, its form stretching out beyond the reach of the searchlights, parts of its massive body still lost in shadow. The water around it seemed to darken, as if its very presence pulled light inward. We watched in terror, unable to comprehend its size. 

Its mouth, vast and gaping, could easily have swallowed a whale whole or bitten one clean in half with a single, monstrous snap. Rows upon rows of translucent, dagger-like teeth glinted in the sparse light, each tooth long as a human body. The sight was horrifying; this creature was built to consume, and its gaze turned downward toward the military fleet, sizing up each vessel like prey. 

Suddenly, it attacked. 

The creature lunged forward, its enormous body unfurling with a terrifying speed that seemed impossible for something so vast. Its jaws opened, encompassing a submarine in one swift bite. There was no struggle; one moment the vessel was there, the next, it was gone, crushed in the endless rows of teeth and disappearing into the dark abyss of the creature's maw. 

The rest of the fleet scrambled to react. Lights flashed, sirens blared, but it was too late. The creature was in a frenzy now, diving down among the vessels, using its tail to whip through the water with a force that sent a smaller sub careening off course, spiraling into the shadows before disappearing entirely. Another sub attempted to back away, its lights dimming in the murk, but the creature coiled around it like a serpent, its mouth latching onto the vessel and ripping it in half with a sickening crunch that reverberated through the water. 

Shards of metal and bubbling oil floated up as the creature struck again, crashing into two larger vessels with a force that twisted them into unnatural shapes, their hulls buckling as they were crushed against its impenetrable hide. Each thrash of its tail sent powerful waves rippling outward, knocking nearby vessels off balance, leaving them defenseless as it moved from one to the next, dismantling them with a primal, relentless fury. 

I could barely breathe, each destruction more horrific than the last. Our sub shook with every impact, the sounds of metal shearing and groaning reaching us even through the thick walls. Emily was pale, her eyes glued to the viewport, her mouth moving silently as if in prayer. 

Finally, in the middle of the carnage, the creature paused. Its body hovered motionless, fins barely moving as it surveyed the wreckage it had wrought. Then, slowly, its massive head turned in our direction. 

The creature's eye, nearly the size of our entire submersible, stared directly at us. My breath caught in my throat. This was not the casual curiosity of a predator inspecting prey—it was something more conscious, more aware. The eye was pitch-black, larger than any window we’d ever peered through, with a pupil that seemed to drink in the darkness around it, reflecting nothing back. 

And yet, within that darkness, there was something. A swirling, otherworldly dance of light, like galaxies twisting in slow motion. Stars and nebulous shapes drifted in and out of focus, each one vanishing only to be replaced by another, creating a cosmic spectacle of impossible depths. It was as though the creature held an entire universe within its gaze, an endless void that stretched beyond comprehension. 

Emily’s voice trembled. “Is it… watching us?” 

It was more than watching. I felt as if it was reaching into my mind, drawing forth my deepest fears and laying them bare. I couldn’t look away from that eye, from the slow, mesmerizing spin of stars within it. For a moment, everything felt still, an eerie calm descending as if time itself had stopped. 

Then, its pupil contracted, tightening as if in irritation. 

Without warning, the creature surged forward, its eye filling the entire viewport, close enough that I could see the fine details of its scales, each one a shade of deep, iridescent green that shimmered with the light of the stars within its gaze. I was paralyzed, every instinct screaming to flee, yet there was nowhere to go. The creature's immense head turned slightly, bringing its eye even closer, so close that I could see my own reflection within it, tiny and insignificant. 

It lingered, that all-encompassing gaze, as if it was considering us, evaluating us in a way no earthly predator ever could. And then, with a slow, deliberate shift, it pulled back, the universe within its eye fading back into the endless black depths from which it had come. 

A cold silence settled over us, the hum of our sub’s engines the only sound in the otherwise still water. For a brief, haunting moment, I thought the creature might strike, might obliterate us in the same way it had torn through the military vessels. But it didn’t. Instead, it hovered there, just on the edge of the light, watching us with that endless, cosmic gaze. 

Then, as if dismissing us entirely, it turned and drifted back into the darkness, disappearing in a single, fluid movement. We remained frozen, our breaths shallow, each of us staring at the place where it had vanished, haunted by the sight of that infinite, star-filled eye. 

Silence held us in a grip as tight as the ocean around us, and none of us dared to speak. The ascent was steady and painfully slow, the usual hum of the engine seeming louder in the empty stillness of the water. Each flicker of shadow, each creak of the hull as it adjusted to the changing pressure, felt like a ghost of the encounter we’d just survived. Somewhere, out in the darkness, that monstrous creature lurked—perhaps watching, perhaps indifferent. The submersible was a small, fragile shell, surrounded by a silent void where anything could be waiting. 

I scanned the faces around me; everyone wore the same mask of strained composure, their eyes hollow, reflecting that vast, consuming gaze we had all just stared into. Emily was gripping the console so tightly her knuckles had turned white, her breathing shallow, almost inaudible. Dr. Miles's gaze was fixed on the viewport, as if expecting something to lunge at us from the shadows. My own heart beat against my ribs like a war drum, every second of this ascent feeling like an eternity. 

When we finally saw a faint, diluted gleam of daylight streaming through the water above, I allowed myself the first breath that didn’t feel shallow and fearful. The last few meters seemed even slower, but then, at last, the surface broke, and sunlight flooded the cabin. 

Relief came only for a moment. As we emerged, we saw a small army of vessels waiting for us. Military ships flanked us on every side, engines rumbling low and threatening, surrounding our tiny craft like vultures closing in on something dead or dying. A team of armed personnel, dressed in dark, unmarked uniforms, waited on the nearest ship’s deck. 

We were ushered up and out of the submersible, faces turned upward into the unfiltered glare of sunlight and the steely expressions of the military personnel waiting to greet us. 

"Follow us,” said one officer with no preamble. His voice was clipped, all business, and his face gave away nothing. Emily shot me a look, but there was no option other than to comply. We were herded off the deck of the submersible, past several other rigid-faced officers, and onto a large military ship. 

After what felt like a purposeful, almost punitive silence, we were led into a briefing room. The overhead lights flickered, casting long shadows across the table in the center. Seated at its head was an official who, even before introductions, commanded the room. He was tall, with a sharp, angular face, graying hair cropped close to his scalp, and eyes that seemed to assess each of us in an instant. Medals adorned his chest, a gleaming reminder of his rank and power. As we took our seats, his gaze settled on me, unwavering. 

"Dr. Ellison," he said, his voice smooth but with a hard edge. “Your findings, if you please." 

The words felt like stones in my throat. I opened my mouth, but only fragments of the horror we’d seen bubbled up, words I knew would never do justice to what had happened beneath the waves. 

"We… we encountered something," I said finally. "A creature, massive and—well, hostile would be an understatement. It destroyed the military vessels in its path. I’m not sure how any of us made it out of there." 

The official’s eyes narrowed slightly. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, calculating. 

“What did it look like?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know. We’d all been debriefed by the ship’s crew on ...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/MikeJesus on 2024-10-27 20:54:00+00:00.

---

Before the burnt people took over, my grandfather’s homestead was an oasis of calm.

The homestead was in the midst of the steppe but neither forest nor mountains were far. My cousin and I spent most of our childhoods there. It was a good place for young boys to grow up. Our parents worked, the city was rough and the old man could always use an extra pair of hands.

We had free reign over the property but our grandfather always warned us to not venture into the nearby forest. At night, by the light of the stove, he would tell us stories about a dark place of science which we were to avoid at all costs.

He called it the Ғылыми қондырғы.

Though tales of evil and corruption and the incomprehensible piqued our young interest, neither me nor my cousin disobeyed our grandfather’s instructions. As long as we were obedient, the old man was kind. Neither of us were interested in seeing his anger. Though the prospect of a cursed science facility provoked all sorts of alluring vapors from our imagination, we kept our selves satiated by playing with the massive turtles we’d find in the grass.

After we finished our schooling, my cousin moved out West. He always had a mind for business and thought of himself as the next great global innovator. I, on the other hand, preferred a quieter life. For a couple of years, I worked in the city doing jobs not worth mention and then, when the honking of cars and smell of smog got on my nerves, I moved back out into the homestead to help care for the old man.

As we grew older and wearier of fairy tales, my grandfather shifted his stories from the fantastical to practical warnings about drugs, guns, and affairs with married women. Yet, near the end of his life, confined to his bed with me as his sole caretaker, the old man returned to speaking of the Ғылыми қондырғы.

He pleaded with me, as if he could see the future in his fevered dreams, that both me and my cousin and anyone we cared for were to stay away from the forest. He also demanded that we never sell the property, lest it ends up in the hands of forces beyond the reach of man.

At the time, I dismissed his words as the ramblings of an unwell mind.

The funeral was a small, private affair for a quiet man who lived in solitude. There is much bureaucracy associated with properly burying the dead. It’s in the various office waiting rooms that I made peace with my grandfather’s passing. The funeral, to me, was but an end to the legal proceedings by then.

As distant as the ceremony was to me, however, during the funeral repast I found a familiar face that brought tears to my eyes. It was my cousin. He had traveled across half the globe to come pay his respects. Though he missed the burial, he stayed for the food.

When I found out he had arrived straight from the airport and was yet to arrange his accommodation, I didn’t ask. I insisted. My cousin would sleep in the guest-house at the homestead. He was, after all, going to be inheriting half of it.

My cousin was happy to accompany me out of town. He was curious about how my life had been over the past couple of years. He was also curious about the property.

My cousin had made a name for himself out West. Initially, he worked for an import/export company that he quickly rose through the ranks of and, once he had accumulated enough capital, he started to invest. He had made a name for himself in stocks and he was in the process of making an even bigger name for himself in the realm of crypto-currency. Even though most of his money was tied up in the clouds, however, my cousin was curious about other investment opportunities.

For the first week he stayed with me, my cousin didn’t mention anything about developing the land. Occasionally, he would bemoan the lack of wi-fi or hot water, but for the most part he would speak about the inherent tranquility of the homestead. He said people out West would pay good money to get away from the rumble of urban life to a place like this.

It's not until a week into staying on the property that my cousin suggested we try setting up a business.

I did not like the idea of developing the land at first — even when my cousin promised to shoulder all of the construction costs. I disliked the idea of strangers spending time at the homestead. I was resistant at first, but the man had a way with words.

He also owned half of the property.

The construction crew that worked on additional housing was beyond rowdy and tested my patience every step of the way. Yet, when they set up the water boiler in the guest house, they bought my sympathies. Daily hot showers soothed my temper and soon enough I found myself amicable to the idea of the homestead being turned into a resort.

As my cousin would say, we found much peace on the property when we were young. It would be a sin not to make some money off of sharing it.

After about a year and a half, the housing my cousin had commissioned was completed. The cottages were humble and my grandfather’s old home was transformed into a relaxing communal area. Though the lodgings were nice and my cousin offered them for a bargain, we had trouble finding customers.

My cousin had accrued a substantial amount of debt and was turning more agitated with every trip he took to the city. Apparently, along with the troubles with our new resort, his cryptocurrency portfolio had turned shaky. He floated the idea of selling the property, but he only did so once.

On his following trip to the city, he returned with Batima. Batima said she could ensure our resort would be well booked and my cousin’s financial woes would be fixed.

I have met few people with piercings throughout my life, but if they were to gather all their jewelry in a pile, they wouldn’t have even half of the metal Batima carried on her face. She dressed in garish bright colors and constantly smoked and didn’t inspire the smallest bit of confidence in me.

Batima looked well out of place at our steppe resort, yet she was well versed in the art of the internet. Though I did not know where to look whenever the two of us spoke, Batima kept to her promise. Soon enough, the resort was turning a profit.

Through social media and a couple of personal favors, Batima managed to bring our resort to the forefront of people’s search result. After but a couple of weeks, we had various influencers from around the world come through our little resort and sing praises to their audiences who in turn replicated their idol’s pilgrimage.

I would spend most of my time in my separated cottage, but whenever I walked through the lobby, Batima would be there. Sometimes, she’d be working on her laptop. Sometimes, she would be chatting with the guests and recommending hikes and other local attractions. We never spoke much.

For months, Batima remained a stranger to me. Yet, one morning, when two unexpected visitors showed up at our humble resort, I found an ally in her.

They both wore lab coats and introduced themselves as Doctor Barat and Professor Willow. Barat was local, had a messy head of black hair and seemed to be the less talkative of the two. Willow towered over his colleague and led all the negotiations. Willow, unlike Barat, was American. When the man realized I couldn’t properly understand him, he aimed all of his communication at my cousin and Batima.

My cousin made little effort to translate, but Batima was kind enough to keep me in the loop. The two men in lab coats, according to Batima, were representatives of a scientific organization that was looking for housing for their employees. They were interested in buying the property.

The offered sum spread a smile across my cousin’s face, yet Batima disagreed with it. Apparently, the place had more potential. I knew little of the financials, but I didn’t like Doctor Barat nor Professor Willow. I told my cousin I thought Batima was right and that I would not consent to a sale to the two men.

When my refusal was translated to Professor Willow, like a child, he stormed out of my cousin’s office. Doctor Barat hung around for a while longer, gently prodding at my cousin with the promise of quick cash, but when it became clear the property would not be sold, he too made his exit.

My cousin wasn’t pleased with how negotiations had panned out, but Batima soothed his woes. The resort was, after all, doing well. If he would give her time, she could bring in even more revenue with a couple renovations and investments. My cousin was reluctant yet eventually, with a fair amount of prodding from me, he acquiesced.

When the meeting was over, Batima walked me to my cottage.

‘I presume you’re familiar with the stories they tell about the nearby woods?’ she asked, as she lit up her hand-rolled cigarette.

I told her I was.

‘And I presume you don’t believe in them?’

I told her I didn’t.

‘Neither do I,’ she said. ‘But if I did, I would presume those two have business in that forest. I don’t believe in children’s fairy tales, but I also wouldn’t want to risk getting into bed with anyone from the Ғылыми қондырғы.’

It had been years since I heard the name. Each syllable of that terrible sound cracked through the cold air like invisible fireworks. I told her I agreed. I told her I agreed and thanked her for taking my side.

Though the land was not sold to the two men in lab coats, Batima kept her end of the bargain. Over the next half a year my grandfather’s homestead transformed once again. What was once a humble family reso...

---

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Mister_Glimmer on 2024-10-27 16:54:47+00:00.

---

"People can be so stupid," Carl said, his face illuminated by the soft glow of his phone.

The kids were upstairs, and we were just starting to unwind. What that meant was we were fooling around on our phones in the dimly lit living room. The worn leather couch creaked as I shifted, hoping the children were finally asleep. It had been a long day, filled with the usual chaos of raising three kids in a small house.

Carl, my husband of twelve years, continued, his face etched with the familiar lines of stress that had become more pronounced in recent months. "My cousin copied this post to his Facebook feed: 'Don't forget tomorrow starts the new Facebook rule where they can use your photos. I do not give Facebook or any entities associated with Facebook permission to use my photos, information, messages.' People really think this works. They believe copying and pasting this text will somehow opt them out of a TOS."

I glanced at Carl, noting how he lived for getting upset at what he saw as his family members' gullibility. "The most baffling thing is who originally makes these and what do they get out of it?" he asked, really on a tear now.

"Do you remember chain letters?" I replied, not understanding why he even still visited Facebook. All I could figure was that he got a dopamine hit from getting irritated. "You know, 'Send a copy of this to ten people you know or else something bad is going to happen to you'? I think someone just gets a kick out of making people do things and wasting their time. They want to see how far they can get the letter to travel or how many people they can get to participate."

Carl nodded, considering my words. "I think we're being too logical about this," he said after a moment. "Is it possible that some people think they have the power to bestow luck onto another person? Maybe it's kind of like 'Ringu', right? Do they think they have the psychic powers of Sadako?"

I couldn't help but smile. Trust Carl to direct the conversation to his favorite subject, J-Horror. "Make a copy of the tape within seven days, pass it on to someone else and it breaks the curse, at least for you," I said, reciting the plot to a movie he made me watch countless times.

Suddenly, a loud bang echoed through the house, followed by a piercing scream. Carl bolted upright, his phone clattering to the hardwood floor.

"What was that?" he barked, his eyes wide with alarm.

