Estimated reading time — 13 minutes
Before I get into explaining this post, I just need to get this out there- if there’s a website that’s forcing you to deal with horrible moderation, and extremely constricting rules, please avoid that website like the plague. Not only does it stifle your creativity and prevent some of the more imaginative stories from reaching the masses, but in rare cases, it may prove deadly. I don’t know how much time I have- there’s faint music coming from somewhere down the hall, so hopefully I can get my message out there.
I guess I need to explain a little bit about myself to get things rolling here. My name is Ian, and for the longest time, I wanted to be a writer. The moment I learned how to read, I was excited to share stories with others. Then, as I got older, I focused on my own writing. I loved the feeling of telling a story to another person; Every campfire, every party, every writing assignment in school led to another opportunity to share what was going on in my imagination.
So when I started college for my English Major, I was captivated by the new internet sensation that went viral overnight- Sleepless. I learned about it late one night when I was bothered by the glow of my roommate’s laptop.
“Cramming for some exam tomorrow?” I yawned, squinting from the onslaught of blue light emanating from the device.
Trent screamed, then clasped his hand over his mouth. “CHRIST! Phew. Sorry, dude. You scared the hell out of me. These stories have me on edge. I was going to only read one, but then I found one that was a three parter, and the first part ended on a cliffhanger-”
I stopped him mid-babble. “Wait, stories? What kind of stories?” I sat up quickly, eagerly.
“Horror stories. But like, really good ones. I haven’t been shaken like this in a long time.”
I rolled my eyes. Trent is a good guy, but I think a Halloween decoration could get him to sleep with the light on. “Cool. Well, don’t stay up too late, alright?” I yawned, falling back to sleep.
That morning I found Trent sitting at his desk, eyes still fixated on the screen.
He hadn’t moved an inch all night.
“Dude… you alright?” I got out of bed and tapped him on his shoulder.
He slowly turned his head to me. His pale face contrasted with the dark bags under his eyes.
“Is… is it morning yet?” He croaked.
I looked over to the open window, clearly showing it was morning, before turning back to him. “Uh. Yeah, dude. It’s morning.”
He nodded, and swallowed hard, as if he had to physically digest that information. Shakily, he stood up from the chair.
“Good. Good.” He just stood there for a moment, as if he was unsure of what to do next. “I… I just couldn’t sleep. So I kept reading.” He shuffled his way over to the bathroom, and my curiosity compelled me to look at his computer.
It was a simple website- a deep blue background, with simple text at the top of the page: “Sleepless.” Above that was a logo- a black circle, with two pure white eyes, and a crooked smile, reminiscent of a jack-o-lantern grin. The rest of the page were titles to different stories that you could click through. I noticed a pattern.
“The shadow creature has been chasing me.”
“My encounter with the masked psycho.”
“There’s a mimic in my attic.”
If the titles were any indication, it seemed all of the stories were written as if they were posts of someone dealing with a real supernatural horror. I was about to click on one just to skim through, when my alarm on my phone went off, telling me I needed to start heading over to class.
Judging by the chatter around campus, it seemed that it wasn’t just Trent who was enamored by the stories. Pockets of people excitedly shared the tales of the macabre that they read the night before. While waiting for class to start, I listened in on two people in the row in front of me.
“Did you read the one about the girl’s you know what?”
“What’re you, twelve? But yes, I did. Those boyfriends deserved it.”
“Oh, for sure. What was the one that you were telling me about, with the avalanche of leaves? Is it good?”
“Over a million views. You need to check it out.”
I was floored. Someone got over a million views on a story they wrote? I quickly realized that this website was my opportunity to get some of my own work out there, stories that I’ve been just mulling over for some time. The rest of my courses couldn’t go fast enough that day.
I practically sprinted my way back to the dorm, nearly colliding into people along the way. Throwing my stuff down at the entranceway, I hurried onto my computer, and opened up Sleepless. Greeted by the little mascot’s smile, I made an account, and clicked on the button that said: “Story Submissions.” I was greeted with a blank text box, and eagerly, I began typing away at my story.
The first story I wanted to write was about a post-apocalyptic world about an AI takeover, where the remaining citizens were forced to fight in gladiatorial arenas for simple jobs. I put on my favorite beats to write to, and for hours I poured my heart into my work. Each line was mulled over, each edit made with precision, every allusion and piece of figurative language woven together into a singular thread.
