Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - 3 Airplane Horror Stories

Episode Date: February 16, 2022

🎧 Check out The SCP Experience podcast here: https://spoti.fi/3zCFjQc 🎉 Ad-free episodes + bonus episodes: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🎥 YouTube: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep �� Send all advertising inquiries to: [e-mail] Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Talk to nice sleep. I'm sorry, sir, but there's no way I can change your seating at this point. It's a full flight. The airline worker says to me, she stands behind her desk, looking down into her computer. Our original flight was canceled, I say, pleading with her. This was the next available flight, but we didn't have the option to choose our own seats like we did on the original flight. There's absolutely nothing you can do? The lady looks up at me from her computer.

I'm sorry, sir. If I could seat you next to your girlfriend, I would. It looks like you're only a couple of rows away from each other. Maybe you can ask someone to switch with you on the plane. The stress of the last week sits on me like a monkey with a knife, digging around in my skull. I can feel myself slipping. But the last thing I want to do here is make a scene.

So I grumble to the woman in the blue uniform and head back to the crowded seating here. I shake my head as I approach Sandra. She gives me a sad smile, which does nothing to conceal the worry in her eyes. It's completely full, I tell her. They can't do anything for us. She reaches over and takes my hand. Her touch making all the stress worth it.

I look into her brilliant green eyes, set in the most beautiful face I've ever seen. Her raven-colored hair frames, and her angelic features give contrasts. give contrast to her smooth, pale skin. I love you, I say to her. I love you too, she says. I know she means it. We kiss, a gesture that's cut short by the boarding call for our flight. Our number is called shortly,

and we stand up to get in line with all the other passengers. I'll ask whoever sits next to you if we can switch. I say once we have our tickets and passports checked. Oh, it's okay, Frank, she says, waving a hand. Nothing's going to happen. Don't worry so much. There's nothing to do but sit and wait for the plane to take us to our new life. I think about all the preparation I've done to get us here.

Still, it would make me feel better if we sat together. But I find it hard to refuse Sandra anything. Are you sure? I ask her. Yes, it's fine, she says. It could be better. this way, you know? It looks like we're not traveling together. I nod. She's right. I let her go ahead of me as we board the plane. I scan the faces of the people already in seats. Looking for what? I don't know. Some recognition, a hard stare, something. But I don't see anything like that.

Just a bunch of people getting settled, reading books or messing with their phones. I'm in a middle seat on the right side of the plane. Sandra is in a window seat, three rows behind me, on the left side of the plane. I'm comforted to see an old woman sitting next to her and a middle-aged woman in the aisle seat. As is my luck, I get stuck between an old man on my left and a particularly large young woman on my right. I can already tell the old man's going to be a talker. He has that look in his eye as he sits down next to me. Once I'm settled, I turn in my seat and look over my shoulder. I can just see the top half of Sandra's head. She sees me, stretches up in her seat, smiles, and gives a thumbs up. I smile back, starting to relax for a change. I can't believe it.

This is really happening. I'm with the love of my life, heading off to Europe to live the life I've always wanted. I smile as the old man next to me asks me my name. I start chatting with him, asking him questions about his life, and listening to the rambling replies with a sense of calm I welcome wholeheartedly. Once we're in the air, I find that sense of calm expanding even more as the stress of the last seven days melts away. My mind drifts toward things we'll do as we travel around Europe, money no longer a problem. I find that I'm incredibly tired. I've been so concerned with getting this trip underway and all the other things that entailed that I happened to slept much. Soon enough, we're cruising high above the Atlantic and the flight attendants are

serving food and drinks. I order a gin and tonic and enjoy a chicken wrap as the in-flight meal. The alcohol and food combine in my stomach, making me pleasantly groggy. I turn in my seat once again and see that Sandra has her head propped back against the seat, and her eyes are closed. I gaze at her for a long moment, unable to believe my luck. What did I do to deserve a woman like this? I don't know, but I'm not going to question it. I settle into my seat and tell the man to my left that I'm going to get some money.