"I don't know," I said, my heart racing. "I thought they were going to bed."

Carl stood up, his fists clenched at his sides. "I can't stand this. They always do this kind of shit. This has to stop tonight."

Carl is usually calm, but sometimes things rub him the wrong way, and his temper flares. Tonight was one of those times. As he stormed up the carpeted stairs, each step a thunderous stomp, I couldn't help but remember the gentle man I'd fallen in love with. The man who would spend hours playing make-believe with the kids, his laughter echoing through the house. That man seemed to be appearing less and less these days. Perhaps it was his 60-hour a week job, maybe he spent too much time looking at social media. Whatever the cause, this last month is the most stressed I’d ever seen him.

I followed him up to the kids' room, my mind racing. We live in a modest two-bedroom house, its walls adorned with family photos and children's artwork. Our three kids share one room, which often makes bedtime a challenge. The oldest is Charlotte is twelve, Abby is our middle child at ten, and our youngest is Conner at eight years old.

At the top of the stairs, Carl took a sharp right, his shoulder brushing against the pale yellow wall we hadn't been able to repaint in years. He violently yanked open the door, slamming it into the wall with a resounding thud. A framed picture of the kids at the beach rattled precariously - a memento from our last family vacation three years ago.

The scene inside the room was surreal. The three children sat in a circle on the plush blue carpet, illuminated by the soft glow of an astronaut-shaped night light. Charlotte had her back to us, her shoulders hunched. Conner's face was pale, his freckles standing out starkly against his skin. He looked deathly afraid, his wide eyes darting between his sisters and us.

"You're supposed to be asleep. What are you three doing?" Carl shouted, his voice bouncing off the walls covered in glow-in-the-dark star stickers.

Conner pointed a trembling fingers in the direction of Charlotte. "A-Abby jinxed her," he stammered. "They said the same thing at the same time."

"Now she can't talk till somebody says her name," said Abby calmly, as she turned to face us. Whatever had Conner on edge didn't seem to affect her. There was something unsettling about Abby's composure, a glint in her eye that I'd never noticed before.

I didn't think Carl could look any angrier until that moment. His face turned a deep shade of red, and if it were possible for steam to expel from his ears, it would be happening. I could see the vein in his temple throbbing, a sure sign that he was about to explode.

"I wish you would just do what I ask," Carl barked, his voice rising. "We told you three to go to bed, and you're up here playing games." Charlotte laid her head in her hands, her curls falling forward to hide her face. Conner looked even more frightened than before, but it wasn't because of Carl's shouting. Those two didn't seem to notice his rant. Abby lowered her head, her small fingers fidgeting with the hem of her pajama top. She was the only one who appeared to be listening.

"I am so tired of repeating myself over and over. You are the worst kids ever. Now please, do what I say, just this once."

I watched Abby carefully and noticed her lips move slightly, barely audibly mouthing those last three words along with Carl. He did say that phrase to the kids quite often. A chill ran down my spine as I realized how much our family dynamics had changed. When had our home become filled with so much tension and anger?

Abby then looked Carl right in the eyes, her gaze unnervingly steady for a child her age. She softly retorted, "Jinx."

Carl's hands flew to his mouth, his eyes growing wide with shock and confusion. He turned to me, his gaze pleading. Slowly, he lowered his hands to reveal smooth, unbroken skin where his mouth should have been. At the same time, Charlotte turned around, and I gasped as I saw that she too was missing her mouth.

I stood frozen, trying to process what I was seeing. Every child knows the jinx game - the silly rule that if you say the same thing at the same time, you can't speak until someone says your name. But this... this was different. This was impossible.

As the reality of the situation sank in, a mixture of emotions washed over me. Fear, seeing my husband and daughter's faces smooth where their mouths should be. Confusion, as my mind struggled to rationalize what couldn't be real. And strangely, a hint of relief.

The only thing I knew for certain was that none of us were in a hurry to say Carl's name.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/psycharious on 2024-10-27 17:30:00+00:00.

---

My mother and I had always had a strained relationship. My father was never really in the picture so we made the best of our situation. She herself was also often gone as she was a state fire department pilot who also conducted search and rescue. One of the few women in her department. She did the best she could for me but there were times when she would be gone for long periods of time, leaving me with my grandparents or aunt. When we were together, she put in her best effort. We would go on trips or outings. As I got older however, I wanted to be more independent. She may have noticed me slowly slipping away. I can tell it bothered her. Through high school, she would always make it a point to ask me tons of questions; where I was going, who I was with, how long I would be. She would freak out if I were even a half hour late coming home. As kids usually do, I came to resent it, with accusations often being followed up with arguments. Then, the snooping began in my late teen years as I was preparing to go to college. One day, she found a glass pipe that I had left out on my nightstand. Normally, I keep it in my sock drawer but I must have left it out and she saw it. This of course led to more questions: who gave it to me, what was I using it for, etc. Even at that time, I didn’t really smoke anything unless any friends offered it. A friend had just given it to me. She was really starting to get on my nerves, so I bought a lock for my door. She didn’t say anything about it or ask me to remove it, Just scoffed. This is when things started to get really weird. 

One night, I was awakened by some strange noises coming from the attic right above my room. I laid there in bed just listening to it, trying to figure out what it could be. I’m not sure for how long. It seemed to be a mix of scratching and banging, like some animal was running around on the roof. After a while, it stopped. I figured it was probably just a cat that was killing a bird or something on the roof. At the time, I wasn’t really alarmed by it. So I dozed off to bed. 

The next day, when I got back home, I unlocked my door and to my surprise, my room looked like it had been rummaged through. My socks and underwear were scattered about, drawers were left opened, even my secret stash of Oreos and Chee-Its had been compromised. I confronted my mom. 

“Mom what the hell?”

”What?” She looked genuinely puzzled looking up from her laptop while on the sofa

“My room!”

”What about your room?’

”You went through my stuff again!”

”What?”

”And you took my Oreos and Cheez-It’s?”

”I don’t even like Cheez-Its”

”How did you get in my room?”

”I didn’t go into your room, how could I? The door was locked.”

”Well evidently, someone had to. My room is torn apart!”

”What?”

I showed her my room. She had a look on her face. It must have been her, I thought. then after a pause, she answered with a ton of uncertainty.

”I have no idea what might have caused this.” She started looking around the room diligently. She checked the closet, under the bed, behind the drawers, she was looking for something it seemed. Then she noticed it. Right above my door, the vent cover had looked like it came loose. The screws seemed like they were pushed out. 

“It’s probably raccoons then.”

”Racoons, around here?”

”Yes,” she replied, “I’ve read about them. They’re smart buggers. They can get into peoples homes from under the house or through the attic and damage and destroy property.”

I was about to protest but then I remembered the sounds. “Actually I did hear something last night. Sounded like there was something moving around in the attic.”

”Let’s take a look.”

With that, I grabbed a flashlight and we headed to the attic. We didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

”Whatever it was, it’s gone now,” my mom said, browsing around. I’ll call animal control and see if they can set some traps.” I screwed the vent cover back in and thought nothing more of it.

A couple of nights later as I lay awake at night in my own thoughts, I started hearing the noises again. This time, it sounded like it was coming from in the wall. It sounded like scratching in the ventilation system. Something was moving around in there. The raccoon must have come back. I looked up at the vent and there it was. Two bright eyes staring back at me. The raccoon? I was no animal expert but whatever it was, it wasn’t a raccoon. It stared back at me for some time, then in a flash disappeared. I got up quickly, grabbed a chair from the kitchen, the flashlight from the hall closet, and tried to peak into the vent. I looked at an angle. I grabbed a screw driver and undid the vent again. I placed it on my tv stand, stepped back up on the chair and poked a part of my face in. In hindsight, probably not the best idea. There it was again. Our eyes caught again and just as quickly it vanished behind the bend. 

I was freaked out enough to then go find some plywood from the garage and drill it in over the vent. My mom heard me and got up to see what I was doing. 

“That thing is back.”

”That thing? What thing?”

”The raccoon or whatever. Didn’t you call animal control?’

”Oh shit, that’s right! No, I forgot. I’ll call them tomorrow morning.”

”Mom, I don’t think it’s a raccoon.”

”What is it then?”

”I don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s not a raccoon.”

”Either that or some other scavenging animal. I’m sure it’s more afraid of you than you are of it.”

I didn’t feel like getting into another argument with her. I just shrugged it off and told her I was going back to bed. I found it hard to fall asleep that night though. I must have laid there in my bed for a couple of hours until I just moved to the living room couch. The next day when I came home, my mom told me that animal control came by. They said that they didn’t see anything but did set traps. This didn’t make me feel comforted but the noise stopped for a while after that. Still, I kept the makeshift vent cover on, and it was lucky I did.  

About a week and a half later, I woke up to a more aggressive noise. I looked up and saw that something was trying to push through the vent cover. I grabbed the flashlight that I then kept on my nightstand and kept it aimed at the vent. Knocking knocking knocking, until finally it fell to the floor and there they were again; those two big yellow glowing eyes. We again locked gaze for a while. The head came closer. I could make out his head, a bulbous head with what looked like long ears. I slowly got out of bed and came closer. It ran off again. I tried to look in. This time, I ran into the hallway, pulled the release for the attic entrance, took a deep breath and climbed the ladder. In hindsight, I should have taken something hard. I reached to the top, pulled myself in and looked around. There was only enough room to crouch in this attic. It was just a wooden platform floating on a sea of insulation with the fuse box for the heating unit. Then, there standing at the far end of the attic on a beam, was a dark figure. I shined my light on it and there stood a gremlin. It was a golumesque figure, possibly two and a half feet tall, more nimble and human like than a primate. It had dark fur, possibly black or dark brown and long pointy ears. Those large cat like eyes glared at me again, and it made a groaning noise almost like a pur. I stood there in a mixture of confusion and terror. My heart racing, my mind racing through all the various things this creature could be to make sense of it. 

The Gremlin jumped to the next beam towards me. It stopped but it kept its gaze on me. I Stepped back, keeping my light on it. It again jumped to the next beam.  I backed away slowly towards the ladder. I put one foot down on the first step, keeping my balance. It suddenly darted to the left. I booked it down the ladder, clenching my flashlight. I pancaked and missed a step. I slipped and fell down landing on my side. The wind was knocked out of me a little. I pushed myself back up as hard as I could and took a second, but there was another thud behind me. Whatever it was had dropped right behind me. I ran for the door. 

“Hey hey, what are you doing?” My mom called to me. She was just sitting casually on the couch with a single lamplight on, reading. I turned around but there was nothing there. I looked back at her. She could tell the expression of terror on my face. 

“I saw it! I I saw what was in the attic!”

”Really? What? Was it a raccoon?”

”No, it was like….uh….like a little monkey bat thing!”

”Wait, we have bats in the attic? Ey.”

”No! It wasn’t a bat, it was way bigger. Like an evil looking lemur.”

”We don’t have Lemurs here.”

“I’m not saying it was! It was….I don’t know.”

Okay, I’m sure it’s just some animal that just found its way back in,” she reassured but uncertain. “But hey, sit down, I want to talk to you.” 

I came over to the couch and sat down, still looking towards the dark hallway. “Listen,” she began. “I’m sorry for…snooping around and being nosey. you’re getting older and you deserve a little space and privacy. It’s just, I feel like I’ve missed so much with work and everything. I tried to do the best I could and….”

”Hey look, you’re not a bad mom.” I interrupted. “It’s not like I’m out there gangbanging or anything. Hell, I barely have a social life as it is.”

”I know you’re a good kid. But I’ll always worry about you no matter what I’ll back off but I want you to remember that you can talk to me.” ...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/The_Whitemare on 2024-10-27 16:01:46+00:00.

---

He turned up around six months ago. It was us students who noticed him first since everyday he'd walk past the town's high-school at around the same time. The kids would be out in the yard, playing basketball and gossiping, would stop what they were doing to watch hum stroll by. He never looked at us, but by God did we make a game out of looking at him.

What got everyone was how he dressed. He didn't show a speck of skin. His entire body was covered with some piece of clothing. It looked like a kid who'd gotten into their parents closet. Everything he wore was mismatched and tattered. Usually it'd be a long, brown duster coat, tartan slacks and a horribly stained shirt. Occasionally he'd throw in a scarf or a hat, or maybe a second coat under the duster. He wore gloves, sometimes leather, sometimes silk, and a tweed mask.

His mask was hard to explain. It wrapped around his head perfectly with no visible seams or eye holes. We didn't know whether he could see or not, but he never had any trouble walking or crossing the road. I think it's the mask that really got people's imagination wearing.

Some of the kids guessed he might have a rare skin disease. Others thought that he might've been a worker at the old chemical plant and was badly burned when the factory burnt down, but that would've made him at least ninety years old. A bunch of older kids spread the rumour that he was some sick serial killer, laying low in our sleepy town, covering his face in case someone recognises him from a wanted poster or breaking news bulletin. Everyone liked to propound from the sidelines, but no one had the guts to actually find out. Not until tonight.

It was the 26th of October. School had just ended for a week-long break and I was going to my first real party. I barely knew the guy whose house it was at, but I leapt at the chance of underage drinking.

The night turned out great. We all had fun and managed to not throw up once. I downed a whole packet of apple-flavoured chewing gum to try and mask the smell of alcohol on my breath from my parents, although I had a feeling they'd be able to tell anyway. Me and three close friends left the party just before eleven and set off staggering home.

We passed my friend Luke's house first. As he walked up to his front door a light came on and his mother stepped out, her face contorted with pure anger. We laughed at Luke and stumbled on our way as he realised he mixed up the dates and forgot to tell his parents he was going out tonight.

Me, Shayne and Rowan kept messing around as we navigated our way back home. Shayne's house was next and since I lived so far out, I was planning on having a sleepover at Rowan's. We turned a corner, still laughing from a joke we made a block ago, and saw someone. All three of us crouched behind the fence, peeping out from behind to confirm our suspicions. Walking down the middle of the road was the Masked Man.

He was in his usual get up, only he'd taken off his gloves. We all squinted to try and get a better look. The only light we had came from a pathetic, constantly buzzing street lamp but we were desperate to finally see what he's been hiding. All of a sudden he turned and began walking up to a house. He stepped up onto the porch and opened the door. Just as he walked inside, we could see him slowly take off his mask, and then the door slammed shut behind him.

The three of us looked at each other, all thinking the same thing. The mystery of what the Masked Man looked like was still that - a mystery. He had his back to us and even in perfect daylight we wouldn't have been able to make his face out. The first one of us to commit our thoughts to speech was Shayne.

He told us, pumping out his chest, that he was gonna go see which of the rumours was true. He said he had a plan and before me or Rowan could say anything, Shayne was already halfway across the street. We looked at each other and followed him, coming up to the Masked Man's old house. It was noticeably more run down than the other houses on the block. The paint was peeling, the gutter had almost fallen down and an upstairs window had been shattered. The three of us stood around the front door, keeping our voices low as Shayne explained his grand plan.

He said he was going to simply knock on the front door. When the Masked Man answered, he'd say “oh sorry, wrong house” and then just turn around and leave, but not before getting a good eyeful of him. We all thought that it was a flawless plan and egged him on as we took our hiding place behind a bush at the end of the Masked Man's property.

As I got a good look at the house I realised that I recognised it. My dad had this friend who had gone through a rough divorce. He slept in our spare room for a few weeks before he eventually won the house back in the court settlement. Around six months ago, he moved out of town without so much as a goodbye. I could remember when I was much younger him showing his car off to me. That thing was his pride and joy. I couldn't believe this was the same house.

My thoughts were bisected by the sound of Shayne rapping his knuckles on the front door. He turned to look at us and gave us a dumb grin and a thumbs up. I think he was about to crack a joke when the door opened. Standing at the entrance was the Masked Man. He'd taken off his mask, as well as most of his clothes. That much I could make out as he was still shrouded in shadows. There wasn't a single light on in his house and to me and Rowan he wasn't anything more than a silhouette.

As we both tried to discreetly get a better look, Shayne began stuttering out his excuse. Suddenly, he stopped. There was a pause before he began to scream in a shrill pitch. We watched as the Masked Man grabbed Shayne by his lower jaw and violently yanked him inside the house, the door slamming shut behind him.

