Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - 3 Halloween Horror Stories (2022 - Vol. 1)

Episode Date: October 3, 2022

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Story one, the best night of the year. Breaking into the house is easy. I don't even need to be quiet. Not really. This neighborhood loves Halloween, and it's in full swing right now. I can hear occasional screams from the house across the street. They have one of those motion sensor decorations of a witch

that pops up from a cauldron to scare kids as they pass. The house next door is blasting one of the house. Halloween movies. Jamie Lee Curtis screams in terror as Michael Myers walks menacingly after her. Even though there were no lights on, I walked up to the front door of the house just a few minutes ago, dressed in my skeleton costume. I rang the doorbell and knocked, listened to Hard. Nothing. No sign of movement, no television on. The woman who lives here is gone for the night. So I circled the block and then came back around, headed to the back door. I make sure my gloves are on nice and tight before I put an elbow through the pane of glass, nearest the doorknob.

I unlock the door and move inside like a wraith. Upstairs, I find the mother load, a box of expensive jewelry. I dump it all into my backpack. I'll remove the stones and sell them separately. The metal I'll have melted down and sold. A car door slams outside. Stepping over to a window, I part the curtains and look down. The woman is walking from her car to the front door.

She looks like she's just been to a Halloween party, dressed in a skimpy Laura Croft outfit. Shit. She disappears from sight as she moves up the porch steps. Just as I'm about to turn around to get the hell out of Dodge, I see a dark figure appear from around the edge at the edge of the property, running full tilt toward the porch. I assume it's a man, but I can't be sure.

Whoever they are, they're wearing black robes and one of those screen masks. I move out of the woman's bedroom, looking for a place to hide until I can sneak out of the house. A loud thump sounds from downstairs. I wonder if it's the door getting knocked open. The thump is followed quickly by a wall. woman's scream. My heart rate is suddenly jacked. Is she being attacked? I move over to the top of the stairs. The sounds of a struggle reach my ears. Get away! The woman screams. Footsteps thud on the hardwood floors. The woman appears below me, heading up the carpeted stairs toward the landing. Then,

the black-robed figure appears behind her. The person in the scream mask grunts. The sound telling me it's a man. He grabs her ankle, causing her to fall face first on the landing. He grabs her arms and pins them behind her back with one hand. Then he starts pulling at her clothing. My blood boils. I may be a thief, but I'm not lacking in empathy. What I'm taking from the woman can be replaced by an insurance company. What he's trying to take from her can never be put right.

She's still whimpering, fighting. He must be strong, the way he's holding her down with only one hand. I moved to a hallway table, grabbing a heavy brass lamp, yanking the plug out of the wall as I head back to the stairs. I take them three at a time, reaching the landing in seconds. The man's shrouded head moved slightly as I bring the lamp back, readying it for the blow. He looks up at me just before the base of it connects with his masked face. He topples off her, and I hit him again with the lamp, and again. The woman is screaming.

She scrambles away from her attacker. The guy goes limp after the third hit. I can't see how bad the damage is, but judging by the feel of the hits, it's pretty damn bad. Life-threatening, probably. What are you doing? The woman screams.

I straighten and turn to look at her. What kind of question is that for someone who just kept her from getting raped? What the fuck did you do? Oh my God! She's crying now. She crawls back over to the masked figure. Miles, Miles, that's my fucking boyfriend. We were playing. It wasn't real.

My stomach cramps. I suddenly realize I'm no longer wearing the plastic skull mask I had on earlier. I took it off and put it in my backpack as soon as I saw the house was empty. What the fuck are you doing in my house? The woman says. She pulls the guy's scream mask off. It doesn't look good. I don't think the guy is breathing anymore. The woman makes a choking sound. She moves down the stairs. I step after her, still holding the lamp in my hand. It's okay, she says, her voice shaking. She doesn't look at me.

