Creepy - My Town Just Opened a New Grocery Store & I'm Sorry for Sleeping Alone

Episode Date: March 27, 2025

My Town Just Opened a New Grocery Store***Written by: Ashley Edens and Narrated by: Megan McDuffee***I'm Sorry for Sleeping Alone***Written by: Jerry W. Simmons and narrated by: Jimmy Ferrer***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound design by: Pacific Obadiah***Title music by: Alex Aldea Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

No. 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 are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents. My Town Just Opened a New Grocery Store.

Written by Ashley Edens and narrated by Megan McDuffey. My town just opened a new grocery store. And by a grocery store, I mean the grocery store. While new businesses to accommodate our every desire are exciting in any sized community, Nothing hypes the people like fresh construction sporting a produce aisle in a town nearly impossible to find on a map. It was all anybody could talk about for months. Whether chatting with your favorite neighbor or making polite small talk while in line at the gas station, somebody was bound to start a sentence with the six words.

Have you heard their opening? I mean, half the time it was probably me. If you're from a larger city, you probably don't get it. But if you're from a place where the population doesn't exceed four-place values, you do. As you may have noticed, I just left you hanging there on the store name. And yes, I did it on purpose. Guilty as charged. I'm not the most well-versed in the legal world, but I know better than to besmirch the name of a successful store chain.

I don't even like leaving negative reviews, no matter how many times a company emails me begging for my feedback. Let's just say this place is popular in the Midwest and offers a healthy variety of ingredients while embracing you with its small-town charm. I drove by the construction zone every day on my way to work, enthralled by the progress, commenting on changes I spotted to my family and coworkers, just like everyone else. I encouraged my kids' observational skills as he excitedly pointed at studs becoming walls and walls becoming shapes. also just like everyone else. It really was fun seeing the plot of land grow into the store we knew and loved from surrounding communities,

and it looked just like those other models, until it didn't. The opening date drew nearer and nearer, and finally large, blocky letters were mounted to the wall above the entrance. Something struck me as wrong when I looked at the name, but I couldn't quite grasp why. It wasn't until I took my son for the first time that it clicked. Extending a red-gloved hand toward the building, he pointed out that it was missing an E. I followed his finger and gazed at the glowing marquee letters. He was absolutely right.

It was blatantly missing the letter E, right in the middle of the name. There weren't any unnatural gaps in the letter spacing that you would expect if one had fallen down, or if it hadn't been hung yet. The letters were all smushed together as they confidently and boldly declared the error. It was so obvious, I couldn't believe I didn't recognize it immediately. Hell, why didn't anyone else? This seemed like the sort of thing that would have been scrutinized on the town's Facebook group. I acknowledged my son's excellent grammatical skills and took his hand as we crossed the parking lot.

We didn't come for the grand opening since I figured an event like that would draw folks from even. a couple counties over, eager to win a cheap plastic cup with their first purchase. It seemed best to avoid the opening nonsense and come later in the week once things settled down a bit. So, here we were, four days after the fanfare on a quiet weeknight, happy to pick up some ingredients for dinner. I noted the trace of lemon disinfectant in the air as we grabbed a grocery cart and the soft murmurs of jazzy elevator music drifting amongst the aisles. I smiled as my son's wide eyes took in the surroundings and he pointed out snacks we never buy. I was so thankful the store was nearly empty. Only one elderly woman perusing the canned beans was visible. We would be in and out of there in no time.

First item is broccoli. I announced as we navigated the produce section. Then we stopped to grab pasta and cream, and I gave in to the call of breadsticks as we passed the freezer section. Why not? Our grocery cart's wheel squealed intermittently as we crossed over into the refrigerated meat. I guess you couldn't even escape the curse of the shitty cart in new stores. I scanned the shelves, beef, pork, sausage, turkey, no chicken. I looked harder. Hot dogs, brats, seafood. Still no chicken. My son whined, letting me know he was bored and it was urgent. I apathetically said I heard him and encouraged him to help me find the chicken. I whipped around to head back the other direction and found myself face to face with an employee.

