Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Cackle Hill

Episode Date: October 25, 2021

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The house loomed above us. It sat as a broken, teetering tribute to the dead, perched atop cackle hill like a crown of rotting lumber. It was the most famous thing in our town. The thing everybody knew, everybody talked about, but nobody dared to disturb. We were warned again and again to steer clear of the house. To avoid even so much as looking at it,

when we walked by for fear that we'd see the man in the window with the tiny eyes and snaggle to. toothed smile, beckoning us forward with his long fingers, but such superstitions are lost on children. It was on Halloween night that we decided to brave the house. There were three of us then, 12-year-olds, and small enough to navigate the maze of Bramble that encircled the hill, deft enough to avoid the sharp thorns that pressed in upon the house, like a barbed-wire fence. The property once belonged to a wealthy aristocrat named Eirish Kackle, who owned most of the real estate within a hundred mile radius. The story goes that Cackle had a taste for delicacies.

He enjoyed fine foods from all across the world, whether that be escargo or snake wine. He loved to try things, eat things. At one point, he decided to try human flesh, and at one point, he decided that he liked it. Kids flesh, most of all. It's estimated that over a hundred different corpses littered Cackle Hill, their bones scattered amongst the bramble. These days, it's officially recognized as a burial ground, a final resting place for a legion of people with no name and no history, no record of their existence, besides the occasional femur rising from the dirt. Twenty-two years ago, though, the legend spun into overdrive. On Halloween night, 1989, four children crawled through the thickets of thorns and made it into cackle house. All four were massacred. Ever since, it's been

closed off. The authority said it was out of respect to the unmarked graves that covered the property, and to protect would-be explorers from venturing into the dilapidated, condemned death trap that was the house. But the locals knew better. They knew that Irish cackle had never been tried for his crimes. They knew that he lived a full life, one with blood on his house. his hands and hair in his teeth and young flesh in his belly. They knew that Irish cackle, despite being dead for over a hundred years, still lived in that house, that he watched them from atop the hill. Stories like that are magnets to children. Urban legends have always had a special pull on the 16 and undercrowd. And that night, me and my friends learned we weren't immune.

I think that's why we did it. I think that's why we climbed Cackle Hill on Halloween night. and made the worst mistake of our lives. The passage up the hill was awful. It was dark inside the bramble. The dense canopy of leaves blocked the moon almost completely. We navigated by feeling alone with Landon in the lead, Wendy behind, and me in the rear. The blanket of thorns pressed us down,

preventing us from being able to even properly crawl. Instead, we slid across the ground like worms. My heart worked overtime as my muscles burned, each movement more difficult than the last. It took us over an hour to make it up the hill, and once we did, we needed another ten minutes just to catch our breaths. As we did, we realized just how alone we were, all the way at the top of the hill. You couldn't even hear the cars zipping along the streets below.

You could barely make out the last of the trick-or-treaters marching back home for the night. It was just us, us, and the house. It stood 20 feet away, a tall, teetering structure draping us in its shadow. The front of it was covered in broken windows and rotting wood. Its walls, now sagging and in many places crumbling, looked to have once been painted white, but all that remained of that were chips of discolored beige. I pulled my jacket tighter about myself. It suddenly felt cold.

This place even feels haunted, Wendy muttered. That's just what they want you to think, Landon said. Dead people are dead people. There's no such thing as ghosts. My brother told me the only reason they say all of that gossip is because there's actually a lot of valuable stuff inside Cackle's Manor, but they don't want kids looting it. It was hard for me to imagine being able to loot much of anything from the house.

It was a tight enough fit coming up here with just the close. on our backs, let alone a backpack or duffel bag. The thorns had cut my arms and legs to ribbons. Whatever, let's just hurry up and get this over with, Wendy said. This place gives me the creeps. Landon rolled his eyes. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a flashlight, turning it on and illuminating the battered front door, creaking quietly in the wind. Guess I'll go first. He stepped across the riggedy porch and paused at the door, then swept his light inside the house before disappearing into the darkness. I followed.

Inside, the house was a mess. Cobwebs lined every corner of every ceiling, and what walls weren't decorated in peeling wallpaper were covered in faded graffiti. Beer bottles were strewn here and there, old ones, probably from a time before the bramble had grown as thick as it did. Of the four chairs that sat in the kitchen, three were in pieces and spread across the hardwood, while another sat bow-legged and weary, threatening to collapse at any moment. The countertops were dusty, bugs skittered across them, spiders and ants alike.

