Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - I Don't Think What's Following Me is Human

Episode Date: September 17, 2025

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I don't know, Laurel. My mom has been acting weird lately, says someone is following her. The blonde woman standing close to me waiting for her coffee, says, to her red-headed friend. Who's following her? The redhead asks. That's the strange part. The blonde replies and leans in close. She says it's her second husband. The guy after my dad. The one she fought with all the time? Yes, that one. But that's not the weird part.

She also says it's her older sister and the asshole neighbor from down her sister. street. Uh-oh. Sounds like early onset dementia. I know, I know. That's why I told her to go to the doctor. What she say? She hung up on me. Well, that's not good. Grand latte to go for Herman. The barista shouts. I sigh and walk to the counter. It's Hermes, I say. The barista doesn't care. She barely gives me a cursory smile as she shouts. Double Macchiato, extra foam, two shots of almond to go for Raymond. A man in a suit shoves past me before I can get out of the way. He grabs his drink, sneers at me, then hurries through the morning crowd on his way to whatever

important crap he has to do today. My blood boils, and I want to chase the fucker down and give him a peace of my mind, but I have a deadline and need to get to work. I find a table, and as I take my seat, ready to pull my laptop out of my carrier bag, a man wearing the green apron that all the coffee shop employees wear, comes up to me and says, You ordered your drink to go, sir. The tables are for in-store orders. Uh, yeah, I'm not going to be long. That's why I ordered it to go. I say and hold up my latte. I'm a slow drinker, just going to fire off a couple of emails. Yes, well, the tables are for

in-store orders only. He stares at me. I smile up at him. Yeah, you said that. I hold up my latte again. Thanks. I'll just be a second. He continues to stare at. He continues to stare at me. I frown. Oh shit. You actually want me to leave? Is that what you were saying? Of course not, sir. But thank you for understanding. Have a pleasant day. My frown deepens. So you do or do not want me to leave. I'm confused. I would never ask a paying customer to leave, sir. But thank you for ordering your drink to go and not taking up a table that in-store customers need. Okay, okay, hold on. I feel like I'm getting mixed messages here. My apologies for the confusion, sir.

Have a pleasant day, and we hope to see you again. He stares. I frown. Then I grab my carrier bag, my latte, and stand up. Yeah, sure. Whatever. You have yourself a pleasant day, too. Oh, thank you, sir.

How kind of you to say. Enjoy your drink, and we hope to see you again. Seriously? Yeah, we'll see. I force a smile and give the guy a nod, then weave through the morning crowd and out onto the sidewalk. Fucking asshole, I mutter under my breath. I take a sip of my latte and wince. Too hot.

When I'm out of sight of the coffee shop employees, I turned to flip the coffee shop off, because why not? Then freeze with my hand half raised. The green apron manager guy is standing outside the shop's door, only a few feet for me, and he's still staring. Instead of giving him the finger, I raise my drink and salute, roll my eyes, then turn and keep walking. I'll go sit at the park and work there. I'll always take dealing with junkies over dealing with corporate bitches like this fucker. It's a nice day anyhow, so I wasted sitting inside a generic, sterile, gingerbread spice-smelling shithole, right? Right.

When I get to the crosswalk, I stand with a dozen others, all waiting and watching in anticipation for that little. little walk guy to appear across the street. A few folks can't wait and push past me, bravely dodging the morning traffic. Excuse you, I say to a woman, as she gives me a hard knock with her elbow. She tries to get by a couple on my right, and as I turn to watch her rudely navigate the crowd, I see a flash of green. The employee from the coffee shop is standing behind everyone, his eyes on me. He stands perfectly still, even as others jostle him when they join the scrum to cross the street. To them, it's like he isn't even there. I raise my eyebrows in that universal, what the fuck do you want, gesture. But his expression doesn't change, even though

he's staring right at me. The light changes, and I'm swept up as the herd moves as one before splitting off when we reach the other side of the street. Some go right, some go left, some keep walking straight. I'm part of the keep walking straight crowd. I sip my latte. and it's finally cooled enough to be enjoyed painlessly. As I pass by shop fronts and the ubiquitous plates of reflective glass that make up most of the buildings on this block, a flash of green catches my eye again. I look to my left into the reflection of one of the windows

and see the damn employee following me a few yards back. So I stop and turn around. What do you want, man? I bark at him. He stops where he is, about ten yards away, It only stares at me. Dude! What the fuck? Passersby give me puzzled looks, but I ignore them.