Me and Rowan looked on in shock. I turned to Rowan to ask him what we should do but before I could speak he was up and running to the front door. He started pounding on it and yelling expletives. I ran up behind him and yanked him away. I held him and asked if he was crazy. As he began mumbling a response, the front door began to open.

We both bolted like a greyhound out of a trap and dived behind the corner of the house. We stayed there, holding our breath and waiting to meet the same fate as Shayne. Eventually, Rowan found enough courage to peep around the edge of the wall. He didn't see anyone. He moved out a little further and saw that the door was still closed.

I pulled him back and told him that we should call the police. He snorted and explained to me that they'd probably arrest us for underage drinking. We'd spend the night in some jail cell and by the time we could explain ourselves, Shayne would be dead.

Before I could question his reasoning, Rowan walked over to a window, cupped his hands and peeked in. I sighed, frustrated, and asked if he saw anything. He was replying with a long, drawn-out “no” when suddenly he yelped and crouched down. Seeing his reaction I instinctively did the same.

I crawled over to him and in a voice just below a whisper I asked him what he'd seen. I could see the fear in his eyes as he told me that saw the Mask Man, now mostly derobed, walking out from what he guessed was a door to the basement. After that, Rowan started muttering to himself about how the Masked Man must've seen him.

I knew that Shayne, my best friend for as long as I could remember, was in the basement. My stomach churned thinking about what I had to do next. I held my breath as I stood and peered in through the window. I couldn't see the Masked Man anywhere. I nudged the window and my suspensions were confirmed. Like the front door, the window was left unlocked and slightly ajar.

I tried to steady my breath as I pulled the window all the way open. Rowan looked at me in shock as I asked him to give me a leg up. Still, he complied. Once I was inside I pulled him in after me. Before I did, he grabbed a fist sized rock from the garden. “For self defence”, he told me.

The house was perfectly still. Every surface was covered in a thin veneer of dust. We both stood there for a second, trying to hear the Masked Man. There wasn't a sound, other than the faint dripping of some faraway faucet. In what we thought was relative safety, we crept our way to the door the Masked Man had emerged from. I gently opened it and sure enough, I was met with a staircase descending into the impenetrable darkness of the basement.

I didn't dare call out Shayne's name in fear that he wouldn't be the only one who'd hear me. Instead, I began my way down the stairs, Rowan following right behind me. My mother had given me a small wind-up torch, so I could make my way home safely at night, she said. I fished around in my coat pocket for it, my hand clutching the familiar metal just as I reached the bottom.I found the button and switched it on, finally illuminating the room. It took me a while to realise what I was seeing, but judging from Rowan's deafening scream, he knew right away.

Shayne was hanging upside down from the ceiling, a chained hook driven through both of his ankles. He had long, fresh cuts across his throat, wrists and legs, which were all pouring with blood. The blood dripped down into a series of angled metal sheeting, which directed the flow into a steel trough. There were four other bodies hanging from chains, all serving the...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Tacska on 2024-10-27 12:34:41+00:00.

---

I mean, the title is rather self-explanatory. I'm at Vienna International Airport, and everything is frozen in time. All the morning passengers are here, all of them unmoving like fleshy, warm statues. Looking outside through the window, I see a flight departing, suspended in the air. Next to me, a woman is dropping her handbag, and all the contents are frozen in the air, unaffected by gravity's pull.

Suppose I can elaborate a bit, as, at the moment, it appears that I have… all the time in the world.

I was on a business trip in Vienna, and I had to travel back to Paris CDG Airport with an early morning flight. On the way towards the terminal, staring out of the cab, I saw the airport lights in the dim, cloudy dawn sky. Some of the departing planes were awfully slow - almost like they were not moving at all. I was thinking of pointing this out to the cabbie, but I chalked it up to tiredness. See, after-conference "networking cocktails" and 6am flights are not a great combination, so I was far from being in a chatty mood. Either way, the guy dropped me off, and I decided to have a quick ciggie before checking in.

While smoking, I wondered about airports - how fascinating they are. A while ago, during my university years, I had a part time bartender job at one, and I always found them eerie. They were "liminal spaces": areas of the inbetween, people just heading there to pass through it - sort of a border world. Of course, seeing airports like that could've been Stockholm syndrome caused by this student job as well - after all, I needed some sense of wonder to tolerate five am shifts. And now, many years later, here I am, at five am again, but this time, as one of the travellers, a wandering soul lost in the liminal landscape... I let out a brief laugh - the hangover left me way too philosophical. Yet, the eerie feeling I had turned out to be more of a premonition, rather than a hungover inner monologue-ramble.

Things took a sharp turn for the weird at security. While there were quite a few people, many gates were open, so the crowd moved fast. I got directed towards a freshly opened security station. It was surrounded by tired looking officers. One instructing me to put my laptops, and fluid containers on separate trays, the other two standing behind the metal detector gate, waving me through... and a third one - slightly peculiar. He was sitting behind the monitor of the x-ray machine you put your bags through, wearing huge aviators, basically covering half his face. Ah well, I figured you gotta make a fashion statement somehow, even if you're obligated to wear a uniform.

Anyways, I was about to walk through the gate - the metal detector, the symbolic border between the mundane and the liminal. But the very moment I stepped through it, complete silence engulfed everything. I reflectively touched my ear, thinking my earbuds somehow turned on noise cancelling, when I realised that they were in the tray - which slowly rolled down on the pickup area.

And that was the only thing moving. Everything else stopped - like someone hitting a pause button. Odd, I figured. I slowly walked back through the gate, but nothing changed. Everything around me stood still. The security guy's hand frozen in a bored wave, a man putting his belt back on unmoving next to me, a family in the other queue, stuck in mid-argument, their small kid, her face trapped in a mid-crying expression, but no sound leaving her mouth... wish I could do this to kids once the plane took off. Nevertheless, temporal anomalies be damned, I did not want to miss my plane, so I grabbed my stuff from the tray. Yet, as I was putting my laptop back into my bag, I saw one thing - or, well, the absence of it. The security guy with the sunglasses was nowhere to be found. This whole thing did not look like something that respects airport security standards.

Walking towards my gate, d24, in the dead silence was certainly an experience. I moved through crowds in suspended animation (or I sure as hell I hope it was that - it would be rather awkward to be at an airport full of dead people). Still, it had a certain beauty. Upon arriving to d24, an unusual sight welcomed me. The monitors showed that boarding was open - and indeed, the doors were ajar - but the flight destination, instead of “Paris CDG” just looked like a jumbled mess of characters. Now, while my app said that this was the correct gate, I did not want to end up at the wrong location, so I decided on not boarding for now, waiting it out instead, hoping that a staff member or an announcement will clear up the confusion soon. I was a bit hungry, and the nearby bar seemed, albeit overpriced, but fairly attractive. I walked over, crisscrossing the statue-like crowds. I grabbed a sandwich, and - as the staff was unavailable on account of being frozen in time - I decided to walk behind the till to the coffee machine, and help myself to some drinks. For a moment I entertained the thought of making myself a nice flat white, but I figured that if time restarts and I am standing in a restricted area steaming milk, I may get some angry looks, so I opted for an espresso instead. The tiny cup was halfway through when I heard something familiar: the breaking news announcement of Euronews on a nearby TV screen.

Well, something - apart from me - was unaffected by this time-fuckery, so I quickly grabbed my coffee and my sandwich. The total was 12.30€, so I put a tenner on the counter and figured they can keep the change. Indeed, at the back of the bar, there was a tv, broadcasting the morning news, oblivious to the frozen world around it.

"...chief investigator of the crash of AirFrance flight***** (I have hidden the flight ID, just in case) at Vienna Schwechat Intl. Airport this morning states that at this time, the exact cause of the accident cannot be determined. While the number of confirmed casualties just passed 80, the search for survivors continues. According to witness testimonies, the aircraft overran the runway during takeoff, and crashed into the industrial area of Schwadorf, a settlement near the airport. Authorities have asked the public to forward any information, including recordings of the events to the authorities..."

Rather macabre, watching these news at an airport, I was thinking, when it hit me like a freight train (or like a crashing plane) - the flight they were talking about was the one I was supposed to board.

Now, while I was trying to cut down on my smoking, this news warranted another cigarette. The airport has a nice smoking area, looking at the runway, where a flight was taking off - except it wasn't, as it was just floating silently , in a surreal manner. Some sight for a smoke. Yet, as I was clicking my lighter, I noticed something weird. Well - something that should've not been weird, but in this specific scenario, it was rather unusual: a few airport technician looking guys, in high visibility vests, cargo pants - and despite the cloudy early morning, dark aviator sunglasses - were walking around. Y'know, actually walking - while the world around them was dead still.

I'm back now at the restaurant, typing this down on my laptop. Now, I know that my demeanour may feel like I'm not taking the situation seriously enough, but trust me, this is my defense mechanism when I am positively shitting myself - which is pretty much the case now. I mean I'm not stupid. I saw the news of my crashed plane, and I can connect the dots. I'm wondering if this is limbo, death or some otherworldly shit… But the call of nature is disrupting my spiral into anxiety. After the coffee and the ciggie, I’m not only about to shit myself figuratively, but also literally, so I will try to hunt down a bathroom in this hellscape of an airport. I'll check back in a bit to see if anyone's around, and update y’all. Cheerio.

Update 1

So I went to answer the call of nature. Luckily one out of the four stalls was open at least. I was also not jealous of the poor bastards whom eternity found in the middle of dropping a log. So, I was doing my business when I noticed... feet. First I could see shadows under the stall door, through the gap, then two pairs of work shoes - two people, walking around in the bathroom. Now, I was about to call out, but something held me back - on top of how awkward it is to have a mid-shit conversation. Soon I realised what set my alarms off. I saw the feet - but I did not hear them. They were walking in complete silence - until they started talking. I mean I reckon they were talking, but I couldn't understand shit. Saying their words were garbled is an understatement. It sounded like a recording of an already foreign language being played backwards, while distorted via a radio. So - I clenched my buttocks and remained silent, until they left. I was not against the idea of trying to communicate with.... whatever these lads were, but the situation was not exactly ideal, so I decided to delay.

Instead of immediately heading back towards the bar near my gate where I’ve left my luggage and my laptop, I wandered around a little bit, as my plane was not about to leave. Upon inspecting the motionless terminal, I found some of the guys I've seen earlier on the runway, and in the toilet. Contrasting how everything was halted around them, they stood out being busybodies, but they were always behind locked doors, on different floors, or otherwise inaccessible territories. In parts ...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/MyImaginaryCatPaw on 2024-10-27 13:13:01+00:00.

---

I saw my first vamp when I was fourteen years old. It’s not something that leaves your mind, even when you try to fill it up with good things instead.

It happened at an arcade. Dad had brought me to show some retro game he used to play with his cousins. I was winning, about to set a high score when I heard the screams.

They were blood curdling. I looked at my Dad, my heart had dropped somewhere into my stomach. He was pale, he was as scared as I was.

We knew what those screams could mean. We saw every morning on the news a new face, someone who had turned and killed or someone who had been killed by a vamp.

Dad didn’t wait to see who it was. He grabbed my shoulders and guided me straight to the exit.

I shouldn’t have looked back. When I did, I saw a picture that branded itself into my brain, forever. The kid was cute, blonde with big blue eyes. Little overalls. He was clamping his teeth into his young mothers breast, sucking furiously as she shrieked in pain.

The nursing cloth that used to provide privacy was now spattered with blood and lay idle on the floor. It’s something I noticed as Dad rushed me out.

I don’t know what happened to the mother. All I knew was that she would never see her baby again. Not after the cops showed and took it to REHAB.

Everybody knows once you try human blood you can’t ever stop. It’s why young mothers are warned to stop breast feeding as soon as the babies develop teeth.

Dad said it was rare for this to happen, that it was likely she already had a scab or a small cut and the baby had bitten after the initial taste. He gave a small seminar about her stupidity, not paying attention like that.

I thought that it was pointless to criticize her. Her baby was gone. She had learned her lesson, and so had I. I would never breastfeed in my life.

I was paranoid for a long time. I refused to floss despite knowing it was impossible to turn with my own blood. I wouldn’t share chapstick, or kitchen utensils. I lived in constant anxiety and fear.

Then one night, my worst nightmare came to reality. I was walking home, when I saw a man rapidly approaching from across the street. His mouth and chin were covered in dark blood. Fresh.

I froze in fear, I couldn’t move a muscle.

Something clicked when I saw he was wielding a small knife, tipped with blood. I can’t die. Not like this. I ran, with energy and speed I hadn’t thought possible.

While running I tried to think of what to do, how to protect myself. I scanned the area in front of me and located a trash can on the corner of the street. Litter surrounded the bottom. I saw the top of a glass bottle peeking out of the top. I ran as fast as I could toward the trash.

When I arrived at the bin I speedily grabbed the bottle out, scanning it first for traces of blood due to years of paranoid habit. I closed my eyes when I crashed the bottle down on the curb, creating a makeshift knife. I did all this in the ten seconds it took for him to reach me.

I didn’t let him make the first move, I was aware it was my life or his. I aimed for his throat, my heart pounding in my ears. I screamed when I stabbed him. I was still screaming as blood gushed out of his neck.

He tried to stop the blood with his hands, clutching the hole in his neck. In doing so he dropped his knife, which clattered onto the road. He faltered, gasping for air.

After I stabbed him I wanted to run, I mentally commanded my body to move as he bled out. But I was frozen.

He looked at me with desperation and despair in his eyes. Even in my intense fear, for a moment I felt pity for him. Then, with the speed of a striking snake his hand left his bleeding wound and he grabbed my hair. He pulled so hard I yelled in pain. When I did he stuck his fingers in my mouth.

I couldn’t process what had just happened before I felt it. The most amazing feeling. It was like every worry was melted away. I was calm, floating up and up and up till I went from happy to ecstatic to a place where I felt like I was dreaming. This happened in 20 seconds, but it felt like time had frozen.

When I came to, the man was lying on the street. Blood was still oozing out, but the animation had left his eyes. He was smiling. I knew why. He had chosen to do a noble thing in death. He had opened my eyes. Something I had been running from my whole life was something I should have been chasing. I now couldn’t imagine life without another taste, as many as I could get.

I knew I needed to run before anyone saw me and the cops came and took me away. But I had to take some with me.

I took off my jacket and saturated a sleeve in the blood coming from his neck. As I did I made sure that the sleeve didn’t touch the road. I was gonna drink every drop, and who knows what germs could be on the street? I wrapped the sleeve with the rest of the jacket and ran in the direction of my home, holding tightly to my new found treasure.

As I ran I wanted so badly to try another drop, but I knew I would black out and didn’t know for how long. As I gasped deep breaths of the chilly autumn air, it registered. I killed someone. I shook the thought out of my head. It was self defense, and I had a whole new life now.

When I got home I squeezed all I could from the sleeve and stored it best I could manage.

Life has been somewhat surreal since then. Every day is stretched out endlessly now. I’m timeless.

The blood is going bad. Soon I’ll run out.

It doesn’t matter. I’m free. I’ll live eons in days. I’m timeless.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Lueziid on 2024-10-27 06:35:42+00:00.

---

I just moved into an old house in the middle of nowhere. It was cheap, and I was desperate to get away from the city. I figured I could fix it up a bit, make it cozy, and live a quiet life. The basement was massive, filled with old furniture and boxes left by the previous owners, but there was this one door I couldn’t open. It was rusted shut, and no amount of force would budge it.

It was only a week ago that I finally decided to break it open. I grabbed a crowbar, thinking maybe there was a small storage space behind it. I was wrong.

The door swung open with a loud, creaking moan, and the smell hit me instantly. It was like rot mixed with something sickly sweet. I gagged, but my curiosity got the better of me. I grabbed a flashlight and peered inside. The room was small, cramped, and the walls were lined with old, yellowing photographs. They were of people… hundreds of them. Men, women, children, all staring blankly at the camera. But the thing that made my skin crawl? They were all missing their eyes.

I wanted to leave right then, but something caught my eye. In the corner of the room was an old, dusty box. It was the only thing in there that wasn’t covered in cobwebs. I shouldn't have opened it.

