Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Never take sleeping pills from the dark web

Episode Date: June 27, 2022

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I slumped further into the uncomfortable wooden chair in the waiting room. I stared up at the popcorn paneled ceiling and started making images from the yellow stains. One of them looked like an ominous figure with a dagger in his hand, watching over another stain that resembled someone resting in a bed. I rolled my eyes and turned toward the large fish tank that bisected the waiting room. In the shadowy recesses of one of the rock structures, the tip of an eel's face emerged. It slithered from the hole,

and I locked my eyes with its yellow, dead eyes. The eel turned at last and swam to the opposite side of the tank. I wondered if eel slept, or if they were in a perpetual state of awakeness. The clicking sound of high heels on the tile of the corridor attached to the waiting room pierced my ears. Dr. Ritter rounded the corner, paused, and surveyed the room.

She found me with her eyes and smiled. Jason, she said quietly, I'm ready for you. I stood up and thrust my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. I followed her into our usual meeting room, and she shut the door behind us. I sat down on the couch that was meant for the patient, and Dr. Ritter sat down on the armchair meant for the psychiatrist. She had her graying hair up in a bun and was wearing a dark pantsuit. How are you today, Jason?

She asked, with her placating voice. I had no interest in wasting time. So I immediately replied. I still can't sleep. She frowned. I'm sorry to hear that. Have you been taking the magnesium I suggested? Yep.

Did you bring your sleep journal with you? I'd like to look over your routine together. I shifted in my seat and rubbed my hand on my temple. Oh, I forgot it. Sorry. No need to be sorry. Why don't you just tell me what your routine is most nights? Well, I stop using my phone an hour before bed, like you said. I read a chapter of a book while I'm in bed, and I've been listening to white noise, but it hasn't helped. The magnesium hasn't helped either. Dr. Ritter wrote something down in her notes. As I've mentioned before, this is still all just treating the symptoms. And clearly the cause of your insomnia is so strong that we are failing to even treat its symptoms.

You told me that the insomnia came on after you lost your mother a few months ago. Can you think of any time before that when you suffered from insomnia? No, I said. I never had an issue with sleep my whole life. It was when she... Well, when I lost her, I haven't really slept since then. Are you having trouble accepting her death? I shot her at Blair.

Of course I am. What 20-year-old would be okay with his mother, you know? Something I said has upset you. Yeah, I just thought it was a dumb question. We went back and forth for a while longer. She continued to prod at my relationship with my mother and my feelings surrounding her death. I would answer her questions.

She would tell me I was being defensive and not open to the process. Eventually, she looked over at the digital clock on the stand in the corner of the room. I want to be mindful of the time, she said. We still have work to do. But what do you think we can do to get you to sleep better until our next session? Well, I... I rubbed my arm, awkwardly. I didn't make eye contact with her.

I'm just so tired. I was hoping you could prescribe me something. Something stronger than magnesium. Please. I'm so tired. I pressed my hands to my face and started to cry. She wrote something on her prescription pad and handed it to me. This is a prescription for Ambien, she said.

I don't like giving drugs as a solution, but I want you to be able to get some sleep. I'll let you have this on the condition that you continue to come to our sessions and be more open about your current feelings. I thanked her and left the room. I walked out of the building and got it. into my car to head to a pharmacy immediately. The Ambien prescription was filled, and I excitedly clutched the pill bottle. I knew how strong Ambien was, and I couldn't wait to take something that would actually work.

I didn't see any of my friends that night. I just downed one of the pills and crawled into my dorm room bed. I tossed and turned all night. Misery wrapped around me like my bedsheets. I scratched at my skin and ruined. rolled around with discomfort. In the morning, I thought that maybe I just needed to adjust to the drug first. The following evening, I took two for good measure.

I still didn't sleep. So that was it, I thought. There was nothing that could help me. Not even the prescribed drugs could put me to sleep. I began to sob in my bed. My roommate, Alex, stirred. Dude, is everything okay? He asked, grogily.

Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry. He went back to sleep. But I remembered something he had told me once. It had mostly been a joke, I think. But he had said you could get anything on certain websites, things that you couldn't get prescribed anywhere. These websites could only be found on the dark web, which I had never used before.

Something about it had always been off-putting. But I didn't care anymore. I would do anything to sleep. I grabbed my laptop and learned how to access the dark web fairly quickly. I installed a Tor browser and opened it. After a bit of research and a few dead ends, I finally found a promising website with the simple address, sleep. onion. What I saw there seemed too good to be true. There was a pill being offered that guaranteed the best sleep of your life. But the truly unbelievable part was that it claimed to be a free trial. You input your

shipping address and they, whoever they were, sent you the pills. It didn't even say you had to review the product or anything. Since my mailing address was a P.O. box on campus, I had no fear that someone would be able to find where I lived. I entered my mailing address and clicked on the large green Submit button. A text block appeared that read, Thank you for your order. We will be in contact with you again soon, Jason. I blinked and read it over again. Jason, how did they know my name?

