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

Episode Date: June 8, 2026

For years, RadioShack promised it had everything you needed to stay connected. But in these three terrifying stories, the signals coming through the wires are not from anyone who should still be alive. Are you still drinking that stale, store-bought coffee? Check out ⁠⁠NoSleepCoffee.com⁠⁠ to get 20% off fresh, same-day roasted coffee delivered straight to your door. Just use promo code NOSLEEP20 at checkout for 20% off your first order! Huge thanks to our sponsors: BetterHelp: Sign up now and get 10% off at ⁠betterhelp.com/dns⁠. Shopify: Sign up for your $1 per month trial today at shopify.com/dns. Author:  Jake Bible Check out Jake's latest collection of stories, They All Bleed: Ten NoSleep Stories, Volume Two https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0G96H432Y * * * 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.  #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #creepypasta #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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When the guy walks in, his face haggard. Black bags under each of his drooping eyes, I still recognize him. He'd been into our franchise a few times with his son. Cute kid. Seemed like he had learning issues. I don't know. Welcome to Radio Shack.

How can I assist you today? I ask from behind the counter. The guy, the father, looks up from his shoe gazing and nearly pierces me to the wall with a look in his eyes. I need help, he says. Great, what can I help you with? The muscles next to his left eye twitch, and his whole body tenses for a moment. Then he relaxes, but only slightly, and he walks all the way to the front counter. He slips a backpack from

his shoulder and unzips it as he sets it on the counter. Slowly, like he's handling a bomb or something. He pulls out one of our speak and spell knockoffs, the spellmaster. Although it's not really a knockoff since Texas Microtect actually makes both. You wanted to take it apart and teach your son about the chipboard, and the synth vocalizer and how to... It killed my boy! He plops the red and orange plastic electronic toy onto the counter and roughly shoves it at me,

either no longer afraid of the thing or upset enough that he doesn't care. I clear my throat. Look about the store to see if any other customers have slipped in without my noticing, which would be impossible, considering the annoyingly loud door buzzer we have. Then I return my attention to the guy. I'm sorry, but did you say this killed your son? I asked, keeping my hands free of the toy. Yeah, it's possessed, and it talked him into doing something bad, very bad. It killed him, and you're going to make it right. A lump forms in my throat.

Sir, this is a toy. You play spelling games on it, and yes, this model can be disassembled in order to study the components, but I believe I warned against that when you purchased it. His eyes bore into me. I doubt he's slept in days. He looks like it, and smells like it. He just stands there, staring at me. I shuffle uncomfortably.

I, um, I'm sorry to hear about your son. But I'm just a clerk here. I want to speak to the manager. He's out for the rest of the day. Just me, I'm afraid. I want to speak to corporate. We're a franchise, sir. Then get me the goddamn owner.

Uh, the manager is the owner. And like I said, he's out today. The man shakes with frustration and rage. I put my hand under the counter, ready to trigger the alarm if needed. Then his whole body deflates. He leans heavily on the counter. His eyes finally leave me and go to the toy. A spellmaster is orange and red, just like the more popular speak and spell.

It has a large handle at the top, a monochrome LCD screen below that, and a full keypad below that. There are close to a dozen word-based games you can play on it, or it can be used as a spell checker or even a calculator. It's a pretty cool thing when you're a kid, especially the electronic voice synthesizer. When you're young enough, you can almost believe it's talking right to you, and you alone. But as an adult, the voice can be grating and a little annoying. We used to have a demo model out on the floor, but I turned it off after a week. The guy goes to tap the spellmaster, but holds his finger an inch above the toy.

That thing is evil. You sold it to me. Tell me how to get my son back. Back? I thought he was dead. I hold up my hands an apology. Not to sound rude or anything. He is dead, or might as well be. What speaks out of him now isn't my boy. His finger finally drops, and he pushes hard against the spellmaster. It's this. This speaks out of him now. I'm not sure what to say. So I grab up the toy, flip it over,

and reach for the power switch. Well, um, okay. Let's have a look. The guy grabs my arm and grips me tight. Are you mad? Don't turn it on. Uh, sir, I can't diagnose the problem if I can't turn it on. I told you the goddamn problem.

It has my son. Yes, well, like I said, sir, I'm just a clerk. This may be an issue for the police. He barks a harsh laugh. The cops, they don't care. They think I'm nuts. I don't come. What I do is lock eyes with the man and lean in close.

Sir, what do you expect me to do here? You realize that what you're saying isn't exactly normal, right? He leans in to my lean in and asks. Did you know? No, what, sir? What it would do? And what did it do? I'm still a little in the dark.

