Journal of a Sleepwalker nosleep

10:32 AM, Sunday, November 19th

My therapist told me to start keeping a journal. She told me that it’d help me keep track of the incidents and somehow persuade my unconscious mind into breaking the habit. It sounds a little too Freudian to me; I knew from my shitty little psych minor that nobody with enough self-respect to practice therapy in this day and age still took that garbage seriously. I got the feeling that she was blowing smoke up my ass, and I really didn’t care because my insurance covered her “help” completely. It’s not that I think she’s trying not to be helpful; I just don’t think she knows how. I know it’s a medical condition I’ve got, and no amount of diary keeping is going to get rid of it. Still, I’ll try it out. I might just get a spooky story or two out of it, considering just how much it’s been creeping me out.

See, I’ve been sleepwalking lately. First time was earlier this week, Thursday. I woke in my bed around 4:00 AM with the covers thrashed about and both pillows on the floor. This wasn’t unusual. My old roommate always said that I rustled around a lot in my sleep. Sometimes I’d roll over and my arm would smack the ceiling tiles (my bed was bunked) and wake him, he’d tell me laughing. What wasn’t normal, and gave me a bit of a shock when I realized, is that both the door to my bedroom, and the front door a little beyond that, were wide open. I could see the knobby front tire of my dirt bike, which I had pulled onto the porch to keep out of the snow, poking around the corner, glinting dully with white moonlight. I jumped up and closed both doors, for a moment peering out into the snow-glazed field and forest around my house. I couldn’t see anything, or anyone, and if whoever had opened the doors was still around there somewhere, I couldn’t tell. They sure as hell weren’t in the house either, as I could pretty much see every part of my house from where I was standing. I was at a loss for words.

The whole situation had me a little freaked out, so I decided to turn on all the lights, which didn’t take long considering there are only three, and investigate a bit more. What you’ve got to understand is that my house is small, really small. There’s a tiny living room with a kitchen in it right when you walk into the door, then on the opposite wall of the entryway there’s the door to my bedroom. The bathroom is a miniscule thing with a shower you’d more likely see in an RV than a house. The thing was more cabin styled than anything, so above my bedroom and tucked into the high A frame of the roof was a little loft which I used to study or otherwise fuck around. I have a thing for lofts I guess, which I why I sprung on this particular house when I started grad school.

Anyway, I looked around the house for a while, and as soon as I was satisfied that nothing was missing or out of place, I plopped down on the couch. I was confused, but the uneasiness had pretty well subsided and I was considering getting some more sleep… until I saw my feet. They were coated in a thin layer of dried mud, and two of my toenails were cracked. I cleaned them off a bit with a wet rag, very aware of the fact that I had showered right before I went to bed the following night. The fear was creeping back. I started again at the front door, now closed, and noticed something else. Starting at the door, and leading right back to the edge of my bed, were very faint footprints in dried mud. They had to be mine, I reasoned. What the fuck was I doing outside, barefoot in the middle of the night. Most importantly, why could I remember nothing of my little midnight stroll? I immediately thought I’d been sleepwalking. I mean, what else could explain it? Guy gets out of his bed in the middle of the night, goes for a stroll in the woods outside his house and wakes up the next day with absolutely no memory of it. It’s a textbook case; not that I’ve ever read any textbooks on sleepwalking but you get the point. After some research online the rest of that morning I called up my insurance provider and was able to get an appointment with a therapist in the city about 45 minutes away on Saturday, two days from then. There really isn’t any treatment for sleepwalking other than therapy apparently, and I had my doubts that they’d be able to help. Still, it was free, and I had time to kill and nothing to lose.

Turns out I was right, and after an extremely unproductive session yesterday, it happened again last night. Same deal; woke up around 4:00 with mud on my feet, this time a little more fresh, and both doors open. Still a little creeped out by this, I turned on the TV and fought off sleep. That was this morning, and after some time on the phone with my therapist she told me to start logging the incidents down in a journal, and here I am.

2:45 PM, Tuesday, November 21st

It’s been getting colder lately, and the weather forecast looks like a lot more snow in the coming weeks, especially up here in the mountains. I’m not far from the city, maybe 40 minutes, but the elevation difference definitely makes it a lot colder and windier up here. Basically, whatever snow and cold the weathermen in the city are saying, I’m going to get it worse.

I don’t mind much, I actually like the snow. Riding into town in two feet or deeper of snow just makes it that much more fun. And there are less cars on the roads, which is always a good thing. I am a little bit concerned about my sleepwalking though. If it gets cold enough to cause frostbite, that could cause problems. Still, it’s been a couple days since I’ve done it. Hopefully it’s just the stress of upcoming finals getting to me and not anything I have to worry about in the long term.

In other news, I think my neighbors might be moving out. They’re not my only neighbors; my house is near the top of the mountain where the roads pretty much stop, but there’s a lot more houses further down the slope. Theirs just happens to be the last I see on the road up the mountain to my house. I saw a big orange U-Haul van in their driveway with the rear open. I thought about knocking on their door and making some conversation, just to get an idea of what was going on. I don’t know them especially well, but they did invite me over for dinner a few nights after I moved in this summer. They were really very nice - older couple with two foster kids -, and if they were moving out I’d be sad, but I saw nobody in or around the house and both of their cars were gone, so I figure I’ll head over later and see what’s up.

9:57 AM, Wednesday, November 22nd

It happened again. Fuck, I knew this wasn’t over. Woke up wee hours of the morning, mud on feet, doors open, blah blah… you get it by now, except something was different. The refrigerator door was ajar and some contents had spilled out. Nothing notable, just items that were perched precariously. Now, I’ve heard of people performing household actions while sleepwalking. Shit, I’ve heard of some dude getting up in the middle of the night, cooking breakfast for himself and laying it out on the table in his sleep, only to find cold pancakes and orange juice waiting for him the next morning. I’m not sure I believe that one, but I was still slightly unnerved by my increasingly extensive nocturnal escapades.

I was just about to leave for class when I saw something else unusual. My motorcycle, which had been very steadily propped on its centerstand, was now resting on its side on my porch. There’s no way this thing could have fallen during the night and not woken me up; it weighs more than 400 pounds! There wasn’t any damage at all and I kind of just dismissed it, got dressed and left for class.

11:02 AM, Friday, November 24th

Sleepwalked again last night. This time was bad.

I came to standing, staring at the open rear of the U-Haul van in my neighbor’s yard. It was pretty dark still but I could see the first little bit of light creeping up the horizon. There still weren’t any cars or signs that my neighbors had been there. Just the gaping, dark maw of the box truck in front of me. It was like staring into a void. What little light existed from the stars and moon barely pierced a foot into the truck before being snuffed out by inky darkness. It looked wrong, and just like everyone in the history of forever who’s said the words “it looked wrong,” I have no idea how to describe it. It was just too dark, and yet there I stood, transfixed.

It was cold too, must’ve been down in the low 30’s last night. I started walking home after knocking on the door and getting no response. I never really knew how long the road leading to my house was. I always rode, and that doesn’t give you a very good measure of distance. It probably took me more than an hour to get there. By the time I got back it was bright and the day had started but the first thing I did after washing the dirt off of my bare feet was flop in bed. I woke up just now.

I think what I’m going to do is tie a rope around my ankle when I sleep and attach the other end to the bed. The thing’s huge, old and made of solid wood. There’s no way I’ll be able to move that.

5:43 PM, Saturday, November 27th

I swear, there’s something up with the wildlife around my house. All day today every animal I saw, which was a very small amount, was sitting stock still and staring at me. This isn’t that unusual for the birds around here. The ones that hang around for the winter are pretty quiet. But the squirrels… they always go crazy chittering and running about if you get too close to their tree. Not lately. They’ve just sat there, looking at me with glassy eyes even as I approached them. I hike a lot around the mountain and I’m pretty accustomed to the noises animals make and how they react to my presence.

Call me fucking delusional, but I think they know something. They’re treating me differently, and it’s alarmingly obvious. I’m seriously weirded out.

11:43 PM, Saturday, November 27th

Okay, earlier I thought something was wrong with the wildlife? Now I fucking know. Me and this big ass buck have having a staring contest through my front window for the last ten minutes. He hasn’t moved, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he hasn’t taken a breath. Just standing there, looking in… I saw him out of the corner of my eye when I turned off the TV to go to bed and nearly shat myself. He’s maybe 30 feet from the window. I’m just going to close the blinds and go to sleep, if I even can after that spook.

7:13 AM, Tuesday, November 28th

Okay, this shit’s starting to get out of hand. I woke up a couple minutes ago curled like a fetus in my fucking shower. My legs up to the knees are caked in dried mud and leaves and my right palm has a pulsing bruise on it, as if I’d tripped and fallen and slammed it on a rock. I have work in an hour and it feels like I didn’t get any sleep at all last night. Fuck.

You know what’s even weirder? The rope I kept tied around my ankle was gone. Like, not untied or broken. Gone. The end that was tied to the bed was still there, but only about 4 feet of it. At the end of that, it looked like the rest of the rope had just, ceased to exist… Like someone had cut it with a blade the width of an atom. There was absolutely no fraying. Just looking at it makes me uneasy. It’s unnatural… no, more than that, it shouldn’t be physically possible, especially for me in my fucking sleep.

After work I’m going to the hardware store and… well, I’m not sure, but something is going to change. It has to, or else I’m going to lose my mind. I’m not going to let that happen.

6:38 PM, Tuesday, December 3rd

I just got back. I bought a padlock, a motion activated light and a CCTV camera system that cost me $149.99. I guess the clerk at the hardware store thought someone had broken into my home or something. He glanced up at me with a concerned expression after I set my security investment down on the counter. He didn’t say anything and I’m glad for it; this is kind of a long story to be explaining to someone with a line of people waiting behind you.

Luckily, setting the cameras up seems pretty easy. They sync with my phone and computer and start recording with one simple command. There’s memory enough for 72 hours of continuous recording in each camera, of which there were three. They had cheaper sets available but I’m not going to skimp out when it’s very possible that my health is at risk.

