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This is a long story, but has ANYBODY ever heard of “The Reject’s Room”?

I must have written, deleted, and rewritten this a dozen times. I am trying to be pragmatic here but can’t seem to describe this fatal situation within the laws of practicality. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, and somehow I feel responsible for this anomaly of a scenario that I physically had no part in. I would never think that a harmless gag could take such a dark and twisted turn. Yet, here I am. Struggling to make sense of this tragedy on a word document at three in the morning. Five milligrams of Ambien can only do so much for a teenaged insomniac. So, I guess I’ll start from the beginning.
I live in a really small town in the middle of bumblefuck nowhere. Like this place is so unheard of I doubt you could even find it on a map (which, again—is a big part of what baffles me about this whole situation.) You would think that everybody who lives here is on the same playing field, but unfortunately my high school follows your standard American caste system just like any other high school.
You have your popular kids (mostly jocks, cheerleaders, rich kids), “the regulars'' or just kids who fall flat in the middle of everything and then you have your rejects (nerds, band geeks, theater kids, punks, addicts or mentally disturbed students who are totally disconnected from reality.)
And then there’s me. That tall, random, white dude who sticks out like a sore thumb but keeps everything under wraps. From the outside you might think that I blend in with the top tier but you would soon realize why I am far removed from that crowd. Like I said, I keep to myself and my studies. It is more than fair to label me as a “loner.” But the main difference between me and the other rejects is that I have never really been fucked with. I think that my size intimidates people. So I can’t say that I have ever been physically bullied or attacked in any way. Though, I am definitely not afraid to defend myself.
It’s quite obvious that people talk their shit. I’ve heard my name sprinkled into conversations here and there. Usually dumb shit about me being so quiet, me conspiring the next school shooting, me secretly running some type of drug ring, me being dirty for growing my hair down to my shoulders. Believe it or not, some of the stuff is quite vulgar—locker room talk between some of the girls in my grade. One time I left class to use the restroom and these two kickliners were in the hallway chatting it up about my privates right in front of me.
The blonde one said verbatim, “I literally want Russ Reid to fuck me. I bet his dick is huge.” I gave her a glance and she exchanged a promiscuous stare. These types of conversations go on right in front of me as if I’m totally invisible. You would think that I’d be flattered by that type of banter but frankly, I find it strange. On the other hand, I never really cared about most of the talk and the rumors. Mainly because none of these people have had a single face to face conversation with me. I guess what bothers me most is being treated like a ghost.
Day in and day out everybody seems to have so much to say about somebody that they barely care to notice or approach. They would rather create these wild fantasies about me in their head and then convince themselves that they’re true. Strange, huh?
Now I lied...I mentioned earlier how I’m pretty much friendless and whatnot. But there is ​one person. New girl that moved down here a few weeks ago but the top tiers already stabbed their hooks into her. I mean, I can’t say that I blame them. She’s definitely easy on the eyes, strawberry blonde, petite...your typical girl next door. Let’s call her, Emma. On Day one she sat next to me in Physics. I’m still not sure what motivated her to do that but she did. My Physics teacher introduced her as “Ms. Emma Leif from Beverly Hills, California. A cheerleader and art enthusiast.”
In the midst of her introduction I was chafed by the bawdy whispers of our esteemed quarterback sitting behind me. He was conspiring with his buddies about how he would have his way with her. Despicable. I turned to the empty seat beside me only to discover that it was suddenly occupied moments later.
It was her. She tilted her head towards me and offered up a warm smile. “Hi, I’m Emma.” she cooed. “Russ.” I greeted back.
She was so sweet and delicate, completely harmless and benign by nature. The beginning of the end. To this day, I really wish that Emma decided to take the empty seat besides Mr. Quarterback. Being finessed by a high school football player into sucking his dick and inevitably getting ghosted was a luxury compared to this sort of demise.
