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sending-the-message · 6 years

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The cleaning ladies make the sign of the cross when they pass my room by Cowboy_rides_alone

My hotel room was booked in Yuma, Arizona. Not a place one would typically find themselves except in this instance it was for a new job. My employer put me up in a hotel for a few weeks until I was able to secure a place. The hotel was brand new with a very accommodating and kind staff. Most of the rooms appeared to be empty just because the place was that new. So, they put me on the first floor in a corner-room suite.

My first week in the hotel everything is quite normal. I watch TV till I fall asleep, I wake up and make my coffee in the morning with the supplied Starbuck's wafer-shaped coffee packet, open my two creams and two sugars then I'm out the door for another day on the job. As with any new place, you meet co-workers and get invited to do some exploring around the area. My colleague tells me there is an old ghost town about an hour's drive out from my hotel that he thinks I'd enjoy. So that weekend, on Sunday, I pack a small bag and am off with my new friend to have an adventure.

After almost an hour's drive, we pull off onto an unpaved desert path. The dust is kicking up along with rocks and tumbleweed. The rental car is taking the brunt of the abuse and it was in no way, shape, or form really capable of such a task. Finally, as we pulled into the front entrance of the encampment, we had to sit and wait for all the dust we stirred up to settle. We open the car doors and start trekking around looking at the old rustic cabins and displaced scrap metal.

My colleague walks up ahead of me and yells, "Whoa man! There's mining holes, watch your step."

I come up to where he's standing and look down into the deep abyss of a hole. I can feel a steady stream of cool air rushing out of the hole that envelopes around my face under the hot Yuma sun.

"Maybe we should drop something in it, see how deep it is," he says.

He grabs a giant rock and throws it into the hole. We counted the seconds until we heard it hit. "1 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi, 3 Mississippi, 4 Mississippi, 5 Mississippi, 6 Mississippi, THUNK!"

The feeling of letting something so heavy drop into a hole so deep reminded me of when I was a kid. I was always so terrified to even peak over the edge of a high building or off the rail of a cruise ship because it felt like somehow I'd lose control of my ability to stay grounded and fall over. The seconds felt like minutes, and with the cool air from the hole whispering into our ears I started to feel quite uncomfortable.

"Um, you wanna check out the rest of this place?" I asked while trying to seem nonchalant.

"Sure man, there's lots to check out," he said.

As we starting coming over a small hill, I was kicking up more dust and rock and scrap metal. Something came over me in an instant and I just didn't feel right. I stopped in my tracks and looked over at my friend who was about 50 feet away from me on another path. He was staring right back at me, looking as if I had committed the most appalling of acts.

"You're....you're standing in a makeshift cemetery."

"H-how do you know that?" I say to him as I look down at my feet.

"There's boots sticking out over there behind you and you're standing next to some sort of boulder that looks like a headstone."

It became apparent that I was standing on top of an old miner's grave. My immediate reaction was to run and then jump in intervals to get out without disturbing the area anymore. When I was nearly out of the cemetery, I sprinted and tripped over something in the dirt. I looked down and it was a brown old boot that was ripped open exposing the toes of a skeleton buried underneath. Being part Native American, I knew this was sacred ground and I had made a monumental mistake. My grandfather would tell stories of our ancestors burial sites being disturbed by rowdy teenagers or unassuming loggers and labor workers. He would tell me the sorts of curses one could bring upon themselves having disturbed such a site.

"Let's leave. I'm ready to go home now," I mumbled. Clearly looking shaken.

"...Er..Don't worry about it man, you didn't know. It's not like they mind, they're dead." My friend tried to joke to ease my apparent tension.

The drive home felt short. I could only keep obsessing about what I had done and the fact that I tripped over a dead man's foot. How I saw his bones exposed and how I made it all worse by disturbing a site that probably hadn't been touched since it was abandoned in the 1800s. When I got into my room, I was utterly exhausted from the afternoon. I face planted onto the bed and slept a solid 12 hours straight. When I woke, it was just past 2AM. I was completely awake after my long hard nap. The TV was still on as well as all the lights in the room. As I laid in bed, I felt like I was being watched. The hair on my neck and forearms stood up, I felt the chill run down my spine and I just couldn't shake the feeling that someone was staring at me from the other side of the room. Compelled, I reached into the night stand drawer and pulled out the bible, the only thing I figured could give me a sense of peace. Until dawn, I read various verses out of the book out loud, almost shouting it at points fervently. However, the feeling of being watched persisted until it was time to get moving for work. Going through the motions of getting ready helped me some but showering, dressing and eating I still felt like someone was staring right into my eyes.

I end up going to work and talking a little bit to my new friend about yesterday's adventure. I decided against telling him about last night's paranoia because I didn't want him to think I was a coward or crazy. The work day passes slow and I start to feel quite exhausted from having had such a bad sleep schedule the night before.

I make it back to my room. All the lights are off, the TV is off and I find that my bed isn't made. I have no new towels and my coffee, creme and sugars haven't been replaced.

"That's odd. Maybe it was a fluke, the cleaning ladies might've just overlooked my room on accident," I thought to myself.

Abruptly I head to the front desk to check on why my room wasn't cleaned. The lady manning it is the manager, a middle-aged Latina woman who was born and raised here in Yuma.

"Hey Josh, what's up? How's your stay been?" She asks.

"It's been great, everyone has been great. But I wanted to ask you, my room wasn't cleaned today. Did the maids just forget?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Hold on a second, what room are you in?"

"118."

"Hmm, I don't see any notes here. If you need any fresh towels or toiletries let me know and I'll have them delivered to your door. I'll make sure she does it tomorrow for sure!"

"Ok cool, yeah not a huge deal I was just curious. I'll take a towel, a pack of coffee and that cream and sugar please."

"Sounds good, I'll have them bring it."

I walk back to my room and decide to sit on the couch while I wait. The feeling comes back again. This time, I feel like I'm being watched but also like I'm not wanted in the room. Uneasiness sets in and the chills come back running across my neck. I go for the side table and pull out the bible again. I begin to read it aloud.

"Thump, thump, thump!" I jump up off the couch startled. "Housekeeping!"

Upon opening the door, I see a nice black-haired cleaning lady who hands me my stuff. Before I could say thanks she turns around and promptly walks back down the hall. I see her gesturing with her hands but only from the back.

As I lay in bed, I end up nodding off with the bible still in my hands. A loud thump in the bathroom wakes me. I get up and wipe the drool from my face. I look over at the clock and it shows 12:22AM. Maybe the thump was a new neighbor next door. I quickly brush it off and decide to browse the overly-priced food options in the lobby.

"How's your night going Sir?" I hear behind me.

On edge I respond, "Oh good, just looking for something to eat."

I grab the box of tortellini, charge it to my room and start heading back to my room. I insert the room key and push on the door.

"Boom." The door doesn't open all the way.

I tried again, closed it put in the room key, "Boom." The door is latched from the inside of the room. I peer through the opening and notice the lights are off inside the room and the TV is on. My heart sinks. I remember the lights were on, the TV wasn't. The TV is also angled towards the bed which I didn't do. I run back over to the front desk clerk.

"Hey man, uhh..I think someone is in my room. I am locked out from the inside and the TV is on with the lights off, did you guys book that room for someone else?"

Looking confused the clerk responded, "No, no new check-is today and we have you booked in that room for the whole month. I'll call security."

Security shows up with a tool to try and open the latch. He takes my key card and slides it in, waiting for the green light. He turns the handle and at the moment the door is stopped by the inside latch, the TV angles towards us through the crack and then shuts off.

"Nope!" he says. And then turns around and walks away.

"Hey! What am I supposed to do? Is someone in my room??" I yell.

He didn't respond and never turned around to even acknowledge my question.

I head back to the front desk while the security guard explains the situation. After a few minutes of discussion the front desk clerk calls the maintenance guy in.

Back to the room we go. The maintenance guy tries working the latch so the door can open. Finally he gets it. The room is completely dark.

The maintenance man turns to me and says, "Can you ask for another room?"

I say, "Why? All my stuff is in there, if no one is here then maybe it was just a coincidence."

He shrugs and inspects the latch.

"It's a brand new latch, you see how it clicks and doesn't just freely swing?" He tells me this as he attempts to slam the door and make the latch close on it.

All attempts to make the latch swing shut on itself were futile. He looks at me with sympathetic eyes and suggests I move to a new room. I decide against his recommendations and bed down for the night.

The next day I woke feeling extremely lethargic due to all of the suspense and activity of the night prior. Drudged through work and came back to my room only to find that again, it hadn't been cleaned.

As I open the door, I see two of the cleaning ladies walk past and motion the Holy Cross symbols and mumble in Spanish under their breath.

"Hey, so is anyone going to clean my room?"

The one lady scurries away leaving her companion. "Yes sir, I am sorry. We have one of the women who will do it."

"Why hasn't anyone done it already?"

"We all refuse to clean your room, I'm sorry."

"But why?"

"There is something very evil in your room. It watches us when we clean. It is a devious spirit and likes to play tricks."

For a second I couldn't speak. I knew exactly how and why this happened. And now I have my very sensitive and superstitious Catholic cleaning ladies refusing to clean MY room.

"You felt it too?!" I ask with a quivering voice.

"Yes. You should move rooms. The white lady said she will clean it, she isn't superstitious like us."

"Well I'm not superstitious either but it locked me out of my room! What is this thing, will it follow me or does it just want this room?"

"I don't know, have you done anything to upset a spirit? This room was fine before you came."

Feeling accused I respond, "I don't know, I went to an old mining town with a friend and accidentally walked into a cemetery."

"Adios mio," she said under her breath and then gestures the sign of the cross. "I have to go sir, I'm sorry."

After talking to the manager and explaining the events of the night prior along with the cleaning ladies' refusal to clean my room, they ended up giving me another room. I packed my stuff and relocated to the third floor.

"I'll be fine here. Maybe it really was just the room, nothing to worry about," I said assuringly to myself.

I kept all the lights on and the TV and dozed off like a baby.

"Pat, pat, pat, pat!"

I woke up sweating and confused. I heard giggles up and down the hallway.

"Damn it, annoying ass kids." I yelled.

"Tap, tap, tap" followed by a few giggles from what sounded like a little girl. Only this time it came from inside my room.

I laid there paralyzed. The room felt very cold. My arm hair starting to raise up but I couldn't move. My mind was awake, my eyes were open but my body wouldn't budge.

The TV on the mount turned towards the couch and then shut off. The latch snapped into place. My desk side drawer opened up and a bible got pulled out and thrown onto the ground. The pages started to shred out all over the room. I heard the giggle of a little girl. She laughed harder as she saw the look of terror on my face.

My room phone started to ring but I couldn't get any strength to get up and answer it.

"Ring, ring, ring, ring!"

The terror stopped. The pages all floated to the ground but the phone kept ringing.

I finally got the strength to control my body again. I reached for the phone.

"Hello?" I said.

"Hi this is Dana from the front desk. You need to get out of you room and come down to the lobby immediately!" she screamed into the phone.

Without any hesitation I hung up and ran out the door towards the elevator as fast as I possibly could. The elevator doors opened and I pushed "1st" so rapidly and hard I almost broke the button.

When I got into the lobby my friend from work was waiting for me. "Hey man, are you okay? They said they heard screaming from your floor."

"Screaming? Maybe it was me. What about the little kids playing in the hallway, did they see them on the security camera?"

Dana, the lady from the front desk came over to us.

"We didn't see any kids on the cameras but we did get complaints from the floor below you that they heard running."

"So....what the fuck is going on here? You guys have spirits, the bible, the pages were being ripped up all over my room. The cleaning ladies wouldn't clean my room and kept making cross gestures and telling me an evil spirit lives in there with me."

"Sir, we have called the police to came have a look. But you need to stay here."

"Oh trust me I'll be right here in the lobby."

After about 30 minutes the officers finally show up. They talk to Dana at the front desk as I see her pointing towards me.

"Alright guy, how much have you had to drink tonight?"

Looking confused I responded, "Uh...none officers. I haven't had anything to drink."

"Yea right well, the nice lady at the front said she has security footage of you running up and down the halls ripping pages out of the bible laughing and giddy like a psychopath."

I felt a wave of disbelief and confusion rush over me. "I didn't. I couldn't have done that..I..I was laying in my bed and then everything started to go insane. Pages flying everywhere, I even heard the latch. I got locked inside! I got locked inside!"

The officers looked at me unimpressed with my story.

"Sure buddy. Okay we're just gonna take you down to the station and check you out, you're being detained."

My friend stares at me like I'm absolutely crazy. As I pass by him in handcuffs I see the two cleaning ladies. They gesture the cross and the one comes up to me.

"Next time you go on an adventure, know who's graves you stir."

And then her eyes turned soulless and black as a devious grin swept across her face. She opened her left hand and small pieces of my bible trickled out onto the ground.

"It's them, they did it!" I yell to my friend pointing my head in the direction of the ladies. "The cleaning ladies!" The officers continue to restrain me with all their force.

"Josh, the staff said there's only one lady who works here right now. She's an old white lady! You've made this all up."

My face turned pale and my body went limp. I’ll never know the truth.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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sending-the-message · 6 years

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A mysterious twitter account is harassing me (Part 1) by Feezfry

I'm a pretty avid twitter user, and up until today nothing out of the ordinary has ever really happened to me. But today, I got onto my account and found a message waiting for me in my inbox. The message was from an account called @brenisherenow. The screen name was just Bren, the profile picture was black, and there was a weird picture of what looked to be mountains in space as their header. They were only following one account, Nasa.

Here is the transcript of the ensuing conversation.

Bren: hey :)

Me: Hello there

Bren: ah, rainy weather i see today. you know, over here we don't get much rain, but it gets quite cold.

Me: ?? How did you know it's rainy? Also, not to be rude but who are you exactly?

Bren: it's right there in the username. the name's bren. and you would be sarah I presume.

Me: That would be correct, but why suddenly messaging me? And how did you know the weather where I am?

Bren: pure genius I guess. I guess I'm just psychic :) and there's nothing wrong with trying to make new friends.

Me: I didn't mean to come off as rude, if you wanna be friends that's fine, it's just a bit creepy when you message me with accurate weather predictions. So where are you from then?

Bren: didn't you see my location?

Me: I find it doubtful you live on the moon.

Bren: to each their own, believe me or not :)

Me: Uh huh. You don't follow anyone how did you find me?

Bren: magic :)

Me: ok… Hey look, I need to get to bed. Goodnight

Bren: goodnight then. make sure to brush your teeth extra good, you don't want another cavity or John will get mad at you :)

Me: Ok wtf,, how the fuck do you know that??

Bren: oh, was I correct? It's been a good day for my guessing I suppose.

Me: I'm pretty sure you weren't guessing you fucking creep. Tell me who you are.

Bren: I'm bren :)

Me: message me again and I'll block you.

Bren: oh no, sarah :( upsetting you isn't something I would want to ever do. please let us start over. you should be good at forgiving now. after all your father put you through and you could still make amends with him. speaking of which, how is Steven these days? haven't seen him in a while. he hasn't stopped by in a while. :(

Me: IM GOING TO CALL THE POLICE. I DONT KNOW WHO THE FUCK YOU ARE OR HOW YOU KNOW THIS SHIT. BUT IF YOU ARE ANYWHERE NEAR ME YOURE GOING TO BE IN A JAIL CELL SOON.

Bren: please friend, calm down. I needed to get heading back home anyway, the moon gets lonely when I leave for long periods of time. I'll shine it extra bright for you tonight, to our new friendship :)

That was the last message I received. I was way too shaken up to even begin thinking about replying. I'm still pretty terrified.

Everything this "Bren" character said about my life is true. It was rainy all day where I live. Just last week I had to get a few fillings in my teeth after getting cavities, and my dentist, John, reprimanded me over it. My father left me at a very young age and it was only last year that he finally came back into my life and I forgave him. And Bren was right, it had been a while since my father, Steven, had been around. He usually visited my apartment daily, but he has been visiting family across the country for a little over two weeks now.

After this message fiasco, I decided to check Bren's page one more time. The account had only three posts. Two of them were made before Bren had messaged me for the first time.

"it'll be fine"

"see you soon"

And then there was one tweet made after our conversation.

"oh sarah, don't be mad at me. I'll see you again and I'll make it up, sending love to my new friend"

I've never been so confused in my life. I've never experienced a situation in which I was confronted with a potential stalker, or what could be much worse.

As I know this for sure will not be the end of it, I will update soon when Bren contacts me again.

Here are screenshots of the messages: https://imgur.com/a/7fR3N

As I'm writing this something does unsettle me quite a bit.

The moon is much, much brighter than usual.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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sending-the-message · 6 years

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I clear out apartments. by 0ccu1t

I want to document some of the strange and frankly terrifying things I've seen. Legally I can't name names, so any names will be changed. I service about ten different apartment complexes with more coming in every day, and my team consists of anywhere from six to fifteen people depending on the job load.

It's definitely not a boring job.

Last week one of my apartment complex's tenants passed away. He was an older man whose wife had died years earlier, and he had no children or family to speak of.

I had seen him before while cleaning out other apartments in that complex. He always stopped to say hello and shoot the breeze with me and my coworkers, and sometimes we offered him a few knick knacks left behind by tenants.

We were sad to hear that Mr. Burns had died and requested his apartment immediately. It felt right that we would be the ones to clean it out.

To say the guy was a hoarder would be an understatement. For such a seemly fellow his apartment was piled with newspapers, boxes, and other useless junk. Even getting halfway done took us nearly five days.

And then we reached his bedroom.

Bones were stacked to about knee height with a small passage to the bed and from the bed to the bathroom. Most were animal bones. Cats, dogs, some as small as rats.

But some of the bones were human. And every single bone had teeth marks in them. Every last one, from small finger bones to skulls looked as though they had been chewed upon.

Devin, one of my coworkers, wanted to call the police immediately, but we talked him out of it. We were horrified of course but we knew that if we called the police we wouldn't be able to get many more details. So we kept looking.

We eventually found several jars of teeth under his bed, each labeled with the species the teeth had come from. One simply had the label 'wife', and we counted every tooth to find a complete set.

"He seemed so... Nice," Devin said quietly. His voice nearly made me jump out of my skin, it was stunningly silent inside the apartment. No air-conditioning, and we hadn't seen a single television or phone or radio in the place. In fact, all of the electrical outlets had been stuffed with super glue.

We called the cops and the team recovered the bodies of seven human victims. Four adults and three children. All from different races, all different ages and later we found out that every single one had been a missing person case.

I'm not sure if I should keep this job anymore. It pays well, but with the stuff I've seen I'm not sure that it's even worth it anymore, and I'm sure that I'll find more horrible stuff as we go along.

I need a vacation.

When I have time I'll post some more shit me and my team have seen.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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sending-the-message · 6 years

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I murdered six women and got away with it. Or I thought I did. (Part 1) by CriticalMarine

This is an admission of guilt. My public defender told me not to write this, but I need to get it off my chest. I’ve asked him to transcribe it word for word and to share with whoever will believe me. Just know that I’m so sorry for all I’ve done. God forgive me.

From June 2012 to around April 2015, I killed six people. The first was an accident, I swear. I don’t even remember her name now. I think she went by Jamie, but I’ve been mistaken before. She was a hooker I picked up along I-10. Jamie said she could handle the violent stuff. That’s what had gotten me off at the time. Now she’s currently floating in Lake Pontchartrain. I weighed her down with an old Chevy engine block and dumped her over the bridge into Mandeville. If you sweep the river I’m sure you’ll find her.

While I was in high school I had gotten into heroin. For a few hours I’d feel something besides anger and disgust., the prevailing emotions in my pitiful life. The longer I kept using, the less euphoric each high was. When I had realized I had killed her, it was like that first high all over again. I had become the monster that Dateline would warn you about and I reveled in it.

The next five times couldn’t possibly live up to the first, but that wouldn’t stop me from chasing the dragon. They’re all hookers, probably reported missing somewhere. I made it quick for them, I promise. Its more than Jamie ever got.

They’re all out near the Mississippi River Trail. Maybe 15 in there’s a rock with people’s initials carved into it. Go off the trail and head due north. I didn’t bury them or anything, I liked looking at them too much. Maybe sometimes if I was feeling cautious I’d cover them up with some brush before I left, but sometimes I wanted them to be found. I laid them out in a neat row, arms resting on their chests. I wanted them to look presentable for when they’d meet God.

Bring some dogs and you’ll find them right away. What’s left of them.

I used to go there every day just to spend time with them. Each one was like the girlfriend I never had growing up, and I had five just for me. I never even knew their names. Trust me when I said they were as beautiful in death as they were in life. I can’t really say I ever really regretted much, but I regret not keeping Jamie there with them. They were my new heroin and I was addicted quick. The thrill of getting caught with five dead beautiful women scratched that certain itch for some reason. More than the act of killing them, surprisingly.

I knew I couldn’t keep them forever, but I tried to. I really did. But they were too far gone by the time I had made that choice, and I couldn’t keep them down. Not even cooked. I eventually settled for a lock of hair from each. If you look in my desk at home, you’ll find a secret compartment in the bottom right drawer. Look there. I had them for a few weeks, I’m not sure how long. Those days are kind of hazy. I remember sometimes I had to scare off the local wildlife. Other than that, life was good.

Until the maggots came.

At first it was just a few. Filthy scavengers trying to ruin everything. I tried to pluck them off, but they would just come back the next day. Even when I ate them, I’d find just as much the next visit.

I hated them with every fiber of my being, which sounds ridiculous now. This was my artwork, my escape, my fucking heroin. And here they were shitting all over it. Eventually I got desperate. I stole some chemicals to spray them down with. I had figured that would keep them off until winter. There was a small twinge of satisfaction as I watched the maggots futilely try to run from the noxious liquid. I was certain that I had won, so I enjoyed a lovely day with my lovely ladies. Sure, they were missing some chunks, but who doesn’t have some skin flaws? It was the last day I would have with them. Sometimes I had wished I had stayed just a little bit longer. I missed them something fierce. They were my girls, you know?

On my last venture out into the woods, something had felt off. An evil presence seemed to be hanging over my head. I hurried through the trail, ignoring any and everyone else along the way. I felt the need to protect them from whatever was wrong. Maybe it was the chemicals. Maybe if I hadn’t left, this never would’ve happened.

When I got to the ladies, they were covered in maggots. Head to toe. They were almost down to the bone. Various organs were clearly visible, although that wasn’t what bothered me. This wasn’t how I left them yesterday.

The bodies were twisted and distorted, and they were arranged in a semi-circle. It was if they had drunkenly danced all night and passed out on the forest floor. I vomited. I was sure someone had found my dumping spot, and that I was about to be caught. Somehow, I managed to stumble back. I don’t remember much from that walk. Have you ever been in a situation where you were certain you were going to die? But them somehow your miraculously survive. Imagine that feeling of impending doom. Except it didn’t go away. I thought that maybe the cops had found my site and were fucking with me. That any minute SWAT was going to come out of the woods and bring me straight to the electric chair. But they didn’t. I sat in my car for an hour before leaving.

Back then I didn’t have much money. I don’t now, but I didn’t then either. I used to boost cars and sell them to a chop shop. Something had to feed that vice of mine. Sometimes I’d keep a car for a few days before turning it in. It was one of those days. Of course, it was a Monday too, which was just the cherry on top. After I had pulled out of the trail, I was almost instantly stopped by highway patrol. Someone had reported an erratic man stumbling along the trail. Just my fucking luck.