It was an accident. It's okay. Where are you going? I ask. It's okay. I'll tell them. It was all a misunderstanding. Wait, I say. My mind is racing 500 miles a minute. The few options I have repeat in my head. Gaming, the possibilities. I know the same thing as going through her head. She stops at the bottom of the stairs. Five feet separate us. She looks up at me, and then she runs. I chase her. She makes it through the front door before I can get to her. But I lunge out and hit her in the back of the head with the lamp just as she's about to scream for help. She goes down hard, smacking her face into the wooden porch. I look out at the road. A couple of kids are heading out from a house across. across the street. They're oblivious. Looking at the candy in their bags and laughing to each other,

they disappear from view. There's a lull in traffic. I bring down the lamp on the woman's head four more times in a quick succession. I leave her there. People will think it's a Halloween decoration, at least for a while. I head back into the house and make sure the boyfriend is dead. It takes another couple of wax. He's got a thick skull. After putting my mask back on, I head out of the house through the back door, thinking this is what I get when I try to do a good deed. Anyway, I still have a few more houses to hit.

Halloween is the best night of the year for me. Story 2. The Last Halloween. Standing next to the bed makes me feel nothing. I reach my left hand out toward the hem of the purple and green blanket, but I can't bear to touch it. Part of me wants to see what's underneath, even though I already know. The two-person-shaped bulges stay covered. I pull my left hand back. In my right hand, I clutch a kitchen knife.

I didn't dare turn on the light when I came into the room, but the blinking orange lights from outside the window provide enough to be enough. illumination to see by. I know the room well anyway. I could navigate it in total darkness. There's no way I can lift the blanket. No way I can look. I have to accept that. Moving to the window, I look out onto the street. Halloween decorations wink and sway and grin vacantly. The orange pumpkin lights lining the roof above the window blink. There is no movement on the street, aside from orange, yellow, and brown leaves skittering along the asphalt and flapping in the gutters. I imagine one of the bodies on the bed behind me sitting up, the blanket falling down to reveal a haunted, horrific face.

My throat thickens. Could it be true? Spinning around, I see that neither body has moved. I feel a deep sense of relief, tinged with regret, and quickly swallowed by sorrow. Moving down the stairs, I wonder if I'm really here. Maybe this is what death is like, so quiet and lonely. Maybe I'm dead at 16, and I don't even know it. I pause at the bottom of the stairs, lifting my left arm up and poking it with the kitchen knife. I wince, and the sharp point draws a beat of blood. Still here.

The front door is open, and a few leaves have blown into the entryway. They crunch under my shoes as I walk outside. The Thurmans, who live across the street, have left their front door open too. I walk down the concrete path toward the street. It's bordered on both sides by a perfectly manicured lawn, dotted with creepy ghosts and flickering jackal antones. Before crossing the street, I look both ways. Habit. Of course, there's no traffic.

No vehicles. No people. The trick-or-treating is all done. Finished. Forever. The Thurmans have a scarecrow on their porch swing. As I stand there, looking at it, I sense movement behind me. Looking back, I think I see a dark figure standing in my house's doorway. My heart thuds within my chest, and I force myself to close my eyes for a long moment. When I open them again, there's only a dim doorway. No figure standing there. I find the Thurmans in their living room, slumped on the couch.

Their oldest son was two years younger than me. His eyes are still open, staring blankly at the silent home movies playing on their television. The younger one, Toby, is tucked between his father and mother. His face screwed up in fear, or pain, or both. I have no problem looking at them. I don't feel much of anything. numbness. The other houses in the immediate area hold similar scenes. Freshly dead bodies. Some of them are gathered together like the Thurmans. Some aren't. Delirium seems to take root,

and I wander down the middle of the street, looking at houses for signs of life. Surely, I'm not the only one left. Soon enough, I find myself nearing the center of our little village, our town, our community, whatever you want to call it. I hear the sound of footsteps coming from just around the bend, followed by the sound of a car door shutting. At the corner of a tall wooden fence, topped with string lights of little ghosts, I peer toward the mansion there,

the mansion at the center of town. There's a man moving around there, brushing down the wide marble staircase to a blue range rover, parked in the circular driveway. He carries several bags, making his journey cumbersome. I know his face well. The craggy contours of it are second only to the curves of my own face. But the expression there now is one I've never seen before.