In the last few weeks you could say that Emma and I became close friends. We would partner together for labs, pass notes, crack jokes here and there. On her bad days she would vent to me in class about the struggles of being a rookie cheerleader. I was new once too and I guess that’s where Emma found her comfort in me. To this day I’m glad that she could trust in me and rely on me as a comic relief...at least for a little while. Before I knew it, feelings got involved on my end and I could slowly feel myself getting attached. At first I wasn’t aware of it.
But Emma leaving class to use the restroom turned into me glancing at the lockscreen of her phone to see if there were any other guys talking to her. Our walks from class to her cheerleading practice turned into me pretending to hit the gym just to catch a glimpse of her undressing in the women’s locker room. Her svelte shape and large breasts ignited a fire within me and I felt myself getting a hard on every time I watched her from our athletic quarters. There came a point where I watched her undress so often that I familiarized myself with her collection of bras and panties. I wanted her all to myself but didn’t know how.
One day she asked me for a ride home after school and after I dropped her off I circled around the block a few times to find a private place to survey her through her bedroom window. She cried a lot after school and got wound up in countless arguments with her mother. She loved to read and watch reruns of Seinfield. By that point, I recognized my behavior for what it was—sick and inappropriate.
This was more than just an innocent crush, it was a total invasion of somebody else’s privacy. But I was inexperienced and didn’t know how to approach women outside of a class project. After a while I actually convinced myself that maybe she felt the same way about me too. I mean, how could she not?
We got along so well in class, she was always talking to me and laughing with me. She just ​had ​to like me back. As I stated before, I had no experience with girls up until now. Sure, there were some in my school who wanted to fuck me but nobody who was really interested in. So I did what any guy would do...you meet a girl, you like her, you ask her out. So I did. I tried to lay it on thick that day. I bought a sunflower from the farmer’s market because I knew those were her favorite and I decided to approach her first thing in the morning. Normally she was alone this early in the morning. She would spend a few minutes collecting her things for her first period which was AP Spanish. However, on this particular day there were two other girls chatting it up with her.
I can never remember faces or names at this school unless they’re of importance to me. I hesitated and thought that maybe I was better off doing this sort of thing in private. On the other hand, she might have found it even ​more​ special if I ​did​ ask her out in front of all of her friends. As if I ​wanted t​ hem all to know that I wasn’t afraid to ask her out in front of them and didn’t need their approval.
Slowly, I approached her locker; Despite the burning gaze of everyone else around me. I was now towering over Emma with this wilting sunflower between my fingers. I felt like a total freak. As I shook profusely, beads of sweat spawned across my forehead and my heart beat doubled. “H-hey Em.” I stuttered. As she turned to face me, her smile faded into a look of pity. I already knew what was coming and she did too. But I had come this far and wasn’t ready to give up just yet.
“S-so I’m not sure what your plans are Friday night but I was wondering if you wanted to grab some dinner and catch a movie after?” She hesitated and furrowed her eyebrows as her friends chuckled softly behind her. I must have blindsided her pretty bad because she looked like a deer caught in headlights right about now. “I-I’m sorry Russ, but no.” she replied, flatly. Those soft chuckles transpired into hearty cackles.
I didn’t know where to go from here. I was suddenly seized by an overwhelming feeling of dread. It came so close to a physical sensation that I clutched onto my chest for a moment—as if a bullet had passed through my heart. Rejection and embarrassment are a toxic combination. All I remember was her saying “no” and a surround sound of laughter as I walked away.
The rest of the day was a bit of a blur. Luckily I didn’t have physics and could avoid the mortification of seeing her face. I do remember driving home, going to my room, obliterating my wall with my fist, then laying in bed for a few minutes. Once I realized the damage I had done, I quickly masked the gaping hole beside my window with an old Rolling Stone’s poster. A grounding by my parents would be the cherry on top of a horrible day and I couldn’t let that happen.