But beyond the insects and arachnids lay a row of black and white photographs, still lies. of a different time. One pictured a man smiling. His teeth a mess that stuck out in odd directions. His eyes were sunken and hollow. And his fingers, long and bony, were draped over the shoulders of two girls. There he is, muttered Landon. Erish cackle. Wendy shivered beside me. He looks even creepier than in the textbooks. I had to agree. There was something about the photo that made my inside squirm. The girl standing on either side of cackle looked uncomfortable, almost frightened. These are probably the girls he ate, I said. Probably. Landon agreed. Moving past the photographs and inspecting the rest of the kitchen, he pulled open a drawer and withdrew a rusty carving

knife. Think he caught up any kids with this? Landon, Wendy groaned. He said with a smirk. Everybody but he knows he loved them. Remember when the Daily Times published his journal? He called them juicier than a steak. Ew, that's so disgusting. A clatter sounded from down the hall. I turned, startled, peering into the inky darkness. What's up? Landon asked. Be quiet for a second. Just listen. The three of us stood there in silence, my ears straining. It sounded like somebody dropped something, I said, like they bumped into a table. Well, let's go check it out, Landon said, flipping the carving knife in his hand and passing the flashlight to Wendy. Don't worry, if cackle jumps out at us, I'll gut him with this.

He pantomimed stabbing his stomach, complete with a goofy, tongue-rolling expression. Wendy sighed, but followed him into the hallway all the same. It was a long, twisting thing. The walls of the hallway were cramped, and its carpet were cramped. and its carpet was a faded red. All around us, objects hung from nails, interspersed between dusty photographs and old paintings. Trinkets, I realized.

Pocket watches, bonnets, boots, and letters were all nailed to the walls, though many looked to have been torn off and stolen. These look like prizes from his victims, Wendy said. Mementos! Lame prizes, Landon said with a yawn. Well, they wouldn't have many possessions. The people cackle preyed upon were mostly just poor immigrants who... Wind touched the back of my neck, warm, humid, like somebody's breath. I wheeled around, coming face to face with nothing at all.

You're losing it, Landon snickered from out front. Everything okay? Wendy asked. You look stressed. I'm fine. I lied. Just tired. Well, let's check out a couple more rooms and head back down, Lanton said, reaching for a doorknob at the end of the hall. This place is a lot more boring than I expected. He turned the doorknob and pushed open the heavy oak door. I doubled over and gagged.

The stench coming from her room was unbearable, rancid, grotesque. It smelled like shit, piss, and perfume all at once. I brought a hand up to cover my nose. What's the matter? Wendy asked. That smell. It's awful. She looked to Landon, shaking her head. I don't smell anything. Me neither. Maybe Ian's gigantic nose is just better at smelling. Oh, screw off, I muttered, beginning to feel nauseous.

The three of us moved into the room. In its center was a large bed, draped in moldy blankets. On either side of it were two finely carved dressers. And in the far corner, was an empty closet and tall full-body mirror broken a long time ago. Must be Cackle's bedroom, Wendy said. It looks like it. The smell of death was so powerful that it made my stomach twist. I'm feeling a little gross though, guys. Too much candy, maybe. I think we've probably seen enough. Hang on, Landon said. He pressed his foot against a

floorboard. Then another. One elicited a hollow echo. The other other. did not. I think there's something under here. He kicked at it. Once, twice, three times. The board warped, but didn't break. One second, he said, grabbing the light from Wendy. Let me try to find a hammer. Before I could protest, he was gone. Vanished from the room. His footsteps creaked along the twisting hallway before fading entirely. Wendy and I stood in the dark. No flashlight between us, with only the small scraps of moonlight filtering through boarded-up windows. You're right, I said to her. You were right all along.

This place is creepy, and we shouldn't have come up here. My nostrils ate with the smell of corpses. We'll see what's under the room, and then we'll leave, she reasoned. If we take off now, Landon's going to throw a hissy fit. Okay, I said. The two of us stood there in silence, waiting for seconds that turned into minutes. that soon felt like hours before Landon returned. When he did, his face seemed different.

It was hard to describe, but the carefree aloofness was somehow gone. Something else had replaced it. Something calculated, serious. Ready? He said. Don't trust him. That voice again. But where was it coming from?

Who was speaking to me? I wheeled around, scanning the empty bedroom, and nearly yelped when Landon clasped my shoulder. You'll go first, he said. I'll throw you the light once you're down there. I nodded, somewhat disoriented. Sure, yeah, no problem. Landon got down on his knees, eyes staring into my own, and raised the hammer.

