u/Sensitive-Form6029

Part 1: My husband disappeared a month ago. I saw earthworms made of human skin in my garden today. : r/nosleep

Yesterday I showed the photos of the worms I took on my phone to the police. One of the officers, the tall one with the moustache, looked at it for a while and burst out laughing. Mind you, I was fearing for my life and questioning my sanity at the same time.

"Hilarious! I wonder what AI model you used to generate it! Was it ChatGPT? Nano Banana Pro? Grok? I wonder what the prompt was, too. Probably something like "can you generate sausages that look like human skin in a small vegetable garden. I need this to make some cops laugh". You're a real prankster, you know that?"

A hot, burning rage filled my body. Every atom of my being was screaming at me to punch him, but that would be assault on a police officer, and a prison sentence is the last thing I need in my current situation. I felt itchy all over from being unable to let my anger out, the rational part of my brain working hard to suppress the impulse radiating through every cell of my body. His behaviour was so unprofessional and dismissive, he didn't even bother to ask questions. I wanted to call him out, but my thinking mind was too busy suppressing all the animalistic rage-fueled urges I had inside me to form a coherent sentence, so I just stood there quietly, with a look of burning hatred in my eyes that I let slip through, just to show the cop what I think of him.

The other one began laughing too, and cracking stupid jokes. The fear of absolutely losing my shit crept in as the fury began to build up inside me with every ugly cackle of his big mouth. He wasn't ugly himself, though. His dismissiveness and willingness to crack jokes about something so important to me, so heavy on my chest, was what truly induced the profound disgust deep in the pit of my stomach, the nauseating feeling of pure distaste for a person.

"Oh, that's so funny! Those pictures are so clearly just AI slop! These people trying to do anything to get clout. 'Waiter, one glass of attenition, please! I need it for the social media NOW!'"

His mocking voice felt like nails on a chalkboard to my ears. I left feeling disappointed, angry and reminded of my deep loneliness, the profound emptiness of the sinking ship of insanity I call my life. There are people all around me, they are all just fake, untrustworthy, dismissive and devoid of any compassion for a grieving widow. I checked my garden. The worms were all gone. I went inside and opened my fridge. I took out the bottle of cold vodka, half empty. Or half full for all you optimists, but I'm a pessimist, so half empty it is. I drank it. Drank like I have never before. I drank the bitter alcohol until the world stopped feeling real, until the void in my soul left by my husband's disappearance and the system's faliure to listen to my voice finally felt full, or at least stopped aching.

I didn't drink it all. I didn't want to die of alcohol poisoning and potentially be turned into earthworms by whoever did this to my husband. I laid on the couch, unable to think straight, everything spinning, in a zombie-like haze. I hadn't been drunk since my college party girl years, so I kind of forgot what intoxication felt like. But then, it was fun. Maybe it's because I was happy back then, or at least happy-ish and not lonely. I had real friends. And a boyfriend named James that later became my husband, that later became my greatest loss, a hole in my soul where the most beautiful piece of it used to be. And I didn't drink as much as I did now. I was doing it to make the party more fun, not to escape the hellish emptiness of grief and despair. I watched some trash TV. The same shows I used to watch with him. I remembered the warmth of those November nights, us cuddled up after a blanket laughing at stupid reality shows and doing live commentary over them. He did silly voices while doing it, too. I guess I'm in that stage of grief where everything reminds me of him, and I can't stop myself from connecting everything in my life to him.

I heard a knock on the door. I ignored it. Must have been an alcohol-induced hallucination, or just something else. Then I heard it again, louder. I lifted my lazy butt off the couch and drunkenly stumbled to the front door. It was Grace. I already had my suspicious about her, but I was drunk, so my brain was absolutely useless for any logical thinking, as it was essentially cereberal scrambled eggs.

"You look drunk... What happened, dar?"

The lady asked in a kind voice. "Dar" was short for "darling", in case you were wondering. I slurred out a "hello" and let her in. She told me that she wanted to invite me over to her house for "tea and chit-chat", but that I first needed to sober up. She asked me if I needed any help. I declined. She left. I took a nap. After about 6 hours of nap time (I didn't sleep well that night, that's why) I woke up, still a bit dizzy and tipsy, but at least sober enough to come over to her place. I went there like an idiot. I totally forgot about my suspicions. The way she avoided the subject when I told her about the worms, the mysterious disappearance of her own husband as well. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the loneliness desperate for relief, maybe it was just regular old horror movie protagonist-esque stupidity.

