Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Cheating Death | Part 2

Episode Date: August 6, 2025

When ruthless businessman Edgar Wilson attempts to cheat Death itself by bargaining an angel's life for immortality, he soon discovers the true price of eternal ambition. Author: Jake Bible * * * 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 17. Listener discretion is advised.  #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

When Edgar gets in his car, he can barely contain his excitement. I did it, he says, and pounds his Cadillac steering wheel with both fists. I fucking did it! He starts up the car and pulls out of the building's underground parking garage, easing up onto the street as a heavy rain falls. The windshield wipers barely clear the glass enough for Edgar to see. He checks his speed, checks his mirrors, and keeps his hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel.

He's not going to die from a car crash when he's this close to immortality. Dumb cunt thinks she owns me? Think she's better than me? Bigger than me? Bullshit! The car hydroplanes just for a second when he hits the main thoroughfare, and he gasps. Then, when the tires catch asphalt again, he chuckles to himself. He's going the speed limit, but slows down another five miles per hour.

Even if he isn't an accident, at the speed he's going, he'd be able to be. barely get a friction burn from his seatbelt, let alone be killed. A horn blairs and a panel truck zooms past Edgar. An arm with a middle finger held up is sticking out of the passenger window, letting Edgar know a little slice of public opinion on his cautious driving. Shit, Edgar thinks as the panel truck swerves in front of Edgar's car, kicking up water spray that makes visibility even worse. Maybe I should have had death ride with me after all. Then he shakes that thought from his head and puts all his focus on the road in front of him. Now, Edgar knows that if death was riding shotgun, she would have taken every opportunity possible to reap him.

Without him in her immediate vicinity, then she has to be distracted with the millions of deaths happening all over the land, not just in the city. No, going alone is the smart play. The panel truck hits its brakes, and Edgar slams on his. He struggles to hold the wheel straight as the Cadillac starts to pull to the left, which would send Edgar right into oncoming traffic. Then the truck's brake lights go off and the vehicle pulls ahead quickly. Assholes! Edgar shouts, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He lets the truck get ahead of him by a couple of blocks,

then nods his head and smiles when it makes a right turn and has gone from sight. Slowly, Edgar speeds back up until he's exactly five miles under the speed limit again. It takes him about 20 minutes longer than normal to reach the outskirts of the city and the section of industrial buildings that one of Edgar's shell companies owns. He weaves his way around the buildings, even backtracking some, double checking that he hasn't been followed. Edgar has a lot of enemies in the city, and he doesn't know what would happen if one of them got the jump on him and stole the angel. Yet another reason to celebrate the deal he just made. Once the transaction is over, none of Edgar's competitors will be able to touch him ever again. With no one on his tail, Edgar makes a few more turns, then pulls up in front of a huge warehouse.

He gets out and hurries through the rain to the large double doors that front the building. For Edgar, ever since he got into the angel business, it's been the horrendous smell that's been the hardest part to deal with. When he opens the warehouse doors and the stench that hits him like a sloth, edgehammer. He has to take a few shallow breaths before he can walk all the way into the cavernous space. The warehouse is over 100,000 square feet. Yet the angel's odor fills every square inch of the place with ease. Hello, Asteroff! Edgar calls out after he closes the doors behind him. He slaps around on the wall until he finds the light switch and turns on the single bulb that hangs over the ornate iron cage set in the middle of the warehouse.

Boy, a gruff voice responds. Edgar walks closer to the cage and glares at the shape that sits hunched over in the center of it. He wags a finger. What have we talked about, Astoroth? You may call me Mr. Wilson, or even Edgar. I'm done with the boy bullshit. Astoroth, I'm trying to be nice here.

Astoroth? You want me to stop saying Asteroff? Is that what you're asking of me, Asteroff? To not say Asteroff? The hunched shape shakes with rage as Edgar gets closer and closer until he's just out of grabbing range on his side of the iron bars. Listen up, you angel, piece of trash. I own your ass.

That's the simple truth. I paid for the best experts. I performed all the rituals correctly. I prayed to all the wrong gods for them to imbue this cage with their hate of heaven's glory. I sacrificed virgins. I slew innocence and smeared their blood upon these bars. I have done everything correctly. I own you.

