Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - 2 Russian Nightclub Horror Stories

Episode Date: August 2, 2021

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I generously poured silver rum into the Boston shaker along with simple syrup and fresh lime juice. Closing the shaker, I began to jostle it in a methodic motion. I couldn't help but sink the shaking of the metal container to the beat of the music resounding throughout the club. Three college-aged girls waited across the counter. One of them smiled at me and leaned in. Can you do any tricks for us? she asked. A hint of vodka on her breath. I feigned confusion.

What kind of tricks? You know, she said. Like those tricks you see on the internet all the time. Like tossing drinks around and stuff. Her finger twirled thick locks of her golden hair as she stared at me. I smiled. Oh, I began. Do you mean like this?

I tossed the shaker behind my head and caught it on the other side. Is that it? She asked playfully. I smiled wider and tossed the shaker up into the air. It landed on my shoulder and then rolled down the length of my upper arm. When it reached my elbow, I jerked and it shot back into the air, Switching hands, I let the silver container roll down the back of my right arm and come to a controlled stop in the crease of my elbow. The girl was now visibly impressed.

I was about to continue my routine when I heard a patronizingly slow clap. A man who had been sitting at the bar for a few hours was staring at me. He stood up and staggered over to the girl. If you're impressed that easy, he slurred. Then you'll love a guy like me. The girl let out a nervous laugh and moved away slightly. The man looked back at me. He was still wearing his work clothes.

His top button was undone, and his tie was loose around the neck. Only one side of his shirt was tucked into his pants. He had been there before my shift, and clearly Dimitri, the bartender on shift before me, had given him far more drinks than the club's policy allowed. That's shit, he said, staring at me. Not impressive. Not worth her time. I finished pouring to dafferies for the three girls and handed in their glasses so that they could leave quickly.

The girl who had been flirting with me mouthed, Spasibo, which is thank you in Russian, and she hurried off to some tables near the edge of the dance floor. The drunken man turned to follow and called out, Where are you going, beautiful? I grabbed him by the wrist. She doesn't want to talk with you, I said, so leave her alone. He stared at me, unmoving.

By all accounts, he was an average-looking 30-something-year-old, albeit a 30-something-year-old who was plastered. But when I locked eyes with him, there was something off. The way he stared was unsettling. His pupils almost seemed to rive, like there was a darkness stirring underneath. I felt that beneath this very average man, there was something sinister lurking. He blinked. Fine, he said, pulling his wrist away.

Be useful and get me a drink. No, I said. You're cut off. If you want to sit quietly at the bar, you can. But I'm not serving you anything else tonight. He stared at me again. His disheveled hair stood up on either side of his head. unnervingly similar to a devil's horns.

Cut off, the man repeated. Yes, I said. Cut off, he muttered again. Cut off. He repeated a third time. Then, he smiled as if he had just realized something. His eyes were looking at me but not quite fixed on me. I grew increasingly uncomfortable.

He laughed and immediately headed for the exit door, pausing only to turn and smile at me one last time. Then he left, and I was glad to have him gone. I returned to my work and poured drinks for those who had been waiting, but none of them seemed as disturbed by what had just happened as I was. They only appeared annoyed at having to wait longer. The rest of the night continued, like any other night. There was the occasional rowdy patron. Overly patriotic Russians prepared to die for the Motherland,

but they always ended up being all talk and would leave it at the first appearance of a threatening bouncer. The girl I had been talking to left a few hours before closing. She left without her friends. As she passed me, she offered another thank you, and then she was gone. By the end of the night, my mind had settled. The tedious task of polishing glasses after closing was always effective in clearing my head. Igor, the manager of the club, told me I could head home and that he would lock up. I stepped out into the brisk air and headed for my car.

The night was dark. Clouds blocked all light from the stars. I became painfully aware of my aloneness and hurried into my vehicle. making sure to lock the doors behind me. As I drove home, a car pulled out of one of the side alleys and carried on behind me. Its high beams were on, and I felt a headache creeping into my skull as the light blared into my eyes. I turned left, so did the car behind me. That was no cause for worry, I reassured myself. Whoever was driving was just heading in the same direction. But every turn I made on my way to my apartment, the car behind me made as well. Despite the frigid

temperature inside my car, I began to sweat. No one is following me, I thought to myself, it's not him. He was just some drunk asshole. My heartbeat, drummed in my ears, increasing the pressure in my hand. I made an abrupt right turn, a turn I didn't need to take. The car sped past me. I came to a stop in the middle of the road and sighed with relief. It was all in my head. Still, I waited a moment to see if the car would turn back around to find me. It didn't. When I reached my apartment complex, I hurried up the steps to the second floor and locked my room door behind me. The television had been left on, and I welcomed the monotonous sound of the local news station. It made me feel less alone. I grabbed a bottle of Ochocovo from the fridge and sat on the couch.

