Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - 2 Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark

Episode Date: June 1, 2021

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Talk to nicely. My friend Kim was lovely. She was a tall, powerful lady with a heart of gold. Some people found her brash, but not me. I saw her good intentions. I had been friends with Kim for years. My wife and I had kids around the same time as her and her husband, and she just recently had her third baby.

Kim and her husband had moved to accommodate their growing family. I have not made it over to see their new house yet. I felt terrible that I hadn't visited, or even met her new baby, a little girl named Eliza. Her older children, Jake and Haley, were like siblings to my kids, and my whole family had been missing them.

I have been thinking of Kim a lot, but life has been getting in the way. We all do it, ignore friends that we shouldn't. We get so wrapped up in what we have going on. My mind was full of work when I got the text. I had just walked through the door with groceries that I picked up on my way home. I saw that it was from Kim and smiled.

I put the phone down and carried on putting away the groceries, making a mental note to reply to her when I was done. A family dinner, a conversation with my wife, and one glass of wine later, I found myself on my sofa remembering that Kim had texted me. I opened up the text. My heart sunk in my chest. Thanks for coming to see me. It was nice to catch up.

She was being sarcastic, I knew it. She was pissed that I hadn't talked to her in a while, and that brash personality was coming out. I texted her back immediately, feeling like a terrible friend. Kim, I'm so sorry. Life has been so busy lately. I promise I'll come and see you soon. I can't wait to meet Eliza. I sat on it for a few hours waiting for a reply.

I figured Kim was making me wait on purpose as some sort of revenge. The kids were already in bed when my phone sounded again. Sorry, I was bathing her and getting the kid settled. What are you talking about? Eliza loved you. I'm sorry about what happened today with your shirt. I owe you a new one. Now I was seriously confused.

This wasn't Kim's usual style of texting. What if she genuinely thought I'd been over there today? Was she okay? Was she suffering from some sort of postnatal complication? I wanted to support her, but I wasn't sure how. So I texted her husband John. John worked as a truck driver overnight, so I knew he wouldn't be home right now. Is Kim okay?

I'm a little worried about her, I asked, keeping it simple. He took a while to text back. It must have been late, when he had his first chance to pull over to read my text. I was already laying in bed, but his words kept me up all night. Hey Jake, it was great seeing you today. We've all missed you. Bring the kids over next time. Ours would love to see them. Kim is doing well, just a little tired with the new baby. Thanks for checking in on her. You're a great friend. I didn't respond. It was late enough that I could pretend I was asleep. I laid and just thought, what if I had the problem? What if I had gone over there

and forgotten? Maybe I needed to see a doctor. But the more thought I put into it, the more irrational the whole situation became. it worked that morning, and I could prove it. I had gotten a parking ticket that day because my usual parking space was taken. I had parked halfway over a double yellow line by my building and got caught. The ticket even detailed how long I was there. I couldn't believe I was putting that much thought into it. John and Kim were just playing some sort of joke. They had to be. I crashed at about 5 a.m. and managed to get a couple hours of sleep before the kids woke me up. It was the weekend, so I had the day off. I thought about taking the kids over to Kim's. I wanted to talk to her,

Get this cleared up and see my friend again for real this time. I know how stressful a new baby can be, so I texted her first, asking if it was okay. Her reply almost gave me a panic attack. Please stop contacting me. Jake is sitting opposite me now with his new phone. You stole his phone, you creep. What you did is fucked up.

I reported you to the police. This was beyond a joke now. I started to get pissed. I responded, this is absolutely ridiculous. I'm not sitting in front of you. I'm sorry I haven't seen you in a while. I'm trying to change that, but you're taking this prank way too far. I usually didn't fight her.

She had such a strong personality that it was not worth it. I just hoped that she would see how much it was bothering me so that she would stop. The next text came with an image attachment. Stop it now, you creep. It was a photo of me, sitting at Kim's kitchen table with my son in my lap. It's an old picture, I thought at first, but no. My skin started to crawl when I saw the newspaper sitting in front of me in the picture, identical to the one on my table in real life.

