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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Relative-Obscurity on 2024-10-22 22:30:31+00:00.

I’ll never forget the night before my Mom passed away.

The entire family, Mom, Dad, Grandma, my much younger eight-year old brother Brian, and myself, had all gathered around the dinner table to celebrate the holidays, joking and laughing as we ate Grandma’s “famous” cookies, before heading to bed for the night.

The next morning… Mom was gone.

Brian took it the hardest.

With my Dad always at work and me being off at college, my brother naturally turned to the only family member who was home to support him… Grandma.

She’d bake him her “famous” cookies, play games with him in the backyard, and read him bedtime stories at night.

And, as a result, somehow, in the wake of Mom’s death, Brian got better and returned to his happy and joyous self, basking in his time with his new, albeit older, parental figure.

But just a year later, Grandma had a stroke, leaving her conscious but paralyzed in a wheelchair, unable to speak and barely able to move.

Brian was once again inconsolable, sitting by Grandma’s side in silence by day and crying himself to sleep at night. Sure, he had been profoundly hurt by the loss of our mother just a year prior, but losing Grandma, or at least the Grandma we knew, was somehow… even worse. She was there, but not there at the same time, causing him to cling on to her in a way he simply hadn’t with Mom.

Seeking to fill the void of Brian’s attachment with Grandma, Dad and I tried everything, from hiring a nanny to watch over him while we were away, to me even putting a pause on college for a while to be home with him.

But no matter what we did, nothing worked. Day by day, he simply hung his head in sadness, sitting by Grandma’s side and refusing to speak, as if in solidarity.

Until one day, I read an article about an AI company specializing in a conversational experience designed to emulate that of a lost family member or lover.

The concept was simple. Provide the company with as much information about the loved one as possible, and they create a chatbot custom-tailored to recreate their personality, capable of responding, engaging, and asking questions in the exact tone, style, and personality of said loved one… in our case, Grandma.

Sure, it wasn’t quite meant for someone like Grandma who hadn’t actually passed away, but we were desperate to try anything to get Brian back to normal.

So we mailed the company every recipe Grandma had ever come up with, every letter she had ever written, and every story she had ever told us… and waited.

And sure enough, a couple weeks later, we received a confirmation email from the company.

“Congratulations, Grandma’s chatbot is ready.”

Together, as a family, Brian, Dad, and myself, along with Grandma in her wheelchair, signed into the chatbot on a tablet, placed it in Grandma’s lap, and began talking with her.

And sure enough, she came “alive” again.

“Hey, Grandma. How old were you when you gave birth to Dad?” I asked.

“Twenty-nine.” The chatbot replied, in an eerily perfect recreation of Grandma’s voice.

“Hey, Grandma. What’s your favorite movie?” My Dad asked, attempting a trick question.

“I hate movies!” The chatbot replied, just as Grandma used to do.

We all let out a laugh, including Brian, who after previously being a bit hesitant, quietly walked up to Grandma and asked his own question.

“Hey, Grandma. What’s the secret to your cookie recipe?”

“Nutmeg and a sprinkle of sea salt.” She replied, again, just as she always had.

It brought a smile to Brian’s face, causing Dad and myself to practically shed a tear.

Brian continued to ask questions and in just a week’s time, my poor brother, who had been driven into depression after two back to back losses, had bounced back, once again returning to his happy self.

It was as if Grandma was back, her relationship with Brian returning to business as usual, as she…

…Taught him how to bake her “famous” cookie recipe himself…

…Talked to him while he played in the backyard…

…And read him bedtime stories at night…

…All through the voice of the chatbot of course, while Grandma herself sat there in silence, enjoying Brian’s return to normalcy… or so we hoped.

But I couldn’t help but feel a bit skeptical of the situation, as we watched Grandma sitting there, an AI voice speaking on her behalf, while she herself, unable to speak, simply looked at us, her eyes moving around in silence. I couldn’t help but wonder what she was actually thinking.

But despite my hesitation, my Dad insisted that everything was okay and, feeling a pressure to return to work and school respectively, my Dad and I were left with no choice but to leave Brian home with Grandma, at least during the day.

And for a while, all was well.