The alcohol did its work, and I began to relax. There was a knock on my window. I froze, not wanting to turn, not wanting to let bother me whatever had knocked on my reality. But it knocked again. I turned. And every stupid. stupid fear I had felt throughout that night became real. There he was. On the fire escape, he was still wearing the loose tie. He still had only one side of his collared shirt tucked in, but now he was holding something. It was long. A baseball bat? Had he come to beat me to death? Fear fell on me when I remembered I had forgotten to lock the window. The man lifted it open and tossed the object inside. Cut off! He yelled and laughed wildly. The object made a sickening

thud and rolled awkwardly onto my carpet. My mouth was agape. It was a severed arm. It looked like it had belonged to a woman. My mind immediately went to the girl at the club. She had left alone. Blood spattered my carpet and I continued to stare at the nightmarish length of flesh. My brain could barely comprehend that this thing could have once been attached to a human. I didn't want to believe it. I heard a loud thud and looked up. The window was closed and the man was gone. With shaking hands, I pulled my phone from my pocket to call the police, but paused when I heard the blare of sirens. Rithing red and blue lights flooded the night outside my apartment. Had they seen the man? Were they going to arrest him already? Even if they were here for unrelated reasons, I had to go

get them now. I flung my door open and found that two officers were already in the hall. Slava Bogo. I muttered in relief. Hands up! An officer yelled, his gun drawn. What? I said hands up now. I lifted my hands into the air. He was staring behind me. I realized he had drawn his gun when he saw the arm on my floor. Please, I said. There was a man here. He, shut up, the other officer said. We got a tip that a girl had been kidnapped, a girl who was last seen at the club you work at.

My heart dropped into my stomach. That man had called the police. He was trying to frame me. Please, I repeated. He hurt her, maybe even killed her. He's just outside. Listen, the officer said, when you have a girl's arm on your living room floor, that makes you the prime suspect, so shut up and open your closet.

My closet? The tip said the girl was stuffed into a closet. They saw from the alley. Fine, I thought. When they see my closet is empty, then they'll have to listen to me. They motioned me into my bedroom with their guns. I grabbed the handle of my closet and pulled. What we all saw inside lacerated my sanity.

I couldn't move. Inside the closet was a multitude of body parts, all hooked onto clothing hangers and hung among my regular outfits. A pair of bloodied feet pierced on the same hook, a motionless heart on another, hunks of meat I couldn't recognize on a, others. On the floor of my closet were two legs and another arm. The hooked body parts were dripping blood like rain. The crown of horse sat atop my dresser, where I kept my folded shirts.

It was her head. It was the girl's head. The sweet girl. The innocent girl. I felt my body hit the floor as an officer tackled me. My face now touching one of the bloody legs. My nose pressed into the meaty flesh where a foot should have been. Metal clamped down on my wrists and I was lifted to my feet. How? I thought. How did he know where I live? How did he put this in here? As they dragged me outside down the hall, I wanted to tell them everything that had happened. I wanted to tell them that this was a misunderstanding, but I couldn't speak. Fear silenced me. They were saying something to me, but I couldn't hear them. I felt sick as they shoved me into the back of their patrol car. I'm innocent, I thought. There has to be proof somewhere. I won't be

shipped off to Siberia for something I didn't do. As the patrol car pulled away from the apartments, I saw a figure, coated in red and blue light, standing across the street. The patch The ashes of blood on his tie and collared shirt looked like pits of pure darkness. I wanted to scream at the officers to look, but I still couldn't speak. The man smiled at me. He looked genuinely happy. He lifted a hand and waved as if he were saying goodbye to an old friend. Then he turned and disappeared into the cold night. Lazzang sur-joled,

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possible from the sign that read Zlaiamiche the angry mouse the sign hummed like a beehy

ready to burst and release a swarm of inconsolable wrath. Zlaiamish was a popular albeit seedy, nightclub on the outskirts of St. Petersburg.

