Creepy - Day 16 - Tulpa

Episode Date: October 16, 2017

I saw him...***Presented by: Roll4Change (http://roll4change.org)***Sound design by: Steve Blizin Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened, or our simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy presents, the 31 days of horror. Day 16. Tulpa.

Last year I spent six months participating in what I was told was a psychological experiment. I found an ad in my local paper looking for imaginative people looking to make good money, and since it was the only ad that week, I was remotely qualified for. I gave him a call. We arranged for an interview. told me all I would have to do is stay in a room, alone, with sensors attached to my head to read my brain activity, and while I was there I would visualize a double of myself. They called it my tulpa.

It seemed easy enough, and I agreed to do it as soon as they told me how much I would be paid. And the next day I began. They brought me to a simple room, gave me a bed. They attached sensors to my head and hooked me into a little black box on the table beside me. They talked me through the process of visualizing my double again and explain that if I got bored or restless, instead of moving around, I should visualize my double moving around, or try to interact with them, and so on. The idea was to keep him with me the entire time I was in the room. I had trouble with it for the first few days.

It was more controlled than any sort of daydreaming I'd done before. I'd imagine my double for a few minutes, then grow distracted. but by the fourth day, I could manage to keep him present for the entire six hours. They told me I was doing very well. The second week, they gave me a different room with wall-mounted speakers. They told me they wanted to see if I could still keep the tulpa with me in spite of distracting stimuli. The music was discordant, ugly, and unsettling. And it made the process a little more difficult, but I managed nonetheless.

The next week they played even more unsettling music, punctuated with shrieks, feedback loops, what sounded like an old-school modem dialing up and guttural voices speaking some font language. I just laughed it off. I was a pro by then. After about a month, I started to get bored. To liven things up, I started interacting with my doppelganger. We'd have conversations or play rock-paper-scissors, or I'd imagine him juggling, or breakdancing or whatever caught my fancy.

I asked the researchers if my foolishness would adversely affect their study, but they encouraged me. So we played and communicated, and that was fun for a while. And then it got a little strange. I was telling him about my first date one day, and then he corrected me. I'd said my date was wearing a yellow top,

and he told me it was a green one. I thought about it for a second, and I realized he was right. It creeped me out. And after my shift that day, I talked to the researchers about it. You're using the thought form to access your subconscious, they explained. You knew on some level you were wrong, and you subconsciously corrected yourself. What had been creepy was suddenly cool. I was talking to my subconscious.

It took some practice, but I found that I could question. from my toll upon access all sorts of memories. I could make a quote whole pages of books I'd read once, years before, or things I was taught and immediately forgotten high school. It was awesome. That was around the time I started calling up my double outside of the research center, not often at first, but I was so used to imagining by now that it almost seemed odd not to see him.

So whenever I was bored, I'd visualize my double. Eventually I started doing it almost all the time. It was amusing to take him along like an invisible friend. I'd imagined him when I was hanging out with friends or visiting my mom. I even brought him along on a date once. I didn't need to speak loud to him so I was able to carry out conversations with him and no one was the wiser. I know that sounds strange, but it was fun. Not only was he a walking repository of everything I knew and everything had forgotten.

he also seemed more in touch with me than I did at times. He had an uncanny grasp of the minutia of body language that I didn't even realize I was picking up on. For example, I thought the date I brought him on was going badly, but he pointed out how she was laughing a little too hard at my jokes and leaning towards me as I spoke, a bunch of other subtle clues I wasn't consciously picking up on. I listened and, let's just say that the date went very well.

By the time I'd been at the research center for four months, he was with me constantly. The researchers approached me one day after my shift and asked me if I'd stop visualizing him. I denied it, and they seemed pleased. I silently asked my double if he knew what prompted that, but he just shrugged it off. So did I. I withdrew a little from the world at that point. I was having trouble relating to people. It seemed to me they were so confused and unsure of themselves.

while I had a manifestation of myself to confer with. It made socializing awkward. Nobody else seemed aware of the reasons behind their actions, why some things made them mad and others made them laugh. They didn't know what moved them. But I did. Or at least I could ask myself and get an answer. A friend confronted me one evening.

He pounded at the door until I answered it, came in fuming and swearing up a storm. You haven't answered when I called you in fucking weeks, you dick? He yelled. What's your fucking problem? I was about to apologize to him. I probably would have offered to hit the bars with him that night. But my tulipa grew suddenly furious.

It said. And before I knew what I was doing, I had. I heard his nose break. He fell to the floor and came up, swinging and we beat each other up and down my apartment. I was more furious than I've ever been, and I was not merciful. I knocked him to the ground and gave him two savage kicks to the ribs. That was when he fled, hunched over and sobbing.

The police were by a few minutes later, but I told him that he'd been an instigator. Since he wasn't around to refute me, they let me off with a warning. My tulipo was grinning the entire time. We spent the night crowing about my victory and sneering over how badly I'd beaten my friend. It wasn't until the next morning, when I was checking out my black eye and cut lip in the mirror, that I remembered what had set me off. My double was the one who'd grown furious, not me. I'd been feeling guilty and a little ashamed, but he goaded me into a vicious fight with a concerned friend.

