Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - 3 Harrowing Tales of Nuclear Apocalypse

Episode Date: October 2, 2026

NoSleep Coffee: Head to⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠NoSleepCoffee.com⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ and pick up a bag of Pumpkin Spice coffee delivered straight to your door! Use promo code NOSLEEP20 at checkout for 20% off your first order! NoSleep Coffee – The freshest coffee money can buy. Guaranteed. One announcement is all it takes for the world to realize that everything is about to change. As civilization collapses, the powerful, the prepared, and the faithful all discover that survival has very little to do with who deserves it. These are three harrowing tales from the end of the world—where the most dangerous thing left alive may still be us. Huge thanks to our sponsor: EarnIn: Download EarnIn on the App Store or Google Play. And when you sign up, type in "ScaryHorrorStories" under PODCAST. It really helps support the show. Author:  Dave Kavanaugh * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 18. Listener discretion is advised.  #scarystories #horrorstories #drnosleep #doctornosleep #creepypasta #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Nicely. Story one. An announcement. Greetings, fellow citizens of the earth. You must forgive me for interrupting your airwaves like this. But I have a brief announcement to make. Van Vitchful impact all of you. Not only citizens of my proud homeland,

but old peoples, old and young, privileged and poor, communist and capitalist. It has been the honor of my life to lead my people these past decades. I am old now with grandchildren and great-grandchildren. But do I rest? Do I slow down or withdraw for my work? Most men would. But no, I am not most men. I am a leader of vision, and I look always to the future. Knowing the vast potential of what humankind might accomplish,

should we only be brave enough to to take the next step? Today, I am taking that next step, and finally, ending the violence and tribalism that has played our species for too long. Since the dawn of civilization, it has been the same story, boys and uniforms, spilling each other's blood, treaties made and made. and broken, borders erased and rewritten.

That is our cycle, our curse. But it does not have to be this way. For a century, we have possessed the tools of change. Yet no one has been inspired enough to put those tools to use until today, until me. You see, I control the greatest arsenal nuclear weapons the world has ever known. Ten thousand boorheads, mounted upon intercontinental missiles, loaded into submarines and aircraft,

and hidden in secret silos in every corner of the globe. The power at my fingertips is unrivaled in history, and I refuse to let that power go to waste any longer. It was the American president, John F. Kennedy, who won the said nuclear arsenals were idle stockpiles which can only destroy but never create. Bah, such foolishness. This morning I created a new world without any of you even noticing. I have sent out an alert to my military around the world, and my directives have been carried out. As of this moment, every nuclear weapon in my arsenal is armed and aimed, and as soon as I give the order, or if my mandate here is ignored, or if anything happens to me or to my family, all of these weapons will be launched, and in mere minutes, missiles will have fallen upon every major city.

This world will burn in the light of a thousand sunrises. This very continents will quake as hurricane the fire passes over them. A billion of you will die immediately, vaporized by the blasts, or buried and fiery debris. And the rest of you? You will be left crawling to radioactive rubble, and no help will come for you. There will be no armies, no police, no hospitals, no water or power or communication. Every system that you have relied on and taken for granted will cease to exist just like that.

Take a moment, everyone, to let this scenario sink in. Look around you, at your room, out your window, at your family. That is what will burn. That is who will die. And for those who survive? Billions more will perish in the coming year, as fallout blankets the planet in a nuclear winter. The soil will be ruined.

The sky filled with ash. The seas turn to poison. The survivors will be as walking corpses, their cells and tatters, their hopes and dreams erased, their world, their realm of hope. Now, please understand. I am not threatening anyone.

I am merely reporting the fact there will be no tomorrow. Unless we unite as one people right now under my leadership. Let's be honest. There is no choice here. No argument to be made. No war to fight. I am not taking the world. taking the world hostage. I am taking the world. I have taken it. Earth is mine now. You are mine now.

