As The Raven Dreams Podcast - This Is The Story Of You By Ray Beaman | #CreepyPasta Narration

Episode Date: September 11, 2021

This is the story of you; it's always been the story of you. Ghosts can come in many different forms. They can be big and they can be scary. They can be visceral and they can be disturbing but they can also be small and subtle, lurking just on the precipice of our reality, silently reminding us of what we fear the most in our lives. But they can also be moments. And right now, in this exact moment- they are everything. PLEASE Check Ray out on all of his platforms. This man is an amazing author and deserves SO MUCH recognition. http://www.awritestruggle.com http://www.instagram.com/a_write_struggle  http://www.twitter.com/awritestruggle  ✯✬✯✬ 【TIMESTAMPS 🕠】 0:00 ➤ Hit That 👍 Button if you like the video! 0:08 ➤ This Is The Story by You By Ray Beaman 1:01:49 ➤ Leave A Comment, Let Me Know What You Thought!    Music in this video is "Fading" By the ALWAYS amazing Myuu: https://youtu.be/nWLSW-1jJvs ✯✬✯✬ 【LEGAL DISCLAIMERS】  ➤All stories within are used w/ direct permission from the author- or under some level of CC license (where noted) True Stories are not verified, and should all be considered 'supposedly true'. Some Fonts used are from https://www.misprintedtype.com - Eduardo Recife makes some AMAZING fonts! If you need to contact me for Business purposes, please contact me at [e-mail] and indicate that the email is for business.  #TrueScaryStories #AsTheRavenDreams #RedditStories Be sure to *subscribe* if you like any of the following; Glitch In The Matrix Stories, Creepy Encounter Stories, Deepweb horror stories, Darkweb Stories, Reddit scary stories, True Scary Stories, Creepypasta, Reddit ghost stories, Or really anything- my channel is pretty diverse. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/astheravendreams/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/astheravendreams/support Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Today's story is this is the story of you by Raymond Beeman. And here we are, Dante, the last turn on the road. You should have known it would only be a matter of time. After all, we only need to look back at your life to see that this has always been your destiny. That this was always going to be your end. Think about it. You must have known, deep down, somewhere within that dark, empty space inside of you,

somewhere within that hollow spot where you would expect to find a soul, you must have known. That each and every time that your hand moved and the wrong choice was made, that it would inevitably bring you here to me. Come on. Cast your mind back.

Gaze out upon that dark and disgusting ocean of yours. That cesspit of sewage, that putrid pit of pestilence. Come on, think of all your choices. Think of all of your mistakes. Think of all your sin. You carry your choices with you, and they infect you in all of those around you with their horrid and rancid smell. So please,

allow me to be honest with you because really who are we kidding it is only you and me here your choices dante well they really do reek you stink of your sin and the smell fills this room tell me can you feel it just just give it a second it is there and it is intense to be truthful i i feel compelled to confess and let me tell you i do confess this willingly, because let us be realistic now, who could you ever tell? Your stink, Dante? For some, it may be suffocating. But for me, well, for me, it is nothing short of purity. Its essence is tangible.

It clings to the air around of us, to the walls, to my form, and I feel as if I can almost taste its delicious, decades. sinking, satisfyingly in through the layers of my being. If I were to go one step further, I suppose I could almost admit, and honestly, this one is strictly between you and I, I could almost admit that the sensation which your stench arouses within me is, at best, borderline perverse, but what is a little smut amongst old friends? No harm, no foul, I guess.

But honestly, I digress. Your mistakes will forever be a part of you, and their beautiful smell aside. It is this part which has brought you to me. A man cannot go on forever, especially not in the way that you have been carrying on and just expect that his path will never falter. Life.

Life is a long. road, Dante. But it is not a straight road. The things that you do, the things that you say, the smallest of actions, those fleeting little moments, they all come together to create a new line. From the time that you wake up in the morning to the time that you go to work, From the decision over where you buy your lunch or even what you choose to eat all of this, it creates a new path. Your existence truly does hang by a thread. And your destination is no more than the result of a passing decision, a decision of which your kind always seemed to make so casually. You all make it so easy.

It's ironic, really, but as you like to say irony, I guess you have to be a fan. If only you all knew, the things that you do and the way that you live your life, it alters the road. And as I said, if we were to look back at your life, I mean, really? Look, do you know what we would see? Do not answer that. Of course you do. we would see your road, Dante, and let me tell you your road, it is winding. The path may have once begun as a straight line, but all of those little decisions, all of those mistakes, all of those sins, which you so eloquently torment yourself with, all of those sins, there are deviations in the way.

They are the turns, Dante, and they are what have guided you. you here. I have sat here, and I have watched for longer than you could possibly begin to imagine. I have waited, and I have savored this little show of yours, and do you know what I have learned from all of this? Do you know what grand revelation I have had concerning you? No? Okay, well, let me tell you then.

I have learned. that you are nothing but delusional. So many occasions, over and over, you keep telling yourself that you do not deserve this, that you already suffer. I've seen it time and time again. No matter how much we do this, the narrative never really changes, does it?

