
08 Jan A Case of Insomnia
āA Case of Insomniaā
Written by Razor D. Belphe Edited by Craig Groshek Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek Narrated by N/ACopyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).
š§ Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
ā° ESTIMATED READING TIME ā 11 minutes
A curious case emerged in the fall of two thousand four. A man, aged nineteen, was found dead of an exhaustion-induced heart attack. The man, believed to be a casual user of methamphetamine, described his gradual descent into mental instability due to chronic insomnia, suffered over a course of a little over two months, in a series of journal entries collected at the scene of the fatality. At his familyās request, his name has not been made public.
September 1
Iām keeping this journal in keeping with my therapistās orders. He suspects I suffer some as-of-yet undiagnosed nervous disorder. Whether or not thatās the case, itās true that Iāve been known to suffer from anxiety, hell, even paranoia from time to time. At an age when I should be transitioning into adulthood, I feel underprepared and, Iāll admit, vulnerable. Iām a first-year college student, and soon enough Iāll declare my major – English. Writing this comes naturally to me, and Iāve always had a fondness for writing in general. Iām more well-spoken than most my age, but that by itself wonāt prepare me for the real world. I struggled to decide what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Some people know, even as kids, what they want to do. They make a plan and follow a series of steps to get to it. After years of long, good old-fashioned hard work, they reach their goal and, among at least a few people I know in passing, are set for life. This isnāt the case for me. Iām fickle and unsure of myself. The thought of committing the rest of my life to a career is more than a little intimidating. I settled for the idea of being an English teacher if only to satisfy my therapistās urging to set a goal for myself, but I donāt think my heartās really in it. Unfortunately, Iāve been sidetracked by a requisite Biology class to complete my general ed. Science has never been my strong suit. An important test is coming up soon in that class, and Iām here writing this when I should be studying. But I canāt focus. My mindās scattered in too many different directions, a little bit in several different classes, to really do well in any of them. Iād rather drop it altogether, but my parents, instead of having me pay rent to live with them, insist I either work or go to school. I donāt have any marketable skills, so here I am. If I back out now or, God forbid, fail the class, Iām looking at life on the street. Tough love, eh? I canāt afford to flunk this test. Iāve had ample warning that itās coming – two weeks of it – and it still doesnāt come up for another week. I have to make the most of the week I have left. Hereās a good place to stop.
September 2
I passed out in class today. The stress of trying to keep up with everything, I guess. I should have just started as a part-time student, but I overestimated myself. On the flipside of being uncertain all of the time, there are occasional moments when I bite off more than I can chew, in an inversion of my usual symptoms that mystifies those around me. These random bursts of manic confidence bear some resemblance to bipolar disorder, but I donāt seem to qualify for the other symptoms. Iāve undergone extensive testing, but no oneās really sure, least of all my therapist. My parents would prefer I āsnap out of itā as it goes, but thatās not happening. At least, not anytime soon.
September 3
It happened again, several times in fact. I excused myself from class early, made up some bullshit about indigestion, and came home to rest. When I woke up, six hours had passed, yet I didnāt feel any more rested than when I laid down. Maybe somethingās wrong with me other than just my nerves.
September 4
I didnāt even bother going to school today; I wouldnāt have retained any information anyway. My parents were surprisingly sympathetic. Mom made me some soothing tea and Dad, usually standoffish and curt, made an effort at some idle, pleasant conversation. Heās been home on paid sick leave since he hurt his back moving a load, and bitching about it ever since. Naturally, heās projected that stress onto me. So, it was a nice change of pace to just talk from one man to another. He still doesnāt realize that I couldnāt care less about football – his default topic – but Iāll take what I can get.
September 5
Sam came over today, my second day absent from school. He took the day off from his job at his dadās meat-packing plant to come to see me. In the text he sent me two hours before showing up, he asked if I wanted some coke to perk me up a bit. I thought he was joking, so I replied āyesā. Well, the smartass came by in his dadās pickup with a literal trunk full of cola – decidedly not the type of coke we both knew Iād assume he meant. My parents were bemused. The two of us had a good laugh about his little stunt. His family supplied meat to the local grocery store, so that was probably where he got the soda. He brought treats heād gotten for free there to the house from time to time. We mostly holed up in my room, playing some video games, binge-drinking cola, but mostly just shooting the shit. At some point, I must have told him about my test anxiety. Samās face changed. He said it sounded like I needed something to help me focus. I knew what heād meant. Iād been clean off meth for three years, starting when my parents threatened to call the cops on me. Iād had a cousin on the poor side of town whoād gotten in with the wrong crowd to sustain his supply. I hadnāt known him that well, but Iād still been shocked when I heard heād been gunned down by an assassin from some rival gang. Naturally, my parents were horrified. When they found out I was using – just a little, I told myself – they asked me if I wanted to end up like him. I guess it was a wake-up call. I hadnāt touched the stuff since. If my parents knew that good, hardworking Sam had done it with me half the time, they probably wouldnāt badger me to be more like him anymore. My Dad just might kill him. At first I was reluctant, but Sam assured me I could just use it to get through my studying and then call it quits for good. Heād even stop screwing around with the stuff himself to help me through it. Cold turkey. It was a seductive notion, and I convinced myself a brief relapse was the lesser of two evils compared to homelessness. Sam said it was short notice, but he could probably get the supply from Trent – who neither of us really liked but tolerated – by tomorrow. I said that sounded fine.