He was present. of course I knew my thoughts you don't need him anymore you don't need anyone else he told me and I felt my skin crawl I explained all this to the researchers who employed me

but they just laughed it off you can't be scared of something that you're imagining one told me my double stood beside me and nodded his head and smirked at me. I tried to take their words to heart, but over the next few days I found myself growing more and more anxious around my tulpa.

And it seemed that he was changing. He looked taller and more menacing. His eyes twinkled with mischief, and I saw malice in his constant smile. No job was worth losing my mind over, I decided. If he was out of control, I'd put him down. I was so used to him at this point visualizing him was an automatic process, so I started trying my damnedest not to visualize him.

It took a few days, but it started to work somewhat. I could get rid of him for hours at a time, but every time he came back, he seemed worse. His skin seemed ashen, his teeth more pointed. He hissed and gibbered and threatened and swore. The discord music I've been listening to for months seemed to accompany him everywhere. Even when I was at home, I'd relax and slip up no longer concentrating on not seeing him.

There he'd be in that howling noise with him. I was still visiting the research center and spending my six hours there. I needed the money, and I thought they weren't aware that I was now actively not visualizing my tulpa. I was wrong. After my shift one day, about five and a half months in, Two impressive men grabbed and restrained me, and someone in a lab code jabbed a hypodermic needle into my body. I woke up from my stupor back in the room, strapped into the bed, music and were blaring with my doppelgamer standing over with cackling.

He hardly looked human anymore. His features were twisted. His eyes were sunken in their sockets and filmed over like a corpses. He was much taller than me, but hunched. over. His hands were twisted and the fingernails were like talons. He was, in short, fucking terrifying. I tried to will him away, but I just couldn't seem to concentrate. He giggled and tapped the IV in my arm. I thrashed in my restraints as best I could, but could hardly move at all. They're pumping you full of the good shit, I think. How's the line, all fuzzy. He leaned closer and closer as he spoke.

I gagged. His breasts smelled like spoiled meat. I had to focus. Banish him. The next few weeks were tear. Every so often someone at a doctor's coat would come in and inject me with something or force-feed me a pill. They kept me busy and unfocused and sometimes left me hallucinating or delusional.

My thought form was still present, constantly mocking. He interacted with or perhaps caused my delusions. I hallucinated that my mother was there, scolding me, cut her throat. Her blood showered me. It was so real that I could taste it. The doctors never spoke to me. I begged at times, screamed, hurled infectives, demanded answers, never spoke to me. They may have talked to my tulpa.

I was so doked and confused it may have just been more delusion. But I remember them talking with him. I grew convinced that he was the real one. And that I was the thought for him. He encouraged that line of thought at times, mocked me at others. Another thing that I pray was a delusion. He could touch me.

More than that. He could hurt me. He'd poke and prod at me if he felt I wasn't paying enough attention to him. Once he'd grab my testicles and squeezed until I told him I loved him. Another time he slashed my forearm with one of his talons. I still have a scar. Most days I can convince myself that I injured myself and just hallucinated that he was responsible. Most days, in one day, while he was telling me a story about how he was going to be,

going to gut everyone I loved, starting with my sister. He paused. Burlius look crossed his face, and reached out and touched my head, like my mother used to when I was feverish. He stayed still for a long moment and then smiled. All thoughts are creative, he told me. Then he walked out the door. Three hours later I was given an injection and passed out. I woke unrestrained. Shaking, I made my way to the door and found it unlocked. I walked out into the empty hallway and then ran. I stumbled more than once, but I made it down the stairs and out into the lot behind the building.

There I collapsed, weeping like a child. I knew I had to keep moving, but I couldn't manage it. I got home eventually. I don't remember how. I locked the door and shoved a dresser against it, took a long shower, and slept for a day and a half. Nobody came for me in the night,

and nobody came the next day or the one after that. It was over. I'd spent a week locked in that room, but it felt like a century. I'd withdrawn so much for my life beforehand that nobody had even known I was missing. The police didn't find anything. The research center was empty when they searched it.

The paper trail fell apart. The names I'd given them were aliases. Even the money I'd received was apparently untraceable. I've recovered as much as I can. I don't leave the house much, and I have panic attacks when I do. I cry a lot. I don't sleep much, and my nightmares are terrible. It's over, I tell myself.

I survived. I used the concentration those bastards taught me to convince myself. It works. Sometimes. Not today, though. Three days ago, I got a phone call from my mother. There's been a tragedy.

My sister's the latest victim in a spree of killings, the police say. The perpetrator mugs his victims. then guts them. The funeral was this afternoon. It was as lovely as service as a funeral can be, I suppose. I was a little distracted, though. All I could hear was music coming from somewhere distant. Discordant.

Unsettling stuff. That sounds like feedback. Shrieking. And a modem to have enough. I still hear it. I hear it still. I love you know. I'm Rob Weeks.

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