nosleep

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/sum1inatree on 2024-09-10 18:46:06+00:00.

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Hi guys, posting this here as I’m hoping someone might be able to help. Given the kind of stuff you talk about, I’m guessing one of you might have had a similar experience.

For context, I’m a 26 year old man and a little under 5 foot 8. I’ve always been a bit heavier than most. “A bit like a ball,” my parents used to say and I still probably do carry a bit too much weight for where I should be in my life right now. I mention this really only because suddenly, I don’t look like this. No-one says I look different in person, and in photos I still look normal – if a bit awkward. But in the past week, my reflection is…different. Like, really different. A different person, and it’s making me do things I do not want to do.

I was out a few days ago, it was nothing more than a couple of drinks. Honestly, I was sober, I could have driven if I had to. I got home, went to splash some water over my face and brush my teeth before bed and it was just there in the mirror. A long man. I caught my first sight of a gaunt face.

I recoiled and threw my hands down. Staring back at me was a different man. Skin clung to his cheek bones. His hair parted naturally and beautifully to the left. But most of all I remember his eyes. They were definitely my eyes, deep and brown and maybe a bit tired, but they framed a pointy nose and stared at me with no emotion. They were a good two inches higher than they should have been. I was looking up at myself but it wasn’t me.

I blinked. I remember blinking a lot. And every time I opened my eyes, I’d see his eyes flickering open again. I raised my hands over my eyes and he would do the same. His hands. They were delicate and bony, longer and thinner than mine but they would move with mine, and like mine do. I broke my little finger when I was a teenager and I still can’t fully extend it. This long man in the mirror couldn’t either. It sat there slightly crooked but otherwise pristine.

The only thing that did not mirror me was his smile. He had one, a slight trace of a smirk, or contentment, or something else like that. It just sat there, never moving, no matter how I contorted my face. If I tilted my head, he would track me, but that smirk just sat there.

At first I thought I had drunk more than I thought so I decided to just write it off. It’s me being silly, or some kind of pre-sleep dream. I turned out the light and went to bed without brushing my teeth. I just wanted to fall unconscious and forget about it; it would be better in the morning. I’d had a few drinks, the mind does strange things.

Of course, I lay awake most of the night. There’s a mirror on a shelf in my room. I tried to sleep with my back to it.

I don’t know if any of you have ever tried to get ready in the morning without seeing your reflection. It’s quite difficult. I decided I didn’t need to shave and I brushed my teeth with my eyes closed. There was curiosity in me but I was just too scared of what I would do if I confirmed that the long man was still there. I was tired, and I wasn’t thinking straight. What would I even say to people if they asked why I looked so hollow that day? I suppose I would have just said I was hungover. In my head, it was just better to pretend that it hadn’t happened.

The only time I saw myself that morning was a quick glance in the mirror that sits on the inside of my wardrobe door when I went to get my coat. I don’t remember it well, but looking back, when my shoulder brushed against the glass, my reflection that touched it was half a foot further up the image.

Luckily I walk to work. I kept my eyes fixed on the pavement for the whole journey. It wasn’t until I needed the loo in the office that I had to come face to face with myself – or this new version of myself. I waited until I thought no-one else was in the toilets – should the worst happen, I didn’t want to seem like a madman.

I washed my hands and there he was again, staring back at me. This long man, with the same eyes but greater height and the same body but leaner. That fixed smile was still there but now the lips were slightly pursed. He looked happier than he had the night before. Even though I had tried to steel myself for the moment, I still flinched slightly, but that smile soothed me enough to regain some composure. For the first time I properly took in the long man’s physique.

Every here and there there was some similarity to me. As I said, he still had my eyes; and he wore my clothes. They hung off him a bit more and a slight sleeve bulge suggested more tone in his arm muscles than mine but they were recognisably the same; the hint of yellow on the inside of the collar from overwearing the shirt. The crooked little finger of the left hand. I remember that in that moment I felt almost reassured. His presence was calming, and he looked like me, but a bit better.

What shocked me was when I looked more closely into his eyes. I brought my face right into the mirror to see how similar our skin was, whether there was the hint of the growing crows feet I had started noticing. And it was there that I saw his mouth more closely.

In that slight crack between the long man’s lips, I could see the edge of a couple of teeth. For the first time there was a tangible difference between us. Each edge was set diagonally. They were jagged and though I couldn’t see the whole of them at that time they looked to all the world like fangs.

My own mouth dropped open. I wish I could say it was deliberate, that I was trying to get the long man to confirm what was in his mouth, but no, I was just dumbstruck. My hands involuntarily jumped up to run fingers over my own teeth. They felt normal but as I glanced back at the mirror, at the long man’s hands trying to feel for his, all I saw was his hands disappear behind those lips – those unmoving lips. It looked like a mistake with greenscreen or something, nothing like anything I’ve seen in real life.

I turned my head and just ran out the door. I leaned on the wall outside the toilets and tried to dry my hands on my trousers. One of my colleagues walked past and asked if the dryer was broken. I heard the words “no, I’m just miles away,” fall out of my mouth. He asked if I was ok and I nodded in silence as he disappeared through the door.

I thought I was going mad and I don’t know if anyone else has ever experienced this but I felt like I just clicked into autopilot. I went straight back to my desk and asked the guy sitting next to me that day to take a picture of me. I made up some rubbish about needing to update my work profile picture. He huffed and agreed. We found a blank wall for me to stand in front of and he snapped a quick, poorly framed image. I didn’t care.

“Do you want several?” he asked in a friendly enough way.

“How does it look now?” I replied quickly, very quickly.

“Well you look like you,” he glanced down at the picture and I exhaled audibly, “are you sure you don’t want to do this a different day, though? You look pretty tired.”

“No, that’s fine thanks, thank you.”  And I did mean it. I looked at the picture and saw myself. No strange teeth, no extra inches, just me. At that point I didn’t know what to feel, but I could sense adrenaline slowly blending back into the background and my mind becoming clearer.

My first thought was one of pure social embarrassment and I made a mental note to change my profile picture immediately. If anyone asks why it was such a bad photo of me, I could say someone had stolen my face online and was posing as me. I simply had to change it immediately. That would make sense, wouldn’t it? And it wasn’t a million miles from what I thought was happening.

My second thought brought back my fear. What was actually happening? I decided I would wait a bit and go back to the bathroom. Maybe the night before I had been drunker than I thought and now I was tired and so worked up about it that I’d seen what I wanted – or rather really did not want – to see. After all, now I had confirmation – a picture no less! – that I was still me. And though I didn’t really know anyone well in the office, no-one had called me out as an imposter.

Well, I’m writing this now for a reason, aren’t I? The fucking long man was there in the mirror, smiling away at me. His two eyes looked down on me with a new frown above them. He didn’t look calming anymore. My blood chilled and though before I felt ill at ease, now all of a sudden I felt genuinely threatened, like a police officer or soldier was looming over me, holding me at gunpoint. I picked up my hand to see if his finger was still crooked before slapping myself, cleanly and loudly, in the cheek, trying to knock some sense into me.

I shook my head before looking back up at the mirror. The frown had gone but the long man remained. I just couldn’t do it any more. I marched straight out the toilets and to my desk to pack my things, muttering to anyone who needed to know that I’d be working from home the rest of the day – I had some plumbers coming to fix some stuff in the bathroom. No-one really minded and I knew one missed afternoon of work would have no ill effects in the long run. Admin jobs right?

I went straight home, shut all the blinds so they wouldn’t start reflecting into the room when the sun set and threw towels or sheets or whatever else I could find over every reflective surface in the flat. I got straight into bed. I didn’t eat anything, didn’t drink anything, just lay there staring at the ceiling for hours before exhaustio...

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/keanojeano on 2024-09-10 23:06:12+00:00.

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Previous Post

It's been two weeks since what happened.

The cold moonlight glistening off my wife's gleaming smile and glistening off her black orbs of eyes.

It cradled in her arms.

Its eyes, vacuous yet infinite, hosting some primordial presence, its origin not of this world. I had taken a glance into the void of the eyes, and something looked back at me.

The night replays in my head every waking moment since then in such intense detail. I had considered the possibility I was just going plain insane. I had a loving wife and child, and my mom lied to me. There was never any miscarriage - there was no Daryl-to-be a year ago, just Daryl from four months ago. That night must have been some horrible, hyper-realistic dream.

Of course, I was bullshitting myself. It was all too real. All too vivid.

As I maintained my facade around Clara and the entity, my mind would race with questions, but one question raised itself higher among others: What the fuck happened between the miscarriage a year ago, and four months ago?

Any attempt at remembering resulted in the same mundane memories resurfacing: working; watching movies with Clara at home; generally just living life as normal. When asked, Clara would say the same. Yet there was some cloudiness - a murkiness - above it all. A film that hung over it, blurring the image of my memory. The mundane had blended together in such a nondescript way, and no single event stood out from its fog. I found it hard to believe absolutely nothing of note took place in that time. And then poof, suddenly we have a child.

I then got the idea that whatever this thing is, if it could brainwash my wife, who's to say it can't alter memory too?

I had checked my phone gallery between that time. I figured this would be a decent way to find anything, as I'm not the sort to go through old pictures in my gallery often. All the pictures were that of the mundane I described before: pretty clouds, good food, me and Clara doing what husband and wife do. But Clara looked off. Her smiles looked sad. Forced. Some deep sadness had burrowed itself into her eyes. The kind of sadness that transcends expression. I could feel it when I looked at her, even through the screen. This wasn't definitive, though. That sadness was likely spawned from the miscarriage, but I was still operating on assumption.

There had to be something in the house to prove the miscarriage - a doctor's report, pictures, anything. I was hoping for anything real and substantial to pierce the fog in my head. I checked older medical documents from last year's 8th of May, which would have been Daryl's original date of birth. No records indicative of a miscarriage or complications whatsoever. Did it make Clara destroy the documents? It wasn't out of the question, seeing as how much of a grip it had over her already.

And then I found it.

A Polaroid picture stashed away in a drawer in the bedroom.

It was that of a starry night sky, a brilliant white moon in its centre. Silhouettes of pine trees bordered the frame of the picture, faintly illuminated by a warm orange glow, likely from a campfire.

It was at that moment that the fog cleared. The veil obscuring my memory had been torn apart, and all it took was a single Polaroid picture.

That night, me and Clara went camping in the woods. It was one of her favourite activities before the miscarriage. She was so stricken with grief after the miscarriage that she had relegated herself to two places: her office, and her home. I hoped this trip would bring some life back in her eyes. She always loved the beauty of the natural world.

We hiked the trail until we reached where we planned to make camp. A cozy clearing, surrounded by magnificent pine trees. We set up our tent and put together a modest campfire beside it along with a convenient log nearby which would serve as seating. We threw in some loose dead wood to serve as kindling. As the sun began to set, me and Clara sat on the log, her head on my shoulder, my head against hers, bundled in the same blanket that we would bundle "Daryl" in. We watched the fire dance as it crackled and snapped. Clara let out a relieved, relaxed sigh, as if everything would be alright in the end as she burrowed her head into me. We would stay there, just sitting, for a while. I remember thinking how I wouldn't mind just staying like that, forever.

"You wanna talk about what's on your mind?" I said, stroking her hair.

"Just hoping that one day I'll be able to go back to normal. That I'll be able to feel like something wasn't ripped straight out of my chest. That this empty pit will ever be filled again. I... I just wanted to right by Daryl so, so bad... And now, I may never be able to have a child. Ever."

"Clara, I-"

"But I still have you."

She looked up at me. Her eyes, full of that light again. And a smile. A genuine, warm smile that could melt a glacier. She leaned in to give me a peck on the lips, and continued to rest against me. We looked to the sky that was now a tapestry of black speckled with white. And in the middle of it all, the moon, hanging proud and regal over us. That was when I took the picture that made me remember all this.

Before we dozed off by the fire, as cozy as we were, we figured it would be best to sleep in the tent. We dragged ourselves, half-asleep, from the campfire into the tent and laid ourselves to bed for the night.

It was a peaceful night's sleep.

Until it wasn't.

A loud crash from what sounded like just outside our tent woke me and Clara up. I was still stunned, laying down in my sleeping bag as Clara jolted up and went to investigate. By the time I made my way out of the tent, Clara was standing right beside it.

An impact crater right where our campfire was. A pale, perfectly spherical object no bigger than a beach ball lay embedded into the earth at its centre. Clara stood over it, staring at it. Unmoving.

"Clara, what is that?!"

"He's... beautiful..."

She began to walk towards the object, arms outstretched.

"Clara, don't! Get away from it!"

I ran towards her, grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her away and towards me.

Her eyes were black pearls. She wore that same content smile she had that night.

"Why would I run away... from our child?"

I don't know if the sheer shock weakened my grip, or if in that moment Clara had gained some otherworldly strength, but she effortlessly ripped herself away from my grip, and continued into the crater, arms still outstretched as she made her way down its slopes.

The orb began to hover in response to Clara's approach, levitating at most 5 feet off the ground.

It began to reshape itself, twisting, contorting, and folding over itself in ways non-euclidean. In ways that defied logic and physics. Its texture shifting from a glossy metallic to that more akin to human skin. It's like it had just changed itself on a wholly molecular level. As it continued to morph into its perfect, final shape, I could feel a strange ache in the back of my head as I continued to look at it. As if something was probing my mind, digging around. Searching for something. Even remembering it now, I feel that similar ache in the back of my head. A magnetism stopped me from looking away, and the ache got worse. The object took the shape of a newborn baby, of "Daryl", small and frail, still hovering above the ground. Clara pulled off the blanket that was still wrapped around her, and gently swaddled "Daryl" in it.

She turned slowly to face me. It was just like that night. Her face, bathed in moonlight. Her black, abyssal eyes. "Daryl", staring straight into me, with those eyes that contained something unfeeling yet sinister deep within.

It took all I had to look away, to go against this force pulling my gaze towards "Daryl". I could feel my psyche breaking, who I was, and all common sense, being overwritten by some other power. Visions of cataclysm seeped in through my mind. A world in flames. A pale orb resembling the moon above it all.

Every synapse fired off, every nerve shot with pain, as I ripped my gaze away from the entity. The shock made me pass out, and collapse onto the floor, unconscious.

That was it. The moment my memory broke. Damage done from interrupting the entity's attempt at controlling me.

It was also the moment I had become a father.

The next day, I woke up to Clara and "Daryl" seated at the table, ready for breakfast. I assumed that this was my life, after all, why would I question it? I always wanted a loving wife, and a beautiful baby boy. Even if I had no memory of the night before, and even if the past 9 months were a blur. This was happiness.

And now, 4 months later, I wish I could have maintained that ignorance. My wife was having her deepest desires exploited by some eldritch being.

And I have no idea what the fuck to do.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/googlyeyes93 on 2024-09-10 22:26:59+00:00.

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Previous

After the run in with Kuchisaka-onna, I took things a lot more seriously. If I was out at night, I tried sticking to more populated areas and be home before midnight. Even then, I made a weekly visit to the nearby shrine and tried to do offerings to cover my ass when possible. It worked for a couple of months, too. Though I did make it a point to look into some of the more common yokai just on the off chance I ran into any.

Turns out that even the most well-lit, public places can be dangerous when it comes to spirits. No matter how safe you’re trying to be, one of the most terrifying things about yokai is that they simply do not give a flying fuck about where they show up.

It was around October maybe, I had gone out for a nice dinner with Hikaru, the girl I’d been seeing since my last encounter. It was nice, walked through one of the parks at sunset, spending some nice time together. She was teaching me Japanese, so I was able to finally understand and conversate a little, but nothing beyond ordering at the restaurant usually. Either way, I was really falling for this girl, spending most of my time off base with her when I could.

Maybe around eleven I walked her back home, a little kiss goodnight then it was off to the train station to get back to base. Sounds easy enough, and I was in a pretty good mood after a nice date night, relaxing and having a couple of drinks.

The subway was a lot more empty than I expected, with the train platform totally empty by the time I got there. Ten minutes on the screen until mine got there, so I took a seat on one of the benches to wait. Pretty sure I started drifting off, the silence and flickering lights of the train station lulling me to sleep.

Scraping sounds made me jump back up with a start thinking my train had finally made it. Looking up at the screen though, there were still five minutes left on the arrival counter. The scraping was still going though, like something dragging along the rocks lining the tracks below. I got up to see, wondering if maybe someone fell onto the tracks while I was asleep and I didn’t notice. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried killing themselves with one of the trains out here. Hopefully that wasn’t the case and it was just a drunken accident or something.

I approached the edge of the platform, cautiously standing back before leaning forward to see the source.

The scraping sound grew louder, like it was trying to rush along the ground much faster than before, geting close. I didn’t even see anything over the edge before a hand came up over the edge, grasping the concrete platform before another joined it. The fingers were bloody, scarlet shining bright against the pale white skin. A mess of dark, black hair followed slowly behind, pulling itself up from the tracks toward me.

Look, I may have been kind of stupid during my last run-ins, but I watched The Rig and The Grudge to know that pale girls with messy long hair are a fucking problem. Needless to say, I started stepping back fast, desperately trying to get away. The scraping sound got louder as she heaved herself onto the platform, long fingernails clawing at the clean cement, making terrible sounds. It looked at me, dark black eyes from pupil to edge, mouth wide in a silent scream. When she was fully on the platform I could see the source of the dragging noise.

Her body ended around her abdomen, jagged bones sticking out of still bloody insides. As she crawled forward on her elbows and hands, the protruding bones scraped the concrete below, making the awful scraping noise and leaving a bloody trail. God, as it grew louder it sounded like nails on a chalkboard mixing with a train running off the rails. My head was pounding, getting dizzy just listening to it.

I finally got my body to move, running toward the other end of the platform and the small guard station at the top of the stairs there. I had seen an older guy when I came through, though he didn’t look like he was in the mood to help, hopefully he would make exceptions when it comes to yokai.

Despite being somewhat in shape, I am the opposite of fast. So blowing out of the platform I hit speeds previously unknown to man. I could still hear the scraping behind me as I flew by, desperately hoping to at least reach the stairs that MIGHT slow her down.

Yeah, nope.

I did the classic mistake when up against weird shit, and I looked behind me after hearing the sound of scraping metal join the ruckus. This bitch was on my damn heels, a huge scythe held in one hand now, but walking along on her hands faster than a goddamn circus performer. I might have been propelled further by the adrenaline, especially because her face was more clear now, frozen in a disfigured scream of shock, anguish, and tormented pain that I’ll never get out of my mind. As she got closer, she switched to hopping along on one arm, raising the scythe to cut me down to her size.

Maybe it was the offering I had done a couple days before, but I think something was looking out for me as I finally reached the steps. Bracing myself for the inevitable trip and fall, I launched myself toward them, trying to clear the first few. It worked, miraculously, and her swing with the scythe went under my feet as I landed three steps up, grasping the rail. Even with my newfound luck I had to keep running, legs and lungs both burning by now as I rushed further up the steps.

It finally happened. I knew my luck wouldn’t last for long, but barely two further up the stairs and I tripped, smashing my face on the edge of one of the concrete steps. It dazed me, hardcore, and I could barely get my vision back as I struggled back up, blood now gushing from my nose. All I could smell was blood, but the persistent sound of the yokai was gaining on me.

I could hear the scraping turn to tapping behind me, getting louder as she pulled herself up the steps behind me. The jagged bones would drag up, before flopping onto the next step, gushing blood from the exposed insides on her abdomen every time it was pushed in. The sound alone made me want to throw up, but the trail of bright red viscera behind her was something else to see. The train tracks behind her were glowing in the fluorescent lights above, looking more like the fires of hell with every second.

There was no getting back up, my head entirely fucked and barely able to realize which way was up. All I could do was clamber back on hands and knees, pushing myself further up the stairs as she crawled behind.

For a moment we made eye contact, making me stop in my tracks as something burned into my mind. It wasn’t my memory, but I saw it like I was living it.

A bunch of girls, just kids, pointing and laughing at me, telling me that my parents didn’t even want me, so why should they? I was never going to contribute to society anyway, especially not since I was already one of the kids forgotten to the system.

It’s pointless anyway, all this school I’ve been going through, only to get scolded by the teacher for being stupid while the other kids just laughed at me. They were right. I should contribute to the people around me in the way that would serve them all best.

My vision flashed away, now standing right in front of the same platform we were at, looking at the speeding train heading my way fast. One light was on the front, warm and welcoming as I started walking closer to the edge. The conductor blew the train horn, though I’m not sure if he saw me. It would be too late if he did, because I stepped off right before the train came barreling into the station. I could feel the force of the train and wind as it knocked me back onto the train platform. As my vision faded, I looked back to where the train was stopped now, doors open and people pouring out on their daily commute. On the floor, looking up at all the people who would be better off without me, my vision faded as my last view was the jagged remains of my spine jutting from where my waist should be.

The train came screeching into the station, bringing me back from the terrible vision being forced through to me. More than fear, I was in despair now, tears stinging my eyes and broken nose as they trailed down. She was gone, no trail of blood or scraping sound in sight other than the train grinding against tracks, slowing to a halt.

