(TRANSCRIPT) “I WAS RAISED AS A ROBOT” and 3 More Stories of Horror Fiction! #WeirdDarkness

Listen to ““I WAS RAISED AS A ROBOT” and 3 More Stories of Horror Fiction! #WeirdDarkness” on Spreaker.

Welcome, Weirdos – I’m Darren Marlar and this is Weird Darkness. Here you’ll find stories of the paranormal, supernatural, legends, lore, the strange and bizarre, crime, conspiracy, mysterious, macabre, unsolved and unexplained.

Coming up in this episode… it’s Thriller Thursday! And I have four short stories of science fiction and horror fiction that I’m sure will entertain you – and we’ll begin with a creepypasta entitled “I Was Raised To Believe I Was An Android” by Depth Fiction.

If you’re new here, welcome to the show! While you’re listening, be sure to check out WeirdDarkness.com for merchandise, my newsletter, enter contests, to connect with me on social media, plus, you can visit the Hope in the Darkness page if you’re struggling with depression or dark thoughts. You can find all of that and more at WeirdDarkness.com.

Now.. bolt your doors, lock your windows, turn off your lights, and come with me into the Weird Darkness!

From an early age I was told my father had “built” me and that I was built to help the family. Any feelings or thoughts that differed from his programming were to be reported to him as a malfunction that he would fix. It didn’t take me long to associate malfunctions with pain and I reported them less and less over the years.
I slept in the basement in a box with a thin layer of foam and a pillow. I didn’t go to school, I didn’t know school even existed. My education, if you can call it that was a list of books on topics to upload. Most of these books were on topics useful to my parents such as basic plumbing and electrical work, cooking, gardening and those written by my father on my programming.
My mother would then give me a list of questions to answer about these books to ensure the upload was successful. Sometimes, the questions would be tricks or I would answer them incorrectly in the eyes of my outraged father. My uploads were almost always successful, I had nothing but time and the intense fear of “corrupting my processors” if I didn’t properly concentrate.
Writing this now, so many years later it does sound ridiculous but as a child unexposed to the world, I only had my parents to guide me. Between uploads and maintenance, I had tasks to complete. This included mowing the lawn, tending the garden, cooking meals, cleaning and fixing things such as lawn mowers, washing machines, dryers and fridges.
There was no down time, I always had broken things to fix. I later found out my father would sell these once I had fixed them. When I was 17 years old (I didn’t know of birthdays or my age, but this is what police have told me) my father had to stop work and decided it was time for me to earn some money.
The thought scared me but I obeyed orders as I had been programmed to do. My father would send me to do cash jobs mowing lawns and doing general yard work. He would usually wait in the car until I was done or leave and come back if no one was home.
During these times he would put me on mute mode and said that he would know if I spoke with anyone. It was forbidden, if I malfunctioned there would be serious consequences. No one ever approached or spoke with me. Even if they had arrived home before my father returned, they would make their way inside without a word.
I discovered later that he had told his clients I was deaf and mute and liked to be left alone to finish the job. It was simple, he would drop me off on a large property, I would do my job and we would leave. One day I was mowing a regulars house, no cars were in the driveway so my father left me to do the job. Shortly after a girl came out with a drink. She looked the same age as me and for a moment I considered she may be an android too.
“It’s pretty hot outside, I thought you might want this,” she said, handing me a black drink. “It’s Pepsi. I hope that’s okay.” She smiled. I had no idea what Pepsi was. It was black, like the oil mother made me drink ,so I thought it should be okay.
I still remember that first sip. It was the single greatest thing I had tasted. It didn’t leave my mind feeling scrambled like my mother’s drink. I wanted to ask what Pepsi was, where she got this drink from. Did she make it?
“I haven’t seen you around. What school did you go to?” Pepsi girl asked. I put my head down and walked back to my mower. What was I supposed to do? “You’re not even going to say thank you?” she quipped, following me.
I looked back at her, she made me nervous for reasons I was yet to know about. “I have to work” I replied to her. Without another word she huffed and walked away. I spent the rest of the day counting down the minutes until my father came to pick me up. I was convinced they would know I had gone off mute, that I had spoken to someone.
When my fathers dusty red wagon pulled up, I loaded my gear into the car and got in. No words were spoken, I felt a small sense of relief but a small voice in the back of my head spoke to me. He may not know now but wait till you get home. Nothing was out of the usual that night. I did my chores, worked on my uploads, and recharged my batteries.
