Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I was a patient for the RUSSIAN SLEEP EXPERIMENT. This is my story | Scary Stories

Episode Date: September 4, 2024

NEVER join this sleep experiment... Scary Story exclusively written for the channel by Alonso Solis Cover Art from darkmindarts More of the artist’s works at @darkmindarts          Original YouTube link: I was a patient for the RUSSIAN SLEEP EXPERIMENT. This is my story.     Merch: lighthousehorror.shop For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech Darren Curtis Music - YouTube  Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new episodes every week, featuring ghost stories, haunted encounters, mysteries, true stories, creepypasta, and anything supernatural and paranormal. Don't miss out on the thrill and suspense that await you in each episode!

Never join a sleep experiment. Life was never easy for me. I made some mistakes, but no one deserves what I went through. Before all this mess with the sleep experiment, I was just another guy. I dropped out of high school after my parents died in a car accident. Things spiraled down from there. I had nothing. No family to take me in, and no money to keep me staying at the house I've lived in my whole life.

I fell in with the wrong crowd. We were all trying to scrape by doing odd jobs. We'd do anything for a bit of cash. So when the guy suggested breaking into this rich dude's place, I didn't think twice. We wouldn't take anything the guy would miss, they said. And so I went along with it. Bad call.

We got caught. The security system went off and all my friends just bolted. No one even bothered to look back to make sure I made it out of the house. So I was left holding the bag all by myself. I got the book thrown at me to set an example. The judge gave me the heaviest sentence he could. I was looking at spending years of my life in prison. And that's when the feds offered me a deal.

They're running a sleep experiment, you see. And they need unique case studies. I didn't really have a choice, but they made it out like I was lucky to be chosen for this. They needed people who had a history of sleep disorders like me. See, ever since I was a little kid, I've had this problem. Most kids are afraid of the dark or what's under their bed. Me, I was afraid of falling asleep. Sounds weird, right?

But every time I'd close my eyes, I'd get stuck. My mind would wake up, but I couldn't move. I'd want to scream and kick, but my body wouldn't listen to me. More than once, I was scared that I was actually dead or something. The doctors called it sleep paralysis. It haunted me all my life, but because of this unique condition of mine, I got picked to be the government's new guinea pig. They were funding a new kind of experiment to create some sort of, I don't know, super drug.

The goal was to completely eliminate the need for sleep. I got to admit, it sounded crazy. Imagine a world where you never have to sleep again. Man, all the stuff you could do, you know? And who better to test this new super drug than a guy who hated every minute of sleep? Now, I still remember that day clearly. As soon as I woke up, I knew something was wrong. I was going through my usual day at the prison.

I was napping the afternoon away on my bunk. And that's until Dr. Brown came in. He was the brainy type. You know, glasses and all, always had that clipboard with him. Hello, Ted. I'm Dr. Brown. I've got something that might interest you, he said. Honestly, nothing in praise.

prison ever interests you except getting the hell out. But I let him talk. We're doing a sleep study, he began. It's for this new drug we're developing. It's supposed to stop people from needing to sleep so much. And we thought, well, with your unique nighttime situation, you would be the perfect candidate. At first, I laughed. So you want to give me a drug for my sleep paralysis. Doc, I don't need less sleep. I need better sleep, I told him. But Dr. Brown was persistent.

It's not about reducing sleep, he said. It could also help with your condition. After all, less sleep means fewer episodes of paralysis. And of course, I'm also authorized to offer you a reduced sentence if the study goes well, All right, so that did sound good. Okay, Doc, I'll try your magic pill, I said. And that's how I got roped into this study. They moved me to a special wing of the hospital,

and they had me take this red pill every night, right before lights out. Now, I did have high hopes for this pill those first few nights. I'd go through my day, just looking forward to finally getting a good night's rest. But night after night, I still found myself stuck as usual. I couldn't move, and I'd spend the hours just watching the ceiling. It continued like that for a while. Researchers would come into my cell almost every day. They'd bring in their clipboards and start measuring my blood pressure and all that.