So congratulations everyone. We are a family now. United in a common destiny and our future has never been brighter. So welcome to the dawn of this new era, to the era of peace. Your mornings deserve better than boring coffee. No sleep, is roasted for horror fans who want bold flavor, serious caffeine, and a brew worthy of the dark. Whether you're starting your day, working late, or settling in for another terrifying story, we've got the perfect cup waiting at no sleep coffee.com. Upgrade your coffee ritual and support Dr. No Sleep at the same time. Grab your bag today at no sleep coffee.com and taste what's been keeping us awake.

Be sure to use discount code No Sleep 20 at checkout to get 20% off your first order. No Sleep Coffee.com. Discount code No Sleep 20. Story 2. The luckiest bastard on earth. Well, so much for the era of peace. How long did that bullshit last, eh, Mr. Lau? Mr. Lau checked his watch.

The announcement was broadcast approximately. Two hours ago, sir. And the first blasts were reported 20 minutes after that. Moscow, New York, Beijing, then Dubai, Paris, Lagos. The list is no doubt much longer by now, sir. 20 frickin' minutes. Unbelievable. Evan Jeske craned his neck as he stared out the window of his Gulfstream G-800 private jet, trying to catch a glimpse of the mushroom cloud rising over the coastline behind them as they flew west across the Pacific. You really think our president launched first? I mean, my donations helped that asshole win the election.

It's difficult to know, sir. Henry Lau watched as his employer jerked the window shade shut and slouched back in his leather seat with a heavy sigh. According to Forbes, which had, coincidentally, run a feature on the young billionaire's global derivatives trading empire only the day before. Evan Jeske's net worth was $142 billion, making him the 13th richest person on earth. But that was yesterday. Today, by Henry Lau's calculations, his employer was actually worth nothing.

Well, nothing except the fact that Jeski knew the entry codes for the facility at their destination. Say, Mr. Lau, you know where the stewardesses keep the champagne. I'm parched. Mr. Lau stood and headed down the aisle in search of drinks. Every seat on the plane was filled, but not by passengers, various works of art, painting, sculptures, some antique lamps were all cocooned in bubble wrap and secured with a seatbelt, nice and snug. Once Lau had located a chilled bottle of Krug and a couple of glasses, he returned to his seat, just as Evan's wife, Sierra, emerged from the bathroom and joined them, looking even more pale and hollow-cheeked than usual.

Ah, geez, she grumbled, dropping into the seat beside her husband and leaning her head against his shoulder. All this drama has my gut biome out of whack. How is your tummy, baby? Evan did not answer, but accepted the champagne as soon as Lau had poured it, and downed it like a shot, before belching loudly. Sierra leaned away from him then, grimacing, and shook her head when Mr. Lau offered her a drink. How long until we reach New Zealand?

Mr. Lau sat back, taking the second glass for himself and sipping. 12 hours, ma'am. Then it's a half-hour drive to the site. And there'll be room in the cars for all the art, right? I'm sure we'll figure it out, yeah, babe. Evan answered, holding out his glass for a refill. Guess it doesn't seem like such a waste now, eh, Mr. Lau? What's that, sir?

The bunker. Didn't you say it was a waste of money? And look at us now. You're one lucky bastard. Lau reacted with a genuine smile. something he almost never did in his employer's presence. I believe what I actually advised against were merely the number of the unnecessary indulgences in the project. The bowling alley, for example, and the heated saltwater pool.

Sierra Huffed. Margot Sackler said their bunker in Tasmania has two heated pools. Moreover, Lowe continued, pouring himself a second glass of the Krug-Grand Covee Cove. You might recall that it was actually my idea in the first place to purchase the land on the South Island and construct the bunker. Just as it was I who initiated our getaway plan today before that ominous announcement had even ended. So the only reason you two are alive at this moment is me. He held up his glass. You're welcome.

The little speech, so out of character for Mr. Lau, caused both Jeskies to look him. him in a new light. But did you know this would happen? Of course not. But I knew something like it would happen eventually, and thus could happen at any time. He paused to suppress a burp, then continued. Civilization has always existed on a brink of total collapse.

