I would like to tell /x/ a story. This isn't a typical story of death and mutilation but the story how I'm slowly losing my conscious and unconscious mind.
Back in October of 2013 I was diagnosed with APL Leukemia. I was married to a beautiful bride with a fantastic career that I loved. The news came suddenly when huge blue and yellow bruises started appearing all over my body. One trip to the ER and twenty minutes after having blood drawn the doctors were certain.
"You need to see a specialist. We'll arrange to have you transported up state as soon as possible; we think it's Leukemia."
The words echoed through my mind and I felt a piece of me die that day. With my weeping wife, shocked and terrified parents and brother next to me; I had to be stronger, for their sake. The only words I uttered.
"When can I go back to work?"
I was rushed over two hundred miles away from my home town by ambulance. I can remember the feeling of vomit slowly rise and fall through my throat as I laid in the back of the speeding emergency vehicle through winding roads in the pitch black night. Staring at the subtle red dome light illuminating the cab.
We arrived in the early morning hours, still dark outside; I remember feeling the cold October air wisp through hair. I didn't realize that would be last time I felt the air in months.
I was terrified of needles but through countless blood draws and antibiotic shots in my stomach I learned to get over my phobia; I'm stronger than this, I chanted in my head minute after minute every day.
For the first two weeks my room was filled with love and laughter. My wife hung our pictures around the room to give a sense of normalcy. Between being bedridden with IVs, the countless beeping machines, the constant cries and moans of the less fortunate neighboring rooms made this everything but normal.
Every night my wife would sleep on the couch adjacent to my bed. I would be awoken every morning by the nurse at 0330 for another round of shots and blood draws. While I was awake the sight of my wife's long blonde hair cascading down her angelic face while she slept, tucked soundly next to my agony was a comfort at first. After weeks of my sleepless nights I started to hate her for it. Constant posts on social media, everyone comforting her. She loved the attention.
November 4th. My brother's birthday celebration in my room; I could feel the burden I placed on him. Why did he have to be here when he could be out enjoying his special day with his fiance? I hated myself.
Slowly my family and friends left. They had their life to live, jobs to continue, afterall; life doesn't stand still for the weak. My parents gave me a long hug goodbye with their best wishes.
"We'll be back soon." They said, pushing back tears of regret and agony.
My wife kissed me as many times as she could muster before we made the best love we could; given the IVs and constant interruptions.
For the first night in three weeks I was(n't) alone in the darkness, unable to sleep. 0330 rolled around and I asked the nurse if there was anything they could give to make me sleep. After the doctor's orders they filled my IV with liquid gold. I was out for twelve hours.
The next night brought the same feeling of insomnia.
"Is there anything you can give me to make me sleep?"
Again, the liquid gold filled my veins and I felt the sweet embrace of slumber creeping from the bottom of my feet, through my fingertips and into my chest. The only problem was I wasn't asleep; I wasn't awake. I layed perfectly still, choking. Paralyzed.
I could hear the beeping machines and feel my chest rise and fall as I gasped for breath. I layed there, still, eyes wide open I was afraid to blink. A dim light cascaded into my room as it did every moring at 0330. But the nurse had come and gone. I saw them for the first time as sweat beaded on my brow and my choking breaths filled my lungs with gravel. Four tall, pure black figures in perfect formation walking slowly, eerily through my empty room.
They stopped. Two at each side of my bed. I could smell the stench of death; the smell of a deer rotting on the side of the road with a hint of amonia. Still terrified to shut my eyes I stared to the ceiling for a sense of relief. I wasn't staring into the abyss; they were staring into me. All four with different facial features but the same loose pale gray skin, yellow and black teeth exposed, and empty sunken eye sockets. When I first layed eyes on them I tried everything I could to scream. Have someone take this away. Not a single wimper escaped my body as I heard the machines beeping louder and louder.
On my right side I felt the blankets shuffle. A cold body pressed against mine. Out of my peripheral vision I could see three. My heart pumped faster and harder than it ever had before; the machines behind me going into a frenzy. I felt her long black hair on my shoulder. A long thin arm stretched accross my chest with bony fingers stroking my back. The love for my wife and a feeling of comfort. I was free; I slipped into slumber.
November 7th. I remembered as much as I could. The beautiful woman, the two hooded men, and the man with a wide brimmed hat.
The day came and went. 0330.
"Is there anything you can give me to help me sleep?"
Paralyzed. Almost instantly the figures appeared next to my bed; two on each side. I looked at the long haired (I assume) girl. The loose skin around her black teeth twisted into a smile. She loved me. I felt at peace. The same cascading light shown through my door. The nurse forgot to inject my antibiotic, idiot. My heart began to race. Who was I to think I could get over this phobia of needles so quickly. I heard the cap come off, the nurse lifted my shirt and the machines beeped furiously.
I felt a tear well up in my right eye, anxiety, depression; why me? What did I do to deserve this? The hooded man on my right with his face contorted in anguish slowly put out his hand. The man was warm, his hands large and powerful. He wiped the tear from my face. My anxiety washed away. I slipped into slumber.
Novermber 12th. It had been 5 nights free of the watchers. Free of the paralysis and the fear. The first snow of the season, I could hear the howling winds through the thick concrete cell which I was trapped. Snow advisory. My wife was supposed to visit me today. I checked her social media account to see if she was okay. To have some inkling that my wife was safe. A post 4 minutes ago, a selfie of her outside of the hospital. "Checking on my husband! Please send prayers!! :(" Followed by dozens of likes and comments saying how strong she is. Typical.
