“Psychosis” creepypasta by Matt Dymerski FULL CAST AUDIO DRAMA ― Chilling Tales for Dark Nights


Chilling Tales for Dark Nights. Psychosis, written by Matt Dymerski. Narrated by Jeff Clement. Sunday
I’m not sure why I’m writing this down on paper and not on my computer. I guess I’ve
just noticed some odd things. It’s not that I don’t trust the computer… I just… need
to organize my thoughts. I need to get down all the details somewhere objective, somewhere
I know that what I write can’t be deleted or… changed… not that that’s happened.
It’s just… everything blurs together here, and the fog of memory lends a strange cast
to things… I’m starting to feel cramped in this small
apartment. Maybe that’s the problem. I just had to go and choose the cheapest apartment,
the only one in the basement. The lack of windows down here makes day and night seem
to slip by seamlessly. I haven’t been out in a few days because I’ve been working on
this programming project so intensively. I suppose I just wanted to get it done. Hours
of sitting and staring at a monitor can make anyone feel strange, I know, but I don’t think
that’s it. I’m not sure when I first started to feel
like something was odd. I can’t even define what it is. Maybe I just haven’t talked to
anyone in awhile. That’s the first thing that crept up on me. Everyone I normally talk to
online while I program has been idle, or they’ve simply not logged on at all. My instant messages
go unanswered. The last e-mail I got from anybody was a friend saying he’d talk to me
when he got back from the store, and that was yesterday. I’d call with my cell phone,
but reception’s terrible down here. Yeah, that’s it. I just need to call someone. I’m
going to go outside. Well, that didn’t work so well. As the tingle
of fear fades, I’m feeling a little ridiculous for being scared at all. I looked in the mirror
before I went out, but I didn’t shave the two-day stubble I’ve grown. I figured I was
just going out for a quick cell phone call. I did change my shirt, though, because it
was lunchtime, and I guessed that I’d run into at least one person I knew. That didn’t
end up happening. I wish it did. When I went out, I opened the door to my small
apartment slowly. A small feeling of apprehension had somehow already lodged itself in me, for
some indefinable reason. I chalked it up to having not spoken to anyone but myself for
a day or two. I peered down the dingy grey hallway, made dingier by the fact that it
was a basement hallway. On one end, a large metal door led to the building’s furnace room.
It was locked, of course. Two dreary soda machines stood by it; I bought a soda from
one the first day I moved in, but it had a two year old expiration date. I’m fairly sure
nobody knows those machines are even down here, or my cheap landlady just doesn’t care
to get them restocked. I closed my door softly, and walked the other
direction, taking care not to make a sound. I have no idea why I chose to do that, but
it was fun giving in to the strange impulse not to break the droning hum of the soda machines,
at least for the moment. I got to the stairwell, and took the stairs up to the building’s front
door. I looked through the heavy door’s small square window, and received quite the shock:
it was definitely not lunchtime. City-gloom hung over the dark street outside, and the
traffic lights at the intersection in the distance blinked yellow. Dim clouds, purple
and black from the glow of the city, hung overhead. Nothing moved, save the few sidewalk
trees that shifted in the wind. I remember shivering, though I wasn’t cold. Maybe it
was the wind outside. I could vaguely hear it through the heavy metal door, and I knew
it was that unique kind of late-night wind, the kind that was constant, cold, and quiet,
save for the rhythmic music it made as it passed through countless unseen tree leaves.
I decided not to go outside. Instead, I lifted my cell phone to the door’s
little window, and checked the signal meter. The bars filled up the meter, and I smiled.
Time to hear someone else’s voice, I remember thinking, relieved. It was such a strange
thing, to be afraid of nothing. I shook my head, laughing at myself silently. I hit speed-dial
for my best friend Amy’s number, and held the phone up to my ear. It rang once… but
then it stopped. Nothing happened. I listened to silence for a good twenty seconds, then
hung up. I frowned, and looked at the signal meter again — still full. I went to dial
her number again, but then my phone rang in my hand, startling me. I put it up to my ear.
“Hello?” I asked, immediately fighting down a small shock at hearing the first spoken
voice in days, even if it was my own. I had gotten used to the droning hum of the building’s
