Infected Town: Series One (Part 6)

  

Hello all. Alex here. I’m making Jess relax while I update you quickly. She’s very stressed out about all this, and I have to say, I’m beginning to see why. Dean is one of my favorite people, but I didn’t know the girls very well before this. I guess, at the least, I made a new friend.

We’re compiling a list of your suggestions, for ideas on what to do. Jess is adamantly opposed to returning to Dean’s apartment, but now she has this desire to go check out Samantha’s place.

I don’t quite understand this. I want to spend more time at Dean’s and look under the bed but she really doesn’t want to go. And I don’t want to go alone, or bring someone else into this. It’s strange, but I feel that the fewer people that go into that place, the better. If only because of mold spores.

As per your advice, we called the police. Again. They’re getting annoyed, it seems. Jess told them what she saw under the bed, but they pretty much accused her of an overactive imagination. They also say we have no business entering that building or the apartment without permission from the tenants. As for the mold problem, they suggested calling the managers because there’s nothing they can do about it.

I don’t think we should involve the police again, and Jess agrees. I don’t want to get arrested for trying to help my friend.

But we did try to get in touch with the manager of the apartment building. Called a number of times. No response. I can’t imagine he doesn’t already know about the mold.

Again, I really think we should go back there with a weapon and some masks to prevent spores from getting into our lungs. I would like to talk to the neighbors. I’m currently trying to convince Jessica, so we’ll see how that pans out.

Here's the honest truth: I don’t think anything supernatural is going on here. I don't think the "supernatural" exists. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t dangerous. Jess seems to actually be entertaining ideas of poltergeists and monsters. That’s ridiculous. I don’t like that nonsense being put into her head. She’s a bit unstable at present. I don’t know what she thinks she saw under that bed, but it wasn’t the boogeyman.

I must admit, though, the journal is weird.

Here is the album we made of it

I don’t want to speculate as to who wrote it, but it is not in Dean’s handwriting. Okay, honestly I have a feeling Lisa wrote it. She’s always gravitated towards weird, dark things. Personally, I believe she did it for a bit of a laugh. Jessica is taking this really seriously though.

Again, if you could stop getting in her head with all your salt and holy water nonsense, I’d appreciate it. She says you’re helping. I don’t think so.

To make matters worse, last night she found something in her purse that she says shouldn’t be there. Some kind of little pouch filled with herbs and a piece of paper. She has no idea how long it’s been in there (girls don’t clean their purses apparently). But she’s freaking out over it. I don’t think it’s related to this, but she insists I post it here.

To me, it looks like a bag of pot pourri she threw in and forgot about. Despite the fact that it smells terrible.

Here’s the bag before we opened it

And here is the piece of paper inside

Oh, and Dean hasn’t replied since his late night text last night. I stayed up trying for a bit, texting from her phone, but got no response.

I know this is a bit anticlimactic for all of you, as far as updates go. But perhaps you can put your brilliant collective mind to work on that journal. I’m curious as to what language it’s in.

Cheers. We’ll let you know if we come across anything else. 

---

Credits

 

Infected Town: Series One (Part 5)

  

“Cas” wants me to tell you that his real name is Alex. He doesn’t care if you know, the way I don’t care you know mine is Jessica. Also, he’d prefer not to be known as Castiel, haha. It’s kind of a relief, anyway. Giving all these people aliases based off of Supernatural is starting to make me feel like I’m writing some fucked up fanfiction or something.

I’ve gone back and checked out all your (incredibly helpful) comments. Again, thank you guys so much. You make Alex and I feel like we’re not alone.

It’s pretty much been agreed that that second picture in my last post was of an art piece in Chicago called the Bean, which I’d never heard of before. And last week, Lisa went to Chicago on vacation. So... there’s that.

The first picture, someone else mentioned, might be from a mechanic’s shop. Neither Alex nor I think Dean knows anyone who works at one, but it’s at least something.

Anyway, Alex and I met outside Dean’s building around one in the afternoon.

He mentioned he’d read through these posts for a second time, then a third. Again, as skeptical as the rest of us, he made me swear this was all true. I kept telling him I didn’t think we should do this. What if there was someone dangerous in the apartment?