Of course, you cannot really be blamed for this, can you? After all, your lack of any, discernible recollection is a part of this, but still what is it with all the self-pity, Dante? That is one of the things that I've never really understood about your kind, how you all refuse to own the consequences of your choices. You always think that you do not deserve this, that you have lived a good life, that paradise awaits you at the end. You always seem to think that you do not have to wear your mistakes, and you are always so surprised each and every time that I do this, each and every time that I welcome you. You always seem so surprised that your road has led you here. You are all blind, Dante.

But what a blindness it truly is. one of which I am incredibly grateful for. It is pathetic. No, wait, strike that. You are pathetic. That is it. That is what you are. All of you.

Pathetic husks of nothing that do not deserve the very love of which you are born with. Your birthright is nothing more than a joke to you, is it? You think that you have reached the pinnacle of understanding. but you were all just children, really. Delusional, spoiled, little idiots that will never grow up. If only he could see you right now, he would probably think again, wouldn't he? I mean, why even bother? Why even try? Was the sacrifice really worth it?

Because really, if we were to be truthful and we can be truthful here, Dante, your kind, Well, you are all destined to fall in the end. Still, though, it keeps me amused. So let's take a look back at that road again, shall we? It does not matter that we've done this before, does it? It doesn't matter that you will not remember this, does it? No, does not. Because as I said, it keeps me amused.

I will show you, Dante, despite your whining and despite your crying and despite your insistence, your small cries and your little desperate pleas, I will show you. Dante, there has never been a person as truly as deserving of this place as you. So, pick it up.

Pick the paper up. And let us, once again, begin the end. Place it where it belongs, see your path, and see the road which has brought you to me. Drink it in. Wash yourself and your own sin

so I can taste your tantalizing torment. Pick it up and start because after all, Dante, this is the story of you. Wake up, Dante. I opened my eyes.

My mind buzzed as my last memory washed over me. I had found the door. It had presented itself to me after I had watched the tape again. I had moved through it and then there was a staircase. The decline? It seemed to go on forever and with each step down I could hear screaming. Small, muffled pleas drifted from the walls and then, after that, there was nothing.

As hard as I tried, as much as I wanted to remember what had happened, I could not. And now, I was here. Dante, wake up, will you? I'm very busy. My hand instinctively moved to my eyes as the world came back into focus. I appeared to be in a small room. The walls around me were ancient and caked in eons of filth. In the air, it tasted toxic, and each breath dirtied my lungs.

In front of me, there was a table, and on top of it, clear and unmistakable, it was there. The red, old-looking typewriter sat on the table, a ray of light illuminating it perfectly within the confines of the claustrophobic room. It looked clean. It looked maintained, and it looked out of place. amongst my new, dark and foreboding surroundings. A fresh piece of paper lay in front of it, and on the page clear and crisp at the top were four words that had been burned into the door.

They laughed as I read from the sheet. Hell or high water. Dante, a word, please? The suave-looking man had been talking for some time now as he sat waiting patiently for me in his seat across the table. He was well-dressed, in a cleanly pressed black suit, and his red tie seemed to emit a glow as he smiled. We really should be getting on with it now. Without a thought, I answered him.

Where am I? He chuckled slightly at the question. That is always the first question from your lips. Do you know that? Every single time. I do not know why, but it always seems to surprise me, but boy, oh boy, does it tickle me. You would have thought that I would have expected it from you by now. What?

What are you talking about? You, Dante, I'm talking about you. As much as you feigned to have an ounce of intelligence inside that melon-sized head of yours, as much as you pretend that you are a deep well of imagination, we both know that you are not. Now don't we? You're nothing. Nothing but a filthy, tiny little hole.

Every misplaced word from your mouth, every little word on that page, you are predictable. You're nothing but a book, Dante, and let me tell you, I know everything about you just from your cover. I can see that stupid look on your face that you don't believe me.

Right? Okay then, well, let me prove it to you. You are wondering how you got here, right? And where here even is? He was right. I just... I just don't understand what's going on. Again, he chuckled.

Oh, but you do, Dante. After all, this is not exactly the first time that we've had this conversation. Now is it? What is going on? He paused for a moment, clearly surveying my confusion. Ah, fine then, he sighed. Let me go through my lines, then, shall I? He straightened his tie and stood up before he began to pace around the table in a circle.

Each time that he passed me, his hand forcefully made contact with the back of my head as he violently shook each strand of hair out of place. You, Dante, you are here because of you. You've been writing in that typewriter there because of you. You spend each and every day knocking out these little stories because of you. because of you. And do you see this smile on my face? Do you want to know why it is there? Well, Dante, you've probably guessed it by now.

It is there because of you. You spend so much energy talking about all that you've lost, do you not? You commit so much space to talking about the year prior. But do you even remember what happened a year ago? Do you even remember what you? are supposed to have apparently lost? I've seen that phrase over and over again, Dante, that there's nothing like lost to truly remind you of what you once had.