Inside were dozens of small glass jars, each one containing something dark and shriveled. My flashlight flickered, and I thought I heard whispering, like tiny voices coming from the jars. I don’t know why, but I picked one up, and when I looked closer, I realized what was inside: an eyeball.

I dropped it, and it shattered on the floor. That’s when the whispering turned into a low, guttural growl. I backed up, ready to run out of the basement, but the door slammed shut on its own. The lights in the room flickered and went out completely. I was plunged into darkness, but I could feel something moving, crawling around the room.

I switched my flashlight back on, but it was dim now, barely lighting up the room. That’s when I saw them. Faces. All around me. Pressing against the walls, their eyeless sockets staring right at me. Their mouths moved, whispering, but it was like they were speaking in a language I couldn’t understand. I thought I was going insane.

I ran to the door and started banging on it, screaming, but the whispers grew louder, almost deafening. I turned around, and one of the faces was inches away from mine. It smiled, a sick, twisted grin, and I could finally make out what it was saying: "Thank you... for letting us out."

The door burst open, and I stumbled out, sprinting up the stairs. I slammed the basement door shut and pushed a dresser in front of it, but I could still hear the whispers on the other side. I didn’t sleep that night. I just sat there, clutching a kitchen knife, waiting for whatever was down there to try and get out.

I called a locksmith the next day to have the door sealed shut. But when he arrived, he told me there was no basement door. I took him down there, and it was gone. Just a solid wall where the door used to be.

I haven’t gone back down there since. I hear things at night, scratching, like nails on a chalkboard, coming from beneath the floorboards. Sometimes I catch whispers, faint and distant, echoing through the house. And every morning, there’s a new photograph slipped under my bedroom door.

They’re pictures of me.

And in every one, my eyes are missing.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/DJ_Storytime on 2024-10-27 01:55:54+00:00.

---

I never should have entered that antique store, and I definitely shouldn’t have bought that mask. Gannon’s is known for buying and selling rare and unique antiques, and I wanted to impress my friends with a unique Halloween costume this year, so I thought the perfect solution would be to get my hands on a genuine antique costume, one of those strange, ultra creepy ones from the 1800’s or earlier. Sure, it would cost me, but can you really put a price on standing out?

The bell over the door jingled dully as I opened the door and walked in. The proprietor, and gray, bent over man with a thick, bushy beard and thick, round rimmed spectacles who was ninety if he was a day casually acknowledged me and went back to the ancient book he was examining.

The store wasn’t big, but it had space, only every last bit of that space was filled with relics of bygone eras. Not the usual furniture, silverware, and paintings of your typical antique shop. No. Everything here had a story, and as such, everything here commanded a premium price.

There was an old cavalry saber that was known to have killed no less than seven men in the Civil War. It even still had flecks of blood from its victims spattered along the blade and hilt. There was an old rope noose that had supposedly been used to hang a witch during the Salem Witch Trials. There was an ancient tome with strange symbols on the cover that once belonged to a European court wizard. There was even a hat that once belonged to a certain H. H. Holmes. The stories attached to each item were historical, mystical, and often macabre. And I loved it.

I didn’t believe in magic or mysticism, angels and demons, or anything else beyond what science could explain. That didn’t mean that I wasn’t fascinated by stories involving them though. How much more interesting would the world be if the supernatural actually did exist? It was a tantalizing proposition, and it’s why I had to buy it as soon as I saw it.

It was a wolf mask. Not a mask made to look like a wolf, but a mask made out of the skin and fur of a wolf’s head and neck. It was a masterful work of preservation and artistry that looked as alive on display that day as the creature itself must have looked in life.

I picked it up carefully, turning it over and around in my hand so I could see it from every angle. The work was beyond fine. I couldn’t even see the seams and threads that held it together. Not a single hair seemed to be missing from the thick, gray fur. The teeth were real, and firmly fixed into the snout. I assumed they were so well-done because the original jaws had been used to form the snarling mouth. The eyes were glass, and far too lifelike for such an aged item. Perfect replicas of thin glass set in the eye sockets.

I had to have it.

I checked the story card next to the original display. The price was outrageous, but I didn’t care. Not only was the mask perfect, but the supposed history couldn’t have been more ideal for the season.

It read simply: Enchanted mask made from the preserved skin of a Loup Garou slain in Burgundy, France in 1137 AD. Do not wear at night.

“Oh hohohoho,” I grunted excitedly. “I have plans for you!”

I brought the mask and story card to the checkout. Old man Gannon checked the item, and me with more scrutiny than I was really comfortable with before speaking. “Heed the warning boy,” he said sternly. “It wouldn’t do for you to tempt fate.”

I chuckled, ignoring the fact that he called me “boy”. He was probably the oldest man in town, so everyone was “boy” or “girl” to him. “You don’t have to worry about me,” I assured him. “You got any more documentation that goes with this? If I’m going to fork over two-thousand dollars for a mask, I want as much provenance as I can get.”

Old man Gannon grunted derisively. “Of course I have documents that go with it. A fair few actually. Be sure that you read them and take proper precautions.”

“Of course,” I replied seriously, lying through my teeth. The supernatural is not real after all. It’s a myth, legend, just stories. What this mask was, to me, was the foundation of the absolute best Halloween costume I had ever concocted. Sure, a werewolf costume wouldn’t be especially unique, but with that mask, it would be the most frighteningly real one our town had ever seen.

The old man went into the back room and quickly returned with a binder filled with documents in protectors, and a small leatherbound journal. “These are the provenance,” he declared. “The journal is of particular interest as it belonged to a previous owner of the mask, a Mr. Archibald Wembly of London, wrote it in the years Fifteen-Twelve through Fifteen-Fourteen. He went mad after wearing the mask and killed two people before he was cut down in the street. Witnesses swore that he looked more animal than man before he died. The police report is document one-hundred-twenty-three.”

I set the mask on the counter and quickly leafed through the documents. There were originals, and English translations for each. “All this and you’re only charging two-thousand dollars?” I asked incredulously. “Such a unique relic with this much provenance together . . . it has to be worth more.”

Old man Gannon nodded his head. “Yes. Yes it is,” he confirmed. “I actually paid more for it myself, but . . .” he trailed off. “Something about that particular item unsettles me. I wish to be rid of it sooner rather than later, so I’m taking a loss for my own peace of mind.”

I didn’t question it. If this old man was willing to let his superstitions be my gain, I was perfectly fine with it. I paid for the mask and happily took it home.

Looking back, I should never have been so sure of myself. Nor so proud. Nor so certain about how the world works. The events that followed changed my perspective of the nature of reality itself, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go back to how I was.

In my defense, and also to remove any possibility that I can claim ignorance if I get desperate enough, I need to confess that I did read the provenance documents right away. I didn’t read them to get any warnings to heed, or as some kind of user manual. I read them to learn the history of my beautiful, terrifyingly creepy wolf mask. Having the story at the tip of my tongue top tell at will would truly be the icing on what I knew would be a most impressive, and frightening cake, or, rather, costume.

The earliest documents were all about the supposed Loup Garou that was terrorizing the Burgundian countryside, and the hunt to put an end to the gruesome string of murders it was blamed for. Document twenty was a notice celebrating that the foul beast had finally been killed and skinned by a visiting huntsman who only asked to be allowed to keep the skin and take it back to him home as his reward. The local ruler, only too happy to get off so cheaply, permitted it.

The huntsman wrote that he brought the hide to a supposed witch named Lucia, who lived alone on a mountain named Muzsla in modern day Slovakia. He paid her handsomely with instructions to use the hide to create an item of power. One that would make him strong.

Apparently, she obliged, making the wolf mask, and he was happy, but it came with a strict set of rules. 1. Never wear the mask at night. 2. Never wear the mask on the day or night of the full moon. 3. Never wear the mask during the autumnal equinox. 4. Always invoke the name of Christ before donning the mask.

The man must have been wildly superstitious, because he followed the rules religiously. The following documents are filled with fanciful tales of the huntsman performing mighty deeds that led to him earning a minor lordship before retiring to administer his land holdings and eventually dying of old age.

What followed after was one document after another that spoke of the mask passing to a new owner who either did not read, or chose not to follow the rules, and how each one ultimately went mad, committing a varying number of murders, and being either killed during the apprehension, or executed for their crimes. It gained a reputation as a cursed item that turned men into mindless beasts and drove them to kill and even cannibalize their victims.

“Holy crap!” I exclaimed as I finished reading the last page in the binder. “This is even better than I thought! I wonder what that Wembly guy wrote in his diary!”

It was getting late, so I decided to put off reading the diary for another day. I picked up my mask and looked it over, admiring it for both its craftsmanship and its history. “You just might be the coolest thing I’ll ever own,” I said to it as I caressed its cheek.

I looked into the glass eyes, and maybe it was a trick of the light, or maybe it was the lateness of the hour playing tricks with my mind, but I could have sworn those eyes, those glass eyes, looked back at me.

****

I awoke the next morning to my girlfriend letting herself into my apartment. Her key clicked in the lock, and the door squeaked noisily as she opened it.

“Wake up sleepyhead!” she called.

I sat up and groaned in response as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. I checked the clock on my nightstand, saw the time, and got annoyed. “It’s seven a.m. on a Saturday!”

“We have plan’s remember?” she called out. “We’re supposed to . . . what is this?” she asked. Her tone changed from businesslike to pure excitement.

I stepped out of my bedroom clad in nothing but my night pants. She was excitedly holding up the wolf mask and admiri...

---

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1gd0jjb/the_mask_of_the_loup_garou/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/irkenjerkin on 2024-10-27 02:46:15+00:00.

---

I lived in a house with an extremely long, winding driveway. We grew up surrounded by the woods, and when it got late on summer evenings, and the sun finally set after busy days of playing with my neighborhood friends, the darkness swallowed up our little plot of land, and it seemed like there was no end to that sea of trees around us. Like it extended into ink in every direction.

Naturally, I was terrified of those dark woods for reasons I couldn't explain. So as I got older, doing outdoor chores at night got harder and harder. Sometimes i'd have to take furniture off of the porch right before a big storm was approaching or else it'd blow away. Sometimes i'd just have to take the trash to the curb. I ended up being assigned to that job, out of all of my four brothers. I don't know why my mom picked me, but I assume it was because I was always the most cautious one of the five Swanson kids. The first time I had to take the trash to the curb at night, I begged my dad to go with me out of fear. I kept doing it, so eventually we just got in the habit of doing it together. He didn't seem to mind too much, anyway.

That is, until the night it happened.

The sunset was beautiful that night. The fireflies danced under swirls of purple and orange. We get pretty sunsets all the time around here, but something about this one was different. It was like Mother Earth was rewarding us for our hard work on that day- We had just finished demolishing an old shed that got crushed under an even older tree, uprooted by a summer storm.

The clouds seemed to gather like witches around a fire in the heart of the forest, blocking out the gibbous moon that stared down at us like our mom did when we were in trouble.

Thanks to the cloud coverage, it was so dark that we could barely see our feet in front of us as we were walking that familiar path down the barely-paved drive. My dad cracked some kind of joke that I can't recall, and I chuckled to ease the tension.

I had taken to walking as quickly as possible down that winding path when it was dark out. I'm sure the reason for that is obvious; My dad could just about keep up with me even when I was young and spry, and I wanted to spend as little time under that dark sky as possible. The trees on either side of the path loomed over us, but I could just barely make out the cloud-smeared stars past their jagged edges.

I could hear my dad's footsteps behind me as I gripped the black trash bag closer, the plastic strip that made up the handle getting sweaty in my hand. I focused on that sound to calm myself as my nerves started acting up, anxiety nipping at my heels.

Rhythmic, were my dad's footsteps- He had a limp, had gotten his leg twisted up years back in a bad car crash and it never quite healed right. The dull slap of his bad foot on the pavement steadied my thoughts. He was with me, and the world seemed safe. The woods even seemed almost warm.

After what must've been at least a few minutes, I finally saw the end of the driveway. The stinky dumpster was a relief, for once. It meant the trip was at least halfway over.

I practically ran up to the dumpster, focusing on the rotten yellow of its lid rather than the thick woods ahead of us across the thin road that led to our house. I didn't want to look too deeply past that treeline.

As I slammed the trash in, my dad passed me. I felt a cold chill pass down my spine when he stepped out onto the road, staring off into the woods, or maybe the sky- I couldn't tell with his back facing me.

My thoughts were hijacked by the sensation that my rear was no longer protected by my dad's mystical presence. I shot that thought down- He wouldn't be able to protect me anyway, if there were really something wrong.

"Weird night tonight, huh kiddo?"

My dad's rough voice came. I stifled an audible intake of air, not expecting him to say anything. He was a man of few words. I didn't know what he meant, either, and I was already uneasy.

"H-Huh? Not really." I replied.

It was just an average night, right? What was weird about it?

I shut the lid to emphasize my point. I didn't want to seem rude, but I was done being here out so far away from the house- Whose light was now a dim glimmer through the trees, as the path back curved sharply in at least two spots. I turned away and took a step or two, ready to head back as quickly as possible.

"Are you afraid?"

I stopped dead in my tracks. My heart stopped, too. Everything stood still for a second. I couldn't even begin to formulate a reply, my breath caught in my frozen lungs. That. Was. Not. My dad's voice.

It felt like an eternity before I was able to move even an inch, every fiber of my body wanting to flee. My only sanctuary was somehow wrong, and I didn't know why.

I forced my feet to turn themselves around. Maybe my dad was just putting on a scary voice to prank me- He did that sometimes, knowing how cautious I was. Maybe he had gotten a frog in his throat. My mind clung to these fragile hopes as I looked back over my shoulder at him, hoping to gain some kind of information, or at least find out if he was okay or not. My dad was standing in the middle of the road with his back facing me.

"Dad? What's going on?" I asked in a tiny, frail tone. My voice cracked sharply, almost quivering in dread.

He gave no response.

Then, he slowly started turning around. Painfully slowly. With inhuman, almost robotic movements, one foot after the other, one arm swiveling to face me, as if it were detached from his torso. His legs swiveled next, each part turning one after the other. His torso followed, until finally his body fully faced me.

Except for his head. His head was still backward.

And then, that started to turn too.

I shrank backward in horror beyond my control. My brain lit up with fear chemicals, my nerves suddenly blazing with a primal fear response- Everything about this was wrong and I had to get away, get away, anywhere but here.

I stood there, pissing my jorts in terror, for a good solid second further. He turned his head halfway before I bolted, and I'll regret that second before I started running for my whole life ahead of me, because I saw just a tiny bit of his face. ITS face. It wasn't him, if you haven't gathered that already. I don't know what it was, but it wasn't him.

My breath burned my lungs as I frantically scrambled back up the driveway, my vision going blurry. The clouds parted overhead, lighting my way back as my flip-flops slapped hard on the pavement. The gibbous moon trained its eyes on me from its seat in the ink-black sky, drinking in my fear.

Behind me, I heard something. Crunching, thumping, footsteps that didn't belong to my dad, plodding after me like a brown bear. Too heavy, too disordered.

No limp, either.

I remember running further on that night than my body wanted to, my legs nearly buckling out from under me. Adrenaline took over as I followed the black serpent of the driveway. My thoughts were a blur, panic thrumming through my veins, every second half-expecting to feel a cold clammy hand finally gripping my shoulder.

But the hand never stole my soul away from my flesh. I pounded up the stairs, threw open the front door, slammed it shut with all my strength, and locked it as quickly as my shaking, sweaty fingers would allow.

With my back pressed against the wall, I slid down and wrapped my arms around my knees. My face burned from the tears, the warmth of home doing nothing to comfort me as I struggled to catch my breath, my feet aching. A few shuddering, painful gasps were all I could manage before another thought trapped me in frozen, stiff silence. What if the lock wasn't enough? What if it got in anyway?

My eyes flicked up to the window in the door. I was terrified i'd catch another glimpse of that ghastly, pale thing that might've once been my dad's familiar face. But seeing the emptiness of the night sky was somehow worse. I took another breath as I got to my feet, gripping the door handle, as if, in the event of the lock failing, my own grip strength would keep the thing out. Looking back on it, that's absolutely fucking laughable, but at the time I was acting on pure instinct.

Which might explain why I stupidly peered out through the glass, scanning for any signs of life.

I strained my eyes, trying in vain to see anything past the treeline. Even with the clouds parted, the woods held onto their secrets with a tight grip.

