Snook - Unnerving Reddit Horror Stories

Episode Date: January 23, 2026

These were some Unnerving Reddit Horror Stories! These stories were insane! What was your favorite? Please comment your thoughts down below... I thought the "I Haven't Slept" story was the best! Would you like to see me make similar videos in the future? Leave your thoughts down below in the comment section, and make sure to like and subscribe! Credits! Go give some support to these talented authors! Saturdead - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1ieu5qc/i_havent_slept_since_2023/ Raine - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1ptylpx/the_worth_of_a_life/?share_id=CL3nRqMqlJ9aZ2DSiRRkL&utm_content=2&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_source=share&utm_term=1 Loose-Ad-723 - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1pw33px/the_lady_upstairs/?share_id=xdewgns4QcDdc3WTBZWRz&utm_content=2&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_source=share&utm_term=1 DecisiveUnluckyness -https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1plb8gb/there_is_something_in_the_forest_pretending_to_be/?share_id=5dMjyhZy51KDz8WMbecPL&utm_content=2&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_source=share&utm_term=1 I was granted permission to use all of these stories. Make sure to check out all of the original authors.Make sure to subscribe to the Patreon for early access videos and many more perks! ⁠https://www.patreon.com/SnookYT Also! Go follow me on Spotify and Instagram!Yes, my voice is human. The channels subscriber goal is 1 million, so subscribe! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hey, what's up guys and welcome back to the channel and today we're getting into some unnerving Reddit horror stories. You guys have been loving the Reddit horror stories and I have loved recording them. I love these long story videos. They're so entertaining, scary, weird and like the title says, unnerving. So these stories will be great and you'll want to stick around. And I just want to say thank you so much for stopping by. It means the world. Please like the video.

Subscribe to the channel. Follow me on Instagram. Follow me on Spotify. And like and subscribe here. Like I said. Yeah, this video will be long, long enough already. So without further I do, let's get into some unnerving Reddit horror stories. The Lady Upstairs, written by Loose Ad 723.

After 36 years of living in an apartment complex, I can confidently attest that a night owl is the worst kind of neighbor. Being as lucky as I am, I had one of those moving into the apartment right above mine at the start of October. It was a lady who seemed to have an endless supply of worldly goods that all needed to be put into place the moment she moved in. Every single evening at 9 p.m. exactly, she would either start hammering away, drilling the walls, or pushing furniture across her floors, always managing to reach the noise level of an angry bull in heat. I've always had quite sensitive ears, so I'm no stranger to being awoken at night because of bothersome noises. There is always noise in the city, whether from drunkards singing at the top of their lungs or nocturnal critters running amok in the

streets. Trust me, the sheer number of times I've been woken up by an opossum knocking over a trash can outside my house is ridiculous. The thing is, these disturbances would always be occasional and brief whenever they occurred. I could easily fall back asleep afterwards, but ever since the day that lady moved in, the night has been filled with constant sounds of her mayhem. The cacophony upstairs would go on every evening for about three to four days in a row. Then at some point, I would hear a large thudding sound, indicating that she had brought out yet another box full of stuff that needed to be set up.

This routine sent me into a hellish cycle of exhaustion. I'd fall asleep late and wake up exhausted in the morning. I would then have to drown myself in coughing and go to work, hoping that I could get some sleep later in the evening. Don't tell me that I just should have confronted her. I didn't want her to think I was just some cranky old man. Besides, I don't really like confronting people. I've always felt awful whenever I've had to reprimand someone.

I also didn't know her name, which I felt like would have made the interaction even more unbearable. I just sat on my couch, waiting for the commotion to stop. Suddenly, three weeks had passed, and she showed, no signs of being finished unpacking. The seeds of chaos were planted as the clock struck 9 p.m. on an unusually hot evening in late October. An evening so hot that I had to have my windows open to be comfortable. The lady upstairs started tolling away, following her usual schedule.

It was just as loud as all the other days. I twisted and turned in my bed, trying to cover my ears with my pillow, as I had done so many nights before. but this night was different. The heat mixed with my drowsiness and the sounds from upstairs, all compiled into a thundering migraine. It felt as if my brain was swelling, trying to crack my head open and run away to escape the noise.

I couldn't take it any longer. I sat up in my bed, inhaled all the air that I could fit in my lungs, and yelled quiet. My yelling was followed by a large thud from upstairs. She had just started unpacking another box. I thought to myself. I couldn't believe it.

She had to have heard me. My yelling was so loud that there were probably heard me all the way up on the fifth floor. I stared at my ceiling, awaiting the sounds of the troublemaker and her orchestra from hell. I waited. And then I waited some more. More time passed, but there were no more sounds coming from upstairs. Maybe she did hear me. Maybe she was finally being respectful.

I felt my headaches upside as I lay back down. I closed my eyes, letting my fatigue carry me towards slumber. I was completely unbothered for the first time in a long time. I rose with the sun several hours later, and I didn't have to chug half a liter of coffee to stay awake. I went to work with a smile on my face and a good feeling in my body. Everything was easier. I was happier.

It was paradise compared to before. I came home that evening, hoping that the night before wasn't an exception. If only I had been that lucky. After the sun had gone down, there was activity in the upstairs apartment again. This time, though, the sounds were a bit different. All I could hear was bump, bump, bump, repeated over and over again. I couldn't place the sound. It didn't come from any tool that I know of.

I was sure of that. There were irregular pauses between the sounds, ranging from about five seconds to ten seconds. It wasn't just heavy footsteps, that was for sure. The spaces between them were too big. It wasn't a hammer either. The sounds were much too quiet for that. This thought process continued as I lay in my bed that night. My wary eyes fixated on the ceiling.

Maybe she's tapping her foot on the floor to a song. but the sounds are not rhythmical in the slightest. Maybe she's dropping a ball repeatedly, but why would she even do that? Is she a juggler? No, that'd be ridiculous. These were, but some of the thoughts rushing through my head as the sounds kept resonating in the background. It was beyond the midnight hours before I fell asleep that night.

When I woke up in the morning, the noises had stopped. I assumed that she had just started working on her apartment again. Throughout the whole day, at my work and when I went home, I silently prayed that I wouldn't hear those sounds from her apartment again, even though they were less noisy than normal. There was something about not being able to identify them that just made them much more annoying. To my dismay, however, the noises had begun anew by the rising of the moon.

Bump. Bump. Bump. Lying in my bed then night, I was gritting my teeth out of sheer annoyance. I covered my head with my pillow again, but it was no use. I could still hear the sounds no matter how much I tried to keep them out. They made me feel as if someone was constantly poking at my brain, molding it like a piece of clay. Maybe it was revenge. Maybe, just maybe she was mad about my yelling and was doing this to get back at me. Maybe she just wanted to drive me nuts with her antics.

I tried to fall asleep, but it wasn't happening. The sounds from upstairs echoed in my head, much louder than any of the sounds that had been there in the weeks before. It was pure agony. My heart skipped a beat as my phone started ringing. I cautiously picked it up, wondering who was calling in the middle of the night. Hello? I mumbled. Peterson, where the fuck are you, man?

