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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 like a fight to even get out of bed.

I was living with my grandmother at the time, though. She was the only one left who really cared about me. I didn’t want to disappoint her. She was getting older, and I knew I had to make a change, for her, for me. I wanted to get clean, to do better. So, I started working two jobs. A dishwasher at a greasy restaurant and a cleaner at a factory. It wasn’t much, but it was something. It was enough to keep my mind occupied, to keep the drugs at bay for a while. The days blurred together—just work, eat, sleep, repeat. That’s all I knew.

But then, things started to get weird. Real weird.

One day, I was walking down the street, trying to get to my second job at the factory, when an old man approached me. I didn’t see him coming. He just… appeared, like he had been standing in the shadows, waiting for me. His clothes were shabby, worn-out like he had been wearing them for years. His face was pale, like he hadn’t seen sunlight in months, maybe longer. There was something about him—something off. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

“Excuse me, son,” he said in a rasping voice, like the words had to fight their way out. “You looking for work?”

I was confused at first. I didn’t know this guy. Hell, I didn’t even know if he was real, but I was tired of the same old routine. And, to be honest, the idea of a change—any kind of change—sounded good. Plus, money. Who turns that down?

“Sure,” I said, probably sounding desperate, but I didn’t care. I needed a break, something to break the monotony of my life. “What kind of work are we talking about?”

The old man’s eyes lit up, and his cracked lips curled into a smile. It wasn’t a warm smile. It was strange, almost knowing, like he was aware of something I wasn’t. “I run a business, son. It’s a unique one. You’d be working for me in a special capacity. Something different, something that pays well.”

I didn’t ask what it was. I was too tired to care, too worn out from life to question anything. I just wanted to make money, and this old man seemed to know how to get it.

“I’m interested,” I said, almost too quickly. But the old man didn’t seem surprised. He just nodded, as if he expected me to say that.

“You meet me tomorrow. 7 a.m. sharp. Don’t be late,” he ordered, before shuffling off into the shadows.

I thought about walking away, but something told me this wasn’t just another weird encounter. There was something about the way he spoke, the way he carried himself like he knew something I didn’t. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe I just wanted out of my head. Whatever it was, I followed him.

The next day, I showed up at the time he told me. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but as soon as I walked through the door, I knew this wasn’t a normal company. The place was a run-down warehouse on the edge of town, tucked away behind some old factories. Inside, it was dark, cold, and smelled like rust and dust. The old man greeted me with a nod and handed me a uniform. It was simple, nothing fancy, but it felt… wrong. The material was too stiff, too new for a place this rundown.

“Your first task is easy,” the old man said, his voice low and deliberate. “You’ll be cleaning cars. But not just any cars. We have specific clients with very… specific needs. You’ll find out soon enough.”

I didn’t ask what that meant. It didn’t matter. I was there to work, to get paid. I had no idea that this job would spiral into something I couldn’t control.

I started working on the cars. At first, it was just basic cleaning—washing, waxing, detailing. But one day, I got a car that was different. I should’ve known. The moment I laid eyes on it, I knew something was wrong. It was an old sedan, covered in dust and grime, like it had been abandoned for years. I opened the door, and the smell hit me. It wasn’t just the stale air of a forgotten car. It was something worse—something metallic. I took a deep breath and tried to ignore it, telling myself it was nothing.

But then I noticed something. Under the seats, there was a stain. Dark red. Almost like dried blood.

I froze. My heart skipped a beat. I leaned in closer, my stomach twisting. There was something in the back seat. A body. I couldn’t see it clearly, but I could tell by the shape of it. The stiff, unnatural posture.

I closed the door and backed away slowly. I don’t know why, but I didn’t report it right away. I was too scared. But I couldn’t shake the image of that body in the backseat. I had to say something, right? I had to. So, I went to the old man.

“I found something strange in one of the cars,” I said, my voice trembling. “There was blood in the backseat. A body. I think—”

The old man just looked at me with those cold, dead eyes. He didn’t blink. Didn’t even flinch.

“What body?” he asked, his voice calm, almost amused.

I stared at him. “The body. The one I saw in the car. There was—”

I turned around to show him, but when I reached the lot, the car was gone. Just like that. It was as if it had never been there.

The old man chuckled softly. “You’re imagining things, Kevin. There’s nothing wrong with that car. It’s just a job, son. Don’t overthink it.”

I didn’t know what to think. Maybe I was losing my mind. Maybe it was all in my head. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong.

And then, Jenny came into my life. My Girlfriend.

I know what you’re thinking. How does Jenny fit into all this? Trust me, I’m getting there. But it’s all connected. Nothing in this story happens without reason. And Jenny? Well, she was part of the reason everything started to fall apart.

I remember the first time I saw her. It was at the restaurant where I worked. She sat at the counter every morning, just like clockwork. She was beautiful in a quiet way—smart, confident, like she didn’t belong in this small town. She started talking to me, asking about my day, about my life. It wasn’t long before we started spending more time together. It felt real. For once, I felt like maybe I had a shot at something different, something worth fighting for.

But then came the twist.

I was scrolling through the local news one night when I came across her obituary. I had to read it twice because I couldn’t believe it. Jenny… had been dead for weeks. Her body had been found in an abandoned building on the outskirts of town. The police thought she was missing before they discovered her. I felt like I had been punched in the gut. But how could this be? How could she be dead if I was still seeing her? Talking to her? Touching her?

I couldn’t stop shaking. There was no explanation. I tried to tell myself it was a mistake, that maybe she had a twin or something. But deep down, I knew the truth. Jenny was dead. And I had no idea what was happening to me.

I’ll stop here for now. It gets darker from here, trust me. But if you’re still with me, I’ll tell you how it all spiraled out of control.

So, after I found out about Jenny’s death, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see her face. I could hear her laugh, her soft voice calling my name. But it wasn’t just that—it was the feeling. The feeling that she was still with me, that she was never really gone. I couldn’t explain it, but it was like she was haunting me, but in a way that felt comforting. Maybe that’s what made it so disturbing. It wasn’t the kind of haunting that made you afraid; it was the kind that made you question your own sanity. I wanted to believe I was just imagining things, that my mind was playing tricks on me because of everything I was going through. But deep down, I knew something wasn’t right.

And that’s when it all started to spiral.

I started seeing strange things, things that didn’t make sense. It was like the world around me was changing, distorting itself in ways that made me feel like I was losing control. At work, the dishes started stacking up faster than I could wash them. It was like the sink was multiplying them—more and more plates, bowls, silverware, piling up endlessly, no matter how fast I worked. I couldn’t even keep up anymore. My hands shook as I scrubbed them, each plate slipping from my grip, each one breaking as it hit the floor. It was like they were mocking me, mocking my inability to keep my life together.

One night, I was cleaning in the factory, the hum of the machines the only sound. It was late, and I was tired, so tired I could barely keep my eyes open. But I kept going. Then, out of nowhere, the lights flickered, and I heard footsteps behind me. I spun around, but no one was there. I figured it was just my mind playing tricks on me—exhaustion, stress, whatever. But it kept happening. Every time I turned a corner, I’d hear the footsteps—always just behind me, just out of sight. I couldn’t shake the f...

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