But Alex waved it off. He said I was in there for a good fifteen minutes, and if someone had been there, I would’ve noticed. I thought this was a pretty good point. I’d checked all the closets. There aren’t any other places to hide in there otherwise - the bed and couches are too way low to the ground to squeeze under and there’s no other conceivable way I would’ve passed by some guy crouched under the table or something.

We were there, first and foremost, to see if Dean or his girlfriend, Lisa, were home. I had very little hope that this was the case, but Alex wanted to assure himself. And I wasn’t about to allow him to go in there alone. I have to admit, nosleep, I almost wanted to check it out again. I had the distinct feeling I’d missed something important.

I glanced up to the third story as Alex was keying in the code to the building (he’d cat-sitted for Dean and Lisa a couple months ago) and noticed something odd. The blinds were once again closed, greyish-black behind the glass. I’d definitely left them open the last time I’d been there. So someone had been inside.

This time, as we entered the building, I got goosebumps immediately. Though, of course, that reaction was probably completely psychological. We silently made our way up to the third floor.

Things were noticeably different as soon as we left the elevator. It was almost like the atmosphere I’d experience inside Dean’s apartment two days ago had... I don’t know... spread.

The hallway was only partially illuminated. Most of the lights were burnt out up here, and where they weren’t the bulbs were dim and yellow. Deep pools of blackness welled in certain corners and around doorframes. There was some kind of mold starting to grow on the walls near the ceiling - at least I thought there was. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but I could see thin, sparse veins of black mold creeping their way towards the floor. I hadn’t noticed that last time I’d visited.

It occurred to me at that moment that we hadn’t brought weapons of any kind. Not even my mom’s fucking salt. I mentioned this to Alex, who was starting to look wary at the state of the third floor hallway. He is reading over my shoulder as I type, and insists I inform you that he was not scared.

I was scared though. And I wasn’t comforted when Alex pulled out his little army knife. It wasn’t even iron, so if this was a ghost it was useless. Though I’m starting to think, when Dean said the supernatural isn’t like anything we know, he was hinting that iron and salt are not practical defenses against whatever’s going on. Though I might be reaching here.

Dean’s apartment door was still unlocked, the numbers still missing. I glanced around the hallway and noticed that a few other doors had lost their numbers, too. Maybe this could be explained by something commonplace though - maybe they were just being replaced or cleaned by the managers.

Shuddering, I turned the knob and opened the door.

It was dark inside, extremely dark. The only lightswitch that worked was the one in the apartment hallway, and it was dim enough to almost be brown. Alex and I used the screens of our phones for extra illumination.

This place seemed to be the source of the mold outbreak. It spread in spidery, weaving lines down every wall and in some places the plaster was cracking. This was one extremely fast growing mold. I hadn’t seen any last time I was in the apartment, and now it was fucking everywhere.

Again, that feeling that I was being watched came back with full force. I felt eyes on me every time I turned around. I mentioned this to Alex, and he just shrugged.

We began to search, slowly and quietly, staying together so as not to be caught off guard. I opened the blinds again, but it was an overcast day and the extra light didn’t do much to alleviate the creepiness from the scene.

I checked Dean’s computer and didn’t see any activity for the past four days. There was a rank, rotting smell coming from the kitchen. We discovered its source was the little garbage can in there, but didn’t want to go searching through it.

The only thing that was different about the living room from my last visit, besides the mold on the walls, was that all of the pictures that had been hanging above the entertainment system were on the floor in a pile of broken glass. Most of them were of Dean and his girlfriend, and a few had been torn in half. It was unnerving. There was a hint of anger in the way these had been thrown around. I started to get paranoid about squatters, and Alex yelled in his authoritative man-voice that this was the police and anyone in here needed to come out with their hands on their heads.

This garnered no response. We checked the hallway closets and the bathroom, and then entered Dean’s room.

The mold in here was at its worst - the spidery tendrils of vein down the wall were thicker, and the air smelled of the spores. I gagged and put my hand to my mouth. I hate the scent of mold.

The bed was made, in the same way it had been last time I was here. It seemed untouched. Deep shadows welled in every corner, but I didn’t want to climb across the bed to open the blinds. The lights didn’t work in there.

I turned toward the mirror at the vanity and almost jumped out of my skin at my distorted reflection. The mirror was badly cracked, as though someone had punched it.

