Bedtime horror stories!

The kidnappers

one

"Good heavens! The moment the key made its last half-turn in the lock, I was suddenly caught in a black bag behind me at the door of my house. The moment I uttered this inpolite exclamation, I received a violent blow to the head and, as I passed out, I realized THAT I had been kidnapped.

Struggling to wake up, I found myself lying in a dark room with my head on my old briefcase.

My head hurt so much that I tried to rub it with my hands, only to find that my hands and feet were tied.

I'm a poor guy living in a rental house, and I was actually kidnapped.

What should be done at this time? I try to think of similar movies and TV shows I've seen.

If it's a kidnapping, it's for money, right?

But I'm on welfare every month. Where do I get the extra money?

If I say I don't have money, will they try to kill me?

But would they kill me if I said I had money when I didn't?

... Why is it always death?

I rolled in vain on the damp, cold floor of the little dark room, almost crying.

Almost a century later, I heard some noises, and a harsh light came in.

Twisting my body, adjusting my position and barely opening my eyes, I saw two masked men approaching.

They were silent, colder than the ground I lay on.

"Big brother... I'll give you whatever you want, just don't kill me." My voice was shaking.

The men were silent and covered my head with black cloth.

"Big brother has something to discuss... have I offended someone?" I'm about to wet my pants.

The men, still silent, picked me up from the ground.

"Eldest brother, I have a family, and I don't want to die..." Good. I peed my pants.

The men were still silent, and I got another blow on the head.

When I woke up, I was in front of my house in a clean suit, keys in hand.

I looked at my watch -- if not for the fact that the glass on my watch was so cracked that I couldn't see the hands, I wondered if I had imagined the kidnapping -- and it was 8am on October 10, just before I was due to leave for work.

I tried to remember what had happened while I was on the train, but I could hardly remember anything.

May be... Mistaken identity?

I took a look at the briefcase I'd been holding for six or seven years and hadn't had the money to replace it.

"Why didn't you come to work yesterday?" The little girl at the front desk asked me from her desk.

"I'm sick..." At the moment, saying "I've been kidnapped" is considered insane.

"Lao Yang was very angry yesterday. He hates it when someone skips work for no apparent reason. So he may have to take you out!" "Whispered the little sister.

Take a shot at me? I was about to ask what again, little sister suddenly toward me make a look, then lower the head to continue to type.

There was a clanging of footsteps behind him.

I turn around past smile: "Yang total early!"

"It's a pony! It's late now! Come to my office later! Lao Yang's smile was still very kind and friendly.

"Ok, Mr. Yang!"

two

I didn't tell anyone about my kidnapping, but after a few quiet days of fear, I finally relaxed.

Lunch time.

I made an appointment to have dinner with my colleague, Big Idiot, and headed to the bathroom.

No one happened to be there, so I boldly whistled out of tune.

"Good heavens! My eyes went black and my head ached.

When I woke up, it was still dark, but the familiar damp smell made me realize that this was a small dark room.

His hands and feet were still tied, his briefcase under his head.

... Speaking of heads, they seem to have hit me harder this time, and I have a splitting headache.

I put my chin and knees to the ground and, like a shrimp, bent myself up against the corner.

It must be a case of mistaken identity... ?

But admit it twice... It's so unprofessional.

While I was still thinking wildly, the door suddenly opened and two big men came in to lift me up.

"You are not mistaken person? Last time capture also be me!" I kept struggling, and my voice was in tears.

The two men looked at each other and gave me a blow on the head.

When I woke up, I was lying in front of the urinal in the office bathroom with my zipper down.

Big Fool walked in to smoke a cigarette secretly and dropped it when he saw me.

"Why are you here? He asked me.

"What's the date and what time is it?" My dial is rotten. I don't know where the hands are.

Big silly take out a mobile phone: "October 12, noon 11 o 'clock...... to the day before yesterday about to have lunch together of, you special yao top a toilet to play disappear, now again lie here?!"

I left without him, with a terrible headache.

Sure enough, Lao Yang called me to his office again.

"Ma...... you, in the company also worked for several years, I looked at your achievements, has been very good, work very hard, this is everyone to see." Lao Yang smiled kindly.

"Thank you, Mr. Yang." I laugh, too.

"But --" Lao Yang took a sip of tea, "your recent attendance... seems to have some problems? Two absences in just five days?"

I nodded.

"You see, our company is a big family, but it is also disciplined. We cannot come and go as we please. Otherwise, how can we get along harmoniously and make progress together? Lao Yang's front tooth is stuck with a piece of green tea.

I nodded again.

"Your colleagues have done a lot of overtime for you during your absence." Lao Yang covered his face with his time sheet and licked off the tea.

"Yang general you rest assured, I must change!"

But I still lost my job, because I disappeared in different places for no apparent reason, skipped work several times.

three

So one sunny morning, I plucked up the courage and walked into the police station.

"Hello, I'd like to report a crime."

"Fill out a form." The policeman crossed his legs, threw out a piece of paper and a pen, and continued to chat with colleagues.

Five minutes later.

"You said you were kidnapped and tied up several times?" The handsome young man checked the form and looked me up and down with his eyelids.