The rest of the week was business as usual, my father was in one of his moods that lasted from days to weeks. The longer the mood, the more aggressive he would get with me. The small voice in the back of my head spoke to me once more. Maybe he really doesn’t know. Maybe he is lying. Once this seed had been planted, over the next few months its roots took hold of me.
The rare moments I was left alone, I did something I’d never done before, I watched TV.
Though usually on mute and in short intervals, I started seeing images of the outside world. Happy families, cartoons and animals, it was mesmerizing and terrifying at the same time. The day that changed my life however was the day I turned on the TV and caught a glimpse of I, Robot. Real androids that had sown real doubts within me.
Though I knew something was inherently wrong about my situation, I didn’t know what to do. Eventually, I was sent back to Pepsi girls house and got to work. I was really hoping she would bring me some more but didn’t get my hopes up. I was almost done mowing the lawn when she pulled into the property. I watched her drive up to the house and get out. A part of me screamed to talk to her.
I thought of the scenarios carefully:
1. I would find out the truth about myself.
2. She may tell my father and my malfunction would need to be fixed.
3. I might get Pepsi.
I caught her at the door almost out of breath from running and she turned to look at me with a glare. “Am I an android? Father says I’m an android,” I blurted out.
“Android?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
I told her everything that I’ve told you and about the movie I’d seen with real androids. She stood quietly, I guessed she was trying to make sense of it all. I heard footsteps behind me and immediately lost all my courage. My father said nothing and grabbed my arm pulling me away. I looked back at her, still with the same perplexed look she wore when I first approached her.
I had blown it.
That night was the worst night of my life. The “fixing” my father did was worse then ever before and now I knew. I am something, I’m someone. The seams were splitting, my father no longer bothered with the usual half-assed facade that had become so apparent to me now. It was just straight punishment.
Both my parents tried scaring me, telling me stories of police and the outside world. They were both furious but also shaken. I wasn’t aloud out of the basement after that, the days passed slowly and my parents screaming matches were the only form of stimulation I had. I would put my ear to the door to try hear what they were saying.
One sentence drove fear into me that I didn’t know I had. “I’m going to shut it down for good.” I was that “it.” I heard someone coming down the steps and fled from the door. My father pushed it opened but stayed outside. I stared at him from across the room, uncertain of what I was supposed to do. He threw a shovel into the room and it clanged against the floor breaking the silence.
“Come,” he said, motioning me out of the room. I obeyed his commands and was lead into the backyard. We walked further out onto the property before he ordered me to dig a hole.
“What am I digging for?” I asked him.
“What the fuck is with all these questions? What happened to you? I didn’t program you right?” My father had to be in his 60’s at least but this shriveled up man still terrified me.
“Are you going to shut me down?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Gonna shut you down and get a new one. One that can keep its fucking mouth shut.” A half smile appeared on father’s face, as if satisfied with himself.
That smile pissed me off, that man pissed me off. As much as he scared me, I thought of what I was missing. Though, I didn’t even know what I was missing apart from the magical world I had put together through the TV shows I’d seen. I thought of Pepsi girl, I thought of the fucking Pepsi and then all the pain this man had caused me.
I clenched the shovel and swung at him connecting with the side of his face. The sound rung out into the night but no part of me was sticking around to enjoy it. My father hit the ground and I started running. There was no plan, I hadn’t intended for this to happen and had no clue where I was going or where I should be going.
After cutting through a few properties, I finally stopped running. I collapsed into some tall grass and caught my breath. The stars were beautiful, it was the first time I’d be out at night on my own and despite the fear and uncertainty it was the most beautiful night of my life.
I decided I would go to Pepsi girl’s house, I knew it was close and had an idea of where it was. I continued walking and found myself at the driveway just as the sun was coming up. I knocked on the door until a worried man came out to greet me. I told him everything I’d told his daughter and he believed me. Thank God he believed me.
The police arrived at the house to find my father with a gun in his mouth, he had already disposed of my mother. They told him to put it down but he pulled the trigger and it was over. Over for them but not for me; my life was just beginning.
It was revealed to me that they weren’t really my parents. They had stolen me, stolen my childhood, my mind. And at times, I wonder if they just might still steal my sanity. Thank God for malfunctions.
Thank you Gary, Emily and Grace (Pepsi girl). Thank you.