As I was looking at the mirror, Alex picked something up off the bed and brought my attention to it. It’s a little notebook, like one you can pick up at Barnes and Noble. Most of the pages are empty, and a few toward the front are ripped out. Most of the writing is definitely not english, or any other language I recognize. I’ll photograph and post it the first chance I get.

So then Alex and I decided to leave. The atmosphere in Dean’s room was oppressive. It seemed difficult to breathe, with that damp smell of rotting soil lingering in the air. We went back into the living room and looked around one last time. Alex bent down to look at the broken picture frames on the ground again.

Still standing in the hallway, I heard something behind me. It sounded exactly like a phone vibrating. I spun around and shined my light down the hall, listening. The buzzing stopped. Quickly, I dialed Dean's number on my phone.

It happened again, a vibrating from Dean’s room. We definitely hadn’t seen a phone in there. Wanting to find the phone while it was still ringing, I motioned to Alex to follow me and raced into Dean’s room again.

It only took a couple seconds to pinpoint the source of the noise. It was under the goddamn bed.

Slowly, not wanting to look under there but telling myself I was being stupid, I bent down. Like I said before, that bed is really low to the floor. The gap is only about three inches tall. Before I could get low enough to see under, something underneath, something I couldn't see, skittered toward me from the opposite wall.

I heard it distinctly and it freaked me out. Something was shuffling, dragging itself quickly across the carpet under the bed. I jerked away and ran out of the room. I only looked over my shoulder once, and I wish I hadn’t.

In the split second I glanced back, I saw something retreat back under the bed, as though it had popped out at my approach but was going back into hiding. It was something pale and kind of waxy white, long and bony, like maybe... an arm? A really thin arm. Which is ridiculous, since no human could fit in that space.

Anyway only glimpsed for half a second but it made me gasp in horror. I was out of the apartment in a flash and already halfway down the stairs by the time Alex caught up with me.

I have no idea what it was, but I’ll never forget the sight of it. The way it moved... it was kind of jerky but extremely quick. It wasn’t a cat, I know that. Maybe some other animal, but definitely not a cat. There was no fur. It looked like white flesh.

Alex is staying over tonight. Neither of us want to be alone. I don’t want to do this anymore.

Jesus. To make matters worse, as I’m writing this, Dean just texted me. Like, not two seconds ago. What he said should be obvious at this point.

“Come over.” 

---

Credits

 

Infected Town: Series One (Part 4)

  

I wish I’d never gotten into this. I wish I’d never started digging. I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but something really fucked up is happening.

First thing, last time I mentioned the voicemail I’d left on Samantha’s phone. I said I could hear the phone vibrate as I was getting closer. Someone brought up that this would be impossible, since the phone would have stopped ringing by the time the VM picked up. So, yeah. What that buzzing noise was, I have no fucking clue. I listened to it again. It does sound like a phone vibrating on a hard surface. Is there anything else that might sound like this??

So, as I mentioned, last night Dean texted me around me one AM. I was groggy and exhausted, so I didn’t respond to him. I turned my phone on silent and fell almost instantly back to sleep as soon as I’d edited my last post.

When I woke up this morning, I had a bunch of missed texts from Dean. At first, before I read them, I was almost excited. Maybe he was finally going to explain what the fuck was going on. But my hopes were dashed almost instantly.

These were in the same group chat that started this whole debacle. Samantha’s phone had died last night, and I had it, so clearly she wasn’t responding. Here’s the transcript:

Dean: Come over.

[Five minutes later]

Dean: Come over.

[Two minutes later]

Dean: Come over.

Dean: Come over.

[They’re in pretty rapid succession at this point. I feel like crying.]

Dean: Come over now!

Dean: Come over, Jessica.

Dean: I have sinryibhk to show you.

Dean: Come over.

Dean: I’m with Samantha. I’m wiatign for you.

Dean: COME OVER.

Dean: COME OVER.

Dean: COME OVER.

[Half an hour passes]

Dean: See you soon.

That was all he said last night. This morning I woke up early, saw the messages, and immediately called him. No answer. I’ve become so accustomed to his voicemail message, I can recite it.

So I decided to play this fucked up little game. I’m getting sick of not having any answers. I texted him back.

Me: Are you okay??

