Creepy - I'm An Insomniac With Missing Memories

Episode Date: August 19, 2021

Is it worth remembering? The Creepyppasta***Written by YouShallNotPass121 and narrated By: Alicia Atkins***Content Warning: Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Child Death***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko 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.

Welcome to the bloody disgusting network. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastors and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or, not simply fabrications, is for you to decide. These stories may contain breakfast. Effect evictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents. I'm an insomniac with missing memories. Recently, I started to piece them all together, and they revealed a traumatic childhood event. Written by You Shall Not Pass One-21, and narrated by Alicia Atkins. I suffer from severe insomnia. so much so that I sometimes have to be sedated in order to rest properly.

They say that you can survive 11 days of no sleep consecutively, and the longest I've ever gone is nine days. The doctors thought it was something psychological, something that I apparently didn't want to face, but how could I face something I didn't know existed? I've been to countless therapists, participated in thousands of sleep studies, and nothing helped.

I started to believe I was a lost cause that I couldn't be fixed. They told me it was some kind of trauma I suffered growing up. That was the only possible explanation. And I'd blocked it out to save myself from a nervous breakdown. Recently, a lot of my memories have been coming back to me, though. My brain was like the loss and found. I didn't know what belonged to me.

But I rummaged through nonetheless, hoping to discover a little bit more about myself, rediscover who I was before the insomnia. get back some of that identity I was clearly missing. A little piece of myself I lost. I was like a puzzle with missing pieces, and I was desperate to find them so that I could put myself together, be a whole person instead of just a half.

It started with these little fragmented flashes of memory. They would invade my head, crash into my thoughts like unrelenting waves of a stormy ocean. It was small things I'd remember to begin with. Like what I got for Christmas when I was 11 years old, which was a Monopoly board game, by the way. Then other more significant memories would flood in. I started to remember my old childhood home,

the one I used to live in with my grandparents. I knew that I didn't always live in London. I knew I was from somewhere else. My parents made sure to remind me of things like that, things they knew I didn't remember, like I was originally born and bred in Lithuania. a little small town called Vilnius, and that I lived there up until I was 16. It wasn't long after that I started to have trouble sleeping and begin losing my memories.

It was the way my parents talked about our life back then. Their eyes would glimmer like stars on a warm summer night, as if whatever went on there was a secret, something they themselves wished to forget. I never probed, never asked. Perhaps it was that part of me that knew those memories were the reasons behind my ailments as an adult. But pretty soon, I had no choice but to remember. We lived in a more rural part of Vilnius, filled with picturesque forest.

I remember now how it felt living there. It was like living in a postcard. It was that beautiful. My grandmother was one of those traditional Eastern European women, a true babushka, the site of her used to warm my insides like hot milk. Growing up, my grandparents used to live in this huge apartment block. It would traverse the clouds almost. We lived on floor 11.

I guess now that I was much older, it didn't seem as high, but as a kid? It seemed humongous, frighteningly so. I remember I used to love exploring all the floors, take the lift up and down. It was a silly little game I played as a lonely little girl with no one to call my friend. I'd start on the first floor and work my way all the way up to the top. The building was made up of 15 floors. It used to take me a while exploring each one. The lift used to take forever. But eventually, I'd get to the 15th floor and feel like I'd gotten to the summit of Mount Everest. I was so proud of myself every time. My grandma used to call me her little explorer. It stopped being a

game as I grew older, though. Instead, it became almost ritual. something I did on a daily basis. Old habits die hard, I guess. I think the traumatic event happened when I was 14 years old. I don't remember the day, but I remember that it was noon. I was about to play my silly little game when I noticed something different when I stepped into the lift. There was something above floor 15, a new button. It looked old and worn, like it had been pressed.

too many times. Above it, in faded letters, read number 16. I frowned. There was no 16th floor. I knew that. I'd been up and down in this lift and traversed this building countless times

over the years. There had never been a button for floor 16. This building only had 15 floors. I knew that. So what in the world was this? I was curious, though, so... I pressed it. Wouldn't you?

I guess kids are inquisitive that way. Seeking out things they shouldn't. And I should definitely never have sought out floor 16, considering what it did to me. As soon as I pressed it, I felt the lift roar with life. It groaned and rumbled quietly, like distant thunder, and then it slowly began to move.

The journey up felt much longer than it usually did. I found that my nerves were quite wrought. I was anxious and I didn't know why. I watched each button light up as the lift made its way up. When it finally got to floor 15, the lift trudged along ever so slowly. Eventually, it stopped. The doors opened and the first thing I saw was nothing. The corridor was shrouded and complete in utter darkness.

An eerie silence endured and it felt like it lasted forever. I wasn't scared at this point, not yet. I wasn't afraid at the dark. I took a step forward and immediately noticed the drastic change in temperature. It felt below freezing in there. I shivered as I continued, my body shaking uncontrollably, going almost rigid from the cold. Then suddenly, the corridor flooded with light. It was so bright I had to shield my eyes.

