Stacey’s Fall A True Story of Addiction, Grief, and the Ghosts That Never Let Go #16

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #addictionstory #griefhorror #truehorror #ghoststories #emotionalhorror  This raw and heartbreaking true story chronicles Stacey’s descent into addiction, shadowed by grief and haunted by memories she can’t escape. As she battles inner demons and the relentless ghosts of her past, the narrative reveals the tragic cycle of loss and the fragile hope for redemption. A powerful tale of pain, struggle, and the haunting impact of trauma.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, addiction, grief, truehorror, ghoststories, emotionalhorror, haunting, trauma, struggle, loss, redemption, mentalhealth, rawemotion, personalstory, heartbreaking

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
This story is true. I'm a homeless writer who is
hell bent on telling the stories of the streets. All
names have been changed, but the truth is still there.
Thank you for reading. Stacy was in the kitchen apologizing again.
That meant that she would be put out in a
few minutes. She smoked heroin from a piece of aluminum foil,

(00:21):
heating the dope from underneath the foil with a lighter
ore for best results, one of those small butane torches
that have grown so popular lately. The goal was to
heat it just to the point that smoke would start rising,
being careful not burn it, and then inhaling that through
a straw, the body of a pen or a rolled
up piece of paper would serve the purpose if nothing else.

(00:43):
This is called hot rails or hot railing it. A
lot of people who did hot rails didn't consider themselves
to be addicted, no matter how many times they had
that foil in hand every day. I pointed out to
people all the time that if your every waking moment
is dictated by dope, then you are addicted. It can
be any pleasure or feeling that you can administer to yourself, chocolate, sex, gambling,

(01:07):
or eating. We all know someone who always has a
cup of coffee or can of soft drink in their
hands or within reaching distance at all times, a constant
treadmill or circular behavior. Get your fix, do your fix,
locate your fix, get your fix, do your fix, locate
your fix, and on and on it goes until death.

(01:28):
Do you part. If you wake up and take inventory
so you'll know how to plan your day, then you're
an addict, whether you like it or not. Stacy was
one of those who figured she wasn't an addict because
she smoked rails and didn't shoot any more. She just
liked it a whole lot, so much so that she
would even put a price tag on her body if
that's what it took to get more. Man is nick around.

(01:51):
If not, then call him and tell him that he
can come get her. Or we let the first dude
we see walking down the street walk her home. Reckon.
He'll get that message. I'm sorry, I'm making too much noise,
ain't I? She sounded so profoundly sorrowful in her apology
that you couldn't really be mad. She sounded like she
was apologizing for every terrible thing throughout history some one

(02:15):
had done a real number on this girl, with damage
too deep to cure. Even the process of putting on
her shoes was like a day at the circus. Come on,
damn it, Stacy, get your shoes. Tommy was starting to
completely lose his patience with her, and that might not
end well. I heard the notification alert on Tommy's phone.

(02:36):
He read off the text to me, Please don't hurt her.
I'll be there in ten. Tommy looked like Atlas after
he set the world down, relieved. He'd better hurry or
I can't promise not to hurt her. You would hurt me. Tommy, serious?
What did I do? I am so sorry. Nobody's hurting

(02:58):
anybody got that? Just find your shoes or Nick said
he'll take Bethany back to the shack. I said, in
an attempt to focus her energy. It didn't seem to
be working. What made Stacy different was her sadness, as
though some event in her life had bonded to her
very soul with such a weight that it forced her
body to move with the sluggishness of a worn out

(03:20):
pack animal who has known better days. Something from her
past was constantly pulling her back, and every step forward
that she took was a life draining struggle. Something back
there wanted her to come face it, to stand up
and give it closure. But Stacy was fighting tooth and
nailed to remain in the present. So she smoked her rails,
did her tricks, conned her cons and told herself over

(03:43):
and over that she would never go back there. Yet
it was clear to everyone that knew her that the
only way forward for her would be to go back
start from the starting point. When she was just where
she wanted to be, then she could get comfortable enough
to sit and enjoy being in the moment. But when
she past that line of just right, that anchor from
the past somehow appeared where only she only she could

(04:05):
see it, and she would start begging it for forgiveness,
for some measure of comfort. But the beast wasn't there
for redemption, just to feed itself off her sorrow. Her
anguish would become overpowering. No matter what she did, it
would never be enough for the beast. You couldn't even
talk to her over her constant apologies, which would get

(04:25):
louder and louder until she was wailing about how sorry
she was for everything, for being born, for being there
for getting too high, for existing in the present. She
sounded like someone was beating her, so I had no
choice but to make her leave no sleep. In many times,
tempers would flare, but not even the threat of bodily
harm would dampen her timber or pull her through her hysteria.