Did I leave something? Did I not tip enough? What's your deal, dude? He stands. He stares. Hey, asshole. I got up and left when you did that whole passive-aggressive bullshit, so I don't know what your fucking problem is. Go be crazy somewhere else, will you? A guy says as he walks by, I turn and say, I'm not the crazy one. He is. I point and look back at the coffee shop.

guy. But he's not there. What the actual? Everyone is avoiding making eye contact with me as I keep my hand raised, pointing at thin air. I lower it slowly, give the area around me a good looking over, and then shrug it off. I must have been seeing things. I can get a little worked up when I deal with conflict. My subconscious was probably spitballing a hundred different ways I could have handed the guy his ass back in that coffee shop. So I just thought I saw him follow me down the sidewalk. across the street and down another sidewalk. Yeah, that's it. My subconscious just fucking with me.

I pound the latte, hoping a little caffeine jolt will get me out of my head. Tossing the empty cup in a trash bin, I make my way to the park and find an open bench. Just as I take my laptop out, a man and small boy holding hands walk up to me. I'm really sorry about this, but we were sitting there, he says. Um, yeah, no, you weren't, I reply, and hope my grin is both friendly and fuck-offly. We only left for a minute, because Jordan had to use the restroom.

He continues. But this is kind of our bench. We sit here this time every day. Admirable, I reply, and place my computer on my lap. It's nice to have a routine. The small boy starts to fidget and whine. I avoid looking at him and keep my eyes on the dad. If you don't mind, I have work to do. Right, but you see, my son is autistic,

and we have been working hard on him being comfortable with public spaces. Sounds like good parenting. Bravo! We've made a lot of progress by coming here and sitting on this bench at this time of day. Again, it's nice to have a routine. You two enjoy your day. The kid's whining gets louder. His dad looks down at him with worry. Jesus, is the kid about to have a tantrum or something?

This is why I don't have kids. Okay, I'm going to just be plain and ask you directly, if you wouldn't mind moving to one of the other open benches. I really do apologize for the inconvenience, but it would help me out a lot. I sigh and look over at the two park benches left that are empty. One has what is obviously a pile of shit on it, possibly animal, but most likely human. The other is right next to the restrooms, and I know exactly what kind of olfactory experience that will produce. I think I'm good here, I say.

Sorry if I gummed things up, but it'll be good for your boy to learn how to zig when life zags. For a brief second, I think the dad is going to grab me. His whole body is tense, and his eyes are worse. Then his kid lets loose with an ear-piercing screech, and dad's attention shifts instantly away from me and to his boy. Jordan, it's all right, he says, kneeling down in front of the boy. This man needs this bench for his work. Sometimes we have to share, right? We've talked about this.

I don't know how the kid can hear anything over his screeching, but he nods like he understands. That doesn't mean he stops screeching. Instead, he ups the volume while he continues to nod. Dad looks over, his eyes pleading with me. I'm about to make my case again when I notice a mom with a stroller eyeballing me. Then I see an elderly couple by the oak tree,

watching this scene carefully. I see a teenager take out an earbud and stare at me. A man in a suit shakes his head in my direction. Hold on, the guy in the suit is the asshole with the shitty machiata order from the coffee shop. He sneers and keeps shaking his head as he finishes his drink and tosses the empty cup at a trash can.

It misses, but he doesn't go back for it. The kids screeches double in volume. Come on, man, the dad says to me. There's too much of an audience, so I don't really have a choice. I get up, pack my laptop into my courier bag, and say, The bench is all yours, dude. You and your kid knock yourselves out. I throw the bag strap over my shoulder,

tip a pretend hat at the dad, fake smile at the kid, then get the hell out of the park before a mob forms. The teenager glares at me the whole way. Fucking kids. Back out on the sidewalk, I have to think for a second about where to go next, or try to go. My track record sucks this morning. Different coffee shop, or a different park?

