My therapist told me that writing about things could help. She kind of looked away when she said it, so I’m not sure she believes that. If I’m honest, I think she just doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. It doesn’t matter though. I’m gonna write about it anyway. I’m gonna write about it because it DID happen, and it doesn’t matter what she thinks. At least if I post it here, someone might actually read it. If I post it here, maybe it can help. I should probably start with the move. My dad had taken a job outside of Cleveland. It was a spur of the moment thing. He didn’t really have a choice, given the circumstances.…

June 17th, 2024 My therapist suggested I start writing my thoughts down in a journal, saying it will supposedly help me understand and process my emotions, and I’ll get to know myself better as a result. I am sceptical, but what the hell, I’ll give it a shot! I have never kept a journal before, so I have no clue how to start… Uhm, hello, I guess. I’m me and I’m writing this to myself… Do I introduce myself now? To whom? I already know myself, and I highly doubt anyone else is ever going to read this, except my therapist maybe. I’m just rambling about nothing to a bunch of pages now, I can’t really think of anything interesting…

The village of Driftwood Cove sat at the edge of the world—or so it felt. Waves crashed endlessly against jagged cliffs, their spray licking the stones like hungry tongues. The cries of gulls mingled with the low whispers of old sailors’ tales, carried on the wind like secrets best left unspoken. Here, the sea ruled everything, its storms a reminder of its unrelenting power, its rare moments of calm a fleeting grace. At the heart of the village, an ancient inn leaned against the wind, its timbers groaning with age. Inside, villagers gathered in uneasy silence by the hearth, their words low and deliberate. They spoke of a thing—a presence—they called the Lantern Man. “Don’t follow the light.”, muttered old…

I do not know this man. I do not know this man in the mirror. The one staring right back at me, moving his eyes to reflect wherever I look. He does every single thing I do. Makes every single face, pokes back at fingers aimed against the glass, and turns his back when I turn mine. To the untrained eye, it looks as any normal reflection does; behaves as any mirror is designed to do. There is nothing obviously out of the ordinary that would arouse suspicions otherwise. But as of a few restless nights ago, my rationality has flipped completely on its head. I cannot explain what changed in the span of those 24 hours. The mirror looks…

Parker looked in the mirror. He felt his scar, a smile that was forcefully stitched in his face. Although the stitches were thankfully taken out, his scar persisted. Parker exhaled; everything had happened so quickly. His sister was insane, his parents had passed away, and now he was by himself. Parker was lucky to get an apartment with his father’s credit card. However, not only would Parker need to find some way to pay it off, but if the authorities found out, he’d be put in an orphanage. Parker was only 13. Parker stepped out of the bathroom and fixed his gaze on his baseball bat. Parker recalled what the police had stated regarding his sister’s visit to the hospital prior to she went…

In the late 18th century in upstate New York a pastor and his family; his wife, young daughter, maid and himself were all found dead inside their home. Cause of death was identified as quadruple suicide. The pastor had been devoted to both the church and his family for years, when his behavior suddenly changed. His sermons began spreading fear and paranoia through the town as he claimed that the Devil and his demons had infiltrated the town. He even claimed to have heard the voice of the Devil inside his home, telling him to hurt his wife or to ‘touch’ his own child. The voice even told him to kill his neighbors as they were all two faced liars…

This morning, I cleaned out my closet to create space, and I discovered a plastic bin filled with childhood memories. Being sentimental, I removed the bin and began searching through it. The bin mostly contained artwork from my elementary school years, and the majority of them were scribbles or fingerpaintings on bright construction paper. In particular, a crayon drawing of my entire 3rd grade class drew my attention. I have to say that I must have been quite the artist back in the day because I actually recognized some of my classmates. It helped that I had tried to spell their names next to each stick figure, even if I misspelled them horribly. It just gave me that warm and…