I also called my therapist earlier. She was honest with me this time and told me there isn’t a lot she can do. The most she can give me in terms of meds are sleeping pills, which I said I’d take as soon as they came in. She said she’d call me when they arrived at the pharmacy and I’d be able to pick them up. I have no idea when that’s going to be, but I figure sleeping pills aren’t going to be of much help because I’m still obviously asleep when I’m… out there.

One camera is going in my bedroom, in a corner of the ceiling where it has a full view of my bed and the doorway out into the living room. I’m tying another to the railing of my loft overlooking the living room, a bit of the kitchen and the front door. The third, a wide angle lens version, is going outside on the porch so I can see the entirety of the yard. I’m putting the light out there too; hopefully I’ll trip it going out the door and wake up. Finally, when I decide I’m in for the night, I’ll lock the door and put the key in a pot of simmering water on the hotplate in the kitchen. Probably not the best idea to keep that thing on all night, but it’s the only way I can think of to keep myself from being able to get at the key during the night and still be able to find it tomorrow. That’s my plan, and it better fucking work.

Tuesday night, unknown time

I don’t know what the fuck it is, but something is in this house with me. I’m in my bathroom, door locked and barricaded with my leg. I’m still covered in blood - everything is, the shower, floors - all of it just coated, drenched in red sticky blood. I can’t go out and face that... thing, so I’m just going to stay in here. My phone died and the charger is up in the loft, so I can’t watch the video feed, and I don’t have any courage left to go out and get it. I saw enough anyways… I just want the light of day to come and wash away this fucking sick nightmare.

I.. I woke again in the bathroom, but immediately I could see and feel the blood. On my legs, arms, rubbing off onto the shower walls and dripping into the drain. I immediately ran to my bedside where I kept my phone and as I got there, to my alarm and confusement, both doors were again wide open, revealing the dimly lit night beyond. As I peered out, I froze in place and my blood ran icy in my veins. I saw it… Out there, at the edge of the clearing where my home stood, was a humanoid figure… levitating. It saw me too. I was paralyzed in place by sheer terror and all I could do was stand there, mouth agape and eyes starting to water. I must’ve stood there for minutes staring but it felt like an eternity. I could only see it’s vague outline in the darkness of the backdrop; it floated there, unnaturally still, arms straight out sideways like it was somehow gliding in place. It’s legs were too short and I made the realization that it had neither hands nor feet, just long smooth limbs ending in nothing.

Then, and I swear upon my fucking life that I am not making this up, or joking or... or whatever! It’s arms… they flapped! Up and down and up like a goddamn child would pretending to be a bird. The moment, the very second it did this, it hovered in my direction, slowly. It was coming towards me, flapping all the while and I screamed, ran to the bathroom door and slammed it shut. I’ve been sitting here with my back against the wall and leg propping the inward opening door shut with all my strength. I heard nothing and still haven’t. At some point, I realized I was still clutching the phone in my hand. Both my wifi and data connections were completely nonexistent but the Bluetooth camera system was still miraculously paired. I opened the app, driven by morbid curiosity and fear.

The outside camera was the first to display it’s feed. I scanned that feed top to bottom and couldn’t see anything different. I gathered my courage and switched the display to the living room camera, and I just about jumped out of my skin. There, in my living room, was what was left of that deer… I say what was left of because the thing was barely recognizable. I only knew what it was because a pair of big antlers poked out of a mass of flesh and bloody fur I could only assume to be it’s head. The rest of it was scattered around the room like someone shoved a hand grenade down the poor thing’s throat and let it explode. It’s rib cage was blown open and… I guess the thing had to have been on it’s back because the individual ribs jutted out from the pile of intestines in the middle of the floor like a row of spikes. I threw the phone down and puked up my guts right in my lap when I realized that the blood all over me had probably come from that horrorshow.

It took me a good couple of minutes to regain my composure and pick the phone up again. The mess was still there and it didn’t look like anything had changed. There was one camera I had yet to check: the one in my bedroom. I shuddered at what I might find on that screen. For several long moments I debated whether it would be better to not know what was on the other side of that door, but fear for my safety eventually won out.

I changed the feed.

For a split second, right before the phone battery died and the screen went black, I saw it, hovering, right in front of the door to the bathroom. Only it wasn’t facing the door. It faced the camera. For the first time, I saw its face… or, lack of one. Nothing was there, just an oval of perfectly smooth grey skin. That was all I could discern before the phone died, but it’s seared into my memory. I regret switching that feed.

I’m going to hole up here for the rest of the night. As soon as morning hits I’m getting on my bike and getting the fuck away from this place. I’m now acutely aware that my life is in grave danger. I’m keeping this journal so that in case something happened to me, someone would know.

I can see a bit of sunlight coming through the bathroom window. I’m going to make my move soon. I’ll update as soon as I can… hopefully far, far away from here.

Submitted February 01, 2018 at 06:57AM by AureusGriffon http://ift.tt/2E5qHQ4 nosleep

How an Office Crush Saved My Marriage (Part 2) nosleep

Part One

Like someone flicking on a light switch, my wife suddenly had a spark. I know it is crazy. I know it is not normal to be depressed and then suddenly snap out of it just because an orphaned baby shows up on your front door. I know it’s not normal to be on the birth certificate of a baby, from a woman you’ve never met before. I know these things. I have also come to learn how hard it is to be the glue holding a marriage together, walking around on eggshells, and always having to be the positive one just to help your significant other get through depression. When I saw my wife smile for the first time since June, it felt like some pressure valve in my life was released, and suddenly good thing can start happening again. I don’t know how else to explain it. That feeling, though, is exactly why I didn’t immediately react or question things. My wife excitedly suggested we go to the store and buy baby things. She mentioned that we both couldn’t go since we didn’t even have a car seat yet, so she put together a shopping list and sent me on my way.

Feeling like a zombie, I trudged my way through the large department store. Loading whatever I could in the cart, having associates meet me at the front with larger items, like the crib. I didn’t look at any of the prices. I just bought. People smiled, said thank you, I think someone even said congratulations. I nodded, everyone’s face a haze in my memory. Nothing here felt normal, but most likely looked to be the most ordinary thing in the planet. When I got home, I installed the car seats in both of our vehicles. I spent far too long with a cheap allen wrench and poorly drawn instructions putting the crib together. This would have been a perfect day a year ago. It’s hard to admit, but a part of me likes performing these tasks. I hear my wife downstairs feeding some formula with the new bottle I bought at the store. I could hear her rooting through the bag of food that I also picked up. I have no idea what babies this age eat, so I got everything I could find.

Before long, the baby was asleep, lying in the middle of our bed, my wife lying next to her, just watching her sleep. Glowing. The last time I saw her even close to this happy was on our wedding day.

I know what is happening is wrong. Legally, however, this baby is somehow mine, and that’s just good enough for my wife. When I try to tell her that I never cheated on her, I have no idea, she just gets dismissive. Says how it doesn’t matter either way, she’s just happy we have something in our lives now. I do nothing the entire weekend. I know I’ll have to do something on Monday, but for now, I just wanted a break. Call it cowardly if you wish, it likely is. I am just tired. Saturday and Sunday night were the best night's sleep I’ve ever had. The baby did wake up once or twice those nights, but my wife was extremely quick to respond and just told me to go back to sleep.

Monday, I went to work. My wife stayed home with Octavia. On my way, I started thinking about that name, and how much I liked it. Routine started to set in, and I walked into the office as if it were any other day. When I walked in, it felt like a scene from an old western movie. The whole room got quiet, and everyone turned and looked at me. I walked to my cubicle, hearing murmurs pass as I walk. Almost immediately, I received an email from my boss, Roger, stating he needed to see me in his office immediately. I closed my email, and walked to my bosses’ office. I could still feel everyone’s eyes on me. His assistant was waiting outside, as soon as I approached, she waved me in, opened the door right away, and patted me on the shoulder and said she was so sorry as I walked in the office. Inside was Roger, Janet, the head of HR, and Robert, the branch president. Whenever we were in trouble, the office joke is that we always had to talk to the R’s.

“Jason, what the Hell are you doing here, man?” Roger burst out as soon as I took a seat.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s fine, Jason. She told us that you and her got close, and that the two of you carpooled to work in the morning, it’s why she requested to have the same shift as you. She said it made that easier.” Robert walked over and put his hand on my shoulder while sitting on the edge of his desk.

“You aren’t in trouble, Jason. She worked in HR, she did all the paperwork documenting that you had interoffice relationship. It’s all documented. Aella was always good at the paperwork.” Janet chimed in.

“She put in paperwork that we were in a relationship?” I said, shocked.

“Like I said, we never judged.” Roger held his hands up to prove he was backing off.

“Your signature is on the paperwork. You saying this isn’t your signature?” Janet held up the relationship contract.

I examined it closely. “No, that is definitely my signature. It is my signature perfectly.”

“Good.” Janet started putting the paper away.

“Hold on, can I get a copy of that? I don’t think I ever got a copy for myself.”

“Yes, I’ll email you a copy as soon as this meeting is over.” Janet leaned back and pushed her glasses back up on her nose.

Robert finally spoke, “We want you to take the rest of the day and tomorrow off. No need to make anyone feel uncomfortable in the office, and no need for you to rush into anything. Here, we put people first, and you need your time to grieve.”

“I’ll leave as soon as I get a copy of the relationship form.” I said as I walked out.

As soon as I opened the door to the office, I saw people who were standing up and staring at the door suddenly duck back into their cubicles or pretend they were having a conversation with someone next to them. A form of entertainment in offices that I have always attempted to keep my distance from, but would have likely been really interested if it were someone else in my situation. I see now how it must look; A married man’s office romance ends with the mistress dead. I am sure there’ll be lots to talk about between work at their desks. I plopped down in my chair, suddenly feeling much more exhausted than when I came in. Waited for the “Ding” when Outlook has a new message. Pressed print on the relationship form, and grabbed it off the printer on my way out.

I sat in the car reading the relationship form. There was an incredible amount of detail on the form. Our addresses, where I would supposedly pick her up in the morning, how long we’ve been a couple. According to the form, we were dating since June 16th of 2016, which is exactly one year before the birth of Octavia. It was all written in her handwriting, with the exception of my signature, with printed name below it. I looked exactly like my handwriting and was a perfect copy of my signature. I looked at my watch. It was still really early, about 10:30 am. I looked at the relationship form again, staring at her address. I decided to go and check it out.

