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The original was posted on /r/buildapcsales by /u/NorWagon on 2025-12-07 04:05:53+00:00.

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The original was posted on /r/buildapcsales by /u/I_Push_Buttonz on 2025-12-07 00:02:43+00:00.

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Theeaglestrikes on 2025-12-07 05:28:35+00:00.

It happened whilst I was sailing in the bay. The last thing I saw was the wooden boom of my boat wheeling towards me, and then stars and galaxies rushed by, all adhering to some dizzying curvature, before I finally woke in my apartment.

I remember that I screamed.

Not only from the horror of being sent overboard on choppy waters, and not even from the horror of beholding a cosmic nightmare I didn’t understand. No, I screamed because my ‘apartment’ wasn’t my apartment at all. I knew as much in my gut. When I looked down at my English springer spaniel, Bonnie, I felt much the same: she wasn’t Bonnie at all. She was exact, in terms of appearance and temperament, but entirely inexact; her glinting brown eyes unnerved me to the extent that I quickly looked away.

Perfect. That was the problem. Everything was perfect.

As I staggered to the hallway, I wondered whether the bad dream was my boating accident or this. It was then that I cast my eyes to the curtains drawn across my living room windows, but before I opened them, there came knocking.

I remember answering the front door to find a pristine white hallway, which wasn’t the hallway I knew, and standing in that hallway was a man of average build, average height, and average face. Perhaps brown hair and eyes. My memory of him is shrouded in fog, as is much of our conversation. The exact words. The exact meaning of his exact words.

“Hello, Finnegan. I’m your guide.”

“Guide?” I repeated.

I think he nodded. “There is no gentle way to do this.”

The guide raised his hand, and with that came dazzling white light from the apartment behind me; dazzling enough to bounce off the corridor walls and temporarily blind me. I shielded my face for a moment, but the guide gently took my arm and lowered it; then he twisted me around to face my living room windows, and we started to walk towards them.

My jaw dropped.

Outside was not my neighbourhood, but a community hemmed in by forty-feet-tall walls of large reddish stone blocks, embedded with various jewels. At intervals were gates bearing bars of pearl and topped with pointed railheads, themselves topped with strange rippling shapes; too distant to discern, but clearly blemishes on an otherwise-opulent exterior. Blemishes to my eyes, at least. They disconcerted me. Their movements. They sat, or wriggled, at odds with the splendour of this place.

Within the community itself, which spanned perhaps a square mile, the roads were built of gold that appeared more liquid than solid. It shimmered beneath the—well, there ought to have been a sun, but light emanated from no clear source; and overhead hung white clouds more than blue sky, assuring me that there was nothing earthly about this place.

Lining the roads were hundreds of four-storied buildings with brutalist white brickwork. Through the windows were ordinary homes and not-so-ordinary homes. My stomach lurched as I looked upon such oddities, behind those glass panes, as luscious woodlands, and black voids, and even things other than people. A tremendously tall and broad-shouldered humanoid, body laden with scales, stood and waved at me. He had the most horrible smile. A smile not egregious, as such, but hollow.

I let out a little grunt of fear and nearly lost my balance, but the guide caught me.

“You are dead, Finnegan,” he confirmed.

I say ‘confirmed’ because I’d already known that, of course, but hearing it was quite something else.

“What is this place?” I asked.

“The place at which all souls eventually rest, no matter the world on which they are born, and no matter the religion,” the guide said, nodding at the scaly creature which had terrified me. “Every soul is granted a personal paradise. You are standing within yours.”

“Is… Is this Heaven?”

“If you like.”

“But I’m an atheist.”

“No matter the religion,” he repeated. “This is a place for the righteous, not the pious. Faith doesn’t matter in the end. All religions speak fragments of the truth, gleaned from tales spun by those who glimpsed Heaven before returning to the land of the living. You will join them, in time, Finnegan. Your body persists in a between-state back on Earth.”

“And you’re my guide here?”

“That’s right.”

I pointed beyond the stone walls and the pearly gates. “Then tell me: what’s that place?”