I ran even faster than I had running away from her, diving right through the train doors and past a crowd waiting to exit as soon as they opened. Can’t say I blame them for giving out a littlke scream and fleeing, because I probably looked like a murder victim running from hell right then. Cowering in the seat of the train car, I kept an eye on everything around me, waiting for her inevitable reappearance to take me just like she was taken. There was one other person sitting in the car, a younger guy dressed in casual clothes, wearing a baseball cap. He would side eye me occasionally, though I wasn’t paying him any mind. Despite everything though, all I could feel for her was sadness. She scared the shit out of me, sure, but from the research I had done on onryo, she’s a lost spirit.

Even after running into the Slit Mouth Woman before, the Teke Teke is still one of the most terrifying encounters I’ve had. When I finally left the station, I caught a glimpse of what I think helped me get out alive.

The guy in the baseball cap left the station ...

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/iifinch on 2024-09-10 16:01:00+00:00.

---

Previously

We tried not to let that ruin the night. We left to get food at Waffle House and attempted to regroup. Kathleen needed the most cheering up; I could tell the elf's near assault got to her. Barri did most of the work. My mind was half in it. I felt as if we were being watched the whole time. Then Kathleen spoke, and it pulled me back in.

"I just really don't want to die alone," she said.

"Hey, whoa, where's that coming from?"

"I don't know, it's just..." she paused over her words like she knew exactly what she meant but was too ashamed to say it. "When he grabbed me, I was like, 'oh my gosh, this is what everyone is talking about on TikTok, like rejecting a man and he kills you,' and I'm just like 'I'm dead'. This is it, and no one is here to even care."

"We're here," Barri added. Kathleen might as well have not heard it.

"I'm 23 years old and I've never been in a relationship," Kathleen mourned. "No one wants me and no one cares."

"We want you," I said.

"Then where were you?" she asked. That shut me down. Neither I nor Barri replied.

"I'm sorry," she said after a minute of silence. "You saved me, and I know you did, and you always look out for me. I'm just shook a bit and feeling lonely."

"Come," I said. "Let me fly you to my house. Let's find out what this guy is and how to stop him tonight."

I flew the girls to my home to search for books to determine exactly what this creature was and how to stop him. I placed both of them on the ground and hobbled inside. My leg would heal in a couple of hours, but for now, I had a limp.

My mix of confusion, fear, and insult at this attack turned into pure fury as I hobbled. Which made me even madder because I couldn't even stomp properly with one leg. I wobbled.  We journeyed in silence, the echoes of our footsteps spoke for all of us. The girls' steps were quiet and full of trepidation.

Finally, we arrived at the back of the cave where I made my home. Rows and rows of candles with dancing flames greeted us. 

The girls stopped walking.

"What?" I whipped around and barked at them, letting my frustration burst.

They were huddled together, almost holding hands.

"Please don't yell," Barri said, and she covered her ears.

"Sorry," I said. That was the first time I remember raising my voice to either of them, and the feeling twisted my stomach into knots. I stepped toward them to hug Barri. Barri always craved physical affection but she took half a step back.

"Oh," I said aloud, not wanting to make her feel awkward but because I couldn't believe it.

"No, wait, sorry, you didn't do anything. Well, you shouldn't yell, it's just--"

"You live here?" Kathleen interrupted.

Oh, what a sight they must have seen. I forget how differently we live from you. We are just a darker people in tolerance and fashion. Portraits of my ancestors - men and women - line the wall, all in traditional fashion. They sit crouched in black leather with our family's blanket on them. Their fangs bared, their weapon of choice wet, and the head of the victim of choice on the floor. There were at least 100 pictures on the walls, and many had cow heads, rabbit heads, and chicken heads. We don't eat only humans, but of course, the first pictures they saw were of my oldest ancestors, and of course, freshly cut human heads were on their portraits.

I hate that I could hear their hearts beating faster, the shuffle of their feet wanting to escape, and I saw the judgment in their eyes.

"Yes," I said to Kathleen.

They traded glances with each other and came in. That put my heart at ease.

I brought them to my library and tried to show off as little of my place as possible. My heart was at ease, but my shame had not left.

Regardless, together the three of us went through every book in the library to find out what exactly was attacking us.

"Wait, is this true?" Kathleen mocked. "Kill a vampire, get a miracle?" She quoted the unholy book.

"How would I know?" I shrugged. "I don't know, some people say we're cursed or not part of God's design or whatever."

"That would explain your taste in music," Kathleen smiled. "Drake over Kendrick is insane, especially considering--"

"It's not true."

"Whatever," Kathleen closed the book and frowned. "That's mean though. I'm sorry you had to read that; that can't be nice to hear about yourself."

I shrugged. That level of intimacy made me awkward. It was quite unpleasant to read honestly. Especially since I knew no other vampires, and some days I frankly didn't like myself, so I thought, what if the books were right? What if we were cursed?

"Hey, did you hear me?" Kathleen rubbed my back with the gentleness a good friend shows. "I'm really glad we're friends."

"Same!" Barri said as she read a book and then waved it in the air. "I found something about him!"

We gathered around, and she summarized the passage.

"It looks like he's a Lusting Elf. The Lusting Elf is an abomination half-elf, half-demon. It doesn't understand any concept other than greed. The Lusting Elf sees his life purpose is to have everything his mind desires. He'd rather die than not have his lust satisfied. He or his friends will approach a target three times to get what he wants, and if he is denied all three times, he's gone."

"Okay, great, so we just have to prepare for him three more times, and then we're set," I said, still anxious about the situation. "Let's go home."

I dropped Kathleen off last and offered to sleep on her couch to help watch over her. I still felt that creeping feeling that someone was watching us. I did leave her side, though, because I smelled the blood of something non-human. I wish I hadn't; this is what happened.

At perhaps 2 am, while I flew down the streets chasing what I believed could be the man in the plaid suit based on the smell of his blood, something entered Kathleen's house.

This something cracked Kathleen's bedroom door open. The heart-stopping groan of the door roused her from her dream. She had enough time to let out half a gasp before she shut her mouth.

Something entered her room and slammed the door. It didn't bother with silence.

"Are you cold?" the thing whispered. Its voice was deep, adult, and male. Its outline barely visible in the room. The only light the blinds allowed was a small thread from the streetlamps outside.

"Huh, what? What?" Kathleen whispered.

"Are you cold? You have a weighted blanket, so you're either cold or lonely?"

"Are you, um, the guy from the bar?"

"Him? Oh no, not me," it seemed confused at the question. “He sent me though.”

"Please leave."

"Oh, well, can't do that. You should have asked me to tell you what I want. I could have done that."

"What do you want?" she said and reached for her phone in the darkness.

"Please don't do that! Please don't move!" the thing ordered and took three scratching steps forward, directly toward her bed.

"Sorry!"

It didn't reply. It only breathed, loud breaths through its mouth, she assumed. Unsure of what the silence meant, Kathleen wiggled her feet beneath the bed.

CRASH

Her lamp exploded in a scream. By force or by magic, she heard the clatter and the resulting drizzling of shrapnel on her floor. Kathleen screamed.

"I said don't move!" the thing in the dark shouted.

"I'm sorry," Kathleen sobbed, open and raw. She was terrified, and there was nothing she needed to hold back.

"You have so many blankets on. Are you lonely or are you cold?"

"I'm lonely."

"What do you want other than for me to go away?"

"Someone to hold me and tell me this isn't happening." Her words morphed into pitiful, childish blabber. The thing did not comment on that. It walked closer and closer still, until it bumped into the front of her bed.

Thump.

The bed said, and Kathleen did not respond. She could not respond.

"Do you want to ask me what I want again?" the thing whispered.

Kathleen flinched in an attempt to nod her head and then remembered he demanded stillness.

"What do you want?"

The thing in the dark thumped twice against the bed frame,

Thud.

Thud.

Then it climbed into the bed. With the gentleness and absence of an Arizona breeze, it pulled back the covers to reveal her toes. The thing in the dark grabbed Kathleen's toe, its hands small, baby-like, perhaps the hands of a one-year-old. Kathleen loved children.

"Before I begin," the thing said. "I must ask you, do you still deny the advances of my friend? He is why I am here, to get you to accept him. Will you accept him as your master?"

"No, but we can--" she cried.

"Then enough," he said. "You won't be lonely much longer. I am a cousin to the Changeling. I am sort of a cuckoo. I will place my body inside of you from my head to the soles of my feet, and I will nest there. You will never give birth to anything that lives, and the babies who die (if you selfishly choose to have them) shall be denied heaven and hell; their souls shall journey to be slaves for all eternity in the other world."

And then the strange creature parted her legs.

And that is where I come in, having smelled the blood of another inhuman. I flew back and crashed through Kathleen's window. I grabbed the thing by its neck and beat its head against the floor.

CRACK

CRACK

CRACK

I eagerly lapped up the blood, relishing my revenge and the opportunity to feast on something great. But the texture, the flavor, the way it oozed - this ...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/EmmaWatsonButDumber on 2024-09-10 21:16:23+00:00.

---

You know the moment when you're at the top of a rollercoaster? You know the feeling of the first 3, 4 seconds of the drop? As much as you adrenaline junkies say it's amazing, don't lie - it's absolutely awful, terrifying.

That's how I felt two hours ago.

Clink.

I live in one of these duplex type of homes - a house split in two. One side, mine. The other, the neighbor's. Or, right now, no one's. No one lives next to me. It's for sale.

Don't imagine it's something fancy - I've rented it out to have more room for my paintings. It has a simple layout: downstairs, my living room and kitchen, with a tiny service bathroom. Upstairs, two bedrooms, one mine, the other turned into a painting room, because I can't sleep in the smell of oil paint.

I was hanging up some paintings in the upstairs hallway, the one that shares a wall with the other home. As I raised my hand with the nail, and my hammer, I tripped (which was odd by itself, because I never trip on thin air) and, since my hand was already swinging, I quickly pulled my other hand, with the nail, away, afraid to hit my finger. My hammer went straight into the wall - carboard walls, typical to cheap American homes.

I stood there in silence, staring like an idiot at the hole I'd just made.

I hadn't expected the wall to be so thin, so that I could see the darkness from the other home. It was extremely odd and off-putting - I hated living next to no one. That home had been for sale for ages.

In the silence, I suddenly heard movement on the other side. Confusion, then fear, then disgust swept over me. Please. No rats. It's all I ask.

Hesitant, I peaked through the hole, trying to see the culprit. The other room definitely needed to have windows, so the darkness would not be too bad, I thought. Still, my mind was fuzzy: how on earth did I manage to break into the other home? How? I knew the term paper-thin walls, but I'd assumed that was just an exaggeration.

In that moment, I know I wasn't the wisest - it wasn't exactly the best decision to put my eye right into the opening of a stale, dusty room. Even if there were rats, that made it even more unsanitary. Those were the thoughts playing in my head, which were cut short all of a sudden.

I pulled away, eyes wide, mouth open, scarcely breathing.

There it was. The drop of the rollercoaster. Well enough, I'd seen another eye looking back.

The house was silent, but not a welcoming silence, or a comforting one, the one I'd gotten to know since living alone. No, this silence was like a being on its own. I felt it moving through my walls, and I feared it wasn't the only one.

Clink.

How do I know it was me who was looking back? Well, I have a scar on my left eyelid. Walked into a wire when I was a kid, lucky it didn't blind me. Two hours ago, I'd seen that same scar through the wall.

My mind raced for answers. It's a mirror. It's a fucking mirror.

That's what it had to be. The other room had a double-sided mirror on the wall. I put my finger through the hole, expecting to feel the glass.

I felt skin.

I think I've never screamed so loud before in my life. No, first, I think I gagged. I'm trying to remember the right order of things, but I can't. My throat is still sore from that scream. I could not think of a reasonable thing to do, because that wasn't a reasonable situation. What if it was a dead body?

No, I'd heard it moving.

I've been pacing through my living room since. I've stopped to type this, hoping someone might know how to help.

Clink.

From time to time, I hear this sound. A clink, coming from the hole.

The first time I heard it was an hour ago. It was almost imperceptible. Now, it's the same sound, but I feel like it's become deafening.

I turn to look, and I see that whoever is on the other side is dropping pins on my floor, through that hole. Clink. A pin falls, followed by another.

I don't know what's scarier - the fact that someone is on the other side - me, perhaps? -, or the fact that it knows I saw it.

It's a really thin wall, and I'm afraid something can break through it from any side. Tonight, I'm sleeping at my friend's.

Tomorrow, I don't know what I'll do. Wish me luck.

As I'm zipping my back up to leave, I hear another clink. I turn, and, from the door, I can see an eye peeking through the hole in the wall.

I get into my car. I'll hit post now, then fire up the engine and get out of here. I have one more thing to say - the upstairs room, the one stuck to my home, the one where the hole is supposed to lead, has no windows.

I don't know what's in there, and how long it's been lurking. I don't even want to think about the fact that for the last year I've been living next to that thing.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/thegeneralg on 2024-09-10 19:06:53+00:00.

---

I can remember that last night at camp like it was yesterday. We sat just outside the newly refurbished cabins as a campfire crackled peacefully in the stone ring in front of us. The grass had been freshly mowed, and the scent of pine lingered in the air. The sound of crickets and other insects was all I could hear as they floated contentedly nearby. The intense heat of the afternoon had finally lessened, and the night sky felt pleasantly cool and refreshing. During the day, the sky was so blue it almost hurt your eyes. But at night, it was all inky darkness, and the flickering light of the campfire was the only main source of light. I watched as tiny wisps of smoke slowly climbed into the sky before they disappeared into the dark pine branches. I was close enough to the fire that I watched as the coals pulsed with heat and the embers cast a soothing glow on the surrounding pines.

By then almost everyone else had gone to bed, so it was just Violet and myself. We hadn’t said anything to each other for a while, but I had a question I’d been meaning to ask. She was the head camp administrator and knew everything. It was Labor Day weekend, and with the final celebration over, there was just a tiny few of us left to close everything down for the start of camp next year. The end of summer atmosphere and the fact that the camp was now virtually deserted meant that it was the perfect chance to ask something that had been on my mind but for some reason I hadn’t quite been ready to.

“Why don’t we ever go across the lake to the land on the other side?”

“We’re not the only people who like to gather around the fire in the woods at night.”

I was unsure of how to take this. “What do you mean?”

She paused, a hesitant look on her face. “Depends on who you ask. I’ve seen some giant bonfires, some weird dancing, some screeching, and a group of people. But others say people have found things in the morning amidst some smoldering remnants of a fire. Bones that they can’t be sure are animal or human. Some have sworn people were watching them. Not doing or saying anything, just silently watching. Either way, no one’s ever bothered us out here, but never forget someone can always start.”

There was a silence that hung over the air. I knew she had more to say.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked.

She sighed. “I’ve told you what I’ve seen. That’s it. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t heard things. I have. Whenever I see a giant bonfire, or better yet, I smell it because it doesn’t smell like a normal bonfire, I hear things. Strange things I haven’t heard anywhere else. Noises that don’t sound completely human or completely animalistic. But the worst is when it’s not a sight or a sound, but a feeling. Only a few times, maybe 4 or 5 in all the times I’ve been here, have I felt something, but you better believe that was enough. I’ve never felt such raw, animalistic fear. It’s almost like it felt like a literal part of my DNA and it was so intense my body could barely contain it. It passed quickly, but you don’t forget something like that.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t.”

“The other thing is that even the fire isn’t like normal fires. Even from a distance, it looks mostly normal, but there’s some tiny difference that stands out. It’s not a fire that invites you to sit around, roast marshmallows, and tell stories. It’s a warning. For what exactly I don’t know, but a warning is a warning all the same.”

“Fair enough. Thanks for telling me.”

“Sure. There’s just one other thing. I don’t know why or how it happens, but there have been a few times when  I’m outside and night and all of a sudden, the sounds of insects stop buzzing and the frogs stop croaking. Completely and simultaneously. It’s more than a little unsettling, and every time it happens, I get inside as quickly as possible. I never see or experience anything else, but something tells me to get inside now,” she emphasized the final word. “So that’s what I do, and once inside, I slam the door shut. And nothing ever happened. But it beats the alternative.”

“No doubt.”

“Just remember. We tell campfire stories, but there are things out there that are the campfire story.”

We went to bed soon after that. By that time, the fire had burned down to a small glow, and the only lights were the ones scattered intermittently throughout the area. The rest of the area was completely dark, so I was paying close attention to my surroundings. I was halfway back to my cabin when I felt it. The sense that something had changed and not for the better. I quickly looked around, but everything looked exactly the same. So I kept on, trying to figure out what was different.

Then it hit me. Everything was quiet. No mosquitos shrilly whizzing by, or no crickets chirping away in the bushes. Everything had fallen completely silent.

I could immediately see why Violet had the reaction she did. It was downright eerie. So I had a similar reaction, and sprinted the rest of the way to my cabin. It wasn’t far, but in the darkness and with fear trickling down my neck faster than the sweat from my sprinting, the short distance felt like it had multiplied.

When I finally had the door in sight, I frantically unlocked it, tugged it open, and slammed it shut before sliding the deadbolt in place. Only then did I take a deep breath and try to calm down. Everything was exactly in place, and the illumination that flooded the space did not reveal any unwanted surprises. Just like always, I had the cabin to myself, and that had not changed. Nor was there any commotion from outside, no pounding on the door or disembodied scream. Just the still summer night.

So after a few more deep breaths, I tried to get ready for bed. Once I was under the covers, I switched off the light and looked out the nearby window. My bedroom is on the second floor, and it came with a window overlooking the nearby lake and forest. With the light off, I could just faintly see across the lake, and what looked like a fire just barely flickered from the other side. I don’t know why, but I could tell it had just started, as it was just a sliver of a flame against the night sky. I could also faintly make out shadows moving near it.

The sight sent a chill down my spine, and that chill immediately spread to the rest of my body when I saw the sight of what looked like a boat gliding across the lake’s surface. It wasn’t like any boat we had here, and the shadow inside it was too large to belong to anyone I knew.

I laid there in shock, unsure of what to think or do. I’d been a camp counselor out here for years, and I’d never seen anything like this before. Sure, there were a couple times where I thought someone was watching me at night here or there, but it turned out to be nothing besides the usual feeling of being out there in the woods at night. The longer I laid there starring out the window, the more I half expected to see something or someone leering outside at me, but nothing happened. At some point I fell asleep and had the creepiest dream where someone in a cheap mask and a black cloak was watching me from the foot of my bed. They didn't do anything or say anything, they just stood there. So still it was unnatural.

I eventually woke up to sunlight streaming through the windows. It was warm when I stepped outside, but you could feel summer was slipping away, and the pleasant weather made it easy to shake off what I’d felt the night before. It also didn’t hurt that last night had been the last official night we were at camp, and we were all due to leave later tonight.

So off I went in search of a quick breakfast that I found in the form of some cereal that Violet and Eric were also having outside. Once I grabbed a bowl, i joined them at a picnic table.

"Sleep well guys?" I asked them after I had started eating.

"Ok," Eric said. "I had a crazy dream. "Someone broke into my cabin and was watching me while they hid in my closet. Someone wearing a mask."

That made me sit up straight, and I wasn't the only one. Violet was looking at both of us with an uneasy expression.

"I had a bad dream too. Someone people were lurking outside my window. Two of them. Both in robes and masks."

Then I told them about my dream. And I told them about what I'd seen and felt last night for good measure. Eric was pale when I was finished.

"I saw that too," was all he could say. "And I swear I saw a procession of people with torches coming out of the woods right near the boundary of camp."

The three of us sat there in total silence until Violet spoke.

"Let's just get everything done and get out of here. "

That was fine by me, because with that ominous air hanging over everything we finished the few final matters in record time, and then the only thing left was for all the remaining counselors to hop in two cars and engage in our usual final camp ritual of a movie and pizza. Over the years we’d seen several movies on Labor Day weekend, from Raiders of the Lost Ark to Ghostbusters, but this year we were going to Aliens. I loved the original and I was looking forward to it.

And I was not disappointed, because it was an incredible ride of a movie that we all enjoyed that somehow manage to make me forget what had happened the night before, if only for a short time. When it was done, we all went to the local pizzeria and treated ourselves. As always, it was a wonderful time. When we were all done, it was time to return to camp so we could pack up and h...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/CreepyStoriesJR on 2024-09-10 17:29:20+00:00.

---

I’d never been one to believe in the supernatural. Ghost stories, urban legends, all that stuff, none of it had ever held much sway over me. But after my first night as a security guard at this 24-hour gas station on the outskirts of town, I wasn’t so sure anymore.

It was supposed to be an easy gig. A late-night job to pay the bills. Nothing more than keeping an eye on the place, handling the occasional drunk driver or rowdy teen, and making sure no one wandered too far into the parking lot. At least, that’s what I thought when I applied. The pay was decent, the hours quiet, and the isolation didn’t bother me. In fact, I preferred it.

The gas station itself wasn’t much to look at, a dingy building that sat at the edge of a long, winding road that seemed to stretch into nothing. The main attraction was the bright fluorescent lights that flickered above the pumps and cast long shadows across the parking lot. Inside, it was just as unimpressive: aisles of chips and snacks, a small refrigerator stocked with energy drinks and sodas, and a counter where my coworker, Ray, sat behind the register.

