This Creepypasta is based off of the quietest room in the world. It is supposedly -9 decibels and it is so quite that you can hear your blood in your veins and your heart beat. It has only been sustained for 45 minutes at the most. It causes minor insanity and hallucinations.
The first thing that registers is the cold floor beneath my back. My eyes slowly flutter open as I try to recall exactly what happened. Nothing sparks immediately. I don’t even remember going home. How long have I been unconscious?
I slowly sit up, my back is sore and the crick in my neck registers. When it pops back into place, the sounds nearly splits my eardrums open. The hell? I try popping my back into place and another ear splitting sound erupts through the room, like someone shot a 12-gauge shotgun next to me. I grasp my ears and fall back to the floor.
When the ringing in my ear stops, I look around. There’s no door, but the walls are oddly shaped. Like shingles on a roof going left, right; up and down. But what’s really odd about the room, is the silence. When I actually hold still, there is not a sound. No, not exactly. There’s a swooshing sound, like when you “hear the ocean” in a seashell. And then there’s a constant thumping sound. Like someone is softly beating on a drum. It’s a little…unnerving. Where the hell am I? I exhale and it sounds like a hurricane hit the room.
I gasp and and plug my ears. Why is everything so loud? I notice a tray of food in the corner and am grateful for it. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. As I get up and walk towards it, my footfalls sound like bombs. I fall to my knees, and grab my head, a headache starting to bloom. I crawl as softly as I can to the tray. I see a bowl of soup and some bread with a cup of water. There’s something written on the napkin.
I pick it up and read it:
“Welcome to Insanity.”
It names insanity as if it is a place. I drop it onto the tray and hear every little breeze down. I quickly help myself to the food, trying my best to ignore the every little thing I hear. As I eat, I hear myself chewing and swallowing. I even swear I hear the food hit my stomach. The beating and swooshing hasn’t stopped either. I rub my eyes in frustration.
This room may just drive me to…well, insanity! When I open my eyes I look at my hands. They’re covered in blood. I start to panic. What the hell happened? Oh god, oh god, oh god…I grab the napkin and try to rub the blood off. When the napkin presses to my skin, more blood pours from it. I scream, ignoring the ear splitting sound it makes. I wipe and wipe at the red stains, but it doesn’t come off.
Then, as if it we’re never there, the blood is gone. The napkin is just fine, but the note still haunts me. “Welcome to Insanity…”
I am instantly tired and I lay down. My head hurts and I give myself time to truly be scared. How the hell did I get here? I can’t remember what happened yesterday or where ever I was when I was taken.
I can’t sleep because of the constant swooshing and thrumming though. It only increases my headache. I lay awake, but keep my eyes closed. It helps a little when I’m not open enough to hallucinate. But, the constant silence; being able to hear my blood rushing through my veins, and my heart beating…it’s enough to drive you mad.
My eyes fly open and I look around. There’s got to be a damn way out of here! I couldn’t have just materialized here! My kidnappers would have had to have put me in here! I stand and begin to beat the walls until my knuckles are bloody, each hit sounding like a gunshot in my ear.
I scream in frustration and grab my head at the sudden pain through my head. I fall to my knees and bury my face in my hands. Oh god…I need to get out! As I rise to punch the wall again, I black out.
I wake again and the same silence haunts the room, with only my blood and heart to comfort me. Another tray of food sits in the same corner. I quickly retrieve it. There’s the same food as yesterday. Bread, soup, and water. The napkin holds yet another note:
“Welcome to Insane.”
Insane? Surely they meant Insanity. Who ever “they” is. I quickly eat my…what is it? Breakfast, lunch, dinner? I quickly eat my food. I find myself humming. It’s soothing in the silence and doesn’t hurt my ears. It’s not any song in particular, just different notes to make a sweet melody to ease my mind. The silence is peaceful now. The beat of my heart is calming. When I open my eyes, I see the empty tray of food.
On it rests a knife that I had never noticed. It seems out of place. The food I was provided would have given of no use to a steak knife. But I take it anyway. As I grab it a faint tickling sensation runs up my arms. As I look at my arms spiders begin to crawl up them. I drop the knife and swat at them. They continue to crawl and tear my shirtsleeves away. I scream and the noise pounds through my ears painfully. The spiders begin to crawl into my eyes, mouth, and ears. My screams become gurgled as the spiders fill my throat. I claw at my face, then suddenly, the spiders are gone.
The spiders are replaced with a stinging sensation, and as I look at my body, I see lacerations decorating every inch of my body. I’m also still holding the knife. I sit in a forming pool of my own blood. Every time I move my body hurts and stings.
Yet, the blood is fascinating. Ignoring the pain, I dip my fingers into my warm lifeblood and taste it. Like iron and salt. I take more and draw pictures on the ground. A sun; the number 45. Pretty.
I stand and take the knife with me. I’ll need more blood when this dries. I draw letters and symbols as the colors begin to talk to me. Yellow is mean. He makes fun of my drawings. Red is the only one that likes me. The others are stuck up they don’t appreciate anything I do.
Silence…sile…nce. Silence is good…nice.
They took my knife. Have to cut with fingernails.
Yellow was eaten by green. Blue went missing. Red talks to me. He’s nice.
45…45…45 what? Cuts. Pretty picture of a flower. 45 minutes of Insanity. They told me.
Pretty poem. Killed a man. Needed money. Sorry…sorry…
You don’t know me.
I don’t know you.
What happened to me is true.
Be a good person,
or else you, too,
will experience the wonders of Insanity Room.
Huh…that’s the tune I was humming. Pretty poem…pretty blood…pretty…
Original Author: Whatsyourfear