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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/NoCardiologist1353 on 2026-05-19 23:24:53+00:00.

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I’m scared to go home.

In fact, I don’t think I will ever return, I don’t care that everything I own is there, or even that it is my childhood home, I’m never going back. It was only a few months ago that I received the call that would change my life. I sat in my dorm, studying for a psychology exam, when the monotone chirping of my phone broke through the tranquil silence.

“Hello?” I answered blankly

“Yes, am I speaking to Erin?” a thick, masculine voice broke through the speaker

“Um yeah it is, whom am I speaking to?”

“Well Ma’am, I’m Sheriff Waterson from back in Centerville, your father is Roger correct?”

My voice cracked as I whispered “yes. Is everything ok?”

A heavy, pained sigh came through the phone.

Dad’s funeral was harder than Mom’s. Mom’s was a long time coming, the cancer had pillaged her body for years, it laughed with glee as it poisoned her blood and left her a hollow husk months before her final breath. But Dad had drowned. Not in a lake, not in a pool, in his own home. They told me he fell asleep in the bathtub. Three days after the sheriff’s call, I stood in the small, traditional Wesleyan chapel. As I stood in front of the simple casket, wrapped in a black dress, I realized I was now an orphan. Later that evening Dad’s lawyer sat me down to walk me through the last will and testament.

I sat there on the couch in a grief induced shock. The legal jargon spouted from lawyer overwhelmed me like a flood. Very few of his words reached my mind. But one of his final statements broke through my stupor.

“…And finally, your father has left you the entirety of his estate, including the house.”

“Wait what did you say?” I asked the dry lawyer

“Your father left you the house, as well as the majority of his earthly possessions.” He replied as if it was the most mundane statement ever.

“Oh” was all I could muster.

“Also, your father left you this” he said as he handed me a small, simple envelope that bore my name.

“Thanks” I said as stuffed it into my purse.

Days passed filled with casseroles, hugs, and sloppy signatures on legal documents. Several members of the family advised that I sell the house to pay for my schooling. But how could I? How could I sell the first and only home my parents ever bought? How could I sell the home that held my childhood? Instead, I kept it, I transferred to an online program and before long I found myself moving the few boxes from my dorm into the house that was now mine.

A few short weeks later, I found myself alone in the house for the first time since dad died. No one tells you how loud it is after the funeral, nor how quiet it is after everyone leaves. The silence brought to mind every good memory of my dad, though they were tainted by loss. There would be no new memories shared, no happy hugs as I graduated college, no tearful laughter as he walked me down the aisle, I had ever memory of my dad that I would ever have, and as I grew older, they would fade, eventually disappearing altogether. Then my dad would truly be gone.

As gentle tears ran down my cheeks, a memory of a note hidden in my purse came to mind. Grabbing my purse, I fished out the letter that bore my name in my father’s shaky yet elegant handwriting. A single tear dampened the envelope as I gently opened the letter. My heart awaited eagerly for the wisdom it may contain, yet to my surprise it only had one single sentence:

“Always keep a glass of water on the nightstand”

I don’t know how long I stared at the lone sentence, but as I did, anger boiled up within me. And before long I screamed.

“That’s it?? That’s the best damn advice you could think of? Gee thanks Dad I’ll always be hydrated at night! What about ‘I love you?’ or ‘I’m proud of you?’” I screamed at an empty house as I slid to the ground and wept.

“Why did you have to go? Why did you leave me?”

That night I got drunk. A cocktail of anger and grief fueled my drive to the local liquor, where I bought enough boozes to supply any frat house for a week. After several bouts with Jack Daniels, I finally collapsed on my bed in a drunken stupor. It was around 3 AM when I coughed and gagged myself awake, it felt like my lungs were full of water. I sat up quickly, fearful that I was choking on my own vomit. But as I lurched upward, the feeling passed. My airway opened and I greedily sucked in as much air as I could. My hands shook uncontrollably, as I tried to calm down. Standing up I walked into the master bathroom and bent to the sink to splash some cold water on my face. Glancing up I saw my sorry reflection in the mirror, and for a moment in the reflection, I saw movement.

