r/story

A couple of years ago a man asked me how to get to the bus station.

I told him how to get. He said thanks. We parted ways.

So I thought.

Months later I got a phone call.

The caller asked, "Is this Daniels emergency contact?"

I said, "No I don't know anyone by that name."

It was a number.

Then another call came a month later.

Another.

It turned out the man had saved my number as his emergency contact.

I've never seen him again.

I've learned has had a few mishaps.

He sprained his ankle.

He locked himself out of his apartment.

He missed a flight.

He left his wallet in a taxi.

Each time I get a call I have to explain that I'm the person who gave him directions, to the bus station.

I truly hope has doing okay.

If he ever has a real emergency I hope he remembers me first.

What's the strangest responsibility you've gotten because of someone you don't know?

I was just standing around three years ago when a man stopped his car and asked me how to get to the supermarket in our town.

I told him which way to go to get there quickly.

He was happy. He drove away.

I did not think I would see him again.

That is not what happened.

We have seen each other a lot of times since then.

Every time we meet he points at me. Says

Still the best directions I've ever gotten.

The thing is, I do not know what his name is.

Now things are a weird.

When I see him from away I have to decide if I should say hello or look at something else.

Week he told his wife that I am the person who helped him when he was lost.

All I did was tell him to turn left at a traffic light.

I have done more to help people and they do not even remember my name.

Has this happened to anyone where you do a small favor and people still talk about it?

I (23F) signed a 12-month lease on an apartment in Bridgeport, CT in August. It's an older building, six units, one per floor. I'm on the fifth floor. Rent is $1,100 which is cheap for the area. I know now why it's cheap.

When I moved in I met the woman in apartment 6. She was on the sixth floor, top unit. Mid thirties. Brunette. Nice. She helped me carry a box up the stairs and said "welcome to the building" and told me she'd been there about a year. Her name was Claire. We talked in the hallway for maybe five minutes. She seemed normal. Normal neighbor.

Two weeks later she was gone. I noticed because I stopped hearing her footsteps above me. I asked the landlord, Mr. Reyes, about it. He said she broke her lease and moved out. Said it happens. I thought that was weird because one morning I was heading up the stairs and apartment 6's door was open. Not wide open. Cracked. Maybe an inch. And I could see the chain latch from the hallway. You know the flip latches that mount on the inside of the door? Hers was latched. The chain was on. But the door was open. Like someone latched the chain and then pulled the door open as far as the chain would let it. Which means someone was inside when they did it. Or something was. I mentioned it to Reyes and he said "she must have left through the fire escape." There is no fire escape on the sixth floor. I checked. There's one on floors two through five. The sixth floor just has a window that opens onto the roof. I let it go. I had just started a new job at a dental office and I didn't have the energy to be the weird neighbor investigating things.

But things started adding up. Small things. Things I dismissed because I was tired and stressed and moving is already disorienting.

The building stays at 68 degrees. Always. I noticed in September when it was still warm outside and the apartment was perfectly cool. Then in October when it got cold, still 68. I tried to turn the heat up. The thermostat doesn't work. I tried to turn it down. Nothing. 68 degrees. Always. I asked Reyes about it. He said the building has central climate control and it's set by the property management company. I asked who the property management company is. He said he'd get back to me. He didn't.

The lights never flicker. I know that sounds like a weird thing to notice. But in an old building the lights flicker. They dim when the AC kicks on. They buzz. These don't. They're steady. Perfectly steady. Last month the whole block lost power during a storm. Every building on the street was dark. Mine wasn't. The lights stayed on. The wifi stayed on. Everything worked. I looked out my window and the street was black. My building was the only one lit up. Like it wasn't on the same grid. Like it has its own power source.

There are no bugs. I know that sounds like a good thing. But every old building in New England has bugs. Spiders. Ants. Something. I've lived in three apartments before this one and every single one had at least one spider in the bathroom. This one has nothing. Not one. I checked the corners. The baseboards. Behind the toilet. Nothing. Like the building doesn't allow them. Like it filters them out.

The water tastes different. Not bad. Just different. I started buying bottled water after a few weeks because something about the tap water felt off. Not the taste exactly. The texture. It's too smooth. Like it's been processed. My skin changed too. After about six weeks my face was clearer. Smoother. A girl at work asked what skincare I switched to. I didn't switch anything. I just shower in the building's water. I don't know if that's connected. But it felt like something I should mention.

Then the furniture started moving. My couch was on the left wall of my living room when I moved in. One morning it was on the right wall. Same wall, just the other side. I thought I was losing it. I live alone. Nobody has a key but me and Reyes. I checked the door locks. Everything was fine. No sign of entry. I pushed the couch back and told myself I was stressed. A week later I came home from work and the couch was on the right wall again. And the coffee table was on the opposite side. Like someone had mirrored my apartment. Same furniture. Same everything. Just flipped. Like looking at my living room in a mirror. I took photos because I thought I was going crazy and I wanted proof. I called Reyes. He came up, looked around, said everything looked normal to him. I showed him the photos on my phone. He said "that's how you arranged it when you moved in." It wasn't. I have my own photos from move-in day. The couch was on the left. He told me I was confused. He left.

That night I checked the photos I took of the rearranged living room. They showed the couch on the left wall. My original arrangement. Not what I saw. Not what I photographed. The photos showed my apartment looking normal. But I was standing in my apartment looking at the mirrored version. The photos didn't match the room I was standing in. I don't know how to explain that. I'm not crazy. I know what I saw. I know what I photographed. The photos changed.

Three days after that I found a shoe by my front door. A woman's flat. Brown. Size 7. I wear a size 8. I don't own brown flats. I picked it up with a paper towel and put it outside in the hallway. The next morning it was back inside my apartment. By the door. Same spot. I put it in the trash chute. The next morning. Same shoe. Same spot. I threw it in the dumpster behind the building. Three days later it was back. By my door. I stopped touching it. It's still there.

Then I found the note. Slid under my door. Handwritten on a piece of lined paper torn from a notebook. It said: "I tried to break my lease too. He won't let you leave. Don't look through the peephole." No signature. I called the leasing office and asked if I could see a copy of Claire's lease file. They sent me a scanned copy of her application. Her signature was on it. I compared it to the handwriting on the note. It matched. Same looping G's, same way she crossed her T's. The note was from Claire.

But Claire moved out. Claire broke her lease and left. That's what Reyes said. So how is she sliding notes under my door.

I should have listened to the note. I should not have looked through the peephole.

Last Tuesday. 1 AM. I heard footsteps in the hallway. Slow. Steady. They stopped outside my door. I looked through the peephole.

Claire was standing in the hallway. Right outside my door. Facing my peephole. Facing me. She was wearing the same clothes from the day I met her. Same shirt. Same jeans. Two months ago. She hadn't changed. She was standing completely still. Not blinking. Not swaying. Not breathing. Just standing there looking at my door. Looking at me through the peephole. Her eyes were open. Fixed on the peephole. Like she knew I was going to look. Like she was waiting for me to look.

I backed away. I didn't make a sound. I sat on my bed with every light on until 5 AM. When I looked through the peephole again, the hallway was empty. Apartment 6's door was closed. No crack. No light. Like it was never open.

I went to Reyes's office the next morning. I told him I need to break my lease. He said I can break it but I owe the remaining eight months of rent. $8,800. I don't have that. I asked if there's a way to negotiate. He said no. He said "Claire asked the same thing." He said it flat. No expression. Like he was reading a line he'd said before. I asked him what happened to Claire. He said she moved out. I said I saw her door cracked open with the chain still latched. He said "I changed the locks." I said there's no fire escape on the sixth floor. He just looked at me. He didn't blink. I watched his eyes. He didn't blink. Not once. Not for the whole conversation. I counted. I was in his office for six minutes. He didn't blink.

