Timesuck with Dan Cummins - Nightmare Fuel 36: Dissonance (1 of 2)

Episode Date: October 30, 2025

Hello again Meatsacks! The beginning of our last bit of Halloween week fictional horror! This one was originally released back in July. In this first of two parts,  we meet a man, Duncan Briggs, who agrees to participate in a paid scientific study to make a little cash to get his wife something nice for her birthday while he's in-between jobs. And then things get.... weird. Enjoy!This episode was scored by Logan Keith. We recommend listening with headphones to experience the full effect of all the creepy background noises. If you like this episode, please let us know wherever you rate and review podcasts. For more episodes of Nightmare Fuel - check out Scared to Death's podcast feed where I've been releasing two a month since February of 2024. Thanks!! Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Welcome to yet another edition of Nightmarefew Welcome to yet another edition of Nightmare Fuel. meet sex the fourth of five nightmare fuels to get showcased here on time suck for the week of Halloween if this is the first one you have decided to listen to these are immersively scored cinematically written original fictional horror stories all written and narrated by me all scored by mr logan keith and for the week of Halloween uh i've been dropping five of my favorites right here in the time suck feed if you like this story i now have over 40 of them over on the scare to death podcast feed for you to enjoy. Many are standalone. Some are sequential. This one is called

dissonance. It originally came out this past summer, July 18th, 2025, episode 36 of Nightmare Fuel. I think it's my best sci-fi horror mashup so far. Something you might find on Black Mirror or a more fucked up version of the Twilight Zone. It's also the first sequential episode I'm showcasing here, part one of two. So the conclusion of the story will drop tomorrow, you will not have to wait long, I highly recommend noise cancellation headphones to get the most out of Logan's scoring. Time now for the tale of dissonance. Seeking paid participants, neural interface and consciousness study, explore altered states, help shape the future of perception. AR innovations, a privately funded cognitive tech,

Research Group is recruiting adult volunteers 18 plus for a limited experimental study involving neural mapping, biometric monitoring, and synthetic dream state induction. Selected candidates will undergo two short sessions, approximately 60 minutes each, under light general anesthesia, while connected to a prototype neural interface. These sessions will be conducted in a controlled facility under professional supervision. Eligibility requirements healthy adults 18 plus in good physical condition must pass an on-site vitals check heart rate blood pressure toxin screen

no history of epilepsy psychosis or cardiac irregularities must not be currently using psychoactive substances participants will receive full briefing upon arrival all data is anonymized sessions may involve vivid dream recall temporary disorientation or minor memory lapses. Most volunteers report a deeply immersive or lucid-like experience. Compensation, $750 following first appointment, $500 upon completion of study following second appointment. Transportation not provided, spots limited. To apply, text ORA test to the study

coordinator at 844-887-8899. Include your name, age, and general availability. Step outside yourself. Be among the first. 33-year-old Duncan Briggs paused, took another sip of his morning coffee, and read the posting again on his laptop. As he sat at the dining room table in his cookie cutter suburban home, shortly after his wife, Isabella, had left to go teach high school kids algebra, geometry, and maybe

calculus? It had been six weeks since Duncan's compensation package ran out after he unceremoniously lost his job as a data analytics manager during an unexpected round of layoffs. He hadn't been having much luck with the typical job recruiting sites ever since, so he decided to poke around on Craigslist. And it was there that he came across this recruitment ad. 750 bucks wasn't going to solve his current employment problems by any stretch,

but it would at least give him enough money to buy Isabella something nice for her birthday, which was coming up in a week. And that would help him feel less like a worthless piece of shit while he continued to look for a new job. Step outside yourself. Be among the first, he read again. Hmm. In addition to putting some extra cash in his pocket,

he thought it might be a really cool experience, something he'd at least get an interesting story out of. What kind of wild dreams would he be having, wondered? He took another sip of his coffee, shrugged his shoulders, and texted the number. Three hours later, Duncan pulled into a cracked asphalt parking lot flanked by weeds and oil stains at 25-minute drive from his house. There weren't more than a dozen other vehicles also parked there, and at least two of them looked like they hadn't been moved in years, hadn't been

capable of moving in years. Duncan's three-year-old base model four-door sedan, certainly nothing fancy was clearly the nicest car around. The building itself looked like a half-abandoned strip mall clinging to life in some forgotten industrial pocket on the edge of town, a place that hadn't seen real foot traffic in decades. He started to have second thoughts. Duncan would have felt a lot better if he would have parked in a busy lot full of new high-end cars and SUVs driven by young upwardly mobile professionals, and if he had been about to walk into a much more modern-looking facility, something made of mostly steel and glass that wasn't surrounded by light industrial businesses, trailer parks, small packs of the chronically homeless and seedy motels would be nice.

A few dimly lit signs flickered above the unit still in operation. A grimy vape shop with blacked out windows. A pizza place advertising two large two topping for $9.99 and faded vinyl. And a massage parlor whose neon open sign blinked with the rhythm of a dying heartbeat. tucked at the end of the row almost like it was hiding were the words AR Innovations. Its sign was just blocky black lettering on a sun-bleached yellowing whiteboard behind dirty glass. The entrance was a plain narrow door with a small buzzer in a faded, authorized personnel-only sticker, half peeling off the bottom corner. Duncan got out of his car, shut the door, and then just stood there for a moment, looking at the clinic, laboratory,

research facility, death trap? He chuckled and thought about how someday he'd be able to look back and really laugh about this, if he went through with it. He wondered if his story should end right here and now in the parking lot. The blinds behind the door's window were ominously drawn tight. The whole setup was starting to give him the creeps. But then he shrugged his shoulders and started walking forward. Fuck it. Beggars can be choosers, I guess, he muttered.

Inside the air was stale and faintly chemical smelling, like a mix of antiseptic wipes and melted plastic. The front lobby was small and dimly lit by flickering fluorescent panels, embedded in a yellowing 80-style drop-down panel ceiling. Several of the panels were water-stained. The hum from the lights was constant and loud, like an insect swarm trapped in the bulbs. The floor was covered in coarse, low-pile carpet that looked like it had once been blue. now it was much more of a bruised gray, worn thin in the center, and frayed and stained in lots of places from decades of use. The walls were painted that dreary soul-crushing institutional beige found in public schools and DMV offices, except here they were scuffed with furniture marks and streaks to something darker in some of the corners.

A few folding plastic chairs were arranged haphazardly along the walls, next to a dusty water cooler with no cups. there was a reception desk If it could be truly called that It was more like a repurposed Laminate countertop wedge between two prefab partition walls A cheap plastic sign taped to the front red AR Innovations By appointment only

A cracked intercom sat on the desk Next to an old clipboard with a pen duct taped to it There was no receptionist None that he could see anyway There didn't seem to be anyone around behind the desk a hallway stretched deeper into the building its flickering ceiling lights casting long uneven shadows doors lined either side of the corridor cheap hollow core models with tarnish brass handles some had warped whiteboards with half erased writing one had a red light above it faintly glowing another had no doorkob at all there was a sound coming from one of the back rooms a mechanical hiss then a clunk then silence again duncan stood there for a moment unsure if he should call out or just leave. But the lure of that $750 and curiosity,

or something like it, kept his feet rooted to the carpet. A few seconds later, a young woman stepped out of the bathroom, drying her hands on the front of her skirt, eyes darting nervously around the empty lobby before landing on Duncan. She wore a tight, short-sleeved white blouse, clearly not made for office wear, with buttons straining just slightly at her chest, and a black pencil skirt that looked more clubware than corporate.

