51 Sleepless Night Horror stories | Scary Stories (Thriller Story)

 51 Sleepless Night

 (Part - 9,10,11) 

Horror Stories | Scary Stories

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Horrible Stories

Dreaming without Sleep:

(Part - 9) 

Humans don’t have a physiological need to sleep. Over time, chemical levels of Adenosine build 

up which cause the sleepy feeling, but that is simply a trigger designed to force our bodies to rest. Some scientists have theorized that this is an evolutionary mechanism intended to prevent us from wasting unnecessary energy while keeping us hidden during the night. Well there isn’t any shortage of calories 

to consume, and there’s nothing going to eat me in the night, so as far as I’m concerned, sleep is just an 

antiquated fetter which humans should leave behind.

We don’t need sleep to live, but we cannot survive without dreaming. And if you stay awake for 

long enough, you’ll start to dream even while awake. The more you try to fight those dreams, the more 

real they will become. Pretty soon, you can’t tell which is the dream and which is real, or whether there is a difference at all. That’s the story I told the police, and my attorney, and it’s the story I’m sticking with now. It started when I read an article in my psychology class about this Vietnamese insomniac named Thái Ngọc who hasn’t slept in 43 years. It said he had some kind of fever, and then never felt the urge to sleep again. Even working full time, it’s like he has a vacation every night. I don’t know about you, but for a stressed out college student always trying to cram for the 

latest test, that sounded like a lifesaver. I’m paying my own way through college with a work study program, and trying to maintain a social life in the half-hour break I have between class and work is absolutely impossible. I’m tired, and stressed, and missing out on what is supposed to be the best years of my life because I never have a free moment to be myself. If I could find a way to waste less time sleeping though, maybe things would get better.

I did some more reading and became obsessed with the idea. If we sleep for 8 hours and are 

awake 16, then eliminating sleep would be equivalent to adding around 40 years to my lifespan (assuming an 80 year life). I found some studies about a drug being tested on mice called Orexin-A which 

was supposed to completely eliminate the need for sleep. It hadn’t been approved for human trials yet, 

but there weren’t any negative side effects found in the mice. If anything, they seemed more active than 

ever. And the best part was, research for this drug was being done right at UCLA where I go to school!

Well I was able to find where the lab was easily enough, although I didn’t expect them to just 

hand me the chemicals. I tried to get an internship there, but they required at least twenty hours a 

week, and I couldn’t even begin to fit that into my schedule. I forgot about the whole thing until I 

overheard Ricky, one of the other kids in my psych class, mentioning that he got the internship.

Ricky was boasting about using the keys to sneak into the lab at night to get high off the 

anesthesia they used on rats. If he doesn’t sound like an idiot yet, then add a tank top that says “I party 

with sluts”, a hat with the “Obey” sticker, and a skateboard which he carries around to look cool but

doesn’t know how to ride. You got the idea.

But that was fine with me, because it made it a simple matter to pretend to be his friend. All I 

had to do was turn my hat backward, make a couple dumb jokes about the blonde sitting in front, high-

five him when she bent over, and voila. Suddenly we were bros. Future of American science right here.

It didn’t take many hints before he invited me into the lab. I found where the Orexin-A 

experiments were just by looking up the faculty directory in charge, and before my “buddy” finished 

coming down from huffing anesthesia, I had a whole backpack full of the little spray bottles of Orexin. It 

was nasally administrated, but I didn’t care as long as it worked.

And holy Hell – it worked alright. Twenty squirts up each nostril (seemed like a lot, but I 

controlled the dosage to 1mg/kg body weight, which was equivalent to the dose the mice were getting). 

I played Skyrim straight into the dawn. Okay, so it wasn’t quite self-actualization, but I hadn’t had any 

free time in a while, and it felt great to have the constant pressure off me. The night was so quiet, and 

by the early morning it felt like the entire world was made just for me. I didn’t even feel tired until the 

following night, and I just took another dose and all the weariness washed away. I spent the second 

night reading Shakespeare just for fun. How else would anyone ever have the time for that? There was 

so much to do and learn about the world, and finally I had the chance to see it all. It was the best thing I 

could have ever hoped for.

The one thing the mice hadn’t mentioned during their experiments, however, was that you can 

still dream without sleeping. They started on the third day, little visual abnormalities that danced 

around the corner of my vision. Patterns, or shapes, or textures just drifting idly by. I actually enjoyed 

them at first, but the longer I went without sleep, the more real they became. By the fifth day I actually 

started seeing fully formed people walking alongside me. They were always in my peripheral vision, and 

as soon as I turned to face them, they disappeared.