There's a coffee shop a couple blocks over, but the next closest park is several blocks in the opposite direction. I checked my phone and realize I've pissed most of the morning away. If I'm going to get any work done and make my deadline, I need to find a spot to hunker down in and get to work. A different coffee shop makes the most sense. I get my bearings and walk the couple of blocks up to a little grungy cafe. Definitely not a corporate chain, which is perfect. But it also smells like yesterday's locks, so you take the good with the bad, I suppose. Not wanting to push my luck, I order a latte, even though I'm fully caffeinated already.

They have a sign that clearly reads, tables are for paying customers only. There's no distinction between to-go or in-store customers, so I should be safe. Plus, points to the little guy for giving a shit about their customers. Extra large latte for herpes! The barista calls out. Hermes, I say to her when I pick up my drink. No one names their kid, herpes. You don't know that, she says with a shrug, and gets back to grinding beans and steaming

milk and being pretentious as fuck. I find a table, pull out my laptop, and see you know, start working. I'm on a roll with the article I'm writing when I happen to look up and almost spit out the sip of latte I just took. The screeching kid is standing at the front window. He's not screeching now, though, just staring, staring right at me. I lower my head and focus on my article, but my stupid subconscious won't let it go, and I keep glancing up over my laptop screen at the kid. Still there, still staring. Where the fuck is his dad? If the kid, if the kid, he's a guy, kid's autistic or whatever, he should definitely be supervised. And while I'm

definitely not an expert, I think the kid has to be no older than kindergarten. Autistic or not, the little dude shouldn't be left alone outside a coffee shop. I get up and ask the barista, did a guy come in to use the bathroom? I guess. They're for paying customers only, but people don't care. So yeah, some guy has probably come in to use the restroom. No, no, I mean specifically, did a guy come in in the past few minutes because he left his boy outside and the fucking kid won't stop staring at me i pointed the window the kid isn't there what kid she asks um never mind he must have my words catch in my throat the guy in the suit mr messed up machado is standing at my table looking right at me

must have been what the barista asks just before setting a to go cup on the counter and shouting flat white for Donna. Hey, I say as I stalked back to my table. Are you following me? Mr. Machiatto doesn't respond, only stares. Listen, I don't need more shit this morning, all right? How about you move your ass out of my way so I can sit down and get to work, huh? Wi-Fi is down. A different barista says, as she comes out to gather cups and wipe down tables. I got such a late start that the morning rush is now over. What? Seriously? I say, turning to glower at her. She glowers back. Sorry, it's been a shit morning.

Yeah, you already told me. She says and walks off to clean another table. No, I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to this douche, I start to say. But when I hook my thumb at Mr. Machiatto, he's not there. Gone. Where'd he go? Who?

The cleaning barista asks. The guy in the suit. He was standing here, locking my seat. She looks around. You're the only guy who's been. in here for like a half hour or something. Picture this. It's late at night.

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and their shop pay button. Sign up for your $1 per month trial today at Shopify.com slash dns. Go to Shopify.com slash DNS. That's Shopify.com slash DNS. Medium latte, double espresso, three shots of vanilla for Helen. The barista at the counter shouts. What? No.

He was wearing an expensive suit and looked like a finance bro. The cleaning barista shrugs. Don't know what to tell you. You're the only. guy for a while. It's easy to remember when a guy comes in with a name like herpes. It's Hermes! I roar. She straightens up and places her hands on her hips as the whole shop goes silent. Not liking the tone, man. How about you take your drink to go? She steps to the sidebar and grabs a to go cup and lid, then marches to my table, pours my drink into the cup, slaps on the

lid, and holds it out. It's cool enough not to need a sleeve, but I'll get one for you if that will help. Hey, listen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to raise my voice, I say. It's been a shit. Morning. Yeah, you've said that. A lot. So, here's your drink. Take it and your shit morning somewhere else, okay? I read the name tag dangling from her apron strap. Missy. Hey, Missy, I really am sorry. I'll sit and work and be quiet. Still no Wi-Fi. The counter-barista calls over to me before shouting. for Heather. I realize the other patrons are watching us. From the looks on their faces, I am not welcome here by anyone anymore. Mr. Machiaato wasn't the problem. The lack of Wi-Fi isn't the problem. Apparently, I'm the problem. Just go before I call the cops, man,

