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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Carbodex on 2023-06-27 05:19:15+00:00.
Alright, so picture this. I used to work as a steward on the Titanic. Yeah, that Titanic, the grandest and most unsinkable ship that ever hit an iceberg. Now I’m an old geezer, living in this quiet, too-quiet town, and the Titanic’s a century old memory. Except for me. For me, it’s a 2:20 AM, every-night nightmare.
And no, before you start going off about haunting spirits and all that hogwash, let me be clear. I don’t believe in ghosts. The terror I feel…it’s not about that. It’s about something far more human and far more real.
It started a month ago. I was lying in bed, right on the brink of sleep, when I heard it. A distant, melancholic melody. Now, you have to understand, I live in a place so remote, the only music I ever hear is the rustle of the wind and the occasional chirping of the crickets. So, hearing that melody, it instantly woke me up. I strained my ears, trying to catch the elusive tune, and my heart started to race, the rhythm familiar yet foreign. Then, it hit me - “Nearer, My God, to Thee”. The same hymn the band played as the Titanic started its final descent into the icy abyss.
Every night, since then, at exactly 2:20 AM, I hear it. The spectral tune of the doomed, drifting into my bedroom. Uncanny, isn’t it? But here’s the thing: it’s not just a tune. It’s a vivid, gut-wrenching reminder of the events of that fateful night. I see it all, as if I’m back there, standing on the deck of the sinking ship, the icy Atlantic winds whipping my face, the screams of panic, the icy water lapping at my feet, the hollow despair. The melody is an echo of the past, my past.
At first, I thought I was going crazy. Maybe I had finally succumbed to the madness that I’d been keeping at bay. But then, as the nights wore on, something inside me started to change. I realized it wasn’t madness. It was a message. A warning. It was the Titanic, reaching out to me from the depths, calling me back. It wanted me to remember, to relive, and I had no choice but to listen. To obey.
Remember when I said I was a steward on the Titanic? Well, that’s not entirely true. I mean, yes, I was officially hired as a steward, but I had other…less savory duties. You see, I was a fixer of sorts. I dealt with…problems. Petty thieves, cheats, blackmailers, anyone causing trouble on board. And let me tell you, aboard the Titanic, people brought a lot more than just their luggage. They brought their sins, their vices, their darkness. And me? I was there to ensure that darkness stayed out of sight, out of mind. No matter what it took. The things I did, the horrors I inflicted, all in the name of maintaining the grandeur of the Titanic…it makes my blood run cold.
So now, when I hear the tune, it’s not just the sinking ship I remember. It’s the things I did. The faces of the men I hurt, the pleas for mercy I ignored. The terror in their eyes, reflecting my own monstrous form. It’s a symphony of guilt and regret, and each note cuts into me, ripping open old wounds. It’s like the universe is forcing me to pay for my sins, demanding justice for the lives I ruined.
That’s the horror I live with. Not the supernatural, but the all too human sins of my past. Each night, the melody grows louder, more insistent. It’s like it’s drawing me in, towards something, something that I dread, yet cannot resist. I know it’s leading me to a reckoning, and I’m powerless to stop it.
…A few nights ago, something new happened. As I was lying in bed, drenched in cold sweat, the melody was at its most potent yet. The haunting strains of “Nearer, My God, to Thee” filled the room, chilling me to the bone. I closed my eyes, waiting for the music to unleash the familiar surge of horrific memories, but this time…this time, I heard something else. Something even more horrifying.
Whispers.
Now, I swear to you, I’m not making this up. They were faint at first, barely audible over the music, but they gradually grew louder, more distinct. They were the voices of men. The men I’d wronged. Their whispers were filled with pain, anger, and a thirst for vengeance. It was as if they were right there in the room with me, surrounding me, their spectral breaths chilling the air around me.
In that moment, I could see them. Not really, not with my eyes, but in my mind. I could see their faces, twisted in agony and rage. They were reaching out for me, their ghostly hands grasping, clawing, desperate for retribution. The room was filled with their anger, their sorrow. It was so powerful, so palpable, I could barely breathe.
