Let me begin this by saying, I haven't been able to get any meaningful sleep in two days so the exact details are a little fuzzy. For the last month I have been using a sleep tracking app to help me fix my sleep schedule which was screwed during the early part of my winter break. My goal with the app was to get it back on track by the time the new semester started. The app worked like a charm, as it would log anytime that I would make noise while sleeping, this would allow me to then listen to noises I made throughout the night and delete it if it wasn't of concern the following day.
During the waning days of break, I got asked by my grandparents to housesit th
I moved into the apartment on a Thursday. It wasn’t much—peeling paint on the walls, uneven floors, and a kitchen that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the ‘70s—but it was cheap, and I needed cheap. The landlord handed me the keys with a nod, barely saying a word. He seemed eager to be rid of me, like he didn’t want to stick around.
The first thing I noticed was the smell. It wasn’t overpowering, but it was there. A damp, musty scent, like old wood left out in the rain. I shrugged it off. Old buildings smell like that sometimes.
The apartment was mostly empty, except for a few pieces of worn furniture that looked like they came from a thrift store. In the hallway, there
I've heard a lot of people's theories on what happens to your brain when you're about to die. They all seem to conclude the same thing: your life flashes before your eyes, leaving you satisfied or disappointed depending on what kind of life you led.
Personally, I say that's a crock of horse shit.
When that thing grabbed me by the throat and dragged me deeper into the darkness, the only thing on my mind was finding a way to kill it before it could kill me. I lashed out in a blind rage, grasping at anything I could get my hands on as whatev
I've spent more time alone with my thoughts than most people, but ever since the accident, I don’t feel alone in my head anymore.
I used to be a deep-water welder. My usual assignments were between 500 and 800 feet below the surface of the ocean. Darkness and the deep never bothered me. That changed the last time I was on the ship.
It was a routine job. We were pressurizing in the bell before our dive. There were five of us, all attached to the diving bell by an umbilical—our lifeline. It pumped warm water into our suits, supplied electricity for our headlamps, fed oxygen into our helmets, and powered our welding equipment. We’d been on the job for two week
For readability I am going to break this up into parts:
For those of you who have never heard of Job Corps, it is a trade school run by the Department of Labor designed to help low income young adults prepare for the workforce. They have campuses all over the country. I was one of their students and this is my experience.
I thought Job Corps was my way out. A second chance. A chance to rebuild myself after years of feeling like a failure. When I was assigned to the Cascade Job Corps Center in Washington, I didn’t think much of it. It was just another government-run facility in the middle of nowhere. But when I stepped onto that campus, something
Standing out on that deck as the ferry drifted through an infinite expanse of stars, was by far the most out of body I have ever felt. I could not comprehend how this was happening. I shouldn’t have even been alive out the
When I first mentioned adopting one, my husband, Mark, wasn’t on board.
"They’re needy. They shed. They stink."
It took weeks of convincing. Mark wasn’t a cat person. He saw pets as unnecessary responsibility, but I’d been working from home too long, and the house was too quiet. I needed company. Something alive.
Eventually, love won out.
"Fine," he sighed, rubbing his temples. "But you’re scooping the litter."
Milo was perfect. An orange tabby—affectionate, bright-eyed, and warm. The moment I picked him up from the shelter, he purred and rubbed against my chin like he had chosen me.
That night and the proceeding years were all her fault.
The arguments. The shouting. The smashing of plates. My dad’s drinking problem. My mom’s bipolar syndrome. My childhood.
It was all her fault – The Tooth Fairy.
And she has to pay.
When I was six, I lost a tooth.
I knocked it out at a football match. I was the goalie and some kid on the other team must have not liked me all that much, as it seemed he was aiming more for my face than the goal itself when he kicked the ball in my direction.
The football hit me smack in the face, causing tears to swell and my nose to block. But since it was a pretty important match, I ignored the burning sen
When I finally graduated high school, I knew exactly how I wanted to spend my gap year before selling my soul to a college for 4-6 years. I wanted to hit the road and see as much of America as possible. Get in my car and hit the interstate coast to coast. My parents were hesitant about allowing me to go at first, thinking I might go all “Into the Wild” on them, but I assured them, that after my grand adventure, I would return safely back to the east coast and begin my college studies. And so they agreed and loaned me about $5,000 in an emergency fund, in case I needed to pay for anything. Although I wasn’t planning on staying in any fancy hotels, I wanted this to be
I’ve always tried to be a good person. And I don’t mean just tipping a little extra or buying free range meat. In every decision I make, in every part of my day, I try to think about how I can help the people around me. I’ve had 7 rescue dogs and 3 cats, I give away money to charity on a regular basis, and I do volunteer work in local parks over the weekends. By every metric, I am a good person.
So why is it then, that when I need something in return, everyone looks the other way? Why is asking for a tiny bit of payment every now and again like pulling teeth?