I plugged her address into the GPS on my phone, it informed me it’s about a 12 minute drive, I put my car in drive, and began following the directions. I don’t really know what I was expecting of the neighborhoods when I was heading to her place, but I was definitely heading into space with more parks, cleaner streets, and larger buildings. When the GPS finally told me my destination was 350 feet to the right, my heart started racing. Unsure as to what I was going to do, or what I was going to find, or how I was even going to get in to the front door, or if I even wanted to get in.

When I finally parked, I was in a parking lot for some nice looking apartments, and noticed that my car seemed rather out of place in the parking lot. It wasn’t a BMW or a Rolls-Royce. Just a red Subaru, sitting in a sea of silver and white cars looking a lot cleaner. Walking into the building, there was a front desk concierge. He was very tall and skinny, very dark complected and all smiles. I walked up to him, and he seemed to recognize me right away.

“Oh hello mister Jason. I am sad to finally meet you under such circumstances. I have heard so many things about you from Aella and seen your face in pictures many times. Always traveling for business you are!” He spoke with a thick accent as if he were from Zimbabwe.

After my meeting at work this morning, I know I simply have to play along to get any answers, “It’s a real shame, she will be missed by many. What do you know of the situation?”

“Not much, she came home one night and no longer wanted to be in this world.” He said with a noticeably deep sadness. “I liked her a lot. She was always nice to me.”

“It’s a mystery to me as well.” I read the name on his nametag. “Matu, do you think I’d be able to get in to the room?”

“Oh yes, of course mister Jason, you are the only person left on the deed now.”

“Deed?” Another document with my name on it, I am guessing.

“Yes. You and Aella owned this apartment together. You are both owners. I hope I didn’t ruin any surprises. Hard for me to know what you know when you are always traveling on business.”

“Do you think I could get a key, or into the room, Matu? I seem to have lost mine in all my traveling.”

“Of course! One moment.” He disappeared into the back room.

I take a seat on one of the chairs in the lobby. Burying my face in my hands. So now I own an upscale apartment? This week would feel like I would have won the lottery if these things weren’t apparently done with my name and signature. I heard the front door open, a man and a woman together, holding a tiny dog. They looked like your typical suburban couple. Dyed blonde hair, $80 cargo shorts. The dog has a nicer haircut than I do. I am startled out of my gaze by the man yelling in my direction.

“I thought we’d never meet the famous Jason!” He exclaimed exuberantly. “I am so sorry to hear about Aella. If there’s anything we can do, please let us know! We’ve heard so much about you, we feel like we know you already.”

“Please excuse Huxley,” the blonde woman said, “He doesn’t know how to talk to people, even when they are grieving. He’s not wrong though, let us know if there’s anything you can do. What are neighbors for, after all?”

I thanked them, and we were interrupted by Matu coming out with the spare key. I mumbled something about getting to the apartment to both, and they all waved me off. I followed the hallway to the apartment, number 42. I unlocked the door, and slowly walked in. It was a beautiful, modern apartment. Lots of well-fitting furniture, uncommon shapes, all of the appliances were shiny metal. Lots of whites, and greys and black colors. Looks like it came directly out of a magazine.

I had to figure out what was going on now. I started looking through all of the drawers in the kitchen, checking the food in the refrigerator, no idea why. Moving past the kitchen area toward the living room area, looking for a laptop, or some books, or anything that can give me some hints as to what is going on. I found nothing, I decided to head to the bedroom. It is nicely made. I sat on the bed, went through the night stands, I did find a spiral notebook. Tossed it at the foot of the bed. I’ll look more and make a pile of things to look through when I’ve searched enough. Next was the closet. A beautiful white closet door, with crystalline handles. My heart began racing at the thought of what was behind these doors. I swung the door open, and there were stacks and stacks of spiral notebooks. Well over 100 of them. Seeing the volume of these, I changed my mind about making a pile at the foot of the bed. I went straight back to the notebook on the foot of the bed, and started reading it. It was an activity log of my life, basically. I read the first entry in the notebook:

“Saturday, January 6th, 2018: 10:38 am. Went to the grocery store today. Purchased ground beef, corn, peas, some cans of soup, flour. This would all be good in a pot pie.
12:00 pm. Made lunch. Sandwiches. 12:30 pm. I saw him try to speak to her. She did not respond. The defeat in his walk when he walked away. He did not cry, but I cried for him.”

I stopped reading at this point. Needing to know how this all started, I went back to the closet, hoping these notebooks were in order. I went to the notebook on the bottom of the stack. It looked very used, and on the cover it said “Volume I.” I opened it and read the first entry:

“Friday, April 8th, 2016: 4:30 pm. Today Cory and I broke up. He was sleeping with another woman. I was walking down the road, looking at my phone. Part of me hoping that Cory would call and apologize and I would be able to yell at him again, and hear his voice once more. A car was coming, and I didn’t notice. I heard someone yell at me to look out, by the time I looked up, the car was almost going to hit me. That’s when someone ran in front of the car, and tackled me out of the way. He was so kind. He asked me if I was okay. Then he saw that I was crying. Asked if it was because I was hurt. I told him I wasn’t hurt because of him. Because of an ex. He told me that I just got a second chance by not dying from a speeding car, and that I am beautiful and will find someone who will never mistreat you.”

I put the book down, and took a deep breath. I remember that moment. I don’t remember them looking like the same person, but I guess it is possible. She had short brown hair, a little heavier than I knew her. There was also something different that I can’t quite put my finger on. That was so quick back then, I am not sure what I remember anymore. I took a deep breath and felt some closure. This is why she feels like she owes me something. Because I stopped her from getting hit by a car. There’s a lot more notebooks here, and it all dates back to about when she would have gotten pregnant. Maybe I’ll look through those in the future to see if I can figure out who the real father of the baby is. I am not sure what I’ll do with that information now, though. That baby is legally mine, and we don’t have to go through the trouble of looking into adoption.

I laid back in the bed for a moment. Casually, I grabbed the latest notebook from next to me and looked at the very last entry, which caused me to shoot up in bed, and my heart once again racing.

“Saturday, January 30th, 2018: 2:33 pm. Went to the department store to buy furniture and baby supplies.”

I stopped reading. I closed the notebook, went to the closet, grabbed the tote of shoes next to the notebooks, emptied the shoes, put all the notebooks in the tote. Then I left, locked the apartment door behind me, and loaded the tote into my car. I drove straight home, not sure if I blinked or obeyed all of the traffic laws. When I got there, I just sat in my car. Breathing deeply to make sure I was calm. When I felt composed, I got out of my car, looked around the neighborhood, not sure if I’d see anyone looking at me or not. I put on a smile for whoever may be looking, and walked into my house.

I don’t think I’ll ever figure out what has been happening, and I am not sure I even want to know. Right now, I just want to spend time with my family.

Submitted January 31, 2018 at 08:56PM by DexKnightley http://ift.tt/2DO7Ple nosleep

The Monster in the Basement-part one nosleep

I'd always been thought of as fearless. Hell, I thought I was too until I moved into a little old stone house in Ferdinand, Indiana. It was a cute house with warm, polished oak floors inside and old rose gold native sandstone blocks making up the exterior. Its red metal roof reminded me of southern Germany where I'd studied the language and visited the castles as a foreign exchange student the previous summer.

The day I'd decided to rent the house, I saw that there was a round grotto in the front yard filled all the way around with old statues of saints with the paint peeling off. The woman showing the house told me the statues were over a hundred years old, but the house was quite a bit older. Then she told me not to go down into the basement.

Being more than a little bit cat-crazy curious, I asked why. She looked away, not meeting my eyes and muttered something about how it flooded a little when it rained and unstable stairs. “Father said we have to keep it locked for safety anyway”, she said, “so it really doesn't matter.” I glanced at the old metal storm shelter doors with a log chain looped around the handles and set with an industrial sized padlock and shrugged. Whatever, I thought. The rent was a really good deal so I handed over the deposit and first month’s rent and she shook my hand and handed me the keys.

After I moved in my stuff, I decided to go for a walk and explore my new neighborhood. As I topped the hill above the house, there lay an old cemetery. Cool. I walked amongst the headstones, many of the oldest in Blackletter German, with dates all the way back to the late 1700’s.

As I continued walking toward the back I saw uniform rows of small white stone crosses. I knelt down to read one; Sister Mary Boniface, order of St. Benedict, Ferdinand monastery, 1910-2007. Requiescant In Pace. Wow. Row upon row of dead penguins. Having survived Catholic school, my friends and I referred to the nuns as either crows or penguins. I preferred penguins. A little more irreverent.

As I came to the end of the last row of white crosses, I looked up past the stand of tall pine trees and saw what looked like a castle. Holy mother-it was a huge Romanesque Benedictine monastery, complete with flying buttresses and grottoes round about. I promised myself that I’d check it out later, but the shadows from the pine trees were growing long, and even I didn't get any particular thrill out of hanging out in old graveyards after sunset.

As I walked back down the hill toward the house, it started to sprinkle a bit so I picked up my pace. On my way, I thought about the water washing down over all those old bones and running down hill, and how my new landlady said the basement flooded a little when it rained. I felt a little chill as I walked past the cellar doors and into the house.

I kicked off my boots and turned on some Dio: “We're the ship without a storm, the cold without the warm, light inside the darkness that it needs…” Water over old bones-perfect mood for some Holy Diver man. I laughed at myself for my case of the willies a few minutes earlier and danced while I unpacked a few dishes so I could stir up some ramen.

Later in the evening, I must have been tireder than I thought, because I nodded off on the couch and woke with a start to what sounded like an animal scratching and howling in the basement. I sat there with my heart pounding, listening for a sound, but the night was quiet. I figured I'd been dreaming and went in to bed and fell back to sleep. Next I knew, it was morning.

I put on some coffee to wake up my brain. Last night’s rain had washed everything and left it glistening, so I decided to raise the windows to let the morning breezes blow through the house. As I pulled up the window near the front door I caught a whiff of what had to be decomp. If you've ever smelled it, you won't ever forget it. Great. Some stupid possum or squirrel crawled under the porch and died. I closed the window. Oh well, fresh air was probably overrated anyway.

