Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - 3 New York City Horror Stories

Episode Date: March 14, 2022

🎉 Ad-free episodes + bonus episodes: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🎧 Check out The SCP Experience podcast here: https://spoti.fi/3zCFjQc 🎥 YouTube: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep �� Send all advertising inquiries to: [e-mail] 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

to nice sleep. Story 1. Apartment 23. Police sirens wailing in the distance, dogs barking in darkened dallys, nauseating my asthma coming out hot and steely from the depth of the sewers. The sins and nightmares of humanity

have infected this city. It feeds off us, killing us slowly with each passing day and night. It has taken its throne in our bloodstream, and our time. demise is coming soon. The moment we will all be reduced to ash and bone is imminent. Evil has prevailed here, and no one is coming to save us. None of us will ever get out alive from this place, a concrete hell with tall gray buildings looming over the people in this town, looking down with

disgust. We have become like zombies, walking mindlessly to wherever dull places we think, think we need to go. The dark bags under our eyes weigh us down and pull us under the seas and oceans of our own desperation and sorrow. Our hollow hearts beat for nothing, and there is no soul left in us. We are already dead inside. I fucking hate this city, New Hell City, as I like to call it. A hell of our own making, built by our father. long before we were here and laid down before our eyes in such a way that it became a living disease. Its wounds fester depression, the infection spreading throughout our rotten minds. It is like it does not let us leave this place. It only wants us to live here. It keeps us prisoners in its invisible shackles.

My head's throbbing with an immense ache. I am exhausted from living like. this. I open my heavy eyes. It's dark and cloudy outside. A strange fog settles on the streets, and I can't even see a few feet in front of me. I get out of bed and get some medicine for my headache. Lately, these have become a constant in my life, day in and day out. Sometimes I wake up thinking my head would explode, and I imagine blood and brains and bits of skull adorning the walls in a morbid and abstract way. I don't know when I passed out. I turn around and see a whiskey bottle on the nightstand. It's flipped over, the remaining liquid dripping on the floor. I see pills there too, lots of them, the kind that helps you sleep. My breath smells like death.

as if my insides are rotting at an accelerated pace. The air feels heavy, and I could smell every regret and bad memory in my life floating around, reminding me of everything I have done, a living nightmare, my creation. I glance at the nightstand again. I shiver while looking at the bottle. I can feel that's an enemy I have been at war with all of my life. I can't remember. I just feel that way.

Maybe the devil was inside that bottle, and I drank him. Perhaps he is inside of me now, tearing my guts and organs apart slowly, and turning them into death. I can't remember how I got here. I don't think this is even my apartment. So why can't I remember? A rat is twitching in the corner of the room.

I think it's about to die. It's sitting in a pool of blood, foaming at the mouth. It's dead now. The fog is retreating, but the city is so dark tonight. There's barely anything visible outside. People are moving like shadows on the streets, and there are no cars. It looks like everyone left in a rush. Maybe the end of the world has arrived.

A man and woman have a heated argument outside. He bursts into tears and tells the man she wants nothing to do with him. She can't take any more of his bad drinking habits and dissent into verbal and physical violence. He's rambling words that I cannot understand. He is drunk or high, or whatever they do these days to escape reality. But on second thought, I should not judge him. I am in the same boat after all.

I can't remember anything. I'm starting to feel scared. The damp and heavy air in this room is suffocating. I need to get out. I am in the living room now. The walls are moldy and dirty. The stench here is even worse than the bedroom. It smells like someone died in this apartment.

I hear the shower running, and a cold shiver creeps up my spine. Hey! I yell, frightened. There is no answer. I call again. still nothing. I opened the door to the bathroom. There is no one there.

I turn off the shower and wipe the mirror to take a look at my face. The mirror is black, and I can't see anything. This is getting strange. My heart drums inside my chest as if warning me to get out of here. I am afraid to pull the shower curtain to see if anyone is there. I don't know why, but I cannot do it. Fuck, I need to get out of them. The hair on my arms rises, giving me goosebumps like never before.

The smell of death is all around. Panic settles in. It's getting harder to breathe. I open the door to leave. I check the number on the door. It's 23. I was in apartment 23. I don't recall if this is my place or not. I'm standing back against the wall in the main hallway. My heart is in my throat, and I am breathing hard. It's like there are invisible, murderous hands in the air that try to grab my throat and kill me. I take a look to my left, and it seems never ending. I glimpse to my right, and it's all the same. An infinite hallway that leads into the darkest pit of despair.

