This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/ConnectionFit4696 on 2024-09-18 12:06:03+00:00.

Two weeks ago, I visited my grandparents who live in the mountains. Their home is absolutely beautiful—it’s a two-story house with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a charming balcony. My grandfather built it himself, which makes it even more special.

When I knocked on the door, my grandmother opened it. “Oh, my sweet patootie!” she exclaimed. I hugged her and laughed, “Grandma, stop calling me that. I’m twenty-six years old now.” She smiled and said, “Nonsense, you’ll always be my sweet patootie.”

“Where’s Grandpa?” I asked. “He’s in his shed, dear,” she replied. I walked out the back door into the backyard. The shed was a bit of a walk since my grandparents have two acres of land. Grandpa spaced out his shed from the house because Grandma doesn’t like him smoking near the house.

I knocked on the shed door and then walked in. Sure enough, grandfather was sitting in his chair, smoking a cigar. “Grandma’s going to kill you if she catches you with that thing, you know,” I said, pulling up a chair beside him. “Hey, Claire,” he greeted me, giving me a side hug.

“How have you been?” he asked. “I’ve been doing well lately. How are you and Grandma?” I replied. “Oh, we’re getting by. Reaching those old ages, dear—our backs ache, our joints creak, everything hurts now,” he said with a chuckle. Each laugh sent a cloud of smoke escaping his lips.

“You’ll see when you get there,” he added. “Is John treating you alright?” my grandfather asked. “Yes, sir. He actually proposed to me a few months ago,” I said. “Did he?” Grandfather said with happiness, and I simply nodded my head yes.

“I’m so happy for you, dear. Congratulations! So, does that mean I’ll be a great-grandfather soon?” he said. “You’re already a great-grandfather,” I responded with a smile, placing my hand gently on his shoulder.

“I would like to know, though, if it’s possible for you to draft a blueprint for our house. John and I want to build our own, just like you and Grandma did,” I said. “I suppose I can,” he replied, taking a thoughtful drag from his cigar.

“Thanks, Grandpa,” I said. “I just really want to create something of our own, you know? To be able to say, ‘This is ours.’ I bet it feels wonderful.” “Yes, it does,” my grandfather replied.

“What compelled you to leave your hometown in France, move to Maryland, and build your own home to start a family? Did you also desire something for yourself?” I inquired. My grandfather’s face fell slightly as he took another pull from his cigar.

“Honestly, it’s about time I talked about it. I probably won’t have much time left to speak on it,” he said. I furrowed my brow in confusion. “What do you mean?” I asked. He took a long drag from his cigar and said, “I didn’t choose to move away; I had no other choice.”

“I still don’t understand, Grandpa,” I said. “Listen, I’m about to tell you something that defies all logic, so I want you to listen carefully and try to understand me. To this day, I have no idea what happened. All I know is that I had to get out of that town before whatever was taking over it claimed me,” he said.

I was genuinely starting to feel a bit apprehensive. “Are you on any new medication?” I asked. He shook his head and took a long pull from his cigar, releasing a thick cloud of smoke. “I loved where I used to live. My old town was beautiful and tranquil.”

“Everyone knew each other; life was simple. The streets were lined with flowers and fruit trees, and the sound of children’s laughter filled the air while the scent of freshly baked sweets tantalized your senses,” he said with a wistful smile. He closed his eyes, as if reminiscing transported him back in time.

“Sounds lovely,” I said. “It was, until the day everything began to change,” he replied, taking another puff of his cigar. “It started very subtly, but one by one, people began to lose their minds.”

“At first, it was very minor things, like people muttering to themselves or staring off into the distance, standing there blankly. But soon, it escalated into far more disturbing behaviors.”

“Mrs. Thompson was a sweet old lady, a baker who owned her own bakery in town. One night, she was found wandering the streets, screaming for help. She claimed that ‘the thing’ was going to get her. The police detained her, took her in, and we never saw her again.”

“Mr. Jenkins, the town’s grocer, began collecting dead birds and hanging them around his yard as some sort of grotesque decorations. The madness spread like wildfire. Some people would laugh continuously for hours, while others would scream until they tore their vocal cords. Even then, they still tried to scream.”

“The sound of their screams with torn vocal cords will forever haunt me. It was a harrowing cacophony of wailing, almost inhuman cries. Raspy, guttural noises filled with an unbearable pain and desperation.” He paused, taking a slow, deliberate pull from his cigar before speaking again, this time in a quieter, more reflective tone.

“Some would cry hysterically, and I must admit, I couldn’t help but cry too at times. This was my beloved town, and in the blink of an eye, it was all destroyed by what? We still don’t know. It was as if the very air carried an infectious disease that deteriorated the brain.”

He took a long pause and puffed his cigar again. I sat in silence, absorbing the gravity of his words. “The worst part was, they began taking their own lives. At first, it was just a few, but then it became a daily occurrence. Every time I stepped outside, I feared for my life as I stumbled over the bodies of those who had tragically succumbed to their dramatic fate.”

“I recall vividly the myriad of doctors and scientists, all clad in protective suits, who were resolute in their quest to unravel the mystery of what was transpiring. It seemed they were more preoccupied with the prestige of discovering the cause than with genuinely aiding the afflicted.”

“Despite the countless tests and exhaustive studies they conducted, they remained baffled, unable to discern the nature of the affliction, let alone devise a cure. They began referring to it as the new plague, a term that only served to amplify the collective hysteria.”

“I endeavored to remain steadfast, to be a pillar of strength for my town. Yet, as the days passed, an insidious fear took root within me. I found myself unable to sleep, unable to eat, paralyzed by the terror that I would be the next to fall victim.”

“The day I discovered my best friend, John, lying lifeless in his home, I realized I couldn’t remain any longer. It shattered my heart to leave, to abandon the place that held a lifetime of memories, but I had no other option," my grandfather said, drawing deeply from his cigar.

“I gathered my belongings and fled to the mountains, desperately hoping to escape whatever malevolent force was consuming our town. As I glanced back one final time, I saw the once vibrant community reduced to a ghostly shadow of its former self.”

“The laughter and joy had been replaced by chaos and sorrow. It was the hardest decision I’ve ever made, but I knew I had to save myself. In hindsight, it was the best choice I ever made,” he said.

“I met your grandmother, got married, had your father, and now I have you. None of that would have been possible if I had stayed in that town,” my grandfather said, his voice filled with a mixture of relief and gratitude.

I was almost on the verge of tears, overwhelmed by the unimaginable horrors my grandfather had endured. I stood up and embraced him, expressing how much I loved him. I ended up staying for a week with my grandparents before returning home.

I now hold an even deeper respect for my grandfather. I can’t fathom enduring what he described. It’s even more frightening to think that we still don’t know what it was that consumed his old town or if it’s still lurking out there, waiting to infect a new group of people.