inner workings, my computer, and the soda machines in the hallway. There was no response
to my greeting at first, but then, finally, a voice came.
“Hey,” said a clear male voice, obviously of college age, like me. “Who’s this?”
“John,” I replied, confused. “Oh, sorry, wrong number,” he replied, then
hung up. I lowered the phone slowly and leaned against
the thick brick wall of the stairwell. That was strange. I looked at my received calls
list, but the number was unfamiliar. Before I could think on it further, the phone rang
loudly, shocking me yet again. This time, I looked at the caller before I answered.
It was another unfamiliar number. This time, I held the phone up to my ear, but said nothing.
I heard nothing but the general background noise of a phone. Then, a familiar voice broke
my tension. “John?” was the single word, in Amy’s voice.
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Hey, it’s you,” I replied.
“Who else would it be?” she responded. “Oh, the number. I’m at a party on Seventh Street,
and my phone died just as you called me. This is someone else’s phone, obviously.”
“Oh, ok,” I said. “Where are you?” she asked.
My eyes glanced over the drab white-washed cylinder block walls and the heavy metal door
with its small window. “At my building,” I sighed. “Just feeling
cooped up. I didn’t realize it was so late.” “You should come here,” she said, laughing.
“Nah, I don’t feel like looking for some strange place by myself in the middle of the night,”
I said, looking out the window at the silent windy street that secretly scared me just
a tiny bit. “I think I’m just going to keep working or go to bed.”
“Nonsense!” she replied. “I can come get you! Your building is close to Seventh Street,
right?” “How drunk are you?” I asked lightheartedly.
“You know where I live.” “Oh, of course,” she said abruptly. “I guess
I can’t get there by walking, huh?” “You could if you wanted to waste half an
hour,” I told her. “Right,” she said. “Ok, have to go, good luck
with your work!” I lowered the phone once more, looking at
the numbers flash as the call ended. Then, the droning silence suddenly reasserted itself
in my ears. The two strange calls and the eerie street outside just drove home my aloneness
in this empty stairwell. Perhaps from having seen too many scary movies, I had the sudden
inexplicable idea that something could look in the door’s window and see me, some sort
of horrible entity that hovered at the edge of aloneness, just waiting to creep up on
unsuspecting people that strayed too far from other human beings. I knew the fear was irrational,
but nobody else was around, so… I jumped down the stairs, ran down the hallway into
my room, and closed the door as swiftly as I could while still staying silent. Like I
said, I feel a little ridiculous for being scared of nothing, and the fear has already
faded. Writing this down helps a lot — it makes me realize that nothing is wrong. It
filters out half-formed thoughts and fears and leaves only cold, hard facts. It’s late,
I got a call from a wrong number, and Amy’s phone died, so she called me back from another
number. Nothing strange is happening. Still, there was something a little off about
that conversation. I know it could have just been the alcohol she’d had… or was it even
her that seemed off to me? Or was it… yes, that was it! I didn’t realize it until this
moment, writing these things down. I knew writing things down would help. She said she
was at a party, but I only heard silence in the background! Of course, that doesn’t mean
anything in particular, as she could have just gone outside to make the call. No…
that couldn’t be it either. I didn’t hear the wind! I need to see if the wind is still
blowing! Monday
I forgot to finish writing last night. I’m not sure what I expected to see when I ran
up the stairwell and looked out the heavy metal door’s window. I’m feeling ridiculous.
Last night’s fear seems hazy and unreasonable to me now. I can’t wait to go out into the
sunlight. I’m going to check my email, shave, shower, and finally get out of here! Wait…
I think I heard something. It was thunder. That whole sunlight and fresh
air thing didn’t happen. I went out into the stairwell and up the stairs, only to find
disappointment. The heavy metal door’s little window showed only flowing water, as torrential
rain slammed against it. Only a very dim, gloomy light filtered in through the rain,
but at least I knew it was daytime, even if it was a grey, sickly, wet day. I tried looking
out the window and waiting for lightning to illuminate the gloom, but the rain was too
heavy and I couldn’t make out anything more than vague weird shapes moving at odd angles
