Reddit, I'm in a really fucked up situation. My fingers are trembling so badly that it's taking me forever to type out a single coherent sentence, so I need you to bare with me for a little bit. What I'm about to tell you is unfortunately a very, very real scenario I have fallen into, and I know many of you, if not the vast majority, will think I'm pulling this story out of my ass, and I really do not blame you, but for the few who are willing to hear me out, I need you to know that this is an extremely serious matter that I have found myself involved in.
I guess I should provide some quick information about myself before I thrust you into this nightmare. Obviously, I will not disclose my personal information on this forum to protect myself, but I've decided I'll go by the name Alan Thompson for the sake of convenience and continuity (plus, I really like the name Alan). Any other name I use for anyone else I mention will be a false name as well.
I made a horrifying discovery when I woke up this morning.
It was about 4 AM; a little bit later than I generally prefer to wake up. I own a coffee shop, and it takes me a really long time to prepare myself both physically and mentally in the mornings, so I like to get up early, even if it means sacrificing an extra hour and a half of sleep. I sat there for a minute with my legs dangling off the side of my bed, trying to remember the dream I had had last night.
Something that y'all should know is that I take my dreams very, very seriously. Ever since I was a kid, I have felt as though there was something important to take away from them, like they were trying to tell me something about myself, which I know sounds stupid and painfully obvious, but my dreams are very different; I'm a sleepwalker.
When I do dream, it generally means I did a little sleepwalking, and it's hard to tell where I went without remembering where I was in my dream. I remember when I was a teenager, I dreamed I had walked all the way up the hill in my backyard to the tire swing at sunset, my hand in the palm of the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. When I awoke, I was buck-ass naked, face down in the mulchy patch of dirt below the tire. I remember when I was even younger, dreaming I was a professional baseball player at the mound, and slamming a home run and sending the hometown crowd wild, before waking up with a crick in my neck, laying across the away team's bench on the practice field down the block.
As I got older, the sleepwalking slowed down. Either I wouldn't sleepwalk at all, or I'd move from the couch downstairs to my bedroom without realizing. Little things like that. However, I went to sleep upstairs, and awoke in the bed I slept in this time, yet I was absolutely certain I sleepwalked. I felt the weird tingling in my legs, the heavy feeling in my arms, the sensation similar to attaching weights to your ankles before a jog; I knew I sleepwalked last night.
So here I am, squeezing my head between my hands, sifting through those vague thoughts trying to figure out what the hell I dreamed about. Bits and pieces slowly came back and shaped together a decent idea of what was going through my head. I remember getting out of bed, and standing at the top of the stairs. I stood at the precipice, looking down, my toes over the top. The house glowed with a deep blue, a misty hue akin to that of your generic “dream-scape”. I felt a presence below me. I slowly moved down the stairs, and turned towards my kitchen. I didn't move more than a step. I saw somebody ahead of me, lying motionlessly on the tile. I stared for a minute; no movement whatsoever. I slowly walked into the kitchen, and grabbed a knife off of the counter, and pulled an apple out of the refrigerator. I nonchalantly stepped over the heap of a person that sat in front of me, and sat down at my kitchen table to cut the apple. Midway through, I heard a blood curdling scream; I quickly turned my head, and found the body was gone, and my basement door (which sits adjacent to my kitchen's) was wide open. I sprinted up the stairs, and slammed the door behind me. I don't remember anything following that.
This didn't shake me so much. I've had nightmares before, which usually resulted in me running throughout the house screaming for a bit, waking my family before returning to my bed. The only thing I had to worry about, I told myself, is stepping on something I knocked may have knocked off of a shelf or table in my nocturnal episode. I got up, showered, brushed my teeth, and went downstairs to make my breakfast.
When I got into the kitchen, I went straight to the cabinet to get a glass to pour myself some water. I also threw a piece of toast in the toaster to have something to munch on. My head was pulsing for whatever reason, and so I turned to grab some Ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet above my kitchen table; that's when I saw the apple sitting there. Three slices, and a knife sitting next to it, coated in blood. My heart sank. I looked over at the basement door; wide open. I grabbed the knife off of the table, and ran down the stairs before flipping on a light. I collapsed when I saw the body of a young woman covered in blood and bruises, laying face down on the couch.
I felt like vomiting. There were so many stab wounds. Her face was angled towards me, her right eye completely glazed over and blackened, her right cheek sliced open all the way up to her earlobe. Patches of hair had either been ripped or cut from her scalp and lay in chunks on the blood-stained carpet below the couch. Her legs had long gashes and deep puncture wounds. I couldn't feel my arms or legs.
