Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Black Mirror Horror Story | Muscle Sheols

Episode Date: June 30, 2021

🎉 Get access to new ad-free episodes and my exclusive bonus episodes HERE: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep Author: P.F. McGrail P. F. McGrail’s Book: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08M8YR7N5 P. F. McGrail’s Subreddit: www.reddit.com/r/ByfelsDisciple 🔔 Dr. NoSleep YouTube channel: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep 🎽 Dr. NoSleep Merchandise: teespring.com/stores/dr-nosleep-merch ✅ Advertising Inquiries: [e-mail] DISCLAIMER: This story is R rated for adults 18 years or older. NOT for children. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Talk to nicely. And just like that, you're dead. The speaker was lean, nearly gaunt, and wearing a dark, heavy p-coat, despite the pleasant heat. He leaned against a palm tray that swayed in the ocean breeze. We were alone on the beach. Only the waves and gulls had anything to say.

I stared around, taking it all in. Where the hell am I? I demanded. And how come I have no memory of, well, anything before you said that? It's just a blank page. Lachate on Yisperanza, and you have nothing to fear from the blank page, he answered. The man took a long drag on a cigarette that momentarily consumed his attention. I stood, almost falling in the sand.

I looked down in shock to see that I was naked. I covered myself and hopped around a nearby palm tree. What the fuck, man? Did you take my clothes? He snapped his fingers. I relaxed. Now you don't realize that you're naked. I head swam because he was right.

I didn't feel naked. It was as though part of my awareness had vanished. I sat down near him in the sand. What did you mean when you said that I was dead? He looked at me, ice-blue eyes turning my presence over in his mind. You've spent your life hating stupid questions, yes? My gut squirmed. I spent my life getting medicine to people in need.

The man stared at me for an even greater length of time. I noticed that the long. long, thin cigarette in his long, thin fingers wasn't getting any shorter. Abruptly, he flipped it away and turned to the horizon. You describe yourself as a man of medicine, which is very different from a man in the business of medicine. We both know who lives in the details. My head grew hot. People love to tear me down, and I'd love to give it as good as I got. The only difference between me and everyone else in my business is that I did it better. So good that you charged how much for insulin? I slammed

my fist on the ground, sending a spray of sand over the man's dark pants. I charged the most competitive rate, he nodded. I hear that $191.30 a week is very competitive for a dose that costs under $5 to produce. I clenched and unclenched my fists. That's the nature of the game. I'm just the one who wanted to win badly enough. But what do all people want? He pressed. Different things, I spat. He shook his head slowly. The athlete spends his life hoping to achieve a victory that can only come when the game is over. The man looked through me, sending uncomfortable chills down my neck. What everyone wants is what they can't have.

I shook my head. Not going to lie, man, you don't make any sense, and you're starting to piss me off. He leaped back against the palm tree. You win. What? I shot back. Everything you've ever wanted, his lips drew thin. Just remember that what has been done can never.

ever, ever be undone. I glared at him. He stared back. The man snapped his fingers. He was gone. The beach was now filled with more than I could take in at once. I walked, dazed, through tables of slow-roasted pork, carne asada tacos, bacon-wrapped filet mignon, steak burritos, chicken Kiev, shrimp scampy, clam chowder overflowing from bread bowls, crab legs beside dripping cups of liquid butter, wadju beef kebabs, tiramisu, creme brule, apple fritters and chocolate lava cake. Everything sizzled and popped as though I was hearing a culinary London Symphony Orchestra, while the sharp edges of my mind melted like garlic butter atop a porterhouse steak. I was about to indulge when the next row of tables caught my eye. Piled high enough to hide a basketball was a snowy white mountain of the purest

Colombian Coke I'd ever seen. I'd watch a man's throat get slit for a hall one-quartered quarter this size, and a dozen people stepped over his body just to get a line. Before I could step any closer, though, yet another table grabbed my attention. At least a dozen bottles of the McKellen 25-year-old whiskey competed for space with a collection of 2013 Yamazaki Sherry-Cask selections. I nearly missed the Pappy Van Winkle hiding in a corner, just begging to be tasted. I swore that the next table wouldn't distract me, but it sparkled and drew me in. I stumbled forth and gawked at the watches laid out before me. Submariners, Milgoses, skydwellers, seed dwellers, yacht masters, day dates, and deep seas covered the Rolex table.