After a minute or two, finally something changed. The dim light couldn't hide the trees shaking, the leaves parting, and something-

"RAAAAAAAAAGH!!"

I leapt out of my god damned skin. An outstretched fist connected with something meaty. My dumbass brother, Eric, materialized out of thin air, the door behind him ever so slightly ajar.

"Ow! What the fuck, dickhead?" He complained, rubbing his cheek. I cussed him out, my panic and rage overflowing, my head shaking from how hard I was spitting insults at him.

After several minutes of back and forth arguing, I finally calmed down enough to explain the situation to him. I'm sure it made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

When I finished, he just gave me a weird look, like I had grown a horn on my forehead.

"Dude, are you, like... Are you okay? Have you been taking your meds?" He asked quietly, shifting his position in discomfort. Something about his body language said 'Are you high?'. This only pissed me off further.

"You either need to believe me or get the fuck out of here right now!" I shouted...

---

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1gd1dvs/no_limp/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/No-Glass-3279 on 2024-10-26 15:13:33+00:00.

---

We called ourselves the Preservation Society. We were a small group, just me, Carly, Jude, and Lena, but we took our mission seriously. This was not just about cleaning cemeteries; it was about honoring the forgotten and restoring memories that time had tried to bury. We studied old tombstone cleaning techniques and used special brushes and solutions that would not damage fragile stones. On some weekends, we worked with local historians, collecting names, dates, and family histories. Each gravestone we uncovered felt like pulling a life back from the void.

When we heard about Oak Haven Cemetery’s desperate state of neglect, we jumped at the chance to restore it. We thought it would be like our other projects. A few weekends of labor and maybe some goosebumps from the old graves, but ultimately satisfying as we brought the place back to life. However, from the moment we arrived, Oak Haven felt wrong. It was not just abandoned but hidden away, as if the townspeople wanted to forget it even existed. The cemetery lay shrouded behind a wall of dense brambles that tore at our arms as we cut through. Even when we finally reached the gates, a biting chill seeped into the air.

Inside, nature had claimed every inch. Thick vines coiled over cracked headstones, and roots clawed up from the earth, twisting like fingers around whatever lay beneath. Jude, our handyman, went straight to work with his trimmers, hacking back the brush while Carly tried to clear the pathways, raking through layers of dead leaves that had piled up over decades. Lena and I knelt beside a row of tombstones, carefully wiping away grime to reveal names that had not been seen in years. We started to settle into our usual rhythm, though something in the air felt heavy, almost like a whisper just beyond hearing.

After about an hour, Carly called us over. She had uncovered a gravestone nearly swallowed by the earth, its crumbling surface barely legible. As I brushed away the dirt, faint letters emerged: Margaret Flynn, 1832. Jude, looking over my shoulder, muttered, “These stones do not feel right.” He was right. The ground seemed to resist us, as if it were gripping these stones, trying to keep them hidden.

Still, we pressed on, feeling an odd sort of defiance. As dusk approached, Oak Haven began to shift. Shadows stretched longer, weaving around the stones, and every gust of wind sounded like a whisper. The silence grew thick, pressing in on us. I wanted to tell the others, but when I looked at Carly and Jude, I could see they felt it too.

On the second day, we ventured into Oak Haven’s farthest corner, where Lena found it. She knelt beside an unmarked grave, brushing dirt off a small, filthy doll with blue glass eyes and tangled hair. She stared at it, her face unreadable, almost entranced.

“Who would leave something like this here?” Jude asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

“We should put it back,” I said, feeling a pang of unease. But Lena held the doll tightly, tracing her fingers over its cracked face as if it were something precious.

From that point, Oak Haven became different. Shadows darkened and seemed to stretch unnaturally, twisting around us. Carly, always our steady presence, started glancing over her shoulder, her face pale and tight with nerves. Jude stayed close, muttering about feeling eyes on him, and I understood what he meant. Every gravestone we cleaned seemed to breathe dread, as if it were watching us.

Lena, meanwhile, grew distant, her fingers constantly clutching that doll. She stared at it as if it held secrets only she could hear, her gaze blank and almost feverish. We scrubbed gravestones with desperate intensity, trying to drown out the creeping unease gnawing at our backs. Carly’s fingers traced names on the stones as if she were in a trance, peeling back layers of dirt like she was digging for something buried. It felt as though something old, angry, and hungry was watching us.

Just before sunset, we reached a decrepit mausoleum at the far edge of the cemetery. Its ivy-clad stone walls were cracked, and the door stood slightly ajar, revealing only pitch-blackness inside. We all felt it—a pull, thick and threatening, like the ground itself was luring us in. We gathered our tools in silence, ready to leave, but as I turned, I caught a flicker of white slipping behind a grave. I blinked, and it was gone, but I could not shake the feeling of eyes on me, cold and close.

The next morning, Jude called, his voice shaking. “Lena’s gone,” he whispered. Her family had not seen her since we dropped her off the night before. My stomach twisted, remembering her hollow gaze and her fingers clutching that doll with unnatural intensity. She had seemed distant, as if something inside her was missing.

Carly and I returned to Oak Haven, searching for any clue to Lena’s disappearance. The cemetery felt colder than before, as if the air had thickened with something waiting for us. In the far corner, near where Lena found the doll, we discovered a freshly dug grave, the earth loose and dark, as though something or someone had been buried recently. Beside it lay a single footprint, small and child-sized, pressed deep into the damp ground...With the doll atop the mound.

Then we heard it—laughter. It was faint, almost a whisper, floating from the trees and winding through the graves. I froze as a chill slid down my spine. Carly’s grip tightened on my arm, her face drained of color. We did not speak; we just listened to that cold, high laughter that twisted through the cemetery like smoke, taunting us.

We ran back to the car, our hearts pounding, barely glancing over our shoulders, but the laughter followed us, echoing in our ears, wrapping around us like a shroud. As we sped away, the trees closed in behind us, shadows darting in the corners of my vision, as if the cemetery itself was reaching out to reclaim what we had disturbed.

That night, I lay in bed, wide awake, every creak of the house amplifying the dread curling in my stomach. The darkness felt alive, pressing in from all sides, thick with a presence that made my skin crawl. I could not shake the feeling that something had come with us, something sinister that lurked just beyond the edges of my vision.

As I turned onto my side, I caught a glimpse of the window. The curtain billowed slightly, and my breath caught in my throat. There, etched against the glass, was a small handprint, smudged and dirty, with a chilling outline that seemed too small to belong to any adult.

I bolted upright, heart racing, and rushed to the window, but when I pulled back the curtain, there was nothing outside—only the stillness of the night. I backed away, my pulse quickening, and just as I turned, I caught a flash of movement in the shadows.

A whisper of laughter echoed through the stillness, and the air grew heavy with an unseen weight. I realized with a jolt that we had not left Oak Haven behind. It had followed us, and now, whatever darkness we had awakened was waiting for its next move.

I turned on my light, scanning the room, but deep down, I knew the truth. We had become part of the cemetery’s story, entwined in its haunted history, and there would be no escaping its grasp. The night felt endless, the darkness alive, and all I could do was wait for whatever horror awaited me in the shadows.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Verlac_1 on 2024-10-25 23:59:26+00:00.

---

On a foggy October night, my three friends and I stood outside the abandoned Ashgrove Asylum, its shadow stretching over us like some silent, lurking beast. The building loomed in the darkness, its cracked stone walls swallowed by ivy, windows shattered into sharp, jagged teeth. People called this place cursed.

Legends swirled around Ashgrove, tales passed down for generations about the mysterious disappearance of Nurse Evelyn Crane. She was a kind woman, they said, who cared for the patients as if they were family. But one night, she vanished, leaving only a chilling lullaby that echoed through the halls. It became known as “The Nurse’s Rhyme,” a twisted warning that haunted the memories of the few who dared to enter.

The words of her rhyme were whispered like a ghost story around campfires: “Nurse comes for those who wander… Nurse comes to take you under…” Some said that those who heard it were doomed to wander the asylum’s halls forever, trapped in a trance, just as Nurse Crane was.

We’d laughed it off, all of us, but now as we pushed open the rusty doors, our laughter had faded. We stepped inside, and a biting chill wrapped around us immediately, as if the asylum itself were breathing.

The air was thick with the stench of mold and rot. The silence was so heavy it felt as though the whole building was waiting, listening to us. I could hear our footsteps echo off the cracked tiles, each step a reminder of how alone we were. Or how alone we should have been.

After a few minutes of walking, Ethan’s flashlight flickered and went out. He cursed, shaking it, but it stayed dark. “Batteries were new,” he muttered, his voice thin, almost swallowed by the silence. Just then, I thought I heard something, a faint whisper, so soft it was barely there, floating from the end of the corridor. My heart began to pound as a shiver crawled up my spine. I tried to convince myself it was the wind, but deep down, I knew better. We all did.

We moved deeper into the asylum, the long corridors narrowing around us, and eventually reached what looked like an old operating room. The walls were painted with peeling gray paint, stained with something too dark to be rust. I felt the temperature drop again, as if the room itself were swallowing the warmth. Shadows clung to the walls, thick and unmoving. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something flicker, a dark shape darting along the edges of my vision. I gasped, stepping back, bumping into Jake. “Did you see that?” I whispered, though I could barely breathe.

But no one had seen anything, only me. Still, we all felt it. The weight pressing in on us, like something terrible had just brushed past. The air seemed to thicken, wrapping around us, filling our lungs with an icy dread.

“Let’s go,” Sara whispered, her voice barely audible, and we all nodded, silently grateful for the excuse to leave. But as we turned toward the door, it slammed shut, the sound echoing through the darkened halls like a gunshot. I lunged for the handle, pulling as hard as I could, but it wouldn’t budge. My hands grew cold and clammy, each tug at the door leaving my heart pounding faster. A sudden gust of icy wind tore through the room, and that was when I heard it…an eerie lullaby, so faint and twisted that it sounded like it was coming from the walls themselves.

I turned to look at Jake, and a chill froze me to the bone. His face had gone slack, his eyes empty and unfocused, as though he were staring straight through me. Then his mouth opened, and in a soft, sing-song voice I didn’t recognize, he began to mutter, “Nurse comes for those who wander… Nurse comes to take you under…”

My stomach twisted. I grabbed his arm, trying to shake him, but he just kept muttering, his voice growing softer, his eyes unfocused, fixed on something I couldn’t see. Ethan and I pushed on the door again, slamming our shoulders into it, but it wouldn’t move. The walls seemed to close in, shadows reaching out from the corners, stretching toward us like hands clawing for skin.

And then the footsteps began. Slow, careful footsteps, echoing down the hall. They grew louder, each one more measured, each one more intentional, like something, or someone, was coming for us. And the lullaby… it grew louder, wrapping around us like a suffocating fog. I could feel a cold, lingering presence slide across my skin, the touch of fingers that weren’t there, and a terrible realization settled in my chest, squeezing my heart with icy fingers. We hadn’t found the ghost; the ghost had found us.

I grabbed Sara and Ethan, shouting that we had to go, but they just stared back at me with blank, hollow expressions. Their eyes had that same glassy look Jake’s did, empty, like they weren’t seeing me anymore. Desperate, I shook each of them, screaming their names, but they only muttered softly, voices blending with the twisted lullaby filling the air, “Nurse comes for those who wander… Nurse comes to take you under.” Their gazes drifted past me toward the approaching footsteps.

I backed away, feeling trapped, surrounded by the encroaching darkness and my friends’ haunted faces. I didn’t want to leave them, but the dread was crushing me, pushing me toward the door. I turned and ran, throwing my weight against the door with a final, desperate shove, and somehow, it gave way.

I stumbled into the hallway, glancing back one last time to see the shadows swallowing them, wrapping around my friends like tendrils of smoke. Their faces faded, their eyes lifeless, fixed on something just beyond the darkness. I called out, but they didn’t respond, and the cold crept closer.

And then the door slammed shut, locking them inside.

I ran down the empty corridors, my footsteps echoing, the lullaby following me like a ghostly whisper. I didn’t stop until I was outside, gasping for air, the asylum towering behind me, dark and silent.

They never came out. The last thing I heard, echoing in my mind, was my friend’s voices, barely a whisper in the darkness…” Nurse comes for those who wander…Nurse comes to take you under…”

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/likeeyedid on 2024-10-26 17:12:27+00:00.

---

Autumn arrived fully and in its entire grey glory on a simple Friday and I hated it. I had to stay late for a party at the office to spend time with people I didn't like and hardly knew yet. And, as I finally found the moment to say my goodbyes and left the building, I was smacked in the face by rain carried over on a harsh howling wind. 

Cursing myself for forgetting an umbrella, I jumped out and looked for the next subway station. I was still quite new to this town and had to find my way around. My glasses were just as wet as my phone, which didn't help much to find the right direction. 

The surrounding lights of the shops and bars shone in the puddles on the ground. I tried my best to avoid them but failed twice and my sneakers were soaked and muddy.  My grumbling stomach didn't help with the very bad mood I already had. I had filled up on more liquid than food at the party, hoping it would push me to socialize a little. It didn't.

As I was just about to lose my nerves and call a cab, I saw it. The place that would become my sanctuary and my hell. 

Franky's 

The building itself was nothing special or at least nothing memorable. Yellow bricks or possibly grey concrete with windows on the higher floors. The ground floor however only had this big door with a wooden sign on top. Franky's: Restaurant & Bar was written in golden cursive letters that were lit up with a single light bulb on top of it. 

I can't tell you what led me to open the door, let alone walk inside but before I knew what I was doing I found myself in a small entrance hall. 

A hostess stood behind a wooden desk and when her gaze dropped to my soaked clothes she gave me a warm smile. She was dressed in an elegant black sweater and a skirt. 

"Table for one?" She asked. 

"Oh, no, sorry," I started mumbling. "I came in by accident."

She slowly shook her head.

"You walked into a restaurant by accident?"

And just as I looked for words to fill the silence my stomach took initiative and let out a loud grumble. 

"I suppose your tummy doesn't think it was an accident," she giggled. "But you're in luck. We still have an empty table. It's just down the stairs." She gestured to her right where a small hallway led to a spiralling staircase. 

I was just about to turn around and get away, politeness be damned because I did not see myself sitting in a restaurant completely soaked, especially as I didn't even know how expensive this place might be. But then the scent of roasted garlic and baked bread filled my nose and before I could stop myself I was moving towards the stairs.

"Enjoy!" The woman called after me. 

I'd never been to a restaurant in a basement before and this place almost felt like a cave with its uneven stone walls. It should have felt suffocating but instead, it was cozy and inviting. It was dim, most of the light came from individual candles on the tables and soft piano music was being played by a man in the center of the room. The walls were adorned with dozens of paintings. 

A waiter dressed in a white shirt led me to my table. But as I sat down the eyes of every person around turned to me. Everyone stopped talking, the soft tune of the piano the only sound. I caught the eyes of a woman at the table to my left and she simply stared at me, not blinking once. Her mouth opened and for a moment I thought she would say something to me but instead her mouth only opened wider to reveal a set of rotten teeth. 

I blinked and she tilted her head, giving me a smile with full red lips and no sign of rot.

That's when the waiter placed a basket of bread in front of me and the gazes of the people shifted again as the muffled conversations continued. It was nothing, just a trick of the light mixed with my muddled mind.

"Thank you," I said to the man who filled my glass and he nodded as he handed me a card.

"I will be back in a moment to take your order," he said before heading to a different table. 

Surprisingly, the meals were very affordable and everything sounded incredibly delicious. I ordered the honey-roasted salmon with rosemary potatoes and a house salad. After placing my order I simply sat there, mesmerized by the light of the warm candle in front of me. 

Strangely, for the first time since I'd moved here, I felt at home. Like I belonged. I forgot about the cold waiting for me outside, forgot about my wet clothes, and the terrible conversations I had with my colleagues. 

I was pulled away from my thoughts as the waiter placed my meal in front of me. The mouth-watering scents filled my nose and I started digging in. Every bite tasted better than the one before and I used the bread to soak up the last bits of sauce and oil on my plate. 

The waiter appeared again and I ordered a chocolate lava cake for dessert. 

I'm not sure how much time had passed at that point and I realized that I didn't care. I would have stayed there forever if I could, falling asleep with the sound of the piano. 