I gathered myself and dragged my pathetic frame to the window looking out at the backyard. My yard is open, with houses sharing the plot behind me, so they would've been able to see or hear me murder this poor woman if she had screamed the way I remembered it. No one was outside, no police cars or abnormalities to be seen; other than the trail of mud leading to my back window. It had rained the night before, and whoever this woman was I had surely dragged her through the storm and into my home, and this trail was the only witness I saw to take care of. Without skipping a beat, I sprinted out to the backyard and began kicking up the grass that had been trampled in my unconscious kidnapping.
As I followed along the trail, I realized that it led from the back porch of one of my neighbor's home. My stomach dropped as I realized the back door of Trudy Harrison's home was ajar at the end of my trail. I felt the tears fill my eyes, and I stood there, full of so much shame, regret, and confusion. I couldn't believe that the gruesome product of my evil that was waiting for me back home was the body of a woman whose company I enjoyed very much. Trudy was a young, sweet single mother around my age. She introduced me to the neighborhood when I moved into my home three years ago, fresh out of school. She had me over for supper over the summer several times; we both loved to write in our free time and talked much about our own interests and works. She was one of the few friends in the neighborhood I had made time for, and she was certainly the only one who made time for me.
None of this made any sense to me at all. I've never in my life had such a thought about anybody, and I certainly couldn't even fathom doing anything so shockingly violent and brutal to anyone on this earth. I felt my knees get weak and my throat swell. I couldn't let the world know I killed such an innocent woman in such a horrible way.
I ran back to my house, and pulled on some latex gloves. I sprinted back to Trudy's house, looking side to side, praying to whatever the hell exists that no one would see me as I slid the back door shut. I ran back inside and grabbed a trash bag, some bleach, a scrub brush for my toilet, and a shovel. I sat on the floor of my basement, trying to figure out what I was going to do about this horrifying mess that sat just waiting to be discovered. I didn't want to go under for this. This wasn't fair to me. I still don't know if it was my fault or not.
I decided to bury her.
My mind began to race. Where the fuck do I go? Where the fuck can I put a body without getting caught by somebody? I thought maybe I could drop her off of the bridge by the backwoods, but realized that people hunt around there, and that's too risky. Maybe I should drop her in the dumpsters behind Joe's store on Harper Street-- shit, there's security cameras back there. I couldn't think of anything-- until it finally clicked.
This is going to be tough to explain, so bear with me, please. My basement has a closet where a bunch of pipes and stuff are. I haven't had to go in there since I moved in (aside from when there was a family of raccoons bumming near the water heater). In the back of that closet, there's a bunch of wood panels making up the wall, all about 5 feet by 5 feet. When you pull those panels away, you find that the area under the house is just dirt. You can see where the stairs are, etc, but under the main level of my home is just dirt. I realized this when I had an exterminator come to solve my pest problem, and he pulled off one of the panels to take a look and see if they came from behind the wall through one of the loose panels.
I ran upstairs and grabbed a drill, a blanket, and a change of clothes. I also called in to the shop and told the guy who was heading the shift he was gonna have to run the day-to-day for the day, as I was going to be out sick. I carefully moved Tracy's top half into the trash bag and wrapped the rest of her in a bed sheet I had laying out with the rest of my dirty laundry, and moved her into the back hallway, out of sight from any window. I took my cleaning supplies and spent hours scrubbing the carpet, the couch, myself, and anything else I felt could hold any evidence free of bodily fluid. I then took the drill, and began unscrewing one of the panels in the closet.
After I got it off, I used the flashlight on my phone to look around the space. It was moist and quite moldy, with animal feces scattered around. I didn't hesitate to start digging. I dug and dug and dug (and cried and cried and cried) and dug some more until I knew for sure she could fit in the horribly vile grave I desperately carved out for her. I put her in and piled and patted the dirt until it looked almost as untouched as it had before this nightmare. I went upstairs, collected all of my cleaning supplies and my dirty clothes, and put them all in another trash bag that I'm going to have to get rid of. I jumped in the shower. I got out. I ate breakfast. I went on a short walk to collect myself, but only got five houses down before feeling like I was going to vomit. I sprinted home, puked in my sink, and now I'm in the shower again. Things can't just go on as they did before. I fucking murdered someone.
I have been sitting on the floor of the shower sobbing for several hours now. The water is lukewarm and uncomfortable, but I can't get out. I can't face what I have done. I still don't know what I'm going to do. I just need somebody out there to know that this has happened, and I have been a fan of this forum for a very long time. Please, try to understand that I didn't want this to happen. I can't go to jail for this. It's not my fault.
I'll be back later when I gather myself to keep you updated on what develops, if I'm not arrested and executed before I have the chance.
Submitted March 27, 2016 at 12:37AM by ireallykilledher http://ift.tt/1RlF2XU nosleep
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