I went back to my apartment and started writing this post. I wanted to get everything down while I remembered it. While it was organized. While it sounded like a normal person asking a normal legal question and not like someone losing their mind.

I was almost done when I heard it.

2:14 AM. Last night. I was asleep. A woman screaming woke me up. Not a movie scream. Not a startled yell. A real scream. The kind that sounds like someone is being torn apart. The kind where the voice cracks and goes hoarse and keeps going because the person can't stop. Coming from above. From the sixth floor. From apartment 6.

I sat up. My heart was hammering so hard I could feel it in my teeth. The screaming didn't stop. It went on for maybe thirty seconds. Then it changed. It got lower. Muffled. Like something was being pressed over her mouth. Like she was being held down. And then it stopped.

And then I heard the dragging.

Something heavy being pulled across a floor. Slow. Steady. The sound of weight on wood. Coming from apartment 6. Through the wall. Through the ceiling. I could hear it move. Across the floor. To the door. Out the door. Into the hallway. And then down the stairs.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

One step at a time. Something heavy being dragged down the stairs. From the sixth floor. Past my floor. Getting closer. The sound getting louder. I could hear breathing now too. Heavy. Labored. Like whoever was doing the dragging was carrying something that weighed more than they could handle. But they weren't stopping. They were committed. They had done this before.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Past my floor. The dragging slowed as it passed my door. Like whatever was pulling paused. Like it knew I was listening. I pressed myself against the wall and held my breath. The breathing was right outside my door. I could hear it through the wood. In and out. In and out. Heavy. Wet. Like someone breathing through something stuck in their throat.

Then it moved again. Down. Past the fourth floor. Past the third. Past the second. Past the first. Toward the basement. Thud. Thud. Thud. Getting quieter. Further. Until I couldn't hear it anymore.

I didn't move. I didn't breathe. I sat against the wall until the sun came up. At 6 AM I looked through the peephole. The hallway was empty. But there was a mark on the floor outside my door. A streak. Long. Dark. Like something heavy and wet had been dragged across it. It went from the stairwell past my door and down the next flight. I didn't open the door. I didn't want to know what the streak was.

At 8 AM the streak was gone. The floor was clean. Like it was never there. Like the building cleaned itself.

I went to Reyes. I told him I heard a woman screaming. I told him someone was dragged down the stairs. He listened. He didn't react. His face didn't change. He said "the building settles at night. Old pipes. Old foundations. Sounds travel in old buildings." I said that wasn't pipes. That was a person. Someone was screaming. Someone was dragged. He looked at me and said "Claire used to hear things too."

Claire used to hear things too. Claire heard things. Claire left notes under doors. Claire stood in hallways not blinking. And now Claire is gone and I'm hearing the same things.

I went back to my apartment. I packed a bag. I don't care about the $8,800. I don't care about the lease. I'm leaving today. I opened my front door.

The hallway was wrong. It was longer than it was. I counted 14 steps from my door to the stairwell when I moved in. I counted them because I was bored one day and I have weird habits. It's 22 steps now. I counted twice. 22. The walls looked different too. Closer together. Or further apart. I can't tell. The proportions are wrong. Like the hallway grew overnight. Like the building stretched.

I walked to the stairwell. Went down. The stairs were normal. I reached the front door. The building's front door. The door I've used every day for two months. I turned the handle. I pulled it open. Behind the door is a wall. Smooth. Warm. No outside. No street. No sidewalk. No steps. Just a wall. The same color as the hallway. Like the door opens into another wall. Like the building sealed itself. I pushed it. Solid. I pushed harder. Nothing. I kicked it. Nothing. It doesn't budge. It doesn't scratch. It doesn't mark. It just sits there. Warm. And it hums. Low. Quiet. I can feel it in my fingers when I touch it. A vibration. Like something is behind it. Something alive. Something waiting.

I checked every exit. The back door on the first floor. The fire escape window on the third. The basement door. All the same. Walls. Smooth. Warm. Humming. The building sealed itself. Every exit is a wall.

I'm posting this from inside my apartment. I don't know what's happening. I don't know what dragged that woman down the stairs last night. I don't know what Claire is. I don't know what Reyes is. I don't know why the walls hum or why the lights never flicker or why the water makes my skin smoother or why there are no bugs in this building. I don't know why the hallway is getting longer or why my photos changed or why the furniture moves. I don't know any of it.

But I need someone to know I'm in here. I'm on the 5th floor of a building at the corner of Park and Main in Bridgeport, CT. The landlord is Mr. Reyes. The woman in apartment 6 was named Claire. She tried to leave too.

If you're a lawyer in Connecticut, please DM me. If you're anyone, please DM me. I don't think this building wants me to leave. I don't think it's a building.

**Edit:** Someone asked for my exact address. I'm not posting it. If you're nearby, don't come looking for this building. I looked out my window this morning. The street looks normal. Cars parked. People walking. But I knocked on my neighbor's door on the second floor. Nobody answered. I knocked on the first floor. Nobody answered. I think I'm the only one in here. I think the other apartments are empty. I think they've been empty for a while.

I think the building only keeps one at a time.

So lately I've been very horny and been masturbating a lot and way more then usual and one day I was out shopping and got really horny, idk why I got horny but I just did and decided to find the nearest toilet to sort out my problem.

I walked in and there was no one in other then a cleaner she saw me go into the the toilet cubicle so I had to be as quiet as possible as I didn't want her finding out what I was doing.

I pulled my top and bra up so I could play with my boobs and pulled my jeans and knickers down, you could tell i was horny as my knickers were really wet but I just started really slow and quietly and at first if felt a little awkward but I got into it more and was really enjoying it but after a while the cleaner knocked on the cubicle door asking if I was alright in there and my heart was racing as i had to pause with 1 hand grabbing my boob and the other with 2 fingers in my pussy and I just said " yes im fine thanks" and the cleaner walked off and out of the toilets.

Once I knew she had gone I got back to it and was really going at it trying to stay at quite as possible and shortly after I made a loud moan luckily no one heard and I squirted everywhere which is something I dont do very often so I must have been really enjoying myself haha.

I just sat down on the toilet exhausted and hot and sweaty and just catched my breath back before cleaning up my mess and sorting myself out before leaving the cubicle like nothing had ever happened.

I don’t know how much longer I can take this.
My fiancée Lila and I are supposed to get married soon, but lately I feel like I’m losing my mind. For the past few months, she’s been making comments about my size. At first it was small jokes, but now she just says things outright.
She’ll be lying in bed with me and randomly say stuff like:
“You know, the guy I was with before you… his dick was so much bigger than yours. Like, actually thick. I used to get so sore after sex with him.”
I’ve told her multiple times that I don’t want to hear about her exes, but she still brings it up. Sometimes when we’re having sex, she’ll say things like:
“With him I could barely take it all. With you it’s… different.”
Or
“He used to fuck me so deep I’d feel it in my stomach. You don’t really reach the same places.”
It makes me feel like shit. I’ve started avoiding sex with her because I know she’s going to compare me. Even when we do have sex, I can’t enjoy it properly anymore. I keep wondering if she’s thinking about how much better it was with someone else.
The worst part is that she doesn’t even seem sorry when she says these things. She says it so casually, like she’s just sharing a normal memory. One time she told me about a guy who made her squirt just from penetration and then looked at me and said:
“You’ve never been able to do that, have you?”
I didn’t even know what to say. I just stayed quiet.
She’s also started making comments about how I look when I’m naked. She’ll say things like “It’s cute when it’s hard” or “It’s not the size that matters… right?” in a tone that makes it obvious she’s trying to convince herself.
I’ve become so insecure that I don’t even like getting undressed in front of her anymore. I catch myself sucking in my stomach or trying to hide myself. I’ve started overthinking everything — the way she looks at me, the way she touches me, even how she kisses me.
I keep asking her if she’s happy with me, and she always gives vague answers like “You’re fine” or “It’s not a big deal.” But then she’ll turn around and tell me another story about some guy who was “much bigger” or “way better in bed.”
I feel like I’m slowly going crazy. I love her, but every time she brings up these guys, it feels like she’s chipping away at whatever little confidence I have left.
I don’t know what to do. I’m scared that if I keep bringing it up, she’ll just get annoyed and leave. But if I stay quiet, I’m going to keep feeling like this — small, inadequate, and constantly compared to men who are apparently much better than me.