He's afraid. I've only ever seen him supremely confident, beaming with benevolence. He has many names. Master, Father, Divine One. Suddenly, the implication. of him moving around with that look on his face crashed down on me. He's the one that convinced us all we should leave. He's the one whose nonsense I've been listening to almost my entire life.

He's the one who told all the parents to make sure the kids went first. He insisted that the veil was thinnest between worlds on Halloween, that we could travel into the afterlife as gods. And after so many years of believing this bullshit, everyone in our little community took it as gospel. I heard my parents talking about it a week ago. I was supposed to be asleep, but I heard them talking, and they mentioned my name. They were discussing how they would get me to eat the poison candy before taking their own doses.

We would travel together into eternal life. Halloween was a great time to do it, they said. Not only was at the time father had prophesied, but it would be easy to get kids to take the poison. What kid doesn't like candy? But when the time came, I fought my mom. I told her I didn't want to die. That I didn't want her and my father to die, but she wasn't hearing it.

So when she went to get my father, I switched out the candy bar with the poison in it for one that I'd stashed away. I knew they would use my favorite candy. When she came back with my father to make me eat it, I gobbled up the untainted candy. and I pretended to die. I didn't know what else to do.

I was afraid, terrified. And until now, I thought it was pure cowardice. I regretted not eating the candy bar. I regretted missing out on the trip to eternal life. But now that I see the divine one and the fear on his face, I know it wasn't cowardice. Now I know the meaning of true cowardice. I've seen cowardice incarnate.

and its name is the divine one. I look down at the knife still in my right hand. I had originally taken it to protect myself against anyone who might force me to eat poison. But now I know it has a different purpose. It has been prophesied. When the divine one heads back into his mansion, I run up and hide beside the range rover out of view. I listen as he hurries down the stairs again, huffing with his luggage.

He's fat now. He's grown fat off the backs of the people in this community, this cult. He shuts the Range Rover's trunk and starts around toward the driver's side, where I crouch. I remember the bulges of my parents' bodies, their death masks hidden by the blanket. I wanted to look, but I couldn't. I just couldn't. The Divine One sees me as he comes around the side of the vehicle. His eyes go wide just before I spring, lunging toward him, leading with the knife. He gurgles and whines as he collapses against the Range Rover,

clutching at the knife stuck in his neck. You have nothing to worry about if you're right, I say to him, you can live forever as a god. But if you're wrong, looking into his eyes, I know he made it up. I can tell by the fear there,

the regret, the shame. He made it all up. For what? Soon the world will know what happened here. Just another crazy suicide cult. But I'll tell you. Tell the story. I'll try to make them understand. I'll prevent this from ever happening again if I can.

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The conditions apply. The condition is applicable. Story 3. The magic of Halloween. The Jacko Lantern

hits the parked car with a loud thud. I wince. Looking up at the dark house sure that lights will come on

any second. Johnny, who everyone calls Jolly, laughs cruelly at the mess he's made. The hit the car door.

Come on Jolly! I whisper, let's just go home. Jolly ignores me. He's not really jolly, not in the truest sense of the word. He's only happy when he's causing pain or discomfort to others. I know this better than anyone. For reasons I'll never understand, my mom fell in love with his dad. Now we're stepbrothers. Hooray. I walk away from the house. There's a path of destroyed pumpkins behind us, along with smashed eggs on front doors, toilet paper snagged in trees, and vandalized Halloween decorations. Where you going, dipshit? Jolly calls out, running to catch up with me. Home, I say. I don't care if I get in trouble for leaving your side. I'll just tell them what you've

been out here doing this whole time. Jolly grabs me by the cape and yanks me back. I'm wearing a Thor costume. I should have known better than to wear a costume with a cape. It just makes things easier for Jolly. You tell anyone anything? I'll curb-stomp you, you little shit. His breath smells of half-digested candy and chewing tobacco. I don't know what a curb-stomp is, but it doesn't sound good. At 16, Jolly is four years older than me, and a lot bigger. He's wearing black clothes and carrying a black backpack.