It was the evening of the sixth day when I opened my bedroom to see a smiling figure sitting on 

my bed. It didn’t even have a face – just teeth which wrapped all the way up around up to where its ears 

should be. I splashed cold water in my face and the thing disappeared, but it still freaked me out.

I decided to take a break from the drug then, but even without it, I couldn’t sleep that night. 

There must have still been some in my system. I tossed and turned, and every time I got up, that figure 

with the teeth was there watching me. Every time I jolted myself awake, it would linger a little longer in 

my room. Just silently smiling.

I managed to get through the next day – still off the drug, and still seeing the creature out of the 

corner of my eye wherever I looked. I got used to him though and even began to nod off during the 

psych lecture. After class, I decided to call in sick from work and just go sleep. Ricky was trying to talk to 

me, but I was so tired I couldn’t even figure out what he was saying. It was hard to even look at him with 

the creature standing next to us. I just mumbled something and turned to leave, but the idiot kept 

following me.

I shouldn’t have shoved him, but I was so tired I couldn’t deal with pretending to be his friend 

anymore. He stumbled back a few paces – right into the smiling creature. The weirdest thing was, I swear he bounced off the creature and looked over his shoulder. It seems stupid to think he could see 

my dream, but I was so tired I wasn’t thinking straight. I just bolted and ran.

Ricky was still following me though – he was insistent. Something about there being a security 

camera at the lab. That we had to get our story straight about what we were doing there. I don’t know. I 

just wanted to get home. I just wanted to sleep. I ducked into an alley between the psych and sociology 

buildings, but I couldn’t lose him. He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me to the ground, and I didn’t 

have the strength to fight him off. I was too tired to get up, so I just lay there and let him yell at me. My 

mind was so numb with exhaustion, even the sound of his shouting faded into a gentle white noise, and 

I must have fallen asleep right there on the ground.

His body was mangled almost beyond recognition. The police told me there were witnesses who 

saw me jump on top of Ricky and bite his face into a bloody pulp. They said I had some kind of inhuman 

strength, and that it took almost a dozen people to drag me off him. They said I hurled him like a rag doll 

into the building, dislocating both his shoulders and smashing one of the bricks into powder. I don’t 

know how I could have done it while I was asleep. All I know is that when i was about to drift off, I saw 

my creature standing behind Ricky, and the last thing I saw before closing my eyes was its teeth sinking 

into his neck.

The court blamed the incident on the drug and I’ve been transferred to a rehab clinic. It’s been 

four days since I’ve last taken Orexin, but the creature hasn’t gone away. Every time I close my eyes, it’s 

sitting a little closer. Sooner or later I’m going to fall asleep, and it’s going to take control again. I’m 

writing this because if I can’t stay awake, I want someone out there to know.

Don’t blame me for what he does when I’m asleep.

I’m fighting it for as long as I can.

Burning Desire :

 (part -10) 

I’m saying this as a confession. I can’t explain how it happened, but I know it’s my fault because 

it started with me hurting myself. And it’s not like I wanted attention or anything – okay, well as long as 

I’m being honest I wouldn’t mind someone noticing me – but that isn’t why I burned myself. And it 

definitely isn’t why I killed myself, but I’m getting ahead now.

I was in class one day when someone set a fire in the chemistry lab. Probably Jason – that idiot 

was always using the Bunsen burners to melt pens. and glue. and whatever he could get his hands on. 

Anyway the fire drill started and the whole High-school was paraded out into the parking lot like we 

practiced during drills. Everyone was laughing and screaming, and I’d just gotten out of a math test I 

wasn’t ready for so I didn’t mind.

While we were standing in the parking lot, I overheard Lisa say that Sammy, the kid in the 

wheelchair, got stuck on the elevator during the drill. It’s not hard to overhear things since I hang on her 

every word, but you would too if that blonde goddess was standing next to you wearing a punk-plaid 

skirt and a sweater almost tight enough to see through… what was I saying? Oh right, well rumor had it 

that another kid went back into the school to get Sammy out. No one knew who it was, but they were 

already talking about him like he was a hero.

That’s when I had an idea. I could just burn the edges of my clothes a bit, and then Lisa and all 

the other kids would think I was the one who went back in for Sammy. I could be the hero. And even if 

the real hero DID come forward, well I had the burns and he didn’t, so who were people going to 

believe?