My cake was brought out with a shot of espresso I hadn't ordered. I finished my dessert and drank the coffee in one gulp. And that's when my heart started racing. The walls felt as if they were about to cave in, no matter how hard I tried my lungs wouldn't fill with enough air. 

A look at my watch made me realize that five hours had passed. There was no way I had been eating for five fucking hours. I looked at the burning candle that hadn't shrunk one bit. I even touched it to make sure that it was real and burned my finger in the process. 

I quickly placed some notes on the table and practically ran up the stairs without looking at another person. 

--

The following morning I still had no idea what had happened to me but it took me hours until I was even remotely ready to get out of bed. The days after weren't much better. I felt constantly tired, agitated, and exhausted.

But that wasn't the worst of it. 

I couldn't eat anymore. I'd try a piece of bread and would instantly taste mold on it and spit it out. Even my favorite meals tasted like ash in my mouth. Eventually, I had to resort to blending my food and physically force myself to swallow it. But even then I would throw it back up most of the time. 

A week later I was just on my way back from the gym near my home, hoping to get some energy back, when I suddenly noticed the same sign at the front of a building, in a completely different part of town.

Franky's

Curiosity got the best of me and I opened the door, just to be greeted by the exact same hostess of the other night. 

"Table for one?" She asked with a smirk and before I knew what I was doing, I nodded and made my way down the stairs. 

--

I'd just started with my dinner when another guest came up to my table. 

"You're a regular now, aren't you?" 

He couldn't have been much older than me, late twenties or maybe early thirties but his curly blonde hair and the freckles on his face gave him a slightly boyish look. 

"Excuse me?" I laughed nervously.

He didn't even ask permission before sitting down in the seat in front of me which usually stayed empty.

"A regular visitor of the restaurant. Though everyone here is," he winked. "What's your name?"

"Leonard Erikson."

"Leonard Erikson." He repeated my name as if he was tasting every single syllable. "It is truly a pleasure to meet you."

I smiled and when he stayed silent for a while I asked, "Are you gonna tell me your name too?"

He grinned.

"Not today, Leo. Can I call you Leo?"

I rolled my eyes and laughed.

"Are you serious?" 

"Wellm how about you call me Jack. It's not my name but I'll answer to it," he shrugged. "You know you seem really at ease for someone who is being lured into this place. A lot of people lose their calm much sooner."

A hard lump formed in my throat and it felt as if someone had poured ice water over my head. It was weird that I came back here, especially as I was in a completely different part of town. But I just felt so incredibly hungry. 

"Shht, it's okay. You haven't even finished your meal yet. It is easier if you simply ignore the wrongness, at least that's what I learned. I didn't mean to pull you out."

"Out of what?" I whispered.

"The experience," he said with a sympathetic smile on his face. "You'll spend a lot of time here, Leo. So just so you know you can interact with the people here. It might even help you to do so. Just be careful what you reveal about yourself." 

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that some of the other guests here are very hungry. They are keeping away from you as you are still fresh but that will change soon. Some hardly ever leave this place and long for a touch of the outside. Don't feed them too much."

"This is a restaurant. I'm sure they won't go hungry here."

"Not every type of hunger can be stilled with food, Leo."

Before I could reply, he got off his seat but I grabbed his arm on instinct. I still had so many questions and I wanted to hear him speak for longer. I wanted to know more about him but before I could do so, Jack's expression shifted into the one of a madman. He yanked his arm free, shoving his fists down on the table in front of me. He came close enough for me to feel the heat of his breath on my skin. In the dim light, his eyes appeared almost yellow as they were drilling into mine. 

"Don't ever touch me again," he hissed and turned away from me. This time I didn't try to stop him.

I ate the rest of my meal in silence and didn't look for Jack, nor did I interact with a...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/itsyaboiFaZeShrek on 2024-10-26 15:55:41+00:00.

---

I’ve always had a very odd relationship with my imagination.

My imagination and daydreaming were so vivid as a child that it kept me occupied throughout most days, for better or worse. My dreams were no different. Some days I would have the most breathtakingly vivid dreams that were so beautiful; however, I found out from a pretty early age that this imagination came with a price.

The horrific dreams and hallucinations started when I was around 5 or 6. I would have hallucinations of angels coming to me, standing in doorways, holding me in my dreams, and showing me things. Now, being raised in a religious household, you would think that I found this comforting; but they always terrified me. The angels that I would see had no faces; and, when I met them in my dreams, their embrace was freezing to the touch. There was no comfort I found in them; and, to be honest, this is probably one of the reasons I fell out of religion so early on in my childhood. I can’t exactly remember all of the things that they showed me in my dreams. I know they weren’t all scary or bad, but it was always unsettling at the least.

But my hallucinations, while the good ones were still there sometimes, became more and more horrifying as I got older. Sometimes when I’d wake up from a terrible dream, me being an elementary aged kid, would of course call for my parents; and one of my parents would come. Usually they would come right to my bedside and comfort me, pat my head, give me a kiss on the forehead and be on their way back to sleep. But I remember on some occassions I would get even more scared when my parents — or what I thought was my parents — came to comfort me. Because sometimes all they would do is peek their head around the corner and stare at me for minutes. With it being just about pitch black in my room, with only maybe the moonlight shining in from the window as light, I could only make out the shape of someones head. There were never any facial features visible, just kind of a white blob. I would call out “Mom” or “Dad” multiple times, but I would never get a reply. When this happened I remember always thinking “Why is mom/dad taller than usual” but me being so young never registered that it could be something else other than my loving parents coming to check on me when I called for help. When I would finally say “You’re scaring me,” after the uncomfortably long time of them just staring at me, the head would disappear back into the hallway.

I know now, of course, that in these situations those were most definitely not my parents.

I would only become more and more aware of these tall ones as time went on. I started seeing them in the events I just described at around age 8, and it got worse at around age 9.

I remember being around grade 4 going into the one of the school washroom stalls. After I was done, I headed to the sink to wash my hands. The sinks were directly ahead of the stalls. So when looking into the mirror, I had complete vision of the stalls. I was looking down at my hands while lathering soap on them, and when I glanced back up at the mirror, I could see someone’s head peeking from over the bathroom stall that I had just come out of. The head had a normal looking men’s haircut. The thing that I noticed first is that there should have just been enough of the head visible to see its eyes, or atleast its eyebrows. But there was nothing. I completely froze. Even after 14 or 15 years, the memory and feeling is seared into my brain.

It was completely still. I had really hoped that it was my imagination playing tricks on me. I didn’t hear a sound coming from the thing. No breathing, no shuffling, no anything. After the intial reaction of freezing up, I turned around, hoping that it wouldn’t be there, but it was. I once again couldn’t bring myself to move. Even though it had no eyes, I could still feel its gaze upon me. I don’t know how long I stood there, but after a while, its head very slowly started to shrink down out of sight. After I couldn’t see its head anymore, I quickly looked down towards the bottom opening of the stall and I saw its feet. This particular tall one had standard brown business-type shoes.

Directly after noticing this, I finally heard something. It began fidgeting with the door. Looking back on it, it was like it had no idea how the door worked. The idea of being face to face with that thing overrided anything else, and I began to ran. Just as I exited the bathroom, I heard the stall door creak open.

That day was the start of my personal hell.

The tall ones would only begin to appear more often. A week after this first encounter, I was in my classroom during our history class. I remember hearing the distant and slow clacking of shoes, the sound you usually hear when a teacher is walking down the hallway. I didn’t think too much of it, as it’s something that I heard quite often. Until I noticed that the last time I heard them was when they were directly outside our classroom. I turned my head toward the doorway, and when I did, I jumped out of my chair and stumbled backward and fell against the wall. I couldn’t do anything except scream.

It was there again. The same tall one as in the bathroom stall, except this time I could see its entire body except for its head. It was too tall for the door. Its outfit was that you would see at a law firm. Very tidy, suit and tie, you get it. The thing had very deformed hands. It had extremely stubby fingers, and the hand itself looked like a blob of flesh just mashed together.

Everyone obviously was looking at me, then started to look toward the door; and, as you probably suspected, just looked back at me with a mix of confusion and fear as to why I was screaming inconsolably. My teacher rushed to me and tried to figure out what was going on, but I couldn’t take my eyes off it. It felt like if I stopped looking at it, it would come snatch me away and I would never be seen again. After what I think was a minute or so, as I was still crying uncontrollably, I saw the thing fully move for the first time. Usually this would be comedic, but this was horrifying. It didn’t turn around and walk away like a human, but instead just took one massive, slow, exaggerated sidestep out of view. Imagine that as you like, because I don’t even want to describe how unnatural this movement was.

My parents were called, and I was taken home. It took a long time for my parents to get anything out of me. I did eventually tell them, and they took me to a child psychiatrist. They always knew I had hallucinations that scared me from time to time, but after seeing me like how I was that day, they decided that was the final straw.

The psychiatrist took it as an overactive imagination and told my parents that hallucinations during childhood are not that unusual and that they would eventually subside. He told my parents to come again if this kept occuring on a regular basis.

Well, the visions of the tall ones kept occuring, and I was put on meds a short time afterward. They didn’t do a thing to help. And after a while, I started seeing tall ones other than the businessman. After about a year or two of constant hell, and though it was still hell, I was able to manage these visions a lot better, or so I thought. I won’t describe each and every one of these encounters, but I will tell you the one that landed me in a psychiatric ward.

I was around 13 at the time, and just like the rest of the encounters I’ve told you about, I was also at school. I was outside during our recess time, and I was trying my best to be social with the other kids, so I was playing some soccer with them.

At some point during the game, I was looking across the field towards the neighbouring street when I saw a flash of red kind of dash in and out of sight between two houses. Something about it immediately set me off. Mind you, no tall one I had seen at this point moved quickly. I tried my best to ignore it and continue with the game. Some time later, I looked back towards those houses, and once again I froze like I was 9 again. There was an extremely tall woman in a red dress, standing across the street. Something about this one was different. It was extremely tall, maybe around 10 feet.

I tried my best to do the calming exercises that I had learned, trying my best not to lose it. I brought myself to look at it again, and it started to make those slow, exaggerated strides toward me that I had become accustomed to seeing. Then, without warning, it started running. This was the most scared I’ve been in my entire life. This was something new that I couldn’t deal with. The way it ran was like it was dislocating every bone in its legs. I couldn’t even describe it. I screamed, and I ran as fast as I could. I ran inside the school and tried to find anyone that could help me.

I have no idea why, but I couldn’t find anyone inside the school. It was like everyone had disappeared. I heard the door that I entered to school with slam open. Loud, pounding, fast footsteps followed. I knew that it was the tall one. I also heard, for the first time, a noise come from the thing itself. It was an unbelievably loud muffled scream, as if someone was screaming into a pillow, except it didn’t sound human at all.

Something about that noise made me give up. It filled me with such an unimaginable sense of dread that I just stopped running. I heard the sound of the pounding footsteps get closer. I gave myself th...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Saturdead on 2024-10-26 15:48:20+00:00.

---

[1] – [2] – [3] - [4] - [5]

The following Monday, I was called in to have a meeting with the sheriff. I could tell it was a serious conversation; there was very little in the way of jokes and jabs. Instead I was asked, politely, to sit down. I knew there was gonna be trouble. Sheriff Mason leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

“Heard you almost got Nick killed,” he said. “He ain’t happy about it.”

He tapped the answering machine on his desk. Who the hell even has one of those anymore?

“Maybe we ought to deal with the deeper issues first,” I countered. “Like that thing at the school collecting heads.”

“You think we oughta do something about that, huh? Well little miss krispy kreme, there’s a whole lot of sugar goin’ round this town, and I ain’t got enough pac mans to gobble it all.”

He got out of his chair and painstakingly walked around his desk, sitting down next to me. I could smell the beard oil from his walrus mustache.

“You ain’t even scratched the surface yet. But you gotta calm down. And for you to calm down, I gotta pull you off patrol.”

 

Nick was paired up with a twitchy guy named Reggie. Reggie was in his early 40’s and had the shape of a badly drawn stick figure with a receding hairline. Apparently, he’d been working dispatch for three years, and now I was supposed to take over his position. I was to work on the phones back at the station for the foreseeable future.

I was put at a desk with a slightly newer computer, a headset, and a chatty coworker. The first time I met Charlotte, or Charlie for short, she was handling something I can only dream of understanding. The conversation went a little something like this;

“Sir. Sir! SIR! I don’t care how many arms you’ve found, you put them right back where you find them. And don’t go planting them like trees, that’s disrespectful.”

 

Charlie was energetic; like a cooped-up parakeet. She had trouble sitting still and wandered back and forth whenever she could afford to stretch her legs. She looked to be no more than 20, maybe 25, but she was closer to 40 and had two kids back home. The only thing that kinda gave it away was her nails. You could tell she used her hands a lot.

She introduced me to a lot of the basic systems. How to see and handle phone queues, what to take down on reports, standard protocols, that kinda stuff. I spent the first few days just watching her do the job and then slowly getting easier calls redirected to me.

Now, while we were officially taking calls for things like tips and wellness checks, we also got calls from the DUC people that the sheriff was working for. We had simple instructions when dealing with them; don’t ask questions. We were to do as we were told, and if we couldn’t, we patched them through to the sheriff.

 

As March dipped into April, I was getting pretty good at it. I had effectively replaced Reggie, who I could see drop by the station every now and then with Nick following suit. I tried to talk to them a couple of times, but Nick wasn’t having it. Reggie seemed like an eager puppy, just happy to get some attention, so every attempt I made to patch things up with Nick got swallowed up. I brought in donuts? Reggie was happy to talk about it, while Nick silently grabbed one in the background. I refilled the coffee machine? Reggie was happy to grab a cup, while Nick filled up his thermos. Every conversation starter I tried got derailed.

It was one of those times that prompted my first real conversation with Charlie. It was a dull Tuesday afternoon in between calls. Charlie was busy trying to make sense of her kid’s schedule for the week, scratching her head as she scrolled up and down on a second-hand iPad.

“What you doin’ out here anyway?” she asked. “You killed someone?”

“Why’d you ask?”

“Most folks that get here done do some dumb shit they can’t take back.”

“Sorta,” I nodded. “But I ain’t killed anyone.”

“You wanted to?”

“Wanted to what?”

“Kill someone.”

It was a strange question to be asked so casually. I just tilted my head at her, giving her a questioning look.

“Look, all’s I’m sayin’ is that if you gotta get deported to dipshit nowhere, population whatever, you might as well get your money’s worth. Whatever you did oughta get you somethin’, is all.”

I shook my head at her.

“It got me nothing.”

Charlie lit up with a grin, leaning across the room with her knuckles out. I tapped them.

“Fucked if we do, fucked if we don’t.”

 

Most of the calls I got were completely harmless. Someone locking themselves out of their house. A worried neighbor spotting a dog in a car. I even got the cat stuck in a tree call once.

But there were a couple of strange calls too. Most of them came from the DUC; the strange men-in-black kinda people that sheriff Mason had called in at the start of the year. One time they called in to check if anyone had reported any strange aerial sightings. Giant birds or insects, stuff like that. When I told them we hadn’t had anything like that, they hung up on me.

I got a few calls like that, most of them harmless or nonsensical. But given the kind of calls we could get from ordinary folks in Tomskog, it wasn’t that unusual.

 

Things took a pretty drastic turn when I got what seemed like a harmless call. By then, Charlie wasn’t patching them through to me or routing them; we had a 50-50 split on calls. Gave her more time to check her Facebook. I got a call from an older woman that I’d never talked to before. I didn’t recognize the name, but I could see she was registered to a Tomskog address.

“My son got me eight rubber ducks for my bathroom,” she explained. “But when I walked in this morning, there were twelve.”

“I’m sorry, what… there are too many rubber ducks, is that it?”

“Yes, I don’t know where they came from,” she explained. “I think someone broke in.”

“I see.”

I looked over at Charlie. Her ears must’ve perked up at ‘rubber duck’. She mouthed a silent ‘what the hell’ at me, and I just shrugged.

“Ma’am, unless this is some sort of immediate threat, I’ll ask to see if a patrol can stop by to look for damages later today. Please take some time to check the locks on your windows, alright?”

