Fall Of The Bumblebee (creepypasta)

In the year 1934, Professor of Psychology Arthur Goodwin was composing a theory on how music affects the human brain during sleep.
Arthur Goodwin had worked as a therapist to a number of students and tutors alike in his London University, and was surprised how a number of his cases seemed to be due to insomnia. Arthur Goodwin was an insomniac himself, and had to take opiates in order to get the slightest bit of rest at home. Though he noted down a number of reasons as to why he and his patients suffered with insomnia, finding reasons were easier than finding a cure.
So he set out to do some research on the known affects to outside stimuli on the human brain.

While he was writing the first draft of his synopsis, the radio was playing Rimsky-Korsakov's Flight of the Bumblebee. Goodwin became agitated by the fast-paced music and debated whether to turn it off or wait until a more soothing song came on after.
That was when he had an idea on what to test.
Beforehand he had indeed offer the idea to his patients that soothing music would help them to sleep, though in many of the cases it didn't work. He then wondered if instead of a much slower, soothing melody with simple and less complex instrumentals, what if instead he were to take a musical piece that would usually be more frantically fast-paced with intricate levels of various notes composed within the same time space, and were to somehow slow it down until it the tempo was greatly decreased yet still retained the same complexity as something like Flight of the bumblebee.
He took to the study of different fields in music psychology, based on the written theories and experiments by Carl Stumpf and Wilhem Wundt.  
His theory was that the different layers of a variety of high and low notes playing at the same time space as one another, used in such a piece like Flight of the Bumblebee to create a sense of chaotic motion, would evoke certain parts of the subconscious brain when slowed to a more more slower and 'peaceful' melody.
However, knowing that this experiment was to be the basis of a future treatment (as he had hoped), he also considered studying the works of Clark L. Hull and his studies into sensory hypnosis. He realised the piece didn't just need to be slowed down, but that somehow the structure of the modified interlude had to bring the subject into a deeper and deeper level of the subconscious as the song play, whilst simultaneously inducing a feeling of peace and tranquillity for the subject.

His overall aim was to create a hypnotic musical piece that would cure insomnia, with Flight of the Bumblebee as the basis of this melody.


He decided to humorously dubbed this new theoretical piece as 'Fall of the Bumblebee, as he described his choice in title as being 'the idea that the bee would be slowly drifting asleep in the midst of its hectic flight, and thus begins to plummet towards the ground until he feels completely weightless in his deep slumber.'
He then further added in his personal notes, 'if this experiment proves my theory correct, I too hope that me and my patients will sleep as heavily and as weightlessly as that falling bee.'


As he made arrangements with the university to provide the funding to carry out his experiment, his wife, Joan Goodwin, helped in gathering up test subjects. She insisted to him that they did not use any of their current patients due to their already precarious mental conditions amongst their insomnia, so they agreed to test the theory out upon themselves and three close friends they would invite over; young upcoming author and English Literature student Esther Allen Drake, the state attorney of Massachusetts Henry Montague, and finally Egyptian anthropologist and archaeologist Amir Kharagosh.

As Arthur Goodwin set about to record the piece, Joan set a date for the experiment to take place; the night before Christmas Eve.

After many trials and errors, Arthur Goodwin finally concocted what he proposed was the recording of the highest quality he could, and with the aid of recording technicians he managed to slow the song considerably to about 800% slower than the previous recording. He wrote down in his notes how the session took place; he insisted to the twenty-six piece orchestra that they played the song much faster than usual upon his instruction. It took a total of four sessions until Goodwin had a recording he was happy with, but at the cost of three of the musicians fainting from sheer exhaustion.

Now being that said, no known written record of how exactly Goodwin and his technicians altered the music exists. It can only be assumed that immediately after the experiment, he destroyed his notes along with the records themselves. Only his personal journal entries and loose transcripts of himself and his companions remain as the only evidence.

Finally, on the 22nd of December 1934, Arthur and Joan Goodwin along with their three companions joined in the early holiday celebrations of dinner, wine and gossip. After the festivities had passed, at actually 9 O'clock, Arthur Goodwin insisted that they all retired early to bed. He had prepared a gramophone in each of the rooms adjacent to their beds, each with a vinyl copy of "Fall of the Bumblebee".
Each guest was spread throughout the house in a different guest room, so each person would have their own experience, with the exception of Arthur Goodwin himself and his wife, who will be in their usual bed together, to see how the song would effect a sleeping couple and if it would provide some other form of sensory stimulation when more than one person shared the same experience.
At 10 O'clock, as per instruction, each of the five persons played the gramophone and drifted off to sleep as the slow melody played.




The very next morning, Arthur Goodwin had noted in his journal log that he had had an awful nightmare, that felt so vivid to him that he almost seemed shocked to find himself back in his own bed with his wife. Almost at the exact same time, he noted, his wife awoke as well, and according to him 'her face was as pale as ice, and a bead of sweat trickled from her brow'. 
She told him that she also had an incredibly disturbing dream, that began almost as soon as she drifted off to sleep at the sound of the 'Fall of the Bumblebee' record.
As expected by now, he deduced that the three others had suffered similar experiences as well, with was proven by how each one was found seated in silence in the main study where the experiment was first arranged.

