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Follow me to crazy
Jason Miller was once an ordinary man with a mundane job. He worked in marketing for a small event planning company in New York City, but everything changed when the COVID-19 pandemic hit. Events were canceled, the company downsized, and Jason found himself among the millions suddenly unemployed.
Desperation set in quickly. Rent was due, and his savings dwindled. Jobs were scarce, and every rejection email chipped away at his confidence. One evening, after scrolling endlessly through social media, Jason stumbled upon an idea—a strange, desperate idea that seemed ridiculous at first, but the more he thought about it, the more it intrigued him. He noticed how people were consuming ghost stories and paranormal content at an alarming rate. With nowhere to go and too much time on their hands, people were craving any kind of escape from the grim reality around them.
Jason figured he could make some quick money by crafting elaborate ghost stories. He had always been good with words, and he decided to capitalize on this trend. He created a blog and started writing. His stories were chilling and detailed, describing haunted houses, cursed objects, and malevolent spirits. At first, he only made a few dollars here and there from ad revenue and small donations, but as his stories grew more intricate, so did his audience.
The more he wrote, the more obsessed he became with the supernatural. He spent hours researching old ghost legends and visiting supposed haunted locations, hoping to add authenticity to his tales. Soon, Jason’s stories began to gain traction. People started sharing his blog, and within weeks, it went viral. Major media outlets began covering his stories, and before he knew it, Jason was being invited onto podcasts and radio shows as an expert in the paranormal.
His once-struggling life had turned around. He was making money again, more than he ever had at his old job. But with the success came something Jason hadn’t anticipated—strange occurrences that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. At first, they were minor: objects in his apartment would move when he wasn’t looking, and cold drafts would sweep through his home even when all the windows were closed.
Then, it escalated.
Jason began hearing whispers at night, faint voices that seemed to come from nowhere. His dreams became vivid nightmares, filled with the same ghosts he had invented. They would stare at him, their hollow eyes filled with malice, whispering his own words back to him in mocking tones.
One night, as he sat in his living room writing a new story, he heard a knock on the door. When he opened it, no one was there. But something felt different. The air was thick, oppressive. As he turned back into his apartment, he saw a figure standing in the hallway—a shadowy, featureless shape that filled him with a terror unlike anything he had ever known.
The figure didn’t move, but Jason could feel its presence everywhere. It wasn’t just in the hallway; it was in the walls, in the floor, in the very air he breathed. It was as if his stories had come to life, and now the spirits were haunting him.
Panicked, Jason tried to rationalize it all as stress or sleep deprivation, but the haunting only grew worse. He began seeing things out of the corner of his eye—flashes of faces, quick movements, dark figures lurking just beyond his sight. The whispers grew louder, until they were almost deafening.
Jason realized, with a sinking dread, that his stories weren’t just stories anymore. Somehow, his words had summoned these entities into the real world. His fabrications had become reality, and now they were hunting him.
As his fame continued to grow, so did the intensity of the hauntings. The spirits followed him everywhere—on interviews, in his car, in public. No matter where he went, they were always there, just out of sight, but always present. His life became a waking nightmare, and the line between reality and fiction blurred.
Jason’s mental state deteriorated rapidly. He stopped sleeping, afraid of what he might see when he closed his eyes. He couldn’t focus on his work anymore; every word he typed felt like another invocation, another invitation to the spirits that tormented him. His once-proud success now felt like a curse.
Eventually, Jason broke. He was found one night wandering the streets, raving incoherently about ghosts and shadows. He claimed they were everywhere, that they wouldn’t leave him alone. Concerned for his safety, someone called the authorities, and Jason was taken to a mental institution.
There, he spent his days in a sterile white room, where the doctors assured him that the ghosts weren’t real, that they were just figments of his imagination. But Jason knew better. He could still hear them, whispering to him in the dark corners of his mind, laughing at him for daring to play with forces he didn’t understand.
In the end, Jason’s fame and fortune had been fleeting, consumed by the very spirits he had invented. The ghost stories that had brought him success had also brought his downfall, leaving him trapped in a world where the line between the living and the dead was forever blurred.