Paddock-Philippe pieces were laid out on the next. The other seven were just as full. I was staring at a billion dollars worth of wrist watches. Are they yours? An angelic voice asked. I spun around and forced myself to stay calm. I had lost awareness that I was naked, but her nudity was not lost on me. Most decup breasts just lose that rotundity, but every inch of her was proportioned, like Da Vinci had used the Vitruvian man as a temple. I reached down to touch her, she giggled. I thought gentlemen prefer blondes, another voice came from behind me.

I whirled around to see a younger, shorter, and yes, blonder woman devouring me with her eyes. She was just as naked and just as thirsty as the woman now running a finger down the back of my neck. The blonde woman looked pouty, like she was upset that I wasn't touching her as well. I indulged her. Wait, I sputtered as I came up for air. Wait, before we have sex, I want to see the two of you together. I grabbed a fistful of filet mignon and bit it like an apple, shredding it with my teeth as juice dribbled down my chin and onto my naked chest. I'm the only dick around, so I want to see you earn it.

They wrapped their arms around each other and smiled. I didn't demand indulgences. They came into existence whenever I thought of them. I tried every dish from every continent. I boiled my own lobsters and slaughtered my own beef. When sinews crackle and the cow's eyes cloud over with fear, I can taste the freshness. And the women kept coming. I had both tastes and appetite, so I demanded everything. Asians, Latinas, black women, they all appeared because I hungered for them. Greater taste leads to greater appetites. of course. I conjured every type of role play, every fantasy, every fetish. I demanded bondage, whips, chains, dominance. The more I had, the more extreme my needs became. Of course, I could go

for days at a time with enough coke, but there was no day or night in this isolated tropical paradise, just an endless hum of all things I could imagine. Endless. I was consuming more coke than food, because that was the only way to keep up with what I wanted. Naps were few and far between. With no darkness, I couldn't sleep. Besides, I was so used to having coke in my system that it was impossible to relax. So I conceptualized every gluttonous, lustful fantasy that my mind was capable of conceiving. The details drowned themselves out in a wave of pleasant, exhausting repetition. What do you want to do today? The Redhead asked, as she played with my hair. I never did learn their names. It seemed unimportant. I closed my eyes. I don't know. I'm just tired. I'm just tired.

Vertigo overwhelmed me. Had I said that? I opened my mouth to correct the thought, but no words came out. There was nothing to fix. I was tired. Every fantasy had been chased down and drunk to fulfillment. I sprang to my feet and demanded a menagerie twa. Afterward, I was tired again. I took a nap. I figured that a good meal after the nap would get my head straight, but I wasn't in the mood for Mexican, Chinese, seafood, barbecue, or even breakfast for dinner, because I had recently stuffed myself on all of them. I looked at the women who'd slept with me a thousand times, and I felt no sense of excitement. I'd gotten what I wanted. My neck grew hot as I stood from the table. All around me were piles of physical pleasures plucked straight from my brain. I'd become bored of every one, even irritated.

I was actually getting sick of the strawberry shortcake. The same was true of the Lago Avoolan's 16-year and my bungee jump. I ran down the beach, not stopping until the garden of earthly delights was out of eyesight. The solution was simple. I would stay there until the desire returned. That was a week ago, or possibly a month. I can't tell without nighttime. I'm never hungry, and I can't make myself horny. I finally gave up and walked back, stalking up and down the rows of gluttony and lust as an army of immaculate naked women stared at me expected. But my stick swung like the world's saddest deflated birthday balloon. There was no way to bring the desire back when it was all presented so freely.

The hellish part was that there was nothing left to distract me. I couldn't get my mind off of the conundrum by indulging in other interests because I'd exhausted every one. I sat down in the sand. My legs spread before me. I had no desire for anything at all. And there was no way to get it back. Yet everything I once loved would be right in front of me, ready for the taking, showing me what I had lost.

Each day brought greater awareness of exactly what eternity truly meant. The slow crawl of panic climbed from my chest and into my throat, one prickly inch at a time, with the promise that it would never abate. I hyperventilated. There was no path to healing. I couldn't even conceptualize happiness, and the visual reminder of my former cravings was agonizing. For a moment. I considered tearing my eyes out so that I wouldn't have to see it all.

The feeling passed, but I was sure that the thought would return again and again and again, pushing me closer to a single broken moment when I plunged sandy fingers into my sockets to scoop out the gooey eye pudding that forced me to see without feeling. I used to love everything here, I screamed. How can it be gone while it still remains? Just remember that what has been done can never, ever be undone. My breath stopped. My world stopped with it.

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