Ray was in his late forties, maybe early fifties, and had the look of a man who’d spent too many years on the night shift. His skin was pale, his hair thinning, and his eyes had that glazed-over, distant look that made me wonder if he ever really slept. He’d been at the gas station for years, or so he told me on my first night, and he didn’t say much else unless he had to.

Tonight, as I clocked in and grabbed my flashlight, Ray was sitting behind the counter, sipping from a cup of coffee and staring out into the parking lot. He nodded at me when I came in but didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t need to.

“How’s the night been so far?” I asked, trying to make some small talk.

Ray took a long sip of his coffee before answering, his voice gravelly from too many cigarettes. “Quiet. Just how I like it.”

“Anything I should know about?” I asked, settling in for what I thought would be an uneventful night.

Ray’s eyes flicked toward me, then back to the parking lot. “Yeah, actually,” he said slowly. “There are a few things you should know. Rules, mostly. The kind that’ll keep you out of trouble.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Rules? Like what?”

Ray glanced over his shoulder, as if making sure no one else was listening, then leaned in a bit closer. “I’ll tell you about them through the night,” he said. “It’s easier that way. Some things you just need to experience to understand.”

I was about to ask him what he meant when he added, “And one more thing: don’t ask too many questions.”

The night passed slowly. The hours seemed to drag on, and apart from the occasional car pulling in to fill up, nothing much happened. I made my rounds around the parking lot, checked the perimeter, and kept an eye on the pumps. Ray stayed behind the counter, always watching, always sipping his coffee.

It wasn’t until around 1 AM when Ray suddenly cleared his throat. “There’s something you need to know about,” he said, his voice low and serious. “First rule.”

I stopped mid-step and turned toward him. “Yeah?”

“If you see a little boy come in,” Ray continued, “around seven or eight years old, wearing a red jacket, don’t talk to him. Don’t even acknowledge him. Just let him do what he does and leave. He comes around sometimes, usually late at night. But whatever you do, don’t speak to him. If he asks you for help, ignore him.”

I stared at Ray, waiting for the punchline, but there wasn’t one. He was dead serious.

“What happens if I talk to him?” I asked.

Ray didn’t look at me. “You don’t want to know,” he muttered.

I didn’t press him further, but the thought of a little boy wandering around the gas station in the middle of the night was unsettling enough.

A few hours later, after another lull in activity, Ray spoke up again. “Second rule,” he said, without looking at me.

I was restocking the drinks in the cooler, and I stopped, listening.

“Stay out of the shadows,” Ray continued. “If the lights flicker and go out, stay where it’s lit. Don’t walk into the dark corners. You might see things moving in the dark, shadows that don’t belong to anything. Whatever you do, don’t follow them. They’ll lead you somewhere you can’t come back from.”

I glanced out the window at the flickering parking lot lights. They were old, barely working half the time. But Ray’s tone made me uneasy.

“Have you seen the shadows?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.

Ray shrugged, sipping his coffee. “Once or twice. Don’t care to see ‘em again.”

Around 3 AM, the gas station was completely silent. No customers, no cars, just the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. I was getting restless when Ray spoke up again.

“Third rule,” he said. “That door in the back of the station? The one marked ‘Employees Only’? Don’t open it. Don’t knock on it, don’t go near it. Just ignore it. It’s better that way.”

I frowned, looking toward the back of the station. There was a door there, old and scratched up, with a faded sign that read “Employees Only.” I hadn’t paid much attention to it before.

“What’s behind it?” I asked, though I had a feeling I already knew Ray’s answer.

“Don’t know. Don’t care to find out,” Ray replied. “But sometimes you’ll hear noises coming from back there. Scratching, tapping, maybe even voices. Ignore it. The door stays closed.”

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words settle over me.

The hours dragged on. It was nearing 4 AM, and fatigue was starting to set in. The hum of the gas station’s lights, the soft hum of the refrigerator units, and Ray’s occasional cryptic advice were all that kept me company.

That’s when Ray hit me with the fourth rule.

“Last thing you need to know for now,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “The light in the parking lot? The big one near the pumps? Make sure it stays on. If it goes out, you need to fix it right away.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What happens if it goes out?”

Ray set his coffee cup down and gave me a hard look. “If it goes out, they’ll come. And you don’t want them coming.”

I didn’t ask who they were.

Sometime after 4 AM, the gas station felt… wrong. I was stocking shelves when I noticed Ray wasn’t behind the counter anymore. I hadn’t seen him leave or heard him move. It was as if he had vanished.

“Ray?” I called out, stepping toward the counter. No answer.

I looked around the gas station, checking the aisles, the bathrooms, and even the perimeter outside. But there was no sign of him. The back door remained shut, the shadows in the far corners of the station dark and foreboding.

I felt a rising sense of dread. Ray was nowhere to be found. The air felt thick, like it was pressing down on me, and a chill crept up my spine.

Suddenly, I remembered one of the rules, the shadows. I stayed under the fluorescent lights, avoiding the dark corners, my heart racing. I didn’t know if I’d broken a rule by looking for him, but something told me I had.

The parking lot light flickered.

My stomach lurched, and I sprinted outside, fumbling with the switch on the side of the building. After a few agonizing seconds, the light sputtered back to life. The parking lot bathed in that familiar glow, and I exhaled, my hands shaking.

When I went back inside, Ray was there. Sitting behind the counter like he’d never left.

“Where the hell did you go?” I demanded, my voice louder than I’d intended. “I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

Ray didn’t look up from his coffee. “You shouldn’t have looked for me.”

“What?”

“That’s the last rule,” he said, his voice low and tired. “If I disappear, don’t look for me. The thing that comes back won’t be me. Don’t talk to it, don’t acknowledge it, just pretend it’s not there.”

I stared at him, my blood running cold. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Ray finally looked up at me, his eyes empty, devoid of any emotion. “You broke the rule.”

My heart pounded in my chest, confusion and fear swirling inside me. Was he messing with me? How could this thing be telling me not to talk to it if it wasn’t Ray?

I backed away slowly, my mind racing. If this wasn’t Ray, then what was it? Why would it warn me about itself?

The shadows in the corners of the station seemed to shift, growing darker, stretching toward me. The parking lot light flickered again, and this time, I didn’t move. I was frozen, caught between disbelief and terror.

It was like the shadows were alive, moving, slithering, coiling closer and closer. My mind raced, screaming at me to stay in the light, to follow Ray’s rules. But my legs felt like lead, my body unwilling to respond as the darkness seemed to wrap itself around the corners of the store.

Suddenly, a low hum filled the air, like the station itself was groaning under the weight of something unseen. The flickering of the parking lot light became more erratic, casting brief, harsh flashes across the interior. In the back of my mind, I remembered what Ray had said about the lights: If they go out, they’ll come. You don’t want them coming.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to move. My body jerked into action as I ran for the switch that controlled the parking lot lights. My fingers fumbled with the old, rusted lever on the wall, and for a moment, my heart nearly stopped as I realized it wasn’t working. The hum intensified, and the shadows seemed to surge forward, creeping across the floor like liquid night.

With a desperate grunt, I yan...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/camwalker22 on 2024-09-10 12:18:10+00:00.

---

Most of what we serve is on draught. Lager or ale, though the regulars insist on calling the latter ‘beer’—like I’m supposed to care. I’m a nineteen-year-old history student, not a crusty old barfly. Do they think I care about using the correct term to refer to their dancing juice? I’ve worked at The Opal Pendant pub for a month, and I’m already sick of the tedium. Functioning alcoholics. The smell of spilt drinks. Fridges that buzz too loud. The glasswasher’s rumble. It can get busy on the weekends. But midweek? In the off-season? Nope. It’s just me and the regulars. 

“I’ll have another one, boy,” Colin said. He’s an Irishman who openly admits to living in a tent by the river.

“Alright.”

I bent for an empty pint glass, tilted it beneath the tap, and pulled the lever. A stream of russet liquid began to fill it, and I held the pose, squinting. Pulling pints can make you feel like you’re on a stage sometimes. It’s an act that draws eyes, even when the mind is elsewhere. Added to that was the curiosity of watching the new guy behind the bar. Pint poured, I handed the drink to Colin under the surveillance of covetous eyes.

“Three-seventy, please.” I said. He pulled out a blue plastic bag filled with coins and delved into it, grubby fingers shaking. He fished four out.

“Here you go, boy. Say, would you mind giving me a top up? Head’s a tad big.”

They can be very prissy about their beer, I’ve learned. Fingernail hygiene or liver vitality may not matter a great deal to a Pendant regular, but value for money of their primary vice does. The creamy layer at the top of Colin’s pint was a centimetre beyond the ‘fingers-width’ I’d been told to leave by the landlady herself, Ally. A rebuttal nearly escaped my lips, but then I remembered her advice:

“There’s three or four who are the lifeblood of The Pendant in the off-season. They’ll turn up every night and drink seven or eight pints a-piece. As much as they might wind you up, do try to keep them happy as best you can, love.” 

“No problem.” I said, giving Colin his change and returning to the ale tap with his pint. Hoarse laughter erupted from the other side of the bar, slicing through the quiet. 

“You serve pints, not ice creams, lad!” a man with huge ears and tufts of hair protruding from each nostril said. 

I blushed. The heckler’s name is Pete, and he’s a paint-stained-work-overall-wearing lager guzzler who laughs at his own jokes. His wife, June, accompanies him to The Pendant, matching his pints with halves for herself. She purrs along to his japes from her barstool, stroking his arm and instigating the occasional public display of affection.

“Leave the boy be. He’s doing his best.” Colin said as I handed back the topped-up pint. 

“He knows I’m joking! Don’t you, lad?” Pete said in his gravelly voice.

I nodded and leaned back on the counter, wishing the next three hours of evening away. Raindrops dribbled down the slanted windows, sometimes racing, sometimes stalling. Stout wooden beams criss-crossed above, and a deer’s head stared blankly from its wall-mount. Gold-rimmed frames displayed portraits of Victorian-era aristocrats. I’d been trying to work out if they were specific people or just generic. Generic, probably. Originals or copies? Copies.

I’m studying in one of those British cities that was in its bloated pomp hundreds of years ago, and like an estuary at low tide, the waters of its significance had receded. What remains are cobbled streets, a grandiose church, a leafy riverfront and places like The Opal Pendant, which try to transport gullible tourists backwards in time. The name holds a certain mystique for them because it isn’t your average ‘Dog and Duck’ or ‘Red Lion’. Outside, above the door, hangs a creaky sign depicting a lavish necklace resting on a cushion. The chain slithers in lazy curves along the cushion to the opal itself, which leans forward on its bottom edge. To my eye, the place the artist has painted on an exaggerated gleam gives the impression that the jewel is winking. Like it knows something that the passerby doesn’t.

The door handle rattled. Stopped. Rattled again. Then flew open, smashing into the wall. A drenched couple walked in and fought to shut out the gale. 

“Bloody ‘ell. Door’s closed then!” Pete exclaimed, causing June to giggle.

“Sorry about that. Is this The Opal Pendant, by any chance?” One of them asked.

I went to answer, but before I could respond, Pete was motoring away again.

“It is, aye!”

“Great!”

I served them while Pete kept them in a conversational stranglehold. He strode out from his perch to show them the flood chart, wincing all the while at a protesting joint.

“This wooden chart has the water level recorded inside The Pendant since 1874, when its been flooded, that is. You can see it almost reached the ceiling there in 2021.”

“The water was that high? In here? You’re telling me all this was underwater?”

“Absolutely. It’s heartbreaking when it floods. It really is. Such an old building and all. Listed. I get upset because it means me and June have to go drink somewhere else, ain’t that right, Juney?”

“Well, we come here even if it’s wet.” She said.

Pete burst into laughter again, revealing his stained teeth. The tourists smiled politely and wandered the room as he harangued them with Pendant trivia. They didn’t stay for a second drink.

“They were friendly.” Pete said, returning to his berth beside June. She smiled and patted his thigh. 

“Another one please, boy.”

I poured Colin’s pint and took payment, careful not to make contact with his unsanitary palm. The more he drank, the longer his pale eyes lingered on things. It was unsettling, but I preferred standing by him and pretending to be busy if it meant I could avoid Pete and June. 

“All that about the flood chart and he didn’t even mention the gods-be-damned necklace.” Colin said.

“Necklace?” I asked.

Footsteps could be heard crossing a room overhead, then descending behind the bar. Colin fixed me with a blank look. 

“Never mind.” He said.

Ally stepped out from the upstairs flat wearing fluffy pyjamas, her dark hair in a loose knot. Wrinkles creased around her eyes as she smiled by way of greeting. 

“Ally, my darling!” Pete bellowed, throwing his arms wide. 

“Hello, you. Hope you haven’t been causing trouble.” Ally said. 

“Me? Trouble? Never!”

“Come on then. Out with ya. It’s shutting up time.”

“Party pooper Ally! Never changes, does it?” 

“You know the drill by now, Pete.” She turned to me. “Everything go OK tonight?”

“Yeah. All quiet.” I said.

“Good. Get yourself home.”

I retrieved my raincoat and went back over to the bar to say goodbye. Pete and June had left, but Ally and Colin were still there. The landlady used a calculator by the till and counted coins while Colin tapped a finger on the polished wood of the bar. I said goodbye and pulled my hood up, marching out into the blustery night. It was a straight ride along the river to get back to my dorm. I untied my bike and pointed it in the direction of home. Well-lit. Smooth tarmac. Off-road. Lovely.

My shift was over and this summer squall wasn’t going to dampen my spirits. The only quirk on my route was a green tent standing behind a copse of trees about a kilometre along the path. I went to push off and saw Colin walking behind, carrying a bulging blue bag that jangled as though it were full of coins. Eerily like coins, actually. But it couldn’t be. He’d gone through all of his money. The coins had gone directly from his bag to the till, via me, all night. Now he was walking home, leathered, with a bag full of god-knows-what. Then it clicked. The tent. Colin lived there! As gross as the guy was, I was in a good mood, so I waved him over. Thankfully, the wind adequately dispersed his body odour. 

“Hey, Colin! Mind if I walk with you? You’re in that green tent, right?”

“I am, boy! That’d be no problem at all.”

I stepped off my bike and wheeled it beside him. 

“Wild night to be in a tent, isn’t it?” I said.

“Ah, it’s not so bad as you might think. And I’ll sleep like the dead soon as my head hits the pillow. That’s what a skinful’ll do for you.”

He had a strange, hobbly walk, and I could see water dripping from the end of his bulbous nose. 

“How long have you been drinking in The Opal Pendant, Colin?”

“Good few years, could be eight. Longer than that loudmouth idiot.”

“Pete?”

He grunted. “All that garbage he spouts, but he knows nothin’. Nothin’! Twas only right that I showed him the… never mind.”

“The necklace?” I asked, and Colin’s sunken eyes caught mine in a glance that wasn’t vacant at all. A pause lengthened between us.

“Aye. The Opal Pendant, that’s what I mean.”

“The Opal Pendant. You have the one the pub is named after? Why didn’t you or Pete mention it to the tourists?”

“I’ll show it to you, and then you’ll understand. It’s only in my tent, just there.” He pointed to the slouching canvas abode, not a hundred yards away. We pushed through wet leaves and branches to come to his campsite. The tent flap had been left open, which sent Colin growling and cursing after he’d launched his jangly blue bag inside. I kicked at fallen leaves while he waded through newspapers and bottles and muddy clothing. He crawled out of view and I thought I’d better give him some space. I looked over at the street-lit path through the undergrowth and listened to the patter of rain as my mind ran drunk on curiosity.

“Are you sure you h...

---

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1fdgfs6/i_took_a_parttime_job_at_an_old_pub_and_now_the/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/rorith-ell on 2024-09-10 18:26:17+00:00.

---

We started dating over a year ago now, and we're both in our twenties. Our generation is known for having a technology dependence, but my boyfriend's is getting ridiculous and I'm at my wit's end.

I knew when we started dating that he played a lot, but he promised me that I would be a priority. He was the most dutiful, kind, and attentive boyfriend up until last month, when a new game came out that all of his friends were obsessed with.

Of course, most of them are single and live alone, so they can play for twelve hours a day.

At first, Angel only played for a few hours at a time, but even then he would be plastered to the screen. No eating, and not a word I said registered with him. Before this, he always played with the boys, chatting and yelling, but he was silent.

After a few weeks, he started playing from the time he came home until he went to bed. He barely ate food - he at least used to do that while he played, but he would hardly touch anything I brought him. Just hunched over the keyboard, his hands moving mechanically over it. I couldn't understand how he was even having fun this way, but once in a while I could hear him laugh from the other room, so it must have been in some way.

Last night, it came to a head. I was standing behind him, practically crying for some attention, and I saw something on the screen that was... odd.

His reflection was what I noticed first. There was no expression on his face, completely empty eyes and sallow cheeks. He once was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen, but now? I could barely recognize him. There was no light in his eyes.

Then the screen flickered - what had been a regular first-person shooter game distorted, and it wasn't a character on the screen. It was him - my perfect, beautiful boyfriend, screaming. I could see blood on his shirt, and for just a second, I thought that he was looking at me. Begging me with his eyes. I could vaguely make out a distorted sound coming from the headset on Angel's head.

Angel smiled, and the screen was normal again. Just a stupid shooter game. I went to bed in a hurry, out of the corner of my eye, I could see Angel turn toward me. I didn't want to talk to him, for once.

It's been stuck in my head, to the point that I had a dream about the game last night, and I can't shake the feeling that Angel isn't really in that room anymore. How could a game be so detailed?

This morning, in the bathroom mirror, I thought for a moment that I saw Angel behind me. He didn't come to bed last night, and I whirled to greet him, but there was nothing.

I even heard my name coming from his game room, but I couldn't bring myself to call back. It was wrong - he never called for me, and his voice was strange. Distorted, even. I can't bring myself to go inside the room after last night.

I'm buying a computer today. I don't know what it is, but I have a feeling that whatever is in my house is not my boyfriend.

I think that I have to save him.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/mr_dry_eye on 2024-09-10 16:20:12+00:00.

---

I’ve lost track of time. My watch stopped working who knows how long ago, and without it, everything feels blurry. I’ve been stuck in this elevator forever or at least, that’s what it feels like. Days? Weeks? I can’t even tell anymore. It’s like time doesn’t exist in here. Every minute drags on in this weird, endless loop, and I’m losing my mind.

I work at a call center. For years, I’ve taken the elevator to the office without a second thought. But today, everything went wrong. I was late for work, rushing to catch the elevator like I always do. The usual one was out of service, so I had no choice but to use the old, broken one—the one that’s always been blocked off with caution tape. Today, the tape was gone. I didn’t think twice. I just wanted to get to work.

I swiped my keycard, and the elevator doors creaked open, groaning like they hadn’t moved in years. I should’ve turned back then, but I didn’t. I stepped inside.

The moment the doors shut; I knew something was wrong. The lights flickered, buzzing overhead like they were struggling to stay on. Gravity felt weird, like the air itself was pressing down on me. I glanced at my watch—it was going crazy, the hands spinning so fast they blurred.

Then, out of nowhere, the elevator dropped. It was like free-falling, like the bottom had fallen out, and I thought for sure I was going to die. But it stopped just as fast, leaving me standing there, I’m breathless and terrified. I checked my phone—it was fully charged, even though I remember it being nearly dead when I got in. Weird, right?

The elevator jerked upward, but it didn’t stop. It kept moving, up and down, over and over. Every time it went up, my watch spun faster, and when it dropped, my phone would somehow recharge to full. Even stranger, the water bottle I had? It refilled itself. The cookie in my bag? It would reappear, untouched, like I hadn’t eaten it.

The air in here is thick, heavy, like it’s slowly choking me. I am having difficulty in my breathing. And the silence. It’s not just quiet, it’s so wrong, I can hear my own heartbeat, loud in my ears, and every once in a while, there’s this metallic screech, like something dragging sharp claws against the walls.

I’ve tried everything to get out. Banging on the walls until my hands bled, screaming at the top of my lungs. But nothing works. The sound just echoes back, like the elevator is mocking me. The emergency button? It’s useless. It doesn’t even click. I’ve tried forcing the doors open with my bare hands, but they won’t budge, not even a little.

My phone? Useless. Every time I try to message someone, the signal drops, and my message disappears before I can hit send. It’s like I never typed it. But I’m still trying, still hoping someone will see this… ASDbbfdghjkuiWErrfdQasdFAoippp//.43CQWD

I hear whispers. Faint, just on the edge of hearing. They sound close, like someone’s standing right behind me, but when I turn around, there’s nothing. Nothing but me and the shadows.

And then, then, I started seeing it.

At first, it was just a feeling. That prickling sensation on the back of your neck, the hair in may nape goes up, I got goosebumps. like you’re being watched. Then I saw them, it I think, the long, black shadows creeping along the walls. They move slow, like they’re waiting, watching, getting closer each time the elevator jerks. It was swimming, well it looks like it. Sometimes, I swear I see hands, twisted and bony, reaching for me from the dark. I try to shake it off, Am I going crazy? I lost perception of time now, I don’t know. I know it’s real. Something is in here with me.