I kept my head low and stayed away from anyone who might recognize me – which wasn’t very 

hard since I didn’t have a lot of friends. Or any, I guess. I was new and it would take time, I just hadn’t 

expected it to take more than a semester for anyone to recognize me. But that’s okay, because after 

today, I was going to be the hero.

When the bell rang for us to go back inside, I darted straight to the bathroom. There’s a place 

under the sink where some of the seniors hide a box with cigarettes and lighters. I pulled the box out, 

found a nice black zippo lighter with a skull on it, and here goes – the fire springs to life.

Well turns out polo shirts don’t light up as easily as I was expecting. I blackened a few hairs, but 

this wasn’t nearly enough for people to think I walked through a fire. I used a pen to open the zippo at 

the bottom and poured all the lighter fluid onto my shirt. My heart was pounding – I was excited. I 

couldn’t wait to come back to class and watch Lisa’s face sparkle with awe. I didn’t even take the shirt 

off – I wanted a few burns. Enough to show how tough I was.

Just as I was about to light the fluid, my mind played a funny trick on me. It looked like the skull 

on the lighter was smiling. I didn’t remember it doing that before. Too late now – the fire was already dancing over my shirt. It barely even felt warm. I watched myself in the mirror as the fire spread from 

shoulder to shoulder. My buttons began to heat up and stung a bit, but the shirt was smoldering nicely. I 

ran the faucet and splashed the water on me. That’ll be enough.

But the fire drank the water as though nourished by it, spitting boiling vapor into the air. The 

heat was intense now. I tried to rip the shirt off, but the polyester was melting to my skin. The metal 

buttons seared into my flesh. I couldn’t stop screaming. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this, but it 

was like I was hearing someone else scream through me without even asking my permission first.

I dropped on the ground and began to roll, but the fire just continued to spread over my entire 

body. It ran up my arms, and I could actually see the flesh melting from my finger bones. The pain was 

like you can’t imagine. My whole body was being pierced with red hot knives. Then it started to go black 

– thank God. I’ll fall unconscious and someone will find me. It’ll be over. But no, only half my vision was 

gone. I looked into the mirror and watched my left eyeball melting down my face. It would have gone 

down my cheek if there was any cheek left, but it simply dripped through the hole in my skin, straight 

into my mouth. I gagged. How was I still conscious?

The pain wasn’t letting up, but I forced myself to watch my reflection. I’d done this to myself. 

Somehow, I deserved it. My jaw bone was completely exposed now, and it was starting to crack from 

the heat. There’s no way a zippo lighter could have done this. I grabbed the little black box, but the skull 

had vanished. WHOOOSH. A toilet flushing. Was someone in here the whole time?

I tried to turn my head, but my spine was too weak to support me and started collapsing in on 

itself. I crumpled to the floor and watched as a bathroom stall opened. What. The. Hell? Was this it? Am 

I dead now? Because there’s no reason – no way I could really be seeing myself walk out of the 

bathroom stall. The other me, wearing my shirt and pants, completely unsigned by fire, walked over to 

the sink beside me. He calmly washed its hands in the sink – not even glancing down at me writhing on 

the floor.

I tried to speak – to scream – anything, but only a dry gurgle escaped my throat. That’s when the 

other me turned and smiled, and I could have sworn it was the same boney-white smile the skull wore.

“Your turn on the inside,” it said, or I guess I said that, because it looked a lot more like me than 

I did.

Then everything went black, only I could still feel every inch of my burning body and hear the 

wet plop of my skin sliding down my bones onto the floor. I heard footsteps as it – as I – left the room. I 

must be inside the lighter now, waiting for the next person to let me out. But I can still feel my flesh 

burn, so I pray to God it won’t be long.

Haunting Sound : 

(Part -11) 

I met with the most unusual patient a little while ago. I would never ordinarily post online about 

someone’s confidential details, but I’m frankly at a loss with this one. I have begun the process to submit 

this case study to a variety of peer reviewed journals, but in the meantime I am seeking alternative 

explanations to help him.

Since I’m telling the story anyway, I suppose there’s no use denying it – I could also use some 

help myself.

I earned my MD at John Hopkin’s School of Medicine with an additional four years residency at 

the Baltimore Bethusala fellowship. Next came five years at the Union Memorial Psychiatry Hospital 

before I opened a private practice, which I’ve now run for the last twelve years. I have encountered 

everything from a blind synesthetic who can still see visuals through sound, a schizophrenic who tried to 

kill herself right in my office, and an obsessive compulsive who tightened his shoe laces so relentlessly 

that both feet lost circulation and had to be amputated.

