Timesuck with Dan Cummins - Nightmare Fuel 37: Dissonance (2 of 2)

Episode Date: October 31, 2025

Happy Halloween, Meatsacks! The conclusion of our Halloween week fictional horror! In this conclusion to yesterday's release, Duncan Briggs just wants his life to return to what it was before he'd ever heard of AR Innovations. But we all know that's not going to happen, right? Instead, the new ride he's on keeps getting wilder.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 another edition of Nightmarefew Welcome to another edition of Nightmare Fuel Meat, sex. Happy Halloween! The fifth and final nightmare fuel to get showcased here on TimeSuck for the week of Halloween. It is here. The conclusion to yesterday's story. And again, if you like this story, I have over 40 of them on the Scare to Death podcast feed now for you to listen to many are standalone. Many others are sequential like this one. Now let's find out what the hell happens to Dunkin. I highly recommend noise cancellation headphones to get the most out of Logan scoring, time now for the continuation of the tale of dissonance.

Click. Duncan's and Dr. Calloway's eyes remain locked. In an instant, as the unexpected moment registered, Duncan's gaze transformed from that of a scared resigned to his insane and terrible fate flinch, to a furrowed brow of renewed hope, anger, and determination, while Dr. Calloway's pupils simultaneously expanded her eyebrows raising in astonishment. Her eyes no longer reflecting cold, detached clinical control, but instead exuding surprise, fear, and disbelief in equal measure.

The 38 revolver she still held in her hand had misfired. Acting fast, Duncan grabbed a handful of medical tools on the metal tray to his right and quickly flung them haphazardly towards the nefarious scientist who instinctively threw her hands up to protect her face from the incoming projectiles. Duncan roared as he then lunged forward. He grabbed both of her arms near the wrists and slammed the one that held the revolver hard into the doorframe behind her, nearly breaking one of the bones in her forearm in the process.

Dr. Calloway cried out in pain and shock as she dropped her weapon. Duncan quickly pulled her body back towards him and then roughly tossed her to the floor in the direction opposite of where the gun had just landed. He immediately proceeded to kick her as hard as he could in the torso, like he was trying to make a 50-yard field goal. and her stomach was the football. Move! She grunted as the wind flew out of her lungs.

She curled into the fetal position and started gasping, struggling for breath. Duncan then picked the gun up off of the floor and pointed it at her face. I should fucking kill you! He threatened his eyes wide and wild, a shaky finger on the trigger. She rasped, barely audible.

Duncan in his rage wanted to end her so badly. But also, he didn't want his terrible decision to have volunteered in some neural interface and consciousness study to end with him very conscious of the fact that his neurons were in a prison cell or in a room within a psychiatric facility, one he might never get out of. Why? he shouted, his voice ragged with emotion. Tell me why I shouldn't shoot you right now. Not real.

Dr. Calloway managed to whisper a bit louder than before. Bullets, blanks, she continued. Never. going to kill you. Duncan's mind reeled. Could he possibly be telling the truth? He lowered the gun for a moment and huffed in frustration and anger.

Then he raised it once more to point it again at the doctor, or whatever she really was, still curled up and struggling on the floor. What? He questioned, beyond exasperated, his sanity frayed. He laughed the laughter of the mad. What were you going to do? Just let me walk into the world and meet my copy?

Open some, I don't know, fucking rift? in the space-time continuum or some bullshit? He laughed again. Dr. Calloway's breath was steadily returning, and she now spoke a bit more clearly as she raised herself up to a sitting position while still staying down on the floor. She spoke slowly,

trying to soothe and appease the man above her like her survival depended on it, because it certainly did. There's no copy, Duncan. I'm not sure what you're talking about, but I never said that. I assume you imagined it while you were still coming out of a very intense dream state I put you. I put you in your mind was still altered.

The architecture I just implanted for improved post-dream coherence was still being constructed. I only had the gun to keep you from hurting me while your mind reintegrated from a theta-dominant neural state. and returned to a gamma wave dominance. We're early in our trials, Duncan, and we're still figuring all of... Shut the fuck up! Duncan snapped. His hand that held the gun shook. His mind had been so spun around, he was struggling to understand what was real, what was possible.

What could be a dream and what could be something else? Could he be telling the truth? He had no fucking clue what theta dominant or gamma wave meant. His head felt like someone had taken a jackhammer to it, and then put it in a microwave and forgot it. about it. He felt a trickle of blood began to spill out of his nostril. Blood.

Blood! He yelled aloud as he flashed a smile of dark and terrible recognition. He had somehow momentarily forgot during the intensity and confusion of this encounter that he was covered in it. It was on the arm that led down to the gun. He raised his other arm, and it was splotched all over that one as well.

He looked down at the rest of the dried blood that covered his shirt, pants, and shoes. And he said coldly, You're a fucking psychopath and a liar. Then he pointed the gun just above her head and fired. Duncan stared at the small hole that the obviously very real and very dangerous bullet had just made in the wall. Blanks my ass, he mused. Then he pointed the revolver back at Dr. Calloway.

Keep your mouth shut. Roll over and lay flat on your stomach and put your hands behind your back. You do anything else. Swear to God, I'll empty this thing into your fucking head. Roughly 20 minutes later, Duncan was walking out of AR innovations after washing up his face, exposed skin and shoes, and after finding some scrubs that fit well enough. Before he cleaned up, he'd also bound Dr. Calloway's wrists and ankles, taped her mouth shut, and locked her in a storage closet.

He was deeply confused and didn't really know what was truly going on. He wasn't quite ready to believe yet. that he had in fact been sent to and came back from a parallel dimension. But he also didn't know how else to explain where the blood had come from amongst other things, or why Dr. Calloway had tried to kill him. Whatever he got involved in, it was clearly about more than, what did she call it? Dream state memory integration? It felt good to be standing in the same cracked asphalt parking lot,

still flanked by weeds and covered in oil stains that he remembered driving to the day before. That was real, wasn't it? it had to be. He stood before the same half-abandoned strip mall within the same sketchy massage parlor, vape shop, pizza place, and barely any cars. He would have previously never imagined that seen such a shitty place could feel so good,

so reassuring. But his car was gone, and that felt the opposite of good and reassuring. You're already home. Dr. Calloway's impossible words echoed in his mind, did she be right? Was he already here? He shook his head vigorously and slapped his cheeks,

as if trying to physically knock thoughts like that from his head. No, no, no, he half shouted aloud. Contemplating that possibility felt dangerous, like his brain could implode, like he'd dropped dead from an aneurysm if he dwelt too long upon it. He pulled out his phone, hoping to find a bunch of missed calls, texts and voicemails from his wife, Isabella, hoping that she was worried sick that something had happened to him.

