cross-posted from: https://lemmy.world/post/25775187
I need help finding this one viral horror story. It described two twenty year old college students and their girlfriends camping in an old RV. They were in an upstate Pennsylvania town in the Poconos during the fall. They spent a few nights playing hold ’em, Jenga, and truth or dare.
One night, the MC, Chase, pulled some shrooms out of his bag and dared the loser of a game to try it with him for the first time. They ended up having a wild night but it was suspicious because it wasn’t Chase’s girl who volunteered but his friend’s girl.
They snuck away from the campsite and fooled around a bit to find the other two passed out drunk laying over one another. They were still coming off their high so they remained unable to really perceive the affair that might have occured while they eloped. In the morning only the two college guys were in the side camper, but the windows were broken, the siding was severely dented and the door was ripped clean off. They checked the RV to see if the girls were in there but the windows were also broken and the sides were smeared with blood. They entered their RV and found shreds of clothing and a shoe of Chase’s girl.
They were suspicious and terrified. Either there was a bear or there was a person that they needed to make a police report. Chase had a warrant so he didn’t want any law enforcement involved. They both agreed to handle it on their own.
I remember that it ended with something along the lines of a “Blair-Witch-esque cult” that may have abducted them and was farming them for their blood to be used in sacrifices. They were kept alive in the basement of an abandoned factory on the edge of a city nearby. One of them managed to get loose from her restraints but they had her drugged and she could barely walk.
The two guys managed to get a lead somehow, possibly a nearby witness to the kidnapping. They mentioned two guys in road worker uniforms coming out of a utility truck that went east. The two followed the clues and only found two factories both completely abandoned and empty. No luck whatsoever.
When they stopped to get more gas, they encountered a trucker who asked why their hands were covered in dried blood. They explained their situation and the trucker told them to follow him to his destination and that he might be able to lead them to their girlfriends.
When they arrived in an empty parking lot and were out talking and distracted, two disguised men came out of the truck and knocked them out, and the trucker lifted their unconscious bodies into the truck.
They remained missing for months until Chase escaped in hopes of returning to rescue them. Unfortunately, he was apprehended by police who ran his info and arrested him for his outstanding warrants. He tried explaining about the others but they didn’t believe him after getting drug test results and finding all the stash of drugs he had in his cargo pants pockets.
Then, I don’t remember whether it just ended there or not, so I did a Google search and nothing. I searched and searched but found no trace to any avail. I needed to know the end of the story. It was eating me up inside.
So, I had to put myself in Chase’s shoes. How would he get released and save his three friends? I had a crazy idea to go out to the woods in the Poconos and camp there. I had no RV or camper and barely any money for a tent but I managed with just my Jeep and a cheap Walmart tent. I made sure to bring one key item–psylocybin mushrooms. I had to call up a bunch of old shady contacts from before I got fully clean. I set up camp and enjoyed myself in hopes of unlocking the memory.
Two nights passed and I almost ran out of food, but it really clicked in my mind: I know what I was missing. His name wasn’t Chase, it was Chance.
I quickly turned on my phone hoping to get a signal–none.
I got in my jeep, it was about 4 in the morning and I rushed back home to use wifi. As soon as I got in, I googled the same story with Chance instead. I found a blog with the story in question. Eureka!
I read it till the end and boy, I won’t spoil the clever thing Chance did to save them and clear his charges. But you can find it, the story is called “No Game Of Chance” and…..and…..it was by……….me!?!?
I pulled out my other laptop, and did a file search, there it was–not one but several folders in odd locations some on the desktop, some in my documents, others in obscurely named folders that also contained some gruesome fetish art. This had to be a joke. I kept looking through my files and found a document labeled “This isn’t the first, and it won’t be the last”.
I opened it to find a letter addressed to myself, from myself. It explained that I thought I might be going insane. It noted symptoms of schizophrenia and other symptoms that suggested I should consult a doctor.
I booked an appointment that morning with a psychiatrist. A week later when it came time to see her, I chickened out and was scared they might test me for certain drugs. I didn’t need another thing on my record. So I never showed up, but I did drive around an area in a similar town near the Poconos. The story I read had really detailed and specific descriptions of the factory. So much so that I wondered if I had been there before, maybe to do research in order to have a realistic and genuinely convincing setting. I found a similar abandoned factory on the edge of town. I looked around to see that no one followed me or that anyone was nearby. I pulled a crowbar out of my car and a tool box and began prying off boards. I had to unscrew a door hinge and I was in.
The place reeked of rotting wood, rust and water damage. I searched up and down to see the description of where I wrote the captives were held. I found the deadbolted door and began trying to open it. About an hour of effort passed and it finally budged. This would have been a good place for a deranged person to hide captives, I said to myself as I removed the last board.
I felt a vibration under the floor. I thought it might be an animal but then I heard a whimper. Oh, no! This….this is… I ripped and pried off the wooden hatch. And…THERE. THEY. WERE.
Oh, SHIT! Are you guys okay!? I ripped off some duct tape
P.. pp.. she shivered, Please d..don’t hurt us….let us go… we won’t t..tell anyone about you or your g..g…goons.
Goons? I had help!? I thought to myself.
No, you don’t understand, I think I am on some bad type of shit. None of this was intentional. You have to understand, I have no memory of this.
I wanted to tell them about the blog and the story and everything but they would think I was crazy. I thought I was crazy.
I will let you guys go, this isn’t me.
I started to think up a lie and that the others drugged and threatened me and that I was a slave just like them, but before I could,
CRACCCCCKK!
Everything went black.
…
There stood Chance. My crowbar in his hand now covered in blood.
Hurry up, He called. They could be back any minute.
He quickly ripped off the tape on their mouth, and cut the ropes with a knife to unbind them. He explained as they ran that he was on bail until his trial and that his appointed lawyer promised he would only have to do rehab and no jail. They were happy he was alive and came to their aid.
The affairs and what happened at the camping trip were never mentioned again by them, an unspoken agreement.
…
As for me, I layed there, on the factory floor, slowly bleeding out, my vision coming back faintly and in the dark. I could hear the distant blaring of sirens, they echoed through the corridors of my head.
I struggled to get up and to maintain my composure. I stumbled to the wall for support. I thought that I should just turn myself in and cooperate. I was not fit for society.
I fainted and collapsed onto the floor. When I awoke it was morning. No cops nearby at all. I was cold and my clothes soaking wet. I managed to stand up and turn on a light. The basement was partially flooded. A pipe in the corner burst and I noticed all my furniture is probably ruined. I looked next to my couch to see my laptop, and some remnants of the drugs I must’ve taken on the coffee table. I opened my laptop to see if it was all a dream of intoxication.
No weird documents, no files, no letter. No evidence whatsoever that I even write stories. Who am I?
Update: I am now in treatment with a good psychiatrist and therapist to aid with recovery from my addictions. I never mentioned my story, or what happened or hasn’t happened. It has been about a year of recovery. However, I learned one big lesson not to go down the rabbit hole and leave my curiosities as is. It is really weird though, there is a guy who is the spitting image of Chance in my recovery group. That’s not his name thankfully, but he does have some peculiar scars I am too afraid to ask about. He never makes eye contact with me, I might find another group. I’m scared.
- T.M.