My eyes felt entirely dry as I typed out the final line. I had felt like I had put every ounce of my being into the story and couldn’t be prouder of what I had achieved. With a simple flourish, I clicked the submission button and was brought to a ‘processing submission’ screen. I bounced in my seat with glee, already getting lost in the idea of my work finally being seen by such a massive audience.The start of something fantastic.
I was startled by the ping from the website, which clearly gave a negative tone. The little Sleepless mascot shook it’s head from side to side, and a message appeared.
“Thank you for submitting to Sleepless. Unfortunately, your story does not meet the requirements of our website and has been removed. If you wish to be connected to one of our agents to determine cause of removal, please click the button below, and you will be assigned to the next available agent near you.”
Near you? I felt the message was a little strange, but I was too determined to know why my story was kicked from the website to worry about the details. I clicked the button “Assign Agent” and waited. After a brief moment, a text box flickered on the screen, and a message appeared.
“Good evening, Ian. I am your assigned agent. I’m here to review your story and explain why it was rejected from our site. Only respond when asked a question, and multiple responses will ensure unpleasant future interactions. Understood?”
I rubbed my eyes, unable to process just how rude this agent was. I felt I had to play nice, though, as this was my big shot of getting my work out there. So, I typed a simple “Understood” and waited for my response. I didn’t sit there long, as more text began to fill the screen.
“Excellent. Taking a look at your work, your story is set in the future. This is a violation of rule 6, regarding timeframe. If you have not reviewed our rules, I highly suggest you do so now. The current story you submitted will never be allowed onto our website, no matter what revisions are made. If you attempt to resubmit this story, you will not like what follows next. You are, however, allowed to submit another story.“
With that, the window closed on it’s own. I was left staring at the front page of Sleepless, with my mind whirling.
That’s on me. I should’ve checked the rules. I was frustrated in the moment, blaming myself for wasting all that time. Determined to do better, I clicked the button labeled ‘Rules for story entries’, and was immediately hit with an enormous wall of text. My already tired eyes were drowning in line after line of what I could and couldn’t submit.
Defeated, I shut my computer down. I’d tackle the task of reading through the rules list the next day. Heading to sleep, I noticed Trent back on his laptop, as he sat crossed legged on his bed. I couldn’t see the screen itself, but the blue light painting his face told me enough.
“Hey man. More reading?”
Trent nodded slowly. “Just a few more stories before bed.” He lied. I simply shrugged, and did my best to fall asleep, brainstorming what my next story would be.
The vivid dreams began that night. They weren’t always identical, but they followed a similar pattern. Often, they started with me at my desk, furiously typing out a story into Sleepless. I’d be on a roll, and so I’d type faster and faster. My fingers could barely keep up with the speed that I was pouring out my soul. Then, the skin at my fingertips would start to thin and bruise, but no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t stop writing. The wetness on my fingertips would alert me that I’d broken skin, and still I’d type, unable to peel my eyes from the screen. Even the sickening clack of bone on plastic wouldn’t slow me down.
Finally, I’d feel some sort of presence directly behind me. I could barely make out their shape in the reflection of the monitor. They were tall, tall enough that I couldn’t see their head. The soft chimes of a music box would drift through the air, followed by the feeling of their hands around the sides of my head. A quick twist, a loud crunch, and I’d awake in a cold sweat.
The morning after my first rejection, I had decided to tackle the rules again. The more I read, the more I was disgusted. No stories beyond modern day. No stories where the main character dies. Only first person. Only on Earth. Each rule I read felt like adding another iron bar to the cage that was holding back my creativity. I took a moment to swallow my pride. At the time I thought Sleepless was still my best shot at making a name for myself. I just had to play by their rules, get a few stories accepted, and from there, I could write whatever I want.
When I wasn’t attending classes, every moment was spent on planning, writing, and editing my next story. This time, I focused on a slow burn. My plan was to reveal a creature at the end of the story, one who’s been there the whole time. I carefully laid hints all throughout the story, hoping to lure the reader in along for the ride.
I was eager to make sure my second story was perfect for Sleepless. The day I went to submit it, I remember reading my story over line by line, meticulously scanning for any spelling errors, wanting to make sure my story was perfect this time. When my eyes finally started to get sore, I finally hit the submit button and breathed a sigh of relief. It’s only a matter of time before the views start rolling in.But once again, the Sleepless mascot sullenly shook its head. The dreaded rejection message appeared on my screen, a mark on my ego.