We've been waiting for you for 45 minutes. Oh, hello, sir. I'm sorry, but my shift doesn't start till. I looked towards my window. The rays of sunlight had already broken through and cast light onto my floor. Shit. Sorry, sir. I'll be there in 15 minutes. I said as I got out of bed and hung up the phone, what followed was one of the worst days I've ever had in my life. I was a walking course with only one thing on my mind. What were those sounds? I eventually got home and I didn't care about

relaxing. Relaxation wasn't even on my mind. All I wanted to do and all I did was await the sounds. I sat on my couch, staring at the ceiling, and like clockwork, the commotion started back up late into the evening. Bump. Bump. I couldn't take it another night. It was torture. I didn't care what she thought of me anymore. I didn't care about having a sculptor. I stormed out of the door and up the stairs and pounded on the door. What is your fucking problem? The sound stopped, but I wasn't satisfied. They were going to start. again. I wasn't fooled. I turned the door handle and walked inside. Her apartment was cold like night and as silent as a library. I walked into the living room and that's where I found her. She was lying on her back at the foot of a small step ladder. She lay beside the corner of a wooden table. The corner was covered in a mixture of dried brown blood and long black hairs. On the side of her head was a a crater of blood, hair, skull fragments, and brain matter.

Both of her arms were mangled to the bone. A swarm of flies was nesting on her body. The windows in the living room stood open, taking in the autumn breeze and wafting away any smell of rot there should have been. As I stood there, taking it all in, I heard some skittering. I stared in disbelief as a chubby little form, crept out from one of the moving crates on the floor, where it had likely been hiding from all the

noise I'd made. It was a possum, currently unaware of my presence. It crawled over the body and started gnawing at the hand. Every time the possum ripped off a piece of flesh, the hand was lifted into the air before subsequently dropping the floor, producing a light bump. I haven't slept since 2023, written by Sadder Dead. He writes great stories on Reddit, so go check out of his page. And now, into the story. Growing up, I had two choices in life. I could follow in my father's footsteps as a farm equipment maintenance worker.

It was a decent job with decent pay, but I always got this sense of dread whenever I walked by his workshop. It was this big, windowless building and a pale green color, and I always had this feeling that if I stayed there for too long, that place would eat me alive. So I went with the other choice in life, my mother. She was always larger than life, and she wanted me to be too. She was all about the hustle. When she and my father went separate ways, she took me and my sister across the country to Bangkok. She was the embodiment of Ote Priyo Wakhin-Wan, roughly translated to Endurthish Sourness, and enjoy the sweetness later.

She would take any job at any time and claw her way upward. So my sister and I turned out the same. We would work, study, and socialize. We were supposed to be everything at once, smart, strong, cultural, and opinionated. I studied computer science at night and worked delivery during the day.

I got a pretty good eye for traffic, so I can make it around the city without fearing for my life. That's easier said than done. Traffic laws around here seem to be more of a situation. rather than a law. I also did the odd job making websites for friends, family, and acquaintances. That would eat up most of my weekend nights. And finally, the one job that never paid me anything. Looking out for my sister. My sister Isira worked as a club and event promoter in the inner city. She mostly worked weekends and nights and I'm the only one she trusts to watch her back.

If someone bothered her, I'd be on call. If she needed a sudden ride home, I'd be on call. I'd get yelled at for being late, or for not responding fast enough, or for a thousand different reasons. It was by far the worst job I'd ever had. But family is family. I'd be working so much that the only time my friends would see me was when I came around to pick up Asara.

They started to call me Lon or Lurk, something you would say. when it's time to close for the night. I was the closing time guy. When I showed up, it was time to go home. Not the most fun nickname to be stuck with in your early 20s. When my mother passed away from paeciatic cancer in 2020, I'd just turned 21. I was put in a position where I had to support both myself and my sister economically. Sure, she pulled part of her way too, but she was looking ahead. She wanted to work in cosmetology, especially in movies and TV shows. That would take money and time. So for a while there, I had a lot of sudden weight put on my shoulders.

Studies, work, work, more work, and being there for Isira. I barely slept, and when I did, I'd wake up at the slightest sound. I was so used to sleeping lightly, waiting for my sister to call for a pickup, but I didn't have a lot of choices. I had to keep going, for everyone's sake. So I made a plan. I just had to make it until I was done with my studies. I looked for temporary solutions. I'd take caffeine pills, but they ended up giving me a stomach ache.

I tried this dextrose drink from a local pharmacy, but that thing almost gave me arrhythm. I didn't want to try any heavier stuff, so I kind of gave up hope. Then I met a guy named Samyat. Samyat is a nice guy in the wrong kind of business. About 10 years older than me, but 30 years older at heart. To this day, I'm not sure what he really does. Apart from co-managing a couple of downtown clubs. I think he buys things from places you shouldn't.

Some kind of gray area importer. He was a part owner of a club where Issao worked on the weekend. The first time I met him, he was sitting outside the club with a cold beer, having a cigarette. He didn't look like the owner, so I sat down next to him to tie my shoe. He looked me up and down. You're just going to sit down like that? he asked you've got an appointment i need an appointment for chair for my chair yeah you the boss i'm a boss yeah i was too tired to care and frankly getting my sister fired from that place would have

made my life easier so i looked right back at him you don't look like a boss to me i didn't know if he was gonna hit me or hire me but he ended up belly laughing and offered me a cigarette so i guess i made the right choice. I would spend about one or two nights a week at Samyat's club. He'd offered me a job, but the pay was awful, and I was busy with other things. I literally didn't have enough hours of the day to work for him. I think that was for the best, though. He was a great guy to hang out with, but he must have been an awful boss, cheap bastard. Samyat had some sympathy for me, though. I was working hard to make ends meet, and he respected the hustle. He offered me a couple of sidegicks, for example, picking up leftover credit cards at ATMs.

There's a kind of ATM that takes a long, long time for the card to come back out, so a lot of tourists think it ate them. So they leave the card behind. Samyat paid a little for each card I could bring them. So I'd walk around and pick them up while waiting for Isira to finish work. Every little bit helps. We developed a good friendship. I would show up an hour or so before Isira needed to pick up just to hang out with Samyat.

We'd usually talk just about movies, cars, girls. Whatever came to mind. I didn't have a lot of people in my life I could just talk to about nothing. And I didn't think he did either. We'd usually end up having a beer and chew beetle nuts. They're these nuts that wrap in a leaf and chew. It gives you a pick-me-up that makes your mouth burn. It sums up.

Some y' out pretty well. Legal but spicy. But things took a turn when I was invited to a private party of his. See, I'd been up for 27 hours straight at that point. I've been working on a large project for my computer science class, and I've been hoping to get a couple of extra hours in at the delivery company. That and a client needed me to redo their homepage after it got hacked. It was a perfect storm of a lot of little things all at once, and it drove me to exhaustion.

