nosleep

This is an automated archive.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/anonymous6349 on 2023-07-02 01:12:10+00:00.

---

Once in the quiet town of Davie, Florida, four curious children named Samantha, Jake, Emily, and Ethan had grown up listening to the chilling tales of the Night Stalker. As the legend of the creepy creature spread through generations, the stories only grew more haunting and mysterious.

The children had always been fascinated by the enigmatic figure that emerged from the shadows between the hours of 1 and 3 am. According to the stories, the Night Stalker had glowing eyes and long, skeletal fingers that tapped against windows in the dead of night, striking fear into the hearts of the townspeople.

Every evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the streets of Davie became a ghost town. The townspeople locked their doors and windows tightly as the clock struck midnight, unwilling to risk encountering the dreaded Night Stalker.

But Samantha, Jake, Emily, and Ethan were different. They were drawn to the mysteries that lurked in the darkness, and their youthful curiosity fueled their desire to uncover the truth behind the legend. They often huddled together in the treehouse on the outskirts of town, sharing whispered stories of the Night Stalker and daring each other to venture into the unknown.

One moonlit night, the clock struck midnight, and the four friends found themselves gathered once again in the treehouse. The branches swayed gently in the breeze, casting eerie shadows on the walls, and the distant chirping of crickets filled the air.

"We've heard so much about the Night Stalker," Samantha said, her eyes shining with excitement. "But have any of us actually seen it? Maybe it's just a story to scare us."

"I'm not so sure," replied Jake, his glasses glinting in the moonlight. "There have been too many accounts from different people, and they can't all be making it up. I think there might be some truth to the legend."

Emily hugged her knees to her chest. "I-I'm scared, guys," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "What if we encounter something we can't handle?"

Ethan, ever the joker, chimed in, "Oh, come on, Em! It's just a spooky story. We'll stick together and be careful. Besides, who's going to believe us if we say we saw the Night Stalker without any evidence?"

A mix of fear and curiosity filled the air as they debated whether to go on their own Night Stalker adventure. But ultimately, their determination won over their apprehension.

"Let's do it," Samantha declared, her eyes gleaming with resolve. "We'll find out once and for all if the Night Stalker is real or just a tale."

The decision was made, and the plan was set. They decided to meet at the treehouse again the following night at 12:30 am to embark on their investigation.

The anticipation and excitement grew with each passing minute. The children could hardly sleep, their minds racing with thoughts of what they might discover. They all knew the stories about the Night Stalker were meant to keep people from wandering the streets at night, but they couldn't shake the feeling that there might be something more to the legend.

Finally, the appointed time arrived. Samantha, Jake, Emily, and Ethan gathered at the treehouse, each equipped with a flashlight and a sense of trepidation. They looked at each other, eyes wide with a mix of nerves and determination.

"Remember, we stick together no matter what," Samantha said, her voice firm. "No splitting up. We're in this together."

Agreeing on their pact, the four friends set off into the night. The streets of Davie were quiet.

This is an automated archive.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Amko06 on 2023-07-01 23:25:58+00:00.

---

Deep in the heart of an old, forgotten house lies a secret that has been buried for centuries. It is said that within the dilapidated walls, a hidden doorway exists, leading to a realm beyond our own. A realm of darkness and unspeakable horrors.

Legend has it that the house has long been cursed, its history marred by tragedy and malevolent forces. Locals whisper of strange occurrences surrounding the property—a pervasive sense of dread, shadowy figures that appear and vanish, and disembodied voices that echo through the night.

Driven by morbid curiosity, I set out to uncover the truth behind the legends. Armed with nothing more than a flashlight and a pounding heart, I cautiously entered the abandoned house. The musty air clung to my skin, and the creaking floorboards groaned beneath my weight, as if warning me to turn back.

Navigating through the decaying hallways, I noticed a subtle shift—a chilling breeze that seemed to beckon me toward a particular room. As I approached, an inexplicable force guided my hand to a spot on the wall, where an ornate wooden panel stood in stark contrast to the crumbling plaster.

My trembling fingers pressed against the panel, and to my astonishment, it swung open, revealing a hidden passageway. The darkness within seemed to swallow my flashlight's feeble beam, making it impossible to see what lay beyond. Fear and curiosity waged a fierce battle within me, but the latter emerged victorious, compelling me to step forward into the unknown.

As I ventured deeper into the passageway, a suffocating silence settled around me. The walls seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy, and a sense of foreboding grew with every step. It was as if the house itself had come alive, its secrets and terrors woven into the very fabric of its being.

In the distance, a faint, flickering light beckoned me forward. With each faltering step, the light grew brighter, casting an eerie glow on the walls. It led me to a small, hidden chamber—a chamber adorned with symbols and sigils etched into the floor. The air crackled with an otherworldly energy, and an overwhelming feeling of being watched sent shivers down my spine.

