Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - 2 Arctic Horror Stories

Episode Date: August 12, 2021

🎉 Get access to new ad-free episodes and my exclusive bonus episodes HERE: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🔔 Dr. NoSleep YouTube channel: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep 🎽 Dr. NoSleep Merchandise: teespring.com/stores/dr-nosleep-merch ✅ Business Inquiries: [e-mail] DISCLAIMER: These stories are rated R for adults 18 years or older. NOT for children. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

For all of you tuning in on Apple Podcasts, please take a quick second to leave a rating down below. This greatly helps others determine whether Dr. No Sleep is a quality podcast or not. I would really appreciate it if you could take a couple of seconds to do this. Thank you guys so much. And now time for the story. Lights End is a small town located inside the Arctic Circle. Technically, it's part of Canada. But most of the year might as well be on the moon. And when I say a small town, I'm talking about one building.

theoretically, the building has living quarters for up to five people, and it was used back in the 60s as part of some weird science experiment. Its history seems to be half-hushed-up conspiracy, half-wild rumors, at 100% nonsense, so I haven't read too much into it. The place had been operating for decades, but the company that owns it now doesn't want it destroyed. If left empty, the cold winters would freeze the place, and it would be damn near impossible to thaw the building back out for use. company has caretakers that live up here and keep the heat running. Usually it's a married couple, so they can keep each other sane with their company. The guy who hired me was hesitant to bring a single guy up there, since he thought by the end of my three-month rotation, I'd be stone-cold loony.

But I convinced him to give me a shot, and a month later, I was moving to the middle of nowhere. The house was empty when I arrived. The previous caretakers had been waiting at the runway for my arrival so they could hitch a ride back to civilization. Neither one of them was too interested in talking. The wind was howling and no one wanted to pull down their masks and risk frostbite just to share meaningless conversation with a stranger. I followed the directions I had been given by my employer, walked down the path to the house that was about 150 meters from the runway, and let myself in. If this house was meant to hold five people, then it must have been very cozy. The house was quite small. There were two bedrooms with two twin beds in them, and one small closet with a cot tucked in it.

The kitchen was small enough that you could turn around in it and never take your hand off the wall. It was fully stocked with food, which would be delivered monthly by plane. In the small living room, there was a television and a DVD player, as well as a satellite phone and charging stand. No cell signals out here. But the sat phone should work most of the time. If an emergency came up, It wasn't like anyone could get to you fast enough anyways. Guess that's why the pay was so decent. There was also a small door off the living room that led down to an unfinished basement with a dirt floor, barely more than a crawl space. I'd been advised not to go down there because a cold draft of air would fill the house. It would take hours if not a full day to reheat the place back up,

and the company didn't want to spend a fortune on heating. All in all, the whole place was tiny with not much to do. Good thing I brought a fully loaded Kindle and a binder full of DVDs. My employer had heavily encouraged this as it would keep me occupied. The first few days were a blast. I got through all of Breaking Bad, watched all five Jurassic Park movies, and read a couple new Matthew Riley novels. Eventually, though, the lack of human connection started to get to me. I had no internet, no cell service, no nothing. That's unbelievably taxing. I started getting really into working out. I started getting really into working out, lots of cardio. Then I started trying my hand at some writing, and somehow I made it through a month. I was so excited for food delivery day, another person to talk to.

I was out waiting for the plane to land and waved to it as it came in for landing. The pilot, Roger Lopez, told me that the first month is the hardest. Take some getting used to, but after a while, you get used to it and it isn't so bad. The weather turned nasty right after he landed. So he had to stay the night with me in the house to ride out the storm before he could take off again. I promise, I won't overstay my welcome. He told me as he lugged his gear inside. Seriously, don't worry about it. It's so great to have company. I thought I was going to start painting the walls with my mashed potatoes or something. Roger laughed. I hear you, man, but you'll get through it. And the payday is massive. Eyes on the prize. Yeah, yeah, I said. So, you bring me some decent food?

Some choice meat, lots of veggies, some apples and oranges. It's not some other goodies in there, too. A small bottle of whiskey, some new DVDs, and a couple books. You're a lifesaver, Roger. Thank you. No worries. Just wait to crack into it until I'm gone. But don't burn through the good stuff too fast.

