Horror Stories to Fall Asleep To
Aug 18, 2026 · 57 min · 10 segments
Everyone in My Town Is Fading and Nobody Can Tell Me Why. **About the Production:**This is a fictional story written, edited, and produced by a human. Because I’m a a terrible narrator, I use high…
I found Donnie standing in the flooded median with no clothes on except his socks.
Route one eighteen was half-covered in gray water, and the north shoulder had turned to mud under my boots.
It was supposed to be mid-morning, but the sky still looked like dawn.
No sun, no real light, just fog sitting over the road and the fields beyond it.
Donnie looked at me when I called his name.
"Could you point me toward Bell Street?" I asked.
"Bell Street's gone," he said.
"Gone?" I asked.
"Demolished years ago.
They put the shopping center there," he said.
Water moved through the median around his ankles.
"I see," he said.
"Would you point me toward it anyway?" I stepped into the water and took hold of his arm.
He was cold and skinny, but he didn't seem bothered by the weather or the fact that he was standing outside in his underwear.
"Come on.
I'm taking you home," I said.
"My home?" "Yes." He considered that for a moment.
"I suppose that would be best." I kept him moving toward the road.
Every few steps, he stopped to look around like he expected the town to explain itself.
The houses were there, the road was there, and the streetlights were still burning through the gray.
Everything looked familiar until I tried to put a name to it.
I checked the back of my hand.
Molly was written there in black marker.
The letters were cramped because I'd written them in a hurry, but they were still mine.
I rubbed my thumb across the ink and kept walking.
Donnie watched me do it.
"Is that a reminder?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said.
"Of what?" "My daughter." He nodded.
"Molly." I looked at him.
He had said it like he knew her or like he'd read it off my hand.
I couldn't tell which.
"That's right," I said.
"Molly." The house was just up the road, a small place with faded siding and a mailbox leaning toward the ditch.
Donnie stopped at the front door and stared at it.
"Do you know where you are?" I asked.
He looked at the house, then at me.
"It seems familiar," he said.
"What's the address?" I asked.
He paused.
"I can't seem to bring it to mind." I waited for him to remember.
He didn't.
Then he reached into the flower bed beside the porch and pulled out a spare key.
He unlocked the door without looking for the lock.
That part of him still worked.
He went inside, and I followed him through the narrow hallway to the living room.
There were framed photographs on the walls.
Donnie looked at them one by one, but none of the faces meant anything to him.
"Is this my house?" he asked.
"Yes." "I thought it might be." He sat down in a chair near the window.
I found a blanket on the back of the couch and put it around his shoulders.
"Stay here," I said.
"I'll come back and check on you." "Will you?" "Yes." He looked relieved.
"Thank you." I left him there and drove back to my mother's house.
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I found Donnie standing in the flooded median with no clothes on except his socks.
Route one eighteen was half-covered in gray water, and the north shoulder had turned to mud under my boots.
It was supposed to be mid-morning, but the sky still looked like dawn.
No sun, no real light, just fog sitting over the road and the fields beyond it.
Donnie looked at me when I called his name.
"Could you point me toward Bell Street?" I asked.
"Bell Street's gone," he said.
"Gone?" I asked.
"Demolished years ago.
They put the shopping center there," he said.
Water moved through the median around his ankles.
"I see," he said.
"Would you point me toward it anyway?" I stepped into the water and took hold of his arm.
He was cold and skinny, but he didn't seem bothered by the weather or the fact that he was standing outside in his underwear.
"Come on.
I'm taking you home," I said.
"My home?" "Yes." He considered that for a moment.
"I suppose that would be best." I kept him moving toward the road.
Every few steps, he stopped to look around like he expected the town to explain itself.
The houses were there, the road was there, and the streetlights were still burning through the gray.
Everything looked familiar until I tried to put a name to it.
I checked the back of my hand.
Molly was written there in black marker.
The letters were cramped because I'd written them in a hurry, but they were still mine.
I rubbed my thumb across the ink and kept walking.
Donnie watched me do it.
"Is that a reminder?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said.
"Of what?" "My daughter." He nodded.
"Molly." I looked at him.
He had said it like he knew her or like he'd read it off my hand.
I couldn't tell which.
"That's right," I said.
"Molly." The house was just up the road, a small place with faded siding and a mailbox leaning toward the ditch.
Donnie stopped at the front door and stared at it.
"Do you know where you are?" I asked.
He looked at the house, then at me.
"It seems familiar," he said.
"What's the address?" I asked.
He paused.
"I can't seem to bring it to mind." I waited for him to remember.
He didn't.
Then he reached into the flower bed beside the porch and pulled out a spare key.
He unlocked the door without looking for the lock.
That part of him still worked.
He went inside, and I followed him through the narrow hallway to the living room.
There were framed photographs on the walls.
Donnie looked at them one by one, but none of the faces meant anything to him.
"Is this my house?" he asked.
"Yes." "I thought it might be." He sat down in a chair near the window.
I found a blanket on the back of the couch and put it around his shoulders.
"Stay here," I said.
"I'll come back and check on you." "Will you?" "Yes." He looked relieved.
"Thank you." I left him there and drove back to my mother's house.