But do you even remember what you were supposed to have once had? Do not worry about answering that, because I know that you don't. It's designed that way, after all, which leads me on to the conclusion of my part. Maybe it is about time that you start remembering. Let me tell you, Dante, this part. This part is always my favorite. He paused in front of me, and once again smiled.

That typewriter there, Dante? It is special. I like to think of it as one of my better ideas. Each and every stroke is torment, personified. I mean, you get to literally relive your biggest hits, your worst mistakes and your greatest regrets. How great is that? Of course, you being you,

and there's always a certain element of flare to these little tales. Call it your writer's prerogative, but I must tell you, I see through your vain attempts at redemption. I always see. You think that you can cheat the system, Dante? You think that you can beat me? I know of the messages.

I know of the codes. you can try to wake yourself from this nightmare as much as you like, but let me tell you, it is a fruitless endeavor. This is not just a nightmare, Dante. This is your life. And I have been on to you from the very start. Oh, how you love to play fast and loose with the truth, but the time for games is now over.

I think it's about time that you were educated in reality. So how about we try something new? Although at this point we cannot quite say new, now can we? A jolt, a surge, a feeling. From nowhere it came and it spread through my arms, causing my limbs to rise and my fingers to rest gently against the keys of the typewriter. I tried to pull away. I tried to move my hands, but they were stuck,

solidified in place by a sinister force that seemed to impart its will upon me in a sickly fashion. Are you ready to take a trip down memory lane? I knew that answering him would accomplish nothing. Slowly, he produced a piece of paper and leaned forward, carefully placing it within the typewriter. Let us start at the beginning, shall we? I think it's about time that we revisited the lost chapters.

My fingers had already begun to dance over the keys as each stroke imprinted itself upon the clean sheet of paper in front of me. My mind began to haze as the room bled from focus. The last thing that I heard was his laugh, his dirty and devilish laugh that bore through my existence, as it echoed through my mind. A nasty, little lullaby that followed me hauntingly into the abyss of the dream as it finally took hold.

Light. Blinding light. It pierced through the windows and filled the room with its never-ending glare, burning against my retinas as my eyes struggled to focus. After a few seconds, my sight adjusted, and when it did, I found myself standing. ending in a room, a strangely familiar room. As the objects in the room came into place, and my environment grew around me,

I gradually began to remember, and then the feeling came. The dirty and abrasive sensation of shame that I had tried for so long to forget. I am home. It was the house that I had lived in when I was younger. Somehow, I'd forgotten it, and I had forgotten being here, but now, standing within my front room as the sun bore heavily through the window in front of me, I could do nothing but remember it. I remember it all.

All of those days alone, those days that never ended, being stuck, trapped, imprisoned within, the never-ending loop of sorrow. the unbreakable cycle of depression and the eternity of pain. It was all there. A stark juxtaposition to the warm glow of the sun that filtered to the window and into the small living room. As much as I had tried to run from it, in that moment somehow I knew that this was where it had all started. And as I stood there trying to make sense of all the little emotions

that had begun to wash over me, A voice from behind claimed my attention. Instinctively, I turned. There he is. He moved forward from nowhere and stepped toward me. The thick smile of my reflection never fading as he closed the distance. From somewhere hidden within, the name came quickly and it left my lips with little effort. Benny?

He nodded. His smile never breaking as he replied. "'Good evening,' he spoke softly. "'Or should I say good morning. "'It's getting rather hard to tell the difference now. "'Is it not?' "'Panic. "'An unimaginable terror that oozed forth from my soul

"'as it rendered all thought, unthinkable. "'What only started as small, quickly grew as it spread "'and rapidly took hold of my entire mind. "'Now, now,' he grinned, "'I would have assumed that you were already acquainted with the fear. It is not as if you've just caught here now, is it? My lips trembled as I willed a response. Benny, what's going on?

Why am I back here? A hint of a laugh almost escaped him as the smile on his features remain steadfast. My, my, it's not as if you ever really left now, is it? Think that you found your way? You believed that you were going to make your mark, but it never really came, did it? At least not in the way in which you were expecting. Do you even remember what actually happened here?

I'm certain that you think you know, but do you really know? A man's memory is a funny thing. It can be twisted and it can be stretched until it is no longer a true representation of the truth. However, I can show you if you like. You see, I do not delete it. I elude myself as you do. You must remember, I am you.

Only a better version of you. A tear fell from my eyes in slow motion. Do I have a choice? Somehow, he seemed to smile harder. I'm thinking that you already know the answer to that. Slowly, he moved his hand up in front of him, and with a click of his fingers, it began. It is me.

