Hi, I'm Uriel.
Look, I'm new, I don't spend time on reddit. My only experience is having read a handful of what you could call "classic" or "popular" /nosleep memoirs (or at least stories that I most easily found and we revered as such). Search and Rescue, Penpal, Uncle Gerry's Family Fun Zone, Goatman, Mayhem Mountain, among a few others. I felt sympathetic at times, scared shitless otherwise, but at the same time I was in awe. It drew me in.
But I never thought something like that would happen to me. I'm going through my own bit of cliche horror. I don't know if what I'm going through right now would be as entertaining, I don't know if anyone would even bother to read this. I don't know if I'm asking for help, exactly, because I'm not sure its something that can be helped.
I've been having dreams.
The dreams don't scare me. And I don't think they're meant to. I've come to the conclusion that they're only setup, filler, maybe some form of subliminal messaging or manipulation. Honestly, the dreams are boring. Boring in the way that they never seem to invoke any sense of real terror or panic, when I'm asleep. It's when I wake up that the nightmare starts.
I don't know if I'll go into how this all started yet. Fuck, I don't even know if I should be doing this. I could be feeding right into it, right into her. It's what she does. Thinking about it now, I don't know if she feeds on fear. That's been my theory, but it sounds superficial. It's something else, something more. She just loves my mind. She loves how it runs a million miles per minute, a million different ways. All the ideas that pass through. My imagination? My subconscious? All of it?
I'm stalling. Fuck. Fuck it. This might make it worse for me. And look, I don't want this on my conscious. Don't read this if you don't want the risk of being sucked in. I just don't want to be alone in this anymore.
I'll stick to the most recent visit. I was staying over at my boyfriend's dorm this last weekend. On Saturday night, or rather Sunday morning, around 4am.
I dreamt about... I'm not sure what it was, it blurs and gets confusing and ridiculous, as dreams do. The part that I most remember is being in this cabin or cave, I think it was near the ocean.
The inside of the cabin looked like a cave. It was dark and damp. The walls were wet, slimy. It appeared like there was something sticky stuck to them, something dripping, peeling, but it hard to tell. A figure on all fours was leading me into a different section or room. All I could manage to tell was that its skin was grey and mangled and its clothes torn.
The space I was now in had living room furniture and garage-type clutter. The walls looked the same, but it was a regular wall now, not a cave.
Its getting hard to breathe writing this.
There was a man standing off to the side, watching me. I don't think he had what you'd call eyes. He had dull, white swirls in the eye sockets. He was in a ratty fisherman's hat, clothes. He had a basketball in his hands. The basketball had eyes. Larger than what you'd find on a human, but the same width apart as they would be on a human face. The ribs of the ball were molting something, and it was oozing something.
The fisherman held the ball up. His fingernails were thin, thick, and long. His nails dug into the ball. He threw the ball. I didn't catch it. He picked it up. His nails dug into the ball. His whites are on me. He's squeezing the ball. One of the ball's eyes squeezes out. There's no sound. The room is quiet. The fisherman maybe smiled, maybe radiated some amusement. He picked up the eye, he fit it back in the ball. The eye was pointing outward while the other was now looking in my direction, not quite at me.
He held the ball out. I slowly held my hands out. He threw the ball. I caught it. I threw the ball, he caught it. He doesn't threw it back. He sets the ball away. He felt satisfied.
It was ridiculous.
The figure on all fours leads me outside. Its a cabin from the outside, windows black. We're on docks. The sun's just set, the ocean looks finite.
After that, I think the dream bleeds into another. There's something about an amusement park, drowning, a child, maybe eleven or twelve or eight, children who appear when you're in danger, they exude something to fear, something to respect, they have black eyes, he saves me and surrounding people from drowning, I live my own life, he lives nearby, he is living his own life but he is guarding me, he is enjoying a mortal life, he is trying mortal things, mortal hobbies, cooking, art, exercising, television, he is on the television for his strange art, when I'm near the end of my life out of danger, he fades away, with a smile, after finishing a painting.