There are stories that cling to the edges of reality, rumors whispered in bars by old sailors with trembling hands and distant eyes. Stories of ships that drift into the harbor with no crew, no signs of struggle… just eerie silence. But until last week, I thought they were just that… stories. The Nautica appeared in the mist on a quiet Tuesday morning. No distress signals, and no records of departure. A 70-year-old cargo vessel, long thought scrapped just… appeared. It was found adrift off the coast, slowly floating toward the docks with not a soul on board. No crew. No captain. Nothing. Naturally, the news caught my attention. As a freelance journalist, I made a living chasing down stories…

*Disclaimer: This story was based on true events that have happened to me* Everyone has that eerie sensation some time in their life. Some are able to explain the phenomenon, while others can’t. It’s that feeling of someone, or something, watching you. It’s that unknown experience when either dread or curiosity can get the best of you. You could be quietly sitting at home, earbuds in, and immersed in your technology when it hits you. You look up from your phone to see your parents sitting, watching television; paying you no mind. Your siblings are sitting on the floor; drowned in a video game, but you find no reason for the feeling you just had. Some people brush it off,…

A single unfinished opera entitled ‘The Matinee of the Damned’ is an incomplete and cursed piece of music that has plagued the eyes, ears and hearts of those who bear witness to this piece and has taken the lives of those who dare to try and finish the ballad. The opera originated in France by the hand of Jean-Baptiste Lully. Said to have been inspired by the nightmare induced by a fever, Lully began composing the opera in 1686. A few months after he began the laborious task of writing the initial composition he began complaining of strange noises emanating from the walls and floors of his own home, which soon became a constant nuisance as the sounds began tormenting…

Sunday I’m not sure why I’m writing this down on paper and not on my computer. I guess I’ve just noticed some odd things. It’s not that I don’t trust the computer… I just… need to organize my thoughts. I need to get down all the details somewhere objective, somewhere I know that what I write can’t be deleted or… changed… not that that’s happened. It’s just… everything blurs together here, and the fog of memory lends a strange cast to things… I’m starting to feel cramped in this small apartment. Maybe that’s the problem. I just had to go and choose the cheapest apartment, the only one in the basement. The lack of windows down here makes day and…

I cannot describe to you how I feel right now. What I’m experiencing is so detached from the normal, I’m almost convinced I’ve finally gone insane. Almost. My wife, Bea, died during childbirth. She was gorgeous, funny, intelligent – stubborn. A woman whose laugh was so loud, eating in restaurants was a challenge. A woman whose stare was so intense, it made my hands shake. I lost her as she gave birth to our daughter. Sam. Of course, I could have resented Sam. For taking away what was once mine in a way nothing else can be. For taking what was so truly and utterly pure. But I didn’t. I knew Bea wouldn’t have wanted any resentment. She wouldn’t have…

Edgar raised his head up from his chest; back pressed firmly into his favorite recliner, his entire body drenched in cold sweat. He stared into shadows at the edge of the living room, eyes welling with tears as he lifted the revolver slowly and deliberately to his temple. “Seventeen”, he whispered to the darkness. The index finger of his right hand had already found its perch on the trigger during the weapon’s ascent, during which he had hesitated no more than a second, his only concern ensuring that the angle he chose would prove fatal. He clenched his left hand into a fist at his side, steeling his will. He inhaled sharply. And with further need of neither breath nor…

I’m sure that all of you on /r/nosleep are used to the cry for help type stories by now. Help me, help me, blah-blah-blah. I won’t bore you with another. Even if I wanted your help, you couldn’t give it to me, because your help is useless. Why? Because you’re not a member. I just wish that I wasn’t either. It all started innocently enough. With a phone call. I’d been up for a few hours, unpacking and cleaning, waiting for the plumber to call. I just moved into a cabin and the contractors fucked everything up. Because of that, I now have the wonderful task of making calls to competent people that can fix what the original contractors did…

When I was in high school, my friends and I had a peculiar pastime. Like any teenage delinquent, we liked to cause trouble. We weren’t vandals, we didn’t deal drugs, and we certainly didn’t bully kids in school. No, we liked to scare the living shit out of new parents by “hacking” their baby monitors. We were insufferable little punks who thought we were too good to get caught, and that our little acts of mischief would go unpunished. One night; however, I learned my lesson, and realized that I wasn’t quite as bulletproof as my tremendous adolescent ego made me out to be. Dimitri, Kurt, and I went to the same school, shared many of the same classes, and…

