It was just another regular night for me. I had finished up my work and was winding down before heading to bed when my phone pinged with a notification. I picked it up to see that it was a message from an unknown number. The message read:
“Would you rather game. Answer within 24 hours or face the consequences.”
I stared at the message, confused. What kind of game was this? And what were the consequences? Before I could even think about it, the phone vibrated again with another message.
“First question: Would you rather break your arm or your leg?”
I felt a shiver run down my spine as I read the question. This was definitely not a normal game. But I shrugged it off and decided to ignore it, thinking it was just a prank or some kind of spam message.
But as the night wore on, I couldn’t shake off the feeling of unease that had settled over me. Every time I looked at my phone, I felt a sense of dread wash over me. And when I finally did fall asleep, I had a terrible nightmare where I was trapped in a room and forced to choose between two terrible options.
The next morning, I woke up feeling exhausted and shaken. I tried to put the strange messages out of my mind and went about my day as usual. But as the night approached, I found myself checking my phone constantly, waiting for the next message to arrive.
And sure enough, at exactly 1 am, my phone pinged with another message.
“Second question: Would you rather be buried alive or burned at the stake?”
I felt my heart pounding in my chest as I read the question. This was not a game. And yet, I couldn’t help but feel a strange compulsion to answer the question. It was like something was forcing me to play along.
But I refused to give in. I put my phone away and tried to go back to sleep. But as the hours ticked by, I found it impossible to relax. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw images of gruesome deaths and terrible punishments.
And then, at exactly 3 am, something happened that made my blood run cold. I felt a sharp pain in my leg, like something had bitten me. I jolted awake, only to see a dark figure looming over me.
I tried to scream, but no sound came out. The figure leaned in close, its breath hot and fetid against my face. And then it spoke, in a voice that was both hollow and echoing.
“You have failed to answer the question,” it said. “Now you will face the consequences.”
And then everything went black.
When I woke up, I was in a hospital room, my leg and arm in casts. The doctors told me that I had been found lying on the street, my bones shattered. They had no idea how it had happened.
But I knew. It was the consequences of not answering the question. And I knew that I couldn’t ignore the game any longer.
For the next few nights, the questions kept coming. They were always gruesome and horrifying, forcing me to make impossible choices. But I had no choice but to answer them, to play along with the twisted game.
And then, on the seventh night, the final question appeared.
“Would you rather kill your mother or your father?”
I felt my heart sink as I read the question. This was beyond twisted. And yet, something inside me knew that I had to answer it.
But how could I choose between my parents? How could I live with the guilt of taking one of their lives?
I tried to ignore the question, to pretend that it didn’t exist. But as the hours ticked by, I felt a growing sense of desperation. I knew that if I didn’t answer the question, something terrible would happen.
And so, with a heavy heart, I made my choice.
I won’t say which one I chose. I couldn’t bear to put it down on paper. But as soon as I clicked the button, I felt a sense of relief wash over me. The game was over. The entity would leave me alone.
But then, as I put my phone down, I heard a strange noise coming from the hallway. It sounded like footsteps, slow and shuffling.
I got up to investigate, my heart pounding in my chest. And then I saw it.
Standing in the doorway was a figure, its body twisted and deformed. It had the face of my parent, the one I had chosen to kill. And it was staring at me with eyes that glowed with a sickly green light.
“You made your choice,” it said, in a voice that was both my parent’s and yet not.
And then everything went black.
I woke up to a desperate text message from my father. My mother was killed last night and my father wants to speak with me and my siblings.
Now, as I sit here, writing this story, I can feel something inside me growing. It’s like a dark stain that spreads across my soul. I know that I will never be the same again.
And I know that I will never be free from the would you rather game. It will haunt me for the rest of my days, forcing me to make impossible choices and face terrible consequences.
And I know that I will never forget the final question. The one that asked me to choose between my parents. The one that broke me, body and soul.