A strangled cry of surprise escaped me. He looked young, probably no older than 20, and wore the classic butcher's garb, a pristinely white apron and matching old-fashioned paper cap, dark hair curled out from beneath his hat and his youthful skin was unblemished aside from a large, distinctive mole under his right eye. I didn't recognize him, but contrary to popular belief, you don't actually know everybody in a small town. He asked politely if he could help me. I let out a breath, chuckling slightly at my embarrassment, before telling him I just couldn't seem to find the chicken. He gave a polite nod before pointing to the shelf right next to me, indicating that

all the fresh chicken was located there. I looked over at the shelf, brimming with a variety of poultry cuts, and back to him in astonishment. There was no way that chicken was just there. I couldn't have possibly overlooked it practically right under my nose. I started to mouth my disbelief, but couldn't quite form any words. He stood rigidly with a tight smile, not revealing any teeth. He looked almost expectant. I forced out something akin to thanks. His smile widened, and then he did reveal his teeth,

looking just as pristine as his uniform, except for his gums. They were inflamed and red with a smattering of faint white, lines. A pink and white pustule peaked out from above his canine tooth. That had to be so painful. I inhaled sharply and said we needed to get going. The worker's mouth closed, but he remained in place as I selected a pack of chicken breasts and put them in the cart. My son had grown quiet, and I clumsily grabbed him by his coat sleeve as I maneuvered the cart down the aisle. His little head twisted back over his shoulder as we walked. I glanced back,

once, but by that point, the employee had gone. Our checkout experience was mostly unremarkable. A similarly aged girl waited at the register. She had chin-length, blonde hair, and intensely blue eyes framed by a pair of neon pink glasses. I didn't recognize her either. The store was still almost empty, so we got through the checkout line very quickly, making minimal conversation about our shopping experience. She paused momentarily, as she paused. As she pulled out the receipt and then turned to hand it to me with a smile. I was relieved to see her mouth was normal, but her left eye visibly twitched as she held the slip of paper out to me. As I folded the receipt to slip in my pocket, I noticed a reddish smear where the girl had touched it. I didn't

use the store for my bulk grocery shopping since there was a super store known for its cheap prices in the larger town where I work. But the new grocery store was extremely useful in a pinch. I would guess I visited about once a week. And yes, I did think my initial experience was a little weird, but figured I was making a bigger deal of it than necessary. The spelling error, which is such a big red flag now, kept getting shuffled at the back of my brain after every visit. I don't know why I didn't bring it up to anybody,

but I just didn't, not until it was too late. The second weird thing I noticed was the staff. I know, I know, my first weird experience centered around the employees, too. But what I mean is the number of employees. It seemed like each time I went in there, there were more and more of them. Sometimes it made sense, like when the store was legitimately busy, and you had to finagle the aisles like an obstacle course. But a lot of the time, you could practically hear crickets harmonizing with the instrumental

crap seeping from the speakers, and stumbling upon person after person, modeling another starched button down and black pants, was disconcerting. The store had four regular checkout lanes, with two additional speedy checkouts. They didn't bother putting in any self-checkout lanes, which I thought was a little odd for a new business, but maybe that was due to the backlash of disgruntled customers feeling tricked into work. At first, only one. Maybe two employees would be stationed at the registers, but each week it seemed another lane was permanently filled. You might catch sight of a grocery bagger

hopping between their responsibilities at the register and the floor, but before long, baggers accompanied each cashier all the time. In the first month, you hardly spied any workers in the aisles, but over the weeks, they too multiplied. And unlike at typical stores where employees, employees on the floor spend time stocking the shelves or facing the merchandise or even just dicking off with co-workers, these employees just, I don't know, lingered. One might be standing, waiting, I guess, at the end of the aisle, and you would have to

navigate gracelessly around their polite, stiff body. When needed, they would approach uncertain customers and were quite helpful, actually. But while not engaged, they'd just... stood. Butchers looked paused behind the meat counter, hands perched atop the glass display, or tucked against their sides as they observed shoppers. Over the weeks, a single employee at the end of the aisle duplicated, in a scene not unlike that one from the shining, another employee would show up on my next visit, standing midway through the cereal aisle. Un settling doesn't come close to the sensation you suffer when approaching aisle,

after aisle of freakishly passive workers in matching uniforms, watching you as you inched toward the raisin brand. Why did I keep going back to the store? Why would I possibly return when each visit transformed more and more into the worst lucid fever dream mashup? Again, I don't know. Convenience? Who wants to drive a half hour when all you need is eggs and your son won't stop screaming? Maybe I'm stuck in a horror movie, and I was cast as the protagonist doomed to make every terrible decision. And the worst part is, it gets worse.

