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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/askewten688 on 2024-11-15 01:41:27+00:00.

I am a very big Civil War buff I like trying to find old documents scouring through libraries to see if there’s anything I can learn that I can’t find online through old journals or note books and the other day I was digging through the back at the wilderness branch library in Orange County, Virginia when I came across an old notebook tucked away that looks like it hasn’t been moved in many years I decide to take it off the shelf sit down and read it and afterwards I knew I had to translate everything into my notes and post it for you all here is what I found

I never thought I’d die in the rain. I imagined an end under a hot Southern sun, maybe at the edge of a cannon’s blast or in a frenzied charge across an open field. But there I was, lying face-down in a puddle, soaked from the relentless downpour that had drenched the forest for days.

My name’s Corporal Jesse Langston, 14th Mississippi Infantry. The year was 1864, and I was in the middle of the hell they call the Battle of the Wilderness. Fires raged through the woods around us, licking up trees and the wounded alike. The smoke choked the air, thick with the coppery scent of blood. I’d seen enough horrors to last a lifetime, and that night, I reckoned it might end right there.

But then, as the smoke closed in, my vision blurred, the pain in my leg faded, and my eyelids grew heavy. I figured that was it—my last breath, my final sleep.

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was the heat. The Southern woods were stifling, but this was different. The air was so thick with humidity, I felt like I was breathing through a wet cloth. The smell was different, too—sweet and rotten, like flowers left too long in the sun. And the sound… strange animals called out, and the underbrush rustled with life. It was like nothing I’d ever heard before.

I sat up, disoriented. The forest around me wasn’t right. The trees weren’t the familiar oaks and pines of Virginia; they were enormous, wild-looking things with strange, waxy leaves and vines that hung like curtains. I glanced down at my uniform, caked with mud, but then I looked at my hands—there was a rifle in them, all right, but it wasn’t mine. This weapon was… sleek, black, strange. No musket I’d ever seen.

I was in the wrong place, maybe even the wrong time, though I couldn’t let myself believe that just yet. I stumbled forward, feeling the weight of a pack on my back that didn’t belong to me. I’d fought long and hard in the war, seen horrors enough to make any man question his sanity, but this… this was something else.

Suddenly, a burst of sound erupted through the jungle, like a thunderclap but sharper, almost metallic. I hit the ground, instinctively gripping the strange weapon in my hands. My heart was pounding as I lay there, trying to process everything.

Then, out of the shadows, I saw them: men in olive green uniforms, faces streaked with dirt and exhaustion, weaving through the trees. But their gear was strange, their helmets rounded, their packs stuffed with things I couldn’t recognize. They were dressed as soldiers, but not in any uniform I’d ever seen.

“Hey!” I called out, barely managing a croak. My throat was bone-dry.

One of them froze, his eyes scanning the jungle. He raised his weapon, and his gaze landed on me, confusion flickering across his face. “Who the hell are you?” he shouted, a thick accent that I could barely understand.

“I… I don’t rightly know,” I stammered, looking down at my muddied, Confederate-gray trousers, my boots still caked with Virginia clay. “Where… where am I?”

“You’re in Vietnam, buddy,” he replied, keeping his weapon trained on me. “Now who the hell are you?”

“Corporal Jesse Langston, Mississippi Infantry,” I said automatically, though the words felt hollow, meaningless.

The soldier frowned, looking back at the others. “Mississippi Infantry? What kind of joke is this?”

I didn’t have any answers for him, or for myself. I felt like a ghost, wandering through some strange afterlife. The soldier lowered his rifle, his face softening with a mixture of pity and fear.

“You’re coming with us, all right?” he said. “We’ll figure out what to do with you later.”

I nodded numbly, following them through the thick foliage. I tried to make sense of my surroundings, but nothing felt real. The forest seemed alive in a way I couldn’t understand, with insects buzzing louder than gunfire and plants that looked like they could swallow a man whole.

As we walked, the soldiers whispered to each other, throwing glances back at me. I couldn’t blame them. I was a relic, a piece of a different world that didn’t belong here.