“NO, NO! THIS ONE WAS PERFECT!” I slammed my hands on my keyboard. A chatbox reminiscent to the first time appeared on screen, showing a record of my previous conversation with my agent. The bubbles appeared for a moment, before a new message appeared.
“Good evening, Ian. Your latest work was not accepted on Sleepless due to rule 36: Something must happen in your story. The current story you submitted will never be allowed onto our website, no matter what revisions are made. If you attempt to resubmit this story, you will not like what follows next. You are, however, allowed to submit another story.”
This time, I needed to get my say in. I had to fight for my work.
“With all due respect, I think there’s plenty that happens in my story. It’s a slow burn, yeah, but I think it really punches at the end.”
I wasn’t thinking, and quickly I sent another message.
“Isn’t there any way you can give it a shot on your website? Please?”
There was a pause. I held my breath, waiting for a response. Quickly, the words flashed across my screen, each line causing the pit in my stomach to grow:
“I did not ask for your opinion, Ian. I have also told you not to message me more than once. You’ll need to be reminded to follow the rules. I will ensure you remember. If you want to submit a story to Sleepless, then it needs to be good. Don’t waste my time.”
Once again the chat box closed itself. I let out a groan of anguish. More time wasted. Another rejection, and now, a warning. I did everything I could to hold back the tears as I shuddered. I pushed my seat out and decided to take a walk in the cool night air to clear my head. I was secretly hoping it might give me just the inspiration I needed to write the perfect story.
Most of the campus had retired as I walked the pathway inbetween dormitories. The only sound that greeted me was the chirp of the crickets and cicadas, their night choir doing little to bring peace to my frustrated mind. I clenched my fists, replaying the rejection in my head. The first denial could’ve been chalked up to not knowing the rules.But the second?
The second rejection beat upon my skull like waves upon the shore. Was I a good writer? Were my stories even worth writing down? Did I know what I was talking about?
I sniffled, unable to hold back the tears anymore as they silently rolled down my cheeks. My passion for storytelling was being tested. I was ready to throw in the towel.
At some point that I was lost in my own head, I didn’t realize another noise had slipped its way into the night soundscape. Carried softly on the wind was a tune, ethereal in its location. It reminded me of a baby’s mobile, or a music box, as the lullaby twinkled its way toward me. I stopped walking to get a better read on the sound.
The melody both comforted me and made the hair on my neck stand. I was torn between an overwhelming sense of drowsy bliss, and primal panic. I swerved my head around, hoping to catch whatever was making the noise. Far off in the distance, my eyes locked upon an unnatural shape.
It was tall, slim, but unmistakingly humanoid. This mass of inky shadow blurred at the edges, holding no definite shape. Staring at me were two unblinking dots of white light, like far off train headlights at the end of a tunnel. In a stilted movement, it began to tilt its head at me, and a loud ratcheting noise echoed with each further degree of tilt. It reminded me of winding up a music box.
CHRRRRRK. CHRRRRK. CHRRRRRK.
I held my breath, unable to move. I begged my feet to sprint, but I was locked in place.
It took its first silent steps towards me; the music now emanating louder from it. As it drew closer, I noticed a detail buried within this thing’s chest.
At first glance, it appeared this shape had ribs sticking out of it that would twitch at certain intervals. The closer it got, the more apparent that its ribs were actually pieces of a metal comb, each prong vibrating to create a note of the melody that trapped me in its path.
My body trembled violently, the fear clamoring to rip its way out of my throat, but my clenched teeth forced my scream into a shuddering whimper.
The shape brought itself as close as it could, to meet face to face. The white lights imitating eyes felt like they were boring holes directly into my corneas. Its shadowy limbs dug blurry claws into my sides. I painfully let out a breath I didn’t even remember I was holding in.
“Please. Stop.” I managed to whimper. The sharp pain only increased as the shape pushed its appendages deeper into me.
A voice creeped into my skull. The best I could describe it was that it felt like something was wearing the skin of my own thoughts to speak.
“Stories for Sleepless. Follow the rules. Do as you’re told.”
I could barely think from the pain I was in. My vision grew blurry, the last thing I saw were those unwavering, ancient eyes.
The next morning, I awoke back at my desk, the front page of Sleepless greeting me.
