Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Dark Web Horror Story | A.L.I.C.I.A.

Episode Date: July 28, 2021

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Talk to nicely. Big shout out to Spazout, Jake, and Valenti for joining my Patreon this past month. Your support means everything to me. Thank you so much. Be sure to check out all my bonus episodes now that you have access. And for all you who'd like to gain access, check out my Patreon page at patreon.com slash DR No Sleep. Now time for the story.

To be perfectly honest, I was never into all that dark web stuff. I mean, it's interesting enough and all, but I never had the patience, nor the technological no to figure out how to use it productively. In fact, my whole family seems to be missing the technology genes. We've struggled with everything from computers and phones toasters and microwaves. My mother even got scammed a few times before she passed away. Luckily she never lost anything more than a few hundred bucks, but it still stung. Francis, my best friend, on the other hand, was a tech whiz. He loved that stuff and never shied away from looking up the most bizarre and horrific things online. If he could reach it, he would. He even tried to set up a tour browser on

my computer once, but I just ended up ignoring it, somehow deleting the shortcut and losing track of where he placed it. Still, he'd periodically send me pictures from Alpha Bay, which is apparently some dark web black market. It was mostly strange or illegal products. Other times, he'd find impossible, random conspiracies. It was usually weird and funny stuff, but sometimes he'd send me darker things, pictures of murder victims, videos displaying horrific car crashes and other accidents. It made me appreciate our friendship a little less, but Francis was all around a good guy, albeit an eccentric one. We stuck together. On the rare occasion that he crossed the line, I'd just politely ask him to stop, which would work for a while. Then, after the shock had worn off,

he'd send some more stuff he found on the dark web. It would almost start off so innocent, with funny pictures or forums, but it inevitably got darker, escalating to more disturbing areas of the dark web. The most horrific thing he ever sent me, however, was little more than a picture of myself, found randomly out there in the sea of onion sites. It was just a screenshot he'd sent, with a picture of myself and some text lined up next to it. In a way, it looked like a profile for some sort of social media page, but it was plain, simple, and seemingly pointless. It contained my name, birth date, address, everything. I'm so sorry, Tyler, I don't know how they phoned you. Francis sent me as a message. What do you mean? Who are they?

What's going on? I asked back in a flood of questions. Did you open any suspicious emails, or sign up for something weird online? I tried to think back. I couldn't remember anything that stood out. But in my business, I dealt with hundreds of mails each day from various clients. I don't know. Francis, what's going on? Your name is on Alicia, listed as a participant. What the hell is Alicia? A red room. It was supposed to be closed down, but it's back.

I chuckled at his remark. I wasn't much of a tech genius, but even I knew red rooms were little more than myths, told to scare teenagers and gullible adults. Come on, man, this is a joke, right? Red rooms aren't real. I think this one is. After that, I'd reached the maximum amount of Francis antics that I could handle.

I told him to back off and leave me alone for a bit, which had become somewhat of a routine between the two of us. Still, I took his warning serious enough to dial the non-emergency line to the police. I explained the situation, but they didn't take it seriously. After all, my personal information leaked on a website shouldn't have been much of a threat. They just told me to call back if anything more substantial happened. I went about my week, and nothing came of the mysterious website. Francis even admitted he might have overreacted a tad. Truth is, most people have their email information leaked somewhere online.

Even passwords and personal details are readily available all over the place. But for most people, that's just useless information. Then about a month later, I received a letter in my mail. It didn't have a return address, nor any stamps. It was just a plain envelope put in my mailbox. The only way I could have received it would be if someone had been personally delivered it themselves. I opened the letter to find a perfectly black paper inside, with little more than a single line of text in the middle. It was just a string of random numbers and

letters, ending in dot onion to mark the fact that it was a dark web page. At first I didn't even connect the dots. I had long since forgotten the fact that all my personal details had been linked. Instead of just throwing it away as I should have, I decided to contact Francis. He was more intrigued than worried, showing up about 15 minutes later to help me connect to the website. He only needed about a second to dig up the Tor browser and input the onion link I received. Shit, he mumbled as the title of the site popped up. It was Alicia. That's the site that has my name? I asked to be sure. Francis nodded. A few seconds passed as the site loaded, before a black video player popped up in the center of the screen. It didn't have a timer

or anything to let us know the duration of the video. Instead, it just had a play button. Francis clicked it. And though it was too dark to see what was going on, I could hear something in the background. Turn up the volume, I said. Francis did as commanded, and we were greeted with the muffled sounds of someone struggling.

It was quiet, just loud enough to make out what was going on without understanding the hidden context. Then it got brighter, just enough to make out the walls and ceiling of a room. In the center, lay a man tied to a bed with chains. His face obscured by a bag pulled over his head. What the hell is this? I asked.