Missy says, still holding out my drink. Yeah, sure, got it. I say and gather up my courier bag. I hesitate, then take the drink from her. Sorry again for yelling. whatever she says and turns to watch me leave she even stays at the door eyeballing me the entire time i hurried down the sidewalk to the crosswalk okay hermes where to now i ask myself two young women and a couple all look at me then look away quickly shit i must be giving off crazy homeless on the street vibes even though i'm wearing two hundred dollar doc martin boots and vintage jeans homeless don't have $200 Doc Martens or vintage jeans? Well, they may have vintage jeans by default, but not clean ones.

The light turns, and I cross the street, still trying to figure out where to go and work. My phone rings. Shit, I mumble, seeing my editor's name. I clear my throat and answer. Hey, Darrell, what's up? He snaps. It's not due until this afternoon, I say. You haven't even written it?

He almost yells. No, no, I have. Just need some polish before I turn it in. I'm doing that right now. I'll have it to you before the deadline. Deadline? It's due now, Hermes. Now. I stop and lean against the building I'm walking past. No. You said I had until this afternoon.

I was being sarcastic inbox within the hour, Hermes. Or your next assignment will be rating daycare facilities for the Sunday email blast. An hour? Daryl, you have got to be... Missy, the cleaning barista from the last coffee shop, is standing down at the corner. staring at me. I push off from the building and frown. Then I give her a little wave. She doesn't wave back. Only stares. Hermes? Hermes! Are you fucking listening to me? I hear him disconnect. But my phone stays up by my ear as I watch Missy watch me. Then I take a couple of steps backward. She moves forward by a couple of steps. I take a couple more and then a few more after that.

She matches me step for step. I turned and run. I don't know what else to fucking do. Why are people following me all over the city? What the fuck is going on? I run and run. When I reach the end of the block, I turn the corner and keep running

until I come to an entryway and duck inside some random building. Can I help you, sir? A security guard at a very nice desk asks me. I glance around and realize I'm in the staller bank building. Um, no. I think I'm okay, I say. He frowns and gets up.

This is a private building, sir. If you don't have business here, I need to ask you to leave. Yeah, yeah, I will. Give me a second, dude, all right? There's some barista following me, and I want to make sure I ditched her. He looks at me. He looks at the entranceway.

He looks at the to-go cup in my hand. Sir, did you steal that drink? What? No, I didn't fucking steal this drink. He bristles at my language. Sorry, didn't mean to cuss. Do you have a receipt for that drink? A receipt?

No, I didn't get one. Who gets receipts? It's all electronic. I pull out my phone. I probably have one in my email. Give me a second and I'll find it. Sir, I think it's best if you leave. Now.

Hold on, damn it. I can find the receipt. I'm sure it's in my... Hey, hey, let go of me! He's grabbed my arm and is marching me out of the building's double-glass doors. Not fucking cool, man! Get your fucking hand off me! He shoves me out onto the sidewalk,

and then stands and glares at me. When I don't move, he points right. When I still don't move, he gets out his phone and dials 911, showing me the numbers as his finger hovers over the call button. Oh, fuck off! I shout and stomp away.

Stupid bully, motherfucker! I'm pissed, like really pissed. People don't need to treat other people like that. All I did was stand there for a few seconds. I grouse as I push past people and get to the next corner. You ask for a little help, and what happens? The fucker calls the cops. Heads turn my way.

What? I snarl. Huh? What the fuck are you looking at? What's your fucking problem? Heads turn away. The light changes, and I'm on yet another block. Far from where I wanted to be, but with no clue where I'm going.

Could go home, I say, startling a woman walking her tiny poodle shit of a dog. She and her poodle shit of a dog glare at me. Oh, fuck off, you pruned up bitch. Not cool, man. A teenager says as he skates past. Fuck you too! I shout and flip him off as he speeds by. Standing about five yards away is the security guard from the building.

You know what he's doing? He's fucking staring at me. What? I scream. I left your fucking building. Why are you fucking following me? He doesn't reply, and I'm done with it all. You're going to fucking answer me!