The rage came and went the rest of the night. I neglected my homework, my dinner, my family, and my evening workout. I was too hurt and angry to muster up the energy to engage in a single healthy coping mechanism. To this day, I am still baffled by Emma Leif. I was led on for weeks, used as a high school diary for her own benefit. I think that any normal person in this situation would say “Fuck it.”—”Fuck her. Fuck her friends. There are plenty of other fish in the sea who would be ​honored​ to go out on a date with me. I hope that Mr. Quarterback ​does f​ inesse her into sucking his dick and then pays her no attention until he’s horny again.” But in my mind, she deserved a different kind of karma. Something that was less in the hands of the universe and more under my own control—Revenge.
Around midnight I opened up my laptop. I spent the next hour surfing various keywords “Revenge on a girl.” “How to get revenge on a girl who rejected you?” “How to get back at a bitch?” I must’ve been on the twelfth page of a google keyword search when I clicked onto this unheard of blog. The blog was filled with endless posts created by anonymous individuals. In a nutshell, the page detailed personal sob stories of men and women who were turned down in some way or another. Some of them were long term friends.
Others, complete strangers. Honestly, most of these posts seemed pretty bizarre and pathetic (not to say that what I did was any more acceptable.) This one 50-year old man proposed to a Dunkin’ Donuts employee that he stalked for over a year and then got turned down, she was 19. A college student confessed her love to an English professor, got rejected, then served time in jail for it. Apparently she was arrested for sneaking into the back seat of his car late at night completely nude and putting a switchblade to his throat.
It was just a great big online sob fest full of nut jobs if you ask me. I continued to scroll and scroll through these outlandish stories for sheer entertainment until I stumbled upon one comment at the bottom of the page. Unlike the rest of these long winded posts it was a short blurb with a hyperlink to a different website. The comment read, “I got hurt once too. Until I got revenge in the Reject’s Room.”
Perplexed, I clicked on the link. Suddenly, I was hit with about seven pop ups that I was entering a site that was “not secure” or “unprotected by firewall.” Which somehow instigated this curiosity. I had put my computer through so many illegal torrent downloads in the past that giving it a virus was the least of my worries. This was a site that I had never heard of before so I assumed that it must’ve been discrete and lowkey if it was so difficult to reach.
As I waited for the page to load I conducted another google search in a separate tab, in hopes of finding any reviews, experiences, or basic descriptions of the website. Nothing. I was pretty confused and slightly disappointed to find no documents related to my search. Finally, when I clicked out of the tab, the “Reject’s Room” home page had finally loaded. It was pitch black aside from a bright red “Reject’s Room” opening title that appeared on my screen moments later.
It quickly faded away and was replaced with a question in the same font. “What are you here for today?” There were two options below.
Revenge? OR Karma?
Without putting too much thought into it I clicked onto the “Revenge” option.
I was then presented with a separate question and a series of options to choose from. Who?
Friend?...Enemy?...Parent? ...Sibling?...CoworkeBoss?...LoveEx? ...Teacher? ...Other?
Without haste, I hit the “lover” option. Once again, the screen went black for a minute as the page refreshed.
Choose your revenge
Disaster Date ...Elephant in the room ...Apples and Cream ...Tethered Icebox ...Hopscotch.
As I hovered over each option, there seemed to be no description or clue as to what each of them meant. I thought for a minute and chose what seemed to be the most logical option and clicked, “Disaster Date.”
I was then presented with some boxes to fill in.
Full first and last name of revengee:
Home Address of revengee:
Phone number of revengee:
Date and time of disaster date:
Price: 0.00$ (First revenge free discount.) YOU SAVED: 375.50$
Despite all of the weird posts that I read through on that blog, there was a part of me that could relate to each one of those OP’s. Hours after Emma had turned me down in front of all of those people, I was still burning with so much rage inside that at the time, revenge appeared to be the only thing that could rectify the situation.
I know now that I was being completely irrational, cruel, and putting an innocent person in danger by disclosing her personal information on a site that according to Google, was completely unheard of.