Coming up, it’s a creepy story from NormalMax entitled “My Students Are Disappearing”, and a story from Weirdo family member Alexis Fackeldey called “Lucky Me”! These stories and more when Weird Darkness returns!

My name is Oliver Stricc. I’m a 52-year-old biology teacher from a small town in northeastern Nebraska, and I have been for almost 14 years. I’ll be the first to admit that lecturing to a bunch of uninterested high school students wasn’t what I had planned to do after getting my master’s degree in medical biology, but it covers the rent of my 1,500 square foot townhouse; plus the seasonal work gives me some time to pick up other odd jobs here and there during the off seasons. But I’m sure you don’t want to listen to me ramble on about my day-to-day life, and that’s not what I’m here to write about. I’m writing this because strange things are going on that no amount of schoolwork or experience has prepared me for.
Friday was the day it all began. My coworker, Joe, was sitting in the teacher’s lounge after I had just finished with my third class of the day, finally reaching my conference hour. He was sitting on one of the room’s many flimsy plastic chairs, grading papers and nursing what I supposed was his fourth cup of coffee.
“How’s the prep for testing coming, Oli?” Joe inquired, referring to the upcoming finals. He always called me Oli despite my attempts to deter him, and at this point, I didn’t even bother fighting with him over it. Joe’s the school’s photography teacher of seven years so far; honestly, I thought he would have given up on this little town years ago to move to a big city better fitting his personality.
“Not bad, but you’ll never believe the excuses I’m getting this year. At this point, I can’t tell if their excuses are getting better or worse as the years go by,” I joked. Although I don’t think he ever really got the same treatment as us core subject teachers did, he did his best to be as empathetic as possible.
“Well speaking of students,” as if we aren’t always, “I heard from a little birdie that there’s a new kid that’ll be starting school next week.”
“Yeah, I got an email about him earlier this week, it’s some kid from the coast apparently. He’ll be in my first-hour class,”
“Really? This late in the school year? I thought it might have just been a rumor!” Joe admitted leaning back in his chair. I smiled weakly, half of me excited for a fresh face in this ocean of familiar ones and a half already preparing for how much this boy’s mere presence was going to stir the pot.
Yet despite my previous anticipation and concern, when Monday rolled around it was the same routine as always. Get up, get dressed, and get to school before the first student, who was always Laura, could zombie-walk into class. I had almost forgotten about the new kid until just as the bell rang, a black-haired boy — notably in a suit — came striding into the class like he owned the place. Immediately recognizing that this must be the infamous transfer, I stood up from my desk and made my way over to the front of the room where he was waiting for me expectantly — almost like he had done this before.
“Good morning class, I hope you all had a good weekend, I’d like you to meet David, he’s your new classmate, and I expect you all to treat him with the hospitality I expect from this class.” I then turned my focus to David. “Well, is there anything you’d like to share about yourself?” I prompted, hoping just as much as the students that he would delay the class’s start. But my hopes were short-lived. David was silent. So completely silent that we all quickly fell under a blanket of awkwardness and I rushed to fix what I had invoked. Clearly, David wasn’t ready to handle all the attention. I would have felt bad for the kid if his glaring dark brown eyes weren’t cutting into me like a knife.
“Well that’s alright, you don’t have to. You can go take a seat now and we’ll begin class.” And so David gave me a quick look and started walking down one of the rows of desks only to stop at Laura’s desk — the first in class.
And he just stared at her.
Laura was a bit of a loner — probably the reason she was always in class first — and it seemed she was keeping her head down like a scolded puppy in an attempt to act like she hadn’t noticed the boy standing beside her. I opened my mouth to tell David that there were other empty desks when she eventually looked up at him and without a pause, gathered her things, got up, and walked away with her face as straight as a professional poker player. It was odd, almost automated, but David and Laura both now had seats and I wasn’t about to make a big deal out of it, so I began the day’s lesson. It was almost fifteen minutes into the hour when I got a tingling feeling I was being watched. Some of you might be thinking, But you’re a teacher, of course, you’re being watched! And yes, I’m being watched the majority of my day, but not like this. I found confirmation for the shiver going down my spine when I looked across the sea of students and found David was staring at me. And I mean staring. Not like the kid was off in dreamland or high, I mean he was staring at me wide-eyed and unblinking, following my paces from one side of the room to the next completely still. It was like he wasn’t hearing me at all. And at that moment I felt like I wasn’t seeing a student; I was facing a predator staring down his prey. This continued throughout the entire hour.