I’m very worried about my son. More than worried, at this point. Terrified. His behavior these past few weeks is not normal, not healthy. It makes me think there’s something wrong. At first, he would just come and stand at the door way. He did this at night, just before I’d be ready to fall asleep. I’d roll over to turn off the lamp, and he’d be standing there, in the doorway. I used to try to speak to him. I don’t do that anymore. He never has answered me. He just stares. A couple of days ago, he graduated from standing in the doorway to coming in and sitting on the bed. He still doesn’t speak. I have asked…

God, I hope I’m just going crazy. You ever had one of those “how in the hell did I get here” moments? I mean those flashes of clarity where you really see your life. You look in the mirror and you’re so far removed from the person you dreamed of being when you were a kid that you’re stunned speechless. Mine happened about a year ago, a week or two before Thanksgiving, when I woke up in the hospital. I was incredibly disoriented; everything seemed unreal and distant, not really happening to me… like I was dreaming, or an avatar in a video game. Maybe it was because I already felt so disconnected… maybe it was the terrifying reminder of…

It was late, right around 8:00 P.M. For November this meant that the shadows of the night were already engulfing the world. It wasn’t cold out though. The wind was gentle and carried with it the smells of foliage thanks to the various gardens that littered the campus grounds. I sauntered along the sidewalks while admiring the weather. I loved the night, especially when the stars were out. Unfortunately they couldn’t be seen from here even on the clearest of nights since the college was located just outside the city. A friendly squirrel suddenly crossed my path, coming mere inches to my feet before looking up at me and chattering as though I had done it a misdeed. It didn’t…

My name is Andrew Erics. I lived, once, in a city called New York. My mother is Terrie Erics. She’s in the phone book. If you know the city, and you read this, find her. Don’t show her this, but tell her I love her, and that I’m trying to come home. Please. It all started when I decided, around the time that I turned twenty-five, that it was time for me to give up taking my backpack in to work. It would make me look more mature, I thought, if I weren’t lugging around a book bag everywhere like a high school student. Of course this meant that I had to give up reading in the subway in the…

Late one night about ten months ago, I found myself rushing my daughter to the hospital. I remember the morning. What time I woke up, the food I ate, and the sound of my girl’s voice yelling “See ya, daddy!” as she ran out the door to catch her school bus. Everything was normal…average. But were there signs? Could I have expected to bring her home from school at twelve that afternoon? Could I have guessed the cause to be chest pains, or predicted that those pains would return again eleven hours later, causing her to cry out in pain and fear? Could I have been better prepared for the race to the ER that ensued just before her heart…

In 1983, a team of deeply pious scientists conducted a radical experiment in an undisclosed facility. The scientists had theorized that a human without access to any senses or ways to perceive stimuli would be able to perceive the presence of God. They believed that the five senses clouded our awareness of eternity, and without them, a human could actually establish contact with God by thought. An elderly man who claimed to have “nothing left to live for” was the only test subject to volunteer. To purge him of all his senses, the scientists performed a complex operation in which every sensory nerve connection to the brain was surgically severed. Although the test subject retained full muscular function, he could…

I’m sure that all of you on /r/nosleep are used to the cry for help type stories by now. Help me, help me, blah-blah-blah. I won’t bore you with another. Even if I wanted your help, you couldn’t give it to me, because your help is useless. Why? Because you’re not a member. I just wish that I wasn’t either. It all started innocently enough. With a phone call. I’d been up for a few hours, unpacking and cleaning, waiting for the plumber to call. I just moved into a cabin and the contractors fucked everything up. Because of that, I now have the wonderful task of making calls to competent people that can fix what the original contractors did…

I just want to start off by saying if you want an answer at the end, prepare to be disappointed. There just isn’t one. I was an intern at Nickelodeon Studios for a year in 2005 for my degree in animation. It wasn’t paid of course, most internships aren’t, but it did have some perks beyond education. To adults it might not seem like a big one, but most kids at the time would go crazy over it. Now, since I worked directly with the editors and animators, I got to view the new episodes days before they aired. I’ll get right to it without giving too many unnecessary details. They had very recently made the SpongeBob movie and the…