Maybe she'd found his car. Maybe she'd had someone drive it home. It might be sitting in some law enforcement impound or evidence lot right now, being inspected while the search party looked for him. Nope. No miscalls. No voicemails. He opened his text messages.

His hands were shaking and his chest felt tight. No unanswered texts. But he didn't recognize the top message in the thread between him and his wife. And yet, that message was from him. He had sent it, ten minutes earlier. Hey, baby, I was going to run to the grocery store. What sounds better for dinner tonight? Salmon with jasmine rice and broccoli,

or grilled chicken breasts with cuss-coos and asparagus. Duncan's stomach sank. The fuck? He mumbled. Digging back further, he found a text he'd sent the day before about hearing back about a job interview. He apparently had lined up an appointment for Friday. Looking to more text, there was a message from Isabella

asking how his day was going. and text from him fishing for information about the perfect birthday gift for her. Text about how they were both so excited to watch the series finale of Broken, some British miniseries drama Isabella had found that he'd had zero interest in watching, but it ended up loving. Texted he had zero memories of writing or receiving, but ones that felt absolutely real in every other way. All the ones he had sent were written exactly as he would have written them.

It was too much. He closed out of his text messages and opened up a rideshare app, as existentially upsetting as reading the text felt it was nice to at least have service again to be in a place in a world where he belonged no wandering around looking for a taxi this time he booked a ride home and the app notified him that the car would be arriving in two minutes

soon he thought to himself all of this would be over one way or another just under 30 minutes later Duncan Briggs was getting dropped off in front of his house. And it was his house. The right shape, the right color, with his car parked in the driveway looking as it should. The grass in the front yard was long and uncut, just like it had been when he left it. The porch was as unswept and dirty as he remembered. Everything looked as it should have, just like everything had looked correct in

town on the drive home. Nothing he saw felt off. And yet, he certainly felt off. Way, way, way off. What or who was waiting for him inside? Hey, dude! Duncan jumped startled. It was Ron Greeley, his neighbor, and he was coming out of the right house this time, the one next door, and he was dressed like he should be, sneakers, blue jeans, and a concert t-shirt. Jesus, Duncan uttered, his heart now beating rapidly. He scared the shit out of me. Ron? Ron gave him a curious glance when he'd hesitated before saying his name, sounding a bit unsure. like Duncan was talking to someone he'd just met,

not someone he'd known for a few years and spoke with on almost a daily basis. Sorry about that, Ron then said smiling, but it was an odd smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but was unsure about how to say it. He looked like he was sizing Duncan up, trying to solve some kind of puzzle. Everything all right? Duncan asked.

After another moment of hesitation, Ron, still looking at him a bit skeptically, tilted his head and said, oh, just a bit confused. I might need to go to the doctor. I think it might have stroked out, he added with a forced laugh. Are you being serious? You're actually worried something to happen? Duncan asked, doing his best to look concerned about something other than himself

and forcing, if not a laugh of his own, at least a thin smile. No, not really, but we just talked like 20 minutes ago, right? Like, I didn't imagine you knocking on my door and giving me back that sprinkler head wrench, did I? No, Duncan lied, feeling himself starting to break out in a cold sweat. No, that definitely happened. Okay, thank God. Ron replied quickly, nervously, clearly forced another laugh. It's just that he added cautiously.

When we talked, you weren't wearing, you know, scrubs. And you were already home, so you, so you weren't getting dropped off by an Uber or anything. Shit, Duncan thought. Shit on multiple levels. He froze not immediately knowing what to say next, not wanting to believe that, that he truly was already home. For sure. Again, he thought, what was going to happen when he walked in that door?

Yeah, Duncan said slowly, drawing out the word and pausing after he'd finished it to buy himself a bit more time. Yeah, I had to go grab a costume for a surprise party that Isabella and I are going to, and the person we're throwing it for this new doctor friend of ours. His clinic is right by the medical supply store, and I didn't want to, you know, see my car and on the off chance and come talk to me. Damn it, Duncan thought. The story was pathetic, garbage.

It sounded like a lie, a dumb one at that. And the look on Ron's face revealed that he clearly was at least a little suspicious. But also, what could he possibly suspect? That he'd cloned himself? That he'd just returned from a parallel dimension, that he was a long-lost identical twin shown up to be reunited with his brother. Oh, okay, Ron said, still staring at him skeptically. But then his expression softened.

He wanted to believe, Duncan, to get rid of the unsettled feeling that had come over him, to have what he had seen makes sense. And suddenly his familiar, gregarious smile spread out across his large, wide face. Well, I guess I didn't have a stroke after all, he beamed. Then he chuckled and said, But if I see you get dropped off wearing something else in the next few minutes, I'm driving myself straight to the mental hospital. Nah, Duncan joked.

You don't need to do that. Me or one of my clones will be happy to take you. Ron laughed again after a confused uneasy pause before turning around to head back into his house. All right, see you later, Duncan. I got to get inside and get some work done, I guess, before my boss decides that I need to be brought back into the office to increase my productivity. Duncan smiled his best. Everything is definitely okay and normal in my life right now, grin. Sounds good, Ron, he replied.

Damn it. Ron turned around, shot Duncan a curious look, clearly consistent. considered saying something for a moment, then smiled again a bit weakly, and kept walking. When his front door shut behind him, Duncan turned towards his own house. He still didn't feel ready to head inside. But if he waited too long, he ran the risk of his other self, walking out and seeing him in the driveway, and then whatever was going to happen next would be public. And he knew it would be a lot better for him, for both of him, if whatever happened, happened in private.

So with an uneasy stomach, a fragile mind, shaky hands and unsteady legs. Duncan Briggs forced himself to move towards his front door, concentrating on just continuing to put one foot in front of the other. Duncan shut the door behind him just as carefully and quietly as he had unlocked it. The interior layout was exactly as it should be, just as it was in the strange lucid dream slash parallel universe house or whatever he'd been in the day before.