I don't know where that part came from. It's possibly not connected to the rest, but there was something about it.
The first part, there's a lot of it that I don't recall until after I'm awake. That's when I'm afraid.
I open my eyes. At first, its fine. There's something at the back of my mind, but I ignore it. My boyfriend, Nicky, he's gorgeous. It's strange, but there's something about the back of his head that's adorable to me. Half the time he sleeps facing away from me, and when we first started dating and I visited him for the first time, I held him from behind when we slept, and I'd never slept with someone before, my face would end up at the back of his neck, and he smelled like body wash and hair conditioner, and he loves neck kisses. I was really happy. We were long distance, and it was the first time seeing him in person, I'd never been so happy. And I'd wake up, and I'd see the back of his head and remember where I was, who I was with, the little hairs curling at the ends and some sticking up the top. Bedhead. I'd feel giddy and safe and-- he's really cute. I'm gross, I really am. But I love him.
So I wasn't thinking about what I'd dreamed, I hadn't registered I'd dreamt anything strange. I was thinking about other, much more appealing things, like how nice my boyfriend's ass was.
When we were cuddling, close to falling asleep again, the presence of something in the room kept getting stronger. There was same thought that always came up: Is it her? I don't know if I can describe the feeling. I tell Nick about the nicer part of the dream, the part I'm trying to focus on. The aesthetic of creepy young kids acting as ominous yet benevolent guardians is comforting. For a while.
I remembered the basketball. The eyes. There was blood. I felt like there were molting, wet, rough skinless hands on me. I tensed, I moved away from Nicky. His hands feel like the chilling touch of something no longer human. My vision is blurring and everything around me is turning into something doubtful. The only thing that feels even remotely consoling is his voice, but it still sounds different, detached.
He's worried. Asking me what's wrong, if I'm okay. holding me close. I love touch from him, I crave it, usually. Not right now. He catches me looking over his shoulder.
It feels like she's here. It feels a little different. It takes me a moment to figure out why.
A name comes to mind like it's been put there by someone else or like it was something I already knew.
The Fisherman. What a stupid name.
He's not the first stupid name. She has new things she brings in to scare me, rip me out of my comfort, so I don't ever get the same thrill twice. I can feel that, right then, too. I know she loves it. I know she's there, but she's a spectator to her game right now. She feeds off it.
I'm suddenly holding Nick close, his face in my hand. It occurs to me that even though I've felt her presence here, in his room, this dorm building, and even seen her a couple times, there's never been a game played here. Does she want him to play too?
It seems like there's even a slight change in color. I'm looking at Nicky, and his face looks warped, his eyes, my favorite part of him, look a little unfamiliar. I look away instead, at the ceiling, the wall, anything else.
He puts a hand on my cheek. It's gentle, it's warm, his thumb traces my cheekbone. He's talking sweetly, reassuring me.
I'm laying down on my back, he's on his side facing me. I'm looking at his hand. His fingers, I think of them as sort of delicate; pale, long. I think they're pretty.
His hand separates from his wrist, the tissue and blood vessels, the skin stretching, bone stretching, like it's being melted, all covered in blood. I feel claws in my face, breaking skin. The nails break off the fingers and it bleeds.
I forcefully pull his hand off my face by the wrist. Its his hand. He looks shocked, maybe freaked out. He stares at me as he slowly pulls his hand away, nodding once, twice, leaning away an inch. I want to explain so badly, but I can't speak. I think maybe I apologize. He's trying to comfort me. We both know physical affection is usually the best way. He asks to give me a kiss and I nod. He pecks my lips. It feels numb.
I look back to Nick, not wanting to be near
I move away from him. I'm tense, still, breathing hard, staring at the ceiling. My hands had been on my own bare stomach and now it feels I'm touching a shredded, un-moving body, insides alive and wanting to pull my hand in.