It took his soul. I sigh, then shake my head. Um, no. No, sir. I didn't know. That's a little outside what we handle here at Radio Shack. You might want to speak to a priest or pastor about that sort of stuff. We're just an electronics store. His lip curls, and he scoffs at me, pushing away from the counter. So, you're not going to help me? I'm not sure how I can, sir. I am sorry.

And give me a refund. I want my money back. And I want to be done with this thing forever. That I can do. I doubt you have the receipt, but that's not a problem. Like I said, I remember you. We do have a 10% restocking fee, but I'll waive that. Is cash all right, or would you prefer store credit? I'm never coming back here again. Cash, it is.

I leave the toy there on the counter and go to the register. After pulling out his refund amount, I counted out for him and hand him the spare change with the bills. I am sorry to hear about your son, sir. I hope things work out. He snorts, snatches the cash from me, and storms out of the store, nearly knocking the door off its hinges as he leaves. I wait a few moments just in case he comes back.

When he doesn't, and no one else comes into the store, I hurry to the door and lock it. Then I hurry back to the counter and grab my mini-screwdriver's set. Opening the back, I set the back. I set the molded to plastic aside and look at the electronics inside. Well, that's not true. I don't care about the electronics. It's the glass vial with the swirling blue and white liquid inside it that matters.

I find my gloves under the counter, pull them on, then carefully extract the vial from the two clamps holding it steady. I set the vial to the side, fetch an empty from under the counter, and place the empty between the clamps. Then I screw the back on the toy, and smile at the swirling vial sitting on the counter. Then I pick it up. Like I am holding nitroglycerin.

I slowly walk to the office door and give it a tap with my toe. Sir, are you in there? Enter. A deep boy says. I hold the vial in one hand and open the door with the other. I try not to gag on the sulfur smell and extend my hand with the vial into the room. Here you go, sir.

Fresh and ready. The vial is snatched from my grip, and I slam the door closed before I am forced to hear that awful slurping noise. Then I remove and store my gloves, grab my keys, and head to the front door. I have it unlocked, and am not even back to the counter when the awful buzzing tells me I have a customer. I glance over my shoulder. Two customers, a mom and her daughter. Welcome to Radio Shack. How may I assist you today? I ask.

now back behind the counter. Ah, yes, thank you, the mom says. I am looking for something educational for my daughter. All the video games these days are nothing but violence, and they don't make anything age-appropriate either. Do you have an electronic toy that isn't a gosh-darn video game? Something that might actually teach my daughter? I look down at the spellmaster on the counter.

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I yank my hand back and stick my thumb in my mouth as I dropped the soldering iron on the table, having burnt the crap out of myself. Again. Some of a bitch! I growl as the pain starts. to dissipate. Pulling my thumb from my mouth, I glare down at the quickly forming blister. Crap! I sigh and look up at the ceiling, pushing back from my workbench. I'm getting real

tired of this. I unplug my soldering iron and tidy up the mess I've made these past few hours out in the garage. Then I glance at my watch. Still got time, I say, and walk over to the wall, clicking the garage door opener. As the big door slowly slides up, I open the door into our kitchen, reach in, and grab my car keys and wallet from the basket on the kitchen counter. Hey, hon, I'm going to Radio Shack. Be right back.

Are they even open? My wife calls back from somewhere in the house. They close in 30 minutes. I've got time. Drive safe. We'll do. I get in my car, start up the engine, and reverse out of the garage, smacking the button on the remote on my sun visor.

The street is dark and quiet as I back out. I quickly turn the wheel, they aim the car toward the highway with all of the strip malls. Traffic is light, and I make it there in ten minutes, and that's without speeding, which I'm kind of proud of. There's a chill wind blowing when I get out of the car and hurry to the shop's front door. The door chime is a horrible electronics scale of garbled notes, and I cringe as it fills the store.

Welcome to Radio Shack. How may I assist you? A clerk asks from the front counter, where it looks like he's fiddling with one of those speak-and-spell toys. Uh, yeah. I'm sick of burning myself and knocking everything off my workbench, I say as I approached the counter. The clerk looks up, smiles, then casually sets the speak-and-spell under the counter. That sounds like quite the problem.

What are you looking for exactly? I don't know. A caddy? Something that can organize all of my tools and parts and components, but not be cumbersome and in the way. I've seen all those tackle boxes and small tool chests some folks use, and they're just too big and clunky. My wife is already annoyed that I take up the entire workbench with my projects. Got a lot of projects, do you? A good amount, yes. I like to keep busy. I'm retired. Oh, is that so? What did you used to do?