“I’m sorry,” the old woman laughed. “I’m sure it sounds ridiculous. But I’ve checked again and again, and there’s just… there’s too many of them.”

“Alright, I’ll see what we can do. You have a nice day now.”

 

According to our systems, one of our units was available. Seeing as how there was nothing else to do at the moment, I tagged them on the radio.

“Unit 115, this is dispatch, do you copy?”

“Nick here, whaddaya got?”

I was a bit startled. I hadn’t talked to the guy in weeks.

“Hey Nick,” I continued. “You doing alright?”

“Yeah,” he cut me short. “What’s the sitch?”

I explained the situation to him. He could barely keep himself from laughing, but I guess he figured anything was better than babysitting the Digman’s on yet another stakeout. So I got him and Reggie to check the old woman and her mysterious rubber ducks.

 

Now, this seemed innocent at the time. Just a fun anecdote. I spent most of that day talking to Charlie about everything ang nothing. She smoked at her desk, but she sat next to a window and was kind enough to tilt her head out when she exhaled. It was a nasty habit, but at least she smoked menthols. She loved the rubber duck story and had all kinds of follow-up questions about it. Her kids would definitely hear about it at family dinner – guaranteed.

Then she got a call. It was probably three, maybe four hours after the rubber duck call. I could tell it was serious; Charlie put out her cigarette and leaned forward, taking notes. She was talking to the DUC – they were the only ones who called in that Charlie never questioned.

As soon as the call ended, she ran up to the front doors and locked them. Then she started to go down the side of the room, checking that every window was closed and secured.

“Check the windows,” she said. “We gotta lock up.”

“What’d they say?”

“They said they’d get back to us. But until they do, we gotta lock up, and nothing gets in.”

 

We checked every room and made sure it was all locked up. There was no one else around, just me and Charlie. It was that time of day when the sun started to set, freezing an icy sheet over the melting snow outside; giving a crackling noise to every footstep. Temperatures were dipping fast, and even inside the station we had to put on jackets to keep the heat up. The radiators hadn’t worked for months. I decided to power through.

The next call that came through was routed to me. It was one of the DUC folks – you could tell by the extension on their phone. As soon as I clicked that receiver, the voice on the other end came through.

“Did you secure the station?”

“Yes, we… we locked all of it.”

“You need to take inventory,” he said. “Everything larger than a fist. Write it all down. Every single item, even if it is nailed to the wall.”

“That’s gonna take hours.”

“Then it’ll have to take hours!” he snapped back. “And when you’re done, you’re gonna do it again! And if a single thing on that list is out of line, you call me on this number immediately!”

If it ...

---

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Dangerous-Cap9018 on 2024-10-26 13:41:30+00:00.

---

Today is my birthday, it’s my favorite day of the year. When I was younger, my mother used to wake me up with breakfast in bed. All of my favorites, bacon, eggs, and French toast. All for me, all for my birthday. My mother was a wonderful cook , she had such a gift in the kitchen. I hoped I might find a woman like her one day. One gifted with skill in the kitchen so that my birthday could continue to be the best day ever.

Today is my birthday, and there is no breakfast in bed for me. A shame really, but I expected it. When I was younger, my mother used to bake me a cake, a specific kind. A lush delicious chocolate cake that melted in my mouth. The buttercream frosting whipped to perfection . I often dreamed that I would find a woman that would bake a cake as good as my mother.

Today is my birthday and I am sitting at the dining room table. I can hear shuffling from the other room, quiet sobs. I wish she wouldn’t cry like that, but I dare not speak that wish aloud. I also shouldn’t waste it. After all, I only get one wish on my birthday. And it’s been the same every year.

Today is my birthday, and my mother shuffles herself from the kitchen finally. She slowed down in her old age, the flesh peeling from her body. Bones starting to show as the decay eats away at her every year. Her faces mummified to her skull. Eyes sunken in so deep they may as well not even be there. her frail bony fingers are wrapped around the tray with the beautiful chocolate cake covered in perfectly whipped buttercream ice cream. There are now 48 candles in the cake. The sight of them covering most of it makes me chuckle. Could I really be so old?

Today is my birthday, and as my mother sets down the cake, another clump of hair falls from her head along with a piece of rotting flesh. I used to be disgusted by the rotting smell that came from her body but now I’ve gotten used to it. It’s like a part of her, a part of my birthday. I wait patiently for her to start singing a sadness in those half gone eyes tells me she knows what I’m waiting for. Her voice is hardly a whisper as she begins to mumble out the words between broken and rotting teeth. Her tongue is shriveled, making some of the words even harder to say mouth so dry. I swear I hear the gums cracking.

Today is my birthday and as my mother finishes my birthday song, she looks at me with that pleading expression she’s had since she’s died, Or at least since she should have died. But I couldn’t have that on my birthday. Which is why I used my birthday wish to make sure my mother could be around forever.

Today is my birthday and I wish again for my mother to continue to live. After all what other woman could compared to my mother.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/SSBSSHankHill on 2024-10-26 06:01:52+00:00.

---

I only took the job at the Solvane Hotel because I needed the money. Mostly, I’d just stand behind the counter all night, read my book, and make sure nobody was loitering.

Thing is, from the very first night, I noticed something strange about Room 219.

Nobody told me outright, but I figured it out fast enough—it’s the only room they didn’t book out. And if guests asked, management would say it was under renovation or reserved indefinitely. But I knew better. The first time I walked past, the door creaked, just slightly, and I could feel this cold, damp air leaking out from the crack beneath it, like the room was breathing.

But what really got me was the mirror.

Directly across from Room 219, the hotel had this full-length mirror mounted on the wall. The kind of thing you’d see in any hotel hallway, so guests could do a last-minute check. But this one was strange. When I walked past it, my reflection looked off—like it was slightly out of sync with my movements. The lights in the reflection looked dimmer. And I swear I saw a shadow flitting just behind me.

The second night, the mirror gave me the creeps again. I wasn’t tired, I’d just started my shift, but as I passed Room 219, I saw a flash of something in the glass. A figure, I think. Standing back, like it didn’t want me to see it too clearly. I stopped dead, staring into the glass, waiting for my reflection to settle back to normal.

It didn’t.

Instead, the lights in the mirror dimmed, as if someone was slowly turning down the power on the whole hallway. And in that dim, hazy reflection, I could make out the faint shape of… another hallway. Only this one was grimy, with peeling wallpaper and dark stains running down the walls.

I took a step back, but my reflection stayed put. It was like looking into a photograph, and the other version of me didn’t move with me. And then, in the corner of the glass, I saw him—the man I’d seen before, or thought I’d seen. He was closer this time, standing just inside the door of Room 219, in that grimy, decayed version of the hall.

He was looking right at me, hollow eyes glinting in the faint light.

I blinked, and everything snapped back to normal—the mirror was just a mirror, the hall was empty. My own face stared back, pale and confused. I kept moving after that. Finished my shift, kept my head down, and didn’t look into that mirror again.

The next few nights, things got worse.

I’d see him every time I passed 219. In the corner of my eye, in the dim light of the reflection, always watching from just inside the door. I thought I was losing my mind. But on Friday night, I decided I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to know what was inside Room 219. What I’d seen in that mirror.

The key felt heavy in my hand. I hesitated for a second, my heart pounding. I clicked open the lock and pushed the door.

Room 219 smelled like mildew, like something wet had been left to rot. The air was thick and stale, and the light flickered, dim and sallow, illuminating only the bed and a narrow patch of carpet. But there, across from the bed, was another mirror.

And in that mirror, I saw the man.

He was close this time, his face blurry and twisted. The reflection was so dim I could barely see him, but his hollow eyes locked onto mine. He reached out, his hand like a claw, and pointed straight at me.

I stumbled back, slamming into the wall, my breath coming in shallow gasps. But I couldn’t look away. And then, I felt the room grow colder, like the walls were pressing in. The man took a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine.

I don’t know how I got out. I remember running, the sound of my own heartbeat thundering in my ears. I don’t even remember locking the door behind me, but when I looked back, Room 219 was dark, and the hallway was empty.

I quit that night. Left the hotel, didn’t even bother grabbing my paycheck. But every so often, I’ll catch myself looking into a mirror, half-expecting to see that hallway reflected back at me—the peeling wallpaper, the dim lights, and a figure standing there, watching me from the shadows.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Pattmasta on 2024-10-26 06:36:01+00:00.

---

Ashlyne had never talked in her sleep before. She’d lived alone for years, and she’d never been the type to even murmur. But lately, her nights had become disturbed by strange whispers in the dark.

It started small. One night, as she drifted off, she thought she heard a faint murmur. She figured it was just the wind or perhaps a neighbor’s TV through the wall. But the following night, it happened again. And the night after, the murmuring became clearer.

Then, one night, the words came.

Ashlyne woke suddenly, heart pounding, her bedroom cloaked in darkness. The whispering continued, soft yet unmistakable.

“…don’t…look…”

The voice was hers. Clear, familiar, but somehow… wrong. She lay there, paralyzed with fear, her own voice echoing through the room as if speaking from her own unconscious mind.

“Ashlyne, don’t look. Don’t look at him,” the voice said softly, insistently, as though pleading.

Ashlyne’s eyes darted around her bedroom, but the room was empty. Her pulse raced as she lay still, too afraid to even turn on the light. She wanted to call a friend, anyone—but how could she explain that she was afraid of herself?

The whispers returned night after night, slowly growing in intensity. Soon it was as though someone else was there with her in the dark, a presence that was slowly gaining form and voice. Her sleeptalking became filled with warnings, instructions, descriptions of things she couldn’t imagine. And every time she drifted off, she could feel her mouth moving, words forming from somewhere deep in her subconscious.

But Ashlyne didn’t understand the words. She couldn’t, until the night she finally recorded herself.

She had propped her phone up on the nightstand, set it to record, and lay in bed, waiting for sleep to come. It was the only way to make sense of what she’d been saying. Hours passed, and she finally drifted off, phone still running.

The next morning, she sat in the early dawn light, listening to the recording. It started with faint mutterings, barely audible, her voice whispering words she didn’t remember ever speaking. Then, two hours in, something different happened.

Her voice trembled, low and strained. “He’s here. He’s watching. Don’t let him in.”

Ashlyne’s skin prickled. She skipped ahead, unable to listen to more. But what she heard next was worse.

A voice—low, unfamiliar, and chilling—came through. It was not her own.

“Ashlyne…”

The voice was calm, whispering directly into her recorder, as if whoever it belonged to was sitting right next to her.

“I’m here.”

She stopped the recording, heart pounding. It wasn’t possible. There was no one else in her apartment. She hadn’t let anyone in.

In a panic, she called her friend Jess, who agreed to spend the night. Ashlyne didn’t tell her everything—just that she’d been having “weird dreams” and wanted someone around. Jess, ever the loyal friend, was at her door by evening.

That night, with Jess sleeping soundly on the couch and Ashlyne in her bed, she felt a bit safer. But as she drifted off, she could feel it again—that pull, that invisible presence in the room.

She woke in the dead of night, cold with dread, and heard herself whispering in that same, pleading tone, “Don’t look. Don’t let him in.”

Ashlyne gasped, wide awake now, staring at the ceiling. And then, there was movement in the dark.

At the foot of her bed, something shifted. A shadow darker than the darkness around it. Her heart raced as she dared to look down. She could barely make out the shape of something crouched by her feet, watching her, waiting.

With a trembling hand, she reached for her phone on the nightstand, but it was gone. She could see it lying on the floor, halfway to the shadow.

The figure shifted, standing slowly, impossibly tall, a grin barely visible in the faint moonlight. It leaned in close, so close she could feel its cold breath against her cheek.

“You let me in,” it whispered, using her own voice.

Ashlyne tried to scream, but no sound escaped her lips.

The next morning, Jess found the apartment empty, the bed sheets rumpled and cold. The only sign Ashlyne had ever been there was her phone, lying on the floor beside the bed.

She pressed play on the last recording.

And the last thing she heard was Ashlyne’s voice, trembling and weak, whispering, “Please… don’t let him in.” Then a man’s voice, chilling and low, chuckled softly.

“Too late.”

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/SubstantialBite788 on 2024-10-26 04:01:10+00:00.

---

I received a friend request from an odd lady who called herself the Patron Saint of Murder, a cute, petite brunette with shadowy green eyes, and pearl white skin. Her profile stood outside the bounds of my carefully constructed list of acceptable attributes.

I’m usually very careful about who I accept as an online friend, discerning what I can from available photos. My friend list numbers no more than three hundred, a ceiling I strictly adhere to. Three hundred is a good round number, a reasonable circle of influence, an audience easy to follow and respond to. I have made mistakes, accepting those obsessed with politics or religion, or recording every single monotonous, dull moment of their lives, from what they eat to when they shit. Those are grounds for a quick and decisive unfriending.

Her real name was Cassidy… well, at least that’s how she finally introduced herself. Who knows? Maybe her name was Karen or Dawn. I was just relieved when she finally stopped insisting on me referring to her by that ridiculous epithet. Her posts were disgusting and off-putting. It was a constant recital of murderous statistics and tidbits of information regarding some of the worst serial killers in history. More than once had I pondered pushing the delete button, but I admit I was attracted to her.

In private she was more subdued, actually a bit charming. She messaged me at first and in time we were talking regularly on the phone. Unlike her public posts, we never talked of murderers, killers, or historically insane dictators. We talked mostly about me. She was intensely interested in everything I had to say, delving deeper into each sentence I professed about my life or my desires. She never seemed bored; always expressed a desire to talk about nothing but me. Often, I would try to turn the discussion to her and inquire about who she was and where she came from, what did she like, and what did she like to do for fun. She never acquiesced and always turned the conversation back to me. She had sufficiently buttered me up. And then one day she made a proposal.

“Why don’t you come out to Texas? I’d love to hang out with you?”  

My stomach churned. I didn’t have the courage to meet her in person, to walk up to her, strutting my massive stature of five foot, four inches of pitiful disappointment. An online relationship is all I desired, where I could feign a more than average height and yet, I found myself agreeing to fly out to Austin, Texas to hang out with her.

Flight M314 to Austin was boarding, one last chance to back out.

Quit being a coward, I told myself. If she doesn’t like you, then C’est la vie. Is that the saying? It’s fucking life, just live it.

Determined, I boarded the plane and took my seat, convinced that I would enjoy myself, if only to travel and see a state I had never seen.

My diminutive size can sometimes be a blessing, especially when forced to sit in the middle seat, the only seat available when buying a ticket at the last minute, the expense unreasonably beyond what it’s worth, crammed between two filthy strangers. I could sit comfortably enough, but I hate when their arms touch my arms.

I squeezed past the bodybuilder sitting in the aisle seat and plopped down next to the obnoxious lady sitting in the window seat.

“I swear Julie if Bob doesn’t change that presentation, I’m gonna lose it. He is going to get a mouthful from me.” Unfortunately, I had to hear her mouthful all throughout boarding. I prayed that the remainder of the passengers would hustle up, toss their bags in the overhead bin, and sit the hell down, so we could get through the safety spiel and get in the air, whence all phone calls would have to cease and I would no longer have to listen to this lady yap and yammer about Bob, whom I was beginning to sympathize with. Poor fucking Bob.

But of course, boarding is long and tedious. The final passenger made a stink about not getting the seat she wanted. She was a robust woman in her fifties with long blond hair, streaming down to the small of her back. She wore skin-tight black spandex and a concert tee shirt, with long dangling earrings.

“I was supposed to be in D15,” she shouted. The number shocked me. I had dodged a bullet, or I had hoped so, for if she were to convince the flight attendant otherwise, the middle-aged teenage wannabe would be sitting right next to me.  

“Ma’am, you’re going to have to take your seat or exit the plane,” explained the flight attendant.

The blonde pushed aside the flight attendant and bent her head down close to the bodybuilder’s face. “You’re in my seat,” she said with a scowl. Then she turned and looked at me with a big wide smile and waved. “Hi babe.” She then walked away and peacefully took her assigned seat.

The voice sounded familiar. No, it couldn’t be, but then again, it sounded just like her. It sounded like Cassidy. I reasoned otherwise. She wouldn’t be on the plane. She’s in Texas waiting in the airport. Why would she drive or fly to Nashville only to take a flight right back to Texas? I pushed the thought out of my head. It was simply coincidence. There are billions of people and there’s bound to be several that sound alike.