I was still shaken up and confused by the time class ended and the afternoon came around where I found myself sitting across from Joe in the lounge, this time it was me nursing a cup of coffee. I was unnerved enough to even tell Joe about the oddness of it all. He sat and listened to me for a bit, nodding his head every once and a while until I eventually ended my tangent.
“Wow… that is a bit crazy. I seriously don’t know what to tell ya Oli,” Joe eventually responded.
“You’re soooo very helpful,” I sighed with a thick sarcastic tone. But still, talking to someone made me feel a bit better about the incident. At least it did until Tuesday. Tuesday Laura disappeared.
Laura was one of the only constants in my first class of the day. In fact, by the near end of the year, she didn’t have a single tardy on her record, rather yet an absence. At first, when she wasn’t there I figured she must have had something come up to break her streak, and when class started I was ready to mark her absent, but I couldn’t. According to the computer, there was no Laura on record. Still, I made excuses and put this off as a glitch then ran my eyes again over the crowd of students. Then my eyes landed on the boy in a black suit: David. Yet instead of sitting Laura’s empty seat like yesterday, today he sat at Adam’s desk, a big guy who made sure everybody knew he was captain of the wrestling team; not someone you would want to mess around with. But instead of sitting in his ordinary seat by the window, Adam was now cowering at a desk in the back of the room, and he looked traumatized. Head down, arms holding one another, feet firmly planted. I got up to ask if he was alright, but the moment I did David shot his eyes up to me and glared with a smirk on his face forcing me back into my desk chair. I honestly can’t explain why but when our eyes met it was like I had no control over my body like I was some sort of puppet on a string, and yet I was calm, like the world’s problems had just vanished. So I did what any rational person would do in my situation; I finished taking attendance and I started class under the watchful eyes of David.
By Wednesday, both Laura and Adam were gone, and David took the seat of a girl named Lilly. And even if I hadn’t fully put everything together yet, I knew that was probably going to be the last time I saw Lilly.
I was getting more and more anxious and I confided in Joe once again. However, to my disappointment, Joe met me with confusion rather than understanding. “Who are you talking about?” Joe questioned with raised eyebrows.
“Laura! I told you about her and that new kid Monday, Joe!”
“Sorry, man, I just don’t remember you mentioning her.”
That was Wednesday. The earliest student, Laura, was Tuesday. Adam, the captain of the wrestling team, was Wednesday. Lilly, an advanced eighth-grader who took classes at the high school, was Thursday. Steven, a quiet kid who sat right behind me playing video games on his DS constantly — probably why he had glasses thicker than bulletproof glass — was Friday. These were all kids — my students — that had vanished sometime during the school day. The only thing they had in common was giving up their seat to David. Even more curious is that the other kids don’t even seem to recognize that people are missing; I’ve asked them several times if anyone knows where any of the missing are and all they tell me is that they don’t know anybody by those names in class. You’re probably asking yourself now why haven’t the parents called the school? Why haven’t you gone to the police? What are you doing blaming some little kid when there’s a maniac on the loose? Well, the answer is simple: Nobody remembers them but me. Lilly has an older brother whom I questioned upon her disappearance and he told me he never even had a sister! Honestly, I don’t know what to do anymore, and as each day passes by the terror in my veins begins to build that I will be the next person forgotten. So if anyone out there can tell me what’s going on, or have theories about how this is happening, I’m always here. And one last thing: Don’t give up your seat to a kid in a suit. You never know who, or what, it could actually be.

