In the sprawling city where life never seemed to halt, I had carved out a quiet nook for myself on the tenth floor of an old apartment building. This apartment was not just a home; it was my sanctuary. With worn-out wooden floors and tall windows that framed the bustling world outside, it was a juxtaposition of old-world charm against the backdrop of a modern metropolis. The distant sounds of honking cars were my lullaby, while the shifting patterns of streetlights on my walls acted as my nightly kaleidoscope.
Every night, once the day’s clamor subsided, I’d settle into my cozy armchair with a blanket and mug of hot cocoa, diving deep into the virtual realms of r/nosleep. These tales, both enthralling and haunting, became my nightly escape. But on a particularly frosty winter night, my routine took an unnerving turn. Among the myriad stories, one titled “The Forgotten Comments” stood out.
It started off predictably — a family relocating to an old inherited mansion, only to find their lives disturbed by elusive, taunting shadows. However, as the tale concluded, the eeriness lingered in the comment section. Every single comment, without exception, was replaced by the eerie phrase: “I shouldn’t have read this.”
Intrigue piqued, I typed out my thoughts, “Compelling narrative, but what’s the mystery behind these comments?” Drained from the day, I decided to retire. But as I nestled into my bed, a sudden, sharp glow emanated from my computer screen. I squinted at my alarm clock: 3:07 a.m. A shiver ran down my spine as I approached the computer.
There it was, my comment, warped and replaced by that haunting refrain: “I shouldn’t have read this.” To add to the uncanny dread, my serene desktop background, which was a picture of a sunlit meadow, had now shifted to the silhouette of an eerily familiar mansion surrounded by looming shadows.
As if on cue, whispers began emanating from every corner of my room. Quiet at first, they grew in urgency and volume, repeating that chilling phrase. I grabbed my phone in a desperate attempt to call someone, only to find it too had been corrupted. Every app, photo, and contact was overwritten by “I shouldn’t have read this.”
Fear transformed into desperation. I thought of my neighbor, Mark, who lived a few doors down. Scribbling a quick note explaining my ordeal, I hoped he could offer some assistance. Yet, as the pen glided across the paper, the words morphed, once again reinforcing my grim reality.
I felt ensnared in a waking nightmare. The once comforting glow of the streetlights now cast sinister shadows that seemed to dance and mock me. Each passing hour in this surreal nightmare felt like an eternity, my very sanity hanging by a thread.
Miraculously, as the first light of dawn began to seep into my room, dispelling the dark and with it the stifling oppression. My devices reverted to their original states, and every trace of “The Forgotten Comments” disappeared from r/nosleep, as if it was a mere figment of my imagination.
Yet, the scars of that night ran deep. My once beloved nightly reads were now tainted with paranoia. My apartment, although unchanged, held an air of silent foreboding. Often, in the depth of night, when the world outside was at its quietest, I’d find myself murmuring, ensnared by the memory of that phrase: “I shouldn’t have read this.”