Same foyer, same staircase, same open-concept kitchen beyond the living room. But this one also had the right pictures and prints on the walls. The vintage Led Zeppelin concert poster, the correct color of paint and the IKEA furniture. Just like he had yesterday, he made his way towards his home office. But unlike yesterday, he could hear that someone else was already there. Someone typing on his computer. Duncan kept his breathing light as he slowly crept up to the edge. to the open office door.

Whatever this is, I'm going to figure out how to fix it, he thought to himself, but he wasn't sure he believed that. He peeked into the room and had to fight the urge to vomit. He was staring at himself. And it felt even more fucked up

than what had happened the day before because this other him wasn't wearing glasses, he didn't have a different hair style, he wasn't wearing unfamiliar clothes, he wasn't a slightly different version of Duncan, he was Duncan. Duncan popped his head back around, the corner and out of sight, pressed his back up against the wall and closed his eyes.

Flash thoughts of images of carnage from what he had done the day before forced their way into his mind. Memories of him thrusting a big knife from the kitchen into that other hymns chest, memories of looking into his own eyes, almost his own eyes, as he stabbed the man almost identical to himself over and over. He didn't want to ever experience anything like that again. But what other option was there? He wondered. How would he react, he thought. If he had gone to the appointment yesterday, then woken up in the same place surrounded by the same people with no strange memories of the horrors he'd endured, how would he react if he had just gone about his life exactly as it was before, but then turned around in his office the following morning shortly after returning home from a follow-up appointment, where he had again just woken up feeling fine in the same facility, and seeing himself standing in his house and staring at him.

He imagined that he would, of course, completely freak the fuck out, that he'd call the police. or attack him, or maybe, I don't know, pass out from shock. What would not happen would be coming to some sort of understanding, where this other him agreed to what, hit the road and go figure out a new life for himself somewhere else, including getting himself a new name, a new social security number somehow, money and a job and everything else, while he, the returning Duncan, got to continue living the life he'd always had? No. Hell no.

There was literally zero chance that would happen. There simply wasn't enough room for the both of them in this world. It just wasn't. It would never work. One of them had to die. Duncan struggled to remain silent as his eyes filled up with tears. No part of him wanted to do this. But he thought to himself, he'd essentially done it before.

So he could do it again. He could get through this. And then once it was done, it would be over. If Dr. Calloway wasn't bullshitting about the whole return trip a parallel dimension and in his gut he no longer thought she was, then once he'd, well, killed himself again, then he'd be the only version of himself in this timeline and life could go on as it had before,

as long as he could live with the memories of what he'd done, of course. In theory, he thought about how this should be the easiest murder to get away with in the history of murder. No one would ever come looking for his body if he was still alive and well. Duncan's reasoning for murdering himself, his attempt at rationalizing something evil is not only a good but necessary thing was interrupted by hearing a text notification go off simultaneously on both the phone in his pocket and on an identical phone in the other Duncan's pocket, followed by hearing Other Duncan start to stand up out of his office chair. All right, Other Duncan thought aloud to himself. Better get to the grocery store, grab us some salmon.

Other Duncan then quickly walked out of the office. And just as he noticed Duncan hiding around the corner, Bam! Duncan tackled Other Duncan, taking him down to the floor as he yelled, I'm sorry! As Other Duncan's mind reeled as he stared into his own eyes and rolled over onto his back, Duncan started punching him. Duncan connected first with Other Duncan's cheekbone,

and then with his mouth before Other Duncan was able to grab his arms and tangle him up. Duncan tried to rip his arms loose, but Other Duncan's grip was strong, exactly equally as strong as his own. Duncan hadn't inflicted the amount of damage he'd hoped. He still wasn't much of a fighter. And now he worried about his ability to finish off someone who possessed exactly the same strength and skills as he did. The only two advantages he still had

was experience with murder and a clear intention. Stop, what are you doing? Other Duncan grunted as they continued to struggle. We can't both be here. Duncan yelled as if Other Duncan would somehow understand what the hell he was talking about, as if that were reasonable. Stop, we can talk this out!

Other Duncan protested. Ha! That is exactly what I would have said in your position! Duncan admitted through gritted teeth. but this can only end one way and then while Duncan was momentarily distracted by how incredibly surreal it was to truly be fighting himself, not a slightly different version of himself, but exactly himself.

Other Duncan was able to buck his hips and push Duncan up and off of him and then he started to scramble to get up. Can't let you run! Duncan roared as he stumbled and grabbed the back of Other Duncan's shirt. But then Other Duncan spun around and twisted out of his shirt entirely and started running bare chested towards the kitchen.

Don't you grab it! Duncan yelled thinking of the butcher's knife from the day before as he ran after himself after momentarily almost falling backwards when the shirt had come off in his hands. Other Duncan hustled through the kitchen, heading towards the back door, and he did not grab the big butcher's knife. But Duncan did. That allowed Other Duncan to gain a bit more ground, but then he lost most of what he'd gained when he had to stop and unlock and open the back door. He tried to shut it behind him as he bolted out into the backyard, but Duncan was able to grab it and keep moving forward as Other Duncan now began screaming. Help! He cried out desperately,

Call the police. Someone help me! He kept yelling as he ran across the grass with Duncan close behind him. Then when he turned to look back over his shoulder before he found himself cornered against the fence, he stumbled and fell. Duncan pounced, swing the big knife down as he did so. But it didn't hit pay dirt like it had during the previous battle. Other Duncan threw up his arms and deflected the blow this time, taking a nasty gash in his shoulder as he did so. He continued to yell. Help! 911! Call 911! He's trying to kill me!

shit. This was not going well at all, Duncan thought, as he kept trying to stab other Duncan. Then he heard his neighbor again. Duncan, what's going on? Ron shouted, after popping out into his own backyard. He's trying to kill me! Help! Other Duncan yelled. He's trying to kill me! Please! Come over and help! Returning, Duncan yelled. Duncan wasn't immediately sure what he'd need to do now, but he knew that if Ron didn't come right over, if he instead called the police, he was fucked. Coming! Ron yelled, sounding unsteady. Then he ran forward. and started to scramble over the fence. When Duncan looked towards him again, distracted,