It was routine. They'd come in to check my vitals during the day, then give me the red pill at night. Sometimes I'd sit down and talk with him." Apparently, the government had poured a boatload of money into this thing. And that Dr. Brown wasn't just any ordinary guy. He had some powerful friends who pulled some strings to make him the lead doc. He was not someone to mess with. Worse, I caught wind from the other inmates, that this experiment wasn't anything new.

A group of scientists from Russia did the exact same thing decades ago. None of them survived, not the scientist, and especially not the test subjects. One of the guys said the final test subject got shot point blank. I didn't know what to do with that info. Didn't feel real good about being part of the second batch of guinea pigs for some failed Russian sleep experiment. But I wasn't going to start messing with Dr. Brown, not after what he did to one of the inmates. Time has gone by, and we're a couple weeks into the study now.

The doc's usually all about his notes and keeping cool, always polite and professional. But one day, he just lost it. You see, the inmate across from my cell is a big dude, always causing trouble and looking for a fight. So, anyway, he starts mouthing off to Dr. Brown, saying all sorts of stuff about the experiments. He was trying real hard to get under the doc's skin. And Dr. Brown, he's trying to stay professional. But you can see he's boiling. Then out of nowhere, Brown just snaps, grabs his clipboard and wax it right across the guy's face.

The sound echoed down the hall. And everybody went silent. You know it's serious when even the tough guys are speechless. The big dude, down on the floor, holding his face completely shocked. And Dr. Brown just straightens his coat, adjust his glasses, and walks off like nothing happened. You'd think he'd get in trouble for abusing his patients. But I heard from the other docs.

He's done it before, you know. And the dock never got in trouble for it. Everyone got the hint. Down here? Well, Brown was the guy in charge. But still, even back then, I would have dealt with Brown rather than go to sleep again. Because it felt like my paralysis was getting worse the longer the experiment ran. I started seeing something when I went to sleep.

It started like any other night. I'd taken the red pill like normal. But when I got stuck again, I felt like I wasn't alone anymore. In the corner of my room, I could see someone standing there. Even from the corner of my vision, I could see just how tall he was. He was really tall and skinny. He looked like he was wearing an old suit. In his hand was a single flickering candle.

And then slowly he brought the candle up to his face. If I could have, I would have gagged at the sight of it. His eyes were sunken pits of nothing. His mouth had too many teeth, but it was his skin that was the worst. It looked like his skin was made of candle wax. It melted in the heat, and it started dripping globs onto the floor. I tried to scream, to move, to do anything, but I couldn't. It was just me and him stuck in a tiny, dark cell.

I named him Candle Face after that night. I thought it fit. After that episode, Waking Up never felt so good. I looked sick, and I felt like it too. I couldn't just keep this to myself. I had to tell someone. And Dr. Brown? Well, he was supposed to be in charge and making sure we were all right.

So I went to him, and I told him about Candleface. I explained how this had never happened before. Dr. Brown listened, nodding along as I described the figure. The candle? his face, everything. I was hoping for some kind of answer. But when I finished, he just gave me this look that said he'd heard it all before.

It's probably just a side effect of the drug. He said, all calm and matter-of-fact like, these kinds of vivid dreams or visions, they can happen when you're adjusting to medications. Sometimes things get a bit worse before they get better, he said. I wanted to argue, to tell him this was different. But the look on his face told me he'd already made up his mind.

It was frustrating, but I knew what I needed to do. Let it go. What else could I do? So I just nodded, pretending to accept his explanation. But inside, I wasn't convinced. Not one bit. It kept happening. Night after night.

I'd wake up paralyzed, and I'd see candle face in the corner. And every night, he'd be a bit closer than before. I wasn't really sure at first. But after a week, I knew he'd been moving closer to me. I started talking more and more about him. Until one day, I was at the Doc's office for my weekly psych eval, and of course the only thing I could talk about was the guy with the candle. Doc Brown cut me off, and he gave me a look that said he was just about ready to strangle me.

