I Keep Waking Up in a Strange Room | Scary Stories from The Internet
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What does the initial strange dream in the concrete room feel like?
I don't really know why I'm recording this. Maybe because it felt too real to just forget. And I've been sitting at my desk for the past hour, trying to convince myself it was just a dream. Of course it was just a dream. I'm going to keep telling myself that until it sticks. It started the way a lot of dreams do, I guess. Mid action, no preamble. One second I wasn't anywhere, and then I was. I was lying on a floor. Concrete and coal. The kind of cold that soaks through your clothes before you even realize it's happening. I sat up and looked around. That's when the first wave hit me. That uncomfortable feeling. I don't have a better word for it than buzzing. Not in my ears, not in my chest. Deeper than that. Like something had reached inside me and plucked at whatever's underneath all the meat and bone.
And the vibration just wouldn't die out. I kept waiting for it to fade, the way discomfort usually does when you get used to it. But it never did. I sat there the entire time. Humming away in the depths of my consciousness. The room was small, maybe twelve feet across, slightly longer than wide. Though the corners were uneven, like it had been built by someone who didn't care much for precision. The walls were concrete too, same as the floor. and the mould on them was bad. Dark green in some places, black in others. These wide blotchy patches spreading out from the corners. The ceiling was low enough that when I stood, I could press my palm flat against it without fully extending my arm. No windows, no doors, no seams that looked like they could be doors.
No light fixtures either. And yet. I could see everything clearly. Which I didn't even register as strange until later. In a dream, you tend not to question that kind of thing right away. The only feature in the entire room, if you could call it a feature, was a hole in the wall. Circular, roughly six inches across, sitting at about chest height. It didn't go near it at first. I spent what felt like a long time just pacing the room, pressing on the walls, knocking on them, getting down on my hands and knees to look at the floor for any kind of seam or hatch. Nothing. At some point I realized, the way you sometimes just know things in a dream, that I wasn't going to find anything. There was nothing to find.
This was the room. In the room was it. I knew I was dreaming. I figured out maybe an hour in, or at least what felt like an hour. And thought that would help the way it usually does. Like once you recognize it, you can sort of loosen your grip on the dream and wake yourself up, or at least stop taking it seriously. But knowing didn't do anything. The buzzing was still there, the mold was still there. The cold was still seeping through the floor into my feet. I pinched myself, and all it did was hurt. The room didn't care that I knew it was a dream. Eventually I went over to the hole. Up close, it was darker than it had any right to be. I leaned in and looked, but couldn't see anything. Just black. The kind that doesn't seem to have a back to it.
And then there was the liquid. It drips slowly from somewhere inside the hole. One drop every several seconds, collecting in a small dark smear on the wall beneath it and then on the floor. I crouched down and looked at it. B. Viscous in the way that motor oil is. The way it holds together and moves reluctantly. Black, you're close enough to it. And the smell. Diesel. That heavy petroleum smell. Though was something else underneath it I couldn't quite place. Something almost organic. I didn't touch it with my bare fingers. I used the edge of my sleeve, just a brief contact, and it clung in a way that felt unnatural. I still don't know what made me do it, but later, much later after more pacing, after trying to sleep on the floor and finding that I apparently couldn't sleep inside a dream.
I pushed my arm into the hole up to the elbow. The edges were smooth, almost polished, cold inside. Colder than the room. I pushed my arm in further, past the elbow, until my cheek was pressed against the wall and my shoulder was wedged against the opening, and I still couldn't feel the end of it.
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Chapters
8 chapters
1
What does the initial strange dream in the concrete room feel like?
0:05–5:53
2
How does the narrator try to understand and escape the endless buzzing and the hole?
5:53–11:46
3
What medical advice does the narrator receive after the night terrors?
11:46–18:01
4
How does the prescribed medication affect the narrator’s sleep and symptoms?
18:01–23:43
5
What happens during the emergency surgery and how does it change the narrator’s condition?
23:43–30:15
6
How does the narrator cope with the aftermath of the operation and the lingering presence?
30:15–36:13
7
What insights does the narrator gain about the mysterious hole and the doll?
36:13–43:14
8
How does the story conclude and what unresolved questions remain?
43:14–51:56