Goodwin was ready to dub this experiment as failure, as everyone in the room complained of similar experiences of restlessness and night terrors. However, before he was ready to write off the entire experiment as a failure, he wanted to note down the nature of the dreams of each subject, including himself and his wife, who shared the same room, and wondered if Joan and him had shared a similar dream.
He took some spare pages from his desk and noted the name of all five persons on each, and began with young Esther Allen Drake.


Drake had this this to say when questioned of his dream:

"In my dream, I was running. I believe the location was a fairground I once visited in my early childhood. I couldn't remember much detail of the fairground itself, other than it was completely absent of any sort of colour, but it was far off in the distant. I remember..as in my dream I continued to look back as I was being pursued.
My pursuer was a clown.
A terrifying, monochromatic clown, of which I can only assume came from that same grim and colourless fairground that was since after my childhood in this horrific vision had been poisoned and tainted, left raped and completely soulless as to serve the backdrop of such a terrible experience.
And as for the clown...my goodness.
Flies.
The gruesome creature was covered in flies. Swarming and crawling all over that lanky beast's pale, moth-eaten skin.
It wasn't some much as running towards me, but more of a clumsy lumber like that of a drunkard, his arms flailing, seemingly to lack any bones.
Like a ragdoll.
A ragdoll that was rotting and crawling with foul insects.
Then, as if no time had passed at all, as is the nature of dreams, the clown vanished, along with that grisly fairground. I was still on the cobbled road, and now approaching a house.
Oh God...such a house, if one could even call such an eldritch abomination a house!
For it's structure was much like the average, two-story house, sitting alone atop an isolated hill away from town. But the material that formed such a structure was not that of brick or woods, but...arms.
Human arms formed the entirety of the house!
Not that the arms were laid upon one another in the same manner as bricks, but were instead outstretched. Reaching outward from whatever centre the house had.
It was as though these hands were beckoning me, inviting me into a gruesome fleshy maw of a doorway.
I just stood right outside, staying into that void, the arms, the hands, beckoning me.
And soon after, I woke up.
And that was that."

Henry Montague was next to describe his dream to Professor Goodwin:

"Well, my dream may not be as fantastical as young Drake's dream, but it was definitely surreal to say the least. I don't think I can recall the last time I woke up in a cold sweat. Perhaps the most frightening aspect of my dream was that for the duration of it I fully believed I was awake. It was far too real.
That dreadful gramophone of yours was missing in my room, Goodwin. Well, at least in my dream. Instead, in it's place was my own radio. I thought nothing of it. A completely different song was playing, one of my favourites. At least...I believe so since I can't for the life of me recall the song. All I know is that I was fully enjoying it as I slept peacefully, until it was interrupted by shrill static.
No, it was more than that.

A shrill screech. A screech belonging to a woman, I believe.  
It seemed to have been caught within the terrible static itself. It continued. I felt my ears being pierced by that awful noise, but never once did I attempt to turn off the radio. I let it play.
The static eventually died down considerably, but was still present. It was silence for a few moments, but soon after I heard a voice. A different woman, or perhaps the same with a much deeper voice as she spoke.
She began to say names, and after each name had read out a series of numbers.
It seemed like she was reading out obituaries. But for the life of me I can't remember a single name. It all felt like static to me. Completely meaningless and irritating noise, yet I distinctly remember words being read out, and they were indeed names followed by a string of numbers.
The reading continued as I felt my eyes travel across the room. The entire room had a grey tint, lacking any colour. It wasn't dark as it would've been had I been awake in reality, but a gloomy and foreboding atmosphere hung over the entire room. Almost as if a separate subconscious level was operating whilst within a dream, I for whatever reason started thinking of my wife back home, when a young, dark-haired woman appeared in the far corner of the room.
She was facing away from me. Not once did I see her face, and I dread to imagine what sort of face she might have had.
She did not appear in the sense of suddenly materialising in my room, but was as if I had only just noticed her standing there, yet she had always been there.
After every obituary was read out, the young girl took out a pair of scissors, and cut a slither of her hair and let it fall to the ground. And she kept doing it. The cycle repeated over and over; a name was read out on the radio, followed by a series of numbers, and the girl cut away another lock of hair.
And all I could do was watch.
By the time when I realised this was all but a dream, and I forced my body to wake up, the poor deranged woman had nearly cut away all of her hair, leaving only a grey malted scalp."

According to Professor Goodwin's personal notes, Amir Kharagosh was the next to be questioned, but was interrupted by his wife who insisted she went next, just so she could get horrific experience of revisiting her nightmare over with. Goodwin reluctantly agreed, and began to take her notes as she described. He added in his personal log that he wondered if both she and himself had shared the same dream, though as much of a frighteningly surreal experience he had had, he couldn't have imagined the same or similar experience being so traumatic for his wife.


