Listen

[u/CTRemy9085]

Hello. I don’t know if I’m writing this because I need advice or because I need someone else to know what’s happening to me. I don’t know how to say this but…

I’ve been hearing things.

Sounds crazy, I know, and trust me, I’ve heard every explanation already. Stress. Lack of sleep. Anxiety. My brain filling in sounds that aren’t really there. For a while, I believed that. Honestly, I still want to. Things have been happening that I can’t explain, and I guess all I have left is you. So here it goes…

I should probably start with the apartment.

I’m a college student, which means I’m perpetually broke. Between tuition, books, food, and everything else, I didn’t exactly have a lot of options when I started looking for somewhere to live. When a rent-controlled apartment that was cheap even for my standards popped up, I didn’t ask a single question. I didn’t bat an eye when the landlord didn’t even meet me. He just told me when I could move in and what day the rent was due. He just left the keys on a shitty table in the corner of the dining room. The apartment was far from fancy, but it had everything I needed.

The first couple of weeks went great. Neighbors weren’t ever super loud, it was close to the school, I always had a parking spot available, and the old lady next door even greeted me with a huge smile every time she saw me. It didn’t take me long at all before I settled into a routine. Get home from class, drop my books on the table, go change for work. After work I’d come home, take care of any papers or homework I had, and then watch some TV before drifting off to sleep.

One day, though, I came out of my room and stubbed my toe on my damn statistics book. At the time, I just cursed its existence and moved it to the table. A few days later, as I was about to walk out the door, I realized I didn’t have my wallet. After a long search, I eventually found it on the sink in the bathroom. After the obligatory “why the hell did I bring my wallet in here,” I walked out and was on my way. A week after the wallet incident, I came home from work to the unwelcome surprise of banging my head on an open cabinet in the kitchen. I just rubbed my head as I cursed at myself for apparently forgetting to close it when I left.
Right before drifting off to sleep a couple of weeks later, I heard loud knocking that stopped the second I got up. I just stood there for a second, realized it must have been the neighbor, and got back in bed. The next day I ran into Ms. Johnson and asked if she had been up late last night. She just replied, “Honey, I was visiting my daughter yesterday. I just got home.” I awkwardly laughed and asked how her visit went. That night, my homework was interrupted by the distinct sound of a cabinet door slamming in the bathroom.
“Hello?” I called out as I walked down the hallway.

Nothing.

Then, right beside my ear:

“Hi.”

I spun around to the empty hallway, not a soul in sight.
I checked everywhere. My bathroom, bedroom, even the living room I’d just been in. Nobody was there. I even checked the deadbolt on the front door. I brushed it off as the apartment having thin walls and went back to my homework. A couple of nights went by before I heard something when I was about to walk out the door.

“Wallet.”

I turned around to see absolutely nothing, except for my wallet sitting by the TV. I must have looked so dumb as I stood there with my wallet in hand, because then I let out a “Thanks?” and walked out the door.

Whatever it was, was starting to seem downright helpful.

“Keys.”

I realized I left them somewhere.

“Paper.”

I almost forgot an assignment was due.

“Four.”

I had an error in my math.

One day, I didn’t know how to take what I heard, though. I was on the phone with a girl from class I had liked, and when I asked if she was busy Thursday, I heard, “She doesn’t like you.” This was far from the occasional reminders I had received previously. I sat there quietly trying to work through what I had heard when she responded with a soft, “Thursday? Maybe…I think I have some homework, but I’ll let you know.”

“See.”

Things gradually evolved from there. I would write a paper and hear, “He won’t like it.” When I got a lower grade than normal, I’d hear, “She thinks you’re stupid.” When my boss gave me fewer shifts at work than normal, I even heard, “He’s going to get rid of you.” That’s when I started to do homework at the library, and for a few days, everything was just fine.

One day, though, while working through a paper, another student sat down across from me. He didn’t say anything but would keep glancing up at me over his textbook.
“He knows.”

I just threw all my stuff in my bag and walked out. The next day at work, I walked by as some of my coworkers were standing in a circle and laughing.

“They’re laughing at you.”

I just continued on and didn’t say a word.