My luck continued when Judge Freeman, a notorious hard-ass, was selected to preside over my case. The irony was not lost on me. I was sentenced to five years for Grand Theft Auto and sent here to Louisiana State Penitentiary to be rehabilitated. My first offense too.

Not long after I got here, I was involved in a nasty altercation. They tell me he’ll live, but not well. They started giving me some pills after my psyche eval, I don’t know what they’re called. I just took them when I was told to. Most days were “good” days, where I’d feel so much remorse for what I had done that I often contemplated putting myself down. Hell, I tried once. Guards only care about you living if they think they'll look bad after you die. Should’ve just left me hanging. Eventually they switched up my meds and took away my sheets. I even got the new cell to myself, since I don’t play nice with anyone.

I hid the new pills under my tongue and spit them out into the toilet when I got back in my cell. Once the old ones were out of my system I didn’t feel the need to kill myself anymore. All I had to do was kick back, and in five years I’d be back out. The first thing I had planned was to visit Judge Freeman. Life was good.

Until the maggots came.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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sending-the-message · 6 years

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Intercepted Radio Transmissions [Part 2] by grigorianeye

Part 1

King: Radio check, you guys got all your shit together? (Indistinct voices) Good. Command, you are now designated call sign “Kasparov”, confirm.

Kasparov: King, this is Kasparov, I confirm call sign designation. Are your men in position?

King: We are. Team, call signs as follows. Team leader designated “King”. Lieutenant, your call sign is “Queen”.

Queen: Of course I am. MVP role for me.

King: Fuck off. In sequence, “Rook”, “Bishop”, “White Knight”, “Black Knight”.

White Knight: Should I be insulted or honored?

King: And you, EOD, your call sign is designated “Boomer”.

Unknown Sender: (indistinct)

King: Your radio giving you trouble Boomer? Bishop, make sure all his connections are good, I don’t want him giving us the silent treatment.

Boomer: Testing, testing, can you hear me now? Ah, the joys of the lowest bidder.

King: Yeah, we got you. You ready to move in? Are we driving in your piece, or are we going to have to carry it?

Boomer: Negative, Talon can drive in, but we might need to give it a hand on the stairs.

King: Good deal. Kasparov, we are now entering the NALHC facility.

Kasparov: Confirmed, King. QRF is on standby inside the building. Aries Team is monitoring the facility cameras. Be advised, there are multiple blind spots inside due to damage to the camera security systems.

King: Very good. What kind of cameras are we talking?

Kasparov: Regular light. There are no low light or IR cameras online.

King: Well, that’s too bad. Rook, Bishop, take lead, secure the stairwell, Black Knight, White Knight, see if you can get the bot downstairs without dropping it. Bottom sub-basement. Hey you, you the Aries commander?

Aries 2-1: Second platoon, I’m commanding. We’ll be watching the cameras for you. We’ve had some unexplained movement on sub-basement 1, but… we’re having a difficult time identifying the source.

Queen: What do you mean?

Aries 2-1: Honestly, we aren’t sure. We’ve swept that floor three times. There’s no place to hide, but we keep getting flashes of movement on multiple camera angles.

King: Do you have any still images of it?

Aries 2-1: Wait one. (indistinct voices) Here’s four frames. It’s nothing but blur, we can’t make heads or tails of it.

King: The fuck? Only four frames? Where is that?

Aries 2-1: Only four. I don’t get it either, the cameras are running at thirty frames per, but it only shows up in flashes. It’s down in some of the equipment monitoring stations. Big open floor, a few support columns, but even those aren’t going to be any kind of cover. From the perspective, we think they’re about five feet, give or take. Whoever they are, they must be sticking close to the walls. Most of the cameras in that floor are still up.

Queen: When was the last time you had movement?

Aries 2-1: About 45 minutes ago. Just those four frames worth. Nearly twenty minutes before that. Six frames, even blurrier. It seems to be getting longer and longer between instances, and the amount of screentime is dropping, too. I think whoever it is, is trying to hide from the camera pos

Unknown sender: Goddamn it, slower!

King: Last calling, what’s up?

Rook: Rook here, sir. Tweedledee nearly pushed me down a flight.

White Knight: Maybe you should give me some warning before you stop dead in your tracks. I can’t exactly see behind me.

Queen: I’ll head down and deal with the children.

King: Anything on the cameras at the bottom?

Aries 2-1: Nothing. Cameras at the bottom are all blown out or otherwise unresponsive. We have full coverage of the surface level, partial of sub-basement one, and the stairwells and elevators are all online.

White Knight: Elevators? Are you shitting me, guy?

Black Knight: Quit crying and go to the gym more.

White Knight: Says the guy walking forward, and can see what he’s doing.

Black Knight: All I see is your ugly face, my feet are as blind as you are, asshole.

Queen: Would both of you just shut up and walk?

Aries 2-1: Wouldn’t matter, the elevators are locked down, only the cameras in them work. We still can’t get the override to let us into them. Where are you guys from, anyway?

King: We’re special delivery from Fort Carson, sorry it took so long for us to get here.

Queen: Sir, we’re in position. Boomer is setting up the Talon now.

King: Okay, let me know when he’s done. So explain to me what exactly is sitting in the basement.

Aries 2-1: You’d have to talk to Charon lead to get an accurate description. Don’t expect much though, they got pulled within a few minutes of contact. All I know, big silver ball right where the reaction or collision, or whatever it was happened. Weird things though, is they heard singing. One guy swore it was Italian, but someone else on the team was sure it wasn’t. Weirdest thing though, the thing was basically a mirror, but no one could see their reflection in it.

King: What do you mean?

Aries 2-1: Whole room was reflected in the thing, but none of our team was showing up. One of the survivors from the top floor was trying to suggest that was some of the liquid helium coolant, but he couldn’t explain that bit.

White Knight: Couldn’t we have just called in an old priest and a young priest?

Queen: I swear to God, I will have you dusting the dirt when we get back up topside if you don’t shut up.

White Knight: Sorry, sir. Should we pray to Heinlein instead?

Queen: King, Boomer has the bot set up and ready to roll in. We’re ready to crack the doors whenever you say go. White Knight has lead.

White Knight: Oh, come on LT.

King: On the way down. Hold for me.

Queen: Got it sir. Rook, Bishop, stack up. Tweedledee and Tweedledum, take a knee behind the bot, get ready to cover.

Black Knight: Serious, boss? You’re gonna lump me in with him?

Queen: I didn’t pick the call signs, but they’re fitting nicely so far.

King: Says the Queen.

Queen: Goddamn it, Captain. You here yet? I want to get this over with. I’m not hearing any singing, but I’m properly creeped.

Rook: You don’t?

Queen: Do you?

Rook: I’m not hearing singing, but there’s some real faint musical something coming through. You really don’t hear it?

Queen: Nothing. Anyone else hearing it?

Black Knight: I hear something, but it’s not singing, and I really wouldn’t call it music.

King: Okay, here. Boomer, you ready to roll?

Boomer: Ready.

King: Rook, Bishop, pull the doors, let’s get this show moving. Kasparov, we are moving in on the epicenter.

Kasparov: King, you are a go.

King: Boomer, the floor is yours. Let’s see what’s in the box.

Boomer: Moving the Talon in. Kasparov, are you seeing the visual feed from the bot?

Kasparov: We see it. Video shows the orb, but there seems to be some rather serious distortion around it. Is that just the video feed or are you seeing the same distortion in person?

Boomer: I see something, but damned if I can define it. Looks kinda like a heat wave off a hot road. Okay, Talon is now four meters from the orb. Readings are normal, but it looks like there a sharp temperature drop the closer it gets.

King: Drop? It’s getting colder?

Boomer: Here, look at the feed. It’s dropping a degree or two every foot.

Queen: Does that mean it really is just the helium coolant? What’s making it go all “Sphere” on us? And where are the reflections?

King: How cold is the surrounding area right there? Can we move in closer?

Boomer: Don’t see why not. It’s cooler than here, but we’re not talking Arctic storm.

King: Rook, Bishop, move around, see if you can get behind the orb, see what you can see.

Rook: Moving.

Boomer: Contact. Okay, so the surface of that thing is sitting at a brisk 55 Fahrenheit, 11.1 Celsius. Doesn’t seem to be any sort of skin on the thing, seems liquid all right. No sign of what’s suspending it, or what’s causing it to hold its shape.

King: Gotta be something at the center holding it like that. Maybe the collider created something, I heard some old conspiracy theories before that they were worried CERN might make a black hole. Rook, Bishop, what you got for me?

Bishop: Nothing back here sir, except some busted equipment. One weird thing though, I think the orb might have been a bit bigger when it first formed. There are some pretty clear indications that something scooped out anything that was near it. I think it might have eaten it when it popped into existence.

King: Good to know. Get back over here, I don’t want you near that thing when we send in the Talon.

Rook: Moving back to you

W Knight: Uh… sir? Look at where the Talon is making contact. It looks like veins or something.

Boomer: Pretty sure that’s just temperature flux from the Talon. Looks pretty though. Sorta like a Christmas tree ball or something. Silver with blue whorls.

King: Kasparov, permission to proceed?

Kasparov: Confirmed, you have authorization to see what Talon can find inside the center of that orb.

W Knight: How many licks do you think it’ll take?

King: Boomer, the floor is yours. Let’s see what we can see.

Boomer: Breaching surface. Video feed is good, manipulation arms in place. There doesn’t seem to be any sort of resistance to it.

Aries 2-1: Kasparov, be advised, we have movement on Sub-basement 1 again. Charon Team is requesting permission to take up positions in the main room on that floor.

Kasparov: Acknowledged, Aries 2-1, tell Charon they have permission to take positions. Tell them to make sure they’re carrying lethal arms this time.

King: Knight, set up and watch our back until Charon is in place. I don’t want any surprises, and I don’t like this timing.

W Knight: Me or him?

King: Both.

Boomer: Uh, something’s wrong. Talon has advanced 20 feet, but there’s no sign of the center. I think I might have driven it all the way through the orb. I’m just a few feet away from the wall now.

King: What? Queen, take Rook and circle around, we’ll try to guide it back in and find out what’s holding this thing together.

Queen: Gotcha, moving.

Aries 2-1: Kasparov, King, be advised, Charon teams have taken up position, your back is secure.

King: Appreciate it Aries. They see anything?

Charon 1-1: See, no. But it looks like a tornado went through here. Papers all over the place and chairs and desks have been pushed back. No footprints in the ash though, so I have no idea how.

Queen: Sir, uh, Talon hasn’t made it through this side.

Boomer: What? It must have, I’ve given it 25 feet of cord, it should be right up against the far wall.

Queen: Afraid not. It’s not through.

Boomer: Fuck’s sake. I can see it on the feed. It’s moved out of the orb. I can move it a little more and wave to mys-

(Brief silence)

Boomer: Something’s wrong. I can’t see any of us on the video feed.

King: I’m sorry, what?

Boomer: Look. There’s the desk, there’s the doors, there’s the racks, but no us.

B Knight: The hell?

W Knight: So we in the Twilight Zone or something?

King: Kasparov, this is King. I’m moving up to the orb.

Kasparov: That is strongly disadvised, King.

King: Noted. Queen, you’re in charge if something goes wrong.

Queen: Sir, I’m pretty sure we should hold off on that, we don’t know what the orb did to Talon.

King: At the surface of the orb now. It’s kinda chilly. Uh, doesn’t feel wet. Actually, doesn’t feel like anything, it’s like an air bubble. I’m inside now

Kasparov: King, be advised, we have lost your visual feed, I say again, we have no access to your visual feed.

Queen: We’re still seeing Talon video, what’s up with his?

Boomer: Talon has a cable, doesn’t rely on wireless transmission.

King: Okay, I’m fully through and out, walking around. (brief silence noted here) That’s really unsettling. I can see the Talon, but I don’t have eyes on my team. Moving forward to the door.

Boomer: Okay, we have King on the visual feed from Talon.

Queen: Jesus. He should be right next to us. What the fuck is this shit?

King: Holy mother of God. This isn’t right. Guys, look at this shit.

Queen: Sir, we’re coming in there to join you. Boomer, hold this position. Kasparov, come in.

Kasparov: Queen, this is Kasparov, send it.

Queen: We’re moving into the orb and going to support King. You’ll lose our video feed shortly.

Kasparov: What did King find, we’re blind here.

Queen: He found a flag.

King: Not just any flag. It’s a Kriegsmarine flag, but it’s in red, white and blue. Old Glory is sitting top left quadrant, but there’s an iron cross in the circle. The other quadrants are red, white and blue.

W Knight: You found what? That’s not possible.

King: There’s something else. There’s a plaque on the wall. Reads “For the advancement of the great Holy American Empire”. Something is very off here. It looks like this place hasn’t been touched in years. It’s filthy, much worse than just the ash in, uh, “our” facility.

Charon 1-1: Break, break, something is happening on sub-basement 1. Something in the far corner of the cubicle farm just turned on a light. Negative movement.

King: Hold up. There’s some footprints here in the dirt in the stairwell. I can’t identify them, one set, looks like it’s from something heavy. Shit. Oh, shit, this looks recent.

Queen: Knights, you’re with me, Bishop, Rook, hold positions until we give you the go ahead. King: do not move, we’re coming to you.

King: I’m moving up the stairwell. Tracks are going down, but I don’t see any going up.

W Knight: Can the fucker hear us? Captain, hold up, we’re moving in to support.

Queen: I don’t think comms are making it. Alright, double time this, no one goes anywhere alone, we gotta meet up with him.

King: At sub basement one. This place looks like it’s been deserted for decades. Some foot marks in the dirt. Can’t say what they belong to though. Some sort of biped though, from what I can see. Oh shit. I found a calendar. The last page torn off says July 11th. From 1999.

Queen: We’ve passed through the fracture, I have eyes on Talon. Captain, can you hear me now?

King: Queen? Yeah, I read you. Get up here, you have to see this to believe it.

Rook: Queen, this is Rook. Charon team is here with Boomer, we’re moving on your position now, stand by.

(brief silence, static)

Queen: Oh yeah, this isn’t creepy at all. There any notes? Anything written on any of the calendars? Spread out, see if you can find anything to paint us a picture.

Unconfirmed Sender (believed to be Black Knight): Did you hear that? Shit, something’s above us.

King: Positions, we’re pushing up to the ground floor, Knights, you’re on me. Queen, hold back with Rook and Bishop until we breach the top door, then follow us up. Safeties off, gentlemen.

(approximately 30 seconds of silence, followed by a loud bang)

King: Sweep forward, check your corners. Queen, move up.

Queen: Moving.

Rook: Jesus, what is this, the American Pripyat? Every pane of glass is busted out, looks like a mob came through here. Front door is wide open.

King: Cover me, Black Knight, left side, White Knight, stay on my ass. I’m moving to the door.

W Knight: Gotcha boss.

(brief silence)

King: The fuck? Okay, yeah this place has officially moved into permanent residence in the Twilight Zone. Kasparov, we are not in Kansas, I say again, we are not in Kansas.

Unknown Sender: Fucking Christ! Man down!

(Automatic gunfire is heard through radio)

Unknown Sender: Kill it! Stagger fire, move back to the door! No, fucking drag him back, Collins, go cyclic, I don’t give a shit if you melt the barrel, don’t let it move!

Kasparov: Last calling station, report.

Charon 1-1: This is Charon, we have two… No, three men down! Something is in here, Sub-basement 1, I can’t say what, I don’t have eyes on it!

Aries 2-1: There’s nothing on the feed, I don’t see jack shit!

Charon 1-1: We’re pulling out, I can’t even say for sure that we hit it! Everyone take positions on the door, do not let it through, we’re gonna seal the door shut until we-

(Screams, further gunfire)

Kasparov: All callsigns this net, instructions to follow. Chessboard, hold position, Aries, move a secondary team into position to support callsign Boomer. All Bia callsigns, move to sub-basement 1, your orders are to shoot on sight. More to follow.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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sending-the-message · 6 years

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You complete me by blankdreamer

My earliest and best friend from childhood, Mark, was the complete opposite of me. I think that’s why we got on so well. He was incredibly smart and an utter book worm. I would drag him outside to play and explore the world and he would tell me why trees grew the shape they did or describe the entomology of the bugs we caught. We swore when little even if we split up later in life we would write letters to each other regularly. I know letter writing is old fashioned but a childhood pact is a childhood pact. Even though Mark worked around the world as a high-energy particle physicist, we have (by and large) written to each other once a month consistently. However Marks letters have taken a strange turn recently that has me concerned and I wanted to see what others thought:

23 January 2017

Happy New Year Buttface! I’m concerned for you Hazza. Can’t believe you fell for one of those icky girls. Yuck. Brooke sounds like a great girl for you. Don’t screw this one up you schmuck. I shouldn’t tell you this as its classified but I am BURSTING! We’ve have a major breakthrough at Cern in our search for the Higgs-Boson particle with the Large Hadron Collider – you know the one the media call the "God Particle" (eye roll) because it adds mass to matter. We think we found the damn thing! It will be months before we can release any confirmation or data publicly so for gods sake (heh heh) keep it under you hat Harold or I’ll give you an atomic wedgey next time I see you. Write soon Hazman.

25 February 2017

Loved your last letter my friend. That Brooke is sticking around hey. Good for you dork. Our research on the Higgs-Boson is not as straight forward as we thought. It’s providing some strange data that doesn’t fit our model. But that is science for you – our models are always only temporary as we dig deeper into reality. I find myself getting frustrated and grumpy which is really unlike me. Anyway take care you slob and let me know how your work is going.

19 March 2017

Things sound like they are going great for you H. I’m jealous. Can’t remember the last time I had a girl. Makes me a bit angry when I think of how stuck up the women here are. There is a lot of tension at the facility at the moment. We think the particle we discovered is not the Higgs-Boson now. It’s way too different. We are all working at fever pitch on it. We come in on our days off and some even sleep in the lab. We are all suddenly possessed with a craving to discover what this damned particle is.

5 May 2017

H-man – I actually got into fist fight the other day. Yes me! Me! One of my colleagues, Watson, was trash talking my hypothesis on the particle (he says he was just critiquing it with a colleague) and I confronted him. Things got heated he pointed his finger at me, I pushed him lightly, he pushed me back and then I DECKED HIM. Seriously. One punch and the little wuss went down. I still can’t believe I did it. After speaking with HR they put it down to overwork and stress and have strongly recommended a month’s leave. But I spoke to my manager and we both agreed I needed to keep working as we feel we are right on the verge of a breakthrough with this particle. And you know something? I’m kind of proud of what I did. I freaking enjoyed smacking down that fuckwit Watson with the hot wife and nice suit. Even though my hand hurts the feeling of pain and humiliation I inflicted on him felt damn good. I might try and chat up his hottie of a wife next time she’s in. I’m sure she gave me a come-on look the other day.

18 July 2017

Sorry I haven’t written for a while Harold but we’ve had a HUGE BREAKTHROUGH! You know how I’ve told you that there is both matter and anti-matter in the universe? How every particle has an opposite? Well we think – only think at this stage mind you – that what we discovered is actually the anti-particle for the Higgs-Boson. We nick-named it the “Devil Particle”. Yes, not in the slightest bit witty but hey we are scientists – what do you expect? You should have seen the meeting where we tried to award credit to who discovered it. 20 scientists all wrestling and punching each other in the conference room like a WWE royal rumble. You think I’m exaggerating but I’m not. It was insane. I’ve got a black eye and bruised knuckles on both hands. When we got our sanity back we all agreed not to make any complaints to HR or the police so we can keep our work going. Ps I fucked Watsons wife. She was well up for it the little slut.

6 September 2017

I’ve just come from the police station Harold. My colleague Watson was found dead. He was found hanged in his home. The police presume suicide but wanted to talk to all his colleagues. I won’t pretend I have much sympathy for him. I hated him. A strange thing I’ve found Harold. It’s amazing what strength you have when you really hate someone. Hate is kind of thrilling. Its lets you take care of problems quickly and easily without the worry of “morals” or “ethics”. Write soon if you wish.

27 November 2017

Dark Matter. Dark Energy. You won’t know much about this being quite stupid yourself Harold. This anti-particle we found is powerful. More powerful than anyone dared dreamed of. Unlimited energy, unlimited power. I am sure it is what makes up the 70% of unknown matter and energy in universe. Darkness is what the universe is made of Harold. And hence so are we. Darkness is the truth. The pitiful sparks of stars in the sky are immensely outweighed by the darkness between them. I have become as cold and as empty as the space between the stars. It is what tears things down and destroys that has the true power. Something is growing inside me, taking me over, and changing my atoms. I feel a huge sense of destiny. I have a strange rash on my forehead. I swear I can see a 6 in it.

25 December 2017

It is very late Harold. I have the laboratory to myself. I am going to go into the particle collider and turn it on. This should kill me and in a way it will. My body shall be crucified on this technological cross. But I have faith I shall be reborn. My particles become anti-particles. My true self shall emerge. Merry Anti-Christmas Harold.

NEWSPAPER REPORT dated 2 January 2018

Massacre at Cern Laboratories, Switzerland

18 Scientists were found massacred yesterday at Cern Laboratories in Geneva Switzerland. Cern is the European research organization that operates the largest particle physics laboratory in the world including the Large Hadron Collider (LHC). The area is sealed off as police investigate. A cleaner who discovered the bodies spoke to our reporter. She claims that the scientist’s bodies were torn apart and disemboweled. Some bodies were pinned to the wall with steel shafts. There were strange phrases in an unknown language written in blood on the walls.

28 January 2018 [This letter is written in a dark substance]

It is now the year prophesied. The Beast has risen from the earth. I am the destroyer. I shall summon a dark age for mankind. Pathetic human laws will have no place. Blood, sacrifice, pain and torment shall be the rulers of this world.

I remember you told me when we first became friends Harold that we would do amazing things together. I was the smartest kid in the world you said, but I needed you to take action in the world and change it. You didn’t say whether it would change for the better or worse. As kids, what first attracted me to you Harold was your goodness. You were kind, you would stick up for kids against bullies and try to help people when you could. And you know what they say. Opposites attract. Join me my old friend, and let us rule together. Don’t bother writing. I shall see you soon.

Little children, it is the last hour: and as you have heard that Antichrist cometh, even now there are become many Antichrists: whereby we know that it is the last hour. — 1 John 2:18

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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sending-the-message · 6 years

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My friend has been living in an alternate reality - (Part 11) by Mr_Outlaw_

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

ENTRY 34:

It’s been really quiet around here after the drone incident. Everybody seemed a bit confused at first. Although Smoker tried explaining the nature of Neo-Civitus to them, they didn’t seem to want to believe him. It took a few other people with knowledge of the place to finally convince everybody that this was not good news. Smoker also went on to explain that the drones meant they could be coming in weeks… or years. In other words, we could never anticipate their arrival. I asked him why they’d even be interested in this place at all.

“Resources. Colonization” He told me. “Most likely resources, though.”

He seemed incredibly worried as he told me this, but I couldn’t understand why. I mean, if the only thing that they were after were some resources, then we’d just let them take it, right? No problems there.

“No.” He said sternly. “They don’t work like that. You see, nobody likes giving up their shit to an invading force, right? But nobody would ever even bother fighting back if they knew what kind of power Neo-Civitus has. Problem is… most people just don’t. That’s why they always retaliate at first. The battle never lasts very long.

He sighed, pausing for a bit before continuing. “Here’s the thing with Neo-Civitus… there’s never any paperwork with them. No deals, no negotiations, nothing. Wherever they go, they eliminate the native population, no questions asked. It’s just simpler that way. Besides… most islands that they land on are incredibly hostile, anyways. There’s no risks being taken with them.”

