From the /c/nosleep community on Chambers

My life is in danger. I’m not being paranoid, I’m certain. I’ve been receiving threatening messages from Mr. Stevens, a mysterious individual who seems to know everything about my past and present. Each message leaves me increasingly unsettled and fearful for my life. I must take drastic measures to protect myself and my loved ones. I’ll do whatever it takes to stay safe, even if it means going into hiding or involving law enforcement. But I can’t shake the feeling that Mr. Stevens is always watching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Please wish me luck. I’m going to need it. *** I was an experienced bartender, having worked at Tom’s Pub for almost eight years. I had been in the industry for much longer than that, but at Tom’s, I was like family. Tom was my father’s old friend from high school, and when I turned 21, I wanted to learn to bartend. He took me under his wing, and I quickly proved myself to be a valuable employee. We had a great team dynamic, and our regulars were like our second family. I was content with my life, and I had no desire to leave Tom’s Pub. Then, one fateful evening, my life changed forever. A man walked in, dressed in a long, black coat that seemed out of place in our casual bar. He had piercing blue eyes, and his short, dark hair framed a chiseled face. He ordered a vodka martini, extra dry, and sat at the end of the bar, away from the other patrons. As I handed him his drink, I noticed his peculiar behavior. He kept glancing at his wrist, despite not wearing a watch. It was as if he was checking the time on an invisible timepiece. After finishing his martini, he ordered another and tossed a hundred-dollar bill on the bar. “Keep the change,” he said with a mysterious smirk. I was taken aback, unsure how to react. As I walked away, he called out to me, saying, “Tell Tom I’m coming.” I found Tom in the back office, and as I relayed the strange man’s message, his expression turned pale. “Who was it?” he asked, alarm in his voice. “I don’t know.” Tom rushed past me toward the exit. When I returned to the bar, the mysterious man was gone. I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. I had a bad feeling, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on why. The rest of my shift passed without incident, but my mind wandered back to the man in the long, black coat. *** The next morning, I received a strange text message from an unknown number. It was a single sentence: “Tom will not be coming back.” I tried to call the number, but it was out of service. My heart sank as I quickly dialed Tom’s number. A woman answered, and when I asked to speak to Tom, she replied, “Tom’s dead.” I was in a daze. I don’t remember hanging up or going home. I only know that when I came to, my head was pounding, and my phone was dead. I called Tom’s wife from my landline to offer my condolences. She didn’t seem surprised when I told her about the mysterious man and the text message. I asked if she knew who had killed Tom, and she abruptly hung up the phone. I didn’t call back. I was too heartbroken. *** Days passed, and I never left my house. I wasn’t hungry, and I couldn’t sleep. My parents tried to get me to eat, but even the smell of food repulsed me. The only thing I craved was answers. I wanted to know who had killed Tom and why. One morning, I found the courage to check my phone. The dead battery was just an excuse. The truth was that I was terrified of what I might find. When it finally turned on, I had dozens of missed calls from Tom’s wife. I didn’t return any of them. Instead, I opened my messaging app. There were over 50 texts from the same unknown number as before. The first message read: “Tom’s dead.” Each subsequent message revealed a little more about my life. My favorite foods, my favorite movies, and even my secret affair with Tom’s daughter. The messages didn’t stop. Days passed, and the texts continued. Each one chipped away at my sanity. I couldn’t escape the feeling that I was being watched. My anxiety was suffocating. I became paranoid, constantly looking over my shoulder. I stopped leaving the house. My parents were worried. They urged me to seek professional help. I knew they were right. I was on edge, waiting for the next message. I had to take drastic measures to protect myself and my family. I decided to go into hiding. *** I’ll never forget the day I fled. I snuck out of my parents’ house under the cover of darkness. I walked for hours, not once looking back. I hailed a cab and went to the bus station, where I purchased a ticket to New York City. The three-hour journey was grueling. My mind wandered to my parents, and I hoped they were safe. As we pulled into Port Authority, I felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe I could start anew. I hailed another cab, and we drove through Manhattan until I found a small hotel in Hell’s Kitchen. I took a room and collapsed onto the bed, exhausted. After two days of not sleeping, I passed out. When I awoke the next morning, I realized I had left my phone at home. I had been so preoccupied that it had slipped my mind. I rushed to a nearby electronics store and bought a cheap phone with a pay-as-you-go plan. As I set it up, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. I finally had a chance to start over. But as I turned on my phone, a chill ran down my spine. I had a message from the same unknown number. It was two words: “You can’t hide.” *** I’m back in my hotel room, paralyzed with fear. I can’t leave. I’m too scared to go outside. My only comfort is the bottle of whiskey I bought from the corner liquor store. As the night wears on, my fear intensifies. I keep the lights off, hiding under the covers. My phone is on silent mode, but I know it will ring soon. And when it does, I’ll answer. I’ll have no choice. I’ll do whatever Mr. Stevens says. I have no other option. My life is in his hands. But I know better than to resist. After all, I saw what he did to Tom. *** I won’t be posting any updates. I hope my story serves as a warning. If you receive a message from Mr. Stevens, don’t ignore it. He’s not a person to be trifled with. Please wish me luck. I’ll need it.

Mr. Stevens

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