The ghostly figure of myself materialized in front of me, its presence not quite soluble, almost as if it were simply an echo from a time long forgotten. It moved with lightning speed around the home, from the kitchen to the sofa to the bed, and then it continued the cycle again as I watched on. I remembered it all. I slept, and then I woke, and then I rose. Benny shook his head as he looked on upon the pathetic display. When you think back to those days,

it is quite apparent that you thought that you were trapped here, that you thought that you had somehow become stuck in one never-ending day, is it not? Has it never occurred to you that all of this, that this immense display of self-pity was nothing more than a choice which you made? Come along now, the notion of time pausing just for you? A little self-indulgent, if you do not mind me saying. But, I suppose, looking at it, that was exactly what this was. Self-indulgence.

My lips began to quiver as his words sank in. He was right. I did not know how I came to agree with him, only that I did. With so much left unanswered, my mouth moved and the questions came. Benny, I still do not understand why this is happening to me. He shook his head, raised his hand, and once again clicked his fingers. The dismal display immediately paused, and the ghostly memory of me froze in place, stretched out on the sofa, an accurate representation of sloth and gluttony.

Look, he began, the truth of the matter is, you chose this life over your wife. You were so wrapped up in leaving a mark that you sought inspiration alone when truthfully, in fact, you should have been seeking meaning where you were meant to be. You argued with her,

and then you locked yourself away here. Depression is not to be trifled with, but if we were to be fair, we cannot really blame your actions entirely on that particular affliction. Now can we? You wanted this. You needed this.

You were always so wrapped up in yourself, your life and your mind, your feelings and your thoughts, your needs and your wants. That is all that is real to you, is it not? But it should not have been. This is what started you on this path. Well, Fatten, the lake, of course. The lake? What do you mean, Benny? Slowly he turned to me, his smile seeming to cut deeper into his cheeks as it stretched unnaturally wide up toward his eyes.

The lake. Surely you remember your little spot. In hindsight, it is peculiar how familiar it is, right? Surely you must remember what inspired you? What eventually caused a turn in the road? The lake. That was the beginning of the end. the lake I remembered it that day the day at the lake I had made my way to my favorite spot

and I had taken a seat on my favorite bench I remembered the serene waters as they moved peacefully in the foreground and I remembered retrieving the ring from my pocket you paint that day as a story of redemption

but it was not exactly that now, not really I mean, given, yes, you reconciled with your wife shortly after, but that was not what inspired that particular fix now, was it? No, what inspired that was the inspiration. It was the lake. Do you really need me to spell it out for you? I mean, come along now. Where else have you seen that lake?

The word was coming. I could feel it. It pushed its way forcefully into my mind, and it burned. It's present, sticky and unyielding as it bled against the interior of my skull. Another tear fell down my cheek as my mouth moved. Kara. The smile on Benny's lip cut further upwards, tearing at his cheeks as blood began to drip slowly down his face. Yes, Kara.

That was the day that I had come up with the story. Our Kara really got a hold of you, did she not? it would be hilarious if it were not so tragic, if you do not mind me saying. The story was almost over. The deep feeling of foreboding had gradually begun to build from within me. With each passing moment, the pieces were beginning to slide into place. The story was finally making sense, but in that moment as I stood in front of Benny, as the thick blood bled beautifully from his hauntingly horrific smile,

I knew that I did not want to see this one to its conclusion. The ending was coming, and the very thought of it terrified me. The story was almost over. You know what happened next, don't you? I nodded my head. I know, and I don't. Please, we don't have to do this, do we? Benny shook his head as he moved his hands up to his face,

and in one quick motion he spread the blood, forcefully across his cheeks. No, we do not, but others will continue on in my place. How about that pesky door? Huh? His eerie warning drifted through the room and lingered as he took a step backwards and disappeared into the darkness in the corner of the room. After a few seconds, another man stepped forward.

He moved towards me with a box in his hand, carrying with him a grin which betrayed his intent. Wake up, little hunter. It's time to open your eyes. How can this be? No, I spluttered. This cannot be happening. Oh, but it is happening.

Philip began, placing the box down by my feet. I really thought that I would never get another chance at an appearance, especially considering that Benny does like to go on a bit and, well, also not to forget the little matter of my death, too. I've been meaning to say that that wasn't very nice of you, by the way. Never mind. Let's let bygones be bygones. Welcome back, neither to the land of the living nor the dead.

This is simply a world of perpetual arrogance, but man, do I digress, today is the first day of the rest of your life. Welcome to the room of rebirth, Dante. You're going to learn so much about yourself here. Slowly, she moved from the shadows behind him and approached. She was just as I had always imagined her. Her long hair, hanging down around her face,

concealing the sick and disturbed personality which bubbled uncontrollably beneath her defined features. She moved in and she locked her arms around Phillips' waist, embracing him with a twisted passion. Kara was every bit my hand, the one that I had symbolically cut, from my arm as a sick price for success. The hand, however, in all of its decayed glory,

was finally coming back to remind me of the true cost of my actions. Oh my, Kara giggled. You never saw that coming, did you? I tried to speak, but the words would not come. Philip saw my turmoil, then moved in, placing his hand gently against my face. Philip cooed, do not. Fred, I know that this is a lot to take in, but this has to happen, Dante.