Not that Duncan minded terribly. He found her to be very attractive. Her name tag was nothing more than a sticker, handwritten in red sharpie. Maddie, research assistant. Maddie, Duncan thought. Seriously? Not even Madison?

Was this some kind of elaborate joke? He wondered. Maddie gave him a wide, awkward smile, too enthusiastic to be real, too unsure to be professional. Hi, you must be on Duncan, right? She asked her voice bubbly and forced, like she was trying to mimic a receptionist from a YouTube skit.

She flipped open a clipboard that was completely blank and nodded like she was reading something important. Maddie's makeup was a little too heavy, her lashes a little too long. Like when she had gotten ready for work that morning, she had dressed for a very different kind of role. She smelled faintly of cheap vanilla body spray and anxiety. She kept looking toward the hallway behind her, clearly unsure if she was doing this

right. Duncan, had he been paying more attention, would be able to tell that she clearly did not work there, that something was very off. But he was still distracted by the setting, by his gut warning him that something wasn't right by feeling desperate to bring in some money for the first time and over a month and by a flirtatious vibe. He thought he might be picking up? Maddie grabbed a clipboard full of paperwork for him, handed it over, and Duncan sat down on a fold-out metal chair in front of an old lightly stained oak coffee table that looked like it was either picked up from a thrift store, or that it had been there for literally 40 years. All it had on top of it, besides some stains and condensation rings, was a pile of old academic journals that Duncan had never

heard of. Stuff like, the Journal of Parasicology, Journal of Mathematical Physics, and the Journal of the American Society for Psychical Research. Just as Duncan finished his paperwork, while Maddie sat at the reception desk and seemingly tried to look like she was doing something but clearly didn't have anything to do, a young man emerged from the hallway, wheeling a battered rolling stool and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with exaggerated precision. He was fit and rakishly handsome. He wore scrubs that didn't quite fit, a bit too tight in the shoulders, too baggy across the gut, and a pair of knock-off crocks

with little cartoon charms snapped into the holes. A stethoscope hung around his neck like a costume prop. He looked at Duncan with wide, excited eyes, then turned to Maddie and winked, too broadly, too knowingly. Hello, Duncan, right? All finished with that? He asked in a tone,

that made it seem like he was trying to sound especially clinical, but he ended up sounding more like a guy auditioning for some low-budget porno. His name was Benji. At least that's what it said on his name tag, next to the words lab tech. And unbeknownst to Duncan, he'd responded, just like Madison had,

to an ad for, quote, a consensual, immersive doctor-patient role play scenario, promising easy money for a few hours of pretending, no sex or nudity required, or even desired. He was simply told to act like a assistant and administer a mock vitals exam before sedating the partner of the woman who hired

him. He had no real medical training, but he did a little research on YouTube and brought his own latex gloves to seem more legit. He, like Maddie, worked under the impression that this was all for play. The next and last person to enter the room, a slightly built woman in her 40s, moved with quiet authority, her steps measured, her posture upright, like someone accustomed to being in control of both her environment and the people within it. She wore a long crisp lab coat over a fitted black turtleneck and charcoal gray slacks, nothing flashy but carefully curated. Her ID badge simply read Dr. I. Calloway, AR Innovations. She set a silver clipboard down on the reception counter and then addressed Duncan. Duncan, she said as she gave a restrained professional smile.

I'm Dr. Calloway. Thank you for being punctual. She didn't offer a hand-shadowed. shake. She merely studied him, briefly but thoroughly, like she was mentally cataloging him, posture, micro-expressions, pupil dilation. Then her eyes shifted to Maddie and Benji. The smile stayed, but only faintly. You two, she said calmly, but firmly. Please proceed to protocol room number two. Begin the prep face. To Duncan, her tone probably sounded like just another day at a research facility. To Maddie and Benji, who still thought this was some eccentric, erotic immersive role play, it sounded like she was really committed to the bit, and they were both very impressed. Maddie specifically suddenly felt a tingle and wish she had been asked to

sexually join them. This was hot. Please follow Madison, Dr. Calloway said to Duncan, nodding her head towards the same hallway that Benji had walked down. Duncan stood up, and just for a moment, he considered walking out the main door, getting back in his car, and driving the hell away. Something felt off about all of this. He strongly suspected there was a lot more to the experiment than he'd thought when he'd driven over. But also, even though he felt guilty admitting this to himself, he was picking up some strong sexual energy in the air.

He was curious as to where it was coming from. Maddie was very attractive. She had this short, sexy, perky figure that made him wonder if she was a former gymnast, the kind who had gotten even hotter after they'd stopped training and put on some more feminine weight, and Dr. Calloway, holy shit. She was a smoke show with her wonderfully exotic look.

She looked like one of her parents was probably Japanese or maybe Korean. And the other was perhaps Scandinavian or German. She was tall and thin with high cheekbones and wonderfully long, shapely legs. Not even her professional slacks could fully hide. Duncan wasn't, of course, going to do anything, he told himself. I mean, he was there because he wanted to do something nice for his wife, after all, not cheat on her. But again, what kind of crazy story was he going to get out?

of this. Duncan followed Maddie down the hallway, the thin carpet muffling their footsteps as the overhead lights flickered at odd intervals. She still hadn't said much. She just kept gesturing politely, flashing that same slightly too enthusiastic smile like she was working at a kiosk at the mall. They stopped at an unmarked white door. She opened it and stepped aside. Inside was a small exam room, or what was trying to look like one. The tile floor was yellowed with age, and the base boards were peeling. A reclining medical chair sat in the center under a harsh light, the vinyl cracked at the corners. Next to it was a slim rolling cart with a basic monitor, some medical-looking tools, and a plastic tray of individually wrapped needles and tubes.

Benji was already inside with his latex gloves on, fiddling with a cuff on the blood pressure machine like he was trying to remember how it worked. He looked up and grinned strangely when Duncan entered. Hey, buddy, he said too casually. Just have a seat here and we'll get you all squared away. Duncan hesitated for a moment. Did Benji just suggestively eyeball him up and down? Where the hell was all this going? He sat down and the chair hissed a little as it adjusted to his weight. The armrests were sticky with disinfectant. Benji wrapped the blood pressure cuff around Duncan's arm and pumped it up, glancing at the gauge like he actually knew what it meant. Madison hovered near the cart, picking up items, examining them,

and putting them down again. They felt like they were both killing time, playing roles they didn't quite understand. She literally mumbled, oh yeah, that thing, before picking up an oral swab to gather some saliva from the inside of Duncan's cheek. Vitals look solid, Benji announced a minute later. Nice and steady. You're a dream subject. He chuckled at his own joke.

That's when Dr. Calloway entered. The whole room shifted the moment she did, like a real adult had stepped into a classroom full of kids playing teacher. She moved with purpose, ignoring Maddie and Benji entirely as she walked over to Duncan and gently tapped the monitor. Everything good here, she asked.