If you say so. Have we already forgotten what I can do to you? The angel looks up. His eyes are pure blackness. Deep, empty, reflections of the void that sits just outside of reality. I... I'm sorry. Did you ask why? Edgar laughs.

Because I fucking can. And if I can, then I will. I could capture an angel, so I did. I could force that angel to serve me, so I did. You have made me richer than I ever was before. But that is not enough, Astiroth. No, our time here has come to an end. Edgar places his hand on a circular pattern of iron set just to the side of the cage door.

The angel becomes nothing but pained tension and lifts its head up. Its mouth open wide and a silent scream. I can do this for as long as I live, Aesteroff. I know a human lifetime is only a mere blip to you, but I believe it is long enough to drive you to pure madness. And how will your God treat a mad angel? Will it hold you in its arms and whisper soothing words into your ear? I think not.

No, your God is not that kind of God, is it? It has no use for broken, helpless angels. It will strip you of any power you out. left and cast you aside like it has so many of your brethren. Is that what you want, Asterov?" Edgar removes his hand from the circle, and the angel collapses across the iron bars that cover the concrete floor, ensuring that the angel is secured on all sides of the cage.

As the angel slowly pushes up onto its hands and knees, Edgar says, I have a proposition for you, Asteroath. And if you are a smart angel, you'll agree to this proposition. I will agree to nothing. Is that so? How about release? Would you agree to be released?

The black eyes fix on Edgar. You would release me? Why? To what end? Do you want to be released or not? Of course I do. So, say it? Say what? Say that you want to be released, and that you are willing to do anything for that to happen.

I am not willing to do anything for that to happen. I am not willing to do. to do anything for that to happen. Edgar moves to place his hand in the circle again. Wait, just wait. Edgar lowers his hand. Explain yourself away. Edgar raises an eyebrow.

Explain yourself. That wasn't so hard, was it? Edgar Snickers. Where to start, where to start? Just tell me how I may be released from your torturous clutches. Torturous clutches. Clutches? I like that. I'll add it to my business card. The angel stares. Oh, all right. It's simple, really. I am going to summon death. And you are going to tell her that you want to die. An angel cannot be killed. I know that. But from what I've researched, an angel can die. You just have to ask for it.

The angel frowns. Why would I do that? Release. You want release. You want release. Police! And I am here to finally give it to you. An angel cannot be killed. Yes, yes, but you're missing the finer point here. No one will be killing you. You will ask to die, and death will simply grant your request. She's never reaped an angel before, so she is quite excited to be a part of this.

The angel hesitates. You speak as if you have met death in person. I have. and she is totally on board. All I have to do is give her the word, and she'll appear, and it will be all over from there. You get your release, and she gets the privilege of reaping an angel, win-win. And what do you get? What does Edgar Wilson get? You will no longer have the benefit of my oracular abilities.

How will you continue? That won't be any of your concern. Yes, it does concern me. An angel cannot be killed. Yet you have set up some elaborate scheme for me to be released from this prison by dying. You humans are wily and not to be trusted. And none of you do anything altruistically. Not a single one of you.

So, I ask again, Edgar Wilson, what do you get out of this? Whatever human wants, to live forever. The angel stares at Edgar. That blackness focusing on him, drilling into him. None of that, Edgar says, and slaps his hand to the circle. The angel constricts into a fetal position. Edgar does not stop. I should be more clear on how this transaction works,

or it doesn't work if you refuse. The angel twitches and moans. Every time I place my hand on this sigel, you are subjected to torment that I really cannot even imagine. You will? The angel hisses. Ah, fighting it, are we? Edgar places his other hand to a second circle.

The angel convulses and rolls onto its back, arching its spine until only its toes and shoulders touch the floor's iron bars. It's been a while since I've had to do two hands with you. The angel's jaw stretches, stretches, stretches, and the skin around it begins to tear. And two hands is what it will be for you from here on out, unless you agree to be released by death.

You have been extremely useful, but I need more than useful. I need real power. I need to know that no matter what my enemies do, I cannot be touched while I destroy them all. I need to know that someday soon, this city will be my city to rule as I see fit, and no one can stop. Not now, not ever.

Edgar removes his hands, and the angel's torment stops. Its muscles relax, and it falls flat onto its back. Edgar grins at the creature. The angel slowly swivels its head and grins back. Fear greater than anything Edgar has ever felt fills him. Fear greater than even when death had threatened him. How's it going here? Edgar jumps and screams.