It’s getting harder to think, harder to stay awake. My body feels heavy, like the elevator is sucking the life out of me. My heart, it’s slowing down. I can feel it, I can hear it, this deep, aching pressure in my chest. I’m fading, becoming weaker by the second. PLEASE HELP ME! And, And, and those shadows... they’re closing in. I can see them now, sliding along the walls, fingers stretching out toward me. They want me.

I don’t know how much longer I can last. Every time I close my eyes, I hear the whispers louder, feel the shadows coming to me closer. I can’t stay here.

Please, if anyone is reading this help me. I AM BEGGING YOU PLEASE! Before it’s too late. Before the they take me.

I can’t hold on much longer.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Interesting_Wear_437 on 2024-09-10 08:16:15+00:00.

---

For most of my childhood, I took an interest in all things supernatural. No, I wasn’t some tinfoil hat-wearing, end-is-near preaching maniac. I just enjoyed exploring the wacky cliche theories that get thrown around- UFOs, Bigfoot, top secret CIA projects, that kind of stuff.

I think it was a coping mechanism to make life a little less grey. I come from a small Idaho town in the absolute middle of nowhere that my parents moved to for ‘the lifestyle’. The best attractions are the local convenience store and the meth-heads that hover outside it. Believing that there were surreal disturbances around us was a good way to not die from boredom. Gave my buddies and I a chance to go out and about, to stoke our imaginations as we hunted down these legends. Our town’s traditions of hunting, hiking, and camping became a lot more fun.

By the time I turned 21, we had well and truly grown out of it. We still avidly camped and trekked, but with much different motivations. It was now about drinking and fooling around, away from the prying eyes of society. I’d recently bought an off-road pickup truck with my hard-earning savings. Now my weekends consisted of lugging my friends and our camping gear at blistering speeds down the winding dirt roads of Nez Perce-Clearwater National Forest.

It was just another weekend of hurtling through the forest roads. For one reason or another most of my friends were out of action or busy, leaving only Max with me to scout the map for potential camping areas. We saw ourselves as too cool and seasoned for the designated grounds, preferring to seclude ourselves from any other soul in the area. My mind is on autopilot until I see a fork in the road, and I blurt out,

‘Alright which way we going?’

I hear a hushed ‘the fuck?’ from Max as he paused for a moment, then replied ‘wait, just stop for a second’.

I step on the brakes, a bit frustrated.

‘Quick, we ain’t got all day.’

‘There’s… there’s not supposed to be a fork here. What the hell…’

I reach out for the map, and as Max hands it out to me I almost snatch it. I narrate as I read it.

‘So we passed the old shack, drove by the river, and we should now be… huh. No forks around here…’

I think to myself for a good minute, eventually deciding to fire up the car again.

‘Let’s just go right, we can trace our route.’

Max responds with a quiet murmur of approval. I inch the truck through the right side of the fork, no longer trusting myself to stomp on the pedal like usual. It’s long and steep, the truck winding up and down with fright. The trees appear increasingly withered, no longer sporting their thick, green manes. Our guts are screaming at us to turn back, but the road is so narrow and the trees so abundant that we’re essentially walled off from any other direction than forwards.

After what felt like half an hour, we’re greeted with a bizarre sight- a large, perfectly circular and flat clearing, surrounded by the fully leafless skeletons of trees. Given that the park was protected, mountainous land, this was completely alien- something we would have imagined in our youth. But what was even more harrowing was the small settlement that resided within it. We knew there were a few of those in the region, but this one was sorely different to the usual sight of weathered wood houses and dirt streets.

It looked like a time capsule of the 60s. Vintage cars parked on the side of perfectly paved roads, and a few rows of immaculate suburban houses not too far from a small group of vibrantly painted stores with blaring signs. A retro-looking billboard about 200 feet in front of us read ‘Welcome to Isotope’. The whole place felt unnaturally wrong, like it had been cut out of a different dimension and pasted here. The fear and suspense is cut through by Max’s voice.

‘There’s no fucking Isotope on the map… where are we?’

‘You think I know?’

‘Well let’s at least check it out.’

I really should have told him to shut up, but our survival instincts were pushed aside by our youth and stupidity and nostalgia for conspiracy theories. Before we knew it we had parked smack bang in the middle of the town. The first thing we noticed when we stepped out was its emptiness. Despite its perfect condition, the town was absent of any life. No people, no animals, not even the chirping of birds- just a soulless husk of concrete. As we looked across the street we noticed a store that read ‘Bill’s Mini-mart and Butcher’, its lights on but devoid of any human presence.

‘I dunno, maybe we should turn back.’

‘I know Max, but maybe we could explore a bit. Show the boys the cool stories they’re missing out on.’

‘Umm… alright.’

As we enter the store, I felt a pang of surprise at its pristine condition. The shelves and produce are fully stocked, the lights a warm yellow, and the floors without a speck of dirt. But upon inspection we realise the food brands look like they’re from eons ago- some we don’t even recognise. I can feel a sense of dread growing by the second, although it’s far from the overpowering morbid curiosity that drives me to further explore. We approach the butcher’s section, the meats shining a brilliant, mouth-watering shade of blood red. As I press my hand to the cool glass, the PA system belts a symphony of pure static throughout the building, causing us to jump back. It melts into a corporate-sounding male voice.

‘Welcome to Bill’s Mini-mart and Butcher! We’re proud to be the finest source of produce for Isotope’s residents, as we help America rebuild from the ashes of nuclear war. Please be courteous to our staff and your fellow shoppers.’

I turn to look at Max, whose normally pale face is now like a ghoul’s. Nuclear war? Rebuilding? What timeline had we stepped into? My thoughts were interrupted by the disembodied voice.

‘Make sure to check out our fine selection of meats. Our butcher takes pride in his creative ways of sourcing the finest cuts for our town. And as for the recent reports of wailing-like sounds, please be assured that we are working to fix our ventilation system.’

I look back at the meats, realising they have no labels. In fact, they all look the same. My heart freezes in terror as Max speaks with a shaky voice.

‘L-let’s get out of here man.’

‘Yeah, fuck this.’

As I’m about to take the first step to leave, my ears catch a faint, muffled sound of something between a ragged wail and a scream. It sounds… agonisingly human. Like someone being slowly dragged into the ninth circle of hell. We didn’t need any more hints to bolt to the door. As we sprint with our lives the PA crackles back to life, and this time the voice is garbled and distorted.

‘Our glorious creator has word of two outsiders in our presence. Hunt them down- Isotope thanks you for helping us source America’s finest produce.’

The next half hour was a blur- all I can really remember was the slamming of car doors, crushing the gas pedal to death, and yanking my steering wheel with more intensity than an F1 driver. By the time Max and I had gone back the way we came, we were on the verge of a full on breakdown. Our attempts to report things to the park authorities fizzled out on the spot- they had no records of a town called Isotope, and when they checked out the exact route we took, the fork was gone. All we managed to do was make ourselves look insane.

But that’s not the worst part. I haven’t told anyone this, but as we left Isotope, I saw in the corner of my eye a man dressed in all white, wearing a gas mask and holding what I swore was a cleaver. I thought it was my mind playing tricks at first, but it’s been a few days and Max says he’s started hearing faint, strange noises, something between a wail and a scream. As I’m writing this, I’m booking a flight to move in with some relatives in California. I’m not sticking around to find out what happens to Max- or me.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/MediaRegular5636 on 2024-09-10 04:29:22+00:00.

---

I began dental assisting nearly four years ago. I still remember how overwhelming all of the information was, but how exhilarating it was to assist with my first filling or make my first temporary crown. The dentist I worked for at the time had no patience to teach me. It was during the height of the pandemic when everyone was desperate for workers. He never wanted to teach an uneducated fry cook how to assist from scratch, but that's what he got... It was sink or swim for the next six months.

I eventually found work at a beautiful dental office in an upscale neighborhood on the outskirts of our medium-sized city. I barely met the minimum requirements to assist at such a high-class office, but the office manager took a liking to me and did all she could to continue my on-site learning. The staff size was staggering compared to the four-person team I had become accustomed to. Six hygienists, eight assistants, four dentists, and a fully staffed front desk. The majority of the team was made up of women. The drama that came from that place… let’s just say I could write a separate story on that alone.

By the time I had quit working for that office, I was nearly a full-functioning assistant. I finally found the perfect job and had the confidence to take on the role of head assistant in a small-town office about 30 minutes from the city.

The first time I met Dr. Lance and his wife Angela, I was enamored with their youthful and vibrant energy. They were young, fun, and seemed like an educated young couple. Angela took care of the scheduling and billing while Dr. Lance ran things on the clinical side. Since the office was so small, there was only one hygienist who would come twice a week. Most of the time, it was just the three of us. They took good care of me—bought me lunch at least twice a week, paid for all of my scrubs, and gave me a great salary.

The only thing that ever got under my skin was the corny dad jokes Dr. Lance would subject our patients to when their mouths were full of instruments and hands. I figured if that was the worst of my worries, I’d be happy here for a long time.

But things changed after about a year and a half. At first, it was subtle. Dr. Lance would come to work with bags under his eyes, a stark contrast to his usual morning-person attitude. His hair, which he used to gel every morning without fail, often looked as if he'd forgotten to brush it. I thought it might be due to lack of sleep or maybe some tension between him and Angela. Either way, I didn't think it was any of my business.

However, as weeks passed, things worsened. Dr. Lance started nodding off during our morning meetings. I decided to ask Angela what was going on.

"Angela," I said in a low voice as I leaned over the side of her desk, "Is Doc doing okay?" As soon as I finished the sentence, her gaze shot over to me from whatever she had been so concentrated on only seconds before. She looked almost… anxious.

"Yeah, why? Did he say something?" she asked quickly, her tone laced with suspicion. "No, he just looks tired," I replied, confusion creeping into my voice. What was going on with them? "I'm sure he's fine. Go make sure sterilization is caught up," she snapped.

I walked to the sterilization lab with my heart in my throat. She had never been irritable with me in my whole year and a half of employment. My feelings were slightly hurt, but I still wasn’t too concerned. If anything, it just confirmed in my mind that they had been arguing. It broke my heart to think of them having marital problems. They were so young and seemed so in love only weeks before. I shook it off and continued with my daily tasks.

After this encounter, I started noticing more things that seemed off. Dr. Lance began diagnosing teeth for extraction that, by all appearances, were healthy. At first, I chalked it up to my ignorance, but at this point, I had been reading X-rays for almost four years. I knew what a cavity looked like and what bone loss looked like. These teeth were neither.

At first, it was just one or two questionable extractions a week, but as time went on, it became more frequent. One day, he diagnosed four unnecessary extractions before our lunch break at noon. I decided it was time to say something before things got out of hand. I didn’t want him to lose his license and, more than that, I wanted our patients to keep their perfectly healthy teeth.

“Hey, Doc,” I said with a gentle knock on his office door, slowly pushing it open. Before I could finish my sentence, I noticed his eyes and nose were red and puffy. Had he been crying? “Come in. What’s up?” he said quickly, wiping one eye. He was trying to hide it, but he wasn’t doing a very good job. “Are you okay?” I asked as I sat in the chair next to his. “Yeah, I’m good. What did you need?” he replied with a layer of irritability under the gentle tone I had become accustomed to. It felt like a bad time to bring up the subject, but I guessed there would never be a good time to tell a doctor they were wrong. I let out a deep sigh before continuing. “I noticed you seem tired lately. I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay… I don’t want to pry by any means, it just seems to be affecting your work.”

I paused and suppressed a cringe. I had never said something so bold to a doctor. He was normally so rational and understanding, but the tension in the office had changed what I felt was acceptable. He didn’t respond right away—just stared at a vial of teeth that sat under his computer monitor for a moment too long.

“There were some cases recently that seemed—” He sat up in his chair abruptly and looked at me with a deep rage in his eyes. It didn’t even look like him. It was so sudden it forced me to jump back. “Get out,” he said in a low growl. I stared in shock for a moment, unable to move. “I said, GET OUT!” He yelled in a voice I had never heard before and never wanted to hear again. I scampered away, tripping on the chair leg on my way out. I fell face-first on the floor and cried out in pain. Dr. Lance nearly leaped out of his chair to my side. I expected him to ask if I was okay or maybe give me a hand off the floor, but I was deeply mistaken.

Dr. Lance rolled me over onto my side forcefully and grabbed my face with one hand. He squeezed my cheeks, forcing my mouth open wide. I whimpered in fear of what he might do. He leaned down under my chin to look at the roof of my mouth, then from a top angle down at my lower jaw. He searched my mouth for something like a rabid animal.

The look on my face and the sound of my cries must have snapped him back to reality because he fell back, letting go of my face. “S-sorry, Amelia…” he stammered, “Just making sure you didn’t hurt any of those pearly whites.” He faked a chuckle, and I unconsciously scooted back against the wall.

I felt the tears welling up, and after making eye contact, I ran to my car without hesitation. I didn’t even take a moment to process what happened; I just drove home in a nearly catatonic state. Once I got home, I called Angela and told her I wasn’t feeling well and needed to take the day off. Lucky for me, it was Friday, so I wouldn’t have to address the situation until Monday. I’d have some time to think about what was going on and what I should do.

That Sunday was uneventful. I did some chores, watched a couple of movies, and spent time with my dogs. It was about 6 p.m. when I received a phone call from the hygienist, Sadie. She was frantic, and her words were hard to understand through her hysterics. “Amelia… Oh my god. Amelia… can you hear me?” “Yeah, Sadie, what’s wrong?” “Doc—It’s Doctor… Doctor Lance. He—he’s dead, or missing… or—or—” “Sadie, calm down. What are you talking about? I can’t understand you. Where are you?” “Come to the office, please.”

And just like that, she hung up. My heart was racing, and my thoughts were reeling as I jumped in my car and drove to the office, similar to how I had rushed home after Friday’s incident.

When I arrived, the parking lot was empty except for Sadie's car and the old sedan that belonged to Angela. The office was dark, but I could see a faint light coming from inside. I took a deep breath and walked up to the door, my hands shaking. I wasn't sure what to expect, but the dread settling in my stomach told me it wasn't good.

Inside, I found Sadie pacing the waiting room, her face pale and her eyes wide with fear. Angela was seated behind the reception desk, staring blankly at a spot on the wall, her face wet with tears. “What’s going on?” I demanded, my voice breaking as the tension overwhelmed me.

Sadie looked at me with a mixture of fear and confusion. “I don’t even think I can-” “Let’s take a seat, Sadie. Let me get some water.” I was trying hard to suppress my growing fear. I made my way to the water cooler in the break room and filled two plastic cups with cold water. I trembled my way back to the waiting room where Sadie sat biting her nails on one of the waiting room chairs. I handed her one of the glasses of water.

She took a shaky sip and then a deep breath. “I was supposed to meet the Lances for Lunch. We were going to discuss expanding the hygiene program to three days a week. When I got there, I knocked but no one answered. After I tried a few times, I started walking back to my car when I noticed a little pool of blood coming from under the garage door.” Sadies voice began to quiver and crack. I could feel her fear tangibly. ...

---

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/crimzonprizm on 2024-09-09 23:06:08+00:00.

---

Links to parts one and two can be found in the links here.

To start off, a few of you were beginning to wonder about who (or what) Mr. Rags really is. Some of you are thinking the obvious... a creature of the night who stalks his prey and exsanguinates them for nourishment. Others were surmising that he may be a kind of cult leader, sacrificing and drinking to some deity. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking the same for the first few months of my time at the complex, but things have slowly changed my mind over time. I now believe it’s a little of this and a little of that. I’ve seen his teeth, and... he’s got more than one pair of the sharp, pointy ones. It’s not all the time, but I’ve caught a few glimpses during times he’s been "angry,” and suffice to say, I will always avoid being on his bad side. A few of you also noticed the apartment numbers that didn’t exactly match up to each floor, and I think I’ll dedicate this story to explaining both Mr. Rag's angry side and one of the oldest guests here at the complex, The Coyote.

I know what you’re thinking. “There can’t possibly be someone named The Coyote living in the same place as a guy named Mr. Rags.” In another life, I would have been in the same boat as you, but here we are. The Coyote didn’t show himself to me until 3 or 4 months into my stay. At that point, I had become fairly established in the complex, starting to feel a part of the small community there. After my conversation with Mr. Rags, I’d only see him once or twice every two weeks, when I would pick up my check from him, or if we’d find each other as I was exploring my new accommodations. At night, I would casually stroll around each floor, taking in my new space and trying to acclimate myself to the place. I was doing odds-and-ends repairs for plenty of the residents, as well as normal maintenance like vacuuming the common areas and such. Small, strange occurrences would typically happen two to three times a week. Doors would be open and shut on their own, plants would move around the complex, but the strangest thing I started noticing was the displacement happening among all the residents apartment numbers. One morning I would be working on a leaking tap in 337, and that evening I’d visit 337 again, but it would be 336, or 335, or 300. Of course I’d remember where to go based on the actual location of the apartment, but it would always throw me off. It happened on every floor, sometimes to the point of adding entirely too many numbers, such as apartment 807517, which was my own. Over time, I started to realize that my apartment was being messed with much more often than the others.

On one particular Saturday, I decided to sit in the common area of the 8th floor and watch my door like a hawk. I had my phone, some soda and chips from the station, and a full day of nothing to do. For 8 hours, I sat, diligently waiting for someone to hop off the elevator and try to screw around with my numbers. The three times I wasn’t watching were for 45 seconds each while I ran inside to use the bathroom. Every single time, I came back out to a new apartment number. I’d finally had enough, as the last number left above my door hadn’t even started with an 8. What was left above me as I exited my door were three numbers, 666.

I’m not a religious person per se. I believe there’s definitely more than meets the eye in our world, but I never jived with modern organized religions. I’m not a fan of bothering Mr. Rags unless it’s really needed, so I deferred to my only other confidant in the area, Winkle. I hadn’t told him about my time exploring the complex, so I filled him in over a couple stale Twinkie’s. He just laughed and said, “See, I told you that place could be a little weird!” I followed that up by telling him the last number, to which he replied staunchly with a pointed finger aimed directly at the church down the way.

“No way, it’s not like it’s a ghost or something. A demon? It’s nonsense,” I said.

“Dude, you do not fuck with this stuff. I’ve heard about the numbers being funny and all, but I’ve also heard some funky shit about one particular ‘person’ that lives there. Don’t mess with it; go talk to the holy man.”

Again, I have never been a believer, but something about this scaring Winkle upset me. I gave him a quick nod and got up to head out the door. The little bells jingled as I stepped outside, and I could see the pastor digging a small hole for a new flower in front of the church. I’d talked to him once or twice at this point, but we were just acquaintances by this point.

“Hey, Pastor John?” I spoke while walking towards him. He looked up with a smile to greet me.

"Well, hey, Zach, right? I’m always bad with new faces. What brings you over to my side of town?” He chuckled a bit.

"Yeah, so I talked with Winkle about this, and he suggested I come see you.” As I ended the sentence, I could see a small look of concern grow across his face.

“Did he now? That’s slightly concerning, as he only ever talks to me about that wretched place across the way. Speaking of, you’re sure you want to stay around here? Not like I’m trying to run you off, and nothing against my friends and neighbors living in there, but that place is a hive of the grotesque and immoral.”

I kept myself in check, holding my eyes from rolling in their sockets, when the pastor's eyes widened, staring at something past me.

“See! You see! Right there. I bet that’s the horror you’re coming to me for. I can almost smell it from here,” he screamed as he pointed past me.

I turned to see a half-naked man, halfway in the road, donned in leather-looking wraps and long black hair, staring at us, snickering and gesturing at us.

“Waaaah wahhh waaah!” he cackled, imitating a crying baby, almost too well. By this time, the pastor's dog had run out near him, growling as loud as it could for its size.

“Charles! Get back here! Get away from that devil!” He implored the little dog, but it could not be swayed. I watched as the man looked down at the poor little thing, laughing as he scooped him up with one hand.

"Oh, now we have a fighter! Let’s see if we can’t get rid of you right quick.”

Pastor John started hyperventilating, and I stood breathless as we watched this... creature unhinged its jaw like a pelican, its mouth a pit of inky black, as it shoved Charles down its throat in one fell swoop. It closed itself back up and started laughing like a jackal, rubbing its stomach in tandem. The pastor tried screaming but only let out a shrill squeak. I’d like to say I was brave in the moment, but I was too stunned to move. As I was about to try and move my landlocked legs, the thing stopped laughing and, with a look of annoyance, turned to face the front doors. Mr. Rags had walked onto the front stoop, a look of pure anger filling his gaze. I swear the area felt colder than ever in that moment.

“I believe you know what you’re doing is wrong. I also believe you’re not to be outside of the complex per our conditions. Give back the dog now, and get back inside,” his words dripping with malicious intent.

"Oh, come now, that’s no fun at all! You may be at the at the top of the chain now, but I once. "His words were cut short.

