Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I Was A Remote Viewer. Yesterday I Saw Something Terrifying | Scary Stories

Episode Date: December 18, 2023

We might not be alone...        Story from willows_closet Make sure to check out more of their work at u/willows_closet                              Original Post: I got cocky and took my new hobby way too far, and now I wish I could take it all back : r/nosleep    Original YouTube link: I Was A Remote Viewer. Yesterday I Saw Something Terrifying           For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Merch: lighthousehorror.com  Sound Effects: Freesound Zapsplat  Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech 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!

I have a problem. I tend to fall down internet rabbit holes, and more often than not, I take it much further than a reasonable person would. It's one thing to lose hours and days and weeks of your life, researching the strange lights that people saw over Fukushima and Chernobyl after their respective nuclear reactor meltdowns, or reading about first-hand accounts of a supposed intelligent civilization in our planet's oceans. It's another thing entirely. When you start dropping thousands of dollars on books, equipment, and classes to learn about some strange phenomenon you read about online. That's exactly what I did with remote viewing. If you're not familiar with remote viewing, it's the practice of sensing details about a place you can't see with your own two eyes.

Like viewing a location using only your mind. Some remote viewers take it even further and insist that they can not only view different places around the world, but also different planets and time periods altogether. The CIA had a remote viewing program for decades, supposedly using subjects to spy on the Soviet Union, and even to gather intelligence, about the predicament of American diplomats during the Iran hostage crisis. It's wild stuff, if you can wrap your brain around it. I got sucked into it because of my obsession with UFO lore or UAP. as we call them now. Some people don't mind the surface-level assumptions that come with entertaining

the idea of UFOs, like the idea, that there are other intelligent civilizations in our universe, and that they have technologies advanced enough to visit our planet. Some people easily accept that those civilizations could theoretically interact with people on Earth, occasionally abducting innocent bystanders or experimenting on people and animals. It's when they dive deeper into UFO lore that they often begin to back off. Things like astral projection, mysterious aircraft that pop in and out of our plane of existence, or unknown species that communicate with us telepathically. And of course, there are the many stories of folks who have remote-viewed advanced civilizations,

both on distant planets and on our own. My curiosity about these things got the better of me. And soon enough, I was spending countless hours of my life researching remote viewing, trying to parse apart what was nonsense, and what was plausible. I'll be honest with you. I'm not very good at deciding something is implausible. Before I knew it, I was looking up instructions online for how to learn remote viewing on my own.

There are quite a few books available, many of which I own now. But I'm really more of a hands-on learner, so I eventually accepted that if I wanted to give this an earnest shot, then I was going to need more than that. I came across a six-month online course, normally priced at $3.99, but on sale that week for $279. That's a 30% discount in case you were wondering. I entered my info and my credit card number, and I was on my way to becoming a certified remote viewer.

The course included six different modules, each of which contained several different classes and activities to try at home. There was a built-in messaging system we could use to interact with the instructors and with other students to ask questions, share our successes, and test each other's skills as we progressed through the coursework. The first module was all about theory. There was an analogy they used frequently throughout the first module, comparing remote viewing to learning how to play the piano. We were taught that with a clear mind and good

intentions, anyone can learn how to remote view. But only a few people in the world were truly prodigies. I would eventually learn that I was one of those few people. The second module was when we started to actually learn how to remote view. They taught us to begin each session with a 20-minute meditation to calm our minds and to set our brain waves to the proper frequency. We'd start each meditation lying down, and the instructor would guide us through the process of noticing each individual part of our bodies, each unique physical sensation we were experiencing. In every point of contact with our bed, our pillow, and the clothes we were wearing, we'd shift our focus internally, and notice our heartbeat, notice our mood,

for the day. Notice if there were any lingering anxieties we were feeling. Then we'd let our attention settle on our breath, noticing the feeling of air moving in and out through our noses, and the feeling of our chest inflating and deflating, with each breath in and out. We were to focus on that feeling for 20 minutes each session. If we found our mind wandering off to any other thoughts or feelings, we were to notice the distraction and simply return our attention to the breath. When the meditation was over, we kept her eyes closed, and the instructor would direct us to draw our attention to a manila envelope on her desk. Within each envelope, there was an image, and we were supposed to view what the image was without seeing it with our eyes,

from the comfort and safety of our homes. They told us to never strain ourselves, and just just explore what we were seeing and feeling in our own minds. Curiosity and gentleness were key. In fact, they told us the first rule of remote viewing was to be curious. I'd find myself having little visions of details, dancing on the edge of my consciousness, and an innate sense of understanding the intention behind what was in the envelope. each session, we were supposed to draw what we saw and list details of what we felt about the intention of the image.