Before me stood an ancient, weathered book. Its pages whispered untold secrets, promising forbidden knowledge and untold power. It was a tempting offer, a chance to unravel the mysteries that plagued the house and perhaps even the world beyond.

But as I reached out to grasp the book, a cold gust of wind extinguished my flashlight, plunging the chamber into pitch darkness. Panic gripped my heart as unseen hands gripped at my throat, squeezing the air from my lungs. Desperate, I fought against the invisible assailants, clawing at the darkness.

In my struggle, I knocked over a small candle, its flame flickering to life and casting a dim light upon the chamber. And in that brief illumination, I caught a glimpse of the horrors that surrounded me—twisted, contorted figures with eyes that gleamed with an unholy hunger.

With renewed strength, I tore myself free from their grasp, abandoning the book and fleeing back through the hidden passageway. The house seemed to conspire against my escape, its once-decrepit halls transforming into a labyrinth of shifting corridors and locked doors. But I persevered, driven by a primal instinct to survive.

Finally, I burst through the front door, gasping for breath and collapsing onto the cold ground. As I lay there, my heart racing, I knew I had narrowly escaped a fate worse than death. The hidden doorway and the secrets it guarded were not meant for mortal eyes.

Since that fateful encounter, the haunting memories of the hidden doorway have consumed my thoughts. The images of those twisted figures, their eyes burning with malevolence, continue to haunt my dreams. I am plagued by a constant feeling of being watched, as if the darkness itself has eyes that follow my every move.

Unable to shake off the lingering horrors, I became obsessed with unraveling the truth behind the cursed house and its hidden doorway. I delved deeper into the history of the property, scouring old records, dusty archives, and speaking to those who had encountered its malevolent presence.

The more I uncovered, the darker the secrets became. Tales of disappearances and unexplained deaths connected to the house began to surface. Whispers of a dark cult that once occupied its halls, conducting rituals and summoning forces beyond human comprehension, intensified my unease.

Determined to break free from the hold the hidden doorway had on my mind, I sought out individuals who had encountered similar supernatural phenomena. Together, we formed a small group, united by our shared experiences and our quest for answers.

Equipped with cameras, audio recorders, and a determination to expose the truth, we returned to the cursed house. Armed with our collective knowledge and a desire to document the horrors within, we stepped through the front door, bracing ourselves for the unknown.

As we navigated the familiar hallways, we encountered inexplicable occurrences—a chilling breeze that whispered ancient incantations, objects moving on their own, and fleeting glimpses of shadowy figures that vanished before our eyes. The house seemed alive, its malevolent energy growing with our every step.

We found ourselves drawn once again to the hidden doorway, its presence pulsating with a dark magnetism. This time, we were prepared. We had researched ancient rites of protection, carrying talismans and reciting incantations to shield ourselves from the supernatural forces that awaited us beyond the threshold.

With trepidation and anticipation, we stepped into the hidden passageway, the flickering candlelight guiding our way. The air grew heavy, charged with an ominous energy. Strange symbols adorned the chamber walls, vibrating with ancient power.

As we cautiously explored, documenting our findings, we stumbled upon an ornate pedestal. Resting atop it was a weathered tome—the same ancient book I had encountered during my previous visit. Its pages whispered forbidden knowledge, promising answers to the mysteries that had consumed us.

Driven by an insatiable curiosity, we began to decipher the cryptic text, desperate to unlock the secrets it held. But the moment our fingers brushed the aged parchment, an unearthly force seized hold of us. The room trembled, and the chamber walls seemed to come alive with writhing tendrils of darkness.

In that moment, we realized the true nature of the hidden doorway. It was a gateway to a realm of unspeakable evil, a conduit through which ancient malevolence sought to breach our world. We had unwittingly played into its twisted plan.

Summoning every ounce of strength, we broke free from the clutches of the unseen force, abandoning the forbidden book and fleeing through the passageway. The house seemed to groan in protest, unleashing a cacophony of howls and screams as we raced toward the front door.

We emerged, gasping for breath, our bodies bruised and spirits shattered. The hidden doorway had taken its toll, leaving scars on our souls that would never fade. We vowed never to return, to leave the cursed house and its dark secrets buried deep within our memories.

But the horrors persist, their presence etched into our minds. We carry the weight of the hidden doorway's malevolence, forever changed by our brush with the otherworldly.

The days and nights that followed our encounter with the hidden doorway were filled with restless dread. Sleep evaded us, replaced by twisted nightmares that blurred the line between reality and the otherworldly realm we had glimpsed.

In our waking hours, we attempted to move on, to return to normalcy. But the memories of the hidden doorway persisted, an ever-present specter that refused to be ignored. We sought solace in each other's company, forming a tight-knit support group that shared the burden of our experiences.

Together, we scoured ancient texts and occult archives, seeking any clue that could provide insight into the nature of the hidden doorway and the malevolent forces that resided within. We consulted with paranormal experts, hoping to find a way to sever the connection that still tethered us to that cursed house.

