I Can't Sleep

Transcript: Unsent Voice Memos from Subject: Andrew G. File Recovered After Missing Person Report

[Voice Memo - Day 1 - 11:58 PM]

Audio quality: Clear

"I can't sleep. Again. Third night in a row. Dr. Raj said the lithium would help regulate things, but it's like my brain is allergic to rest. I keep thinking, pacing, cleaning. I know the signs. I'm trying to be careful. But the buzzing in the walls won't stop. I know, it sounds insane. But it's not just in my head. I unplugged everything in the apartment, every socket, every wire, even took the batteries out of my remote for God's sake. But I still hear it. A soft electric hum, like a dying fly caught in a light fixture.

It starts every night around 2 AM. At first, I thought it was the neighbors. Paper-thin walls and all. But when I knocked to ask, there was no response. The unit next to mine has been empty for months, the landlord said. And yet, the humming is right there, just on the other side of my bedroom wall.

I can't sleep. I keep seeing this...shape. In the hallway. It doesn't move. It just watches. It's there when the lights are off. Gone when they're on."

[Voice Memo - Day 2 - 3:42 AM]

Heavy breathing throughout

"It spoke tonight. Whispered right into my ear like it was standing behind me.

It said, 'Let me in.'

I locked every door. Every window. Covered the vents. I even unplugged the TV.

I think it's already inside."

[Voice Memo - Day 3 - 4:30 PM]

Irritated speech, heavy breathing. Pacing can be heard in the background

"My therapist thinks I'm spiraling. He adjusted my meds again, upped the antipsychotics, added something for anxiety. I told him about the humming, about the lights flickering, about how sometimes I swear I see shapes in the dark hallway between my room and the bathroom.

She asked if I've been taking my pills regularly.

I have. I'm not stupid.

But I'm not crazy either. I hear it. I see it.

There's something there. Watching. Waiting.

I can feel it."

[Voice Memo - Day 4 - 5:04 AM]

Shaky, disjointed speech. Scratching heard faintly in the background.

"I haven't slept in… I don't even know. 70 hours? 80?

I'm not manic anymore. I'm past that. The colors are flat. My body's giving out. But I'm awake. Last night, I stayed up. Sat on the floor with my back against the wall, eyes locked on the corner where the sound gets loudest. Around 2:17 AM, it began again.

But this time, it wasn't just a hum.

It was a voice.

Faint. Static-y. It said, 'Don’t…trust..'

I turned on every lamp in the apartment.

The lights flickered. Then died.

What did it mean?

[Voice Memo - Day 5 - 1:13 AM]

Voice is dull, exhausted. High pitched whine underneath.

"I don't think I'm alone anymore.

Not in the metaphorical 'ghost of the mind' kind of way. I mean physically. Someone's here.

I heard footsteps in the hall at 3 AM. Not in the building, in my apartment.

I checked every room. Locked every door. But things are moved. Little things. My toothbrush is on the wrong side of the sink. The salt shaker is missing. There's a scratch on my bathroom mirror that wasn't there yesterday, it almost looks like a word.

Sleep.

But I can't.

I can't sleep."

[Voice Memo - Day 6 - 4:15 AM]

Slurred speech and sounds of ripping tinfoil in the background

I covered the windows with tinfoil.

Not because of the government. I'm not that kind of crazy.

But the lights outside...they've started blinking in patterns. I thought it was Morse code, but the intervals didn't match. It's like they're trying to program me. Like they're training me for something.

And the shadows?

They're moving on their own now.

One crossed the ceiling at 4 AM.

It didn't have a face.

[Voice Memo - Day ??? - 5:17 AM]

"The clocks are lying.

I know I sound insane. But they're wrong. I smashed the wall clock. My phone won't hold a charge anymore. Even the microwave blinks 3:33, over and over.

The voice comes every night now.

Louder.

Clearer.

'DON'T TRUST THE DOCTOR.'

What doctor?

I haven't left my apartment in weeks.

Have I?

Therapist's Note - Session Canceled - Day 7

Note by: Dr. R. Rajan

"Patient reported worsening insomnia, possible visual hallucination, and paranoid ideation. Possible onset of manic psychosis. Recommend immediate in-person eval. Patient missed appointment. Sent wellness check notice to emergency contact."

[Voice Memo - Unsure what day - 2:57 AM]

Soft weeping. Audio glitches at 1:22-1:26

"A man came today. Said he was my psychiatrist.

Tall. Pale. Eyes too wide.

He knew things about me he shouldn't know. Private things. My dreams. My fears.

What I did in college. The night I almost…

No.

No, he's lying.

He tried to inject me with something. Said I was a danger to myself.

But I saw the needle. The liquid was black.

I hit him with the lamp. He didn't bleed. Just kind of… leaked.

He's still in the bathtub.

Still twitching.

Not dead.

Not alive.

I can't sleep."

[Voice Memo - Unsure what day - 3:21 AM]

Slurred speech evident

I emailed Kara. My ex. She used to help me track my episodes. She always knew when I was slipping too deep.

I told her I think I'm being watched. That someone is gaslighting me, moving things, whispering through the walls. I begged her to come check on me.

She replied:

'You've been ignoring my messages for six months. You disappeared. You ghosted everyone. This isn't healthy, Drew. Go to the hospital.'

I don't remember ghosting anyone. The last time we spoke was… last week, wasn't it?

No. Wait.

When was it?

[Voice Memo - Day X - 6:15 AM]

"I figured out where it was coming from, the humming. There are wires under my skin.

I can feel them. Writhing. Moving. I dug into my arm with a pair of tweezers, just to be sure.

There was no blood.

Only static.

[Voice Memo - Final - 8:51 AM]

Audio is mostly static.

They're coming tonight.

The shadows. The doctor. The buzzing things. I see them in the walls now, like ripples in water.

Kara called. Or.. Someone that sounded like Kara. Told me she was outside my door. Begged me to let her in.

But Kara moved to Oregon last year after the hospital.

They think I forgot, but I didn't.

They're trying to wear me down.

But I'm not stupid.

I won't sleep.

If I sleep, they'll get in.

And if they get in...they'll wear my skin.

[The following is an incident report filed by Officer Mae Donovan, responding to a multiple wellness check requests made by a neighbor and concerned friend due to "constant pacing, yelling, and banging sounds."]

Date: August 1st, 2025

Location: Unit 3B, Echo Pines Apartments

Upon arrival, I knocked several times. No response. Landlord provided access.

Inside the apartment, all windows were covered with foil. Mirrors had been shattered. Clocks smashed. The walls were covered in what appeared to be cryptic writing in permanent marker, mostly the repeated phrase:

"I can't sleep."

Subject, identified as Andrew Grayson, was found in the bedroom closet, huddled and non-responsive. Severely malnourished, dehydrated, multiple self-inflicted wounds, particularly to the arms and legs.

He whispered only one thing before being taken away by paramedics:

"I can't sleep."

No other occupants were found. No evidence of forced entry.

But as I was leaving the unit, I swear the hallway light flickered.

And from the corner of my eye…

I could've sworn I saw a shadow crawl across the ceiling.