And in the quiet of his padded room, the ghosts still lingered, waiting.
Desperation set in quickly. Rent was due, and his savings dwindled. Jobs were scarce, and every rejection email chipped away at his confidence. One evening, after scrolling endlessly through social media, Jason stumbled upon an idea—a strange, desperate idea that seemed ridiculous at first, but the more he thought about it, the more it intrigued him. He noticed how people were consuming ghost stories and paranormal content at an alarming rate. With nowhere to go and too much time on their hands, people were craving any kind of escape from the grim reality around them.
Jason figured he could make some quick money by crafting elaborate ghost stories. He had always been good with words, and he decided to capitalize on this trend. He created a blog and started writing. His stories were chilling and detailed, describing haunted houses, cursed objects, and malevolent spirits. At first, he only made a few dollars here and there from ad revenue and small donations, but as his stories grew more intricate, so did his audience.
The more he wrote, the more obsessed he became with the supernatural. He spent hours researching old ghost legends and visiting supposed haunted locations, hoping to add authenticity to his tales. Soon, Jason’s stories began to gain traction. People started sharing his blog, and within weeks, it went viral. Major media outlets began covering his stories, and before he knew it, Jason was being invited onto podcasts and radio shows as an expert in the paranormal.
His once-struggling life had turned around. He was making money again, more than he ever had at his old job. But with the success came something Jason hadn’t anticipated—strange occurrences that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. At first, they were minor: objects in his apartment would move when he wasn’t looking, and cold drafts would sweep through his home even when all the windows were closed.
Then, it escalated.
Jason began hearing whispers at night, faint voices that seemed to come from nowhere. His dreams became vivid nightmares, filled with the same ghosts he had invented. They would stare at him, their hollow eyes filled with malice, whispering his own words back to him in mocking tones.
One night, as he sat in his living room writing a new story, he heard a knock on the door. When he opened it, no one was there. But something felt different. The air was thick, oppressive. As he turned back into his apartment, he saw a figure standing in the hallway—a shadowy, featureless shape that filled him with a terror unlike anything he had ever known.
The figure didn’t move, but Jason could feel its presence everywhere. It wasn’t just in the hallway; it was in the walls, in the floor, in the very air he breathed. It was as if his stories had come to life, and now the spirits were haunting him.
Panicked, Jason tried to rationalize it all as stress or sleep deprivation, but the haunting only grew worse. He began seeing things out of the corner of his eye—flashes of faces, quick movements, dark figures lurking just beyond his sight. The whispers grew louder, until they were almost deafening.
Jason realized, with a sinking dread, that his stories weren’t just stories anymore. Somehow, his words had summoned these entities into the real world. His fabrications had become reality, and now they were hunting him.
As his fame continued to grow, so did the intensity of the hauntings. The spirits followed him everywhere—on interviews, in his car, in public. No matter where he went, they were always there, just out of sight, but always present. His life became a waking nightmare, and the line between reality and fiction blurred.
Jason’s mental state deteriorated rapidly. He stopped sleeping, afraid of what he might see when he closed his eyes. He couldn’t focus on his work anymore; every word he typed felt like another invocation, another invitation to the spirits that tormented him. His once-proud success now felt like a curse.
Eventually, Jason broke. He was found one night wandering the streets, raving incoherently about ghosts and shadows. He claimed they were everywhere, that they wouldn’t leave him alone. Concerned for his safety, someone called the authorities, and Jason was taken to a mental institution.
There, he spent his days in a sterile white room, where the doctors assured him that the ghosts weren’t real, that they were just figments of his imagination. But Jason knew better. He could still hear them, whispering to him in the dark corners of his mind, laughing at him for daring to play with forces he didn’t understand.
In the end, Jason’s fame and fortune had been fleeting, consumed by the very spirits he had invented. The ghost stories that had brought him success had also brought his downfall, leaving him trapped in a world where the line between the living and the dead was forever blurred.
And in the quiet of his padded room, the ghosts still lingered, waiting.