“You are correct. I am. You’d do well to remember it now before you leave me with no choice.” I watched as Mr. Rags crept closer and closer to the man, his eyes filling with red tendrils and extending into his face. He hissed, showing shark-like teeth, rows and rows, almost moving and shifting inside his mouth.

The strange man’s attitude shifted. He slinked his posture lower and yelled something at Mr. Rags in a language I didn’t understand. Mr. Rags let out an exhale like a bull, and his face started appearing normal again.

“Good. Now, the dog.”

The man glared back over to the pastor and me, and with one motion, unhinged his mouth yet again, reaching deep into an abyss, and pulled out Charles. He was a little shaken but didn’t look any worse for wear. He was placed on the ground, where he ran directly over the John.

“Abomination! You shall be punished!” The pastor screamed at him. “You shall be punished in the eyes of...” He was cut off by a loud belch.

The thing stood in the road, belched as loudly as he could, laughed, and ran back inside the complex. Mr. Rags shook his head, then walked over to the pastor. He held out a hand to help him up, but John stood on his own.

“You will get no thanks from me. You who harbors such terror inside your own walls.”

"Oh, come now, John; you know I’ll always lend a helping hand. I hope to see you at our dinners more often! Please, don’t worry about him. He’s relatively harmless, just a bit problematic. He likes his tricks.”

The pastor was flustered, scooping his dog up and brushing off his clothing. “Thank you for this, but no, you shall never see me inside that monstrosity. You, however, should come see me inside my place sometime. I’m sure it would do your wonders.”

Mr. Rags let out a hearty laugh, “I’ll be seeing you, John.” He looked over to me and gestured for me to walk with him. We took a turn towards the station and saw Winkle sitting in the window, looking dumbfounded. I figured he would be freaking out, but as we entered, he was more confused than anything.

“Hey Mr. Rags! You need...

---

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/midsummerstarlight on 2024-09-10 03:56:45+00:00.

---

Right off the bat, let me inform you that I am a content creator. I won't reveal my identity for obvious reasons, but I will say that I focus on true crime stories. My channel isn't the biggest, but it's definitely not the smallest. My most recent videos have been reaching over a million views on a regular basis, which feels utterly crazy to me. I'm incredibly grateful for all the love and attention, especially because I really enjoy what I do, but I'm also incredibly nervous about all of it. Admittedly, for someone who's always researching and talking about scary stuff, I get scared easily. I'm the type of person who jumps at the smallest sound and when I get creeped out, I start looking over my shoulder and watching every shadow in the dark. Maybe it wasn't the brightest idea for someone like me to start a job where I look at things that scare the shit of me on a daily basis, but this is just the way that I've always been. And recently, I've come to the conclusion that I have good reason to be this way.

It started about a year ago, when I hadn't quite reached a million views yet. I got this really concerning comment. This is the internet, so, obviously, there are going to be hundreds, if not thousands, of absolutely absurd comments from people ranging from trolls to spam bots to just plain immaturity, and as someone who focuses on true crime, the nature of these comments can be even worse than usual. I've gotten a lot of comments in the past about how people are “living under my floors” or “saving a spot in their basement” for me or, occasionally, how I look “especially submissive and breedable in this one,” so it's safe to say that nothing surprises me anymore. But there was one that crossed the line over from playful to threatening. It was that dreadful sort of moment that I think everybody on the internet, especially those of us with any amount of fame, prayed would never happen to them. Someone posted a comment that revealed the address to my house.

I immediately removed it after making note of the username and metadata, hoping to God that no one else saw that. It had been posted right as I was scrolling through to read the early comments, so I doubt it was seen by many people, but I know that once it's on the internet, it's there forever. I always knew that something like this was a possibility, but for it to actually happen shook me to my core. In passing, I had imagined what I might do if someone ever put my personal information out there, but I never really thought my imagination would become reality. The comment had no extra details, no extra words, nothing. It was just my address, in full, plain as day, posted on the internet for everyone to see. I don't know if that was more or less comforting than if it had had some sort of context behind it. The context that I did gather just made me feel way worse. The user who had posted it was someone under the name YourOwn PersonalNightmare. They had a default icon, default banner, and no videos of their own. Their profile was over ten years old and it was completely blank except for one public playlist, which was titled “Sleep.” In this playlist was every single video you could find on YouTube with me in it. All of my own videos, plus every podcast I'd been on, every collab I’d done, every livestream, every fan edit; if the video featured my face and my name, it was in that playlist. I know I have fans who love me and some people fall asleep to my videos, but this was something so much more intense. I scrolled for a long time before giving up. I'm not sure what I was looking for; they all met the same criteria. The playlist had well over 2000 videos. It was hundreds upon thousands of videos of just… me.

I would have posted the link to it here to see if someone could look through it for me, but it's gone now. After I deleted that comment, I contacted the police. I know the local police force probably wasn't the best choice, but I didn't know who else to call. I told them how someone had put my address online and the woman on the other line told me there wasn't much more they could do now that I deleted it, that it was more of an internal issue with YouTube, but she would at least talk to the detective unit and see if one of them was interested in looking into it for me. By the time a detective had gotten back to me a few days later, the whole channel was gone. I mean, completely gone. After getting the detective up to speed, I went to share the link to this person's profile with him and found that the link now went to an error page I had never seen before that just said, “This user does not exist.” I even tried looking it up on the Wayback Machine, especially since their profile was well over a decade old, and it came up with nothing. When I told the detective this, he said they probably got banned and bet that I wasn't the only one whose address they were sharing around. This made perfect sense to me, but something still just felt off about the whole thing. He told me that if it “makes me feel any better,” he would look into it and try to find more information, but he “couldn't make any promises.” Typical. He gave me his extension and told me to call him in case anything happens.

Several months went by and nothing happened. The profile was still gone and the detective never did find anything else. Since my channel was getting bigger, I hired a moderator team to keep track of comments for me, and they do a really good job, but no more concerning comments have come up (unless you count shitposting and spam as concerning). I figured it was just one of those things; one of the consequences of putting yourself out there. I figured that the detective was probably right, it was probably just some punk who decided to dox a bunch of people, and then they were either banned or just decided to quit, for reasons I would never know. It's not uncommon at all for people to just abandon things on the internet, out of nowhere, with no explanation, as eerie as it may seem. I would never know what happened and, as long as it didn't happen again, I would be okay with that. The whole thing would just fade into obscurity, and I would start to settle back into my life, finally putting it behind me, finally feeling safe and secure in my own home once more.

Then, just a few weeks ago, I got a strange email. After publishing a video that I had worked very long and hard on, I spent the following day looking over emails sent to my business inbox. By this point in time, I was getting dozens of emails a day from all sorts of companies asking if I would be interested in advertising their product or service in exchange for their sponsorship. Fielding these emails is an all-day affair, so I block out one day a week to go through all of them, and by the time I'm done, I can see nothing but huge blocks of text every time I close my eyes. It's an incredibly monotonous task, wading through mountains of mail that are all pretty much the same. On that day, I was looking through that week's inbox, and clicked on one email that looked just about the same as all the others.

Subject line: “Can I count on your support?”

“Dear (my name).

I'm writing you concerning a sponsorship opportunity with Yosemite Parks Network. We are excited to announce our ne

Please tell me you remember me. I'm not going to talk about (my wife’s name). I'm going to keep her out of it. I promise. Tell me you remember me. You need new camera. I’ve been watching, so I know the”

That was it. The email was sent from someone with the name “Catherine,” no last name, and the email address was catherine@(censored for privacy) - a domain which, at the time of writing this, doesn't go anywhere if I type it into my browser. I tried to reply back, basically just to tell them to fuck off and that this email is only for serious business inquiries, but it bounced back. I'm assuming the email address itself isn't real either. I didn't know what to make of this. I wanted to brush it off, chalk it up to some troll trying to mess with me. I know that there's a way to send emails from spoofed addresses and it wouldn't be the first time I've received some weird, creepy message from a fan, even in my business inbox.

That said, this one in particular just really got under my skin. I rarely mention my wife's name in my videos, though I know I've said it a few times, and it's a pretty common name, so I could explain that away. What's weirder is that I had just been at Yosemite National Park not that long ago and I hadn't said anything online about it yet. On top of that, the camera that I was using to film died in the middle of recording the night before I got the email. The more I thought about it, the more conflicted I felt. I could come up with a dozen ways in which all of this could just be coincidence, and on the flip side, I began thinking of all the ways someone might have found their way into my phone or computer. Anxiety is something I've always had trouble with since I was young. After struggling with it for a long while, I figured out that it's easy to spiral when you're in your head about something, especially when you spend all day filling your head with scary stories. Eventually, you have to come to accept that there isn't a clear answer to every question and sometimes it's better for you to just leave a thought be. So, the longer I sat there contemplating this email, the more I felt compelled to just forge...

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/zeberia321 on 2024-09-09 13:04:44+00:00.

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I’ve had sleep paralysis before. If you’ve never experienced it, count yourself lucky. It’s terrifying. You wake up, but your body won’t move. You’re frozen, stuck inside your own head, helpless. Usually, it comes with hallucinations—shadows creeping along the walls, whispers just outside your hearing. But at least, I always thought, it’s all in my head.

Last night, I learned I was wrong.

IIt started like any other sleep paralysis episode. I woke up, and immediately, I knew I couldn’t move. My room was dark, the familiar sense of dread creeping over me. I told myself it was fine, that it would pass, just like every other time. I couldn’t even blink, but I could see the faint outline of my room—the dresser, the chair by the window, the door slightly opened.

Then I heard it.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The tapping was followed by a faint rustling sound, barely noticeable. Than it grew louder and closer.

My eyes were struggling to make out shapes in the dark, and that’s when I saw it — a hand, pale and thin, sliding out from under my bed.

My heart pounded in my chest, but I still couldn’t move. It was just a hallucination, I thought, repeating it over and over like a mantra. It wasn’t real. Except… the hand was still there. Long, bony fingers wrapped around the edge of my bedframe, followed by an arm, and then a head.

I wanted to scream, but no sound came out. I was trapped, unable to move as it got closer. It felt real, too real. It wasn’t a shadowy figure like I’d seen in previous episodes. It was something else.

The figures skin was grayish, almost translucent, eyes too wide, too black. The gray figure crawled slowly, pulling itself out from under my bed.The thing stopped at the side of my bed, its face inches from mine. Its breath was cold and I could smell something foul — like rotting meat. It watched me for what felt like hours, and I couldn’t do anything but stare back, tears streaming down my face.

Then something changed, it smiled.

The smile was grotesque, stretching far beyond what any human mouth should. Its lips cracked as they curled up, revealing rows of sharp, uneven teeth, almost glowing in the dark. The corners of its mouth twitched, as if it was straining to hold the expression, forcing its face into this grotesque display of joy. The longer I stared, the wider its smile grew, until it took over its entire face, pulling the skin tight and exposing dark, empty gums beneath.

Slowly, it reached out a hand. As its hand crept toward me , I could hear each knuckle cracking faintly as its pale, bony fingers extended. The skin, mottled and slick with a thin sheen of moisture, looking like a piece of meat left out in the cold for too long—gray, clammy, and shriveled. When it touched my cheek, its fingers felt like ice-cold leather, damp and unsettling. The chill seeped into my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. The moment its touch registered, a violent shock jolted through me, snapping me out of the paralysis. I could move. I gasped, jerking upright in bed.

I scrambled back against the headboard, my chest rising and falling in enevan breaths. My eyes darted around the room, wide with panic, until I realized something. It was gone. The room was silent, no sign of the creature, no sound, no movement. I sat there for hours, afraid to even breathe, my eyes locked on the space beneath my bed. But still, nothing came.

I didn’t sleep again that night.

Today, as I am writing this, I tried convincing myself it was just another episode of sleep paralysis. Just my mind playing tricks on me. But when I got home from work, something I felt as if something was off. I don’t know how to describe it, but the air felt colder, heavier, like the temperature had dropped drasticly in one moment to the other. The atmosphere in the house seemed denser, almost as if the very space was thick with an oppressive weight that was pressing down on me.

I couldn’t ignore it. Something came over me, I had a feeling, no this urge to check my room, almost like an magnetic pull, as if a part of me knew something was waiting there, something that needed to be known. It was an relentless feeling, gnawing at my mind, driving me to confront whatever I had hoped was just a figment of my imaginiation.

I should have known better, but despite every rational thought, telling me to stay away, to turn around, I just couldnt. This overwelhming urge that I had to see it for myself, pulled me closer toward my bedroom.

And there it was.

A single, long, gray finger resting on the floor, waiting for me to find it.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/googlyeyes93 on 2024-09-09 22:21:50+00:00.

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Previous

A couple of weeks passed without incident. I got deep into my research, taking water samples, testing the amount of micro-organisms and other boring science shit that I know nobody reading this cares about. I was starting to get more familiar with the rig and those on it, though it was taking some getting used to.

Flam was… well, Flam. He was a weird dude, extremely neurotic and always seemed like he was spaced out. Shannon was uptight as hell, usually more likely to bitch at anyone in range than be anywhere near helpful. Hap was nice, though I think he kept trying to awkwardly hit on me without realizing I wasn’t too interested in men. Can’t say I blame him though, it gets lonely out here.

Sandy ended up being one of my greatest comforts out on the cold ocean. In the evenings we would sit out on the platform, watching waves pass by as the sun set on the horizon. Despite everything I had seen out here so far, it was calming, almost serene when it looked like this. I was just losing myself in the sunset, gazing off into the distance when suddenly a skunky smell hit me, almost knocking me back to my college days.

”How did you get weed out here?” I asked, turning to look at her lighting up a joint. All she did was laugh at me.

”Why, you a cop now?” She said back. We passed it back and forth, laughing as the plant took more of an effect. At some point Shannon walked out, though all she could do was be disapproving and tell us that we shouldn’t be doing that here. Sandy’s retort made me laugh even harder, “We’re on maritime law, babe. Nothing illegal out here.”

Shannon only shook her head, looking directly at me before walking down to the living quarters, “Remember we’re taking a dive tomorrow morning. I don’t want you fucked up when we go down.”

I saluted, giving a stiff ‘Aye, cap’n’ as she walked off in a huff.

”Nervous about going down there?” Sandy asked me now, getting serious again.

”A little. I know we’re not going too deep for this one, but it’s still a little terrifying, y’know?” I replied, looking out at the reflecting sun as it dipped below the horizon line. In a little over twelve hours I would be taking our small submersible down to the Twilight zone, almost two thousand meters to see what kind of organic life is down there. I might have been a little excited, because there was always the possibility of discovering some new species. Wonder if they would name it after me…

Sandy and I shot the shit for a while longer before finally heading to bed, Hoping to get some at least decent sleep before reaching the dark depths.

I slept fitfully that night, in fear of what we may find down there. I hadn’t seen the giants again, but that giant eye through the porthole the other day was still haunting me every time I tried to close my eyes. All I could hear was its voice, telling me to join them in the depths.

After one of the worst nights of sleep I’ve ever had, we started loading in. The submersible was cramped, with stale air being pumped through for ventilation that left me sweating. Flam and I went down together, with Shannon and Hap staying back up with Sandy as our comms. The only window was at the very front, a small porthole with an incredibly limited view of only what was directly ahead. Maybe the worst part was that other than the console lights and a couple of low red accent lights to see by, this thing was completely dark. I felt like I was crammed into a can, and my claustrophobia was… not doing well.

The descent was fine, nothing out of the ordinary at least. We went in phases to be safe, dropping a few hundred meters at a time before stopping for a few minutes, making sure there weren’t any issues with the submersible. I kept looking over at the small hatch that we clambered in through, a bulkhead and multiple thick seals keeping us from the massive pressure outside. Every damn creak this thing made as we descended I expected to be liquefied where I sat, lost forever to the depths outside. Even in the stuffy air of the sub, I was getting a chill.

”Approaching 1500 meters.” Shannon’s voice coming over the small radio, “Reaching target depth in about five minutes.”

”Thank you.” Flam said, flipping a couple of switches and pushing the shift further. I don’t know if that’s what it was, but it looked like there was a flightstick installed to control this thing. Better than an xbox controller, but still…. “Ellie, turn on the outside cameras please.”

”Copy that.” I said, flipping around buttons in front of me. The three screens in front of me flashed on, eight different feeds popping up. We had wide-angle cameras on the port and starboard side, one at the top and bottom of each end of the sub. All the corners were coverd, giving us a full view of everything within our radius. “Cameras on, powering on lights.”

The lights outside came on, flooding the ocean darkness around us. Despite the output of the lights, strong enough to light a damn fire back on land if you left it on for too long, we were only able to pierce the abyss so far before losing sight. That was when I saw movement right off the edge of our front starboard camera. My heart skipped a beat, amazed we found something already as we had barely reached depth at this point.

”There’s something out in front. Go forward toward starboard.” I told Flam, trying to study what was there just at the edge of our visibility. Flam moved us forward, slowly so as not to scare whatever it was off. Unfortunately whatever it was dashed off, but on the screen as it ran away, it almost looked humanoid, dashing off like an olympic swimmer. “You see that?”

”Yes, it’s much faster than us though.” Flam said, still pushing the flightstick down, propelling us deeper. “Still not there yet.”

”Uh. We’re at two thousand, Flam. Think we’re deep enough for what we’re after.” I said, looking over at him with anxiety rising. “How much is this thing rated for?”

”Five thousand meters.” He replied, muttering some sort of calculations under his breath while still descending. “I know we’ll find it…”

”Shannon, Flam is going even deeper.” I said, breathless into my radio. My heartbeat was picking up, tension rising as Flam didn’t even react to my message. “Any idea what’s going on?”

”Flam, where are you going?” Shannon asked, concern rising in her voice. “You need to come back to target depth. We haven’t done prep for a deeper dive right now.”

”We’ll come back up quickly. I just need to check something.” Flam muttered again, flipping the radio off so Shannon couldn’t interject.

”Woah, okay. Flam, we need to go back up. You’re not thinking straight.” I said, moving forward to flip the walkie back on. He smacked my hand away, turning with a wild eye reflecting the intense red light of the cabin. I almost fell back from just how much he startled me. Flam may have been a little odd, but usually he was a gentle person, more awkward and introverted than anything. “Flam, what the fuck are you doing?”

”They told me I’m welcome in the depths.” He said, turning back to the small window and looking out ahead. “I have to see them.”

”Okay, that’s not a good idea, man. Come on, you take monitors, I’ll take pilot. Let’s switch.” I said, moving to take the console. I felt a sharp pain in my arm, looking over to see he had stabbed me with a lab scalpel he had smuggled on board.

”I have to see them.” He reiterated. “The last place uncorrupted by humans. They’re waiting for us.”

He pulled the scalpel from my arm, pointing it at me in warning before turning back to the console. I fell back to the floor, clutching the wound and trying to stem the bleeding. Thinking quick, just trying to live while I still could, I tore my shirt off and wrapped it around the wound, pulling my makeshift tourniquet tight.

”Stop. Take this privilege.” Flam was shouting back to me now, voice getting higher and more raving mad with every second that passed. “They’ve promised to show me knowledge that humans could only dream of, things that we’ve had questions for thousands of years! You would pass up this kind of opportunity?!”

“Yes! We’re going to fucking die down here you idiot!” I was shouting again. The monitors were flickering, cameras unable to sustain integrity at the increasing depths without proper protection. I could hear the hull clanging as it bent and expanded, trying to keep integrity in the crushing abyss. “Flam, what the fuck has gotten into you!”

”Shhhh look!” He said, pointing through the front window now. Beyond him, I could see something in the distance, coming into view better as we got closer.

“What the hell is this?” I was looking downard, our submersible pointed toward the depths as he cut off our lights, plunging us into complete darkness. My eyes took a moment, unable to cut through the most complete, terrifying void of nothing I’ve ever seen. Suddenly something far below us started to glow, starting faint but getting brighter and brighter as it spread, soon covering the entire sea floor. Cracks and veins ran through the light, all meeting in one central point, flowing towards a deep, dark chasm it circled around.

My first thought was bioluminescent microorganisms, because we find that all the time on in the abyssal zone. This though, had to be far too large. It would comprise miles and miles of organisms, all glowing in time with each other before stopping at this one, deep, pit. It was going fu...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/keanojeano on 2024-09-09 21:37:12+00:00.

---

My wife, Clara, and I have been happily married for three years now. College sweethearts that tied the knot as soon as we graduated. We were young, way too young, to reasonably consider trying for a kid - way things were for fresh graduates, it was already hard enough making ends meet for ourselves, let alone a child. But we were not reasonable, we were crazy head over heels for each other. It was always Clara's dream to be the best mother she could be. An infectious desire, so primal and genuine, no doubt borne of her own mother's not-so-great parenting. She wanted to be what her own mother could not. I had always been against having a child so young, but like I said - infectious. Clara convinced me damn well how good of a mom she would be, and knowing her as well as I did, I wholly believed her.

We locked down a cozy little apartment using the meagre funds you would expect from a two graduate's first jobs, and, after a year of trying for a baby, Clara and I would bring new life into the world. At the ripe ages of 26 and 27 respectively.