I take my hands off myself. My anxious habits tend to involve wringing my hands or pulling or playing with my fingers. I get the vivid image of them being pulled off.
And I think,"Okay. I can't touch skin."
I turn to Nicky, finally, and this time I'm pretty sure I apologized. He rejects it, his eyes are wide, searching my face. I'm looking behind him, where it feels like she's watching me from. Nicky starts to turn his head and I stop him, my hand in his hair. i'm shaking my head. He asks if he can just take a look and check that everything is safe. I shake my head harder. He lets it go, and I run a hand through his mostly black hair, parts of it tinted purple.
I remember sitting sideways on a sofa. The Fisherman is showcasing his home. I touch the fabric, and its hair. Human hair. I can see the black hair follicles, I can see scalp sewn together over the expanse of the entire couch. The Fisherman grins in the background.
I take my hand out of Nicky's hair. I move away again and place my hand firmly onto the wall on the other side of me. Nick finds it funny, and he manages to make me laugh. "Yeah? You're touching the wall? Does it feel good?"
I'm laughing, but it does feel good, it's comforting. It's grounding.
And then I'm getting angry. She's never visited when I'm sleeping with another human being. But, of course, when she does, it's Nick, and her game is touch. It's the human body in the most horrifying way. In a way that disgusts me, scares the shit out of me. Of course. I can practically hear her laughing.
I let Nick look around, finally. "See? it's just you and me. We're safe."
I know at some point I mumble something about her being here. I'm aware I sound ridiculous. He's heard about her from me, I've told him about her from when she first started showing up. He's stayed up with me on video chat when we were long-distance, trying to reassure me, calm me down.
I look at Nick, at his face, trying to will it to be familiar, to feel safe. There's a tentative smile.
His lips have been torn off. The smile is all crooked teeth directed at me like stalagmites.
The cabin was not a cave, the walls were not cave walls, the walls were living flesh and tissue, pulsing, dripping, yet dark grey and green. Drying, coagulated blood and fresh, warm, blood.
The grey figure on all fours had skin everywhere except for his neck and head. And mouth. There was skin just around his toothy grin.
A moment later, I'm looking back at Nicky. There's the needles of syringes coming through both his eyes, and then the entire syringe. I'm reminded of one of her early visits, which makes me heart pound even harder.
She gives new horrors and ignites the old ones. It's clever.
After another hour of her visit, after I'd calmed down enough, he went back to sleep. After a bit longer, I don't know how, but so did I, thank god. Another dream was welcome and better than being awake with her around. The visit was still hanging over me when the sun came up, but she was gone.
I feel crazy, but I know Nicky doesn't think I am. He's had paranoia, hallucinations, delusions, he gets it. I don't think of any of my experiences as hallucinations because of how vivid they feel. I know that's probably not alright, and that anyone would say not to stay in denial and all that. But I feel safer admitting it's real. I feel like I have a grasp on some sort of control, some sort of lead on her, that some way I can come up with a strategy to come out on top in this game. That maybe, the more I figure out her plays, what she is, who her players are, anything, I can get out of it. Back when she was asking me to play pretend, I was losing my mind. I wanted all of it to go away. I realized very early on she wasn't really asking me. It wasn't an offer or a choice. I was already playing. And it's not pretend.
I've moved, I'm in the same city as Nick, and she hadn't been at my new apartment yet, but last night I felt her in my room. Did she finally follow me? Why now?
I get the feeling that this meant to be a real terror to me, or at least that's what I feel. It all feels cliched yet somehow effective, a lame imitation of anything and everything mildly disturbing I've consumed, seen, read. Like I said: boring,
It's escalating. It feels more real, stronger, every time. It feels like all her visits, especially the first ones, hint at something coming. I'm afraid something's going to start jumping off pages, reaching out of screens, opening doors, taking my mind. Or maybe, something already has.
Submitted May 08, 2019 at 04:37PM by urielsleeps http://bit.ly/2PUjIge
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