Yet, despite our best efforts, the hidden doorway's influence lingered. Strange occurrences followed us wherever we went—objects moving on their own, whispers in the darkness, and inexplicable shadows that danced at the periphery of our vision.

Desperation fueled our determination. We became relentless in our pursuit of answers, diving deeper into the dark underbelly of the occult. It was during one such investigation that we stumbled upon a ritual—a dangerous and forbidden ritual known as the "Banishment of the Shadowed Doorway."

The ritual promised a chance to sever the ties between ourselves and the hidden doorway, but its execution came with great risk. It required venturing back to the cursed house, armed with ancient relics and incantations that would, in theory, banish the malevolent forces once and for all.

Summoning our courage, and unfortunately breaking our vow, we returned to the haunted dwelling, armed with our newfound knowledge. The house greeted us with an atmosphere of hostility, as if aware of our intentions. But we pushed forward, determined to confront the darkness that had plagued us for so long.

In the chamber of the hidden doorway, we set our plan into motion. We created a protective circle, inscribing ancient symbols and invoking ancient gods to shield us from h...

---

Content cut off. Read original on https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/14o8y6h/the_hidden_doorway/

This is an automated archive.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Daniel_Eaves on 2023-07-01 23:15:52+00:00.

---

Something happened to me at school that I’ll never fully recover from, neither physically nor mentally. I want to warn people, in case they ever hear the same strange knocking I did. It was a summer day, right towards the end of term. In just over a month, my whole year would graduate from school.

The classes had given over to revision periods for the exams, but it meant that there wasn’t much to do—no one was revising seven whole hours a day. The feeling was festive among the students, lots of mucking about, that sort of thing. Everyone felt like they could send school to hell; we were growing up and leaving.

The day was hot and my best mate Anders suggested we bunk off the final revision period: physics. Of course I said yes. But we had to stay on school grounds because Anders lived in a village outside of town, and his mum would arrive to pick him up in an hour.

So at the start of last period we hid in a caretaker’s closet, giggling to ourselves until the corridors had cleared out, then crept back, tiptoeing down the halls in an exaggerated way for each other’s amusement. It all began really when we snuck past the sports hall and realised no one was using it.

‘Hey, there’s some cool stuff in the sports storage cupboard, like frisbees and shit they never get out. Let’s see what we can muck about with,’ suggested Anders. ‘It’s our last chance to use the forbidden toys.’

I was up for it. We sprinted through to the back of the hall and opened the storage room. It was packed with goodies. I pulled a couple of orange cones off a shelf and we wore them as hats.

‘No way, space hoppers!’ said Anders, pulling out a couple of brightly-coloured examples from the rear of the room. ‘Why the fuck do they have space hoppers?’

While he was yanking the hoppers out, I grabbed a hacky sack from a plastic bin full of them and threw it in his direction. Within minutes we were bouncing around the sports hall on space hoppers, loaded up on hacky sacks, firing them all over at each other. After that we pulled some ropes down and tried to whip each other with them, then we got all the basketballs and had a go at scoring as many baskets in as we could in the hall’s net, rapid-fire. Finally, we got the hula hoops out and held a competition to see who could roll them the furthest.

Eventually I glanced at the wall clock. ‘Shit me, it’s like five minutes ’til end of class.’ We looked around at the absolute devastation we’d made everywhere and panicked. Grabbing a handful of whatever we could we ran into the storage closet to put it back.

That’s when we heard it.

Nuk-nuk–nuNUK-nuk

A knocking in that old familiar rhythm of shave-and-a-haircut. Neither of us could tell where the sound had come from. Anders stopped flat and dropped what he was carrying. ‘What the hell. You know the old myth, right?’ I’d vaguely heard of the legend of our home town, but not really. I never paid attention to those things. Anders explained: ‘sometimes, someone will hear a knocking in the rhythm of shave-and-a-haircut, and they can’t find where it’s coming from. The one thing you must never do is reply by knocking out the ending—two-bits. You’re damned if you do.’

‘Why? What happens?’

‘I do know the answer. Most people think that two bits is American and means two quarters, but it’s older than that. What it really means—‘

‘What on earth is going on here!?’ Mr Turton, the Head of Design Technology, had appeared in the doorway with a furious frown. We turned sheepishly to face him. ‘Right, you’re staying back to clean all this up and then some. Disappointing, boys.’

Anders put his hand halfway up. ‘Erm, sir, my mum picks me up. I can’t stay behind or I won’t get home.’

Mr Turton coughed. ‘Right. Well. You can go today, but you’ve got detention tomorrow.’ He jabbed his finger in my direction. ‘You’ve got more work to do, it seems.’

’Thanks sir.’ Anders shot me an apologetic look then sidled out of the storage room to freedom.