Fine, I say, yanking my cape away from him. I won't tell. Let's just go home. Not yet. He says, I want to hit the Delgado house first. Teach those fucking hassles a lesson. And you're my alibi.

You know what that means? It means you're going to lie and say I was with you at the movies all night. Halloween double feature. At least we're getting close to home. The Delgado's lived just one block over. Jolly has been feuding with their two sons for as long as I can remember. They're nice kids. At least, they've always been nice to me.

it's probably why Jolly hates them. He likes to smash out any kindness. I guess he wants everyone to be as miserable as he is. He's now out of toilet paper and eggs, so we don't make many stops on the way. Although he does smash nearly every pumpkin he sees, I'd like to smash him one of these days. We walk up to the Delgado House,

which is a nice two-story white house with dark blue trim. It has a big oak. tree in the front yard, Halloween decorations hang from the massive branches. There are two lines of jackal lanterns along the walkway leading up to the house. Surprisingly, Jolly ignores these. Well, what do we have here? He says, walking up to the porch and snagging a huge pumpkin. It's no jackal lantern. It hasn't been carved. But it has something painted on the front in red letters. Do not smash. Jolly laughs his cruel laugh. again as he chucks the pumpkin against the concrete walkway. It cracks, but doesn't break apart.

But Jolly hasn't noticed. He's been picking up the glowing jackal lanterns and smashing them. I stand back, watching for cars on the road, or for lights coming on in any of the houses. When I turn my head back towards Jolly's frenzy, I see the cracked pumpkin move. At first, I think he must have bumped into it, but he's nowhere near it. Besides, it's still moving. The dark crack widens and the pumpkin breaks apart, revealing a mess of pumpkin guts. But the guts are moving now, too. A small, bumpy orange arm with black claws on the four stubby fingers emerges from the mess,

followed by another arm. Then a head comes out, shaking like a dog trying to get dry, throwing off slimy pumpkin guts. The head looks like a small pumpkin, but it has eyes and a mouth that glow with poison green light. The rest of its body emerges as the creature crawls free of the wreckage. It moves on all floors. Its legs shorter than its arms, but thicker. The whole thing looks like it could be made out of pumpkin parts, but it moves with the fluidity of a cat. Its glowing eyes sweep over me. Its jackalentering mouth stuck in an evil grin.

Jolly? I stutter. He pays no mind. The creature looks over at him. He's just finishing with the jackal lanterns, turning his attention toward the decorations hanging from the oak tree. Jolly! I shout. What the hell is it? There's someone coming. Look!

I say, pointing toward the creature, which is stalking slowly toward him. Jolly sees it and laughs. What the hell is this? A cat dressed up for Halloween? He takes two steps toward it and tries to kick the creature. But it grabs onto his leg. Jolly screams. What the fuck?

Fuck, he says, jumping around and kicking his foot. The creature's claws must be sinking into his flesh through his black pants. The thing scrambles up his leg and moves up under his sweatshirt, all while Jolly beats at it and screams. I don't see what the thing does, but I can guess as blood spews out from under the hem of his sweatshirt. Suddenly, the bulge in his sweatshirt goes flat. The energy has gone out of Jolly. He coughs up blood and clutches his stomach area. His eyes are dull with immense pain.

He stumbles around while I watch, speechless. Then he slumps against the oak tree's trunk and stops moving. I knew one day Jolly would go too far. I knew he would come across someone who wouldn't take his crap lying down. But I could have never imagined this. Movement from the Delgado House catches my eye. I look up to one of the second floor windows to see the two teenage brothers looking out. They both wave at me.

I wave back. Then I turn and head for home, thinking about that creature, curled up and sleeping in Jolly's chest cavity. I doubt it will be there in the morning. It's just one of those things. The magic of Halloween. I know just what I'll tell my mom and my stepdad when I get home. I'll tell them that Jolly ditched me, so I went to the movies. A Halloween double feature.

Thank you.