I know this is going to sound crazy as hell, but… I think my pillow had something living inside of it. I’m aware that’s the strangest thing to say, but I don’t really have any other way to explain what I’ve experienced to this point.
This all started a while ago on a typical school night. Nothing was really out of the ordinary save for some extra difficult homework. I had prepared for bed, and as I laid down to sleep, I swore I could hear someone whispering to my immediate left. In response, I jumped out of bed, trying to determine who was in my room.
But almost as soon as I sat up, the whispering stopped. I turned on my light to search my room for what woke me, but it turned nothing. Even my neighbor, who was usually obnoxious late into the night, was unusually quiet.
I shrugged it off as a drowsy audio hallucination and tried to sleep, but as soon as my head hit the pillow, I heard the voice again. This prompted a thorough search of the entire apartment. But again, my efforts turned up nothing.
For the third time, I tried to sleep, and for the third time, I could clearly hear the whispering. But this time, I noticed something different. As I put my head back down on the pillow, the voice grew louder. At that point, I realized that the voice wasn’t just coming from the house. It was coming from my pillow.
Looking back at it, I absolutely should’ve put the pillow in the dumpster soon as I heard a damn voice coming from it, but… I was curious. Some part of me wanted to know what it had to say. I’ve always been interested in the macabre, and it seemed too interesting to just give up on.
But the voice told me such awful things… It detailed stories of murder and violence beyond anything I could’ve imagined. It was sickening. But I just couldn’t seem to break away from it. I feel ashamed to admit it, but I was enthralled by the stories. I must’ve spent hours listening to it speak.
I think it was at around 3 AM that I was ready to throw my pillow in the closet and call it a night, but before I lifted my head up, it told me that it had one more secret for the night. It said to me that that day at school, I would see something truly horrible. Something that would burn an image into my mind that I would never be able to erase. And then… It went silent.
I didn’t get much sleep for the rest of the night. Luckily, I had class at 10 AM, and with a mixture of coffee and Adderall, I was able to drag myself out of bed and make my way to lecture. The day started off normal. I only had two classes, and as I made my way out of my second class to go home, I had all but forgotten what the voice said to me. Honestly, I was concerned with sleep more than anything.
But as I walked towards my car, I heard a scream pierce the serenity of my small college. Two people were fighting viciously in the parking lot. A petite boy no taller than 5’6 was fighting for his life against a man who appeared to be closer to 6’4, 230. The bigger man fought with the rage and desperation of someone truly determined to kill his opponent.
Two other students raced towards them to try and subdue the large man. Still, he shook them off with ease and began bashing the smaller boy’s head into the concrete and pulling at his neck as if he was trying to tear it from his shoulders.
I forced myself out of the shock of the moment and jumped in to help the two others. Together, we managed to hold the large man off just enough for a group of people to subdue him completely and call 9-1-1.
Only after the police and ambulance arrived did I get a look at the boy’s unmoving body. His skull had punctured through the skin, and it appeared as though brain matter was among the large pool of blood collecting on the concrete. Teeth littered the ground, and his neck looked twisted to a disgusting degree.
The voice was right. It’s an image that I will never forget. The boy was rushed to the hospital, and from the rumors around school, he somehow survived. Whatever that was worth. I mean, what kind of life does he lead now that he lives in a vegetative state?
As for the attacker, he apparently never even knew the boy. I’m not even sure he was a student. Rumors pegged the two as mild acquaintances at best, but I’m not sure I believe that. How could someone have that kind of hate towards someone they barely know? It just doesn’t make any sense in my mind.
Honestly, the whole thing messed me up for a few days. I wanted answers so badly. Did the voice living in my pillow actually know the future, or was this just a strange coincidence? As much as I wanted to believe it was a lucky guess, my gut told me that simply wasn’t true.
When I got home, I went for the pillow in my closet and tried to listen to the voice, but it remained silent. Thinking that maybe the voice only spoke up at night, I waited until I was ready for bed, but still, I heard nothing.
Over the next few days, I tried to listen to it, but it didn’t say a word. During this time, I was skipping class, partially for my own mental health and partially in hopes that I’d catch the voice at some point. However, it wasn’t until Sunday of the following week that things picked up again.
Before returning to class, I opted to head to bed early, and I finally heard it. A little caught off guard, I popped up to examine my pillow. The voice greeted me, but in its return, it seemed… louder. I no longer need to be lying directly on top of it to hear it. It reiterated the horrors of what I saw in excruciating detail. I lived every moment again in my head as somehow the voice seemed to tell the story more vividly than even my own mind could re-play. It paused for a moment after finishing the gruesome tale before asking if I wanted to know more.