I yell as I stomp toward him. People get out of my way. Most start looking to see if they can cross the street. When I'm almost on the guy, the mouth opens wide to reveal nothing but blackness. No teeth, no tongue, no nothing. I skid to a stop. His mouth keeps opening wider and wider and wider. What the fuck?

I say and take a step back. Just like the barista Missy, he matches me and takes a step forward. His mouth keeps opening, and in a second, I can't even be able to be. and see the rest of his face all i see his mouth is empty black dark going to swallow me fucking whole mouth do you see this i cry grabbing a random man's arm fucking fuck off weirdo he growls and pushes me away i stumble into a man and a woman walking with their daughter hey the man shouts and shoves me watch it asshole marcus be kind the woman says so many of the homeless have mental health issues that aren't their fault i don't have

mental health issues, you bitch. I yell. Hey! The man shouts and grabs me by my shirt. I'm going to kick your ass. Dad, stop! The daughter pleads. The man shoves me back, and I slam into the building next to me. I hear something crack, and my heart drops. No, no, no! I say as I swing my courier bag around and dig into it. Ah, fuck! No! My laptop is snapped at the hinge. How the fuck that could happen? I don't know. But considering my day so far? Yeah. It happened. You son of a bitch! I shout and go for the man. He readies for me and brings a fist up and back. An electronic whoop-whoop stops us both. Is there a problem here? A police officer's voice asks from the loudspeaker on the cruiser that pulls up to the curb.

No. I say I'm back away from angry dad. All good here, officer. I scanned the sidewalk, no security guard with an impossibly huge mouth. The cop says, and I see he's watching me only. Angry Dad wraps one arm around his wife's shoulder and one around his daughter's shoulder and walks them away from me as fast as he can. The cop says, Get moving. I am, I am. I say and do just that.

I fast walk away, my mind reeling from everything that's happened so far. I take the next corner and keep walking. Then the next corner and the next. Then I realize I just walked in a fucking circle. Fuck! I shout. And the small crowd on the sidewalk instantly parts for me. none of them wanting anything to do with my crazy.

I sigh and take a deep breath and see angry Dad and his family watching me from only a few yards away. Are you fucking kidding me? I grumble. Are you fucking kidding me? I pointed them. Fuck off!

Then I turned to head the opposite direction. The security guard is standing in front of me. His mouth still open wide. Oh, fuck! I scream and break into a sprint, pushing and shoving pedestrians out of my way. Move! Move!

Damn it! It's a block away, and when I glance over my shoulder, the guard is still behind me, pacing me easily. I face the way I'm running, and my throat almost tears from the scream I let loose as I see Missy, the cleaning barista, standing next to Angry Dad and his family. I zip into a boutique that's on my right. Is there an exit? I shout.

The stunned clerk points toward the back. I race around the overpriced blouses and slacks and slam through the employee's only door. Their clerk, scrolling on her phone, looks up and watches me race by to the only other door. My hands hit the door security bar, and I'm out in an alleyway. The green apron manager from the first coffee shop and the boy from the park are waiting for me. Holy fuck! I screech as both of their mouths open wide.

Oh, fuck no! My legs don't need to be told what to do. I barrel through them and race down the alleyway. When I get to the sidewalk, angry dad and his family are waiting, their jaws unhinging, faces contorting to manage their ever-widening maws. I don't look. I don't care. I step off the curb and sprint across the street. The screech of tires and a loud, whoop, whoop, hit my ears, just as something slams into me and to find myself suddenly airborne. Before I can even register that my feet are no longer on the pavement, I hit the ground hard. The strap of my courier bag breaks,

and I watch it slide across the road and slip through a storm drain, lost from sight in the blink of an eye. No! I yell then wince as the pain sets in. All right, pal, let's get you up. Rough hands grab me and yank me up onto my feet. You hurt? The cop asks me, the same cop from earlier. His partner is right next to him, sizing me up. He looks fine to me, the partner says.

How about some ID? I'm, yeah, okay. What? I'm still dazed and not quite tracking everything. Then I realized that my wallet was in my bag. I pointed the storm drain. My bag. It went down there. Oh, is that so, Pennywise?