(04:49):
The act of putting on her shoes would take an
hour or more, like a toddler getting ready to go
somewhere that they really didn't want to go, like the
dentist office, to bed early or maybe awake. When Stacy
wasn't too high, she was easy enough to get along with,
and at times I caught myself noticing a certain attractiveness
about her. Standing all of maybe five foot two with

(05:10):
a well proportioned body. She had long, dirty blonde hair
that always put me in the mind of the women
you would see at the first woodstock. Her face was
dainty and sharp as a ceramic doll, but it was
covered in deep scars, like she had been afflicted with
small pox at a young age, or maybe a nightmare
of a case of acne. That was definitely the only
thing that was a I guess you could say flaw

(05:33):
in her beauty for want of a better word, and
it made her quite self conscious, as I suppose it
would anyone. Her beauty had been marred to the point
of being a disfigurement, but that didn't stop the men
from coming around some it seemed, just for the cruelty
of reminding her that she was damaged. Goods, but goods

(05:53):
none the less. She never had any problems financing her
next high. One clue to her pain came to me
in the form of her mother, a short, stocky woman
who radiated cruelty. She had sharp, unforgiving features that seemed
to come straight from central casting to play whatever villain
that was needed, face wrenched in a permanent scowl, and

(06:14):
even her smile, as seldom as it appeared, was off
balanced somehow, having more of an appearance of smug satisfaction
than of a humorous quality. It gave no vibe of happiness.
Her mother had legal custody of her two teenage daughters
and had brought them to the house to spend time
with her, according to the stipulations of her visitation agreement.
But as usual, Stacy was either running very late, stranded

(06:37):
somewhere without a ride, going to a last minute job interview.
Although sometimes she did not even bother to make an excuse,
and just outright blew them off. When it became clear
that Stacy wasn't going to show for this visitation again,
her mother immediately launched into a tirade of what a
useless horror of a mother she was, how she could
never do anything right, how she was so stupid that

(06:59):
she could fuck anything up, and how she could only
think about herself oblivious to how it affected those around her.
Then she went into great detail, telling that she was
sure that any day now, she was sure she would
be getting the news that she had been found dead
in some trap house with a needle hanging out of
her arm, in silent testimony to how she lived. Her
fourteen and sixteen year old daughters are sitting right there,

(07:21):
soaking in all the abuse and the foretelling of their
mother's death. They tried to act like it didn't really matter,
but I knew inside they felt as though they were
what didn't really matter. When good old Mom decided to
inform me of what a sorry example of a human
I had staying in my spot, I put it to
an end, shutting her down by arguing that she a
caring and worth while person for everything negative that she

(07:44):
threw out there, I countered with two positives, a game
that mom wasn't ready for and seemed to make her
a bit uncomfortable, so much so that she decided to
cut our little visit short and took her little toxic
road show of venom spewing somewhere else, not quite so confrontational.
I know from experience that this will be the very
mother who will play the sympathy card for years. If

(08:04):
Stacy does live up to her mom's prophecy, of course,
she will be in need of money to take care
of the plans and to get her through her period
of intense morning. I would be willing to wager that
she has already figured out how to use GoFundMe like
an expert, you know, if the need should arise. Three
days after the visitation attempt, Stacy's daughters decided to call

(08:26):
her and let her know that they hated her now
and hoped they never had to see her again. They
told her that their grandma was right, she was nothing
but a dope whore who should die in the gutter,
and then hung up on her before she could respond.
That night, Stacy decided that she wasn't getting her full
money worth by hot railing her dope, and went back
to the needle after a seven month tolerance break. Three

(08:48):
days after that, she was in the hospital on a
ventilator from an overdose. She parleyed that into a three
day vacation from the streets. Just like so many atticts
before her, Stacy hoped to mitigate the damage she had
caused by announcing that she was on the path to wellness.
As of now, she had seen the errors of her
ways and would be checking into a treatment center straight