However, even as everybody started to prepare for the oncoming assault, Smoker just scoffed at them. “There’s no point.” He explained. “Once they land, we’re all dead. It's hopeless.”

“So what are you going to do? Just give up, let ‘em kill you?” I asked him.

He furrowed his brow. “Nah… I’ll be long gone before they arrive. There’s a lot of dignified ways to die. But fighting a pointless battle… that just ain’t one of them. I’ll have a better chance out there as opposed to staying here.”

Carrying nothing but a small sack of rations, one rifle and a few knives, he left just a few days later. He didn’t tell us where he was going. But... I'm pretty sure that he wasn't sure himself. Before his departure, he asked me if I wanted to join him. Despite the grim reality that seemed to be waiting for me, I declined his offer. I suppose that there was just a small part of me that thought he was bullshitting about this whole thing. But in retrospect, that didn’t make any sense. I guess I just didn’t want to deal with the horrors out there on this island. I guess I’m just taking my chances.

But… Kunz did eventually recover yesterday. So I guess that’s good news.

ENTRY 35:

A few more months have passed. At this point, we’ve prepared to the best of our abilities. However… Smoker’s words still linger for me.

“There’s no point”.

What if he’s right? Hell, why would he be lying? He left for fuck’s sake.

What’s worse is that nobody’s really explained it to Jolan yet. She’s confused as to why everybody’s so tense these days. She knows that we might have to fight some people sooner or later, but she has no idea what the scale of it just might be. I should break the news to her but… I really don’t want to.

ENTRY 36:

A few more months have passed, but we’ve finally come up with something. Smoker said that they’re most likely coming here for resources, right? Well this place is filled to the brim with zombies and other shit. That’ll pose a nuisance for sure. Not the ideal area to harvest/mine. You see, the creatures here are mostly attracted to sound. The more we make, the more congested the ground below us seems to be. So here’s the plan:

We’ve stockpiled plenty of food already, enough to last us months. We’ll start creating a lot of noise and draw a massive crowd of them over. The idea here is that once Neo-Civitus sees this, they’ll deem the effort to not be worth it and just leave us alone. It might work… actually I have no idea. It’s worth a shot, at least.

ENTRY 37:

It’s going to happen soon. A few hours ago, about three more drones flew over. Two seemed to be mapping out the forests and surrounding areas while the 3rd hovered around where we were. We didn’t bother shooting it down this time. We wanted it to see the hordes of undead piled at the base of our towers. We wanted to convince them to call everything off right there. They left about five minutes after they came, so that’s probably good news. Now we just wait and see.

ENTRY 38:

I don’t know how long it’s been since that last entry. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I don’t even know where I am. Fuck…

It was about a week since we sighted those three drones when they finally came. Now… I don’t know what I was expecting. What the hell anybody was expecting, for that matter. We were prepared to come face to face with the fucking cavalry. An army, if you will. But no. It was a single goddamn aircraft. I could barely comprehend what it even looked like. It was futuristic, but not in the traditional sense of the word. It was alien. Otherworldly. Not big, but beyond functional. It nearly resembled some kind of pod and moved with such smoothness you’d think that it was being controlled remotely.

As the shiny vehicle descended onto the shore about a quarter mile away from us, it started getting swarmed. It just sat there for maybe about five minutes. At that point, it had become buried underneath a pile of undead flesh. We were optimistic for a second. We couldn’t fathom how they were getting out of that. But then we witnessed the solution.

The sound was sharp at first, gradually devolving into a low hum. The pod emitted a light so bright that we all had to avert our eyes for a few seconds. When we returned our perception to the shore, we all went into a collective shock. The zombies had been cleared out. But that’s an understatement. They were eviscerated. No limbs, no bones, nothing. Just a red mist lingering in the air around it. We didn’t even know how to react. The undead that had been surrounding our towers started trudging their way over to the shore, attracted by the noise.

The doors to the space-age machine opened up. Out stepped three figures. Just three. That was it. They looked to be wearing some kind of armor. But they weren’t the massive, clunky kind that the guards at the prison had. Like the ship that they came in, it was advanced beyond our comprehension. They were sleek, black suits that seemed to bend and twist perfectly with every subtle movement they made. Their helmets resembled futuristic gas-masks, with two large circular eye holes that glowed with a menacing shade of red. The rifles they were carrying looked compact and deadly. They were also a very strange color – a dark bluish-green that seemed reflect every source of light that bounced off of it.

They walked for about five seconds before ascending into the air. It looked so seamless. Their boots didn’t even seem to have any thrusters, so it was unclear how this was possible. As they floated towards us, they dropped tiny blue orbs onto the ground below. As soon as they landed, every zombie within our perceivable vicinity appeared to start being electrocuted. Albeit, not for long. They dropped in seconds. As the stench of burning rotten flesh filled the air, the super-soldiers descended onto our towers. One landed just a few feet away from me. I saw what I assumed to be his name and position etched onto the barrel of his weapon – CPT. RIZZER. I caught of a glimpse of his suit up close. It was more intricate than I initially thought. It looked more like an EXO-skeleton than anything. It was outfitted with pistols and Tasers, amongst other things. There was writing on his chest. In big white letters, it read:

“NEO-CIVITUS: RECON DIV. 34”

He was also larger than any human I’d ever seen before. Larger than the Warden, even. He must have been around 9 feet tall.

They didn’t move at first, seemingly just observing us. At this point, I was holding onto Jolan tight. I also exchanged glances with Kunz, Lauren and Kagenori. It was almost a silent acknowledgement. We’d been through so much together. If these were our last moments alive, we wanted to make sure that we recognized this. I wasn't even prepared for what happened next.

Before I even had time to react, I looked in front of me to see the barrel of Rizzer’s weapon aimed directly at me. Or so I thought it was. I closed my eyes, bracing for bullets that were surely about to penetrate my skin. I heard the harsh automatic buzz of the rifle, but I felt no pain. Instead, I only heard screaming from all around me. And warm liquid soaking into the side of my shirt. I knew what it was. I looked down at Jolan’s limp upper body. Apparently, the rounds were so strong that they had cut her in half. Without being given even a second of time to grief, I felt a sharp, numbing sensation in my thigh. It eventually started to make its way up through my hips and then into my shoulder. I fell to the floor, hitting my head hard as I did. While I could still feel everything above my neck, everything below that seemed to be out of commission. I couldn’t even turn away from the horrific sights in front of me. They were killing en masse - women, the elderly, even children, without remorse.

A few minutes later, they picked up the ones they deemed fit enough to survive and tossed us onto a single tower. Everybody else seemed to be affected by the paralyzing agent as well. I could see Kunz and Kagenori out of the corners of my eyes… but no Lauren. We watched as the three soldiers walked around on the ground, planting what looked like small charges into the dirt. By this time, more zombies had wandered their way into the settlement area, but the soldiers didn’t even seem to acknowledge them. The creatures would bite and scratch against their armor, but it would do less than nothing. Eventually, the soldiers stepped back and one of them projected a hologram out of his wrist. I couldn’t tell what exactly he was looking at, but I had an idea. He pressed some virtual buttons before holding up five fingers. Once they were all down, a mind-jolting explosion echoed through the air. Bits of dirt and zombie entrails flew everywhere, pelting us in the face.

When the smoke cleared, we looked back down to see an enormous black pit in place of what was once solid ground. However, as I looked at it even closer, I realized that it wasn’t empty space. It was bubbling. It was liquid. The first thought that popped into my head was oil. That was a good a guess as any, after all. Soon after, one of the soldiers flew back up to the tower we were involuntarily sitting in. It was Rizzer again. He took out a large syringe-looking device filled with dark-red liquid.

“Don’t squirm. This’ll hurt a lot.”

He injected it into a few guys sitting around me before I finally felt the needle plunge into my forearm. What followed was an intense burning sensation that seemed to last forever. However, I seemed to be gaining the feeling back into my limbs as well. A few of us tried escaping, but were shot down without hesitation. The rest of us just sat tight. After he had finished up with everybody, he addressed us directly.

“You have two options here. Die… or do manual labor. Seems pretty obvious to me. You guys might be pissed right now… but let me tell you that I do not give a fuck. These things happen.”

As it turns out, we were forced to pump the dark liquid through tubes connected to this elaborate looking machine and then transfer them into metal barrels and then finally load them onto a larger aircraft that would come around once a week. However, the liquid itself was a lot less viscous than oil. It also seemed to be bubbling indefinitely. Safe to say, I had no idea what it was. I still don’t.

The only good thing that came out of this was that the soldiers had set up a moderate sized electric barrier around our settlement as to stop any additional creatures from interfering with our work. However, we also weren’t getting out. They also provided us with food. Unsurprisingly, they were just more energy bars. However... these at least tasted decent. Other than that though… it was absolute hell. It was prison all over again. By the time the first month had expired, almost half of us had committed suicide. In an apparent attempt to combat this, one of the soldiers announced that once we’d finished up, we would be given a place to stay in Neo-Civitus. Most of us seemed to buy it, because worker morale skyrocketed right after he’d said that. However… I didn’t. I’d always been good at reading people. And they were full of shit. They weren’t planning on taking us back with them. They were going to waste us as soon as they’d gotten enough of that damn liquid. That was the only outcome that could have been waiting for us.

I don’t know why I didn’t just end it myself. Blind hope, I suppose. But it was also something else. By all odds, I should’ve been dead at that point. Everybody around me seemed to be biting the dust, but I was still alive somehow. I shouldn’t have been. I still shouldn’t be. Something must have been working in my favor. Whether it was some kind of divine intervention or just dumb luck was irrelevant. It was doing the job for me. This train of thought kept me going. Somehow, I was getting out of this alive.

Turns out… I was right.

I don’t know how much time had gone by when it happened. Must have months, at the very least. Or a year. I don’t really know.

One day, we were working away when we started to feel the ground rumbling beneath our feet. We looked at the crater of liquid. At that point, we’d depleted a considerable amount of it. It must have been at least a few meters lower than when we started. The rumbling only got more severe. The Soldiers themselves didn’t seem to know what was going on. Eventually, it got to the point where we could barely stand up. The soldiers lifted into the sky, trying to make sense of it. The ground finally settled a few minutes later. All was still again. Without knowing what else to do, they just instructed us to go back to pumping. However, as soon as we flipped on the machine again, the ground beneath us started cracking.

We all stepped away on instinct. Suddenly, an enormous black creature burst of out the ground. I stumbled back, but got a better look at it in the process. It was a massive worm-like thing with slimy black flesh and sharp appendages sticking out at various angles. It burst into the air, lunging up at one of the surprised soldiers. At that point, all hell broke loose. The worm was followed by another. And then another. During the chaos, I remembered something. I had hidden the last few shards from the prison in a hidden compartment on one of the towers.

I rushed up there to look for it. I found it just as soon as the tower started collapsing. I cut myself mere moments before hitting the ground again. I looked up, witnessing the surreal scene in front of me. My fellow prisoners were mostly dead, being swallowed up by the worms at a torrid pace. I saw Kunz trying to hop over the now-broken electrical barrier before being cut open by one of their appendages. The three soldiers were throwing everything that they had at the creatures, shooting them down one-by-one. But they just kept coming up. As I was taking all of this in, something hit me from behind and flung me into a tree. As I lifted myself back up, I saw one of the soldiers being overwhelmed. The two others seemed to shout something to each other before one of them took a rectangular device off of his belt. He pressed one of the buttons on it before tossing it down onto the ground. As soon as he did this, they flew out of there, leaving their fellow soldier behind.

At first, I thought the device was going to be an explosive of sorts. I couldn’t have been more wrong. I watched as it opened up and a dark-purple light began emanating out of it. It started growing and growing, engulfing the surrounding area. I started running when I realized that it wasn’t stopping. However, as soon as I got up, I felt myself being tugged backwards. I turned around, expecting to see one of the soldiers, but there was nothing there. Just the purple void getting ever so bigger. I fell to the ground, clawing at the soil as I was sucked into an unknown fate. As the light consumed me, I felt weightless for a second. However, I couldn’t breathe. I looked around, only to see dark, vague shapes floating around me in a sea of purple nothingness. After about maybe twenty seconds, I blacked out.

I awoke an unknown amount of time later, face down in what I assumed to be sand. I groggily got up and looked around… but I could barely see in front of me. I was surrounded by what appeared to be a heavy, orange fog. It was pretty evident that I was in some sort of desert, but every other detail was obscured. I only realized that my hearing was gone when it started to come back. That’s when I heard the sounds of distant screams all around me.

Suddenly, I could make out a shape in the distance. It was hard to tell what it was, but it seemed to be getting closer to me. Getting too close. It was one of those worms that had burst out of the ground. I jumped out of the way just in time to avoid it as it lunged towards me. I scrambled backwards, as it buried into the sand. It slithered around, trying to regain its bearings before it seemed to locate me. As it tried to lunge at me again, it looked as if it was being held back by something. It tried a few more times before a heavy, guttural roar emanated from somewhere just behind it. Suddenly, the worm was dragged backwards and out of my sight. I didn’t catch a glimpse of what did it.

I got up and started running away, but I really had no idea where I was going. Hell, I didn’t know what the fuck this place even was. About every step I’d take, I’d hear these ungodly sounds coming from every angle around me. Every time I’d see a moving shape in the distance, I’d change directions. It took a while, but I finally stumbled upon a ramshackle cabin – it was the first indication that humans must exist somewhere in this place. It was old and rotting, but I was tired as hell, so I decided to go in and take refuge for a while. To my surprise, there was a bed in there, along with a pail of water in the corner. Although it was warm from the boiling temperature outside, it tasted like heaven to me.

That’s where I am right now. After writing this down, I’m going to need to pass out. I’m so tired. I don’t know how the fuck I got here. Maybe that device the soldier threw down was a teleportation mechanism of sorts? Fucking hell… then where did it take me to?

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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sending-the-message · 6 years

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My cousin spent the night by jlozier891

I don’t know where to share this story, I hope this place is appropriate

Me and my cousin were very close. He was 4 years younger then me, but he felt like a close friend then a relative. I was 13 in the summer of 97. My cousin was only 9, and his father was off in New York for a week working on business. He had came over a couple of times over the years, but he was always deathly afraid of my house. It was the either the third or fourth week in June when he came over. He had three bags packed, one for day clothes, one for night clothes, one for just random crap his dad thought he might’ve needed. We stayed upstairs through the day, we didn’t do much but read comics and magazines. Night came quick for a summer day, and at 12 we got into bed. I had troubles sleeping as a kid. I needed someone to be in the room or awake for me to fall asleep, and considering I was an only child, it brought peace to me that my cousin was in the room.

I woke up randomly in the night. The only thing illuminating my room was the alarm clock on my night stand. The numbers read 2:32am, and my cousin was sound asleep. My stomach began to hurt, my throat swelled up dry. I was incredibly hungry and thirsty, and I pushed on my cousin to wake up. He did, and I told him what was wrong. We walked out into the dark hallway. He skipped and bolted around in the pitch black hall. He chuckled and hit my arm then ran into another room. I reached out to grab him, and I called out his name to get him to stop. I couldn’t risk my parents waking up and making us go to bed early tomorrow. He followed me back downstairs, and my eyes slowly began to adjust to the darkness. I poured a glass of water, and I remember grabbing a pop tart or a granola bar or something. From the corner of my eye I saw my cousin again, he was standing in the living room. His short frame was the only thing visible in the darkness. I told him it was time to go upstairs. I remember his response to this day. It was cold, like someone just told him he was going to die tomorrow. “I’m going to sleep down in the basement tonight” I was confused, and a little scared. If my cousin was sleeping in the basement, that means I would have to sleep down there as well.

He lead the way, and the first step he took my stomach dropped. My jaw felt tight and locked, my eyes started to become fuzzy. This felt wrong, very wrong. I told him to suit himself, and I walked slowly and quietly back upstairs. I didn’t sleep well that night, I remember seeing in the corner of my room my cousin standing there watching me, by every time I looked over he would vanish. I woke up that morning to a loud cry and a sob. My mother was in my room, in her hands my cousins body. The police came later, told my family he died in his sleep, he accidentally suffocated himself. But what they told me next keeps me up till the late hours at night. They claimed that he died at 1:32am

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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sending-the-message · 6 years

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My son has been missing since Christmas and I just found something disturbing in his room by thirtysixCF

I believe it goes without saying that every parent's worst nightmare is to lose their children.

One month and two days ago, that nightmare became a reality for me as I took a single bite of Santa's cookie and went upstairs to wake my two boys up. My youngest, Clyde, had already been awake and sitting patiently on his bed, eagerly awaiting my signal to head downstairs and start opening gifts. This was not all too surprising, what twelve and seven year old boys sleep in on Christmas morning?

What was surprising was that Jack's bed was empty. He was nowhere to be found, despite my tucking him in his bed and wishing him a good night around 9pm the previous night.

The detectives are supposedly still investigating but I am fully aware of the horrifying statistic that after the first 48 hours of being missing, the chances of finding my son become very slim. I'm also quite sure that they still consider me a suspect, although their initial investigation failed to prove that.

Earlier today, while helping Clyde with his math homework, I threw one of his little nerf footballs across the room and after a couple bounces, it became lodged between the wall and Jack's bed. I walked on over and pulled the bed away from the wall a few feet to retrieve it, and that's when I noticed the loose floorboard.

I don't understand how this was missed by both myself and the detectives that scoured his room, but it was quite obvious once I did notice it. I believe what I found in there may have something to do with Jack's disappearance.

Being a single father of two and working a full time job left me very little time, especially around the holidays, to carry on the many different Christmas traditions that I had as a child. So on the first day of December, when I first saw the little raggedy-looking elf on the shelf, I was very impressed that Jack had took it upon himself to start this tradition for his little brother. When I had first asked him about it, his demeanor changed drastically and he demanded that no one ever touch the elf. I left it at that, after all, the story says the elf will lose its magic if touched by a human. I didn't want to ruin it for Clyde so I just played along. Each morning the little elf would show up in a new spot in our small home, I was so proud of my boy for being such a great big brother.

The reason I bring the elf up is because what I found under the floorboard in his room was some kind of homemade children's book titled “Elf on the Shelf”. It was written crudely with different colored markers for each letter, although clearly written by someone with a very shaky hand. I handed the book over to the detectives, but not before writing down a copy for myself.

I really don't know what to make of this but I know it has something to do with whoever took my son.

Elf on the Shelf

Have you ever wondered how anyone could know

If you're naughty or nice each year as you grow?

For hundreds of years, it's been a big secret.

It now can be shared, if you promise to keep it.

This year you were chosen, he sent me to you.

I watch and report on all that you do.

My job's an assignment from the big man himself.

I am just his helper, a little scout elf.

While I'm here visiting the place you call home

Remain in your room, be sure not to roam.

Once you are ready, the mission can start.

Whose name will you scream as he rips out your heart,

Will it be Father or Clyde?

He can't take you all, so you must decide.

Each night while you're sleeping, to your room he will fly.

No one can know, or else they will die.

Of course a little magic helps me be quick.

I record your whole day and report with a click.

I tell him if you have been good or been bad.

The news of the day makes him happy or sad.

One word about this and I'll report to the boss,

But keeping this secret will not be a loss.

In the car, at the park, or even at school,

Word will get out if you break a rule.

He will be gone before you awake,

Speak a word to anyone and your brother I'll take.

You'll jump out of bed and come running to see:

Who'll be the first to beg and to plea?

Maybe in the kitchen, the bathroom, or the den

Is where you'll find dear Clyde met his end.

I can hide on a plant, a shelf, or a frame.

Where will I be? Let's make it a game.

There's another important rule you must know,

Choose to ignore it and his rage will grow.

Keep your window unlocked before you climb into bed,

Think wonderful thoughts inside that little head.

How else can he check how good you have been?

He might start to think you forgot about him.

The night before Christmas, my job's at an end.

The rest of the year, in paradise we'll spend.

So blow them a kiss and bid them farewell.

We'll fly far away but you can never tell.

Of course they will miss you, but wait 'til next year.

When the holidays come, I'll again reappear.

I wish every girl and each boy a safe to place to hide,

Until next year when I visit young Clyde.

I am only posting here out of complete desperation, if anyone knows anything that could help locate my sweet boy, please message me right away.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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sending-the-message · 6 years

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Etch-E-Sketch (FINAL) by MidnightWritings

Part 4

The word pain couldn’t even begin to describe what I felt when I woke up. I didn’t bother opening my eyes right away, too afraid to see what was around me. I didn’t wake up thinking I was back at home, in my bed, safely tucked away. And I didn’t wake up like last time, worrying about where I was, being completely disoriented. Instead, I woke up with a flood of memories, it seemed like the entire day played back in my head the minute I regained consciousness. That’s why I was afraid to open my eyes.

My head was flopped back, my neck and upper spine screaming at me. I could tell I was sitting in a chair, but not a very comfortable one. My arms rested on something in front of me, from what I could tell it felt plastic. Maybe a table? I tried lifting my head up, but it felt like gravity was working against me. I went to lift my hands to my neck, but they slammed back down against the table.

I opened my eyes, looking at the foamy tiles of a drop ceiling. I blinked through the blaring fluorescent lights and grunted as I strained to lift my head. My eyes followed the walls down to a collection of children’s desks in front of me.

I went to fully sit up, pulling my legs in, and my kneecaps whacked against the top of the attached desk. My eyes fluttered across my exposed arms. Strips of cloth were tied around them, connecting to the legs of my desk and chair. I went to lean forward and felt a braided cloth dig into my stomach. I was seat belted and strapped down to a children’s desk. I tugged at my restraints, but they hardly moved. These weren’t just plain, white clothes, they were colorful, some held sparkles and designs. I turned my wrist and saw a white ruffle intertwined with what looked like a glittery unicorn. Tucked underneath one piece of fabric was a white strip of silky paper stitched into the seam. A clothing tag labeled ‘small’. I was being held down with clothes from children.

I started to feel it again, the same feeling from the missing posters room. Their eyes. I kept twisting my wrists, the skin turning red and raw, burnt from the growing friction. The makeshift belt around my stomach dug further into my torso, pressing against my bladder. Thank God it was empty. The legs of my seat scratched against the concrete ground as I tried to loosen myself, making me look around to see if Ms. Jennifer was close enough to hear my movement.

The walls of the makeshift classroom were worn and dirty, dark ooze dripping down where the ceiling and the walls met. Discolored posters were taped against the walls, trying to hide old stains, but not doing much for the overall feel of the room. The old cartoons’ faces were barely visible, spots of blue from their eyes or a tooth here and there poked through every once in a while. The bold printed words screamed out to ‘Wash Your Hands’ or to ‘Learn Something New Today’. A felt rug covered the cement floor. It was designed with different colored shapes, blue and yellow swirls filling in the gaps between. The edges of the rug curled up, snags and pills scattering over the surface.

Strewn around the room were children’s toys of all kinds. Three different stuffed animals were sat huddled together under the broken window, stackable, plastic blocks were scattered around the mat, and even an ant farm lay forgotten by the chalkboard.

It wasn’t until I twisted my head around that I really started to yank at my restraints. Behind me was a homemade cubby section. Wooden planks were sloppily nailed together, ends of bent nails sticking out from each board. At the top of the crooked square cubbies were names written on painter’s tape, the white sharpie marks popping out from the blue material. My eyes filtered over name after name, stopping at ones that I recognized, Max’s friends.

Amy

Donald

Gary

Gregory

Max

My eyes watered as I found my brother’s name, his backpack neatly hanging on the hook underneath his cubby. The main zipper on his bag was opened, the unattached teeth exposing the contents of his bag. I saw all his toys from home except for one. I spotted his red toy car, his mini dump truck, his roaring t-rex, and his stuffed rabbit named Cooper, but one toy was missing. The Etch-E-Sketch.