It was a day I would have given anything to stay in bed. I spent the day feeling like death. I had the feeling that it wasn’t going to get better soon either. I was running a fever and my stomach hurt. The nausea wasn’t very fun, but today I had a million things to do at work and no time to do them. Fortunately, I had the next day off, so I could sleep in and hopefully feel better. Lucky me.
I finally got home around midnight and I was exhausted. I had put on my pajamas and was taking slightly more than the recommended dose of codeine cold meds when I heard a crash in the basement. Basements are known to make strange noises, but this one seemed out of the ordinary, even for the creepy hole that is under my house. I went into the bedroom and grabbed my cell phone and a pocket knife. I kept it on my nightstand for protection from my nightmares and imaginings. The knife was small and not much use against anything larger than a hamster, but it was technically a weapon. Armed with these pathetic tools and a burst of adrenaline deadening the pain, I prepared for my foray into the unknown. Opening my pocket knife and keying 911 into my cell phone I took a deep breath that I immediately regretted. Grimacing, I moved quietly and cautiously. I worked my way to the top of the stairs that led down to the damp pit that is my basement and listened intently. Hearing nothing, I decided it was safe enough to go down and check it out. I should have just called the cops, but everyone thinks they’re invincible until they find out it was just the cold medicine talking.
I crept down the stairs keeping a sharp eye out for psychos and various other types of monsters, including vampires, the sneaky bastards. I made it most of the way down before a debilitating pain seized my midsection, forcing me to double over. At that moment, whatever was down there chose to manifest itself. Through the roaring in my ears I heard something strange, a thump and a scraping noise. It repeated itself, getting closer with each sound and the third time it was accompanied with the most terrifying summons I have ever heard.
“Jamie.” The voice rasped. His tone made my name sound like a death knell. “Jamie,” it said again. Whatever the noise was, it knew my name. I wanted to run, to hide, but my stomach hurt so bad I couldn’t even stand up. I began dragging myself up the stairs in a desperate attempt to get away. It was then that I realized I still had the cell phone in my hand. While frantically jabbing at the send button I managed to get myself to the top of the stairs. Whatever it was in the basement begin to stomp up the stairs in my wake. Clamping the phone to my ear, I struggled to get the door shut and desperately pleaded for someone to answer the phone.
“Ring …, Ring …, 911, what is your emergency?” said the calm and collected voice on the other end. “There’s something in my basement. You gotta help …” but my plea was cut short by an incredible pain in my stomach, so intense my voice caught in my throat and I had to fight to stay conscious.
“Miss? Are you alright? Miss?” queried the operator. She was still calm and collected. Before I could answer the door leading to the basement opened with a crash. Silhouetted in the doorway was the largest man I had ever seen. He was also the angriest man I had ever seen. Wielding a knife and dragging an injured leg behind him he advanced. His unique gait only served to make him more terrifying. It seemed to transform him into a sort of inhuman monster. The nightmare advance and in my scramble to get away I lost the phone. Somehow I managed keep hold of the pocket knife for all the good it would do against something his size. Fear and pain made me clumsy. I ended up in a corner of the kitchen with my back against the wall. During the scramble I accidently knocked over a broom that had been leaning against the counter. Despite the maniac’s scraping steps I couldn’t get away.
“Jamie … Jamie …” the madman called, advancing with his slow but terrifying gait, dragging his leg behind him. I wanted to run but there was nowhere to go. Even if there had been, I was in no condition to stand, let alone escape. Shaking with fear I resigned myself to dying and prayed it would be quick.
After what seemed like years he finally reached me. Leaning over he picked me up by the collar of my ridiculous bright blue pajamas, and pulled me so close I could smell his breath. Surprisingly, it smelt of daisies. Remembering the knife I lashed out. It bit into the flesh of his right pectoral, but he didn’t even flinch. Grunting he took a step backward in order to swing his massive arm. I closed my eyes, not wishing to watch as his massive knife rushed down toward my head, but nothing happened. Suddenly, I heard a crash. As I lost consciousness I hit the kitchen floor and the rest was pain and blackness.
Everything I know about what happened next I learned from various hospital officials and follow-up interviews with the police. The city’s finest arrived within minutes of my call and found me on the kitchen floor, unconscious, and in severe need of an appendectomy. Beside me lay a huge man with an injured leg and a knife sticking out of his chest. His legs were wrapped up in a broom that someone had left lying on the floor and the corner of the granite counter had an obvious blood stain. The combination of the blow on the head and the pocket knife embedded in his chest had kept him down long enough for the police to detain him.
They said his name was Norman Prock, an escaped convict and dedicated homicidal maniac. According to the police he was walking down the street and saw my mailbox. It was then he decided he didn’t like my name and he was just insane enough to kill me for it. That’s the strangest part. He didn’t even have a good reason for actively pursuing my demise. There are many reasons to die, but just because of my name? I liked it and I was assured it was unoffensive.. It was almost unbelievable and certainly not fair. After breaking the basement window, he gained entry into the house and did his best to accomplish his objective; namely my death. Despite how this may seem it was actually very fortunate for me. If he hadn’t broken in and disrupted my nightly routine I would have taken some aspirin and a few sleeping pills and passed away quietly in my sleep of a ruptured appendix.
Lucky me.

