This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/UnrealPhenomenon on 2026-05-24 13:07:24+00:00.

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I found the first note while dicing up some vegetables for a stir fry I was making. I had just cut the bell pepper in half when I found a small, rolled paper tucked in amongst the seeds. There must have been a hole I didn’t notice, I reasoned, and this was put in during processing. Some bored worker’s idea of a joke.

Unfurling the scrap, I read the words “Get rid of it.” I turned the paper over in my hands before picking up the pepper again. I inspected both halves and saw nothing weird about it, no holes or rot.

A bit uneasy, I decided to use some frozen vegetables instead, a stir fry starter. I tossed the pepper and the note into the trash then continued with my cooking. I plated everything and set it out for my girlfriend and me to eat.

My girlfriend, Gia, came into the kitchen. She looked at the trash as she passed by. “Oh, thanks for leaving out the bell pepper,” she said. “You didn’t have to throw it away though.” She paused. “I didn’t think I told you about my allergy.”

The next day, I’d woken up late and was rushed to work. I grabbed an apple on my way out, grabbed my keys, and plopped into the car. I turned out onto the road and took a bite of the Honeycrisp. I kept chewing a particularly tough bit of peel, but it wouldn’t break down. I pulled it out of my mouth. With quick glances, I inspected it to see it was an apple-covered scrap of paper. At the next red light, I opened the note. “It’s not worth it.” With no idea what that meant, I crammed it into the cupholder and finished my drive. Perhaps, I thought, there was something going on with the grocery store.

I finished my workday and made a late-night shopping trip. Going out of my way, I went to a grocer that was a bit more expensive. I grabbed some bananas, apples, and a couple other random foods. At the checkout, my curiosity got ahold of me.

As the cashier rang my produce, I asked her, “Have you ever had anyone complain about finding notes in their produce?”

She entered some information into the computer. “I never heard a thing like that. What do you mean, notes?”

“Like a message.” I waited for her to respond. She stared at me then her mouth opened slightly, as if she was about to speak. Her hand slowly slid under the counter. “Never mind.” I took my bags and made my way to the car.

After putting my bags in the car, I looked back to see the cashier and two other workers walking towards my car. The cashier pointed at me. I looked at the cupholder note, “It’s not worth it,” then sped away.

Once home, I dumped all the produce on the kitchen table. I grabbed a banana and broke it in half. Another note. “Carly was first.”

I grabbed a knife and cut the apples. Note, note, note.

“Sleep under the covers”

“You miss Berry”

“Dad was mean”

I put them all next to each other and realized they were revealing information about myself. Carly was my first girlfriend, when I was young, I would sleep under the covers, Berry was my first dog who I still thought about often, I used to tell my mom that “dad was mean,” when he’d yell at me and she would always dismiss me.

Was I writing these notes? To myself? I thought about the stories of carbon monoxide, of psychosis, how the person undergoing it seems to be the last one to realize what’s happening. I checked the carbon monoxide detector—no problem there. I decided I’d invite Gia over, have her be my witness, and see if she could confirm that I wasn’t losing my mind.

I grabbed my phone and sent her a quick text asking her to come by without giving too much detail. I decided it was better to explain this in person than over the phone.

“On my way,” she responded.

Glancing at the table, I saw all produce laid out, the notes lined up. I eyed a tomato, grabbed it, and split it open over the sink.

“Don’t bring it over.”

My mouth went dry. I thought back to the first note. “Get rid of it.” I grabbed more produce from the table. I had a cucumber, two more bananas, a pepper, and a bag of grapes. I cut open the cucumber first.

“More will follow.”

More. The cashier, those other people. I didn’t know what they wanted.

I broke a banana.

”The whole town knows.”

“Knows what, damn it!” I began to sweat. I grabbed the pepper and ripped it into pieces, letting the seeds spill into the carpet. I pulled the note out.

“Lock the doors.”

I scrambled to each door and ensured it was locked. With only a bag of grapes left, I felt destitute. I squished a grape and pulled a small scrap of paper out. It had one letter on it.

“No, no, no,” I kept muttering to myself as I crushed the grapes and ordered the scraps of paper.

“T”

“H”

“E”

“Y”

“A”

“R”

“E”

“H”

“E”

“R”

“E”