[It took a good fifteen minutes for a response. I’d almost become resigned to not hearing back from him. But then my phone buzzed. I’m not exaggerating when I say my hands were shaking almost too hard to pick it up. One new message from Dean.]

Dean: I want to show you something.

Me: What is it?? Why are you being so fucking weird?? Where are you?? I’m not coming over unless you answer my questions! You’re seriously freaking me out.

Dean: Everything is fine. I am fine. I read ykou story online.

Me: You did? Is that what this is about? Dean, please say something to reassure me you’re okay.

Dean: If there was a real supernatural. If it was real. I don’t think it would be like anything we know. It’s not like Supernatural.

Dean: But I kjsk to go. I’ll see you later.

Me: No! Please explain! Are you in trouble?

Dean: I just can’t talk here.

[Then he sent me this picture. I’ve never seen that place before in my life. It doesn’t look like his apartment building, but I’ve never been to the basement there.]

Me: Where are you?? Are you mad at me for posting our conversation online? I changed your name and didn’t give any details. Is that what this is about??

Dean: It’s scaring me.

Me: What is????? What happened to me in your apartment? It was probably my imagination.

Dean: Not your story. It’s fsnse. I am fine.

Me: Dean, if this is you, you need to be safe. ARE YOU IN TROUBLE???

Dean: If there was a real supernatural. If it was real. I don’t think it would be like anything we know. It’s not like Supernatural.

[This is not a typo. He sent that same text twice.]

Me: Okay, the world isn’t like Supernatural. What does that mean?

Dean: Did Samantha tell you?

Me: Tell me what?

[A couple minutes pass with no response.]

Me: Please, Dean, if you’re both just messing with me, please stop. It’s really scaring me. I filed missing persons reports on you guys!

[Dean sends me this picture]

Dean: I’m just telling you.

It’s been hours since then. I texted him multiple times and there’s been no response.

So, needless to say, I started this morning by freaking out. I called the police again and talked to the same cop, Robins. He said these texts sound like my friends are just messing with me and they’re probably fine. I brought up the idea of a someone with Dean’s phone and he said “We’ll keep that in mind. Just don’t give him any personal information in regards to your whereabouts.” He told me if he texts me again, just don’t reply. So, thanks Officer Robins.

You guys, this is all very unlike Dean. And Samantha can’t leave her phone alone for more than half an hour, so the fact that she hasn’t tried to get it from me is disturbing on its own.

I needed help. I needed someone who knew Dean and Samantha like I did, who would think this as weird as I do. The only person I really knew who was good friends with Dean was his friend from college. Keeping with the Supernatural TV show theme, let’s call him Cas.

I didn’t want to call Cas. I don’t know him very well, but I had nowhere else to turn. So I did.

It took about an hour to explain everything. I had him read through these posts and, after copious assurances that this was not a joke, he finally admitted he hasn’t spoken to Dean in quite some time. And Dean wasn’t returning his calls or texts, either. He seemed concerned. But he also seemed curious, and ended up insisting that we visit Dean’s apartment again.

I didn’t want to, guys. Who in their right mind would? But I did. And I saw something that made me really question what exactly I’m involved with now. I don’t think this is a serial killer. I don’t think my friends are lost or left town.

After all, if there was a real supernatural, I don’t think it would be like anything we know.

I think I’m going to leave our exploration of the apartment for the next update, or this will become too long. I’ll post more in a little bit. Thanks again for all your help. I don’t know what I'm doing anymore. 

---

Credits

 

Infected Town: Series One (Part 3)

  

Today was incredibly long, so I’m going to try to sum it up quickly. Right now I’m frustrated and I want to cry, but I also want to punch something. I hate this. I’m writing it all down, mostly to try to make sense of everything, because I can't fucking sleep. But also because you’ve all been so helpful and compassionate and you seem to want to know what's going on.

I have no idea how to get ahold of Dean’s parents, so first I called Samantha’s mom, who was nearly hysterical. She and Sam talk regularly, but she lives in another state, so when I told her the story, I felt like I was causing undue distress. She says she hasn’t heard from her daughter in a couple days, as long as I have, but she’s called her a couple times to no avail. She also urged me to call the cops, like many of you. So I did.

