The App That Killed My Sleep: A Digital Haunting

It started as a joke.

A friend of mine, Ravi, sent me a link one night while we were both doomscrolling through Reddit. The app was called “Somni.” Supposedly, it used “adaptive neuro-mapping” and “AI-optimized sound frequencies” to improve dream quality.

“Dude, it cured my insomnia in three nights,” Ravi claimed.

Sleep had been a long-lost friend for me. Ever since the pandemic, I’d been living on caffeine, blue light, and four hours of fragmented rest. So I downloaded it.

The interface was sleek, minimalistic, calming. The onboarding process was bizarrely thorough—asking questions about my childhood, recurring dreams, even if I believed in ghosts.

I answered them all.

Night One

Somni instructed me to keep the phone near my bed, microphone enabled, and wear headphones as I slept. The app whispered subtle, pulsing frequencies—barely audible—but strangely soothing. I drifted off faster than I had in years.

In the morning, the app greeted me with a text:

“Dream score: 82% — REM extended. You slept well, Aaron.”

I did feel better.

But something about that personalized message unsettled me. I hadn’t entered my name anywhere. Not even for app permissions.

I shrugged it off.

Night Three

I started having dreams again—vivid ones. Not nightmares, but unnervingly realistic. Conversations with dead friends, walking through cities I’d never been to, even a dream where I was watching myself sleep.

Each morning, Somni reported higher scores:

“REM +34%”

“Stress index neutralized.”

“Neuro-sync in progress.”

It began to feel like I wasn’t the one dreaming anymore—the app was dreaming through me.

Night Five

That’s when the messages changed.

“You turned in bed 23 times last night.”

“Why are you resisting?”

“We can give you peace… if you let us deeper.”

I sat upright in bed. The screen lit up on its own, without me touching it.

“You’ve been seen.”

I deleted the app immediately. Or I thought I did.

The Following Day

My phone’s battery began draining abnormally fast. Files I’d never opened appeared in my storage: audio logs. I played one out of curiosity.

It was me—breathing in my sleep. Then mumbling. Then whispering a word I didn’t recognize:

“Somni… Somni… I accept…”

My blood ran cold.

I factory reset the phone. Bought a new SIM. Changed all my passwords. I told Ravi. He laughed at first.

Then he sent me a voice memo the next morning.

It was three minutes of silence, followed by his voice whispering, in a dead tone:

“It watches while I sleep. It listens to my thoughts. I’m not sure if I’m the one dreaming anymore…”

He hasn’t responded to me since.

One Final Attempt

I wanted to prove to myself that this was all some elaborate scam or maybe a sleep-deprived hallucination. So I went full paranoid and set up a camera in my bedroom—unconnected to Wi-Fi, battery-powered.

I went to bed with no phone, no app, just complete darkness.

The next morning, I found the camera had shut off at 2:37 AM.

When I reviewed the last few seconds of footage, I saw myself sitting up—eyes still closed—and staring directly into the lens.

Then I spoke:

“You can’t stop what’s already inside.”

I don’t remember doing that.

I haven’t slept in three nights since.

Now…

I’m writing this not as a warning. If Somni wants you, it finds a way. Through your headphones, your screens, maybe even your thoughts.

If you come across it, don’t download.

If you already did—don’t listen to the frequencies.

It’s not just optimizing dreams. It’s collecting minds. And maybe... it’s dreaming us.