Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - 3 Greyhound Bus Horror Stories

Episode Date: March 25, 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

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Cirot, bookinet. Oh, that also. And profite. Vi-a-Rae, the voice that we love. Talk to nicely. Her laugh is so loud and forceful that it almost sounds like a scream at its highest. Just before she sucks in another breath,

to laugh some more. The rest of the people on the bus are laughing too, but no laugh stands out as much as hers. I stand in the aisle, smiling at all the people around me, letting their laughter wash over me. I focus on the sky. sound as much as I can, but I don't forget about the item in my hand. It's important, I know.

Precious. It is everything. The landscape passes outside in a slow blur as the bus continues on its way, turning this way and that. I feel the vehicle slow slightly, and then turn to look at the driver. I skip up the bus's aisle like a child, watching as the driver's eyes shift from the road, to the narrow mirror above his head. Our eyes meet in that strip of reflective glass. And I can see the crow's feet punctuating each eye become more pronounced as he smiles. Behind me, the laughter dies down to nothing. Everything okay, Dale?

I ask him, leaning down and talking to him like we're old friends. We are old friends, aren't we? It's amazing how fast you can become pals with someone while traveling. just amazing. Why, yes sir, everything's fine, he says, half turning to look at me without using the mirror. Call me slick, I say. I've always liked the name slick, although no one has ever called me it before. Not until I got on this bus and started telling people that was my nickname.

That's another thing about traveling. You can be whoever you want to be. To these people, I've been slick all my life. life. I'm a confident, charismatic, and downright funny guy. Yes, I am. Okay, Slick, he says. Everything's hunky-dory. I throw my head back and laugh. A few of the people around us at the front of the bus laugh, too. That's good, I say. Did you just make that up? Hunky-dory. I like that. Dale smiles, but he doesn't answer. It doesn't matter. We're having a good. We're having a good time. I look out the windshield at the landscape, drenched in bright afternoon sunlight,

and see a curve in the road coming up. I see a police car parked by the side of the road, and a sudden darkness sweeps over me. No, best not to think about those things. Best to keep my attention here, inside the bus. My new friends are here. The passing landscape doesn't matter, not right now. As I look back at Dale, I notice his eyes dart back up to my face. He was looking at my hand. No, he was looking at the object in my hand. I suddenly feel that he wants to take it from me, but he can't. He wouldn't dare. Not Driver Dale, my friend. I remember back when I first met Dale, must have been several hundred miles ago now, at the Little Greyhound Station in Flagstaff, Arizona. Or was it after that?

Did I transfer to this bus later on? Maybe in Albuquerque or Colorado Springs. Surely it wasn't Denver. How long I've been riding these buses? It seems like I started in winter, but here it is summer. That can't be right. When I first met Dale, whether it was winter or spring or summer doesn't matter. He checked my ticket and asked me with a smile where I was going.

Wherever you take me, I guess, you're the driver, I said. He laughed at that. Not enough people laugh these days. As he laughed, I got the idea that he liked his job. I mean, what's not to like about traveling all over the country in a big old bus, taking people where they need to go? But it wasn't all smooth sailing. Poor old Dale had to deal with the rabble rouser on that first leg,

if I'm remembering correctly. Yes, it was Dale. There was a man that had clearly brought his own alcohol on the bus with him. You're not supposed to do that. And in the early hours of the morning, the man had started shouting nonsense, waking everybody up. You better calm yourself down, sir. Or you're going to be off my bus.

Dale called back from his position of power at the front of the bus. It's a free country. The drunk man had shouted back, I can do whatever I please on your bus. I paid for my ticket, you son of a bitch. I had watched this exchange with some interest, seeing Dale look hard at the man with the help of the mirror. But Dale didn't say anything more.

He just kept driving. That's what I thought, you pussy, the drunk man called out. Now, I like Dale. even back then, before we really got to know each other, I liked him. We stopped for a short break in Santa Fe, letting two passengers off. And when I got off the bus to stretch my legs, I saw Dale and the drunk man arguing, The next outburst from you, I'll pull over and kick you off my bus, understand?