The teacher went on. ‘Not just putting everything back. We’ve been meaning to get these ropes wound up nicely and stored on the hooks in the gym. You can do that too before you leave.’ Mr Turton demonstrated how he wanted the ropes coiled. Then he left me to it.

I heard the school slowly drain of life as I listlessly walked back and forth, collecting up hacky sacks and hula hoops. Soon the school was dead silent. I was just bending down to pick up a basketball in the far corner of the hall when I heard it again.

Nuk-nuk–nuNUK-nuk

‘Hello?’ I called through the echoey space. Then, when there was no reply: ‘Piss off Anders if that’s you.’

‘You’re not funny,’ I added under my breath. I walked back to the storage room, a basketball under each arm and kicking three others along. Back in the cupboard it sounded once more.

Nuk-nuk–nuNUK-nuk

At this point I really started to grow disturbed. I quickly wound up the ropes (definitely not as good as Turton wanted). They were super heavy ropes, made by sailors in the nineteenth century by the looks of them. The sort of thing my great grandma might have heaved herself up during her P.E. days.

Due to the weight I could only manage two at a time on my shoulder. I was meant to haul them over to the gym, which was situated a way down the corridor. Not wanting to stick around, I set off in the direction of the gym. In the hallway I heard the knocks yet again. They echoed around and I couldn’t find any point of origin.

Nuk-nuk–nuNUK-nuk

I hurried into the gym and hung the ropes on the hooks. I just wanted to get out of here now. I power-walked back into the corridor.

Nuk-nuk–nuNUK-nuk

Damn it! I couldn’t hear where it came from, and maybe I was inventing things, but I thought perhaps the noise came out of the Design Tech lab just across from the gym. I pushed the door open and stalked in.

‘Hello?’

NUK-NUK-NUNUK-NUK

The raps came super loud and more violent this time. Adrenalin kicked in. I crossed over from being scared to feeling angry. This must be Anders pranking me. He’d planned the whole thing. Got me in the sports hall alone. Told me about the stupid myth. Abandoned me to clean up. Ran around hiding and knocking out shave-and-a-haircut all over. Furious, I slammed my fist down against the nearest workbench.

PUM-PUM!

‘Two-bits! How’d you like that?’

The door to the supply cupboard creaked open, and for a millisecond I thought it was all over, that Anders was about to jump out shouting, ‘gotcha!’

What actually came out sent my head spinning.

It was a man. This man was alopecia bald—nothing on his head, no facial hair, no eyebrows. For no apparent reason his entire face and head was grease-painted cobalt blue. His features were gaunt and elongated, and likewise his limbs seemed slightly longer than was right. He wore a white onesie with red stripes spiralling round it. He wheeled a trolley in front of him. There was a basin set in this trolley and a range of hairdressing items fitted into special slots about it. Behind him he dragged a barber’s chair. He grinned at me and his teeth were dark brown like teak.

‘Good day. They call me The Barber and I’ll be your barber for the day. Just one moment.’ He set about positioning his items in the space by the whiteboard. When he swung the barber’s chair round it looked like it had been fused with an electric chair—that is, modified with a bunch of metal bands and leather straps used to hold a person down.

I bolted to the door. But as much as I rattled, it wouldn’t open. The Barber ignored my struggles and whistled as he set up shop. When he was ready he said, ‘if you’d like to take a seat?’

‘You can fuck off,’ I told him honestly.

He cocked his head. Tutted. ‘A game of catch first, is it?’

He came at me like a dancing clown with his crooked arms out. I dodged and weaved but was no match for him. He chuckled at my efforts. Within seconds he had me pinned between his bony arms. ‘That’s right, hug it out,’ he said, and laughed again. His breath smelt like Old Spice. As his grotesque face beamed over me I saw his teeth, in fact, were made of wood.

He dragged me over and forced me into his chair. Metal bands came down around my ankles, wrists and neck, Then the leather straps bound all those places in between.

‘Wriggle if you like now!’ he said, punctuating with a cackle. He pulled a bottle of Old Spice out of a compartment in the trolley. Then he drank from it like it was a hip flask. And that was that mystery solved.

‘One second.’ He bounded back into the supply closet and returned a moment later wheeling an ornate brass mirror, pulling it to a stop in front of me. Its surface was mottled, dirty and distorted. ‘Now,’ he declared, with his hands on his hips. ‘A shave and a haircut.’

‘I’m alright thanks.’

‘You soon will be, my lad.’

The bizarre man pulled out a shaving brush and a metal soap dish. He wet the brush in his basin, then began to run the brush in rapid circular motions over the dish creating a lather. Faster and faster he went, and the bubbling concoction frothed and foamed higher. The amount of foam became absurd—the whole thing felt like it was getting out of control. The Barber looked to be having a whale of a time, and on he went. Foam flopped onto the floor as it rose up into a tower.

Then abruptly he stopped. I couldn’t see his face for the sheer mountain of foam he held in his palm. His head peek-a-booed round the side. ‘Ready?’