I practically jumped out of my chair, thrashing around to try to break free. I kicked the legs, trying to bend the rusted steel and slip the bondages off. I winced each time the legs slid across the floor or every dull thwack my heel gave to the iron. I wanted to get out, but I didn’t want Ms. Jennifer knowing I was awake.

“Oh, looks who’s up from their nap?” her airy voice sailed into the room, her lanky body following quickly after.

Her jacket was off and, despite the biting cold around the room, her forehead had broken into a sweat. She carried three green glass bottles in her arms, neatly setting them down on her dust covered teachers desk. She walked around the desk and pulled out her seat, quietly plopping down. She bent over and pulled open one of the desk drawers, bringing up a stained wine glass. A permanent ring had tarnished the glass about three quarters from the top.

She neatly folded her hands atop the desk, smiling sweetly at me, “Ready for your lesson?”

“You’re about to get a lesson. Piece of shit,” I mumbled, no longer hiding my temper.

“Oh, what language,” Ms. Jennifer scolded. “We’ll have to do something about that.”

“Touch me and you die,” I warned, still yanking at my arm restraints.

Her shrill laugh cackled around the room, vibrating in my ears before churning in my stomach, “Oh, you’re a treat.” She stood up and grabbed a bottle and her glass, walking around to lean against the front of her desk. “Fun fact; did you know that blood has been in all sorts of beauty treatments since the Victorian Era?”

I refused to look at her, staying focused on getting away. I tried to block out her voice, but it was like a fly constantly buzzing around my head.

“Back when being pale was all the rage,” she continued, “people would actually drain some of their blood to get a lighter color. There’s even one story of a woman bathing in blood to keep a youthful glow to her skin, did you know that?” she asked, her voice somehow getting even higher.

I still refused to look at her. I heard her pop the cork on the bottle she held, bringing to her nose, and sniffing its contents. A sigh escaped her lips that made me want to vomit all over myself.

“And most recently something called a Vampire Facial?” she asked, an incredulous tone taking over her voice. “Wasteful. Injecting your own blood into your face isn’t going to help anything,” she laughed. “They were all on the right track, but the trick is to start from the inside out.” I heard her slosh the liquid within the bottle around, stirring up whatever was inside. “I assume you found your parents?”

This made my eyes flash up toward her, my body freezing.

“Oh, there we are,” she smiled. “They weren’t the best candidates, but I was running out of time. Thirsty?” she asked, holding the bottle out toward me.

I could feel my eyes grow, starting to realize what might be in that wine bottle. I pushed my feet against the ground, trying to move away from her.

“Come on, I made it myself,” she smiled, slowly tipping the bottle over her wine glass.

The thick liquid seeped from the open bottle top, chunks of coagulated blood slapping against the glass. She gently filled it up, three quarters of the way, before setting the bottle down. She brought the glass up to her nose, sniffing the iron into her lungs. I couldn’t watch as she brought the glass up to her lips.

GULP. GULP. GULP.

I bit my tongue, not wanting her to hear the sob slowly crawling up my throat. I flinched at the sloppy pop her lips made as an audible ‘ah’ rocketed through her mouth.

“I must say, your parents aged like…a fine wine,” she smiled, her white teeth stained red.

“You’re disgusting,” I hissed.

“Well, if you can’t appreciate that little joke, you’re going to hate what I labeled them,” she said, picking up the wine bottle and reading the cursive writing on the makeshift labeled. “A Baker’s Dozen. Nice little play on your last name, huh?” she teased.

I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer. I thrashed and cursed every curse I could remember. I screamed until my voice went horse. I violently tipped my chair on it’s two back legs, threatening to fall backward. My hair stuck to my tear stained cheeks, itching my skin, and poking my eyes. I huffed, trying to catch my breath between sobs and curses.

Ms. Jennifer stood back, watching me with a tilted head. “You know,” she said, once I had quieted down, “they say to ignore a child that’s throwing a temper tantrum, that they’ll tire themselves out eventually.” She slowly walked forward, bringing the bottle of my parents’ blood with her, “But sometimes, I think they’re just hungry.”

“No,” I breathed, all feeling draining from my face as she got closer. “Stay the fuck away from me!”

I felt her boney fingers wrap around the back of my neck, her nails pinching into my skin. I tried to lean back as far as I could, only further trapping myself into her grasp. I felt the sticky bottle tap against my lips. I squished my mouth shut, sucking my lips into my mouth, trying to stop any way for blood to get in. The bottle dug into my mouth, bashing against my teeth through the thin layer of skin protecting them.

She tipped the bottle and I felt the still warm liquid sop over my face. The syrupy blood stuck to my skin and hair. I grunted and tried turning my face, making her nails dig further into the back of my neck. She fully tipped the bottle, making the blood run over my mouth and up into my nose. I felt the warm goop run down my sinuses, making their way into the back of my esophagus. I couldn’t help the gag that erupted out of my mouth, blood now coating my tongue and teeth. I couldn’t catch my breath through the bombarding gelatin that slid down my throat.

It tasted like metal, salty and sour at the same time. My eyes watered as I gurgled against the intrusion. I heard her creepy giggle as she pulled the bottle away from my face. I turned to the side and wretched, everything coming back up my throat and landing on the cement with a splat. I was horrified to see most of it was red. My shoulders bounced at the sobs falling from my mouth while snot, tears, blood, vomit, and drool dripping from my face.

I briefly felt something on my left leg but didn’t kick my foot out in time. I could only freely move my right leg now, she had tied my left ankle to the desk. She stood in front of me and shook her head, walking away with the now empty bottle. Ms. Jennifer pulled open an armoire in the corner of the room, revealing rows of empty wine bottles. She carefully pushed one aside and placed my parent’s empty bottle with the rest of her collection.

“Now, I want to do a little experiment,” she giggled, pulling something else from a drawer in her desk, hiding it behind her back, “consider this the science part of your lesson.”

She stopped in front of my desk and I swung my right leg out to kick her, snarling as I did. My face dropped when she caught it midair, squeezing the muscle in my calf. I winced as the cramp starting to form and tried to wrench my leg away. She smiled and turned around, tucking my leg under her arm, my foot in front of her. I felt her slowly lift my shoe up and off my foot, exposing my toes to the winter air.

“I just want to see how much of a difference you would make to my recipe,” she explained, holding the pliers up for me to see.

“No!” I screamed, trying to wiggle out of her grasp.

My leg barely moved. She was too strong, abnormally strong. She threw her head back in laughter, some of her stringy hair landing on my desk, brushing against my fingertips. I got a handful of her hair and yanked as hard as I could, bashing her head against the desktop.

She growled and pulled my leg up, hyperextending my knee. It felt like my kneecap was going to pop off, the tendons burning all the way up to my hip. I screamed and let go of her hair, wanting the pain to stop.

“I don’t want to kill you just yet,” she hissed through her teeth, “so I’ll only need a little drop.” She placed the pliers over my big toe, the two metal prongs gripping it tightly. “This little piggy went to the market,” she sang, moving the pliers down my row of toes. “This little piggy stayed home. This little piggy had roast beef. This little piggy had none. Now this little piggy,” she jeered, squeezing the pliers around my baby toe.

I yelled, trying to flex my toes out from her grasp. I couldn’t see what she was doing, but I could imagine what was coming next. I felt the ends of the plier prongs slip under the edge of my toenail, grabbing hold.

“Cried, wee, wee, WEE,” she barked, slowly pulling my toenail from my skin.

The scream started from my stomach and radiated through my chest, finally exploding out of my mouth. It made my body jerk forward, the braided belt digging even further into my stomach.

“All the way home,” she smiled, holding my toenail up between the plier’s mouth.

She let my foot drop, the vibration of when it landed on the floor sent a shock of pain through the exposed skin on my toe. She walked over to her desk, wiping the little flecks of blood off her hands, and grabbed another full bottle. Ms. Jennifer glided over toward me, yanking my foot back up and pinching the bottom of my baby toe, squeezing blood out of the exposed skin. I felt the hot droplets pool and slowly drip into the open bottle top.

She let my foot fall again and swirled the few drops of blood that were taken from me around, mixing it all together. She brought it up to her lips and winced, spitting a wad of red gunk from her mouth.

“Ugh,” she shuddered, “not good. You’re…sour. Bitter.” She bent over the desk and spat in my face, “Rotten. You’ve ruined a whole bottle!” she yelled, throwing the green glass aside.

I jumped as it shattered against the wall, splattering blood and glass around the room. She moved behind me and I felt her boney fingers grasp onto the back of my chair, grating the iron legs across the floor.

“Time for a field trip!” she chirped, her dreamy voice echoing around.

She pushed me through the room and out the door into the hallway. I scraped my heel along the floor, trying to stop her as much as I could. I felt my skin being shredded by the rough ground, chunks of my flesh being sanded away.

“MAX!” I screamed, my voice being carried down the hall. “MAX!” I just wanted to hear that he was alive, that he was still okay.

“Oh good,” her airy voice wafted from behind me, “call him. Little brat ran off before I could get a good grip on him.”

My heart felt like it did a cartwheel, excitement pumping through my veins as I realized Max was alive. He had escaped her. He had done it. I couldn’t help but smile through my tears.

“MAX!” I yelled again. “STAY WHERE YOU ARE! STAY HIDDEN! DON’T COME OUT! YOU’RE GOING TO BE FI-”

I gagged as something was shoved into my mouth, it’s rotten, stained taste sinking onto my saliva. I tried to move my tongue, tried to shove the cloth out of my mouth, but the more I tried the more juice squished out from the fabric.

“Shh, shh,” Ms. Jennifer babbled, whispering into my ear, “we’re almost there.”

She pushed my desk into a wall, hidden hinges squealing as my knees bashed against a swinging door. My eyes couldn’t adjust fast enough to the blackness in front of me, but Ms. Jennifer seemed to have no trouble at all navigating through the musty, hidden hall.

The air smelled burnt, not like firewood or smoldering food, but like asphalt and hair. It felt like I was leaning forward, my chair tilting at an angle as I was pushed along. The temperature seemed to, somehow, get hotter and for a good, long while I genuinely thought we were going into Hell. I could hear a distant crackling sound, something spitting and snapping, getting louder as we got closer.

She slid my chair and desk around a sharp corner and I was bathed in an orange glow. An oven, a big vat of wrought iron, sat squat in the middle of the room. The furnace unleashed a torrent of flames, most staying inside the iron confines, but some snuck their way out, licking the sides of the container.

My chair was pushed a little too close to the open flames, the heat making my skin moisten with sweat and I was afraid I was going to come out of this with no eyebrows. But honestly, if eyebrows and one toenail was all that was missing from me when I got out, I would be a happy camper. I was going to get out of this, both me and Max. There was no other option.

Ms. Jennifer walked around me, sticking her face closer to the open flames and wafting the smoke to her nose. Little particles of what looked to be dust floated around the air, giving everything a hazy lens.

She turned to me and smiled, her skin glowing bright orange in the fire’s light, “The kiddies love coming down here, dancing around, seeing how close they can get.” She smiled, remembering all the times she had brought the little kids down here. “It seemed only right that this was the last place they saw.”

It wasn’t until I looked through the flames and into the embers that I saw it. Bones. Skinny bones, some still covered in bits of sizzling fabric, others completely browned from the hot flames. I was looking at the cremated remains of hundreds of children. It wasn’t dust in the air or that covered the ground, it was ashes. I held my breath, not wanting to breathe anything in.

Ms. Jennifer reached into a cabinet next to the furnace, grabbing a shovel that was leaning against the wall at the same time. She held something in her hand, but I couldn’t see what it was until she stepped back into the firelight. A Barbie Doll. She popped off the head of the doll and set it back down. She grabbed a hidden funnel from the shadows behind the furnace and jammed it into the Barbie’s neck. Taking she shovel, she scooped some of the cooled ashes into the funnel, filling the dolls hollow body with the children’s remains.

“They make the best toys, don’t you think?” she asked, popping the doll’s head back on.

Images flashed in my mind; the teddy bears laying under the window, the scattered blocks on the felt rug, the forgotten ant farm. Those toys weren’t stuffed with teddy bear fluff, or made from plastic, or packed with dirt, they were all filled with children’s ashes. That’s why Max has so many friends at daycare, they were trapped there, even after death.

“And I have just the toy for little Max,” she smiled, pulling out a box labeled ‘My Pet Rock’.

I jumped as Ms. Jennifer’s knees were swept out from under her. She crumpled over, hitting her head on the edge of the furnace and laid still on the ground. From the shadows, Max stepped out with the baseball bat firmly in both hands. His face was covered in soot and his yellow shirt was now a dark mustard.

“Max,” my muffled cry sounded. He ran over to me, ripping the cloth from my mouth. “Are you okay?” I whispered, not wanting to wake Ms. Jennifer up.

“I’m fine,” he nodded. “I’m scared, Joanne,” he cried, tears leaving trails of clean skin over his cheeks.

“Don’t be, we’re going to get out,” I nodded, eyes flickering over toward Ms. Jennifer’s still body. “I need your help. Can you untie me?”

Max nodded his head and took the cloth in between his little fingers. He worked at the knots but couldn’t seem to loosen them. We both jumped as Ms. Jennifer groaned.

“Joanne!” Max cried, fingers trembling.

“It’s okay,” I assured, “stand back.”

I waited until Max stepped away before I rocked my chair, tipping the desk sideways. I landed on my right set of ribs, bouncing a bit against the cement floor. I bit back a hiss, trying not to focus on the blooming pain. I pulled my left ankle down the leg of the desk, feeling it fall free as the restraint slipped off the bottom. I tried to reach down and slip my arm restraints off, but the desk leg was too long. I had to break it. I tucked the iron leg in the nook behind my knee and pulled.

I saw Ms. Jennifer try to slide her arm up under herself, groaning as she pushed her hair away from her face.

“Joanne!” Max shrieked.

“Max, run,” I ordered, hearing the metal leg whine as I bent it.

He ran into the shadows and came back out with the Etch-E-Sketch in hand. I heard the patter of his gym shoes run up the vaulted hallway, hopefully out the door and away from this entire place.

I gave one final grunt as the desk leg snapped off at its rusted joint. I pulled my arm down and around the bottom of the ragged end, finally being able to stretch my arm freely. I leaned over the other side and freed my right hand as well. I was almost completely out. I looked up and saw Ms. Jennifer was gone, along with the bat, a clear print was marked in the ashes where her body once laid.

My hands tore at the cloth around my stomach, but I couldn’t get the knot undone either. I pushed it down lower on my hips, wincing as it ripped at my skin, almost too tight to shimmy out of. I forced the cloth over my hips and butt, kicking my legs as I pulled myself free over the cement ground.

I heard her grunt and I turned, rolling away just in time to miss the bat. She had swung it over her head, intending on bashing my skull open. The bat cracked against the cement floor as she growled. I scrambled away, snagged the broken off desk leg. I stood up and swung as she looked over at me. The jagged edge of the broken leg made contact with her forehead, right between her eyes. She flopped backwards and bounced on the ground, moaning as she pushed her palm on the open gash in her skin.

“Stay down!” I spat, quickly running over to the furnace.

I tossed the Barbie Doll she made into the fire and stuffed as many matchboxes from the cabinet into my jeans as I possibly could. I ran right passed her, picking up both the iron bar and the bat, and sprinted up the inclined hallway, the orange light disappearing behind me.

“Ugh,” I heard her growl, a base tone reverberating in her throat. “I think someone needs a time out.”

I just pumped my arms harder, limping slightly at the fact one of my shoes was missing. The dusty floor irritated my open wound, ash and soot settling into the area where my toenail was supposed to be. For a while, the only sound I could hear was my breathing and the irregular stomp and slap of my booted foot and bare foot bounding up the hall.

STOMP. SLAP. STOMP. SLAP.

SCREEEEEE

Something sounded from behind me. I could only imagine what it could have been, but I didn’t dare look back. I saw a faint halo of light coming from around the hidden door in the wall. I braced my arms and burst through the door, back into the afternoon sunlit hallway. I saw Max at the end of the hall. He stopped and turned toward me, running back my way.

“Max, no!” I yelled, sprinting as hard as I could. “Keep going! Get out!”

I spared a look behind me and saw her pale, insect like fingers slowly creep around the door. I stumbled a bit, but quickly regained my balance, bursting back into the classroom. I looked around and spotted all the toys. I couldn’t let the kids stay here. They needed to get out. I grabbed the nearest teddy bear and jammed the spiked iron bar into its stomach, ripping open the fabric to see grey dust puff out instead of cotton. I dumped out the ashes and watched them swirl into the air a bit, seeming to evaporate among the oxygen.

“Joanne,” Max called, suddenly appearing behind me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, ripping into another stuffed animal. “I told you to get out.”

“Not alone,” he shook his head.

I glanced at him as I shook out the second stuffed toy’s ashes. I nodded and handed him the bat, “Alright, then help me. Smash everything in this room. Anything that can be broken, break it.”

He nodded and went to work, bashing walls, denting the cabinet doors, shattering glass vases, and even sent spider vein cracks into the window. Between the two of us, the air was filled with ashes before we had time to cover our noses. I coughed a bit as I threw the ant farm to the ground, grey particles seeping out from the glass instead of brown dirt.

“Joanne!” Max called through the hazy air.

“Here!” I called, wiping the sweat off my cheek. I reached my hand out and felt Max’s shoulder. “All done?”

“I think,” he shrugged, now holding onto his red, plastic toy.

Like lightning before thunder, I knew what I had to do next. It made sense, the roll the Etch-E-Sketch played. The messages, how it always seemed to know what was going on, how it moved on its own. The one-word notes flashed through my brain.

STOP. They were telling me to stop sending Max to daycare. To stop letting Ms. Jennifer take my brother. To stop ignoring everything.

HELP. They needed me to do something, say something. To help stop this.

HER. They were telling me it was her. Her who was causing the trouble. Her who had taken my parents. Her who would hurt my family.

RUN. They knew she was outside my house, in the woods, stalking me. I needed to get out, leave, run.

“How did you know where to hide?” I asked, eyeing the Etch-E-Sketch.

As suspected, he looked down at the toy’s screen. “My friends,” he whispered.

“Max, give me the toy.”

“No,” he backed away.

Down the hall, I could hear heavy footsteps. Footsteps that sounded too loud, too big. The ground vibrated underneath us with each footfall.

“Kiddies!” Ms. Jennifer’s dreamy voice wafted down the hall. “Now’s not the time for hide and seek.”

“Max, please!” I begged.

“No!” he cried.

“We don’t have time-”

“They can’t go,” he cried, hugging the toy to his chest. “They’re my friends.”

“They’re stuck,” I shook my head. “They want to go home, just like you do. We can help them go home.”

Max peeled the toy from his chest and looked down at it, tears spilling over his cheeks. He looked up and nodded, handing over the Etch-E-Sketch. I grabbed it and went to bust if over my knee but stopped. A final message was scrawled over the screen, the last letter being squiggled on.

THANKS

I nodded, wiping my own tears from my eyes, crying for the babies that didn’t make it out. For the families that put out the missing posters, who went to bed at night wondering where their sister, brother, child went.

I gripped the edges of the Etch-E-Sketch and shook the message away. I jammed the flat surface over the boniest part of my knee, splitting the toy right down the middle. Grey ash tumbled from the crack, black flecks of magnetic dust sprinkled throughout. I watched the ashes sink to the floor, getting swept up as a winter breeze blew through the broken window of the room.

I gently bent down, shaking the last bits of ash from the toy before placing the plastic remains on the ground. “You’re welcome,” I whispered, stepping away with Max.

“Run down the hall, alright?” I told him, reaching into my back pocket for a box of matches. “Don’t stop running until you’re out of this building.

“Okay,” he said, backing away from the room.

I lit five matches at a time, throwing them around, wanting to burn the entire place down. The curtains were the first thing to catch, then the wooden teachers table, and then the teddy bear skins. I didn’t stay to watch the rest. I ran out into the hall and kicked open the missing persons room, striking more matches and tossing them around. The papers lit instantly, throwing a yellow glow out into the hall.

“What have you done!?” I heard Ms. Jennifer shriek.

I turned just in time to see her walk into her old classroom. Her back was hunched, and she seemed to almost bounce as she walked. I heard her bones snap and pop and she walked into the classroom.

I threw the last bundle of matches and ran across the hall, seeing Max standing at the corner, watching me. I shooed him away and covered my nose, pushing open the door to the room I wish I could forget.

I couldn’t leave Mom and Dad. They couldn’t stay here. They needed to be buried, have a funeral, they deserved at least that. I tried not to focus on their faces, tried to ignore the fact that my parents sat in a pile on the floor, looking like raisins. I grabbed one of my dad’s arms and one of my mom’s and started tugging. My fingers dug into their skin, feeling their bones, and dried up veins under my fingertips. Their skin moved and slid freely under my hands. It made me gag, but it reminded me of fried chicken, how the greasy skin can so easily be removed.

“Joanne,” Max whispered, making me jump.

I turned around and put my body in between his eyes and my dead parents, “Max, don’t look.”

“I know,” he hung his head, wrapping his fingers around the belt loop of my jeans. “we need to go.”

“Max,” I tried speaking, the lump getting too big to hold back, “I can’t leave them.” I openly cried, allowing my legs to give out. “They need to come home.”

“They are,” Max cried, hugging me around the neck, “they are home.”

I couldn’t help but smile at him. This four-year-old was stronger than me in every way. Stronger in knowledge, spirit, and even faith. I nuzzled my wet cheeks against this hair and pulled away.

“You’re right,” I nodded, turning back to my parents.

I set both their arms back down, laying their hands next to each other. I pulled both their wedding rings off before standing up, slipping the gold into my pocket. I felt in my other pocket and pulled out the last box of matches. I led Max out into the hallway and lit a handful, throwing them down the hallway. I didn’t bother trying to catch fire to the room my parents were in, there was too much blood. I walked backwards, throwing ignited matches down the hall all the way.

I didn’t start running until I saw Ms. Jennifer snake her head out from one of the classrooms, her hair making an appearance before her face. Her stingy locks were thrown out of their regular braid and her eyes were milkier than usual. Her smile was what made me turn and run.

I scooped Max up into my arms and ran like I had never run before. I told him to keep his eyes closed and head down. The extra weight didn’t make anything easier, but the adrenalin helped. I couldn’t feel my legs, but I knew they were still running. I couldn’t feel my heart, but it still pumped. I clung to Max and tried to regulate my breathing.

I turned my body and slammed my weight against the front door of the house, getting slapped by the biting wind and snowflakes. Piles of snow erupted as I trudged through them, soaking my clothes, and numbing my exposed skin. I ran into the street and through the neighborhood, crying as I heard police sirens in the distance.

I collapsed to the ground as their red and blue lights flashed around the snow-covered buildings, finally allowing myself to rest.

It was over.

It turns out, the police station had been able to track down my location when I attempted to call 9-1-1. They said it helped that I had my GPS tracker activated.

Me and Max were taken to the nearest hospital, he was completely fine, not a scratch on him. I was given some antibiotics once I told the nurses that I was forced to drink blood. They bandaged up my toe too, and I was treated for frostbite and a bruised rib.

They said by the time the firemen got there, the building was about ready to collapse. They didn’t really have any other choice but to let it burn down. They had found the remains of my parents, but only their skulls and some partially disintegrated bones, everything else was gone.