Law enforcement. I was a cop for 30 years. The usual happens. The clerk's entire demeanor changes even though he tries to hide it. I laugh and hold up my hands. Retired, so don't panic. I don't care if you and your buddies are smoking dope in the back office or whatever. He looks over his shoulder at the single door behind the counter. Then he looks back at me.

Yes, dope. Well, none of that here, sir. Not to worry. I believe him. Like I believe a drunk when he says that he can drive home just fine. Although I'm not catching any whiff of reefer. I do smell rotten eggs, but there's nothing illegal about an egg sandwich. Probably not the best customer service idea to let that smell leak out into the rest of the store.

But these guys are all minimum wage slaves, so I ain't going to bust this guy's balls about it. So, a caddy? I ask. The clerk nods and gestures to the aisle to my left. You don't need a caddy, sir. I follow him over to the aisle, and we walk halfway down before he stops in front of an almost empty shelf. There's a single box on the shelf. That's it. You need a buddy!

He says with a grand gesture like he's revealed, some amazing secret. A bench buddy! I stare at the box. It's about two feet high and two feet wide. The image on the cover is a small robot with a trillion arms, all doing something. at once. I read the fine print and the actual item inside the box only has two arms at a trillion. Um, I'm not sure how this will help me. I really just need something to keep me organized. Not a fancy toy. Oh, Bench Buddy is no toy. I can guarantee that, sir. It's a computer

programmed assistant that can not only maintain the tidiness of your workspace, but also assist you with your projects. It responds to over 1,000, voice commands. It can do everything from fetch-use specific tools to holding something in place, to breaking down old items for spare parts. Spare parts? You mean this thing can take apart a radio or TV and sort out each electronic component? Oh, for sure. It can do that in a whole lot more. The clerk bats the box. It can even be a friend. I've heard retirement can get a little lonely. Not for me. I have my lovely wife. Oh, is that so? Wonderful. She'll love the Bench Buddy, too. It even has settings for household chores like washing dishes or running to vacuum. I bet your wife hates dusting, yeah?

Well, with the extender package, Bench Buddy can even get to those hard-to-reach places up in the corners. If you don't know what I'm talking about, I bet your wife does. I snort. Yeah, well, how much does that extender package cost. Probably almost as much as this thing here, right? Oh, all add-ons are affordable. So is the base bench buddy. For just $199.99, this puppy can be yours. You can take it home tonight and wow your wife as it fills the dishwasher while you two watch Jeopardy. I'm more of a wheel of fortune guy. Of course you are. He pats the box again. So what do you say? About what? The bench, buddy. It's exactly what you need. Not at 200 bucks it isn't. My wife might be happy to have some help with the dishes, but not $200 worth of help. She'll kick me to the curb if I come home with this. Oh, yes, I see. Totally understand, sir. He moves in close, a little closer than I'd like and adds.

I'll tell you what. It's been a slow sales day, and one last ring up will really help my numbers with my manager. How about I throw in the extender package for free? He looks around the store to make sure no one is listening, even though we're the only ones in here. And I'll make a couple of off-the-book's adjustments to the unit, so you get some extra assistance when you need it. What kind of extra assistance? Oh, it's nothing huge. I can increase its memory so it can multitask better. But it might void the warranty, so if anything goes wrong, you bring it back to me, okay?

I'll make sure it's all good to go. I narrow my eyes and try to give him my hardest stare to see if he's trying to pull some crap on me. The clerk doesn't even flinch, and keeps smiling like he's doing me the biggest favor in the world. Sure, I finally say. Great! I'll get you all taken care of. Just give me a minute or two.

He scoops the box off the shelf and hurries up to the counter. I watch as he takes the small robot out of the box, flips it over, opens some hatch, and starts tinkering with the insides. Out of curiosity, I head that way to see what he's doing. But by the time I walk up to the counter, he's already closing the hatch and boxing the robot back up. There you go, he says, sliding it across the counter to me. I'll even put in my employee discount. So that even with tax, it only comes to $125. How's that sound? Like a deal, I say and give him my credit card. He places the card in the tray. He scrapes the handle back and forth, then pulls out the receipt and hands it to me.

Enjoy. He says as I fold the receipt up and place it in my wallet with my credit card. Call me if you have any issues. I will. Don't worry. I say and leave the store. As I get in the car, the lights outside and in the store slowly turn off. When I pull away, I see the clerk standing at the front door, waving at me from the dark.