Were you not in the slightest a little curious about the words of your own creation? Could you not see how ironic it was that I would burst into a tirade about people at the drop of a hat? How they were all obsessed, content to live in their own bubbles? To move around this earth, leaving little while satisfying their own selfish desires? Does that remind you of anyone? Dante, really. And that was about you. I was talking about you.

But, more importantly, you were talking about you. Can you not see that? Still though, even though you will never admit it, you knew what you were, but it did not stop you from chasing her legacy, did it? No matter the cost, no matter of the collateral, Hell, Dante, I know I'm simply a figment of your messed up imagination, but that, well, that even impressed me. She never really did stand a chance, did she? Your poor old wife?

My world was crashing down all around me. All of my memories, all of my life. I struggled to make sense of it. Is any of it real? Philip laughed, reacting to my thoughts. "'We are real, Dante.' Phillips smiled as he sank to the floor and sat cross-legged with Kara by his side. "'We are real, and your choice to pursue us, "'to pursue your creation is real. "'Your obsession is real,

"'and the pain which it caused your family is real. "'Dante, when our story took off, "'you completely lost yourself to your own success. "'You ignored your family. family, and you worked far too hard, so eager to leave your mark with little regard for what your obsession would do to those around you. Your obsession cost you everything and left you with nothing but this box. So how about you take a seat down here with us and let us see the true price of your obsession? I shook my head.

The recollection was already there. I did not know what was inside the box. I just knew that I did not want to see it. I cannot do this. I cannot do this. Philip's smile faded as the thought played through my mind. Yes, you can. Sit down now and let us see if you were worthy of being reborn.

Slowly, I sank down in front of them. and took a second to compose myself. The box was small. It had been wrapped carefully. The paper neat and handled with obvious care. In that moment, I knew that no matter how comfortable I feigned to be, no matter how prepared I tried to be, or how much I willed myself not to open it,

I had little choice left. It is time. My fingers tightened around the paper as more tears fell from my eyes. We cost you, your son. Was it really worth it? I pulled the picture frame from the box as the uncontrollable sadness washed over me. There we are, all three of us. Me, my wife, and my son.

Somewhere within the distance, I felt as if I could hear the sirens. You were so wrapped up in finishing the trilogy, Dante. You worked far too much. and you were far too tired to be driving that night. Our choices, Dante, they create turnings in the road. Look where yours have gotten you. Life is full of moments. They come and they go, I just wish that I had been there in those moments, instead of existing within them.

I had been so caught up in leaving my mark and being remembered and after all of my work, all of my suffering, all that I had been left with were the memories, ones which would never, ever leave me. As I began to sob uncontrollably, I could hear the sirens closing in on me. Well, I fear that our time is coming to an end here, so let's let all of this really sink in, and he can continue where I left off.

Carefully, Philip once again reached forward and rested his hand against my face, as Kara smiled her sick smile. Wake up, little Hunter. It's time to open your eyes. Is everything beginning to make sense now? My mind felt hazed, and the thoughts were nothing but fog,

but despite the unsettling feeling, I knew that I was back in front of the typewriter. As I told you, Dante, our choices are our ghosts, and our choices influence our desist. I mean, look at you. He once again rose from the chair across the table and straightened his tie. I mean, really, look at you.

You pretended to yourself that you were doing it for your family, that you were working so hard for them when really all that you were doing was for you. You shroud your mistakes in fiction and you hide your regrets in prose. Do you even remember what happened after the crime? crash. You do remember your wife, right? She wasn't quite right after that night, was she? I shook my head. No, stop. I cannot listen to this anymore. I do not deserve this. Why are you doing this to me? Please, just stop. I have nothing. Nothing. He chuckled slightly at my outburst. And there you go again, Dante. I told you before. You deserve you. You deserve.

deserve to be here. I'm guessing you just need reminding of that fact. It's all here. From nowhere, he produced a stack of paper and threw it across the table at me. There were multiple piles. Each one stapled together and each one more delusional and self-serving than the one that had come before. I could see from a glance that they were all there. Slowly, I read each title aloud.

Welcome to the end, sinner and saint, to the tombs, hell or high water. Across from me, he nodded. Add them to your forgotten chapters and they come together to make your nine circles. The end of the story is there, but it has been dressed up slightly. We both know how much you like to do that, don't we? How you love to run from your mistakes while anguishing in your own. self-pain. You do know that others suffered

because of you, right? Your son, your wife? She needed permanent care after that accident, did she not? And what did good old Dante do about that? Did he give up on his dreams for his wife, for the love of his life?

Or did he hire outside help? Did he hire a nurse? Did he rid himself of all responsibility? Of all of his responsibility? I think by now you should be able to take a solid guess at the choice that you made? There is no escape. Yes, I spoke softly, the memory seeping in from somewhere long forgotten.

I know what I did. But do you really? His words moved from across the room and punctured my ears. They're sharp and abrasive structure piercing my mind. No more. Not again. Yes, Dante, again! Once more, the overwhelming urge to raise my hands consumed me,

and my fingers rested against the keys. The otherworldly desire had come from somewhere, but it had not come from me. In that moment, I knew as he leaned across the table, his red tie gleaming brightly against the dank interior of the room. I knew it was coming from him. Let us finish this. Although this time, how about you really feel it?