Then the instructor would show us the images so we could pick apart what was real and what was imagined. Imagination is a common form of interference in remote viewing, so it's important to learn when your own brain is getting in the way. It wasn't a problem I was having too much trouble with. In our first session, I drew a stick figure sitting on the ground. And I wrote that the intention was powerful, and the figure was emanating energy. When the instructor pulled the image from the envelope, it was a genderless figure sitting cross-legged

in space, meditating and emitting an aura. I was shook. Not everyone had as much success in that first session as I did. One person drew a rough outline of some sort of animal, and she told us that she thought it was supposed to be an elephant. Another guy drew a skyscraper, standing tall against a skyline of other skyscrapers. The instructor assured everyone that their drawing had some level of truth to it, and that the next few months would be focused on learning how to ease that truth out from the

interference of our imaginations. Nevertheless, the next session had significantly fewer participants than we had on that first day of hands-on learning, and our instructor took time, to remind everyone that we all agreed to terms of service that explicitly said no refunds for any reason when we signed up. As the course progressed, we eventually moved on to remote viewing more challenging things. We'd remote view each other at specific times, then report on what we saw, while the student who played the role of Target confirmed whether or not the viewer accurately described what they were doing at the time. More people dropped out at a pretty study rate, but there were still several students who

were wholly committed to learning the practice, and all of their predictions became more and more refined as the months went by. I was always the best student in the class, but my skills also improved dramatically, as I learned when and how my mind was interfering with my visions, and how to calm my mind to block these interferences out completely. While others in class still describe the process as carefully exploring vague images and intuitions, my remote viewing sessions became clearer and clearer until it felt like I was physically at the location I was viewing. In one exercise, when I viewed a classmate, I could clearly see him folding his laundry on his classic car-themed bedspread, and I could hear the

ACDC song he was listening to in the background. I saw his nightstand with his alarm clock and a lamp shaped like a 1950s gas pump, with his credit card sitting face up on the surface. The instructor stopped me in the middle of reading the credit card number out loud, so as not to invade the other students' privacy more than what was necessary. It wasn't long, before a lot of us who were left, became friends. We'd use the chat function that came with a course, to keep in touch with each other between sessions, and we'd give each other little challenges throughout the week, or brainstorm interesting places to visit. I've seen the view of Manhattan, from the top of the Empire State Building, I've seen the inside of the Taj Mahal, I've been to

the pyramids of Giza, and I've explored the bottom of the Mariana Trench, all without leaving my bedroom. At one point, one of my classmates challenged me, to view Area 51. But I was surprised to find that I couldn't see inside, as though something was blocking it out. I guess maybe government secrets are protected or shielded from remote viewers somehow. The CIA once allocated a lot of money towards studying the phenomenon after all. We learned in class that there are many different ways to use remote viewing, from exploring the past, to viewing very distant places, to even viewing the future. We figured out among ourselves that some of us were better at each of these skills than others. Jenna excelled at

remote viewing the very distant past, and one time she logged into the chat to excitedly inform us that she just watched a volcano erupt in prehistoric Asia, surrounded by herds of animals that were unfamiliar to her, but that she suspects must have been dinosaurs. Andrew insisted that he could see distant planets, and sometimes he would pick a spot in the sky and travel to the hostile surface of a world that scientists on Earth hadn't even discovered yet. Once, when the lottery jackpot was in the hundreds of millions, we all tried to remote view the future to see the winning numbers, but future viewing is a very much of the future viewing is a very rare talent that unfortunately none of us seem to possess. Even I struggled with it,

and though I can normally see a crystal-clear imprint of whatever object I'm trying to view in the present, my attempts to view the future were shrouded in haze. I could see a lottery ticket in the future, but it was useless trying to make out the numbers. Though I had so many friends amongst the other classmates, and even though a lot of the students had dropped out after the first couple months of the course. There were still plenty of people enrolled who I didn't know by name. So it wasn't too much of a surprise when I got a private chat from a username I didn't recognize. Everyone who dropped out would still have access to all the resources until the six months were up anyway. So it could have been any number of people who I hadn't

even seen in weeks. I saw the message when I logged into my account one afternoon. It read, Hey, check out these coordinates, then go left. Really interesting stuff. It wasn't uncommon for a classmate to send me coordinates of something interesting that they found while remote viewing, and usually there was indeed something unexpected to find when they did. One time, Jenna sent me coordinates that led me to a little shack in the middle of an ice field in Greenland, filled with electronic equipment and sensors that we couldn't identify, with no other buildings nearby, nearby. It was always fascinating to find something in the wilderness that was so out of place and realize how much of our world has been touched by human hands. I got myself comfortable on my bed