Death laughs, and it sounds like exactly 16 puppies stuffed in a duffel bag and thrown over a bridge. Sorry, she says as she walks. across the concrete toward Edgar and the cage. And the angel. Is that him? This is the angel who will let me get my holy reap on? What are you doing here?

Edgar asks, recovered from his fright. The fear still lingers, but it has lessened a good deal with death's arrival. I got bored waiting, Death says. Oh, and I drank all your scotch and ate all the chips and salsa. She pats her chest. And I smoked all of your cigars. You found the humidor closet?

What? You had a closet filled with cigars and I missed them? Well, shit. I should have had you throw that into the deal. Why? The angel croaks. What was that, Mr. No Wings? Death asks.

Ouch, that must have stung like a bitch. Why have you made a deal with the talking monkey? Oh, that why. Sure, I get it. You want a little clarity before we dance. No problem. Ask me again. Ask you what again?

Why? Ask me why again so we can start over. The angel snorts. It is always games with you, death. It's either games or madness. And I don't have to go out on a limb to guess that no one wants a mad death. So, games it is.

Why? Are we asking why the games? Or is this the big why? Stop it. Sorry, sorry. No more games. Only answers. She takes a deep breath in trucks.

Why? I guess it's the same answer I gave Edgar here. I'm bored. I have reaped everything there is to reap. From minor gods to entire alien civilizations. I have reaped across the universe and beyond. I have reaped and reaped and reaped. But never an angel.

Because we cannot be killed. Exactly. Death walks to Edgar and paths him on the ship. shoulder. But this talking monkey has figured out the loophole, as he put it. He believes that you can die if you ask to. Then all I have to do is snap my fingers, and I've got myself an angel's soul. We do not have souls. Power, essence, whatever, Edgar interrupts. Speaking of board, let's get to the task at hand. Asteroff, do you submit to death and request to die? Startled by the name, Death looks at Edgar.

What did you call him? Quiet! This is part of the process. It must agree to submit to you. Yeah, I get that. But what did you say its name was? Astoroth. Astoroth.

A very interesting name for a very interesting angel. You, Mr. Wilson, got lucky you made it this far. I have no idea how you did. But here you are. still standing and breathing. Bravo, Edgar, Bravo. Death does a slow clap for a few beats, then lets her arms fall to her sides as she focuses on the angel.

So, Asterov, you ready to do this thing or what? Picture this. It's late at night. You're scrolling, and suddenly you find exactly what you've been looking for. You add it to your cart, maybe browse a little more than head to checkout, only to realize you don't have your wallet. But then you see it, that purple shes. shop pay button and just like that, you're done in seconds. That's the power of Shopify. It supports millions of businesses and drives 10% of all e-commerce in the U.S. from major brands like Mattel and

Jimshark to entrepreneurs just getting started. With Shopify, everything you need is in one place, from customizable store templates to built-in AI tools that help write product descriptions and enhance your images. It also makes marketing easy with integrated email and social campaigns. And if you get stuck. Shopify's award-winning customer support is there for you 24-7. See less cards go abandoned and more sales go with Shopify and their shop pay button. Sign up for your $1 per month trial today at Shopify.com slash DNS. Go to Shopify.com slash DNS. That's Shopify.com slash d n s oh it's ready edgar says right astiroth you are choosing release willingly say it the angel says nothing only stares at death say it edgar roars at the tortured creature say you want release i won't

release the angel finally says good now say you want death to facilitate that release you don't have to say the word facilitate, Death interrupts. That's stupid. Just say, hey, death, you can reap me now. The angel sighs. Hey, death, you may reap me now. I see what you did there, correcting my grammar. Oh, you angels, such rascals. Edgar stands there, almost bouncing on his toes, as he watches the angel intensely. Nothing happens. Edgar rounds on death. His eyes, filled with rage. What's going on? Why haven't you reaped him?

Huh? Oh, you want me to do it immediately. Sorry, sorry. I expected you to have a whole speech planned, and maybe even a little back and forth between the two of you. I mean, come on, you have spent a long time together.

While not exactly consensual, you guys really are co-workers in a way. No last words or anything before this guy shuffles off this mortal coil? I'm not mortal. The angel moans. You know what I mean. A speech?