Coming up, it’s one final story for our Thriller Thursday episode – it’s called “I Hope I Never Dream Again”, written by Devin Hoover, up next!

Dreams are supposed to be a magical place, a place where we can escape from our everyday lives, where our imagination can run free.
I have often heard my friends complain that they don’t dream enough, or that their dreams are too dull, but not me. Ever since I was young I have had dreams very frequently, and I used to enjoy them.
However, nowadays my dreams are a bit different.
I’ll start at the beginning, because where else would I start? I have always had quite a mundane life, living in a small town with next to nothing to do.
Friends weren’t exactly my strong suit growing up, so I relied on my imagination for my own entertainment. Although I think this is quite a common thing for most kids to do anyway.
As I said, I would dream very frequently, almost every night if not every other night. Nothing ever stood out from these dreams though, in fact most would be forgotten by the time I crawled my way to breakfast.
Unfortunately, these forgettable dreams couldn’t last forever.
I am currently 22 years old, and the “new dreams” began around two years ago.
It was a night like any other, nothing abnormal happened during the day, I was simply ready to go to sleep, and so I did.
Once I did I found myself in a world of grey, it wasn’t necessarily dark, just bland. There were grey houses, grey streets, grey grass, essentially an atypical neighborhood, but everything was a shade of grey.
Looking around I saw almost nothing of note, until I spotted a woman sitting on a bench, a woman I did not recognize.
From what I’ve read, the brain does not simply invent faces, we can only dream of what we’ve seen.
So, perhaps this woman was someone I had walked by in a crowd once, or seen in the background of a TV show, someone I had seen just long enough to conjure their face in my dream.
The woman looked to be in her mid 30’s with long grey hair, small grey eyes, grey lips, and her clothes were well you guessed it grey, she had typical soccer mom look, that is if soccer moms had no color to them.
She stood there completely still, like she was simply a prop to this world. Then, after a long stare down, she began to raise her right arm. She began to point at something, the direction she was pointing was close to me, but not directly at me.
As I began to turn to look at what she was pointing at I… I was ripped from my dream, I found myself lying in my bed on my side, my heart was beating incredibly fast, yet I had no clue why.
Thoughts were racing through my mind, who was that woman? What was she pointing at?
My mind was moving so fast it took me a few moments to realize I couldn’t move, I was completely frozen laying on my side, with my head facing my wall.
That’s when I heard my bedroom door open, my eyes were wide open, but I was not in a position that I could see who was at my door.
My mind began to rationalize the situation, it must have been my younger sister, perhaps she had a nightmare and she had come to my room for comfort.
I began to hear footsteps approaching my bed, the closer they got, the more I thought how heavy these footsteps were for a small child to have, but despite my suspicions I could not move, the only thing I could do was wait as my eyes were glued to the wall, just out of sight of my intruder.
Eventually, the footsteps stopped at the foot of my bed.
The next sound would be the creaking of the springs in my mattress as someone began to slowly crawl on to my bed, I could feel the mattress begin to sink where my feet lay.
In my position, this person was still completely unseen by me, and they continue to climb until they were directly behind me.
I began to feel light breaths down my neck, yet I still could not move, this went on for what seemed like hours.
Then the breathing stopped, as I felt a cold hand go across the mid-section of my back.
This was finally enough, I regained control of my body, as I flipped over and let out a monstrous scream.
Yet, there was no one there. Nor was there any sign anyone had ever been there, no impressions had been left in my bed, and my door was still shut like it always was when I went to sleep, there was nothing.
Most people probably have probably already decided that what I experienced was sleep paralysis, and I agree. I have done extensive research on sleep paralysis since that day, and it matches up almost perfectly to what I experienced.
However, there is one problem.
The spot on my back where the cold hand touched me now holds a scar. It’s a small line that stretches horizontally across the mid of my back. Before that night I had no wound there, nor any previous scarring on my back. As much as I wished it was just a terrible case of sleep paralysis, even then I knew it had to be something more.
Life returned to normal for a short while after this, I no longer dreamed at all, which did not bother me.
I did begin to sleep with my bathroom light on for extra light, as I could no longer stand to be in a room that was too dark to see.
I also began sleeping on my back, so even if I was experiencing sleep paralysis I would have a clear view of my whole room.
After about a month I had almost convinced myself that I was delusional, I even chalked up the scarring to something that I must have missed at some point, perhaps it had always been there.