But I still got to Samyat's party. He had a nice place outside of town. He'd invited some people from the club and some business associates. He had these parties about once every six months or so. It was a way to show appreciation and brag a little. Still, Sambiot had pulled out all the stops. He'd felt sorry for me, seeing me work so hard, and he'd brought a guy there from a research institute.

They needed people for a data entry job, and he thought it'd be my kind of thing. Problem is, I was so tired I looked like I was on drugs. I didn't even understand the guy was offering me a paid position. As the party died down, Samyat took me aside and sat me down for a chat. We'd shoot some beetle nuts and he took off his sunglasses. The man didn't look me in the eyes a lot, so I knew something was up.

I worry about you, he said. You're working too hard. I'm sorry, I said. It's not that I don't appreciate this, but I just had so much to do. Then tell me, he continued. Tell me how I can help. You don't need to do anything, I said. I'm just glad to have a friend, you know.

I could see the wheels turn in his head. His eyes welled up a little. He gave me a hug and took me out of the veranda overlooking the city. He patted me on the back. You deserve better, he said. I'll get you something better. The following weekend, I got a text from Sambiot.

He was excited to show me something. He usually had something to share, but this time seemed different. I was a bit anxious about seeing him, but it was a nice change of pace. So that Saturday, I was invited into the club. I went straight past the bouncer, through the dance floor, and into the back rooms. From there, I followed a corridor to a small office at the back of the building.

After all I'd seen from Sambiot, I expected something grander. But it was just a little office with an old laptop, a USB fan, a couple chairs, and a shitty TV in the corner, all accentuated by a couple of early 2000s posters of women in bikinis posing with cars. Saw me out with smiling, ear to ear, and waved me over. He opened a safe under his desk and pulled out a small box of white pill models. They were all sealed and unmarked, except for a small blue sunflower print on the cap. He sat me down and took a bottle out of his pocket to show me. This is going to help, he said.

Trust me. I don't do drugs, boss. I know you don't. This isn't that. He showed me his phone in a conversation he'd had with the guy from the party, the one from the Research Institute. Apparently, he'd managed to get his hands on a couple of cases of an off-market stimulant. I tried it myself, he said.

Going on two weeks now. It's a little miracle. What does it do? What's the catch? No need to sleep anymore, he smiled. One pill, you're good to go for at least 18 hours. No way. You might need another hour or so to recover when you finally find out.

go to bed, but apart from that, it's perfect. Doesn't make your piss smell, doesn't fuck up your hair, nothing. No way, I repeated. Too good to be true. Samyat sat down at his desk across from me, giving me a long look. You won't let me get you a better job, he said. Let me get you this, as a friend. I could tell he was being genuine. You could say a lot about Samyat, but he'd always been honest with me. I swallowed my fear. and picked up one of the pills. Um, I don't know, I said. There's got to be a catch.

Never more than one a day, he said. Or you'll get sick. And no more than two days at a time, maybe three, but then you'll probably get a headache. Oh, and no drugs. What do you mean? There's a list of things, drugs it reacts with, but you don't do that stuff, so you're good.

What about caffeine? As long as you don't pour stuff like, Sommiat picked up a small piece. piece of paper and looked it over, reading from the list, and then a bunch of different hard drugs, crystal, booger sugar, etc. There goes my Friday night. Funny, some out scoffed. If you don't want it, it's fine, but no, no, I'll try one. And so I did. Taking that first pill was like breathing in after a deep dive. I felt lighter, but not high. I was just well rested, ready to take on the day. But there was also a slight, chilled to it, like a cold breath sweeping across my nerves.

I looked at Sam Yacht like I was seeing him for the first time. He got up and slapped his hands together with a grin. I knew it, he said. I knew this would be it. How much I asked, for a bottle, how much? Take it, he smiled, pushing over the whole case. Guy owed me a favor. Really, you're giving it away? I'm just glad to have a friend. That night, was the first time I stuck around to party with Samyat. For real. The man was a force of nature. He downed shots like they were water.

He knew all the best food vendors on the block by name, and he'd ping pong from after party to after party without breaking a sweat. I was just along for the ride. We ended up drunk on a beach, watching the sunrise. Not a blink of tiredness in our eyes. Our day was just getting started. No need for beetle nuts to keep us going. I wouldn't need those ever again.

Next, you're going to get a woman, he murmured. Then a job, a great job. You can fix anything, huh? That's why I'm the boss. I don't want to owe you anything, I said. You get that, right? You don't owe me anything. Kind of feels like I do.

He asked me to show him the phone. I did. And he scrolled down to his number on the contact list. He tapped it, hovering his finger over the delete button. You can delete me today. and never call me again, and that's up to you. Really? Really.

He handed me the phone back and turned his attention to the sun. But for as long as you feel like it, I'm here, he continued. No strings. No strings? He shrugged and slid his final beer my way. It's just nice to be the good guy for once. The next day, lying in my bed, I was scared. I had no idea how my body would respond.

It was a make or break moment where I'd fight. find out if Samyat had screwed me over, or if he'd really help me out. I had a whole case of those pills stashed away in the closet, more than enough to keep me going for months. But I took his advice. Every two or three days or so, I'd give it a rest. So when I went to sleep that night, I didn't know what to expect. I had strange dreams. I dreamt I woke up in this barren world, with a dead tree towering in the distance. There were no stars in the sky. It was desolate. but peaceful in a way. And I dreamt that there was someone there, in the dark, someone looking for me.

But I woke up long before they found me. I was a bit worked up, but it was just a dream. Those fleeting images rolled out of my mind faster than it took me to make breakfast. From that moment on, I decided to give these things a go. I would rest every three days or so, but until then, I was constantly on the go. I could work as many hours as I wanted. I could be up all night, finishing projects left and right. I never missed a call from Assyra.

I could keep up with demands, and I could do it comfortable without side effects. Sure, whenever I crashed, I'd dream about that place again. The dead tree, reaching for the moon, the desolate ruins and somewhere, out in the eternal night, something was looking for me, but it never had the time to find me. I'd always wake up long before it did. It was comfortable. efficient and I could do it all. I had time to work a little with Samyat, not anything big, but just little odd jobs here and there. He was fair, but didn't pay much. But then again,

I was making more money than I knew how to spend. I got a second chance at an interview with Samyat's guy at the Research Institute, and that time around, I nailed it. It was just a low-level data entry job, but I could do it remotely, and it paid almost twice as much as my delivery job. I had to brush up on my English, but that wasn't a big deal. Isera and I had to learn it early on in our lives. My mother made sure of it. Isra had saved up enough money for her cosmetology classes, so I got some more time to focus on other things. I invested some time in a startup app with some guys for my classes, and we made some solid progress. Overall, things looked pretty, good. Weeks turned into months and months eventually turned into an entire year. I still had plenty

of pills left and I got into a healthy routine. I slept better, I ate better, and I had so much more time on my hands. It got to the point where I couldn't imagine going back to life without those pills. Still, I couldn't help but wonder what that place in between the wakeful world and my dreams was. That place in the starless night with the dead tree in the distance. Who were the dark shapes roaming the fields of black sand and who was out there? Looking at me. I wouldn't think about it too much. I chalked it up as a weird side effect, but not much else. It didn't affect my everyday life, so why should I care? Fast forward to 2023. I was co-owner of a small company. No more data entry. We had an office and five employees. My nickname still stuck around,

but it was more or less sarcastic. I was no longer the guy who showed up at the end of it all. I was the first in line. I planned my come-downs in a way that people never noticed. I had this reputation of working around the clock, and people just couldn't figure it out. I didn't share my secret with anyone. I figured there'd be some serious consequences

if those pills got in the wrong hands. My sister worked a nice job at one of the local malls, One of the really big ones, not just any old mall, it was very well paid. And she could support herself more than enough. She ended up moving in with a guy, and I got a place of my own. I could finally take a step up and get myself something nice. I still spend time with Samyat. He was the only other person in the world that knew of the pills.