My fingers began to dance across the keys as my sight blackened, and before I knew it, a consciousness had abandoned me. Dante? Please, Dante, I need a glass of water. I'm so thirsty. I sighed heavily as I heard her call from the other room. Samantha, I'm working. You know that this time is my time.

I need to do this to keep us afloat. I need to do this for you. Your help is not going to pay for itself. Please, baby, I'm so thirsty. I took a second look at the blank screen in front of me. I had not managed to write a single thing since finishing the Kara trilogy. And my agent was expecting a submission last week. My rent was due at the beginning of the next week,

and I barely had enough money to feed myself, let alone her. From deep within, I could feel the rage beginning to build. As it began to consume me, I forcefully rose from my chair and flung it forward into my desk. As my mouth opened to formulate a scream, the doorbell rang. Instantly, the anger subsided, only to be replaced by a pleasant excitement that washed refreshingly over me. She is here. I had been counting down the seconds all morning, and finally she had arrived. Maybe I can get some work done now, Samantha.

Lily's here. I heard her call something else, but it didn't sink in. My thoughts were already consumed by the radiant beauty which waited for me on the other side of that door. I hurried forward and opened the way to her. Good morning, Mr. Adams. She spoke softly. How are you and Samantha today? I'm fine. Better for seeing you today, Lily.

She smiled slightly at my comment. And your wife? Yes, yes, please. Come inside. She moved past me and began to make her way towards Samantha's room as my heart strained. Always focused on her and never on me. I sighed as she disappeared from sight, and I closed the door and made my way back to my computer. About an hour passed, and I tried to formulate words, but I could not. my mind was still on Lily in the next room.

She had a way about her, a way of eliciting of feeling within me that I thought was long dead. When she was here, when she was around me, I felt alive again. Everything that I had been through, the feelings of worthlessness, the crash, all of it, it did not matter when she was here. I knew that she was the one for me. I knew that after all of my whole, hardships, the redemption was in her arms. I knew that I had to tell her. I knew that she must feel

the same about me, and I knew that happiness was but a short conversation away. She would be coming out soon, and I would finally take the step. I would tell her, and I would rid myself of the life that I did not deserve. The anticipation began to build as I heard her close the door to Samantha's room and make her way towards me. We're all set for her. today, Mr. Adams. That is, unless there's anything else I can assist you both with? I felt a smile creep across my lips. Lily, I began, moving a chair out for her to sit in.

Sit for a moment, please. Once again, her radiance escaped her through a smile and she took a seat next to me. Lily, I continued, bringing my hand to rest against her thigh. I think it's time that we start to talk about us. The confusion in her face was almost instant. Her beautiful eyes shifted slightly as the realization of what was about to happen moved across her. Excuse me? Us, Lily.

You can't tell me that you do not feel the same way. I've seen the way that you look at me. I've noticed your smiles. Even though you try your best to conceal them from me. I I know that you feel the same way about me, the same way that I feel about you. You cannot sit here and pretend that there is not a love between us.

You can't pretend to me that you do not want us to be together, away from here, away from her. She shook her head. Mr. Adams, that is your wife that you were talking about. How could you ever think such a thing? She moved down and forcefully removed my hand from her thigh. What is wrong with you? Again, the anger was there.

It had always been there. It grew nastily through me, clouding my mind with its unseemly presence as it spread throughout the entirety of my body. And before I even had a chance to stop myself, I was shouting. What's wrong with me? What is wrong with you? You know what I have been through. You know how I have suffered, and you know what I have to live with. You know all of this and you know the way I feel about you and you have the audacity to turn me down.

What is wrong with me? No, Lily, what is wrong with you? What sort of person does that to someone like me? Where's your heart? Time slowed as her mouth fell open. She paused. Her perfect features locked in an expression of disgust and disbelief as she carefully considered her next words. After an eternity of nothing, her soft lips fell open and she spoke.

It is not here with you. Without another word, she got up, collected herself, and made her way towards the front door. When she got there, she paused for a second and turned back to me. Mr. Adams, I will pray for you, for you and your wife. I sincerely hope that things do get better for you. but I am obliged to notify Samantha's brothers of this discussion. She is my priority, and her well-being is paramount. I hope that you understand.

Her brothers. You do that. You go ahead and tell Matthew and Lucas that their sister's husband is a screw-up. Go on, go ahead. It doesn't even matter anymore. My life could not get any worse. Lily held for a second as she thought before slowly shaking her head. I will pray for you.

you. And then she was gone. Pray for me. How can things possibly get any worse? That night, I drank. I drank far too heavily. I had to. I am meant to mean something. I am meant to leave a mark. I am meant to be remembered. My life was not right. It was supposed to be different. Things were meant to get better. I had an agent. My work was being heard. I was almost there, but life had changed. She did not understand me. Nobody understood me. They could not see that I was meant to do this, that I was meant for great things. All they wanted to do was hold me back, to rob me of my destiny. My life was not right, and it was her fault. You know what needs to be done. The object in my hand would be reborn.