Just last week, I looked after the old lady at the end of the road, Mrs. Hutchinson, while her granddaughter was out of
It dredged up some bad memories. Mentioned things I assumed I'd never see spoken about in the open.
I've keep these events a secret for so long, but I guess the cat is out of the bag now. Minus well fess up.
I shouldn't have accepted its deal.
I'm sorry.
An awful, ungodly stench struck me the moment I opened the creaking front door of the nearly abandoned apartment complex. I winced, reflexively jerking my face away from the entryway so that my lungs might find new air, hand sti
This update will be short, as James will be home soon. I've let a week pass now. I don't know if that was the right choice, but it's not like I can go back now. I've read through some suggestions as well, but nothing has seemed to work. Initially, I thought that silver would be a good test, but both of our wedding rings are sterling silver, and he's not taken his off at all. He doesn’t flinch when I touch him. Actually, he acts like I’m starving him if I’m not touching him. He has a reflection in the mirror. His eyes still don’t leave me. Never. They’re watching me. Through t
I'll be the first to admit , I'm not great at using this phone yet , but I'm learning to be better, I hope this reads well and please forgive my mistakes. I'm still abit shaken up to be honest.
Recently me and my dog Peanut moved to a rather quaint house near the edge of the woods. It's a fixer uper but I used to live somewhere worse so I welcome the change. It's a rather rustic log cabin , one bedroom and one bathroom , but plenty of space for just me and my dog.
While the inside is small the porch is perfect, a lone rocking chair that looks into the forest , a old but welcoming wood carved fence that runs around every bit but the opening to the stairs.
Do you know those crosses you sometimes see on the side of the road? The ones placed where someone tragically lost their life? There’s one like that on my way home. A simple wooden cross, nestled between two spiky cypress bushes, with three old, yellowed grave candles in front of it.
Every time I drive past that cross, I know I’m almost home. After the cross, it’s 800 meters straight ahead, then a bridge, and right after that, the exit I need to take.
Even though there’s undoubtedly a tragic story behind that memorial, the cross has become a positive symbol for me. Seeing it meant I’d be home in 15 minutes, back with my wife and our little daughter. It always m
“Alright, everyone, it’s time for ‘On This Day 10 Years Ago,’” our editor announced, kicking off our Monday meeting.
This was our weekly ritual: revisiting notable events from a decade prior and assigning stories. A niche concept, but people loved digging up the past, especially the dark stuff. Think of us as a “Whatever Happened To…” for those obsessed with reliving human misery.
December 21 – Winter Solstice – gave us plenty of material: darkness, survival, winter madness (The Shining, anyone?), and other morbid tales. After a rundown, we claimed our pieces.
“Jimmy, you’re on the [Redacted] Junior High Band Fire,’” Roger
Lately I’ve accepted a few smaller jobs just to keep busy. I found if I was alone with my thoughts for too long, I didn’t like the outcome. Mostly I was worried about what would happen now that August was free. Breaking a collar was no easy feat. We made a basic report but expected something drastic to come of our actions. My cellphone rang and I debated on not answering when I saw Lupa’s name. He always brought some sort of stress. Instead of putting it off, I li
These are, to my knowledge, the last words of my best friend, Nathan.
Nathan had grown up in an extremely religious household, and dedicated his life and career to focus on the study of the Bible and books related to it. I can remember in high school he’d constantly invite me to church or to Bible studies. This drive towards God carried over into his college career as well, picking a theology major and later pursuing a master’s degree in divinity.
I want to make a note of something I had always found interesting about Nathan’s interests. I feel that many people, in the context of religion, focus on either the afterlife or whatever moral code that religion teache
I don't expect anyone to believe this story. I don't even believe it myself. I just need to get it out, I guess. I need someone to hear it, someone who might understand or who might have had a similar experience, because I can't shake the feeling that I'm losing my mind.
I'm a broke college student. I don't have much money, so when I saw this house for rent, I thought, perfect. It was so cheap, I couldn’t pass it up. I know it sounds like something out of a horror movie, like The Conjuring or something, right? A person rents a super cheap place in the middle of nowhere, and it’s haunted. But I don't believe in ghosts. Even if they exist, what does it matter? I just needed
Hi, my name’s Kevin. Now, I know you’re probably thinking, “Another sob story. Another person trying to justify the mess they’ve made of...
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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/ZipByte on 2025-01-29 08:59:20+00:00.
Hi, my name’s Kevin. Now, I know you’re probably thinking, “Another sob story. Another person trying to justify the mess they’ve made of their life.” But I’m not looking for sympathy. I’m not here to make excuses. This is just me telling you how things went down, how I ended up here. It's a long story, so bear with me.
I’ve struggled with mental health for years. It’s a battle, every single day. It wasn’t always this way, but somewhere along the line, life kicked me down, and I didn’t know how to get back up. Anxiety, depression, addiction—I was drowning in it. And the drugs? They were just a quick way out, a way to forget. I had nothing else going for me, and I didn’t really care. Every morning felt li