He'd stopped taking them, though. He found them too distracting when it came to keeping a schedule. He was going steady with a lady named Juan Juan, and he hated seeing her go to bed on her own. It was surprisingly sweet, and more pills for me, so win-win. In February of 2023, my sister got married. It was bad timing since I had a huge project to work on at the time. So even with all my available time, it was still not enough. So I had to do something Samya advised against.

I had to keep going for five days straight. just two days more than the ordinary three, but still. Now, I didn't immediately notice anything. It worked just fine. But when I finally crashed, after almost a full week without sleep, I had the most awful nightmares of my life. Not only was I back there in that desolate space. I could feel it.

The black sand creeping into my shoes. The howling of people in pain. I thought I heard gunfire too. What little vegetation lived there was twisted into a midnight blue, just like the blue sunflower on the cap of the bottle. But this time, there wasn't just something in the dark. Looking for me. No. It was hunting.

I have this vivid memory of crawling through the sands of an old ruin, hearing something closing in. Despite the sand, it was wet, vicious. It made this disgusting sound like a crowd of large men struggling for breath all at once. I would hear it touch its way across the ruins, looking for me, and everywhere it touched, something sizzled, like burning acid. It tried to speak. I know it did, but it couldn't. It had too many tongues, and they all tried to speak at once.

Eventually, it found me. I couldn't look. I couldn't breathe. I could feel the size of it without even. even looking at it loomed over me. I tried making myself small, but it didn't matter. It sighed, like it had enjoyed a cold glass of water on a warm summer's day. It was so pleased to find me. And as it moved closer, I heard something dripping, sizzling into the sand. There was a powerful smell of ammonia and something akin to mothballs. It touched my arm, and it burned into my skin.

It burned so bad that I woke up. And when I did, I had a burn. A coin-sized black mark with gangrious flesh tightening the skin of the arm, stinging with every flex of my tricep. That place was real. That thing had to be real. For a full week after that, I kept feeling like I've been seconds from death. I had a doctor check out my arm, but he couldn't make sense of it.

It was an acid burn. but it behaved like a frostbite. In the end, he had to make a small procedure to remove the dead skin, but it was overall fine. I just had to keep it clean and bandaged and be prepared for a nasty scar. But that thing had been so vivid. Days later, I could still smell it. I remember this one time when I was taking a shower, when I had to turn off the water. I thought I heard something sizzling in the other room.

wrapped in a towel I peeked through the door, hoping against hope that I was just being paranoid. This time, I was, but what about next time? I swore off the pills. I was in a good place, and I didn't need them anymore. I'd gained everything I wanted. Sure, it'd take some time to get back to a normal schedule, but I couldn't go back there. No wonder we weren't supposed to take more than two or three pills in a sequence. If I'd been there a second longer, it would have taken my whole arm. another hour and I'd be dead. I decided to give it all back to Samyat.

By that time, he had expanded his business a bit. But he'd calmed down as a person. He was a changed man. He was engaged to Wan-Wan, and he was trying to turn his life around. In fact, we hadn't seen each other for some time. He was a bit surprised when I called about meeting him in his office. I met Samya in his downtown office late one Friday night.

It was a strange feeling. There were people at. everywhere, but I still felt like I was alone. There was this thought crawling around in the back of my head, whispering to me that if I slowed down and really listened, I could hear that sizzling acid as it burned into the asphalt. So I kept my head down and tried to get into the music, the bass, the beat of the party, but it was all just superficial. I couldn't help but think back on that thing. Every time I heard a cough, a sneeze, someone clearing their throat, I thought that was it. It found me. I could feel the squelch of it in my ear, almost like a heat. But I made my way

through the club and joined Samyat in his office. I put the pills on his desk and sat down across from him. I'm done with them, I said. They do something to you? He asked. Yeah, I said. I'm just, I'm just done. All right. No worries. Samyat nodded. You okay? Not really. hanging out for a while, Sommiat was his usual self. He put the pills away, sat down next to me, and handed me a beer. He'd installed a mini-fridge next to his desk. The damn thing made more noise than a ceiling fan. I'm not going to ask about it, he said. You look like shit. I feel like shit. What happened to your arm? Frostbite. Sommiat snorted but saw that I wasn't laughing. He opened his mouth, but closed it again. Whatever had happened to me, he knew. He knew. He knew. He

knew better than to laugh. Instead, he leaned over, looking worried. Fuck the pills, he said. You're sticking with me now, all right? All right. He made his best effort to keep me company that night. We had drinks, met some people, and sang some karaoke. I almost got into an arm wrestling competition with a drunk Dutch guy. It was nice, and for a moment, I didn't hear those awful noises. I didn't smell those awful smells. Later that night, I could feel myself growing tired. Usually, I would just pop one of the pills. But I settled for a classic instead. Beetle nuts.

Samya and I wrapped them up and bit down. It was nice to feel that familiar crunch and burn. It was a return to foreman away. It was the way things were supposed to be. By the end of the night, we ended up on that same bench, watching the sun. But this time, he was exhausted. He was nodding off over and over as he waited for a friend to pick him up. I was, strangely, not.

not tired in the slightest. Maybe you still got some of it in your system. Samyat mumbled. Makes sense, right? I mean, bigger doses, take longer. Probably, I nodded. Or maybe it was the nuts. Nah, they don't work like that.

They're a kick, not a trip. By the time Samyat's friend came around to pick him up, he could barely keep his eyes open. He lumbered into the passenger seat and looked back at me one final time. I'm getting rid of them, he said. Don't worry, it's done. You'll be fine. But I wasn't feeling fine.

Or rather, I was, but that was the problem. I went home and I still couldn't sleep. I went an entire day and I still couldn't sleep. I hadn't taken any pills for some time, but I was still up and about. I was getting worried, but I didn't know where to turn. Had I taken a pill by accident? I reached out to Samyat's contact at the Research Institute, but we couldn't talk about it over email since it was monitored, and this was hardly legal.

