Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - I Think I Might Be Trapped In My Apartment...

Episode Date: November 9, 2022

🎧 Check out The SCP Experience podcast here: https://spoti.fi/3juM1og 🎉 Ad-free bonus stories + exclusive uncensored animations: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🎥 YouTube: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep ✅ Send all advertising inquiries to: [e-mail] Author: John Beardify Check out more of his work Here: https://www.reddit.com/user/beardify/ New Book Release Here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09QJXLHF4 DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Book your seat at WestJet.com. or call your travel agent. WestJet, where your story takes off. Welcome to bea-R-R-I. Embarque and profite. Embarque and celebrate. Rigolet. Publié.

Savouré. Admirate. And profite. Via Rai, the voice that we love. Talk to nice sleep. Before we start this story, I'd like to thank my newest supporters, Sidney, Chris, and Irish clown.

If you'd like to receive access to my archive of over 50 bonus episodes and early access to podcast episodes. The link is in the description below. Stop what you're doing. Measure your walls. Write down the result. Then, do your best to remember the last time you were outside your home. Where did you go?

Who were you with? Do the memories feel completely real to you? Can you be sure of exactly when those events occurred? I can't pinpoint the exact moment when I began to suspect that something was wrong with my apartment. To be honest, I couldn't tell you with any certainty what I did yesterday or the day before that. I can remember my own past, of course, and the events in my life, but I couldn't tell you whether they took place four days ago or 40 or 400. My thoughts have been like that lately, fuzzy, unfocused. When did things begin to change? To all appearances, I have a

pretty cushy life. I work remotely as an independent contractor, which means I don't even have to leave the apartment if I don't want to. I've got everything I need right here. A home gym with a treadmill and a weight rack. Dual monitors and an ergonomic chair for my gaming and office needs. A walk-in shower, spacious kitchen, and a refrigerator with an ice maker. Any food, groceries, clothing, or electronics I want can be ordered straight to my door. It feels like I receive at least one package almost every day since I moved in, but I can't recall ever seeing anyone making the deliveries. My two windows look out over the apartment complex,

a parking lot, well-trimmed green grass, blocks of other units that I assume aren't much different from mine. The skinny trees and asphalt aren't exactly scenic, but then, if I want epic scenes from nature, I can always pull up a nature documentary on one of my streaming services. Lately, I've been getting the strangest urge to go out there, walk barefoot in the grass, feel the sun on my skin, even hug those sad little trees. Then I get a notification or the doorbell rings for another package, and those odd thoughts disappear, leaving no hint of where they came from. This morning, I decided to follow that strange urge to go outside. I ignored the cardboard box on my welcome mat.

and walked at the end of the hallway. Upon stepping into that corridor, with its identical number doors and yellow-gray tiles, I was overwhelmed with the sense of agoraphobia. It made me wonder once again, just how long it had been since I'd last left my apartment. I grabbed the handle of the fire door and pulled. Nothing.

It was locked. I walked to the other side of the corridor, with the same result. The elevator button lit up when I pressed it, but I couldn't hear any movement. Like a child's toy, it blinked and my welcome mat seemed to be laughing at me as I went back inside to check my work emails. I just couldn't focus. My thoughts kept drifting to the two locked doors and the dysfunctional elevator. Surely that was against some sort of fire code.

It was possible that the rental agency was doing maintenance, but a few repairs shouldn't have left me feeling so. trapped. I left my ergonomic chair twice more to try the doors, with the same result. When I called the rental agency, a machine put me on hold and left me there. Like the welcome mat, the tinny elevator music felt cruel and mocking. Like the sound itself was sneering at me for something I wasn't noticing. Something that should have been obvious.

Of course, the window. As I felt around the window for a latch, I realized for the first time that it didn't have one. My apartment had AC in the summer and heating in the winter. I never had a need to open the window until now. This was definitely against fire code. I broke out in a cold sweat as I frantically searched for a way to let in some air. The room suddenly felt unbearably stuffy. I took a deep breath.