Okay, Mr. Allen, let me be blunt, okay? Your lack of education doesn't qualify you to make such assessments. You understand? He said. Can you believe that? I was so close to jumping across a button desk and showing him exactly what my lack of education could do. But right then there's a knock.

One of his lab coats comes in talking about some emergency. Everything is proceeding as expected, Mr. Allen. Your cooperation is appreciated, but your concerns are unfounded. Doc Brown said. before rushing me out of his office. And things didn't get better after that. Every time I closed my eyes, hoping for just a little rest, Candle Face was there, and every night he got closer.

The first time he appeared right next to my bed, I woke up screaming. I could almost feel the heat from his candle and see the melted wax of his. face. I was a grown man, and here I was freaking out about a guy I saw in my dreams. Dr. Brown and the others didn't know what to tell me. I could tell they were getting frustrated because the drug wasn't working like they'd hoped, instead of sleeping less. I was too scared to sleep at all. I would hear them talk about me sometimes. They'd talk about other research participants

they could use. Like we were pigs at the market. They couldn't fail, they said. Not like the first experiment. So you know what they did? They up the dose. More of the drug, like that was going to fix everything. I tried to tell them it wasn't about the amount that something was clearly wrong, really wrong with that pill. But it was like talking to a brick wall. They had their plan and they were sticking to it. I remember taking that bigger dose for the first time. I felt like I was about to have a heart attack from the stress. It wasn't just the fear of seeing candle face again, though that was bad enough. It was this feeling, deep down that we were messing with something we didn't understand, something dangerous. But again, I knew I didn't have a choice.

They told me I'd get a reduced sentence. But until that happened, I was stuck here. I spent my days focused on my prison chores, and they were never ending. Sweep this, scrub that, like it'd make any difference in this dump. And those guards, man, they love to watch us squirm, like they got a kick out of seeing how much they could push before we'd break. So one day, I mopping the floor like usual. I was feeling awful, though, after the docks increased my dose.

I was moving really slow. Each push of the mop felt like dragging lead. And that's when two guards come over. They had these big grins on their faces and they smelled drunk. I tried to ignore them. I kept my head down and focused on the task. one of them kicked the bucket over, spilling dirty water on the floor. They both had a nice laugh at that one. And, you know, something in me snapped. I was tired. I was angry. And most of all, I was

scared. But not of these two idiots. And before I could even stop myself, I looked them in the eye and said, why don't you guys piss off? Yeah, that was a big mistake. The first goal. The first goal. guard doesn't even say a word. He just swings. His fist connects with my eye and a sharp bolt of pain goes through me. Next thing I know I'm eating floor. There was a moment right then when I wanted to fight back. But the drug made me feel like wet paper. Every time Dr. Brown up that dose, things got worse for me. They kept hoping it would fix whatever was wrong with me. that I'd finally stop with these sleep paralysis episodes. They kept looking at their charts and numbers,

and they'd be confused because I wasn't fitting into their neat little boxes. My sleep paralysis wasn't just bad now. It was ruining my daily life. Every time I closed my eyes, candle face was there, getting closer and closer, until it felt like he could reach out and burn, me with a damn candle. I would wake up

feeling exhausted. I was a zombie during the day. Too tired to do anything, but too scared to go back to sleep. It was hell. And then one day, things got even

worse. One of the inmates in my wing was found dead. They found him all burned up in his bunk. I heard his whole place It was a mess of scorch marks Blood and wax

Yeah wax I couldn't believe it either And guess who was picked to clean it up Yep me The air reeked of smoke And burning wax when I walked in The walls were covered in scorch marks Splatters of blood

covered the floor, dried and dark. And the wax? The wax was everywhere. There were pools of it on the ground and dripping on the walls. They were even clumps of it on the burned remains of the bunk. After what happened,

they locked down the entire block. Cops came in, poking around, asking questions, but they left with nothing. Just a bunch of confused. looks and shrugged shoulders. Dr. Brown told the cops that it was just a case of gang violence. He didn't want an investigation interfering with his study. I think he called in a favor to get this swept under the rug.