Is it cliche to say the police were completely unhelpful? They were. I spoke to this Officer Robins on the phone and was told to go file a missing person’s report on Dean and Samantha. I was told that, since Dean’s girlfriend is out of town, it’s reasonable to think he just went to meet up with her. Sam might’ve tagged along. They didn’t seem impressed when I insisted they would have TOLD me if they were leaving town, especially since they know I was coming for a visit. We made plans to hang out this week. He disappeared!

So I went down and filed two reports. They promised to investigate, but also assured me he’d probably show up soon. No one has been found in the woods around here, no reports of any anonymous attacks or, ugh, murders. No neighbors have reported anything strange. They’re not even going to check out Dean or Sam’s apartments, since a search warrant is a lot of paperwork. So now I’m pretty much left sitting on my fucking thumbs, just waiting. Waiting isn’t something I do very well. Especially when I’m concerned my best friends might be in danger.

Next I visited Dean’s work and asked if he’d come in. The manager just looked at me funny.

“Uh no, we haven’t seen him,” he said. “But that’s not surprising, since he called and quit two days ago. No notice, either.”

That was the day after those text messages. That was after he’d stopped all contact with me or Samantha.

I would agree with a lot of you that Dean just went out into the woods and got lost or even hurt. There are definite forests around here. But Samantha disappearing only a couple days later? Her phone being left in his apartment? Resigning from his work? And where’s the cat?

I know how it sounds. It sounds like he just up and left town. But WHY? As someone who knows him better than almost anyone, I can’t possibly see him doing that. Especially without taking anything. What kind of trouble is he in? Is someone after him? And what happened to Samantha? I just can’t shake the feeling that something weird is going on.

So now I’m left with my last clue. Samantha’s cell phone. Upon closer inspection, the screen is cracked at the upper corner, as if it was dropped, even though it has a hard cover. I managed to unlock it with her birth date.

Everything looked normal at first glance. Picture of shirtless Jensen Ackles on her lockscreen? Check. Highly organized apps, including Reddit and Happy Hours? Check.

Then I checked her messages. First up were my twenty-five frantic “Where the fuck are you????” texts. Scrolling up, I read our last conversation from a couple days ago. We’d been talking about Dean and she’d been calling him an asshole for making us worry. Then I said I was going to bed, and she’d replied with her signature “Love you. See you sleeping.” It made me tear up. What if that was the last thing she’d ever say to me?

My heart thumped as I looked at the next conversation in the column. It was the same night she’d texted me goodnight, but an hour later. And it was from Dean. He’d contacted her, and she hadn’t told me.

I’ve transcribed it here:

Dean: Come over.

Samantha: What the fuck, dude????? Where the hell have you been??? Jess and I have been freaking out!

Dean: You shouldn’t worry ahdld Me. I’m fine. Hahahaha silly.

Samantha: No. Not fucking silly. Why haven’t you been answering your phone?

Dean: Come over.

Samantha: Answer my question!

Dean: I’ve been owkrgdh on something. I want to show you.

Dean: Come over.

Samantha: No! It’s 1 am!

Dean: Please, I’m doing it for you.

Samantha: Doing WHAT for me??

Dean: It’s a surprise. Ylu’kk love it. Please, Sammy.

[Samantha can’t resist when Dean calls her by her nickname. Obviously, IRL it’s not “Sammy” but it’s something cute in that vein. He’d won this game.]

Samantha: Christ. I fucking hate you. You’re lucky I’m bored. Okay. I’ll be over in ten.

[Ten minutes pass.]

Samantha: I’m out front.

And that’s it. That’s the last thing she wrote. The rest of the convos on her phone are from last week. I checked her missed calls, her voicemail. All of them are from me or her mom. Nothing new or interesting.

Except the final voicemail, the one I apparently left when I was calling her phone in Dean’s apartment.

It’s just white noise for the first few seconds. I hadn’t realized I was leaving it, distracted by discovering her phone in the kitchen. You can clearly hear the phone vibrating as I approach it. Then I say “What the fuck?” You can’t hear the crash that occurred shortly after that. But in the last five seconds before I hang up, there’s definitely something.

I’ve listened to this voicemail upwards of twelve times now. And I swear to God, I can hear someone say something. I can’t make out exactly what it is, but it’s this hushed, whispery voice. I think it’s masculine, but I can’t be sure. It says three syllables.