It was not the type of club you would go to on a date or a casual night out. It was a pulsating beast made of drugs and sex with something sinister at its heart. I took one final drag on my cigarette to call my nerves, and then tossed the fading ember to the ground and stomped it out under the heel of my boot. My hand rested on the cool metal of my Macaroth pistol. They would take it from me before I met with him. I knew that. But I hoped the removal of the weapon would be enough to satisfy them,

and they wouldn't search me further. Alexei, the gruff bouncer, stood in front of the entrance to the club. He smiled knowingly as I approached him. Sergei, he said with a false kindness. Dobro pojolovat. Good to see you. Move aside, I said. Ah, yes, Alexi said.

Eager to see the boss, huh? I know he is eager to see you too. Not happy with you. Last guy he was unhappy with didn't end up looking too good. I remained silent. How'd you screw up such a simple job anyway? One woman and her kid were too much of a fight for you, eh? I could have done it easily.

Just pop-up, that's all it takes. Fury started to rise in me. How could he make light of such a thing? How could he be so okay with what the boss had asked me to do? You sicken me. I said through bare teeth. And yet, Alexei said, here you are. Same as me.

We aren't the same. Not at all. You work for him for money. That's all you care about. Oh, and what do you work for, friend? You know exactly what. Boss has something of yours, yeah? Something you want back, something you want to protect.

The way I see it, he has something I won't do. Doesn't matter what that something is. We both work for him to get something we want. That makes us the same. Get it? I didn't want to argue with him. So I shouldered past him into the nightclub. As I walked past, Alexei whispered a sinister dos vedanya at me.

Inside the club, I was immediately assaulted with a deafening sound and a disorienting array of lights. The club was structured with a low, arched ceiling, which gave it the feeling of being inside a tunnel. Along the ceiling were rows of black lights that stretched from the front of the club, where the DJ was, to the back of the club, where the door I was heading to was. Strobe lights flashed, synchronized to the throbbing beat of the music. The entire room was a mosh pit, everyone packed tightly together, jumping up and down to the music. Humidity arose from the sweating bodies, and it filled me with nausea.

Along the sides were couples grinding on each other. their naked flesh gyrating like some inhuman monstrosity. I pushed past the swarm of bodies and made my way to the back of the room. Two large men stood on either side of the door. Boss is waiting for you, one of them said. I motioned for the handle of the door, but a large hand pushed against me. Your gun, the man said. I stared at him for a moment, feigning defiance,

then reached to the holster around my chest and handed my pistol over. He stared at me for a moment. I stared right back, trying desperately not to twitch with a moment. anxiety. He nodded to the door, then returned his gaze directly ahead of himself, as if I had never even been there. I grabbed the handle and pulled the door open. Inside, there were two men. Lev, our boss, sat behind a table. He held a cigar, and thin wisps of smoke rose toward the ceiling of the small room. Beside Lev was Igor, an impossibly large man with the face of an ox. He was more intimidating than all of the club's bouncers and guards put together. The weight of his

stare crushed me. Lev stood up and flashed a bright smile. Ah, Sergei, he said. Welcome, welcome. He walked up to me and gave me a tight hug. Come sit with me, he said, and returned to his chair. I sat in the chair across from him. Igor stared into me and let out a boar's grunt. Sergei, how are you? I'm doing well, thanks, I said. You look a little pale. I haven't been working you too hard, have I? He chuckled. I said nothing but gave a polite smile. smile. Here. Lev said, pulling out a bottle of vodka and two crystal glasses from his desk drawer. Drink with me, Sergei. Let's talk. He poured a small amount into each of the glasses and handed one to me. Don't shoot this, he said. Shit vodka is for shooting. But this is the good stuff. Only the best

for my friend. We are friends, no? I didn't know what to say. So I politely smiled again. We both sipped the vodka. Well, Lev continued. I think you think we are friends. You treat me. like a friend, like this is a give and take. Some jobs I give you and you take them. Some jobs I give you and you give them right back." His friendly demeanor darkened and he glared at me, like I tell you a woman and her daughter are a witness to one of my business transactions. I tell you they need to bite the bullet. I give you the bullet they will bite. But then I find out they are alive and well. It was a mistake, boss. I said quickly. I messed up and they heard me coming. They got away, but I can still find them. My hatred for the man steadily rose. I felt the coolness

of the steel blade hidden in my boot. Ah, Sergei, Lev said. Listen, I like you. I really do. But I can't have you thinking you can make these mistakes, as you call them. So, I have to do something, you know, to ensure no more future mistakes. Lev nodded to Igor, and the mountain of a man pulled out a glimmering cigar trimmer. Which finger? Lev asked me. I asked with horror. You shoot with your right hand, yeah? Leve said. We'll need to keep that intact.