Other Duncan spun around and... When Other Duncan's back was to him, Duncan swung the butcher's knife and planted it in the side of Other Duncan's neck, slicing open his carotid artery and cutting deep into his windpipe. Other Duncan fell to his knees, making a horrific wheezing and gurgling sound as he tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to breathe,

while blood sprayed out in a mist from the new opening in his windpipe and pumped out of his severed artery as well. He stared at Duncan with a mixture of panic and confusion. He opened his mouth and tried to speak, but no words came out. Blood spilled out of his mouth instead as Ron ran over to him. Don't touch him! Duncan suddenly yelled. He's not who he appears to be. Ron stopped dead in his track, staring back and forth between Duncan and Duncan,

looking like he wanted to scream or cry or wake up from what was his own confusing nightmare now. What the hell is going on? Ron stammered frantically. this guy's been stalking me for years. Duncan lied. He's even had plastic surgery to look like me. He wants to be me. Oh my God! Ron exclaimed, looking mostly relieved that there was at least some seemingly plausible answer to the crazy scene he was bearing witness to. There's no surprise party, Duncan added. I was at the hospital this morning for some tests.

That's why I'm dressed like this. Duncan knew that you don't actually dress like a damn nurse when you go to see a doctor, but he figured it would at least make some kind of sense. he was happy to have come up with a story that was a lot better than the one he'd shared with Ron a few minutes back one that made the previous lie feel a lot more believable as well when you told me about having seen me dress differently this morning I lied to you Ron it was too much to get into

I was worried that the son of a bitch had broken into my house you should have told me that Ron exclaimed I could have helped you we could have called the police I'm tired of running or hiding Duncan said the police had never given him more than a slap on the wrist in the past I was tired of worrying that he could kill me or worse that he'd kill Isabella, like he'd threatened to so many times. Holy shit, Duncan.

Ron said his other Duncan now fell fully down to the ground, barely holding on to consciousness. The big knife still stuck in his neck, still bleeding profusely. I got a call for an ambulance, so I have to. He said as he took his cell phone out of his pocket. He's almost dead. Don't, Duncan snapped. He doesn't deserve it. Let him die.

I can't do that, Duncan. That would make me an accessory. Sorry, he added, as he started to dial. God damn it, Ron! Duncan yelled. And then he lunged towards his neighbor. Hey, what are you? Ron had started to ask when Duncan punched him in the side of the head. Ron was a big guy, but had always been much more of a peacekeeper than a brawler.

He threw his hands out to keep Duncan from hitting him again, but now Duncan kicked him in the balls instead. White hot pain exploded in Ron's groin as his knees went weak. He dropped the phone as he thrust both hands instinctively down to protect his crotch from any further damage. He wanted to ask, what the hell are you doing? but he couldn't speak as he dropped to his knees. I'm so sorry, Ron.

Duncan said as he now maneuvered around behind his big friend and neighbor and put his arm around his neck and squeezed, cutting off his ability to breathe. He used all his strength to keep Ron in a chokehold until he'd lost consciousness, and then he decided to keep on choking. How could he let Ron live now? He'd never stay quiet about what he'd seen.

The cops would be involved. There would be a huge investigation into the murder of a man that would have the same DNA and fingerprints as himself. All kinds of experts would be brought into trying to try and, and figure out what had happened as he sat in a prison cell. Investigators and reporters from all over the world would want to talk to him and Isabella, it would destroy their lives. He couldn't let that happen. That was how Duncan rationalized murdering a third person in two days. But what now? Duncan didn't yet know what to do with his neighbor's body, but he did know what to do with his own.

He walked towards a shed in his backyard and found his shovel. and now before moving forward and finding out how the hell Duncan is going to get out of this jam or isn't 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 the scared-to-death Patreon and get these nightmare fuel stories and all other scared-to-death episodes add free and more thank you for hearing out our sponsors and now let's return to Duncan check in to see how burying him self is going. Five hours later, a very tired, very dirty Duncan Briggs had finished burying himself in his backyard. He'd hoped that by the time he was done, no one would be able to tell that he had carefully carved out big chunks of sod, then dug a big hole in the soil beneath him that maybe wasn't six feet deep, but went at least four feet down, and then put all the dirt back in and laid the sod carefully back down on top of where it had been. But it looked at least. It looked

like shit. Anyone with half a brain, who so much has glanced into his backyard, will be able to tell pretty much immediately that a giant hole had been dug. And when his neighbor was reported as missing, and some forensic evidence probably turned up that would lead investigators to at least look next door, the hole would be found, and he would be fucked. Also, he still had to dispose of Ron's body, and that was going to be a serious challenge. He was a big guy, well over 200 pounds. far too big for Duncan to lift his dead weight up and over the fence Now he'd have to drag him around to the front lawn And then drag him back into where

His house? The garage? Try and make it look like an accident Dig another fucking hole that would quickly be spotted God damn it, he thought This wasn't fair, none of this was fair Isabella was going to come home She was going to see that a huge hole had been dug in their yard His body would be found

Ron's body would be found If he stayed, she'd be so hopelessly confused. So would the police, but they'd still arrest him and charge him with murder. If he left, she'd think he and Ron had both been murdered, and their murders would never be solved, and that would destroy her. What was he supposed to do now? The clock was ticking, and Duncan didn't have a damn clue what to do next. But then it hit him. It was crazy. But it could work. There was at least a chance. He and Isabella could start over. They could live new lives. Duncan, insane now to a degree he would never be able to fully recover from, started digging his grave back up.

