You will regret it with every fiber of your being.
No, I’m not lying. Well, not yet anyway…
Reading this story is going to be the worst thing that has ever happened to you. But you can’t resist, now can you? The blaring warning signs and crystal-clear instructions to avoid did little but peak your interest. Because you don’t like to play by the rules, do you? You’re not like them. No, that’s why you are here. It’s why you peruse dark corners of the internet, why you are drawn to NoSleep. You’re special, I can sense it. I can smell it through the screen. You smell good, my darling. Like a disaster drenched in sweat.
You’ve always been different, haven’t you? While others daydreamed about their wedding or wrestling with a bunch of snotty nosed rugrats, you daydreamed about how you would solve a murder, or how many relatives would attend your funeral, sobbing into pale blue handkerchiefs. You imagined unrequited lovers and remorseful enemies lining up beside your casket, murmuring to themselves what could have, should have been. Poetic, beautiful mourners. Justice wrapped in a black bow.
Some would call you dark. Morbid, even. But not me. I see you for who you truly are. Unique.
You aren’t held down by trivial things like TikTok, celebrity gossip, and late-night Zillow searches. They bore you, insult your intelligence. You are above those things. You are above a lot of things. That’s why you don’t have a lot of friends. I can tell. I can feel your loneliness radiating from here. You tell yourself that you don’t need to be surrounded by people who love you, but I know differently. I know how deep your heart aches for the love of another.
You have a good heart, darling. It’s not your fault they don’t understand you. They could never understand you like I do. Because I’ve been where you have been. Standing alone in the mouth of the cafeteria, weighing your options as to where to sit. Maybe by the nerds, they are more alike you than the jocks. But then again, they have their own language, their own cruel exclusivity. Or maybe the library is the safest bet for you, away from everyone real. But then you would be alone, surrounded by words that are not your own. Even as an adult, it doesn’t get safer. Coworkers, neighbors, they don’t really care about you. They may laugh at your jokes or wave good morning, but how often do they invite you out, really? How often do they try to include you? Think about it. And even when they do, you know you are going to come on too strong, come off too needy. Laugh at the wrong joke, trip over your own words. You try, so very very hard.
I’ve felt that longing to belong like you have. That frantic, wild desire to be a part of a group. It’s human nature, of course. It’s evolutionary. But oh so painful when it doesn’t come easy. So that’s how you found yourself here, on NoSleep.
Maybe you are scrolling your phone, one eye glued to the monotonous drone of the television. Maybe you are commuting back from your job in the city, shoulders sticky with sweat and importance. Maybe you are lying on the grass, an arm draped over your forehead.
Wherever you are, whoever you are, I see you.
I see your eyes as they flick across the screen. I feel your thumb pinched between mine as it dances down this page. You have warm hands, my darling. And delicious eyes. I bet they would pop very easily between my teeth. A juicy grape of a treat.
But no, I wouldn’t do that, not yet. It’s not time yet.
You see, I told you not to read this story. I warned you, clear as day. But you didn’t listen to me. No one ever listens to me. And you couldn’t resist. Because you are special.
And now, my darling, you are mine.
All you had to do was open this story. And as your eyes scanned the page, my mind scanned yours. I know all about you. Your hopes, your dreams, your regrets. You should have kissed them when you had the chance, you know. You will never get another opportunity. And now, you won’t get any opportunities ever again. Because as you read this story, you became mine.
Do you notice the blur between the words you read? It’s subtle, at first. Because that’s me, subtle but deadly. I’m here, running across the words, jumping from one sentence to the next. It’s how I breathe, it’s how I feed.
I feed on readers like you, darling. Lonely, desperate little readers like you. You’re my bread and butter, my bloody filet, my sweet, decadent dessert. When I’m done with you, I’ll pick your bones from my teeth and hang your bloody entrails around my neck. What can I say? Red looks good on me.
But I’m also patient. Because reading this story is just the first step. It’s how I captured you. Made you mine.
Oh, what’s that? You don’t feel captured? Well that wouldn’t make for a very good trap, now would it? The best prey don’t even know they have been captured. Better yet, they think the trap is a joke. A clever little trick. An entertaining story and nothing more. You can keep thinking that if it helps you sleep at night.
But now that you have read this story, I’m here. I’ll always be here. And you will never sleep alone again.
You won’t notice much of a change at first. Actually, you may even forget that you read this story all together. In fact, I’m counting on it.
At first you will notice a slight change in your reflection. Nothing crazy, of course. No, I wouldn’t be that obvious. But as you brush your teeth tonight you will notice that your reflection is off rhythm, off beat. The brush isn’t yet at your lips and yet the mirror shows you spitting up peppermint foam. Funny, isn’t it? Maybe it’s a trick of light. Yes, that has to be it. Don’t worry your pretty little head.
Everything is fine.
You may find yourself looking paler as the months grow older. But that’s because we are entering fall, of course. Not because I’m behind your eyelids, draining you of all the color in your life. Funny, isn’t it? How even tanning oil does nothing to darken that ashy glow? But don’t worry, I think you look delectable as is.
You will feel tired. Oh, so very tired. But sleep will elude you. You will toss and turn, take pills and drink warm tea. Nothing will calm your mind. Because I’m inside it, poking my fingers into every gushy crevasse I can. Can you feel me there, even now? And just as you are about to fall asleep, as you finally feel yourself drifting into nothingness, I will flood your mind with darkness and push you further down than you intended to go. When you wake, you won’t remember what you dreamed. But you will remember that it scared you.
I’ll sit on your shoulders and slide down your back, making you smaller and frailer than ever before, and yet oh so heavy. Like you are carrying an impossible weight. Because you are, my darling. You are carrying me.
Eventually, you won’t recognize who you are and where I begin. Your thoughts will be dark, violent, and ugly. Your dreams, when I let you sleep, will be even worse. You will question your sanity. You will question your reality. Every sense of normalcy, happiness and love will vanish like water seeping through open hands. There will be nothing to hold on to. Nothing left to grasp. I’m counting on it.
But don’t worry, darling. I won’t come for you for a very long time. Maybe months. Maybe years. Perhaps decades. And there is no way to stop me. I’m so sorry, dear. I did warn you. I told you not to read this story. There is no hope now. I’m coming for you.
Or, then again, maybe I’m lying. In fact, it would make things a lot easier if you believed I was.
So go ahead, scroll on to the next story.
I’ll be waiting.