That’s all I know. Of course, it could just be white noise or a rustling of my clothes. But what if someone else was still in that apartment with me? That thought makes my skin crawl.

And you know what else makes my skin crawl? The last two pictures on Samantha’s phone.

Here they are.

Keep in mind, I have no evidence to prove that these were taken in Dean’s apartment. Other than the fact that the picture taken before this is one of the puppy Samantha and I were playing with the day before. And obviously I have no idea whether they mean anything. I'm just starting to think this isn't all coincidence.

So that’s what I’m working with here. I plan on continuing this tomorrow, but right now I need to sleep. Enough investigative work. I’m exhausted and stressed and I popped a Valium a while ago. Goodnight, nosleep.

EDIT:

You guys are not gonna fucking beleive this. Id just fallen asleep and my phone buzzed. it was DEAN.

"Come over."

obviously im not going to. I'm all valium'd up. i'll deal with it tomorrow. 

---

Credits

 

Infected Town: Series One (Part 2)

  

Hey nosleep. Thanks for all your help and advice. Dean and his girlfriend still haven’t gotten back to me. Neither has Samantha, which is even stranger (she and I are best-best friends). I don’t like this at all.

The most advised course of action was to go to Dean’s apartment and check it out. I was super nervous about this, since I’m a lone girl with absolutely no idea how to fight anything - supernatural or otherwise. But, taking what I know from my favorite show, when I got into town I immediately stole my mother’s big container of salt and grabbed a wrought iron poker from her fireplace. You should’ve seen the look on her face when I explained I was going ghost hunting.

I went during the day, because I’m not an idiot. Everything outside the building looked normal - cars, trees, birds, crap like that. When I looked up to Dean’s window on the third floor, however, something struck me as odd: the blinds were closed. I’m over there a lot, and I’ve never seen his blinds closed. I didn’t even know what color they were - kind of grayish-black.

My plan of action was to just wait around outside the building and slip in when someone who lived there opened the door. So I stood there and smoked a cigarette and waited for like twenty minutes. I called Samantha, just to see, but again there was no response.

As I was getting bored and frustrated, the thought occurred to me to use the call box outside and call Dean’s apartment. Stupid not to think of it earlier. Heart-rate accelerating, I went up and pressed #338.

The phone rang three times. Then it was picked up. At least, I’m pretty sure it was. The ringing usually went on a lot longer than that if Dean wasn’t home. But no one said anything - there was just silence from the other end.

Then whoever it was buzzed me in.

Truth be told, this didn’t scare me at all. In fact, it made me really happy. Something must just be wrong with Dean’s phone. I kind of figured he could receive messages but couldn’t send them. Or something. You know how phones can be.

So, all light and bouncy, I skipped up to the elevator and rode to floor three. Again, everything looked perfectly normal in the hallways - not even a flickering light bulb. The building is older, so it can be a little creepy, but I wasn’t feeling anxious anymore. I was going to go see Dean and everything was okay.

When I got to his door, I found it shut but unlocked. Something strange - the brass numbers that used to hang on it, 338, were gone. Just six little nail holes in the cheap wood. It gave me pause, made me wonder if I was at the right door, but a quick glance around told me I was. None of the neighbors had lost their numbers. I knocked, but there was no reply. Dean can be kind of a dick like that, though.

I opened the door and stepped inside.

I kind of wish I hadn’t.

The first thing I noticed was how dark it was with those blinds drawn. I tripped over a pair of shoes as I walked down their short hallway to the living room and cursed, then called “Hello?” Again, no reply. I flipped the light switch, and the overhead light came on kind of yellow and dim, like it was an old bulb.

Hastily, I went over and opened the blinds, thankful for the sunlight. The atmosphere in there was just sort of... unnerving. Which was strange, because that apartment is practically a second home to me.

I was alone in the apartment, I knew that now. It made my heart sink and my stomach flop. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. Gripping my iron poker, I quickly checked the bedroom and bathroom, even the fucking closets, just to make sure. No one else was here with me. So who had buzzed me in?

I looked for the cat, but she didn’t seem to be around. Her bowl was empty, her water dry. I filled them, just in case, and opened a window so she could get in and out.