I was panicking over nothing. I could just ask one of my neighbors what was going on with the doors and elevators. It was true. I didn't know any of them personally. And I couldn't remember the last time I'd run into someone in the hallway. But surely they were just as frustrated by the situation as I was. Maybe one of them might have some answers. I wasn't sure why I was twirling my keys and whistling nervously while I walked up to the door across the hall.

It was a normal wooden door with a brass number in a peephole, just like mine. But goosebumps rose all over my skin nevertheless. I felt quiet as I approached. The corridor was still and silent. My throat felt dry. Every instinct in my body was warning me against knocking on that door. I just didn't know why. Not until I leaned in closer.

I could hear excited panting, Like whoever was on the other side had their mouth pressed right up against the door. It was accompanied by a sick, fleshy sound and a noise that could have been either moaning, sobbing, or laughter. But I didn't wait around to check. I backed away, feeling the wrongness of all of this in my bones. I decided to try the last door, the one beside the fire escape. This time, I didn't wait around.

I walked right up to it and knocked. For a while, there was no response. There was a huge boom. The fluorescent lights above me flickered. Something heavy was throwing its weight against the door, trying to break out. Before I knew it, I was running for my apartment. With trembling fingers, I slid all my locks into place. Although if whatever was out there wanted to come in, I doubted it would do any good.

It took me a while to summon up the courage to look out of the peephole. But when I did, I saw only blackness. It had been covered up. Not knowing what else to do, I called emergency services. The whole situation was stupid, shameful, embarrassing. But the truth was, I only wanted to hear another human voice. No such luck. Whichever number I called, I received the same mechanical runaround and the same hold music as before.

I never felt so cut off from the rest of humanity. How long had it been this way? Had the world outside of my apartment ceased to exist? I sent emails to my employer, asking, no, begging them to call me. I pressed my nose against the window, praying that someone would walk by. The leaves of the tiny trees waved back and forth. The parked cars glimmered in the late summer sun, not a hint of movement. No calls came.

My peephole was still blacked out. When I finally built up the courage to unlock my door, The handle wouldn't budge. I did not want to believe it before, but now I had no choice. I was a prisoner in my own apartment. The sound of breaking glass shocked me out of my misery. An empty jar I'd left on the rim of the sink had shattered on the floor. But what had made it fall?

There was no breeze in the apartment. And there was no one else inside with me who could have knocked it to the ground. Was there? I grabbed a hammer from the tool set. I kept in the hall closet and clutched it to my chest. I doubted it would do much good against the psycho who'd been trying to break down their door or the maniac with the panting breaths across the hall. But a hammer was better than nothing.

My eyes zeroed in on the two impossible to open windows. What I was thinking was crazy, and I knew it. But I had to breathe the real air again. If that damn rental agency could afford to shut down the elevator and seal both doorways, They could afford to replace my window panes. My rage-fueled hammer swing simply bounced off. My windows were made as something stronger than glass. Fortunately, the electricity, the internet, and my computer all worked just fine.

After an online deep dive into how to cut through plexiglass, I went back to my hall closet toolkit, only to find the closet door was ajar. I was sure I had shut it, but now it wouldn't close properly. Strange. I got the tools I needed and went to work on the window. It took hours to penetrate the plexy glass as protective coating, but once I destroyed it, I felt a surge of victorious energy. I smashed the glass and reached through, only to feel my fingers brush against a touchscreen. The tranquil scene of the parking lot, with its sad little trees and perfectly cut grass, was not real. Maybe it had never been real. That desperate urge to escape.

surged in me again, and I smashed the screen and prided from the wall. It shattered on my floor, revealing solid concrete behind. I chipped away at the gray stone with the hammer until my arms were numb and my fingers were covered with blisters, but I barely made a dent in it. Who is doing this to me? Why? Hello? I cried out. Is anyone there? I don't know what I feared more. silence or a response. I flung myself backwards, exhausted, and nearly knocked myself unconscious on the corner of my glass coffee table.

It should have been impossible. My coffee table should have been several feet behind me. The only way its new position would make sense was if the apartment was getting smaller. I thought of the shattered jar, the closet door that wouldn't close right. Normally, I could stand in the apartment's main hall, without my fingers touching the walls.