Before I was diagnosed I heard she had been seeing someone on the side. This crushed me but I had enough will power to believe it wasn't true.
We watched movies, some of our favorites. Mine, Silence of the Lambs; her's, every Disney movie ever made. She never kissed me, she stayed on the couch the entire day glued to her iPhone. She spoke softly.
"I want a divorce."
Tears streamed down my face. My heart fell like the soft white snow. 14". She deserved better than me. Someone with strength and the health to provide. I asked her to stay for her safety; she layed on the couch with her back to me until 0330.
"I need something to help me sleep. Please."
Only one figure appeared tonight. It's breathing was a primal snort. This was the second man in dark hood. His eyes were enflamed, his gaze was divided between her and I. He clutched the side rail of the bed with thick black veins bulging down his forearm. I felt he could have ripped me apart. I remembered my iminent divorce. The feelings of inadequacy. Every mistake I had made during our marriage. The lack of intimacy, long hours at work, the shame of infidelity. I hated myself with the most deep breath I could I opened my mouth to scream. The man shot his hand over my mouth and forced the back of my head into my pillow. I couldn't breath. I couldn't speak, I couldn't scream. But he could. The silence was broken when he opened his wicked mouth and pierced the night with a sound I could only describe as a mix between a baritone doberman's bark and the shrill of a banshee.
I struggled in fear thrashing my arms and my legs to get out of his grip. I awoke in a cold sweat, IV ripped out of my arm with blood strewn accross the room. My wife had left.
November 15th. My team of doctors stood at the foot of my bed.
"Unfortunately, you're body is not taking to the chemo treatments. We've done all we can and would like to let you go home and be comfortable. Who can we call?"
"Right now, I just need something to help me sleep. Please."
The figures stood at attention like soldiers ready to do battle. The girl laid next to me as I cried more than I ever have before. The first hooded man slowly stroking my now bald head to no avail. The man with the enflamed eyes thrashing about, attempting to break everything in the room. He couldn't. He didn't exist in the world of reality.
The man in the wide brimmed hat slowly paced back and forth. Took two pictures off of the wall like he knew what they represented. He showed them to me. One, my wife and I's first dance the immense love we felt for each other that night. Laying next to me, the girl's abyssal black hair lit up into gold strands. Her hands became warm. The next picture was the last family photo my family and I took before I moved out. My father's arms wrapped around us with strength and warmth. I knew the man with strong hands. The man with the enflamed eyes left the room and the man in the brimmed hat steadily sat on the couch next to the bed.
He looked at me with his sunk in eyes and pulled the hat from his head. He bagan to quietly weep. With his right hand he began peeling the cold dead skin from his face. Blood trickled down his arms and I could hear the droplettes speckle the floor. In his face was a black mirror. He gazed over me and I looked into the abyss. This is my persona. I felt peace as the girl and the hooded man wept.
Just a little back story. I actually was diagnosed with Leukemia in October of 2013. I began having sleep paralysis after the doctors started giving me lorazepam to help me sleep at night. The four black figures in the story were the only things that showed up when I had sleep paralysis. To this day whenever I get sleep paralysis which is about once or twice a month its the same figures.
I wanted to make sense of them.
I'm actually close to full remission. I really did get divorced almost immediately after getting released from the hospital, my release date was Nov 15th. But since then I've been back to work for over a year and currently have the best girlfriend a guy could ask for. Good vibes man; appreciate the time taken to reply.
Thank you guys very much! Bumps are appreciated.
Are there any sites that are easy to register and have a lot of viewers to make the story more permanent? I appreciate the replies!!
My heart bleeds for you OP, cancer's a shit deal. Fought stomach cancer as a teenager, and on top of the inherent challenges that poses, I was astounded by how quick everyone kind of just left me.
I was only 15, and my own parents stopped visiting after a week. My sister visited a few more times, but she had to go through a whole huge argument with our parents each time about being allowed to take a cab to the hospital (with her own money, no less).
I thought I had a pretty reliable friend group and pretty loyal girlfriend back then, but not only did none of them visit me, my gf started letting them pass her around like a blunt not long after I was hospitalized (feel free to call bullshit on that one, I never quite had proof, and it doesn't bother me that much anymore anyway).
Later learned that my parents took the opportunity to distance me because they thought I was also mentally ill and kinda just didn't want to parent their way through it. When I got better, I went straight from the hospital to my Uncle's place. By then, my sister was living with him too. They both visited me a lot during the last few weeks of my treatment, but that was after months with no visitors.
Aside: Luckily, I had the support of good ol' taxpayers. God bless this socialist paradise.
I had some kind of weird /x/-ish dream before I started to pull through though. Saw some crazy shit, might have been a prophetic dream (as some of it has happened in the decade or so since my recovery). Could tell about it if anyone's interested.
Okay cool it's nice to see some other writers here.
A while back I was on some paranormal sight reading things about shadow people because I use to have one in my house, I never forgot this one story this lady posted about wanting help.
She said her husband had a encounter with what he described as two shadow people, this happened on two different occasions.
The first time he said he saw two shadowy figures beside his bed one in a hood/cloak
and the other one had a very distinguishing feature though, it had icicle like spikes for hair.
The one with the icicle hair was holding a briefcase I'm not sure what else they did the first night but the second night, she said she awoke to her husband who had no recollection as to who he or she was.
It was as if his memory had been completely wiped clean, she got him to draw the two figures out on paper and she posted it with her story.
I felt bad cause she seemed to genuinely need help, your story sort of reminded of that one.
Thank you for sharing OP, I wish you only the best, and good health.
+1 for tears shed in a manly fashion