The third weird thing revolves around the staff, yet again. Wait, maybe it's the fourth? I'm not sure if my numbering system is accurate. I suppose my first visit really encapsulated two oddities, the misspelled name and the nasty mouth. Oh, and the chicken. Shit, I give up on numbering the weirdness. Let's just call this my third point. It was the lack of local employees.

As I said before, when I saw the first couple workers, I didn't recognize them, but I didn't think much of it. It's impossible to remember everyone. But as the employees piled up, it was strange that not a single face looked familiar. I participate in the PTA and attend lots of local events. I couldn't recall seeing any of these staff members anywhere outside the store, ever. They were all young, too. The median age had to be like 18. Not recognizing employees might not seem too crazy on its own,

but I got ad after ad in the mail in the months leading up to its opening, urgently hiring, the colorful cardstock proclaimed as I chucked. it in the trash. I know for a fact that a bunch of townsfolk took advantage of those ads because I saw the effects of it in that Facebook group. So many people commented on how their kid or a friend had applied, and one of my coworkers mentioned that his teenage niece got hired part-time. After this all started to click, I tried to inconspicuously ask my coworker about his niece's employment. I didn't want to come off as a creep, but I casually asked if she was liking her job, and I would try to say hello the next time I was in. He explained Tatum was loving all the extra cash, but her foray

into the workforce was taking a toll on her. Noticing the concern on my face, he clarified that it was just a lot to juggle with her basketball schedule, mentioning she was working every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I nodded, mulling the information over, and he assured me she would bounce back. Kids are resilient and all that, before curtly excusing himself. So, as much as I disliked the idea, I decided to stop at the store after work. It was Monday, after all. My palms began to sweat despite the cool evening air as the large, glaringly misspelled store name loomed over me. The bright lights felt extra harsh as I passed through the automatic doors that night. A fresh-faced-face girl in uniform greeted me at the entrance, and a wave of paranoia coursed through my body as my

eyes met hers. I swear, I saw something there, something in the glimmer of her eyes, like she knew I was there to cause a problem. But that was insane, right? I was just going to buy a carton of milk and ask about an employed acquaintance, okay, stranger, but I wasn't doing anything wrong. I walked back to the dairy aisle, artfully avoiding all the shoppers and eerie employee eyes. It was rush hour, or the small town equivalent, and the store was packed. I'm sure it was my imagination, but that specific sensation of someone staring through your backside pelted me from all angles. It was like having a room full of people, beam laser pointers all over your jacket, and waiting for the cat to pounce. After what felt like an eternity of my shoes squeaking against the epoxy floor, I arrived at the milk coolers.

Surprisingly, the aisle was relatively quiet. A woman leisurely pushed her cart at the far end of the aisle on her way elsewhere. Near her, two nearly identical red-haired male employees stood perched at the end, reminding me of those royal guards with the fuzzy hats. The only other occupant was an old woman with a white bun. dawdling over cool whip, the open door pouring chilly air into the aisle. I stopped at the correct section and tugged the door handle. I deliberated for a few moments before hoisting out some AE2%. The store brand was cheaper, like way cheaper, a good 75% discount.

But I did not want any part of that. As I turned around, I was horrified to find one of the male end-of-the-isle employees directly behind me. Up close, I could see freckles accompanied his blazing red-orange hair. The jug of milk slipped from my fingers as he asked in an upbeat, perky manner if I had found everything okay. This would have been one of those slow-motion shots in a movie to really amplify the intensity of the moment. The milk crashed into the floor, the lid exploding across the aisle as the white liquid poured onto the employee's shoes. Instinctively, I went to pick it up, now apologetic over the mess.