What the fuck is going on? I'm not supposed to be here. This doesn't seem right. I knock on some doors and see if anyone is home. I try the first one, but all I hear is someone locking it from the inside. Open up, please. I can't remember anything, please. I am lost, and I don't know where to go.

I screamed my lungs out, hoping to get an answer. I hear faint piano music coming from somewhere to my right. I run fast in that direction, praying that whoever plays those sad songs will talk to me. The music grows louder. It's eerie out of this world. A woman begins humming the song she is playing. I place my ear on the door to listen. Maybe it will calm me down a little. I close my eyes. The notes and the tone are all beautiful, and the voice is angelic. Time stopped for a minute as I listened to her hum. Please help me, I whispered.

My throat is dry, as if I had inhaled a ton of dust. I knock once, twice, before the third knock the music stops. A chair creaks inside the apartment. There is no number on the door. I hear delicate footsteps, my breath stops. Why are you out of your apartment? It's not safe out there. The only protection is inside, but it's too late now.

He is coming. and there is nothing you can do. He'll take you away. She said, sobbing. The silence is weighing me down. Her words rip my soul apart like it's nothing, tearing at the very fabric of my sanity. She is the apostle of my impending doom.

What do you mean? Who is coming? I asked with a trembling voice. I can't remember anything. I just want to get out of this place, but I don't know how. You can't get out. Here is merely a stop for every one of us.

He'll come soon and tell you where you can go, up above, or down below. She said with great sadness in her voice. None of us can remember why we are here, and probably never will. He'll just come and lead us to whatever place waits for us. What I know is, the longer we still, stay in our apartments, the greater is the chance for us to remember. Before I have a chance to say anything, the whole building starts to tremble. What's going on? I ask.

He is coming. It's too late. He will take you. She lets out a scream of agony. I turn around and run as fast as I can. A large metallic hum fills the corridors. A devilish chainsaw sound that erupts from the darkest pits of hell. It's violent, it's morbid, it hates life. A door opens, and I watch it with bated breath. The motorized sound is getting harder to bear. This is the soundtrack of hell. A song of despair and hopelessness.

A descent into eternal suffering. A thin creature comes out of the apartment. I can hear people screaming inside that place. Oh God, he's keeping them inside. It's five black eyes. look at me transfixed. They all blink independently of one another. Its lipless mouth reveals a set of rotten teeth,

and its arms end with sharp claws instead of fingers or hooves. I look at it, and it looks back. I turn to run again, but now the creature is in front of me. It grabs my wrist and squeezes it tighter and tighter. The pale creature says, its deep voice making my mind race with the impossibility of the whole situation. I want to say something, but the words don't come out. I want to scream. It's okay.

It's said again. Its voice makes me go insane. I nod my head. He lets go. What is this place? I ask the carrier with doubt in my voice. It's a arrest stop, let's call it. Some stay here. The carrier says, his words cutting my hearing like breaking glass. I heard people screaming in the apartment. you came from. What did you do to them? I asked. His eyes looking at me without even an ounce of emotion

in them. I pass by another apartment. A bright light comes out from under it. I can hear birds chirping and the wind slowly whooshing through the air. I can hear leaves rustling and children laughing. What's in there? I said, pointing my finger to the apartment's door. Not for you. The carrier replies. We stopped in front of the apartment he came out of. 4355. Dark thoughts take shape inside my mind, flooding it with their murky waters. I think he's going to send me inside.

The door opens, and a set of never-ending stairs appear in front of me. The screaming starts again. Men and women wail and scream for help together. The carrier says, pointing one of its claws in the directions of the stairs. A prominent lump forms in my throat, and it's hard for me to swallow. Why? I asked. Because you made a mistake. What mistake?

For all the things you saw and hurt. I'm trying to remember. The whiskey bottle, the pills, a woman and man arguing outside. She says she can't take it anymore. The dead rat foaming at the mouth, the running shower. I said to the carrier. the darkened mirror in which I couldn't see my reflection, the never-ending fear of not being able to pull the shower curtain. Now, take out your phone.