and began to guide myself through my meditation. I started by focusing on the sounds around me, being present with the tune of my surroundings. Then I brought my attention inwards and felt the weight of my body against the bed, the hair blowing across my face. from the fan behind me, and noticed the amount of tension in each individual muscle. I felt for my heartbeat and observed the feeling of blood flowing through my veins, and I focused on slowing it down as much as I could before bringing my attention to my breath. I felt each breath entering through my nose and exiting through my mouth. I noticed how the air felt against the back of my throat and against my lips.

I felt the rise of my chest with each breath in and the falling with each breath out. When I sensed that my mind was ready to view the target, I held the coordinates in my mind and felt around with genuine curiosity. The image of the room began to take shape. There was a window with two pine trees right outside, a door against the far wall with a smoke alarm hanging above it. A desk with a laptop fully awake, as though the owner had recently been using it. A bed with a figure lying down in a deep trance. A piece of artwork on the wall that I once bought from a street artist in downtown Seattle when I was out drinking with my friends. It was my bedroom. I broke the trance and shot up out of bed. I scrambled back to my desk and opened the chat box.

Who is this? How do you know where I live? A moment passed before I saw the three little dancing dots that indicated someone on the other end was typing. Then a new message appeared. Did you go left? Yeah, I saw my wall on the left. How do you know where my bedroom is? Another moment passed.

No, shift your consciousness to the left. Don't just travel left. Move your whole mind to the left. I sat and stared at the message, and the dots danced once again. Try it again and go left. Who are you? I asked again. You'll know in time, for now, just go left.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I thought about running away and staying with a friend for the night. I thought about going to the police, and maybe I should have. But my curiosity got the better of me. It was, after all, the first rule of remote viewing. Be curious. I settled back onto the bed and started the meditation again from the beginning. This time around, I found it much harder to focus on my breathing, as my mind insisted

on wandering to the mysterious person who knew the exact coordinates of my bedroom. The key to meditation is to forgive yourself when your mind. mind wanders, and to simply notice that it's happened and gently redirect your focus to the breath. Do it as many times as it takes. Notice the distraction. Gently pull yourself back. Notice the distraction. Gently pull yourself back. It took a lot longer than it usually does, but eventually, I knew I was ready to focus on my bedroom. I didn't use the coordinates this time. I know where my own bedroom is, thank you very much. I just focused on my room, which provided an experience unlike anything I'd ever felt during a remote viewing session. I was viewing my bedroom

from my exact physical position on the bed, as though I was still in my body viewing everything in perfect clarity, but with my eyes closed. From my position on my bed, I tried to go left. I found myself outside in my backyard, exactly as I would have expected. Nothing was out of the ordinary. My backyard was as boring and unkempt as it always was. I returned to my bed and thought back to what the message instructed me to do. Don't just travel left. Move your whole mind to the left.

How the heck am I supposed to move my whole mind left? None of this made any sense. I tried to focus my attention on the left. but everything I did just moved my perception to the left of where I was back into the yard. How does one move left without traveling? I brought my attention back to my breath and felt my chest moving up and down. I refocused on the bedroom and the reality sat in. I felt around poking and prodding, approaching the very concept of the location with sincere curiosity.

This was my bedroom. It sat in my house, which was in my town, my town in the United States, on planet Earth, in the Milky Way galaxy, floating around in the universe we live within, my universe. This was my reality. This was where I was. And so I moved left. I didn't move from my bed at all, at least in any physical sense, but it felt as though I was penetrating a brain in the very fabric of time and space. As I passed through it, there was the slightest bit of resistance as it pushed back against me, and it bent with the force of my consciousness, and ultimately opened up to let me through, before it snapped back into shape on my right, as I emerged on the other side. And then I was in my bedroom. But it wasn't my bedroom. My bed was there,

and I could see the window on the far wall, looking out upon two bare pine trees shrouded in the darkness of the outside world. The trees were covered in thick, slimy tentacles of some unknown entity that crawled up the trunks and wrapped themselves around each of the branches. Every few seconds, a flash of green light would illuminate the sky, revealing dark purple clouds that seemed unnatural and toxic before a crash of metallic thunder would shake the house around me. The air smelled putrid, like the sweet rotting eggs of a creature too dreadful to exist in my own plane of reality. The floor of my bedroom was covered with a thick, viscous slime, and I realized that it was on my bed as well. I could feel it where I was laying, and I felt sick to my stomach,