Edgar thinks for a moment. I hadn't considered that. Usually, in these types of situations, the bad guy, which is you, Edgar. No matter how you frame it, well, the bad guy has a long speech prepared. Then death smacks herself in the forehead. Oh, wait! Never mind. That speech is also usually where the bad guy explains all his plans, so the good guy knows how to defeat him.

This is totally not that kind of situation. I already explained it to him before you got here. I see. Sorry. My bad. I missed the speech. Got it. She clears her throat. Astoroth, do you consent to being reaped by me? Do I have a choice? Normally, no. But in this case, yeah, you do. I just need to hear you say it with your name. That's important.

That you state your name while you ask to be reaped. I see. The angel takes a deep breath and lets it out. The stench in the warehouse doubles, and death waves a hand in front of her face to clear the smell away, but says nothing. Astoroth, an angel of heaven, do ask death to reap me

so I may be released from this prison and be tortured, no. No problem, my friend. Death snaps her fingers, and she's no longer dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Her robe and scythe have returned. Asteroff, as is my duty as death, I reap you! The angel bucks and shudders then goes still. Death snaps her fingers. The angel slowly fades away until it is no more.

Edgar stands there and stares into the empty cage. Then he slowly pulls a large key from his pocket and unlocks the door to the cave. He takes a cautious step inside, then another and another, until he is standing on the exact spot where the angel was only seconds before. He's gone! You did it! He turns and smiles at death. You did it! Well, yeah, I did it. That's the whole reason I'm here. And I'm now immortal? No, no way. I want to celebrate! Meet me back in my penthouse for a drink and cigars to commemorate this incredible moment? Um, yeah, sure.

But you'll want to swing by a liquor store and get more scotch. I have a stash at the penthouse. Um, not really. When I said I drank all your scotch, I meant all of your scotch. I found the stash. All of it? All of it. That collection was worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Death shrugs. What can I say? I killed things like angels and scotch collections. Very well. Yes. I will stop by the liquor store and get more scotch. Okay, okay, last glass. Death says and laughs.

It's a normal laugh. A little drunk and giggly, but normal. Edgar pours more into her glass as they sit and stare out at the city. Do you feel it? He asks her. What? The scotch? No, not the scotch.

Oh, you mean the extra angel mojo? She scrunches her face. Maybe? It's hard to tell. I don't know what it's supposed to feel like, so I can't really say. I feel it. Immortality. You do? Death looks deeply interested.

Please, describe it. It's hard to put into words. Oh, I'm sure it is. But it's like having a powerful secret that no one can ever take away from you. A secret? Immortality feels like a secret? Fascinating. I said it was hard to put into words.

They sit and drink Scotch and watch as the moon plays hide-and-seek behind thick rain clouds. A peek here, a peek there, then gone. It was quite a deal, Edgar says, not looking away from the view. Don't you think? Iron-clad, he laughs. Just like that cage. Mm-hmm, quite a deal. What are you going to do with that cage, by the way? Oh, I'm hanging on to it. It should come in handy.

I suspect it will, death turns and studies Edgar for a moment. What? he asks, turning and frowning at her. Nothing, just agreeing with you. Quite a deal. I got to reap an angel, and you never have to see me ever again after our little celebration. You, sir, are one heck of a negotiator. Remind me to never get stuck in a boardroom with you. She sets her glass down and stands up. Well, it's been a pleasure, Edgar Wilson.

You have turned what would just be another boring night into something I'll remember forever. She offers her hand, and, after a moment's hesitation, Edgar shakes it. And I'm off, I'm afraid. So soon? Are you sure? I bet we could do some more celebrating. Death smiles down at Edgar. Mr. Wilson, did you just hit on death?

Maybe. Oh, he really are something, but I'll have to decline. Not my kink. I hope you understand. Of course, I completely understand. He lifts his glass. Here's the never seeing you again. Quite a deal, is all Death says, then walks off, headed for the elevator. Good night, Edgar Wilson.

Good night, Death. Death steps onto the elevator when it arrives and presses the down button. She could simply will herself to her next location. Technically, she already has, but she has to confirm with her own eyes first. When the elevator reaches the lobby, the doors open, and the angel is standing there, unharmed, giving death the confirmation she needs. Hey, buddy, you good? Death asks. Yes.