sleep. It's a long flight, and sleep is just what I need. I close my eyes and drift off almost immediately. I jolt awake as someone touches my arm. Sir, the flight attendant says, please bring your seat back up. We're making our descent into London. I do as I'm told, stretching my stiff neck and wiping the sleep from my eyes. I look back at Sandra, seeing that she's still asleep. We live. We love her. We land without incident. It's nighttime, but the massive Heathrow airport is well lit. I look past the woman to my right, gazing out the window as we taxi. Once we're at the terminal, everyone gets up and starts to file out of the plane in the typical slow fashion. I sit in my seat, waiting until everyone ahead of us leaves. I decide to wait for Sandra so we can walk off

together. So I cross the aisle once the opposite row is empty so the lady next to me can get out. I look back, expecting to see Sandra standing there, but she's not. Of course, there are people standing in the way, so I shrug it off. The old woman and the middle-aged woman that were sitting next to Sandra move off the plane. They both look at me as they go, smiling strangely. I notice a small, dark stain on the old woman's sweater as she walks past in the aisle, turning her head to smirk at me. At the last second, she throws a phone down in the seat next to me.

My throat thickens. My breathing grows ragged. I ignore the phone, turning around to look at Sandra now that there's no one in the way. She's still sitting in the seat, her eyes closed and head resting on the seat back. But something seems off. I can't place it, but I know something is terribly wrong. I lunge into the aisle, crashing into a man in a suit. Watch it, Frank, he says as I squeeze past him.

I barely even notice he's there. Other people move out of the way as I scramble back toward the woman I love. Sandra, I say. Sandra? There's a thin, dark blanket tucked under her chin, concealing her upper body and the seat. Now that I'm up close, I can see that Sandra's skin is sallow, the texture of candle wax in a humid room.

I reach toward her, gripping her by the shoulders through the thin blanket. The movement jars her, and her head comes forward. For one moment, I think she's waking up. But her head keeps going. Her chin hitting her chest as her head tumbles off her neck into her lap. I scream, only now seeing what the blanket previously concealed. The drying blood coating her clothes and soaking into the seat back. In an insane act of grief, I grab her severed head in both hands and bring it to my face,

placing my hot forehead against her cold one as the tears spill out of my eyes. A woman screams behind me in the aisle, seeing the gory scene. The businessman's words from moments ago echo in my head. Watch it, Frank. He said, I now remember seeing him sitting directly behind Sandra, and the two women sitting in the row with her. Fury builds in me. And I put Sandra's head back down in her lap,

like I'm setting a fragile vase on a stand. I rush back into the aisle, the small group of people still left on the plane looking at me with fear and disgust. As I start down the aisle to find the man and the two women, a phone rings next to me. The phone the old woman threw down when she passed. I answer it, already knowing who it will be. Harsh voice says over the phone, and the most dangerous man I know, but no words come to me.

Nothing to say for yourself? He asks. The line goes dead. I dropped the phone back into the seat just before a police officer tackles me to the floor from behind. I barely notice as the cover. Go on. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Not without Sandra. Lazzang sur-gely, puissance-molyne, for 15 minutes.

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Via Rai, the voice that we love that we am. The plane was packed not an empty seed anywhere. It was a red-eye

flight from Los Angeles to New York. I'd just spent the week working on a story about a little town in Southern California whose water had suddenly become undrinkable. It was an ongoing story, but there was a supposed investigation going on, and I'd interviewed all the people I could. My editor wanted me back on the East Coast for another investigative story about a corrupt small-town sheriff in upstate New York. I'm only sharing this because it's important to understand that I'm a trained journalist. I've been doing this for years, and I've developed an excellent memory for names, faces, and conversations. Sure, I use a recorder sometimes to make sure I don't mess anything up, but it's really just for backup.

Most of the time, I get everything right without listening to the recordings I've made until I'm done, using them to fact-check my stories. So I found myself on a packed plane in an aisle seat as we pulled away from the gate at LAX. I could see one of the flight attendants toward the front of the economy section, talking animatedly to one of the passengers. She was flustered, to say the least. Although I couldn't hear the words she was saying over the constant hum of the airplane's running systems, I could tell from her body language that she was getting angry. I didn't know whether she was talking to a woman or a man because I couldn't see them.