To this day, I cannot fathom how I did what I did in a state of complete sobriety. However, it was because this site was unheard of that I immediately assumed it was bullshit and would do nothing with the information that I gave to it. I mean, what site gives you a 100% off sale for something that’ is apparently worth $375? Jokingly, I filled in each box with Emma’s information and set it for tomorrow’s date at 6:30 pm (assuming that was a typical time that guys take girls out on dates.) I then hit “submit.”
The words “Submission received.” appeared on the screen followed by a closing message, “Revenge is sweet, isn’t it?” written in bold red font before fading to black.
I scoffed and traveled my mouse to the red “x” button to exit and go to bed. Somewhat expectedly, my browser froze and I received one of those alerts that the page wasn’t responding and to restart my computer. Yet, somehow my laptop suddenly shut down by itself despite having what I ​thought w​ as a full battery.
It took a few minutes to power back on but by then it was nearly two in the morning and I had to be up at seven for school. I then went to bed, quickly forgetting about the site and writing it off as bullshit. I was now even more concerned with finding actual constructive ways to overcome this deep feeling of rejection.
My locker was conveniently located several feet away from Emma’s. I was hoping deep down inside that she would try to approach me that morning and either apologize or talk about what had happened the day before. But instead, she seemed preoccupied with her friends about something else.
Curious, I casually pretended to fill up my water bottle at the fountain closest to her in an attempt to eavesdrop.
“So, you coming to the kick back party tonight?” asked one of her red headed cheerleader friends.
“I actually have other plans tonight.” Emma replied while rounding up her English books for second period.
The brunette friend furrowed her eyebrows in disappointment.
“​Other​ ​plans?​ But there’s a party tonight!” she snapped.
“I know, I’m sorry. This came up pretty last minute but it’s kinda important to me.” Emma professed.
“But let’s do something together next weekend!”
She did that stupid thing with her hair today that cheerleaders like to do...You know, that hairstyle where they fry their ponytails with a curling iron and a ton of hairspray.
“C’mon! We’ll pick you up a little later. It’s supposed to be ​wild​!”
Emma chuckled, “Alright alright, you guys can pick me up ​after.​ What time is the party anyway?”
The two cheerleaders exchanged looks.
“Probably ten or eleven?” the redhead offered.
Emma shrugged. “Guess I’m in!”
“OOO what are you gonna wear?!” asked the brunette.
“I still have no idea! Maybe a cute skirt? The weather’s getting a bit nicer.”
The three headed to their second period class together with no mention of me. I received no confrontation by Emma. Nothing...which could be seen as a good thing. Yet, I couldn’t help but feel gutted when Emma abandoned me for the empty seat beside “Mr. Quarterback.” (for obvious reasons.)
Despite the pain, I really forced myself not to take the rejection so personally. I fought and I fought with those negative feelings and as the day went on I can honestly admit to feeling better. By the time evening rolled around, Emma was barely in my thoughts and I just decided to spend my Friday night the best way I knew how, ordering in and watching movies.
I decided to binge watch a few volumes of Kill Bill that night which has always been my favorite. But because I had gone to bed so late the night before, I fell asleep pretty early into the first volume. I remember this because about an hour or two later I was woken up by a phone call from an unknown number.
The movie had finished a while ago and that “Are you still there?” notification from Netflix was perched oh so annoyingly across my laptop screen.
Sleepily I picked up, “Hello?”
It was an automated message by one of those flat robotic voices. Reminded me of Siri.
“Revenge complete....Goodbye.”
I was half asleep and completely delirious when I picked up the phone. At that moment, I could barely make out what was said to me over the phone.
So naturally, I went right back to sleep. The next morning I felt well rested enough to go out for a jog. When I returned home my parents were eerily glued to the television set with their mouths gaped open. In a sweaty frenzy, I yanked my headphones down to listen to the report. But my heart sank pretty quickly when I caught sight of the headline. “Body found in search of missing high school student.”
“In the tragic end of a search for a missing high school student, last seen on Friday, March 27th, police believe that they have discovered the body of Emma Leif, fifty miles from her home, early this Sunday morning.” reported the news anchor. To the left of her a picture of Emma smiling against a sunny backdrop appeared on the screen. I felt sick.
