CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "Participants Needed for Sleep Study! Earn $5,000! No Experience Required" Creepypasta

Episode Date: August 23, 2024

8,337 views  20 Aug 2024  CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Horror Stories PodcastCREEPYPASTA STORY►by Frequent-Cat:   / participants_needed_for_sleep_study_earn_5...  Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"-    • "I wasn't careful enough on the deep ...  ►"Personal Favourites"-    • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher...  ►"Written by me"-    • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creep...  ►"Long Stories"-    • Long Stories  FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter:   / creeps_mcpasta  ►Instagram:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Twitch:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Facebook:   / creepsmcpasta  CREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only

Participants needed for sleep study, earn $5,000, no experience required. I was just your average guy struggling to make ends meet. The bills were piling up. My job at the convenience store barely covered the rent, and my girlfriend of three years had just left me for someone with a better future. I felt trapped, suffocating under the weight of my own inadequacies. So, when I was scrolling through jobless, things at my phone, I came across an ad that seemed too good to be true. It was from

a group called SleepCo. They described themselves as scientists looking to run a study with psychology students for their final year university project. I stared at the ad, my mind turning. $5,000 could solve a lot of my problems, rent, credit card debt, and even a little bit left over to start fresh. or at least try to. But there are enough horror stories online of false, malicious ads that I had to think about it. I ultimately decided that I have nothing left to lose. I was at rock bottom, so knowing I couldn't sink any further, the only direction was up.

I clicked the link and filled out the application. If it was just a ploy to steal my details, then they would struggle to use it as much as I did. What I didn't expect was being contacted a few days later. I received a call from a woman named Dr. Harris, who sounded professional and reassuring. She explained that the study was designed to monitor sleep patterns and improve sleep quality. It sounded harmless enough. Besides, sleep was also on my long list of current issues So if this could help with that too

It was a bonus on top of the promised pay I agreed to participate The study was taking place at a facility about an hour outside the city Dr Harris arranged a car to pick me up and take me there I was instructed to pack a small bag of essentials Clothes toiletries in my phone Getting away from things, I hope that this could be the beginning of something better, a detox from the depths of wallowing I was living in. God knows I needed it.

When the car arrived, I was greeted by a cheerful driver who chatted with me during the drive. I felt like I had to relearn how to talk to another human, but I picked up my social skills as we went. Soon enough, I felt a social connection. something I've been missing for a while. As we left the city behind, I felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. The driver assured me that the facility was state of the art and that many people had previously participated in studies there. We arrived at a sleek, modern building nestled in a secluded area surrounded by trees.

It looked more like a high-end spa than a research facility. instead of a cold, experimental lab that I'd imagined it would be. I was greeted by a friendly receptionist who handed me a clipboard with a consent form. I skimmed through the legal jargon. My eyes caught phrases like informed consent, monitoring and potential side effects. Despite a slight pang of anxiety, I signed the form and handed it back, figuring this was just legal mumbo-jumbo that covered their asses. I figured this was my personal risk for such a payout.

Dr Harris soon appeared, a woman in the early 40s with a calm demeanour and an air of authority. She gave me a brief tour of the facility, showing me the lounging area, the cafeteria, and finally my room. I imagined it to be a cold, sterile room, with wires and monitors everywhere, a scientist with a clipboard around me at all time, But no, it was a small, comfortable living space with a single bed, a desk and a large mirror on one wall.