I thought I had pretty much seen it all until this latest patient. I will protect his privacy by 

referring to him as “Mr. X”.

Mr. X’s symptoms were innocent enough – just a ringing in his ears which wouldn’t go away. 

He’d visited numerous otolaryngologists, but as there was no discernible cause for the ringing, he was 

referred to me to decipher the psychosomatic source of the phenomenon.

During our first meeting, he didn’t make eye contact with me, nor did he ever speak above a 

whisper. He just stared at his hands, endlessly wringing them against each other. He’d been doing it so 

obsessively, in fact, that his fingers were rubbed raw and bloody. I made considerable progress on the 

first day, and with the aid of some anti-anxiety medication, he was able to look me in the eye, although 

the hand wringing continued.

“Can you hear it, doctor?” he asked me during the second session.

“Of course not. The sound is not coming from a mutually accessible environment. The sound is a 

fabrication of your mind.”

I wish now I hadn’t prescribed the anti-anxiety medication, however. That I’d kept those black, 

lifeless eyes pointed away from me. He pulled his gaze away from the ground and looked at my face, 

and it seemed as though the effort it cost him resembled how you or I might struggle to gaze at the 

hideous disfigurement of some elephant man. That’s when I began to hear it too – that soft ringing, like 

church bells inside my skull.

“How about now? Do you hear it now, doctor?” he asked. 

And that smile – that twisted grimace of satisfaction – somehow he knew I could. Regardless, 

admitting I heard his hallucination would only deepen his psychosis, so I naturally had to deny it. I 

terminated the session early and prescribed some antipsychotics, even taking some for myself. By the 

time I got home, the ringing was gone.

In our third session, the ringing started again as soon as he entered the room. The pitch wasn’t 

consistent like it was before though – it rose and fell with melodic rhythm like a whole orchestra was 

welling up inside of me. Mr. X just stared and grinned. I don’t think he even cared about getting better 

anymore. He was just relieved at not being the only one to hear it. He wasn’t very responsive that 

session – all he would do was hum along to the music inside my head. I terminated early again, and he 

went home without complaint. As he was leaving, my secretary asked me where those strange bells 

were coming from.

I increased the dosage, prescribing some to myself and my secretary as well. The phantom 

sounds went away again, but the moment Mr. X was back in the room with me, the music would swell 

up. My racing heart pushed blood through my veins in rhythm with the beat, and my head would throb 

from the intensity of those notes reverberating around my brain. I’d started wringing my hands too, just 

as something to distract myself from the noise.

By the end of the fourth session, the skin around my palms was wearing thin and there was 

blood beginning to seep through. I hadn’t even noticed how hard I was clenching them together.

As you might imagine, I referred him to another doctor. He called no doubt to complain, but I told my 

secretary to let it go to voicemail. I didn’t care, I wasn’t taking him back. And if that were the end of it, 

then I would have simply hung up my coat and retired that day, but the sound hasn’t left me. If 

anything, it’s growing louder, and I had even begun to hear a choir join in with the orchestra.

My secretary didn’t come in to work today. I’m here all alone, at wits end what to do. I’ve tried 

every cocktail of medication I can think of, but it’s only left me feeling worn out and hollow. The sound is 

still there. I didn’t want to be alone here, but somehow my office is the only place I felt safe. I tried to 

call my secretary to see how she was doing, but I never work the phone system and must have pushed 

the wrong button. I just got the voicemail from Mr. X, but I was so desperate for an answer, I still forced 

myself to listen to it. Here is what he said:

“As long as the music plays, you’re alright. All the world is a stage, and all of life a play upon it, 

and as long as the music sounds the show is still going on. I didn’t come to you because I was afraid of 

the music. I came to you because I was afraid it would stop.”

I spent the rest of the day calling patients and referring them to new specialists. I called my 

building manager and opted not to renew the lease on my office. I went home, with no intention of ever 

going to work again. The music is getting quieter everyday now, but that’s only making me more 

anxious. I’ve tried calling Mr. X again, but his cell phone is out of service. I called the doctor I referred 

Mr. X to, but he never showed up for his appointment. I even went so far as to visit the address listed on 

his medical forms, but it was just an abandoned theater.

I don’t know how much longer the music will play for, or what will happen when it stops, but 

until then I’m just wringing my hands and waiting.