Other than that, nothing seemed out of place. The computer was still running. Dirty dishes filled the sink. All the lights worked, even if they were kind of yellow. The place was tidy yet lived-in, as usual. It was just that Dean and his girlfriend weren’t here.

Then, desperate for some kind of human interaction, I called Samantha again. The phone wasn’t to my ear for five seconds before I heard something buzzing in the kitchen. I went to check, feeling flushed and cold at the same time.

Her phone was lying there on the tiled floor.

As soon as I picked it up - the instant my fingers touched it - there was a crash from somewhere down the hallway, in the direction of Dean’s room or the bathroom. Like someone had just knocked over a big pile of junk.

My courage failed me, even if it was only the cat. I sprinted the fuck out of there, slamming the door behind me. I took the stairs two at a time.

It wasn’t until I was in my car, when my adrenaline had stopped buzzing so fiercely, that I realized how different it felt outside of that building. When I was in Dean’s apartment, I’d had goosebumps and my hair was standing on end. It felt like there were eyes on me the whole time. This was only highlighted when contrasted with the normalcy of the outside.

So now I have Samantha’s phone. It’s locked, but I think I can figure out the code with relative ease. And my friends seem to be missing. I have no idea what to do about that. It makes me feel both helpless and angry. Should I call the cops?

One thing’s for sure, something’s not right. I need to figure this out. Any ideas?

I’ll update if I find something. 

---

Credits

 

Infected Town: Series One (Part 1)

 

My friend hasn't been in contact since this series of weird text messages. I don't know what to think... 

A bit of background:

My friend, we’ll call him Dean, currently lives in an old apartment building that used to be a retirement home for many years. None of us believe in ghosts or other supernatural things (sorry, nosleep), but we all loved the idea of it.

Now... I’m not sure what I think. I’m worried, extremely worried. Because two nights ago, I was group-texting with Dean and my other friend - we’ll call her Samantha. My name, in case you’re wondering, is Jessica.

It started off as goofy, drunken fun since none of us could get together that night but still wanted to talk (we’re best friends but I moved to a different city for college). Then it got... strange. I’m worried for Dean. Maybe you guys have some answers.

I think it’s easier to just transcribe the conversation here:

[Dean’s girlfriend is out of town and he’s been lonely. He has just been talking about a daydream he had where the three of us were best friends in high school and ended up living together.]

Me: We’d probably have our own theme song. Like the quirky sitcom we are.

Dean: Town to town, two lane roads...

Me: Family biz, two hunting bros...

Me: *Three hunting bros

[We’re huge fans of the TV show Supernatural, where that theme song is from. And nerds. Hence why I named my friends Dean and “Sam”]

[A couple minutes go by]

Dean: I was waiting on Samantha. She’s probably having sex again or something.

Me: Drinkin out of cups, too probably. Bein a bitch.

Samantha: I’m playing cards.

Dean: I don’t know that position.

Me: Haha me neither.

Samantha: I can’t remember the rest of the song anyway.

[Here’s where it gets creepy]

Dean: I think I just had a minor auditory hallucination. I heard a muffled young boy say something while laying down on my couch.

Samantha: Okay, you’ve been alone too long.

Me: A young boy? Weeeeeeird. Turn some porn on. Loud.

Dean: No fejdisndk porn jeez.

[I’ve never seen Dean make a typo in his texting. I don’t know why, but a warning flag went up in my head. But I ignored it, figuring he was drunk.]

Me: I don’t understand why you wouldn’t.

Dean: Dnjdvhs lol. You’re silly.

Samantha: Porn!

Me: haha do dnjdvhs and fejdisndk mean anything?

Dean: What?

Me: You made typos.

Dean: No I didn’t...?

[Then Dean sends us this picture, with the caption “Amused face.” I get even more creeped out. Why would he send that and act like it’s normal?]

Samantha: You look like you saw the movie from The Ring.

Me: Haha that’s creepy as fuck. Dean is drunk.

Dean: Brb. Phone is charging and some drunk asshole is making noise in the hallway. Idjits.

Me: [Half-joking] I don’t like this. Be careful of ghosts. Get yourself some salt and some iron. Have you watched an unmarked VHS tapes of disturbing, dark imagery lately?

Samantha: Find the bones!

Me: He may have been cursed also. We have to consult the books.

