Scary Short Stories

The Voice

This is a fake story. It isn't real. But it sure was fun to write.
Enjoy!
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I would tell you my name, but at this moment it isn't important.

By the time you read this, I'd be dead anyway.

On my grave, just put John Doe, 'cause I was a nobody anyway.

You're probably wondering why there is a body hanging from the ceiling right above this note.

Yeah. That would be me.
So stop wondering.

Still curious as to why I killed myself? Fine. I'll explain.

The voice made me do it. I wasn't depressed or anything. I just got sick and tired of the doctor's prescribing pills for my "Bipolar Disorder", something I didn't even have, but they gave to me for the voices that continuously haunted me to insomnia.

Of course, they gave me pills for insomnia, too. But I only flushed them, not finding any reason to take them since I wasn't sick or anything.

But still, the voiced never stopped bothering me. Whispers, murmurs, and groans echoes and reverberated from ear to ear, disturbing every minute of sleep I had. They tell me that they were coming to see me, growing in me, and going to one day take control and make me kill everybody.

I didn't understand what this voice wanted, but I gave it everything it asked for.

It asked for some pretty bizarre things, like the heart of a dog, the paws of a cat, and the body of a snake, which I had obediently obtained and consumed.

It was disgusting, and I ended up in the hospital a number of times after that.

But that wasn't what drove me to suicide.

What drove me to crafting up a handy noose, the one you now see around my neck made of cloth and wire, was what the voices said while I slept. They would tell me they were watching, and I could feel them staring, eyes luminous in mirrors and shadows moving and creeping around by themselves.

Shadow people, my psychiatrists, Dr. Holmes, told me, were what was haunting me and keeping me up at night. He said it was nothing but a fraction of the dark side of my mind taking over my sense of sight and hearing.

I bought that, but I felt there was something he wasn't telling me. But soon he did, and I was pretty scared.

He told me, mysteriously and most likely by accident, my third eye had opened.

I do remember feeling a pop in my forehead, and then hearing a soft cackling in my ear, but that was long before the voices came.

I found the voices later on asking for more than animal parts. They now wanted the head of a baby, the hands of a man, and the eye of an elder.

I wasn't going to eat that, or kill anyone, so I completely brushed off the request entirely.

Stupid of me.

The voices came back with a veagance, and were now screaming at me while I slept, saying they would kill me if I slept.

Eyes wide open in the dark, they still tormented me, and now eyes stared back into mine even when they were open. They were red, with pupils yellow and full of infected puss.

It was disturbing, and I couldn't take it. So I made a plan.

I created a rope out of phone chargers, old fabric and scarves i didn't need, and then wrote this note.

At exactly 3:33 pm. Not sure what it was about 3:00 at night, but it seemes like a great time to let my plan unfold itself.

And since the voiced objected to the time I chose, I continued with gusto.

They screamed in terror, saying it was a bad idea, saying I should do it, at least to wait for 3:34.

But I kept at it.

And soon, by the time the note was finished, it was time.

Now, look up at my corpse one last time. You mau notice a scar across my head. An open wound.

That's where the voices escaped.

They might still be around, I'm not sure.

But the last thing I head them say was that whatever this note read would curse the person who read it.

How would I be able to write doen the last thing I heard?

That's funny. I'm not sure, either.

But all I  know is when you look up again I won't be there.

Because I'm standing behind you.