in the waves washing down the window. Disappointed, I turned around, but I didn’t want to go back
to my room. Instead, I wandered further up the stairs, past the first floor, and the
second. The stairs ended at the third floor, the highest floor in the building. I looked
through the glass that ran up the outer wall of the stairwell, but it was that warped,
thick kind that scatters the light, not that there was much to see through the rain to
begin with. I opened the stairwell door and wandered down
the hallway. The ten or so thick wooden doors, painted blue a long time ago, were all closed.
I listened as I walked, but it was the middle of the day, so I wasn’t surprised that I heard
nothing but the rain outside. As I stood there in the dim hallway, listening to the rain,
I had the strange fleeting impression that the doors were standing like silent granite
monoliths erected by some ancient forgotten civilization for some unfathomable guardian
purpose. Lightning flashed, and I could have sworn that, for just a moment, the old grainy
blue wood looked just like rough stone. I laughed at myself for letting my imagination
get the best of me, but then it occurred to me that the dim gloom and lightning must mean
there was a window somewhere in the hallway. A vague memory surfaced, and I suddenly recalled
that the third floor had an alcove and an inset window halfway down the floor’s hallway.
Excited to look out into the rain and possibly see another human being, I quickly walked
over to the alcove, finding the large thin glass window. Rain washed down it, as with
the front door’s window, but I could open this one. I reached a hand out to slide it
open, but hesitated. I had the strangest feeling that if I opened that window, I would see
something absolutely horrifying on the other side. Everything’s been so odd lately… so
I came up with a plan, and I came back here to get what I needed. I don’t seriously think
anything will come of it, but I’m bored, it’s raining, and I’m going stir crazy. I came
back to get my webcam. The cord isn’t long enough to reach the third floor by any means,
so instead I’m going to hide it between the two soda machines in the dark end of my basement
hallway, run the wire along the wall and under my door, and put black duct tape over the
wire to blend it in with the black plastic strip that runs along the base of the hallway’s
walls. I know this is silly, but I don’t have anything better to do…
Well, nothing happened. I propped open the hallway-to-stairwell door, steeled myself,
then flung the heavy front door wide open and ran like hell down the stairs to my room
and slammed the door. I watched the webcam on my computer intently, seeing the hallway
outside my door and most of the stairwell. I’m watching it right now, and I don’t see
anything interesting. I just wish the camera’s position was different, so that I could see
out the front door. Hey! Somebody’s online! I got out an older, less functional webcam
that I had in my closet to video chat with my friend online. I couldn’t really explain
to him why I wanted to video chat, but it felt good to see another person’s face. He
couldn’t talk very long, and we didn’t talk about anything meaningful, but I feel much
better. My strange fear has almost passed. I would feel completely better, but there
was something… odd… about our conversation. I know that I’ve said that everything has
seemed odd, but… still, he was very vague in his responses. I can’t recall one specific
thing that he said… no particular name, or place, or event… but he did ask for my
email address to keep in touch. Wait, I just got an email.
I’m about to go out. I just got an email from Amy that asked me to meet her for dinner at
‘the place we usually go to.’ I do love pizza, and I’ve just been eating random food from
my poorly stocked fridge for days, so I can’t wait. Again, I feel ridiculous about the odd
couple of days I’ve been having. I should destroy this journal when I get back. Oh,
another email. Oh my god. I almost left the email and opened
the door. I almost opened the door. I almost opened the door, but I read the email first!
It was from a friend I hadn’t heard from in a long time, and it was sent to a huge number
of emails that must have been every person he had saved in his address list. It had no
subject, and it said, simply: seen with your own eyes don’t trust them they
What the hell is that supposed to mean? The words shock me, and I keep going over and
over them. Is it a desperate email sent just as… something happened? The words are obviously
cut off without finishing! On any other day I would have dismissed this as spam from a