September 6
Good old douchebag Trent came through for me. Sam got the stuff – at a generous āfriends and familyā discount, Trent assured him – today as promised, just in time for the weekend. The Bio test is on Monday, and that gives me two days to stay up all night and get through this goddamn book. I stopped using because it started exacerbating my symptoms, but that was a small price to pay now. Itās do-or-die.
September 7
The first night, Sam came over while my parents were out on date night at some pretentious Italian place. He cut the stuff into two lines – the selfish asshole reserved the clearly larger line for himself – and produced two straws. We bumped them together and snorted. The high came on strong and fast, and I could feel my heart pounding hard. At once, it was like everything came into focus. I turned Sam away, who conveniently forgot that my goal was to study, when he suggested first video games, then a wrestling match. He ended up sifting through my stashed illicit magazines while I hit the books. Well, book. I kicked Sam out at around ten, just before my parents got back. I said goodnight to them and pretended to go to sleep. I was up till eight. Iām still up, in fact.
September 8
Dude, fuck this journal.
September 9
I passed the test with flying colors. Iāll have my official grade by next class or so, but I know I aced it. I still havenāt slept yet, but who needs sleep? I think Iām going to go run a couple of laps around the park, work off some of this nervous energy.
September 10
Never got through the whole stash. I didnāt end up needing all of it, and I think my parents were starting to catch on, so I flushed the rest of it. Trent would have been horrified at a waste of good product. As I promised myself, Iām finished with it for good. School is smooth sailing from here. The come-down off the high has been a little rough, but nothing I canāt handle. I just wonder when it will finally end. Must have been some really good shit, cause Iām still wide awake.
September 11
Iām a dumbass. My nosy mom started leafing through my journal. I āaccidentallyā pushed the lamp on my nightstand over to distract her. She berated me for breaking it and extracted a promise from me to pay for a replacement, but better that than she finds out I touched meth again. Iām keeping this journal in an old lock-and-key heirloom box I got from my late great aunt from now on.
September 12
Going on three nights without sleep. I havenāt heard of the aftereffects lasting this long, but I guess that doesnāt mean itās impossible. My nervous ticks are starting to act up a little. Mostly just an eye twitch and some infrequent fidgeting.
September 15
Iām getting scared. Itās been almost a full week without sleep and Iām having a hard time keeping it together. Somehow Iām relatively clear-headed, but I can feel that slowly changing. Itās taking a lot of effort just to put pen to paper. I donāt want to tell my parents whatās happening, at least not if I donāt have to. I see my therapist the day after tomorrow for a regular check-in. If I canāt sleep again tomorrow, Iāll tell him. Doctor-patient confidentiality should mean that we can keep things just between us. Iāll call Sam tonight and have him talk me through the freak out Iām having. Heāll bitch about being woken up at three in the morning but fuck him – this was his idea in the first place.
September 16
Iād say Iām exhausted, but that would be redundant. Itās amazing how long the night seems when you canāt sleep through it. Iāve had insomnia before but nothing like this. I tried to read one of my textbooks – I forget which – but I couldnāt focus. How can I be this worn out and scatterbrained at the same time? Iāll talk to my therapist about it tomorrow. Heāll know what to do.
September 17
I hardly had to tell him I was losing sleep. He could clearly see the dark circles under my reddened eyes. He asked if Iād done any drugs. I lied of course, but I could tell he was suspicious. I donāt think heād turn me in, but Iād just as soon keep my less-than-stellar choices private. He said he couldnāt really do anything for me, and said I should try sleeping pills over the counter. I told him Iād tried that already, and I had. So, he recommended seeing a psychiatrist, someone who could prescribe me something stronger. I made an appointment as soon as I walked out.