In hindsight, right at that moment, I should’ve taken it, tied it to the heaviest thing I could find, and then thrown it out to the ocean. But I didn’t. No, I couldn’t. Again, the intense feeling of morbid curiosity hit me like a wave. Fucked up as it was, I needed to know more. With no hesitation, I simply told it, “Yes.
That night it told me the story about how there would be something terrible found in my next-door neighbor’s apartment.
Similar to the last time, it spent hours telling me about the history behind this tragedy. There would often be nights of loud noises and weird smells coming from their home. Over the years, they’d gotten more than a few angry knocks at the door and phone calls, but… Jesus, I would’ve called the fucking police if I knew what was really happening.
Mere minutes after I was told about what was going down, I booked a motel room. There was no way in hell I wanted to be around the chaos that was about to unfold.
Lo and behold, the following day, I got about fifteen text messages from friends, family, and my landlord asking about what had occurred. When I went to turn on the local news, I was met with footage of frozen and decomposing bodies being taken out of his apartment, accompanied by my neighbor in handcuffs. The old man had a dead look on his face and tired soulless eyes that stared through the crowd of people surrounding him.
Though all the details wouldn’t be made public for a while, I knew enough. At least five dead bodies. DNA matched that of some kids that had gone missing throughout the area. Morbidly enough, I remember him being part of a couple of the search parties when they had initially gone missing. He made some social media posts about bringing them home, and yet… This whole fucking time, they were right there.
The voice was right again. The scariest part was that I couldn’t tell if it revealed the truth about these events or influenced them. Either way, I spent the next hour or so in a malaise. I emailed my professors about the day’s events. Luckily, they understood why I needed to take more time away from class. After dealing with questions from police and the trauma of knowing what went down, school just couldn’t be at the forefront of my mind.
To this day, it bothers me. I just… I knew he was strange. I knew he was obnoxious and had a bit of a creepy vibe. But… Consuming children? In the apartment right next to me, no less? How does one process that? There were other parts to the story that I don’t entirely feel comfortable sharing, but trust me, it was beyond evil what he did. I’m glad he got the death penalty for his crimes, but it doesn’t erase what happened. It doesn’t erase the fact that I slept peacefully while those tragedies took place. And it doesn’t erase that fact if I knew, maybe I could’ve done something to save someone. Perhaps I could’ve prevented it from happening to the first kid… Maybe. I don’t know.
The most life-changing revelation came a month later. The voice had grown silent once more, and frankly, I didn’t want it to ever speak again. The only reason I didn’t get rid of the damn thing was that I was scared. I feared that if someone else found it, they would be drawn to it in the same way I would, and maybe… Just maybe it would start to whisper terrible things about me.
Oddly enough, during that time, I used the damn thing. Every night I made it a point to sleep on that pillow. Whether I slept on the couch or had my girlfriend over, my priority was to make sure I could always hear the voice. I felt that if something else was going to happen, I needed to be the first to know.
Unfortunately, as I anticipated, that day came. The day the voice spoke to me again, I got the worst news of all. It’s interesting. You always assume that the things in your life that would elicit the deepest and darkest reactions are the things of a nightmare. A hungry bear catches you in its sights. A masked man with a chainsaw breaking into your log cabin. A clown with a knife scratching at your front door. Maybe a demonic entity stalks you while you’re alone. But those thoughts aren’t based on reality. They’re based on the stories we hear or see on TV, and in all likelihood, the average person won’t have to deal with an angry grizzly or a killer clown. No. The odds of those fantastical events happening to any of us are slim to none. At the same time, the things we should truly fear are much more likely.
My dad called to tell me he had cancer. He’d been a long-time smoker and never one to really check up on his health. It was too late when he noticed real problems and went to the doctor for a checkup. It broke me. Not just because of the shock of the moment. And not because I didn’t think someone like him could run into that problem at some point. I broke down because I knew the day before. I prayed to whatever bullshit God there is that the voice lied. I prayed that this was just an attempt to scare me or that it had the wrong person but deep down? I fucking knew. Just like the previous two times. Part of me wishes the news came as a surprise. It’d still be devastating but to have that thing tell me? It made it that much worse.
I was always close with my dad. Ever since my mom died when I was little, we held a special bond. Being his only kid, he gave me every ounce of love he had to offer and then some. We spent so much time together. Even after I left for college, I still talked with him all the time. And still, after just four short months, he was gone.