In June 1972, a woman appeared in Cedar Senai hospital in Los Angeles, California in nothing but a white, blood-covered gown. Now this, in itself, should not be too surprising as people often have accidents nearby and come to the nearest hospital for medical attention, but there were two things that caused people who saw her to vomit and flee in terror. The first being that she wasn’t exactly human. she resembled something close to a mannequin, but had the dexterity and fluidity of a normal human being. Her face, was as flawless as a mannequins, devoid of eyebrows and smeared in make-up. There was a kitten clamped in her jaws so unnaturally tight that no teeth could be seen,…

I was staying at a hotel in Chicago Illinois during a business trip and I was going to stay for the whole weekend. It was an older hotel, one that still used small keys rather than keycards to enter the rooms. I didn’t mind, it seemed nice to get away from the onslaught of technology. When I checked into the hotel it was packed full. A nasty storm had struck, standing many tourists and cancelling flights. No more rooms were available and many people were being turned away because of the lack of vacancy. When I approached the front desk to check in I noticed that all the keys for the rooms on the eighth floor were still on the…

Sunday I’m not sure why I’m writing this down on paper and not on my computer. I guess I’ve just noticed some odd things. It’s not that I don’t trust the computer… I just… need to organize my thoughts. I need to get down all the details somewhere objective, somewhere I know that what I write can’t be deleted or… changed… not that that’s happened. It’s just… everything blurs together here, and the fog of memory lends a strange cast to things… I’m starting to feel cramped in this small apartment. Maybe that’s the problem. I just had to go and choose the cheapest apartment, the only one in the basement. The lack of windows down here makes day and…

August 13th, 1921 Prof. Herbert Clayton Children’s Ward St. Mary’s Childrens Hospital Fife, Scotland Dear Professor, My trusted friend and mentor, I write to you in the hope that you may advise me on a matter of urgency concerning a patient of mine. Edward is a boy of just nine years who arrived with his mother six days ago with a disposition so positive that we did not at first admit him. This did not last long. Edward claims that six days ago, while playing in the garden, he became aware of someone or something watching him. He identified a shadowy figure ‘like black ink’ with large circular eyes and elongated limbs. Edward described that while it resembled an owl,…

When I was in high school, my friends and I had a peculiar pastime. Like any teenage delinquent, we liked to cause trouble. We weren’t vandals, we didn’t deal drugs, and we certainly didn’t bully kids in school. No, we liked to scare the living shit out of new parents by “hacking” their baby monitors. We were insufferable little punks who thought we were too good to get caught, and that our little acts of mischief would go unpunished. One night; however, I learned my lesson, and realized that I wasn’t quite as bulletproof as my tremendous adolescent ego made me out to be. Dimitri, Kurt, and I went to the same school, shared many of the same classes, and…

The year was 1942, and I was a young Jewish boy who was sent to the concentration camp, Auschwitz. My brother and I were separated from our parents a couple weeks back, and haven’t seen them since. We were attempting to make it across the border to Russia in order to escape the Nazis, but we weren’t fast enough, and they quickly caught up. My brother, Alois, was two years older than me, and went to Auschwitz when we were caught. Unfortunately, he died on the fourth day from too much hard labor. I was all alone and on the verge of starvation, for I was younger and weaker than everyone else. When we got our small, disgusting portions of…

My friends and I used to do a lot of geocaching after our senior year in high school. For those who don’t know what geocaching is, it’s essentially a worldwide scavenger hunt. People will select sites and conceal a “geo-cache” somewhere unobtrusive, then post GPS coordinates on geocaching websites where other searchers can download the cords and locate the cache. Usually, people who have found the object (often it’s a chest or something hollow) will leave a note or small personal memento for future searchers to find and appreciate. There are several types of geocaches, and most of them are thematic in nature (i.e. scenic destinations, romantic sites, hard-to-reach areas, etc..) This story begins when my friends and I decided…