First Part: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/i3uomw/343_am/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf
She’s cute when she’s asleep.
See you soon😉
It’s been almost two years since that eerie message.
I can’t remember the last time I slept without the image of a phantom psycho creeping into my room. It’s always the same nightmare: My wife’s phone rings, and she picks it up in a groggily lucid state. She says something, but her voice is always replaced with the demented whir of that recording. “911 what’s your emergency?” It plays through as I remember it, but the words – the sounds – they’re all coming from my wife’s mouth. A shadow moves from the doorway revealing the edge of the Kitchen bathed in a pale light. I try to move towards the shadow, but my neck is stiffly stuck in place; unable to rip my gaze from my wife even as her head begins turning to face me. Her back stays turned to me, but her head keeps moving. Vertebrae crack and grind at increasing volumes until she is fully facing me.
The recording pauses and my wife’s stare bores into me.
A shiver rips through my bones as her eyes retract into her skull leaving bottomless voids. Black ichor oozes from the depths of her eyes, and it flows from her mouth as it opens. “Please, help me.” The words escape from her mouth in a drowned gasp. It sounds like the recording, but a second voice – my wife’s voice - says it as well in synchronized terror.
A silhouette suddenly charges through the kitchen’s pale light straight towards the bedroom, a glint of silver in its hand. And then I wake up drenched in sweat screaming until my throat is beyond hoarse. My wife has tried to get me to go to the same hospital I sent her, but if I’m not home and this psycho shows up…
I agreed to see a therapist - albeit reluctantly. He said something about how “listening to that phone call was something akin to Trauma Dumping; that now I’m trying to take my wife’s trauma as my own.” Even prescribed me some pills to help me sleep, but they just make the dreams worse. So, he’s useless.
I checked in with the cops about the calls, and they said they couldn’t find anything so it’s been dropped. I tried showing them the texts hoping desperately that they’d reopen the case, but: “Since there hasn’t been any actual threat, we can’t do anything. It was probably just a prank.”
Useless.
I got a gun. Just a snub nose in case something does happen. I stashed it under the bed so she won’t see it and freak out. I won’t let them get her like they got that little girl… Or the others.
They found more kids two months ago. Another little girl, but this one was accompanied by a little boy. They were found hanging from a tree with their hands tied together, and missing ring fingers. The girl was identified as Sarah Weiss; she disappeared six months ago. The boy, Jeffery Walker, had only gone missing the night before they were found.
I stopped taking the pills that night because when the news story showed the area they were found, 343 was carved into one of the trees. I don’t know who this sick freak is, but I know they’re coming and I can’t be in a drug-induced REM when they show up.
I stay up until my wife goes to sleep around 10, and then I grab my gun from under the bed and post myself in the corner facing the door. The chair is pushed against the wall, so they can’t ambush me from the window. I doze off sometimes, but I always wake up at the same time: 3:43 AM. I stash the gun again before my wife wakes up and try to remain vigilant through the day, but recently it’s gotten harder to keep sleep from tugging at my eyelids when I stop pacing the house. I’ve become a master at yawning with my eyes open so I can keep watching the area.
Shadows keep darting away when I try to focus on them, I think it’s them; I think they think I don’t notice them trying to hide, but I do.
My wife left to stay with her parents in Michigan. She found the gun, and we had a huge fight about it. I tried to explain that I’m only trying to protect her, but she insists that that chapter of her life is over. Voices were raised, and I said some things I definitely shouldn’t have. I don’t even know why I said them; I was just so angry that she couldn’t understand, and I was so tired. She left an hour later.
I’ve been sitting alone in our room, in my chair waiting and watching as the sun dipped below the sky. The pale moonlight filters through the window illuminating the empty bed. She’s probably right. The cops are probably right. I’m probably just seeing things because I need some sleep.
At least that’s what I thought until five minutes ago. There was a knock on the back door that resonated through the house’s silence.
I held the gun out in front of me as I crept to the door with as much grace as my exhausted footsteps would allow.
Peering through the glass I couldn’t make out anyone in the backyard, even with the motion sensor light shining over the whole yard. I did see two small ring boxes though.
Placed on the doorstep like a dead bird a cat would leave behind:
A gift.
Opening them I was hit with the sour stench of decay that assaulted my nose, and vomited when I saw the contents:
A finger.
Both boxes contained a gray, child-sized, finger.
His and Hers is written on the underside of the lid.
“Her” finger was decorated with a hot pink nail which clashed deeply with the decomposing skin. A pine needle was wrapped around the finger with an intricate bow of a knot on the top… Almost like a makeshift wedding ring.
“His” Had no decorations, but was wrapped almost entirely with twine. Beneath the finger was a note that simply said: She’ll come back. 😊
I’m hoping this won’t be my last post, but I know they’re coming. I’ve already called the cops, but fifteen minutes is a long time.