Tonight, it would be altered, changed, and repurposed as an instrument of control. With it, I would take back my life, take back my path, and reclaim my meaning. To look at it, it would seem normal. It was just a pillow after all. The flower imprinted against its pink softness was finally woven. A pattern that was intricate and beautiful in design, but unapologetic and convicted in the feeling which it stirred from within me. Power, strength, resolution.

Time slowed as the clock struck 11 minutes past 11, and I quietly made my way into her room. I took a step towards her bed. She's still asleep. She will sleep forever. I took another step closer. It's almost over. My suffering will be over.

And another, I am meant for greater things. And another, she was meant to die in that crash. The pillow felt so heavy, yet so weightless as I brought it down upon her. Finally, I'm free. But you weren't, though. Were you, Dante? Free, I mean. If anything that night altered your destiny and sealed.

your fate. Your path skewed with that one action and led you so perfectly to the packet of pills in the bedside table, didn't it? Did she judge you, Dante? Did you feel her open, unmoving eyes watch on you as you swallowed

the entirety? Because she was watching you, Dante. Just not from the bed in which you ended her life. No, her destination was different from yours, but you already knew that. It was all there

to see in your little stories. Did you really think that I wouldn't read between the lines that you could beat me? My mind screamed as I collapsed from my chair and curled into a ball below the typewriter. It cannot be true. Oh,

but it is true, Dante. You died. No, it cannot be true. This is a nightmare. I watched on from the floor. No more than a pathetic mess of a person as he rose from his chair and moved towards me with a stack of papers. He smiled as he bent down, towering over me with a clear superiority that seemed so much brighter

than his tie. Look, Dante, you already knew all of this deep down, and you really thought that you could remind yourself of your fate? That somehow, if you could break the cycle, gain the understanding of your plight, that somehow you could break free and you could escape? Did you really think that I did not know about the coded messages? Those little hints that you kept trying to feed yourself? D.A.? Danty Adams? Really?

Let's evaluate things, shall we? Tears fell from my eyes as I began to cry on the floor. Welcome to the end. You remember, Samantha was in that one, right? The character that you named after your wife. The wife that you killed? How come she never made it into any other stories, Dante? She was the first to die, but she was so easily forgotten.

But honestly, that is so you, right? I mean, you killed her, and all she was to you was a supporting character, one of which you forgot about so long ago. I really did find it ironic, though, how you painted Lucas and Matthew in that one, and all of them, actually. They were nothing but caring brothers in real life. but in this little show of yours, they were the antagonists. All we have to do is look back at sinner and saint to see that.

If I could actually believe that you could actually feel guilt? Well, that one could be considered as a symbol of your shame, couldn't it? You should have listened to your words in that one, Dante. It was all there for you to see. He paused for a second, before quoting from the page in his hand. After all, does the bad guy ever truly think of themselves as such? He laughed. In case you missed that, Dante, you are the bad guy here.

Not Samantha's caring brothers. And what about Lily, Dante? She was nothing but hired help. A devoted nurse. Someone who loved people. She never loved you. She was never yours to lose, Dante. But it really is quite humorous.

to see how you imagined your relationship in these scribbles of yours. I guess, to a certain degree, you knew that. Why else would you have her go missing at the end of each story? You could never have her Dante. And it appears that you always knew that. This is where I belong. I deserve to be here. He smiled slightly.

Oh, yes, you do. But to go back to the... the first question you asked me. Where is here? You already know the answer to that one, Dante. You've been trying to tell yourself for so long. Think about it. All this talk about being trapped or being stuck inside of one room.

Could you have possibly been talking about here? And let us not forget your little coded message into the tombs. How did it go? Take the first? Dante, look at me. you already know where you are. He bent over and placed each story in order on the ground in front of me. Look, he began pointing to each title,

Welcome to the End, Sinner and Sinked, To the Tumes, Hell or High Water. Now let us take the first, shall we? He chuckled slightly as he pointed to the first word of each title. Welcome, sinner to hell. You really have a flare for the dramatic, don't you? I am in hell. Once more he laughed.

Yes, you are, Tante, and you will be here forever, despite what you might think. You see, that is your torment. Your punishment is not to relax. live these little stories of yours. It is not the pain which you are feeling now as you cry pathetically on the floor. No, your punishment is the belief that you can actually beat the system, that you can actually beat the devil. Dante, nobody beats the devil.

This is all part of the design, and it is made this way with a purpose. You've gone through this little game an infinite number of times. A year ago, Dante, the time when you think that you lost everything, let me tell you a little secret. A year ago was not a year ago. You have been here for so much longer than that. You died? A very long time ago. Each time you go through this, after each time you suffer at the realization of the truth, your memory is cleansed.

well, not completely. We have to ensure that you remember just enough to think that you can actually escape. Hubris is a dangerous thing, Dante. It has hardly been your ally for all of these years. Now has it. This is it. As he stood above me,

the purest form of evil and physical form looking down at me with devious intent, I knew that I was spent. Every single word that he spoke, every little truth that I had tried so desperately to hide from, it was all here. Within this one room, I would have to face myself over and over again.

