This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Super-Distance-2457 on 2024-11-19 23:17:55+00:00.
I wasn’t supposed to be there. No one was. The Human Zoo wasn’t advertised on billboards, and you couldn’t find it on Google. It was an urban myth, the kind of place whispered about in online forums or during drunken conversations. People said it was hidden deep in the woods, far off the beaten path, where only the truly curious, or foolish, would venture. The rumors claimed it wasn’t animals in cages but humans, each one a living nightmare. Most people laughed it off. I should have too.
But then Alex sent me a link. It was nothing more than GPS coordinates and the message, “You need to see this.” Alex was always chasing the next thrill, always pushing boundaries. He hadn’t responded to my messages since, but I assumed he was being his usual self; cryptic and dramatic. So, I did what I shouldn’t have done: I got in my car and followed the coordinates.
The road narrowed as I drove, the trees on either side thick and menacing, their skeletal branches clawing at the sky. The gravel crunched louder than it should have beneath my tires, and the fading sunlight barely pierced the canopy. By the time I reached the end of the coordinates, the sun had completely disappeared, leaving only the eerie glow of my headlights to illuminate the world ahead.
There it was: a towering chain-link fence, rusted and worn, with barbed wire curling menacingly along the top. A wooden sign hung crookedly from the gate, its faded letters barely legible: “THE HUMAN ZOO.”
A shiver ran down my spine, but I told myself it was just an elaborate art project. A prank. Something edgy and harmless. I was already here, so what harm could it do to look?
I pushed open the gate.
The first thing I noticed was the smell—like wet soil and old metal, sharp and invasive. Rows of cages stretched into the shadows, each one lit by a single flickering bulb hanging overhead. The weak light cast harsh, trembling shadows, and my footsteps sounded too loud on the dirt path as I approached the first cage.
Inside was a man, thin and pale, hunched over a desk cluttered with papers and a keyboard that wasn’t connected to anything. The plaque on the cage read: “The Workaholic.” He typed furiously, his fingers flying over the keys, his lips moving silently as if reading from an invisible script.
Then he froze. His head snapped up, and for the first time, I noticed his eyes—bloodshot, wild, and staring straight at me. “Do you need it now?” he rasped. “I—I can finish it tonight. Just… just give me a little more time!”
I stumbled back, my heart racing. His voice was desperate, hoarse, like he hadn’t slept in days. His hands twitched as if ready to start typing again. He wasn’t talking to me. Or was he?
I hurried past the cage, my pulse hammering in my ears.
The next cage held a young woman, seated cross-legged on the floor in front of a cracked phone. The plaque read: “The Influencer.” A ring light bathed her face in harsh white light as she posed for an imaginary audience. Her smile was wide, painfully forced, her lipstick smudged at the corners.
“Hi, guys!” she chirped, her voice unnaturally bright. “Don’t forget to like and subscribe!” She shifted her pose, angling her face toward the phone’s shattered screen. “This is my raw, unfiltered moment,” she whispered, her tone trembling with suppressed hysteria.
Her eyes darted to me for the briefest of moments, and I froze. “Are you… my follower?” she asked, her smile faltering. Then, suddenly: “Don’t go!” Her voice cracked, and her hand shot out toward the bars. “Don’t leave me here! I’m real, I swear!”
I backed away, tripping over a rock, and scrambled to my feet.
Each cage I passed felt worse than the last. There was a teenage boy, surrounded by piles of books, scribbling equations into a notebook with raw, ink-stained fingers. His cage was labeled “The Overachiever.” He muttered incoherently, reciting formulas and facts like a broken record. His hands shook, his breathing uneven, but he didn’t stop writing.
I tried to tell myself it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. But the rawness of their voices, the desperation in their movements, was impossible to fake.
Then I reached The Spectator.
The cage was different…emptier. A single chair sat in the middle, and in it was a man, slumped forward, staring at a screen mounted on the wall. The plaque on the cage read: “The Spectator.”
Curious, I stepped closer, craning my neck to see what he was watching. The screen displayed live footage. Of me.
I froze, a cold wave of dread washing over me. The angle was unmistakable. It was filming me from behind, standing in front of the cage.
The man in the chair stirred, his head lifting slightly. His face was slack, emotionless, but his eyes… they were alive, sharp and piercing as they locked onto mine. His mouth moved, forming words I couldn’t hear. Then, suddenly, his whisper broke through the silence:
“Do you like the show?”
I stumbled back, nearly falling. My heart pounded in my chest as the man’s lips curled into a faint smile. The footage on the screen shifted, now showing me stumbling away.
I ran.
My legs carried me blindly through the rows of cages, the exhibits screaming at me as I passed. Their voices overlapped into a chaotic cacophony:
“Take me with you!” “Don’t leave!” “You can’t escape!”
I turned a corner and skidded to a halt. I was back where I started, standing in front of The Spectator’s cage. But now, the chair was empty.
Before I could process what was happening, I felt it. A presence behind me. Slowly, I turned, and my breath caught in my throat.
Figures dressed in black uniforms stood in a line, their faces obscured by smooth, featureless masks. They hadn’t made a sound, but now they were there, blocking the only exit.
“Wait!” I stammered, my voice shaking. “I didn’t mean to come here! I’ll leave, I promise I won’t tell a soul!”
One of the figures stepped forward, raising a gloved hand to point behind me. I turned, trembling, to look at the cage.
Inside, someone was sitting in the chair.
It was me.
My doppelgänger sat in the same hunched position, staring blankly at the screen. The footage now showed the masked figures closing in on the real me. I turned back to plead, but they were already moving, their hands grabbing me, cold and unyielding.
I screamed, thrashing against their grip, but it was useless. They dragged me backward, toward the cage. The last thing I saw before the door slammed shut was my own reflection in the screen: my face frozen in silent terror.
Now, I sit in the chair, unable to move. The screen plays new footage, showing a man hesitantly stepping through the gates marked “THE HUMAN ZOO.”