We're like children, playing in the sand, so proud of the little castles we're building, so sure they will last, oblivious to the tide-creeping mirror in mirror. Well, that's depressing, and it's not like this is end-end. That can't happen because of, what's it called, mutually ensured destruction? Mutually assured destruction, ma'am. The idea that if any nation ever used nuclear weapons, they themselves would inevitably be destroyed in the fallout. That's always been true, but it's never been a deterrent. If anything, it was a self-fulfilling

prophecy. And in hindsight, I'm surprised it took this long, especially when we insist on empowering geriatric, sociopathic leaders, and then giving them launch codes and crossing our fingers that they never get too grumpy or too senile or too competitive one day and decide to go out in a murder-suicide that ends the world. Yikes, I don't like this version of you, Mr. Lau. You're bumming us out. I don't pay you for that, he held out his empty glass. You don't pay me, because your company doesn't exist. Money does not exist anymore. Of course, for people like you two, it never really did. So, hmm? How can I make you understand? Lau glanced around them and found himself feeling emboldened. Perhaps it was the bubbles in his

stomach, or the eerie creaking of the wings as the pilots attempted to maneuver through an unpredictable atmosphere, already undergoing changes as the planet underwent strike after strike. Turning back to face the Jeskies, Lau reached out with his right hand, seized one of Sierra's dangling diamond earrings in his fist, and yanked downward. Sierra raised a sound, a sort of half-gasp, half-scream, and clutched with shaking fingers out her bloody, torn earlob. He hurt me. He can't do that.

So stop it, baby. But Evan sat rigid in his seat. Eyes and mouth frozen open. Do you know what this is? Lau holds up the earring. It's just a weird little rock. He dropped it to the floor. And all the diamonds in the world,

all the gold and all the fucking vangos combined, are now so worthless. You couldn't trade them for it. a cheese sandwich. He went for a swig from the bottle, but found it contained only a bit of foam. Evan, that's another crook. After a moment, Evan managed to shut his mouth,

then rose shakily to his feet. Sierra clutched at her husband as he moved past her and into the aisle. He is beginning to understand that the dynamic has shifted, and that the power now lies in the hands of those who can think and plan and survive. Sierra swallowed and blinked tears from her eyes. But why did you hurt me, Mr. Lau? Lowe stared at her, at the childish hurt in her eyes, and he chuckled.

Right now, billions are dead or dying. They are so scared, so desperate. They are suffering, Sierra. And the thing is... He reached into a pocket. pulled out a handkerchief and leaned toward her. She flinched, but he only placed it into her hand, then set that hand back upon her bleeding ear.

They were suffering before the bombs fell, and you didn't give a shit then. So why would you now? Mr. Lau, I, I, you know what you haven't asked me, he leaned back. Not once, this whole day. You haven't asked about my family. Saying that word out loud, sent a chill through Lau's whole body.

Evans never met my daughter. But you have, Sierra, on several occasions. Yet you didn't ask about Lee Mae or about my grandsons. It didn't even occur to you, did it? Sierra took in a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. I... I'm sorry, Mr. Lau. How are they? Lowe exhaled and glanced over to see if Evan had made any progress finding champagne,

which he hadn't. Fine. Lee Mae is resourceful like me. She and the boys should be landing in New Zealand by now. They'll be waiting for me outside the bunker. The plane gave a little shake, and Lowe's stomach clenched. Everything has been arranged. The plan will work.

Yes. It has to work. The journey from the private air strip, in Waimakariri Valley up into the mountains seemed to last forever. Mr. Lau, recognizing that the pilots wouldn't simply wait behind to die while the Juskies left the aircraft and were driven off to safety, had covertly told the men that they'd be given spots in the bunker and made sure both were armed. He had also ensured that neither had families they might attempt to sneak along with them. The same went for the driver of the SUV. Mr. Lowe sat up front, while the Juskies and the

pilots sat in the back. He stared at the window as they headed up a private road, through a jungle of fern and beech trees, trying to slow his breathing and his racing heart by taking in the scenery, while he still could, while it was still there to be taken in. The South Island Valley was awash in greens and golds this time of year, while the stony mountain peaks above were dusted with snow beneath a clear blue sky. It was beautiful and quiet, unnervingly quiet. They reached the gravel clearing beside a high cliff face in the mountainside and parked. Mr. Lau stepped out first. Right away, he knew.