We want you to feel at home, Dr. Harris said warmly. If you need anything, just press the button by the door. We'll start the study tonight. Until then, feel free to relax. I spent the afternoon exploring the facility and meeting the day. the other participants. There was Lisa, a single mom trying to save money for a daughter's school fees. Kevin was a college student struggling with tuition, and then there was Mark, a recently laid-off factory worker. We all had our reasons for being here, and it was comforting to know

I wasn't alone. That night, I was given a set of comfortable pajamas and hooked up to various sensors. Now it was starting to align with my perception of this study. Electrodes were attached to my temples, chest and arms. It felt a bit intrusive, but Dr. Harris assured me it was all standard procedure, and that it wouldn't affect my sleep, just monitored it. She wished me a good night and left the room. The first night was uneventful. I had a few dreams, none away. One of which I remembered in detail. I woke up feeling slightly disoriented, but chalked it up to the new environment. The next day, I met up with the others. Most of them related to what I described, and we all figured we were all adjusting to the new stimulus. However, Mark was different. He didn't

seem to be taking well to things, saying how they invaded his sleep, and he felt exhausted from the study. He must have been very out of his comfort zone. A plus side was that they weren't joking when they said we'd be looked after. I ate like a king compared to my usual instant meals and had so much freedom compared to my dinky apartment. After a relaxing day of comfort, I was ready for the second night of sleep. However, the second night was different. I had a vivid dream of wandering through a dark forest, chased by an unseen entity. No matter how fast I ran or how erratic I made turns, it was always on my tail. Eventually, it lunged and tackled me to the ground.

Dreams always feel real in the moment, and I was overcome with a fear of death. In the struggle, I turned, and saw my ex's disappointed face. Before I could process this, I jolted up in a panic, back in the facility's bed. I was covered in a cold sweat, the fear coming through my body, but slowly passing as I processed where I was. I couldn't piece together all the details when I woke, the experience having left my mind quickly. Dr. Harris asked me to describe the dream as best I could, taking notes thoughtfully. I was instructed to give all the details of anything sleep related, so I tried.

She seemed intrigued by the details, even though they made little sense to me. Dreams are a natural part of the process, she explained. They can become more intense when your brain is adjusting to the monitoring equipment. I nodded, trying to shake off the lingering dread after the meeting. It clicked what she said. They mentioned monitoring, which had nothing to do with influencing dreams. As far as I was aware, this was just supposed to study our sleep patterns.

But, no matter how much I tried to deny it, the dreams only grew more disturbing over the next few nights. Each night, the dreams became darker and more terrifying, more vivid, more memorable. One night, I dreamt I was buried on. alive, the weight of the earth pressing down on me, making it impossible to breathe. It was too dark to see anything. No light penetrated where I was. I struggled and felt the earth around me loosening. Eventually, I could turn more and more and jostled my way out.

And when I looked back, it wasn't dirt, but papers with red headers. Late Bills. I woke out of breath, feeling pressure released from my chest as I shot up. Another night I was trapped in a burning building, the heat and smoke suffocating. I escaped, and when I turned, I saw that it was my childhood home. Though I made it out, the screams from within told me I'd left behind what was valuable to me. I woke up, gasping for air, my heart. heart raising. I wiped copious amounts of sweat from my forehead and when I pushed off the bed to

fetch a towel, my bed was drenched too. Throughout the day, I felt a growing sense of exhaustion. The other participants seemed to be experiencing similar issues. Lisa had dark circles under her eyes. Kevin looked perpetually anxious and Mark was irritable and jumpy. We shared our experiences, finding some comfort in our shared plight. All the while, Mark raved about conspiracy as he did each day. However, with too much lining up with our experiences, he was starting to make more sense. During this time, my mind was foggy. No matter how much I slept, I would have no energy for the day. I could no longer enjoy the parts of the facility that relaxed me before. Any thoughts of doing something was overridden by a need to stay stagnant.

When I was stumbling through a hallway, I overheard Dr. Harris and another scientist talking. They did so in hushed tones, so I focused up the best I could and hidden place, trying to listen in. They mentioned something about phase two and neural manipulation. My curiosity peaked and my mind fighting to remain focused through the lingering fatigue, I decided to investigate further. That night, after the lights went out, I snuck out of my room and made my way to Dr. Harris's office. I was wary of footsteps and the lurking scientists who were setting up for work.