So we decided to meet downtown later in the week. For the next few days, I was a wreck. I kept thinking about that place and that thing. I've been up for so many days that I didn't want to think about what would happen when I returned. It would be waiting for me. I could feel it. Hear it. I met the man from the research institutes in early morning.

I paid for his coffee, but I didn't get any myself. He was an American in his 50s with a shaved head and a well-trimmed goatee. He hid behind a black baseball cap and wasn't much for small talk. I decided to get right to it. I explained the problem. After taking a larger than usual dose, I couldn't sleep anymore. He didn't look that surprised. That only happens when he takes stimulants, he said.

Didn't you warn you? I haven't taken anything, I said. I don't do drugs. You sure? He asked. Nothing. Does alcohol count? I asked.

Beetle nuts, caffeine? What? No, that. He stopped for a second. His eyes turned away as he thought about it. He brought out his phone and checked something, then nodded. Beetle nuts, he nodded. That's high in arcoline.

High in what? Arcalane. That's the first thing on the list. That's the worst one. Wait, what? He adjusted his glasses. and read the list out loud. He was right. A coline was the first thing on the list, right there next to hard narcotics.

What does it mean? I asked. What's going to happen? He leaned forward, looking over the edge of his silver-rimmed glasses. Erichloin amplifies the effect by a magnitude of about a hundred. It's one of the reasons they had to shut down the development. At that magnitude, there's no telling what's going to happen. wait a hundred so i'm going to you're going to be awake for maybe a year maybe four and then something i can't even imagine is going to happen to you there was nothing else to say he had no advice to give there were no solutions the damage was done i almost burst into tears right then and there

my hands were shaking i'd be awake for years and then something something he couldn't even imagine. If the effect of two pills, too many caught me a burn on the arm, what the hell was going to happen after a hundred, two hundred. The bandage itched, and I could hear the sizzling from a nearby kitchen. But it wasn't from the kitchen. It was that thing. And it was waiting for me. It was just a matter of time. I tried everything, but there was nothing to be done. There was nothing wrong with me on paper. I was healthier than ever. in fact. The lab in Vietnam that the man spoke of had been shut down and all traces of it was dismantled. I had a vague lead to an investor in the U.S., but it didn't lead me anywhere. I had to sell my share in my

company. It stung, but the payout was more than generous. It would keep me afloat for a couple of months, maybe a year, while I tried to work something out. But it was a desperate search for nothing. Even the man from the Research Institute would drop off the grid. And when Strange Men Institute started asking my friends and family about me, I knew I'd taken a step too far. This was in February 2023. Every day from that point forward has been a nightmare. In May that same year, I lost the need to eat. It's like my body entered a kind of metastasis. I could sit in a room for days on end, staring at a wall, and nothing would change. I would feel nothing. I would experience nothing. and I wouldn't care.

And with no food, I need no bathroom breaks. Sometime in July, I lost the need to breathe. I'd forget to do it for days on end, and my lungs would deflate to the point where it hurt to use them. After a couple of weeks, I couldn't talk without bleeding anymore. In late October that year, I stopped blinking. I'd forget to do it for long periods of time, and dust would settle in my eyes.

It didn't hurt, but it was uncomfortable to wash them, so I just ended up keeping them closed. Something happened to my skin. I think it stopped needing sunlight. Over a couple of days, I grew so pale you could almost see through me. My fingernails would fall off without using my mouth and jaw. My teeth fell out of my skull. I barely noticed.

I had to move in with my sister to care for me. She couldn't understand what was happening, and neither could anyone else. She would force me to go to the doctors, and they couldn't make sense of it. whenever they mentioned specialist, some anonymous group would throw enough money at them to look the other way. But all that was just cake topping. It was all just physical things. It didn't compare to my thoughts and feelings. I'd feel closer and closer to that dark space, that space beyond, where that thing waited for me. It hungered for me. All the needs and wants I'd lost, it gained. It was hungry, tired, sunburnt, and in constant pain, and it wanted to give it all back to me,

to consume me with it. If I just listened hard enough, I could hear it panting. Like an eager dog waiting for master to put food in his bowl, ready to tear into me, unashamed. Sometimes I forget what world I'm in. I'll get up and wander around, filling the walls, imagining them as crumbling ruins. My sister once caught me wandering into the street. If my lungs had worked, she would have heard me begging that thing to leave me. Instead, I got hit by a car, and I didn't feel a thing.

Lane crumpled into a pile by the side of the road. The things people say feel like a distant dream, I have no need for serotonin. So joy is something of the past. Sometimes I can hear the music and cheering across the city, but it feels like they're mocking me. But the fear, that's something. still there. It may be the only emotion that remains. Now it's 2025. I think I attended Samyat's

wedding, but I can't know for sure. I think I was there. I didn't see or hear. I can't feel anything when I move my arms anymore. There was a nice smell. I think he offered me some cake. I tried to smile at him, but I don't know if I did it. I've written this with great effort over several weeks. My sister has helped. She washes my eyes. And I look at the letters for her to type. If I stretch a little, I can get enough air in my lungs to make a noise or a short word. Sometimes at night when my sister is not here, I think I can hear something outside.

Not just in my mind, but on the street. I think they're watching me. I think they're curious about what happens when I go to sleep. Or maybe they're scared. It's funny in a way. They called me lurk. Closing time. It's fitting.

I can't help but think I should have stayed with my father. Maintaining farm equipment. I wish I could dream of seeing those pale green walls again. I had to finish this in a hurry. I think the effect is wearing off, like the man said it would. Yesterday, I yawned. Today, I'm tired. Good night, Bangkok.

The Worth of a Life by rain. What would it take for you to kill a man? Excuse me? I asked. Taking off guard. A stranger in an expensive-looking suit's hat across from me at the bus stop. What would it take for you? To kill a man. He repeated.

Why are you asking me this? I asked. Increasingly unsettled. He leaned back against the bench casually, as if he were simply asking for the time. Because I want to know David, he said. His phase expressionless. How do you know my name?

I asked. A chill running through me. This was getting creepy. Who are you? The stranger leaned forward and looked me in the eye. His stare was cold and unwavering. I know everything about you, David, he said. Not offering his own name?

I know that you are drowning in. student loans. They had to sell your car that you live from one meager paycheck to the next. He leaned back and looked away. I want to know what it would take for you to kill a man. He finished. This guy was seriously freaking me out and I wanted to run or call the police, but I was afraid of what he might do. He was obviously some kind of psychopath. I decided to humor him carefully until the bus came, just in case. Why would I be? Why would he be? He was a I ever kill someone? I asked. Aside from self-defense, I don't see how that could ever be worth it. You have a gun. And someone is kneeling in front of you, he said. What if pulling that trigger would

save a million lives? Would you do it? A psychopathic philosopher? So the trolley problem, I asked cautiously? Switching the tracks to save a million people by sacrificing one? The stranger waved a dismissive hand. You could think of it that way, he said, but it doesn't necessarily have to be a million people. It could be for anything, power, money, even the cure for cancer. I never liked the trolley problem. It was always an impossible choice for me. I wouldn't be able to decide, I said, shrugging. Luckily, I'll never have to. He leaned forward again. But what if you do? He said, What if I make the power to make it happen?