Last message you seen from the front pocket of my beat-up blue jeans. To Erica, I am sorry for everything I have done. I hope my absence doesn't burden you too much. I couldn't take this existence anymore. Please look after my family. Oh my God. There is one more thing. Before you go, listen to the last audio recording.

I press play. I hear my voice and the audio recounts everything I said and thought since I woke up and until now. Now give the phone to me, Jonathan. Bees, if you may... Bees at board of Viarai. Embarked and relax. Ciroat, bookinet. Oh, that also.

And profite. Via Raille, the voice that we love? Story 2. The Golden Scythe Society. New York, January 2011. I had just finished the first week at my new workplace. It was at a high-end real estate firm. They helped rich people buy luxurious mansions. They had just struck a deal for a castle in Switzerland on my first day there.

The buyer was a young, rich prick. and the cellar was an old rich brick. I didn't know any of them. I just heard the talks in the office. After they had finalized the deal, everyone in the firm was over the moon. They were over the moon that they had helped another happy millionaire

into their dream home, or castle, I should say. Anyways, at the end of that week, the guys in the office were gathering to celebrate. Of course, I was not expecting them to invite me. I had not taken part in the deal after all. But, probably because I was the new guy, they had decided to ask me to join their little feast.

The fat man was the owner of the firm. He liked wearing expensive clothing. He had a collection of suits, ties, shoes, and cufflinks. Rare were the occasions when he showed up in the office, wearing the same attire. I learned about these things later on as the days in the office went by, and as dark secrets revealed themselves to me, one by one. That Friday, when he came to my small and semi-dark office,

he wore a pair of black shiny leather shoes. They looked expensive, very expensive, probably Prada. He had a dark charcoal-gray pinstripe suit with a white handkerchief in his breast pocket. The tie was black and speckled with tiny white dots. He wore a pair of gold cufflings that shone in a hypnotizing way. They were like two little sons trapped on his double-cuffed shirt. He lit a cigar inside the office. I'm the owner.

I could do whatever I want, kid, he said. A smoke left his mouth. I noticed a gold tooth shining as he spoke. His other teeth were either yellow or rotten. Don't you think so? I pondered for a whole second and nodded. it. Wrong. Everyone should follow the rules here. It's clearly stated on that wall there that smoking is strictly forbidden, he said, sucking on a tooth. This fucking salami piece is stuck in my

teeth. Ever happened to you, kid? Yeah, a couple of times. Dental floss helps me, I said, looking at his cufflinks. You like them? He asked, taking one of them off. Here, Take a better look at this one. He handed me the shiny thing, and I inspected it, mesmerized by the way it shone. The square-shaped cufflink had fantastic detail on it. It had my boss's first name initial on it. It had probably been hand-carved. On top of it, there lay a scythe that had been engraved there.

He then handed me the other cufflink. It was the same thing. Only he had the first letter of his last name engraved on it. Beautiful pieces of work. Are they handmade? What's with the sights? I asked. I wondered on the spot how I'd managed to get so many questions out.

Not because I was afraid of him or anything like that. No. It was because he was so big and imposing. His face was that of a man who has seen and done many bad things. But he had a taste. terrible secret hidden inside those eyes of his. The more I looked at him, the more I could see his soul was dirty and filled with the burning remnants of his ugly past. The scyths are a secret that I will not discuss right now. Maybe you can come to the celebratory dinner tonight. You will

find more answers there. The guys who sold the castle are treating a few of us in the firm, he told me, and winked. I couldn't believe it. The boss had invited me over to dinner. With the guys, I immediately thought they had a secret club going on or something like that, hidden stuff, only known by a handful of people at the firm. When you are young, you are naive too. But I didn't think of that back then. All I wanted was to do my job in the best possible way. I imagined myself being one of the best sellers,

and maybe one day I would buy my own Gothic mansion filled with secrets and ghosts. My eyes widened, and I could feel my mouth starting to change into a big, broad smile. Oh, wow. It's an honor and a privilege to join you. Of course I will come. Thank you for the invitation, I said. Sure thing. I like you, kid.

I can see you want to do good here. But let me tell you, only hard work and discipline pay off. If you work your balls off and stay motivated, it will pay off. I promise you. This business is ruthless, kid. There will be many people trying to wear you down, trying to stop you from making it to the top of the pyramid, you know. But what matters is that there will always be someone looking out for you.