His assumption was proved wrong when Joan Goodwin described a completely different dream to his own:

"In my dream, I was in Heaven.
Or at least, how I had pictured it in my mind.
Beautiful ethereal clouds sailed the golden dawn-lit skies, and marble scones sat upon white pearly platforms that peered over the clouds themselves.

Gorgeous men and women in luscious white gowns sat around on these ethereal-sailing platforms, chatting and laughing amongst themselves, drinking from goblets with silver plates of the most delicious foods I could have ever imagine. 
It was extraordinarily enticing. The smells, the sounds, it was all so real to me.
The feeling of weightlessness I experienced...unlike anything I had ever felt before.
My head was swimming. I felt so calm yet exhilarated all at once.
But that dreadful melody of yours, Arthur.
I heard it in my dream.
That droning, sickening music poisoned the air, and all of those white-robed men and women stopped to look at me.
And please, please don't find this following description as ridiculous as I describe it to you, but as the song played and the crown paused, the serine marble walls collapsed as a beast barged through like a juggernaut.
The beast resembled a rhinoceros, large and bulky, yet white as the marble it had destroyed. It ravaged the scene, laying siege upon this poor socialites. I felt the urge to take stance, and as if by sheer thought process, a silver javelin appeared in my right hand. I stood my ground at the table and throw my weapon at the beast, piercing it's skull.
Oh, the blood. It poured from that opened gash caused by my own brutality, and it collapsed, dead at my feet.
I felt like crying. I felt sympathy for the beast.
It was scared. It was only scared by something I was yet to understand.
Once again, the white-robed socialites stared at me, but were now smiling.
The wretched animal was slain, and they were pleased with my efforts. Yet I felt like apologising.
I knew in my heart something was wrong.
I pleaded for forgiveness, but to no avail.
Forgiveness wasn't what these wolves in sheep's clothing wanted. They just wanted the beast.
Suddenly the whole world turned red. The sky, the clouds, the pillars, even the robes worn by those savages.
It made me so angry, but soon my anger was replaced by pure disgust and revulsion."

At this point, Goodwin noted how his wife seemed visibly distressed as she recalled what happened next:

"They chanted 'Strip! Strip! Strip!' over and over again in unison, and soon the women began to sway the bodies in such provocative ways only to be associated with the scantily clad working girls in seedy clubs.
Loud, thudding drumbeats pounded all around the broken walls, and violent, horrific screeching of lustful voices as the men ran to the women and ripped away the robes, chanting and cheering as they themselves took off their clothing. They then picked up a partner, flinging them onto the dead corpse of the slain beast, now sitting in a pool of it's own blood.
As the men spread apart their captive woman's legs, the women dug their fingers deep into the flesh of the beast, pulling open flesh wounds and smothering themselves in the crimson liquid.
They began having sex on top of that blood-soaked corpse, thrusting and moaning to the furious drumbeats as I just watched. I could do nothing but observe this horror.
But I couldn't wake.
The smell was unbearable, but my mind would not wake my body at the realisation that this was all a dream. 
No, I just stood their watching. As if I was actually enjoying what I was seeing.
Or rather, I was being forced into enjoying what I saw before me.
The smell of blood and sweat.
The screaming..."

Afterward, the rest of the gentlemen present fell silent as Joan Goodwin finished her recollection.
They decided to pause the session for a quick drink to calm the nerves before beginning again, realising how each of them had incredibly vivid nightmares that seemed far too clear and far too real to be considered simple dreams.
Only two more were left.
Doctor Kharagosh and Doctor Goodwin himself.

Goodwin offered that Kharagosh went first, in which Kharagosh was reluctant at first, but eventually spoke:

"Well, you see....the odd thing is my dreams was terrible, yes, but I dare say it wasn't as horrifically gruesome as Mrs Goodwin's. In fact, it was a rather simple dream.
All that had happened was that I was walking through a park. Hyde Park, in fact, and I went to sit on a bench upon a hill. 
At first it was quite relaxing.
Then the dream began to make a sudden turn for the more sinister and bizarre, when a gentlemen came to sit by me.
Only, this gentleman in question had no face.
Or rather, it was smothered in a deep haze, like a murky reflection. A face was there, but no discernible feature could be made out. Yet everything else about the man looked absolutely normal.
But at any rate, the man sat by me on the bench, and we were both looking out to the city.
And the entire city was on fire.
A towering inferno of destruction lay before us, the air polluted with sounds of screams from all around...."

It was at this point that Kharagosh stopped, as he and the other members of the party turned towards Goodwin, who was pale-faced with horror. He had already dropped his brandy glass, and his hands were shaking.
His wife took him to the chair to sit, and when questioned by his peers, Goodwin finally explained his reaction to Kharagosh's story, speaking to Kharagosh directly.

"That dream of yours...
We had the same dream!
As you were describing it, I realised that we had shared that exact same dream.
Only, there was one major difference...something that drove me to feel faint with the revelation;

I was the one that had sat down by you at the bench, to watch the city burn.

I must have been that faceless man,

and from what I can recall in my dream...you had no face either!"

After the brief transcript of Arthur Goodwin, the notes ended abruptly.