But the deaths just kept piling up. The next victim was some low-level bully. He would never go after anyone bigger than him. So he loved to pick on me especially. and then we woke up one morning and poof he was burned up too only thing left was his cell covered in blood ashes and wax and then a week after that another cell was found with a burnt-up bunk didn't take me long to figure out the pattern Every one of these victims were guys that had made my life a living hell. The whole prison block was freaking out.

We didn't know what it all meant, whether it was faulty wiring or someone going around torching cells. You'd think after the second death, the guards would have had enough and just shut this down. But no, we were still there day in, day out. Dr. Brown used his connections to keep his little experiment running. So instead of getting shut down, he put the whole wing on lockdown, no one goes in or out. He said it was for the safety of the inmates. But I figured it was just to make sure no one outside our block would hear about the weird deaths. Things in my cell were getting real weird too.

At first it was small stuff. Like finding red candle wax in the sink, I tried telling myself it was all a sick practical joke. And then one night my cell door slammed shut so fast it woke me up from the little sleep I did get. But that was impossible. We were locked in every night. And I didn't go back to sleep after that.

The next morning, I found scorch marks. on the edge of my blanket. The day after that, I found claw marks on my walls. They tore through the cheap paint and concrete as neatly as a knife cutting through butter. They look like scratches, too big and too deep

to be from anything human. And of course, the guards blamed me for it. They thought I was acting out or something. They thought I must have some sort of weapon on me that made those scratches. Or than I was hiding contraband when I scorched my blanket. So after the first time they raided my cell, I tried to clean up anything that looked out of place before my guard swung by. We were four months into the experiment now.

I could see Dr. Brown lose his grip as the weeks wore on. They kept upping my dough. but it still wasn't doing anything good for me. My sleep paralysis nightmares just kept getting worse. The doc would look at me like I was ruining his experiment on purpose, as if I wanted any of this. The murders didn't stop either. The block was in a state of constant fear.

Everyone was waiting for the next hit, wondering who it would be. But no matter how hard the guards looked or how many questions they asked, they found nothing. As for me, it was like I was fading. I could feel myself getting weaker bit by bit. The guys running the experiment, they didn't really know what to do about it. All they could figure to do was hook me to an IV drip, pumping who knows what into me. Doc Brown wouldn't let anyone take me to the prison clinic, never mind to an actual hospital.

He said it might mess with the experiment. And the nightmares? They were ramping up. It was making my waking hours just as bad as the ones I spent in the dark. Dr. Brown wasn't holding up much better. You could see the way his eyes were cracking. around the edges. His cool, collected demeanor was slipping away day by day. But instead of backing off, he doubled down. He was obsessed with keeping the experiment going for as long as he could.

It was like he lost sight of why he started it in the first place. By the middle of the fifth month, I could barely get out of bed on my own. I could barely stand out to take a piss. I knew the experiment was only supposed to run for six months, but by that point, I wasn't sure I'd even make it to the end. The doc came into my room for our weekly psych chat. He was fuming, blaming me for all the issues with the experiment. According to him, this was supposed to be my shot at redemption, but there I was screwing it all up.

His words not mine. And then he pulled out the biggest syringe I have ever seen. We're going to make this work, Ted. Whether you're on board or not, he said. And before I could even think of a comeback, he jammed the thing into my arm and plunged down. Everything after that's a blur. I remember a cold rush flowing through my veins.

The room started spinning. And that's it? Lights out. I blacked out completely. I don't know how long I was unconscious. But when I woke up, everything around me was pure chaos. I heard shouting and banging outside my cell. It sounded like the world was ending.

I heard inmates yelling and running, trying to get out of the block. Gunfire would start up. only to be cut off by a terrified scream. It was obvious that whatever was happening out there, people were getting slaughtered. And then out of nowhere, Dr. Brown burst into my cell. He looked even more unhinged than usual. He started shaking me, trying to get me to wake up.

But you see, after what he gave me, I couldn't move. I couldn't even blink. I was fully awake, but it was sleep paralysis. It's like it followed me to the waking world. Ted, you have to snap out of it. You must face this monster, he said. But I couldn't do anything. I was stuck in my body.