even though I knew it was just the perceptions of my remote viewing. My art piece was on the wall, shredded apart with pieces of canvas hanging below the original frame, as though ripped away by claws the size of my face. My laptop was still on and unlocked, even in this reality, as though someone had recently been using it. I shifted my view to the left of where I was lying on the bed, and saw a face just inches from me. A disgusting, wide-eyed face, filled with madness and malice, bearing an open-mouthed grin full of lunacy, revealing deep yellow-stained teeth. There was slime hanging from its smiling lips. It was my face. Before I broke my connection to this horrifying reality, I noticed two shimmering,

clammy, scaly tentacles protruding from its, from my body, one wrapped around its waist and one wrapped around its neck. I shot up from my bed, back in the safety of my own bedroom in my own reality, having severed the connection to whatever was there waiting in the bedroom to the left of me. I was covered in sweat, and my heart was pounding, and I wondered how I managed to keep myself in a deep enough meditation to view so much for so long. I guess the classes really were worth taking. I sat back at my desk and opened the chat box. What the hell was that? I typed and hit enter. A few minutes went by before I saw that whoever was on the other side was typing a response. That's the world to the left. What does that even mean?

I replied. I don't understand. Are you so arrogant to think that your reality is the only reality? There are many universes stacked on top of each other and side to side. That was the one next door, the one to the left of you. It's always there, always inches away, always looking for a way to break into your world. There was a pause, and I pondered what this meant. Everything I just saw, the ruin, the despair, the green lightning, the deranged smiling version of myself, all of it was right here next to me? Just a slight shift of perception away. Always just mere inches to the left in another plane of existence.

Another message appeared on the screen. How long do you think it'll be? Before we succeed. This has to be a trick, I typed back. Who are you? It's not a trick. You saw it there in your own bedroom. It's the same everywhere.

Go look. And so I did. I slammed my laptop shut and I meditated, traveling to as many places across the globe as I could think of. In San Francisco, I went left and saw a city of ruin and And a golden gate bridge wrapped in the same thick, slimy tentacles that were in my bedroom. In the frozen deserts of Antarctica, I went left and saw dark purple storm clouds that gave birth to bright flashes of green lightning, followed by the loud boom of an eerie metallic thunder.

In the plains of Africa, I went left, and I saw the tentacles stretching for miles across the earth as hordes of mindless, zombified animals patrolled the wastelands, searching for unspoiled flesh to satisfy their hunger. I checked Germany. I checked Japan. I checked New York, Vancouver, Shanghai, and Mumbai. It was all the same. All rotten.

All shrouded in death and darkness and putrid, sweet-smelling, toxic, mouth. I checked one last location, fearing the worst, and yet knowing exactly what I'd find. From the International Space Station, I sat in the reality to the left, and I gazed down upon the earth, and I saw storms raging across the planet, the clouds all emitting, a purple glow, and flashing green lightning around the world. There were no storms, there was black smoke rising from the scorched ground below. The moon emerged, from behind the strange, unfamiliar earth, glowing in a deep blood red. I'll never be able to forget.

The person who sent me the message, they were right. It was all tainted here. There was no goodness left, nothing left to save. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. I returned to my body in my bedroom and sat up in my bed. But it was useless to cry. The world to the left was ravaged and left in ruin. But mine was still here.

My friends and my family in that reality were lost to whatever horrible destiny had fallen upon that earth. But they were still here with me on this one. Whatever the fate of that cursed universe right next to ours and just out of reach. It wasn't my problem. I'd never have to see it, or whatever caused all that destruction again, if I chose not to. My world was here. My world was fine. I decided in that moment to check up on my loved ones and reconnect with everyone in my life who I cared for. I felt the urge to set up some time to hang out with my friends who I hadn't seen in ages, to call my

mom and tell her I love her to email my cousin who just got married and had her first kid and ask her if there's anything I could do to help while she and her husband settled into their new life together. There are a lot of places that I can see with remote viewing, but how much was I missing because of my obsession with seeing places I could never experience in the flesh? I realized I was craving real connection that could never be filled with the sensual imprints of the place. I explore in meditation. I sat down at my desk to start emailing the people dearest to me, and I saw the open chat box. I almost closed it, but there was a new message. So now you know what's coming. Will your world be ready? Who the hell are you? I replied furiously, and hit

enter. A moment passed, then three dancing dots. A new message. You already know. The person on the other end was typing again, but it didn't matter. They were right. My body was flooded with a sense of horror and realization all at the same time. The message read, I'm you. See you on the right side.