I woke up to the sound of my phone buzzing on the nightstand. Groaning, I reached over to check the time. 2:43 AM. Who the hell was texting me at this hour? I picked up my phone, intending to just check the message quickly before going back to sleep. But what I saw made my blood run cold.
It was a picture of me. But not just any picture. It was a picture of me, tied to a chair, my face contorted in agony. Blood was dripping from my forehead, and my shirt was torn and stained with blood.
I stared at the picture in horror, my mind racing. What the hell was going on? Where was I? How did I get there? I had no memory of any of this. And yet, there I was, in the picture, clearly suffering.
Before I could even process what was happening, another message came through. This one was a video, and I hesitated for a moment before pressing play. The video was of me again, this time lying on the ground, my body twisted in pain. I could hear myself screaming in agony, but I had no memory of the incident.
Over the next few days, more and more pictures and videos came through. Each one featured me, in different stages of torture. Sometimes I was tied up, sometimes I was on the ground, and sometimes I was standing, barely able to keep myself upright. But in every single picture, I was clearly in pain.
I became more and more paranoid, constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering who was doing this to me. Was it someone I knew? Or was it a complete stranger? I couldn’t even begin to imagine why someone would do this to me.
The messages continued to come, each one more disturbing than the last. And with each message, my fear grew. I felt like I was losing my mind, unable to trust anyone, constantly looking over my shoulder.
Eventually, the messages stopped. But the damage was done. I was left with the memories of the torture, even though I had no memory of it actually happening. And the fear that it could happen again, at any moment, lingered in the back of my mind, like a dark cloud threatening to consume me at any moment.
Days turned into weeks, and the messages continued to haunt me. I became increasingly paranoid, constantly checking my surroundings and questioning everyone I knew. But no one seemed to know anything about the pictures or the videos.
I started to lose sleep, my mind consumed by the fear of what might happen next. I couldn’t focus on anything else, and my work began to suffer. I was on the edge of a breakdown, and I knew it.
One day, I received a message from an unknown number. It was a single sentence: “Come to the abandoned warehouse on 5th Street.”
I knew it was a trap. But I couldn’t help myself. I had to know who was doing this to me, and why. So, against my better judgment, I made my way to the warehouse.
As I entered the building, the door slammed shut behind me. I was trapped. And then, I saw him. The man who had been sending me the pictures and videos. He was standing in the corner, watching me with a sinister grin on his face.
I tried to run, but he was too fast. He caught me and dragged me to a room where I was tied up, just like in the pictures. The man began to torture me, just as he had in the pictures and videos. I screamed and begged for mercy, but he just laughed and continued to hurt me.
Hours passed, or maybe it was days. I lost track of time. All I knew was that the pain was unbearable, and I didn’t know how much longer I could survive.
Finally, the man stopped. He leaned in close to me and whispered, “You should have never ignored me. You should have never hurt me.”
And then he disappeared, leaving me alone in the abandoned warehouse, broken and battered.
I was eventually found and taken to the hospital, but the physical and emotional scars stayed with me for the rest of my life. I never forgot the man who had tortured me, and I always wondered if he was still out there, waiting to strike again.