Something had gone wrong. Are these vehicles supposed to be here, sir? Asked one of the pilots, coming alongside Lau and drawing out a handgun. Lau didn't answer, but examined the rental plate on a minivan parked between them and the trees. The van was empty, its doors were left ajar. Then he pivoted to look over at the mountainside, and the three dirty-dirties. and the three dirty pickups parked around the heavy steel door of the bunker. The bunker door was cracked open.

Who could have? Evan stared at the door. I have the codes. Lau straightened up and turned to nod at the pilots. The men exchanged a desperate look. Then raising their weapons, they began to march side by side toward the mountainside. Lau went next, with the Jeskies, clinging to each other as they crept along in his wake. The driver stayed by the car, chewing his fingernails. Lough stumbled, almost losing his balance and looking down, saw that he had trodden on a ruby red

high-heel shoe, one of many small, expensive items discarded amongst the gravel, a silk sleep mask, some designer sunglasses, lip gloss. Someone, it seemed, had emptied out the contents of Sierra's master closet. Voices sounded from ahead, echoing from within the bunker. The pilots jerked to a stop, guns raised. Behind Lowe, Sierra, Lerner. let out a little gasp. Something bumped against the bunker door, and it swung open, revealing a young man pushing an empty wheelbarrow. As he came into the sunlight, with two others just behind him, the pilot on the right called out. Don't move! The strangers froze. They were big guys and overalls and work boots, and one of them, the oldest and the biggest of the three, whose stubble was white

and whose neck and forearms bore many tattoos, looked somewhat familiar to Lao. For a moment more, the two groups stood facing each other, with the pickups between them. Then the old guy gave a sharp whistle and dove suddenly to one side, while the younger two dropped out of sight behind the trucks. One of the pilots fired wildly, shattering a truck headlight,

then the old guy popped up again, rifle in hand, and dropped the pilot with a headshot. Fuck! The other pilot tried and failed to return five, fire, then slapping the side of the gun as if it were a TV on the fritz. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Lau heard the distinct click and snap of the rifle's bolt, cycling another round. Then the boom!

As its bullet knocked the second pilot off his feet and sent him rolling into the dust. Back at the SUV, the driver threw himself into the vehicle and accelerated, swerving so that the wheels coughed up gravel. He sped away back down the road, leaving Lau and the Jeskies alone, with the corpses and the workmen and the open bunker door. With an effort, Lau relaxed the tension in his limbs and stepped slowly forward. The man with the rifle loaded another round. It's Walter, isn't it? Walter, um, uh, Matamua, right? The rifle turned to aim at Lau, but the man didn't shoot. Hmm, Mr. Lau, you remember good. Yes, I, I hired your business to do some

work. They're in the bunker. What was it? The pool? No. He sniffed a laugh. Of course. You installed the security. The man lowered his rifle. The young guys on the ground beside him stood, dusting themselves off, then moved to the back of one of the trucks, and began unloading car batteries and bottled water into the wheelbarrow. I liked you, Mr. Lau, said Walter Matamua. You listened to my advice. Paid fairly on time. Easy job. I thank you, and it's Henry. A thunderous boom rumbled from the southeastern sky. A cold breeze shook the branches of the trees around them.

Dead! said one of the younger guys, as he turned the heavy wheelbarrow. We don't have time for this. Matamua looked up at the sky, his expression thoughtful. That'll be Christchurch gone. You know they took out Auckland this afternoon. Then Wellington, bloody waste. Dead, come on!

Lau was surprised by movement behind him. He had almost forgotten about the Jeskies. Don't, baby, don't, don't, don't. Evan stepped up beside Lau, holding up both his hands and flashing his boyish smile. Hey there, um, Walt, my man, I'm Evan. I actually, um, own this property, technically speaking. Not that it matters, but I'm confident there is a win-win arrangement to be made here. if we all just go inside and...

Walter's bullet hit Evan in the neck. He stumbled backward, a fountain of red gushing from the wound, then fell to his knees. Lau looked back at him. Sierra stood very still. Evan tipped forward, flopping lifeless at her feet. Walter loaded another round. Dead don't.