This kite is insane, I thought. You have the power, I asked. Exacerated? If so, why not do it yourself? Why would you make a random person kill someone to cure cancer? I can't do it myself, he replied. I'm unable to directly interfere. I can only act when someone of their own free will

and by their own hand provides me with a soul, to do so. I leaned back and crossed my arms. Prove it, I said. Prove that you have the power to do this. Like I said, I'm unable to act, he said. However, I can tell you that when you were 10 years old, he found a frog in a secluded field. He named him Jim. You would return weekly to see him until one day he was no longer there. You had a crush on Jenny in high school. He continued. He continued. You still think about her. You want to call her, but keep putting it off. You're planning to visit your brother's grave tomorrow, he said.

Two days ago, a conversation with a coworker reminded you of him. You were going to buy flowers later today from the florist on 7th Avenue. Is this satisfactory? The stranger asked. I sat there. Frozen in shock. I had never told anyone about any of that. ever. No one knew but me. It was impossible. Undeniable proof was staring me in the face.

There was no other way that he could have known. It took me a moment to find my voice. Okay, I said shakily. So, so you need me to kill someone? Kill one person to save others? What you kill for is up to you, he said. You can receive anything you wish. The stranger stood up. You have 20 minutes aside, he said. Looking down at me, you will never have this opportunity again. Think carefully. He turned and pointed. In the alley, where I am pointing, he said, you will find a man.

I turned to look at the alley. It was right next to the bus stop. He continued, you will also find a gun. State your desire loudly and clearly before pulling the trigger. He looked. lowered his hand and turned to leave. Decide what you kill for. Decide the worth of a life.

The stranger started walking away. Remember, 20 minutes, he said. His voice fading. Will you pull the trigger? I looked at my watch, then slumped back on the bench, overwhelmed. What should I do, I thought? Was there actually a man in that alley? A man who would live or die depending on my decision?

Was it worth of a life? Was it more lives? I could save the unsavable, cure the uncurable, finally cure for cancer, fix climate change, discover the secret to immortality, a world without suffering. Just one life lost to save countless others. But what about money?

I could be rich. Never work another day in my life. Debt erased, no longer struggling, barely making enough to survive, a life of unparalleled luxury. for one pull of the trigger. Power, I could rule nations, change the course of history.

Every law, every war, every scientific pursuit guided by my hand. No one could stop me. Unmatched potential achieved by removing another's. My thoughts were racing. What about the person I would kill? Did they have family?

Friends, were they like me, with their own hopes and dreams, their entire life gone with one bullet. It would be my fault. It would be my decision that they should die. Their innocent blood would be on my hands forever. Fifty minutes had passed. Do the ends justify the means?

Should I kill them? Or do the means justify the ends? Should I let them live? I kept looking at the alley. I had never been so stressed in my entire life. I could barely think. I had to decide. I had to decide now. I jumped up and started walking toward the alley. There was no choice. I had to do this. The world would be a better place in exchange for one

single life. My steps carried me closer. It had to be done. I would make sure they were remembered forever as a hero. Someone who saved the world. Just do it. Keep walking. My heart was aching, tearing itself apart. Get there. Pull the trigger. My legs were so heavy. And a life. I struggled to keep moving.

I was almost there. I have to. Ten feet from the alley. My legs gave out. I felt to my knees. Tears rolled down my face. I couldn't breathe. I looked out of my hands.

They were blurry, shaking uncontrollably. It was too much. I can't do it. I whispered. sobbing. I can't. can't do it. I couldn't kill someone, someone innocent, for a world they would never see. My decision was made. I would not pull the trigger. Trying to control my trembling hands, I pulled out my phone and called the

police. It was clear to me now. It couldn't be measured. The worth of a life. Soon after, the police arrived. They couldn't find the stranger I've been talking to. They couldn't. They did, however, find someone in the alley, someone holding a gun, waiting for me. There's something in the forest pretending to be a person by decisive unluckiness. The bus ride out was long and quiet. I spent most of it either staring out the window or drifting in and out of sleep. I was the last one aboard after a few passengers trickled off in small rural towns. The bus suddenly came to a halt. and a distraught man got aboard.

He stumbled down the aisle, sat across from me, and began to scribble intently into a battered, leather-bound book. He looked older, maybe in his 60s. Tired looking, wearing well-worn and dirty hiking gear. He spent the whole ride either riding or flipping through the pages. About an hour before my stop, the bus driver called out, Rainham National Park Ranger Station. The man abruptly stood up and rushed to the front of the car.

the bus. He searches pockets frantically, then slaps some loose change onto the fair counter before darned off without saying a word. Sometime later, the bus driver called out my stop. As I was about to exits, I noticed that the man from earlier had, in his hurry, left his book on the seat behind the driver. I figured I'd keep it safe. If I saw him again on the trail, I could return it, or I could hand it over to the Rangers on my way back home. The trail was empty except for the occasional deer or rabbit darting between the trees. I spent hours listening to the crunch under my boots, bird calls, and the rustle of leaves and pine needles. As the sun crept closer to the horizon, I figured it was time to set up my camp for the night. I found a suitable spot next to a small

stream and began unpacking my backpack. I set up my tent, gathered some firewood, and boiled water from the stream to rehydrate a freeze-dried meal. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the temperature began to sink. I tucked myself into my sleeping bag, but I couldn't shake the urge I had been trying to ignore all evening. I glanced over at the book sitting half buried in the open lid of my pack. I reached for it and flipped to the first few pages. The handwriting was compact, but neat.

It started off like any trail journal, short entries about trail conditions, notes on weather and a few sketches of flowers. One entry even described a fox encounter in surprisingly poetic detail. I had just turned to another page when I heard a voice call out. Hello? Anyone there? I slowly unzipped the tent and poked my head out. In the dim glow of the dying embers, I could just make out the outline of a man standing a few meters away. Sorry to bother you. I noticed your fire, the man said. Would you mind if I pitch my tent here? It's getting late, and I'd rather not stumble around looking for another spot in the dark.

Out here, hospitality felt less like a choice and more like an unspoken rule. Sure, plenty of space, I answered hesitantly. He crouched and began to stir the fire with a practiced hand. With a few quick motions, he coaxed the embers back into a flame. The fire blared brighter than it had all evening, crackling and alive again, pushing back the shadows and fully illuminating his face. He looked to me in his 50s, nearly bald with small patches of hair clinging to his scalp, dark rings around his eyes, and an unshaven jaw. His clothes were covered in dried mud. He smiled faintly.

Hope you don't mind, he said, glancing up at me. He lowered himself onto a rock across from me and warmed his hands over the fire. My name's Eric, he said. After a moment, you've been out here long? I'm John, first day out here. You? Long enough, he replied with a chuckle. Well, I don't want to keep you up all night.