Benji and Madison both nodded. The subject is ready, Benji added, hoping to sound like he knew what he was doing, but sounding wooden instead, like a bad actor and a bad movie. Duncan nodded as well and tried not to smirk.

Dr. Calloway turned to the tray, snapping on her own gloves. We'll be administering a fast-acting sedative, nothing dangerous. We use a short-duration compound, something developed for outpatient procedures. You'll be out for approximately 55 to 60 minutes. When you wake up, we'll ask you to describe everything you remember from the experience. That's the most important part. Sorry if I was already sent this information or didn't see it on the forms, but Duncan paused after looking at an old clock on the wall

and thinking about how he'd be waking up around 1 p.m. plenty of time to get his money, let any after effects of the anesthesia wear off, and get home a few hours before Isabella got back from school. What exactly have I signed up for? he asked. We're running a small-scale study focused on dream state memory integration. Dr. Calloway answered in the calm, pleasant tone of someone explaining how to set up a new phone or prepare for an eye exam. That is, how much of our dreams were capable of recalling once conscious,

and whether we can approve that recall under certain controlled conditions. Duncan nodded as if all that made total sense to him, which it definitely did not. Dr. Calloway folded her arms, her expression just curious enough to seem genuine, before she continued. Now, most people think dreams are chaotic,

random flashes of imagery and emotion with no real structure, but we believe otherwise. We believe dreams may actually be fully formed experiences, complete environments with continuity and events like a movie you just can't remember watching and that memory loss that's not because the dream wasn't real

it's because your waking mind doesn't yet have the architecture to interpret and retain it she paused and Duncan nodded again he still didn't really understand what she was describing but at least it didn't sound dangerous Dr. Calloway continued that's where you come in by using light sedation we can guide you into a

more stable theta-dominant neural state, and through proprietary neurostimulation, I'll spare you all the technical details, we attempt to improve post-dream coherence. What that means in plain terms is, if this works, you'll remember your dream more vividly than you have ever before in your life, not just bits and pieces, but the whole thing, like it really happened. She strongly emphasized the word really before she paused, her eyes briefly lingering on his. Her tone dipping ever so slightly. And maybe it did. She smiled again.

Wider this time, maybe flirtatiously. And then she tapped her pen once more. Any other questions before we begin, she asked. Uh, yeah, said Duncan hesitantly. When do I get paid for this? A thin smile spread across Dr. Calloway's face. You'll receive an envelope with $250 in it when you awake. And then another $500.

in cash after you finished your follow-up appointment tomorrow morning. Duncan furrowed his brow. Tomorrow morning? He asked. I didn't realize I'd be back so soon. What time? Dr. Calloway shot Maddie an irritated glance. Maddie mouthed, sorry.

And then immediately looked at Benji when Dr. Calloway looked away. They both shared an expression that was a mixture of both confusion and amusement. Neither could believe how seriously Duncan and Dr. Calloway were taking this roleplay. Maddie simultaneously wanted to laugh and was jealous. Benji thought they were both nuts. 8.30 a.m. It's very important that you be here on time for your next appointment, Dr. Calloway told him.

Come prepared. I'll need you to begin sedation no later than nine. Duncan nodded. 9 a.m. Got it. 8.30, Dr. Calloway corrected. You need to be here no later than 8.30 so we can begin at 9. She reiterated.

Sorry, got it, Duncan replied. 8.30. Good. Dr. Calloway said before she flashed Duncan a smile. A seductive smile? He wondered. Maddie and Benji exchanged amuse glances again. After staring directly into Duncan's eyes for a few seconds longer than he assumed any normal doctor would, Dr. Calloway selected a small vial and a syringe and exple loaded a dose of propofol.

Her hands didn't tremble. Madison stepped back toward the door, smiling a knowing smile. Benji hovered near the monitor, watching everything like it was a movie. The beginning of an adult movie, he thought. Duncan swallowed. Is it going to hurt? He asked, trying to keep his voice light. Dr. Calloway didn't even look up.

Not at all. You'll feel a brief sting, then a wave of warmth. Then, nothing, like blinking between thoughts. She tapped his arm, found a vein, and inserted. of the IV port with quick practiced hands. Duncan started to feel like he was going to panic. What the fuck was he doing? None of this was right, he thought. And he'd stayed because, what, because he thought these two women were hot? Was he 16 or 33? He was such an idiot. Fuck this, he needed to leave. He grabbed Dr. Calloway by the wrist right as she depressed the plunger

on the syringe. She held her arm firm against his attempt to pull it away, and she leaned in just a little too close. Her voice soft and oddly comforting, as she whispered, not laughing, as she whispered, enough for Maddie or Benji to hear. Don't let those two make you anxious. They don't know why you're really here. This isn't some sex game. And it won't be a dream either. You're going to a new world.

Duncan blinked hard. Wait, what? He truly wanted to leave now, and he would have, but the warmth was already spreading up his arm. His chest felt heavy, then distant. Sound slowed, then stretched. The fluorescence overhead blurred into a smeared halo. Dr. Calloway's face was the last thing he saw.

Her eyes locked on his, pupils wide with anticipation, like a child waiting for a toy to light up. And then just before it all went black, he thought he saw her smile widen. Not kindly, definitely not flirtatiously, but like she had finally opened a door she'd been waiting her whole life to walk through. Duncan gassed himself awake, and then drooled all over his chin and shirt. His head jerked forward, and for a second he couldn't tell if he was sitting or standing. The overhead lights were humming again, bright, cold, and too close. His neck ached. His arms felt weak.

His tongue was dry and tasted like metal. The exam chair creaked beneath him as he tried to sit up straighter. His IV had been removed. The vitals monitor was turned off. The rolling cart with medical tools had been pushed slightly farther away, almost like someone had hastily cleaned up after him and forgot a few details. He tried to remember whatever dream he had just had. Wasn't he supposed to recall it clearly?

Improved post-dream coherence? Wasn't that what Dr. Calloway had said? That he would remember his dream more vividly than he ever had before in his life? Not just bits and pieces, but the whole thing? But he couldn't remember anything. Maybe he just needed to wait until the anesthesia had fully worn off, he thought, as he now looked around.