It's a waste of bullets. Sierra turned to Lau, a haunted emptiness in her eyes. I think Evan needs your help, Mr. Lau. Sierra fell beside her husband and was still. The sun was setting. The sky was golden. There's smoke on the wind. Goodbye, Henry. Lau came back to himself, feeling the urgency hit him like, like the hot wind that now swirled around them.

Wait! They were going back inside the bunker. Did they make it? Did they make it here? Walter looked back over his shoulder, confused at first. Then his eyebrows twitched. The woman and the two boys? Mr. Lau nodded. Yes, my daughter.

She lives in Sydney, and I told her about this place. And she had to find a way to... So, did she? Thunder sounded again. Closer this time. The ground shook with the blast. Yeah, Henry. They made it here.

Mr. Lau felt himself go none. And? Are they inside? We put their bodies in with the compost, for the garden and whatnot. Oh, I see. Mr. Lau couldn't think of anything else to say. You had a good plan, and all the money in the world to make to pull it off. You just didn't have luck on your side today.

The bunker door shut, with a scrape and a thud. The sky had turned red, and it was snowing. Now, it was ashing. Fine flakes of crispy white that tickled his skin and smelled of ozone. He turned in place and began to turn. wander, away from the vehicles, down an embankment, slick with fallen leaves, as white-blue flames blossomed out of nothing, licking up every tree trunk and painting the forest on the mountains in the sky with silver fire, a blinding fire, a blinding light.

The future is bright after all. He closed his eyes, but the brightness remained, because he was burning now. His skin rippling and bubbling, the fillings in his teeth hissing, the marrow in his bones roasting from the inside out. Think about how strange it is that we work, earn money, and then still have to wait to actually get paid. We're used to getting almost everything else instantly, but somehow payday is still on a schedule.

That's where Earning comes in. Earnin gives you access to money you've already earned, with up to $150 per day and up to $1,000 between paychecks. So if you've already put in the work, it can give you more flexibility around when you access your money instead of always waiting for payday. It's a simple way to make payday timing feel less restrictive. Download Earnin on the app store or Google Play,

spelled like earning money, but without the G. And when you sign up, type in Scary Horror Stories under podcast. It really helps support the show. Earnin is a financial technology company, not a bank. Access limits are based on your earnings and risk factors. Standard cash outs, take one to two business days with no mandatory fees. Expedited transfer is available for a fee. Tips are voluntary and don't affect the service.

Available in select states. and restrictions apply. Visit urnand.com for full details. If you're into horror with a heavy dose of sci-fi, classified experiments, and things humanity was never meant to understand, check out my other podcast, the SCP experience. Each episode pulls you into the hidden world of the SCP Foundation, where dangerous anomalies are studied, contained, and sometimes unleashed. These aren't just scary stories. They're classified Nightmares. Click here to listen now or search for the SCP experience wherever you get your podcasts. Story 3. NARLY. Chester Eugenia Butkiss, who, for obvious reasons, always went by a nickname,

specifically, gnarly, hadn't really meant to start a religion per se, yet he currently found himself. Two weeks after the fiery fall of human civilization, dressed in shiny robes with a gathering of devoted followers awaiting his holy decree. The whole new religion thing had started a few months earlier when Kyle, Narlie's business partner at Aloha Aloha Surf School and Runtles, was going over the numbers and was not happy. New day, same shit, bro. Something's got to change.

If we don't get new students fast, we're like done. That's when Narnley, who had always considered himself a pretty spiritually enlightened, bro, thought of adding a mystical dimension to their surf training and began posting reels of his transcendental teachings. His reels, which featured the topless young instructor walking along the picturesque Hawaiian beach, with his sun-bleached dreadlocks, his oiled abs, and his milky veneers on full display,

did miraculously well. And pretty soon the classes at Aloha Aloha were fully booked, primarily by middle-aged divorcees, with names like Denise, Jennifer, and Shannon. These women didn't actually seem very interested in learning to surf, but they couldn't get enough of young Papa Narley's campfire sermons on the beach, as he paced about and loose board shorts, delivering increasingly bold, supernatural claims about life,

about sex, and about the eternal ebb and flow of the cosmos. The universe is like the ocean tides, he would brief each, spreading his arms so that his puka shell bracelets, jingled. Vast and wet. It teases the shores with gentle kisses, letting the moments linger, before pulling back. In again, out again, in out, in out. When he went on like that, the sunburned faces of Denise's, Jennifer's, and Shannon's watched in rapt attention. Hear me now, my bros and darling sister bros, for a time will soon come, of cosmic climax, when, like a crashing wave, the world will roll and drown, and all will be transformed, and it'll be sick.