(09:09):
out of the hospital to begin her life again. She
seemed so sincere that Nick left her, because of course
he did. He stopped by the house on his way
to Greensboro, Charlotte, Savannah, Georgia, or maybe to Italy during
the period of Leonardo da Vinci was doing his thing,
doesn't matter what he said. Really, he made it to

(09:30):
the dealer's house on Fifth Street and was still there
when Stacy decided that the rigors of living a clean
life would probably be too much to deal with at
this time, and that she should probably hold off until
she was in a better place emotionally and financially. Oh well,
better luck next time. Stacy fled the hospital while waiting
for transport to a treatment center that took all or

(09:51):
even no insurance money wasn't even required. Romeo and Juliette
were reunited when Juliette arrived at the dope man house
on Fifth Street and found her Romeo cooking up a
twenty bag into a couple of shots for the night
when his purpose for living walked in the front door
with twenty more bucks that her mother had given her
to try and get a ride to the treatment center.

(10:12):
Her mom said that she would have taken her, but well,
you know, so Romeo and juliet took a good shot
apiece and did what desperate lovers do the world over.
They gave each other a shot of heroine, curled up
on the couch and knotted out while watching a Nameless
and Faceless cartoon epilogue. Some two years later, I ran

(10:32):
into Nick while having a crisis night of my own.
I had been chased out of my abandoned house by
dope dealers who wanted to control the place and turn
it into a trap house. I fled to a motel
and managed to stay there for almost two weeks before
the money went dry and they sent me on my way.
I had been walking with my total weight on my
back for over fifteen hours straight, looking for at least

(10:54):
a temporary hideout to get rested. Your total weight is
when you have everything you have left in the world
on your person, the total of your weight. I had
just crossed the bridge over the railroad tracks, where I
had to talk to myself about the pros and cons
of a life continued. I thought I heard my name
being steed out of the darkness at the end of
the bridge. What manner of beast nocturnal did speak my name?

(11:19):
I implored the emptiness turned out it was just Nick. Hey, man,
I heard about all the bullshit that happened at the house.
You all right, nah, man, Not by a long shot.
I loved that place. I know, brother, everyone knows it,

(11:40):
and we all appreciate what you tried to do. Not
many people just show up out of nowhere and start
looking out for people they don't even know and don't
expect some kind of payback. Hell, at first, I thought
you were playing some angle or something A lot of
us did. But that was some real shit you were
throwing down. I had never heard dot Him sound so

(12:01):
real before. This was a side of Nick I had
never seen before. Sincere anyway you got anywhere to crash?
You look pretty tired, man, I could really use some
random act of kindness right now. You got anything up
that sleeve of yours. One of the good things about

(12:22):
Nick was his ability to catch the nuance if good banter. Yeah, bro,
I got you back this way, I've got me a
nice bandy all to myself. I told everyone that a
friend of mine cursed it, and that spirits walked undead
at night. There, so nobody out here wants to even
go through the yard. Dumbass hicks, he informed me as

(12:45):
he turned from the dark and started into the real dark,
overgrowth that seemed to be thriving off the neglect of
the yard. He led the way around the side of
the house and to a back deck that looked older
than this state. It appeared that the builder of the
deck believed that craftsmanship was a foreign concept and had
used pre rotted lumber. But somehow I made it around

(13:05):
in total darkness, up the rotten steps to the deck,
and through the smashed glass sliding doors into Nick's very
own hideaway. Man, I can't tell you how much I
appreciate this. Where can I PLoP anywhere? You deem ploppable?
Wherever my fat ass will fit? Your words, not mine,

(13:25):
he smiled, and added, but my words would be very
similar to the ones you just used. With that, he
busted out, laughing, obviously very pleased with his clever and
sharp wit. It was always a good thing to find
someone who could relate to your sense of humor and
know got all mad or offended. Some people out here
would have felt that Nick's remark was over the line,

(13:47):
and whether he meant any disrespect or not, disrespect was
all that would have been taken, and that that would
have been enough for that person to burn down the world.
I plopped with an exaggerated sigh. Too grandiose I was
to be in a bandy. I looked at him with
my best satisfied smile and said to Shay, motherfucker. A
little later, Nick asked me if I wanted to some