‘Leave me alone!’

Again he ignored me. Instead he slapped my face around gaily with the shaving brush. It was cold and we...

---

Content cut off. Read original on https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/14o8pyu/shave_and_a_haircut_two_bits/

This is an automated archive.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/CIAHerpes on 2023-07-01 23:09:36+00:00.

---

I was born to kill. Even as a child, a little boy no more than seven, I strangled my neighbor’s cat and then burned their house down. I left the body of their beloved pet strung over their mailbox. The police never figured out that I did it, a mere child next door.

But like many things in life, my addiction spiraled out of control. Just killing animals or starting fires would not make the nut. I wanted something more hands-on, more personal, and most of all, I wanted people. I hated humanity, every single disgusting person on this planet- except for myself, of course, because I was different from all the weak, babbling masses. I know myself to be superior, the Overman predicted by Nietzsche.

I killed my first homeless man when I was sixteen. I stabbed him. He screamed, flailing, trying to get up and stumble down the dark alleyway, but I ran quickly behind him, stabbing him in the back a few more times. He fell down, gasping and pleading, and I flipped the bastard over with my shoe and knelt down to finish the job.

I wrapped my gloved hands around his throat, tightening and tightening. I felt his thready, rapid pulse beating, beating so fast it seemed like his heart must explode. And then it started to slow, then stopped. I felt the life go out of him, the last heartbeat, the last dying gasp after I had taken my hands away. His lips had turned blue and his eyes bulged out of their sockets. It felt sublime, absolutely pure power and control, an almost sexual rush that made all the colors in the world seem bright again.

But after a couple days, the colors faded back to their dull, monotonous tones, the sounds grew distant again, the good feelings faded away like puddles under the summer sun. And I began to think about the next one, plan the next one. I began to think about the future.

My IQ tested in the genius range multiple times. When I took the SATs, I scored nearly a 2200 out of 2400- which put me in the top 1% of the US population. In hindsight, I wish I could have done things differently. I wish I could have used that intelligence to get a good job, lots of money, a mansion, maybe some power over the disgusting masses of humanity that swarmed all over the world. But instead, I followed my dreams. I followed the dark path that inevitably led to where I am now.

It all started last night, at about 11 PM. I had strangled a prostitute to death and thrown the body in my trunk. Then, whistling to myself, I went through my music collection and found what I was looking for- Norwegian Black Metal, a band named Burzum. The shrieking and fast guitars always got my blood up. Blaring “Beholding the Daughters of the Firmament” on repeat, I lit up a cigarette, starting my car and pulling out of the graveyard where I had taken the young hooker, under the pretense of paying her for sex. I had no real interest in sex, however. It always seemed extremely dirty and disgusting, and who could possibly be worthy of someone like me?

So instead, I had asked her to get out of the car, to go to a nearby stone slab where one could lay down flat. When she sat down on it, asking me what I wanted to do, I pulled out a hammer I had tucked into the back of my pants, hidden under my loose button-down shirt. I smashed it into her head with a satisfying crack. I heard the bone fracture as the metal of the hammer made a slight ringing sound. She had gone flying backwards off the stone slab, losing consciousness for a few moments. But by the time I had walked over to her, her eyes had opened once again. The eyelids fluttered, her stare flicking to the left and right rapidly, as if searching for help that would never come. I knelt down and finished her disgusting life. Her deep, brown eyes keep meeting mine, as if asking, “Why?” As if I needed a reason.

I knew of a nature reserve nearby with a dirt road leading into it. It sometimes had a chain lock on it at night, but I always kept a pair of bolt cutters, and then I’d drape the chain back over the gate, so that any passing travelers would think the lock intact.

The nature reserve looked so beautiful in the day, but at night, it looked eerie. The crooked branches of the trees reached into the narrow dirt road, scraping at my car and windows with a slight screeching noise. A foot trail to the left led to the top of a small mountain where people went to admire the view of the surrounding hills and forests. But I went straight, deeper into the forests. Eventually the dirt road ended, and I got out, grabbing my flashlight and shovel from the trunk. I gave the dead body of the hooker, now wrapped in a white sheet, a disparaging look before turning away and slamming the trunk closed again.

I walked out a couple hundred feet from the road, not on any human or deer trail but randomly crashing through brush and prickers and spiderwebs. I never buried bodies anywhere near a trail. I dug a fairly shallow grave, maybe four feet deep. It still took me quite a while, and by the time I felt confident the hole looked deep enough, I found myself covered in sweat, my shirt sticking to my skin. Sighing, I walked back the way I had come, opened up the trunk, and slung the body of the dead woman over my shoulder.