And even though the business was finally flourishing, Narlie's business partner, Kyle, was increasingly uncomfortable with the whole thing. Bro, what the fuck are you even talking about in there? Kyle had said one night, confronting Narlie outside the tent. The universe is wet? That doesn't mean anything. It's an allegory, bro. That's not even what allegory means. Then shut the fuck up, Kyle. You're just jealous that I'm drowning in Gen X pussy every night,

while you have to go home to your wife and kids. Man, fuck you, butt kiss, you bitchy little poser. It's gnarly. Fuck, you better watch yourself, Kyle. Things between them only got more intense from there. And the more Kyle pushed, the more gnarly doubled down on his claims. Before he knew it, Papa Narley declared exactly when the world was going to end, which was conveniently just a few days away,

and where the epicenter of the destruction would be located, also conveniently right down the road in Honolulu. The biggest, gnarliest wave that anyone's ever seen is coming, my bros and sister bros, a tsunami of sacred light. But I, Papa Narley, am the chosen. and wave rider, and all who stick with me shall join in a perfect drop and ride that out. And then, when the water's calm and the world is made anew, we will party. On the evening before the prophesied Doomsday, Narlie took his acoustic guitar and instructed

his students slash followers, who now numbered nearly 200, to leave behind their phones and follow him up into the hills. They rented a campsite in a state park north of the city. and got very high and wild, truly, an all-nighter, worthy of the end of the world. And when the sun rose, Narley led them out of the camp and over to the grassy peak of Tantalus lookout, where they looked down upon the hole of Honolulu spayed out below, and the morning sun glinted off the peaceful ocean. One might question what exactly Chester Eugenia Butkiss was going to say next, when the world did not end and the day progressed as normal.

He had meant to prepare a speech, but hadn't gotten around to it yet. And while he did briefly consider playing his rendition of Hey There Delilah, he feared even this wouldn't be enough to distract everyone from the abject failure of his prophetic powers. But of course, just then, as Narley took up his spot on the ledge and turned to face the others, the sky split in two, and the city below was consumed in blinding plasma, brighter than the sun. Oh my God! One of the Shannon's coward in terror as the air turned instantly oven hot. A rolling boom knocked gnarly onto his knees in the grass,

and squinting back over his shoulder, he saw a blazing white cloud blossoming like a frothy mushroom over the ruins of Honolulu. Oh my God! I mean, uh, behold! The, the cosmic climax! Yes, just as I, like, foretold it and stuff. Fire sprang up in the grasses around them.

The people wept, hands over their ringing ears and their blinded eyes. Their skin was singed, their bikini smoking. What's happening? He did foretell this, the great wave, and the seas have sent Papa Norley to help us. Whoa! Kyle, with tears in his bloodshot eyes, stared at his bro. Bro, you really are like the real deal. I am, mumbled Narly.

Hmm, well, when he stopped to think about it, he did get the date right, and the time and the place. So then, Narley straightened up, his mane of blonde dreadlocks, haloed in atomic light. Totally I am. Save us, teacher. Tell us what to do. Everyone, on your feet. We got to get into the jungles, man. fast.

But what about the people down in the city? Shouldn't we help them too? Gnarly began to run. Nah, all those dudes are fucked. Now, come on! In an instant, Oahu had been transformed from a tropical paradise into a radioactive hellscape.