computer virus or something, but the words… seen with your own eyes! I can’t help but
read over this journal and think back on the last few days and realize that I have not
seen another person with my own eyes or talked to another person face to face. The webcam
conversation with my friend was so strange, so vague, so… eerie, now that I think about
it. Was it eerie? Or is the fear clouding my memory? My mind toys with the progression
of events I’ve written here, pointing out that I have not been presented with one single
fact that I did not specifically give out unsuspectingly. The random ‘wrong number’
that got my name and the subsequent strange return call from Amy, the friend that asked
for my email address… I messaged him first when I saw him online! And then I got my first
email a few minutes after that conversation! Oh my god! That phone call with Amy! I said
over the phone — I said that I was within half an hour’s walk of Seventh Street! They
know I’m near there! What if they’re trying to find me?! Where is everyone else? Why haven’t
I seen or heard anyone else in days? No, no, this is crazy. This is absolutely
crazy. I need to calm down. This madness needs to end. I don’t know what to think. I ran about my
apartment furiously, holding my cell phone up to every corner to see if it got a signal
through the heavy walls. Finally, in the tiny bathroom, near one ceiling corner, I got a
single bar. Holding my phone there, I sent a text message to every number in my list.
Not wanting to betray anything about my unfounded fears, I simply sent:
You seen anyone face to face lately? At that point, I just wanted any reply back.
I didn’t care what the reply was, or if I embarrassed myself. I tried to call someone
a few times, but I couldn’t get my head up high enough, and if I brought my cell phone
down even an inch, it lost signal. Then I remembered the computer, and rushed over to
it, instant messaging everyone online. Most were idle or away from their computer. Nobody
responded. My messages grew more frantic, and I started telling people where I was and
to stop by in person for a host of barely passable reasons. I didn’t care about anything
by that point. I just needed to see another person!
I also tore apart my apartment looking for something that I might have missed; some way
to contact another human being without opening the door. I know it’s crazy, I know it’s unfounded,
but what if? WHAT IF? I just need to be sure! I taped the phone to the ceiling in case Tuesday
THE PHONE RANG! Exhausted from last night’s rampage, I must have fallen asleep. I woke
up to the phone ringing, and ran into the bathroom, stood on the toilet, and flipped
open the phone taped to the ceiling. It was Amy, and I feel so much better. She was really
worried about me, and apparently had been trying to contact me since the last time I
talked to her. She’s coming over now, and, yes, she knows where I am without me telling
her. I feel so embarrassed. I am definitely throwing this journal away before anyone sees
it. I don’t even know why I’m writing in it now. Maybe it’s just because it’s the only
communication I’ve had at all since… god knows when. I look like hell, too. I looked
in the mirror before I came back in here. My eyes are sunken, my stubble is thicker,
and I just look generally unhealthy. My apartment is trashed, but I’m not going
to clean it up. I think I need someone else to see what I’ve been through. These past
few days have NOT been normal. I am not one to imagine things. I know I have been the
victim of extreme probability. I probably missed seeing another person a dozen times.
I just happened to go out when it was late at night, or the middle of the day when everyone
was gone. Everything’s perfectly fine, I know this now. Plus, I found something in the closet
last night that has helped me tremendously: a television! I set it up just before I wrote
this, and it’s on in the background. Television has always been an escape for me, and it reminds
me that there’s a world beyond these dingy brick walls.
I’m glad Amy’s the only one that responded to me after last night’s frantic pestering
of everyone I could contact. She’s been my best friend for years. She doesn’t know it,
but I count the day that I met her among one of the few moments of true happiness in my
life. I remember that warm summer day fondly. It seems a different reality from this dark,
rainy, lonely place. I feel like I spent days sitting in that playground, much too old to
play, just talking with her and hanging around doing nothing at all. I still feel like I
can go back to that moment sometimes, and it reminds me that this damn place is not
all that there is… finally, a knock on the door! I thought it was odd that I couldn’t see her