I crawled back into my sleeping bag as he pitched his tent next to mine. The last thing I saw before I drifted off to sleep was his silhouette, sitting perfectly still by the fire. Morning, I mumbled, stepping out of my tent. A small kettle of water hissed quietly on a makeshift grate over the flames. I didn't hear you get up. He glanced at me with a practiced smile. Got up early and figured I'd boil some water for your coffee.

I froze. How do you know I drink coffee in the morning? I recognized the acidic scent on your breath yesterday, figured you'd want the water ready. His tone remaining nonchalant. Some habits are hard to miss. I rummaged through my pack and pulled out the small tin of instant coffee. Well, I've got some bread too if you want some.

Eric shook his head. Thanks, but I've already eaten. He poured the hot water into two cups and I stirred some powdered coffee into mine. I reached to pour some into Eric's cup, but he quickly lifted his cup of plain, hot water to his mouth, and drank it in one swift motion. Perhaps he prefers tea, though, I thought. Breakfast done, we put out the fire and efficiently packed up the tents and gear. The morning light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows across the forest floor. I unfroled my map and compass and started to plot a course to the next campsite.

When I felt Eric put his hand on my shoulder, I know the way, he said simply. There was no arrogance in his tone, only a certainty that left. left no room for discussion. The air was crisp and birds called sporadically from the treetops. Eric moved with an ease that made it clear he was more than comfortable here, navigating rocks and inclines without hesitation. We hiked for hours in silence. Curiously, Eric fell back to walk behind me, occasionally offering directions or commenting

on my footing. At first, I thought he might just have been giving me some space, but I couldn't shake the feeling that he either wanted to watch me or didn't want me to watch him. The forest seemed to respond to our passage. The rustle of leaves was quieter and the birds that had greeted the morning had gone silent. Eventually, the urge to pee forced me to set my backpack down and I walked behind a nearby tree. When I returned, I noticed the main component zipper on my backpack was pulled down just a crack. need anything for my pack?

I asked Eric. I looked at your compass to make sure we're heading the right way. Not wanting to antagonize my new hiking companion out in the middle of nowhere, I gave him a nod, and we pressed on. The path gradually widened into a clearing, and the new campsite lay ahead. I unpacked my tent while Eric built the fire with practiced motions. Here, let me help you with that. Eric said quietly and came over to me.

He grabbed the tent to me. stakes and drove them into the dirt with his bare, flat palm. Seeing my surprise, he patted my back, his hand feeling cold, even through the fabric of my shirt. He returned to the fire, sitting perfectly still and watching me with unnervingly attentive eyes. As we waited for the water to boil for supper, I retrieved the leather-bound book from my backpack. As I flipped it open, I noticed Eric's eyes slightly widen, a flicker of recognition that Van Gogh's. vanished as quickly as it appeared. He shifted back into his usual posture, hands resting on his knees and fixed his gaze on the flames.

Settling back against the log, I flipped to where I left off that evening before and continued to read. October 4th, 2025. We made good time to the first campsite, arriving well before sunset. A great start to our five-day loop. Clear sky. Light wind from the west. A gunshot woke me up after midnight. Eric's bag was empty.

I called for him and received no response. He came out of the dark a few minutes later, said he'd had to scare off a bear lurking around the camp. We'll take a look around the area first thing in the morning. October 5th, 2025. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary around the camp. Found Prince, not from a bear, though. Eric's been mostly quiet.

Says he slept badly. Air heavy with thunder clouds on the horizon. but the storm never came in. Trail mostly dry. October 6th, 2025, I haven't seen Eric eat or drink since yesterday morning. He waved off breakfast. At the stream, he didn't refill his bottle. At lunch, he said he wasn't hungry. Maybe he's queasy. I tried to bring up some old stories. He seemed oddly curious, like it was the first time he had heard them. Didn't add details or correct me the way he always does. Just watch the firewood collapse to coals. Otherwise, it was very humid and a full moon helped to light up the forest at night. October 7th, 2025. I woke up twice last night. Eric was still up.

I don't think he noticed me. I decided to confront him this morning about his strange behavior. He just sat there, expressionless. I've noticed that his reactions always come a second too late, like he's trying to figure out how he should respond correctly. His skin looks different too. New wrinkles, a slight yellow tone. And his hair has started to fall out. My only explanation is that something might have poisoned him. October 8th, 2025.

It doesn't eat. Doesn't sleep. Doesn't blink. There is no soul behind its eyes. It just sits by the fire and watches. I cut a hole in the back of my tent. Tonight, I'm leaving. I looked up from the journal and met Eric's eyes across the fire.

For a moment, neither of us moved. Then, without breaking eye contact, he said calmly, The water is ready. My hand shook as I fumbled with a pack of dried chicken and poured in the hot water. The plastic crinkled loudly in the silence. Eric shifted slightly. The firelight flickering across his face.

He opened a small pack of chicken, picked out the pieces of meat with his bare, dirty fingers, rinsed off the sauce in the boiling water, and swallowed the pieces whole. After some time, he spoke. These woods are old. They have stories, if you know how to listen. What kind of stories? I asked, careful to not let my unease show. Well, there's one about a creature that's been here longer than any map or trace.

rail. Most people think it's just a local legend, but I've seen signs that suggest otherwise. He leaned forward, and for a moment his face held what might have been a look of sorrow. They say a long time ago. There was a man who lived not far from here, a hunter, clever and strong, but with a hunger in him that no food could satisfy. He began to hunt not for deer, not rabbit, but people. Travelers, wanderers, anyone foolish enough to stray too far into the woods. He ate their flesh, wore their skin, and thought himself above the laws of men. For his crimes, God, or maybe something older, cursed him to walk the forest forever. Never resting. Never belonging. To torment him further, they say he was given a gift. He could take the shape of

of any man or woman and where any face he desired. I could study them, live beside them, almost fool himself into believing he was human again. Almost. Eric stirred the fire with a stick. No matter how much he learned how to laugh, how to cry, or how to tell stories, something always betrayed him.