I set about tidying the house, putting things away and stuffing the rest of the boxes in the closet. Belinda and Tom were coming over tonight. When I told them about the house and the old cemetery with the penguin plot, they thought it would be a great place to have a séance. They were both into that whole ghost hunters schtick. I thought it was a bit nutters, but let them have their fun. As long as they were bringing the adult beverages, I didn't care if they tried to have a conversation with the pope.

As the sun sank lower in the sky, I stood in the kitchen with my hands on my hips, pretty satisfied with the look of the old place. Just then I heard Belinda’s familiar staccato knock and Tom snickering on the porch. “Get in here you two freaks before the neighbors think we're having a circus.” “Aww, we love you too, Cass. Open the freakin door already. Belinda's icy cold and the beer’s impatient.”

My two old friends immediately settled in like they owned the place, per usual, as I put the rest of the brew in the refrigerator. After a few beers and adventures regaled, Belinda said, “It's time, boys and girls.” We knew the drill. I lit a few candles and dimmed the lights before sitting to join hands with my friends at the small, round, oak table in the kitchen.

“Who would speak to us tonight?”, Belinda softly spoke. All three of us, heads bowed, eyes closed (one of us peeking); Belinda’s head rocked back as out of her mouth a cracked old voice croaked, “Ich würde durch die rothaarige sprechen.” Tom hissed, “What the hell was that?”

“It was German. It means I want to speak through the redhead”, I answered hesitantly. This was a new one. I'd only ever been a spectator in these love feasts of spooky shit. And Belinda didn't speak German.

Belinda opened her eyes and said, “You heard the woman, Skippy, you game?” “That was a woman? A woman pterodactyl maybe. You know, what the hell. Ok. What do I do?” “Just close your eyes, for real this time dork, then go blank, and imagine there's a door in the middle of your forehead. Then open it and wait.”

I closed my eyes and listened as the room went silent. Not just quiet, but earplugs-in-your-ears stuffed-full silent. I opened the door. It felt like I was a dry towel quickly absorbing a warm liquid. Then I felt something uncoil itself inside my head and I looked out through my own eyes like they were windows in a stranger’s cheap motel room and smiled at Belinda. She opened her eyes and screamed. Just like that, the liquid wicked out of the towel, the candles went out and Tom jumped up and flipped on the lights.

“What in the hell was that?”, I asked tremulously. “That, Cass, was some ugly old evil. Congratulations on your first, albeit brief, channeling experience.”, Belinda replied.

First and last as far as I was concerned. Feeling something old, cold and dead slither around inside my head and flash a murderous grin at my best friend wasn't high on my repeat list. Belinda just watched me with her cat-ate-the-canary gaze and said, “Let's order a pizza, I'm hungry. We're done here tonight. We’ll pick up here tomorrow night.”

Sunshine in my eyes-It burns! So not a morning person. It had taken more than a few cold ones to wash the taste of pterodactyl out of my mouth last night. Add to that my restless sleep in which I woke up every fifteen to twenty minutes because I kept dreaming I could hear my baby crying but I couldn't find him, and I was glad I didn't have to start my new job until next Monday, I crawled out of bed and into my jeans and boots.

A Google search late last night had turned up the information that the monastery gave tours weekdays at noon. I was just going to make it, if I hustled.

I took a shortcut through the cemetery. As I passed Sr. Mary Boniface’s grave, I paused. There at the foot of the cross was a little pile of the last dandelions of the year. The silence grew thick again, and I felt a little queasy as time seemed to freeze for a moment. The bright morning sun had mercifully receded behind the gray November haze, but that didn't account for the chill that shivered my timbers as I turned away from the little offering and climbed the path from the cemetery to the castle on the hill.

It was a small group made up of what appeared to be three old putzfraus on pilgrimage and me in my red bed head, residual eyeliner and combat boots. The penguin leading the line gave me a shot of stink eye until I gave her my best 100 watt smile and wished her Guten Morgen. Then it was just a mildly odoriferous eye. I thought her little Antarctic heart my actually be thawing in my direction when out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw a child flit through a doorway toward the staircase to the wine cellar.

“Somebody catch that kid before it falls!”, I yelled. Our tour group stopped. The putzfraus all cut me a sharp glance before finding a fascinating crack in the stones at our feet. Penguina took a breath that sounded like someone had let the air out of her tires and she wasn't amused.

“There are no children here.”

The silence grew thick again, and my ears ached from what felt like a pressure change. I felt something slither behind my eyes. “You. Know. Better!”

Where the hell had that come from? As I was strong-armed off the grounds by two sisters who were serious contenders for the No shave Movember prize, I had little time to wonder about what I'd seen or said.

As I trudged down the hill toward the house, though, I felt more than a little creeped out. I walked into the yard and rounded the corner of the garage and headed toward the kitchen door. Stop. There was something off about the cellar doors. Same big chain. Same ridiculous lock. Same whiff of dead possum. I felt like I was missing or forgetting something. It was right there on the tip of my brain. Shrug. Brain fart. Time to get to work unpacking before my ghost buster buddies came back this evening.

I was making a good dent in it when I heard a rustling sound and a splash in the basement under me. There must be a whole litter of possums under this house, and now the little buggers were going swimming. The low rent was beginning to make more sense.

After a few minutes of fishing through my stacks of papers I found the lease. Time to call the landlord.

I put the phone on speaker as I continued to unpack. After four rings, the electronic phone answering system chirped, “Thank you for calling the Order of St. Benedict facilities maintenance request line. For the main campus, press one, for the parish church, press two, for rental properties press three.” Well that explained the “Father” part any way. I left a message with my number and received the reassurance that all things would be done in the lord’s perfect timing.

I decided I'd done enough in the house and had earned a nap. I lay down to rest and closed my eyes. I went to my regular mental vacation spot and felt myself bobbing in the warm waves over the white sands of St. Thomas, with the sun shining down on my skin, warm breeze ruffling my hair…BAM! I was snatched under the water into the darkness and I couldn't breathe. I was fighting something I couldn't see and the water was cold and rank. I was running out of air and strength as my panic escalated. I shot up, panting, in a cold sweat. My hands trembling, I rubbed my eyes and slapped my cheeks. It wasn't like a dream-it was too vivid, too real. I'd just reached that pre-sleep drift. No falling asleep now. Beer. I need a beer. Time to head for Der Oasis.

I slid up onto the barstool and caught the schooner of amber bock that Oli was setting in front of me before it touched the bar.

“You're a gentlewoman and a fine American, Oli.”

“Ja, well, you're a troublemaker and a hot mess”, my bartending friend quipped back at me. “Throwing rocks at the crows, from what I hear.”

You've got to love small towns. In the time it took me to botch an afternoon nap, the story of my tourette’s moment at the monastery had turned in to me roughing up a nun and getting kicked off the grounds.

“Well, that last part is true. The penguin militia did escort me out. Touchy old broads. Last time I try to keep somebody's brat from falling down the stairs.”

Oli lightly lifted a finely arched brow. “They don't allow kids on the grounds at the monastery, Cass. You been licking any strange postage stamps?”

“Ha ha. No. I saw what I saw. Pour me a refill, I've got to stagger back to the house before my company gets there.”

As I walked over the hill and came within sight of the house, I saw a small shadow slip around the side. Now what? I broke into a jog, yelling, “Hey, come here. You're not in trouble!”

I reached the corner of the house where I thought I'd seen someone and-nothing. Empty yard. Quiet street. Probably the same damn kid. Aaargh. I turned around and began to walk back toward the porch.

The cellar doors again. Something…there. The chain was unwrapped from the door handles and the lock lay on the ground. As I started to walk stiffly backwards away from the cellar it hit me. Derp. The maintenance guy came to fish out the critters and forgot to lock up. I started to step forward to relock the doors when I just froze. No. Not in my job description.

I hurried back into the house and shut the kitchen door behind me. I had almost caught my breath when a rat a tat tat on the door behind me jumped me halfway out of my skin. I whirled around to see Belinda’s eyes laughing at me.

“Skippy see a ghost?”

“Get in here you hateful heifer.”

Belinda and Tom let themselves in and had a seat.

“Goose walked over your grave, Cass? You don't seem your usual cocky self tonight.”, Belinda said.

I shared the story of my day while Belinda and Tom just sat hushed at the table. “We did a little exploring of our own today”, Tom said as he pulled his long hair back in a ponytail with the band Belinda tossed him. “It seems your little house here used to be the home for the caretakers of the monastery and the cemetery. In fact, your landladies live in the castle on the hill.

When old man Senninger, the last caretaker, died a few months ago, the bishop decided to hire a maintenance company in town and rent this place out.”

“I figured out that my neighbors up on the hill owned the place when I called about a maintenance problem, but I didn't know that this had been the caretaker’s house. Next you're going to tell me the old dude died a horrible grisly death here or something, aren't you?”

Belinda cackled. “Nothing as dramatic as all that. Apparently the old guy sort of lost it at the end though. He stopped showing up for work and the neighbors said they'd see a light in the basement all night while they heard him banging around down there and talking to himself. After a few days of silence and no sightings, one of the neighbors called the sheriff to request a wellness check. They found him down there dead.”

“Murdered?", I asked.

“No”, Tom snickered. “But if it makes you feel any better, he had painted the entire basement blood red and built most of a new brick wall down there before his heart gave out.”

“Creepy. So glad I signed a 12 month lease. How did you find all this out?”

Belinda shrugged. “Small towns, German Americans and free beer. You become very popular and well-informed in a short span of time.”

“So now what?”

“So now we go have a look in your basement.”

“Crap. I knew you were going to say that.”

“You have a key, Cass?”

“No need. The handyman left it unlocked an hour or two ago.”

“That would be kind of difficult. It was your handyman we were chatting up for the last three hours. He was still sitting at Fleig’s when we left.”

My ears felt full again and everything sounded far away. I felt a sudden urge to grab Belinda by the hair and smash her face into the solid oak table. Then I blinked and it passed. Like it never happened. Except Belinda knew. From the way she’d subtly shifted her weight back to the slight tightening of her shoulders, she’d seen it. But she said nothing.

Tom pulled two flashlights out of his pocket and handed one to each of us. “Let's go.”