​

I moved into this building about four years ago. It's an old place, brick and ivy, the kind of building where the hallways smell like someone's cooking and the radiators clank all winter. I don't mind it. It's affordable and the neighbors keep to themselves.

Well, most of them.

There's an old man who lives in 3B. I started seeing him my first week here. He'd be in the hallway around 7 AM, standing by his door, holding a cup of coffee. He always wore the same thing. A brown cardigan, slightly frayed at the cuffs. Grey slacks. Slippers that looked like they'd seen better days.

I said good morning to him the first time. He nodded. Didn't smile. Just looked at me with these tired eyes and went back inside.

It became a routine after that. Every morning, 7 AM, I'd see him. Sometimes I'd be heading out for work. Sometimes I'd be coming back from the store. But he was always there. Same spot. Same coffee. Same cardigan. I'd say "Morning, Mr. Weismann." He'd give me that tired nod and go back inside. That was the extent of our relationship.

I never thought much about it. He was just the old man in 3B. Part of the building's background. Like the creaky elevator or the leaky faucet in the basement laundry room.

Last week, I ran into someone new in the hallway. A young guy, early twenties. He was carrying boxes, fumbling with a set of keys. New tenant. I helped him with the door.

"Thanks," he said. "I'm in 3A."

"Nice," I said. "Your neighbor's pretty quiet. Old guy, keeps to himself."

He looked at me funny. "3B?"

"Yeah. Been here for years, I think."

He shook his head. "The landlord told me 3B's been empty since before I signed the lease. Like... a decade."

I laughed. I thought he was joking. But he just stared at me with this confused look on his face.

"I see him every morning," I said. "He's always there, around 7 AM. Standing by his door."

The guy shrugged. "Maybe you're thinking of another building."

I wasn't.

I went back to my apartment that evening and tried to remember when I'd last seen Mr. Weismann. This morning, actually. 7 AM. Same as always. I'd said good morning and he'd nodded and gone back inside.

I went to the landlord the next day. Mrs. Chen. She's been managing this building for twenty years. She knows everyone, everything.

"3B?" She frowned. "Nobody's lived there since 2009. The tenant passed away. It's been sealed up ever since."

"There's a man there," I said. "I see him every morning."

She gave me a long look. "You need to get more sleep."

I didn't argue. I just thanked her and walked away.

That night, I didn't sleep. I sat by my window, watching the hallway. At 6:55 AM, I opened my door and stepped into the hallway. 3B was dark. The door was shut. No coffee cup. No cardigan. No old man.

I knocked. No answer.

I checked the peephole. Nothing.

I told myself I was imagining things. The stress of work. The lack of sleep. My mind playing tricks on me.

The next day I went to work early. I didn't look at 3B.

The day after that, I came home late. I avoided the hallway.

But this morning, I heard something. A door opening. Soft footsteps. I got up and looked through my peephole.

He was there. Standing by his door. Holding his coffee. Same cardigan. Same tired eyes.

I opened my door. He turned and looked at me. He nodded.

"Morning," he said.

First time ever.

Then:

"You've been asking about me."

He went back inside. The door clicked shut.

I stood in the hallway for a long time. I didn't know what to do. I went downstairs to the lobby. Mrs. Chen was at her desk.

"3B," I said. "I saw him again."

She looked up from her paperwork. Her face went pale.

"Don't talk about 3B," she said quietly. "Just don't."

"Why? Who lives there?"

She didn't answer. She just shook her head.

That's when the woman from 3C came down the stairs. The one with the small dog. She must have heard us. She stopped and looked at me.

"Everyone sees him," she said. "We all do."

"How long has he been there?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Since I moved in. Eight years ago."

I nodded. That made sense. He'd been there before me.

Then she added: "No. Actually, I think it started after you moved in."

I stared at her. "What do you mean?"

She frowned. "I don't know. I just don't remember seeing him before you arrived. And I've been here longer."

"How long?" I asked. "How long has he been there?"

She looked confused. "There?"

"Mr. Weismann. The man in 3B."

She stared at me for several seconds.

"Nobody knows his name."

Then she walked away.

I don't know what that means. I don't know who he is. I don't know why he's there. But I know one thing. I wasn't the only one who saw him. But I was the only one who knew his name.

And I don't know where I got it from.

The next morning, I opened my door at 7 AM.

He wasn't standing outside 3B.

He was standing outside my door.

Same coffee. Same cardigan. Same tired eyes.

He nodded at me.

"Morning," he said.

"Morning," I managed.

He looked tired. More tired than usual.

"Don't tell anyone yours," he said.

Then he went back inside.

I stood there for a long time. I watched him unlock the door. I watched him step into 3B. I watched the door close.

Then I looked down at the key in my hand.

Apartment 3B.

I stared at it. The brass was worn smooth. Old. Much older than the keys I'd gotten from Mrs. Chen four years ago. I reached into my pocket. My apartment key was gone. Only the 3B key remained.

I don't remember dropping mine. I don't remember picking this one up.

But that's not the part that scares me. The part that scares me is that when I looked up at the door to 3B, I knew exactly what was on the other side. Not guessed. Knew. The layout. The furniture. The smell. The old radio beside the window. The half-finished crossword puzzle on the kitchen table. The brown cardigan hanging on the back of the chair.

I've never been inside 3B. At least... I don't think I have.

The next morning I woke up before my alarm. 6:58 AM. I don't usually drink coffee. But I found myself making a cup anyway.

At exactly 7:00, there was a knock at my door.

When I opened it, nobody was there. Just the woman from 3C walking her dog. She stopped. Looked at me. Then looked at the coffee in my hand.

Her face went white.

"Oh," she whispered.

Then she smiled sadly. The same way people smile when they recognize someone they haven't seen in years.

"Good morning, Mr. Weismann."

I started to tell her she was mistaken. Then I noticed the dog. It wasn't growling. It wasn't afraid. It was staring past me. At the hallway behind me. Its tail was wagging. Like it was happy to see someone.

I turned around.

The hallway was empty.

Except for a man standing outside 3B. Holding a cup of coffee. Wearing a brown cardigan. Watching me.

The woman from 3C frowned.

"That's strange."

"What?"

She looked at the man by 3B. Then back at me. Her expression changed.

"No."

She took a step back.

"There were two."

"What do you mean?"

She didn't answer. She just looked past me. At my apartment door. Slowly, she raised a shaking finger.

"The other one is still inside."

Behind me, a coffee cup clinked against the kitchen counter.

I don't drink coffee.

Not yet.

Twenty years ago, my daughter vanished without a trace.

She was only eight.

The police searched the woods, questioned neighbors, checked every security camera they could find. Nothing. It was as if she'd simply stopped existing.

The only thing she left behind was a small note on her bedroom desk.

>

At first, I thought it was a child's imagination. She loved ghost stories.

Still...

I never opened that door after midnight.

Not once.

Years passed.

My wife couldn't handle the grief. She blamed herself until the day cancer finally took her.

On her last night alive, she grabbed my hand.

"You still haven't opened it... have you?"

I shook my head.

She smiled with relief.

