This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/StanIsBread on 2024-10-19 02:45:19+00:00.

There is something wrong with my town****.

For the past six months, I’ve been spiraling deeper into a realization that horrifies me. I’ve uncovered evidence that my entire life has been a lie, but the biggest concern is that something far more sinister is happening, and I’m at a complete loss for what to do next.

About six months ago, I was visiting my friend’s house, which is located next to mine. Both of us being homeschooled, having each other to talk to is a relief, because living in a rural town, there wasn’t really anyone else our age to connect with.

We ended up spending the afternoon watching TV, flipping through the few channels our remote town could get. Since his parents were away, we could do anything we wanted.

Suddenly, my friend suggested that he would go downstairs to the kitchen to grab some snacks, I was relieved, since I really needed to use the bathroom but was too shy to ask. As a quiet, homeschooled kid, I always hesitated to ask for anything, even from those I considered close friends.

We both got up from my friend’s bed and walked toward the hallway, where we ended up splitting up. He was heading towards the kitchen, and I was going to the bathroom.

After finishing up, I stepped out and, on my way back to the bedroom, I noticed something strange. The door at the end of the hallway was half open.

I’d visited my friend’s house for about four years at that point and had never seen that door open before-nor any door, for that matter. My teenage curiosity peeked, and so did I.

With adrenaline flooding my veins, I approached the door, knowing I shouldn’t be snooping around, but the urge was impossible to resist. As I reached the door, I pushed it open, expecting to see an office or maybe a bedroom. What I found confused me.

The room was completely empty.

Backing away slowly, I carefully left the door just as I had found it and returned to my friend’s room, waiting patiently for his return, I had already decided not to mention my discovery to him, knowing full well that I shouldn’t have been snooping in the first place.

My friend returned, having an unsettling look painted across his face.

“Were you in that room?” he asked, his voice low and trembling.

“I wasn’t,” I replied, trying to shake off the sense of dread creeping in.

He sat next to me, his movements awkward and jerky, like reality had fractured. There was something unnatural about the way he carried himself, as if he were a puppet.

“Were you in that room?” he repeated, flipping through channels, as if searching for something he couldn’t name.

“Man, I wasn’t in the room,” I insisted, my heart racing.

In an instant his head snapped toward me, eyes wide, pupils dilated.

“Were you in that room?” The words came out in a rush, tumbling from his lips like a chant.

“Dude, you’re freaking me out! What’s wrong with you?” I shot back, the unease bubbling over into irritation.

But he didn’t hear me; “Were you in that room? Were you in that room? WERE YOU IN THAT ROOM?” His voice grew louder and more frantic, each repetition a jarring reminder of my own unsettling discovery.

I could feel my pulse quickening, the silence of the house pressing in on me. The air felt thick, almost suffocating. It was like he was pulling me into a trap, ensnaring me in his obsession with that empty room.

I tried to turn away, to focus on anything else, but his gaze locked onto mine, unyielding. It was as if he was trying to read my thoughts, to pull the truth from my mind.

“Stop it!” I shouted, my voice breaking the spell. “What’s going on?”

But he just kept staring, his lips moving soundlessly, trapped in a loop that I couldn’t escape. 

“Goodnight” he suddenly said, turning the tv off, and laying down.

The hours passed, and eventually, my friend fell asleep. I was staying over at his house that night, trying to calm down and go to sleep, by thinking that he was just messing around. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fall asleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I kept thinking about that empty room, and what had happened afterwards. There was something about it that pulled me in to investigate, like a magnet.

What I do next is what gets me into the situation I’m in now.

I quietly slipped out of bed, careful not to wake my friend, and left the bedroom. I went back to that room, but nothing seemed different. Still, something didn’t feel right. I decided to check around the rest of the house, letting only the moonlight from outside guide me. I moved from room to room, opening each door one by one, and discovered that every single room was empty.

The only furnished rooms were the kitchen, the living room, the upstairs bedroom, and the bathroom.

Even his supposed parents’ room was completely bare.

Now, I wasn’t just confused, I was overwhelmed by a growing sense of unease. It was as if the house was designed so only the rooms someone could visit were furnished.

I hurried back to bed, eventually falling asleep and waking up early the next morning. Before my friend even woke, I quietly left his house, leaving a note with a flimsy excuse for my early departure, and headed back home.

Sitting at my desk, staring blankly at the wall in front of me, it hit me like a wave, fifteen years of blocked memories came flooding back. My heart nearly stopped as a terrifying thought crept into my mind: what if my house was the same? My parents had always forbidden me from entering any rooms except the kitchen, living room, bathroom, and my bedroom. I knew I had to find the strength to check the rest of the house.

But that was easier said than done. The last time my parents caught me trying to sneak into their bedroom, they revealed a side of themselves I never knew existed a side that, even now, a decade later, still haunts me.

I stepped out of my room and made my way toward my parents’ bedroom. My heart raced as I took a deep breath and turned the handle, bracing myself for the worst.

The room was empty.

After the initial shock, the realization hit me: these houses aren’t real. They’re constructed like video game levels, just enough detail where it’s needed, but empty and hollow where no one is supposed to go.

I stumbled backwards, falling to the floor and crawled back to my bedroom and shutting the door, staying there the entire day, trying to process what I had just uncovered.

As night fell, I decided to try one last thing, hoping the issue was confined to my friend’s house and mine.

I quietly climbed out of my window, but as I dropped to the ground, I sliced my leg in the process. Ignoring the pain, I moved toward a neighbor’s house. Unlike that night at my friend’s place, the moonlight was hidden behind thick clouds, making it difficult for me to see.

I snuck into the backyard and crept toward a window. Peeking inside, I couldn’t see anything it was pitch black, but then a violent crack of thunder lit up the sky, giving me just enough light to glimpse the Woods family.

All five of them, including their six-month-old baby, were standing there, in the dark, completely motionless. No TV, no lights, nothing. Just standing, frozen in place. You can image yourself being in a pitch-black room, doing nothing, not even breathing. That’s what I saw in those brief seconds, before the darkness swallowed them up again.

Gathering myself, I moved closer to the glass, desperate for another look. Just then, another crack of thunder split the sky, and in that flash of light, I saw Carol Woods’ rotten, blue, smiling face, pressed up against the glass, staring directly at me.

My lungs expelled all remaining air from them, as I started to run towards my house, the skies cracked open and bled water.  

I opened the door, climbed up the stairs, while my damaged leg was generating an excruciating pain, I skipped past my room and ran straight for the attic, where I’m currently writing this from.

It all makes sense now, why my town isn’t on any maps, why I’m homeschooled, why we never visit other people, why we never go into public buildings, and why I’m locked out of half my own house. None of these things exist.

But why?

Am I even real?"

As I’m writing this, bleeding out, I know it won’t be long before I’m found, either by my bloody trail or the open front door behind me.

I’m hoping you’re real because I’m all alone and freezing.

And for the love of god -if such entity exists- I hope by the time I’m found by whatever these creature actors are, I’ll be dead.

As I look around, the attic is empty.

I’m freezing.