Tom led us out, Belinda scooted along beside me as I slid into my leather jacket. It was getting chilly. Tom pulled the chain away from the door and grasped the door handles and pulled them open with surprisingly little sound. “Ladies first!”

“Assholes second,” I said, as I switched on my flashlight and headed down the stone steps. So much for the rickety stairs. As I got to the bottom stair, I swept the flashlight beam at the wall around the entry until I spotted a light switch and gave it a flip. And there was light. A naked bulb hanging from a snaky cord, but light. I switched off the flashlight and stuck it in my pocket.

The floor just beyond the step was dirt, or rather mud. While there was water standing only around the edges due to channels dug around the walls, the smell of damp and rot was strong and it was obvious that the rain from two days ago was just now receding.

Sure enough, over in the corner was the furry, squishy lump of what appeared to have once been a possum or a really ugly cat. Trying to breathe through my mouth only added the sense of tasting decomp to the sensory bouquet.

“Anybody got any Vick’s Salve?”

“You read too many Patricia Cornwell novels. Suck it up, buttercup”, said Belinda as she stopped on the step just behind me. “Let's check this crypt out.”

Crypt seemed the right word. The walls appeared to have been dug out of the earth then lined with brick, which was now cracked, crumbling and falling out of the walls where tree roots and worked their way through. With the walls mostly in tact, the feel of the low-roofed room we had entered was of an underground tomb.

Over this chaos of brick someone had taken a paintbrush and half-painted, half-flung arterial crimson paint over three walls of the place, complete with splatter patterns. An upended paint can and brush stiff with dried paint lay abandoned on the floor. Jackson Pollack meets Dexter meets whack job.

As I stepped down onto the floor, I saw that it was actually pretty hard-packed, so there was just a thin layer of slimy earth. Enough to make it slick, but not much beyond a muddy footprint’s depth. Speaking of which…there in the muck were footprints. Barefoot, small, and disappearing through the small door-sized gap in the fourth wall to the left of the stone steps.

Here there was new brick and sloppy mortar work where someone had started but come short of finishing a wall. Scrawled on the new wall in red paint, looking as if it had been finger-painted were the words, “Blut der Untschuldigen”.” Blood of the innocents”, I translated. Belinda and Tom stepped down behind me, I stepped toward the new brick wall, my hand raised to reach toward the writing.

“Stop, Cass!”, Belinda warned in her soft ‘pay attention, this is serious’ contralto. There were some things Belinda didn't play around with. I'd learned to listen to her. She knew stuff. “There's a presence crouched on the other side of that wall, and it's not a child.”

“Well then, what is it?”, I asked. As the words left my mouth, I knew what it was. I felt more than heard the reptilian slither in my head.

“He wants to show himself to you, Cass.”

“No thanks, not in to demon peep shows, I'll have to pass.”

“It'll be alright, Cass. You don't have to go through the wall to the other side. Just take our hands and lean forward toward the opening in the wall. Things get hairy, we'll pull you back.”

There was no sane reason to do this. I took their hands. As I edged closer to the rough gap in the wall, I felt a slight breeze whispering against my face, pulling along the faint foul scent of old dead things and dirt. I leaned in.

Submitted January 31, 2018 at 02:37AM by dxrosemary http://ift.tt/2BEuvCx nosleep

Update #2 I work at a fast food restaurant and I'm thinking about quitting nosleep

Part 2

I just got back from visiting Derek. Tyler was right, he isn't talking and he is barely eating. His face looks red and puffy which is heartbreaking because I know him as a fun loving, happy guy. While we were there we grabbed his phone and added him to the group chat. Maybe it wasnt a great idea but we wanted him to be in the loop if he comes around to talking. On the way back from the hospital we decided to stop by the restaurant. We both thought it was odd to close for a whole day due to a workplace accident that happened last night.

Near the restaurant there is a big gym so we parked in their parking lot. We were about 200 feet from the store and their was a police car in the parking lot. This greatly confused me because if any law enforcement found out about our creature(ghost?) they probably wouldn't send one county sheriff car. Both me and Kim didnt feel comfortable staying there very long so after we saw the police car we drove off. She dropped me back at her house where my car was parked, the whole ride she was silent. I got in my car and drove home.

My next shift is tomorrow afternoon if the store is open which I am hoping it isn't. But other than that, a lot of people did want to hear some peoples experiences with the creature and I figured I would post some of the better ones here. I still haven't decided whether or not to quit but either way you should get some enjoyment out of these stories they told. In the story they refer to this thing as a ghost. Maybe they're right but if you agree or disagree that this is a ghost, I'm just copying and pasting what they texted me.

Without further ado, here is a story Tyler shared in the group chat. For reference, Tyler is a short guy in his late twenties. White, blonde hair, good looking, little annoying sometimes. He might be exaggerating his story a bit but Kim more or less confirms it. He sent it all in one block of text but I tried to paragraph it out for easier reading.

---

[Tyler] - None of you got shit on my story! So Ive worked there for 9 years and without fail the ghost has been there every night. Kim remember the day shortly after Valentine's Day like 4 years ago? There was a really bad storm like tornado level. The power line on out corner got blown over. The traffic lights on the corner were out and the store power got knocked out. The managers were freaking out trying to get stuff from the walk-in refrigerator to the walk in freezer which would stay cold longer. No one was in the store basically all day. More then a few dumbass cars thought they could come get food during the storm but she shooed em out.

Everyone pretty much forgot about our ghost friend because we didnt want the food to go bad. It was a couple hours of hard work to move everything. Then sunset rolled around. I dont know why that fucker waited till sunset because with no power we couldn't see the feed anyway. But here is the fucked part, the headsets started beeping. There was no power and no way those things could get a signal but every one of those fuckers started beeping. We had the drive thru worker pick it up. I think it was Amber? Remember Amber? I wonder what happened to her. Anyway, her she listened and her face went pale like every other day she had to talk to it.

What's weird is she didnt say anything. Usually we all answer with a hi welcome what do you want sort of deal but she was dead quiet. She stared at nothing and listened to the headset for a good while. I picked up another headset to try and listen in but all I head was static. I wonder what she heard. She ended up finally putting it down and asked if she could be excused to the restroom. The management of course let her go. We all felt bad for her.

After this we continued moving shit to the freezer. It was still a day like any other day more or less just no power. Now it was dark almost all day from the clouds but we all noticed that it was almost pitch black outside. To the point that when some people got off their shifts they didnt feel comfortable driving in it. I dont know how to describe it but I guess the darkness was heavy? If that makes sense? We all just decided to stay inside till it was brighter out.

Eventually everything was moved to the freezer and we just chilled in the dining room. Everyone was scared shitless but no one admitted it. We couldn't see shit out the windows. Everyone was quiet. Amber was still in the bathroom.

We started to hear soft noises. They were so quiet they we couldn't tell what they were. It had been raining all day so we thought maybe there was a leak somewhere. But as time went on we noticed the sound was more deliberate. As it got louder we recognized they were footsteps. Its weird to explain youd think it was more then one set of footsteps because it sounded like four feet. But as it got louder still he heard it was a weird stride. Slow and deliberate but definitely more then two feet. It almost sounded like a horse trotting on the roof of the restaurant. It should have been silly, but we were all terrified. Then for a few seconds it stopped. The ceiling was creaking under the weight of whatever was up there. We all jumped and some started to scream as the same footsteps started to erupt from all angles. It was coming from the walls, the ceiling, even beneath us. We heard Amber screaming from the bathroom, "ITS INSIDE ME!" Haha thats what she said. Anyway, creepiest shit ive ever been through. Gives me nightmares still

---

Ill update this later, I dont think reddit will let me post it at this length.

[Update Same Post]

Its the afternoon. I just woke up from a much needed nap and noticed I had a text from Derek. It was not in the group chat it was to me and me only. Ill post it here but I wont be sharing with everyone else for now due to the contents of the text.

---

[Derek] - Hey Brandon its Derek. I know I dont know you very well but I only feel comfortable sharing this with you right now.

I knew something was off right when the headset started beeping. My arms and legs felt stiff and my body didnt want to move. I just watched you. I watched you answer the headset. I watched as all of out coworkers walked over to me and forcefully hold my hand down on the grill. I wanted to scream. The pain was unimaginable. I couldn't move my legs and everyone was holding down on my hand with such force I couldn't pull it away. I could only look at you. You were the only one not trying to keep my hand on the grill. You looked into my eyes. I listened to their laughs and saw their grins out of the corner of my eye as they held my hand down on the burning surface.

Their smiles were so WIDE and the laugh was so guttural. Why didn't you help me?

I haven't talked to Tyler at all but he wont leave my hospital room for more than a few minutes at a time. I'm so scared. Every few minutes I see him staring at me out of the corner of my eye. That same sick twisted WIDE smile. Please help me.

---

I dont know what to do about this... I could use some suggestions in the comments. Ill post this as soon as reddit lets me. Ill try to update soon.

Submitted January 30, 2018 at 07:26PM by bschaffart963 http://ift.tt/2EmMArE nosleep

I woke confused... nosleep

I've been a lucid dreamer for nearly a decade now, but I had a dream last night, I felt it fit here and I will share.

It started rather innocuous, nonsense strung together as dreams frequently are. My weirdest dreams rarely more than a colorful day, I make sure of it. Show tunes on a public street or maybe my refrigerator is full of chocolate milk, my dreams are very simple, that's why this one was such a shock to me.

I sat in what looked like a restaurant accompanied by the usual types, that girl from 3rd grade, a douchey looking guy, and Daphne from scooby doo. Nothing usual.

As I converse about ordinary things, I'm taken aback by a woman in the room, she's naked, slathered in blueish war paint, hair wild. The skin below her belly button flayed and dangling like a rubbery skirt.

This is the point I realize something is wrong, I'm dreaming, this woman is injured, and no one of reacting in fear as I am. I know I'm dreaming and it's time I see myself out. I round the corner to the back, a change of scene to change the dream. It did not go as it should...

I found myself in a cave, a tunnel. No turns, no bends, no shadows for clever camera angles to allow my escape. This is not a world under my control. The walls are stone, an indistinct color of flesh with the texture of melted candles.