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Villaray, the voice that we love that we love. About two years ago, I signed on to work for a building repair contractor out west. I was new and young. So they assigned me to an older man by the name of Frank. For the first few weeks, He showed me the ropes. I learned everything about furnaces,

air duct systems, and the old buildings we would be renovating. It was decent work, but there was one part I didn't like. When we went into old basements that might be contaminated or moldy, we had to wear breathing masks. Mine was this clear plastic bubble

that felt like it had been worn before, and it made my face itch. I was constantly reaching up under it to scratch my nose or rub my beard. Frank grunted and told me not to do that every single time, but I couldn't help it. Maybe a month into my time there, we drove out to a small town by the edge of a vast lake.

The company wanted to assess the basement of a historic building there, an underlevel that hadn't been accessed in 140 years, so they sent us. We pulled up around 11 on a Saturday. The building in question was at the end of the town's single main street, and within sight of the water. I was a little jealous as I watched the boats race by under the summer sun. But hey, a guy's got to earn a living, right? The families lounging around, having picnics and swimming, were off on the weekend, but not us.

Frank tried a few keys until one worked, and we entered a dusty Civil War-era series of wooden rooms filled with old furniture. He tried a few more keys on the basement door, a surprisingly thick and padlocked metal affair, before it finally grated open and let us in. Careful on the steps, I remember him saying as he put on his breathing mask, woods half-rodded. Typical. The company didn't care much how we did our job, only that it got done. We basically climbed down the side of the rough stairwell, then swung our flashlights around. All I saw was an expanse of dirt. The walls didn't catch the light, so it was as if we were shining our beams in an empty continuum,

a realm of eternal night with a dirt floor. The only object in the entire space was a strangely carved dais that looked like some kind of stained altar. That was when the door swung closed above us with a heavy metal clang. There was no way out, and we only had half an hour of air in our masks. There was no telling what kind of gases would have built up in a place like that. As a multi-decade veteran, Frank stayed calm. He had me lift him, and then he wedged himself between the wall and the jutting edge of the upstairs floor.

He turned that final key, and it worked. He pushed through into light, and in those final moments in that eternal space while I was alone, I thought I felt something horrible rushing at me from infinity while my back was turned. But he helped lift me up. And I clambered onto the hallway floor with immense relief. Frank slammed the door behind me, saying nothing. Together, we staggered down the hallway and out into the open air.

As I stood there on the front step, I watched the gently floating boats on the lake, taking a moment to remind myself that I'd escaped, and that our close call hadn't ultimately been that harrowing. Idly, I began to lift my hand to scratch my nose under my breathing mask, but Frank grabbed my wrist. The boats were floating gently. The racing had stopped. There were sprinkled spots of color on the beach, but no movement.

I stared in horror as I began to comprehend what was happening. The breeze was heavy. The trees moved in the wind, in a subtly off-putting rhythm that was slower and deeper somehow. Frank and I stared down the main street of that small town. It had been bustling and full of friendly folk on the way in, but everyone had fallen in place, their eyes open, bloodshot, and bulging. Many of them had their hands around their own necks. Nearby on the pavement, a father had tried to crawl to his daughter, but he'd never quite reached her.

My skin prickled as I realized that we were standing in a sea of invisible death. The very air had turned against these people. The legal people would later call it a limnic eruption, claiming a massive cloud of carbon dioxide that turned up from the lake that the town had been built upon. Only Frank and I knew the truth as we ran back to our truck. Isaac, Danielle, and Rebic. You guys are awesome. I hope you know that your support directly helps me grow my podcast and reach more people,

so thank you so much. If anyone else out there would like to support my podcast while also getting an extra bonus episode every week, then check out my Patreon page at patreon.com slash DR No Sleep. 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. Thank you so much. Lazzangue surgelley, puissance-molyne for 15 minutes. We'd say that it's their dojo.

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