That should have been a red flag, but I was too tired to think. straight. So I figured that I had entered my name at some point and had just forgotten. I shut my computer and returned to my bed, tossing and turning all night like always. The next day, when I checked my mail at the student mailing center, I was extremely surprised to find that the dark web pills had already arrived. I opened the package to find a pure black pill bottle. A single word was inscribed in silver on the bottle. Sleep. Also when the box was a note that read, Sweet Dreams, Jason. I wasn't sure if that note was meant to be encouraging or threatening, but I didn't care. I didn't even care about waiting for the

following evening to go to bed. Returning to my dorm room, I opened the black bottle and found it full of silver pills. The pills almost seemed to glow. Part of me knew the danger of swallowing mysterious pills from the dark web, but as I said, I didn't care anymore. I knew deep down that I was on the verge of suicide anyway. Nothing mattered. I swallowed a silver pill and climbed into bed. Fan of soccer, you could assist at a moment historic. You could gain the bid for the final

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I sat up in bed. Alex was in the room now. He was watching something on our small TV. Dude, he said, I hope you didn't have anything important to do. You've been asleep all day. He laughed and took a sip of the beer he was holding. What?

I asked, rubbing my eyes, peering out our window. I saw it was now evening. Something felt different inside me. I felt peaceful. I had rested, truly rested. For the first time in months, the pills worked.

I jumped out of bed and started laughing. I grabbed Alex by the shoulders and shook him excitedly. I slept! I shouted. I slept all day, Alex. Alex smiled. Yeah, I'm real proud of you, bud. Now move.

I can't see the TV. I sat next to Alex for a while and watched TV with him. I felt genuinely happy. But not wanting my sleep schedule to be reversed, I decided to try and sleep until morning. I also wanted to test the power of these new pills, so I climbed back into bed and took another. Within minutes, I was back in the blissful embrace of darkness. I awoke the next morning with an excitement to start my day that I had not experienced in a long time.

The following weeks were some of the best I ever had. Before these pills, I had been threatened with expulsion by my university due to my abysmal grades. But with new health and rest, I was. able to increase my GPA dramatically. All of my relationships improved as well. My friends said it was like I was back from the dead, and they were so happy to have me around. My new, restful life had also instilled confidence and vitality in me, and I ended up asking out a girl, Ellen, who I had been crushing on for a while. She agreed to go on a date, and we were soon calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend. I stopped going to therapy. I stopped going to therapy. I

I didn't see the point of it since I was extraordinarily happy. Dr. Ritter had called and said she would not write me more prescriptions until I returned. I told her I didn't care because the ambient didn't work anyway. She seemed very concerned about this, but I refused to return. Life was perfect until I somehow found myself with an empty pill bottle. There had been a month's supply. I hoped that the pills had somehow fixed me and that I could stop taking them return to a normal sleeping schedule. But that night, the first night without them, I discovered

something unsettling. I didn't sleep once. I don't mean that I was back to my usual insomnia. Insomniac still get sleep at night, otherwise they would be dead. It's just that their sleep is uncomfortable and broken, and they don't get as much as they should. But this night, I literally didn't sleep. I was wide awake the whole night, and again, the next night when I got to be. in my bed. I was unable to even close my eyes. It was as if I was incapable of sleeping. Frightened, I got onto my laptop and found my way to Sleep. Onion. Immediately a message popped up. Hello, Jason. Here for a refill? I typed into the chat box. Yes. Well, this one won't be free, the message read. I figured there would be a catch like that. I typed. Okay, how much?

No money. We need you to do something for us. What? We'll send instructions to your mailing address. Once you complete the assignment, we'll send you another month's supply of pills. There's something wrong with these pills, I typed in frustration. Now that I don't have them, I can't sleep. Like at all. There is nothing wrong with the pills, the mysterious seller replied. They are working exactly as intended. It ensures we will have a long and mutually beneficial relationship. I slammed my computer shut. They were blackmailing me with the ability to

sleep. This was insane. The next day, I found a package waiting for me at the student mailing center. Without thinking, I started to open it in public, but I had to shut it immediately when I saw its contents. I ran back to my dorm room and locked my door. Alex wasn't in the room. I opened the box again. There was a glimmering handgun inside and an envelope. I would be expelled from campus if anyone knew I had a gun in my room, maybe even arrested. I opened the envelope. It contained a picture of a house with an address written on the back, and a picture of a man with his name written on the back, Henry Waterford.