His reflection came back wrong. His eyes were void of a soul. and when people noticed, when they looked too closely, well, he had to feed. He paused, letting the silence fill the clearing. They say he still walks these woods, listening, learning, hoping that someone will mistake him for, a human. Huh, yeah, a spooky story, I muttered, no longer able to meet his eyes. My mind raced. Should I make a move?

bolt into the forest and risk being caught in the dark or stay and act like nothing had changed. Every instinct screamed to run, yet my body was frozen in place like a statue. I studied the features of my companion, and with every glance my stomach twisted tighter. His skin was pale and patchy, loose in some places, and stretched too tightly over bone and others, yellowed with hints of purple, bruising around his neck. It looked as though it had begun the early. stages of decomposition. Even his breathing seemed off, shallow and deliberate, as though he were carefully measuring the amount of air in each inhale, and yet I had been blinded the truth,

staring me in the face. I curled my hands in a fist to keep the shaking from showing, forced myself to breathe evenly and to keep my expression neutral. My mind raced to find the right words, a way to break the tension. I rubbed at my eyes, feigning a tired yawn, and muttered something about turning in early, hoping that my voice didn't reveal the dread that had solidified inside me. Just as my mind had started to pick apart the inconsistencies of his disguise, I couldn't help but wonder if he could do the same to me. I slipped into my tent and pulled the zipper closed with slow, careful hands. My finger shook as I unfolded the map,

the paper crackling far too loudly. I traced the lines with the finger, estimating the nearest road at just over 40 kilometers away. The problem was, I couldn't even be sure of our location. Having followed Eric's lead the entire day, it was also a day's trek and daylight,

let alone in the middle of the night, but it was the only chance I had. Essentially, only flashed, like compass, map, knife, water bottle, protein bars, matches, and the journal. I stuffed them all into a small drawstring sack that usually held my sleeping bag. Impeled by the journal entries, I carefully drew the knife from its sheath. I gripped the knife with both hands to steady it and press the steel into the tense nylon until it parted with a faint hiss. I ease myself through the slit. Every rustle of the fabric thunderous to my ears,

and slipped into the darkness just beyond the firelight. The forest stretched on without end. The only sounds were my rast breath and the thud of my heartbeat. Beneath it, faint at first, there was something else, a low murmur at the edge of hearing, like someone whispering in the distance. As I ran closer, the sound grew into the unmistakable rush of water. The river was wider than I'd hoped. The moonlight glinted across the surface.

Silver streaks breaking into shards were the current, churned. I hesitated at the riverbank, weighing whether to wade through the freezing water or search for a way around. When a sudden crash echoed from the direction I had come, twigs snapping, branches splintering, something was moving fast and coming straight towards me. I ripped the sack from my shoulders and hurled it across the water. It landed with a thud on the gravel on the far shore. I stepped into the water. The cold was immediate and brutal, stabbing like needles up my legs. The current nearly swept me off my feet. It wrenched to boot loose from my left foot and dragged it downstream. I waited toward a massive tangle of driftwood caught against some rocks. My body pressed

against the slick wood as I slowly submerged myself until only my eyes broke the surface. I forced myself to stay still. Every muscle locked. It crawled from the trees on all fours. its limbs bending in impossible directions, moving with an unnatural elasticity. Its spine arched grotesquely, inverted like a demonic concortionist. Eric's head was twisted around on its own neck with eyes staring forward. It waded into the water, coming straight toward my hiding spot. Each step deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey. It stopped and jerked upright, like a dog catching a scent.

It sniffed the air and slowly tilted its head downstream. In a sudden blur of motion, it bolted in that direction, thrashing through the water with a speed that defied anything human. I dragged myself from the freezing water and stumbled onto the shore. I collapsed for a moment on the gravel, heaving for air. I slowly managed to stand up, hoisted the stack over my shoulder, and, staggered into the trees. My left foot, now only protected by a wet wool sock, hurt with every misstep. Joltz of pain shot on my leg as I stepped on a sharp rock or a pointy twig.

I leaned against a tree and slid down into my back, rested firmly against the bark. I needed warmth and dry clothing, but a campfire would likely act as a beacon to my location. Hand shivering, I fumbled for my bag and pulled out the leather-bound book. I held it flat to illuminate the pages with the help of the moonlight as they flipped to the next entry. October 9th, 2025. Humans evolved to be expert pattern recognizers. Our brains expend valuable energy analyzing faces in real time, mouth curvature, the cadence of a blink, the subtle shift of a people. Most people don't notice.

It's unconscious. But when a detail doesn't fit the expected pattern, something is a little. ancient and deep inside us rebels. It's an instinct honed over thousands of years, designed to protect us from the unnatural. If someone is reading this, don't make the same mistake I did. It has spent centuries perfecting its disguise because it craves the only thing it can never truly be a human. Don't break the illusion. Not for a second. Not even in your thoughts. I pushed myself off the tree, every joint stiff, and started walking. I forced my steps to be silent and careful.

I waded back across the river. My destination was just a short distance away. On the riverbank, I found a trail of broken branches and followed them until I saw a faint glow flickering between the trees ahead. The campsite looked unchanged. The familiar silhouettes of the tents stood exactly where we had pitched them, but there was no sign of error. I stripped off my soaks clothes, hung them over a branch, and dug out a dry set for my bag. I sat down next to the campfire and stretched out my hands to feel the warmth. A shift in the air prickled the back of my neck, and I heard the clicking sounds of joints snapping back into place, one by one.

I have something I've wanted to tell you. I found this book on the bus. My thumb traced the worn spine as I spoke. I think you know who it belongs to. Perhaps you could return it to its owner for me. Eric stepped out of the darkness. His neck was bruised, and the stretched remnants of his face

pulled too many ways, sagged down. Partially covering his eyes and mouth, he looked at me from across the flames, then sat down on the other side. He took the book from me and placed it on the ground next to him dismissively. He then stretched it. out his other hand, holding something.

Found your shoe. I stared down at the dirty sock protecting my foot for a moment, then forced myself to look up to meet his eyes. Thanks, I managed. Must have slipped off your foot, Eric said casually. I was unlucky.

Unlucky, Eric repeated. Tasting the word in his mouth. No, you are lucky. Lucky I found it. How would we finish our hike if you couldn't walk properly. Every movement now felt like a performance under scrutiny. Every blink and every word I spoke had to seem natural, too fast, too slow, too rehearsed,

in the fragile illusion I had mended for him would shatter. You should get some sleep. The last leg will be the most difficult. Eric stated matter-of-factly, grateful for the sudden exit I gave him a small nod and slipped into my tent. But sleep. but sleep wouldn't come. I lay awake for hours, listening intently and waiting for something to happen.

Morning soon arrived, and I emerged from the tent to find Eric exactly where I had left him, though something was different. The item that it kept me alive was gone. As we packed up the tents for the last time, I spotted the now blackened and gray remnants of leather and paper in the fire pit. The trail was uneven and littered with slippery rocks, wet from overnight dew. concentrating on each careful step gave me a brief mental reprive from the predator I could feel

stalking just a few paces behind me. As I stepped out of the tree line and onto the road, the footsteps behind me abruptly disappeared. I turned and looked back into the dark woods I had spent the weekend trapped in. The only traces of him were quadrupedal prints pressed into the dirt beside my own boot prints. My mind replayed every moment of the last few days like a night there I couldn't shake as I waited for my ride home. The bus rumbled as it pulled away from the stop. I leaned back in my seat, the window cool against my temple, and let out a slow breath. After a while, I slipped a hand into my jacket pocket and felt something dry and brittle.

Charred scraps of paper rested in my hand. The edges were blackened and fragile, but the riding was still legible. I took out my phone and opened a blank note. I'm doing my best to recount everything that has happened while the memories are still vivid and fresh in my mind. And all right, guys, that wraps up some unnerving Reddit horror stories. Would you like to see more videos like this in the future? If so, please comment down below your thoughts, like the video, subscribe to the channel, follow me on Instagram and follow me on Spotify.

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