We welcomed our baby boy, Daryl, into the world three months ago.

I would like to say he came into this world kicking and screaming, full of vim and vigor, ready to take the world on fighting - I would even like to say he came into this world quiet and peaceful, barely letting out a squeak out of his mother's womb, in a dreamlike slumber. I would like to say anything about Daryl's birth - but that is exactly what has been eating away at me for the past three months.

I don't remember a goddamn thing about Daryl's birth.

I don't remember which hospital it was at. I don't remember what date it was. The time. The doctor. The room. Nothing. Every attempt at remembering is met with noise - a tangled mess of fuzzy and incoherent static garbled beyond recognition, yet beneath it all, there was something. Something hushed. Something hidden.

Something wrong.

I tried bringing this up to Clara, but was met with bewilderment. She said she remembered everything; St. Mercy Hospital, Monday, 8th of May, 7p.m., Dr. Morgan, Room 107. She said it so matter-of-factly, and looked almost betrayed at the fact her husband, and now father of her child, did not even remember their own child's birth, especially since, according to her, I was definitely present for. I felt like a total asshole.

Yet that wrongness had burrowed itself deep into my mind. It became a part of my psyche, and as much as I hate to admit it, over the course of those three months, it only grew worse as it festered within me. I couldn't even find Daryl's birth certificate. I followed up at St. Mercy Hospital, asking for a Dr. Morgan that helped birth a Daryl Harrison in Room 107 on the 8th of May, 7pm.

No such record existed, with no birth certificate ever attributed to any Daryl Harrison.

And as little Daryl babbled and cooed, cradled in Clara's warm motherly embrace, I could only look at him and feel...

...Wrong.

I could feel myself withdrawing, like my life coming out of focus. I had to keep up the mask that everything was alright around Clara - this is everything she ever wanted, to be a mother. I never wanted to rip that away from her, ever.

Whenever I locked eyes with little Daryl, past all the innocence I could sense something that didn't belong. Some strange foreign glint deep in there. Past the drool, past the dirty diapers, past the food smeared all across his face, there was something I couldn't describe. A secret knowing. A presence. A masquerade concealing something else entirely. Yet, Clara seemed wholly oblivious, and so I chalked it up to my own paranoia feeding itself in some vicious cycle, validating itself in its conspiracy against what was supposed to be my own flesh and blood. And so I stuffed that feeling down, suppressing it, all for Clara's sake. At least, in front of her.

Clara and I were quite private people, rarely taking to social media for anything. Our lives were very much just our own, and we were always so busy between our jobs and looking after Daryl to even waste the brain space on having a social media presence. Our communication with even our college friends grew scarce. We all mostly went our own separate ways through life.

But we had family. Or, at least, I did. Clara had been long estranged from hers, due to her rocky relations with her parents and being an only child. Any other relation was distant. I, however, was very close to my parents and sister. We had our rough patches, as any family does, but we made it through them and ended up all the more closer because of it. I had assumed they had known about Daryl this whole time, but always thought it was strange how they never chose to check in or stop by in the three months since Daryl's birth. I'd have expected them to be all over me, wanting to as involved as humanly possible, and the fact they weren't just heightened my suspicion even more. I had considered questioning them before, but it would be strange if your son-slash-brother called asking if you remembered the birth of his own son. No matter how you phrase the question, you would look plain crazy with no two ways about it.

But my paranoia was eating away at me, consuming me, and so tact went out the window. I just needed an answer, no matter how it made me feel. I rung my parent's place, and my mom picked up.

"Hey, mom, I was just wondering... Do you remember Daryl's birth three months ago? The details are a bit fuzzy and-"

"Danny Dear, what- what do you mean...? Daryl- oh, how do I say this..."

She was torn up about something. She sounded like she was holding back tears, and I could imagine her hand cupping her mouth to stifle cries as her voice grew muffled and shaky.

"Daryl... That was the name you were going to give your child..."

"Yes, mom, but... going to?"

"Dear, you don't seem to- you- you must have blocked it out... Have you and Clara seen anybody - a psychiatrist or something - since it happened?"

"No mom, I don't remember a damn thing... What happened... to Daryl?"

"He didn't make it, dear."

"What?!"

"Clara had a miscarriage. He died before he was born. In the womb. Right before he was due. You were devastated. But Clara... She was gone. Lost. The poor thing. Grief would not even come close to describing it, the poor thing. This was one year ago, dear."

Silence. Silence for what was likely no more than five seconds, but felt like an eternity. Daryl was never born.

Then what the fuck was in my house, having its diapers changed and being fed baby mush?

"Dear...?"

"Sorry mom, I gotta go. Love you."

I rushed to Daryl's - no, whatever was pretending to be my unborn son's room.

I twisted the handle and flung the door open.

"Clara-!"

Clara stood facing the cot, with it cradled in her arms, gently rocking it as she hummed a lullaby as the moonlight shone in through the window, bathing the room in an ethereal, otherwordly glow.

She slowly turned to face me, still gently humming a lullaby as it lay dormant in her embrace.

Her face, illuminated by the celestial glow of the moon, wore a content smile, her beautiful teeth shining equal parts brilliantly and eerily in the moonlight.

Yet her eyes were an abyssal void, devoid of white. Not even the moonlight reflected in it, rather, it was absorbed completely. It's like she was entranced by it.

And then it turned to face me.

Its pale "face" writhed and contorted in shapes that vaguely resembled human features. Its eyes, black pearls just like Claras', except within them I felt something profound. Ancient. A knowledge beyond the scope of human imagination. I had locked eyes with it for a split second, and I felt as though I had seen another reality, as though they were portals into some other dimension.

As its face continued to warp and distort, it began to resemble what I had once known as my baby boy.

It began to babble at me, stretching out its tiny hands towards me through the cloth it was swaddled in.

Clara, through her resplendent smile and with her abyssal eyes meeting mine now, said:

"Come, he wants his daddy."

I retreated back through the door, shutting it behind me. I slid down the door as I pressed myself against it as the lullaby continued behind me.

This was one week ago.

I never brought this up to Clara. To anyone. She was so happy to be able to be a mom. And so I kept up the facade of a happy family, and continue to keep it up.

But whenever I look at it, a terrible feeling washes over me. A knowing that what I'm looking at is not of this world, and it had brainwashed my wife into truly thinking it was her own.

I don't know its wants or desires - all I know, is that my wife deserves this happiness.

Even if we may be raising something truly beyond human comprehension.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Big-Performance9785 on 2024-09-09 01:55:23+00:00.

---

I work the night shift as a security guard at a downtown office building. It’s an old structure—built in the '70s—and while it's nothing special, the building has its fair share of quirks: flickering lights, creaking pipes, and an elevator that makes the most unsettling groaning sound whenever it moves.

Usually, the shift is quiet. Just me, the cameras, and the dim hum of the overhead lights. But a few nights ago, something changed.

Around 2 a.m., I noticed someone on the cameras. A figure. He—or it—was standing in the lobby, just out of the reach of the light. I couldn’t make out his face, but his clothes looked old, like they didn’t belong in this decade.

He stood there for a moment, motionless, before moving toward the elevator. His gait was stiff, almost unnatural. He pressed the button and waited. The elevator didn't move.

I kept watching, thinking maybe it was a homeless guy who wandered in, but after a few minutes, something strange happened: the lights flickered once, then went out completely. The screen showing the lobby camera turned black. My heart raced. I waited for the power to come back on, but it didn’t. It was just... silence.

I decided to check it out in person. Stupid, I know, but curiosity got the better of me. Grabbing my flashlight, I made my way down to the lobby. As I walked, I could feel the oppressive weight of the darkness pressing in on me. Everything felt wrong.

When I reached the lobby, it was pitch-black except for the weak beam of my flashlight. I swept the light across the room. Empty. No sign of the man. But the air felt... thick, like something was there, hiding just out of sight. The only sound was the soft hum of the elevator.

I pointed the light at the elevator doors. They were open.

I froze. That elevator never moved, not in all the time I’d been working here. And yet, now it was wide open, revealing an abyss of darkness inside.

I stepped forward, my flashlight shaking in my hand. The darkness inside the elevator seemed to pulse, like it was alive, waiting for something—or someone. My gut screamed at me to turn around, to run back to the security room, but I couldn’t move. My feet felt like they were glued to the floor.

Then I felt it. Something brushed against my back.

It was light, almost like the softest whisper of a hand, but it was enough to send every nerve in my body into overdrive. I spun around, but there was nothing. Just empty air.

Or so I thought.

The flashlight flickered, and I caught a glimpse—just a flicker—of movement in the corner of my eye. Something tall, too tall, and it was standing just behind me. I turned, heart pounding in my chest, but when I looked, the thing was gone. The lobby was empty.

Except... I wasn’t alone.

I could feel something watching me from behind, but every time I turned, there was nothing. No sound, no movement—just the suffocating weight of its presence. It was like the air was alive, pressing against me, whispering in a language I couldn’t understand.

The lights flickered again, and suddenly, I was plunged into complete darkness. I heard the elevator doors creak, as if they were slowly beginning to close. I took a step back, and that’s when I felt it again.

This time, the touch wasn’t soft. It was cold, and firm, like a hand wrapping around my shoulder.

I whipped around, expecting to see him—the man, the figure from the cameras—but instead, there was nothing. Only the endless black. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t breathe. My back pressed against the elevator doors as they started to close behind me.

That’s when I realized: I was no longer just imagining the touch. The hand was still there, cold fingers digging into my skin. The whispering was louder now, right in my ear. A single, rasping breath that sent ice shooting through my spine.

Before I could move, I felt something shift behind me, and the world tilted.

The elevator... moved.

The doors, though closed, didn’t feel like doors anymore. It felt like I was being pulled backward into something. I stumbled forward, trying to escape whatever was behind me, but it was too late.

I don’t know how to explain what happened next. The walls... stretched. They weren’t walls anymore. The whole building felt like it was bending, twisting around me, pulling me toward the elevator. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it—a cold, suffocating presence, dragging me closer and closer.

The hand on my shoulder squeezed tighter, forcing me down to my knees. I tried to scream, but no sound came out. The whispers were louder, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. I wanted to turn around, to see whatever was behind me, but deep down, I knew that if I did, it would be the last thing I ever saw.

Just as the pressure became unbearable, the lights flickered on, and everything stopped. The elevator was closed. The lobby was empty.

I staggered back to the security room, my legs shaking. I pulled up the camera feed, hoping to make sense of what just happened. But the footage was gone. It was like nothing had happened at all.

But every night since, I’ve felt it. The thing in the elevator. It’s waiting for me. It’s always there, just out of sight, just out of reach. Every time the lights flicker, every time I pass the elevator, I can feel it watching.

And I know one night, when the lights go out again, it’s going to pull me in.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Secret_Information88 on 2024-09-09 17:32:06+00:00.

---

People always find it so funny that even though I've lived in the same place since I was born, thete are roads probably only a couple of hundred meters away from my house that I've never been down. That wouldn't be a big deal if I lived in London, but I'm from a tiny litttle town, really a village, where everyone knows each other. I won't say which one for obvious reasons, but it's in the English county of Surrey, and it's boring.

I don't really know why I don't explore my own town much, but my mother thinks it's an aspie thing. I know where to go, and I just go there. Going to the park for a kickabout? Head left then go straight. Train station? Head left then take another left. School? That was Bus Stop B; head left and take a right. We weren't far from the epicentre of our town, if you could call it that, and as far as I was aware there was nothing on the other side apart from a few rows of semi-detached houses. Of course, that was before I met Luke.

Luke moved over from North London three years ago, when we were both fifteen. His parents were one of so many couples who decided to move out of London during COVID. They moved in summer so Luke could settle in before starting sixth form, which if you're not from the UK is basically the last two years of school and the only bit that's optional.

Me and my two mates, Tom and Liam, met Luke in the park on a swelteringly hot day, inviting him to join us for a kickabout that only lasted about twenty minutes before we surrendered to the heat and sat in the shade, pumping him with questions as rural kids inevitably will when encountering anyone new. He was a fun guy to be around, the kind of guy who would never take the piss out of you for no reason but would roast you back mercilessly if you tried to do the same.

We walked back to his parents' house with him and I found out that he was only a couple of roads away from me - we were neighbours. His road was quiet and peaceful, with nice cars on the driveways and slightly bigger houses than down our way. I didn't tell Luke that I'd never been down his road before. He had a PS5 and his parents were really nice, so we decided to stick around and texted our parents to say we'd be back late. We played FIFA for a while in a round robin, and when it wasn’t my turn I alternated between watching and looking out of the window.

The house directly opposite his caught my eye. It looked slightly older than his parents’ house, with fading brickwork,but that wasn’t what drew my attention to it. Even though it was still a while until sunset, someone was systematically closing every window on the front-facing side of the house. I saw the same arm, its owner obscured behind net curtains, reaching out to close each window before making a hand movement that quickly interpreted as locking it. This strange little ceremony started in the living room, then progressed to the kitchen, then there was a pause - I interpreted this as the occupant going to the back windows to do the same - then it resumed upstairs. Before long, every window in the house was closed and locked, the curtains closed, and the house dead. After about twenty minutes, I saw a very faint glow coming from the living room windows. The occupant had turned the lights on.

Everything about this felt wrong. For one, we were in the middle of a heatwave. For the last few nights, my room had transformed into a sweaty hotbox and I’d lay awake, uncomfortably melting. Not to mention that this was in the height of COVID, where people were keeping their windows open in the dead of winter let alone a boiling summer evening. I stared at the house for a few moments, wondering how stuffy and uncomfortable it must have been at the moment.

“Luke,” I said, nudging him as he played. “Who lives across the road?”

“Which one?” he asked, not turning around as he skillfully moved past the defence as Mbappe. “The one with the big oak tree outside or the one with the red curtains?”

“Red curtains.”

“Don’t know. Got a look at him once. Old guy. Beard. Keeps to himself.”

“Does he always keep his windows closed? Curtains drawn?”

“Yeah, does it every night,” he said, pausing the game and looking at me with that excited look people give you when you’ve noticed the same thing they have. Tom, who by all accounts was about to concede a goal as Juventus, gave a little ‘what the hell’ shrug. “I’ve watched him a couple of times.”

“Must be boiling in there,” said Liam, his attention now drawn to the window. But he turned away. Liam never had a great attention span. I kept staring at the house. It had signs of life inside; after about twenty minutes, a faint light came on in the kitchen, then went off after a few minutes. I kept watching the house as the sun started to set, then my attention got diverted as Tom nudged me to tell me it was my turn.

For one reason or another, I find it very easy to get fixated on something and much harder to take my mind off it. I’ve got mild Aspergers and self-diagnosed OCD, so take your pick. From there on, whenever I went round to Luke’s house, sometimes with the others and sometimes alone, I’d stare at the house and watch the little pre-sunset ritual. It was clockwork; always around twenty five minutes before sunset, even as summer drew to a close and night fell earlier and earlier. Luke hadn’t taken as much of an interest in it, but he was polite enough to indulge mine. He’d seen the man a few times now, and told me that he got a food delivery every three weeks or so but that was the only time he saw him leave the house. One Saturday morning in September, I managed to get a look at this firsthand.

The delivery driver was waiting at least three or four minutes when the door opened. An older man, in his late seventies maybe, opened the door and walked straight out onto the threshold. He looked like he’d had a few hard years; his skin, even from across the road, looked rough and coarse. His hair was dirty grey and too long for a man his age, coming down to the nape of his neck. He had a thick, ragged beard of the same unsightly colour. He was wearing a vest that showed off a surprisingly wiry physique for a man of his age as well as some mildewy-looking pyjama bottoms.

What really stood out about him, though, were his eyes. Even from my distant vantage point I could see that they had a burning energy about them, and the delivery driver - who’d no doubt been about to voice a complaint of being kept waiting for so long - visibly took a step back. The old man’s eyes never left the driver as he picked up the shopping, then promptly retreated inside, closing the door immediately behind him. The driver, taken aback, paused for a few moments and took off, heading out the gate much faster than he’d entered.

As the school year started and the seasons took a slow slide from summer, to autumn, then finally winter, my attention waned when it came to Luke’s strange neighbour. His window routine became just another thing happening in the background, just like everything else that could happen in a nothing town like ours.

That was until a month ago.

Luke and I, now gangly eighteen year olds, had been at the pub celebrating our last exams. Our ‘A’ Levels (a major set of tests that happen at the end of the sixth form and basically determine which university you can get into). We’d gone back to his to have a few more beers and play some of his newer games. In the three years since the two of us had first met, Tom had moved away and Liam had fallen in with some of the rougher kids at school, thinking he was a roadman and giving us a wide berth.

It was getting late and I was thinking of going home. I had my phone resting on the windowsill and I grabbed it to check the time I saw a figure running full pelt down the road. It was the old man, moving with a speed I’d have barely thought credible, his movements seeming to match a younger man. He ran until he got to his house, slamming the gate behind him before unlocking the door in record speed and squeezing himself into it before closing up. I summoned Luke over silently and we watched the house for the next twenty minutes, neither of us saying a word, too gripped by fear to make a sound. A few lights went on in the surrounding houses, probably people woken up by the loud closing of the gate and the door, but the old man’s house stayed completely pitch black and silent.

“What the fuck was that?” Luke said, breaking the deathly silence.

“What was he running from?” I asked, knowing how freaked out my voice sounded.

“There’s an Alsatian a few doors down,” he said, scanning the street. “Big beast. Bad temper.”

“If you run from a dog, it’ll chase you,” I replied, my eyes fixed on the house opposite. Still no signs of life.

“Liam?” he asked uncertainly.

“He’s a little shit but he wouldn’t mug an old man.”

“What about his mates though?”

“I don’t think so.” My voice was tense, hollow. I had a horrible feeling on my mind. We sat there for half an hour, scanning the road. Then I headed back, looking up and down the street. An eerie silence fell over the whole place and I shivered in spite of the hot summer night. All the house lights were off now down the road, the occupants deciding to sleep now the commotion had passed. I got to my parents’ house and turned in, my sleep uneasy.

I woke up around noon - hey, you did it too when you were on summer holidays - and headed downstairs, deciding that I ...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/iifinch on 2024-09-09 15:18:32+00:00.

---

You and I are the same. We're both so bloodthirsty.

In fact, if you asked my departed mother, you are so much worse. You, human, do not like blood as we do. Vampires sip the blood of man and beast for sustenance. My mother said you draw the blood of every creature because it excites you.

My mother said, that even those who faint at the sight of blood are hard-wired to love it, your desire just overcomes you. My mother said, you all will be the last species left on this planet because you are the cruelest. My mother said, across the millennia, it has not been good enough for us to bow to you, but we must be buried beneath you. 

I cannot even find peace in this cave.

My mother said, you have slain the Neanderthal, the Jinn, the Denisovans, the Paranthropus, Homo erectus, and even the vampire. 

That is what I was told for the first one hundred years of my life and I still don't know what to believe.

To be honest, I didn't care about any of that at the time. My mother lost my focus as she spoke as soon as she said both she and I would be dead soon. I had lived as a home-schooled child in in a small cave not knowing anything about the world for 100 years. She said she was on her last leg of life and I only had 40 or so years left despite my teenage look. She died that month.

Soon ( in vampire terms) I was going to be dead but before that, I wanted to live. I wanted to party. I've never tasted human blood and I would never be interested in it. 

There were songs to dance to and women to love. Why were we sitting in caves whining? I flew to the closest city and started my adventure. Then after failing in that city because I did not understand it (I was homeschooled remember) I went to a different city where things were much better.

I learned to trust humans along the way, all thanks to my best friends Kathleen and Barri. I want to tell you I became their friends over mutual interest, or something noble but that's a lie and I will not lie on my deathbed.

I met the girls when I was on a tear, going to a club or bar every night and waking up beside something pretty every morning. The hookups weren't important, just bodies for lust, adoration, romance, and memories for a couple of hours and then a bill for Uber in the morning. The night I ran into the girls something was different.

Kathleen sipped a blue drink and saw me coming. She tapped Barri, a girl who never understood subtlety, and Barri stared at my approach like a child does a new adult. Drunk and horny I sat beside Kath. Embarrassed easily, her face went red almost the same color as her pink dress.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey," Kathleen said.

And then I vomited everything I had drunk in the last hour. The rainbow mix exhausted me and I almost fell out of my chair. Kathleen grabbed me before I could and Barri helped steady me.

Everything went blurry. I was blackout by this point so this is just what I was told.

"Oh, no," Barri said. "Are you okay?"

"Ah, man," a bouncer came by and grabbed me by the shoulder. "I'll get this guy out of here. Sorry, he's bothering you."

"No, actually he's our friend!" Kathleen interjected.

Now, why would this girl lie to protect a stranger? She said she felt bad for me but after getting to know her better I know that isn't the whole truth.

Kathleen was a girl desperate to find Mr. Right. This was her greatest ambition. Now when I vomited on her shoes she knew I was not Mr. Right but the thing is Kathleen had vomited on a shoe or two herself, she didn't even drink, she was that nervous.

Growing up fat, with a stutter, and bad skin, guys weren't the nicest to Kathleen. 