“Emma Leif, a high school senior and newly elected captain of her cheerleading team was last seen leaving her home Friday night, never to return. After an extensive search party, her remains were found severed in garbage bags at the bottom of Lake Ellwood, fifty miles from her home. As of now, police have found no leads or suspects connected to the crime. One officer deemed it quote, ‘An unfathomable mystery’. Here’s Bill Evans with the latest.”
Without even realizing it, I had zoned out. I think that my parents were asking me if I knew her and whether or not I was going to school on Monday. But their voices were too muffled for me to make out anything that they were saying. Frantically, I jogged to my bedroom. Beads of sweat formed across my forehead as my heart thumped out of my chest. I rushed to my laptop to quickly open up a Google search.
“Reject’s Room” I typed then pounded the “enter.” key
But, of course. Google had no answers for me. Time for plan B. I clicked onto my search history and aggressively scrolled through Thursday’s date. Luckily, I located the link but was instantly presented with an ErrorDocument 404. “Page not found. It appears that the page does not exist.”
My stomach began to churn and I scrambled to my bathroom to vomit. I took a deep breath while hugging the toilet and relaxed for a second. There was no way that I could think clearly in the midst of a panic attack. I then backtracked and searched for the hyperlink attached to the original comment from that rejection blog.
I scrolled and scrolled for about ten minutes, whizzing through all of those borderline criminal posts only to find nothing. The comment had completely disappeared. I even tried to track down the number I received that ominous phone call from, Friday night. But the only thing my call history could offer me was an “unknown number”. I paced around my room for a bit to brainstorm ways of finding that website again. Defeated, I fell against my bed and stared at the ceiling for hours until it got dark.
I didn’t get up to move, pee, or eat. At some point, I started to assume that maybe I made up the whole website. That it was just another one of my delusions, like when I convinced myself that Emma had feelings for me.
I cried a few times and fell asleep around 8:00 from the mental exhaustion of today. I woke up about four hours later and now here I am, typing out what appears to be the confession of my own crime. I am absolutely dumbfounded, confused, and in need of answers. I have contemplated going to the police, despite there being absolutely no proof of this site having ever existed.
They would throw me in a fucking mental hospital and probably accuse me of the murder even though I took no physical part in the act. So I am now turning to the internet for answers. Has ​anybody ​heard of the Reject’s Room? If so, please contact me. For those who haven’t, DO NOT LOOK FOR IT. I regret ​ever ​taking my chances and would do anything to save another person from putting themselves or someone else in serious danger.
submitted by smsussma to nosleep

How I met Yamamba - Part 1

I’ve been lurking on this subreddit for some time now, and finally felt it was the time to share a few of my stories. Throughout the course of my life I’ve had several ‘encounters’. I don’t like to qualify what I’ve experienced with labels such as ‘ghost’ or ‘time paradox’. Even though I’ve seen and experienced some very creepy otherworldly type shit- I still consider myself a rational skeptic. Just because I don’t understand something I’ve experienced, doesn’t mean there isn’t a completely natural explanation that humanity with our current science and technology can’t detect or understand. But that doesn’t help to make it any less scary when you’re actually being terrorised by something that every inch of your soul knows does not fit into this world.
I’ve had several encounters over the course of my life involving the same entity, but I think this story is the best introduction to her. While it’s not the most recent, it sticks in my memory most vividly. That might be because I was already in a life threatening situation BEFORE the freaky-deeky shit hit the fan.
This encounter occurred about 8 years ago in Japan. I was a bored recent graduate with wanderlust that had outgrown my small college town in Northern California. I applied for a job teaching English for a private company in Japan. It was on a whim, I hadn't expected it to pan out. And yet a few short months later I was moving into my new apartment in Tokyo, trying to figure out how the toilet worked and wondering why everything from noodles to pizza seemed to come with egg on it.