Beyond our gated paradise, the sky was filled with neither white clouds nor patches of blue. There was no light in that place. Only dark. But it was no void. I sensed something within the black, and it made my stomach twist just to look upon it.

“There are many names a human might use for that place. Hell, perhaps.”

“Hell…?” I repeated fearfully.

The guide narrowed his eyes at me, and there was something horrid within them; something impossibly deep, and perhaps darker even than the Land of Hell beyond the pearly gates.

I blinked my eyes in dread and jumped out of my skin to find us standing outside. Standing on that liquid gold road, which felt warm and soft beneath my feet. I looked up at the apartment block, searching for the reptilian creature I’d seen. I thought of its smile. I thought of Bonnie’s eyes.

Perfection.

Well, perfection didn’t sit properly.

It was almost a relief when I screeched in horror, having seen something worthy of a frightened reaction. Something that challenged this false utopia. I could clearly see those strange rippling shapes atop the gates; one skewered on each spiked railhead.

Skeletal bodies.

Still alive, left to squirm as those gates pierced their bodies for all eternity. But this wasn’t the only reason I screeched.

From the black of Hell, through the bars of the pearly gates, arms wormed with outstretched hands; grasping at our little slice of Heaven, appearing to me like the undead from an old film. I suppose we were the undead. I saw glimpses of flesh and monstrous spider-like limbs. Demons of the underworld.

A woman’s scream cut off my thoughts. It came from within Heaven, a little way down the golden street. The guide and I turned to face a human lady barrelling towards us.

“YOU NEED TO KILL ME! KILL ME! MAKE THIS ETERNITY END! MAKE—”

The guide extended both his arms and brought the woman to a halt, with palms against her eyes. Just like that, her screams became muted and unintelligible groans. She stood and writhed on the spot, metaphysical form glued still by the guide.

“I see you found your way over the wall and into paradise, Helen. But there will be no sadness here. No anger. No boredom. Only peace and order.”

The guide began to pull his hands away from Helen’s face, and I screamed as translucent strands of white gunk peeled out of her sockets; a sight more grotesque than any mortal torture, for I knew the guide had removed something far more important than her physical innards.

He had stolen a part of Helen herself.

When the white gunk was severed fully from her metaphysical body, or soul, she was left a spiritually lobotomised husk. And I think blissful ignorance would have been a gift, but this was not that, because I remember Helen smiling at the guide with tears in her eyes.

Part of her zombified and fragmented soul understood what had happened to her.

“Happy…” she whispered.

“Yes,” the guide said. “Happy.”

“HELEN!” screamed a man from the gates. “OH, HELEN… HELEN, NO… LET HER DIE! LET US ALL DIE, YOU MONSTER!”

I tried to cling to ignorance, but it was no use. I thought of the smiling reptilian and realised those weren’t demons at the gates, standing alongside the humans. They were tortured souls from other worlds.

And then I screamed as I saw the guide looking upon me, eyes no longer deep, but infinite; an infinite black, stretching towards me like his inescapable arms.

There was no outrunning or overpowering him.

As his fleshy palms met my eyes, I felt a spiritual agony beyond having one’s physical eyes torn from their sockets. But I understood only a fragment of Helen’s pain, for the guide stopped after a mere moment; plucked only the slightest of strands from my eyes. Enough to strip my agency.

I smiled outwardly, but endured terror inwardly.

“That’s better. But I mustn’t take too much,” he said. “You still have to go back down there. Still have to… function.”

Losing but a sliver of my sanity left me cold and horrified, as I pictured what Helen and the other husks of that gated community must be enduring. What so many souls in that gated community of Heaven had already endured for years, centuries, or millennia.

This wasn’t paradise.

It was an illusion.

I saw it all when the guide touched my eyes. Knowledge was a gift from him, or perhaps a side-effect of our momentary connection.

The Creator made a mistake when creating the universe. Creating life on his many worlds. He misunderstood that life is beautiful because it is finite. Because it ends. Because it is imperfect. There is heavenliness to be found amidst the suffering. Up in Heaven, however, there was no strife, no end, and no substance beneath the cookie-cutter sheen.