Me and Max were released from the hospital a week later. Instead of being able to nap and fully grasp what we had been through, I had to plan a memorial for my parents. It was small, just close family and friends. My lab partners were the first people there, bringing food and flowers. Max filled up a jar with his favorite rocks, the Geode going in last, and I wrapped a little ribbon around it, their wedding bands hanging on each bow. It was what we had left of them, instead of an urn or funeral flowers, we had a jar of rocks.

I dropped out of school and work from home now, filing lab data from the comfort of my childhood living room. My boss says I am welcome to come back to the lab any time I want. I don’t think it’s going to be soon. I want to be here for Max. Maybe once he starts high school I’ll go back, but for right now I’m staying put.

I’ve just been able to sit down and process what had all happened. Being able to write it out helped a lot. I’ve only recently gotten my appetite back. I can’t eat anything fried and nothing with cucumbers, those smells alone make me want to vomit.

I’ve developed a bad habit of rechecking things. I go around the house at least three times at night, checking that the doors are locked, the windows are latched tight, and making sure the blinds are shut. Max never leaves my sight either. I can tell he’s growing annoyed with me, but I can’t help it. He’s starting kindergarten soon, I signed him up for class and cried the whole time. We meet with his teacher next week. You better believe I have been doing nonstop research on the school. I will be driving him to class and picking him up every day.

I don’t sleep anymore, not at night at least. I’ll pass out on the couch in the middle of the day and wake up shaking. I only have nightmares. The doctors say they will go away and I’ll be able to sleep like normal soon, but I don’t think so. I won’t be able to rest until I know what happened to Ms. Jennifer. Whether she burned or ran away, I don’t care. It’s the not knowing that keeps me up.

I think back to the first day I talked to my brother and how far we have come. It makes me sick to think about all the ‘what if’s. What if I continued to ignore him? What if he went to daycare one more time? What if Max had never brought that Etch-E-Sketch home?

And to think, I yelled at him for stealing.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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sending-the-message · 6 years

Text

Someone just mailed me the sweater my brother was wearing when he disappeared ten years ago. [UPDATE] by tamikaflynnofficial

To start off, I can’t thank you all enough for the support you gave me after my first post. It has meant the world, and given me strength through this incredibly difficult time. Not only that, but you've forced me to examine my memories--mundane memories, ones I’d taken for granted--from radically different perspectives. You've made me ask questions I never even knew I had. I don’t think I would be able to do this without your encouragement.

I know there are a few things I left unclear in the post, and I hope you all can forgive me for that. I was hysterical as I typed it. Once I cooled down, I responded to all of your questions as best I knew how in the comments. And as for answers to the questions I didn't know--well, they're exactly what I came back home to find.

When I was very young, my mom gave me a music box. From the outside, it was a bland, placid lavender, but when you opened it, music notes would spill out, vibrant as stained glass, comforting and bewitching. It always shocked me when I opened it. It was like I saw an entire other world explode into life.

Remembering the vision of my mom’s face in the window filled me with the same shock as opening that box. Except this shock wasn’t borne of joy. It was terror. Despair. Disgust.

Forgetting the event had been so clean, so easy. My memory used to end with Jack’s arm around my shoulder, guiding my clunking feet to the truck as Jamie watched us from the doorway. Jack wasn’t even trying to calm me. He just silently helped me into the passenger’s seat while I sobbed. He got in, the truck whirred, the brights flashed against the facade of Katie’s house--and then nothing. The memory ended there. I attributed it to brownout.

But then I found the note. The box unclasped. A song began to pour from my memory, but discordant, and erratic. The memories of that Christmas Eve I’d always had, just buried, sprung into life.

The hum of our old pickup truck buzzed all around us. Our seats jostled up and down along the bumpy road. My brother was normally dreamy, but when he was at the wheel that night, his eyes could have pinned a butterfly. The road beneath us was slick with ice, but he drove with steady, sure hands. For a reason I am unsure of to this day, he took the road parallel to Donner.

The face of that thing was fresh in my mind. I began to cry, loud, shuddering, uncontrollable sobs.

He kept his eyes on the road, but he spoke to me softly, as if he were trying to lull a child to sleep. “Are you hurt?” I sniffled out a no. He nodded. “That’s good. Focus on that. On the lack of pain.”

The dense woods outside the window seemed closer than they had been. The light of the full moon barely permeated those trees. It fell onto the ground in luminous fragments. “Jack, I saw m…” The world around me spun, a slur of dark sensation. My head lolled forward. The car groaned. “Saw...mom. She was…hurt, her face was...was falling off…saw mom, saw her...so hurt...”

“No, Cara. You didn’t.” His tone was matter-of-fact. In my drunken fog, I couldn’t comprehend what he meant, or how he knew one way or the other. I started to cry again. He cut through my tears. “Cara, please. Listen to me. You know just as well as I do that mom is dead and buried. The Penobscot Reservation is a hundred miles away. Our mother was buried a hundred miles away. She wasn't hurt when she died, remember? She died of the flu. We saw her die, Cara. It was peaceful. Remember? Whatever you saw tonight, Cara, it was not our mother. Please understand that. Please.”

“But, Jack, it was--she was--rotting, hurt, her face--the worms--”

His grip went white on the steering wheel. Something thumped against the back window. “Don’t turn around.” I wasn’t planning on it. The world was spinning. “Just listen to me, alright? Just listen. Mom was not outside the window. I promise you. You have to trust me. Please, please, just trust me. People aren’t...people aren’t always what they look like, okay? Sometimes...they’re trying to look like people. And sometimes, when they try, they don’t always get it right. It can be scary, but in the end, it’s important. It is very important that they scare you, because it reminds you that they are not people. They are not people.”

I must have looked incredibly confused, because he sighed, and said in a quieter voice, “You’re drunk. You need to go to sleep. But just because you’re drunk doesn’t mean you were wrong. You saw something, and you probably just want to forget it. That’s okay, but you have to remember what I am saying right now. It wasn’t mom. It wasn’t. Promise me you’ll remember that. Okay, Cara? Cara?”

“Cara!”

I literally yelped when I heard Jamie’s voice, ripping me out of the reverie I had slipped into on a bench just outside the airport. Sure enough, he was power-walking toward me, waving his gangly arms and flashing his goofy smile. In spite of myself, I grinned right back. The Falls is astonishingly insular--most families have lived here for four or more generations. When you return, it’s like everything was frozen while you were gone, patiently awaiting your arrival. He was no exception. He’d hardly aged a day.

Bracing ourselves against the icy headwinds, we made the trek to his car. He was babbling the whole way, but it was stolen by the frigid air. Once we were inside, he cranked the heater up full blast and peeled off his mittens--red, with a heart sewn into the palms. We talked about meaningless things for a while--our jobs, how college had been, what we had been up to--but I kept stealing skittish glances at them.

Eventually, he must have caught me looking, because he laughed and said, “I, uh, never did thank you for returning these.” I didn’t respond, just licked my lips and turned to the window. We were passing the neighboring city for now, but I could practically feel the woods that portended the border of my town as they drew closer. Jamie floundered. “Uh, sorry, I know that was right before...I know it’s been ten years since, uh, I didn’t mean too…”

I caught his eyes in the rear view and tried to smile. “It’s okay, Jamie, really. I’m fine talking about him.”

He nodded, too fast. “I’m, uh, glad you’re back, Cara. Good of you, uh, to take care of your dad, cause this time of year is so hard, uh, for him...I mean, your pops, he’s a strong old boy!...Hardly changed since I left, I mean, I pass him at the supermarket, he says hello! Says I’ve really grown up since high school, wouldn’t you agree…?”

His proud, puffed chest was clearly fishing for a certain answer. I didn’t give it to him. I was entranced instead by the first pine trees of Donner as they whizzed past the window. I hadn’t seen them in so long. They had always been so beautiful.

I muttered a listless “mmhm”, and his face fell. Instantly, I felt guilty. “Sorry, Jamie, I just…”

“Don’t worry!” He interjected. “I get it, your brother, you’re thinking of him, I, uh, I would be too, and, I’m...sorry, I really am.”

I gave a vague nod. The memory of my conversation with Jack on that Christmas Eve burned in my mind. If mom wasn’t in the window, what was? Suddenly I remembered something else--the story Jamie had been telling. I asked him if he remembered when I took the mittens, and why. He laughed. “Oh, I don’t know, uh, we were playing in the woods, uh, as kids...in ‘96...just like we always used to do.”

The answer I had feared. “‘96? Are you sure? Before you got stuck in the tree?”

He frowned. “What tree?”

I gawked at him. “You know, in ‘99? You got stuck? Frozen to the branch? Everyone called you Brown Bear? For years?”

He laughed again, only this one was...forced. Just barely, but enough for me to pick up on it. “Oh, of course. How could I forget? Yes, uh, before that. You said you were cold, so cold, so you took them and never gave them back.”

The air left my chest. He really believed it. This was what he thought had happened. I tried to speak slowly, but I was hyperventilating. “Jamie...you and me...we never played in the woods as kids. I...never stole your mittens. You have to have me mixed up with someone else. We didn’t meet til 1999.”

His eyes narrowed. “Cara, I know you must be upset, but that isn’t an excuse to fuck with me.”

“I’m not!”

“Then you’re remembering wrong.”

“No, I’m not!” I protested, suddenly more fiery than I had been before. Donner was thinning as we approached my house, but the trees still loomed over us. “I don’t know who the hell you were playing in the snow with, Jamie, but it wasn’t me.”

He gave me a very odd look, as if I wasn’t speaking English, and then shook his head very, very slowly. “No. No, no, no, no, no. You're wrong. And you know it. We played in the woods all the time as kids, Cara, and I don’t know why you don’t remember.” He stared very intently at the road. “Maybe you ought to take a walk through Donner and, uh, jog your memory.”

It was such a strange thing to say that I actually said ‘huh?’ aloud. ‘Go take a walk through Donner’ is the Falls equivalent of ‘go fuck yourself”, but it was more than that. Maybe it was the cold bite in his voice, or simply the odd notion that I would remember if I walked through the woods. I didn’t have time to figure it out, or even respond, because he was pulling to a stop in my driveway before I could get my bearings. “Finally,” he muttered, as if I couldn’t hear, and threw the car door open.

I was glued to my seat. His change of mood had given me whiplash. However, I startled from my paralysis when he yanked open the door and tossed my luggage into the dirty snow at my feet. I couldn't believe it. I exited the car, picked up my bags, and slammed the door shut behind me in a trance.

Before I could even muster a thank you, Jamie was already backing out. He rolled down the passenger window as he passed me. In a low, poisonous tone, he said,

“You know something, Cara Hansen? I know you want to find your brother, but, trust me--this isn’t how to do it. You’re asking a lot of questions. Dumb questions. You’re not a dumb girl, Cara. But I think if you keep on like this you’re going to find something a lot worse than you intended to.”

He rolled up the window and sped away.

The second I stepped through the front door, my father’s burly arms had already swept me into a bone-crushing hug. My dad is as tall as a tree, and crazy strong--captain of the wrestling team back at Solomon Falls High, and I don’t think he’s lost an ounce of power in the fifty years since. I put my bags down by the doorway after he set me free, and kissed him on the cheek.

He walked back to the half-finished stew he’d had on the stove when I came in, and I ventured down the hallway. The chestnut wood creaked beneath my soggy boots. Without the paintings on them, the hallway's walls were...strange, somehow. Too long. I walked faster.

I caught a glance of Jack’s room at the end of the hall, the heavy, mahogany door as tightly sealed as it had been the day I left. A wave of grief slammed into me like a truck. My mental image of the inside of that room--his dresser drawers, his canvas, his dark blue bedspread, all of it covered in a second skin of thick dust--had haunted me for years.

What was even more haunting, though, was the finality of that image. On the same day he had torn down the paintings in a mourning rage, my dad slammed the door to Jack’s room shut and locked it tight. The growl in his voice when I approached him after he had done it assured me he never intended for the room to be opened again. I must have tried it dozens of times in the dead of night before I left town, but I could never get in.

Dad shouted “Dinner, Cara!”. I shot one last look at my brother’s room before turning away.

He peppered me with questions for at least half an hour, beaming from ear to ear the whole time. How’s your job? How’s that boy you were seeing? How’s the city treating you? Got a car yet? Music ever turn into more than just a hobby? How are you holding up this winter? Got enough warm clothes?

I answered him as genuinely as I could, but the sweater in the next room was burning a hole in my mind. The reason I told him I wanted to come home was for support. He probably thought I meant emotional, with the whole ten year anniversary and all. There was a sparkle in his eyes I hadn't seen in years as he talked my ear off.

I love my dad more than anyone else in this world. He supported me through two losses that no person should ever have to endure. He didn't deserve to get his heart broken all over again by the thing I'd gotten in the mail. At the same time, though, my brother weighed on my mind. Wherever he was--whatever his fate--he didn't deserve it either. I had to rip off the bandage.

“Dad,” I interrupted him in the middle of some lecture about the value of a good parka in a Chicago winter. “There’s something I need to ask you. It’s...important.”

He raised a bushy eyebrow. “Got a new boyfriend important, or Pentagon Papers important?”

“A little bit of both,” I admitted. Dad set his spoon down and pushed his seat back from the table. He rose to get a glass of water.

“Better tell it to me then.”

All at once, everything I had to ask him slammed into me, and I lost my train of thought. What happened in 2009 at the children’s hospital where you worked? Why did you lock Jack's room and never open it again? What do you remember about Brett and his family? Did you ever see strange visions of mom after she died? Do you know who sent me the sweater? Who would do a thing like that?

But I sorted through the words in my throat, took a deep breath, and said,

“That day when the mittens came to the door, in 2005. Do you remember?”

His head, which had been turned toward the faucet, whipped around to face mine, so fast that half the water spilled out of the glass and onto the floor. My dad has never looked his age, but, in that moment, he seemed impossibly weathered, incredibly old. I didn’t say anything. I waited for his answer.

Slowly, but surely, he nodded. I rose from the table, too, and put a hand on his wrist, as gentle as I could muster when my entire body was humming with adrenaline. “Dad. You were scared that night. Please don’t try to deny it. That was twelve years ago, and you’re still terrified. Tell me. What happened?”

He set down the glass and rubbed his temples, then crossed to the pantry and pulled out a glass of scotch. “We’d better have a drink first.”

On December 31st, 1981, around 10:30 AM, the Quincy family packed a lunch of peanut butter sandwiches and apple slices. They checked to make sure they had a map, a canteen, and a compass. They tied their scarves tight around their necks, and then they walked out the door, leaving their dog, Buster, to scratch and whine until they returned home, the idea being that they would do so in a few hours after a leisurely day hike through Donner.

Michael Quincy had a jawline that had been chiseled from marble and a smile so charming it could knock the leaves off the pine trees. He sauntered in place of walking, and he had large, protective hands, always calloused by the demands of his job as owner of the local hardware store. He was well-known in the town, and his wife, Eliza, even more so, being president of the local YWCA and a revered teacher at the elementary school. She was tall, with freckle-dusted cheeks and bright green eyes--Miss Kennebec County, 1978, and quite nearly Miss Maine USA. Little Lydia Quincy was six at the time, and cute as a button. They were an exemplar in Solomon Falls, a beloved family, and all they wanted was a nice diversion for the afternoon.

At noon, all three went into Donner Woods State Park.

Only one came out.

The Quincys were lost for days before an emaciated Eliza came stumbling out of the woods, her eyes wild, her mouth bloody, her arms scratched practically to a pulp, snarling at the townspeople who tried to corral her. After twenty minutes of trying to restrain her--it took two grown men, one of whom, Dicky Sullivan, still has the scar from her teeth--she suddenly went limp. She died there, in Dicky Sullivan’s arms, seemingly from dehydration.

They found the bodies of her daughter and husband deep in the woods, miles offtrail, stripped of nearly all of their muscle, as if the vultures had already picked them clean. Teeth marks matching Eliza’s littered their bones and skin.

But there’s more to the story than what most people know. Sheriff Sanchez, her hair beginning to grey at the scalp, had intimated this version of the story to me in her office a year after my brother vanished. It’s only a minor detail that most people get wrong--the Quincy family was not in the woods for days. They were in there for three hours before Eliza came staggering out of the trees, spitting chunks of meat into the snow. She wasn’t starved. She wasn’t dehydrated. The family hadn’t touched the canteen or picnic lunch. The former Miss Kennebec County, a schoolteacher, a loving mother, had hardly penetrated Donner at all before she attacked, and, after she came out, she dropped dead.

Michael’s windbreaker was missing, and wasn’t found until another hiker spotted it a month later, hanging from the top branch of a tree that stretched twenty feet into the air. The compass was found around the same time, miles to the east of where the jacket had been found, half-buried in the melting snow. Lydia’s jacket, shoes, and mittens were never recovered.

Or, at least, that’s how the story goes. The thing is, though, my dad had been a pediatric nurse at the city hospital at the time, and Lydia Quincy had gone to see him just three weeks earlier, when she had the flu. She had shown him her brand-new mittens, eyes shining, talking so fast he could hardly keep up. They were bright white, made from soft, cashmere yarn. She even pointed out to him their special little detail--wrists with elastic sewn inside of them, that scrunched up when she put them on, to keep the cold all the way out.

That day, at 11:10 AM, my dad, then only 31, had passed the Quincy family. He stopped briefly to chat with Eliza and Michael, who praised the medical care he had given their daughter, while Lydia ran around joyfully on the snowy sidewalk, and waving her white-clad hands as the family bid him their goodbyes.

Lydia’s jacket and shoes were never found. But, that night in my house when the first mittens came, my dad saw those mittens on the table, and, instantly, he knew. How could he forget? He had picked them up and examined them--the same soft yarn, the same little scrunched-up wrists, the only thing different being the ripped thumb and yellow stain. My dad had abandoned his glass entirely, and was now drinking directly from the bottle of scotch. “I mean, what in the hell was I supposed to do? Tell the fuckin’ Sheriff that the mittens of this kid who disappeared thirty years ago suddenly turned up on my doorstep like fuckin’ FedEx had shipped ‘em rush? They caught the killer. They knew who did it. And, hell, I didn’t wanna scare you kids. So I let you keep ‘em.”

I stared at him for so long that my eyes actually started to go dry, but, the minute I snapped out of it, I felt hot tears begin to prick at their edges. I started to cry, softly, in spurting little sobs. He instantly pulled me into a hug. "I know, Care-bear. I never liked the story either. It's gruesome. And I don't know why those mittens came to the house that day. But what matters is it's over. It's--"

"It's not that, dad," I sniffled, wiping my nose on my sleeve. "It's all the mittens that came afterward."

"What?" He looked as if he'd been slapped. "What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"Dad, I..." I jumped up from the couch. "I'll explain it all to you, I swear, but first I have to show you something..." I ran off to my room, ignoring his protests. I flung open the door. I ripped open my suitcase and dug through it like a crazed dog. I yanked item after item out, until I was trapped in a kaleidoscope of clothes that had piled up around me, travel shampoos and lipsticks littering the floor around them like debris from a car crash. I hardly noticed. All I saw was the suitcase in front of me.

The suitcase that was now empty. Completely empty.

"Cara?" My dad's voice from down the hall. "Cara, what in the world is going on?!"

I tore open the front pocket. Nothing. The side pocket...nothing. I felt the beginning of panic start to creep over my skin. My heart was beating so quickly I could feel its hot thrum in my ears. I struggled for my shallow breaths.

Jamie--Jamie. Yes! Somehow all that rustling in his trunk must have jostled the sweater out, I was sure of it. I wrenched my phone from my pocket so fast it almost went flying across the room, and dialed up the number he had called me from the day I got the sweater.

It rang. Once. I tapped my foot. Twice. I tapped it faster. Three times--thank god. The voice on the other end was the same reedy one I knew, except it was utterly confused, and, in a way I couldn't identify, a little...older. More mature. I didn't have time to contemplate it. "Jamie Brown speaking. Who is this?"

"Jamie, it's me, Cara. Listen, I think I left--"

"Whoa! Holy hell!" The voice was overjoyed now. "Cara Hansen? Class of 2010? No way! How the heck are ya?!"

The cruel joke enraged me so much that I began to scream into the receiver. "Yes, it IS Cara Hansen, and don't FUCK with me Jamie! You know PERFECTLY well which Cara I am, you just FUCKING drove me to my dad's house! And I left something very important in your--"

"Excuse me?! Cara, I haven't seen you in eight years. I haven't been to Solomon Falls since I graduated. I live in Boulder, Colorado. You can look me up on Facebook, my wife and kids, too. Hell, just Google me, my orthodontics company has a website! What do you mean I just drove you home? What are you talking ab--"

I hung up. My dad entered the doorway. "Cara, please tell me what is--"

"Dad. I'm going to ask you something very, very important. You remember Jamie Brown, from my high school?" He nodded, very slowly. "Have you seen him since you left? Around town? At the supermarket?"

He frowned. "No, I haven't. I just talked to Mr. Brown the other day. Jamie hasn't been back here since he was 18."

I am freaking the fuck out. I just told my dad the whole story about the mittens showing up at the door every month, and about 'Jamie' taking me home. I googled it. The Jamie I called on the phone was right. He has a website for Brown Orthodontics. He has a Facebook. It's public. I checked the pictures. The person I got into the car with was so close to looking the same--but, in the dim light of my room, it seemed his hair was just a shade lighter, just one more laugh line was on his forehead. I don't know if I made those differences up in my head because it was easier to accept. I don't know if it's the influence of Jack's words that night--they don't always get it right. Who was the they that he meant?

Dad called Sheriff Sanchez. We're talking to her tomorrow. He holed himself up in his room. The sparkle in his eyes is gone. I don't blame him.

Jack, I want to be strong for you, but it's so hard. Everything is so terrifying and confusing. But I am going to keep trying. I'm going to do everything I can. I'm going to call up the people who knew you. I'm going to search by the trailhead at the woods. And I don't care what dad says or does to try to stop me--I'm opening your room. I am going to find out what is going on here. And I am going to find you.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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sending-the-message · 6 years

Text

Etch-E-Sketch (PART 4) by MidnightWritings

Part 3

I woke up in a panic, something I had never really experienced before. It was like my body was on autopilot and began doing things out of instinct. My eyes shot open and my head jerked up, looking at the unfamiliar surroundings.

This isn’t my room I freaked. I’m not in my bed. Where am I? My eyes glazed around myself and spotted familiar things; green walls, stone fireplace, Grandma’s quilt.

The living room I breathed, letting my head flop back down. I fell asleep on the couch

I couldn’t remember the dream I had just jumped awake from, but it still had my heart racing. I felt the sweat stained blanket cling to my arms as I tried to lift myself up, the cold moisture making me shiver. The blanket wasn’t the only thing stopping me from getting up either. Max was tucked into the corner of my arm, breathing heavily with lightly shut eyes. I carefully maneuvered him off of me, propping a pillow under his head as I got up. My robe was still on along with my pajamas from yesterday, I spent the whole day in my PJ’s.

I swiped the stray strands of hair away from my eyes and pressed the home button on my phone, illuminating the time and the fact that I had one missed call. I ignored the call alert and squinted into the bright digital numbers.

6:14

I groaned and clicked my phone off, extinguishing the light. I slipped it into my robe pocket, jumping as I felt something already in there. My fingers wrapped around the silky object before pulling it out. The white swan feather glided out from my robe pocket, making me laugh. I had forgotten all about my feather. I was lucky the thing didn’t get smashed during the night, usually I’m a crazy sleeper.

I put the feather down on the table next to Max, almost like a reminder to give it to him when he woke up. I went to go cross into the kitchen for some early morning coffee when something caught my eye, or rather, the lack of something caught my eye. There was a bare hook on our key holder by the back door. Dad’s hook where he normally kept his weighty key ring was completely blank.