Dale said. The man just laughed in his face. Sure, Gramps. He said, then sauntered off. to the restroom. I wanted to see if Dale was okay, but I thought better of it. Instead, I followed the drunk man into the bathroom and slid his throat with my pocket knife. I left his body locked in a stall and got back on the bus. I'd been lucky, really. There was no one in the bathroom, so it made things easier. Now, as I stand at the front of the swaying bus next to Dale,

I recall the favor I did for him. He doesn't know about it, I realize. Maybe he wouldn't want to take what's mine if he did, I say in a whisper, getting closer to him. What is it, Slick? He says. You remember that guy that was causing a scene on the bus early this morning? The drunk guy?

Dale nods, eyes on the road. Did you ever wonder why he didn't get back on the bus? Dale shrugs. I guess I just figured he passed out in the bathroom. That happens sometimes with the drunks and the druggies. I shake my head, struggling to contain my excitement. Nope, it was me. I did it. I got him for you.

Dale swallows hard, still keeping his eyes fixed on the road. You got him? He says. Yes, I got him. For you. I got your back. I say, slapping him on the shoulder with my free hand. I stand up and turn around, seeing Joey standing in the aisle about 15 feet behind me.

What are you doing, Joey? I say. Sit down. My name's not Joey, he says. But his girlfriend or wife or whatever reaches out and pulls him back into his seat. No? I say, heading back to him. Every pair of eyes on the nearly full bus follows me. What's your name? Jaron, he says. his girlfriend or whatever looks out the window.

I think she's crying. What did you do to her? I ask. Are you abusive to your wife, Jaron? God damn it, I hate. I'm not abusive and she's not my wife. Jaron says in a menacing tone. She's my sister, and you're scaring her. Me?

How am I scaring her? I thought everyone was having a good time. Isn't everyone having a good time? Everyone on the bus. Besides Jaron and his sister, starts laughing again. And again, I hear the woman's shrill yet charming laughter from where she sits toward the back of the bus.

I head back toward her, smiling my best smile. She really is very pretty. And that laugh. She sees me coming and laughs even louder, but the sound changes. Now it sounds kind of desperate. It sounds fake. Suddenly, I realized that all the laughter sounds fake,

I freeze when I am in the aisle, looking around at the people. They're laughing and smiling, but the smiles don't reach their eyes. What's wrong with you people? I scream, swinging around, trying to look at everyone at once. People flinch back as the gun in my hand sweeps over them. It's just a gun. I realize with a sadness that seems to go on forever. Just a gun.

But I've known that the whole time, haven't I? You were all doing so well. I say, bending down to look out the windows. There are about a dozen police cars surrounding the racetrack we've been circling for at least an hour. Why did I let Dale take us here? Why did I let the policeman on the phone talk me into it? He'd been so nice. But he's really not nice.

I'm at a loss for what to do. I've always acted on impulse, never having much of a plan or a thought about consequences. It's probably why I decided to be. up this gun in the first place. It clattered to the floor of the bathroom stall in that little no-name town. It had been in the drunk man's waistband or pocket, and he'd grabbed for it as I jammed my pocket knife into the side of his neck and then dragged it across his throat. By the time he got the gun in his hands, it was too late. The blood left his body in powerful jets, as if it had been waiting to escape for years. I was lucky to only get it on my hands.

When the man was dead, I sat him on the toilet and leaned him back, trying not to smear the blood dripping down the dirty walls. Then I stood there for a long moment, staring at that gun on the floor. I knew the power it held. More power even than the knife I still clutched in my hand. I had an idea of what I could accomplish with it, even if it was a vague idea. What's that saying? One man's trash is another man's treasure. That's what I felt when I saw the gun, like it was a treasure. Although I wasn't really sure why, I'm still not.

Things like that are hard for me to see sometimes. Don't kill us, please, the woman with a shrill laugh says, tears spilling down her face. Kill you? I say, bringing my attention from the police cars outside, and the police officers arrayed behind them. many of them with guns fixed on the bus. Honestly, I don't even know if this thing works, I say, pulling the trigger. The gun jumps in my hand, the shot hurting my ears. The back of a man's head blows apart from the bullet,

splattering brain, blood, and bits of skull on the nearby people. Everyone screams, cowering in their seats. Oh, I say, I didn't know it. Dale slams on the brakes, sending me backpedaling down the aisle toward the front of the bus. Jaron sticks his foot out to trip me, but I reach out and grab the seatbacks on either side of the aisle stopping my fall. The bus comes to a full stop. One of the bus windows to my right splinter, and something knocks the breath out of me. I stumble, using the seatbacks to hold myself up once again.