The employee, completely unfazed, grabbed the container first and assured me not to worry as he disappeared down the end of the aisle. Embarrassed, I glanced around the aisle, still quiet, only now the employee's doppelganger was assisting the cool whip lady. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to wait around, but I didn't have long to question the situation, because another employee rushed towards me with a rolling yellow bucket and mop. His face was downcast as he advanced, a tangle of curly brown hair charging my way. I immediately started apologizing as he leaned over to thoroughly dunk and wring the mop. He finally lifted his face to meet my gaze and my lungs seized. His face looked melted.

The right half was mostly intact, but the left side drooped. excessively, somewhat reminiscent of a bloodhound. The left nostril was practically collapsed, and the inner pink lining of his bottom eyelid was visible. And despite the jarring image, for once I did recognize an employee, all thanks to the prominent large mole under his right eye. What the hell had happened to him? I wanted to apologize again for my glaring lack of social grace, but before I could figure out how to express that thought, he assured me it was perfectly okay and flashed me a quick grin that was not very effective, thanks to the sagging half of his mouth. I turned to leave right away, reminding myself to slow my pace so as

not to raise any alarm. People do not run in grocery stores. I arrived at the shortest line and not so patiently waited my turn. When I was able to set my milk carton on the checkout counter, I found myself looking at another teen girl. She was pleasant enough, with long, straight, dark hair, and an ordinary face. As she scanned my milk, I noticed another girl rooting around under the counter, presumably restocking the paper bags. It was at this point, I said something along the lines of, I was hoping to say hi to Tatum, but I didn't see her in the store.

The girl beneath the counter stood, and I immediately recognized her as the checkout girl from my first visit. largely due to those neon pink glasses. This reunion also left me feeling winded, because her face was different too. Nothing so obvious as the drooping boy, but it looked, I don't know, mushy. For as disquieting as all these teens were, their complexions were smooth and fresh and enviable. This face was like a lump of Play-Doh wrapped around a ball, thick, uneven, and begging. to be sculpted. She told me that Tatum worked in the back, her blue eyes burning into mine. She mentioned she was heading there now and would be happy to send my regards. Then she smiled,

and I harnessed every bit of strength, threatening to flee my body, so I could ignore the stream of bloody pus that slid from the corner of her mouth. Despite all this, I went back in. It was a compulsion, I guess, to see if Tatum was there. I didn't find her, but I found something else. The melting employees were normal once again. The kid with the mole resumed his duties in the deli, his face firm and untarnished. The girl with the glasses was back to Barbie's little sister perfection. My stomach lurched as I passed the now-hiring sign taped to the window as I exited the store.

So what does it all mean? I'm not sure, but I have one more bullet point to add to this presentation. To do that, we have to go back to the beginning. It's the spelling error at pesky missing E in the store name. Finally, finally, after all the insanity, I forced myself to confront it in conversation. The response I received was somehow the most disturbing piece. of this whole puzzle. There was no spelling error. Everyone I spoke to outside my household assured me that it was correct. That was how it had always been spelled. Look it up. So I did. And they were right.

I mean, they're not, but all the proof says otherwise. Every article, every link, every social media post tells me I'm wrong. The store's website, well, potentially, recently updated, according to the copyright date, spouts the same spelling error. I haven't had a chance to access old newspapers on one of those microfilm machines you always see in movies, but something tells me my efforts would be in vain. I'm wrong. But what about my son? He was the first to point it out with his young spongy brain primed to absorb every ounce of information he encounters. So what does it all mean? Let me assure you, I am not a conspiracy theorist.

I believe in science and data and Occam's razor. You hear hoofbeats in the Midwest, it's definitely not a fucking zebra. But something isn't right here. So, let me collect myself and piece together a theory that probably isn't right. Admittedly, I'm no expert, but I don't think it's all wrong either. Something, some force. came in and built this store while simultaneously rewriting history. This, this power, tricked us with the potential we crave from all that is pretty and new.