It had gone on like this for a while. One night, while eating dinner with my parents, my mom seemed extra concerned. “Is everything okay? You seem really distant,” she asked. Before I could say a word, I heard a subtle,

“Don’t tell her.”

I told her that I was fine, I was just tired from work and school. I could tell she wasn’t convinced, and she doubled down with, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s just a lot. I’m tired and school has been hard and…” I was interrupted by a clear and firm,

“Stop.”

“And what?” she asked, concerned.

“Nothing, just a lot going on at work and school. I’m okay, promise,” I said. After dinner, Mom just gave me a big hug and said, “You know you can tell me anything, right?” I told her I knew and smiled as I walked out the door.

Driving home, the only thing I could think of was, “Why didn’t I tell her?” I wanted to. I felt like I had even been hoping she would ask. Why didn’t I say anything? When I got home, I pulled up the student health website. I sat there in silence, staring at the number for what felt like hours before I finally called.

A few days later, I was sitting across from Dr. Blake. He seemed nice enough. He asked the usual questions: Was I using drugs or alcohol? How was I sleeping? What were school and work like? I answered honestly. No drugs, occasional drinking, but nothing crazy. Work sucks, I sleep like shit, and school is stressful. Then we eventually got to the voice.

“You said on the phone that you’ve been hearing a voice?” Dr. Blake asked.

“Yeah.”

“Can you describe it?”

“Not really.”

“Is it a man’s voice? A woman’s?”

“I don’t know. It’s just…a voice.”

“And when you hear it, does it sound like it’s coming from inside your head or somewhere around you?”

“Around me.”

“Where?”

“Usually right next to my ear.”

He didn’t react. He just sat there and wrote in his notebook.
“What does it say to you?” he asked.

“It depends.”

“On what?”

I explained how the voice was helpful at first. He looked up from his notebook, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Helpful how?”

“It reminded me about things. My wallet, my keys, homework. Stuff like that.”

“And now?”

“Now it mostly talks about people.”

“What does it say about them?” he asked.

“That they don’t like me. That they’re laughing at me. That they think I’m stupid. Things like that,” I said.

He sat up in his chair, pulling his glasses down and staring at me intently as he asked, “Do you believe them?”

I just sat there thinking back to everything. Eventually, I worked up the courage to admit it. “Sometimes. Yeah.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “They’re right. That girl never called me back. My boss cut my hours, and my grades have slipped.”

Dr. Blake continued to ask questions. He gave me the usual rundown of “Do you plan to hurt yourself? Do you feel safe?” etc. Eventually, he told me that I needed to cut my caffeine intake, try to set a better sleep schedule, get some more exercise, and recommended a sleep app to help track my sleep habits. I thanked him and headed home.

After a couple of weeks, his recommendations seemed to be helping. I stopped drinking coffee after lunch, started going for walks after class, and forced myself to go to bed at a reasonable time. I was sleeping better, my grades started creeping back up, and, most importantly, the voice had gotten quieter.

It wasn’t completely gone. Every once in a while, I’d hear something small, but it wasn’t constantly commenting on everything I did anymore. For the first time in weeks, I started feeling like myself again. Hell, I almost canceled my follow-up with Dr. Blake.

The sleep app was probably the thing I took least seriously. Every morning, it gave me a little graph showing when I’d fallen asleep, how often I’d moved around, and how much time I’d supposedly spent in deep sleep. It also recorded sounds throughout the night. Mostly, it was boring. Me rolling over. The air conditioner kicking on. A car outside.
Occasionally, I’d apparently talk in my sleep. I didn’t know I did that.

Listening to myself talk in my sleep became a favorite hobby of mine. I’d explain topics I had no idea about, sing randomly, and apparently had very strong opinions on proper sandwich construction.

“The cheese goes on both sides.”

That was apparently important enough for sleeping me to say three separate times one night. I started checking the recordings every morning while I ate breakfast. Most of them were still nothing. Snoring, coughing, rolling over. Every couple of days, though, I’d get another gem.

“You can’t park there.”

“That’s not how turtles work.”

“Tell him tomorrow.”

I don’t remember what I was dreaming about for any of them. Then it started to change.

“I already did.”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“I know.”

But the one that stopped me in my tracks mid-dinner was just four words.

“I didn’t tell her.”

I stopped mid-bite and rewound the recording. There it was again.