Wow! I say, turning around to see all the blood splashed on the windows behind me. It's my blood. I leaned down to look out the window, seeing if I can spot the sniper who shot. me. I think I see him. You're good. I say, druggantly. The last thing I see is a muzzle flash as the sniper takes his second shot. There's something else here now. Something new.

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It's a little country town that is just a short drive from the Canadian border. I don't know where I am now, but I feel I've been on the Greyhound bus forever. I knew the trip would be a long one, almost four days, including the hours waiting transfer stations, but I'm getting the feeling that we should have been to the next city by now. I'm heading to Phoenix, where my brother lives, to start over again. I'd been living in Watertown with my girlfriend, but we'd recently broken up. And since I don't have a career yet, I'm only 22. There was nothing keeping me in upstate New York. I can't see anything out the windows of the bus because it's dark outside, and apparently it's a new moon.

but I haven't even seen any passing cars lately. Granted, I keep falling asleep. So maybe it's the early hours of the morning, and we're in between major population centers. My phone has no service. I asked the lady sitting next to me, but her phone doesn't have service either. She looks about as haggard and tired as I feel.

When was the last time we stopped? I asked her, even though she's clearly trying to sleep. She opens her eyes and looks at me, not hiding her irritation. I don't know, she says. A while ago, she closes her eyes again. I remember the first day and a half of travel, as it was all on the East Coast. I had to stay awake because there were so many transfers, and I didn't want to sleep through my stop.

So by the time I got on a bus that I wouldn't have to get off for a while, I was completely exhausted. This was in Atlanta, and I wouldn't have to change buses until Dallas. Finally, I could sleep uninterrupted. But I'm a tall guy, six foot three, so sleeping on a bus is fairly difficult. My knees press against the seat in front of me when I try to stretch out, and my long arms dangle over the armrests, often getting bumped by whoever is next to me. Needless to say, the sleep I got wasn't exactly restful. It was afternoon when I boarded the bus in Atlanta, and I managed to get some sleep shortly after that.

I woke up a couple of times, maybe two or three. It's all so hazy now. But it was dark every time I woke up, and it's dark now. Really dark. I further anger the woman next to me by trying to climb over her to go to the bathroom. The bus hits a pothole, causing me to fall into her. She glares up at me. Sorry, I say, untangling myself from her and standing up in the aisle.

Several sets of sleepy eyes look up at me as I pass. I pick a man that looks friendly enough, stopping next to him. Sir, does your phone have service? He shakes his head without taking out his phone to check. I noticed the watch on his wrist and gesture to it. Is that the right time? I ask. Can't be, he says. It says it's 703, but that ain't right.

It'd be light out. Damn thing must have broken. I nod and thank him for the info before heading back to use the bathroom. When I'm done, I head back to my seat, but stop as I see the driver glancing up at me in the mirror above the windshield. Something in his eyes causes my throat to thicken. I move up to him and lean down. Excuse me, sir, I say. But I'm wondering.

if you know how long it'll be until Dallas. He lifts his left wrist, looking at his own watch. I glance at the time, 708. My brow furrows. How could two different watches malfunction to show the same time? The driver shakes his head slightly before answering. Pretty soon, here, he says, sounding unsure. Do you know where we are? I ask.

Of course I know where we are. He snaps. What kind of question is that? Get back to your seat now, sir. He doesn't know. He has no idea. I can hear it in his voice. I stand up to leave, my thoughts all jumbling together.

