This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/313deezy on 2025-02-05 07:29:54+00:00.
We were five rounds in when I first noticed something was wrong. The bar was packed, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the bass from the jukebox rattling the walls. It was the kind of place you only end up in because nowhere else is open—dimly lit, sticky-floored, with a bartender who looked like he had seen too much but still didn’t care.
I was out with my usual group—Mike, Chris, Jen, and Lisa—just unwinding after a long week. We’d been laughing, trading stories, and taking turns buying rounds. But as I sat back in my chair, letting the alcohol settle in my system, a chill crept up my spine.
I glanced around, trying to pinpoint what felt off. The bar was full, but something about the crowd seemed… unnatural. People were talking, drinking, and laughing, but their movements were just a fraction too slow, their smiles held for a second too long. It was subtle, but once I noticed, I couldn’t unsee it.
I turned to Lisa, nudging her elbow. “Hey, do these people seem weird to you?”
She frowned and looked around. “What do you mean?”
I gestured vaguely at the other patrons. “I don’t know. Something’s just… off. Like they’re pretending to be normal.”
She smirked. “Sounds like you’re just drunk.”
Maybe she was right. Maybe the dim lights and beer were messing with my head. I tried to shake it off and rejoin the conversation, but the feeling wouldn’t go away.
Then, I saw him.
A man sitting alone in the farthest booth, half-hidden in the shadows. He wasn’t drinking, wasn’t talking to anyone. He just sat there, staring—at me.
A sharp, cold fear tightened in my chest. His eyes were dark, sunken pits, and his face was expressionless. Something about him was wrong. I turned away quickly, my pulse pounding.
“Guys,” I whispered, “don’t look now, but there’s a guy in the corner staring at me.”
Chris, always the skeptic, rolled his eyes. “You’re paranoid.”
“I swear. Just don’t make it obvious, but look.”
One by one, my friends stole glances toward the booth. Lisa’s face paled. “Okay… yeah. That’s creepy.”
Mike downed the rest of his beer and waved a hand dismissively. “So what? He’s just some weirdo. Let’s just ignore him.”
I nodded, trying to convince myself it was nothing. But my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Then, the jukebox stopped.
Just like that, the music cut out mid-song, leaving behind an oppressive silence. No one reacted. The conversations, the laughter—they all just stopped. Every single person in that bar turned, in unison, to look at us.
My breath caught in my throat. Their eyes were dark, just like the man’s in the booth. Their faces were blank, empty.
I stood up so fast my chair scraped against the floor. “We need to leave. Now.”
No one argued. We grabbed our things and moved toward the door, but the second we did, the bartender stepped out from behind the counter, blocking our way.
“Leaving so soon?” he asked, his voice oddly flat.
My heart pounded. “Yeah, we—uh, we’ve got work in the morning.”
He smiled, but there was nothing human about it. It was too wide, too forced. “Stay. Have one more round.”
I glanced at my friends. They were frozen in place, their faces pale. I turned back to the bartender, forcing a nervous chuckle. “Maybe next time.”
His smile didn’t fade, but he stepped aside. “Suit yourself.”
I didn’t wait for anyone to change their mind. I shoved open the door, and we all rushed outside into the cold night air.
We didn’t stop running until we reached Lisa’s car. She fumbled with the keys, hands shaking, and finally managed to unlock the doors. We piled in, slamming them shut behind us.
For a long moment, none of us spoke. We just sat there, panting, our breath fogging up the windows.
Chris finally broke the silence. “What the hell was that?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
Lisa turned the key in the ignition. The car roared to life, but before she put it in drive, she looked up at the bar.
And her face went white.
I followed her gaze—and my stomach dropped.
The bar was gone.
Not closed. Not empty. Gone.
In its place stood an old, crumbling building, its windows shattered, its sign hanging off rusted chains. The neon lights were dark. The parking lot was cracked and covered in weeds.
I felt sick. “That’s not possible. We were just there.”
No one spoke.
Then, Lisa floored the gas pedal.
We never talked about that night again. But sometimes, when I’m out drinking, I get that feeling—the one I had in that bar. And every time I do, I stop drinking, pay my tab, and leave.
Because I know now: Some places don’t want you to leave.