A torment that would never cease, a pain that would never end. My own arrogance had been my downfall, and in my own displaced confidence would be my future. I had done the unthinkable, and I had become the unthinkable. If there was anything remaining of my soul, it was destined to burn for an eternity. That is it, he smiled, reaching down to me with a feigned assistance. You can feel it, now can't you, Dante?

This is your home, and this is where you belong. The circle is your future now, but maybe, just maybe, the next time. you can figure out a way to break free. He laughed at his own comment. Come along, Dante. It's just a joke. Have a sense of humor. Actually, scratch that. Have a sense of occasion.

We both know there is no escaping this. You want to continue on, don't you? You need to continue on with this. It is a part of you. Is it not? The belief that you know better, that you can work at life by yourself. Fix things, escape judgment.

You are a clever man, Dante, just not as clever as me. I know that you want this. After all, was it not you who once infamously said that sometimes the sinner is more willing to bestow divine retribution upon themselves? No, I can escape. I will escape. This will not be my end.

I can be here. The smile was noticeable as it pushed its way across his gaunt features. Is that so? Well, I guess it takes a monster to beat a monster. I bet we'd give it another try then. Who cares that it is $17,282,850,332,211 to nil. Really, I mean, who's keeping score anyway? Slowly, I rose to my feet.

I can do this. Yes, that's it. Why don't you take a seat? Best to get comfortable, this may take a while. I ignored his slight comments as I sank back down into my chair. New sheets of paper materialized in front of me. Blank slates, ready to accept the next chapter of my dismal and eternal fate. This time will be different.

it can be different. I slowly took the first sheet and carefully placed it into the typewriter, as he came and took a seat across from me. Your ghost are real, Dante. It will follow you forever. I would not let him win. I could beat him. I can figure this out.

I can fix this. Here we go again. He chuckled. I bet. I bet this, this for sure, the one, Dante. I've got a really good feeling about this one. And then it came, the overwhelming urge to raise my arms. I allowed them to move without any restraint as I watched as my fingers rested softly against the keys. How about those short stories with tragic endings?

My mind began to fizz as my fingers began to type. As convicted as I was in my desire to beat him, I knew that somewhere within me, beneath the depths of my terrible exterior, beneath the damned layers of skin that lined my body, further down, within my core and within the darkest recesses of my heart, I knew that it was hopeless. I had come to learn a truth about myself, and it was not just the terrible actions that I had committed in my earthly form, but a hideous and unbreakable truth that disres.

despite my best efforts resonated through my mind as my fingers continued unaided against the keys. It repeated, and it echoed as the dream began to take hold. Ghosts can come in many different forms. They can be big, and they can be scary. They can be visceral and they can be disturbing, but they can also be small and subtle, lurking just on the precipice of our reality, silently reminding us of what we fear. are the most in our lives.

They can also be moments. Ghosts can be memories, events, cause and effect. Our ghosts can trap us if we are not careful, and they can freeze time, imprisoning us in our memories, in our events, and in our lives. They can fragment our reality. They can hold us stationary, and they can damn us for an eternity. They can burn us. but more importantly, they can cause our downfall.

You see, ghosts come in many shapes and sizes, and I knew in that moment as I began the journey once again that mine would imprison me for all of time. After all, mine was forever. Mine was a circle. So this was, this is the story of you by Mr. Ray Beeman. A chilling conclusion to this series by an amazing author. It has been an absolute pleasure to go from the first part to this end.

Honestly, Ray, I cannot thank you enough for writing this series, for writing all the stories you've written for the channel, for being just an amazing author. Thank you so very much, man. I am in awe at how you managed to pull this together. I will say my theory was partially correct. Not perfectly, but partially. So, yeah.

My 2 a.m. thinking way, way back, did the trick, apparently. So once again, thank you very much, Mr. Beeman. Everybody, please leave a comment, thanking this beautiful man for these amazing stories. And be sure to check out all of his stories and other channels as well. He's written for quite a few other people. Find him on Twitter, I believe, is the best way to get to all. of his stories. So, yeah. All that said, friends, if you enjoyed this, please hit that thumbs up button.

Please leave me a comment, again, praising Mr. Beeman and myself, I guess, if you want to. And also, if you're new to the channel, consider subscribing. Yeah, that's about all I can think of other than if you want to support the channel further, just go to patreon.com slash as the raven dreams or hit join down below. And for a dollar a month, you can get early access to content like this. Yeah. This was a long story to record, guys. So I'm going to end this outro with a simple, I love you all.

I hope you are having a beautiful day. I hope you have a wonderful weekend. And I hope I will see you on the next video. But until then, sleep well.