And by the time he'd unearthed enough of other Duncan's body for it to be recognizable, he pulled out his phone and started recording a very strange, very disturbing video for his wife. Duncan spoke directly into the camera. Baby, wish I had better news to share. I love you so much. you're going to want to call the police before you come home tonight. You're not going to want to see what's in our backyard. But at the same time,

I have to show you a glimpse of what's in the backyard for you to believe me. Duncan flipped the camera around to reveal the very dirty, very bloody body of other Duncan, still lying in the grave you dug. This dead body will be identified as mine. It looks like me. It'll have my fingerprints. It'll match my dental records. It will have my DNA a perfect match.

because it is me. I am dead. He now flipped the camera back around to frame his face. But also obviously, as I record this, I'm still alive. How is the obvious question? And the answer is as insane as this video. My consciousness, and somehow my body as well, was duplicated when I traveled to a parallel universe. For a time, I both existed here, the same person as you remember and also in this other world, a world nearly identical to this one, but not quite. And then I came back from that universe to find that I, another me, the original me, had never left. I was misled. I was never told the true nature of the experiment I took part in. An experiment I would have never joined had I known there was any chance this is how things could

end up. But here we are. To add more proof that this is really me, I still think about. I still miss our little Elsa Our little girl who was never born You know that only you and I know that name And also look at my birthmark baby Duncan now lifted up his shirt To show a spot of skin a few shades darker Than the skin surrounding it

On his ribs a few inches Below his left nipple before he continued I met you at a Goo Goo Goo Dolls concert Seven years ago I didn't want to watch Broken But I ended up loving it You love to talk dirty during sex but then I always get embarrassed if I bring it up

when we're not having sex. A couple weeks ago, you noticed I'd gotten a few gray hairs. Right here. Duncan took the phone and held it up close to his sideburn on the right side. He teared up, and now with tears, slid down his cheek. I've been teasing you the past few days about how you talk to yourself, almost as much as I do now. It's me, baby.

You know it's me. And I'm going to let you know how to find me, but I can't do that here because I know you'll share this video with the police, and in fact, I want you to. I want you to have them tell you my exact time of death. And then also tell you exactly when this video was created. Get a second opinion too. So you know there's been no mistake.

Go to that PC Apple smartphone repair shop by Johnny Subs. There's a guy there named Rick, who I talked to you about before after I took my MacBook in and got it working. He'll be able to analyze this video and confirm it was recorded long after the police will tell you I died. I love you, baby. I love you so much, and if you follow some other instructions I'll get to you. I think we can be together again, and I'll be able to explain all of this. I'm sorry. Sorry about the cash I'll need to take, too. Sorry for everything.

After finishing his video, after leaving other Duncan's body exposed and leaving Ron's body right where he died, Duncan went back into his house and did three things before he left. He took $2,000 in cash he and Isabella kept hidden and locked up in a fireproof safe for an emergency. If this didn't qualify as an emergency, Duncan didn't know what did. He wrote her a letter with instructions on how to get to AR Innovations, who to talk to and what to tell them. He placed that letter after sealing it in an envelope inside his wife's pillowcase where she'd certainly feel it whenever she next fell asleep.

Finally, he took a fast shower, changed his clothes, and then walked out the front door, got into his car, and drove back to AR Innovations. After letting himself back into the facility using Dr. Calloway's keys and then grabbing her gun that he'd left hidden for himself in the lobby, Duncan made his way to the closet where he'd left the researcher tied up and he started talking. You need to send me to a new dimension, he demanded. I could and should kill you right now. But then I'd be stuck in a world that's not going to work for me anymore. But if I could make it to another parallel universe, one did. different from the one I returned from this morning, I could start over. You've truly done something amazing, Dr. Calloway. You've opened a door that no one else has ever opened, and I'm guessing you'd like to explore new worlds further, right? Well, what if I could still be your lab rat and send

you back more important information? What if I could travel to and then return from yet another dimension? If I could help you further your studies like no one else might be willing to. There has to be some kind of deal we can make one that's good for me one that's good for you dr calloway stared intensely at duncan seemingly carefully considering everything he was saying for the moment duncan left the tape on her mouth and continued make no mistake i hate you i fucking hate you but i also need you and i'll still need you i'll still have a lot of incentive to help you to work with you if you send me away today because if you agree to do this, I'll need you to send my wife to whatever dimension you've sent me to as well. Can you do all of that? After a few beats of silent consideration, Dr. Calloway slowly nodded.

It didn't seem to be the nod of someone who was just agreeing to anything to keep themselves alive. Her eyes said so much. She seemed not just relieved, but also intrigued and excited. 45 minutes later, Duncan Briggs was once again sitting in the same chair in the same room he'd been led to the day before, minus Benji and Maddie, but surrounded by the same rolling cart with a basic monitor, some medical tools, and a tray of individually wrapped needles and tubes. He was about to go under moments after sending that video he'd made to his wife. Dr. Calloway had been talking to him about how there was another dimension she'd figured out how to access, a dimension also parallel to this one, but further away. She'd only discovered it a few

weeks prior. She said she hadn't made contact with her equivalent there yet. She didn't even know of her equivalent would be a scientist like her in this world. But she felt confident that there would certainly be someone with knowledge at least somewhat similar to her own. She gave Duncan a briefcase full of paperwork, memory cards, and hard drives, full of all the information and instructions needed to open up a return path between the two worlds. So that information, and people as well could travel back and forth between them. She appeared to be truly excited by their agreement. If he could help her establish more solid link between the two worlds,

if he could find someone who would communicate and work with her there, then she would of course send over his wife to join him, when and if she ever came to the lab. Dr. Calloway also agreed that she would kill the version of him that remained behind, the one that would again wake up in this world, and she would have his body incinerated, something she said she had done before with other test subjects, many, many times. Duncan wasn't surprised by that at all. He knew his deal with Dr. Calloway was risky,

that she was a cold-blooded killer who could be lying, that she could just knock him out and either murder him or turn him over to the police. But he also knew that she was his only chance at the possibility of living the rest of his days somewhere as a truly free man. and so he took his third dose of propofol in two days he again felt a now familiar wave of warmth traveling up his arm his chest grew heavy his vision blurred and sound slowed and then stretched this time right before he went under dr calloway leaned forward and shared a new terrifying message with him i'm not sure you'll find anyone in this new world to help you with this experiment duncan No, now I don't think you'll find anyone there helpful at all.

Before he completely lost consciousness, the last thing he saw was her knowing grin. Her evil, highly alarming, sadistic grin. Duncan gassed himself awake again. He drooled all over his chin and shirt like he had with his previous journeys. As with the prior two experiences, his head also jerked forward. he felt disoriented, his neck ached, his arms felt weak, and his tongue was dry and tasted like metal. But he was alive. She did it, he croaked. She kept a word. For a moment, Duncan felt relieved. Yes, this experiment had completely fucked up his life, but after everything he'd been

through, still having a life felt like a win, a big win. As Duncan's eyes regained their focus, he realized his new settings were very different this time. He wasn't in a lab. He was inside what looked like a medieval dungeon. There were no flickering halogen lights above him. He wasn't sitting or laying back on some creaky adjustable exam chair. Instead, he woke up lying on the floor, a damp, cold, stone floor, not surrounded by literally any equipment at all.