"Good... because if you had... she would've known you gave up waiting."

I didn't understand what she meant.

Before I could ask, she was gone.

For years those words haunted me.

What did she mean by she would've known?

How could my missing daughter possibly know anything?

Last week...

I broke the rule.

At exactly 12:03 AM...

I unlocked the basement door.

Nothing happened.

No ghosts.

No strange noises.

Just darkness.

I laughed at myself.

Then I noticed something.

The basement wasn't the same size anymore.

There was another hallway.

I'd lived in that house for thirty years.

That hallway had never existed.

At the end of it...

...was another door.

On the other side, I heard my daughter laughing.

Exactly the way she laughed when she was eight years old.

Then someone whispered...

>

I haven't gone back downstairs since.

But every night...

I hear footsteps climbing the basement stairs.

They stop right outside my bedroom door.

And every morning...

The basement door is closed again.

Even though I know I left it open.

I don’t even know how to start this. I feel like such an idiot.
My ex (let’s call her Maya) and I got engaged. We were planning the wedding and everything seemed fine at first. Then her cousin Liam came from the States to stay with her family in for a few months. He was 19 at the time.
At the beginning, it was innocent. He was family, so he was around a lot during our engagement. Maya would talk about him casually — how funny he was, how he was helping her family with some stuff. I didn’t think anything of it.
But slowly things started feeling off.
She became more distant with me. Our calls became shorter. She started cancelling plans with me more often, saying she was busy with family. At the same time, she was posting more on social media — going out, dressing up, looking happier than she did with me. I noticed Liam was in a lot of the background of her stories and photos, but I told myself I was being paranoid.
One night during our engagement, I went to pick her up from her house after a family dinner. She came out much later than she said she would. When she finally got in the car, her hair was a bit messy and her lipstick was slightly smudged. She seemed flustered. When I asked her what took so long, she just said she was talking to her mom.
A few weeks later, I found out the truth.
One of her cousins accidentally let something slip during a family gathering. He thought I already knew. He mentioned how “Liam and Maya have been spending a lot of time together” and that “everyone knows.” When I confronted Maya about it, she didn’t even try to deny it properly.
She admitted that she and Liam had been sleeping together for almost two months during our engagement. She said it started one night when they were alone at her house. One thing led to another, and it kept happening. She told me he made her feel things I never did. She said she tried to stop but couldn’t.
The worst part? Some of her family already knew and didn’t say anything to me. Her mom and sisters had found out and instead of stopping it, they just looked the other way. One of her sisters even covered for them a few times.
When I asked Maya why she didn’t just break off the engagement if she wanted him so badly, she said something that still fucks with me:
She said she wasn’t sure if she wanted to marry me or not, but she didn’t want to “ruin the wedding plans” yet. She wanted to keep seeing Liam on the side until she figured things out.
I felt like my entire engagement was a lie. All those months of planning a wedding, meeting families, taking photos… while she was secretly fucking her 19-year-old cousin behind my back.
I eventually called off the wedding. She didn’t even fight hard to keep me. She just accepted it and moved on.
To this day, some of her family still acts like nothing happened. Liam went back home, but I know they still talk. Maya never really apologized properly. She just said “it happened” and that I should move on.
I still think about how many times I dropped her home during our engagement, not knowing that sometimes he was already waiting for her inside. Or how many times she told me she was “tired” or “with family” when she was actually with him.

I (28M) was best man at my brother's wedding last month, and I almost torched the whole reception with one sentence.

Growing up, my brother and I hated each other. Not sibling-rivalry hated actually hated. He got everything: the car, the college fund, the "golden child" treatment. I spent most of my twenties resenting him quietly while smiling at family dinners.

When he asked me to be best man, I said yes because our mom would've disowned me if I said no. I wrote a toast that started sweet, then slowly, almost accidentally, started listing every time he threw me under the bus as kids dressed up as "funny memories." I could feel the room getting tense. His new wife's smile started to look painted on.

Halfway through, I looked at him and saw he wasn't smirking like he used to when I got in trouble for something he did. He looked scared. Actually scared, like he knew what I was doing and couldn't stop it.

And I just... stopped. Folded the paper. Said, "Actually, forget all that. The truth is, this guy taught me how to ride a bike, covered for me when I snuck out in high school, and never once let anyone else talk badly about me, even when I probably deserved it. I love you, man."

He cried. I cried. Our mom sobbed into a napkin.

Later that night he pulled me aside and said, "I knew where that toast was going. I deserved it." I told him I know. We talked for two hours on the porch, longer than we'd talked in ten years combined.

I don't know if we're "fixed." But it's a start.

I spent almost a year thinking I was "lazy."

Every day I'd tell myself, "Tomorrow I'll start."

I'd watch people my age building businesses, getting fit, learning skills, and I'd just keep scrolling. The guilt got worse every night.

Then one day I looked at my screen time.

Over 8 hours.

Not working. Not learning. Just consuming.

That was the moment I realized I wasn't lazy—I was addicted to distraction.

So I made one tiny rule: before opening any social media app, I had to spend just 15 minutes doing something that actually moved my life forward.

Some days it was editing videos.

Some days it was learning a new skill.

Some days it was applying for freelance work.

15 minutes turned into 30. Then an hour.

My life isn't magically perfect now, but I don't hate myself every night anymore.

If you're stuck, don't wait for motivation. Make it so easy that your brain has no excuse to say no.

Has anyone else realized they weren't lazy—just constantly distracted?

So I am an older brother of 2 siblings, being my younger brother and my younger sister, who is 15 years old (turning 16) but lately she has been talking about this guy online that she met on a Roblox game and they just hit it off talking about games and life. Nothing weird right? I mean i knew she had a "Binary" Friend and an LGBTQ friend that she met on a different Roblox game too (both identifying as girls or wtv). But this guy that she talks apparently lives in Nebraska and i see her talking to him Every. Single. Day. I can hear her talking to him from downstairs in my office while im trying to work. Nothing wrong yet supposedly, But one day she said that he HAS a girlfriend currently and that the dude talks to my sister more than his actual girlfriend, which imo is a huge red flag. Besides that, he also crams a shit ton of energy drinks and allegedly alcohol (she showed me screenshots of his desk and it looked like a bud light allegedly). Did i also mention that He is 17 years old, ALMOST turning 18 (Not super weird tho). Anyways sometimes i peek at her phone and her discord call time is 12 HOURS IN A VOICE CALL with this random guy that "she knows so well." Besides that, he also wants to "get a bike so he can speed down the freeway" (his choice wtv). But I feel that this dude is a bad influence on my sister, but she will not listen to anyone. My little brother who is 14 btw is just as concerned and also tried to tell her to be "cautious." My Parents seem to not care too much so i feel like im obligated to do something. Also I just overheard her say "your so cute" to this guy who she says "is probably drunk because he sounded so cute and drunk." I feel like she is gonna turn into those (forgive me for saying this) "bad girls" or whores that get abused but idk i feel like im just ranting. Also a side note one of her other online friends had sex with a 17-year-old (that friend is 14). I just have a feeling that these people are not good influences on my sister. (she doesnt have many friends in school and outside of school, because they all treat her like shit). But if anyone has any advice or needs details or has any way to help please let me know. Im going to repost this in many story subreddits. (PS)- If someone can make one of those Tiktok or Youtube reddit Storytimes it might reach my sister so she can see it. Many Thanks Guys, please feel free to lmk.

