I had always been the kind of person who sought refuge in the vast world of YouTube, its endless videos providing a welcome distraction from the mundanity of my daily routine. My job at the call center was a tiresome slog, and the only way I could stay sane was by hopping on YouTube whenever I had a break. I would explore the depths of the platform to find something that could hold my interest for a few precious moments.
One Tuesday afternoon, as I stared at the clock, waiting for the minutes to crawl by, I stumbled upon a video about restoring classic cars. I couldn’t help but smile, reminiscing about my own little project: a 1967 Chevrolet Camaro that had been gathering dust in my garage. It was my pride and joy, but lately, I hadn’t been able to solve an infuriating issue with the carburetor.
In a moment of curiosity, I decided to leave a comment on the video, detailing my problem and hoping someone might offer a helpful tip. As soon as I hit “send,” I was called back to reality by the shrill sound of my headset, signaling the start of another call. I sighed, clicked off the YouTube tab, and tried to focus on the voice on the other end of the line.
The call was a typical one: an irate customer demanding a refund for a product they’d broken themselves. As I attempted to calm them down and explain our return policy, I couldn’t help but long for the comforting embrace of YouTube.
When the call finally ended, I quickly reopened the YouTube tab, eager to return to my digital sanctuary. To my surprise, I had a new notification. Someone had already replied to my comment on the car restoration video. My eyes widened, and I clicked on the notification, wondering who could have responded so quickly.
The username read: Patmos1989.
Their comment was concise and informative. They’d suggested that I check the float level in the carburetor and adjust it accordingly. It was a simple solution, but one that hadn’t crossed my mind. I typed out a quick “Thank you!” and hit send, grateful for the advice.
The rest of the day was unremarkable, filled with more angry calls and mindless scrolling. When the clock finally struck 5 PM, I gathered my belongings and headed home, eager to put the day behind me.
As I pulled into my driveway, I noticed the familiar outline of my Camaro hidden beneath a tarp in the garage. A wave of excitement washed over me as I recalled the advice I’d received from Patmos1989. With renewed vigor, I stepped out of my car and headed straight for the garage.
The garage was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of motor oil and damp concrete. I pulled the tarp off my Camaro, its once-vibrant paint now faded and chipped. My heart raced as I popped the hood and peered into the engine bay, ready to put Patmos1989’s advice into action.
But as I examined the carburetor, I felt a chill run down my spine. The float level had been adjusted – it was exactly as Patmos1989 had suggested. My hands shook as I tried to make sense of the situation. I had been at work all day, and there was no one else who had access to my garage.
I tried my best to brush off the strange occurrence, convincing myself that I must have adjusted the float level before and simply forgotten about it. I closed the hood of the Camaro and decided to put the matter out of my mind. It was time to focus on my family and enjoy the evening.
I walked into the house, greeted by the warm embrace of my wife, Sarah, and the excited chatter of my 6-year-old son, Ruben. We spent the evening playing board games and laughing together, the bizarre incident with the carburetor fading into the background. As the night wore on, Sarah and I tucked Max into bed, his eyes heavy with sleep.
Later, as I sat on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through my phone, I heard Ruben’s voice from down the hallway. He was reading aloud from his tablet, and I couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. But then, I heard something that caught my attention – my own name, followed by Sarah’s and Ruben’s. My heart pounded in my chest as I got up and walked to Ruben’s room.
“Hey buddy, what are you reading there?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
Ruben looked up at me, his eyes wide with innocence. “I was just reading the comments on this video I watched earlier. Someone named Patmos1989 was talking about us!”
The name sent a shiver down my spine. I took the tablet from him and started scrolling through the comments. There, on various kids’ videos my son had watched, were hundreds of replies from Patmos1989 – all directed at Ruben. Some of the comments mentioned our names, others described our daily routines, and a few even mentioned the Camaro in the garage.
I felt sick to my stomach, my hands trembling as I realized the gravity of the situation. This person, whoever they were, had been watching us. I grabbed my phone and dialed 911, my voice shaking as I explained the situation to the operator.
But when they answered, I was met with a chilling recording of my own voice from earlier in the day at the call center. My blood ran cold as I listened to myself, desperately trying to appease the irate customer.
Panicked, I hung up and redialed 911, only to be greeted by the voice of one of the people I had called earlier in the day…
That person had to be Patmos1989.
My mind raced, trying to process the impossible connection. I couldn’t take it anymore, and in a fit of terror, I bolted out the front door, desperate to escape the nightmare that had engulfed my life.
As I stumbled onto the lawn, gasping for air, I felt a crushing grip on my shoulder. I turned to see a towering figure, at least 9 feet tall, looming over me. Its eyes were black voids, its face twisted into a sinister grin. I knew, without a doubt, that this was Patmos1989.
I tried to scream for help, but no sound came out. My wife, Sarah, appeared in the doorway, her face etched with concern as she tried to get my attention. But it was as if I was trapped in a nightmare, unable to hear or see her.
The monstrous figure began to absorb me, my legs twisting and mangling as they merged with its grotesque form. The pain was unbearable, and I could feel my sanity slipping away with each agonizing moment. As the darkness closed in around me, I realized that there would be no escape from the twisted, horrific world that Patmos1989 had dragged me into. The last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed me completely was the terrified, helpless face of my wife.