The room was empty. No, Benji. No, Maddie, no Dr. Calloway. Hello? He called out hoarsely. No answer. His eyes drifted down to his lap. An envelope rested there, white, unmarked, and slightly crinkled,

like it had been handled a bit too much. He picked it up with trembling fingers and opened the flap. Inside were ten-twenties and one-fifty, two hundred and fifty dollars, as promised. Also inside was a single, folded sheet of printer paper. The font looked like Times New Roman, generic, no heading, no logo, just a few short lines. Duncan, it is completely natural for you to feel confused or disoriented. Please do not be alarmed. Return for your follow-up session tomorrow at 8.30 a.m. Sharp. It is very important you come back. The words very important have been written in all caps and

underlined. Failing to return could result in long-term perceptual dissonance. You may find the world feeling off. That is normal. Do not miss your second session. That last line had also been written in all caps. There was no signature. He stared at the note for a few seconds, then re-read it. The more he read, the more his pulse picked up. Perceptual dissonance, he muttered what the hell does that even mean he folded the note stuffed it in his pocket along with the cache and stood up on wobbly lakes the hallway outside was still dim but something about it overall felt cleaner newer had the ceiling panels been replaced he wondered he noticed that the flickering light near the bathroom was no longer flickering that the buzzing overhead was quieter

he pushed open the door to the lobby gone was the oak coffee table with the old academic journals Gone were the fold-out metal chairs and the dusty water cooler. There was a faux-leather couch and two matching armchairs, the kind you typically find in an office lobby and modern end tables on each side of the couch. The walls of the receptionary were freshly painted a pale gray. The carpet was still thin, but much newer and no longer stained. The front desk had a new countertop, modern and sleek,

with a small touchscreen kiosk embedded in the surface. A glowing blue logo pulls softly across the screen. P.D. Transformations. Duncan blinked. Hard. He stepped toward the front door trying to understand what had happened to him. Had they messed with his memory somehow? He felt around his head for some kind of incision or mark but found nothing. Was it the anesthesia? It must be, he thought. He must be misremembering what he thought he saw when he walked in. Was this what the note meant by perceptual dissonance? He stepped outside, looked around, and started. started to relax a bit. The strip mall looked the same. Wait. Not quite, he thought, as he walked further out into the parking lot, spun around and faced it. The grimy vape shop was gone, replaced with a storefront that said,

Chakra Club, breathwork, and cold plunge studio. The pizza joint was now a vegan salad bar called Earthly Crunch. The massage parlor was still there, but the neon sign had been replaced with a matte brass placard that said, healing bodyworks, by a point. only. And where AR innovations had been was now a sign that read PD Transformations Neuro rehabilitation center. What the fuck? Duncan muttered aloud and then white more drool off his chin. Whatever momentary bit of de-escalating panic he'd felt was gone. He instinctively reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He'd put it on airplane mode per the instructions

in his original paperwork, and now turn that off. After a few moments, instead of showing signal bars, it displayed no service. What? He mumbled in disbelief. It doesn't make any sense. His chest felt tight. Calm down, he coached himself. Breathe, he said.

This is all just perceptual dissonance. His attempt to relax wasn't working. He had no full. fucking idea, what perceptual dissonance even meant. Duncan looked at his phone again. His home screen was still the same. Same background image of him and Isabella at a wedding in Maui. That was comforting. That was very, very comforting. He needed to look at stuff that was the same as it had been before the what experiment. He had the same apps, same basic battery level as far as he could recall, but nothing would load. No messages, no data. He walked further. He walked further.

out into the parking lot, his eyes scanning for his car. He couldn't see it anywhere. There were more cars than there had been when he'd shown up a little over an hour earlier, maybe three dozen in total. And a lot of them are different cars, he wished he didn't also think. But his did not appear to be one of them. Duncan turned around in place for a while and walked up and down the cracked pavement, checking various spots twice and then three times, just to be absolutely sure. The faded yellow lines were in the same places. That was nice. A weird old van with a dented hood he'd spotted was still near the dumpsters. That felt good, too. But his sedan, the silver one with the dealership license plate frame and coffee stain on the passenger's seat,

was definitely gone. And there were no toe signs, no boot, no note, just gone. His pulse quickened. He felt like he was about to have a full-blown panic attack. He'd never had one before, but he reasoned it had to feel a lot like what he was feeling at that moment. His hands were trembling, his heart was racing. He felt dizzy. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. And nothing around him felt 100% right, other than his phone's fucking home screen. Even though his phone still said, no service, he tried calling Isabella anyway. Nothing. He then tried opening a rideshare app to get himself home, but it, of course, refused to connect. It had now gotten so hard to breathe, he worried he was going to pass out, so he crouched down with his elbows resting on his knees, and he put his head in his hands. he breathed in slowly and deeply and then exhaled the same way several times he sat and breathed like that for several moments before he slowly stood back up as he exhaled and then said perceptual dissonance he started walking across the parking lot towards the road he'd driven to the center on towards home he continued to feel wildly unsettled finally after wandering for nearly 15 minutes in search of a taxi. He spotted one of the rust orange cars parked near a gas station two blocks down. He, of course, didn't recognize the name of the taxi company

written on the door. The cab driver barely looked up from his paper coffee cup as Duncan climbed into the back seat and gave his address. Cash only, the man said without turning around. Yeah, Duncan said, swallowing. Yeah, no problem. He watched the landscape pass through the window on the ride home, and for a while he convinced himself that everything was fine. The world started to feel more familiar, or at least he was convincing himself that it did. He kept checking his phone to see if coverage had returned. He turned it on and off a few times, then did a hard reset. Still no service. Maybe there was a software glitch, he reasoned. Maybe his phone plan had been suspended for some reason. When the taxi pulled up to his house, something immediately felt

off again. It was the same house, same mailbox. same numbers stenciled on the curb, but it was the wrong color, and the lawn had been freshly mowed. When he'd left for his appointment, he'd made a mental note to cut the grass because he hadn't done it in over a week. Even more upsetting, there was a blue something in the driveway. It was a car he didn't recognize. It became hard to breathe again. Duncan's chest felt tight like it had in the parking lot, and his hands began to tremble. Before we find out who, if anyone, is already home in Duncan's house.

It's time to take our mid-show sponsor break. If you don't want to hear these ad breaks anymore, if you want to get these episodes early, please become a Robert or Annabelle on Scared to Death's Patreon and get these nightmare fuel stories and all other scared-to-death episodes, ad-free and more. Thank you for hearing out our sponsors. And now let's find out if making it back home helps or hurts. Duncan's increasingly fragile grip on reality. The taxi pulled away with a low sputter,

and Duncan stood at the edge of the driveway. His feet planted like they didn't trust the concrete. He worked to keep his breathing under control. He took his phone out and stared at his home screen, his tethered to sanity. He felt a long ways from good, but he also didn't feel like he was going to completely break down, and that was a win.

His house looked right, Mostly, from a distance. Same shape, if not the same color. But the blue car definitely wasn't his or Isabella's. And in addition to the lawn, someone had recently swept the porch, which was new. Duncan walked slowly up the drive, past the unfamiliar car, and toward the door. His keys were still in his pocket. He took them out and found the house key, I feel.

He put it in the deadbolt, but couldn't turn the lock. What was happening? Hey there, stranger! Duncan flinched. A man walked down the front steps at the house next door, waving like they were old friends. Duncan recognized him instantly. Almost. It was his neighbor Ron, or at least it looked like Ron.

Same wide jaw, same big frame, same receding hairline. But he'd never seen Ron wearing loafers and a tucked-in polo. He had also never seemed like the kind of guy to carry a monogrammed water bottle around. And this guy, who looked like Ron, but was dressed like a middle-aged wellness influencer, was waving at him with way too much confidence. Duncan cleared his throat. Hey, Ron, the man paused halfway down the stairs, still smiling. But his eyes flickered, just for a second.