through the camera I hid between the two soda machines. I figured that it was bad positioning,
like when I couldn’t see out the front door. I should have known. I should have known!
After the knock, I yelled through the door jokingly that I had a camera between the soda
machines, because I was embarrassed myself that I had taken this paranoia so far. After
I did that, I saw her image walk over to the camera and look down at it. She smiled and
waved. “Hey!” she said to the camera brightly, giving
it a wry look. “It’s weird, I know,” I said into the mic
attached to my computer. “I’ve had a weird few days.”
“Must have,” she replied. “Open the door, John.”
I hesitated. How could I be sure? “Hey, humor me a second here,” I told her
through the mic. “Tell me one thing about us. Just prove to me you’re you.”
She gave the camera a weird look. “Um, alright,” she said slowly, thinking.
“We met randomly at a playground when we were both way too old to be there?”
I sighed deeply as reality returned and fear faded. God, I’d been so ridiculous. Of course
it was Amy! That day wasn’t anywhere in the world except in my memory. I’d never even
mentioned it to anyone, not out of embarrassment, but out of a strange secret nostalgia and
a longing for those days to return. If there was some unknown force at work trying to trick
me, as I feared, there was no way they could know about that day.
“Haha, alright, I’ll explain everything,” I told her. “Be right there.”
I ran to my small bathroom and fixed my hair as best I could. I looked like hell, but she
would understand. Snickering at my own unbelievable behavior and the mess I’d made of the place,
I walked to the door. I put my hand on the doorknob and gave the mess one last look.
So ridiculous, I thought. My eyes traced over the half-eaten food lying on the ground, the
overflowing trash bin, and the bed I’d tipped to the side looking for… God knows what.
I almost turned to the door and opened it, but my eyes fell on one last thing: the old
webcam, the one I used for that eerily vacant chat with my friend.
Its silent black sphere lay haphazardly tossed to the side, its lens pointed at the table
where this journal lay. An overwhelming terror took me as I realized that if something could
see through that camera, it would have seen what I just wrote about that day. I asked
her for any one thing about us, and she chose the only thing in the world that I thought
they or it did not know… but IT DID! IT DID KNOW! IT COULD HAVE BEEN WATCHING ME THE
WHOLE TIME! I didn’t open the door. I screamed. I screamed
in uncontrollable terror. I stomped on the old webcam on the floor. The door shook, and
the doorknob tried to turn, but I didn’t hear Amy’s voice through the door. Was the basement
door, made to keep out drafts, too thick? Or was Amy not outside? What could have been
trying to get in, if not her? What the hell is out there?! I saw her on my computer through
the camera outside, I heard her on the speakers through the camera outside, but was it real?!
How can I know?! She’s gone now — I screamed, and shouted for help! I piled up everything
in my apartment against the front door — Friday
At least I think that it’s Friday. I broke everything electronic. I smashed my computer
to pieces. Every single thing on there could have been accessed by network access, or worse,
altered. I’m a programmer, I know. Every little piece of information I gave out since this
started — my name, my email, my location — none of it came back from outside until
I gave it out. I’ve been going over and over what I wrote. I’ve been pacing back and forth,
alternating between stark terror and overpowering disbelief. Sometimes I’m absolutely certain
some phantom entity is dead set on the simple goal of getting me to go outside. Back to
the beginning, with the phone call from Amy, she was effectively asking me to open the
door and go outside. I keep running through it in my head. One
point of view says I’ve acted like a madman, and all of this is the extreme convergence
of probability — never going outside at the right times by pure luck, never seeing another
person by pure chance, getting a random nonsense email from some computer virus at just the
right time. The other point of view says that extreme convergence of probability is the
reason that whatever’s out there hasn’t gotten me already. I keep thinking: I never opened
the window on the third floor. I never opened the front door, until that incredibly stupid
stunt with the hidden camera after which I ran straight to my room and slammed the door.
I haven’t opened my own solid door since I flung open the front door of the building.