I try not to shiver. Freaking nerd, I say and aim my car for home. Even with the cute little thing sitting in front of her on the kitchen counter, my wife isn't impressed. This cost how much? she asks. 125. It was a real bargain. Nothing that costs over $100 is a bargain. You drop $100 every time you go to the hairdresser. And I've never called it a bargain.

She glares at me for a moment, then rolls her eyes. and waves at the thing. Okay, show me how it works. I turn the thing on, and it beeps to life. Its empty plastic orbs fill with bright light, like its eyes have come to life. It says in a high-pitched electronic voice. Uh, I'm Carl, I say.

Melinda, my wife says. My wife and I chuckle and look at each other, amused. Okay, yeah, maybe it wasn't a great idea. The thing is already busted, I say. What does that mean? My wife asks. The robot moves quickly, and I'm blinded by the arterial spray of blood as the machine slashes my wife's throat. I wipe the blood away and start to scream, but my voice is cut off as my own throat is slashed.

Pain and confusion fill my entire being, and I collapse onto the floor next to my dying, gasping wife. Above me, as my sight grows dim, I see the robot at the end of the counter, peering down. My wife leaves me, and my mind fades over. way as I hear the bench buddy hummed to himself. Then I hear a saw blade start up and all goes dark. Starting a business always sounds exciting until you realize how many little things you suddenly have to figure out. We've experienced that firsthand with no sleep coffee. Getting the idea was the fun part, but then came building the website, making it look professional, adding products, organizing everything, and making sure people could actually buy without a headache. That's where Shopify made

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clerk notices me instantly. It's what he's trained to do. My first instinct is to touch the earpiece in my left ear, but the coiled wire leading from the earpiece and into my backpack is already pretty noticeable. Same with the small mic wire around my throat. So I restrain myself. Damn, it isches, though. I hate stuff in my ears. What an idiotic design. Headphones work because they go over your ears, not inside. My hi-fi headphones are a perfect example. I can listen to Oingo Boingo or Depeche mode, or even that Lost Boys soundtrack without any annoyance. Great movie Lost Boys, but an even better soundtrack. I swear that if anyone ever invents tiny earpieces that have to go inside your ear, they are going to lose a ton of money.

No one wants that. But I'm not here at Radio Shack to deal with future audio inventions. I'm here to deal with, well, future me. The guy on the other end of my ear, Earpies. Sir, do you need any help? The clerk asks. I realize I never acknowledged him. Damn it, Keith, you moron. Now he's doubly interested.

Um, no, I'm good, thanks, I say, and give him a quick wave. Then I hurry around an end cap and step into the video component section. What am I looking for again? I whisper. A UHF converter. The voice in my ear, my voice, replies. But not the box that switches back. the box that switches back and forth between UHF and VHF signals.

We don't want that. It's the tube for a coaxial cable. Coaxial cable? I ask, confused. What the hell is a cable? The clerk says, suddenly standing behind me. I jump and nearly scream. My earpiece pops out of my ear, and I scramble to put it back. The clerk looks me up and down, then leans to the side, eyeing my backpack. Got yourself a ham radio in there? A CB? Which is sporting? He asks, all smiles and helpful cheer.

But the smile and cheer don't reach his eyes. Now, his eyes are deep pools of darkness. Eyes filled with pure evil and malice. I mean, yes, they are actually dark brown with specks of gold in them. But the evil and malice are definitely implied. Um, it's nothing, I say and try to look natural. Just some project. Oh, okay.

Totally understand. We all have our little problem. But if you're looking for amateur radio or CB supplies, they are on aisle 3. This is the video aisle. He cocks his head. His smile widening. But you did say something about cable, yes? So maybe you do need the video aisle? I just stare at him.

Yes, I do need the video aisle. Yes, I need a UHF converter. No, I am not going to tell him that. I should have gone somewhere else. Hardware stores have this sort of stuff too, right? this sort of stuff too, right? Or Kmart? Coaxial cable is just that black cable that comes into your house for watching cable. It's in the name.

The clerk offers as I continue to stare, panicked. The me and my earpiece asks. Did you get it? Um, thank you, I have to be going now. I say and hurry out of the store without looking back. The second I'm a couple of shops away. I break into a run and sprint as fast as I can out of the strip mall and down the street, racing to catch the bus.

I don't even care what bus it is. I just need to catch a bus and get out of here. The number 35 arrives as soon as I reach the stop, and I barely pause before hopping on. I dig out my wallet and show the driver my bus pass. She barely glances at it and jerks her head back in the universal gesture all bus drivers make that says, Yeah, yeah, go sit the hell down.