Her house looked just like every other one in our neighbourhood, the only thing that stood out from the outside was her beautiful, well-kept garden. Before I even knocked on her door (her gates were open, for some context) I decided to walk through her garden and take a look at the plants. The roses, the tulips... everything was just so awe-inspiring to me. Then, I saw it. I was sniffing some of the roses when I saw it. The awe turned to disgust and horror, the stomach-dropping, hot and cold, ready to puke your guts out kind of horror. About 20 earthworms made of human skin. They were larger than the ones in my garden. They looked more like sausages than worms. The door opened.

"What are you looking at, Dar?"

Said Grace, in her cheerful, friendly tone. I couldn't answer. I looked at her and poined to what I was seeing. I tried to speak, but the only words that came out were:

"hh..human s..skin"

She pulled me away into her house and sat me down at her kitchen table. She gave me tea sweetened with honey from her beehive to drink (did I tell you she was also a beekeeper?).

"You're clearly not fully sober yet, you're imagining things! On top of that, you're grieving! That can cause hallucinations from what I've heard..."

Even through my slightly drunken phase, I saw the gaslighting. She was clearly trying to make me doubt my sanity, and that only deepened my suspicions. My gut told me to leave. And to not drink the tea. I remembered that I had my phone in my pocket. I could easily fake a phone call to get out of this situation. Just as I was about to pull it out, she grabbed it and put it on a high shelf like I was a child.

"No phones at the tea and chit-chat, Dar. We need to have a mindful conversation. Now, drink the tea and get cozy here with me."

She was clearly trying to keep me trapped in her home. She wanted to turn me into earthworms. The tea smelled a bit off. Like there was something in it. I looked around. The thing about Grace is that she has lots of shelves everywhere with random clutter and trinkets on them. It made her house feel lived in and whimsical. Some of them were thrifted or antique finds, some of them were everyday use items, and some of them were... a bottle labeled "strong sedative, crush in tea"??? She put sedatives in my tea! I couldn't look away from the bottle, and Grace noticed.

"What are you staring at? Are you... suspicious of me?"

"No... I'm just...looking..."

I lied. I was not "just looking". All of my suspicions have been confirmed. She glared at me angrily, upset that I was seeing right through her plan, and was crafting my own.

"Why aren't you drinking my tea? Are you mad at me or something?" - she asked.

I quickly drank the tea, making sure not to swallow. Then, I turned to the side and put my fingers in my mouth to make myself vomit. The nausea from the alcohol helped the whole process. I puked all over the wall, my shirt, my jeans, my shoes, her vintge rug, the floor. She looked at me in a mix of shock and faux compassion, the disappointment showing itself slightly through her eyes.

"Sorry, I feel kind of sick... I don't know if it's the alcohol or a stomach bug... I'm so sorry, I gotta go now..."

She gave me my phone back and sent me on my way. As soon as I came back home I threw my clothes in the trash and went to shower. That was all yesterday. Today nothing has happened so far. No calls from Grace, no nothing. I now know that she is not a friend, and I'm pretty sure she is at least partially responsible for my husband's disappearance. I'm glad I survived yesterday evening.

It's been a month since my beloved husband of 7 years went missing. He went to work and never came back. At first I thought he just missed the train home, or went to grab something to eat, or was doing something extra at the office. But he didn't come back. After 3 hours of him not coming home my mind started to spiral with what-ifs and worst case scenarios. I was already picturing him on a missing poster or a news headline. I called his workplace. The man on the phone said he never showed up. I cried and hung up. My face was going wet with tears and sweat, I felt hot and cold wash over me at the same time. I could hear my heart beating faster and faster, I was so worried that all my previous anxieties felt like nothing. I went to my local police station to report a missing person. They said that they would do anything they could to find him, or at least his body so that he could get a proper burial.

I didn't sleep. I spent the whole night crying and even though I was a hard-core atheist, I prayed to God, but right after I did that I realised that a good God wouldn't allow any of this to happen in the first place. I drank coffee to keep myself awake, but it didn't make me any less tired, it just made my brain spit out the horrible thoughts and images faster. I watched the sun rise. I was sitting upright in my bed looking out the window, feeling the first rays of light hit my face. My racing thoughts and anxiety turned into a profound, dull sadness, something empty, a pit in my stomach, grief beggining to settle in and override the panic that had kept me up all night.