Whatever’s out there — if anything’s out there — never made an ‘appearance’ in the
building before I opened the front door. Maybe the reason it wasn’t in the building already
was that it was elsewhere getting everyone else… and then it waited, until I betrayed
my existence by trying to call Amy… a call which didn’t work, until it called me and
asked me my name… Terror literally overwhelms me every time
I try to fit the pieces of this nightmare together. That email — short, cut off — was
it from someone trying to get word out? Some friendly voice desperately trying to warn
me before it came? Seen with my own eyes, don’t trust them — exactly what I’ve been
so suspicious of. It could have masterful control of all things electronic, practicing
its insidious deception to trick me into coming outside. Why can’t it get in? It knocked on
the door — it must have some solid presence… the door… the image of those doors in the
upper hallway as guardian monoliths flashes back in my mind every time I trace this path
of thoughts. If there is some phantom entity trying to get me to go outside, maybe it can’t
get through doors. I keep thinking back over all the books I’ve read or movies I’ve seen,
trying to generate some explanation for this. Doors have always been such intense foci of
human imagination, always seen as wards or portals of special importance. Or perhaps
the door is just too thick? I know that I couldn’t bash through any of the doors in
this building, let alone the heavy basement ones. Aside from that, the real question is,
why does it even want me? If it just wanted to kill me, it could do it any number of ways,
including just waiting until I starve to death. What if it doesn’t want to kill me? What if
it has some far more horrific fate in store for me? God, what can I do to escape this
nightmare?! A knock on the door… I told the people on the other side of the
door I need a minute to think and I’ll come out. I’m really just writing this down so
I can figure out what to do. At least this time I heard their voices. My paranoia — and
yes, I recognize I’m being paranoid — has me thinking of all sorts of ways that their
voices could be faked electronically. There could be nothing but speakers outside, simulating
human voices. Did it really take them three days to come talk to me? Amy is supposedly
out there, along with two policemen and a psychiatrist. Maybe it took them three days
to think of what to say to me — the psychiatrist’s claim could be pretty convincing, if I decided
to think this has all been a crazy misunderstanding, and not some entity trying to trick me into
opening the door. The psychiatrist had an older voice, authoritarian
but still caring. I liked it. I’m desperate just to see someone with my own eyes! He said
I have something called cyber-psychosis, and I’m just one of a nationwide epidemic of thousands
of people having breakdowns triggered by a suggestive email that ‘got through somehow.’
I swear he said ‘got through somehow.’ I think he means spread throughout the country inexplicably,
but I’m incredibly suspicious that the entity slipped up and revealed something. He said
I am part of a wave of ’emergent behavior’, that a lot of other people are having the
same problem with the same fears, even though we’ve never communicated.
That neatly explains the strange email about eyes that I got. I didn’t get the original
triggering email. I got a descendant of it — my friend could have broken down too, and
tried to warn everyone he knew against his paranoid fears. That’s how the problem spreads,
the psychiatrist claims. I could have spread it, too, with my texts and instant messages
online to everybody I know. One of those people might be melting down right now, after being
triggered by something I sent them, something they might interpret any way that they want,
something like a text saying seen anyone face to face lately? The psychiatrist told me that
he didn’t want to ‘lose another one’, that people like me are intelligent, and that’s
our downfall. We draw connections so well that we draw them even when they shouldn’t
be there. He said it’s easy to get caught up in paranoia in our fast paced world, a
constantly changing place where more and more of our interaction is simulated…
I have to give him one thing. It’s a great explanation. It neatly explains everything.
It perfectly explains everything, in fact. I have every reason to shake off this nightmarish
fear that some thing or consciousness or being out there wants me to open the door so it
can capture me for some horrible fate worse than death. It would be foolish, after hearing
that explanation, to stay in here until I starve to death just to spite the entity that