(14:07):
Wax's friend had just brought from California and laid on
him for free. I had never smoked wax before and
told him so, Booh, I got me a virgin. Eh. Well,
come to Papa, Why did you have to make it weird?
That's my superpower. You didn't know. You'd better be asking

(14:27):
somebody how long am I good for? Here? When homeless,
you always feel like you've worn out your welcome before
you even arrived. You can stay as long as you want, man,
come back whenever you want, no sweat, hell, I owe
you that much. At least I could see the wax

(14:48):
taking effect in his eyes, or maybe it was the
wax taking effect in my eyes that made his eyes
look like that. Just come alone, That's all I ask,
he thought for a brief second, and then added, make
sure you announce yourself though when you come up. Me
and Stacy might be in here trying to pollinate some flowers.
Dig not a problem. I could definitely feel the wax now,

(15:11):
and I was glad I stopped at two hits. It
felt like a peppy sativa buzz. My mouth became engaged.
So how is the little lady these days? She's good.
She was around here earlier. Don't know where she got
off to dude, I have never seen as much sadness

(15:32):
in a human being as I see in her. I
feel bad for her carrying around all that shit, and
then to have a rabbit honey badger for a mom.
Can't help She's been like that for five years, bro,
every since she hit her brother with the shot that
killed him. I was speechless. Jesus, what a thing to

(15:53):
carry with you every day. How does a person get
past that? Can a person get past that? Damn Bro?
I didn't know about all that. What happened hot shot?
A hot shot is one that contains a lot more
fentanyl than the user is aware of, which can lead
to immediate overdose and death. Nah, they had split a

(16:16):
forty of some good shit that Stacy's dealer was slinging
at the time, so they had planned on shooting it
as soon as he got home from work, and then
watched that Motley Crew movie together. They were really close
like that. But what she had no way of knowing
is that Eric had skipped work and had been partying
all day, doing perks and snorting roxies mixed up with

(16:37):
coke and eating zanies. On top of all that, may
have been some liquor involved at some point as well.
I could see Nick's lighter under the desk and realized
he was cooking up a shot as he talked, so,
needless to say, when she hit him, he just croaked
right out. His shit just stopped almost immediately. She didn't
have time to find the narkhan, much less use it.

(17:00):
So that's what all the apologizing and saying she shouldn't
have been born is all about. Fuck man, that's a
heavy duty load to be carrying around all the time. Oh,
it gets better. Her mom decided that Stacy had killed
Eric the Golden Child on purpose because she had signed
for him to get a car, and she wouldn't do
that for Stacy. So her mom goes and tells the

(17:24):
copse what she thinks, and they came and got her,
put her under a one million dollar bale that no
bail bondsman in the area would touch. Every day she's
in jail, the cops are trying to beat her down,
telling her that they know it wasn't an accident and
that they can prove she meant to kill her. They're
calling her a murderer and all this shit. That fucking

(17:45):
shit weighs a whole lot on an eighteen year old,
she said. At one point they had her believing that
she killed him on purpose. They beat her down so
bad that she'll never stand up straight again. Fucking cops.
Real bad ass is bullying some eighteen year old girl
into believing that she intentionally killed the brother she fucking worshiped.

(18:07):
And to top it all off, they wouldn't let her
go to his funeral. They said they would arrange it,
and then on the very day of his service, they
told her that they just decided not to fuck. Man.
That explains a lot. Damn that poor girl. Yeah, man,

(18:27):
that's one of the reasons I'll always be there for her.
I can't just run out on her. I love her.
I may not show it like I should sometimes, but
I could never add to her pain unless she gets clean, Right,
unless she gets clean. I watched Nick's head bob up
and down for a moment until his conscience just gave

(18:48):
up and he slumbered in the arms of Morpheus, leaving
me alone with this new info running around my brain.
Sometimes it takes years for the critical piece of a
puzzle to be found. For some like Stacy, that peace
will never be found because it was buried without her
even being there. How can she be fixed? Can she

(19:08):
be fixed? Left to wander in a perpetual state of
grief and anguish for a mistake that left no one
alive to forgive her, Not even herself, the end