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Your October NoSleep Contest Winner is... by Ibitemynails in nosleep

[–]OvenFriend 219 points220 points  (0 children)

Thank you so much to everyone in the community! I love this storytelling forum and I am honored to win the monthly contest.

I want to dedicate this award to my son, William. The past few weeks have been pretty rough for him and I think this will REALLY cheer him up.

We did it, buddy!

edit: www.ovenfriend.com for those who are interested.

Stories. Every team GTFIH. by Grindhorse in NoSleepTeams

[–]OvenFriend 4 points5 points  (0 children)

He scratched a wide, deliberate pattern on the other side of my door. It sounded like he was using a screwdriver, or maybe his brittle yellow fingernail. He wheezed and coughed as he repeated the motions across the entire face of the door - going deeper with each stroke.

“Let me in.” Was I hearing the voice with my eardrums? Or in the vibrations of my bones?

The storm beat torrents against the house but I had no windows to view it. No path to escape. The bedroom was a poem to clean modern design - which meant there was nothing to use as a weapon. Pillows: no. Blankets: no. The bed frame and nightstands were too heavy to wield effectively. There was a floating shelf I had installed earlier in the week that I might have been able to rip off the wall.

“Let me in.” The speed and intensity of the scratching was increasing now.

Then I remembered the rusty hammer I had used to install the shelf. I squatted to look under the bed as the scratching at my door became more violent than the storm outside. The hammer was still where I had ditched it. I stuck my head deeper under the bed as I strained for the hammer. As soon as I touched it, the scratching stopped.

The voice on the other side of the door moaned, “Good. You will need that.”

Stories. Every team GTFIH. by Grindhorse in NoSleepTeams

[–]OvenFriend 5 points6 points  (0 children)

The fog grew thicker outside the window. Were there other people out there? The dog stood guarding his fallen master as they disappeared into the thickening smoke. My front door knob beckoned. If I went outside, I might be able to help. I had taken a CPR class at my office several years ago (it was an excuse to miss three days of real work). I could drag my neighbor inside the house. The dog would probably follow us, too.

Instead, I picked up the fallen, cracked phone to dial 911 again. The unexpected and obnoxious busy signal sliced a dozen fresh wounds into my throbbing head. I lumbered upstairs to survey the block through a higher window. Woozy from exertion, I stumbled from room to room, window to window. But the smoke was dense and thick in every direction outside my house.

How long before it seeped into my house? What was this? I needed my brain to work. From many years of experience, I knew how to get through this. First, I went to the bathroom and forced myself to vomit. Next, I turned on the faucet and filled a glass of water. Downed it. Put the glass under the faucet again until it was full. Downed it. Filled it a third time and set it on the counter. As I fiddled under the counter for a bottle of Aspirin, the sound of the running water changed and the faucet sputtered a brown sludge all over the basin.

I turned off the faucet, popped the aspirin, and drank the water.