I walk, downward, the slope is an impossible angle. Every step echoed as voices in my ear, telling the story in words I don't know. It's been nearly a decade since the last time I had no control in my dreams, and here every step brought the insurmountable need to flee, to wake, to never sleep again. My legs continued to walk.

It was miles of cave, straight, sick cave as the echoes spoke of the hundreds that had been before. The taste of plant, animal, and man. It spoke in a cacophony of wails, of the tributes they brought, and the wishes they made. Among them my own voice, raging they my dreams are my world, begging to wake from this horror, pleading for some semblance of control.

I found myself in a towering chamber over looking a lake of liquid rock. The texture, that of cooled lava and just as still but I knew that it was fluid. The very walls of the cave seemed to recoil from it in disgust and fear. A voice, not the monstrous chorus from before, a singular voice, boomed in my skull.

I was struck by visions...

At the wave of my hand, my servants poured treasures of gold and jewels into the abyss. The chests, dragging them along to my horror.

I ordered in foreign tongue for my clans men to burn the horses so that they might charge headlong into they're doom. As they sank their fleshless skulls told stories of my death.

Though eyes that were not mine, I watched as I pulled the babe suckling at my own breast and lay him in the writhing mass, his skin bluing and his face contorting to a grotesque horror as he sank.

I blinked and I was falling, stumbling, I saw the woman from before as I landed in my back in the jagged pond. I could feel it, slithering around me as it had the others, I still feel it, sharp and cold like water made of sand paper and pumice. The burn as it scraped across my skin, into my eyes, my mouth, my ears.

As I drown in that viscous, abrasive pond it spoke to me, no unholy choir of voices, no booming voice of a God, it csme too me as a stranger on the street, in a modern and simple way.

"you hear me now? Now that I have your tongue? it was a rush for me, that moment when they realized I was their end, feeling on their evil, their sins, as they melted. These idiots started feeding me innocents though. A sick joke, the steak feeding me the fat. You're dying, I'll make this fast. You will bring me my fix. "

At that I felt the crushing weight of stone around me recede add it lifted me to the edge that I had fallen from. My skin intact, body as it was. The flayed woman stepped aside, gesturing to the tunnel I'd come from her eyes locked to me, unblinking with a knowing smile, as if she was privy to some sick joke.

The walk back was not even 5 steps, and I emerged in my bed, confused and awake.

Submitted January 30, 2018 at 02:58PM by Postmortal_Pop http://ift.tt/2DKReyy nosleep

I recently bought a mansion in Vermont nosleep

I’ve always been one fortunate guy. My dad was the CEO of a large meat company, making me the spoiled son of a millionaire. I finished college a month back, graduating with barely passing grades due to a lot of partying so I decided it was time to settle down for a comfortable life. I bought a mansion in Vermont, a fairly old stone brick structure in the middle of a large forested area about half a mile from the city. Since then, some rather odd things happened to me during my first year of living there. Below are excerpts from the log I keep, describing the strange events.

• A week after I moved in, I had a party with a bunch of my friends. We wanted to turn on the fountain in the front of the house, so I went down to the basement to find the switch. The basement was a cool and damp place and all the lights were dead. I brought a flashlight but the battery ran out halfway to my surprise, I changed the batteries a day ago so I wasn’t sure why. I found the switch for the fountain and ran up the stairs. Turns out the fountain didn’t work because it was clogged with “coagulated green slime”. The plumber told me it was probably rotting algae. The plumber also disappeared the night he was repairing the fountain.

• I got lost on the third floor today. After leaving the bathroom from throwing up from last night’s drink, I found myself in a less familiar hallway. I opened the door across the hall and found myself peering down a dark stairwell. I could hear something dripping from the bottom. I tried many other doors and they led to strange rooms, colored red, green, blue, as if they were children’s rooms. One room led to an indoor garden. I never saw these rooms before, so I came to the conclusion that I was still drunk. I wasn’t.

• Someone has been breathing down my neck all day today. At least that’s what it feels like. I’ve closed all the windows because I thought it may have been drafts of wind today, even though the weather was perfectly still. It still continued, even when I was lying in bed that night.

• I feel like food has been missing from my refrigerator lately. Numerous steaks and my salami has gone missing over the span of one week. I checked around the house to see if I had misplaced them while I was drunk but I stopped because I felt like I was being followed. Trails of warm putrid smelling liquid also covered my floors one evening. I wiped them down with paper towels but the stench was burning my nostrils. I felt like it was melting my flesh because of the smell. It was melting the paper towels however, I had to use a whole roll to clean it completely. I think there’s a stray dog or raccoon in my house eating my food. I would call an exterminator but I think I can handle it by myself.

I’ll continue updating my list of occurrences and maybe later post them if they continue to bother me. I’ve asked many people if they know what’s going on but no one seems to have the same experiences as mine. The previous owners wouldn’t respond to my emails too. They sent me one email and one only, saying “Please Leave.”

Submitted January 29, 2018 at 08:00PM by ItadakiYT http://ift.tt/2rNulZN nosleep

Katie gets paid back. nosleep

The local morning news was rambling on about the two missing persons. One, a middle-aged man, and another, a girl from the high school. The anchor, a high-strung, erratically gesturing white woman with dyed-blonde hair, stated that authorities believed the disapperances were unrelated. Katie laughed and spit out a little hot chocolate.

As the well-informed media segued from that into the weather, Katie's cell buzzed. It was a text from Rita.

"Jake wouldn't just skip town, something is wrong..."

"I watched him for forty miles, Reet. He didn't look back." Katie lied.

"The cops say everyone says he didn't say anything about leaving... I don't understand any of this."

"Sometimes people just snap, I don't understand either."

"You heard about the teenage girl? You don't think he ran off with her, do you?" Rita asked.

"No. He was alone." Katie lied. Again.

Katie found herself lying to her friends more often. There was only one other option - prison. Would her lifelong friends help her cover-up murders that the victims may have not deserved? Even if, from a certain perspective, each one was warranted? Even if in a vigilante style? Probably not, and when life in prison is on the line, it is far better to err on the side of caution.

In the cookie jar on top of the refrigerator was not cookies, but a few small ziplock bags and one larger of dank green buds. Katie opened the cookie jar and grasped a small bag. She turned off the television and awoke her computer. As she began to break up the marijuana, the computer came to life and Katie selected The Beatles album 'Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.' Then she proceeded to roll and smoke a nice joint.

Just about the time the end of 'With A Little Help From My Friends.' was upon her and she felt stoned enough to put out the joint, Katie's phone rang.

This was an unknown number, the digits displayed on the screen but Katie did not recognize it.

Most people will let unknown numbers go to voicemail, but our hero is not most people. Also, as we know, she was, for the most part, toasted. Katie drug the green phone icon to the center of the screen.

Before she could say 'hello,' she heard grumbling on the line. "Kates, feckin answer. Shit, come on, damn, fuck."

"Hey, uh, hello, what's up?" Katie replied into her samsung.

"Oh, Katie! Thank God you're there! Look, I was just lookin through them dumpsters a-hind D's Diner and down the alley-way there, I seent a few fella's come all empty-handed and go with a table saw. Then there was this one fella came after that and he left with a skill saw an' a tile saw an'a bookbag full o'shit. Kates, I t'ink I found who took all yer shit an' its them fuckers Gary an' Mike an' Brad. Ya know them bastards are always up to no good. Ah, shit! I'm freakin out."

Katie was silent, but looked at her phone display. It had just reached 20 seconds of call duration.

"Kates, you there, fuck!"

"Nick, I'm here, now tell me what you saw again."

Nick was a local bum. Slightly mentally disabled, an alcoholic for sure, but he was certainly not a liar. Nick had been sleeping on park benches and under business awnings for as long as Katie could remember. Some people said he came from up north, but not sure where. When asked, he claimed to be from Earth. He looked much older but no one knew he and Katie were roughly the same age, including Nick.

Katie listened and made mental notes as Nick drunkenly detailed what he had spoken so quickly in the beginning of the conversation from his position at the phonebooth on the sidewalk.

Ashley and Sierra walked down the sidewalk, past D's Diner and south towards 6th street.

---

"I don't know, Ash, Gary is a good guy and just gettin things from people who'll never find out don't seem like no crime to me."

"Well, all I'm sayin is he betta not try to take down Brad."

Sierra looked at her friends resolute face as they carried the bottles of liquor and beer to their temporary home with Gary, Mike and Brad. She then realized that this life was about survival, and that meant siding with someone who would take care of you. Not with a friend from high school that would have sex with your man's friends to score dope.

What she did not realize was that Katie and Nick were sitting in Katie's Buick with the front windows down, parked on the side of the street, and listening to most of their conversation.

---

Around sunset, Katie dropped Nick off at Washington Park with a prize of two Mickey's 40oz bottles, for letting her know. Telling him she promised she would just watch the house and make notes, that she wouldn't do anything stupid. And that they would get together around noon the next day.

As darkness took over the town, the music from Gary's house intensified gradually. Katie observed this from her parking spot three houses down on the opposite side of the street.

Two hours later, she decided to exit the vehichle.

As Katie walked up the sidewalk toward Gary's rental, the sounds of 'Bring Da Ruckus,' blasted from the front room and emanated around the house. She casually walked to the side of the house and walked through the open fence gate to the back yard.

"Oh, I am bringin da mofuckin ruckus," Katie thought as she stepped up onto the back deck and slowly opened the screen door on the back door of the house. The cheap, shabby door was also unlocked and Katie once again silently entered a residence.

The hallway was lit with two doorways open and one closed. Funny, the layout was eerily similar to that of Tammy's house. And, even funnier, the closed door muffled the sounds of bodies slapping together and the bass line of human grunts kept a good beat.

Katie thought it best to leave them to it, and explore, silently, of course.

The hallway had four torn and knocked over fast-food bags and quite a few fries scattered on the carpet. Katie stepped around and over these so as not to make a sound, even though the sounds of The Wu-Tang Clan dominated the audible surroundings.

There was a zigzag in the hallway that blocked view to the living room, where the stereo system played, Katie peaked her head around the corner and pulled it quickly back to safety.

She saw three poeple. One, by himself, engrossed in his phone. And two others, dancing and gyrating their hips in the small open space between the coffee table and the television, engrossed in the fornicational implications of their dance moves.