I hurriedly unlocked the door and pried it open as quietly as I could, peering into the blackened garage. Minimal light shown through the open door, but it was enough to see something else was missing. Dad’s car.

“No,” I whispered to myself, closing the door and making sure I locked it tight.

My bare feet padded down the hallway, slapping against the hardwood floor. I reached their door and gently knocked, hoping fear had gotten the best of me and I would soon hear a sleepy grunt from the other side. I waited a couple seconds longer in complete silence before knocking again.

Nothing.

I grabbed hold of the door handle and twisted, hearing the inner mechanics working with me. The hinges groaned against the early intrusion and I peeked my head inside. Their bed was still neatly made, not a wrinkle in sight. A quiet sob snuck its way passed my lips, my brain finally catching up with the fears of my heart. They still hadn’t come home.

Their curtains were open, allowing the first morning sun rays to sneak their way in. My legs worked by themselves, taking me to the window. I looked out over the front of our lawn, eyes checking up and down the road before landing on our driveway. It had started snowing last night before I fell asleep and there were no tire tracks on our driveway. The puffy snow glittered in untouched droves, mocking me as I tried to tell myself I was wrong.

My jaw ached at how hard I had my teeth clenched, it was the only thing keeping me from crying out. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something flash from the little patch of woods across the street. My head shot up and I couldn’t help but hold my breath. I jumped when I felt a little buzz from the phone in my pocket; someone had texted me. I slid the black cased phone from my robe to see the screen already lit.

New Text Message

One Missed Call

I entered my passcode and opened the text message, it was finally from Mom. I didn’t really believe what I saw at first. For a good, long second, I thought I was still dreaming. The text was from my mom, but it was a picture of me, standing in my parents’ window, in my robe, looking out at the snow. I slipped my eyes back toward the woods, not sure if I wanted to see something.

I stepped back, edging my way out of my parent’s room, never taking my eyes off the woods. Without thinking about it, I clicked on the missed call voicemail. I glanced at who it was from; Mom. I put the phone to my ear and listened, still backing away from the window.

It didn’t sound like anything distinct at first, but the longer I listened the clearer it got. The static fizzled away, and the underling sound came forward. Drinking. Someone was drinking.

GULP. GULP. GULP.

The noise gurgled down the person’s throat loud enough to be transmitted through the phone. Normally, that sound irritated me, along with loud chewers and heavy breathers, but something about this one was different. Maybe it was because I heard it through the phone? Maybe it was because I was already terrified. I’m not sure, but for some reason I could not pull the phone away from my ear.

My feet finally crossed the threshold of my parents’ bedroom and I was back in the hallway. The phone stayed glued to my ear and my eyes stayed glued to the window, watching the morning breeze rustle through the woods. The trees swayed back and forth, throwing wisps of dusty snow into the air. My eyes traveled down the branches, through the leaves and down toward the trunks. Partially hidden in shadows but slowly loosing their darkness, the trunks were hiding something. Someone.

The bedroom door was slammed shut, pushing my hair over my shoulders. My back smashed against the wall behind me and I dropped my phone. I put my hand over my thumping heart and went to pick up my fallen device coming face to face with a red, plastic toy.

Max’s Etch-E-Sketch was propped up against the wall next to my parents’ bedroom door. Perfectly facing me was the scribbled-on word:

RUN

My feet stumbled over themselves for a second before I tore down the hall, robe flying behind me. I hugged the wall as I cut a sharp turn and raced back to the living room. I stumbled over the rug and landed in a heap on the floor, crawling toward the couch. Luckily, Max was still sleeping. I huddled by the fireplace and dialed the police.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“Please come quick, someone is watching me,” I whispered into the receiver.

“Alright ma’am, can you tell me where this person is?”

“Outside of my house,” I cried. “Please, I have my four-year-old brother with me and my parents aren’t home.”

“Alright, someone is on their way.”

I stayed on the phone with the 9-1-1 operator until I heard the police sirens. Their flashing blue and red lights bounced off the snow and seemed to radiate around the neighborhood. Max woke up and started to cry, not knowing what was going on.

“It’s alright,” I said, picking him up and putting his head on my shoulder. “I just needed some help.”

I carried him to the front door where the police were knocking, letting them inside so I could answer some questions. Honestly, I didn’t have many answers for them. I never saw the person outside, they never threatened me or tried to come in, and neither of us got hurt. I showed them the picture and they admitted it was creepy.

“It could be some kid trying to scare you,” one officer offered. “Maybe they got ahold of your mom’s phone and thought it would be funny.”

“We have some men checking the forest right now,” Another officer explained. “There aren’t many places to hide around here, chances are the person is still in there or very close by.”

I don’t know how that was supposed to make me feel, but I hugged Max tighter to me. I hadn’t put him down since he had woken up, that was about an hour and a half ago. My arms ached and begged for a rest, but I refused.

I ended up telling the officers about my parents, how they had left yesterday morning and haven’t been back since. I told them how it was not normal and even showed them our text messages. Between that happening and the events of that morning, I assured them something was wrong.

One officer wrote down my information and both my parent’s information, telling me they would file a missing persons report. Everything had happened so fast, I don’t really remember everything that was said, but I remember saying ‘goodbye’ and ‘thank you’ before closing the door and locking it.

Miraculously, Max had fallen back asleep. I rested him back on the couch and snuggled him up with a blanket. I tried laying down, but my legs felt jumpy. It felt like if I didn’t move I would explode. I paced around for a bit, but I knew I had to stop that before I drove myself crazy.

Another one of my great ideas popped into my head. I checked the clock and then jogged over to the kitchen, looking at the list of phone numbers on the side of the fridge.

“Mom’s Work, Dad’s Work, Grandma, Daycare,” I read, finally finding the number I wanted.

They opened 15 minutes ago, so I knew my call would be taken right way. I was going to get to the bottom of this. I was going to find my parents, get whoever was creeping in the woods, and take down Ms. Jennifer all in one day.

“Rainbow Family Daycare, this is Kennedy speaking. How may I help you?” a voice breezed through the phone.

“Hi,” I barked before reminding myself that I had to play nice, “my name is Joanne, my little brother goes to daycare at your center.”

“Alright,” the woman said.

“I was just wondering if I could make a quick early morning appointment with you? It’s an emergency.”

“Oh my,” the woman breathed, “is everything alright?”

“I believe it will be, I just want to talk with whoever manages the center and one of your teachers,” I held my tongue so hard I could almost taste blood.

I wanted to cuss her out, let her know everything her shithole daycare center has put my family through and get that bitch Ms. Jennifer fired. She was going to be lucky if I didn’t sue her!

“That won’t be a problem,” the woman spoke. “I’m just going to need your full name, your brother’s full name, and the name of the sitter he is under.”

“My name is Joanne Baker, but your probably more familiar with my parents Grace and Louis Baker. My brother’s name is Maxwell Baker and he is under the care of someone named Ms. Jennifer,” I was gleaming. I couldn’t wait to have a face to face meeting with that meek little squirrel and punch her lights out.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” the woman spoke, pausing to look through her files, the pages flipping so loud I could hear them through the phone, “your brother is not under our care.”

“What?” I asked, shaking my head. “That’s impossible, he’s been coming to you for the last 11 months. He’s been going to your daycare for 11 months, Ms. Jennifer picks him up every weekday.”

“No,” the woman corrected, “according to our records, Max had registered with us 11 months ago, but never showed up after that. I don’t even think we have a woman here that goes by the name Ms. Jennifer.” I heard more rustling of papers before she continued, “And we never allow our sitters to leave the premises with the children. Parents must drop their child off and pick them up at our center. We do not make house calls.”

I didn’t know if I wanted to scream or throw up. Who had been picking Max up? Who was coming to our house every morning and every night with my baby brother? Where was she taking him all those days? My head spun and I genuinely almost threw up. I dropped my sweating forehead into my palm and tried to take a deep breath.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” the woman asked.

“Yeah,” I mumbled before hanging up.

I couldn’t breathe. I kept sucking in short bursts of air but never felt anything leave my lungs. My chest puffed out like an overblown balloon ready to burst. Pain erupted over my ribs and I finally let all the air out. I felt like I was going to disappear, sink into the floor and never be seen again. Everything was wrong, and I didn’t know where to start to fix it.

I got up and went back to the fridge, looking at all the numbers written down on our magnetic phone book. Underneath it was piles of papers held together in a pouch, each corner secured by a magnet. I slid the silver buttons off and let the pouch drop into my hand. I spread all the papers out on the kitchen tabled and looked. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but there had to be answers.

I looked over car registrations, mortgage papers, school bills, and finally I saw it; an answer. Scribbled on a little notecard was a name with a hand-written phone number. It was clipped onto the registration papers for Max’s daycare, a separate name and place to call if we had any questions. I read over the carefully scrawled name and numbers.

Ms. Jennifer

Cellphone Number

Please feel free to call me anytime with questions or concerns you may have

The swooping cursive made me sick. I could hear her breathy voice in my head, like the words were coming directly from her lungs instead of out her mouth. I wanted to rip it up, tear it with my teeth and swallow any evidence that she had been the one to take care of my brother for so long.

She was why my parents never came home. They must have called this number instead of the daycare office number. She lured them away and has them somewhere, not returning them until they agree to give my brother over. That’s why my mom said Dad got lost driving to the center yesterday. He wasn’t lost, they had found the place Ms. Jennifer calls home.

She was the one in the woods, using my mom’s phone to take pictures of me. She had been stalking my house. That didn’t surprise me, she stalked my work why wouldn’t she stalk the house? I shot up from my seat, the kitchen chair screeching across the floor. I grabbed my phone and stomped back down the hall. I kicked over Max’s Etch-E-Sketch and burst through my parents’ bedroom door. I marched up to the window and held up my phone, dialing my mom’s number. I slapped the phone against my ear and listened to it ring.

The trees swayed like they did this morning, but more evenly. This was a natural sway, not the jostled rustle of someone moving within them.

“Pick up,” I hissed into the phone, my voice snaking through my clenched teeth. My mom’s voice danced through the receptor, her voicemail message greeting me. “Son of a bitch!” I barked, ending the call.

I slapped my palm against the glass, making it bellow and shake. I looked around my front lawn and up and the street before turning and leaving the room. At first, I thought I had cracked the glass of the window, a shattering racket sounded through the room. I turned back around to see the window perfectly in tacked. My brows furrowed before I heard a tiny whimper glide down the hall.

“Max!” I called, not bothering to wait for a response.

The shatter had come from the kitchen and so did the whimper. Someone broke in. Someone was taking Max. It was her, she was here. I pumped my arms, the muscles in my shoulders screaming for me to stop. The bottoms of my bare feet stung as they smacked against the hardwood floors of the hallway.

“Max!” I cried again, turning to look into the living room.

The couch was empty, the blanket he was previously snuggled under was thrown away. I kept running right into the kitchen. My feet skidded against tile floor when I saw Max standing there, trying to clean up broken shards of glass.

“I didn’t mean it!” he explained. “I wanted to make breakfast.”

I kept running. I ran right up to him and scooped him into my arms, falling over onto my butt. I held him close to me and let my back flop down against the kitchen floor. My ragged breaths puffed his hair up and away from me.

“Oh my, God,” I sighed, closing my eyes.

“I didn’t mean to break the plate,” he explained, pushing himself up.

“No, no, no,” I breathed, sitting up. “it’s fine, we’ll clean it up. I thought-” I stopped myself from telling him what I really thought, “I though you got hurt.”

“No, I’m okay, see,” he said, holding out his hands and arms.

“Good,” I nodded, hanging my head between my knees.

I need to calm down, I told myself. I’m getting crazy. Soon I’ll strap a bell to him just to keep track of where he’s going. I lifted my head up, another idea popping into my brain. I looked around and read the clock, 7:45. Perfect

“Hey, bud,” I asked. “Would you mind going to daycare today?”

Max looked over and shrugged his shoulders, “Sure.”

“Really?” I asked, watching him nod his head. “Okay,” I agreed, “you, um, you go get ready and I’ll clean this up.” I stood up and got the broom. “You want some toast?”

“Yes, please!” He called, running down the hall to his room.

I quickly swept the biggest pieces of glass, reminding myself to vacuum the little shards up later. I grabbed out the toaster and shoved a couple of pieces in, not really paying attention to the setting. I ran back to my parents’ room, where I had dropped my phone, and picked it up. I scrolled through my settings and found the app that I wanted.

A couple of years ago, I went on a vacation with my lab friends to Colorado. Macy was worried about us getting slit up, so we all downloaded a GPS tracker on our phones. I remember putting the same app on my tablet too, just in case. Who knew it would come in handy two years later?

I opened the app and turned tracking on. I made sure to silence everything on my phone that I could, and slipped it into the front, unused, pocket of Max’s backpack. Without thinking, I reached over the couch and grabbed the white swan feather I had meant to give him. I gently attached it to the mesh around the top of his pack and smiled. If anything was going to give us good luck, it was that. I collected his other toys and stuffed them into the pack as well, including the Etch-E-Sketch.

I heard the toast pop and I ran over to sloppily spread butter and jelly over both pieces, setting them on the table for Max. I looked at the clock and it read 7:57. She’ll be here soon, I panicked.

I jogged down the hall and climbed the attic stairs two at a time, wrenching open my door. I ripped open my bedside dressed and found my tablet. I quickly turned it on and plugged it into the outlet, not wanting the thing to die on me. As soon as the screen lit up, I swiped through my apps, stabbing my finger on the one I wanted. I turned on the tracker and hit search, watching my screen change to a map. A little red button flashed over my address, my phone ID reading across the bottom.

It’s working, I smiled, setting my tablet down so it could charge.

“Joanne!” Max called.

“What’s up?” I asked, bouncing back down the stairs and to the kitchen.

“Do you want the other piece of toast?”

“No thanks, bud,” I smirked, rustling his hair.

Before I could say anything else, the doorbell rang. My heart dropped into my stomach, knowing fully well who was going to be on the other side of the door.

“Wait here,” I told Max, trying to stay calm.

I tied my robe tighter around me, feeling like the fluffy material made a protective layer, and opened the door to the harsh winter wind outside. There she was; stingy hair getting swept into the air, too baggy of clothes curling out form under her heavy parka.

“Hi,” she smiled, her sickly cucumber perfume sucking the air out of my nose, “is Max ready?”

“Ugh, yeah,” I paused, trying to act concerned. “I had a quick question. Were my parents acting weird when they met with you yesterday?”

“Oh, about that,” Ms. Jennifer spoke up, stepping forward, “they didn’t show up yesterday.”

“Really?” I asked. Fucking liar!

“No, I was wondering if I could talk to them now?”

“Well, actually, they haven’t been home since yesterday morning,” I whispered, pretending I didn’t want Max knowing. “I called the police this morning.”

“You did?” she asked, a flash of panic racing across her eyes.

That’s right, bitch. I stopped myself from blurting out what I wanted to say and simply answered, “Yes.”

“W-what did they say?” she stumbled.

“Not much,” I shrugged, “they can’t really do anything about it because they are adults, so technically it’s not considered missing,” I lied.

“Oh, that’s horrible,” she breathed, her dreamy voice making me want to snap her neck. “So, is Max ready?”

“About that, I was wondering if I could keep him home today?” I asked. I wanted to test out how she would react.

She did exactly what I thought. Her half-lidded eyes snapped open and her jaw tightened ever so slightly. “He should come with me,” she said.

“It’s just…with my parents missing, I think it would be best if he stayed home,” I argued.

“They’re fine,” she assured, waving her hand.

“What makes you say that?”

“They’re adults, they can take care of themselves, just like you can,” she smiled. “Max is a child, he needs my help. He’ll be safe with me,” she said, trying to look around me.

I know I had a plan set in motion, but I completely forgot about it. There was no way I was going to let Max leave with this woman. There was a chance, if I went through with my plan, that I could find my parents, but there was also a chance of Max getting hurt. No way in hell was I going to let that happen.

“He’s safe with me,” I growled, walking back inside, and starting to shut the door.

I barely saw Ms. Jennifer move, but I felt a hand bash against the door. I peeked back around and saw her hand firmly pressed against the wood. She was stronger than she looked, a lot stronger. I tried to hide my surprise, but I don’t know how well I did. My knee gently bobbed under my robe, threatening to give out and throw me to the ground. I kept my own hand on the other side of the door, trying to push back. Trying being the operative word. No matter how much pressure I put on the door, her one, frail hand kept it open.

“Hi, Ms. Jennifer,” Max chirped, walking right under my arm, and onto the front porch.

Ms. Jennifer pulled her hand away so fast that I almost slammed the door shut, my body weight fully pressing on the opposite side. I stumbled and quickly righted myself, throwing my hand on my hip.

“Hi, darling,” she breathed, bending at the waist to get a good look at his face. “Oh, deer. You look absolutely dreadful. What have you been eating?”

“Poison,” I barked. “I let him chew on soap and last night, before bed, I gave him a shot of bleach. You know, just for fun.”

Ms. Jennifer stood up straight, looking back and forth between me and Max. “Well,” she breathed, adding an unnecessary ‘h’, “it looks like you really do need me.”

She grabbed his hand and went to step off the porch, but I stopped them. I shot my arm out and grabbed Ms. Jennifer around the wrist, squeezing until my knuckles turned white.

“You’re not going to let me say goodbye?” I asked, staring at her milky eyes.

“Of course,” she smiled, blinking once as she pulled Max in front of her.

Her boney fingers dominated his shoulders, not allowing Max to step closer. I bent down and batted her pale hands away, pulling my brother forward and into a hug.

“Be good, alright?” I asked, running my hand over the back of his head. “When you get home, I’ll order a pizza.”

“Yay!” Max cheered, pulling away to look at me. “Can I get a cookie?”

“One of those big, soft, ooey, gooey ones?” I asked, poking him in the stomach. He laughed and nodded. “Of course, you can. I’ll get one too.”

“Okay!” he danced.

I stood back up and looked directly into Ms. Jennifer’s eyes, daring her to try and test me. Her jaw was set tightly into place, the vein popping out in her forehead. I didn’t want to throw off my plan and make her too suspicious, so I smiled at her, lowering my eyes in mock submission.

After a minute, she smiled back, but only the corner of her mouth flicked up. She gripped onto Max’s hand and I saw him wince. I had to pretend I didn’t see, and watched as they walked away, Max being dragged behind her.

She tugged open her car door and Max hopping in, the car seat waiting for him. From what I could tell, it was old and stained, the straps fraying and waiting to rip apart. Ms. Jennifer got him all buckled in and shut the door, walking around the back of her car toward the driver’s side. Her arms stayed neatly tucked in by her sides as she glided along the road, her parka swishing against the car. As she went to get in, I saw her look over the top of the hood, right at me. She didn’t offer a smile, or a wave, just looked at me.

I stood my ground and watched her get behind the wheel, tug on her seatbelt, and pull away from the curb. I didn’t go back inside until the car disappeared behind the corner house at the end of my street. I shut the door, locked both locks, and ran upstairs. My tablet screen lit up on its own, the GPS tracker mapping out the little red dot. It was moving, down the main road by my house and toward the highway.

“Got you, bitch,” I smirked.

From the corner of my eye, I saw one of the trunks that bombarded my room. I knew exactly what was in it and smiled. I slammed me knees into the floor in front of a massive trunk and unlocked the ancient latch, pushing open the dust covered lid and smelling the musty cotton air.

Piles of neatly folded clothes lay within the forgotten trunk; old sweaters from the 80’s, scarves and hats, long dresses, and even a pair of old platform shoes. I pushed some of the fabric aside, pulling out what I thought would work.

If I was going to follow Ms. Jennifer, I would need a disguise. She knew how I looked. I grabbed an old winter hat that I could tuck my hair up into, and a long black jacket to hide my body. I pulled out a gingham scarf and shut the lid, sitting on top while I pulled on a pair of dirty jeans and a sweater. I didn’t have time to brush my teeth or my hair, so I skipped both. I put on my disguise, grabbed my tablet and keys, and ran to my car.

I had no clue what I was doing, but I couldn’t stop. I should have called the police, let them know what was happening, but I don’t know if anyone would believe me. I barely believed me. A woman was pretending to work at a daycare just to spend a couple of hours with my brother, only to return him back home safe and sound? If she wanted him, she would have kept him the first time, but she always gave him back. And what about the Etch-E-Sketch? What would I say about that? My brother’s toy moves on its own and leaves ominous messages for me around the house? None of that made sense.

I tried to not think about the logistics of what was going on and focused on driving. I skipped the main roads, not wanting to be stopped by traffic lights, and flew down the side streets for as long as I could. House after house sped passed my window and I rolled through every stop sign where I didn’t see a police officer nearby.

The little red dot still blinked, showing them getting off the highway and into a part of the map I had never bothered to look at. I took a sharp corner, waving off the beeping sedan I had cut off, and pulled onto the highway. I weaved in and out of traffic, keeping my speed at a constant 95.

“Please, God, don’t let me get pulled over,” I prayed aloud. “I know I’m breaking the law, but I’ll make it up to you, just please let Max be okay,” I pleaded.

I sped over the highway in record time and pulled onto an unfamiliar road. Beecham Street looked like it hadn’t seen civilization in quite some time. The trees were dead, disease taking them long ago. Their blackened trunks twisted along the road, acting as a warning to not enter. Potholes littered the streets, cracking their way up the curbs, blasting chunks of cement out of their place. And then there were the buildings.

I must have driven through the downtown area first. It wasn’t much of a downtown, but there were some shops and stores. The buildings desperately needed some love. The glass of every shop had been blown out, letting snow sweep in and bank up the inside of the store. The brick walls were beginning to crumble, threatening to spill its snow-covered roof onto any unlucky passerby.

I slowed my car and glanced at my GPS tracker, the little red dot had stopped moving a couple of streets down. I turned into the parking lot of what used to be the convenient store and threw my car into park. The brick wall concealed it pretty well, and I stepped out, shutting my door as quietly as possible. I tugged my winter hat on, shoving the ends of my hair up under the brim, and buttoned up my long jacket. I crossed my arms, tucking my hands under my armpits, and walked into the wind. Every once in a while, I would untuck my hands and look at my tracker, making sure they hadn’t hopped in the car and drove off somewhere.

I tried to stay as close to the buildings as I could, not wanting to make much movement in such a desolate place. Actually, if I thought about it, I didn’t really need a disguise. There was no one around, I wouldn’t blend in, new clothes or not.

I finally got to the neighborhood and I immediately wanted to go back in town. Row after row of forgotten houses sat lumped together with overgrown lawns and boarded up windows. Junked cars lay buried in the snow, rust consuming every exposed part. The wind hissed between the once white fence of the nearest house, telling me to leave, but I couldn’t. Max was there, just up ahead.

I saw the house where the red dot was saying he was. It was at the end of the street, sitting in a nook all alone. Her car, her stupid kidnapping car was parked outside on the curb. I picked up my pace, not being able to wait any longer, the idea of stealth flying out of my head. I saw their footprints in the snow leading up to the front door. I tore a rotting branch off the nearest tree and wrapped my scarf around the twigs.

I was going to break in around the back of the house. I trudged through the snow, dragging my scarf covered branch behind me. It gently moved the snow around, easily concealing and filling up my once very noticeable boot prints. I stopped at the first window I saw, testing to see if it was locked. It was. I sighed and smacked my head against the brick house, huffing as I tried to think. Luckily, the fuzzy hat I was wearing cushioned the blow, or else I would have had a major headache.