After reading a note I found inside the envelope, I dropped everything to the floor and began to cry from beer. They were instructing me to kill someone. They even provided information on how to bypass Henry Waterford's security system and the best time of day to murder him. I got back onto the website and typed, There is no way I am doing this. I am not going to kill anyone. I waited. Their response came. Well, then you probably have about a month to live, and it will be extremely unpleasant. What? I responded. You won't be able to sleep without the pills. Never again. Your body is now incapable. And we have found for those who refuse to work with us that they last about a month

with no sleep. Fuck off, I wrote and closed my laptop. As the week stretched on, my insanity stretched thin. It's hard to explain. There was a deep and overwhelming tiredness in me, but I couldn't get myself to knot off even for a second. There were hideous black bags under my eyes, and it became difficult to focus on anything. I also was unwaveringly irritated with everything. And in my irritation, I broke up with Ellen and distanced myself from all my friends. But the real horror came on my 10th day with no sleep. She walked into my room, right through the door. She just stood there. At first, I thought she was a ghost because of how pale she was. But then I remembered that she had been that pale the last time I had seen her. My mother, murdered by her.

cancer. Why did this nightmarish hallucination have to be the version of her that was the most upsetting to look at? Why couldn't it have been her younger, healthier self? She was bald and thin. She didn't speak. She just stood in the corner of my room. Occasionally, she would enter a fit of coughing, hacking up mucus and even blood. But she never spoke to me, even when I screamed at her. And she followed me everywhere I went. It was too much. I couldn't take it anymore, so I grabbed the gun and proceeded to drive to the address on the back of the picture. It was midnight when I arrived, which was one of the recommended times to murder Henry Waterford. The house was large and wealthy-looking.

I climbed over the gate and made my way to the front door. I entered a security code that had been given to me by my black mailers and the door opened. My mother, or the illusion of her, followed me closely. She had a disapproving look in her eyes. The note had also informed me of the exact room that Henry slept in, so I made my way there. While I was in the hallway, my dead mother began coughing harder than I had ever heard before.

She fell onto the ground and began to spit up blood. I froze in terror. I was about to shush her when I realized that no one in the house could hear her. She was only in my head. I tensed my body, and forced myself to ignore her. Henry's room was just at the end of the hall. I was almost there.

In a few more steps, I would become a murderer. But on my way, I passed a room with an open door that sealed my fate. Whether it sealed my fate for better or worse, I can't say. But in the room was a wooden structure that broke my heart in two and extinguished all my resolve for the task at hand. And the room was a crib. and in that crib was a sleeping infant. Its tiny chest rose and fell over and over and over again.

When I entered that house, I believed that I would be capable of killing a man, and maybe that's still true. But what I learned from that room with the crib and the tiny sleeping baby was that I could never kill a father. I couldn't do to that child what cancer had done to me. I couldn't steal one of its parents. quietly, but quickly. I fled from the house and jumped in my car.

I didn't return to my dorm room. I drove straight to the police station and told them everything. Well, almost. I left out the part about the gun and kept it hidden in my car. The police reviewed my messages with the mysterious dark web pill sellers. They assured me they would do everything they could to bring these people to justice. That was almost a month ago. There was nothing the police could do.

Those people on the dark web were untraceable. I tried going to the hospital as well. They monitored me and gave me the strongest tranquilizers they could, but they weren't able to put me to sleep or even induce a coma. In the end, they just raised their hands in confusion and said they didn't know what was wrong with me. Here I am, now, at my childhood home, the one I inherited from my mother.

I can feel that final darkness approaching. My body is almost shut down. I find myself suddenly appearing in rooms without remembering how I got there. It's as if I'm trapped in a dream. The walls of my house seem to flow like water. The rooms appear to swap at random and never quite look the same. There is no distinction between my home and my backyard. They bleed into each other.

The only constant is my mother. She is always next to me, coughing and hacking of blood. Except she looks worse and worse every day. Her skin is peeling off her body, and her eyes have rotted from her head. I'm too tired even to be afraid anymore. In these last days, I am always clutching the gun I had been given. My life now is nothing more than a debate as to whether I should let the growing darkness claim me in its own time, or let the darkness have me instantly with the pull of a trigger.

Sometimes I just sit in the corner of my old room. With the barrel of the pistol pressed against my forehead, just waiting, waiting for that final slumber, waiting for the moment in which I will be able to sleep again, forever. Lazzang sur-gillet, puissance-moyane, for 15 minutes. We're like it's their dojo. Preeto! Vive the pleasure with Leo Jo! The casino in-line that proposes the most recent machine-ass-sou and the games of casino in direct.

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