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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/PostMortem33 on 2024-10-07 20:10:31+00:00.

The nights are the worst. The few minutes of sleep come with nightmares­—the kind that stay with me for days on end. But even that is better than what I’ve been carrying inside since birth.

I’ve always been of the belief that some people are born with “monsters” attached to their mind. A dark companion, an unseen creature in the passenger’s seat of this car called life.

Happiness, I do not know. I have never once been happy about anything. Relationships come and go, it’s good for a little while, but the result is the same every time. Nothing brings joy and my life is hell. The sun has never shone on my dead-end street, and it never will. I am one hundred percent sure of this.

Apathy is my middle name. Anxiety lives inside me. Depression flows though my crooked veins.

Each day brings along with it the same bitter reality­—endless agony.

Yet, I am not alone. I don’t know what or who accompanies me, but I can always sense when it’s here. If you’re like me, you know exactly what I’m talking about. I’ve called this companion Mister Musician.

Whenever he comes to me, my soul turns into this sad and depressing violin song. If I close my eyes, I see a large room filled with faceless people dressed in black and wearing white gloves staring at me. I know I am on a stage. I don’t see anything else except them. But I know behind me, there is my monster, my eventual demise: Mister Musician. And he plays his song slowly. And he caresses the violin’s chords with his deadly bow.

Often, I imagine the violin to be my own beating heart and Mister Musician pulls away at its strings until they will all eventually break­—a timely death of all things beautiful.

Yet, that time isn’t now. I want to heal. I want to know how good life tastes like. I want to slurp the nectar and honey of happiness.

I thought about doing this thing for a long time now. I know it will work, but it takes lot of courage to go inside that old house.

Some people say the house is demonic, built by the devil himself ages ago. One thing is true: no one really knows who the house belongs to, who built it or how old it is. This adds to the aura of mystery surrounding this old wooden construction. Others say it heals you on the inside, takes away all your problems and makes you alive again— it grabs ahold of  all your broken parts and glues them back together.

 The Miracle House.

One must spend twenty-four hours inside. Only after that, one can say the healing of mind and soul is complete.

Most people I’ve talked to said only it works, but didn’t disclose any details about the events that occur in the Miracle House­—after all, it is a deeply personal experience.

However, I will tell you all about mine because why not? There is nothing to be hidden from you, and maybe it will help others build up the courage to face their demons and even kill them once and for all.

I have never felt as anxious as I did before stepping foot in that house. From the outside, it was a regular one. It smelled old and the paint had peeled off. The steps were filled with dust and dirt, signs of no one living there anymore.

The only thing off was that the windows painted black. I thought it had something to do with the passing of time. Whoever was inside mustn’t know what the hour is.

The front door opened, and a man came outside on the porch to greet me.

“Hello there? I thought the house was abandoned.”

“Hello mister. I suppose you’re here get rid of your demons. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Great. Do not ask me any questions, please. You need to give me your phone and any other devices you might have. Communication with the outside is prohibited.”

“This feels odd. How do I know you won’t steal my phone?”

The man exhaled and shook his head. He began closing the door.

“Wait! OK, but just so you know I have GPS tracking activated.”

“I won’t steal anything from you, young man. But this house will.”

I nodded.

“See you tomorrow. Same time. Good luck, Jack.”

I swallowed. How did he know my name?

The man locked the door from the outside. I heard him going down the steps.

Then, only silence.

Dampness filled the air. In the hallway, wood burned in the fireplace. The flames cast shadows on the walls around me. They resembled little black devils dancing with excitement. An old burgundy leather chair faced the fireplace and on it was a folded piece of paper. I opened it to read the following:

“Dear Jack,

The Miracle House welcomes you with open arms. Please sit on the chair as you continue to read.

Now, I know your pain. I’ve seen it before. I will take it from you. You are scared and wondering if this will work. You ask yourself if the living hell you’re enduring will ever end.

Dearest Jack, it will end. All of it. You won’t even remember the agony in your old life. I will take this burden from you.