Passengers in the area were whispering to each other and looking around the plane with exasperated looks on their faces. A male flight attendant came back from the business class section, joining his co-worker. He seemed able to calm the passenger down, and the two of them took up positions to explain how the seatbelts worked and what to do in the event of cabin pressure loss. I shrugged it off, feeling for the poor flight attendants and what they had to put up with during their work. I put my neck pillow in place and got comfortable, closing my eyes as we taxied for takeoff. I felt the plane take off, that familiar feeling of being pressed back into the seat, and the stomach-dropping sensation as the plane left the tarmac.

I didn't doze for long before the shouting started. I opened my eyes and looked at the three flight attendants standing in the aisle, facing the troublemaker's seat. The two original attendants were there, along with a third one, a man. You need to stay in your seat, Mr. Carnell, the female attendant said loudly, clearly losing her group. cool. As I watched, I glimpsed at the unruly passenger, Mr. Carnell, as he tried to stand up from his aisle seat, shouting something about being screwed over by the airline. He looked to be in

his late 30s or early 40s, with messy brown hair and a few days worth of untrimmed beard growth. He wore a tight black t-shirt and had a silver chain around his neck. He looked like a fit man, although not particularly tall, as far as I can tell. Just sit down and shut up. One passenger yelled at the guy. Fuck you, Mr. Carnell shouted. We've all got places to be, sir. A woman called out from the row ahead of me. Please, just drop it.

We're already in the air. A chorus of agreement went up for many of the passengers. But Mr. Carnell wasn't having it. As he tried to stand up from his seat, one of the male flight attendants put his hands out and gave the man a gentle shove. If such a thing as a gentle shove is possible, saying that he needed to stay in his seat.

This was a mistake. I could tell right away because the man went quiet, and all three of the flight attendants leaned back as if from a dangerous animal. After the pregnant pause, Carnell's hand struck out, hitting the male flight attendant in the stomach. The man doubled over, gripping his stomach.

The hand shot out again, hitting him in the face, knocking him back into the row of seats across the aisle. Frightened sounds erupted from, nearly the whole plane as the other male flight attendant moved in to try to subdue the man. Carnell's foot kicked out, getting the attendant in the crotch and knocking him up the aisle. I unbuckled my seat and stepped into the aisle. A few other men and a couple of women were doing the same. We bottlenecked in the aisle behind the female flight attendant who, I realized as we got

closer, was being choked by Carnell. A guy coming the other way down the aisle from business class leaned in and punched Carnell in the face. Carnell let the female flight attendant go, and the rest of us moved in while the flight attendant ran up to the front of the plane, no doubt to tell the pilot. Carnell managed to get up from his seat, attacking the man who punched him. I was crowding in with other people in the aisle, and Carnell's movements struck me as those of an animal. He was fast, savage, and seemed full of endless energy. I moved in to try to get him in a headlock, but somehow he sensed me coming and threw an elbow into my arm. head. I stumbled back, momentarily dazed. The other proactive passengers in the aisle moved in all at

once, each grabbing a limb and wrestling the man down to the floor. We felt the plane turned, just as the pilot's voice came over the plane's PA. I apologize, everyone, the pilot said. But, as you're no doubt aware, we have an unruly passenger on board that we need to deal with. We've been given priority to land back at LAX. We'll get you back underway. We'll get you back underway as soon as humanly possible. I had moved in and was leaning down on one of Carnell's legs to keep the impossibly strong man from kicking out when the announcement finished.

Angry shouts and grumbles erupted throughout the whole plane. I was angry too. I looked down at Carnell's red-tinged face at the look of savage fury there and felt a loathing like nothing I'd ever experienced before and one I hope to never experience again. As I stared at this man, A hand slipped down over his mouth.

I followed the arm up, looking into the eyes of the man it belonged to, the one that had come from business class to help. The guy looked at me, and then looked around at the other people surrounding Carnell. I could be imagining this, but I felt there was some kind of understanding that passed between several members of our little group of good citizens who'd got up to help subdue this crazed man. Another hand, this one belonging to a woman that could have.

came to help, reached out, and covered Carnell's nose. A third hand came down and covered the other two on the man's face. Carnal's eyes went wide as he tried to suck in breath, finding little to be had. I made a little sound in my throat. It was the beginnings of an ejection, but my fellow subduers all looked up at me, their eyes hard. This may be me justifying what happened, but in that moment, I felt that they would have turned their wrath on me had I done anything to stop what they were doing. Suddenly, I felt sick. Carnel's eyes were bulging now, and he was trying to whip his head around to get it clear of the hands pressing down on him. A man next to me leaned forward and placed his knee on Carnell's chest, then used his hands to help hold the suffocating man's head steady.