It was then, with a tightening chest, that I understood it wasn’t Hell beyond the gates. It was Old Heaven. It had been abandoned when the people revolted, demanding an end to infinite perfection; that false and mind-numbing nightmare, only made worse when the guides tried to ‘fix’ people by turning their complicated, anxious, and unhappy souls into hollowed-out ones. Coming as close to killing their essences as possible, but serving them a worse fate ...

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/parasitic_inflection on 2025-12-06 21:44:24+00:00.

Working at an ice cream shop, all things considered, should not be difficult. It should not be scary and you should most certainly NOT feel like your life is at risk half the time. Unfortunately for me, the ice cream shop I work at checks all of those boxes.

It’s difficult, scary at times, and I’d be lying to you if I said that I felt safe 100% of the time. However, we do get paid above minimum wage, so it isn’t completely terrible.

Anyways, the shop is weird. I won’t go ahead and say that I don’t like working here, but if I could choose, I’d definitely go somewhere else. That’s due in part to where the building is located. I live in Beachham, Maine. So, naturally, the shop is called Beachham Ice Cream. It’s the only one you can feasibly find some good ice cream at in our run-down dump of a town. It’s coastal, and you can probably guess why it’s named Beachham… yeah.

Aside from the obvious, our town is known for some other things. Strange things. You might be thinking, “oh, well, every town is unique!” And I’d agree with you—if mine wasn’t the way it was.

Just about anything you can think of—be it walking gargoyles or little goblins who are unbelievably good at carpentry—has walked into the shop.

I know I haven’t provided a great number of examples, but I think you get the idea. The town I live in is not normal. There’s a reason for that, though.

None of the events that have happened from the town’s founding in 1978 to New Year’s Eve 1998 were all that notable. Just businesses opening, all that stuff. December 31st, 1998 changed the town forever.

Townsfolk reported that—through the month of December—there had been strange individuals lurking in the shadows. A couple people noted that these individuals were wearing white robes, a rather strange clothing choice given the weather.

Some lucky townsfolk who were able to get close enough to the strange individuals to hear them talking reported conversations about the prophesied end of the world. That, and talks about Hell opening up on Earth, but that didn’t really matter.

The cultists—as we’d call them now—turned out to actually be quite incompetent. So much so that the ritual they predicted would tear the Earth asunder and allow the inhabitants of Hell to ravage it. The ritual they conducted worked, partially. They did open up portals to hell, but they weren’t complete.

Instead, they were more like small fissures in the Earth. That and they must’ve summoned from the reject section of Hell, because our town was soon filled up with creatures that did not match the descriptions of the ones they said would come.

Everything around the fissures still isn’t completely known, but we do know a few things. Seven of them opened up throughout different parts of town. One near our pizza shop, high school, movie theater, beach, car dealership, apartment complex, and lastly—one right under our ice cream parlor.

As a result of having a fiery hell fissure directly under the store, some weird things happen. Even weirder is the fact that, unlike the other fissures in town, ours seems to attract the weirdos that came out of them. For better or worse, I as well as my co-workers have had to deal with it for the past few months.

They’ve been here a lot longer than me; I only started here back in September. Still, I’ve seen my fair share of weird shit in this place.

The actual building itself isn’t too big. If I had to give an estimate, I’d say it’s around 700 square feet. Layout is pretty simple too. You just walk in and the whole place is there. If you go to the left, you’ll find the place where you can order your desired flavor of ice cream. To the right of that spot, there’s an entire area dedicated to said flavors. I won’t be listing all of them off here, but just know that if you want it, we probably got it.

In the right-hand corner of the building, just past the ice cream, we have a set of bathrooms. Everywhere else? Booths and tables for eating ice cream. That’s about all there is to the layout of the store regarding important stuff. Oh, right, I almost forgot. Just behind the checkout area and all the ice cream flavors is a door. Behind that door is three things. One, the freezer where we keep all of our ice cream—to get to there, you just open up the door, turn left, and open up the leftmost door. Two, when you enter the back room, it’s sort of a cooler area. That’s where we keep our syrups, sprinkles and all that good stuff. Lastly, to the right is a simple storage area where we also happen to keep our cones and cups for ice cream.