That was until the second dream came.
Once again I found myself in the grey world. It was much the same as last time, this time an almost empty street and of course with no color.
Only now it was not a woman that stood in front of me, instead it was a man. The man was older, probably in his 70’s if not older, but once again it was a face I could not recognize. The previous woman had had no expression, in fact the only part of her that even moved was her arm when she began to point.
This man however was wearing a smirk, as if he knew something that I did not, but other than this he too was completely motionless. I guessed what would happen next, and sure enough the man began to raise his arm.
Only he did not begin to point anywhere in my direction, instead he extended his arm all the way to his shoulder and extended his thumb as if to say “behind me.”
Despite what happened last time, I was too curious to not attempt to see what he was pointing at. I began moving towards the man, I placed my right hand on the man to push him aside, and as I did…
I once again found myself in my bed, this time I realized instantly that I could not move.
My eyes darted towards my door, anticipating another visit like last time. Only it did not come.
Instead I noticed a shadow on the edge of my bathroom wall, reflecting off the light that I had left on. The shadow seemed to have been waiting for me to notice it, because once I did, it began to raise a hand and held it there, almost as if it was giving a still wave.
After a few seconds it put down its hand, and it slowly began to inch its way across the wall, stretching in to my room.
I wanted to run, scream, or do anything to get away from this shadow, but I couldn’t, my body refused to move as this shadow slowly crept along the wall towards me.
After a few agonizing moments, the shadow finally reached the wall next to me, and it paused, as if to study me. Then after a few seconds it overtook me.
The moment it happened I once again regained control of my body, and once again I let out a scream that could terrify anyone.
My whole body felt like it was on fire, it was a much more intense sensation than the cold touch I had felt last time. It only lasted a few seconds however, and as I looked down at myself I noticed I was fine, covered in sweat, and possibly some other bodily fluids, but otherwise fine.
That is except for the new scar that adorned my right hand, the same hand that I had touched the old man with.
At this point I was more confused than ever. The dreams had come from nowhere, along with the living nightmares. The grey world obviously had to have some connection to what was happening to me, each dream the figure had pointed somewhere, and each time I attempted to look I was brought back to reality, or at least I think it was reality.
I want to believe it is just a combination of odd dreams and sleep paralysis, but the scars staring back at me make me question everything.
It took almost an entire year for the next dream to come, and in between I had had no other dreams.
Of course when it came where else would I be but the grey world. This time I was inside a house, and empty and colorless house.
I began to move from room to room, until I spotted it, a child sitting on the floor. I say “it” because this child was essentially androgynous; I could not tell whether it was a boy or a girl.
They were around eight years old, I’d say, with mid-length grey hair, and no facial characteristics that would imply a gender.
The child was sat upon the floor coloring, well if you would consider a grey crayon drawing on a grey piece of paper coloring that is.
Without even looking up the child began to raise its arm that didn’t have the crayon and began to point to the side.
“I won’t look,” I said.
This caused the child to stop drawing and look up at me “But you have to look,” it said.
“Why? Every time I do I wake up to something terrible,” I responded.
“If you don’t look, he’ll get angry,” the child said, ignoring my question.
“Who is he?” I beckoned.
The child let out a sigh before saying, “Just hurry and look, you’re running out of time.”
After everything I had experienced I had no reason to trust what the child was saying. So, instead of looking I Instead closed my eyes, and I began trying to will myself back to reality, and after a few seconds, it worked.
I found myself back in my bed, and this time I was fully capable of moving. Nothing came for me that night, no mysterious figure climbing in to my bed, and no shadows approaching me. Had I beaten the grey world? Was it just that simple as to not trust the people there?
That brings it back to current day.
Over a year later I’d like to think that it is all over, that I will never have to see the grey world again, but my normal dreams have not returned. In fact, I haven’t dreamt a single time since my last night in the grey world.
I still have so many questions.
Who were those people?
What were they pointing at that they wanted me to look so bad?
But most importantly, who was the child referring to? Could this possibly be the person, or entity, that is responsible for what has been happening to me?
I’m not sure. If I never dream again I would be satisfied, but I fear that won’t be the case.
I’m terrified that one day the grey world will return, but I’m even more terrified of what I’ll find when I wake up.
Will “he” be waiting for me?