She couldn’t have weighed more than 120 pounds, while I weighed nearly 200, but getting that awkward, unwieldy 120 pounds through pricker-bushes and past thick brush proved very difficult. After I got a little way into the woods, I started just dragging her by her feet, unsnagging all the thorns that kept threatening to rip the sheet into shreds. By the time I got back to the hole, the sheet had slashes and rips all through it. I was breathing heavily, totally exhausted and grateful to be done with the hard part. I threw the body down the hole and turned to grab my shovel to fill it back in.

And yet, when I looked behind me, the shovel had disappeared. I hadn’t seen so much as an animal this whole time, so I looked around frantically. I had to be alone out here, at 3 in the morning in a nature reserve many miles long. I felt someone grab my arm, and I screamed.

Spinning around, I saw the body of the dead prostitute. The shredded remnants of the white sheet lay in the hole still, but she had crawled out. One of her eyes was swollen shut, purple and black. She had clear dark handprints around her throat, and crusted blood covered the area on the side of her head where I had hit her with the hammer. And yet she somehow stood here in front of me.

“Come, come,” she said in a hissing voice, “don’t be afraid, Leon. I’m not your plaything. I’m just using her body so we can have a little chat.”

“Where’s my shovel?!” I asked frantically. I know, in hindsight, what a stupid question it was, but my brain had shut down from surprise and overload by this point. The dead girl just ignored my outburst and kept on talking.

“My name is Foras. My master has been impressed by your work. He would like to see you, in fact.” The dead girl grinned, her blood-stained teeth flashing under the bright LED of my flashlight. The grin looked like something sick, something evil and twisted. Then the dead girl grabbed my arm again, the freezing cold skin on her hands pressing against my arm, and I felt myself falling.

I closed my eyes, but I think I somehow fell right through solid ground. A few seconds later, I felt it stop, the butterflies in my stomach still fluttering. I opened my eyes slowly and found myself in a deep underground cavern with torches along the walls and blazing fires scattered throughout. I looked over and saw a bloodless, sheet-white man now had held my arm in the same way the dead girl had. Blood-red irises surrounded his pupils, and his limbs looked twisted and inhuman, his fingers unnaturally long and pointed.

“You have done very well,” Foras said. “No reason to be afraid. My master just wants to make you an offer.”

“An offer?” I asked.

“Yes, you’ll see.” He let go of my arm. I felt the blood rushing back into it. Then he started walking forwards, towards a blazing inferno a few hundred feet away. Black smoke billowed out of it, going up through the many holes in the ceiling to whatever world lay above. As I neared it, though, I realized I could see eyes in that fire. They looked like black holes in the middle of all that heat and light, two floating black eyes staring directly at me. I stopped in my tracks. Foras turned around, snarling.

“Go forward!” he screamed, and I did. When I got within a couple dozen feet of the eyes, I heard a new voice.

“Ah, Leon. Leon Arora. I have watched your work with interest,” the voice said, booming from everywhere and nowhere around me.

“What work?” I asked, though I knew. The eyes seemed to smile, and I heard an insane laughter echoing all around me.

“Well, let’s go over it, shall we?” the voice asked. “I am not omnipotent, but I know many things. Far more than anyone knows.

“First murder: you stabbed and then strangled a homeless man to death in Hartford. You left his body in the alleyway. Unsolved. Police have no leads.

“Second murder: you kidnapped a prostitute from Boston and then burned her alive deep in the forests of the Berkshires. Unsolved. Police have no leads.

“Third and fourth murders: you waited for two hikers on the Appalachian Trail. When they walked by, you shot both of them to death and left their bodies sprawled on the path. Unsolved. Police have no leads.

“Fifth, sixth and seventh murders: you found a rural home in the middle of Maine, took a drill and screwed all the door...

---

Content cut off. Read original on https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/14o8l0f/im_a_serial_killer_who_does_contract_killings_for/

This is an automated archive.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/rephlexi0n on 2023-07-01 22:47:35+00:00.

---

Life row was the last home I had on dry land. Now, I’m locked in a cell equally as grey and bare. The only difference is I’m below the surface of the Pacific in a lonely steel capsule.

They lured me in with a chance at reducing my sentence by volunteering as a test subject for the “Hadal Anomaly Project”. Cryptic, right? I won’t detail the reasons for my imprisonment, because from what I’ve been seeing and hearing, it doesn’t matter anymore. The rest of the world may as well not exist.

---

We disembarked, what, best part of a month ago? It’s guesswork, but I think we’re somewhere off the coast of Mexico. Near the Galapagos islands, maybe. What I do know is we’re now deep enough for the words ‘day’ and ‘night’ to lose all meaning.

There’s not much to look at through the dinnerplate porthole in my cell. Seems like a pointless investment, if you ask me. The things I’ve made out from eavesdropping through the tiny gap in the doorframe are far more… interesting.

From muted fragments of conversation, here’s what I know:

The Hadal Anomaly, this project’s namesake, is a vacuum close to the Pacific seabed. It’s spherical, just under a kilometre wide, with no rational justification for its existence. No water, air, sand. An empty region of space and nothing more.