It was slight, but there in the reflection of the gaping darkness that was the doorway to my room, was movement, the kind of movement your eyes notice a second too late. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, as the implications reached me. Slowly I turned and faced the dark void that used to be my bedroom. Armed only with a hairbrush, I cautiously entered the room.

“Hello?” I said, trying to disguise the fear in my voice

“Is someone there?”

The room was empty, no one was there, and I soon turned my attention to the door to the hallway. Peeking my head into the hall, I looked down both ways, and as I did, from behind me I heard the gentle trickle of water. My journey back to the bathroom felt like it took hours, I kept expecting something to touch me from the dark. but soon I stood fully in the low white light of the bathroom, before me was the sink. a thin stream of water flowed from the faucet. My mind offered dozens of explanations, but the one I settled on, was that in my fear I failed to fully turn off the faucet and didn’t notice until my terror had passed.

“it’s nothing, just the alcohol” I whispered aloud to myself as I locked the bedroom door and returned to bed.

The next morning, I awoke in a strange mix of groggy exhaustion and quiet hope. I found myself somewhat embarrassed about the night before, both the drinking and the fear. And though I was still grieving, I told myself I wasn’t going to be controlled by the loss anymore. That morning I started to unpack and clean. The work was good for me; it kept my mind from dwelling on the loss. Soon I started back on my studies, which brought me some enjoyment. For the first time in days, I felt hungry. So I walked a few blocks down to the pizza place, the same one I worked at in high school. Billy the owner greeted me warmly with a hug as he told me how sorry he was for my loss.

“Thanks Billy, that means a lot” I replied

“We love you kiddo, and you always got a job here if you want it.”

I smiled “if your serious, yeah that would actually be great, I could really use a distraction right now.”

He nodded “start whenever you’re ready, we’ll take you anytime.”

“how’s tomorrow sound?”

He patted my back “tomorrow is great”

A few moments later my large pepperoni pizza was ready, as Billy hand it to me he said, “on the house Kiddo, it’s the least we could do.”

I thanked him and carried my dinner back home.

I wish I could say that that night was normal, what I thought was just a drunken reaction to grief turned out to be something greater. Every night that week, at 3 AM I woke feeling like I was drowning, every night the feeling grew more intense, and lasted longer than the night before. After a full week of restless sleep, I couldn’t take it anymore. Not knowing what else to do I emailed one of my professors and asked if we could schedule a video call. Dr. Martin was one of my favorite professors, he warmly encouraged my desires to become a psychologist, and after some small talk, I opened up to him. I told him about my father’s death, how he had drowned, I told him about my nightmares and the terror I felt as my lungs filled with imaginary water. All the while he listened attentively.

As my account came to an end, Dr. Martin stared intently into the camera, clearly deep in thought, a moment later he spoke

“Honestly, Erin, It sounds a lot like grief-triggered sleep paralysis.”

“Sleep Paralysis?” I echoed

“Yes, it seems to be that your subconscious has taken this grief and internalized it in the form of a paralysis experience that mimics the final moments of your father.”

I stared for a moment as this news sunk in “well is there anything that would help?” I asked

“Well, if you’re wanting to go the medication route, I’d have to refer you to someone, but if you’d ask me, medication might not be necessary. Perhaps all your mind needs is some form of closure.”

I thought for a moment, before nodding “thank you Dr. you’ve been really helpful.”

“of course, Erin, happy to help.”

Closing my laptop, I sat there at the end of my bed, trying my best to digest what I had just been told. What would closure even look like? Moments later it hit me, the note. The stupid one sentence note my dad had left me, the note that was currently hiding in the back of my junk drawer. Soon I found myself staring at the wrinkled piece of paper. All it said was:

“Always keep a glass of water on the nightstand”

Why would he write this? The thought bounced around my mind over and over again, but ultimately it doesn’t matter, if listening to the note would give my mind closure, I’d do whatever it said. That night before bed I set a tall glass of clear water on my nightstand, I stared at the cup as my eyelids grew heavy and soon, I was fast asleep.

I woke in the morning shocked, not...

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