We ended up talking for a while, trading old stories that were as true as they were lies. We went to sleep with a full stomach and a hit of whiskey. I slept better than I had in days. I woke up to clear skies and bright sun. sunshine. Roger and his plane were gone, with a note saying he'd see me in a month. His absence hit me harder than I'd care to admit. Seemed as good a time as any to dive into the supplies he brought me. I cracked open the crate and found a massive stash of food. A smaller crate had contained the meat that we loaded into the freezer last night. Towards one side, I found a bundle

wrapped in burlap. Inside was more whiskey, a couple of James Patterson paperbacks, and a stack of DVDs. The DVDs were a real hodgepodge. There were a few token pornoes, which I ended up tossing aside. I was so crazed for human connection. I thought the false intimacy would be better than nothing. But I quickly decided that seeing people having sex would just be an even harsher reminder of how alone I was up here, and I certainly didn't need that.

Below that was a package of DVDs that seemed to be sold as a bundle at some discount store. There were some 90s thrillers, a couple of shitty stand-up comedy specials, some horror films that looked amateur at best, and a disc labeled Mr. Spicey Marshmallow. I figured it to be another shitty indie horror flick, but it turned out to be something even more awful, a children's TV show. Apparently, Mr. Spicy Marshmallow had only lasted eight episodes, and all of them had been compiled onto one DVD for my viewing pleasure. So that sucked. But two weeks later, after I had watched all the other movies, I grabbed Mr. Spicy Marshmallow

and stuck it in the DVD player. I heated a frozen lasagna in the oven, grabbed a plate of it, and went to the living room to drown my sadness and Marie Collander's best frozen food and some binge watching of Mr. Spicy Marshmallow. Let me tell you, Mr. Spicy Marshmallow was weird.

Now I know what you're thinking, and no, this isn't some creepy pasta knockoff nonsense. It was weird the way Telitubbies was weird, those blank faces and phallic head doohicies. The show was hosted by, Mr. Spicy Marshmallow. Some creep wearing a styrofoam marshmallow on his head with eyes and a mouth drawn on with paint.

He wore a flowing red blouse and blue clown pants. Kids would come on the show, and their acting was so stiff and wooden, it almost seemed forced. Guess the kids must have realized that the paycheck wasn't worth a future ridicule of sitting on Mr. Spicy Marshmallow's lap while they watched a cartoon about friendship.

Mr. Spicy Marshmallow never spoke in the show. I'm guessing that the styrofoam headpiece didn't let air travel too well, and they were too cheap to dub audio in afterwards. So when the kids would say something to him, he would pause for a moment, his drawn-on eyes staring at them still as a statue, before seemingly coming back to life and giving an enthusiastic arm-swinging thumbs up. After watching all six episodes, I felt a bit unnerved. It was all just so surreal. I put in a mindless action movie, reheated my now-cold lasagna, and settled in. Mr. Spicy Marshmallow swiftly vanished from my mind.

Days passed, and, despite what Roger told me, each one felt longer than the last. I'd make it through an endless day, only to be greeted by an endless night. I stopped eating for a couple days. Then I binge ate three days' worth of food in one meal. I was falling apart. Halfway between food supply drops,

midway into a month without human contact, I heard footsteps coming from the basement. I hadn't been in the basement since I first arrived, because there was nothing worth going down there for. Also, I wasn't ready for the hours of frigid temperatures that would follow afterward. It was permafrost outside, so even if someone had found their way to lights end, they couldn't have possibly dug into the basement. And I kept the door locked all the time.

It must be a gap that's letting some wind in, making some weird sound that mimics footsteps. But the footsteps kept up, even when the wind wasn't blowing, and they moved around, like someone was pacing down there, waiting impatiently for something, for anything. thing. I grabbed the sat phone and tried to call out to my bosses to get some guidance, some assistance, but it couldn't connect. I knew the sat phone wasn't always able to get calls through. I kept trying my eye on the basement door. Once, I got through to someone. I could hear a static filled, warbled below like it was on the other end of a tube, but it cut out right after that. My next few

attempts were futile. After a day and a half of listening to never-ending pacing, I couldn't take it anymore. I grabbed the knife from the kitchen, the key to the basement, and went to the door. The pacing hadn't changed in volume or speed. I slid the key into the door slowly and as quietly as I could. I twisted it ever so gently. But the tumbler and the lock had other plans. It fell open with a hard metallic clack. The pacing stopped.