Hours passed, maybe days. The jungle around us grew denser, the air hotter. Every sound made me jump—the distant cries, the hum of something overhead that made the trees shudder. At some point, I realized we were being followed.

The soldiers moved fast, silent as shadows, and I struggled to keep up. My legs ached, and my heart raced, but then I heard it: a rustling in the bushes, a whisper of movement. Before I knew it, there was a crack of gunfire, sharper and deadlier than anything I’d heard before.

I dove into the mud as bullets tore through the air, splitting trees and sending splinters flying. The soldiers returned fire with rapid bursts, their strange weapons lighting up the darkness. I gripped my rifle, feeling the cool metal under my fingers, and instinct took over.

I fired, though I couldn’t see the enemy. The soldier beside me shouted something I didn’t understand, but his voice was drowned out by the chaos around us. It felt like the war all over again, the same violence, the same desperation.

When the shooting stopped, the jungle fell silent, save for the labored breathing of the soldiers around me. I looked down at my hands, trembling, covered in mud and blood that wasn’t mine. It felt like I’d been thrown back into the same nightmare, only now it was dressed in different colors, new sounds, new faces.

The soldier who had first spoken to me—who I now knew as “Jack”—looked at me with something like understanding. “You’re not supposed to be here, are you?”

“No,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I don’t… I don’t know where here is.”

Jack put a hand on my shoulder, a strange look in his eyes. “You and me both, Langston. None of us belong here.”

We trudged through the jungle until dawn, the oppressive heat giving way to a dim light that crept through the trees. I kept my eyes on the horizon, hoping for some sign that this was all just a dream. But the jungle kept going, stretching endlessly in every direction.

By the time we made it to their camp, I knew one thing for certain: I was trapped in a different war, one I could barely comprehend. But it was a war all the same, and I was a soldier.

And in war, the only way out is through. After making it back to camp I decided to go back to sleep. Maybe this was some all weird dream maybe once I woke up everything would be back to normal or I could have some kind of sense and understanding about what is happening.

When I opened my eyes again, the dense jungle canopy was gone. In its place was a canvas ceiling, stained and sagging with rainwater that had pooled on top. The sounds of insects and distant gunfire were replaced by low moans, quiet sobs, and the clinking of surgical tools.

I was back in the Civil War.

My head felt thick, like I was pushing through a fog that wouldn’t clear. I sat up, groaning as pain shot through my leg, and looked around. Rows of cots stretched out around me, filled with wounded men. The tent was dim, lit only by a few oil lamps that flickered and threw shadows across the makeshift hospital.

A nurse appeared at my side, her expression weary but kind. “Easy now, soldier,” she said, gently pressing me back down. “You’ve been through quite the ordeal.”

I stared at her, still dazed. Her face was soft and familiar, a world away from the hardened, grim soldiers I’d walked alongside in that strange jungle. My mind spun, struggling to grasp what was real.

“Where… where am I?” I managed to croak.

“You’re back with the 14th, Corporal Langston,” she said, a soft Southern drawl in her voice. “You were found unconscious in the Wilderness, just outside of Spotsylvania. You’re lucky to be alive.”

The Wilderness. Spotsylvania. The words felt familiar, like pieces of a dream I’d half-forgotten. But then images of the jungle returned—the strange soldiers, the foreign weapons, the terrifying roar of the unknown battle. It had felt so real. I could still feel the weight of that sleek, black rifle in my hands.

“Vietnam,” I muttered, more to myself than to her.

The nurse’s brow furrowed. “Vietnam?” she repeated, looking at me with a mix of confusion and concern.

“It’s… nothing,” I stammered, forcing myself to focus on the tent, the familiar scents of blood and sweat and antiseptic. Everything around me felt vivid and solid, but the memories of the jungle clung to me, like they’d seeped into my very bones.

For days, I lay there, recovering in that makeshift hospital, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d left part of myself back in that other place. I could still hear the sounds of that faraway jungle in the quiet moments—rustling leaves, distant voices, the thunder of gunfire unlike anything I’d ever known.

One night, as I lay awake in my cot, staring up at the tent ceiling, a young soldier beside me stirred. He’d lost a leg in the Wilderness, but he wasn’t makin…

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