I glance out the windshield before I turn around. The bus's headlights illuminate the pavement of a two-lane road and the double yellow stripes down the middle. But the edges of the road are dark. I can see no gravel beyond the asphalt, no grass, trees, or bushes. No guardrail or mile markers. The light from the headlights just kind of stops at the edges of the road. I swallow hard and turn around to head back to my seat,

unsure what else I can do. A man in his mid-thirties reaches out from his aisle seat and grabs my arm. What did the driver say? Does he know how long until Dallas? Pretty soon is all he said. He didn't sound sure, I tell the man who lets go of my arm. You asked him if he knows where we are, right? That's why he yelled at you?

Yeah, I say. Kind of makes me think he doesn't know where we are, the man says. I nod. He doesn't know where we are, a middle-aged woman across the aisle says, having overheard our conversation. She sounds ready to panic, her voice loud even over the engine and air-conditioner noise. What the hell are you telling them, kid? The driver calls back.

I know where we are. Don't listen to that kid. He doesn't know what he's talking about. Then where are we? The man who grabbed my arm says. We're getting close to Dallas, the driver says. How close? About an hour.

No more than an hour. Then why is it still dark outside? The man says. We're supposed to get into Dallas at 11 in the morning, but it's still pitch black outside. I don't know, the driver says, stuttering, losing his bluster. I haven't seen a single car in over two hours.

The middle-aged woman says, almost screaming. Where are all the cars? Nearly the entire bus is awake now. There are more than a dozen conversations going on. All of them about our predicament. Some people are scared, while others just shrug it off, thinking that the driver has simply lost track of time. Stop the bus, the mid-thirties man says,

moving me aside as he gets out of his seat. Stop the bus now, driver. I'm not stopping this bus, the driver says. We need to keep going. What if I want to get off? The man says. I want to get off here. Fine.

The driver says, slamming on the brakes, nearly sending me to the aisle floor. The man standing in the aisle ahead of me is ready for it, and he braces himself with one hand on a seat, grabbing me to keep me from falling with the other. The bus comes to a stop, and the driver opens the door. He turns to the man.

Go ahead. Get off. The man steps up to the front of the bus. I follow closely. He gets down to the bottom step, looking out into the perfect darkness. It's unnatural. There's nothing. No light whatsoever.

I look down and see the white line that denotes the edge of the road. Beyond that, there's only darkness. The man reaches out of the bus with one hand. I watch as his shirt. fingertips disappear, as if into a pool of black paint. A half second after his fingertips touched the darkness, he's yanked from the bus without a sound, gone into all that black. I step back, eyes and mouth wide. Holy God! The bus driver says, shouting the door. Holy God Almighty! What the hell was that? A man in a nearby seat says, where'd he go?

Panic seems to pass from one passenger to the next, rippling down the entire bus. as it lurches, to driver putting it in gear and hitting the gas. We've got to keep going, I hear him say. I look out the window, thinking for a moment we're not moving at all. There's no frame of reference to tell us we're going anywhere, not out the side windows. I turned back to the front of the bus, taking small comfort in the double yellow lines visible in the middle of the road, and the white lines bordering it. My mind tries to shut down, unable to comprehend what's happened.

to us. I focus on the yellow lines, watching them unspool in the bus's headlights. Maybe they go on forever, I think. Something appears in the road at the edge of the headlight beams in our lane. I barely have time to notice that it's the man, the same man that was pulled out into the darkness not minutes earlier, before the bus smashes into him, shooting blood splatter up onto the windshield. No, no, no, no, no. The bus driver mutters even as the rear wheels bump over the man's body. The image of him standing there in the road. Hands out, eyes wide, screaming something sticks in my mind. Chaos erupts around me. The other passengers screaming and praying and negotiating with their gods. A man shoves past me and lunges at the bus driver,

yanking the wheel to the right in some insane attempt to change something, anything. The driver fights with him, but it's too late. The front of the bus veers right. The head. The head Headlight beams swallowed up by the blackness bordering the road. The front right corner plows into that black wall that isn't a wall, the darkness rushing through the bus to meet us all, enveloping us. I look around at the now silent passengers. Curious eyes look back at me. We're back on the road somehow.

For a moment, everything was black. But now we're back on the road. The driver and the crazed man are no longer fighting. They're looking around like the rest of us, wondering what the hell just happened. Headlights appear on the road ahead of us seemingly out of nowhere. Look out! Someone screams. The driver slams on the brakes just before we collide with the oncoming bus.