Ron, he chuckled. Who's wrong? He started walking again and stopped a few feet from Duncan, offering a firm handshake. Darren, it's me, Cal. Calvin Bates, from across the street? Duncan just stared blankly. Darren? Calvin Bates? And Ron lived next door, not across the street. And Ron's last name was Greeley, not even close to Bates. But this guy, he was Ron, wasn't he?

Sorry, Cal. Duncan played along, hoping he didn't look as freaked out as he was feeling. I had a little, um, I had a medical procedure this morning, and I don't think the anesthesia has worn off yet, Duncan said slowly. And now I can't seem to even, "'Unlock my front door,' he added. "'Cowl's brow relaxed, and he shook his head. "'Ha! I got it,' he said, "'looking like he just figured out a riddle. "'That makes sense.

"'You really must still be pretty drugged up. "'Your key doesn't work,' he laughed. "'Cause you don't live here, bud.' "'He turned slightly and pointed across the street "'to a nearly identical home. "'Their development only offered three or four different floor plans. "'You live right there, bud. "'Why didn't Taylor bring you back?

home he asked. Duncan felt dizzy. Taylor? He blinked. Cal gave him a playful nudge to the shoulder and laughed. Wow, man. I want a taste of whatever they gave you. Taylor, your wife. Duncan laughed and tried to play along. Yeah. Yeah, she couldn't get off work. Let's get you home, bud. Call said gently. Come on. A good nap is what you need. Cal helped Duncan across the street, where his key again didn't work. Good thing you told me where you keep a spare, Cal said warmly, and he picked up a fake rock that had a key hidden inside it and unlocked the door. You okay, to make it to your bedroom to lay down?

He asked, genuinely concerned. Yeah, said Duncan bacon baconly. Yeah, I'll be fine. Thanks a ton, Ron. I mean, Cal. Ron, Cal laughed heartily. Oh, man. I'm not going to forget this.

I want to be teasing you about that one for years, bud. He chuckled as he walked back across the street. Duncan stood alone inside the house Kyle had let him into, closing the front door gently behind him. The lock clicked in a way that didn't sound right. He rubbed his eyes. Everything felt wrong and too quiet. The interior layout was identical to his house.

Same foyer, same staircase, same open concept kitchen beyond the living room. But the furniture had been changed out. Everything was trendier. He and Isabella's mid-grade IKEA couch had been replaced by something sleek, modern, and gray. The walls were painted a shade lighter than he remembered. His favorite frame print of a vintage Led Zeppelin concert poster was gone. In its place hung a large, abstract canvas of swirling pastels and geometric patterns. Perceptual dissonance.

Perceptual dissonance. Perceptual dissonance. he whispered to himself over and over. They warned me this might happen. It's normal, he added. He moved deeper into the house. After reaching into his pocket and pulling out the envelope that held the note and cash, he'd gotten for the experiment, clutching it tightly like it was a grounding talisman.

It was his proof that he had done something, something that had directly caused what he was currently experiencing. Worst-case scenario, he told himself, this feeling would be completely over when he returned in the morning and had his follow-up appointment. When Duncan reached a console table by the stairs that did look familiar, he glanced at the frame photos on it. His breath caught.

There was a wedding photo, him and Isabella, but not quite. Her dress in the photo had short sleeves, not the sleeveless a-line gown he distinctly remembered her wearing, and his tuxedo in the photo had a strange pattern on the lapel. Much more concerning, their hairstyles were slightly different, and the location wasn't the beach. in Maui, where they'd actually got married. It was in what looked like the interior of the modern art museum downtown. Another photo showed them on a couch together, holding hands and

smiling at the camera. Again, it was almost right, but Isabella had a visible tattoo sleeve on her left arm. Isabella hated tattoos. Duncan was wearing glasses, but he'd never worn glasses, not ever in his life. He stumbled backwards, as if the photos had physically pushed him. Okay. All right. No big deal, he told himself. Perceptual dissonance. Perceptual dissonance. He made his way to the home office. The desk was the same shape, but made a dark wood instead of the faux oak he built from a flat-pack kit. A MacBook sat closed on top, and he did have a MacBook. But this one was sleaker and newer than his model. He put the envelope he'd been holding back in his pocket and open the laptop. He wanted to look into what he was experiencing. But the avatar was wrong on the login screen. So was the username of Darren Barber. Perceptual distance. Perceptual distance. Perceptual distance. He repeated again, and then jiggled his arms and shook his head to try and reset his brain.

He tried his usual password. Then his backup. Then the old one he hadn't used in probably five years. Nothing worked. Shit! He just stood there staring at the screen, breathing more and more shallowly from moment to moment. Finally, he closed the laptop and stepped back. His hands began to badly tremble again.

His heart was racing, just as hard as it had been, back in the parking lot. He felt dizzy, and it got so hard to breathe he had to sit down. He felt very, very close to completely freaking out. The kind of freak out he might not ever fully come back from. He... Wait! He suddenly yelled, and then laughed maniacally. Wait a fucking minute!

He laughed more. I'm dreaming! Of course! This is the experiment. Oh, I thought I woke up, but I clearly didn't. That's why everything is so fucking weird. What did she say? We believe dreams are fully formed experiences, total environments, with continuity and different events like a, like a movie.

A fucking weird-ass movie. And because of the experiment, I'm going to remember all of this. They've given me, what was it, some kind of architecture or whatever she called it? Duncan stood back up and laughed even more. holy shit this is such a mind fuck wow okay okay he repeated then he muttered no rule against taking a nap and a dream right maybe when i wake up we'll be back in a lab rubbed his eyes and walked upstairs on the second floor the primary bedroom looked identical in shape but the decor was all wrong duncan didn't even care it was a dream the duvet was black instead of blue who gives a shit the curtains were sleek blackout panels instead of the

floral ones Elizabeth had picked out. Oh, well. There was also a giant house plant in the corner he'd never seen before. Of course there was. He laid down on the bed hoping to sleep until who cares, until his dream was over, ideally. He stared at the ceiling, willing down the panic that had nearly completely overtaken him. He'll feel better after a nap, he muttered, repeating Cal's words like a mantra. Everything will make sense when you wake up. It's just a dream. or maybe lingering anesthesia. He closed his eyes. And soon the bizarre world he had somehow gotten stuck in blinked out.

And Duncan was snoring. Duncan's eyes snapped open. He looked around his room hoping it looked like it used to. It didn't. Isabella? He mumbled. She's home. He stood up and stepped out at the bedroom, his heart racing.

Panic was rising within him again. What if she didn't respond to Isabella? What if she was... What was it? Taylor? Then he'd know for sure he was still dreaming. From downstairs came the unmistakable sound of keys hitting the counter, then the soft thud of a backpack or a purse being dropped.

Duncan braced himself. He inhaled deeply, held it for a few seconds. Then exhaled and started walking down the stairs. Hello? A man's voice called out from below. a very familiar man's voice. Who's there? The man called out again,

louder and sounding more aggressive. Who are you? Duncan yelled back and quickly made it down the rest of the stairs. No. What the fucking fuck. Duncan found himself staring at himself. There standing in the entryway was him. Ah!

Other Duncan, aka Darren, cried out. How the? He started to yell, but his voice caught. in his throat. Both men froze. The tone and cadence of this other man's voice was unmistakable. It was his voice. I don't know who you are or how you look like that or what you think you're doing, but I'm calling the police.