There were no needles or tubes, no worrying machinery, no computers of any kind. The air was cool and moist. It stank of old iron and something rotten. A few sconces on the walls held burning torches. The room was only sources of light. A heavy wooden door across the room was cracked open, and a stone staircase could barely be seen beyond it, leading upwards. Across from it was another door.

It was shut. And he could hear something on the other side of it. What sounded like heavy chains, slowly being dragged across stone. The fuck? Duncan silently wondered as he pulled his phone out of his pocket to check for service and stood up. He assumed he would have none, and he didn't, but he wanted to be certain. His battery was finally almost dead, 13%. He turned it off to conserve his last little bit of power.

This must be some mistake, he thought. He assumed he had been sent to the wrong place in this dimension, and in order to find the right one, he would first need to get the hell out of wherever he was. Duncan grabbed the briefcase, he'd arrived with, glad to see another remnant of the world he'd left behind, and he grabbed a torch off of the wall, fully opened the door to the stairs and froze. He heard a strange repetitive clicking in the distance that scared him.

It immediately made him think of a massive insect, something huge, bigger than him. He moved slowly and tried not to make any sounds as he began to walk up the circular stone staircase. A minute or so later, after slowly, cautiously walking up what felt like two or maybe even three stories, after walking past nothing but more stone wall, more torches, and no windows. He made it to another big wooden door where the stairs ended.

His stomach dropped. If it was locked, what would he do? Scream for help, of course, but what if no help came? Or what if whoever or whatever came was dangerous? And then he suddenly remembered what Dr. Calloway had said to him, just as he'd fallen asleep on her anesthesia this last time. I don't think you'll find anyone helpful there at all. Duncan felt afraid, very afraid, to try and open the door, but he had to.

He couldn't stay where he was. He had no food and no water. So Duncan pushed against a thick old heavy wood in front of him, and the door swung open, arcing slowly and smoothly out away from the stairs. It groaned like a dying animal as it moved, as his torchlight flickered across its iron braces and blackened hinges. Stone scraped against the shoes as he then stepped into a massive hall and stopped cold. The ceiling loomed far above him, vanishing into shadow, held aloft by a series of massive uneven stone columns. The hull stretched long and wide, like the nave of a cathedral built by madmen.

Massive stained glass windows lie in the walls, though no sunlight poured through them. Only a sickly green haze, casting diseased colors across the black flagstone floor. The windows didn't depict saints but monstrous writhing, multi-limbed, insect-like creatures devouring men, or crawling into and out of pools ringed by fire. Where the hell am I? Duncan wondered. Where is that thing I heard? Across from him there stood a long stone table, no wood, no cloth, just a single slab hewn from something dark and porous. The surface was pitted and stained, as if it had been used more for slaughter than feasting.

Upon it sat the remains of some grotesque meal, cracked bones the size of human femurs, bones that might be. Human femurs, half-knought by something with too many teeth, and a large bowl of black liquid. High above the table, suspended by rusted change from the vaulted ceiling, hung a massive iron chandelier, its spikes ending in waxless bone-white candles that burn with dim violet flames. What looked like moths, some the size of falcons, fluttered lazily around the fire, wings iridescent and translucent, like stained glass in motion. To Duncan's right was a crumbling tapestry, thick with dust and rye. What had once been embroidery now looked more like scar tissue stretched across fabric,

a scene of peasant-like creatures, possibly, but maybe not human, kneeling before a giant humanoid figure and a tall spiked crown, his body like that of a man, but one with wings, and a face more like that of a beetle. To Duncan's left was a giant, grand wooden door, easily three times his height and reinforced with bands of black iron etched with strange figures. A pair of massive tarnished bronze handles twisted into the shape of tower, islands protruded from its center. One was slick with something that shimmered in the torchlight like mucus. Shadows twitched in the dark corners of the hall, not from movement, but from

reaction, as if his presence, his decision had changed something in the room's geometry. Then from some other hidden chamber inside the large castle he'd woken up in, he heard something large scraping against stone, something alive. It was that strange, repetitive clicking sound again. He had to get out of here. He began walking towards the massive door he assumed correctly let outside. Duncan grabbed the large black circular iron handle embedded at chest heightened to the door and pulled. The door opened with the moan of an entire cemetery's worth of corpses exhaling at once and then a blast of foul, humid air hit him, sweet and feted, like flowers blooming on rotting meat. And then he saw it, the world he was in. It was wrong.

where did you fucking send me you monster he wondered a sky of swirling violet clouds loomed overhead lit from within by occasional flickers of green lighting that lands to cross the heavens with no sound the land beyond the castle walls was unnatural and uneven pulsing in places like it was breathing towering structures of what looked like stone bone and the skeletal outer shells of massive insects rose in the distance looking as if they were part ancient temple and part hive or colony Some perched atop claw-like legs, others appeared fused directly onto the mountainous terrain. The castle he had woken up and stood on a jagged cliff overlooking a blackened valley teeming with motion. In the ravine below, horrid creatures, the size of horses, skittered between carcasses, multi-limbed insectoid beasts with gleaming exoskeletons, mandibles that clicked rhythmically and eyes that burned like amber fire. A procession was moving along the path leading up to the castle gate that was composed mostly of humans, or at least human-like figures and robes of stitched wings and spines,

faces hidden beneath golden masks shaped like hornets and beetles. They carried tall banners made from vertebrae, enchanted in high, trilling tones that sounded like both prayer and warning. At the head of the procession, wrote a massive glistening horror, something vaguely human in form, but with segmented plates covering its limbs, and wings folded tight along its back. Its head was long and faceted, with six black eyes and a mouth that twitched constantly wet and hungry. It was the creature from the tapestry,

the one with the crown, some sort of king, and its followers behind and around it clearly worshipped it. They walked, hunched over in reverence, whispering guttural praise, and then a voice echoed in Duncan's skull, not aloud, not from the king or from any of the beasts or people he saw,

but from somewhere deeper. The crown is returned, the gate is open, the witness walked, amongst. Duncan staggered backwards. What he felt was something similar to shock, close to despair, but beyond both of those emotions, a sort of resignation to a fate he didn't yet understand or even care about, a strange, seemingly contradictory mixture of curiosity and apathy. He tried to believe again that he was dreaming, that everything that had happened since he'd fallen asleep for his

first appointment with AR innovations had been a dream, and that dream begat dreams that began still more dreams. Perceptual dissonance. What a strange and terrible concoction of nightmares, it now was. Off to the ride of the procession, marching towards him just beyond the edge of the courtyard, he saw a gnarled path that wound through a forest of trees that looked more like blackened nerves than wood. Their trunks twisted into obscene shapes, faces locked in silent screams, mouths gaping with hollow knots. Insects, the size of cats, hung from branches and slick, transparent cocoons, twitching faintly. In the distance beyond the trees, something sang, high and thin, like a lullaby, sung through a mouth full of blood.