"Be."

"Please describe in detail what happened."

Five minutes later.

"Did you get a good look at the kidnapper's face?

I shook my head. "They're all wearing hoods."

"Is there any description of the little dark room?"

"Just the usual little dark room... not big, concrete floor, damp and stuffy..."

"Did the kidnapper offer any conditions for his redemption?"

"No... they just brought me back the next day without saying a word." I feel like an idiot.

"Do you have any enemies? Neighbors who have quarreled with each other, colleagues who have fought with each other." The policeman was impatient.

I thought for a long time, shaking his head, can only choose and police stare.

Five minutes later.

"That what... maybe I remember wrong, I left first."

It was useless to call the police because I couldn't provide any valuable information, and every time I was kidnapped there were no witnesses or cameras, I wasn't threatened or harmed, and I didn't meet the criteria for a normal kidnapping.

I was languid at home, kidnapped again while asleep after drinking - I know this because my watch was badly broken and my wrists and ankles were covered in red binding marks - and drunk vomit still clung to my clothes.

A month later, I changed into a suit and went to a job interview.

Walking into the room, the interviewer was just a woman.

My fluency seemed to make her think well of me, and I was almost certain to get the job right away.

Between questions, she smiled and asked me, "By the way, are you thirsty? Let me order you a cup of coffee."

I nodded unconsciously.

The minute the interviewer turned to call his assistant, I knew something was wrong. As soon as I said no, I received a thump in the back of my head: "Oh my God."

The little black house.

I swear the most vicious words I can think of in my life, but it's like being in the most desolate part of the universe, and no one responds.

I got up and crouched in the corner, wiping tears on my knees, trying to figure out what I was going to say when I met the interviewer the day after tomorrow -- even if I teleported involuntarily was more convincing than it really was.

On the third day, I opened my eyes in a daze and found myself sitting in the interview chair with a blank look on the face of an interviewer who had apparently been suddenly pulled in.

"Well..." I tugged at my coat to break the silence.

"HMM...?" The tone of the interviewer's inquiry.

"Well..." My head still hurts, my thoughts are confused.

"The door is this way..." She held up a finger.

I rushed out of the door.

In the time since, I don't know how many times I've been kidnapped.

On your first date with a girl, you were kidnapped in the bathroom, and later you were told that you had to go to the bathroom to get out of paying the bill.

Shopping for clothes, being kidnapped in the changing room -- good thing I didn't have to pay for the clothes I tried on, bad thing I got blacklisted by the stores.

...

I'm getting used to being kidnapped whenever I'm alone, but they hit me really hard, and a few more blows should give me a concussion.

I've been doing nothing because I don't have a job, and the only difference is I've got a bunch of cameras in every room. When I go out, I also try to go to crowded places, so as to prevent myself from being kidnapped again.

four

I try to write about my abduction in the most serious way possible online, but the first sentence of each chapter is "This story is pure fiction."

I called the series the Kidnappers.

And so, as my mysterious kidnapping story came into being, my series gradually took off.

I eked out a living on my meager contributions.

I was constantly approached by magazine editors and directors who wanted to buy the rights to "The Kidnappers" and promise me a grand future.

I picked the magazine that seemed most reliable, and I did a couple of press conferences after the book came out.

I changed to a bigger house, bought a new car and finally established myself in the city.

It was a boring experience, so boring that I began to miss the two inexplicable kidnappers.

I had removed the cameras in my house, and I used to walk in dark backroads to avoid people, hoping that the two men would hit me hard on the head so THAT I would have something to write about.

But because they were forced to lose their time alone, they were never seen again.

I held another reception through the magazine to confess to the readers that these so-called kidnapping stories were my real experience, and that I was not a writer, just a chronicler.

There was an outcry, but apparently no one believed it.

I argued my case into the microphone, showing the only evidence of the kidnapping -- my battered watch -- to prove it, but everyone thought I was wasting their time -- fiction exists because it is absurd and loses its meaning once proven true.

My gaffe was thought to be an overdose or a mental aberration, the watch damage was thought to be a stunt, and after undergoing a series of tests, I was institutionalized for mandatory treatment.

I had it all overnight, I lost it all overnight.

five

Life at the mental hospital was quiet and the inmates were friendly - except for the doctors and security guards who patrolled like ghosts.

My roommate was a buried poet who wrote on papyrus and slipped it to me.

One day, my roommate was arrested for biting someone and sent to the infirmary for education. I was lying in bed in a daze. The moment I realized I was alone, my eyes went black.

When I woke up, I found myself on the floor of my familiar dark room, laughing.

On the third day, I was awakened by a light.

The kidnapper approached me and, as usual, knocked me unconscious.

I put my head aside nimbly. 'Wait a minute!

They stopped, their eyes puzzled.

I smiled. "I want to join you."

I couldn't get out of a mental institution on my own, but I could if I joined them, and freedom meant everything.

I almost foresaw the triumph.

After a terrifying moment of silence, one of the kidnappers suddenly ripped off his mask and, with a fretful look on his face, yanked a pocket microphone out from under it. "Dean, how many times have I told you that this treatment doesn't work at all?"