You need to get out of here right now. Darren said in a very scared, shaky voice. Duncan buried his face in his hands. Perceptual dissonance. Perceptual dissonance. He began to say before unburying his face and screaming, Why did I wake up? Get the fuck out.

in my house, Darren screamed. He now held his cell phone in his hand and was just about to dial 911, or rather 119. No, this is my dream. Duncan screamed, and he charged at himself and knocked the phone out of the other hym's hands. Get off of me! Darren yelled, and then he punched Duncan in the face.

Luckily, it didn't really hurt. He barely glanced the blow off the side of his head. Duncan laughed. Ah, thank God I can't fight. Darren, rather than trying to grab his phone again, pulled a butcher's night. out of a block on the kitchen counter. The same block Duncan remembered. Nice!

Duncan yelled, smiling like Jack Nicholson in The Shining Now. I remembered that knife. Get out of here, you crazy fuck! Darren screamed, holding the knife out with a shaking hand. I don't know how the hell you look like me, or how you sound like me, but I swear to God, I will bury this knife in your fucking heart. Duncan laughs some more.

No, you won't. He yelled. I know you. I am you. And I don't have it in me. He mused. He stared at. He stared confidently walking towards Darren, who despite holding the knife began to back away.

This is my dream, Duncan roared. And if I'm stuck here for a while, the least I can do is see my beautiful wife. No, you stay the fuck away from Taylor. Isabella, Duncan yelled back. Her name is Isabella. Duncan continued to menacingly walk towards himself. Darren continued to back away from himself as Duncan passed the knife block, grabbed the next biggest blade, and drew it out.

please Darren pleaded Why are you doing this? Who are you? Perceptual fucking dissidents Duncan yelled and laughed That's all this is I'm in a what did she call it A theta dominant neural state It's my dream

They're studying it And I don't want you here anymore Darren backed up and bumped into the wall behind him He held a knife straight out in front of him He was starting to cry and his arm was badly shaking We have money if that's what you want He whimpered money? Well, that's just fucking great.

Duncan screamed. In real life, you don't. You're out of a job and your wife is carrying you. That's why I'm fucking here. He continued to move forward. And if you don't get a job soon, you're going to lose his house. He alternated between yelling at Darren and babbling to himself and not really, because this is exactly your house. I mean, you really get me. Please, please don't do this. Darren begged. You can just leave. You can just shut the fuck up.

Duncan yelled as he slapped the butcher knife out of Darren's hand. out of his hand. Just fucking die, he screamed as he plunged his knife forward. Completely psychologically overwhelmed. Darren closed his eyes and pulled his arms back over his neck and face instead of properly trying to defend himself. He'd begun to think that this was all somehow a dream as well. Duncan sunk his blade directly into Darren's chest.

He struck just below the sternum and pushed it all the way to the handle. Please, don't kill me. Don't kill me. Darren whimpered, gurgled and pleaded Shut up, shut up, shut up! Duncan cried. He pulled the knife back out and stabbed Darren, stabbed himself again and again and again, over and over.

He continued to stab his other self as Darren slid down the wall and fell limp to the floor. He kept stabbing as his body lied still. He kept stabbing his blood, so much blood splattered up the wall all the way to the ceiling as it drenched the cupboards, as it made it up onto the counter as it covered Duncan's hands, arms, chest, and face. Finally, exhausted, his arm burning and about to cramp from so much manic, aggressive stabbing.

He stopped. He stood up back to way from all the gore, and he started laughing again. He laughed until he started crying. Then his cries became sobs. He kept sobbing until his stomach burned with exhaustion like his arm had. I want to wake up, he blubbered. I want to wake up, I don't want to be here anymore. He screamed, and then he cried.

some more. He thought of his wife. Maybe. Maybe if he saw Isabella. Maybe she would recognize him. She could help him. Maybe most of this was just all in his head somehow. Perhaps he wasn't dreaming, but it was hallucinating. Maybe they'd done something to him. The experiment had failed, and that's why they weren't there when he woke up. Isabella could take him to some other doctors right away, and they could help him with his perceptual dissonance. Wanting to see her led him to thinking about the picture on his phone. Darren's phone. A phone that actually worked. He scrambled over to where he had slapped the phone out of Darren's hands.

It was locked. Damn it! Wait. Ha ha! He was so glad he hadn't stabbed himself in the face. Nothing above the neck. He held the phone up to his face to Darren's dead face, and it unlocked. Jackpot.

He searched through his contact, looking for Isabella, unable to find... Of course he couldn't find Isabella. He looked for Taylor. There it was. Taylor, my love. Adorable. He was fucking adorable. he called and she answered hey babe what's going on everything okay my god it felt good to hear her voice she sounded exactly the same no he yelled no baby everything is not okay it's too much to get into on the phone i i really need to come home now it's an emergency isabella naturally sounded alarmed darren you're scaring me i know he quickly acknowledged i'm scared but if you can get home everything will be okay again everything will be okay again everything will be

be okay. It'll be over. Darren, what happened? Just please come home. I need you to come home. Can't you just come home? Duncan cried and pleaded, sounding more like a frightened, nearly hysterical child than a grown man. Of course. Of course, baby, Isabella said, doing her best to sound soothing. Just, just stay where you are. I'll be right there. I love you. I love you, baby. I love you so much. Duncan blubbered. I love you too, baby. I'm going to hang up so I can run to the car and drive home, okay? Okay. Okay, I'll see you soon. Duncan hung up the phone, fell down to his knees, and rested his back up against the island in the center of the kitchen.

He didn't even attempt to clean up any of the carnage around him. Instead, he pulled the envelope back out of his pocket and opened it. With a bloody hand, he unfolded the note, held it in both hands, and read and re-read portions of it aloud. It is completely natural for you to feel confused or disoriented. Please, do not be alarmed. Failing to return could result in long-term, perceptual dissonance.

You may find the world feeling off. That is normal. Do not miss your second session. He suddenly remembered what Dr. Calloway had said the moment before he lost consciousness as well. You're going to a new world. He shivered. What if it wasn't perceptual dissonance? What if he had been sent somewhere else?

Roughly 20 minutes later, Duncan popped his head up and looked towards the front door straight out ahead of him when he heard Isabella unlock it, or rather, Taylor. He was still sitting on the floor with his back against the kitchen island. When she opened the door and stepped inside, he was so happy to see her face, he momentarily forgot what he looked like, like a crazed murderer,

covered in the dried blood of her husband. He began to cry tears of joy and relief when he exclaimed, baby. Thank you. Taylor shrieked. She dropped her keys and staggered backwards, shocked by the side of him. Darren! Once she regained her bearings without bothering to even close the door behind her, she ran towards, oh my God, are you okay? She asked frantically, as she began to inspect him for the source of the blood. He tried to embrace her. I'm fine, he said softly. She grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him back. Whose blood is this? What are you wearing? You're going to want to sit down for

this, he started to say, placing his hands on her shoulders now. But then her eyes glanced to her left and she saw Darren's dead body on the other side of the island. She pushed him away and started shrieking. Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh, my God! Duncan held out his hands, speaking to his kind of wife and the type of tone you'd usually use if you were trying to convince someone not to jump off of the roof that they were now standing on the edge of. Baby, baby, please. Sit down. I can explain everything. He said trying to convince himself that he had a much better grasp of what was happening than he did. Taylor cried and wrung her hands. She looked like she couldn't decide between passing out, wanting Duncan to hold her and tell her that everything was going to be

okay, or to run screaming out the door. Who, who is that? She stammered. Why does he? Does he? Oh my God! She wailed before she bent over and vomited. Duncan resumed using his trying not to spook a scared animal tone. I know, baby. I know he looks like me. He, uh, he is me. You see? Duncan fumbled. Taylor backed away from him. What are you saying he is you? What does that mean? How did he get into our, oh God! She held her hand up to her mouth. Baby, baby, I'm begging you. Just please, let's just go over and sit on the couch, Duncan said softly. Taylor was now the one who looked like She was on the edge of complete breakdown. She was shaking and breathing in ragged gasps.