Thanks for listening. If you like the show, please share it with someone you know who loves the paranormal or strange stories, true crime, monsters, or unsolved mysteries like you do! You can email me anytime with your questions or comments at darren@weirddarkness.com. WeirdDarkness.com is also where you can find all of my social media, listen to free audiobooks I’ve narrated, visit the store for Weird Darkness t-shirts, hoodies, mugs, phone cases, and more merchandise, sign up for monthly contests, find other podcasts that I host, and find the Hope in the Darkness page if you or someone you know is struggling with depression or dark thoughts. Also on the website, if you have a true paranormal or creepy tale to tell, you can click on TELL YOUR STORY. You can find all of that and more at WeirdDarkness.com.

Stories on Thriller Thursday episodes are works of fiction, and links to the stories or the authors can be found in the show notes.

“I Was Raised To Believe I Was An Android” by Depth Fiction

“My Students Are Disappearing” by NormalMax

“Lucky Me” by Weirdo family member Alexis Fackeldey

“I Hope I Never Dream Again” by Devin Hoover

WeirdDarkness® – is a production and trademark of Marlar House Productions. Copyright, 2023.

Now that we’re coming out of the dark, I’ll leave you with a little light… “But in your hearts set apart Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect.” – 1 Peter 3:15

And a final thought… “Don’t let your happiness depend on something you may lose.” — C. S. Lewis

I’m Darren Marlar. Thanks for joining me in the Weird Darkness.

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