[Immediately after I sent that, this same picture was sent three times in rapid succession from Dean’s number. Samantha and I both assumed it was just Dean trying to creep us out.]

Samantha: Call Bobby.

[We went on talking for a bit, just Samantha and I. Then...]

Dean: Back. Guy must’ve ducked back into his apartment. Jesus, type more lol.

Me: [Still joking] Dude no not even you are surrounded by ghosts or Slenderman.

Dean: Har har.

Me: I’m just looking at the evidence here.

Dean: That I couldn’t find the guy making noise?

Me: + the picture + the young boy’s voice. SUPERNATURAL OCCURRENCES.

Dean: What picture?

[So I sent it back to him]

Me: This picture, which looks like a severe case of The Ring curse.

[A couple minutes go by.]

Dean: Okay, that is weird. When I sent that, it looked totally normal.

Samantha: Haha stop.

Dean: I’ve heard of pics failing like that at my old job though. It’s just a hdnejdbe problem. Why are we talking about ghosts? This is silly.

Samantha: You know your apartment building used to be an old folks home.

Me: People died thurr.

Dean: Yeah, I remember.

[He then sends us this picture of his cat.]

Dean: Fuck. Alright, my camera is ojshneldhs fucke up.

Me: Dean, you need to lay down a circle of salt like now.

And he never responded. He hasn’t been in contact since, more than 48 hours..This is insanely odd. We text every day. I called him four times today. No answer. His girlfriend won’t pick up her phone, either. Samantha and I are extremely worried. I don’t know what to do. What is this? Any idea? Help! 

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Credits

 

Dedicated to Girls

1. Not every girl wants to get married by 23. So before you ASSUME she's of marriageable age, ask her what her views on marriage are. One hint, might save you the drama- just because she does not want to get married now does not mean she never will. She has other plans for herself right now, let her live a little.

2. Just because a girl wishes to do her PhD after Masters does not mean she doesn't want to settle down in life. Give her a break, and respect the fact that she has the confidence to take that up, cos yeah, PhD is no joke. There will come a point when she would happily devote herself to her family, and balance it out with her work life. Her degrees, or lack of them, won't make any difference. Let her study while she wants to, okay?

3. Just because she is 27 and unmarried does not mean she's been rejected by many men. Maybe, being single is a choice she has made.

4. Having a boyfriend does not make her characterless.

5. Just because she has recently gone through a break up doesn't mean she is vulnerable and available.

6. Just because most of her friends are boys, does not mean she is "having a good time" with all of them.

7. Just because she has a drink in her hand does not mean she is an alcoholic.

8. Just because she wore a short skirt to one party does not mean she dresses up that way every day.

9. Just because she is ambitious doesn't mean she isn't a family person.

10. Just because she doesn't discuss her plans doesn't mean she's clueless about life. Give her a chance, alright?

11. Just because she is outspoken doesn't mean she is a rebel.

12. Just because she comes home late from work does not mean she is sleeping around with her colleagues.

13. After a hectic week, give her some time to relax over the weekend. Don't make that one weekend party make her look like a she's a frivolous party-girl without a job.

14. Just because she is out shopping alone does not mean she is depressed or lonely. It's how she relaxes, respect that.

15. Just because she is on a holiday alone does not mean she doesn't have company. Maybe it's a break to get back her lost confidence, or maybe that's how she is. Admire her spirit instead of giving her advice, okay?

16. Just because she is a woman doesn't mean she can't kick ass in military school.

17. Just because she has a tattoo doesn't mean she is attention seeking. Maybe that's her way of expression.

18. Just because she doesn't know how to cook doesn't mean she won't make a good wife. Remember when you were just married and cooked chicken curry which was um, a disaster?

19. Just because she likes everything pink and shiny and fluffy doesn't mean she lives in her own world. She can handle some situations much better than her male counterparts.

20. Just because she is pretty does not mean she is a whore. And just because she is friendly does not mean she is flirting with you.

Yes, we cry, we are emotional; we take things personally, and sometimes over-react to situations. But this does not give any one the right to judge us in the wrong way. Times are changing; don't confine her within those boundaries, no matter how orthodox you are. There are some who might be fighting this losing battle, yet compromising on their decisions and plans, just to please society.

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Credit to Womansera