Feels like we’re still moving, still descending. I don’t know how long it’ll be until we arrive. Hopefully a while.

Still, I’m noticing some changes. There’s a low hum coming from somewhere, and it’s only gotten louder as time goes on. Thank God I have a notepad - if I didn’t have an outlet for my thoughts right now I might lose it.

---

Okay, what the hell. I thought this manner of dark was basically impenetrable, but now there’s a light.

It’s not part of the sub, no… a bright spot, like a lone star suspended in the night sky. It’s pink, a sort of rose colour, and motionless - aside from the way it’s pulsing, seemingly at random. I think it’s what’s making the humming. When it swells, so does the humming.

I can see the border of this ‘vacuum’ too. It’s like looking into a glass sphere, the inside perfect and unblemished.

I’m starting to regret taking them up on this offer. Something’s telling me life in jail would be a paradise over whatever they plan to do with me.

---

Fuck, fuck, fuck!! A few minutes ago I watched a test subject get sent out in some kind of pressure suit, straight towards the light.

When they passed into the vacuum the suit just… disintegrated. As if dipped into some obscenely powerful acid. Corroded away into nothing.

Yet, whichever poor soul was chosen for this test run is somehow unharmed.

I mean, she’s floating, naked, but I don’t think she’s dead. Her skin looks alive and she’ll twitch and convulse at random. Sometimes it even looks like she’s trying to speak. Scream, maybe, but no one can hear her. Any comms equipment they loaded her with is gone, rotted away into less than dust.

A few minutes was all I could stand watching her float toward the light, before slumping down beneath the porthole. I don’t know how long I sat like that.

At some point I’d dozed off, but the sub’s shuddering brought me back with a missed-the-last-step kind of feeling. A pale-pink circle projecting from the porthole onto the bulwark door told me enough. No need to look outside.

I think that was her passing into the light, for better or worse. Probably worse.

There’s gotta be an escape to this. Can a pen do lethal damage to your carotid artery? Maybe I’ll find out.

---

Subject-006 is the next labrat they’re picking.

Subject-006 is me.

The urge to end it right now is tempting. Before they can send me into something they haven’t the first fucking clue about. I can’t bring myself to do it though. If going into that thing puts you asleep then maybe it’d be a better death.

But I don’t know that. The researchers don’t know that. How could they? Or perhaps they do, and think it’s a mercy to leave me questioning.

It isn’t a mercy. It’s torment.

The keypad outside my door is beeping. There’s no time left.

Then again, what worth is there to anything I write in this journal? Maybe a part of me’s hoping someone reads this, stranger or otherwise, so at least they know a living person wrote this.

Or I’m just writing my thoughts. Not everything needs a purpose, a deep meaning, or anything like that. Some things can just… be.

It’s time. I’m up. Later, no one.

---

It’s obvious past this point I couldn’t continue my journal. Even if I somehow brought it along, it would’ve disintegrated inside the anomaly.

Researchers and sub operators crowded me, chattering in a crucible of voice. I didn’t care to hear anything they had to say - why should I? If I was going to be released out into the hadal zone towards some undefinable fault in reality, insider info would be as useful as a paper oar.

The pressure suit was more like a cage than anything. Rigid joints prevented any movement, only serving to transport a fragile bag of meat through an inhospitable environment. It had a tether latched onto the back - yet another pointless addition to the whole thing.

There was a cold rush as I hurtled out of the sub. Not from the water around me, but dread. A dread nothing on earth, nothing natural, could instil.

An endless thought loop cycled in my head, attempted rationalisations for what was about to happen. None of them were sufficient or even close to the truth.

Slowly, I drifted toward the vacuum. The gradual inching closer… it was agonising.

Then, the instant I passed the border, everything went black.

But only for a moment.

My eyes opened, and what I saw was not the deep sea, nor was it a bright light.

The rapture incarnate, in every town, city, and village.

I saw burning skyscrapers lighting up a starless night, underlined by the collective wail of humanity as they fled in absolute hysteria.

A shape crested the city skyline cloaked in an oily pall. Something utterly massive, a shell splitting into nine spirals.

The military tried their best, but their bullets did nothing and their missiles were whipped out of the sky by vast, mismatched limbs.

Any ill-conceived providence was brushed aside as the shelled colossus swiped up men, women, and children alike, shovelling countless people into its pulsating, toothed sphincter.

Every crushed bone, snapped joint, torn limb, I heard. Screams and wails snuffed out.

Violent creatures spewed from its fleshy openings, galloping and squirming through the streets, eviscerating anyone and everyone. Some pluming smoke from vestigial jaws, others spraying caustic fluids to liquefy flesh.

Again my eyes opened to full awareness. I tried to howl in the horror and disgust of what I’d seen - silence. It was only me, the emptiness, and the beaming light.

Quickly as I’d awakened, I was plunged into another vision.