This team stays strong. We stay together. You want to be part of that too, right? He said, as if delivering some sort of motivational life speech. But it worked, though. Pictures of yachts, mansions, parties, and exotic islands were racing through my... mind. I loved that lifestyle. Call me anything you want, but I was just a kid, and I couldn't see

myself having a family yet. Sure thing, boss. Not only do I want to be part of the team, but down the road, I want to be one of the pillars of this team. I want to be the best of the best and crush the competition, a ruthless predator tearing down my enemies one by one, I said, smashing my fist on the table, pumped with adrenaline. That's the spirit, kid. You're goddamn right, he exclaimed while putting back on his cufflinks. Then he handed me a card. It had an address and a logo that looked the same as the symbol on his cufflinks. What's this? I asked, after inspecting the card.

That's where the dinner will take place. It's a joint we usually go to. It's kind of not that well-known. Not a lot of folks go there. It's located underground. But I can tell you that this will be the dinner of your life. Just make sure to remember the password on the back. It changes every week.

That's the one we'll use this week, he said, motioning me to turn over the card. It said, Maelia. I didn't ask what it meant. I only looked at him and nodded my head. He left the office, and I wondered what the hell was going to happen that evening. I sure was happy as heck to meet and talk to the guys, but at the same time, I was pretty nervous.

Why the hell were they going to celebrate in an underground place instead of a regular restaurant? And why did they need a password for that? As the hours flew by, I eagerly waited for the evening to come. I wanted to put on my best suit and make a good impression. I didn't want to talk without being asked, and I just wanted them to see that they made the right choice when they hired me. After work, I went home and took a hot shower. I thought about all the possibilities I had in life if I worked hard enough.

I felt excellent after the chat I had with my boss. I dressed in my best attire and headed straight to the address. The location was within walking distance from my place. The night was silent, and I heard a couple arguing in the distance. She was telling him she had had it with the physical abuse and downright crazy drinking. I ignored them. Maybe I should have checked in on them. but I didn't mean to intrude.

I arrived at the address. There was an old rusty metal door that had a small window. I knocked. A gentleman's eyes promptly met mine through the window. Yes, he asked. I'm here for the meeting, I said. Password, please. Maelia.

The door creaked open. The man pointed to a long, almost never-ending set of stairs. Then he disappeared in the dark, almost as if he hadn't been there in the first place. I descended the stairs. It took me at least three minutes. That was weird. I expected an ordinary restaurant, or at least a private table.

Things the usual customers get when going to the same place hundreds of times. Another door appeared in front of me, made of wood. It too looked ancient, almost from a different period in history. I thought I heard people inside. I knocked, and all their voices stopped. Who is it? The muffled voice of a man asked. It's the new guy at the firm.

The door swung open. No dinner took place inside. It was no restaurant. Instead, the room was dimly lit and smelled like a thousand violent deaths. People wearing costumes and masks were gathered around a stone statue. It resembled an owl, but it had sharp teeth, protruding from its mouth and two small horns on its forehead. You will be one of us, but you need to give Maelia our goddess eternal your blood, the boss said. I recognized his voice.

He wore one of those Venetian masks that you see at the carnivals. He handed me a knife and instructed me to cut the palm of my hand. I was taken aback by this request, but the other guys pushed me forward. I felt a strange presence looming over the room. It was as if the air was possessed and ravenous, as if evil invisible beings populated the air. I wanted to scream, but my throat wouldn't let any sound out. I had no other choice. Blood poured from my hand and onto the head of the satanic owl. The room trembled, and I felt an immense force reaching inside me. I don't know how to explain it, but it felt like a claw with sharp fingers. searching for something to tear apart, to pull out for me, to leave something evil in its place.

And it did. An instant feeling of nothingness, numbness, and lack of emotions propagated throughout my body. What's going on? I screamed out to the fat man. This is the price you have to pay to be with us. One life filled with the riches and wonders of this world. After that, we do not care. We will die anyway, the fat man said, with a monotonous voice. The hoot of an owl made the room tremble. It was high-pitched, evil and loud. Then it all stopped, and everyone took their masks off.