Katie took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She pulled her dagger from its holster secured on the inside pants, on her front right hip.

Turning the corner quickly and throwing the dagger at Brad, who had both of his arms over his head, Katie watched the knife plunge into his neck.

Mike quickly stood up, saying, "What the fuck?" to be greeted by a bowie knife to the stomach. Katie pulled it out and slit his throat.

Ashley screamed a high-pitched squeaking sound as Katie turned her body and drop-kicked Ashley in the face over the coffee table. The young girl fell and broke the glass to the fine table of Gary's and cut her hands and face on the glass.

Her blood/alcohol level was high considering the volume at which the blood exited her body. Katie pulled the knife out of Brad's throat as he lay dead on the floor and sliced Ashley's throat.

Katie heard a door open and a man's voice say, "Fuck's goin on out there?!" and she quickly knelt below the kitchen counter beside the hallway.

A young white girl in a thin robe slowly stepped into the kitchen and Katie sprung up like a kangaroo and slit Sierra's throat. Slowly and gently resting her body to the linoleum, Katie heard the voice again, "What the fuck's goin on, Mike?!" then the sound of a zipper in pants.

A small, bald-headed, scraggly-bearded, ugly, shirtless man came barreling past the kitchen into the front room and had time to violently gasp before Katie drove the 12-inch bowie knife through his lower spine with her right hand and slit his throat with her dagger in her left hand.

Gary's body fell with a thud.

Katie checked Gary's closet to no luck, then she looked under the bed and found more than she had bargained for.

The green duffle bag had, what Katie would later count out as, $32,078. And the blue duffle bag had weed, coke, and something else, probably meth, in large amounts. Katie couldn't believe her eyes, and just stared at her new-found treasure.

Katie had turned off the wonderful beats of Wu-Tang after extinguishing Gary's life and the house was silent as the grave. That is why Katie jumped up and ran with the two duffle bags when a voice from nowhere said -

"RUN!"

With the two bags in her back storage of the SUV, Katie slowly pulled away from the curb and drove slowly to the end of the block. As she the corner she heard police sirens.

Katie drove east of town this time, to the oil fields. It was time to make up an alibi.

Submitted January 29, 2018 at 04:18AM by hiseexcellency http://ift.tt/2rKDQcp nosleep

Notes nosleep

I initially assumed the notes were just a childish prank, which I suppose most people would have. They were written on whatever craps of paper the mysterious culprit could find-grocery receipts, old bills, napkins from takeout meals... you get the idea. They were always scrawled messily in what appeared to be dark blue ink, and rarely exceeded more than ten words. Still, the short messages were always eerie, and never failed to make my skin crawl.

I AM FORGOTTEN.

THE WORLD WILL MOVE ON WITHOUT ME.

GONE.

HELP ME.

HELP ME.

LET ME OUT.

It didn't take me long to figure out that the notes couldn't be a prank. The only people living in the towering brick mansion were me and my client, Mrs. Campbell. She was pushing ninety-seven, almost blind, and struggled with osteoporosis, among other health problems. I, a newly-graduated nursing student, had been hired as her live-in caretaker, and it certainly wasn't me writing the notes. It couldn't have been Mrs. Campbell either; the woman's hands were so gnarled she could barely hold a pencil, let alone write with it.

I considered the possibility that it was one of Mrs. Campbell's relatives leaving the notes. She had three children, seven grandchildren, and four great-grandchildren, and they would often stop by and visit. But the notes would appear when it was only Mrs. Campbell and I in the house-and in the strangest places: tucked under my pillow, slipped inside my shoes, caught in the spokes of Mrs. Campbell's wheelchair, and even in the refrigerator. Whoever was leaving the notes had obviously dedicated themselves to this prank, and if it was a relative messing with me, I couldn't imagine them pulling it off for so long without being caught. Mrs. Campbell also had a housekeeper who came three times a week to cook and clean, but it definitely wasn't her either.

I never told Mrs. Campbell about the notes; her health was fragile, and the last thing I wanted to do was put her under unnecessary stress. So I went about my duties: administering medications, driving her to doctor's appointments, turning her over in bed so she wouldn't develop pressure sores, and giving her the best possible care I could offer. She was a very sweet old lady, and although she didn't speak much, I knew she appreciated my presence.

The house, like all old houses, could get a little creepy at night. It was huge; Mrs. Campbell's husband had owned a successful furniture-manufacturing business, and had left his family a fortune when he died. The many rooms would have made it easy for an intruder to hide undetected, which led me to believe there might be some crazy person living in the house and leaving the notes just to mess with us. One day, while Mrs. Campbell was napping, I did a thorough investigation, armed with a knife just in case there really was someone. I found nothing, but the only place I didn't look was the attic. It was sealed off by a heavy padlock, and Mrs. Campbell's eldest son kept the key. He told me nobody was meant to go up there; Christmas decorations, photographs, and boxed-up items were kept in the basement. When I asked the son (Marcus) why, he just shrugged. "After Dad died, Mum got a little paranoid. She insisted the attic be cleared out. Something to do with a door up there."

I raised my eyebrows. "A door?"

"Yeah. A secret door, sealed shut. Apparently, it was originally a closest, though why you'd need one of those in an attic, I have no idea. Anyway, for some reason, it scared Mum, and she wanted nothing to do with that part of the house ever again."

Marcus paused for a moment, then looked me in the eye and said, "Look, don't mention it to Mum, okay? The topic really upsets her whenever it comes up, and that's the last thing she needs right now. She won't be around too much longer, and we want her final years to be as peaceful as possible."

I nodded. "I understand."

Now, as the frequency of the notes escalated, I wondered if they were connected to the mysterious attic.

Six months passed. The notes kept appearing, and I did my best to ignore them. You'd be amazed at how easy it can be to put something out of mind, even when it's completely bizarre and unexplainable. However, the content of the notes was gradually becoming freakier.

IT HURTS.

I CAN FEEL MYSELF DYING.

GOD, SAVE ME!

WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS?

KILL ME.

PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY.

Around this time, I began to notice other strange occurrences. Subtle things, like the feeling of being watched at night or rooms suddenly growing cold even when the heat was on. Those were easy enough to ignore. The same couldn't be said for the strange sounds up in the attic.

It sounded like someone walking around, but their gait was odd. Laboured, as if they had trouble moving around. One foot landed with a heavy thud; the other dragged, toe scraping the floor. And they always seemed to walk in circles.

I knew Mrs. Campbell had to hear it too; the footfalls were loud, and while the old woman's eyes had failed her, she had remarkable hearing for someone her age. She never mentioned it to me, but whenever the noises started up when we were in the same room, her withered face would go pale, and fear would fill her cataract-heavy eyes.

One day, I found a note resting in her lap. It had been scribbled messily on a piece of wax paper fished from a recycling bin. The message read I WILL NOT BE FORGOTTEN. Mrs. Campbell didn't seem aware of its presence, but she was on edge. "Sometimes, I feel we're not alone in this house," she told me.

My blood ran cold, but I didn't dare let her sense my fear. "You're letting your imagination run wild, Mrs. Campbell."

"I suppose so. But let me tell you something, Paulina. I have lived a long time, and I know things you don't." She reached out a gnarled hand and grabbed my wrist; her grip was surprisingly strong. "Trust me, my dear. There may be something here we cannot see."

At that moment, the footsteps started up. Mrs. Campbell gasped, pitching forward and clutching at her chest. I jumped up in a panic, certain she must be having a heart attack. But then the old lady held up her hand.

"I'm fine, I'm fine! I just need some time to myself."

"But Mrs. Campbell-"

"Please, Paulina. Just go. I'll call for you if I need anything."

I didn't want to leave, but she was freaking me out, so I headed to my room. I added the latest note to my collection, which I'd been keeping in an old shoebox.

"What the fuck is going on here?" I wondered out loud. My voice echoed around the room, which suddenly felt too big for me-or anyone else.

The footsteps grew louder, as if taunting me. I could hear Mrs. Campbell humming to herself in the next room, her wheelchair creaking as she rocked back and forth.

I stood and went into en-suite bathroom, figuring a hot bath might help me calm down a little. Keeping an ear open for Mrs. Campbell, I turned on the taps and, while waiting for the tub to fill, studied my face in the mirror.

I looked tired; I'd been working too hard. There were purplish shadows beneath my bright green eyes, and although I had always been pale, my complexion looked pasty. My pale blonde hair hung poker-straight and boring down my back; I hadn't had time to get it cut, or to style it.

As I gazed at my own face, I spotted something else in the mirror: a yellow post-it note, pasted to the wall behind me. Somehow, I hadn't noticed it before.

"What the hell," I muttered, whipping around and grabbing the tiny piece of paper. It read HELP ME. BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE.

I shivered. The bath did little to calm my nerves.

That night, after Mrs. Campbell was asleep, I lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling and pondered the situation I'd found myself in. Six months of notes and something in the attic, and I had no answers. I wanted to quit, but I couldn't abandon Mrs. Campbell. I had made a promise to always be there for her, and I'm not the kind of person to break a promise. Especially to a patient.

The next morning, Mrs. Campbell's housekeeper, Betty, came. She, like me, had heard the strange noises in the attic, but as far as I knew, was unaware of the notes-or, at least, wouldn't speak to me about them.

"You don't look like you've been sleeping well, honey," she commented as she scrubbed the kitchen counters.

"I'm okay," I lied. "I guess I've just been working too hard."

I drove down to the pharmacy to pick up a medication refill for Mrs. Campbell; I was only gone for about half an hour, but when I pulled into the sprawling cobblestone driveway, I saw Betty running out, shrieking and red-eyed, tears streaming down her face.

"What's wrong?" I demanded.

"I quit!" she screamed, jumping into her own vehicle and peeling out of there so fast I was surprised the tires didn't burst into flames.

Panicked, I ran inside and found Mrs. Campbell in her room, sobbing. Her long white hair had come undone and spilled down her back in untamed waves. She had torn at her skirt and knocked over the glass of water on her bedside table; sharp, gleaming fragments littered the carpet.

"Mrs. Campbell! What happened?"

She mumbled something unintelligible and pointed to her closet, the door of which stood slightly ajar. With a sick feeling in my gut, the kind when you just know you're about to see something truly awful, I went to investigate.