I could just listen to the chaos outside. All I could do was stare into Doc Brown's, wild, desperate eyes. And as he shook me by the shoulders, I saw candle face come into my cell. The entire room went dark, like we'd been swallowed up by a black hole. The only light I could see was from the candle he was holding. I don't know how, but I could feel its warmth all the way from my bunk. red wax

dripped down from his fist and spattered the floor and this whole time his face was melting and shifting I could see Doc Brown turned pale in the candlelight the sweat running down

his forehead made it look like he was melting too he turned to candle face and he pointed at me take him not me. Take Ted, please, God, take him, not me. He begged, his voice cracking with fear. I'd never seen him so terrified. I was shaking, but I couldn't do anything but watch. Candle Face paused then, and then he gave me a long look. And then without a word, he turned and looked.

at Doc Brown. I saw him place a hand around his throat and yank him away from me. I could only see what happened next out of the corner of my eye. Candle Face lifted the dock up by his throat. I could hear him choking. And then slowly, deliberately, Candleface brings up the candle to Doc Brown. The smell of burning skin fills the air as the doc screams.

The next few seconds are a blur. Blood sprayed the walls. And then Doc Brown screams just stop. All at once, cut off mid-breath. And I'm just lying there, knowing that I'm next. Then Candleface turned to me, and it felt like time just stopped in this godforsaken place, trapped with this thing. I couldn't even beg like Brown did. But Candleface didn't move.

He just stared at May. It was like he was looking right into me, seeing everything I am, everything I've been. And for a moment, I swear, it felt like he was really thinking, really considering whether I was next. He walked closer, and then a voice as deep and rough as gravel, said a single word. He placed the candle he's always holding into my hand. His flesh was as hot as fire, when he touched me. It burned my palm hard enough that I heard a sizzling noise. And then he stood up and he just left. He walked out like he was all done there. I was left alone with Dr. Brown,

or what was left of him, after what felt like forever. The drugs finally wore off enough for me to move. My whole body felt like it went through a grinder. I pushed myself up, and I shuffled out of my cell. Everyone was dead. The inmates, the guards who enjoyed their kicks a bit too much, even the researchers. They were all dead. It was like Candle Face cleared the path just for me. I walked to the end of my wing, expecting the rest of the prison guards to ambival.

bush me, but no one did. The doors were hanging wide open, all waiting for me to just waltz through. I walked slowly through the prison, holding that candle close to my chest. With each step, I could feel a bit more of my strength returning. I never saw another living soul. Everywhere I looked was a mess of ashes, bodies, and blood. Guns were scattered around, covered in wax. I looked up and saw that even the security cameras were messed up. The sight of it all made me sick, but at the back of my head was a faint glimmer of hope. No one would know what happened here.

All anyone would see was a prison riot turned weird massacre. Nobody would know that I had somehow survived and just walked out. But the carnage did get to me in the end. I was right by the prison entrance when I just lost it. Everything in my stomach came up. And then as soon as I stopped heaving, I bolted and I didn't look back. I just ran into the night holding onto that candle like it was my lifeline. I ended up halfway across the country after that.

I found a job working nights at a gas station in the middle of nowhere. The owners didn't ask me about my past. They just saw a scrawny kid down on his luck, and they decided to help me. The job didn't pay much, but I was just happy for the chance. And for the first time, in a long time, I felt at peace. I don't experience sleep paralysis anymore either. That should be a good thing, right? But I don't get much sleep these days either.

I am now a fully fledged insomniac. I don't know if that was Doc Brown's miracle drug, but I'm not going to complain too much, because even when I don't get much sleep, I feel great. better than I felt my whole life. Most nights, there's just me in the radio. I keep my ears open for any news about the prison or Dr. Brown, but there's nothing. I guess whoever was in charge of the operation wanted to keep the whole thing under wraps. But if any of those people ever start looking for me. I've got my candle ready. If I ever need a favor, I know exactly who to ask.