A fresh construction project filled, not only with fresh foods, but fresh-faced monsters, dawning human masks like every day is Halloween. Monsters that pass along pleasantries while wearing polite smiles as they harvest, our human energy. That's why Tatum is always in the back. She's strapped into some sci-fi contraption, shooting images of a grocery store shift through her mind, the star of her own personal matrix. Or maybe it's like the Sims, and she's aware of her time at work, but that memory is spliced out of the film role. The attack is not so obvious as a slaughter, leaving hordes of wasted humans cast aside with peeling necks, but rather a sneaky parasite curled inside the

intestines, slowly leaching useful nutrients from your system. It's how that deteriorating workers regenerate. This is where many of you will deposit the Mandela effect, which would make sense, but it doesn't explain why I'm the only one. To be a true Mandela experience, others need to share a similar set of circumstances. I've gone through the sequence of events over and over and over, and I just can't get that piece to fit. I think the significant discrepancy between store brand goods and name brand items is a clue. Maybe they're lacing their products with something to keep rose-colored glasses on the consumers. To be honest, I can't remember if I always purchased name-brand supplies. Maybe that's why I overlooked the spelling error.

for so long. Or perhaps it's reliant on the quantity. Aside from my first visit, I only ever bought one or two items each trip. All I know is nobody else is freaking out, and that's really freaking me out. Please say you believe me. I just have this awful sense of dread churning throughout my body. I feel it rumbling in my gut and radiating out to my fingertips. If you could transfer this feeling by touch, my computer would be fried right now. What comes next? So I ask, does any of this ring a bell? Think hard and fight it. Rangle out of the brainwashing. Because, as I mentioned in my research, it wasn't just my store. It's the whole chain. And there are a lot of locations. The odds are it's affecting you too.

So my point is, I think it's time to evaluate those glasses you're wearing. Creepy presents. I'm sorry for sleeping alone. Written by Jerry W. Simmons and narrated by Jimmy Ferrer. I've never cared for sleeping alone.

I've been sleeping by myself for a while now. But it wasn't until the past few days that I realized how dame. It was for me when I married Sadie I never imagined that I would be spending another night without someone by my side And now that she's gone I can only hold on to the memory of having her next to me memory of her comfort fades Just like my remaining sanity Sadie and I met at university Like most people our age we connected through a dating app

but this ended up being far more than a casual hookup. Within a month, I was splitting half of my nights between my dorm and city's apartment. When the next semester rolled around, we decided to take a chance. We were both juniors and decided that was mature enough to get an apartment together. My parents were strong religious types who reacted with predictable horror that I was planning on living sinfully with a woman before marriage. None of that mattered, though. I wanted nothing more than to be with Sadie all the time.

Sure. We fought like every other 20-year-old couple about the usual things. Toilette seat being left, shoes being abandoned by the entryway were a staple of our daily conversations. But eventually, everything just worked. We married shortly after college. Sadie was Lutheran, and we decided to marry in her church. I'm not religious, so this part of the ceremony meant little to me. But the supposedly heretical ceremony guaranteed that my Catholic parents would not attend.

At first, I was devastated. But my brother Henry was there along with our college friends and to help assuage the wound. Not long after the honeymoon, we landed jobs, moved into our first big city apartment. A 580 square foot studio on the fourth floor of a high-rise. We were inseparable. Everything seemed perfect. At least for a while. After seven years of marriage, we were at each other's throats.

Little fights that we had avoided in our 20s slowly revealed themselves as we approached our 30s. We butted heads on everything. We were frustrated at being stuck in the same tiny apartment. We couldn't agree on future financial goals. Worst of all, the question of kids hung over our head like a rain cloud, ready to burst at any moment. Sadie wanted nothing more than to start a family, and sooner rather than later. I was skeptical about raising kids with a mountain of student debt weighing heavily on our shoulders. To top things off, our religious...

differences began seeping into our weekly routines. Sadie had been taking her faith more seriously. I accompanied her to church, like any supportive husband should. But it was a guarantee that after the service, I would pick a fight over something stupid. I would say I was agitated because I wanted to eat at this restaurant instead of that one. Or wanted a few hours to watch TV instead of reorganizing the closet. But the root issue was that I was resentful. at Sadie for dragging me down this route.

My hyper-religious upbringing had left a sour taste in my mouth. I hated church and anything related to it. Like any couple in that situation, we did something drastic rather than deeply analyzing the root cause of our problems. Some couples might have even gotten a dog or had a kid to solve a tumultuous relationship. Instead, we sign for a two-bedroom apartment at the end of our lease. It was incredible at first.

