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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/1BitterStudent on 2024-11-29 05:04:38+00:00.

Most people forget their dreams when they wake up. But what happened to me wasn’t just a dream - it’s a memory I’ll carry for the rest of my life.

Have you ever been alone, with nobody to talk to for hours? I bet many of you want that sometimes. To escape from all the noise - the honking cars, people talking, and the constant sounds that fill every society. Just to have peace and quiet. But at the end of the day, you always end up going back to people, even if it sometimes annoys you.

But have you ever been truly alone? I mean the kind of alone where your words echo when you talk, with only yourself to answer back? No one in sight - just you, your breathing, and the empty world around you. Maybe some of you think you could handle that, but I doubt you’ll ever have to experience it.

Let me tell you my story. The experience changed me completely - it left me feeling empty, constantly questioning if everything around me was real.

I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. I’m just grateful someone was there to help me when it was over. Even though it was brief, it broke something in me and showed me a side of myself I never knew existed.

It started the night I went to bed. One second I was lying down, the next I was suddenly awake - as if I’d only blinked. Something felt off. I was groggy, but not in the usual way. It felt like being awake and half-asleep at the same time. I blamed it on being exhausted from the day before and ignored how strange it felt to wake up like that.

I went downstairs, expecting to find Mom making breakfast. Dad usually leaves early for work, while Mom goes later. But there was no sound of cooking from the kitchen, no pots clattering, nothing sizzling on the stove. No Dad making his usual jokes about me sleeping in late.

I tried not to worry. Maybe they were just as tired as I was. I checked their bedroom, but found only their neatly made bed and their phones still on the nightstand, which was distressing since they almost always have their phones with them. That’s when the panic started to set in.

I searched everywhere - the backyard, guest room, garage - but found no sign of them. I checked every corner and storage space in the house. Finally, I stood in front of the basement door. I’d always been scared of going down there, but panic pushed me forward. I shouted their names over and over, my voice echoing in the darkness. The lights flickered as I searched every possible hiding spot. In the end, I gave up.

I collapsed onto the living room couch. They were gone. Really gone. I was close to tears - nothing like this had ever happened before. As a last resort, I tried calling everyone - my aunts, uncles, cousins - but no one answered. Just one ring, then silence. I must have spent hours staring at my phone, calling again and again.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I ran outside to check the neighbors’ houses. But each knock just echoed back at me. When I peered through windows, I saw only darkness inside. I went door to door, eventually pounding on them desperately, begging for someone - anyone - to answer. But nobody came.

With nowhere else to look, I decided to try school. When I arrived, I heard the lunch bell ringing. I ran to the entrance, thinking I’d finally find people there.

But as I passed through the gates, a wave of dread washed over me. The grounds were completely empty. There were no students rushing to class, no guards telling off late arrivals like me. Just an endless, unnatural silence.

I walked to my classroom, checking every room along the way. Each one was perfectly clean, like they’d just been scrubbed down the night before. My footsteps echoed through the empty halls. I started shouting, then screaming, desperately checking room after room. But there was nothing except the sound of my own breathing and my curses bouncing off the walls.

I spent the whole afternoon running from place to place. I should have been exhausted, but somehow I had endless energy. In my panic, I went everywhere - Mom’s office, Dad’s clinic, the mall, even the train station. I knocked on car windows, hoping someone would honk at me to stop. I threw stones at windows, watching them shatter, desperate for someone to yell at me, to tell me to stop. But there was nothing. Just silence, hour after hour, until the sun finally set.

Back home, I tried to sleep, hoping I’d wake up and find out this was just a nightmare. But I couldn’t keep my eyes closed. Despite all the running around, my body was buzzing with energy. Every time I forced my eyes shut, they would slowly open again, and I’d end up staring at the ceiling.

Unable to sleep, I did what I usually do - I went downstairs to watch TV. But what I saw made me freeze. I switched channels frantically, but it was the same on every one. The TV worked perfectly, showing moving images, but all the people were gone. Even in cartoons, only the backgrounds moved. Everything else was empty.

I turned off the TV, trying to shake off what I’d seen, and walked to the fridge. I found a pizza box - my usual comfort food when I’m down. I put it in the microwave and watched it heat up, the humming filling the silence. When it dinged, I almost jumped.

The first bite made me recoil. The pizza was… wrong. It had flavor, but it was like the food was trying to remember what it should taste like. I can’t explain it better than that. Desperate, I started grabbing other food from the fridge, not caring if it was cold. But everything tasted the same way - like it was imitating real food but couldn’t quite get it right. It was the strangest thing.

My mind went numb. I left the mess of food behind and curled up on the living room sofa. Finally, the tears came. I never thought I’d miss something as simple as hearing another person’s voice.

I closed my eyes, and suddenly felt a hand touch me. I jumped up in terror, thinking of every horror movie I’d ever seen. But there was my mom’s worried face and my dad’s smile, which quickly turned serious when he saw my expression. He rushed to hug me.

“You’re back, we’re here, don’t worry, we’re here,” he said. Something in his voice told me he knew exactly what had happened. I saw it in his eyes - the same sadness I’d felt when I realized I was alone. Mom joined the hug, repeating his words.

Years passed. I got married, had children, and kept that experience locked away like a distant nightmare. But recently, my daughter woke up screaming and ran to me. She wouldn’t let go, terrified I might disappear. When my wife heard the commotion she came to us and joined in comforting our daughter. I found myself saying the exact words my father had said to me: “It’s alright, we’re here.”

Now I regret never sharing this story earlier. My parents never told me their experience either. I thought my daughter would be different - she seemed fine at my age. I was wrong. I’m telling this story now as a warning, to prepare others who might enter that world. At the very least, you will know you’re not alone.