I thougt of all the sunrises and sunsets I had ever watched with James. He had long, brown hair, and one of his eyes was brown, and the other was green. He loved playing guitar and his childhood dream was to start a band, or at the very least become a proffessional musician. Sadly, it didn't come true for him, he worked a corporate 9-5 job instead. He had a nice laugh and was a really good storyteller. He could be talking about different shapes of windows or the way paint dried and I would still listen with my ears wide open, even if it's impossible to open your ears wide. His sense of humour was one of the things that made him the most attractive. His jokes were clever and he was very witty. I miss him so much. I feel like a piece of my heart was ripped out of my chest, a pretty big piece at that.

I never understood why awful things happen to good people. It was a recurring theme in my life. My grandma, who saved me from myself multiple times in my teen years, got early onset dementia, and a very bad form of it , and spent her last years slipping away from reality and her loved ones, with moments of clarity that gave me a heartbreaking taste of who I was losing everytime they happened. My best friend was murdered by her ex-boyfriend who was very abusive to her in the 2 years she was with him, and just as she had begun to heal from the trauma, her abuser took her life by breaking into her house and shooting her in the head. And now, James.

The search for James lasted for 2 weeks, but nothing was found. No evidence, no trace of him, no body, no suspects, it's as if he had vanished into thin air. I was heartbroken. The grief was unbearable. Without him, I was alone. I had no real friends, just my Pomeranian named Muffin and maybe my parents, but after an arguement we had a few years ago we grew apart. I had "friends", but most of them were fake as Kim Kardashian's face and probably didn't want to be burdened by my grief. There was this one girl Katie who literally said "It's so tough being the therapist friend" after I told her that I've been feeling stressed from work. Mind you, I was there for her when she was going through her messy breakups, friendship drama and family conflict.

The heartache was overhelming, I realised just how lonely I really am, and how empty my life is without James. I know it's unhealthy to have no real friendships outside of your partner, but I have bad social anxiety and he was my safe space, my comfort zone. And now that it was stripped away from me, I had to confront the reality of my loneliness. I decided to talk to my neighbour Grace, a woman in her mid 50s who had also lost her husband in mysterious circumstances 10 years ago. She runs a small gardening supply store and has a garden of her own. I told her about my husband, the disappearance, my complete lack of real connections. She listened. There was something about her presence that made me feel better. Like she had the power to lift the weight off my shoulders, or at least part of it. She invited me to go help in the garden. I had nothing better to do, so I agreed. I watered some plants and dug some holes as we talked. She told me about how gardening helped her cope with her grief, how it gave her a sense of purpose, something to look forward to everyday when the world felt bleak and drained of all hope.

I actually used to garden, but stopped after life got too busy and schedules too tight. When I came back home from her place, I decided to pick the forgotten pastime back up. I gathered up some supplies and got to work. I planted some seeds where the little vegetable garden used to be. I planted tomato and cucumber seeds. Doing it made me feel... peaceful and even though I felt horrible, having something to do, like a garden to tend to, was a pretty good distraction from the misery of grief.

Grace was my rock during the last 2 weeks, she supported me and held me as I cried into her shoulder. She was perfect. Too perfect. She always said the right things to cheer me up, or at least bring a small smile to my face. She helped me with my garden and taught me all kinds of things. But today, things took a turn for the worse. In the morning I went to take a quick look at my garden, warm coffee in hand, when I saw it. Earthworms made of human skin. They were bigger than regular earthworms and looked more like mini sausages. There were 10 of them, I believe. I stared at them in horror and confusion. I didn't know what to even do. I couldn't look away. It was like a bloody car wreck you just can't take your eyes off of, the intensity of what you're seeing keeps your mind fixated and your eyes glued. One of them, the one bigger than the rest of them, seemed to have a tattoo. I anxiously kneeled down and took a close look. It was the exact same tattoo that James had on his leg, a picture of our dog Muffin he got done for his birthday a year ago. I was shocked. A terrifying thought came to mind. Whoever kidnapped James must have used him in some sick experiement to create these worms. That is assuming he was kidnapped.

I called Grace. I told her about the worms. As soon as I mentioned it she tried to change the subject or shut it down. I insisted and she hung up. Now I'm feeling suspicious of her. I took pictures of the earthworms as evidence. I'm going back to the police station to report it. Thank you for reading. Stay safe.