My hat, I thought, tearing the garment off and feeling around the brim. There was a wire in there, holding the fabric in place. I ripped open the seam and shimmied out the thin wire, making a loop around the bottom.

I stood on my tip toes, trying to look at the inside of the window, and finally spotted the latch. It was an old latch, one that hooked onto an anchor, one that could easily be lifted. I smiled and fed the wire, loop first, in between the window panes, holding my breath as I watched it snake passed the glass. The tips of my fingers held onto the end of the wire, trying to get the latch up and out of the anchor.

My hands shook, from both the January air and the building anxiety around what I was doing. I felt numb and tingly at the same time, not quite sure what emotion that was.

“Please, please,” I whimpered, little puffs of white smoke escaping my lips.

I almost cried when the window unlocked, I had to throw my hand over my own mouth to stop any chance of noise coming out. I carefully pulled the wire back out and stuffed it into my jacket pocket, not wanting to leave a trace of evidence that I was there. I peeled the window open, wincing every time it squeaked in protest. I threw my leg up first, hooking my ankle onto the window before tugging the rest of my body inside.

I landed on quiet feet, staying crouched for a second, listening. I didn’t hear a thing. Was she hiding? Was she even here? I thought. They had to be here, the red dot said so and her car was outside. What if she saw me? What if she knew?

I pushed the thoughts out of my head and walked forward, not wanting to waste any more time. There was a child’s baseball bat leaning up against the wall and you better believe I grabbed it. Little or not, that thing was still wood and could do some damage. I held it tightly in my fists and snuck down the hall.

I came to the first open door and had to stop as I got closer. I could taste the thick air around me. It tasted like sour cucumbers, not quite pickles, but they were on their way. I nudged open the door with my foot and came face to face with a room full of papers. They were tacked all along the walls, some looked to be newspaper clippings, others looked like cut out milk cartons.

On each one was a child’s face, one word boldly printed underneath:

MISSING.

I stumbled back, and the papers seemed to multiply, their faces haunting my every move. I couldn’t escape their eyes. They were watching me, begging me for help. I finally settled on one face, trying to calm my spinning brain, and tore it off the wall. The black and white picture showed a little girl with pigtail braids in her hair. Little bows captured the ends of each braid, resting on her blouse covered shoulders. Her smile was sweet, and her eyes were naive to the horrors that would meet her. Underneath her picture read:

MISSING

Susan Marie Lefevre

Age: 4

“Susan,” I murmured, Max’s voice playing in my thoughts

The whispers in his bedroom, his daycare ‘friends’, it was them. They were the missing children. The victims before him. Max’s voice echoed in my head, everything he had told me made complete sense. The puzzle was being finished. His haunting words sounded through my brain.

She used to be mean with the others, but they’re done now, his little voice replayed for me. she says it’s my turn

I let the missing poster fall from my hands, my legs working on their own. I stepped back into the hall, the bat firmly in my grasp and poised in the air. I made my way to the next room and gently nudged it open with my elbow, instantly regretting it.

The undeniable stink of rotting meat wafted through the cracked door, making me gag and step back. I buried my nose in the crook of my elbow and pushed forward, watching the door swing open to a room I regret finding. The floors were wet with a sticky brown coating. Underneath the smell of death was a tinge of iron. It smelled like pennies. My eyes followed the dark trail to two heaps of skin.

I fell backward, my body slamming against the wall before sliding down it. The bat dropped to my feet, its clamoring landing failed to make its way through the ringing already in my ears. I slapped my hands over my mouth and pressed as hard as I could, trying to stifle my sobs.

It was my parents; my dad’s favorite green jacket still clung to his emaciated arms while my mom’s styled hair fell in clumps of coagulated blood. Their cheeks were sunken and hollow, every tendon visible in their exposed skin. They were small and squished, like freshly squeezed grapes.

They were gone.

I didn’t realize I was rocking back and forth until I stopped, a sound coming from down the hall made me snap my head sideways. Replacing my sorrow was nothing but pure rage. I threw myself off the ground and snatched up my weapon. My boots squelched against the blood sticky ground and I tried my best to ignore it. I twirled my bat up closer to my head and jumped out into the hallway, swinging at nothing but air.

In front of me, laying on the ground, was a feather and a phone. The white swan feather that I had attached to Max’s backpack lay forgotten in the hallway, gently flitting as its edges caught a sneaking breeze. Next to it was my phone, laying face down and probably shattered.

I ran forward, the feather spinning as I halted in front of it, and I picked up my phone. If they weren’t in this building, they couldn’t be very far. I turned on my screen, quietly thanking God that it still worked, and dialed 9-1-1.

I hastily spun, looking down the hallways to my right and left, as I heard the other end ring a couple of times before someone picked up.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“My brother’s been ta-”

Before I could get my sentence out, pain erupted in my temple and I crumpled to the ground. The hallway doubled and tripled, waving in and out of focus as I tried to blink away the pain. My feet grew hot, the heat slowly crawling up my body before quickly being replaced by cold.

I rolled on my back and looked up at the hunch figure with a 2-by-4 standing above me. Her stingy hair brushed my face as she knelt down next to me. I could faintly hear the 9-1-1 operator repeating the words ‘hello’ and ‘ma’am’ through the phone that lay discarded by my head.

“Help,” I grumbled before taking another blow to the head, blacking out.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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sending-the-message · 6 years

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My local grocery store creeped me out. Pt 2 by NoxiousSpoon

I've made a mistake. A stupid, stupid mistake. I should've listened.

Part 1

I'll get you guys up to speed before anything else goes down.

I just needed to know it was all a prank, because if it wasn't, than what was it? It just couldn't have been real. It couldn't have.

I drove back there when I had time, which yesterday, happened to be at 11:15pm. Not nearly as late as my previous visits. But still somewhat late. Considering the streets here at completely dead by 10.

My mind was racing on the whole ride there. My palms were already sweaty by the time I pulled in to their parking lot. Something kept me sitting in the car, waiting, tightly gripping the steering wheel as I stared at the store. It looked the same, just as it always did. Squeaky clean and hiding something.

After a while of me just staring, I snapped out of it, and got out of my car. My feet became heavier with every step towards the entrance. My body tried to turn my legs into anchors, but I kept walking.

Once inside, the uneasiness dissolved. The atmosphere was normal, everything was organized, like before. I walked around pretending to be looking for some stuff. In reality I was trying to observe the employees. I must've circled every aisle twice , while trying to notice anything odd with the employees out of the corner of my eye. Sarah noticed the look of confusion on my face as I walked past her to circle the aisles a third time.

She walked up to me. "What are you looking for?" She asked politely. Slowly getting closer and closer, until she stood less than an inch away. Uncertain if she could tell what I was up to, I just decided to answer honestly. "Nothing specific, just looking around, seeing if I can find something I could use."

Her eyes dilated. "Well if you need me, I'll be right over there." She pointed to the cash registers, where she just was. "Just make sure you leave by midnight this time." She added with a grim expression. Then she turned around and went back to her spot.

That last line sent shivers down my spine. If she knew..maybe they all did. She didn't hint at what they were doing my last visit being a prank. It wasn't a prank. They all must've all known I saw them. The manager probably told them. They all knew.

I felt sick to my stomach. I had to leave. I shouldn't have drove back there. I felt like I was going to vomit. I ran to the bathroom to let out my sickness.

I don't know how long I was in there. I just kept throwing up. I think I passed out at some point, I'm not sure. The whole thing is a blur. Every moment inside the store with those freaks made even more sick. When I stopped throwing up, I got up and left the bathroom.

I looked around. And They were all gone. All of them. Again. I broke out in a cold sweat. I made a run for the exit.

Relief washed over me when I felt the cold air hit my face. Sweet solace. I walked to my car, confidently knowing it would all be behind me soon.

My confident stride came to a stop when something caught my eye. Dean's eyes looking at me, from inside my car. I looked down and reached into my pocket and felt an empty space where my keys once were. My heart dropped. I looked up at Dean and he smiled. He lifted the keys and jingled them condescendingly. My muscles tensed up, and a shriek got caught in my throat. I felt as if the wind had been knocked out of me. I turned around and again, the employees were there, lined up. This time they weren't pushing up against the glass. They stared at me for only a moment before they started walking outside in a single file line. I heard the car door open behind me.

At that moment my my mind left my body, I didn't think. I just ran. Into the darkness. I ran into one of the vacant stores. I frantically searched for somewhere to hide. I found a door and snuck in quietly, I think it was a supply closet. I couldn't really see much in the dark.

I was breathing heavy, which made me panic more, which made me breathe even heavier. I could hear them outside, first they were farther away because they didn't see where I had ran off to. But their steps were slowly pounding closer and closer. I knew I didn't have long before they found the right store. I had to move.

I decided to try to sneak into the last place they would look, the grocery store. I got out of the supply closet, trying to avoid making any noise at all. A plan of action soothed my burning panic and anxiety. I slipped out the back door and jogged quietly around the grocery store until I was behind it. I found the back door and quickly got inside.

The grocery store was still empty. A horrible smell lingered in the air, torturing my nose. I figured it was coming from the stockroom and hesitantly made my way there.

I felt cold as I pushed the double doors open. Everything inside was normal though. Nothing was out of the ordinary, I didn't notice the smell had ceased. But I did notice another door. It seemed out of place. It was a wooden door, seemingly very aged. The doorknob was very dirty, I'm not sure what could have made the stains that were splattered on that door.

Curiosity is a strange phenomenon. Despite everything inside me telling me to leave, I was on the verge of finding truth. The truth behind the grocery store and it's creepy employees. And that truth laid behind that wooden door. I went up to it and opened it. It creaked loudly but that didn't deter me.

The door led to a small closet, inside was a big sack of something sitting in the corner. Above it, on the wall, was a mirror. It had lines of writing in crimson on it, I only got to read the first line. "Sarah, Todd, Dean." That's all I remember. I don't remember anything after that.

I woke up in my bed this morning. I looked outside and my car was there. I looked for my keys and quickly found them in my pocket. On the keychain was something new. a yellow rewards card for the grocery store. My name was neatly printed on the back. I never asked for one, so I know it wasn't a dream.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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sending-the-message · 6 years

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For Better or For Worse by Ilunibi

When I was eleven, my parents divorced.

I didn’t understand why because they always seemed to get along, and my mom’s reasons always seemed very petty. Even if I can recognize that she probably thought she did the right thing for herself, I always held onto this tiny bit of resentment because she didn’t try harder to make it work. It put a distance between my dad and myself, and created this soul-eating jealousy as I watched my younger half-sister become his golden child. Though I tried to pretend it didn’t leave a mark on me, it did, and the trauma of “losing” my father made me swear that, if I ever got married, I would never, ever get divorced. I would do anything in my power to make it work.

Considering my husband, that’s not always been the easiest task. Tyson is, at his core, a good man who just happens to have very bad genes. He’s quiet and not very affectionate, but he’s supportive and hardworking and has a dry, dark sense of humor that never fails to make me laugh. Despite his size and resting bitch face, he’s a massive pushover who’s only ever been good at posturing himself to look intimidating. In fact, he tends to short-circuit when confrontation rears its ugly head.

That said, Tyson is also schizophrenic.

Being fresh-faced sweethearts who were exchanging vows within a year of graduation, we had exactly two years of marital bliss before he started hearing things, seeing things, and wondering just how many people were out to get him. It started with small, innocuous things--staring at the vents for a second too long, checking every closet when we’d come home from a night out--but by the age of twenty-three, he was talking to nonexistent visitors and barking threats at our bathroom mirror. I came home from work to find he’d duct taped all of the vents shut and, when asked exactly why he had to do that, he offered a nonchalant shrug and told me it was to keep “them” out of the house.

Who is “them?” That’s an excellent question that I tried to figure out for seven years. He’d never tell me. I’d push and push, and he’d roll his eyes like I should already have known.

In stark contrast to what I’d seen on TV and in movies about people with the illness, he was infuriatingly blasé about the whole thing aside from becoming mad at the occasional imaginary intruder. While I struggled to piece together whatever skewed narrative he was building in his head, he approached the subject of “them” and all of his quirks with a matter-of-factness that pissed me off.

Except I don’t know if I was angry or scared. I didn’t like the idea of the man I tied the knot with becoming a shadow of what he once was, especially so young, even if he seemed less terrified and more perturbed by the unusual direction his brain decided to go. Regardless of what the root of the matter was, his eccentricity and my own exhaustion trying ended with us trading barbs more than a couple of times, snarling and hissing and spitting at each other until he’d storm out angry or I’d lock myself in the bathroom. Most of the time it was the former since, as I said before, Tyson tended to panic when tensions ran high.

There were times when he’d leave and I’d have to go get him because he felt “safe” outside and didn’t want to come home. He’d accuse me of messing up his attempts to keep the mysterious “them” out. Sometimes, I would catch him watching people in public with a peculiar look on his face, or staring at reflections in car windows or grocery freezers, or gawking at blank spots in store aisles like something was blocking his passage. Any questions I had he’d answer with the same sigh and shrug.

Occasionally, he’d throw in something along the lines of, “Whatever. At least I know how to deal with them.”

I just kept chanting to myself that divorce wasn’t an option as I made sure he actually went to his appointments (that he claimed he didn’t need) and took the medicine (that he wondered whether or not was safe). When he finally wound up on disability, so caught up in his hallucinations that he couldn’t keep a job, I worked twice as hard to make up for the slack. Divorce wasn’t an option because he wasn’t a danger, he never threatened me, and I loved him. I didn’t like him sometimes, but I loved him.

It all came to a head last night, when I came home from a long, frustrating day at work and saw the vents sealed. Again. Or, rather, I caught him on the stepladder with a roll of duct tape, trying to tape shut the one above the entrance to our hallway. We’d had multiple talks about how it wasn’t necessary, and I’d even thought I had worked it out by reasoning with him using his own logic, but there he stood, silver-handed.

When I asked him why he was doing it, he quietly finished his work and stepped down from the ladder with the same composed tone and indifferent shrug he gave me every single other time I called him out on it.

“They’re in the vents again.”

I demanded to know what “they” were. Who was “them?” What did he think was in the goddamn vents this time?

“I love you, you know.”

I told him that wasn’t an answer. So he repeated it again, firmer this time, like there was an implication behind those three words that I should have magically picked up on. Instead of heeding that and spending the rest of my evening trying to decode what he meant, I spent it prying the tape off of the walls and floors. Tyson watched me, bemused and then dejected and then with mounting concern. When I caught him following behind me, trying to redo what I undid, I confiscated his tape and chucked it out the kitchen door into the cold.

He tried to tell me that I was making a huge mistake. Tired, angry, and bristling, I responded that I wanted a divorce.

Time stopped. Oddly enough, he didn’t respond by storming out and finding a place to hide. Tyson just stood there, with this look of confusion on his face, like a dog that heard a weird noise. Then, with a shake of his head, his expression melted into the same look of exasperation that one would give a toddler throwing a tantrum. When it sank in what I had said, however, I burst into tears.

Divorce wasn’t an option. I was just miserable and lashing out. I never meant to say that because I took a vow, for better or for worse, and I knew I could work harder to help him when he was the one who was truly suffering. He smiled as I spewed out apology after apology, begging him to forgive me. He just wrapped an arm around me and started escorting me to the bedroom.

“I know you don’t mean it. You think it, but you don’t mean it. I think things, too.”

He paused.

“Like whether you’ll let me redo the vents.”

I told him that if he did, I would walk out of the house right then and never come back. His face fell and his body stiffened. After we reached the end of the hall, he leaned past me to glimpse at himself in the bathroom mirror through the open door, pausing long enough to investigate his own reflection. He poked and prodded his face, inspected the corners of the glass, then sighed.

“We’ll be fine for one night. Probably.”

That made me feel a little better. I felt like I had won, as hollow of a victory as it was. If nothing else, once he got me in bed, he made sure that I knew that there was only one “hard feeling” he had towards me. Still, as much as I appreciated the attention and as much as I wanted to believe my win would break the cycle of his behavior, I mostly just wanted to go to sleep and forget the night ever happened.

We dozed off on opposite sides of the bed. I coiled up like a snake with all the sheets in a corner, and he was a full foot away from me on the mattress. Occasionally, my anxiety would wake me up and I’d feel for him, just to make sure he hadn’t gone and fetched the tape or ran away entirely. I’d brush an arm and feel comfortable enough that I wasn’t alone, then immediately drift off again.

Then, something other than anxiety jostled me awake.

It was a sound, like hushed and angry whispering, coming from behind me on the mattress. I could tell that it was male, but it didn’t sound like my husband; he was a large man with a large voice, but this was smaller and raspier, older and hissing. If smoke could speak, it’s like what I would imagined it sounded like. Too groggy to be scared and only dimly aware of my surroundings, I curled up tighter in my blankets and scowled.

“The fuck?” I wondered aloud, like the sage I was. The whispering continued and nobody answered me. As the seconds ticked on, I became more and more alert and I could feel this cold, sinking feeling in my gut. I tried telling myself that I was dreaming, but everything was too solid. I could feel the sheets against my skin and I was hyperaware of every overpriced thread.

“The fuck,” I repeated, less a question and more a statement of fear. I hoped I had said it loud enough for Tyson to hear, though I was beginning to wonder if it was him making the noise. After all, isn’t it a trope or something that schizophrenic people change their voices and talk to themselves? Different personalities and all that? His doctor had been frank that he doubted multiple personality disorders existed, but at the time, that was the only reasonable thing I could come up with.

So, I called his name. And I did it again. And again. And when he didn’t respond, I shifted my weight uneasily and decided that if I could just reach out and touch him, that maybe it would confirm my suspicion that nobody else was there and he was just very good at voice acting. Maybe it would even startle him enough to shut up. Holding my breath, I started to wriggle free of my cocoon when I heard something deep, familiar, and startling.

“Don’t.”

It was Tyson. The whispering was talking over him. Unless he’d learned the secrets of Tibetan monks last night, there was no way he could talk in two voices.

“What is that?” I demanded.

“Them.”

I was in no way shocked with his answer, but it did make me nearly puke in fear. A defiant part of me wanted to roll over in bed and see if I could see anything, but common sense and terror held me glued in place. The most I could do was look at the floor, trailing the moulding until I came across my bedroom vent, partially covered by the bed skirt. It fluttered as the heater blew, but I could see something moving and hear scratching, like rats trying to scamper up the ductwork.

Then, as clear as it would have been in daylight, I spotted a single eye. An eye belonging to something that shouldn’t have been able to fit in the vent, and unmistakably human. It was a stark white against the blackness of the room, lolling and rolling until it came to rest on me. The whispering fell silent when our gazes met.

“Don’t look at them,” Tyson warned, so I shut my eyes and pulled the blanket over my head. The whispering started again, louder. I whined over top of them, asking him what they were.

Again, he told me they were “them.”

Who is “them?” That’s an excellent question that he’s been trying to figure out for seven years. They wouldn’t tell him. He’d push and push, and they’d just laugh at him like he should already know. The only thing he’d managed to figure out was that they were invisible in the light, aside from reflections, like weird, reverse vampires. You could always see them in windows and mirrors and anything made of glass, no matter where or when you looked.

Were they dangerous? Probably. Thankfully, they seemed to go “someplace else” every so often, which would give him enough time to try to figure out how to keep them out. Did duct tape work? He had no clue, but at least he didn’t have to look at them or hear them.

When I asked if this meant he hadn’t been schizophrenic the whole time, he actually growled at me.

“Look, I probably am, but you can be crazy and competent at the same time, alright? Just go to sleep.”

I told him that he was insane. I didn’t want to go to sleep with those things haunting my house. I wanted to get up and get out, and maybe live at a goddamn Marriott for the rest of my life.

“You’ll just piss them off, babe. Just go to sleep.”

“How?” I demanded.

“Just do it. I manage it every fucking night you make me take the tape off the vents.”

I didn’t fall asleep. I never fell asleep. I spent all of last night staring at the wall beside my bed, wondering whether or not I’d make it through the night alive. It was only when the first light of day spilled through my window that I gathered up the courage to jump up, over my husband, and out of the room. In one fluid motion, I had scooped up my clothes from the floor, grabbed my purse, threw on some unseasonal sandals that had been next to the door, and was gone. There was a 24/7 Wal-Mart two blocks away with a hardware section that had my name on it.

Tyson was, as expected, fine when I got back, in his boxers, on a step-ladder, taping shut the vents with the tape he’d recovered from the driveway. When I came in with six rolls of Gorilla tape, he eyed me up and down and cocked his head. He asked if I was giving him permission to do what needed to be done, and I answered that I would start in my bedroom and meet him in the middle.

I called into work today and the house, while freezing, has been quiet as of ten o’clock tonight. No whispering, no eyes peering out of the darkness. I haven’t seen anything in the mirrors and, according to Tyson, neither has he. That said, I’ve just been glued to the living room couch, afraid there may be something underneath waiting to drag me under if I put my ankles where they could reach. I’ve been obsessively trying to figure out if there’s a vent I missed.

But at the end of the day, all I can be thankful for is the fact I married a man who, despite his flaws, has been taking care of me despite the fact I would never listen to him. Despite being so conflict-avoidant, he’s been trying to keep these things away from me for years. I’m glad I took that vow when I was younger that, no matter what, I would find a way to work through it. Not just because I love Tyson, but because now that they’ve seen me, I think he’s the only one who can keep me safe.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

4 notes · View notes

sending-the-message · 6 years

Text

Nana by Iskander_Khan

My name is Daniel Wilson and I’m 28 years old from Liverpool in the U.K. I’ve kept a terrible secret from my family for the past four years, a secret I cannot keep anymore. It’s a secret that’s caused me innumerable sleepless nights; caused me to spend hours on the internet researching similar cases and their frequency. A secret that’s initiated a self-loathing that seems to permeate every factor of my life these past few years. Even after so long it’s not something I can easily recount, so if at any point my retelling seems a tad incomplete or rushed, please forgive me. I’m not writing this down for entertainment value, more an exorcism; an exorcism and a warning to others.

It all started towards the end of a week in November 2011, I got a call from my Mum saying my Grandma was feeling under the weather. She’d been frequently poorly ever since my Granddad died the previous year and to be perfectly, brutally honest, I expected it wasn’t going to be too long before she went the same way. I know that sounds heartless, but the family had taken a serious emotional battering by this point; my Granddad’s cancer had been slow, painful and traumatic for anyone involved. I suppose I was just jaded; sick and tired of death and the endless stream of tears from my Mum and Auntie. So naturally, I jumped at the chance look after her at home when she was discharged from Aintree hospital with news that she was in recovery, albeit a very slow one.

The Friday night that I arrived was wonderfully uneventful, after making sure she had everything she needed I simply let her go back to sleep and get the rest her doctor had ordered. I had been dreading anything undignified for her, all her life she’s been a very proud, stubborn woman and I feared any displays of open weakness might be too much for her to bear. Luckily there were none, she was her old self, wits as sharp as her well used carvings knives. So time was killed on Reddit, streaming T.V. programs and sneaking smokes out in her backyard before I settled down to bed.

I awoke as early to a note from her on the kitchen table. In perfectly healthy looking hand writing she stated how she has risen early to get some much needed breakfast and had now retired to bed for the rest of the morning. She added that she was feeling fine, just exhausted from the stay in hospital. My spirits were instantly lifted, it seemed we’d have more time with her that I’d feared and I’m certainly not ashamed to say I was a little choked up as I prepared my own breakfast of cornflakes and ice-cold milk. But after a while, boredom seemed to sink in again as I sat back on the couch and tried to occupy myself. I had already text my Mum telling her of the improvement in my Grandma’s condition and expected to be relieved of my duties sometime in the evening. No doubt she’d be as overjoyed as I was and would want to see her happy and healthy as soon as possible. Yet for some reason I didn’t receive the immediate reply that I expected. I wasn’t concerned of course, it was only a matter of time before she’d see the text and voicemail notifications and I’d be free to enjoy the rest of my weekend.