I have a little brother that is 12 yrs old and obsessed with Roblox and 3 days ago he asked my dad for 1700 robux ( remember this) and i told him I'm going to text my dad to buy him the robux but my dad is busy working in another country constantly so he can't always be online and as off today my little brother let's say Omar , he started following me around as a joke at first demanding the robux being bought at the second like right now and i told him I'm gonna call my dad or message him and I did right in front of Omar but he thought I was lying because I did want to text my dad the 2 days prior cus he was busy and because of that for some reason he believed i was lying to him about texting my dad and about the promise about the robux even tho i called my dad in front of him even he called my dad himself but he still didn't believe my dad or me that he would get the robux at that point everything was very heated and he started following me everywhere to the point I slapped him because of being irrateted because he was yelling , screaming and thrashing all over the place and he pushed me into a wall until I started crying and my boyfriend had to physically make distance between me and Omar otherwise he would've beaten me up or someone esle he didn't believe anything esle but what he was told 3 days ago about the robux and you're probably asking yourself why we just didn't give it to him well my dad told me he came back at 5 am in the morning after work with no rest and he was tired and would buy him the robux later but Omar wanted them in the moment and i had ti practically wait for my dad to send the robux while trying to calm or restrain Omar from attacking me good thing my boyfriend was there the whole time to hold him back otherwise he would've harmed me or someone esle Omar even fell by accident and almost broke his back and hand and didn't care all on his mind was the goddamn robux and at the end my dad bought him 1500 robux and he still didn't stop thrashing and started going absolutely crazy because he didn't get the exact amount of 1700 robux he was promised so he just started going off on everyone at that point my great grandma that was also holding him back got a low blood pressure i got irrateted and started pulling my hair out and my boyfriend was still trying to take ahold of the situation and then finally my dad bought him the last 200 robux and Omar just went away and yeah everyone was just puzzled and in shock . So yeah what a crazy experience

Someone I slept with a few times in my early twenties insisted weeks after that I got her pregnant. The timing didn’t seem right to me, so I suggested we get a paternity test, but she never wanted it. She would just reach out and bother me about it yearly then go away. She even messaged my son’s mom when we were married and made it seem like I lived a secret life. It really didn’t help my marriage much.

Fast forward, I get a court conference and it’s about this issue. The child is 10 now btw. The judge tells me I can submit to a paternity test or sign the birth certificate. He acted like this was quite odd when I told him that I wanted to take a test. He then told me that the cost of the test would be rolled into the child support if positive or free of charge if negative.

They scheduled me for a test site that was four hours away and I needed to be there for 8am. For a cheek swab and picture. I had to cancel a full day of clients on a days notice to make this possible.

A week later, I got a bill for $1k from the county.

I assumed that was it, but then the results showed up in the mail two days and it was 0%. The day the results came in the mail was the same day that Maury went off the air.

Even sadder than that show getting cancelled was the response from her when I reached out. She assumed I had raped her when she black out at a party we went to together.

Then I called the county to inform them of their error. The response I got was “It’s a small cost for not taking care of your kids”. When they resent the bill and I called her back, I was less nice and never received another.

So everyone watch what you’re putting inside you or who you’re putting it inside of. After all, we don’t have Maury to help use figure it out anymore.

My wife Becky has been distant recently. Coming home at strange hours. Secretive over her phone. I thought she was cheating on me, but it's worse. So much worse.

It all started 6 months ago.

I asked why she kept coming home so late. She told me her “company was busier than ever.”

I was a little relieved at first. So many companies nowadays are looking for reasons to fire you and replace you with an AI chatbot. At least for now, it looked like her job was safe.

For the next few months, she came and went as she pleased. Then came the calls. Her phone kept ringing at all hours of the day.

Last week, she was in the shower when her phone rang. I picked it up. No one answered. All I heard was static and the sound of someone breathing down the line.

She again denied it. Saying it must have been a cold caller. Even cold callers don’t phone at 1 am.

Finally, I had enough. It was time to follow her. Catch her in the act. I had to know what she was doing.

This morning I left early. Rented a different car and stalked my wife.

First, she went to the office. I breathed a sigh of relief when her car pulled into the parking lot.

“At least she wasn’t lying about going to her job.”

From the road, I could see her desk. I watched all day. Just to make sure her bosses or coworkers weren’t sticking the company pen inside her.

Now, if you think working on a computer all day is boring. Try watching someone work all day. Becky barely moved from her desk. Even ate lunch there.

“Jesus, no wonder she is coming home late. If this were my day. I would be hitting every bar on the way home. anything for a bit of excitement.”

Finally, 5 pm came. My heart sank when she left on time.

As she got into her car, I got a message,

“Working late won’t be home until after 8 XXX.”

I almost busted her right there. But I knew she would just make up some excuse. I had to catch her with no way for her to lie her way out of it.

She started the car and drove to the old part of town. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. She went into the street where I grew up.

My mind was racing, “Where was she going to stop?”
“Was one of my old friends seeing my wife?”
“Which one of their houses was she going to stop at?”

Her car finally pulled into St James’s parking lot.

“St James?”

I used to hate that church. My mother made me go every week.

“I thought it was still closed? Guess someone must have reopened it.”

I still remember the day it shut. Pastor Gregg clutching his chest and falling to the ground. My mother telling me god needed him in heaven. I can still feel the sting on my face when I told her I dont think he is going to heaven.  

My wife got out of the car and greeted a group at the door.

“Why would she lie to me about going to church?
I wouldn’t have stopped her from going? Sure, I gave up on religion years ago. But I wouldn’t have cared. Might have even joined her.

My mind was racing. 6 months ago, out of the blue, she suddenly stopped drinking.

“Did something happen to her. Was she going to some kind of AA meeting? She always liked drinking, but I never thought she was an alcoholic.

“Shit! I have to go in. I need to know what she is doing.”

Everyone was walking through the giant wooden front door. No way I could use it. Someone might recognise I am her husband.  

I started chuckling to myself. Guess Mom was right. One day, I would be glad I went to Sunday school. Pastor Gregg made us use a different door around the back that led to his office. His office led to the main hall.  

I slipped around the back and slowly opened the door to my old pastor's office. His once-perfect office was a mess. glass was on the floor. Dust everywhere. Graffiti on the wall. No one had used it since the day he died.

The sound of church hymns rang out in the distance.

“Is she in a choir? Why would she lie about this?”

I quietly slipped out of the office and walked up the steps to the second floor. It gave me a perfect view of the main hall. 100 people were singing below. The song was one I had never heard before. Gregorian-style chanting hung in the air. Dancing across the walls of a church. Chills went down my spine. I had never seen anyone sing like this before.  

When the singing stopped. I took a good look at everyone below. Everyone was wearing long black robes.

My eyes almost burst out of my head when I saw a Giant pentagram in the center of the hall.

“Holly shit. She joined a cult. Christ!”

My wife stepped towards the pentagram. Holding a small puppy.

I couldn’t be sure from the distance, but it looked like a golden retriever.

I told her years ago I always wanted a golden retriever.

“Was I about to be getting some cult dog to look after?

Why couldn't she just be cheating on me….”

Becky looked at the members and held the dog high with one hand. They all cheered as she raised it.

It was a beautiful little dog. Its eyes darting all across the room. Trying to curl itself up into a little ball.

Its fear was soon taken away. My wife took a knife from her belt and slit the dog’s throat.

The noise it made was indescribable.  

I almost gave away my hiding spot as she threw it in the centre of the pentagram.

The signing started again, only this time louder.  

The dog's body started glowing red.

As the song reached its chorus. The dog's body started thrashing. Mutating in a creature more foul than I had ever seen.

When the creature shrieked, the crowd cheered.

My wife knelt down in front of it as it rose onto its legs and spoke in a deep, echoing voice.

“There is an un-sinned among us.”

Gasps went around the church. Everyone started looking in different directions.

The creature's eyes met mine. I couldn’t breathe as it lifted one of its arms and pointed to me.

“There is the un-sinned.”

I dove down and ran faster than I had moved before. Jumping down the steps back into the office. Sprinting out the back of the church to the car. The tires screamed as I hit the gas.