Everything felt like a fresh start. It was financially stressful, but we resolved to make it work. One room was designated as our shared bedroom and the other as a home office. We even splurged and got a new mattress to celebrate. Despite being two adults in our mid-20s, our careers hadn't quite, panned out the way we had expected. Sadie contributed a teacher's salary to the household, and despite having an economic degree, the going since my own graduation had been rough.

I'd worked several entry-level sales jobs that paid commission only, before finally landing a salary position doing administrative work at a community college. We never went hungry, but it means we had very few. few physical possessions to take up all that extra space. Most everything from our apartment fit in one bedroom. And that left our home office almost empty, except for a small desk I had bought secondhand and our old mattress on the floor. Sadie was always upset that it didn't have a bed frame, but I didn't see the point.

Its sole purpose was afternoon naps during lunch breaks on the days I worked from home. It took less than a month for the problems to sit in. At first they hit under the surface, covered by the excitement of our fresh start. But they soon boiled over like an unattended pot on the stone. I still remember that first night I slept alone on that old mattress. Of course, it had been a Sunday. The designated day of Sadie and eyes most ferocious arguments.

This time I had outright refused to go to, a church. In retaliation, Sadie had not returned after service and instead gone out the rest of the day on her own. Upon her return, there were several shopping bags in her hands and a new pair of shoes on her feet. Knowing that money was tight, I was furious. There was a non-zero chance that her shopping spree hadn't been on purpose. I shut myself in the office and didn't speak to her for the rest of the night. It was well past midnight when I finally closed my laptop. Yanni. I was tired. But the thought of sleeping next to the woman I had chosen to spend the rest of my life with turned my stomach into knots. I spun around in the rickety office chair and saw the mattress on the

floor. It almost beckoned me towards it. There were no sheets on it, just an old thin pillow. I leaned over the edge like a high diver and allowed myself to fall upon it. It was uncomfortable, lumpy. But I was emotionally exhausted. It wasn't long before I drifted to sleep. It was at some point in the middle of the night that I had my first encounter with what I had begun to refer to as my visitor. The whole ordeal began as a feeling of impending doom. that woke me up in a panic.

The feeling was so heavy in my chest that it felt like I was having a heart attack. I sat up straight, head spinning. I couldn't see anything in the dark room, but it just felt like something was wrong. Out of place. Eventually my eyes adjusted. The visitor would have been easy for me to miss. At first, it just looked at first. like a spot of shadow that was out of place from the darkness of the rest of the room.

I squinted hard, almost certain that I could discern a tall humanoid shape. A tickle of fear pricked the back of my neck as I looked up at what seemed to be an oblong head, nearly touching the ceiling. Long, trailing arms hung well past its waist like some kind of primate. The longer I stared. The harder it was to make out. After a long bout of concentration, it seemed to dissipate along with my panic in my chest. I fell asleep filled with worry, but not so much that I couldn't sleep. After all, it had been a stressful day. It was logical to think that something from the depths of my subconscious would seep into reality. That was the beginning of Sadie and I's separate living arrangement. An icy silence hung between us. We occupied the same space, but we were no longer

living together. Gradually, we stopped eating meals together. We woke up at different times, did separate activities on the weekend. Throughout at all, my nightly encounters with the visitor continued. The visits occurred like clockwork. Feeling of doom would wake me up and the visitor it would be somewhere in the room. It's ghostly visage, never remaining for long. I ought to have been more worried. But I just assumed I was having some kind of mental break, brought on by the stress of my rapidly failing marriage.

Sadie and I lived like this for months, but it wasn't until a week ago the things escalated to the point of no return. On Monday I woke up in a panic, soaked with sweat. The impending doom coursed through my body with so much power that I was shaking. This was nothing

like the other nights. It took a while for me to get my nerves under control. I was just about to let my head fall back onto the pillow when I saw the visitor standing there. It was much more concrete than it previously appeared.

I jumped back against the wall like a startled cat. The shadow didn't move. In that moment, I wasn't sure what to do. My heartbeat heavily as the shadow stared at me. I could have called out, attacked it even. Instead, I just hugged my legs, eyes wide, scared every time that I blink that it might rush at me. I rubbed my eyes and looked at my phone, saw it was nearly four in the morning.