At first, I thought it was just a nightmare, like the reoccurring one I kept having. The dull ache in my sides when I stood, however, told me differently. Lifting my shirt, I was met with huge, blotchy bruises where the shape had made contact. A thought crossed my mind from the night before.
“I will ensure you remember.”
Nausea overcame me. I felt trapped. Something had tabs on me. I didn’t think I could walk away from submitting stories even if I wanted to at that point. A tap on my shoulder caused me to flinch.
“Woah, Ian! Damn, you alright?” Trent had jumped back cautiously.
“Jeez, Trent. Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright. Just…” I glanced at the blank submission box taunting me on Sleepless.
“Another rejection?”
“Yeah. But this time, I’ll get it.”
“This time? You’re trying again?”
I shot a puzzled look at him. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I? I know I can get a story on here. I just know it.”
He sighed, and sat at his desk, swiveling the chair to face me. “Look, dude, I’ve seen what this website is doing to you. Yeah, it’s fun to read what’s on the site, but like… why does it matter to you so much getting on this website? Is it worth… this?” He vaguely motioned to my disheveled state.
“You don’t get it, dude. I just want my stories to be read by someone, y’know? To be appreciated. I..”
I couldn’t find the words for it. Validation? Acceptance? To prove I have something of worth to say? So I don’t get killed by some shadow deity? I let the silence finish my sentence.
Trent chewed on the silence. “I mean, with how many rules that site has- if something gets accepted by them; is it really even your story at that point?” He checked his phone, then stood up. “Shoot, can’t be late for class.” He shot me a look of concern, then hurried out of the dorm, leaving me alone with the ghost of his words, and my own inner turmoil.
I’ll admit, I was in a bad spot mentally at the time. I pushed his concerns out of my head and set off on another attempt to appease Sleepless. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if I skipped some classes, right? Once I wrote this next story, everything would be okay. I’d be on Sleepless, and I’d finally have ‘made it.’ So I got right back to it. I put on my choice of writing music and began hammering out the words to my next piece with agonizingly slow precision. If I was going to try again, I was going to make sure I did it right.
The hours crawled by. I felt half delirious from the night before, but I was determined to prove myself. Each line designed to perfectly fit what Sleepless was looking for.
The perfect story.
Right?
At some point in my writing binge, I had a haunting realization. What sickened me was that despite the video for my music having reached its end, music still drifted through the room. It was gentle, and soothing, and it came from somewhere behind me.
It was here to make sure it got what it wanted.
A Story for The Sleepless.
Ten read throughs later, there was nothing left I could edit. I hit submit and refused to peel my eyes away from the mascot on the processing submission screen, ready for its judgment.
It nodded, a positive ‘ding’ came from the website. The words “Thank you! Your submission has been accepted by Sleepless.”
The music behind me stopped.
I didn’t have the energy to cheer. I could barely bring myself to smile. In that moment, I couldn’t even remember what I wrote. I threw myself onto my bed and immediately passed out.
The next morning, I went to check how my story was doing. I felt a small swell of pride to see my name amongst the other writers on the site. The fact that at least ten thousand people had seen my story helped too. I rode that high for the rest of the day; I was confident it was the start of something good. Sleepless was pleased.
Sometime throughout the week, the numbers plateaued, and that high wore off. I barely received any comments, and those that did were nonsensical, or barely helped me understand what was liked about my story. I wound up with a bitter taste in my mouth- all of that work, all of that toiling I did, just to write a story that I wouldn’t consider close to my best? I felt foolish, looking over my story. Trent’s warning echoed in my head.Was it even my own?
My bitterness turned to resentment, and anger. I was throwing away the spark that I carried in my writing, just to have someone else judge me by their own ridiculous rules. In that moment, something snapped. I realized I didn’t need the approval of some website, no matter what they threw at me. I wasn’t going to continue burning the wick at both ends, just to appease whatever creature latched itself onto me. If I’m going to write for Sleepless, I’m going to write a warning, to prevent anyone else from ending up like me.
So, here I am. If you’re reading this, it means they haven’t taken my story down for some reason. The music’s been slowly getting louder as I type this out, so I don’t think I have much more time. I don’t think this thing’s going to show me much mercy for a story like this. So I’ll end this quickly, then hit send.
Trust your writing. Don’t limit yourself. Don’t throw away a piece of you to appease another. The story you have to tell is unique and deserves to be as unique as you.
Don’t feed The Sleepless.
Credit: Derek Llovet
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