Breaking every speeding law I could on the way home. My mind raced.

“Fuck, Fuck. FUCK! What has she gotten herself into?”

I dumped my car in the drive and went straight to the gun safe. Pulling out the rifle and pistol.

A message flashed up on my phone.

“Be home soon XXX”

“Fuck” I shouted. Flying down the stairs.

I went to the fridge and pulled out the emergency 6-pack. Cracking a can, I drank it as fast as I could.

Moving into the front room, I took a chair and placed it by the door. Checking my guns were loaded, I took a seat and slammed back another can.

I am now waiting for her to return. I don't know what I am going to do when she walks in.

“Fuck! What did she bring into this world? A demon. The devil. The antichrist?”

Last year I came home early from work and didn't really make any noise coming in. My mom was in the kitchen on the phone, and I was just about to say something when I heard her say my name. I stopped and listened. She was talking to my aunt about me, saying how I had been struggling and how she watches me sometimes when I do not notice, just praying I am okay. Then she said she wished I knew how proud she was of me because she did not think I actually realized it. Hearing that completely caught me off guard. I stood in the hallway for five minutes and then quietly walked back outside to sit on the front steps. I ended up crying for a long time, the kind of crying where you are so overwhelmed you cannot even make a sound. My mom and I have never been the type to talk about our emotions. We usually show we care through small actions or making food for each other. I never told her I heard that conversation, but knowing how she feels has changed things for me. I carry myself a little differently now.

TL;DR - came home early, overheard my mom telling my aunt how proud she is of me when she thought I wasn't there. Haven't been the same since 💀

Hey Chris here. Is this even working? God damn it.

Whatever. Hey internet, can someone help track a location for me? I’m stuck out at sea. I need help. Please.

This is my last means of communication. I’ve tried everything else. Rescue services are ignoring me.

God damn it. Can someone just help me?

I’m stuck on a cruise ship, with my family. We’ve been here for five months. And, well, no one else cares.

I’m not even joking; everyone is going insane. There’s something wrong with the ship. There’s something wrong with these fucking people.

Dam it. Can you just track me somehow!? I’m in the middle of the ocean. Heading towards…uhm… Where were we going?

I don’t… I don’t remember. What the hell? This trip, this boat, it’s affecting me.

How is this even possible? I mean, how am I even surprised. Nothing here makes sense.

The moment I set foot on this boat; I encountered something strange. When we were boarding there was a guy punching tickets. Like old school stuff.

Okay nothing too weird, I thought. When I presented my ticket. He looked at me, smiled and then used his tool on my hand.

The prick pricked my hand.

He just smiled at me and I was forced to keep walking.

Don’t think that’s enough? I get it, that’s just one stupid dude. So let me explain some of the insanities I’ve been living with then.

It wasn’t always crazy. At the beginning, people were just having fun. Dinners, pool, sunbathing. Talking. It was all pretty standard stuff.

The issues started when they announced after a month that our arrival was delayed. This cruise was supposed to only be a month. But when we were supposed to reach… The place I´ve forgotten about, we were just told we had to wait.

Okay, nothing crazy so far. And so, we waited. And we waited. And we waited. And days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months.

People were fuming.

People started trashing stuff. Demanded to see the captain. Continuously called emergency services, loved ones, the news, anything and everything.

And then one day it just stopped. Everyone just accepted it.

People smile now, they’re happy. They’re enjoying their little cruise. I’m not.

I talk to people in here. They upset me. One day I was discussing it with someone.

“This isn’t so bad” he said.

Hum, yes. Yes, it is. We´re stuck here.

The next day I confronted someone else. They just said.

“It is what it is”.

How?! How does no one care? What is wrong with them.

That’s not the only issue. This ship, something else is happening.

Let me try to explain.

So, remember I said there’s a pool? Well, the other day I decided to go in. Don’t judge me, I’m stressed, I’m angry. I need a break. Everyone around me acts normal. I just wanted some normal too.

That water was the saltiest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.

I left there caked in salt, white streaks of dried salt clung to my skin afterwards. I don’t understand how anyone can enjoy that.

Everyone was happy in it. I think I saw some people drinking it.

That was during the first months. We don’t go in the pool anymore. Something, something lives in it now. It’s not a good idea to swim near it.

That’s not the only thing that makes no sense.

There’s an entertainment crew on board. They were supposed to play every week, which they did. It’s an animal show and it’s just two dudes, with either dogs (three Labradors) or those big parrots (I don’t know their names).

Since last month they started performing shows with larger animals. Like, seals and even donkeys.

I have no fucking idea how that’s possible. It was always just the dogs or the parrots. But it’s getting “worse”. The animals are getting bigger.

Lions. Last week they had fucking lions.

There are no, I repeat, NO lions aboard this ship. There are no cages for them, there is no space for them. When the show is on, they don’t even put any fencing or protection around. You can be five feet away from a lion. After the show, the animals just go inside a small utensils closet. And that’s it.

They impossibly stop mattering. They’re just there, or somewhere else. I feel like I’m going crazy.

Next week the show is with sharks.

I tried talking to the staff here. But there’s something wrong with them. They kind of just ignore me? They just look out to sea, yearning for it. Their eyes are always towards the sea.

They look like they want to jump off.

Each month things get progressively weirder and weirder.

One day I was just walking around the deck. Like, there’s nothing around us. No landmasses, no reference points, not even birds. There’s just water.

I was walking around and I noticed five people standing around in a group. I was flabbergasted by what they were doing.

 They were fishing? I don’t understand if it’s normal to fish on a cruise ship. They just had a massive fishing pole and they were all giddy about something.

They pulled a man out. With the fishing pole. He floundered around like a fish.

Then he just stood up and looked at them.

“Good day.” he said. And then wandered off.

I don’t know what the fuck is going on anymore!

There’s something weird the upper staff do as well. Starting last month, every day at exactly 5:55 PM. They all stop and line up. Then they start shouting.

“All hail the king. All hail the professor. To’Kempus, To’Kempus, To’Kempus. All hail the Rebis.”

Yeah, no idea what the fuck that is. They say it like it’s some military chant. It’s unsettling. I don’t like it.

There’s also the captain of the ship. Oh boy.

He’s just called “The Captain”. No, like seriously. That’s it. That’s what you need to call him, the captain.

Last person who didn’t do that. Well, let’s just say I don’t want to get sucked through the air vents like he was.

He’s a… peculiar figure. He’s hard to stare at. I can’t seem to really remember what he looks like.

There’s something wrong with my family too. They just accept things now. My dad, my mom, my younger sister. They just eat, they talk, they have fun. They live…

They’re part of it.

I tried reasoning with them. Tried to snap them from their trance. But they fight back. They say I’m “ruining the trip”.

Fuck. What else can I even do.

Oh, I guess there’s something off about the food as well. When I go to have dinner. I see a bunch of people standing around tables. But they don’t move, they just stay put.

And I watch them, it perplexes me. Their minds, their faces. In fear… In fear, and lust, and pain. From pain to last, and from last to east. Under the water, from sea to gray. And all for the king.

And from pain, to lust and lust to brain and brain to stone and stone to earth and earth to sky and sky to lust and lust to eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat AND EAT.

Where was I? Oh yeah, the fish tastes a bit weird. Like they put too much thyme.

I should specify that we haven’t stopped for supplies for four months and there doesn’t seem to be any shortages of food or water.

Now, even granting all of that. I wouldn’t be so concerned, but something happened recently. Sure, things are weird and impossible. But you get used to it.

But last week… It’s… it’s too much.

We were just having dinner. A big ballroom, everyone eats, everyone talks. There’s always music playing. All the time. Constantly. And it’s not recent stuff. It’s old, classical, fancy. It’s kind of calming to be honest.