I froze. There was silence for a few minutes. Then the footsteps began again. Same speed, same volume. Whatever was walking down there must have dismissed the noise the same way I had tried to dismiss the pacing. As carefully as I could with shaking hands, I twisted the knob and pulled the door open. It creaked slightly. The wood warped with age, but the pacing didn't abate. I could hear it more clearly now with the door open. It wasn't a hard slap of shoes on a solid floor, but muffled thuds,

like something soft walking on the packed dirt floor. Was someone barefoot down here? Was it an animal? I crept down the stairs, standing toward this side so I didn't make them squeal under the pressure of my weight. At the bottom of the stairs, the door into the basement storage room was to the left, and the dirt crawl space to the right. The footsteps seemed to be coming from the crawl space. There was a soft flickering light coming from that doorway, leaning against the right wall of the staircase. It glanced into the storage room and saw some rusted out gear. I took a deep breath to prepare myself for checking the crawl space, gripped the knife tighter in my hand, and whirled around and through the doorway. What I saw made me immediately stop in my tracks.

had somehow been pushed back to create a flat surface, a room now existing in what had been a dirt crawl space. On the dirt floor, along the walls, were lit candles set up every few feet. A larger figure, at least eight feet tall, stood along the far wall. It's back to me. It took a final step in its pacing, then paused. It wore baggy blue pants, stained and torn in places, and a red blouse that hung limp. It had its head bowed when I first walked in, but now it was starting to raise I nearly screamed. On the top of the red blouse was a white styrofoam head in the shape of a giant marshmallow. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't. But as the figure turned to face me, and I saw the dark black eyes and mouth that had been painted on, I knew there was no escaping the

truth. Mr. Spicy Marshmallow was in my basement, beaten, bedraggled, worn down, but also massive and terrifying, and I could tell just by looking into those dark circles on his plain white face that he wanted to destroy me. Mr. Spicy Marshmallow. lifted one arm in my direction and pointed at me, holding the pose as still as a statue. Then, seemingly coming back to life, he swung his arm around and gave me the enthusiastic thumbs-up I had seen on TV between bites of frozen lasagna. I backed away, hoping to slink back through the doorway, run up the stairs, and lock this monstrosity in the basement forever.

But, after a couple steps, my back hit something firm. Whipping around, I saw that the doorframe was now packed full of dirt. I was going nowhere. Turning back around, I saw Mr. Spicey Marshmallow taking large strides in my direction. I tried clawing at the dirt in the door, but it was packed so tight I barely left any marks, so I tried running along the wall. Mr. Spicy Marshmallow lifted an arm, and the candles erupted in large gouts of flame, forcing me towards the center of the room, forcing me towards him. I'd been so scared, my hands clenched tight that I'd forgotten all about the knife I was

holding. Focused on the feel of the blade in my hand, I ran at the giant marshmallow-headed nightmare and slashed, tearing a hole in his blouse. Dark blood began to leak out. Mr. Spicy Marshmallow froze. Then, looking down with his empty dark eyes, he put a hand to the wound, seeming to test it to see how bad it was. Blood continued to flow out, picking up in intensity. It took its hand, dripping in blood, and began rubbing its face, smearing the blood all over the white marshmallow and dark eyes and mouth. And then it laughed. It was so deep and violent. I knew that this was no mere mascot. There were darker forces at work. I screamed and screamed and screamed, unable to look away from the eyes of dark paint that were now filling with the murky

red of its blood. I knew I had to try to fight it, but I had nothing left, no reserves. This was all too much. My next conscious thought came sometime later. I found myself lying naked on the dirt floor, my back to the ground. I still held the knife in my hand. Mr. Spicy Marshmallow stood in front of me, watching me. I watched as its head slowly turned, the dark eyes looking at the knife. The black paint of its mouth began to shimmer and move. You must become like me. It said, the voice was gravel and hellfire, reverberating as if the small dirt room were in amphitheater. I knew what I needed to do. Raising the knife up in front of my face, I took a moment to admire it, to see how the candlelight gleamed off of its faces. And then, with a smile on my face,

I plunged the blade into the meat of my cheek. The pain was exquisite. Beyond compare, I carved off my cheek, letting the quivering flesh flop to the dirt floor where my blood was soaking in. I kept moving, slicing off lips, ears, hair, until all the flesh on my head was gone. Just bone and viscera. Mr. Spicy Marshmallow lifted a bucket full of water

and dumped it over my skull, flushing away the gore. Now my head was perfect, the pristine white I needed. Next, he pulled a melon baller out of his pocket and handed it to me. I used it to pull my eyes out, nerve endings and all. The darkness was startling, but my sense of purpose was unwavering. I heard the thick slosh of paint and felt a brush handle pushed into my hand. Dipping the brush into the pain, I drew eyes onto my new face and then gasped. For the first time in my life, I could see, see what everyone else didn't.