I stretched my cramped legs, but... didn't lay down completely, opting to keep my head positioned upright against the hard wall instead. Despite the terrifying encounter, a terrible feeling in my chest had disappeared. I closed my eyes. It felt like I had only been asleep for a second. When the six o'clock alarm rang, I stepped out of bed. As I walked out of the room, my barefoot landed on a viscous, mucous-like liquid stuck on the floor. right where the visitor had been standing.

I cleaned my foot off in the sink, panicking that there was now tangible evidence that the visitor existed, and shook as I opened the door, walked into the kitchen. I was just in time to see Sadie preparing her lunch bag for work. Sunlight glinted through the window, highlighting her golden hair. It was comforting to look upon her after my terrible experience the night before. Despite our recent differences, there was nothing I wanted more in the world than to run up, hold her, press my head against her chest and cry. Instead, I just watched as she packed her lunch.

She glanced sideways at me a single time as she walked out of the apartment. Not a word passed between us. Sound of the door slamming was a grim reminder of how long... Something within me snapped. It was barely 8 in the morning, but I was hit with an overwhelming desire to numb the loneliness I was feeling. The knowledge that I handle a whiskey sat in our pantry was enough to set my mouth watering. Before I knew it, the amber liquid was pouring into a glass, promise of sweet relief accompanying it. The day it was a blur.

I must have called into work at some point, but all I remember was Sadie returning home. home. Look of disgust when she saw me on the couch, drunk out of my mind staring at the TV, angering me beyond reason. We argued back and forth for what must have been ours. Things were thrown to the floor. I hate to say, but there may have even been a shove or two involved. Neither of us were innocent. The cold feelings we had harbored against each other over the past few months burst into reality. No longer silent. We said what had been on our minds this whole time. I'm certain I wasn't arguing coherently. At some point, I must have had enough and marched off to the office. My anger was amplified by the drunkenness. But it wasn't powerful enough to keep me

from sleeping. I don't even remember plopping onto the mattress. I awoke screaming not long after. The room was hostile. The feeling of impending doom rearing its ugly head and force. There was no deny it. As I stopped screaming and focused on my rapid accelerating breath, I noticed that the lights were off. The room was bathed in darkness. I was positive that I had left the light on before drunkenly passing out. A cold shiver ran down my spine. Despite the darkness in the room, I instinctually knew what was about to happen. I looked toward the doorway.

The visitor was there, just like I knew it would be. I opened my mouth in a silent scream. Instinctually, I moved back towards. the wall, curling my legs up into a ball as if the visitor was a spider approaching too close for comfort. The door opened in a bright rectangular glare from the hallway poured into the room. I shouted and covered my eyes. It was Sadie. Back for round number two. How I must have looked. Cowered up against the wall, tears in my eyes as she berated me. I was too terrified. to fully process what she had sent.

But it was unmistakable that at some point she said she made it clear that she had reached her limit. She left me there, shaking and alone. The next morning, I decided to tell Sadie what had happened. I was nervous. Not quite sure if she would even believe me. I opened the door that had once been our shed bedroom. my heart sank at what I saw

Sadie was already gone the half of the closet that had been hers had been hastily packed up in the middle of the night on the dresser was a handwritten note I was so shaken up I couldn't even read the entire thing but it made one thing infinitely clear Sadie hadn't been able to sleep in the same place as me for one more night

I was now completely alone. That night I resolved to stay awake. I put on a pot of coffee and brought the whole thing into the bedroom with me, locking the door behind me. Leaving the lights on, I watched TV and sipped cold coffee all night. I don't even remember feeling sleepy. I was so confused when I awoke in the spare bedroom screaming in terror. My eyes immediately darted towards the door.

The visitor was not standing where I had been expecting him. For a brief moment, I let my guard down. I let out a breath and looked forward. The visitor squatted on all fours directly in front of me. The shadows of its spindly fingers stretched on the surface of the mattress. Its elongated head was cocked to one side like a dog's. I screamed in my head off. and then something absolutely terrible happened.