So which finger from your left hand? I'm a reasonable man. I'm letting you choose. I began to sweat. My finger, I thought frantically. He's going to cut off my finger. I could kill him now. Pull out the knife?

No, no. They would expect me to resist right now. It's not the right time. Not if I want to know where he's keeping her. Igor stepped behind me and slammed my head against the table, pinning me like a mouse. He used his elbow to pin down my left arm. I began to breathe heavily.

Fine, Leve said. Igor will choose. I felt the metal ring slip over my middle finger. Before I could even think, the blade clamped down with a sickening wet sound. I screamed. It felt like my middle finger had been replaced with fire. Igor released me, and I clasped my left hand with my right. Blood spurred from the wound in rhythm with my heartbeat.

Lev picked up the severed finger. See? He said. That wasn't so bad. I let you off easy, Sergei. Because I like you. I quelled my screams and clenched my hand tighter. You don't believe me.

Leves said, Come with me. Let me show you how easy I let you off. Igor grabbed me by the shoulder and lifted me to my feet. He pushed me through another door in the room. It led to the large storage house behind the club. The storage house I had counted on to escape through. But when I saw what was inside, I choked on a scream.

A man was tied spread eagle to a pile of wooden crates, a face of horror frozen on his pale face. He was naked, and there was a gash that led from his chest down to his groin. His intestines were hanging out of him like nightmarish confetti, Blood pooled on the floor beneath him, and organs I didn't dare identify were scattered in the blood. The man's name had been Armand. I had worked with him on some drug deals a few months back. I didn't like him much, but no one deserved this.

Except maybe Lev. See? Lev said. Easy, just a finger. Armand, though, I didn't like. All he cared about was money, which made him untrustworthy. But you, Sergei, you care about something else. Someone else.

So I know you won't make any more mistakes. unless you want to see your daughter in the same position as poor Arman. I had to act quickly. I had to pull courage from somewhere, surprised them while they thought I was still in shock, and I had to take out Igor first. I only had one chance, or he would crush my skull like an egg. Lev turned for a moment and smiled at the bloody corpse.

I thought only of my daughter, my sweet Katia. I pulled the long, thin blade from my boot, and lunged at Igor. He didn't move as I plunged the blade through his right eye, deep into his skull. The eyeball was tougher than I expected, and I felt sick. It was like sticking a knife through a thick cut of meat. Igor let out a grunt, blood pouring from his eye socket. He stumbled back. I didn't wait to watch him hit the ground.

I turned to Lev, who was reaching for his gun. You bastard! He shouted. Just as he raised his pistol to me, tackled him to the ground. Together, we fell into the sloppy mess of blood and guts on the floor. He reached for my face, and I gave him a sharp jab that shattered his nose and left him disoriented. Where is she?

I demanded. He laughed and sped blood in my face. The anger in me was untameable. At last I was confronting the lion who had toyed with me for so long, but I had no weapon to threaten him with. His gun had slid far out of reach. I looked at the bloody mess around us. I forced Katian to the forefront of my mind.

I reached for the tangle slop of Armand's intestines, grabbing a thick robe of his innards. I positioned myself behind Lev and pulled the intestines tight around his throat. He began to choke. I wrapped a second layer of intestine around his neck, fearing the first might tear. As I pulled tighter, watery blood spilled from the intestines as if I were wring. bringing out a wet rag. Moscow. Lev weised.

I loosened my grip slowly. Your daughter? He continued frantically. Is in Moscow. In my safe house near Red Square. He must have thought I would let him go. Maybe a better man would have, but I had already come this far. I pulled the flesh ropes tight again and watched his face grow red.

Horrible, guttural noises escaped him. The blood from his nose poured faster as pressure built in his face. His veins looked ready to burst. Then he went, Levin. I released my grip and lay back in the sticky blood, suddenly aware of a smell like pennies. I no longer felt any pain from my missing finger. As I sat in the horrifying filth, I began to cry, but at least my daughter would finally be free. Thanks for listening. If you're tuning in on Apple Podcast, please take a minute to leave a review. Your review directly helps the podcast

grow and allows me to continue coming out with the best horror stories on the internet. you so much.