Extreme diet and exercise, speech therapy, and puberty changed who she was on the outside but the years of rejection and bullying did a number on her. She was a nervous wreck around men she liked. Her constant failures only made her want true love more. Like Harvard graduates lusted for political power, Kathleen lusted for love. 

Her lust for love caused her to be a nervous wreck when the opportunity approached. Her stutter returned, and she would tell jokes that weren't funny and she brought an air of anxiety to the interaction. So, when she saw a boy stumble over trying to introduce himself she saw a little of me in her.

Kathleen and Barri brought me over to a couch. They sat me down and Kathleen went to get me some water. So, it was just Barri and I. Now, this is the part where I start remembering again because I thought Barri's question was so strange it almost sobered me.

"Did you mean to do that?" Barri asked with genuine sincerity.

"What... no?"

Now, one thing you should know about Barri is that she might not have any idea about what's going on at any given time. It's interesting because she wasn't dumb either. She was accepted to an Ivy League school but turned it down to go to a school closer to her family. 

Barri just had gaps in her wide array of knowledge. I was homeschooled in a cave, I could relate.

"Oh, sorry, sorry, sorry,” she said. “I just know guys have like um, pick-up lines and stuff. You guys can be real tricky." She said tricky in what I'm sure she felt was a funny accent. It was cringy.

I didn't say anything. My head was spinning.

"Oh, no, sorry I didn't mean to imply that you were tricky." She patted my back twice. "I'm sure you're a nice guy."

I looked at her and was greeted by the most unorthodox, unpracticed, and genuine smile I had ever seen in a club or anywhere in my life.

Now one thing you should know about Barri is that because she had trouble not offending people and understanding people what she really wanted was to be understood and to be good. She was a part of about five different volunteer teams, a consistent church attendee, and was a big sister in one of those at-risk youth programs. As for being understood, she was a constant over-explainer.

They were flawed, silly people and I loved them for it.

For the first time since I walked into the human world, I realized I had found some humans I wanted to be friends with. And that's how our yearlong friendship began—a rainbow of impulse and chasing after what we want. 

I traded sex for friendship that night and never regretted it. It was easy. The girls were a lot like me all they wanted was to have a good time before their first year of college. So, there was no sex but secrets shared, the only thing naked between us was the truth, and we were bound by trust, not fuzzy handcuffs. And I wouldn't take back that experience for the world.

There was another who did not like it though.

Perhaps, we all are slaves to our genetics... Do you know elephants hate lions and will chase a lion down to ruin its day? The same goes for whales and orcas.

There was something from the ancient world that was a proud slave to its genes.

We clubbed every weekend night and songs steered our summer.

In July we were singing our hearts out to Chapel Ronan's best song, not Pink Pony Club, not Good Luck Babe but Feminomen

Hit-like-rom-

Pom-Pom-Pom

Get it hot like

Papa John

As soon as we entered a club we went straight to the dance floor and earned our drinks through sweat and laughs. After that, we headed to the bar to grab drinks and then decided who would wing for who in the search for love. That night Barri and I left Kathleen at the bar so Barri could wingwoman for me.

While we were away an old man came up to Kathleen. Much to her chagrin, she always attracted men outside her age range. 

I don't remember what the girl I liked was wearing but Barri wore a bright yellow dress and had just re-dyed her hair to be blonde.

"Oh, you like movies," Barri said to my target for the night after awkward introduction and conversations. "Vlad really really likes movies," Barri said again without a hint of subtlety. In truth, she wasn't a good wingwoman at all but that was the fun of it. That's what made all of us laugh.

"Oh," the woman said, probably surprised by Barri's abrasive approach.

"Do you have a favorite director?" I asked.

"I don't know. I like horror," she was nervous. Her drink swayed ever-so-slightly in her hand. "Oh, I saw Get Out recently it's my favorite movie so I guess Peele."

"You like Get Out better than Peele's other one... US?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"Pretty eyes and that little smile you do and blessed with good movie taste. I didn't know God played favorites," I mocked and flashed my smile and thanks to thousands of years of vampire genetics I'm told it is quite good.

She rolled her eyes but she did do that little smile I liked. My heart raced because I knew what this could lead to.

Behind us, the old man still chatted with Kathleen. He was out of place for the EDM club we were in. He wore a plaid suit and loafers. The room glowed under the lights of the dance floor. 

Neon, orange, yellow, and pink painted the club. Dresses, tank tops, and white sneakers flowed throughout the room. This was a place for drugs, dancing, and laughter. What did this old man want?

I am protective of my friends but Kathleen knew how to get rid of him. She was just taking longer than normal.

"Whatever," the nameless girl in front of me said. "What about you? Who do you like?"

"The only one better than Peele right now: Robert Eggers."

"Oooh he is good," Barri chimed in.

"Better than Peele? Lie again." She mocked.

"You think I'm wrong?" I pretended to be aghast and put my hand to my chest in protest.

"I know you're wrong."

"Jordan Peele didn't make The Witch," I co...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/GeneralP123 on 2024-09-09 12:44:45+00:00.

---

You're probably familiar with the feeling of opening your fridge and finding only one or two different kinds of food inside of it, then you just think of plenty of different meals to make by using the same couple of ingredients.

Unfortunately, this feeling is far too common in my case.

Let me start from the beginning...

It was a boring day as usual, I was just walking back home after a quick trip to the nearby grocery store, I quickly got to my house and started unlocking the front door, however, before I could open the door, someone lightly tapped me on my right shoulder, I quickly turned around in confusion and saw a man in his late twenties or early thirties, he was smiling and seemed to be wearing an expensive black suit with a matching black tie, his eyes were hidden under a pair of gold plated sunglasses, everything about him was screaming "high class".

"Hey! Take this!" the stranger said while slipping a bag into my hand, I instinctively looked inside of the bag and saw five lemons, they weren't your average lemons you find at the supermarket, these were twice or almost three times the size of the ones I was used too, even the color was amazing, I could've sworn they were glowing.

Temporarily, my mind was in a state of shock, as soon as I looked at bag it was like I was hypnotized, instead of asking the man for any sort of explanation I could only mutter a simple "thanks" before I took the bag and entered my house.

I locked the front door and took another look at the bag of lemons, whatever was on my mind before the encounter with the stranger was quickly replaced with the urge to make a lemonade.

I took one of the extremely large lemons and swiftly cut it in half, the juice immediately started bursting out of it, it seemed to be succulent and full of flavor.

Before I could move on to the next step, the same mysterious man I saw earlier appeared right in front of me.

I was frozen solid by the instant mix of fear and shock, "How the hell did you enter the house if I just locked the front door?" I thought to myself, yet I was unable to ask him that question, it was like the particular aura this person had rendered me unable to speak.

"You must be confused, let me explain!" he spoke with a cheery tone.

"You see, we're not the same, I won't bore you with the long and unnecessary explanation of what kind of creature I am, instead, I'll just tell you the most important part, your sustenance is food and water, mine is human suffering." he spoke with the exact same cheery, yet flat tone, I could only listen while slowly processing what he was saying.

"That being said, I must find a way of making humans suffer, then I feed off that suffering. As simple as that sounds, it's an absolute pain to accomplish!" he says with a slightly annoyed expression on his face.

"Sure, I could just take a hammer and break your bones, that would make you suffer, right?That's the worst kind of suffering, the boring kind. Think of it this way, a raw egg and an omelette are basically the same thing, but you won't just eat a raw egg, the omelette tastes better and it also has no chance of infecting you with salmonella." the stranger says as he giggles.

"So, in other words, I have to raise the quality of the suffering before consuming it! That's why you're gonna be my test subject, with a bit of luck, you're gonna produce a completely unique type of suffering for me!" He explains while pointing at me.

"I just put a curse on you, the only way to undo the curse is to last at least twenty-one days while under the effects of the curse.

Here's the rules you're going to follow strictly from now on. Don't leave your home, if you try to, I'll just teleport to back to your living room, you also won't be able to communicate with anyone, if you try to, I'll make the person you tried talking to disappear. You're only allowed to consume lemons, actually, I'll be a nice fellow so I'll allow sugar and water as well.

While you're under the effect of the curse, consuming anything other than the items I just listed will immediately kill you, however, if you're still alive after the twenty one days pass, I will come and devour the suffering you accumulated, then I will remove the curse, after that I will make sure you can finally start eating something other than lemon meals." He finishes the explanation.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Even though your food and drink choices are limited, I made sure to give you unlimited amounts of lemons, water and sugar, every time you open your refrigerator you will notice that it's full of fresh lemons, ice cold water, white and brown sugar." he says with a smirk.

"Good luck! I believe in you!" the stranger instantly disappears without a trace as soon as he finishes the sentence.

I start doubting if what I experienced was real, but soon enough I realize the severity of the situation I am currently in.

I open the fridge, exactly as the stranger said, Inside of it I find dozens of huge lemons, glass bottles of almost frozen water and bags of sugar. I take one lemon and one bottle out of the fridge and close the fridge door, then open it, once again, as expected, the two lemons and one water bottle are instantly replaced by an identical copy.

Out of desperation, I tried leaving my house to no avail, every time I touched the door knob, I would temporarily go blind like I was falling asleep, then when my vision returned a couple of seconds later, I would realize that I am now in my living room. I could either try thinking of ways to survive three weeks on a diet consisting of only three things or I could try leaving my house again and again until I die from exhaustion or starvation.

Obviously, I chose the first option even though I knew my chances of survival are low at best. My first couple of days on this new diet went fairly well, the main meal was lightly sweetened peeled lemons, I would snack on those almost all day even though I got tired of them after like five bites, beggars can't be choosers, right?

Around five days passed and I was already beginning to feel the side effects of eating only lemons, even though I was almost constantly chewing on my signature peeled sweet lemon snack, I felt like that wasn't nearly enough to kill my hunger, in fact, my stomach was grumbling so much that I could barely even sleep.

I changed my strategy, since eating just peeled lemons wasn't enough, I tried drinking as much water as I can to trick my stomach to think it's full, I drank so much that I had to bite on raw lemons to stop myself from vomiting, I started using the lemon peels as well, I found a couple of easy candied lemon peel recipes so I started eating those as well, the taste was somewhat different so that was an improvement, as I was getting sick of the same old sweet peeled lemons.

Two weeks passed and the ulcers started, I guess eating just highly acidic fruit for weeks isn't something my body was built to handle, because of my inflamed and bloody lips covered in open sores, I avoided looking at myself in the mirror. Eighteen days passed, even though I was so close to my goal, I was almost sure that I wouldn't make it.

My mouth ulcers became so bad that eating a lemon or even drinking lemonade became impossible, it was like pouring salt on an open wound.

To avoid any additional pain, I completely stopped eating lemons, my new diet consisted of only drinking cold water which barely helped me soothe the the jolting pain.

Finally, it was the twenty-first day, I felt like my life could turn off like a light switch at any moment, I was severely malnourished, my energy levels were fully depleted, I could barely make two steps before I felt like I need to go to sleep, yet when I tried sleeping, I would immediately get woken up by a burst of pain or I'd start choking on the blood dripping from my swollen lips, I stopped keeping count, but I bet I didn't sleep at all for at least five or six days.

Even my vision detoriated, I would constantly drop my water bottles because everything was getting simply too blurry to see, they would shatter on the floor and I just ignored them because I didn't have the strength needed to pick up the glass fragments and throw them out, after about an hour or so I'd forget that there's glass shards on the floor so I'd step on them and cut my feet, which wasn't too bad, because it at least helped me forget about the ulcer pain which was much worse.

I didn't want to give up, but my body was too worn out, I collapsed on the glass covered floor, the shattered glass pricked and cut my dry skin, I couldn't get up on my feet, so I decided to just accept my fate and wait until I perish, this whole ordeal was suffering far above anything I could ever imagine, death was my only saving grace, I was eagerly expecting it.

Suddenly, the stranger appeared in front of me, he placed his hand on top of my head and proudly said "Congratulations, you survived!".

No longer than three seconds passed and I felt all the pain, exhaustion and hunger leave my body, not only did I not feel any discomfort, I felt great, better than I ever felt in my life, it was like I was reborn.

The stranger moved his hand away from my head and said "Thank you, as I expected, your suffering was delicious, far better than anything I've ever tasted, as you can see, you're already completely healed, yet I didn't remove the curse yet, I'm in a bit of a hurry so I will fully remove it tomorrow, then as we discussed earlier, you'll be able ...

---

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Chunky_Wet_Booger on 2024-09-09 03:08:23+00:00.

---

My uncle Joe was a house flipper. He bought distressed or abandoned houses and fixed them up and sold them for a profit. He'd done this for years and he was pretty good at it. Sometimes I helped him out, it's a decent way to make a few bucks over the summer and I got to hang out with my uncle. It was hard work but at least it wasn't something soul-destroying like fast food or a call center.

We'd found some pretty wild things in the houses he bought. Once we found a fully functioning still in the basement of an old hunting lodge, along with about twenty bottles of moonshine. One time we found these little weird clay statues, about fifty of them, all around an old ranch house that used to be an artists commune. Of course we also found the usual stuff you see an a old house. Lots of abandoned family picture albums, broken plastic toys, decaying furniture. All of it has to be tossed out.

Sometimes I think about these people, and the stuff they left behind. A lot of it came from people who died with no family, but other times I can't help but wonder what the story was. One time we found this huge painted portrait of a little girl, about six or so. Must have cost a fortune. At the bottom was a plaque that read “Rest in Peace, Maggie 1967 – 1974” I wonder what happened to Maggie. I wonder what happened to her family that they would leave this painting behind. I felt so bad throwing it in the roll-off dumpster. It felt irreverent or disrespectful. I felt like I was throwing away something precious. All of the things that have meaning to use will end up as somebody else's junk.

Out of all the things I found while I worked for my uncle I never kept anything. Except once. We were working on a split-level out in the county that was already in decent shape. It just needed a pretty good cleaning, a coat of paint and some new carpet. The only furniture left inside was an old broken cabinet style TV and a roll-top desk. Inside the desk was an old leather bound journal, the hardback kind people used to use as a diary ages ago. Someone had written on the cover, in big block letters “NIGHTMARE JOURNAL”

When I opened it up I found pages upon pages of someones nightmares they had written down. This was a solid one hundred pages, front and back, of dense, neat handwriting. Hundreds upon hundreds of entries, each one dated – except for the first, which read:

“My name is Adam. This is going to be my nightmare journal. The shrink says this might help, but I don't know. I'm also not supposed to call him a shrink. I'm willing to try anything at this point.”

I don't know why but I had to take it. I couldn't explain it. I felt bad about it at first. I tried to lie to myself that if it was something important they would have taken it with them. But the truth is this is somebody's private misery that I had no right to poke my nose into. But I couldn't resist.

I've had the journal for quite a few years now. I've thought long and hard about this, and I want to share some of these entries. The journal was old even when I found it and I don't think it'll do any harm.

Most of the journal is made up of short, two or three sentence entries. Some are a couple of paragraphs. But some are several pages long, and insanely detailed and descriptive.

This is an entry from near the beginning of the journal:

14 July

“It wouldn't be hell if it wasn't forever.” the pale man says, standing over me.

He shouldn't be able to speak, he has no mouth, no face, just a round jagged hole filled with sharp chunks of bone and raw flesh. He holds a old oil lamp that smokes and flickers, he holds it in a hand that ends not in fingers but raw stumps of bone. In his other hand is something like a staff, but covered in pulsating veins. He is dressed in rags and smells faintly of ashes.

I stagger to my feet. I am cold, naked, and drenched in sweat. The only thing I can feel is fear. It coils in my guts like a snake made of ice. It overwhelms me. I have never been this afraid. I try to speak but the sound dies in my throat. What comes out of my mouth reminds me of a lamb being slaughtered. An animal sound, like a panicked bleating.

I am surrounded by dimly lit dead trees and the smell of decay. The black flagstones I stand on are moss covered and slick. They form a rough path that leads into the darkness. I have to get away, so

I do the only thing I can, I run. I run and leave the pale man and his smokey oil lantern that smells faintly of burning meat and something worse. I run into the darkness, into a tunnel of dead trees.

My way is lit by a pale light in sky that I can not see. I slow my pace and try to look up, but my body refuses to obey. I know in my heart that the source of this silver light is the worst thing I can possibly imagine. I know if I look directly into that wan glow it will be the end, it will be terror beyond imagining. So I lower my gaze and keep running. It's all I can do.

I run for hours, possibly days. There is no time here. There is only the overwhelming fear and the darkness and cold stale air and the need to get away. The trees thin out, and the flagstones give way to sand and gravel. I keep running. The sand gives way to hard packed dry dirt and dead brush. I keep running. My feet ache and burn. They are raw and bleeding. The pain is intense and sharp, like the jagged edge of a broken diamond digging into the nerves of my feet. I keep running.

In the distance is a mound, possibly a hill. It is the only thing for miles around besides the occasional dead bush or small jagged rock. The top of the hill glows with a warm red light. It is warm and welcoming, the color of a faded rose.

As I get closer, I see it's not a hill, but some kind of pyramid. There are steps on the side, like the pyramids in South America. I ascend the steps slowly, with reverence. I am supposed to be here. I leave bloody footprints in my wake.

On the top of the pyramid is a wide, flat terrace with a squat, square throne made of black stone. On the throne sits the pale man. Before me is a glowing pit, made of brick giving way to an awful pink flesh. A never-ending mouth, sucking and chewing. The pale man gestures and my knees give out. I fall in. I fall, and as I fall I look up at the sky, and see that silver light. That moonlight glow. It is an eye, a vast and infinite eye filled with incomprehensible sadness and wisdom. It looks at me and though me. It sees every part of me, then it turns away.

I am being torn apart. My hands and feet are gone, I feel every microsecond of them being ripped away. Then my arms and legs. I am coming apart. I am a torso. I am only a head. I am a single mote of dust in a black hurricane. The wind blows through me, and around me and inside of me and out of me. I am nothing.

The world spins, and I wake, laying on black moss-covered flagstones.

“It wouldn't be hell if it wasn't forever.” The pale man says, standing over me.

I wake up screaming. This was a really bad one. I need more sleeping pills.

And that's the first entry that really shook me. I'll post more if you guys want. It's mainly the longer ones that are interesting, but I may post some of the shorter ones as well.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Mr_Outlaw_ on 2024-09-09 04:17:50+00:00.

---

“Hey man, I don’t know how to tell you this, but there’s people in the basement.”

Chris’s words were in between silence and a whisper.

I sat up in the bed, my eyes adjusting to the frantic figure in front of me.

“What?” I asked him. “What are you talking about?”

“Be quiet dude,” he whispered. “There’s people in the fucking basement. Like six of them, I swear to God,” He paused, taking a few deep breaths. “We should get the fuck out of here.”

I rubbed my eyes, trying to get the fatigue to settle so I could comprehend the magnitude of what he was saying. For context, my friends and I had booked an Airbnb near the mountains for the weekend. Hike and then drink. Get our minds off of work and school. I had been super tired after hiking so I’d taken a nap.

I shook my head. “You went down into the basement?” I asked. “We weren’t supposed to. They told us not to.”

“Yeah dude, I know,” Chris continued. “But I did it anyway and I saw people down there and we need to fucking leave ASAP.”    

“What kind of people?” I asked, pretty much fully awake now. “You mean the owners of this place? They came back?”

Chris shook his head. “No. Not them. Weird looking people. Creepy ass fucking people.”

I sat up, thinking that maybe Chris had taken some of the LSD we’d been saving for the next day.

“Fuck dude, relax,” I told him. “Explain exactly what you saw.”

He laid it out pretty concisely. Despite the fact that the people who had posted the listing had explicitly told us not to go down there, Chris had gotten drunk, gotten curious and went down there. To his surprise, the door had been unlocked. He couldn’t find the light switch, but there was just enough of it coming through the windows for him to be able to make his way down the stairs.

Arriving at the bottom, he allowed his eyes a few seconds to adjust. And right in front of him, he could see a small table, with about six people sitting around it, their outlines illustrated by the afternoon light. At first, his brain rationalized it as large dolls or puppets that had been placed there. But he continued looking at them, and eventually one of them turned their heads to face him.

He didn’t stick around after that and shot up the stairs, shutting the door behind him.

As he told me this, I kind of didn’t want to believe him. But there was also absolutely no reason why he’d be lying. He just wasn’t that type of guy. Coupled with the genuine terror on his face, I began leaning towards the idea that he was telling the truth and that that were actually a bunch of people sitting silent at a table in the darkness of the basement.

I got up and looked out the bedroom window, seeing Jay and Paul standing on the front porch, grilling burgers. Then I looked back at Chris.

“If you’re telling the truth, we need to call the people who own the place.”

“I tried,” he said. “They didn’t pick up. I’ve sent them texts as well.”

I shook my head. “So what? You think they’re dangerous? Should we call the cops?”

Chris shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know if they’re dangerous but they are as fuck didn’t look right and I want to get out of here.”

For a while, we stared at each other, the general silence of the house becoming progressively more ominous.

After a while I sighed. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

We grabbed our phones, wallets, the car keys, and moved down the stairs, out of the house as fast as we could.