September 20
I was lucky to get an early opening, but it still feels so far away. My grades have really started to suffer due to my sleep deprivation, so Iāve told all the teachers Iām out sick until further notice. Ever opportunistic, shady-ass Trent has covered for me for a daily fee, doing my assignments for me and forging my penmanship, even turning it in for me. If heās that smart, I donāt get why heās a drug dealer in the first place. I hate his stupid face. I asked him point-blank where he got the meth and if it was cut with anything. I decided to take his word for it that it was pure when push came to shove. I decidedly did not want to meet his supplier, who was rumored to the prime suspect in a number of disappearances, and a big-time crime boss. Iād watched enough gangster movies to know better than bother someone like that. I had a strange respect for Trent then, who was either brave enough or blissfully dumb enough to deal with that kind of danger. I had the feeling he was making money off me to pay off his own debt.
September 22
Trentās fish food. They found him wearing a pair of cement shoes in the river. I changed my mind about asking him about the product a little too late. I guess Iāll miss him after all, primarily because my coverās gone. Iāve been with Sam on school days, so my parents think Iāve been going to class. They still donāt know about my condition.
September 23
Sam and I went to Trentās funeral – attended by a handful of indifferent acquaintances of his – in secret. Neither of our parents would like it if they knew we hung out with gutter-trash like Trent. I should have felt a little sorry for him, but all I can feel is tired.
September 25
Iām starting to see things. I looked at my bedroom wall and saw it running like wax. I rubbed my eyes and blinked repeatedly, but it still didnāt go away for a good fifteen minutes.
September 26
In addition to the running walls, Iām starting to see sparkles, and Iām lightheaded too. I havenāt been eating either. My parents are starting to notice.
September 28
Thank fucking Christ, I finally saw my new psychiatrist. He prescribed me some supposedly powerful sleeping pills. Hereās hoping.
October 1
Nope. Nothing.
October 20
Iāve been going down the line of different pills at a record pace. For a small bribe, he hooked me up with something experimental. There goes the rest of my college fund.
October 24
Iām starting to see something in the corner of my eye. Whenever I turn to see it, itās gone. I feel so close to catching it, but no luck.
October 25
Somethingās watching me. I just canāt shake that feeling.
October 26
It moves through my room at night while I lay awake on the mattress, covered in cold sweat. Tonight itās under my bed. I have to take a piss, but Iām not getting up. Itās waiting for me to.
October 27
Tonight itās in the closet. Itās taunting me. It showed me Trent, his body waterlogged, gray-green, and ravaged by hungry fish. Trent leered at me with a toothy grin, lips rotted away, watery eyes bulging and mean. He accused me of things. I apologized through terrified tears, but he only pointed at me, his finger gnawed to the bone. He wanted me to come into the closet with him. I refused. He disappeared behind a hanging coat around four in the morning.
October 28
I went to the bathroom. The thing wasnāt under my bed this time. Instead, it was waiting for me in the mirror. I screamed as I saw my reflection being ravaged by that thing. I only got a glance at it, and blanked the memory of its appearance from my mind.
October 29
Itās not the meth. It canāt be. That thing is doing this to me. I can start to see more and more of it out of the corner of my eye. Itās starting to become more defined.
October 30
I went for a midnight snack of cold chicken. When I opened the refrigerator, Samās severed head was waiting for me on a platter.
October 31
Halloween, and Iām living an honest-to-God horror movie. I didnāt go out to trick or treat. I donāt go out at all anymore.
November 1
Sam came over today. He didnāt respond well when I asked how he got his head back.
November 2
I see them, the missing people. They wonāt leave me alone.
November 3
It revealed itself to me for real this time. I screamed and my parents rushed in and turned on the lights, but not before I saw it in full. It was skeletal, grey, with glowing yellow catās eyes, and long retractable bone claws on each hand. It smiled at me, revealing a mouthful of needle teeth. I donāt want to sleep anymore.
November 4
My eyelids are getting heavy. I understand now. It kept me awake, and now itās going to stop. It made sure that Iād sleep for a long, long time when I finally crashed. I have a feeling that if I fall asleep now, Iāll never wake up.
November 5
No one else can see the claw marks it leaves in the walls. It only wants me to see. It shows me other things too, things no one should see.
November 6
It isnāt really the humanoid it presents itself as. Thatās just the closest I can come to understanding it. Whatever I saw in the mirror was more accurate.
November 10
No amount of meth or coffee is going to help me anymore. Iām done fighting it. I just want to sleep. I guess this is my final entry. Iām going to close this journal and leave it on the nightstand for my parents to find it. Iām sorry, Mom, Dad. Iām sorry Sam. Goodnight.
[End of entries]
š§ Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
š More stories from author: Razor D. Belphe
Publisher's Notes: N/A Author's Notes: N/AMore Stories from Author Razor D. Belphe:
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Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).