A man started choking on his food. And everyone, well, they ignored him. He was trashing and kicking, basically fighting for his life… I couldn’t, I don’t know why I didn’t help.

He died. And then everyone started dancing.

I’ve never been so uncomfortable and afraid in my life. They were so fucking happy. Like it was the most fun they’ve ever had. The man on the floor died with a huge smile on his face. It was like he was happy to entertain them.

This place is wrong.

I am not a strong person. I’ve talked to emergency services innumerable times. They ask the name of the ship and when I do, they just laugh and tell me to “Enjoy the trip.”. I pleaded with my family but they just say I’m some Debbie downer.

I…I… jumped off the boat yesterday. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I remember dying. I remember hitting metal. Hard. And feeling immense pain.

And today I just woke up back in bed. Like nothing fucking happened.

I can’t escape. I can’t leave. I’m trapped here.

That’s why I’m begging for anyone to track me down and save me, save us. I’ve had enough of this shitshow. I think I’m going to find the captain and demand answers.

If I die then I die. At least I’ll be free. Either way I’m leaving.

Wish me luck.

 

Update:

Sorry for not updating this, I’ve been busy. It’s been five days since I last checked in here. I did it, I confronted the captain. He barely said anything. Barely looked at me. He just looked at me and said I was a “good boy”.

Things are… Wait, the intercom is blaring, there’s an announcement coming.

I…. I can’t believe this. The captain announced we’re staying one more year on this ship before we get to our destination. I don’t understand. Why!? Why is he doing this to us?!

He can’t do this. I can’t be here a year.

I thought I was a good boy! I love this ship! I don’t want to leave!

My husband is the perfect man. Every woman I know has told me so. I just found out why.

We met three years ago. He was everything. Attentive. Funny. Remembered the name of my childhood dog on the second date. My friends were almost annoyed at how good he was. "Nobody's that perfect," my best friend Kara said. I laughed. I should have listened.

The wedding was beautiful. The house came next. A Victorian fixer upper in a small town two hours from the city. His idea. "We need space," he said. "Away from all the noise." I agreed. I was in love. I would have agreed to anything.

The first year was good. He cooked. He cleaned. He left notes on my pillow. He planned surprise trips. He never raised his voice. He never forgot an anniversary or a birthday or a random Tuesday he'd declared "us day." My mother adored him. My coworkers envied me. Kara stopped warning me and started saying she wished she could find someone like him.

I noticed the first thing about six months ago.

It was small. So small I almost didn't register it. He was chopping vegetables and I saw him switch the knife from his right hand to his left. I said something like "I didn't know you were ambidextrous." He smiled and said "I'm full of surprises." I let it go.

But I'd known him for two and a half years at that point. I'd watched him write, eat, drive, throw a football, open jars, brush his teeth. He was right handed. He had always been right handed.

Now he was left handed. Like a switch had flipped.

I started watching.

His handwriting changed. Not dramatically. The slant was slightly different. The pressure was lighter. If you weren't looking for it you'd never notice. I was looking.

He started sleeping on the other side of the bed. He started taking his coffee black instead of with cream. He started humming songs I'd never heard him hum before. Old songs. Songs from before he was born.

Small things. Tiny things. A dozen tiny things that each meant nothing on their own.

I asked him about the coffee one morning. "Since when do you drink it black?" He looked at me with this expression I'd never seen before. Not anger. Not confusion. Something else. Something calculating. Like I'd asked a question he'd been expecting and he was deciding which answer to use.

"Trying something new," he said. "New year, new me." It was June.

I started keeping notes in a private document on my phone. A list of changes. The handedness. The handwriting. The coffee. The sleeping position. The humming. I added to it every time I noticed something. By August the list had 47 entries.

Forty seven.

I know. I know what that number means now. But I didn't then.

The dog knew first.

We have a golden retriever named Gus. I've had him since before I met my husband. Gus loved him from day one. Would sleep at his feet. Would bring him toys. Would whine when he left for work.

Around the time I started my list, Gus stopped doing any of that.

He wouldn't enter the same room as my husband. He'd freeze in doorways. He'd growl low in his throat, a sound I'd never heard him make. At night he'd press himself against my side of the bed and stare at the bedroom door. All night. Every night.

My husband said Gus was getting old. "Dogs get weird in their senior years," he said. Gus is four.

Last month I woke up at 3 AM and my husband wasn't in bed. I found him in the basement. He was standing in the dark, facing the wall, completely still. Not moving. Not speaking. Just standing there like someone had paused him.

I said his name. He turned around and his face was wrong. For just a second. Less than a second. His features were slightly off. The eyes a little too far apart. The mouth a little too wide. Like someone wearing a mask that had slipped.

Then it was gone and he was my husband again. Smiling. "Couldn't sleep," he said. "Came down here to think." He kissed my forehead and went back to bed. Then it was gone and he was my husband again. Smiling. "Couldn't sleep," he said. "Came down here to think." He kissed my forehead and went back to bed.

I stood in the basement for ten minutes after he left. Trying to convince myself I'd imagined it. Trying to unsee what I'd seen.

I couldn't.

That night I added entry 48 to my list. "Face slipped."

The next morning I called Kara. I hadn't talked to her in months. He'd slowly separated me from everyone. Not dramatically. Not with rules or demands. Just with suggestions. "Kara's kind of negative, don't you think?" "Your mom stresses you out, maybe we skip this visit." "Your coworkers don't respect you, you should look for something remote." One thread at a time until I was alone in a Victorian house two hours from anyone I knew.

Kara didn't answer. I tried my mom. No answer. I tried three other friends. Nothing. I checked my texts. My calls. My emails. I'd been reaching out. I had the sent messages to prove it. But nobody had responded in weeks.

I checked my husband's phone while he was in the shower. I found a blocked numbers list. Kara. My mom. My dad. My brother. Every friend I'd ever had. Every coworker I'd ever mentioned. Blocked. Not on my phone. On his. He'd been intercepting. He'd been responding to them as me. Telling them I needed space. Telling them I was going through something. Telling them not to contact me.

There were hundreds of messages. Months of them. He'd been both of us. The perfect husband and the wife who was pushing everyone away. Building a cage out of my own voice.

I didn't confront him. I pretended everything was normal. I smiled at dinner. I kissed him goodnight. I waited until he was asleep and then I went to the basement.

I don't know what made me look behind the water heater. Some instinct. Some part of my brain that had been putting pieces together while the rest of me was playing wife.

There was a door. Not a real door. A hole in the wall, covered by a piece of drywall that had been cut to fit. Behind it was a space. A small room. Maybe six feet by four feet. Concrete floor. No windows. A single lightbulb hanging from a wire.

And on the floor was a phone.

My phone. My old phone. The one I'd "lost" at the airport six months ago. He'd helped me look for it. He'd been so concerned. He'd bought me a replacement the next day.

The phone was still on. It was plugged into a charger that ran through the wall. The screen showed a messaging app. Open to a conversation with someone named "Collector."

The last message was from three hours ago.

"Specimen 47 is fully integrated. Subject has not detected the transition. Recommend proceeding to harvest phase. Estimated yield: 94% compatibility. Previous specimens: 46. Success rate: 100%."

Above that were photos. Dozens of photos. All of women. All taken without their knowledge. Sleeping. Showering. Reading. Crying. Living their lives while something documented them.

One of the photos was of me. From last night. Asleep in my bed. Taken from the doorway of my bedroom.

I scrolled up. The conversation went back years. There were 46 previous "specimens." Each one had a name. Each one had photos. Each one had a final message: "Harvest complete. Specimen \\\[number\\\] processed. Replacement deployed."

I looked up the names. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely type.