As Duncan continued to stare out and listen to the landscape before him, at the impossible hybrid of ancient medieval nightmare and alien insectoid world, he thought that if he wasn't dreaming, then he had been sent to a place that was no parallel dimension. This was not some other timeline. This was elsewhere. Not knowing what else to do next, Duncan blew out his torch. He backed up, retreating into the Great Hall behind him, and he shut the giant door, blocking out both the alien landscape and the chanting worshippers. If he knew how to lock it, he would have.

He crept across the Great Hall, past the grotesque stone table, past the giant moths that now clung to the chandelier motionless, as if listening. He thought about the massive insect he'd heard inside the castle before and wondered where it or another like it might now be hiding. Then he heard a scream, raw, and human. Had someone just cried out for help? It echoed up from the far stairwell, the one he'd first walked up, from the dungeon. Duncan froze.

It must be coming from beyond that other door he'd seen down there. Then he heard whoever had just screamed, shout, and this time he could understand them. Please! Someone help me! I don't know where I am. How is at a clinic? They said it was a study. Dr. Calloway sent me here.

The words hit him like a punch to the chest. Dr. Calloway had told him he was the first person in human history to ever visit another dimension in return. She'd lied. Of course she had. She was fucking evil. How long had she really been running her experiments? How many people had she killed? Duncan wondered, what was she actually studying? Duncan crouched low his heart pounding.

He slipped behind a ruined column and gazed towards the stairwell lit up by flickering torchlight. As he hid and considered what his next move should be, the sounds of clacking limbs and soft insectoid trills grew louder. The procession he'd seen below was close to returning. Duncan backed further into the shadows, now wedged himself between a crumbling statue of some monster or god and the folds of a rotting tapestry. He held his breath. As the man down in the dungeon continued to scream, the massive door of the great hall now swung back open. Two lines of robed cultists flanking their hideous

king marched inside. The insectoid monarch clicked and twitched as it entered antenna tasting the air around it. His acolytes chittered and hissed reverently. They approached the stone table and surrounded it and then the king uttered some command in his alien tongue and two of his largest

disciples marched over to the door to the dungeon and descended down at stone steps. Duncan remained still, breathing shallowly his heart beating like it was knocking on his sternum and begging like the prisoner below to be released. After maybe 30 seconds, perhaps a minute, Duncan heard the man below, screaming for mercy, again explaining that he was part of an experiment, that this was all a big misunderstanding.

Then he heard him scream as if he'd been struck. He then laughed and cackled about how fucked up his dream was. Another 30 seconds for a minute later, the two henchmen with their robes of stitched wings and spines wearing their golden mask shaped like hornets and beetles emerged back into the great hall. between them dragged like a hunted animal was the man barefoot shirtless eyes wild with terror his skin pale and bruised he kicked and screamed as they pulled him across the flagstones leaving a faint smear of blood behind him please please don't do this you don't understand my name's adam cartwright dr calloway said it was just a his desperate plea was cut off by a blow to the stomach from one of the cultists its limb nothing but a knotted pincer the cultists weren't human after all duncan observed and the terror he felt deepened Adam folded in half coughing. They laid him atop the big stone table.

The bones had been cleared. The bowl remained. Above the chandelier flared its violet flame, casting sharp, writhing shadows that danced like cruel gods on the walls. The moths erupted into motion again, circling like vultures. The insect king sat on a throne at the far end of the table. Then Adam lifted his head, and he saw Duncan, staring at him. Their eyes locked through the darkness.

Oh, God! You're real! Please help me. I don't know what this place is. Calloway sent me here. She lied to me. Duncan flinched and hid from Adam's view, from anyone else's view. Occultist paused its antenna flaring, and it tilted its mask. Duncan tried to quietly retreat deeper into the shadows, but something clicked behind him. He turned. Too slow. Long spiny limbs slammed into him from both sides. Hands, not like hands, claws with too many joints. They dragged him screaming from his hiding place and flung him to the floor. He hit the stone, heart. pain exploding across his ribs, black dots swam in his vision, and his mind reeled. Wake up, wake up, wake up! He hopelessly thought over and over. He heard Adam sobbing, wild and terrified. And then Duncan was brought to his feet, forced upright by two of the robed figures. They held him fast, their limbs impossibly strong. He watched now as Adam screamed, and the insect king leaned forward over the table, over this poor, terrified bastard who was just as scared

and confused as he was, and lowered its face down towards Adam's chest. Its mandibles opened, and then it sank him into flesh. A furious ripping and tearing followed. Blood sprayed across the table and onto the floor. Droplets made it all the way onto Duncan. He screamed along with Adam while the cultists sang, a high, warbally note that reverberated in Duncan's bones as they devoured what remained of Adam Cartwright,

as his legs kicked until they didn't, as his eyes stayed open. The insect king then turned his alien multi-eyed gaze towards Duncan and whispered directly into his mind. You walk between the worlds and brought this sent to her with you. The king's wings spread and fluttered into a blur of rapid motion that emitted a hum like a powerful electrical transformer

as it flew up into the air above the table and then over to where Duncan stood. One of the cultists holding him in place, kicked him in the back of his knees, sending Duncan down to a kneeling position. The insect king's mandibles then opened again. What a crazy fucking dream, Duncan thought, right before the alien tore into his chest. But then instead of waking up, he was dying.