might have got everyone else. It would be foolish to think that, after hearing that
explanation, I might be one of the last people left alive on an empty world, hiding in my
secure basement room, spiting some unthinkable deceptive entity just by refusing to be captured.
It’s a perfect explanation for every single strange thing I’ve seen or heard, and I have
every reason in the world to let all of my fears go, and open the door.
That’s exactly why I’m not going to. How can I be sure?! How can I know what’s
real and what’s deception? All of these damn things with their wires and their signals
that originate from some unseen origin! They’re not real, I can’t be sure! Signals through
a camera, faked video, deceptive phone calls, emails! Even the television, lying broken
on the floor — how can I possibly know it’s real? It’s just signals, waves, light… the
door! It’s bashing on the door! It’s trying to get in! What insane mechanical contrivance
could it be using to simulate the sound of men attacking the heavy wood so well?! At
least I’ll finally see it with my own eyes… there’s nothing left in here for it to deceive
me with, I’ve ripped apart everything else! It can’t deceive my eyes, can it? Seen with
your own eyes don’t trust them they… wait… was that desperate message telling me to trust
my eyes, or warning me about my eyes too?! Oh my god, what’s the difference between a
camera and my eyes? They both turn light into electrical signals — they’re the same! I
can’t be deceived! I have to be sure! I have to be sure!
Date Unknown I calmly asked for paper and a pen, day in
and day out, until it finally gave them to me. Not that it matters. What am I going to
do? Poke my eyes out? The bandages feel like part of me now. The pain is gone. I figure
this will be one of my last chances to write legibly, as, without my sight to correct mistakes,
my hands will slowly forget the motions involved. This is a sort of self-indulgence, this writing…
it’s a relic of another time, because I’m certain everyone left in the world is dead…
or something far worse. I sit against the padded wall day in and day
out. The entity brings me food and water. It masks itself as a kind nurse, as an unsympathetic
doctor. I think it knows that my hearing has sharpened considerably now that I live in
darkness. It fakes conversations in the hallways, on the off chance that I might overhear. One
of the nurses talks about having a baby soon. One of the doctors lost his wife in a car
accident. None of it matters, none of it is real. None of it gets to me, not like she
does. That’s the worst part, the part I almost can’t
handle. The thing comes to me, masquerading as Amy. Its recreation is perfect. It sounds
exactly like Amy, feels exactly like her. It even produces a reasonable facsimile of
tears that it makes me feel on its lifelike cheeks. When it first dragged me here, it
told me all the things I wanted to hear. It told me that she loved me, that she had always
loved me, that it didn’t understand why I did this, that we could still have a life
together, if only I would stop insisting that I was being deceived. It wanted me to believe…
no, it needed me to believe that she was real. I almost fell for it. I really did. I doubted
myself for the longest time. In the end, though, it was all too perfect, too flawless, and
too real. The false Amy used to come every day, and then every week, and finally stopped
coming altogether… but I don’t think the entity will give up. I think the waiting game
is just another one of its gambits. I will resist it for the rest of my life, if I have
to. I don’t know what happened to the rest of the world, but I do know that this thing
needs me to fall for its deceptions. If it needs that, then maybe, just maybe, I am a
thorn in its agenda. Maybe Amy is still alive out there somewhere, kept alive only by my
will to resist the deceiver. I hold on to that hope, rocking back and forth in my cell
to pass the time. I will never give in. I will never break. I am… a hero! The doctor read the paper the patient had
scribbled on. It was barely readable, written in the shaky script of one who could not see.
He wanted to smile at the man’s steadfast resolve, a reminder of the human will to survive,
but he knew that the patient was completely delusional.
After all, a sane man would have fallen for the deception long ago.
The doctor wanted to smile. He wanted to whisper words of encouragement to the delusional man.
He wanted to scream, but the nerve filaments wrapped around his head and into his eyes
made him do otherwise. His body walked into the cell like a puppet, and told the patient,
once more, that he was wrong, and that there was nobody trying to deceive him.