They congratulated me for being the new member of their new stupid cult. What did I do to deserve such hell? I don't know. I made a lot of money for a few years after that, but it didn't feel right. A part of me was missing. and I needed to take it back. I tried finding people to help me. All I know is that my soul was ripped away from me,

and I am just an empty shell. It's been 33 years since this happened. Please, if you can help me, I can give you anything you want. I just need to feel alive again. Things are feeling a little less human these days, aren't they? But isn't the whole point of progress to make things more human? That's why, at TD,

When we design a product, whether it's an app for making trading easier or monitoring your account for fraud, we ask one simple question, how does this help people? That's how we're making banking more simple, more seamless, and more intuitive. But most importantly, that's how TD is making banking more human. Story 3. New York's special bus to your private hell. These last few days have been bizarre. To a certain extent, that visit changed me. Or maybe it was a mistake.

Had fate led me to that place in the dark? That particular day was overcast and dull. I wanted to go home and get some sleep. But, unfortunately, I was a wage slave. I had other talents, of course. Yet, in this day and age, creative skills rarely provide the means to live carefree. As many artists say, one should not create things, beasts, or worlds and words or on canvases just to make ends meet.

No, the children of the Creator should be born as a gift to this dying world. Whether a writer, sculptor, musician, or painter, the Creator needs to light up the dark with their creation. The imagination is infinite, and as such, all that is born from it, all that takes shape and springs to life is infinite too. It lives on forever in the minds of those who read about it or see it in art galleries, even after the creator is no longer here. Magic is real, and it lives within us. Anyway, I digress. So, the bottom line is that I hate my job, but I don't hate the money that allows me to be alive and meet my needs. But, until I make it in the creative world, I have to to swallow the stupidity of my bosses and some of my coworkers.

Lots of us have to, right? So we pray and pray to whatever God may listen to give us the strength and ability to remain calm in challenging situations and make it through another day. After a hard day that almost left me numb and exhausted, I had decided to change my usual route home and not take the subway. So instead, I went by bus. I don't know how I made it inside,

because I was on the brink of fainting. I remember there was no one inside, and the air smelled like death. It was humid, and the feeling of dread spread throughout this crypt on four wheels. The windows were dirty, and had many fingerprints on them. The seats were dirty and soggy like gasoline

had just been poured on them. The vibe felt off, but I was too tired to care. I sat on one of the cleaner seats and drifted off. instantly falling asleep. Gotta fucking love New York City. I don't know how much I slept. It might have been one hour or five.

I woke up to the smell of burning flesh. It crept up my nostrils and settled in my lungs like some airborne virus. I coughed so hard that my throat felt like it was exploded. A rat scurried at my feet. I kicked it away as blood boiled inside my veins like hot steamy tar. I looked outside the window, but all I could see was pitch black darkness. The night took over, and silence settled in. The haphazard lights clicked on and off, seemingly in an infinite fashion.

Finally, after I came back to my senses and my head stopped spinning, I saw the driver was still in his seat. Hey, what's going on? Where are we? I yelled, demanding to know what the hell had happened. After all, I was in the middle of fucking nowhere. The driver didn't move, not even an inch. He just kept staring forward in the pitch-black darkness. Then, I heard him whispering all of a sudden, muttering words that I could not understand.

I went ahead to see what was wrong with him, but before I could reach him, he opened the driver's door and leaped outside on the gravel. Stones crunched under his souls as he started running in the darkness. I yelled at him to stop, but to no avail. He ran like a lunatic, screaming. Then, with his arms flailing, he began saying my name. Then he stopped. He turned around and stared at me. He had bright red eyes, and the skin peeled off his face.

He grinned at me with his rotting teeth shone. Worms squirmed in his gums. He was decaying. It was as if he was as if. he was a zombie, a living corpse, the undead. And he came back to life for just a few seconds to scare the living shit out of me. Johnny boy, oh Johnny boy, madam has been waiting for you for so long. You made my day when you got on that bus.

Johnny boy, can you hear what I'm saying? His voice sounded like he had hot charcoal in his throat. It was full of hatred too. His face started peeling off. melting like hot wax from a burning candle. His eyes fell too, and all that was left was his skull, looking at me, laughing still. What the hell is going on?