The plane accelerated and lifted off the ground, pushing my nervous stomach against the back of my seat. The Bob-hating businesswoman next to me immediately fell asleep, like a baby in a car, her head smashed against the window, mouth wide open. She snored, grunted, and grumbled. Lord knows she was dreaming about giving Bob all the hell he deserved.

The pilot announced that we were cruising at 34,000 feet and that he was turning off the seat belt sign. We were free to roam about the cabin.

“I got to piss,” the bodybuilder mumbled to himself. He got up out of his seat like an overturned turtle, swinging his bulky biceps, twisting and turning to free his large body. He elbowed me twice, once in the shoulder, and another in the temple. “Sorry man. Damned plane ain’t made for people like me.”

Finally free, the bodybuilder dashed up the aisle, unintentionally hitting everyone he passed, trying his best not to piss his pants.

The blonde poked her head up and looked back. A smile flashed across her face. She looked with delight at the empty seat next to me. She sashayed down the aisle singing loud a song only she could hear. She squeezed into the empty seat next to me.

“I love this song.” She pulled out her ear bud and clumsily shoved it in my ear. Thrashing metal rang through my head, chaotic distortion pounded through my ear canal. She yanked the ear bud out of my ear. “That’s the shit right there. I’m psyched Dave. Oh man, we’re going to have fun.” I turned and looked at her in shock.

“It’s me, Cassidy.” She leaned over and whispered, “The Patron Saint of Murder.” She bellowed out a sonorous laugh, more like a lumberjack than a dainty little woman.

“But…,” I tried to interject.

“I thought you were going to catfish me, but you look exactly like your profile. A little shorter than I imagined but cute. You’re a cutie Dave. I’m so glad you didn’t fucking lie.”

I looked at her in disbelief, the hypocrisy of her statement astounded me.

“Ah, I see, but did I catfish you? Well Dave, yes and no. You see I can’t take pictures of myself. A condition I have. No matter how hard I try, there’s not a camera in the world that can capture my image, so I just grab a picture of someone I would like to be. It’s not a falsehood, but more of a handicap,”

“Ma’am, you’re in my seat,” interrupted the bodybuilder.

“You can have my seat. I’m talking to my man. We couldn’t get seats together. You understand.” She turned, ignoring the bodybuilder as he put his hands in the air in disbelief.

“Well ma’am I would have gladly switched seats if you would have asked, but now I’m not feeling so nice. Get out of my seat or I’ll pull you out.” He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up out of the seat. Cassidy grabbed his lower jaw and the back of his head and violently twisted. There was a loud, sharp crack. The bodybuilder’s head went limp, his chin lying flat against his back, the back of his head situated above his chest. The body slumped and fell on top of Cassidy. She slung it off and on top of the passengers sitting in the adjacent row.

Screeching, hollering, and screaming ensued. A domino of fear fell across the interior of the plane. “Terrorists,” a man yelled. “Get her, she killed a man.” “Who? Who killed who?” There was confusion and pandemonium, a pointing of fingers, and an unsuccessful attempt to identify the assailant.

Cassidy happily revealed herself. The flight attendant approached the melee trying to calm the situation and figure out what was happening. She had no idea that there was a dead bodybuilder laying heavily across three poor weak passengers.

“What’s happening? Please remain calm and get back to your seats.”

Cassidy seized her by the hair and pulled her head down. She then bit into her neck, shaking her head from side-to-side. She ripped out a chunk of meat and flesh, spit it out, and went in for another bite. Bite after bite she tore into the flight attendant’s neck, nearly severing her head from her shoulders. The nearby seats were awash with blood.

All the while the nearest passengers were pleading for someone to do something, but fear had paralyzed us all for Cassidy’s appearance had changed. Her eyes were a sickly yellow and her blonde hair had fallen off revealing a bald pale blue skul...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/myrasam79 on 2024-10-25 21:40:59+00:00.

---

Working night shifts on the Golden Gate Bridge isn’t a glamorous job. Most of the time, it’s just endless stretches of quiet with the occasional sound of cars whooshing by. From my small station on the bridge, the world felt hollowed out, like it had closed in around the faint hum of machinery, the gentle rock of the bay far below, and the endless coils of fog that wrapped themselves around the bridge.

I took the position mainly for the solitude. I liked the quiet hours, the chance to breathe and think without interruption. But there was something else that tugged me here: a draw that I couldn’t quite name, something about the span of this bridge with its looming towers and swaying cables, the way it seemed to slice the sky in two. There’s a mythic quality to the place, a silent authority that makes you feel small and out of time, especially when it’s just you and the water below.

On foggy nights, the bridge transformed. Thick banks of mist rolled in from the Pacific, cloaking the bridge in swathes of grey so dense that even the red towers blurred into ghostly shapes. Tonight was one of those nights. The mist hugged everything tight, muffling sound and swallowing the glow of streetlights until the bridge was little more than a collection of dim orange halos floating in the haze. It was a quiet that invited memories, and though I usually enjoyed it, tonight it felt… off, somehow.

I walked along my usual route, scanning for anything unusual, any sign of people or potential danger. But tonight felt different, as if the fog held secrets of its own, and I was an intruder. Halfway through my shift, while pacing along the northern side, I saw a figure near one of the support beams. It’s not unusual for people to find their way here, either tourists who’ve stayed too late or folks just seeking solitude of their own. But this figure seemed strange, unmoving. Their back was to me, and they were staring over the rail, body leaning ever so slightly forward.

I called out, raising my voice to cut through the mist. “Hey! It’s not safe to be that close to the edge.” My words floated out, hollow and faded by the fog. No response. They didn’t even shift, just stayed there, transfixed by something beyond the rail. I walked closer, my footsteps absorbed by the thick air, and a sense of something almost ancient wrapped around me, like I’d stepped into someone else’s memory.

Finally, I was close enough to make out more of the figure, and a jolt of unease swept over me. They wore a dark coat, the fabric looking tattered at the edges, hanging in loose, irregular strips that fluttered faintly in the breeze. Something about their stance was wrong, too—unnaturally rigid, as if they were carved from stone. The figure’s face was just out of sight, obscured by the angle and the hood pulled low over their head. But as I approached, the silence between us deepened, and I noticed that even the wind seemed to have quieted.

“Are you okay?” I tried again, louder, yet with an edge of hesitation I hadn’t expected in my own voice. The figure didn’t turn. They stayed fixated on the water, posture unchanging, hands resting on the rail in a way that seemed to anchor them, to keep them there even as the mist swirled like a restless tide around them.

I took another step forward, wondering if maybe they were in some kind of trance or suffering from shock. But before I could say another word, they moved. It wasn’t a natural motion—it was sharp, too quick, as if a string had pulled them upright. In one smooth turn, they finally faced me, and I felt a strange, cold twist inside.

Their face was shrouded, not by darkness or the shadow of their hood, but by something that seemed impossible—a perfect, empty void. No features, no eyes, nose, mouth. Just a blank, hollow surface where a face should have been, like a mask made of sheer emptiness. Yet, somehow, I felt their gaze upon me, and it was sharper than any stare I’d ever felt. I was rooted to the spot, words dead on my tongue. The air around us felt like it was pressing down, thick with something I couldn’t name.

The figure tilted its head slightly, as if assessing me, an odd curiosity in that faceless gaze. I felt exposed, like I was being laid bare under a microscope. The moment stretched, silent, my heartbeat loud in my ears. Every instinct told me to turn and walk away, but I couldn’t move. I was locked in place by that faceless stare, by the unnatural presence that seemed to seep from it, filling the space between us.

And then, as abruptly as it had turned, the figure shifted back to the railing. It leaned over the edge, hands resting on the metal, and somehow the pose looked… sad. Like someone deep in thought, lost to a memory or a longing that only they could understand. I took a step back, forcing myself to breathe, to regain control of my body and thoughts. This was just someone playing a trick, I told myself. Some sick prank to spook the night guard. But I didn’t believe it.

The figure stayed at the railing, and despite the overwhelming urge to leave, I found myself rooted to the spot, watching them as if something had taken hold of me, some force drawing me to the mystery they represented. Finally, they seemed to take a breath, an almost imperceptible movement, and leaned further over the edge, fingers loosening their grip on the rail.

Instinct kicked in, and I surged forward, grabbing their shoulder to pull them back. But my hand went straight through, meeting nothing but cold, damp air. I stumbled forward, clutching at empty space as the figure dissolved into the mist. The patch of fog where they’d been moments before rippled and dispersed, leaving me standing alone at the edge of the bridge, my hand still outstretched.

I stood there, staring at the empty spot where the figure had been. My hand was still outstretched, fingers slowly curling into my palm as if they could grasp some part of the mystery that had vanished into the fog. The thick air settled again, reclaiming the bridge and folding around me in a heavy, suffocating quiet. I felt a tingling, an echo of the faceless gaze that had held me only moments before, still lingering in the chill of the fog.

I forced myself to breathe deeply, to shake the bizarre encounter from my mind. Rationality tried to wedge its way back in. Maybe I was just tired, maybe the long hours and endless quiet of night shifts had gotten to me, clouding my senses and making me see things that weren’t there. After all, no one could really vanish like that—people didn’t just dissolve into mist, right?

Still, the encounter refused to fade, remaining as sharp as if it had just happened. I felt an overwhelming urge to move, to walk the rest of my route and shake off the feeling that I’d brushed up against something far beyond understanding. But as I resumed my patrol, every step felt strangely weighty, like walking through thick water. The quiet pressed in, dense and absolute, and the shadows seemed to stretch, somehow more alive, almost watching.

Then I noticed something odd. As I walked, a faint, rhythmic sound started trailing behind me. A soft scuff, almost like a second pair of footsteps. I stopped, and the sound stopped too. I took a few steps forward, and the echo resumed, perfectly timed to match each of my own steps. I glanced around, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck prickling with awareness, but there was no one in sight—just the empty bridge, swallowed by fog.

“Hello?” I called out, my voice sounding fragile in the oppressive silence. No response, just my words bouncing back at me, swallowed by the haze. I quickened my pace, the faint echo keeping in perfect step with me, as if whatever was making the sound was only a breath away, always there but just out of sight.

Ahead, the faint outline of the bridge’s support tower loomed into view, and I found myself instinctively heading towards it, drawn to the solidity, the sense of structure it offered amidst the formless mist. The closer I got, the stronger the pull, a magnetic tug that I couldn’t resist. It was as if the bridge itself was guiding me, as though something within those metal beams held answers to what I’d just seen.

Reaching the base of the tower, I stopped, leaning against the cold metal. The echoing footsteps fell silent, but the air around me felt thick, charged, buzzing with a strange tension. I was alone—or so I told myself—but it didn’t feel that way. Something about the fog, the silence, seemed to bristle with a presence I couldn’t see, and I found myself unwilling to move, as if disturbing the air might break whatever delicate balance kept me safe.

Then, just as I was starting to collect myself, a soft, almost imperceptible whisper floated from somewhere above. It was faint, just barely audible, and I strained to hear it, catching only fragments of sound. At first, I thought it might be the wind brushing through the cables, or maybe some trick of the bridge’s natural creaks and groans. But no—the more I listened, the clearer it became. It was a voice, low and murmuring, weaving through the air in an unfamiliar language, or maybe just words too fragmented to understand.

I felt myself lean in, mesmerized by the whispering. It rose and fell like a song, an eerie rhythm that seemed to wrap around me, inviting me to listen, to understand. My pulse thrummed in my ears as I searched the shadows, but the mist was too thick, hiding everything beyond arm’s ...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Roos85 on 2024-10-26 00:29:39+00:00.

---

Nothing hurts more than having an empty wallet the day after I cash my social security check. I sometimes sat at the kitchen table, using my tears to add flavour to my stale coffee. I would sit there and pray my kids didn’t need money for something pointless. Those never-ending expenses drained the fight out of me, and all I wanted to do was disappear.

Every time my kids stepped in the door, it cost me money. Every time they left the house, it cost me money. Every time I heard the ice cream man and that stupid jingle creep up my road, it would send shivers up my spine. Every time my kids came running with their hands out, screaming for ice cream, I would feel like going outside with a bat to hit the ice cream man in the face.

Being a single mother was hard. Money was always nonexistent. Even if I had a job, I couldn't earn enough to hire someone to watch my kids. Being rich wasn't my goal; I just wanted enough so I wouldn't have to worry. All I wanted was enough to get a decent cup of coffee and not feel guilty if I decided to treat myself to one. 

I wasn't the type of person to fall for get-rich schemes. Every week, I got a notification or a leaflet in my door promising me I could be making money hand over fist. It always sounded too good to be true, so they either got chucked in the bin or ignored. 

“Earn extra income from home,” read the ad. I had heard of these multilevel marketing companies targeting people like me. I’ve been to those parties. The women selling those types of products always made it sound like they were living the dream. But you could tell from the bags under their eyes and the fake gold jewellery they wore to show off their non-existent wealth that they were working tirelessly for weeks with no breaks just to break even on the money it cost them to buy the products in the first place. 

Something was different about this, though. I didn’t have to sell anything or recruit people. It was some herbal tea company called "Heavens Gate Tea" and alll I had to do was send their test product to all the people in my town. It wasn't costing me anything, and all I had to do was give up a couple of hours of my time to ship some samples. I really had nothing to lose, and if nothing came of it, I saw it as a lesson learned. 

When the check came in the mail, I couldn’t believe my eyes. They paid me ten grand for a week's work. I couldn't believe it. At first, I thought they made a mistake. I was afraid to touch the money, at first, until the company sent me a thank-you letter with a number to ring if I wanted more work.

I spent the first few days enjoying the money. I bought my kids new clothes, toys, and ice cream cones with all the toppings; I even treated myself to a large caramel latte. 

It didn't take long for the phone calls to start coming in from people looking for more samples. So I ordered more and got paid. I mean, their herbal tea must have been good stuff to pay me that much just to send out more samples. 

Once those samples went out, the calls got even crazier; people were begging me for more, even getting angry when I told them I had none left. 

The calls continued for a few days; each day that passed, the people on the other end sounded more desperate. They sounded like addicts desperate for their next fix. 

I didn't think much at the time until one night I went to bed early after dealing with crazy people ringing me every second of the day. I was drifting off to sleep when suddenly I heard a crash in my kitchen. I lay there frozen, too scared to move, as I listened to the intruders rummaging through my drawers.

I nervously jumped from my bed and moved to the door. My heart skipped a beat when they started making their way up the stairs.

“I have a gun,” I shouted.

Whoever it was, they were determined, so I grabbed my bat when suddenly they burst through my bedroom door. 

“What do you want?” I screamed. The wide-eyed, frantic-looking woman was frothing at the mouth. 

“I need more tea. I want it. You have to give it to me now.” 

The woman's eyes turned black as she made a lunge at me before I hit her hard with the bat, knocking her unconscious. 

I ran downstairs, grabbed my phone and rang the police. 

“There's a crazy bitch in my house; I think she's tweaking or something. She was screaming for at me for a cup of tea. Please, you have to send the police.”

The operator on the other side of the phone sounded strange. “Don’t worry, mam, they’re on their way.” 

I felt a lump in my throat. 

“But I didn’t give you the address.” 

“When the officers get there, just give them the tea, and nobody will get hurt,” she said in a menacing tone.

I dropped the phone and went to my window. I nervously pulled back the curtain to find hundreds of people descending on my house.

I grabbed the phone again and dialled the number of the herbal tea company. 

“Hello, Heaven's Gate tea. How may I direct your call?”

“Please, you gotta help me. They want more tea.”

As I waited for their response, I was startled by a noise behind me. 

I turned, and a woman was creeping up behind me holding a crying baby. Her eyes were glazed over, and glaring at me.

“I’ll give you my baby for a drop of the tea. I need it.”

“There’s a woman here trying to give me her baby for more tea; what will I do?”

My heart was pounding fast, and my whole body was shaking.

"Are all the samples gone?” The woman on the other side of the phone sounded enthusiastic about the whole situation. 

"The tea is all gone; I sent out all the samples. I don't think you understand how dire my situation is."

“We understand perfectly. We see this as perfect customer feedback. We think you will have a bright future here with us at Heavens Gate Tea. Welcome to the company