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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/MuttLoverMommy01 on 2024-10-11 22:12:41+00:00.

I need help, but honestly, I don’t even know if that’s possible. Right now, it feels like there’s no hope for me, and I’m struggling to share this without sounding like a rambling old man.

This problem has haunted me for as long as I can remember. The first time it struck, was when I was just seven years old. It was a hot summer day, and my older brother, my twin sister, and I were playing hide-and-seek with a couple of our friends. I snuck into my mom’s room, careful not to make a sound, and opened the bottom drawer of her massive dresser. Being a scrawny little kid—just a tiny pipsqueak—I knew I would fit snugly into that small space.

Once I crawled in, I found a wooden support beam for the drawer above and pulled it shut, stifling a giggle as I heard my brother yell, “Here I come!” He started his search under the bed, rifling through the closet, and peeking behind the door, blissfully unaware that I was hiding right there. I could hear him finding our friends one by one, their laughter echoing through the house.

But as the seconds turned into minutes, that cozy hideout began to feel like a coffin. The clothes around me felt suffocating, each breath drawing in the stale air and amplifying my growing panic. I pushed against the sides of the drawer, trying to pull on the beam above me, but it wouldn’t budge. I could hear my brother’s voice getting more frustrated as he called out, “Where is he?” Then one of the kids piped up, “He probably broke the rules… he’s outside, I just know it.”

That’s when dread crept in. “Please! Somebody help! I’m in Mom’s room! I’m in the dresser!” I shouted, but the sound only felt muffled and distant. I could hear the kids racing out the back door, and for the first time, a chilling thought crossed my mind: “I’m going to die here.”

My breathing turned frantic, each inhale feeling tighter than the last. The more I panicked, the harder it became to breathe. I was just a scared little kid, trapped in the most humiliating way. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I cried out, “Please… Please… Help me. Mommy, I don’t want to die. I didn’t mean to…” My voice broke as I sobbed, and it felt like the air was being sucked out of me.

I sat there, helpless, for what felt like hours, the frantic search outside growing increasingly desperate. I could hear my family calling, “It’s not funny anymore! Seriously, where are you?” 

Time dragged on, and my panicked cries turned into soft whimpers, each plea growing weaker. Exhaustion washed over me, and as the minutes slipped by, I felt myself drifting into a numbness, like a slow, painful fade into nothingness. Alone at seven, I let go of everything.

Then suddenly, I jolted awake, gasping and choking, the reality of panic flooding back in. My lungs felt like they were on fire, and it seemed impossible to catch my breath. My mother rushed into my bedroom, her eyes wide with concern as I incoherently screamed about suffocating to death. I cried harder than ever as she wrapped her arms around me, murmuring, “Shhh… Shhh… I know, baby. You’re okay, it was all a bad dream.” She stroked my hair gently, rocking me back and forth, and sent my twin sister to fetch a glass of ice water to help me breathe again.

Eventually, I started to calm down, though the remnants of terror clung to me. I tried to explain, my voice shaky. “Mom, I died. I was stuck in your dresser, and Jesse couldn’t find me.” Before I could say more, I noticed the look of confusion on her face. “Jesse?” she asked, concern etched in her brow.

Frustration bubbled up inside me. “Mom, that’s not funny! Why are you saying that?” I shot her a look, bewildered. This wasn’t the time for jokes; as far as I was concerned, I had just died. I glanced at my sister, hoping for solidarity, but she looked just as perplexed as our mother. My anger shifted to fear.

“Mom… Maddie…” I looked between them, feeling trapped in a nightmare of confusion. Instead of trying to explain something that seemed pointless to two people who had known Jesse their entire lives, I slipped out of bed and headed down the hall to my brother’s room.

As I turned the corner, ready to knock on his door, I nearly crashed into the wall.

“W-what?” I stammered, barely above a whisper. My mother and sister were right behind me, and as I stared at the empty wall, a wave of anguish crashed over me. I couldn’t even process their worried voices as they called my name, my mind consumed by shock and confusion. My mother scooped me up and placed me in the back seat of the car.