I stood with my eyes shut for a while, almost too scared to open them. When I did, though, the thing was. that I saw in front of me is almost too grotesque to put into words. Before me, leaning against a charred, blood-covered wall, stood a large wooden cross. It was the biggest cross I'd ever seen in my life, jet black in color. It was adorned in blood-red carnations, which were woven through it, covering it from top to bottom. I looked down and saw dozens of other flowers laid out haphazardly. There were lilies, roses, and orchids, all the color of crimson.

My eyes widened and hoar as I saw what was in the middle. It was a doll. Its still plastic face unnerved me. Its eyes seemed to follow me as I moved around the cross. Its lips were parted, slightly ajar and bloodstained. It wore ragged, torn clothes that I thought was supposed to be a dress. In the middle of the doll's chest was a knife. Clunge deep into the middle.

As I leaned in to look closer, I saw that it too was covered in blood. I somehow managed to tear my eyes away from the ghastly sight in front of me, and I looked around. There were two flats on either side. Both looked too old-fashioned to be a part of the building. Everything looked burned to a crisp, bloody and raw. It was as I stared into the door on the right that I saw it was glowing. It looked like it was on fire. Then something stirred within, a shape. I stood so still, not daring to move a muscle for the fear that I would be heard. The silence was absolute, until it wasn't.

Amidst all the terror that surrounded me, I heard a cry, the wail of a small child. Its harrowing cries grew louder and louder, and before I knew it, the whole corridor shook with the sound. It was deafening. I tried to leave but found that the lift was gone and there was no button to call it back. I was stuck. Tears rolled down my face as I frantically tried to find a way out. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the glowing door open. From within came a roaring fire.

It licked the edges of the door. The smoke swirled and rippled. Out of the mouth of the fire came a man. When he stepped into view, I recoiled at the sight of him. His skin was scorched to the bone, completely blackened by fire. His clothes were melted into his flesh, now a part of him. I saw exposed muscle and bone, all charred. It was still sizzling.

The smell was unimaginable. I know most people say that burning flesh smells like bacon. Well, it doesn't. The smell is more akin to beef that's been left burning at a pan. It's the fat that smells like bacon. Mixed in was the horrifically sharp smell of sulfur. I remember vomiting. I was so dizzy.

Despite my bleary vision, I saw something in the burned man's left hand. He was dragging something. A body. Its small frame was awash with flame. But I could see it. stirring, trying to wriggle out of the burned man's grasp. It was a child, a little girl, to be precise. She looked just like the doll that was embedded in the cross, to the detail, even to the bloodied mouth. She was crying, screaming, but the burn man paid her no mind. Then I heard her say

something that chilled me to the bone. Please, Daddy, stop. He stopped then. and look down at her meek frame. I told you what would happen if you did that again. Now you'll have to answer to God. I didn't do anything, Daddy, please. You're hurting me. As they both got closer, I saw that she wasn't so little. She was a lot older than I'd first thought. A teenager, maybe, a young woman.

He dragged her to the cross, which was now bare. The carnations, the flower, and the doll were all gone. I will drive this evil from you. He hissed. Smoke escaped through his teeth as he spoke. He suspended her in the middle of the cross, held her by the throat. I saw his eyes and they glowed so bright. But there was no kindness there.

No love? He hated this girl, and he yearned to harm her. I could feel it. In his other hand, he held a knife. It was sacrificial, one of those with strange symbols etched into the blade. I don't know what came over me. But I couldn't let this happen. As unexplainable as it all was, I couldn't let him kill her.

I ran over and screamed. I shouted at him. He stopped, slowly lowered the knife, and turned his gaze toward me. His face changed. It warped. His charred features rippled right in front of my eyes. Then he spoke to me.

I curse you, he said. May you never again rest, and may flame, death, and misery forever haunt you until you die. Then without hesitation, he whipped around and stabbed the girl in the chest. plunds the knife so deep into her heart. Daddy! She whimpered, blood flowing out of her mouth. He walked back toward the flame-covered door,

walked inside and shed it behind him. I ran over to the girl, but she was nothing but a plastic doll again. The lift had reappeared again, and I ran as fast as I could. I was hysterical beside myself. When I got back, my grandparents were frantic.

Apparently I had been gone for five hours. Was that possible? Could it have been? I didn't know what was real anymore. My grandparents thought someone attacked me at first, even after I tried to tell them what I had seen, what I had experienced on the 16th floor. They told me that the 16th floor burned down.

It hadn't existed for a long time. Apparently it burned down 30 years ago burned down by a man that had lost his mind This man had murdered his wife and his daughter And then set fire to their bodies Himself included No one knew why It was a tragedy

It was not long after that I started having trouble sleeping And losing my memory It was his curse I still can't sleep but now I know why, and it hasn't cured me. It hasn't given me back that part of myself that I so desperately need it. If anything, I suffer more now. When I do rest, my dreams are plagued by those horrific memories

of that man's burned face and the anguish cries of that girl. Confronting those memories hasn't helped me heal. I realize now that perhaps Some memories should stay forgotten. They should stay buried, locked away, and never be allowed to resurface again. I used to yearn for sleep. And now all I want to do is stay awake, because every time I close my eyes, all I see is fire.

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