Its cities and naval bases decimated. No power grid. No communication with the world beyond their shores. The skies bore the milky haze of the early stages of a nuclear winter, and by night, the impact craters glowed with unnatural green. All over the island, the scattered pockets of survivors began to hear a strange tale about a miraculous man, up in the hills, a sort of guru, who had foreseen the calamity and tried to warn others, and who now resided somewhere safe, somewhere that still had food,

clean water, medicine, somewhere where hope remained. And so they came. carrying the sick and dying on their backs, snaking through the smoldering palms to find the haven of the true believers. Oh, you gotta be kidding me! Kyle peaked around the tent flap. The crowd outside was getting rowdy, and the former soldiers and seamen, who now served Papa Narley, were getting itchy trigger fingers. Kyle shut the tent and turned back to face Narley, who was lounging on a cot under a battery-powered lamp, eating double-stuffed Oreos, while a Shannon clipped his toenails. I think the people could use some of your wisdom right about now, Narley. They're restless and hungry, like bug-eyed skeletons.

And now some newbies just turned up with like 20 little kids. I guess their preschool was hit bad or something. The kids are, they're not doing good, Narley, skin peeling off, hair falling out, blood spewing out both ends. Ewe. Gnarly scraped the filling from an Oreo with his bottom teeth. What do they expect me to do about it? Kyle came closer.

I think they're hoping you can heal them. Heal them? Who said anything about me having healing powers? At his feet, the Shannon looked up at Narley, confused. But Papa, you said if I sleep with you enough, it'll cure my fibromyalgia. Gnarly sat up. Well, yeah, obviously I can do that. He waved her away with a hand, and she hurried from the tent.

Yeah, I don't know, bro. He mumbled to Kyle once they were alone. This whole thing is getting pretty heavy. I mean, like, I know I obviously have, like, powers and whatnot, but sometimes I get kind of dowdy. Dowdy? Yeah, bro. Like, what if?

He swallowed. What if I'm just, like, Chester Butkus, from Kokomo. I'm not even from the islands. Kyle took a deep breath and knelt beside his old friend. Narlie, my brother. We both know that you're more than that. And Chester Butkiss might be an import to this island.

But as a proud son of Jamaica, you... Jamaica? Not, bro. I'm from Kokomo, Indiana. Seriously, bro? Kyle had to take a minute. Okay. Look, I've been thinking a lot about this, and I think, after everything that's happened,

it doesn't really matter what is like factual or exaggerated or whatever. I think all that matters is that you bring hope to these people, your words, your voice. You give the people something to believe in. A grateful tear dripped from the left eye of Chester Eugenia Butkus, sliding down his cheek and falling upon the shiny kimono he had taken from one of the Jennifers. You're right, bro, and thank you. I know what to do now. Rising, he went out, and a hush fell over the waiting crowd at his appearance, lifting a hand, his puka shell bracelet jingling, gnarly declared.

My friends, bros and sister bros alike, hear me now. I know you're hungry, and I, too, could eat. But what's more, the sickness brought on by the Great Wave is nasty to behold. Indeed. Therefore, tonight, we shall feast and inoculate ourselves against the sickness. This proclamation was met with a few cheers, but mostly just with confused looks. Even Kyle appeared rather, doughty. Narlie sighed and lowered his head. I'm saying we're going to eat the kids, obviously. He shook his head and mumbled under his breath. Jesus, bro, I'm surrounded by morons, for reals. And so they feasted, though there were some present who refused to partake in the ghastly meal.

And future historians would one day point to this night as the first schism, in the new faith of gnarlyism, which, in the centuries that followed, would spread around the globe through trade as the survivors of the Great Wave helped slowly rebuild civilization. And long would the legend of that golden-haired prophet, the chosen one, who rode the winds on a surfboard made of rainbow light, inspiring the faith of millions. And look, I know that might sound far-fetched, but seriously, just go back and look at the history of our species,

look at the systems we build and the doomed patterns we follow, because in the end, as anticlimactic as it may sound, the truth is that there is nothing more terrifying, more destructive, or more of an existential threat to the human species than human stupidity. It's like what Kyle said to himself later that night as he settled down beside a campfire with a steaming plate of roasted toddler.

New day! He stabbed his fork into the tender flesh and with a tired shrug, brought it to his mouth. Same old shit. Want more? Subscribe and turn on all notifications so you never miss any of our weekly uploads.