They say I was nearly catatonic, staring straight ahead the whole ride to the ER. Everything felt like a blur, memories flickering in and out like snapshots from a movie. The doctors ran tests, and the on-call therapist fired questions at me that I struggled to answer.

“Who is Jesse?” 

“My brother.” 

“How old is he?” 

“Thirteen.” 

“What happened before you woke up?” 

“I died.” 

“How did you die?” 

“I-I…”

And then I froze again. They kept me under observation for a few days, insisting that Jesse wasn’t real, that everything I had known before waking up was just a dream. Once I finally agreed to their explanation, they sent me home. I quickly learned to grieve in silence; the thought of returning to the hospital terrified me.

But I knew Jesse was real. At least, he had been real to me. Memories flooded my mind: him teaching me how to ride a bike, tying my shoes, standing up to the bigger kids. All of it felt like it had been ripped away in an instant.

I didn’t have a father—not really. Everyone has a father, but mine was a ghost. I knew nothing about him; I didn’t know if he was dead or just absent. My mother never spoke of him, and when I once dared to ask, her expression shifted into something I couldn’t quite place—neither sadness nor anger, but a look that seemed to echo dissociation. I dropped the subject then and there… forever.

Jesse had gladly taken on the role of my protective figure. He wasn’t an adult, but he had always seemed wise beyond his years. An old soul, my mother would say. Now, in his absence, I felt lost, a void where his presence had once been.

Over time, I began to believe that it had all been a vivid night terror. I mean, how could someone just blip out of existence? They say that time heals all wounds, and as I began to grow older, I slowly forgot about Jesse. 

It was still a sensitive topic. My sister tried to joke about it a couple of years down the road, but it caused a huge argument. I felt like I still had to defend the existence of someone I once loved. Regardless of his existence, I had loved him deeply. Just as deeply as my sister and mother. It became a secret fear of mine to lose someone close to me again. It was hard to sleep most nights because I feared I would dream up another life.

When I was fourteen years old, I asked my mom if I could go swimming with a few friends at a local lake. She told me no, and I was pissed. All the other kids were going, and I was the only one that had a loser mom. So I thought… 

That night, I snuck out my bedroom window after stuffing my bed with pillows to make it look like I was sleeping. I walked a few blocks away to one of the kid’s houses and they gave me a ride after deciding to join. 

It was a fun night. We had some stolen beers that some kids brought from their parents or asked their older friends and siblings to buy. This was only the second time I had ever had alcohol. We were all swimming and throwing mud at each other when one of the girls shouted over everyone. “We should jump off that cliff!” as she pointed over everyone’s heads to the cliff that stood about fifteen feet above the water. “I ain’t doing it,” one guy said with a scoff. 

I had had a few drinks at this point, and I probably would have gone skydiving if someone asked me to. “I’ll do it,” I said loudly as I slurred my words. A few of the kids cheered as I climbed out of the muddy lake water and began trudging up the hillside. I stumbled and tripped a few times before reaching the top of the cliff. 

I looked down at everyone and threw my fists up in the air like a champion. I screamed, “Wooooo!” before looking down at the water. It looked like it was miles away from where I stood. I took a deep breath and mumbled “Fuck it…” Before jumping off into the dark water. 

The fall felt so long, and somehow, I ended up flipping and I landed head-first into… something. I only remember the sound of my skull shattering before I felt every vertebra in my neck crunch before the lights went out. 

I don’t know how long it was black, but it felt like a deep, sharp sleep—an experience that’s hard to put into words for anyone who hasn’t been through it. It was as if time had folded in on itself, and I was lost in a void, weightless and serene.

When I finally woke up, I found myself lying on cold, dewy grass, the chill biting through my wet trunks. The world around me was quiet, almost eerily still. I sat up abruptly, gasping for air, my fingers instinctively reaching for the back of my neck. I frantically felt for any wounds, heart racing in panic, expecting to find something—anything—that signaled I was injured. But I was fine. Just freezing and disoriented, but alive.

As I looked around the empty field, my gaze settled on the remnants of a wild night—beer cans crumpled and empty bottles scattered like forgotten memories. I stood up slowly, my legs trembling from the cold and the shock of what had just …

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