54 comments

  1. very good.
    tho while in a mentally…ehm…strained condition even the smallest thing can cause extreme confusion. `i did lock the door` then `mabey i shouldnt lock door` or `did i only think doors locked` or `if i check the lock will some thing be waiting` too an extreme `am i really in my home`.etcetera
    u question eevery question and the answers only raise more questions where nothing seems to fit or make u think `did i even do or think that or is it just my mind playing tricks uppon tricks`………….or so im told

  2. I love all of Jeff Clements narrations!
    Your voice immerses me, into the story.
    My imagination takes over, and your voice paints the picture. Great story!
    Thank you to all the authors!

  3. I just had to comment again after listening to this for the second time. The story is genius and the ending is just mhua (insert picture of italian cook). I loooooooove it.

  4. the story reminds me of an episode of The Twilight Zone in which five people with doomsday devices are sealed away from the world just in case the visitors are not what they seem..🎭 awesome 5 out of 5 🎙️🎙️🎙️🎙️🎙️😌

  5. There actually is a mental health disorder where individuals are convinced that their loved ones are imposters. This is a unique twist on a real situation.

  6. holy shit. i just woke up from the strangest dream ever. im still shaking.. im pretty sure its this videos fault. such a great writing!!! thank you

  7. I used to watch this while I went to sleep all the time when I was 14-15. only been like 3-4 years but the nostalgia is pretty real lol

  8. I felt bored reading the original text cause I never really liked reading a novel. Glad there existed one amazingly narrated video, thanks a lot 😆

  9. Ok… Wow, what a story and what a narrator! Is the ending a “make up your own mind?” As the doctor throws a “Twist” in the end… Brilliant!!

  10. Dang, I know this video is a little older, but can we appreciate the ad placement. There is nothing worse than enjoying a pasta only to have it interrupted by an annoying ad. GREAT VIDEO and thank you for thinking of the fans.

  11. This is like a more original bird box, with a better story and acting. Not hating on the movie this was just better by a lot.

  12. I'm sorry, but the ending ruined the story. It would have been fine, if not somewhat sloppily told, if the "supernatural" element was left out.

  13. I was going to criticize this pasta for the ridiculousness of Amy sending him an email for pizza but……. maybe…. It was a hallucination. Or a simulation?

  14. You know, as someone who deals with some pretty crazy paranoia, this is my favorite creepypasta. It really feels like this sometimes. I know they're irrational thoughts. Thinking that the people I know have hacked all my things and put cameras in my house/car. That they can see me in my webcam or phone camera. That I cant say certain things because they can and will use that information for other things. I know its so silly! And yet the feelings dont go away. It really be like this sometimes

  15. The ending with the doctor should be redacted. It completely vitiates the strong point of the story which is the ambivalence of the motive of others. It was scary while it was because of the lack of definite knowledge.

  16. This really tugs at my heart terribly because I lived with a man who gaslighted me for 25 years. Yes. 25. He made it so easy and I eventually fell into a MDD because of that and the secret of a horrible sexual assault I experienced while he was away on deployment. When our marriage was ending I finally told him, he told me I let another man come between us.

  17. I've experienced psychosis before and it's not fun. It's like your imagination runs wild and you can't tell what thoughts are real and what thoughts are delusional.

  18. Paranoid schizophrenia is what this sounds like…awesomely narrated…I really enjoy these full cast stories with all the sound effects…all of it together helps to emerse yourself into the story…great job all

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