Evan Mason hadn't slept properly in weeks. The insomnia was suffocating, turning days into a blur and nights into endless marathons of staring at the ceiling. After trying every remedy—from teas to medications to therapy—he was desperate when he stumbled upon an ad for Somnus Audio Therapy.
"Sleep deeper than ever before. Wake up refreshed, renewed, and ready to thrive."
It sounded too good to be true. But when his doctor mentioned it was a breakthrough treatment for chronic insomnia, Evan was willing to try anything.
At his first appointment, a soft-spoken technician fitted him with sleek, wireless headphones and explained the procedure.
"You'll listen to soothing tones and a guided voice. It's perfectly calibrated to your brainwaves. Just relax and let the voice guide you."
Evan reclined in the plush chair, closed his eyes, and pressed play. The voice, soft and melodic, began:
"Breathe in… breathe out… let the world fade away. You're safe. You're at peace…"
For the first time in months, Evan drifted into sleep.
The first few nights were transformative. Evan slept deeply, his body sinking into the mattress like a stone in water. His energy returned, and the dark circles under his eyes faded.
But on the fourth night, something changed.
As he drifted off, the soothing voice guided him as usual. Then, just on the edge of sleep, it whispered something different.
"Evan… you trust me, don't you?"
He stirred slightly, his consciousness tugging between wakefulness and sleep. The voice continued, its tone barely audible:
"Good… trust is important. You're doing so well."
The next morning, Evan awoke feeling uneasy. He couldn't recall exactly what the voice had said, but it left a strange residue in his mind. He shook it off, chalking it up to a dream.
That day, he noticed himself acting oddly. At the café, he ordered black coffee, even though he hated it. At work, he found himself avoiding his usual shortcuts, taking long detours through unfamiliar halls. Small, insignificant things—but they felt wrong.
That night, as the voice guided him to sleep, he thought he heard it again:
"Evan… you want to help me, don't you?"
The whispers grew more frequent, creeping into his dreams. Evan began waking up with gaps in his memory, small blackouts where he couldn't account for his actions. One day, he found an unfamiliar receipt in his pocket—for a hardware store he didn't remember visiting. Another time, he woke up with dirt under his nails and no idea why.
The voice became a constant presence, not just when he was asleep. During quiet moments at work or when he was alone at home, he would hear faint echoes in the back of his mind.
"You're doing so well, Evan. Keep going."
Desperate for answers, he returned to the clinic and confronted the technician. "Is there something else in the recordings? Something… subliminal?"
The technician looked confused, even offended. "The program is entirely safe. The voice is just a guide to help you sleep. Maybe you're dreaming?"
But Evan wasn't convinced. He began to dig into the company, looking for anything suspicious. What he found chilled him to the bone.
A lawsuit had been filed against Somnus Audio Therapy by a former patient, who claimed the treatment had caused them to develop "intrusive thoughts" and violent tendencies. The case had been settled quietly, with a confidentiality agreement.
That night, Evan tried to resist using the program, but his body betrayed him. The moment he lay in bed, the headphones seemed to call to him, a compulsion he couldn't ignore.
As the voice began, it was no longer soothing. It was commanding.
"Evan… you can't stop now. We're so close."
"What do you want from me?" he muttered aloud, his voice trembling.
The voice chuckled softly.
"Obedience. Trust. That's all I've ever wanted."
Evan tried to tear off the headphones, but his arms felt leaden, his body paralyzed. The voice continued, weaving its words into his subconscious:
"You don't need to fight. Just let go. Let me guide you."
The next morning, he awoke in his car, parked on a deserted road. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. In the passenger seat sat a duffel bag filled with items he didn't recognize—rope, gloves, duct tape.
Evan's heart pounded. He couldn't remember how he got there or why those items were with him. But deep down, he knew.
Evan discovered the horrifying truth: the voice wasn't part of the program. It was someone. A real person, controlling him through the recordings.
Using his tech-savvy friend Nate, he traced the program files. Hidden within the soothing tones was an encrypted layer, broadcasting commands tailored to each listener. The program wasn't just helping people sleep—it was conditioning them.
Nate hacked into the system and uncovered a network of messages linking the voice to other patients. Some had already disappeared; others were committing inexplicable crimes. Evan realized he was just one pawn in a larger plan.
But before they could dig deeper, the voice spoke through his headphones, even though the app wasn't running.
"Evan, you shouldn't have done that. Now you've left me no choice."
The lights in his apartment flickered. His phone buzzed with an unknown number. The voice, no longer calm or soothing, spoke one last command:
"Sleep forever."
Evan's body was found weeks later, slumped in his apartment. Officially, the cause of death was ruled a heart attack, but those close to him knew better. His face was peaceful, almost serene, but his headphones still played the familiar, melodic voice.
And Somnus Audio Therapy continued to grow, expanding to new cities and promising restful nights to countless others.
Somewhere, a voice whispered to another patient:
"You're doing so well. Just let me in."