In the moment before the two buses smash into each other, I glance at the people on the opposite bus. I see me standing there near the front of the other bus. Almost like I'm looking in a mirror. Our eyes meet across the closing distance. But there's nothing either of us can do. The two identical buses collide. I'm launched through the air,

meeting the other me amid the shattering glass of the two windshields. Our bones breaking against each other, as were smashed together like two children's toys. Then blackness overtakes me. I saw the two men, even before they got on the bus. I didn't have to use the bathroom. I wasn't hungry or thirsty. I had no reason to leave the bus for the short duration of the stop.

So I just looked out the window and saw the two men. They came out from behind the service station that doubled as a greyhound stop. There were three of them together, but there was such a marked difference between the pair and the lone man that I immediately knew they weren't together. Not in the way the two that got on the bus were together. The odd man out was so because his clothes weren't dirty. His face was shaved, and he didn't have a stoop.

In fact, he looked clean cut. His haircut was high and tight, and he walked with a straight back. He reminded me of his soldier out of uniform. They came around the side of the station, chatting. The two slovenly men, each dressed in holy jeans, torn black t-shirts, and ragged sneakers, were saying their farewells to the other man. They looked over to the bus after the third man walked off and got in a red late model SUV and drove away. The pair of them stopped halfway between the station and the bus, discussing something.

They seemed to be in a bit of an argument, gesturing at the service station and then the bus. Finally, the one with the longer hair, it was greasy brown hair down to his shoulders, pulled out an ancient flip bone, and showed the display to his friend. That settled things, and they both boarded the bus. The fact that they didn't have any backs was a good indication of what they were doing at us. here. I had a pretty good idea that the man they'd been meeting with had sold them some drugs. Pretty bad drugs by the look of the two men. The kind of drug that gets its claws into you and doesn't let go until you're a completely different person, usually a worse one than when you

started. I watched them as they came down the aisle, seeing that they looked even worse up close. They both smiled on an attractive woman sitting near the front of the bus, showing tobacco-stained teeth, and receding gums. The woman, smartly, turned her head away, probably counting herself lucky that a sturdy-looking man in a cowboy hat was sitting next to her. I was sitting in a window seat near the back of the bus. The seat next to me empty. Their smell seemed to precede them on the bus, perhaps because of the air conditioning system that was still running. Anyway, one whiff of their body odor had me praying silently that neither man would sit next to me. The two men passed me by, clearly wanting to take over the very back seats of the bus. While the rest of the vehicle

consisted of two seats on each side of the center aisle, the very back of the bus had the bathroom on one side and three seats directly opposite, because that was where the aisle ended. The problem was that a young man, no more than a teenager really, was sprawled out across these three seats. as he had been since we'd left Indianapolis. This, apparently, wasn't enough to deter the two smelly men. They stood there in the aisle, one nearly on top of the other, and looked down at the boy. I couldn't see their expressions, obviously, but I could take a guess.

Get up, the man with the long hair said. I was here first, the teenager said. There's other seats. Why do you want this one? He was right on both counts. He had been there first, and there were other seats. He don't want to get up, Riley, the man with a shorter hair said. No, he don't, Jasper.

Riley said to his friend. Riley then made some kind of move with his right hand, and I heard a soft click that took me a moment to place. It was the sound of a fold-out knife blade setting itself once open. Okay, okay, the boy said, getting up from the seat. He squeezed himself against the closed bathroom door, as the two. men moved past. The one with the short hair, Jasper, shoved the boy as he passed, although it didn't amount to much, since the boy was already pressed up against the door. The teenager took the nearest open seat, which happened to be next to me. He put his backpack between his legs and looked over

at me. You believe those guys? He asked. They're up to no good, I said. Best to just let them be. The teenager nodded, but I could tell he was frazzled. He would be stewing over the interaction for the whole ride, probably longer, if I'd remember being a teenager well. And I thought I did. It hadn't been that long since I'd been one, after all. The kid kept glancing at the back of the bus as we drove, and it didn't take him long to tap my leg, pulling my attention from the window. What is it? I asked. Something seriously messed up is about to happen.

