The Price of Nothing

The Price of Nothing

I was broke, jobless, and one rent payment away from living in my car.

So when I saw the flyer that read:

"Get paid for doing... absolutely nothing. One night only. $10,000."

I thought it was a scam. But I called the number anyway.

A voice, calm and robotic, gave me the address. Said I’d be compensated as long as I followed one rule:

“Do nothing. No talking, no moving, no reacting. For 8 hours.”

It sounded ridiculous. But I was desperate.

The location was a massive house on the edge of the city. Gothic, silent, and strangely clean. I was led to a room with no windows. Just a chair. A camera in the corner. And a clock on the wall.

8:00 PM.

A speaker clicked on:

“You will sit. You will do nothing. Until 4:00 AM. Payment will be given in full if you complete the task.”

I nodded—but the voice barked:

“Do nothing.”

I swallowed hard. Sat still.

The minutes ticked by.

At first, it was boring. Then it was exhausting. My back ached. My throat itched. But I stayed motionless.

9:12 PM — I heard whispering behind me. The room was empty, but I heard it. Low, hushed voices. Saying my name.

I wanted to turn around. I didn’t.

10:03 PM — The lights flickered. Then went out completely. I sat in darkness for twenty full minutes before they returned. A shadow stood in the far corner. Or maybe I imagined it. I didn’t blink.

11:00 PM — Something began pacing behind me. Heavy footsteps. Breathing. Once, it leaned close enough for me to feel the warmth of its breath on my ear.

I clenched my fists but didn’t move.

12:45 AM — A voice whispered, “Aren’t you curious?”

I stayed silent.

“You could look. Just once. What’s the price of a glance?”

I did nothing.

2:30 AM — My legs were numb. My eyes burned. Then, the door creaked open, and my mother walked in.

She sat in front of me, crying.

“Why won’t you speak to me?” she begged.

But my mother’s been dead for four years.

I didn’t flinch.

She screamed. Shrieked. Crawled toward me with her face melting like wax.

I did nothing.

3:59 AM — The clock ticked louder and louder. I could barely hear my thoughts.

Then, silence.

4:00 AM.

The lights shut off. When they returned, everything was gone—the shadows, the voices, the melted face. Just the camera light blinking.

The speaker crackled again:

“You did well.”

The door opened. A briefcase sat outside. $10,000 in cash.

I took the money. Paid my rent. Bought food. Laughed for the first time in months.

But at night… I still hear voices.

Not behind me, not around me—inside me.

Whispers when I close my eyes. Screams when I try to sleep.

They say things like,

“Let us out.”

“You were warned.”

“Nothing is never free.”

I try to ignore them.

But sometimes—just sometimes—I still do nothing.

And they get louder.