It came down on the floorboard with a deafening crack. The wood, old and rotten, splintered easily, and Landon continued to smash away at it, a ravenous look in his eyes. Soon he was finished, leaving a jagged hole of splintered wood. behind. That should do it, he said, breathless. I stared down into the hole. My palms growing clammy. I couldn't make out anything down there. We'll be right here, Wendy said, encouragingly. Don't worry. Actually, I said, losing my nerve. I'm not feeling it. Sorry, guys, I just... A hand pressed against my back, pushing me forward, pushing me into the hole. I shot out my arms,

trying to catch myself on the lip of the broken wood, but my hand slipped. I fell, screaming, I fell. A second later, pain shot through my tailbone as I landed with a crash. I took a shaky breath, trying to get my bearings, but I was in so much pain. Tears welled in my eyes. Landon! I heard Wendy shriek from above. Are you crazy?

Sorry, he said, sounding embarrassed. I didn't mean to push him that hard. I was just messing around. I groaned, looking up and seeing their two faces swimming in the darkness above. I must have fallen six or seven feet. Too much for me to get back up through the hole on my own. But still, I wasn't going to just sit there. I got to my hands and knees, then to my feet, and I gasped, crumpling to the ground.

What's wrong? Wendy called. My ankle. I said through gritted teeth. I fell on it. I think it's broken, maybe. I can't stand up. Up. One second, Wendy said. I'm going to find a step ladder. She took the light and disappeared,

leaving me in Landon alone. You didn't have to push me, asshole, I grunted. He didn't respond. Ever since Landon left us to get the hammer, he seemed different, more severe. Even now he stared down at me. The house so dark that all I could make out was his unmoving silhouette. He tapped The hammer against his legs, humming quietly. Do you have your phone on you? I asked, swallowing my pain. I might need to call for help. Not sure I can actually get out of here.

Landon was silent, unmoving. He just stood there, humming, and looking down at me. I'm serious. I'm fucking hurt. A voice whispered. I froze. It hadn't come from above, but instead in front of me, Somebody else was in the crawl space. Landon?

I said, panicking. There's somebody down here. No response. He just continued humming, louder and louder. There was a dull thud in the dark, then breathing. Heavy, ragged breathing. It sounded like something heavy was shifting its way toward me, moving slowly through the crawl space.

Fuck. Once more, I tried to rise to my feet, but once more pain exploded across my ankle and I collapsed into a heap. The thing shuffled closer. Whimpering, I scanned my hands across the dirt floor, feeling for something, anything to defend myself with. Nothing.

Wait, what was that? My hands gripped something long, metallic, a screwdriver. Hey! A voice called from above. You still alive down there? I looked up and saw Wendy standing above me, smiling at me with the flashlight in her hands. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Beside her, Landon was trying to position a ladder above the hole. Hurry up! I bellowed. About time, he said something, Landon said with a smirk. You've been quiet as a corpse. Roll out of the way, Wendy called. We're going to drop the ladder.

I did. The ladder crashed in front of me. A moment later. It creaked and groaned as Wendy clambered down it, followed by Landon. We got to go, I said. There's... What is this place? Landon said.

Looking around, smells like rat do-doo. I studied him warily. The silent, creepy figure from earlier seemed to have gone, and he was back to cracking silly jokes. Wendy swept the flashlight across the area, revealing a narrow pathway lined by several thick wooden supports that ended in a sharp corner.

There was no sign of anybody else down here. Sheesh, it's a total maze, she said. Bet you there's something cool at the end, Landon said. Let's go check it out. Don't, I snapped. The idea of Landon going into the dark alone with Wendy made my skin crawl. I couldn't put my finger on it,

but Landon still felt different, dangerous. Don't go, I said. I heard somebody down here. Just help me up the ladder and let's fucking leave this place. Wendy eyed me. You saw somebody down here? Well, no. I heard them and...

Landon slapped my back. Don't be such a baby. I've got the hammer, and besides, we'll be back in no time. The two took off, their figures shuffling down the narrow corridor and disappearing around the sharp bend. I swallowed. It felt so vulnerable sitting here like this. Alone in the dark, without so much as the ability to stand on my own two feet. I was helpless.

The breathing returned, this time right next to my ears. I snapped. I flung my hand out. screwdriver clenched between my fingers but connected with nothing but empty air i panted mouth dry wendy landon now the breathing was in my other ear ragged warm i spun around my ankle screaming in pain and i threw my hands through the dark but they met no resistance was i losing my mind guys i called out get back here i'm fucking serious there's somebody in here no response then avoid voice. This one higher pitched, a childlike.