However, I also had to battle the footsteps that weren't real. My mind was playing tricks on me, an enemy to my goal from the exhaustion weighing on me. My only saving grace was knowing where the office was. It was the room behind where Dr. Harris conducted interviews. She seemed to want to work close to the sources of the information she extracted from us. Inside, I dug through stacks of papers accumulated around the desk, details on each of the participants, including myself.

Eventually, I found a stack of files labelled, confidential. potential, hidden away. I skimmed through them, and my heart started pounding. The jargon and sciencey words I didn't understand, but I got the gist from the parts I could. These were details about an experiment on manipulating dreams to study the effects of fear on the human brain. The title and logo at the top did not match the advertisement for this place. Instead of Sleepy Co, it was some cryptic symbol with the company's name blotted out. I was sickened, knowing we were essentially guinea pigs in a study designed to push the boundaries of human mental endurance. My mind screamed at me in an I-told-you-so way.

I know I couldn't get out just yet. My phone was still in the room and all the scientists and workers were up and about. Besides, knowing this wasn't just a group of jovial scientists, I didn't want to try escape unprepared. My best bet would be to leave during the day. I slipped away back to my room and a scientist stood waiting, ready to put on the electrodes and wires. I simply laid down and allowed it. After a grace period, I slipped them off and had the most restful sleep I'd had in a while.

The next morning I was confronted by Dr. Harris. She demanded an explanation for why no data was picked up from my sleep. They were thorough on the placement on how the pads were secured, so they knew it had to have been me who tampered with them. The intimidating part was how calm she remained while hitting me with the coldest stare. I was caught off guard, and since I'd just woken up, my mind was hate. for an excuse. So instead, I jump straight into the accusations.

I saw the papers. This isn't some innocent sleep study. You're using us, I asserted. Her face calmed, wearing the confidence of her actions. You signed the consent forms. You agreed to participate in this study. We're simply observing the effects. The effects?

The effects? the effects your causing? This is torture, I shouted. This seemed to sadden her slightly, which surprised me. We're close to a breakthrough. You have no idea what's at stake here. Dr. Harris sighed. I did not care for a study, especially since I was the guinea pig.

Something to be used for a cause I knew nothing about. So, I stormed out. determined to leave the facility. But when I tried to open the main door, it was locked. Dr. Harris signalled to someone, and they ran off and did something. I picked up what it was

as soon as I looked at my phone. The signal bar drained until it was utterly useless. The friendly receptionist was nowhere to be found. It was just the subjects and the scientists. Panic set in, as I realized, we were trapped. Being captive left me no choice.

There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. So, I was resigned to my room, now under constant watch. They simply told the others that I was being observed during the day to test an anomaly, and the look I was shot told me to keep up with the story. As soon as we were to turn in, the others who were none the wiser went to their rooms. My arms and legs were strapped down, making it impossible to take the tendrils of the nightmare machine off. That night, the dreams crossed the line. I was in my room, but it wasn't my room.

The walls were covered in dirty handprints and the mirror showed a reflection that was me, but moving autonomously. Worst of all, it could talk. Its mouth curled up into a knowing grimace and whispered my darkest fears. My insecurities, my past mistakes,

all my life regrets, laid out to bear. I tried to wake up, but I couldn't. The nightmare continued, blurring the lines between dream and subconscious thought. When I woke, I struggled against my restraints. A scientist came in and undid them calmly, disregarding my struggles.

I stumbled out of my room, seeking help. But the halls were empty. Looking around, the whole facility was deserted, except for those working there. The other participants were gone. Their rooms packed up like they weren't even there. I felt isolated. It was just me, left to the machinations of these monsters. Desperate for answers, I went to Dr. Harris's office to either confront her if she was there

or find any information that could help me. But there she was, waiting for me. Welcome, she greeted calmly. Where is everyone? I demanded desperately. They've moved on. You're the last one. She replied cryptically.