Every single one was a missing woman. Different states. Different years. All unsolved. All last seen with a boyfriend or husband who was described by everyone as "the perfect man."

I heard footsteps above me. He was awake.

I'm in the bathroom now. The door is locked. He's knocking. Softly. Patiently. The way he does everything.

"Babe. Come out. Let's talk about this."

His voice is exactly right. Exactly the voice I fell in love with. Warm. Concerned. Loving. But I can hear something underneath it now. Something I never noticed before. A second voice. Quieter. Behind the first one. Like two people speaking at the same time but one of them is farther away.

"Babe. I'm not going to hurt you. You know me. You know I'd never hurt you."

The door handle is turning. Slowly. The lock is holding but I don't know for how long.

I'm posting this because I need someone to know. If you're reading this and you're in a relationship with a man who's perfect. Too perfect. If he remembers everything. If he never gets angry. If he's slowly separated you from everyone you used to know. If your dog won't look at him. If you've noticed small things that don't add up.

Check his phone. Check the basement. Check behind the water heater.

And count the changes. If you've noticed exactly 47 of them.

Run.

Me: *attends physical therapy as usual for my wrist*

My therapist, a man: *guides me through therapy as usual*

Me: Hey check this bump here, is it normal? I only have it on one hand but the other one is fine, what could it be?

Therapist: *holds both my hands with ONE HAND, my wrists bent between his thumb and palm, and both my hands are open against his*

Therapist: *pushes a point with his other thumb* does it hurt here?

Me: *still processing the fact that both my hands are sitting comfortably in one of his* ....huh?

Therapist: I'll press some points and I want you to tell me if it hurts

Me: *still mentally in another place* ...sorry what??

Therapist: ok, your hand is still shaking, and it seems like your wrist is still weak, I will request an extension for your sessions, I want to see you again next week

Me: ok..

Me and my boyfriend started dating around 6 months ago. It was the first relationship I’ve ever had. I had never been so happy. It was like we were meant to be.

I met him at a coffee shop I frequent. I started noticing him there any time I went. Sometimes I’d catch him staring, and he’d look around all embarrassed whenever I did. I thought it was the cutest thing.

After a while, I found myself silently hoping that he’d come over and ask to sit with me. We’d been playing eye-tag for a couple of weeks, smirking and laughing at each other, but neither of us had taken the extra step of introducing ourselves.

When he finally did, I felt butterflies start flapping around in my stomach like never before. His smoldering blue eyes, that curly black hair, and his cute little freckles. I’m not afraid to admit that I was smitten.

Our relationship grew from there. We were seeing each other every weekend, catching movies, having dinner, playing some mini golf. I knew it was a honeymoon phase. I just didn’t care. He made me feel wanted, and that was just not something I was entirely used to.

He’d show up with my favorite flowers, favorite candies, always knew the right thing to say. I don’t wanna ramble. I just can’t get over how perfect I thought he was.

Things started to go a bit sideways one night at a sleepover at his house.

I had gotten up to pee late at night, and as I groggily dragged myself to the bathroom, I could’ve swore I heard the vibration of a phone coming from his sock drawer.

I was too tired at the time to really pay it any attention, but it was still fresh in my mind the next day. I asked him about it, and he got defensive enough for me to become suspicious.

He showed me all of his drawers, though, and there was no phone in sight. That kind of subsided my suspicion a bit.

A few weeks went by without issue. We never argued. He made me feel like the only girl in the world. Then we had another sleepover.

Yet again, after he was fast asleep, the vibrations of a cellphone came echoing, this time from his closet.

This time around, I was awake enough to actually investigate, but once I did, I immediately regretted it.

Hidden within an old shoebox that was buried beneath a stack of blankets, I found it. A second cellphone.

The screen was lit up with “storage full” notifications, but what caught my attention was the wallpaper.

It was me, asleep in bed.

I wasn’t even the wallpaper on his actual phone. Seeing myself like this only made my mind race more. I couldn’t help myself.

Luckily, he didn’t have a password to unlock the phone, but what he did have a password for was his photos.

I took a wild guess. That’s why I think it was fate that I made this discovery.

I put in my birthday, and the photos app unlocked.
My jaw dropped, and my heart sank.

There were hundreds, if not thousands, of pictures, and they were all of me.

Some were of me at his house. On the toilet, in the shower, sleeping in his bed. But some were from places that didn’t make sense to me.

Me at the coffee shop, reading a book. Me walking home from school. Standing in line at the grocery store. Me outside my apartment, fishing around in my purse for my keys.

More than anything, though, there were pictures of me asleep in my own apartment.

Some were taken from my window. My second-story window. Others were taken from inside the apartment.

I kept scrolling, and the more I did, the more terrified I became. The photos dated back to at least 2 years ago.

Family dinners, early morning jogs, study sessions in the library. I was getting sick to my stomach.

As I scrolled, a noise from behind me snapped me out of my trance.

The sound of my boyfriend’s bed creaking and squeaking from his shifting weight.
He called my name.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

I never responded.

I heard his footsteps rush up behind me. They stopped a few inches from my back.

Instead of asking what I was doing, apologizing, or even attempting to grab his phone, he began laughing.

Cackling. Like a mad man.

And as I stood there, too paralyzed to turn around, he finally spoke again.

“Happy anniversary, sweetheart.”

For context I am a 17 year old girl, not trying to justify what I did but I just wanted to add that. If my writing looks wonky it’s because I’m kind of just throwing up this information. I am rewriting this actively because I think in the heat of the moment it looked really bad.

2-3 weeks ago I was secretly for the past couple of months had multiple boyfriends. It sounds crazy and you’re going to think “How did you have the time for that?” But that’s just what happened. It was around 5 of them, and saying that they were all “boyfriends” makes it sound like I was being serious and committed with them and I was not. Other than Jackson (was with him for 2 years) the other 4 were really guys I was entertaining myself with and were more hookups than actual boyfriends. Even with that said, I would make them buy me gifts, take me out, etc. When they didn’t know about each other it was fine but obviously with everything that came out it fell apart bad.

Me and Jackson we had a dinner date on June 14th, he was the first guy and we were together for around 2 years. It was going really well but apparently the week before that he got really suspicious of me because I wasn’t really “hanging out with him” or “returning his calls” like I used too (which now looking back on it, I would’ve been suspicious too😭 but I was hanging out with other people) and MY THEORY is that he looked over my shoulder to get my phone passcode. Because my mom did that with my dad before when he was cheating.

Anyways, I didn’t know he did that at the time but he did. I got up to use the bathroom and when I came back and my heart just sunk. I felt immediately off and he was glaring at me, I asked him what was wrong but then I realized that my phone was FULLY unlocked, messages and all on his side of the table. I don’t want to even tell you how that date ended but we were full fledge arguing in the middle of the restaurant, it was bad and he left crying and I think I was crying too but deep down, I did really love Jackson and care about him but he couldn’t give me everything I needed.

Now for the past 3 weeks or so, i’ve been in hell. Jackson got the numbers of the guys (my other boyfriends/partners) and told them everything, now they dont want anything to do with me. He told my friends and now they dont want anything to do with me. He told my parents and they’ve just been really disappointed in me. They all think I’m disgusting but I feel like It wasn’t that bad until everything came to light.

At the time, I felt like I needed variety but they’re making it seem like I’m some psychopath who uses guys and that’s not how I felt at all. I felt like I was meeting all of my emotional and physical needs and getting the things I wanted while I was at it.

I know I’m in the wrong (another subreddit didn’t think so, just adding that to really make sure it doesn’t come across arrogant) but how I see it is I’m young, I deserve options, I like gifts and physical relationships with little strings attached.

When I get to college I’ll have enough freedom to where i could do this and people would be more understanding because It’s college. I just wanted to write my story to anyone who would read it.