The first cop says. He and his partner laughed. How about we take you in and get this sorted out at the precinct? Precinct? What? No. I didn't do anything wrong. You illegally crossed the street.

The partner says. That's called jaywalking. The first cop says, still holding on to me. Then you deliberately tried to damage a police cruiser by running into it. The partner says. Some might call that assaulting a police officer. The first cop adds. What? No, I didn't do that. You hit me.

That's so. The partner asks. He says we hit him. Homeless junkies will say anything, the first cop says. I'm not homeless. Oh, but are you a junkie? No, I'm none of that. I point across the street at Angry Dad and his family. Green apron and little screeching kid have joined them.

Those people have been following me and harassing me and chasing me all fucking morning. What people? The first cop asks, Missy and the security guard walk toward the group. And, no, that can't be. Darrell, I whisper, seeing my editor in the crowd. Making enemies with imaginary people, are you? The partner laughs. Some folks gotta invent conflict, am I right?

The first cop says, and drags me to the back of the cruiser. His partner opens the door and I'm shoved into the back seat. Watch your head. I barely notice them throwing me in, or they them slamming the door on me. My eyes are on Darrell. Why the fuck is my editor standing with those, those? What are you? I mumble. Your best friends are your worst nightmares. The first cop says as he hops into the driver's seat. All depends on how you behave during this ride, pal. The partner says. That's my editor, I say, and point at the crowd on the sidewalk. And that guy told me to leave the

coffee shop earlier, and that kid stole my parked bench. Well, don't you worry, pal? The partner says. Dorothy and Toto and the scarecrow at all those assholes will be waiting for you at the precinct station too. I got a little rowdy last night and decided to fight the invisible man in Frankenstein. The first cop says. Had to bring in the whole lot. They burst out laughing. I turned to them as the cruiser pulls away. No, you have to fucking listen. I plead. My voice high-pitched, and maybe a little manic. Those people back there have been following me all morning. Every place I went, someone from there started following me. The partner turns in his seat and looks past me. What people, pal? I look back and everyone is gone, except for an actual homeless man who was pissing on the corner of

the building by the alleyway I came out of. I whisper, they were there. Yep, and space aliens are real, the partner says, then turns back to face the street. Wouldn't it be funny if they were? The first cop asks. Yeah, and they'd try to take over the planet by making us all See shit. Sure would explain a lot of the calls we've gotten today. No shit. Why do we always get to crazies? And why so many lately? Good fucking questions. The first cop says as he takes her right at the next corner. We'll let the social worker sort this fucker out. I'm not crazy, I say and shake my head. I'm not. They were following me. Sure, pal, sure. Hey, you see that? The first cop asks, leaning forward against the steering wheel,

peering out the windshield as we get closer to the intersection. That's my ex-wife. What the hell is she doing in the city? I just talked to her this morning, and she's two states away with my boy. Yeah, I heard you yelling at her while I was getting the prowlers. The partner says, then he frowns. Is that?

What the fuck is Sarge doing over there? And what the fuck is wrong with his mouth? Jesus, why is my ex walking into the street? The first cop asks. Um, red light, I say and point at the intersection. Red light! The cruiser blows the red light, neither cop seeing the garbage truck racing at us. As the crunch of metal fills my ears, and I'm tumbled violently into the backseat of the cruiser,

a shadow covers the entire street. The cruiser comes to a rocking stop. I can hear people screaming, but they don't sound like screams of worry about the crash. Shoughing up onto my knees, I look out the shattered side window, and watch, as people run this way and that. Some are screaming at nothing, while others are pointing up in the sky. I twist my neck and stare up. Something massive is floating over the city, blocking out the sun. The bottom of whatever the fuck it is opens wide, like a deep, dark, toothless mouth.

Hands grab me and yanked me out of the cruiser's broken back window. I'm slammed onto the pavement. Above me, looming over me, are the green apron manager, the screeching kid, the cleaning barista, Mr. Machiato, the security guard, the angry dad and his family. And my fucking editor, Daryl, their mouths open wide and keep opening, until they are large enough to devour me whole. Just like the shape over the city. Jesus, I mumbled.

I think the cops were right for it change. It's fucking aliens. The mouths rush at me.