I screamed. It was as if I had been thrown into a different plane of existence altogether. The man said nothing. He then pointed toward me with his sticky, bony fingers. You're next on the list, Johnny. You have to do it, boy. There's no going back now. he exclaimed, standing petrified, with no actual power to say any word, I watched him turn his back on me.

He then ran off into the darkness of the night, screaming with his arms flailing. As he ran away, he caught on fire. Bright orange flames engulfed him. All this madness that unfolded before my very eyes threw me into a spiral of paralyzing fear. With the walls of my sanity beginning to shatter. I found myself lost in a place I didn't know. The darkness was still covering everything, and I couldn't make out anything except the bus I came in. The haphazard lights still clicked on and off, and the sound irritated me. I tried calling for help, but the cold night swallowed my desperate calls. I didn't know if this was the afterlife or a parallel world. Maybe something had happened, and I was sent to this plane of existence.

Was I trapped forever in one big nightmare of my own creation? Lost in the darkness of the mind for eternity to come. My head started spinning, panic and fear clouding my judgment. I didn't know what to do. The silence became haunting. The air felt carnivorous. It was as if some entity bided its time, watching, and studying me from a faraway place.

A sense of creeping coldness soon took over my skin. The hair on my arms rose, as if warning me that evil was breathing in the back of my neck. Somewhere in the distance, I heard a creaking noise. It was metallic and sharp. Voices. A cacophony of voices. There were screams, cries, and whispers.

But all of them said the same thing. John, I tried heading in the same thing. the opposite direction of the sound, but the more I ran, the more unbearable the voices became. There was only one option for me in this situation. Go and find the source. After what I reckoned to be a few miles of walking, an abandoned house appeared in front of me, a place in the middle of nowhere. My instincts told me that. The wind howled inside. There were no doors and no windows. A putrid smell of decaying flesh came from the darkness of the house. It stung my nose and made me wretch, the faint voice of a woman said. The moment I entered, everything changed. The building

came to life. A large chandelier illuminated the main hallway. Old, beautiful crimson rugs adorned the floor. Rooms to other doors were absent, and I felt claustrophobic like being in a tunnel. A frail looking woman appeared out from the shadows that moved shyly on the walls. The wrinkles on her face were like old rivers surviving the curse of passing the time. They had thousands of stories to tell. Her eyes fixated on me. She smiled and clapped her hands together. Then she exhaled as if all the worries she had before seeing me were no more. You are here at last. She said, never leaving my gaze. Welcome home

Her bony hands terrified me Her browned sickly nails made me feel sick Her ragged dirty dress emanated a rancid smell I stepped back At this point nothing made sense to me Who are you? What do you mean Welcome home? I asked her this question

In hopes an answer could be provided This is where you belong This is your home Your sanctuary This is the place where you drink the gift that will change your life. The one before you did not last long, and as such he burned away in the darkness of the night. But now you will take his place. She said, slowly approaching me.

What was all I could say? I'm dying. I need to eat. You will bring me food, fresh food. Young Lud, if you fail your task, you'll end up just like the one before you. She replied, in the blink of an eye, she leaped right in front of me and scratched my arm. An orange-pink light illuminated my veins. I saw flying beasts with horrible faces, a bleeding moon in the sky,

and giants who ate people for pleasure for a few brief seconds. But then, their screams of agony ripped through the vastness of the land, and the freak show continued forever. This is where you'll go if you fail in your task. I just need three young, fresh hearts. If you don't want to go to that place, you must provide them fast. If not, then.

She said, trailing off. What do you mean? Kill people? I screamed. Yes, now go. She said, touching my chest and pushing me. I landed. in the bed of my one-room apartment, back into New York City. I woke up screaming in fright.

Thank God it was just a bad dream. I couldn't get those screams out of my head. I headed to the kitchen and made myself a coffee. Then I hopped into the shower. Everything was all right now. I looked at my arm and there was a slight bruise. I thought I heard it while sleeping. Things like that happened. In the shower, while trying to calm down, I thought I saw a faint orange glow on my arm. Then a voice came from nowhere. Time is running alone, John. You must hurry, or to that place you will go. Lazzang sur-gillet, puissance-molyne, for 15 minutes. We're like it's their dojo. Pre-to-joo? Live the pleasure with Leo Jo. The casino in-line that proposes the more recent machine-assine

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