I tried to back away slowly, but I felt a hand gripped the back of my neck. I turned my head to one of the flight attendants behind me, the one that Carnell had hit in the stomach and then the face. He shook his head just barely, keeping his hand on my neck to prevent me from moving away. His dangerous look of determination made me realize we were all in this together. I was part of this, even if I didn't want to be. I turned my head back, watching as Carnell's face went from red to blue to purple. I felt the life leave him. The leg I was holding onto went limp, along with the rest of his body.

But his eyes stayed open, staring up at his killers. The hands came away from his face and were wiped on shirts and pants. Carnell's sneer stayed frozen on his face as we all moved back to our seats. As I looked around the plane, I knew that all the passengers were aware of what had just happened. Every pair of eyes I saw turned away from me, and a pervading sense of shame seemed pungent in the recycled air. We left Carnal lying in the aisle while the plane landed. No one said a word the whole time. No one said a word to the police either, as far as I knew.

We were all delayed and questioned, our information taken by the police. But none seemed willing to tell the truth. I didn't get home until late the next day. at which point I read about the incident online. The story said that authorities believed the man died of a heart attack, but that an investigation was underway. As far as I know, no one was ever arrested for it. I was never questioned again.

But I still see Carnell's face sometimes late at night. I still feel his leg go limp under my hands. And I still remember that sick elation I felt when I realized what was happening. There's something else here now. Something new. From, exclusively on Paramount Plus, it's the series Stephen King calls Scary as Hell. Everything here is impossible, but it's also real.

Sci-fi vision calls it the best show streaming right now. We're running out of time and we still don't know the rules. Don't miss what the movie blog calls something you need to watch. Saving those children is how we all go home. From, binge all episodes exclusively on Paramount Plus. Come on, Tyler, I said, holding my hand out toward my son. He had paused at the ramp onto the plane, that little step that they put over the gap

between the passenger boarding bridge and the plane's doorway. Tyler stood looking down at it with open curiosity, his wide brown eye scanning and measuring. He looked up, glancing around the doorway at the body of the plane. I smiled politely at the people behind Tyler, waiting to board. Some of them smiled back. But a few gave me a look that said, Get your kid out of the way, pal.

I tried my best not to show my anxiety, and I knew full well that yelling at Tyler or yanking his hand would draw more attention to us than we could afford. So instead of losing my cool, instead of breaking down, instead of letting the anxiety I'd been carrying with me for the past two days get the better of me,

I simply adjusted the backpack on my back and reached back to take Tyler's hand and guide him aboard. At only four years old, I couldn't blame him for being curious. The whole world was new to him, and he didn't understand the danger we were in, the danger he was in. I wanted nothing but to protect him. But if someone recognized us, I wouldn't be able to do that. I pulled him along to our seats, going slow so his little legs could keep up. He glanced at all the seated people, smiling and saying hi every so often.

I knew I should have picked him up to take him on board. In fact, I had tried once we had our tickets checked, but Tyler was having nothing of it. He'd started screaming, so I'd put him down. I located our seats and got Tyler buckled up in the window seat while I sat in the middle. I opened the window shade so he could look out. It was late afternoon and sunny out, and I hoped he would keep his attention out the window for the duration of the flight. There wasn't anyone in the aisle seat yet. I hoped there wouldn't be.

But my luck had never been that good. I looked over at him, and he looked up at me, smiling with his tiny little teeth showing, his curly brown hair dangling over his forehead. It's hard to describe what I felt at moments like these. There was a swelling of pride and unconditional love. I couldn't believe I'd made something so precious, so adorable and so powerful.

I reached over and pulled up one errant strap from Tyler's overalls that had fallen down his shoulder. Thank you, Daddy, he said. You're welcome, buddy, I said, holding back tears. I could never let them take him, never. Movement to my right alerted me to someone's presence, and I looked up to see a pretty blonde woman in her early 30s putting a bag in the overhead bin.