The room felt as if it were made entirely of glass and light. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a panoramic view of a glittering, futuristic megacity. Massive towers humming with drones. neon ads sliding across the skyline like living murals. Below, traffic moved in perfect sink along magnetic grids making it impossible for one hovering automobile-like craft to ever smash into another. Above, automated aircrafts of various shapes and sizes buzzed through the clouds. Inside, the boardroom was sharp and cold, a long obsidian table, matte steel chairs, and a hollow screen stretched across one entire wall. A little over a dozen people sat around the table,

many of them wearing sleek, smart fabric suits that shimmered faintly with personalized branding. Their faces were lit by the dim blue glow of the screen, and on that screen, they all watched, riveted it, as Duncan Briggs screamed, as blood sprayed in the alien medieval nightmare world, as mandibles snapped. One of the investors, a silver-haired man with synthetic irises,

and a wine tumbler embedded with biofeedback sensors, chuckled and shook his head. Christ, that is absolutely brutal. Love it! A sharp-dressed woman at the head of the table opposite the screen gave a tight, confident smile. Her dark hair was buzzed on the sides, the center tied back in a chrome-tipped braid.

A discreet lapel pin bore the logo of the presenting company, a geometric fractal insect within a stylized eye. The company's name was Camira Interactive. The game, still in beta mode, was Godseed. The presentation being given had been set in one of a dozen different adventure packs Camira Interactive planned on creating, if they were able to secure a new and sizable round of funding. So far, the only one that was complete was called Parallel Dimensions. She gestured toward the now frozen frame of Duncan's final moments as she began to speak.

This, as you've heard, is Duncan Briggs. To him, this moment was real. Just as real as any of this feels to you. In five minutes of real-world time, our quantum neural fabrication engine generated 33 years of continuous consciousness prior to Duncan reading the ad for AR innovations at the beginning of this presentation.

No memory implants, no scripts, lived, experience. The investors before her thoroughly impressed, nodded their heads and clapped their hands. The screen shifted, Duncan laughing on a beach, proposing to Isabella, sobbing in a hospital waiting room, driving through autumn leaves,

flipping through a comic at a corner store. All of this and so much more, she said, was fabricated in just a few minutes following pressing the build-world button. One of the investors present, younger than the previous silver-haired man, with golden facial implants and a glowing data lens over one eye leaned forward.

And the other characters? The girlfriend? The doctor? The guy who was eaten? All reactive neuro-proxies, she said. They behave autonomously, but they only exist in relationship to the central subject. Duncan believes they're real,

which makes them real enough for him. And how long does the player get to interact with this world? She smiled wider. The full scenario, from game launch to death, including the five minutes of previous life creation, can run anywhere from 15 minutes to, well, weeks or even months. It all depends on the choices the player makes, on how they adjust the terror, jeopardy, mortality, risk, and other settings. You can watch the entire story play out in real time, but you can also fast forward, rewind, even share segments on social media.

It's your world. You are God. You can stretch out the agony or make it quick. You can build or break your characters, however you choose. With a click of a button, the screen across from the Camira Interactive CEO now changed. It displayed the menu UI, a slick interface offering dozens of different life templates with gender, sexual preference, race options, and more next to each. Stuff like, child prodigy turned homeless drug addict, family,

therapist raised in cult, blue-collar divorcee with gambling debt, Midwestern romantic, aspiring actor with terminal diagnosis, veteran with PTSD. Each profile had sliders, including, but not limited to, emotional resilience, cognitive dissonance, attachment style, spirituality level, hope threshold. After walking investors through these options, the CEO stated, There is an infinite amount of game-play variety. If you didn't like Duncan, you could have shut him down at any time. Started over, built someone else. Godseed lets you customize everything, including axes of both suffering and hope.

Give them a reason to fight, then rip it away. She paused. Or don't. Let them escape. Give them peace. We're not judging. That remark was followed by laughter. and then another investor raised a finger.

But is he sentient? Like, by legal definition? A lawyer in the back now chimed in without missing a beat. Not under current I.A. slash ISO jurisdiction. Sentient still requires continuity beyond sandbox runtime. Once the simulation ends, the subject ceases to exist. No recall, no persistence, no rights violation. The room nodded in unison.

Then, the silver. haired man said, raising his glass. I'm in. His sentiment was echoed by several others. But then one of the three programmers in the room, a young man with a bald head, nearly half the top of which was covered by a silvery metal in place of skin and skull, full of various connectivity and cognitive enhancement ports,

stood up and declared with heavy emotion in his voice. You sick! Fuchs! We just watched a man die! His voice rose in righteous anger as he can The rest of the now shocked in silent room, staring at him, mouths agape. He felt as real as you or I, which means he was real. Which means we fucking killed him.

And I cannot stand by and watch this literal murder game. Enter the world and trade death for entertainment. He touched a small sensor on the metallic portion of his skull and now spoke in a robotic voice as his eyes pixelated to nothing but white. Camero Mainframe, run Godseed, killcoat. No! shouted the CEO. Then she touched her own built-in-interface sensor behind her left ear. Camira mainframe, overrun Godseed Kill-Code.

The standing programmer's eyes pixelated back into traditional form, as he said solemnly, you've left me no choice. He then opened a silver briefcase by placing his thumb against a biometric sensor, and he grabbed a photon gun, first shooting the CEO and it's exploding her head, then firing on the now screaming others in the room until one of the security personnel who had been standing just outside entered and quickly eliminated him. And all of this carnage was being watched on yet another screen and another place and time by their beings running a different simulation, one of which would also soon die. And with each main character's death, the world kept zooming out again and again and again and again, leaving myself and perhaps you wondering, which level do you exist on?

who's watching and controlling your reality and how will they make you die and that is it for this Halloween time suck re-release of nightmare fuel uh yeah things got a lot worse for Duncan his life was completely fucked before he ever ended up

in that alternate universe and it was all just a game but so real to him just like how some think that we are all in a game a game we only believe to be real, which, I guess, does make it real. Simulation theory, such a mindbender, such a terrifying possibility in some ways,

as is the concept of parallel dimensions and the multiverse. Yeah, so that's it. No more fictional horror now over here on TimeSuck. Not until maybe next Halloween, but maybe not. This might just be a one-time thing. I really hope some of you who gave it a chance want to hear more and pop on over to scare to death

to check out the rest of these nightmare fuel horror stories. I will be continuing to write these, hopefully for quite some time. Today's tale was written by me, Dan Komen, scored by Logan Keith. Please go to bad magic productions.com for all your bad magic needs, including show-related merch,

and happy Halloween. And keep on sucking. Bad Magic Productions.