She placed her hand over her heart. How do I know the year? The he? How do I know that he's not my husband? She managed to finally utter as she pointed at the dead body that was, in fact, her husband's. Baby! Duncan now barked and affirmed, you have to pull your shit together tone. Look at me.

It's me, baby. It's me, Duncan. It's. Taylor's eyes grew wide with alarm, and she backed up further. Duncan? Who the fuck is Duncan? She exclaimed. Duncan took a slow step towards her and was about to plead with her again to sit down when she threw both hands out in front of her and shouted, Stay back! I'll scream! I'll call the police! Duncan stopped and gestured with both his hands that he wouldn't approach further. He resumed his gentler tone. Baby, please. Please just sit down and let me explain. This is, um, This is, he gestured behind him towards all the blood in Darren's body. This is all just probably some perceptual dissonance.

What the fuck are you seeing? She snapped. Then she began to wail and cry so hard she couldn't speak. Oh my God! She eventually managed to squeak out. You killed him. You killed Darren. Baby no.

Duncan now, boom. I'm your husband. Look at me. This is all just a bad dream. What was her name? Taylor suddenly shouted through tears. What was our baby's name? A few years previously, Isabella had gotten pregnant.

She'd had a miscarriage at almost five months, a few weeks after they'd learned that they were having a little girl and named her. Clearly, that had happened here, too, here in the dream, or wherever this was. His voice cracking with emotion, Duncan said, Elsa, Elsa, little Elsa. Maisie! Tater said coldly, before. she turned and ran back out the door, screaming,

Help! Someone help me! Call 119! He killed Darren! He's trying to kill me! Duncan started to run after, initially thinking he was still going to try and somehow reason with her, not caring about the possibility of the police, because who cares if he could rest it in a dream? But then he again thought of Dr. Calloway's final words, You're going to a new world.

He thought about what he'd read dozens of times on the note in his pocket. Do not miss your second session. Failing to return could result in long, term perceptual dissonance. He had to get back to the clinic. It was his only hope. Right as he saw his neighbor, Ron or Cowler, whoever the fuck he was here,

approached some other version of his wife, followed by her turning and pointing at him, Duncan Briggs turned to his left, and he started to run. Over five hours later, long after the sun had set, after hiding in multiple yards and fleeing from barking dogs

and climbing up and over fences and zigzagging through parking lots and nearly getting caught by the police twice. After throwing Darren's phone up on someone's roof when he realized the police were probably tracking him with it, Duncan had made it to a dumpster behind the strip mall building that housed PD transformations,

neuro-rehabilitation center, this dreams or world's version of AR innovations. And he climbed in and closed the lid. He sat in the darkness and the stink, and he laughed a laugh of a man who had truly gone a bit insane, as he thought about how much he had already been through just to get $750. He'd originally hoped he'd at least get a good story out of his participation in an experimental study, but this story had gotten so crazy he doubted he'd ever share it with anyone.

He just wanted it to be over. He set the alarm on his phone, his phone that still had no service, for 7.30 a.m. Then he set another alarm for 7.45, and a third for eight. He could not miss this appointment. And then although he was hungry and thirsty, although it stunk of dirty diapers and spoiled food and certainly wasn't comfortable where he was hiding, Duncan managed to fall asleep. He'd never felt so exhausted in all his life. The irony of feeling so tired when he might still be asleep was not lost on him, and it was the last thought he had before he woke up hours later to his first alarm. He peeked out of the dumpster, like some kind of nightmare hellish version of Oscar the Grouch, saw someone parking their car in the thin slice of parking lot busy. to him and immediately lowered the lid back down. No point in risking getting caught minutes

before his appointment, he reasoned. He set a new alarm for 8.28 a.m. And he waited. Duncan walked through the front door of PD transformations a few seconds before 8.30 a.m. looking every bit as crazy as he felt. His mind spun with exhaustion and disbelief. He reeked of grease and rot. His hair was shooting out in multiple directions, in some places and was matted down and others. He had a few macaroni noodles stuck to the back of his head he didn't even notice. Little scraps

of wrappers and tossed out food was stuck to his back in the back of his legs. Most of the front of him was stained in specks to splashes of dried blood. The lobby was still deserted. No sound but the hum of the fluorescence overhead. The air smelled

faintly of something metallic. The faux leather couch, two matching armchairs and end table, from yesterday were all still there. The walls of the reception area were still freshly painted a pale gray. The carpet was still newer and no longer stained. And the front desk still had its

sleek new countertop, with a small touchscreen kiosk embedded in the surface and a glowing blue logo pulsing softly across the screen. PD transformations. Hello? Duncan called out. I came back like I was supposed to.

Nothing. He walks. slowly toward the hallway, past several doors. He finally pushed open one labeled Lab 3. The room he was fairly certain he had woken up in the previous afternoon, and he peeked inside. He felt some measure of relief when he saw the exam chair, the vitals monitor, and the rolling cart with medical tools. Then a voice from behind him. You're early. He turned around and a woman stood at the end of the hallway. She looked like Dr. Calloway, almost. Same lean frame, same sharp posture, same beautiful face that was a mix of Asian and Nordic features. But her hair was shorter now

and dyed brown instead of jet black. She wore a similar lab coat, but the name tag clipped to her chest red, Dr. E. Karloff. Duncan stared. You're not her. She smiled. She didn't seem alarmed by his bloody, filthy, psychopathic appearance in the slightest. Oh, I'm her, the woman said softly. In a way, she stepped closer, but cautiously. Her right hand remained behind her back. I hoped you'd come back, she said warmly, but honestly I wasn't expecting you to make it. She pulled her hand into view, revealing a compact black pistol.

I will shoot, if you give me a reason, Duncan. Don't make me regret unlocking the first. front door. Duncan raised both hands instinctively. I'm not here to hurt anyone. I have an appointment, he protested. I just need to go back home. Dr. Karloff studied him for a long moment, then slowly lowered the gun but didn't put it away. You're the very first to return, she announced. Of the eleven we've received from your dimension, you're the only one to come back for their second appointment. Duncan's eyes widened. Eleven? She nodded.