This time, an underwater landscape greeted me. It was calm, rich in all manner of life. Some big, some small, some hard and some soft. The only violence was necessary predation.

But what caught my mind’s eye were a group of oddly humanoid creatures with coiling limbs tightened into familiar shapes, darting around with spear-like weapons, some carrying skewered fish down to a sprawling structure in the seabed.

There was no time for peace or comfort. Once more the dream fell into oblivion and I was mere feet away from the blinding light.

It shone with colours that shouldn’t be, dancing across my vision, drawing me into its gravity.

One last time, I blacked out.

There was nothing to see. Only a soft and distant voice.

"Enter the source. The Zenith.”

A deep, rattling horn sounded from every conceivable direction, and then I was falling. Upon opening my clenched eyelids, I saw that place.

Words can never do it justice, but I’ll try my best.

Encircling me, arcs of black fog on a galactic scale fed down to something beneath.

I looked down, and the only thing I could think was every single star in the universe squeezed together into one immense mass of light and heat. It beamed with those same impossible colours, spinning around me in coronas the size of Saturn’s rings.

Soon, the light was all I could see. A perfect anti-void. I couldn’t see, but I felt it. My body felt like it was expanding, stretching, tearing, mending… changing.

And then, finally, it was dark again. Cold.

I looked around. Darkness punctuated by a single rose light, glinting off a curved metal object I recognised.

As I approached, my arms came into view, lit up in violet hues. Well, they weren’t arms. Not really. Two long bundles of wiry tentacles pushed me forward, yet when I stopped to look at them they twisted and coiled into shapes I recognised.

Arms and hands.

Effortlessly, I soared through the brine to the submarine’s bow, stopping at its glass dome and staring in.

The very same scientists and crewmates who’d shoved me into the unknown milled around inside. One by one, they noticed me, freezing in a sort of horrified awe.

I think I smiled, but I don’t know what my face looks like now.

Before leaving, I circled the sub and found the porthole to my holding cell. Inside, a grey square sat skewed on a sterile table.

My new appendages slithered across the glass, smothering it in seconds, and pulling with tiny suction cups. With little effort on my part the window cracked and shattered, and I had to brace to avoid being sucked through jagged glass teeth.

Foot-thick reinforcements slammed down around the bulwark door while red lights strobed and ...

---

Content cut off. Read original on https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/14o8325/theres_a_vacuum_at_the_bottom_of_the_pacific_ocean/

This is an automated archive.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/NexusNexus06 on 2023-07-01 22:30:08+00:00.

---

Living in a small town in the bible belt south is typically a decently chill place. I mean there's the bible thumpers who can be a bit wild, but normally it's a nice calm place. Until last week.

Look you can call me and my friends crazy, but we know what we saw in those woods. It wasn't an animal, or a person. It was... something else entirely. I'd almost describe it like a not deer, you know the video that was everywhere a couple months back. But it wasn't a deer more coyote like, I don't know what it was trying to mimic because it didn't do that great of a job, but honestly I don't think I WANT to know.

Everyone in my towns hunts or fishes or just in general goes into the woods, me and my friends are no exception. Me and my friends, Nick and Ash, decided to go into the woods last week. Normal thing we do, there's not much to do in town unless you wanna wander around a couple parking lots or the like three fast food joints we have, so the woods it is.

We've all been in them before, usually to take pictures of the wildlife. Ash brought their camera, we wanted to take some pictures and Ash was the only one who was able to get their hands on a good quality camera. We just kept walking through on a path we always took. Seeing the game camera that people left up. We'd also made sure to wear the stupid orange vests so we didn't get shot at or something by hunters, it's Kentucky and we still have some things in season. We were just trying to see if we could find anything cool to take a picture of, maybe a doe and her fawns.

We hadn't been out there long when we heard something to out left. We looked over, Ash had their camera ready in case it was an animal, though we figured it may have been someone hunting. Then we saw it. I felt my blood run cold at the sight of it. It almost looked like a coyote like I said but only if a coyote was the size of a damn moose. It had black fur, teeth that were way too big for it's mouth, way too many teeth, and it didn't appear to have eyes. Then we saw it had something in it's mouth...or well some ONE in it's mouth. I saw the orange vest and bits of camo clothing. Then I saw the blood so much blood. I could tell I was frozen from fear at this point, hell I think Nick and Ash were too.

At some point it stepped towards us, dropping the body to the ground. That's when I felt myself break free, then I grabbed both Nick and Ash and started to run. How the hell it didn't grab us in our mad dash out of those woods, I'll never know. Maybe it let us go. One thing I do know, I'm never going back.

Call me crazy, say I probably am making all this up. But I know what I saw wasn't a coyote, I fear it is something much worse than I won't dare say the name of as to not make it come. But I'm sure as hell not whistling at night ever again. I know what I saw, it was real. I hope to God I'll never see it again.