The angel doesn't move, only stares at her. You're getting on or what? Death asks. You who? Abadon? You sure you're good? The angel sighs and steps onto the elevator. Its newly regrown wings take up most of the space, and death has to sidel over. It is nice to hear my real name without worry I shall be imprisoned.

Yeah, that had to suck. What was it? A simple glamour? Every time you said your real name, you heard a different one? The angel, Abadon, nods. That type of glamour requires little effort. even with that damn cage surrounding me. Yeah, that cage was a bitch. Death reaches for the row of floor buttons, but doesn't press one yet.

I assume you're going up. I'll ride back up with you, moral support, and all that. I have forgotten how cute you think you are, Abidon says. But, yes, I am going up, so thank you. Why not just appear outside his windows all wrathful and shit? Death glances at the angel's back. You've got your wings again, so use them.

I want to see the look on his face when I step off the elevator. I totally get that. I've had a few souls over the years that I may have enjoyed reaping just a little too much. Death presses the button for the penthouse, which normally requires a key for access. But death has neither time nor patience nor need for keys. They ride in silence for a few floors. You sure you're good, Abby? death asks when they pass the 13th floor.

Abadon sighs. To say you did not pull any punches would be an understatement. I now have a deeper understanding of the pain the souls feel when they appear in my pit. I bet you do. And sorry, I needed it to look real. So I actually reaped you, which I will never do again. Even with consent. You angels are a different bit of strange, that's for sure.

She giggles and pats Abadon on the shoulder. It's hilarious to think that Jackal actually thought I could not only kill an angel, but kill you of all angels. You, for Christ's sakes. Mortals do not understand the difference between you and I. No, they sure as fuck don't. You were made by your Lord and Creator to protect and serve the kingdom of heaven. Until the fall. Yeah, well, I wasn't going to say anything about that.

Anyway, you were made with a purpose. And while I sure as fuck have a purpose, I was never made. God makes all. God makes all of you and all of this, Death says, and spreads her hands to indicate not just the elevator, but all of earthly existence. But he didn't make me. God makes all. Right, sure, whatever.

And thank you for reminding me why I don't hang out with angels more often. Not angels. Often him. Same thing. No, it is not. Then why are you called the angel of death? Humans call me that. And humans write the book, so, as fucked up as it is, they get the last word on, well, the word.

Abidon, the angel of death and lord of the bottomless pit, sighs. Well, this human will not be writing anything anymore. You gonna tear him limb from limb? That is the agenda, yes. Cool. Do me a favor. and make sure to cut his eyes out. I don't want him to see me when I swing by later after you were done. I shall take the eyes.

May I ask a question? Shoot. You made a deal with this man that he will live forever, in exchange for allowing you to reap me. Are you not ashamed that you lied? To him? Yes. But did I lie?

I believe so. He is not immortal. He may think he is, but he will most definitely not live forever. Yeah, but what I actually said to him is that he will never see me again. That was the deal's wording. I didn't say he would never die.

Abadon nods. Hence the removal of his eyes. Bingo. I must warn you, this shall not be quick. There is no need to return tonight. Oh? How long are we talking? The elevator doors open.

and Edgar turns from where he stands by the bar as he refills his scotch. He stares while his jaw slowly drops open. That is the look I wanted to see. Abadon turns back to death. Thank you for releasing me. To answer your question, I shall be done by Easter. Easter? That's like months away. You can keep him alive that long? I can and I shall. Cool. Well, thanks for reminding me about the second reason I don't hang out with angels.

You all are crazy. Got it. Have fun and see you after Easter. Abadon steps out of the elevator, and Edgar begins to scream for mercy immediately. Oh, and by the way, he's keeping the cage. Maybe between now and Easter, you show him the same hospitality he showed you. Thank you, Death. I may do that. Wait! Death smiles as the elevator doors close. Then, as Edgar screams still reach her, she thinks that maybe she should have given Edgar immortality.

That way he can suffer Avedon's torture forever. Then she shakes the thought away since his soul is immortal, and Edgar Wilson's soul is about to go on a permanent vacation after Easter anyway. Somewhere very, very hot is death's guess. A place where a soul's pain and torment never end. The true forever that Edgar deserves. She smiles to herself and laughs. It sounds like a quiet rain on a skylight.