The first few arrived mangled, crushed, wrong. They were DOA, dead on arrival. The next batch arrived alive, but damaged in different ways. Violent, paranoid, or catatonic. I wasn't sure which category you'd fall into. Duncan's blood suddenly felt hot. His veins bold and his face grew red as he yelled,

It was supposed to be a dream study! What the fuck did you people do to me? Dr. Karloff smiled thinly. I'd be angry, too, she mused. But if Dr. Calloway had told you the truth, you would have never agreed. No one would. Great leaps forward require equally great risks.

Terrible for you, I know. But in the grand scheme of things, the loss of a few lab rats is a small price to pay for opening the multiverse up to interdimensional travel and whatever that reveals. Lab rat? Fuck you!

Duncan shouted. send me home. That's exactly what I intend, she said simply. That would be a remarkable accomplishment and a small taste of the wonders to come. Duncan remained where he stood and glared. He wanted to kill her. But behind his rage, there was so much desperation and exhaustion.

He was too scared and tired to think about the multiverse or interdimensional travel. He didn't know or care if any of what she was saying was true. Any curiosity he'd initially felt for his participation in whatever this was, was gone. He only wanted it to be over. Dr. Karloff inhaled deeply, then gestured for him to follow her as she turned and walked away. Duncan pursued her on shaky, unsteady legs. They moved back down in the hallway into a room that looked like a cross between a hospital

OR and a junkyard, a metal gurney in the center, walls lined with strange humming machines and flickering screens full of symbols and graphs Duncan couldn't begin to understand. Dr. Calloway and I, two versions of the same person, discovered a way to stabilize transmission across parallel dimensions, she said. We've been working in tandem, refining the protocol, sharing notes, using controlled volunteers like yourself to test the signal. Duncan's hands curled into fists. He stepped forward. Send me back. Now!

Dr. Karloff smirked, nodded slowly, and gestured to the gurney. Lie down. I wish you luck, Duncan Briggs, test subject 11. Perhaps this version of me will see this version of you again someday, maybe in some other timeline. Duncan hesitated. Then he lied down on the gurney. What other choice did he have?

He laughed again. Remember that not so long ago he thought he might have stumbled into some weird sex game, and he thought that would have been crazy. A few tears leaked from his eyes. His emotions were all over the place and nearly impossible to regulate. As Dr. Karloff selected a small vial in a syringe and expertly loaded a dose of prophylphol, just like her counterpart had done the day before. Again mirroring Dr. Calloway, she tapped his arm, found a vein, and inserted the IV port with quick practiced hands.

Moments later, she depressed the plunger on the syringe, and the familiar warmth began to spread up Duncan's arm. His chest felt heavy again and distant. Sound slowed down and stretched. His whole body relaxed. It was the best he'd felt since he'd woken up in the other room of this same clinic the day before. And then everything went black. Almost exactly like the previous afternoon, Duncan gassed himself awake, drooling all over his chin and shirt. His bloody, putrid-smelling shirt.

Once his eyes were able to focus, he saw a slightly built woman in her 40s wearing a lab coat standing before him. Her ID badge read, thank the Lord, Dr. I. Calloway, AR Innovations. A satisfied smile was spread across her face as she hurriedly scribbled down some notes on a clipboard. Duncan felt an incredibly confusing mixture of total rage and ultimate relief. He decided the rage could wait. First, he needed to get home, to see that everything was as he remembered, to feel sane again, to not find two doppelgangers, one of him and the other of Isabella, living in his almost house. He needed his wedding photos to look like how he remembered them. He needed his phone to work. He, wait, his phone,

he thought excitedly. He tried to sit up, felt woozy, laid back down, but managed to pull it out of his pocket and hold it up and inspect the screen. Yes, he cried out. He had coverage. And a bunch of unopened text messages from his wife. He pushed the button to open the thread and start, stop, commanded Dr. Calloway firmly, holding out her hand. Don't, don't what? Duncan started to ask, give me your phone, Dr. Calloway demanded. And then she set her clipboard on the counter behind her and pulled a gun out of a pocket in her lab coat and pointed it at him.

Duncan slowly extended his hands out in front of him and spoke softly. Whoa, what are you doing? Toss me the phone now, she ordered. I will not ask you again. She pulled the hammer back on her revolver and Duncan did as she asked. She caught it with her free hand.

He shook his head and angrily pleaded with her. What the fuck? I did everything you asked. I've been through hell. Please just let me go home. I understand, Duncan. I really do, she said coldly. You are the first person in human history to ever visit another dimension and return. And for that, a congratulations is in order. This is a monumental achievement, perhaps the greatest in the history of science,

one that will impact human ideologies and transform humanity's understanding of our universe and the nature of our own existence more than any other discovery. but until we have solved the problem of physical reintegration, I'm afraid your duplicitous existence cannot be tolerated. Duncan's stomach sank. Had he gone through everything only to be shot? My existence? He asked.

Tolerated? Please, I don't understand. Instead of offering any explanation, Dr. Calloway lowered the gun and asked him a question. Why are you covered in blood? What? Are you covered in blood because you found yourself and killed some other you? No. I mean, yes, but no, that was a dream.

That was, what did you call it? Perceptual dissonance? No, Duncan. I'm afraid it wasn't. You really killed someone because in the dimension I sent you to, there was already another you. A real person. And now they're dead. Duncan felt rage again and lashed out

If that meant I deserve to die Why didn't the other of you? Dr. Karloff, why didn't she kill me? Dr. Calloway's answer was cold and clinical. We needed to find out if we could bring you back If her equipment worked And it did And I thank you for your participation

And we both do But now, ethically, I cannot let you leave. Duncan laughed his madman laughing Ethically! Ethically! He fumed. Are you fucking kidding me? You're going to talk to me about ethics? Do you just not want to pay me the amazing $500? You owe me? Is that it? You fucking deranged psychopath? Dr. Calloway raised her eyebrows and looked amused. She said, I already did. Did what?

Paid you, the remaining $500. What? When? Dr. Calloway shook her head. that's why I can't let you return home Duncan you're already home to send you away I had to based on science far too complicated for you to begin to understand to duplicate your consciousness to amplify and stimulate it so that it would manifest an identical physical form in an alternate dimension but here in this one your original body remained you woke up here in this building yesterday an hour after you went under you went home then you returned to this clinic just a few

minutes ago for your follow-up. You were curious why you didn't recall any of your dream. You flirted with me, took your $500, and left seeming disappointed that nothing more happened to you other than being sedated. Another wave of panic washed over Duncan. The longer this all went on, the worse it got, the more hopeless he felt. Wait, he said, so, so I'm already here? Not some other version of me, but the exact same man.

me? Dr. Calloway nodded. Essentially, the same you minus any memories you accumulated in that other dimension. Duncan stared down at the floor and shook his head. So, so I'm what? A fucking copy? Dr. Calloway raised the gun again and pointed it at Duncan's head. Yes, Duncan, she said calmly, you were. And that's it for this Halloween. week time suck re-release of nightmare fuel for duncan his mind is being put through a blender will he be able to put his life back together next week or will everything get so much worse today's tale was written by me dan cummins scored by logan keith please go to bad magic productions com for all your bad magic needs including all show related merch happy halloween week

stay scared and keep on sucking Friends.