However, when noon came and went and I still hadn’t received a reply I started to grow restless, especially once I started receiving texts from a friend. He asked if I was joining him and a few mutual friends for drinks, the North West derby was kicking off at around three in the afternoon and I’d already arranged to meet them to watch it. Football is, after all, a massive part of the local identity and culture. So it went back and forth, me refusing to commit to due to my Grandma’s still weakened condition and him trying to convince me to join them. I argued I should stay put and watch the match online, it wouldn’t be as good an atmosphere as the local pub, but it seemed the guilt-free option. He argued that if she was just asleep upstairs, what were ninety minutes in a pub just a few minutes’ walk away? Would I really be missed that badly, especially if she was feeling better? It had been a hard year for the family and I found myself agreeing with him that I deserved to destress, to enjoy the company of friends and return refreshed and uplifted.

The match had already kicked off by the time I arrived at the Swan Inn, just a few streets away from my Grandma’s house. A friend had a pint waiting for me and it felt instantly rejuvenating to be in a friendly place with familiar faces, actually feeling good about things for the first time in a week or so. The first pint went down far too well, clearing the way for the second and the third. By full time, I was admittedly pretty toasty, only just having the presence of mind the refuse the shot of Jagermeister bought for me to celebrate a one-nil victory at Anfield. The pub was in raptures and I left on a high, practically skipping the short distance back to Nana’s, whistling the old Gerry Marsden tune sung so loud from the terraces that day, just a few miles away.

But upon turning the corner onto the street she lived on, the warm, fuzzy feeling in my stomach instantly turned to ice. A lone figure stood in the window of her bedroom, the dim light of a small reading lamp confirming my fears. She was awake, she knew I’d left her alone, she was going to be fuming. Not just angry, but that nauseating variety of disappointed that only the most beloved and benevolent of family members can convey. I walked briskly to the front door of her small, semi-detached house giving her as innocent a wave as I could manage and reasoning that I could lie, saying I only went to the shop to pick up some essentials. I had nothing to show for evidence but that kind of futile lie seemed preferable to the truth I was now deeply ashamed of.

I walked upstairs, dreading with each step the kind of reception awaiting me when I reached her bedroom. I paused outside her door, took a deep breath and knocked meekly a few times before calling out for her. Upon hearing no response I slowly opened the door and peered around to see her in the same position as I first saw her, standing silently by the window, looking out into the street. “Grandma?” I asked again, “I everything okay?”, but still no response from her. I felt awful, I had managed to upset the one woman it was seemingly impossible to annoy; Nana was always the most patient, understanding person I’d ever known. What an ingrate, what a fool I was for letting her down so badly, at a time when she needed me to just be there for her, I had opted to be egocentric and self-indulgent. I walked back downstairs, a sense of deep shame in the pit of my stomach.

“I knew I shouldn’t have gone out”, I text my friend as I sat down, “she must have got up and found me gone, she’s fucking fuming”. I pressed send and leaned back on the couch, taking out my tobacco tin and proceeding to roll a cigarette for a pensive moment in the backyard. “She’s probably just being cranky”, was his almost flippant reply, “just give her time and she’ll be fine, she’ll be exhausted, Lad”. He was partially correct; this kind of behavior was, to me, unprecedented. To my knowledge she had never held a grudge in her life, never so much as said boo to a goose. But I was probably wrong, just being bias, she was only human after all, her illness had been a painful reminder of that fact. I settled down a bit, falling back into the same old pattern of surfing Reddit and swapping Comic Book recommendations with a friend. She was intelligent, funny and our mutual fascination with the macabre made the hours fly by whenever we exchanged messages.

It was in the middle of typing out a brief synopsis of one of Garth Ennis’ more disturbing works that I heard a dull thud coming from upstairs. A solitary thought flashed behind my eyes, one that sent me into immediate action, ‘she’s fallen out of bed’. Seeking redemption from the afternoon’s transgression, I bolted up the stairs, practically flinging her door open. “Grandma?!”

The reading light was off now, the room visibly less tidy than I had seen it previously, yet she was in the exact same position as she had been when I first saw her through the pristinely clean window from the street. Again she stood silently, looking out of the window into the streetlamp-orange glow of urban twilight. Although this time, something else was different about her. She seemed to be wearing multiple layers of clothing. Not daring to reach for the light switch to illuminate the room, I peered through the darkness, discerning what must have been maybe two or three cardigans wrapped around her elderly form.

“Are you – are you cold?” I asked her softly, “do you need another blanker or something, maybe a cup of tea?”. She silently shook her head, not once turning to look at me. Again the feeling of disappointment and shame grew heavy as I closed the door, glumly walking downstairs to resume talking comics, waiting for what could possibly be the bollocking of a lifetime from my Mum.

But still no phone call came; still no joyful or angry text appeared, my Grandma being more than capable of calling my Mum herself to inform her of my indiscretions. So I simply sat there, listening to an accomplished actor mispronouncing the name of a flightless bird, trying to cheer myself up. Maybe it was the couple of pints down at the pub, maybe the soft monotone of Nature Documentary narrators, but after a short while I felt my eyes becoming heavy, the couch becoming ever comfier. I slipped off my well-worn skating shoes, brought my legs up onto the couch and fell soundly asleep.

Sometime later I found myself jolted awake by the sound of my iPhone vibrating on the coffee table, the disconcerting sound initially had my heart pounding and the sight of the word ‘Mum’ on the flashing screen did nothing to relieve my anxiety.

“Alright Mum?”, I chirped, trying to sound as cheerful as possible.

“Hiya Son, everything okay?”, the question didn’t sound accusatory, though I suspected she’d already heard from my Grandma.

“Yeah, yeah everything’s fine, Grandma’s much better”, I said, awaiting her response nervously.

“Oh I know, yeah! Brilliant isn’t it, her appetites come back with a vengeance too”, she said curiously.

“Her appetite?”, I was confused, as far as I knew she’d only eaten a small breakfast, “I don’t think she – how – what do you mean her appetite?”

“Well we’re in your Auntie’s house having some tea, I came to pick her up once I read your text, my phone’s been dead all day, awful sorry Son”

My tired mind struggled with what I was hearing. “So hang on, how come you didn’t wake me up?” I asked, starting to breathe easier, “I could have done with some feeding aswell you know!”

I let out a little laugh, relief washing over me, my Grandma hadn’t mentioned me leaving the house at all, everything was going to be fine.

“Wake you up?”, it was her turn to sound confused now, “Son, you weren’t there”

“What do you mean I wasn’t there?”, I asked in return, “I’ve been sat here all -”, I froze, my words stopping dead in my throat. The next words my Mum spoke seemed to slow down as they entered my ear, each word sounding like a hammer smashing the glass coffee table over and over again.

“Son, I came to get her at about half past three, you weren’t there”

My phone dropped from my hand and somehow I found the will to simply react, grabbing an ornamental poker from the electric fireplace and hurtling upstairs as fast as I could. My thighs trembled as I scaled the last few steps as pure, raw fear had a cold sweat forming on my palms and forehead. For the second time that evening, I paused outside her door, preparing myself to face whoever, or whatever was in there. Only when I had steeled myself, with the thought of protecting defenseless members of my family, did I manage to get a proper grip of the doorknob. I threw the door open, the poker held aloft and ready to bring down onto the skull of the intruder.

The room was empty. The lights were on this time however, letting me see the detail of the scene before me with every horrific detail. The room was ransacked, not for valuables, but for clothes, her underwear, cardigans and blouses were strewn across the room in a haphazard, frenzied fashion. Dark patches of what I can only describe as slobber invariably staining every garment. I looked in horror at the silver-grey wig that sat in the middle of her poorly made bed. I dared not move, dared not make a sound, simply stared wide eyed, barely able to compute what I was seeing. A wide open window let in a cold, winter draft that set me shivering, even more so when I saw what was scratched in to the wall above her bed. I can’t explain why but, tears filled my eyes as I read the crude scratches in the wallpaper. My throat tightened up, saliva filled my mouth, every muscle in my body tensed;

‘sO NIc£ of U to V|siT m££’

‘SE£ U S00n!!’

‘NANA’

I bolted, crashed down the stairs and scrambled for the front door knob before tearing into the freezing night. By the time I ran out of breath and fell wheezing on the pavement, I was about 3 miles away from my Grandma’s house. I lay there for a moment, softly, silently weeping as I pieced the evening’s events like some sort of sickening jigsaw puzzle.

It took me a few days before I could go back, a fortnight to be able to go to visit her alone, but now I manage to make it up to her place a few times a week, even staying over on weekends, when I can. But I don’t sleep; I just sit there in her living room. I sit with the TV muted, the feed of a small security camera I installed in secret taking up my laptop screen. Underneath the couch cushion I keep the rusted, Belgian made revolver I bought from a middle aged man in Manchester around the time I had the camera installed. He told me it wasn’t for sale if I didn’t have a very good reason for the purchase, that he doesn’t sell to gangs or dickheads who want to shoot their unfaithful wives. He didn’t say a thing when he finally handed it over. He didn’t even take my money.

I’m not scared of whoever was in my Grandma’s house that night. What scares me is that my friend in the Police Force says that the timing of the crime, the obvious planning indicated by the wig, a million other little details that we’ve discussed over the years; they all point to it being one of her neighbors. Someone who’s been in her house before to know the layout, someone who’d know how to get in without leaving a trace of themselves behind, someone who could escape without being seen, someone close by.

As I said, I visit my Grandma a fair bit now and I always say ‘Hi’ to her neighbors. On sunny days when I help her into my car for a day out somewhere, I see them smiling. They mow their lawns, paint their front doors, tend to their picture perfect little houses, all of them smiling and waving. But one of them doesn’t smile when they turn their back, one of them doesn’t smile when they go inside and shut the door behind them. One of them doesn’t smile when they watch and wait and plot.

But it’s okay, ‘cause I’m ready. I got lucky. I caught them and they won’t be smiling when I spread their perverted brain matter all over my Grandma’s driveway. I got lucky. I got ready.

Just, please…

….make sure you are too….

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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sending-the-message · 6 years

Text

The Red Door by CynicHappy

"Never open the red door."

I wish I could tell you the exact number of times I heard those words throughout my childhood, but math has never been my strong point, and I don't think I can count that high. It was usually my grandfather who spoke them. Sometimes my mother or father, but usually Grandpa. He was a stern Greek-Canadian man, tall and heavyset with shiny black hair and stern features. He had many rules to keep the household in check, but the one concerning the red door was by far the most important.

"Never open the red door! Don't ever open the red door. You will regret it." The intensity in his eyes as he laid down the law never failed to frighten my sisters and I. We never dreamed of disobeying him.

My family was wealthy, and lived in a towering brick manor with too many rooms. Most of the doors leading into these rooms were white; the red door was the only one of its kind. It was on the second floor, located right between the bedrooms occupied by me and my sister Callie, respectively. It remained locked at all times; Grandpa kept the key, and twice a day, he would enter the room, and after thirty minutes or so, emerge, looking pale and shaken, and brushing off anyone's enquiries about his health.

Every now and then, my sisters and I gathered up the nerve to stand outside the red door and listen while Grandpa was in there. All we ever heard were his heavy footsteps, and muttering in Greek. Whenever he caught us lurking, he would pin us with a look that made our blood run cold.

"Stay away from the red door!" he would bark, before stalking down the hall. He would disappear into his study, shutting the door behind him.

This behaviour frightened me, of course, but as I grew up, the my curiosity intensified. I simply couldn't stop fantasizing about what might be hidden behind the red door. Silver and gold. Rare gemstones. A unicorn. More candy than one girl could ever eat. Maybe the door even led to another world, like in the Narnia books. Since I couldn't question Grandpa about it without risking his wrath, however, I turned to my parents for answers.

They couldn't tell me anything either. Mum, Grandpa's only daughter, told me the red door had been off-limits since she was my age, and that her father never offered her an explanation either. Dad told me I should just let it drop. I could have screamed. I wanted to know what was behind the red door. It was an intense thirst, a desperation that felt like a raging storm in my head. There were times when I couldn't sleep at night, my mind was whirling so violently with possibilities. I knew my sisters-Callie, Gabriella, and Marguerite-were curious as well, but they did a better job containing it.

"Grandpa probably has a good reason for keeping the door locked," said Callie. "Maybe it's best we just stay away."

"No way!" I shrieked. "One day, I am going to see what's behind the red door! I don't care what Grandpa says."

I was a child, naïve and stupid. I never considered the danger, never took into account how drained Grandpa looked whenever he walked out of that room, never cared about anything but my own curiosity. I had made a vow that one day, I would see behind the red door, and I didn't intend to break it.

It wasn't until I was about eight or nine that I got a little taste of the fear Grandpa felt.

Late at night-around 11:00 PM, if I remember correctly-I woke up to sounds that made my breath catch in my chest. Loud banging that shook the walls and made me worry that the roof would cave in; shrill wailing that felt like shards of glass piercing my eardrums. Crying for Mum, I stumbled into the hall-and found my family gathered around the red door.

"Father!" Mum yelled, clutching a crying Gabriella and Marguerite to her sides. "What the hell is going on in there?" That was the first time I ever heard her swear.

Grandpa, standing tall admits the chaos, looked like he was going to keel over. His face was whiter than bleached bedsheets, his hands clenched into fists so tight it would have taken a crowbar to pry them apart. He didn't answer Mum, just slid a hand into his pocket and retrieved the key. He unlocked the red door and stepped inside.

As I had so many times before, I tried to peer around him and get a glimpse inside, but Dad grabbed me and pulled me back.

"I wanna see! I wanna see!" I wailed, more out of habit than anything else. To tell the truth, I was terrified, especially as the sounds grew louder, mixed with Grandpa's angry shouts.

"Silence, Rebecca," Dad whispered, clamping a rough, calloused hand over my mouth.

We stood there in the darkened hall, listening for what felt like hours, until the terrible noises suddenly stopped, as if sucked into a vacuum cleaner. My ears were ringing, and I was trembling like a tuning fork. Grandpa stepped out minutes later, slamming the red door behind him and locking it.

"I dont ever want to hear you girls speak about this," he hissed at me and my sisters. "Do you understand?"

We nodded. He stalked off, his head and shoulders bowed as if pulled down by a string. Mum and Dad sent us girls back to bed, but nobody got much sleep that night.

For a while after that, my curiosity was quelled, replaced by fear. I gave the red door a wide berth whenever I walked down that hall, and would hide in my room whenever Grandpa went in, instead of standing outside and listening. My sisters were terrified as well, but while my fear eventually subsided, theirs didn't.

"What the hell are you doing?" Callie snapped at me when she caught me outside the red door again. It had been four months since that terrifying night, and I was still scared, but my intense curiosity had returned.

"I want to know what's behind the red door!" I protested. Callie's anger frightened me; she was one of the calmest people I'd ever known, and rarely raised her voice.

"You're insane," she hissed. "Whatever's behind that fucking door, it's going to kill somebody. If you ever go in there, you'll never come out."

"But Grandpa goes in there!"

"He's the only one of us who can survive in there!"

I stared up at my sixteen-year-old sister in shock, wondering how she knew all this. Looking back, I realize that, being older, she simply had a better perspective on the situation. Callie was nothing if not intelligent.

Just like that, the anger seemed to drain out of her, and she wrapped me up in a hug. "Rebecca, I'm sorry. I just... I don't want you to get hurt."

I nodded against her chest, but deep down, I knew I wanted to see what was inside the room with the red door.

Many years later, I finally got my wish.

Grandpa died when I was eighteen. He simply went to sleep one night and never woke up. He had kept us away from the red door and maintained his habit of going in there twice a day until the very end, even as his health took a slow trajectory downward. He left behind the key, which I snuck out of his bedroom on the day my parents went to pick out a coffin.

By then, my sisters had all moved out; Marguerite and Gabriella were away at college, and Callie was married, with a baby on the way. None of them had expressed a desire to see what was behind the red door in a long time. But I had never forgotten my vow.

The rusted silver key felt cold and heavy in my hand as I stood before the red door, eyeing the peeling paint and worn brass knob. In the back of my mind, I could hear Grandpa chanting "Don't open the red door. Don't open the red door" over and over again; I felt sick with guilt, knowing I was disobeying him. But I couldn't turn back. Not when I finally had the key.

Holding my breath, I slipped it into the lock and turned. There was a harsh click, and the red door creaked open.

After years of anticipation, I stepped inside.

I don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't what I found. Memories of all the wonderful things I'd imagined ran through my brain as I stared ahead in disbelief. I was standing at the mouth of a cave. A fucking cave. Jagged with rock, dark and gaping like a giant mouth.

"What the fuck?" I spluttered, and was answered by the red door swinging shut. I didn't even look back; I was too stunned. Slipping the key into the pocket of my jeans, I took a step forward.

The air inside the cave was hot and muggy, and I immediately began to sweat. I was still in shock as I moved deeper inside, using the flashlight on my phone as a guide. The cave floor was caked with dirt, the walls etched with deep scratches. All I could hear were my footsteps-and my own heavy breathing.

I was dreaming. I had to be. This couldn't be happening. No way. So I kept going. My logic was that if this was a dream, then no real harm could come to me.

Sweat trickled down my back in tiny rivers. It really was hot, and I kept reaching up to wipe the moisture off my forehead. I had been walking for a long time, and my legs were sore. I spotted a flat rock and sat down to rest.

My head was still spinning with confusion. I still believed I was dreaming, but this was by far the weirdest dream I'd ever had. It made no sense to me, how the red door could lead to a freaking cave, of all things. Was I underground? That made no sense, considering the room was on the second floor. Nothing about this made sense.

I contemplated turning back, to lock the red door behind me and forget about all this. But my curiosity still wasn't satisfied. I wanted to at least make it to the end of this tunnel, to understand the truth about this place and what my Grandpa had seen in here. I wanted to unlock the mystery of my childhood.

I wanted to know why Grandpa had been so adamant no one ever come in here.

As I stood, ready to continue, I cast my light across the cave floor, and spotted something that made me do a double take. Footprints. Not those of a human, however. Cloven hooves. Like those of a goat. Or a sheep. Or a demon.

You would think that I would have gotten the hell out of there after seeing that. But I still believed this was a dream, and couldn't comprehend that I was in any danger. So instead, I followed the footprints.

It had been slowly growing hotter the deeper I went, and by now, I was soaked with sweat. My clothes clung damply to my skin. Uncomfortable, I peeled off my T-shirt and continued on in nothing but my bra. The footprints eventually faded away, but I kept going in their general direction, convinced this was the right way-wherever I was going.

So dazed was I that I didn't notice the object in my path until I tripped over it.

I landed on my knees, hard, and cursed, before turning around so I could see what had been in my path. Something smooth and round, something that may have once been white, but had grown yellowed with age. I reached out to pick it up, and let out a thin shriek.

A skull. A human skull with a big crack in the front, most of the teeth missing. The empty eye sockets stared up at me, hollow and lifeless.

"Oh, my God," I muttered, letting the skull slip from my shaking fingers. "Holy fucking shit."

That snapped me back to reality. I had to get out of here. I didn't care about what might be awaiting me at the end of the tunnel-in fact, I didn't want to see it. I scrambled to my feet and whipped around, only to freeze when I saw I wasn't alone.

There was another person crouched just a few feet away. I use the term "person" loosely, because it hardly looked human. It was so wizened and bony, its pale skin hanging off the sharp bones like an oversized suit. Ragged, stringy strands of brown hair hid its face; it crouched on all fours, glaring up at me with beady dark eyes.

I don't remember screaming, but I must have, because the creature lurched back and let out a startled hiss, showing off jagged yellow teeth.

I began to run in the opposite direction, as fast as I could. Thankfully, the creature didn't give chase. But I began to hear sounds: piercing shrieks, angry growls, and the crackling of flames. I considered turning back and taking my chances with the emaciated horror behind me, but before that could happen, I saw that I was heading for the edge of a cliff, and skidded to a stop.

Falling to my knees once more, I let out a harsh, dry sob, releasing the tension that had been building inside me since I first opened the red door. The terrible noises filled my ears, louder than ever before, and I forced myself to peer over the edge.

The drop wasn't too far-only about twenty feet. Below me was a scene I can only describe as a glimpse into Hell. Perhaps it really was Hell.

At the centre of it all sat a giant goat's skull-about the size of a city bus. Sharp, curving horns the size of trees protruded from the top. There was no skin or hair attached-nothing but bare bone. The only thing alive about it was the eyeball in the right eye socket; a giant yellow eyeball with a square pupil. This horrible eye kept rolling around, staring in all directions, and every minute or so, the colossal jaws would creak open with an ear-splitting screech and release a cloud of black smoke.

Dancing around the skull were what I can only describe as demons. Some were vaguely human in shape, but with skin rotting off their bones and mouths full of needle-like teeth. There were bipedal goats with gnarled horns; monstrosities with scaly skin and spiky tails; skeletons with flames in their eyes, shrieking with laughter.

I began to cry. I was just so terrified. I wanted to run, but I couldn't move. I was quite literally frozen in fear.

Then I felt a presence. A shadow fell over me, and an angry voice boomed out.

I told you never to open the red door!

I looked up and saw Grandpa standing over me. Or, what had once been Grandpa. His skin had gone a horrible, blotchy shade of purplish-red; his eyes were fogged over with cataracts; his hair was torn out in chunks, revealing a scalp covered in crusty sores and pus-filled blisters.

"Grandpa!" I gasped.

Get out! Get out now! he screamed.

I saw the goat skull's giant eye focus on me, and the pupil contracted to the size of a pinpoint. It let out a screech that rattled my bones, that sent me stumbling back, crying hysterically.

Get out! Grandpa bellowed, waving his hands wildly. Get out now!

Somehow, I got my legs to cooperate. I stood back up and ran faster than I ever had in my life. The howls and shrieks of demons followed me down the tunnel, ringing in my ears even as the red door finally came back into view.

I slammed the red door behind me as hard as I could, locking it with the key that, thankfully, hadn't fallen out of my pocket. Then I slumped to the floor, vomited up the contents of my stomach, and curled into the fetal position, crying and trembling.

Something slammed against the door, with such impact that I went skidding forward a few feet. I sat up and watched, heart in my throat, as whatever it was threw its bulk against the red door, two more times, before giving up. Something retreated back down the tunnel, moving on all fours.

I sniffled, wiping my nose on my arm. I could still smell smoke, however faint, as it wafted through the large crack that had formed in the red door.

My parents and sisters never learned of my expedition past the red door, but I knew they suspected it anyway. How could they not, given my jumpy demeanour for the next several weeks and the heavy-duty padlock I bought?

After finishing college, I moved out of that house, married, and started a family of my own. My parents still live there, and it is now Dad who keeps the key. It is him who enters that terrible place two times a day. I don't know what he does in there, but it keeps the demons at bay.

What haunts me most about that day is seeing Grandpa in there, seeing how he looked, surrounded by those monsters. I know he's still there, and it terrifies me. My greatest fear is that Dad will end up there too. It seems whoever guards the red door is destined to be trapped behind it after death.

I often visit my childhood home with the kids; my parents adore their grandchildren. Being curious, as children often are, they have asked me many times about the red door.

I tell them what Grandpa always told me: "Never open the red door."

I only hope that they will be more sensible than I was.

I hope that they will listen.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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