When she was done, she looked down at Tyler and then at me, smiling. I smiled back as she sat down in the aisle seat. I immediately regretted the automatic and polite smile, thinking I should have just ignored her or frowned, turning my attention away. A smile was an invitation to talk, which was something I really didn't want to do. The blonde woman settled in next to me, while the flow of passengers into the plane slowed to a dribble. Is that your son? The woman asked.

Yes, I said without looking at her. I was hoping she'd get the picture and leave us alone. He's a cutie, she said. How old is he? Four. Oh, how fun. I'm Megan. What's your name?

I'm David. I lied. And what's his name? Megan asked, leaning forward in her seat so she could look at Tyler. I thought about lying, but I didn't think Tyler would be. be able to go the whole flight without saying his name. He'd been happily telling anyone he met what his name was lately. So I told the truth. His name is Tyler, I said. Hi, Tyler. The woman said.

Hello. Tyler said. I've never been on an airplane before. Is that so? Well, there's nothing to worry about, Megan said. She paused, her expression changing slightly. My heart dropped as I thought I saw recognition there. Her eyes flicked from Tyler to me and back again. Her smile seeming forced. Tyler went back to looking out the window, mercifully, quiet for a change. He was too enthralled with the plane to worry about talking to new people at the moment. It's nice to meet you too, Megan said. Her smile seeming genuine again. She sat back in her seat and faced forward while the flight attendants prepared for take-off. Did she recognize us? I thought.

And if so, what, if anything, would she do about it? Not that it mattered. They had already closed the plane door. And even if they hadn't, getting off now would draw more attention to us anyway. There was nothing I could do but sit and wait and hope. Tyler asked me questions every so often as we taxied. But the feeling of the plane roaring to life and taking off made his eyes. go wide and his questions cease. He stared out the window, watching as the trucks and cars on

the roads below shrank until they were the size of his toys. I sensed movement from Megan a couple of times while the plane got up to cruising altitude. I thought she was sneaking glances at us, but that could have been my imagination. Megan got up to use the restroom just after we reached 37,000 feet. I sat back in my seat. resting my eyes for a moment. When I opened them again, there was a man sitting in Megan's seat staring at me. I didn't have any idea how much time had passed,

but it couldn't have been much. The man had short black hair parted on the left and a clean-shaven face. He wore a blue button-up shirt under a black jacket with matching black slacks. He had a serious, controlled expression on his face. When he saw I was awake, he spoke. Mr. Salinas, he said, I need you to remain calm.

My name is Joseph Trulino. I am a federal air marshal. I'm going to need to put these handcuffs on you. He lifted a pair of handcuffs in his right hand, holding them up for me to see. I looked over at Tyler, who was staring up at me with scared eyes. He'd watched the whole thing. I opened my mouth to speak to him, but nothing came out. The dread of the situation had paralyzed me as the entire range of worst-case scenarios ran through my head.

Who's that man, Daddy? Tyler asked. Listen to me, I said, finding my voice. It's going to be okay. We're going to be fine. I need you to be good. Do you understand me? Tyler looked at me and then at the air marshal.

Tyler, I said in as stern a voice as I could muster, I need you to tell me that you'll be good. please. Sir, Marshall Trulino said, I don't want to cause a scene and frighten these nice people. So let's do this the easy way. There's nowhere to go anyway. He reached over and clicked the cuffs on my wrists. I never took my eyes off of Tyler. I watched as recognition dawned on his face, followed by a look I knew all too well, a look that I'd hoped never to see again. No, hey, I said. It's okay, buddy. It's all going to be okay. Don't worry. This man is nice. He's a friend. I knew Tyler didn't believe me. I felt the air grow cold around me as Tyler's face closed in on itself.

His eyebrows coming down and his mouth coming up in a sneer. Tendrils of swirling black smoke shot out of his nose and mouth, slamming into the air marshal faster than my eyes could follow. Two of the tendrils attacked the marshal's eyes, pulverizing them and shoving them back into his head. While the third went into the man's mouth as he convulsed against his seat, the people in the row across from a shouted in horror as they looked on. Stop, Tyler! I shouted, even though I knew it was useless. It was as if he couldn't hear anything when he was in this state.