Run. I shook my head, backing up against the far wall of the crawl space. Where was Wendy? Landon? They had to have heard me. I shouted for them as loud as I could, and yet... A new sound reached my ears. This one familiar, terrifyingly familiar. It was Landon. His voice was low, Quiet. He sounded like he was just ahead of me. Near the sharp bend where the wooden support split off. Lazzangue sur-gillet, Pucance-molyne for 15 minutes. We're like it's their dojo.

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to fashion responsible. The conditions apply so apply. Now that we've got him here, he said, I'll bash his brains in with the hammer. You can take the first bite.

No. Wendy replied, her voice reverberating all around me. I want to cut him open and see how much of him I can eat before he dies. Greedy.

Hist Landon. I thought we brought him down here so we could take our time. We did. but I wanted to play with his brain. Where did you put the saw? My body shook. I scrambled.

Pain be damned as I tried to mount the ladder and reach the opening above, to reach the inside of the house and eventually the hill beyond. But it was no use. My ankle writhed with pain the moment I so much as moved it, and the pain crippled me, broke me into a heap on the floor. I screamed, Help, anybody, please! It wasn't any use.

I know full well that it was late. Much too late for people to be out and about near Cackle Hill. Besides, even if they did hear me, how were they going to help? We barely made it up here as it was. The sound of shifting dirt meant my ears, followed by a low humming. Somebody was walking toward me, not Landon, but somebody else. I squinted my eyes and ahead, a shape moved beneath the dim light of the broken floorboards. Wendy, she held something, patting it against her side.

A saw, rusty metal, deadly. Wendy, I said, mouth trembling. Stop messing around, all right? I don't feel good. She didn't respond. Instead, she took a shambling step forward, her head snapping to the side, her body moving like a puppet on strings. Her tongue darted across her lips. Landon appeared beside her. He slapped the head of the steel hammer against the palm of his hands, humming along with Wendy.

but an entirely different tune. His expression was detached, empty. They looked possessed. They looked like something had crawled into their skin. One, two, Wendy said. Coming for you. She sprang at me. I shrieked in agony as the saw blade dug into my shoulder.

I felt my skin tear, my warm blood seeping down my chest and through my jacket. Wendy grunted, wordlessly, her eyes wild. She began working at the saw blade, grinding it back, forth, cutting apart my flesh and beginning to tear my arm from my body. My other hand, still gripping the screwdriver, moved on instinct. I swung at her. There was a wet, popping sound, and Wendy's mouth dropped open. Her expression turned vacant. She teetered on top of me for a moment before falling forward with a soft groan. Warm blood flowed from the place the screwdriver pierced her skull. It dripped onto my face, into my eyes, my mouth. I gagged, crying out as I

tried to push her off of me, but Landon was quicker. He clambered on top of her corpse, knocking the wind from me and before I could react, he lifted the hammer, then brought it down on my forehead. Crack! My world went blurry. Everything from sights to sounds to sense, and even the taste of Wendy's blood became a slurry of madness. I squirmed, and in the corner of my vision, I spotted a shape on top of me, vaguely humanoid in appearance. Landon, he lifted the again, lifted the hammer to kill me. My hand scrambled across the floor, gripping something small, something sharp. Landon swung, and this time my hand shot upward, jabbing at him, jabbing into him, but it wasn't enough. I was slow, too slow. The hammer struck my temple,

and my world went black. When I came to, I was in a bright room. Light shone above me, blinding, painful and disorienting. I tossed and turned, grumbled, moaning as vignettes of nightmares played inside of my head. A voice reached me, one I'd missed, one I'd wanted to hear for some time. Oh, sweetheart, my mother said. You're awake, she told a man standing in the corner to go and get the nurse. The man's arms were crossed. His face was stern, and he gazed at me like he wanted to rip me from limb to limb. my father. He turned, leaving the room and coming back a moment later with another man in scrubs. The nurse. How do you feel? The nurse asked, checking several instruments and making notes on his clipboard.

I feel a bit hazy, nauseous. You were struck in the head multiple times with a hammer, he explained. Your skull is fractured, but it looks like you've avoided the worst of it. No brain damage. You're likely to explain. You're likely to experience migraines for some time, however. Do you know what a migraine is? I nodded. My world, still a blur. It was just then that I noticed another figure in the room, a woman in a dark jacket with stern eyes. Where's Landon and Wendy? I asked. Are they okay? My mother choked back a sob. The stern woman cleared her throat. I'd like to ask you some questions, if that's all right, Mr. Pearson. I'm a detective with the county police, and I need to know if you remember anything from three nights ago. Three nights ago? I asked. My mouth felt drier than a desert. Yes, she said.

