I write this to you now because I don’t believe I have much longer to live. I don’t ask for help, or for guidance, as I don’t think either of those are possible at this point. I just want to get this out as a sort of warning.
It all started at my friend’s art gallery. He’d recently recovered from a very, very dark place. He was highly addicted to drugs and had depression and suicidal tendencies on top of it. I managed to get him into rehab and therapy and, after a long rollercoaster of emotions, he made a good recovery. At some point he decided to paint his experiences and feelings. The paintings were beautiful and, per my suggestion, he brought them to an art gallery. They had the same feelings as I did and helped him set up a spot to show his paintings off.
As I was explaining what one of his paintings meant to one particularly well dressed onlooker, I saw my friend talking to a lady in a nice dress. I didn’t think anything of it at the time.
Less than a week later he killed himself.
Before I found his body, he called me. “Come to my house, please.” He said. But it was in a voice I can explain as nothing other than an impersonation. It sounded almost like him, but not quite. I thought maybe he was tired or sick, and went over to check up on him.
“Hey, I’m here!” I called. I got no response. I figured he might be up in his room with his studio with his headphones on. He liked listening to loud music like Nirvana and Badflower.
I opened the door to his studio and… there he was, strung up from the ceiling. I can’t explain in words the mix of emotions that rushed through me at that moment. I thought we were past this. He was my only friend that lived near me and, because of that, he was my best one.
What was even more haunting is what was on the wall, however. I didn’t even see it at first, my eyes had been fixated on my best friend’s body. On the wall behind him, written in black paint, were four simple words.
“You could’ve saved him.”
I realize now that it was definitely odd that it said “him” rather than “me”, but in my clouded mind I saw that as him saying it was my fault.
This whole event plunged me into a terrible mindset. I picked up drinking and within months was fired and evicted.
I had nowhere else to go, as my father was dead and my mother hated me for reasons irrelevant. I was homeless.
While I was on the streets, a lady in a nice dress came up to me. She seemed… familiar. But she was pretty, so I thought that she might just look similar to an influencer or something. When she spoke to me, her voice seemed… off. Weird. Not weird like a speech impediment, but weird as in it felt unnatural. Almost artificial.
“How are you doing?” She said.
“Not good.” I replied.
“Hmm, what’s the matter?” She asked.
“Ain’t it obvious? I’m fuckin’ homeless.” I shot back. I may seem like a little bit of an asshole for saying that, but I was drunk and hearing her obliviously ask what was wrong angered me.
“Anything else troubling you? Any recent events…?” She inquired.
“Why do you care so much about my life?” I said before taking another swig out of the beer in my hand.
“I’m just trying to help.” She said pityingly.
“Jesus, my friend killed himself. Now will you leave me the fuck alone?” I spat.
“Oh no. And how does that make you feel?” She said with a babying tone.
“Makes me wanna turn around and do it myself.” I grumbled.
At this, she made a face. I wouldn’t really describe it as any type of emotion, all I know is it was ugly. I, in turn, contorted into my own face of disgust. Once she was done with… that… she left as suddenly as she appeared.
At the time, I thought she was just another weirdo on the street. But now I am confident that my life spiraled out of control because of her.
After talking to her, I felt… heavier. Not physically but emotionally. And it worsened by the day. Even drinking couldn’t stop it. I had to refrain from killing myself by any means available. I’m only alive to write this because I’m a stubborn bitch.
I started putting things together. The weirdly worded message, my friend not sounding real over the phone, my sudden suicidal tendencies, the lady that sounded like an AI program. I still can’t be certain this all happened solely because of her, but I’m sure it was at least in part.
She seemed to wear the same dress during both encounters. I’m not sure if this is a pattern or if it’s a coincidence. The dress was a checkered diamond pattern of black and orange. The orange was shiny. Her face is pretty but basic. Think of a young brunette news reporter and you probably won’t be far off. The most important part is her voice. It’s uncanny. It’s almost human but… something’s off about it. Like a really good AI voice program that just isn’t quite perfect
If you see this woman, please for your own sake heed my warning. Avoid talking to her in general, but if it can’t be helped, do not under any circumstance tell her if something’s troubling you. I feel as though she can amplify these feelings once you tell her.
I’m not sure how much longer I’ll live. I want to kill myself nore every day, it’s almost overpowering me. I’ll try and stay a little longer and see if I can find any better methods for combating her.