All of Mrs. Campbell's dresses and skirts had been yanked off their hangers and dropped in a pile on the floor. Scrawled on the wall at the back, in still-wet black ink, were the words IT'S TOO LATE! I'M ALREADY DEAD!

I panicked and called the police; I was convinced we had an intruder. The cops came and found nothing. Mrs. Campbell was hysterical. Betty never returned, nor did she ever call. I suspected her experience went deeper than just the cryptic message in the closet, but who knows?

Of course, I told Marcus about what happened. He was concerned for his mother, of course, and thanked me for taking action. But he was also adamant I forget about it.

"What?" I was incredulous. "Are you serious?"

"Trust me, Paulina."

"Marcus. Something is wrong with this place." After months of silence, I finally told him about the notes and the sounds in the attic.

"Paulina, you're upset over what happened, and probably just stressed. There's nobody leaving notes, and there's no one in the attic."

"You think I'm making this all up."

"No, Paulina. I just think your imagination is getting the better of you."

Frustrated, I hung up on him.

After that, the notes ceased for a while. So did the footsteps in the attic. That should have been a relief, but it wasn't. For it to end so suddenly, without warning... it felt wrong.

On a snowy January night, Mrs. Campbell passed away.

I came in with her nighttime medications and found her stiff and cold in bed. Her heart had simply stopped.

In shock, I called Marcus, then the paramedics. Due to the storm, it would take a while for them to get there, so I was stuck in an empty house with a a dead body. I sat by Mrs. Campbell's side, waiting for help, when I spotted a note on her bedside table.

THE END HAS COME.

"Oh, God," I moaned. "Not now."

The footsteps started up again. They were so loud the ceiling shook. SLIDE-THUMP, SLIDE-THUMP, SLIDE-THUMP, THUMP THUMP THUMP! My head pounded, and suddenly, I was pissed.

I stormed out of my room and charged up the attic stairs; up so close, the sounds were crippling. I pounded on the locked door and screamed, but they didn't stop.

Cursing, I ran back downstairs and out the back door. Wind shrieked in my ears, and flakes of snow sliced at my face as I stormed across the backyard and wrenched open the door to the toolshed. I couldn't explain my rage, but it was terrifying, a rampaging monster intent on spilling blood.

I grabbed an axe and returned to the attic door, swinging at it furiously, relishing the crack of splintering wood. Finally, the door collapsed inward, and I was inside.

The attic was empty, a vacant space of dust and shadows. On the dirty floor lay a another note: PLEASE.

"What?" I shrieked. "What the fuck do you want?"

Then I spotted the other door.

Without any light, it was hard to tell, but I suspected it was sealed shut with rubber cement or plaster. By now, the adrenaline had somewhat worn off, and the axe was heavy, but I managed to swing it four more times and open up a sizeable hole.

After returning downstairs one more time (this time for a flashlight) I squeezed myself through the opening. What I found in there was so shocking my mind shut down and simply refused to believe it.

The room was, indeed, a closet, about five by seven feet. Shut within its confines was the mummified body of a woman. Her flesh had blackened and shrivelled, her long hair stiff as straw. She was curled in the fetal position, her chin resting on the bony points of her knees. Her nose was merely a skeletal hole in the middle of her face; her lips had crumbled away, revealing yellowed, rotting teeth; her eyes were deep black pits, staring up at me with sorrow and agony.

I backed out of there and fled, my mind a frantic whirl. I shut myself in my room and waited there, crying and shaking, until Marcus arrived.

"Paulina? What the hell's the matter?"

"Attic," I gasped. "The attic. There's a b-body. A fucking body, Marcus!" I was hysterical.

He went pale and gripped my shoulders so hard I cried out. "What?"

"B-body! The n-notes. The attic. Oh, my God, oh, my God..."

"Calm down. Go back to your room," Marcus ordered.

I did as he told me, still crying. I kept seeing that dead, withered face, and that final note (PLEASE). I found my shoebox and opened it, only to find all the other notes gone.

With that, something inside me broke. The situation had grown too insane for me to handle. I stopped crying and went silent. I just sat there, dully answering the paramedics' and police's questions. Once the body had been taken away, Marcus approached me and said, "You have one week to get out of here."

I moved in with my sister and found a new job at the local hospital. I never saw that house again, nor did I hear from Marcus or anyone else in Mrs. Campbell's family. I didn't even receive a notice about the funeral.

The case made it into the newspapers, of course; the Campbells were an affluent family, and Mrs. Campbell a highly-respected citizen. All the papers said, however, was that a body had been found in the attic, and although investigators didn't know who it was or how it got there, they considered the death "accidental."

Bullshit.

Of course, I was as confused as the police probably were. But I knew there had been something more sinister at work in the Campbell house. I had lived through it, seen and heard it all myself.

I had collected the notes.

I had seen the fear in Mrs. Campbell's sightless eyes.

I had broken down the sealed door.

After nine years, I still don't know what to make of this. I don't know what became of the house, or of the Campbell family-and honestly, I'd rather not. Looking back at those events would be like opening Pandora's box: unleash long-hidden evils.

So why am I telling my story here, after such a long time?

Well, just a week ago, on the anniversary of Mrs. Campbell's death, an unmarked envelope arrived in the mail. There was no address, no name, only a single stamp.

Inside was a single sheet of lined paper, folded down to the size of a Starburst.

Written in red ink were the words YOU SET ME FREE.

Submitted January 21, 2018 at 06:47AM by CynicHappy http://ift.tt/2DlPnA8 nosleep

The Light Under the Door nosleep

Below freezing tonight. Third time this week. I closed my weather app, pulled on a sweater, and put on water for tea. This old house doesn't hold heat worth a damn. At least we're only here for another month of our six-month lease. No more leaky sink, no more weird stained rug, no more shitty front door that doesn't even sit right in the frame. And our new place isn't in a fucking meth head neighborhood either. I'm only exaggerating a little bit. Cheap rent isn’t worth this.

The light in the bathroom I shared with my roommate Lillie clicked on—it showed under the door because, would you believe it, that one doesn't fit either. I heard her moving around and then the toilet flushing. The landlord won't fix the god damn door; probably doesn't think it's worth it since we're moving out soon anyway. Good luck finding someone else who wants this shithole of a place. The kitchen is tiny, basically just a two-eye gas stove and a refrigerator. No dishwasher, no oven. No cabinets, just a long shelf running halfway around the room so high up that Lillie, in all her 5'3" glory, can't even reach it. The window over the sink doesn't seal right, and more cold air comes in that way. No living room to speak of, and two bedrooms connected by a bathroom complete with mildew-stained tile. Why it was deemed deserving of being a freestanding structure, I'll never know. Even in this neighborhood.

Something clattered loudly to the floor of the bathroom and I heard Lillie make a deep, grumpy huff. It was a constant laser maze, trying to maneuver in that tiny-ass space without knocking something over. There was some shuffling as she put back whatever had fallen, then the light creeping under my door clicked off and I heard the whine of hinges as Lillie went back into her room. A few moments later, my phone buzzed, and Lillie's chat bubble popped up.

11:21 pm

Can you leave the kitchen tap running tonight? We can't have the pipes freezing again

I heaved myself off my bed, disgruntled. Come on, Lillie, do it yourself. You're technically closer to the kitchen anyway.

The tile was cold under my bare feet as I left my room and pattered towards the kitchen. I realized, with a slight start, that the front door was unlocked. Had I done that? The doorknob wiggled loosely in its housing as I turned the button. Oh, for fuck's sake. That's new. At least a loose doorknob was something I could fix myself. The bathroom doorknob had come off a couple weeks ago, and all it took was tightening the screws up. This one was significantly more ominous though, considering the locale we were in.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out—another message from Lillie.
I opened my texts, and suddenly, somewhere, a switch in my brain flipped from mild annoyance to panic. The phone slid from my fingers and dropped to the floor.

11:24 pm

I'm over at Alex's place tonight, don't wait up

Submitted January 19, 2018 at 11:52PM by bluelazurite http://ift.tt/2FVz1jd nosleep

Nevermore: Episode 2, Season 1 nosleep

Previously on Nevermore

I lay on the couch watching T.V. in the living room with my girlfriend. I haven't told her about the shower incident. With three different jobs, she doesn't need any more to worry about.

I lay awake in bed that night, trying to figure out what to do about this, when a couple ideas crossed my mind. 1: I could deal with this myself, and she wouldn't ever know, or 2: I could call in someone that could deal with it.

I decided to try and deal with it myself, and if that didn't work, I would have to tell her and call in someone who could deal with it. But I had no idea where to start.

I got up in the attic and found a few old cameras lying around. Before I went to bed, I set them up. I put one in every spot where I had had an incident so far: in the bathroom, the hallway, and the living room. I lay awake in the room until six in the morning, then I went and collected the cameras.

She made breakfast while I tried to pretend everything was fine. I barely ate any of it. I put the rest in the refrigerator. My appetite was low because I had barely slept in the past two days. I drank three cups of coffee, trying my best to wake up. I reviewed the cameras later on. I reviewed the one in the hallway. It showed a few small things, such as: a door slowly closing by itself, a bed matress being layed on when no one is there, stuff like that.

The one in the bathroom showed the shower curtain opening up by itself and the sink started running on it's own. But the one in the living room showed the most activity. In fact, the couch cushions had been thrown completely off the couch, the light had turned on and off on it's own, and books were laying open on the floor. I had to get it all cleaned up before my girlfriend woke up so she wouldn't find out. She went off to work while I had to call in sick to deal with this. I tried to come up with a remedy to get rid of this, but nothing.

I'm thinking about telling her, because she needs to know and it may be better with her helping me. But at the same time I don't want to put any more stress on her. I can't figure out whether I should or not.

I was contenplating this, when I heard a knock at the door. I went to open the door. Nothing was there. I slammed it. I was starting to get angry. I sat down and rationalized. I decided that's what whatever this thing was wanted: to make me miserable. I still had the decision on whether or not I should tell my girlfriend. I don't know. I layed on the couch trying to decide.

Continued in Episode 3. Thanks for reading. This story can also be found in r/creepypasta

Submitted January 19, 2018 at 05:42AM by sompthing_else http://ift.tt/2DlpSmq nosleep