The marshal's head split apart like a rotten jackal anonet with a firecracker inside, some of his smoldering skull and brain spilling onto my shoulder. People were screaming all around now. Oh my God! killed him. It's the man and the little boy from the news. Oh, Christ! Someone stopped him! What the hell is going on? A man in the row in front of us stood up and turned around, looking at the mess that was once the marshal. He looked at Tyler, at the strange smoke pouring out of his face and screamed. Satan! He's Satan himself! The smoke shot out,

hitting the man in the chest, and slamming him up into the ceiling of the plane, then whipping him in two lengthwise. splattering everyone around with blood, guts, and bone fragments. People didn't know what to do. Some of them ran away from us, while others rushed toward us, thinking they could subdue or kill Tyler. No!

I screamed at these attackers. Just leave him alone. He's sick. He doesn't know what he's doing. The attackers paid no mind. They didn't know what I knew, that if they attacked, we'd all die. Their hands reached toward us,

grabbing for me and Tyler. screamed at them to stop and turned to plead with Tyler just before someone hit me in the head. Everything went black. The world seemed to scream suddenly. A cold wind ripping around me, pulling me against my seatbelt, trying to yank me out of the seat. I found I could hardly breathe and that gravity was shifting around me, tugging at different parts of my body. My stomach flipped and tumbled as I forced my eyes open, seeing the ground racing up to meet me as I fell. I closed my eyes again and waited for an impact that never came.

Instead, there was a gradual slowing, like I was attached to a bungee cord that was coming to the end of its stretch. I opened my eyes to see tendrils of that dark smoke reaching down to the slowly approaching ground some 50 feet below. I looked over and saw that Tyler was still sitting in the seat beside me. Somehow, our three-seat row had stayed together on the way down. Although the seat that Marshall had taken was empty, likely because he hadn't been buckled. The smoke coalesced as we reached the sparsely wooded field. It set us down gently and then disappeared back into Tyler's head. It was approaching dusk, but I could still see far enough around to notice the clusters of other seats from the plane

and the pulverized bodies that had been living, breathing people. Off in the distance, toward the horizon, I saw. saw the unmistakable silhouette of a plane missing its tail streaking toward the earth. It impacted, and a faint booming sound reached my ear several long moments later. Where are we, Daddy? Tyler said, his voice as innocent as ever. I looked at him, seeing that he was back to his old self. I don't know, buddy, I said, my voice cracking.

Did something bad happen again? Like when we went to see the doctor? Yes, I said, the tears flowing freely now. Yes, it did. I'm sorry, Tyler said. Me too. All those people, I thought. All of them died because of me.

I unbuckled my seat and stood up because I didn't know what else to do. Tyler fiddled with his seatbelt for a moment before he unlatched it. Then he climbed down, sat on the ground, and started doodling in a patch of dirt with his feet. fingers, humming to himself. I watched him for a long time, unable to square the power that was inside him with the sweet and innocent kid that he was most of the time. I looked around again, seeing the dark shapes of the dead passengers still strapped into their seats, and the bodies of those who had been out of their seats when Tyler tore the plane apart. I noticed a rock

next to my left foot. It was about the size of my fist. I crouched and picked. I whipped it up, hefting it in my hand. I thought about the first time I'd learned that Tyler was different. My wife, Jessica, hadn't been trying to hurt him. She hadn't even touched him. But he'd been crying for so long. We were both so tired, and he just wouldn't stop crying. She hadn't even yelled, really.

It was a growl more than a yell, a plea for him to stop crying as she leaned over the crib. But it was enough. had thrown her against the wall, breaking one of her arms. A month later, she was gone. She had wanted to give him up, to give him to people that would experiment on him for the rest of his life. And I had refused. So she left. Maybe I should have done something about it back then, but I couldn't bring myself to. I couldn't. But now, there was so much death. I hefted the rock in my hand as I stepped up behind Tyler, looking down and is still developing skull. One, maybe two blows and it would all be over. I'm the only one that can do it,

I thought. He trusts me. He wouldn't expect it. The smoke wouldn't come out to stop me. Or would it? Would it no? I lifted the rock in my right hand, holding it over my head, aiming at the crown of his skull. With my other hand, I wiped the tears from my eyes. I'm sorry, I whispered.