If that wasn't the case now, sure enough, the tips of my fingers bent backwards when they touched the drywall. I giggled to myself and felt immediately unnerved by how insane it sounded. I put my back against the wall and slid to the floor, clutching my head. Sweat dribbled down my forehead, forming puddles in the small of my back and beneath my arms. As my apartment somehow impossibly grew smaller, it would be able to be. was growing hotter as well. I mashed the AC control as low as it would go, but the air blowing

from the vents still felt hot. The vents! It felt like a brilliant idea at first, but when I climbed a chair and stuck my head into the air duct, I saw that it only led to a tiny opening in concrete, the same sort of concrete I'd found behind the false window. I was encased in a cement tomb, and it was shrinking. There was no time. to lose. I bashed holes in the drywall beside the front door, in the kitchen, even in the bathroom, but only found the same concrete. I was drenched in sweat. No matter how much water I drank, I just couldn't cool off. I stripped down to my boxers and used a knife to peel back the laminate flooring and carpet, even though I already knew what I was going to find. Something

shattered in the bathroom, the shower door, the shrinking walls had crushed it. I ran to my computer, thankfully in the largest room of the house. I sent emails to all my contacts, all caps, alert box checked, pleading for help. I gave my address, my phone number, every detail I could accept what was actually happening. I didn't want them to think I was crazy. Beside my PC, the hold music continued to sound from my phone. I hung up and tried emergency services again with the same result. A splintering sound reverberated from the kitchen. The kid, the kid, cabinets and countertop were slowly being crushed by the shrinking walls. My heart left when I heard the ping of a notification.

My boss! Perhaps he'd been able to contact someone. My heart dropped. It was just another task. Another request for a spreadsheet, done by Friday. There was no mention of my prior emails, of my desperation. It made me wonder whether my boss was a person at all. Couldn't it just as easily be a disembodied AI account,

set up to send me tasks on a regular basis? In fact, couldn't all the people in my contact list be nothing more than bots? I tried to remember the faces of the people I worked with, but I couldn't recall what a single one of them looked like. We communicated almost exclusively through chat. And besides, speech-to-text programs were so accurate that even a voice could be faked.

Even their profile pictures could just be photos pulled from the internet. No. I couldn't go down that rabbit hole. Not now. I needed to think. But my thoughts were sluggish. It was the damn heat, the stuffiness of the place, and I didn't have any more layers to take off, except my skin. The thought made another one of those insane laughs brubble up in my throat. I clamped a hand over my mouth. A horrible metal groan reverberated through the apartment. The pipes! The shrinking walls were ripping the pipes. Water poured from under the sink, pooling in the holes I had bashed in the concrete with my hammer. With a wild cry, I ran at my front door, battering at its hinges until they sprang free and the door fell forward, revealing another concrete wall on the other side. I dropped in my hands

and knees and cried. I could feel the false wooden flooring in the hallway, scrunching itself beneath my feet like a wrinkled jeat. A cascade of sweat poured over my eyes, and it was getting difficult to breathe. It was only a matter of time before the wiring was ripped out as well. I'd be left in a lightless, suffocating hell until I was finally crushed. I dragged myself back to my computer. I figured I had about an hour before this, the largest room of the house was reduced to the size of a closet. I typed faster than I ever had before. Every search term I could think of, apartment getting smaller, trapped in apartment help. shrinking walls. How to escape. Help. Please someone help.

None of the search engines I tried gave me the results I was looking for. Online, or at least on the internet that I had access to, all I found were conspiracy theories, DIY tips, and lame horror stories. I was alone, and maybe in the entire world. And if I was, then who was doing this to me? The cool glass of the coffee table is starting to press against my thighs. The lights have flickered more than once. And the fake wood of my standing desk is beginning to buckle. It won't be long now.

I only hope I suffocate before the compacting walls crush my bones. If you're out there and you're hearing this, remember when I asked you to measure the walls in your home. Now go measure them again. Is the measurement the same? Are you sure? Lazzang sur-sur-joled, Pucance-molyne

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