This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/HeatConfident4673 on 2024-09-30 03:44:44+00:00.

I never should have bought it. That bag—its texture, its warmth—something about it felt so wrong from the moment I touched it, but I was too mesmerized by its strange beauty. I found it in an old antique shop, hidden behind dusty shelves. The shopkeeper barely glanced at me as I picked it up, murmuring something about how it had been there for years, untouched.

I should’ve left it there, in the darkness where it belonged.

But I didn’t. And now, I’m paying the price.

It started small. Little things. At first, I thought I was imagining it. You know, those small, creepy feelings you get when you’re alone? Like the air shifts, or the shadows bend just a little bit differently? Yeah, like that. But it didn’t stay small for long.

After the first night, I began hearing faint whispers. They were soft, barely noticeable, like someone calling my name from another room. I’d search the house, but it was always empty. The bag was always where I’d left it, sitting quietly in the corner like a patient predator.

On the third night, I had my first nightmare. I dreamt of a girl, her skin peeled away, her face contorted in pain and rage. She stood at the foot of my bed, her eyes hollow, her lips whispering things I couldn’t understand. I woke up in a cold sweat, and there—sitting next to me on the bed—was the bag. I hadn’t put it there. It had moved. On its own.

I was too scared to touch it. Too scared to throw it away.

I couldn’t sleep. The whispers grew louder every night, creeping into my thoughts, turning every dark corner of my mind into a nightmare. My house… it changed too. The windows would fog up without reason, the mirrors would crack when I wasn’t looking, and every time I checked my reflection, I swear I saw her—the girl from my dreams. Aisha, I later learned her name was. The name came to me in a whisper, like the wind spoke it.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed answers. I needed help.

Desperation led me to a shaman—an old woman who lived on the outskirts of town. I didn’t believe in such things before, but I couldn’t deny what was happening. Something unnatural had latched itself onto me, and that bag was at the center of it all.

The moment the shaman laid eyes on the bag, her face twisted in horror. Her hands trembled as she reached out to touch it, pulling back at the last second.

“You have no idea what you’ve brought into your home,” she whispered, her voice thin with fear.

I tried to explain everything—the whispers, the dreams, the moving bag. But she stopped me, shaking her head.

“This bag… it’s not just cursed. It’s evil. It was made from the skin of a girl named Aisha, killed by her best friend out of jealousy. The friend—Samantha—believed she could steal Aisha’s beauty by wearing her skin, but the act twisted her soul. What she didn’t realize was that Aisha’s spirit was bound to it, and her vengeance consumes anyone who possesses it.”

My throat went dry. I felt the blood drain from my face. “Vengeance?” I stammered.

The shaman nodded, her eyes wide and filled with a terror I had never seen before. “Samantha’s entire household was slaughtered by the bag. It’s cursed, feeding on the lives of those who own it. Aisha’s rage will not stop until she’s taken back what was stolen.”

I tried to breathe, but the air felt thick, heavy. “What do I do? Can’t you help me?”

The old woman’s face darkened. “There’s no undoing what’s been done. You must destroy it.”

“How?”

She shook her head, already looking defeated. “You can’t. People have tried. Fire, water, even burying it deep in the earth—it always comes back. The only thing you can do is run, as far as you can. But even then, I’m not sure you can outrun her.”

I left her home in a panic, clutching the bag in my hands, unsure of what to do. The streets seemed darker as I walked, every shadow seeming to stretch towards me. I could feel it—Aisha was close. She was watching.

That night, I tried to leave the bag outside, thinking maybe I could abandon it. But the moment I stepped back into the house, it was there, sitting in the middle of the room. Waiting. The whispers were louder than ever, now calling my name, over and over again.

I don’t know what to do. Every time I close my eyes, I see her—Aisha—her skinless body, her hollow eyes filled with hate. The bag seems to move closer on its own, inching toward me, always a little closer when I’m not looking.

I can feel it tightening around my mind, like a noose I can’t escape. The shaman was right—there’s no escaping this. The bag will take me, just like it took Samantha and everyone else.

I just hope someone reads this before it’s too late.

If you ever find an old leather bag in a forgotten shop, no matter how beautiful it seems—don’t touch it. Don’t buy it. Don’t take it home.

It will find you.

And when it does, there will be no escaping its curse.