The visitor moved. Its long hands hovered over the mattress with sloth-like efficiency. Its thin torso heaved with exertion. The worst part was when its head craned forward. It made a sound for the very first time. A slurry and spittle-filled grassy. roan. The noise slithered into my ears and traveled down my neck as an intense feeling a revulsion. A small part of me was trying to deny what I was hearing. But deep down,

before it came any closer, I shot out of bed, stumbling on the carpet and banging my knee on the doorframe. I leapt to my feet and slammed the door behind me, flipping on the hallway line. I pressed my back against the wall, staring at the bedroom door. Slowly, I slid down on shaky legs until I was seated on the floor. Tears streamed down my cheeks all night as I watched the door. Nothing else happened that night. Yesterday it was the day that brought me to a breaking point. I considered every option available to me.

I considered a hotel room. but was afraid the visitor would just follow me there. Reaching out to my family might have worked. But they were over nine hours away, and there was no guarantee I'd make it before nightfall. The thought of being on a lonely, dark highway, trapped with that thing in the car, made me shudder.

I even considered calling Sadie. We hadn't spoken since she left her note. In the end, I resolved to face it alone. The next morning I walked out of my apartment in a haze. The drugstore down the street had a plethora of caffeine pills to choose from. I grabbed several bottles and headed back home. It was only 10 in the morning at that point, but sleep was already threatening to take me away.

I called in sick to work, knowing there was no way that I could have performed my job in that condition. For the rest of the day, I occupied myself by downing caffeine pills and reaffirm. researching online. There were plenty of stories about sleep paralysis demons. It seemed like they had even become a sort of meme in recent years. But none of those stories matched up with what I was experiencing. Although I was always terrified, I seemed to have full control of my body. And in all those anecdotes, the sleep paralysis figure never moved or simply laid on top

of the sufferer. Despite this, I couldn't help myself from viewing drawings made by the sleep paralysis sufferers. There was no shortage of content. Some drawings were old hags with wordy faces, others tall men in dark hats. But most were shadow people, a bit like what I was encountering. One in particular stood out to me. Created by a user and posted. posted on a long forgotten form. The creature depicted had gangly limbs that nearly stretched to the floor, and an elongated head that almost brushed the ceiling. A charcoal drawing was visceral.

The familiarity hitting me like a brick. The title read, He only comes when I'm alone. I must have fallen asleep at some point while staring at that haunted. When the feeling of doom woke me up later that night, the visitor was leaning right over my face. It was so close that my eyes didn't even need time to adjust to the darkness. All of his features were immediately visible. Wide, sad eyes were set deep in hollow sockets within a flat face.

Its skin was gray and rotten-looking. accentuated by the shadows of the dark room. Beneath where its nose should have been was a small mouth. Its tighten cracked lips looking like an eviscerated worm. A scream caught in my throne as my eyes went wide. The figure smiled, lips parting to reveal hollow and toothless grin. A trickle of saliva fell and coolly plopped on my cheek. Then it began speaking in a gurgling and saliva-filled voice.

The creature asked slowly. A smile widened even further. An animalistic instinct for survival allowed me to flail and push away a gangly arm. It felt like a wet fish as it flopped onto the bare mattress. I rolled onto the carpet and crawled toward the door. A slurry sound rang out behind. me as the creature started to slide across the carpet in pursuit. Just before I made it to the hallway, it's eel-like fingers closed on my ankles.

I shouted out, grabbing the doorframe with my far hand and pulling myself forward. The grip released, leaving a sticky, mucous-like substance on my bare skin. I catapulted my way into the hallway, quickly pressing my back against the wall. with shaky fingers. I fished around for the light switch. Pale light illuminated the hallway, making the open door in front of me all the darker. I stared into the impasse, searching for shadows.

My breath slowed as I concentrated. It stopped completely as the voice resonated within the dark room. This morning I resolved that I'll never go through that again. For so long, I thought the problem was me going to sleep. I never considered that perhaps the issue, choose me waking up in the first place. If I never wake up, will the visitor still visit me?

Citi always had trouble sleeping. There was a bottle of pills she left in the medicine cabinet along with extra toothbrushes and non-essential items. I took every single one of the white capsules. I'm lying on the couch, writing out my final load. My family will find me. maybe even Sadie

at least I won't ever wake up again I'd be a liar if I didn't fear one thing though what if the visitor is with me even in death as my pen grows shaky and my eyes blurry I can't help but replay it's where it's over and over in my head never for more information on this podcast

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