He said to me, gesturing at the back of the bus. What do you mean? I mean, they're shooting up back there, he said. Good. Maybe they'll calm down when they get high, I said. No, man, I caught a glimpse of whatever they're shooting, and it's not like any drug I've ever seen. What do you mean?

You know what all the drugs look like? I may look young, but I've been around the block, the kid said. And I've never seen any drug that moves in the spoon before it gets cooked. Moves? I said. Of course it moved. We're on a bus.

I'm surprised they're not spilling shit everywhere. No, man, he said, clearly growing and patient with me, but trying to keep his voice down. I mean like little worms or something. They were squirming. I saw it. But they stopped squirming when they put the flame under, I said.

The kid nodded, then turned back around again. I returned my attention to the world outside my window, determined to let whatever was going on play out, I wouldn't get involved. A few minutes passed, but I knew the matter wasn't settled. Jesus Christ! The kid shouted next to me. I half raised out of my seat, looking back to see what he was freaking out about. I could see Riley's head where it was near the back window,

but it no longer looked like a human head. His hair seemed to have gotten thicker, and it was moving on its own, like Antenny on an insect. His skull had expanded, taking on a bulbous shape, similar to that of a praying mantis' head. His eyes had multiplied and turned black, a slightly darker shade than the black his skin had turned. His mouth dropped open as I watched, and a round, segmented tongue stretched out, reaching for the seat ahead. The tip of the tongue slithered over the top of the seat, a hole opening in it. A woman sat in the seat, unaware of what was happening behind her.

Three sharp spikes shot out of the tongue and directly into the top of the woman's skull. She convulsed, her eyes rolling back in her head. The young girl sitting next to her, presumably the woman's daughter, looked up and screamed. The other man, Jasper, was transforming as this was happening. The skin of his arms split in long strips of skin that flared out, stopping at his elbows. I could see glistening black muscles where the skin had once been. These bloody strips moved on their own, as if, they had muscles themselves. His head was starting to resemble his friends, taking on a similar shape

as it morphed. A wave of panic swept through the bus, starting with the people at the back, and moving all the way up as passengers looked back to see what was going on. The teenager bravely stepped back and grabbed the little girl, handing her off to me. I thrust the little girl on a woman ahead of me, just as the bus driver was pulling the vehicle over. The tongue pulled out of the woman's head, leaving her to slump down in the seat, dead. The other creature lunged forward at the teenager, snagging him by the arm with one slimy black hand. The strips of skin then shot forward, embedding themselves in the teenager's arm with little hollow hooks. They started undulating like they were drinking his blood. I stood there,

watching closely. The creature that had been sitting against the window, clambered up over the seats and stopped next to the teenager, who was somehow still standing. That millipede-like tongue shot out, the trio of spike slamming into the boy's head with a thunk. Looking over my shoulder, I verified that the bus was empty. Everyone had managed to get off. The empty husk that had once been the teenager hit the bus floor with a weak thud, bringing my attention back to the two creatures. They both approached me, moving with the speed of the giant insects that they were. Those flaps of skin prodded me, inspecting. The segmented tongue did the same, touching me tentatively here and there.

I smiled at them, seeing my reflection in their numerous black eyes. After a moment, they both moved past me. Once they were facing the other way, I reached down, grabbed my bag, and pulled my pistol out. The shots were loud in the small space, but it only took one bullet each to put them down. That was a successful test, I think. I said to no one. The bus was empty, but I knew that there were cameras and microphones hidden all over the vehicle. I put the gun back in my bag and headed for the front of the bus. Something tickled my arm, and I looked down to see a single flap of skin coming up at my wrist,

revealing shiny black muscles underneath. I didn't need to press the skin down to get it back into place. I just needed to think to do that, but I did anyway, using the fingers of one hand to smooth it out. Before I stepped off the bus, I made sure to compose myself, letting the real me show in front of all the passengers would not be a good thing, especially after what they just seen. But it was only a matter of time until they saw far, far worse. And I was happy to do my part. It was only a matter of time until this world would change. They're dead, I said, stepping into the grass at the side of the road. Don't you worry, they're dead. I suppose. I But not too wide.

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