Okay, I think that’s just about everything. Basic little description of my workplace. We can’t take breaks inside for some reason. I don’t know what it is or why, but for some reason, we cannot take breaks. Customers can sit and eat ice cream, but we can’t take breaks. I found that I when I tried to do just that and a demon came into the dry storage area. Completely random, but he told me that I was fine for now, but that it was strike one.

I haven’t gotten any since. I take my breaks in my car now.

I can remember a lot of what’s happened to me, seeing as how I’ve only been here for about three months or so. I remember the first real weird thing that happened to me—I believe it was actually a few days after I started here, so September fifth? Yeah, September fifth.

I have the luck of being able to work here full time, as I just graduated high school back in June. Taking some time off before deciding what I want to do for college. Adult stuff. It sucks.

Anyways, I walked into the parlor not expecting all that much action for the day. The jingling bell we have attached to the door rang as I walked through it, signaling my long-awaited entry into the ice cream parlor.

I wasn’t planning on doing too much talking that morning, but the world had other plans for me.

“Hey, little man!” Spike said from behind the counter. “You clocked in yet?”

Spike—besides the other employees, of course—was the closest thing to a friend I could call in the shop. He wasn’t too much older than me—three years my senior. He’s a community college graduate working here until he can get a proper job. Probably somewhere that isn’t here, if I had to guess.

Anyways, he’s super cool. I like him a lot. He’s tall, too. Looks like a member of a 2000s nu-metal band. Think Hybrid Theory-era Mike Shinoda. That ought to fill in the rest of the blanks. Black hair too. Cool guy. I just wasn’t really in the mood to talk that day, but I did anyways because it was the polite thing to do.

“Not quite yet,” I replied. “I did just get here. Any activity yet?”

He put a hand on his chin and it looked like he was thinking really hard. I was about to say something when he finally replied.

“Nah, nothing notable,” Spike removed his hand from his chin. “Surprisingly.”

I used the small folding shelf near where the rows of ice cream flavors ended and went into the back. We use an app to clock in as opposed to a traditional time clock. I don’t think it’s nearly as cool as the latter, but goodness is it convenient.

The main color scheme for the parlor was white and blue, so naturally, we wore a blue shirt and white pants for our uniform. We also wear a white apron for some reason. I guess because it looks better? I’m not sure, I didn’t make this place.

We also need to wear something that covers our hair. Safety stuff. I just opt to wear a hat. Spike does the same. Everyone else either ties their hair back or—like us—wears a hat. Lastly, we wear gloves, but that’s kind of obvious.

All we really had to do was wait for customers and clean off the ice cream serving apparatus when the customers left. Other than that, we could shoot the shit and just have a generally good time while getting paid for it.

That day’s set of customers wouldn’t be like the normal ones, though. I’d just finished cleaning off the scoop after serving a customer some pistachio ice cream—which is such an old person flavor, my god—when I heard the tell-tale noise of our entrance bell jingling.

Excited, but not really, I looked up to greet our newest customers. What met me was… interesting.

My greeting was caught in my throat as I got a good look at just what was in front of me. When I determined that what I was seeing was, in fact, real, I immediately went to the back where I found Spike looking for our vanilla ice cream.

“Dude,” I said, pointing to where I’d just come from. “I need you to come out and see this. It’s crazy.”  I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out the best I could. It’s hard when they’re bigger than you.

I yanked him out front and did a “see?” gesture to the customers in just on the other side of the counter. Spike took a good, hard look at them and determined that they were pretty weird. What stood in front of us wasn’t a group of humans, no. What we saw was more similar to those gargoyles you’d see perched atop a cathedral somewhere in Europe.

“Mmm. Yeah. Pretty weird,” Spike said. “You wanna take care of them for me? Still gotta find that ‘nilla.”

“You sure they aren’t gonna hurt me?” I asked, pointing at them.

“Hey,” One of them said. “Just because we aren’t human… doesn’t mean we can’t hear you. No… we won’t hurt you.”

That surprised me, but all it seemed to do for Spike was give him the okay he wanted to go back into the freezer. Dammit, I was on my own here.

I shook the feeling and steadied myself. There were only three of the gargoyles. I...

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