October 31st, Halloween. Do you recall anything from that night? I racked my mind. It was hard. The landscape of my thoughts felt like quicksand, but certain pieces still jumped out at me, certain memories. I remember going up Cackle Hill. I said slowly. I glanced sidelong in my father. Sure I was going to get grounded for just admitting that, but he didn't react. He just sat there, gnawing his lip. I remember going into the house with Landon and Wendy and seeing some photographs and I paused. There was somebody else there with us, wasn't there, another voice, another presence. So far that matches what we have. The detective said. You and your friends did climb Cackle Hill that night. At roughly 2 a.m. that morning,

shouts for help were heard in the neighborhood below, coming from the house. Officers were dispatched to the area via helicopter and located you in the crawl space. I took a breath. It was only then that I realized plastic tubes were stuffed into my nostrils, draped across my chest, and connected into oxygen units. Breathing felt difficult. We found you lying beneath the bodies of Landon Matthews and Wendy's song. I swallowed. My heart pounded. Beside me, a machine began beeping more rapidly. What happened? I asked, panic seeping into my words. Your fingerprints were found on an old screwdriver and a rusty nail, the detective explained. Do those objects mean anything to you? No, I muttered. My thoughts racing. Should they? They were the objects you used

to murder Mr. Matthews and Miss Song, respectively. I took a sharp breath. Machines sang beside me. Their choruses reaching new, piercing heights. I felt hot. I felt sick. My entire body seemed to shake under the weight of the horrific revelations, and yet it felt numb,

like it wasn't even there. What we've been so far, unable to explain, the detective continued, is the fact that both Mr. Matthews and Miss Song's corpses were partially consumed at the time they were found. Their faces, particularly their cheeks, had been violently bitten. We found traces of their DNA on your teeth. And presently, we believe we found evidence of their flesh in your stomach.

My mother stepped forward, a hand raised. Her voice was hoarse, broken. He doesn't need to hear that. My father growled. The detective looked at my mother. Then she looked back to me. Unfortunately, he does, Mrs. Pearson. Based on the analysis of the bite marks,

Your son murdered and partially cannibalized his classmates, and I'd like to know why. Look at him, my father shouted. He didn't have a choice. You think he rolled underneath their bodies? No, they were trying to fucking kill him. My mother pressed a soothing hand to his chest. Self-defense is self-defense. The detective agreed.

But cannibalism is something else entirely. She turned her attention to me, walking up to my bedside and crouching so that we were eye-level. The thing I'd like you to help me understand is who the other bite marks belong to. My jaw fell open, and stuttering words fell out of it. Other bite marks? Yes. In addition to the teeth marks on Song and Matthews' cheeks, they also had bite marks on their arms and legs. Strips of flesh had been torn from them.

Where that flesh went, or who attacked them in that manner, is something we've been unable to determine. But the marks were made with human beings. teeth. A shiver ran through me, but whether because of the drugs coursing through my veins or the exhaustion of my body, I hardly felt it. I felt frozen, unable to move. I don't know, I said. I didn't see anybody else. Are you sure? Why would I lie to you? I yelled, losing control. My friends are dead, and I'm sitting here with a broken ankle and tube sticking out of me, and you're telling me I killed them and ate them. And now you're calling me,

me a liar? Tears flowed from my eyes in a torrent. What's wrong with you? You didn't feel it then, the detective asked. I blinked, bleary-eyed. Feel what? She sighed, looking to my mother and father, then to the nurse. All three of them looked away as if they couldn't bear the interaction. I'm sorry to be the one to show you this.

She pulled back the sheet covering me. The breath left my lungs. No, not my lungs. I didn't have lungs anymore. Just a couple of airbags inside of my split-open chest. Tubes spilled out of me from all directions. So many of my organs were missing. So were my arms, my legs.

I couldn't speak, couldn't even cry. I just stared at my hollowed-out body in silent horror. Whoever tore the strips of flesh from your friends also dismembered you, chewing your limbs to the bone before laying them next to you and across. They made a small incision in your side, and from what the surgeon described, they reached inside and pulled out pieces of you, not enough to kill you, just enough to taste. The detective lowered her eyes, taking a deep breath. We found your appendix partially devoured a short distance from you, as well as pieces of your large intestine. Your wounds have been cauterized.

For whatever reason, whoever did this to you wanted to keep you alive. My mind felt blank. I couldn't process what she was saying. Do you have any idea who did this? Any idea at all? I did. I knew exactly who did this. The trouble is he'd been dead for over a century.