Being a foreigner in Japan is an amazing experience for the first 3 months or so. I had the time of my life, met some amazing people, and experienced things I would have never imagined. But after a few months the novelty of the almost nightly work-drink-karaoke routine began to wear off. I was ready to explore further and wider. Having spent a lot of my childhood camping and in the outdoors, I imagined myself as a bit of a nature boy and thought I could handle an overnight hike through some remote Honshu mountains- alone. In reality I was, and will always be, a city slicker with a passing interest in nature. There's a big difference between parking your car, popping a tent and sitting around a campfire and actually carrying a full pack with all your gear up a mountain to sleep overnight.
An early start, a taxi, 2 trains and a bus ride later I found myself at the base of kumatori-san. Already exhausted from the journey, I surveyed the thousands of steps and switchback trail leading up and away from the base of the mountain where I stood. The plan was to spend the night in an ancient summit monastery that was open to travellers (as I had read in a guide book) and finish in a different town on the other side of the mountain range the following evening- where I would no doubt enjoy a cold beer and hot spring bath for my valiant triumph over nature. But shit just didn't go that way.
Almost immediately the weather decided to get ugly. The mountain was hidden in a deep fog- which was amazing and beautiful, but made me feel a bit uneasy. I brushed the negative juju out of my head and harnessed my heavy pack.
No matter how boring your life, everyone has a handful of Movie moments in their lifetime. Those moments when you look around and go "I totally feel like I'm in a freakin' movie right now"! This was one of those for me- big time. I was going on a proper 100% ancient Japanese wilderness temple adventure. Indiana Jones theme in my head I started up the trail through an aged and splintered Tori gate. I was so excited I didn't even think to care when it began to sprinkle in spurts.
The other thing that happened almost immediately is I realized my pack was ridiculously overloaded, making my progress far too slow. I carried a tent and gallons of unnecessary water. Other hikers with small day packs passed fairly regularly on their way to the same monastery, leaving me to struggle up the ridge, watching their backs get further and further away until out of sight.
I was fairly embarrassed by a group of about twenty retirement age Japanese nature enthusiasts that passed me early on. All smiles and carbon fiber walking sticks and jangling bear bells on their backpacks- they passed me in a blur of enthusiastic chatter and laughing.
Bear Bells? WTF? For those of you that don’t hike (or have never hiked in Japan)- it’s not uncommon in certain parts of the world to hike with a small bell attached to your clothes or pack. The bell jingles as you walk along, and will warn off any bears that you are approaching. At the time I didn’t know this, but did take note that almost every Japanese hiker I saw was wearing one.
I made small talk with a few other foreigners that passed or would rest at the same peaks. A hardcore hiking Canadian, a pleasant and lanky German family and two attractive Swedish chicks (side note- I'm sure they're out there, but I've never met a NOT attractive Swede). The Swedish girls were nice and we joked around about the fact that they weren't carrying hardly anything but I looked like I had packed my whole apartment. Feeling ridiculous I told them I was planning a longer multi day hike. I wasn't- I was just overly cautious about needing supplies. What if the monastery was full, or didn't have food? The girls went ahead of me after that and we chatted less as they advanced up the trail and distance grew. I must say the view from behind (blessed be to Lulu Lemon) was excellent motivation for me to keep up and continue the conversation, but after struggling with my weighty pack for about 20 minutes my pace slowed and they disappeared around a bend.
After that I didn't see any other hikers. And it started to get dark, fast. The weather turned to absolute shit. What started as a damp fog progressed to a heavy mist, then to a full on downpour, then to a thunderstorm. With the bucketing clouds darkening the sky, the light of the day faded prematurely.
Rivulets quickly started to form on the steep trail. It was as if the mountain had never seen this amount of water. Certain parts of the trail were actually eroding away from the torrents of water coming off the slope. I jumped across freshly formed channels with gallons flowing underfoot. I saw chunks of trail wash downhill, making the already narrow path narrower. With the ground so saturated and the trail so soft I began to worry about landslides. I had horror fantasies about the whole trail under me sliding down the steep embankment to my right and over the cliff 20 meters below.