Mr. Spicy Marshmallow nodded and helped me up. He undressed, removing his tattered red blouse and filthy blue pants. Underneath them was nothing. Just a sense of foreboding. and as the clothes came off, they flopped to the ground, no longer supported by anything. The marshmallow head fell to the dirt. I dressed in his clothes. Despite Mr. Spicy Marshmallows' massive size, they fit me perfectly.

After dressing, I picked up the marshmallow head. It felt like real marshmallow, not styrofoam. Without thinking, my body moving as if it knew what needed to be done, I bit into the marshmallow. Goopy, syrupy blood squirted out of it as I continued to bite and tear, consuming the marshmallow, taking Mr. Spicy Marshmallow inside of me. Covered in sticky syrup and blood, I collapsed onto the dirt floor. Cravings, urges, needs I had never experienced before tore through me, leaving me gasping with desire.

I hungered, but not for food. Luckily, my next mingle would be arriving by plane in less than two weeks. Until then, I would wait. I would stew in my newfound role and its responsibilities. And when Roger arrived, I would consume him. And after him, there would be others. I ran my hand over the flames from one of the candles and smiled as it singed my flesh.

Fan of soccer, you could assist at a moment historic. You could gain these tickets for the final of the Cup of the World of the FIFA 2006 with Visa. It's just to have a card of credit visa BMO for participate. Inscribe you at BMO.com bar-oblic concourse. The reglements of the concourse

SAPPLINC. Beavere A BORI. Embarqued and profite. Embarked and relaxes. Syrotay. Bookiné. Oh, that also. And profite.

Via Rae, the voice that we love that we love. Spitfire. Melt off an ice flow and get those researchers out of here. She didn't respond. Didn't need to. Spitfire was already running towards the huddled group of scientists, yelling instructions to them. Commander John turned back towards the slimy black monster

slithering up through the crack in the Arctic ice. The scientists had been drilling into a computer. completely contained lake, frozen thousands of feet below the ice, but they hadn't been counting on some beast from Earth's primordial past getting in the way. What the hell is that thing? Sergeant Jones yelled. Commander John stood in awe in front of the creature before moving into action. Doesn't matter what it is.

We just need to send it back to hell! He yelled as he ran towards the beast. As the tail end of the creature snaked out of the crack in the ice, he turned after it, hoping to use his powerful grip to grapple his way up the beast before doing some damage to whatever looked sensitive. He wasn't too squeamish to do some genital tearing if that was what it took. He crawled his way along the beast's length. He heard a scream and glanced down just in time to see the beast stomp a foot down on top of a fleeing Sergeant Jones.

Jones was gone. Looking back up, John saw that Spitfire had got the scientists on an ice flow, a flashing GPS beacon with them. Someone would be there to pick them up shortly. Commander John kept climbing, fighting the slime that leaked out of the beast's skin. Hey, ugly! How do you like this? He heard Spitfire scream and looked to over just in time to see massive gouts of flame

bathe the monster. It flew off moved towards her. She kept blasting, but it wasn't enough. The creature bent down and snout its jaws shell over sputton, swallowing her hole. Now it was up to John. Halfway between the beast's shoulders and head, along a long serpentine neck, there was a crystal embedded

in its flesh. It was purple, and absolutely frigid to the touch. This looks important, John mummilled to himself. Flexing his hands, he grasped the crystal. The pain of the freezing cold on his hand made him scream, but he could feel his fingers sliding around the crystal, slipping into the monster's flesh. Pulling harder and harder, he managed to rip the crystal from the beast's neck.

The monster immediately crumpled to the ground, throwing John across the ice. He lay there, dazed when he heard a booming laugh. Looking up, he saw a dark, tentacled creature of mist and starlight swirling out of the crack in the ice. Now that the dark is dead and finally fleeing. The new being said, it ascended to the clouds and vanished over the horizon. John looked at the crystal, had he killed the wrong monster? Thanks for listening. To get notified every time a new episode is released,

be sure to click the follow or subscribe button and turn on all notifications. Lazzang sur-gillet, power, power for 15 minutes. We're like it's their dojo. Pree to enjoy. Vive the pleasure with Leo Jo. The casino in line

that proposes the most recent machine-assed-a-sou and games of casino in direct. Profite of 50 tours gratu on Big Bas Bonanza. Exigence of Mise and with Dependment instantane. Hey, I've got gained. Woo-hoo!