I got places to be. I collapse into a seat in the far back corner and rest my forehead against the window. My voice asks, I didn't get it. I reply after looking around to make sure I'm not going to be overheard. What do you mean you didn't get it?

I didn't get it. I hiss. The clerk was right there, man. He was just talking about the coaxial cable and asking me whether I was using ham or CB and I just... Ham or CB? He knows you were talking to someone?

I have a coiled beige wire running up out of my backpack into my ear. It's hard to miss. Blue what? Is that another cable thing? That stuff. What am I supposed to know about? So far, all you have told me is that I am all that stands between humanity's safety and complete and total annihilation.

I mean, that's pretty serious. So could I have a few more details? Details that are absolutely necessary, then I can make things a million times worse. And trust me when I say that things in the future are bad enough, I don't need to add to this goddamn nightmare. I sigh and lean my forehead against the cool glass of the bus window. and watch the rainy landscape zip by. It's lunchtime, and cars are hurrying to get to restaurants or fast food joints or run errands. Normal, simple stuff that people do every day.

You know what people don't do every day? They don't talk to themselves over a damn ham radio that apparently can reach the future in order to stop some sort of apocalypse that is going to happen unless they can get a goddamn UHF converter. My voice calls from decades down the line. I know, but he saw me, and I am sure he knows what I'm doing. Can't stop you, but no power. I hear the slight doubt in my voice and say, But...

He has his hands and thumbs and can still work a gun or knife or axe. Jesus Christ, was that supposed to help things? I laugh a sad, trapped laugh. Last stop, everyone off. The driver calls as we pull into the town's main bus transfer station. There are only two other people on the bus. and they quickly get off. The driver stands and looks back at me.

I nod before she can start yelling and get up to, exiting through the middle doors. Does it have to be that radio shack? I ask, as I see the number 64 bus. There's a radio shack over on Centennial Drive. Can I go there? My voice replies. Let you check! With who?

Who the hell are you checking with? My voice is too loud, too shrill. I instantly get noticed by the transfer station's security. Never mind, do what you have to. I need to keep moving, drawing attention. There's no response, which is maddening. Despite the rain, I decide to head towards Centennial Drive anyway. It's not a far walk.

I cross over Charter, then turn right into West 14th. Two blocks later, I turn left on Centennial. I still have at least a mile and a half to walk, but I can do that. It's rainy, sure, but when isn't it? About a quarter mile in, my earpiece squawks. You there? My voice asks. Where else would I be?

I reply. Just making sure you haven't given up. I haven't. Who did you have to talk to? What did they say? My voice sighs, and I wait. A car races past, going way too fast, and I have to jump off the sidewalk and into a hedge

to avoid being splashed by the wave of water it kicks up from the huge, puddle around a clogged storm drain. Asshole! I shout as I pull myself out of the hedge. Hey, chill, my voice says. That wasn't it you, I reply. Although, to be honest, it kind of was.

Um, so I conferred with the others, and they think you can get the part at the Centennial Radio Shack. Just be careful, all right? Act normal if anything is off. Like what? I can't say. Great. I keep walking.

My shoulders bunched up to my ears as the rain continues to fall. When I reach the Centennial Radio Shack, I'm soaked. I shake off as much as I can before I go inside. Then I step into the store and head straight for the video aisle. Welcome to Radio Shack. How may I assist you? The clerk calls out. I freeze in my tracks. I know that voice. It's the same voice as the other clerk.

But that's crazy. Of course, I am talking to myself over a time traveling ham radio, so maybe I shouldn't judge crazy. I peek around the shelving and confirm that it is the same clerk as the other store. I whisper as much into the radio. But it's the same guy, I hiss. This looks like the same guy. Yeah, sort of like us, but they aren't the same. I search the shelf and find a package with a two inch long tube or rod or whatever inside. It has threads on each end so that a cable can be screwed onto both sides. I grab the package and try to act casual as I walk up to the counter. UHF converter, eh? The clerk asks, taking the package as he

rings it up. 499. I hand him a five. He hands me a penny in the package. Need a bag? He asks. Nope, I'm good, thanks, I say and grab the package. Then hurry to the front door. As my hand hits the handle, the clerk calls out. Oh, and good luck saving the world. Too bad you will all lose. I run out of the store and keep running, praying I have what they need, and hoping I never have to set foot in a radio shack ever again. Too many goddamn demons. Thanks for tuning in. If you enjoyed the story, be sure to follow or subscribe and share the show with a fellow horror fan. I'll see you in the next one.