I actually felt relieved when the trail finally emerged above the forest and followed the long undulating spine of the ridge. Because I’m a dumb ass. Instead of being concerned about one steep slippery drop off, I now had one on either side of the trail. As the wind picked up I slowed my pace taking extra caution. The grip of the wind on my large pack made me feel unbalanced and vulnerable on the narrow trail.
After several hours of walking the exposed snaking ridge, squinting through the darkness and rain to the trail ahead, buffeted by strong winds, socks squishing, soaked to the bone, exhausted and sore from the rubbing of my pack- I decided to give up. Any hope I had of reaching the monastery and a warm place to sleep seeped out of my squelching boots. I repeated my adolescent mantra in my head- the same one I’d use every summer on my dad as a kid: "hiking sucks".
My plan was to find the first suitable place, pitch my tiny emergency tent, crawl into my bag and hope the storm cleared by morning. The problem was there didn't seem to be a "suitable place". The ridge dropped off sharply on both sides- the trail itself only a meter wide at certain points. The winds were so strong that I began actually hugging the trail during strong gusts, only to rise during the lulls and attempt to charge ahead, covering as much ground as I could before the wind gripped my massive pack again and forced me to stop and brace. The wind howled in my ears, but I was convinced through all the noise that I could heard someone coming up the trail behind me. I could hear the faint tinkle of bear bells, and what I thought might have been laughing. I found it odd that anyone would be laughing in this weather- but I have run across some funny types before. I was just hopeful that some other climbers would join me and share my misery. I even paused excessively at one point, hoping these unseen but surely good-natured local Japanese hikers would appear behind me on the trail with a thermos of Miso soup, amazingly fluent English skills and some local wisdom of how the fuck to get off of this fucking mountain in a god damn rain fuck monsoon. But they never came. I pressed on but the faint tinkling of their hiking bells continued to mock me in quieter movements.
During the stronger gusts I would flatten myself out, laying in the rock and mud, or clinging to a nearby boulder, trying to make myself a small target against the wind. As the intensity and frequency of the gusts increased I'd lay there, shivering as the gales ripped past me. I had death fantasies about the story that would run on the local news back home. About how my parents’ faces would look when they were given the news "Local idiot falls to his stupid death on some fucking Japanese Mountain somewhere- clip at eleven" The movie moment I had felt earlier was long gone. My adventure comedy and switched genres to a survival documentary.
It's hard to describe how noisy it was during the gusts. But through the shrill of the wind I began to hear something else. It wasn't the bending of the ancient trees in the vast valley, the splatter of the puddles in the gouged and weathered trail, or even the crash of ever closer thunder. Following the largest gusts, when it quieted and seemed as if the mountain and sky were drawing in breathe, I could hear another sound behind me down the trail. It was clearly the sound of an older woman laughing. And not just happy, jovial laughing like the earlier group that had passed me, but a wheezing manic laugh. A laugh no one in a storm like this, on night like this, on a goddamn mountain ridge in the dark would ever make. Pushing my heebie-jeebies back down into the pit of my gut I convinced myself it was an animal or some other phenomenon of mountain nature making the noise.
This pattern of racing and clinging against the wind continued for several hours, and as the trail twisted along, ever climbing the ridge I had no sense of how much ground I'd covered. I kept convincing myself I’d see the light of the monastery around the next turn in the trail, or over the next rise. I had vivid fantasies of arriving and sharing hot sake with the two hot Swedes that had passed me earlier in the day- regaling them with tales of my harrowing ascent.
But I never saw so much as a light in the distance. I began to think I had been cursed, thrown into some horrible never ending limbo. That I was destined to climb this same ridge, in the darkness, through the wind and rain for eternity. An eternity followed by that horrible, familiar laughter and faintly tinkling bells. But the wind and rain, and even the creepy fucking laughter was about to become the least of my problems.
Yamamba - Part 2
submitted by WeirdWest to nosleep

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