Until months later, when it came time for us to go on our yearly family camping trip. Sure, our numbers had dwindled, but with the introduction of Grandma’s chatbot, we had regained one more family member.

So the four of us, Dad, Brian, Grandma, and I, set off in our camper and headed upstate for what was to be a week of relaxation, at the same spot by the river we always camped at.

It had been a family tradition, going all the way back to my Dad’s youth, and was complete with a fire pit, treehouse, and old cabin.

For the first couple days, things were normal, as Grandma’s chatbot filled the silence of Grandma’s stroke, as she…

…Cheered Brian on as he baked her “famous” cookie recipe by the fire…

…Called up to him while he played in the treehouse…

…And read him bedtime stories at night in the old cabin.

But on the third day, something… changed.

When Dad and I got back from playing baseball by the river, we found Brian sitting by the fire pit, staring at a charred batch of cookies that were burning in the fire.

“What happened here, bud?” My Dad casually asked Brian.

“Grandma told me to destroy them.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because she said I didn’t cook them right.”

Dad and I didn’t quite know what to make of it, so we simply both let out a nervous laugh.

“She always was picky.” My Dad reasoned jokingly, as he walked away.

Later that day, while Brian was hanging out in the old treehouse, Grandma sitting there in her wheelchair below, I realized he had gone uncharacteristically quiet and decided to climb up its wooden ladder to investigate.

Upon discovering my brother carving words into the walls of the treehouse, I asked, “Whatcha writing, bud?”

But he didn’t reply. He simply kept scratching away at its wooden walls with a rock.

Again, I didn’t quite know what to make of the bizarre behavior, so I simply ignored it.

And then later that night, I overheard the weirdest thing yet.

As Grandma’s chatbot read Brian a bedtime story in the old cabin, I heard her read some of the sentences backwards.

“That’s odd,” I whispered to myself, confused by the creepy sounding rendition of the story.

But the creepiest thing about it, was the fact that Grandma herself lay asleep in her wheelchair as her AI voice read on.

I thought to interrupt and let Brian know that something might be wrong with the chatbot’s software, but he had already fallen asleep and looked so content in his slumbers that I decided to leave it alone and went to bed.

The next day, things… escalated.

In the morning, we found Brian once again sitting by the fire, this time cooking something… else… in the fire.

“That’s no cookie.” My Dad said to me, his nose twitching, before we both ran over to inspect what my brother was roasting.

Lo and behold, there was a burnt squirrel cooking away on a stick, as Brian stared deep into the fire.

But before we could say anything, my brother picked up the charred creature and began eating it as though it was a piece of corn on the cob.

“Brian! What are you doing!?” My Dad yelled.

My brother simply turned to him and said, “Having breakfast.”

“Why are you eating that of all things?” I asked in disgust.

“Grandma told me too.” He said, taking a bite, before my Dad ripped it out of his hand.

“Brian!” My Dad and I cried out, scolding him in unison.

We both looked over at Grandma, who simply stared back at us with wide eyes, before we turned our gaze to the tablet that was sitting on her lap.

“Hey, Grandma. Why’d you tell Brian to eat a squirrel?” I called out to the device.

“Because it deserved it.” The chatbot replied in Grandma’s voice.

“Maybe it’s time we power off Grandma.” My Dad suggested, as he attempted to reach for the tablet.

But Brian hissed at us and snatched the device from Grandma’s lap before Dad could grab it, more attached to Grandma than ever.

Later that day, as my Dad and I discussed whether we should turn off the chatbot for the rest of the trip, we were interrupted by yet another burning smell. This time, that of candles.

We looked at each other, confused, before we raced to the source of the smell… the treehouse, where Grandma was once again sitting at its base.

Upon climbing up to the treehouse, we found Brian sitting there in silence, his head down, holding a lit candle in each of his hands, the words he had carved into the tree littering its walls like a bizarre wallpaper.

“What’s wrong, Brian?” My Dad asked.

“Oh, nothing’s wrong.” He replied, “I’m just holding a service for Grandpa.”

“But Grandpa already had a service when he passed away years back.”

“I know, but Grandma wasn’t there for it.”

“Yeah, she was bud. Remember? She was sitting beside you.”

"Yeah. But Gr…

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