Now, focus on the fireplace. Embrace the warmth of this beautiful house. Be one with it. Your eyes begin to feel tired. You need to sleep for the next two hours, Jack. Sleep.”

And so, I did.

I didn’t dream anything. I didn’t have any violent nightmares like I usually did. It was a peaceful and restful sleep. I opened my eyes and found myself in another room. A bloodied knife appeared in my hand. I screamed and threw it on the floor. Both my arms had fresh cuts on them, but those didn’t hurt. Not a single bit.

After the initial shock wore off, I knew something was off but in a good way. I felt lighter than before—as if the poison in my veins had leaked on the floor and evaporated.

I smiled. Was this the way to absolution?

A door creaked open behind me, and I jumped. My gut told me to go through.

I found myself in a place where the air reeked of bleach. The bright neon lights almost blinded me. Dirty ceramic tiles covered the whole room. A bathtub filled with black water stood in its center.

Someone had taped another piece of paper on the wall.

“Jack, you feel lighter than ever before, don’t you? You can’t understand what is happening, but it’s good. You want more of this. You must wash away all the rotting things inside. Darkness eats darkness. Step inside the small black ocean and let its tranquility carry you away.”

I got in the bathtub straight away. No hesitation. The Miracle House indeed performed miracles.

I closed my eyes and relaxed. The warm water had an oily texture. Somewhere in another room I heard a metallic sound as if someone had dropped millions of nails on the ground. My skin suddenly hurt. It burned like millions of needles punctured it. I tried getting out but was stuck. I couldn’t. A black hand extended from under the water with bony fingers and long sharp nails. It lunged to my neck and choked me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t do anything. The cold dead hand squeezed my throat until I passed out.

This time I woke up in a completely dark room. No light, no windows, nothing. Just blackness.

“Oh, my dear Jack,” a voice said from a distant cold place. “You are here at last.”

“Who are you?”

“You know me very well, dear boy. You have known me all your life. You even gave me a name.”

“What?”

“Yes. You did. Mister Musician.”

A wave of fear washed over me. A fear so great like never before. I was in the same room with my arch enemy, my nemesis. Was this the end?

Again, I sat down on a chair. I thought it to be the same chair in the hallway.

“You ruined my life since the day I was born.”

“And you cut me out from your veins, drowned me and cast me out. And now here I am.”

“What is this place?”

“The Miracle House. Where all the pain comes to die. The place where you stay face to face with your demons.”

“But what are you?”

“I am you. You are my child. I have made you. I have molded you into what you are. I love you, Jack.”

I heard footsteps coming towards me.

“Stay away from me!”

“Too late for that, Jack. You wanted me gone. You ripped me from you and brought me here.”

“That means I’m cured. No more pain.”

“Are you sure about that, my dear boy?”

Hands touched me from all directions in that pitch black darkness. Tongues licked the fresh wounds on my wrists.

“Oh, the pain tastes amazing!” Mister Musician said.

My stomach churned and I felt nauseous. I vomited and heard large chunks of flesh hitting the floor. They squished and hissed and made all kind of sounds­—they were suffering and dying.

I felt like large tumors left my body in a rush.

Two red dots blinked at me. They studied me with inquisitive awe and disbelief. I was healing. The evil was leaving my body, never to come back in again. Now, he was a separate entity. His lies and deceiving tongue told me all kinds of things.

“I made you what you are. Who would you be without me, Jack?”

“I’d be free.”

“Do you think I will ever die? No, I will not. I’ll come back again and again until your mind explodes. Do you really think this house performs miracles?”

“Well, it got you out of my system, didn’t? You are scared too right now. You don’t know what do with this new reality you find yourself in.”

Mister Musician groaned with discontent.

“You will never survive without me, Jack. I will be part of you forever.”

I felt things crawling up on me—wet, sticky, emanating a foul smell. They hissed as they  moved slowly. Thousands of them wanted to get under my eyeballs, up my nose, inside my ears and mouth. I tried to get them all off me, but they wouldn’t let go. The vile parasites wanted to infect me and eat me from the inside out.

I turned away from the voice and the w…

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