I’m not gonna lie. I was suicidal. I drank a lot. I had meaningless sex with God knows who and did everything else under the sun to forget. After what I had dealt with, I dropped out of school. I just couldn’t function. My dad was my rock. The man I could talk to, laugh with, and rely on for support in any kind of way. And just like that, he was gone.
Part of me questioned if it was my fault. Did I cause this by keeping the voice around? What if I had just gotten rid of it like any normal fucking person? To this day, I still don’t know that answer. But what I do know is that even at that point. I still couldn’t get rid of it.
If before, I was only slightly concerned about what the voice would do while not in my possession, then I now I was terrified. Following the death of my father, the voice grew bold. It spoke to me every night. It whispered horrible things about my dad, other people I knew, and complete strangers. It instructed me how to look into awful things about so many people, and it all turned out to be true. It consumed my life.
While I’m being honest, the only reason I didn’t end it all was because a small part of me hoped I’d be free from it one day. That I could move past the voice and finally have my life back. At least, until it started talking about me.
At first, it told me things as small as when I would get a bruise from stubbing my toe, cut myself on an open nail, or get sick. But things quickly got darker. From finding out my girlfriend of three years had been cheating to finding my new puppy dead on my floor, I could see this was leading to a terrifying end.
Just as I predicate, the night I had been dreading came all too soon. As I laid down to sleep, I was woken by the voice repeating my name. Without even acknowledging it, the voice laid out my death. A man was to break into my home, bash my head open with a rusty bat, drag my bloodied, dazed body into my room, and then flay my chest and lungs open while pinning me against the wall with nails like a fucked up art display.
There was no timeframe given. All it would say was that it was happening soon. I stayed up all night, staring blankly at my wall, waiting for death while the voice spoke at a volume louder than I could talk myself. Only about an hour from sunrise, a knock came at my door. I knew this was it. I stayed in my room while the knock turned into a pounding. The voice accompanied the pounding with hysterical laughter.
Tears started streaming down my face, and I silently cried with the knowledge of what was to come as I heard an enormous force trying to barrel into the door. I contemplated calling the police, but I knew they wouldn’t get here in time. This was how I was destined to go.
Eventually, the door started to break from its hinges. Knowing it was only one or two good smashes from giving way, something snapped. I realized that if I was meant to die, that wretched voice wouldn’t be allowed to live either. I quickly searched my room for my lighter and found one right as I heard the door break down accompanied by a large man stumbling through. Quickly, I reached for the pillow, and it began screaming as soon as I touched it. The loud noise gave away my position, and I had to make a mad dash to lock my door and barricade it by flipping over a nearby bookcase.
I could hear him fumbling for the doorknob and then using his weight to attempt to smash his way through. I didn’t have much time. I grabbed a half-empty vodka bottle next to my bed and poured it all over the pillow, then I lit a flame to the thing. Another scream erupted from deep inside. It was blood-curdling and ear piercing. It sounded like a man in the worst kind of agony that one could ever experience. It didn’t curse me or beg for its life as it burned. It only wailed in pain.
I fell to the floor with my hands covering my ears, hoping and praying that it would all stop. The banging and screaming kept coming in unison. I squeezed my eyes tight and screamed for everyone to shut up. Over and over. I just wanted it all to be over. Slowly, everything started to die down until… Silence. All that remained were the burned remnants of my pillow. I waited half an hour before checking the rest of my apartment, and to my relief, there was no one there.
The sense of freedom that washed over me was unlike anything I had ever experienced. And at that moment, I again broke down. I’m not as much of a crier as I’m making myself out to be, but given what I had just gone through for more than half a year, everything just kind of came out.
The police came by, but all I could really tell them was that I think someone tried to rob me, and that was the end of it. Despite the apparent damage and screaming, they could never find anything that led to an arrest.
At the end of it all, the final step on this horrible adventure was rebuilding. I got a new dog, I’ve started to eat healthier, and I’ve taken up hiking and other activities outside to help clear my mind. Being around other people also really helps. I still have my moments of darkness, but really forcing myself to get out there and talk to people has made a massive difference. And as a result of that, I may even have a potential relationship, but we’ll see how that goes.
After everything went down, I had also moved apartments. I just felt it would be best to get away from that area if I was going to heal. I must’ve had spiritual cleansings done by over ten different types of religions along with my many other more minor spiritual rituals I found online. For a while, things worked great. Life returned to the best approximation of normal. But last night… I think I heard a voice coming from my walls. It spoke of such awful things.
Credit : Bryan A Young
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