Jay and Paul were laughing, holding beers as we approached them.

Paul turned around, pointing a greasy spatula towards us. “You guys hungry or what?” he asked.

Chris began telling them what he’d seen but it was obvious that they were more than a few drinks deep and not taking anything he was saying seriously.

“Dude, it sounds like you’re fucking tripping,” Jay said. “Are you sure you’re not tripping?”

“I’m being serious,” Chris said. “I swear to fucking God, I’m serious. We need to get out of here now.”

“Well, I’m about five beers in, so I ain’t driving,” Jay said. “And I sure as hell ain’t letting any of you drive my truck either. Are you sure you just weren’t seeing shit?”

“Fine. I’m walking then,” Chris said. “I’m not staying here.”

“Look, I’ll go down there and talk to them,” Paul said, half-joking. “See what the hell they want.”

Jay laughed as sheer disbelief washed over Chris’s face. “I’m not bullshitting man,” he said. “I’m not.”

“Yeah, Yeah, I believe you,” Paul said dismissively. “I’ll go and see what’s up.”

Chris continued to protest but Paul  wouldn’t budge and soon he was inside the house, making his way towards the basement.

Chris shook his head, his eyes wide, nearly bulging out of his head at this point. “Fuck this!” he yelled, seeming to grow more agitated by the second. “I fucking warned you!”

Before we could say anything else, he bolted, sprinting like a bat out of hell towards the woods. We tried chasing after him but couldn’t come close to matching his place. We stopped, panting for air as he watched him disappear into the trees.

“What the fuck?” Jay asked. “Is he being serious? I though it was a joke!”

I shook my head. “Let’s go check on Paul.”

We ran back to the house, entering to see the basement door wide open. The place was completely silent, but before I could call out, I could hear somebody moving up the stairs. I backed up, unsure of what to expect, how to react, when Paul came out of the darkness, looking somewhat bewildered.

He looked at us, shook his head. “This is freaky, man,” he said.

“Was he being for real?” Jay asked. “There’s people down there?”

“Not exactly.”

The three of us went down there, with my nerves yet to be completely settled. We couldn’t find a light switch, but there were enough windows and enough daylight for us to move around.

Turns out, Chris hadn’t been totally correct. But he probably hadn’t been lying either. Planted right in front of the stairs was a table with three chairs. Sitting in those three chairs were some of the most lifelike sculptures I’d ever seen. Two soldiers in what appeared to be old military outfits and a woman in some kind of long, religious dress. They weren’t quite enough to be uncanny. If you looked at them for more than a few seconds, you could tell that they were carved from stone and then meticulously painted, something you could confirm by touching them.

Still… they were exceptionally crafted. Something that could’ve only been achieved by a dedicated professional.

“I mean, I don’t blame him,” Paul said, referring to Chris. “I almost shat bricks when I first saw them. I mean, what the fuck?”

I remembered back to the conversation I’d had with him, how he’d claimed that one of them had actually looked at him and then a shiver ran down my spine.

Jay laughed, a palpable relief in his voice. “How much you think we could sell these for?”

“I’m down to take ‘em and find out.” Paul joked.

On the surface, it made enough sense. The homeowners were in possession of some very valuable items that they stored in the basement, simply forgetting to lock it this time around. Jay and Paul continued looking at them, taking pictures, marveling at how weird it all was. On the other hand, I wasn’t so keen on doing so. I wanted to get the hell out of the basement ASAP. The details just weren’t adding up. I knew Chris well. If the only thing he’d seen had been these statues, he would not have reacted the way he did.

Jay was looking at his phone, smiling at the pictures he’d taken, when suddenly his expression dropped. He put his phone down and looked ahead.

“There’s another one over there,” he said. “In the corner.”

“What do you mean?” Paul asked, looking closely at one of the soldier’s rifles.

“Another statue. In the corner.”

Paul looked up and looked towards where Jay was pointing.

“Oh,” he said. “Yeah, I see it.”

The two of them continued look at it but showed no indication of wanting to explore it. Instead they stood still, their expressions slowly being taken over by a look of deep unease. Eventually I looked as well.

It did appear to be a statue. Something tucked away in one of the very dark corners. It was tall. Extremely so, maybe seven feet, its head well eclipsing the top of one of the bookshelves. Its bottom half was completely obscured, but from what the light was revealing, it was wearing some kind of helmet, like one those steel ones soldiers were equipped with back in ww1.

There came a point as my eyes were adjusting to the darkness where a pit began to form in my stomach. Its features were slowly revealing themselves and it almost looked as if it were… twitching. I thought that maybe it was just the darkness playing tricks until I saw it blink. Clear as day, it blinked.

I guess the other two saw the same thing because we were practically trampling each other running up the stairs. We slammed the door shut behind us before quickly pushing one of the couches in front of it.

Paul and I were halfway out the front door but Jay was still inside the house.

“What the hell are you doing?” Paul yelled at him. “C’mon!”

“I need my laptop,” Jay said, before throwing Paul his keys. “I’ll be quick, start the truck!”

He ran up the stairs while Paul continued to curse at him. “Really dude? Are you fucking serious?”

And then I remembered my own laptop, thinking about how annoying it would be if I were to lose it. I looked at the basement door. Then at the stairs. Then at Paul.

“It’s gonna take five seconds,” I said.

I could hear him cursing behind me as I ran, jumping ...

---

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/fainting--goat on 2024-09-09 03:40:17+00:00.

---

Previous Posts

I don’t know where all this water is going.  Everything I’ve learned says that we should be flooding right now.  The ground is saturated.  We started seeing standing pools of water in the grass days ago, all over campus.  It should have gotten worse, as the rain has been unrelenting, but it’s like the progression abruptly stopped.

Professor Monotone went down to the river recently to check where it’s at and while it’s elevated, its not at anything higher than what it normally hits during the spring when all the snow melts - or at least, in years prior when they actually had snow.  I’m trying not to think about that too much.  My anxiety can handle only so much existential dread.

I know about the river levels not because he told me specifically, but because he brought it up in class.  He didn’t even do that thing where he just throws out a piece of information and leaves us to figure out why it’s significant, like some of my other professors in the geology department do.  No, he explicitly said that with all the rain we’ve been getting he’d expect it to be flooding at this point.  But it’s not.  And then he was like ‘hmmm this is all very interesting’ and I of course knew that interesting means unnatural fuckery but the rest of the students were like ‘is this going to be on the exam’ and when he said no they immediately lost interest.  So while I initially was sitting at my desk, screaming internally in panic at Professor Monotone’s recklessness to bring up that topic in front of a full class of students, I guess it’s not actually something to worry about.  I sometimes forget that not every student is as psychotic about their classes as I am.  Is it the scholarship that made me this way?  I feel that having to keep my grades up for my scholarship was the catalyst for me to become the worst version of myself.

Not everyone lost interest, unfortunately.  I took a covert glance around the classroom and saw a few staring thoughtfully out the windows.  I am a junior now, after all.  These are the advanced degree level classes.  Everyone is here because they want to be here at this point.

As Cassie so often puts it, not my problem.  Hopefully they’ll assume it’s something-something water tables and not something-something alternate dimensions.

Because my personal theory is that the water is going into the traveling river.

Josh thinks I should try summoning the river to test that theory, as well as to find out just how much authority I have over it now.  He is hyped about the idea that I might be able to exert some control over the inhuman things on campus.  It’s a faint silver lining to the whole situation, but it is undeniably a silver lining.  Surprisingly, Cassie agrees with him.  I thought that Josh was just stepping into Maria’s role, now that Maria is… not here… but it seems like the entire dynamic is shifting.

I don’t think this is what the devil meant by everything would change, though.  I’ve got a feeling that it’s something to do with the unceasing rain.

Everyone on campus is talking about it.  Everywhere I go, I hear students muttering about it, I hear them talking before class.  It’s not like when I was a freshman, either.  There are no upperclassmen to ask if this is normal.  The seniors are only one year ahead of me and none of us know anything.  The professors, when asked, have admitted that this is unusual but declined to speculate.  (only Professor Monotone threw it out there like a hand grenade)  I kind of wonder if this were a different university if campus safety would have made a statement by now, like yes it’s raining a lot, no we’re not going to flood but take these precautions anyway.  I can’t see them doing that here.  If they admit that something weird was going on with regards to the rain, I will go out, buy a hat, and eat it.

Because it all seems to come back to the rain, doesn’t it?  The river.  How it changes things.  Even some of the inhumans seemed to depend on it - the flickering man was rendered vulnerable when the rain vanished and if the campus has a will of its own, I wonder if it was the university itself that revoked that from him.

It’s a troubling thought.  It would mean that the rain is controlled by campus.

As a reminder, I write these posts in stages since I’m having memory problems.  A few paragraphs here and there, as I think about about it and before I can forget.  So you all get to find things out with me in the same order, albeit with a massively condensed timeline (minutes as opposed to days).

Obviously I’ve been avoiding Grayson.  I blocked his phone number.  Cassie did too.  (and that brings up an interesting question - who pays for his cell phone?  I bet it’s a line item hidden in some budget somewhere that no one questions)  We’ve avoided talking about the Grayson problem.  Cassie sees it as a simple thing to resolve now.  We shove his soul back to wherever it came from.  Put James where he belongs.  Get Maria back.  Done.  The conflict with how we save everyone was made easier by removing Grayson from the list of people she actually wants to save.

In her mind, the devil did us a great favor by allowing Grayson to reveal his true colors.

I am… conflicted.

I’ve seen the place Grayson came from.  It bled out of his fear and into my mind, through that connection he’s established between us.  It is a place of vast power and weight, but also of emptiness, of isolation.  I didn’t think that inhuman things could feel fear, but Grayson can, and this is what terrifies him.  Being trapped in that place.  He wants to be here, with us, and considering I’ve only seen him hurt people to further his own survival…

If we’re going to condemn Grayson for that, then we should feel the same about James.  But we don’t.  We’re trying to save James, even if it means leaving Maria trapped in some half-existence while we figure it out.

Is it wrong of me to have sympathy for something inhuman?

It terrifies me.  I know that I want to stay me, I feel sick whenever I think of what Grayson proposed.  I don’t want to lose myself, I don’t want to be something else.  But… I’m not sure I trust myself either.  Because despite Cassie’s constant reminders that “I shouldn’t light myself on fire to keep someone else warm”, I’m not sure I’m going to be strong enough to fight back.  It’s not like when I chose to leave my hometown and go to college.  That was my decision I made for myself.  It didn’t impact anyone else.

If I choose myself over Grayson, then he’s gone.  He’s cast into that vastness.  And I’ve… always chosen someone else at the expense of myself.

I’m not sure I’m strong enough to change that.

So my strategy right now is to not get to that point.  It’s… not going great.  I have no idea what to do.  I’ve never felt so lost.  I know I should be strategizing, but it’s like my emotions keep getting in the way of my brain and before I know it it’s been an hour of staring helplessly at the wall of my bedroom.  And it’s just me, too, I have to figure this out because I’m not sure if anyone else will.  Cassie seems to have accepted that it’s either Grayson or me and she’s picked me.  I’m worried she’s off scheming with Josh without me.  In fact, now that I type it out, I’m positive that’s what she’s doing.

Great.

The devil certainly hasn’t shown up with any convenient solutions.  Can’t say I expected it.  He got what he wanted and his role here is done.

Unfortunately, the longer I struggle, the more time Grayson has to finalize his own plans to… make us the same person???? However that’s supposed to work.  And after a few days of being blocked on my phone, he decided to come find me in person.  I shouldn’t be surprised.  I couldn’t avoid him forever.

Especially since he knows where I live.

And my class schedule.

Not sure how he got the latter but I’m sure it was through wildly unethical means and/or whatever influence he has over the university as a whole.  While I was unnerved to see him waiting for me outside of the geology building, I can’t say I was surprised either.  There was no avoiding it.  I’d have to speak to him at some point.  He was unlikely to leave me alone.  I left the building, walking briskly right past him, forcing him to hurry to keep up and fall in step with me.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” I said tersely.  “I don’t want what you have planned.”

“I didn’t expect you to.  This is why I didn’t tell you the details until it was too late to undo it all.”

I swallowed hard upon hearing that, as if I were trying to swallow my fear.  No.  It wasn’t too late.  I refused.

“You better have a backup plan, because I’m going to make sure this little idea of yours fails.”

He laughed.  It wasn’t necessarily a cruel laugh.  Incredulous.  I bristled at hearing it.  I might not be inhuman like him, but that didn’t mean I was helpless.

“Didn’t I kill the flickering man?” I snapped.  “You think I can’t stop you too?”

His face furrowed in frustration.  The rain was intensifying, the sky overhead growing darker.

“You had help,” he said.

The university revoked the rain.  That’s right.  I stopped walking and turned to face him, balling my hands into fists.  That wasn’t all though.  Hadn’t I-

A thought occurred to me.

“The eye,” I said quietly.  “From my freshman year.  I killed that.”

“You did,” he replied, his voice also soft.  

And this...

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/APCleriot on 2024-09-09 01:11:55+00:00.

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The dispatcher said two kids - boy and a girl - showed up on a lady's doorstep. Lady said the kids wouldn't talk or give their names. She gave them milk and cookies and sent them to rest in her bed because they looked tired.

No children had been reported missing but it was late, so the dispatcher thought the parents didn't know their kids were gone.

No problem. Not my first call about kids that walked out the front door because they wanted to play. At least it wasn't winter.

I drove to the house on the outskirts of Bridal Veil Lake. It looked like another farm sold off for condos that were never built. A bunch of wild fields and dirt surrounded the lady's house. It was remote and dark and I wondered if she felt comfortable living alone out here.

That knock in the middle of the night must have been a shock.

I announced my presence and knocked lightly. “Hello?”

An old woman - the lady - answered. “Hello,” she said.

“Hello,” I said again. “How are you doing tonight, ma'am?”

“Been better. They're in the bedroom. Sleeping, I think.” She stepped aside to let me in. I saw two shapes beneath a quilt in the darkened bedroom.

“There was no one else? You didn't see anybody?”

She shook her head.

“Were they injured? Scared?”

“No, just shy. Really shy.” She nodded toward the kitchen, which I could see from where I stood (not a big house). “They hardly ate.”

There were two neat piles of chocolate chip cookies beside full cups of milk. It all looked completely untouched. The sight made me ancy.

She said they didn't eat much. They ate something then but not a crumb had fallen on the table? Nuh uh. I have three kids. Never saw them leave a cookie intact or at all.

Something really bad must have happened with these children.

“Hi kids,” I said quietly from the doorway of the bedroom. I didn't want to startle them. “Are you awake?” No answer. But I had to check on them.

There was only a lamp for the room, and it barely lit anything. Two small shapes lay with their whole bodies and heads covered with the quilt, completely still.

“I'm a policeman,” I said. “I'm here to help you. You don't have to be scared.”

I waited. Still nothing.

“I'm going to pull off the blanket very slowly, just so you can see me, okay? Then you can put it right back, if that makes you feel safe.”

Nothing. They didn't move a muscle. I prepared for the worst, and pulled off the quilt.

Their eyes were black, shiny, and lifeless.

“Jesus…”

Because these were not living children but life-sized dolls… complete with clothing and realistic hair. Only the eyes in their plastic faces looked immediately fake.

“What the hell…” I stomped out, admittedly pissed off. The lady waited in her living room chair. “Is this a joke?”

“Excuse me?”

“Those aren't real kids,” I said, “they're dolls.”

She became confused. “I beg your pardon?”

I took a breath, and tried to calm down. “Ma'am, are you on any medication or…”

She got up and went to the bedroom. “Jesus Christ, save us…”

I shouldn't have let her see. The lady fainted at the foot of the bed. I called it in, and everyone had a good laugh about the dolls - except me.

The lady had been prescribed blood thinners and a nasal spray for seasonal allergies. Unless she did other, non-prescribed drugs, she had nothing hallucinogenic in her system. That meant she probably had a tumour or dementia. A gas leak could also be a possibility.

I mulled over these details while I escorted the ambulance to the hospital. She wasn't unconscious for long but didn't fight my suggestion to see a doctor.

“Thank you,” she said from a stretcher, squeezing my hand, just before the paramedics wheeled her into the ER. I nodded. I didn't know what to say. It's my job to help.

I followed them in. Sometimes doctors want to ask us questions. The cafeteria called to me. Four more hours till the end of my shift. Coffee and a sandwich seemed prudent. I hardly touched them.

The walkie crackled. There'd been an assault at the hospital. Obviously, I responded.

“Someone's been attacked,” dispatch said. “The nurse that called wasn't very clear, and she hung up.”

I got up from the table the same time a doctor descended the steps into the food court and shouted something incomprehensible. When he got close, I grabbed him by the shoulders.

“She's dead,” the doctor said. “Gone. He killed her!”

It took a bit to understand. I'll summarize: the old lady I'd escorted to the hospital had been murdered by another patient, a young man suffering from unmedicated schizophrenia. He'd been brought into the ER after being hit by a car.

“I thought he was sleeping,” the doc had told me. He sat on the floor with his head in his hands. “Oh god, her head. He cut off her head.”

Apparently, he walked down the hallway with it. Then he sat down and chatted with staff until the police arrived. I never left the food court, so I was spared the scene.

Still messed me up. She thanked me. I'd sent her to her grisly death.

A tragedy. That's what everyone, including my therapist, said, and I eventually agreed. I believed it.

For years, I didn't think about those dolls unless someone brought them up. The old woman had been suffering from some kind of delusion. No point in finding out what exactly with her gone. Probably wouldn't even be possible.

Then I got another call.

“What? What did you just say?”

This dispatcher didn't know about the kids and the dolls. That was half a decade ago by this point. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“North side. A gentleman says two kids showed up on his doorstep. No missing children reported tonight.”

“A girl and a boy? The kids?” I asked.

“Yeah, how did you know?”

I didn't explain. “I'm on it but send more constables please.”

So many similarities to the previous tragedy: the time of year, the wrong side of midnight, and the kids gaining entry to the home.

Except that hadn't happened last time. They were dolls, I reminded myself. I would go to the house - in the posh side of town - and find actual kids there. Then I would do my job and get them home.

Fear against resolve, I gripped the steering wheel too tight and my fingers went numb. Big dead hotdog fingers trembled when I got out of the cruiser in the huge driveway.

No lights were on in the mansion at the top of the hill. I'd hoped the other constables would have arrived but I was alone again. Took me a few moments to calm down and not call dispatch for an ETA.

As I approached, I could see the front door had been left slightly open. My flashlight revealed a foyer big enough to fit a house. Since there hadn't been a crime reported, I felt confident to call out to the owner.

“Hello?” An echo replied. The place really was that big. “Bridal Veil Lake PD. Your front door is open sir.” I rang the doorbell and waited a bit. Nobody showed.

I don't know why I didn't call dispatch or wait for the other constables. The only reason I went in, I think, was because I had to know if history was repeating. “I'm coming in.”

The switches were dead. No power.

Grand staircases wrapped the foyer in a broad embrace and in the center, they were there, propped up before a headless storyteller. At first, I didn't understand and I tried talking.

“It's going to be okay,” I said, to a headless man. He'd been posed with an oversized Grimm's fairytale book between his thigh and arm.

Before each of the black-eyed dolls, set up to appear as attentive children, a tall glass of milk and a bowl of chips had been placed and left untouched.

I choked out a gasp. It couldn't be. It couldn't. How could the dolls be here?! Attempts to draw my firearm and use my radio went about as well as you can imagine. The gun hit the marble floor and I communicated nothing of use to dispatch.

Maybe that was good. I might have shot the other constables when they showed up. They found me on my knees and hysterical. I kept pointing at the dolls. They thought I meant the headless victim.

“It's going to be okay,” one of them said, and it felt like I'd said it. Or this constable had been cloned from my cells. Funny the places a shattered mind wanders.

“Okay?” I asked. I don't remember much after that. I went to the hospital. They had to sedate me. I wouldn't stop talking about the dolls.

“Olive and Matthew,” my therapist said. He'd come to visit, and explain what had happened. “It's a terrific coincidence,” he said. “Those dolls are the same, yes, from the last incident. Apparently, they didn't belong to [the woman who passed].”

I don't know why this information horrified me. “Well who the hell do they belong to?!” I shouted.

“It's alright,” he said. “It's not entirely what you think.”

He really pissed me off. “Look, just fucking explain it then.”

“Right, sorry, okay, the dolls weren't known to the relatives. They claimed [the lady who'd been decapitated] didn't like dolls of any kind. She found them creepy. Your colleagues put them into evidence for lack of a better option. Then they were sold at auction.”

“And the rich guy bought them?”

“No,” my therapist said. “But somebody did, and that person… Well, they're the killer, I'm afraid. A man was discovered in the mansion basement, covered in blood and with the head.”

“I thought you said it'd be alright?!”

“The man was mentally ill,” he went on, “but he bought those dolls. Maybe he even called about the kids. Do you see what I'm saying?”

“Some kind of copycat killing?”

He shrugged his bony shoulders in his tweed coat. “It's the only thing that makes sens...

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