It’s as if they’re trapped in that moment, just like I am. Forever reliving the horrors of our shared past, bound by the atrocities I committed. Their spectral presence, their anguished whispers, it’s all an echo of the sins I can never wash away.
And the worst part is, I know they’re not finished with me. Not yet. I can feel it, a palpable dread that fills the air, tightening around my throat like a noose. Each night, the melody grows louder, the voices more urgent, their spectral forms more tangible. They’re growing stronger, feeding off my fear, my guilt. They’re closing in, waiting, watching, whispering.
I don’t know what they want. Or maybe I do, but I’m too terrified to admit it. Maybe they’re here for revenge. Maybe they’re here to exact the justice I’ve evaded for all these years. Or maybe they’re here to drag me down with them, to ensure I pay for my sins in the same icy depths where they met their end.
Either way, I’m terrified. Terrified of the night, of the melody that haunts my dreams, of the whispers that echo in the darkness, of the spectral hands that reach out for me. Terrified of the retribution that I know is coming, the horrifying climax that the melody is inexorably leading me towards.
And the worst part? The part that keeps me awake, trembling in the darkness? I deserve it. Every note, every whisper, every cold spectral touch. I deserve it all. The guilt, the fear, the horror…it’s all mine. My punishment for the sins I committed, for the lives I ruined, for the darkness I let loose aboard the Titanic.
And so, every night, I wait. Wait for the melody to start, for the whispers to rise, for the spectral hands to reach out. Wait for my past to consume me, for my sins to come home. Wait for the retribution I know I can’t escape.
And every night, as I’m drawn deeper into the darkness, one horrifying thought keeps echoing in my mind.
This is just the beginning.
…For the past few nights, the whispers have grown into wails. Desperate, furious cries, drowning out the once solemn melody of “Nearer, My God, to Thee.” Their words are clear now. They call my name.
Over and over, they scream it into the stillness of the night, their voices a harsh reminder of the lives I’ve destroyed. They demand justice. They demand retribution. The spectral hands that once clawed at the edges of my vision are now pressing against my skin, a cold, icy pressure that never leaves, even when the wailing subsides.
Last night, the voices were louder than they’ve ever been. Their cries filled the room, bouncing off the walls and piercing my very soul. I could feel their anger, their pain, their desperation. It was like a living thing, a monstrous entity that gripped my heart and squeezed.
And then, amid the cacophony of their anger, I heard something new. A single word, spoken not in anger, but in…pity? The word was clear, cutting through the wails like a knife. “Jump.” The voice was softer than the others, almost tender. Yet, it was laced with a terrible finality that made my blood run cold.
“Jump.”
The word echoed in my mind, resonating with a terrifying clarity. It was a command. A chilling solution to end this nightmare. It was my past catching up to me, a reckoning that I had been trying to avoid. But now, there was no escaping it. The ghosts of the men I wronged had delivered their verdict.
I felt a pull then, an almost irresistible urge. The notion of “jumping,” of ending this torment once and for all, held a terrifying allure. I was being called back to the Titanic, beckoned by the spectral hands and the chorus of wails to surrender myself to the icy depths, just as they had all those years ago.
But I couldn’t. I was a monster, yes. But I was also a coward. A coward who chose to inflict horrors instead of facing them. And now, even as my past demanded its pound of flesh, I couldn’t muster the courage to pay my dues. So, I sat there, trembling, as the wails grew louder, the spectral hands more insistent.
And as dawn approached, the voices faded, leaving behind a silence that was almost as unbearable. But their word, their command, lingered. “Jump.” It reverberated in my mind, a haunting refrain that offered no respite.
I sit here now, the setting sun casting long shadows in my room. The calm before the storm. As the clock ticks closer to 2:20 AM, I feel a cold dread settle in my bones. I’m teetering on the edge, caught between the horrors of my past and the chilling demand of the spectral voices.
And as the first strains of “Nearer, My God, to Thee” drift into the room, I can’t help but shiver. I’m no longer just a listener. I’m a participant in this horrific symphony, a lead player in a performance that will end only when I take my final bow.
I’m scared. Terrified, even. But as I sit here, waiting for the wails to begin, one thing is clear. There’s no escaping my past. No escaping the horrors I’ve inflicted. And as the…
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