This felt like a mistake, so I sharply turned to run. But she pressed the button on a desk and the door slammed in my face, my nose crunching against it. It must have broken or at the very least fractured. I think you're special, Ryan. Your brain has shown remarkable receptiveness to my machine. your life is so meaningless that you lend well to the escapes of dreams and fantasy. I thought to attack her or at least go-down swinging.

But she pushed the button again and I was rushed by too many people who had gathered on the other side. I was quickly held down and after a sharp prick everything went black. I awoke, strapped to a chair in a sterile room. Electrodot attached to my head. Dr. Harris stood nearby, monitoring the screen filled with data. This was closer to what I imagined when I first got here. There was a twist of irony in my head that at least my instincts were somewhat right. This is the final phase, she said.

we are going to explore the deepest recesses of your mind if what I had dreamt wasn't the deepest dread filled me worrying about what would surface the machine were to life and I felt a tingle of electricity coursing through my body my vision was filled with rapid horrific images my parents' funeral my girlfriend leaving me

the moment I realized I was trapped here Everything wrong in my life flashed before my eyes. The pain was unbearable, both physically and mentally. My mind fracturing under the strain. I screamed at them to stop, which only fell on deaf ears. Dr. Harris's face remained impassive. We were almost there, Ryan, just a little more. The pain was too much, and I passed out.

Yet I knew it was still. Still going while I was unconscious. I could still feel it. I don't remember how long it lasted. When I finally regained consciousness, I was back in my room, the electrodes removed. My mind was a shattered mess,

fragments of nightmares bleeding into reality. I stumbled to the mirror, barely recognising the gaunt, haunted figure staring back at me. The man led me to Dr. Harris, who greeted me warmly, and conducted her interview. I just mumbled along, barely answering what she had said.

With the disappointing ending, she sent me off to the others. I went out, and there they were. Lisa, Kevin and Mark. They were packed and ready to go, big grins on their faces. I'm sad to leave this place. It's so nice here, but I'm happy to get back. to my kids, Lisa said, enthused. This snapped me into the moment, swirls of thoughts and confusion mixing around my head.

One of the scientists placed the hand of my back and I flinched around. He looked at me, confused at my reaction, and held my bag, which was already packed with my things. Oh, I just... You were late, so I packed everything up for you. Sorry for startling you, he stuttered. This was a far cry from the menacing demeanor they all had and the almost militaristic actions they synchronized with. Dr. Harris approached.

Your sleep was the most disturbed of everyone's. You should get that checked out. I can recommend a facility that specializes in that, she mused. She promised to email me the details and left to return to her office. I just coasted through my goodbyes with the other participants and was let out by the friendly receptionist.

I left, floating on an air of uncertainty and dread. When I got home, I was no closer to knowing than when I had left that office. All I knew was when I rubbed my nose to which it, it stung with a pang of pain, I sat down in my apartment, autopilot landed me back in front of my computer, ready to decompress with whatever entertainment I could find.

Anything to get my mind off things. When my email dinged with a notification, it was from Dr. Harris. It was a recommendation for another sleep study. This was headed by a different doctor in a different location. It offered $10,000 for participation, which not long ago would have made my mouth water at the prospect. She noted that they work with people with troubled sleep and that they could go deeper into my sleep to find what makes me tick, which was a disturbing way to phrase it. But what disturbed me most was the header.

No facility name was mentioned, but their logo was all. too familiar. It was the same one on the notes I found in Dr. Harris's office. What did I find it? I was still questioning what was real and what wasn't. But it was too much of a coincidence to deny. I instantly deleted the email and blocked all correspondence from Dr. Harris. I'm still haunted by the nightmares.

Even without the machine, I still occasionally get vivid dreams of cryptic scenarios that echo my day-to-day struggles. It followed me home, a shadow lurking at the edges of my subconscious. But there's nothing I can do about it. Hey, please, a strange woman gave me nightmares about my inadequacies. Why, yes, I did sign a paper saying they could do it.

Why do you ask? It's preposterous. I can't escape it, and I could never go after them for it. But hey, in the end of the day, at least I got paid.