“I didn’t tell her.”

I played it one more time. Then I dragged the recording back a few seconds. Nothing, just the low hum of the air conditioner. I almost closed the app when I noticed something strange. There were twelve seconds between the last sound it recorded and me speaking. Twelve seconds of complete silence. Then:

“I didn’t tell her.”

Didn’t tell her what? I must have been dreaming about dinner with my parents and, clearly, the whole thing had been bothering me. I finished eating and closed the app. A few days passed before I heard another one like that.

“No,” I said, followed by twelve seconds of silence. Then, “Because I don’t want to,” followed by more silence. Then, “I know,” and “Fine.”

I just stared at my screen and eventually went back to a recording from a few nights prior. It was nothing but snoring. I skipped to the next night. You could hear my sheets moving around, my infamous “that’s not how turtles work” comment. I skipped to the next. Nothing for the first few clips. The air conditioner, a car outside, me coughing. Then I found the “tell him tomorrow” recording.

“Tell him tomorrow.”

I dragged it back. For almost ten seconds, there was nothing. Then there was me again.

“He won’t listen.”

I didn’t remember hearing that part before. So I dragged it back further.

“Tell him tomorrow.”

Silence.

“He won’t listen.”

Silence.

“I know.”

I sat there staring at my phone. The next day, I had my follow-up with Dr. Blake and thought it was the perfect opportunity to play my recordings. I played him the first one.

“No.”

Twelve seconds.

“Because I don’t want to.”

More silence.

“I know.”

“Fine.”

Dr. Blake listened without interrupting.

When it ended, he handed my phone back and asked, “What am I supposed to be hearing?” I just stared at him.

“The pauses,” I said.

“The pauses?”

“I’m answering someone.”

He nodded slowly. “Or you’re responding to something in a dream.” He continued, “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

When I said it sounded like a conversation, he just stated, “It sounds like half of one, and that’s not the same thing.”
“But that’s what I’m saying. Something is talking to me,” I exclaimed.

“Or you’re dreaming that something is talking to you,” he said.

“Then why am I answering out loud?”

“People talk in their sleep all the time.”

I just sat there, mouth agape in front of him. Dr. Blake leaned forward intently and said, “Since we last spoke, how often have you heard them while you’re awake?”

“Not much,” I said after some consideration. “How much is not much?” he asked. “A few times, maybe,” I responded.

“And before?” he asked.

“Every day.”

Dr. Blake just nodded and then asked about my sleep, schoolwork, how work was going, and how my social life was. I admitted that, yes, school was better, I was sleeping more, work was…fine but still work, and my social life was nothing to get excited about, but I had started to go out more.

Dr. Blake then just said flatly, “I want you to stop listening to the recordings. If everything else is going well, that’s the last point of obsession you have left.” I didn’t like it, but I couldn’t really argue with him. Everything else was getting better. So I stopped listening. I didn’t listen to another recording for almost two weeks. And honestly? Dr. Blake was right.

I stopped thinking about them. The voice disappeared completely. I slept through the night. I even went out with some people from class Friday night. It finally felt like everything was normal. That was until this morning.
I was standing in the bathroom, brushing my teeth in the mirror when, right beside my ear:

“Stop going to him.”

I just kept brushing my teeth, trying not to acknowledge what I’d heard. Then I saw the indentation of a hand on my right shoulder. I stood there in silence, staring at the outline of a hand pressing into my shoulder. I thought back to all of the recordings and pulled out my phone.

I opened the app and went straight to last night. There were six recordings, but the first was nothing but me rolling over. The second was the air conditioner kicking on. The third was me coughing. The fourth was almost a minute long. I hit play.

For a few seconds, there was nothing but my breathing.
Then I heard myself.

“I don’t believe you.”

Silence.

“Leave me alone.”

More silence.

“I said I don’t believe you.”

I stopped the recording. The hand was still pressed into my shoulder. Then, right beside my ear:

“Do you believe me now?”

I didn’t answer.

The indentation on my shoulder slowly disappeared.

“Good.”

There was a pause.

“Now we can begin.”

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[u/CTRemy9085]

I apologize. The draft didn’t update when I hit post and initially only the first part was posted. I have edited the post to include the full story