It's a... it's a red room. Well, turn that shit off. Francis was reluctant to oblige. Whether it be due to curiosity or shock, before I could reach out and turn it off myself, a man entered the picture. He was naked, with his bare chest covered in old scars and fresh blood. He pulled the mask off the tied-up man,

And I let out a loud gasp. What is it? Francis said. I pointed a trembling finger towards the screen. That's Mr. Dawson, my boss. You sure? I nodded. Is this a live stream or something? No, I don't think so. As far as I know, you can't live stream on the dark web.

It has to be a recording. I wanted so desperately to just turn it off and call the police, but we were both frozen in our seats. The naked man pulled out a knife from a bag on the ground and started peeling off pieces of seats. from Dawson's leg. He tried to scream in agony, but he was gagged, left unable to move or even call for help. Little by little, the man cut off pieces of flesh from Dawson, moving his way from the legs to the torso. I can't say exactly how long the video went on for. It skipped minutes at the time, showing

Dawson at progressively more mutilated stages of the torture. It wasn't until his skin had been almost completely removed before he finally lost consciousness. I threw up, finally snapping back to reality as the screen turned black. Francis sat speechless in his chair, but what could we do? Dawson had to have been dead by the time we even opened the link. Naturally, I called the police and gave them all the information about the website that I had. But by the time the police got around to checking it out, the video was gone. Once it had been viewed, it was simply removed. They believed us, though, saying that they'd forward the information to the appropriate sources,

which turned out to be the FBI. There was little more I could do. Without solid evidence that my boss had actually died, He was just reported missing while the investigation went on. I was questioned by various officers and an FBI agent a couple of times, but that was about it. A year passed, and life went on. My place of work just hired a new manager, and Dawson's disappearance remained an unsolved mystery. I fully believed that would be the end of it.

I thought the horrors I'd witnessed would be a one-time occurrence, that I would be fine. During that time, I also drifted away from Francis. We weren't even able to look each other in the eyes anymore. not after what we'd seen together. Then everything changed as I got another letter in the mail. It was unmarked without an address just like before. That time, however, I didn't hesitate to call the police. I already knew what would be inside,

and I wasn't about to ruin another piece of evidence. The police redirected me to the responsible FBI agent who was working the case. He was quick to act, coming to pick me up within the hour alongside three armed agents. Mr. Larkin, I'm Agent Vance. You need to come with us. He said before they rushed me inside the car as if my life depended on it. They took me to an office building in the middle of the city and made me wait in an interrogation room while they checked out the evidence.

I sat there with a cup of water, a hundred thoughts running through my mind. An hour passed before agent fans came to check up on me. He looked upset, but had put on a brave face to talk to me. We checked out the link in your envelope and found a video like the one you described last time. We've taken some still shots of the footage, and I'd like you, if you could help identify the victim. I shuddered at the thought, but agreed to help. Vance guided me into a room full of computers. A group of office workers sat in front of one, staring at a picture, trying to figure out who the person was. They didn't need to analyze it any further, because I

knew exactly who it was. Francis. He looked absolutely horrified, the still picture showing him clearly alive, but for how long that would last, I didn't know. Is he? I began to ask. He didn't survive. I'm sorry. Vance interjected, knowing what I wanted to ask. How did he die? It's better you don't know the details, but we're going to catch this guy. I promise you that much. Again, we went over each and every detail. They promised over and over they do everything in their power to chase down the people doing it and to keep me safe. But as weeks turned to months, no culprit was caught. Eventually I stopped working. Instead, I just hit it home, afraid that anyone remotely close to me might be next. I didn't have much in terms of family.

No siblings, and my parents had long since died. I suppose that made me an easy target for the runners of the Red Room. Despite the FBI's best efforts, the letters kept coming with random intervals. My ex-girlfriend was the next victim. Though we'd broken up a few years earlier, we'd remained friendly. Again, I got the link to a video of her brutal murder. I just forwarded it to the FBI, unable to stomach another horror show. Then they took one of my old co-workers.

One by one, they killed the people I knew and loved, and I could do nothing to stop it. I couldn't even contact the culprits and ask what the hell they wanted for me. But then it hit me. I was being tortured, and while it wasn't physical like the others, it was still mental torture. Like the horrors they'd committed on my friends, the pain wouldn't end until I was dead. Maybe that's what they so desperately wanted, for me to kill myself. Maybe it was some sort of sick game to see how long I could last. I sat down in front of my computer, ready to give up.

If there was even the slightest chance that it would save lives, I had to do it. I looked up the best ways to do it, but in the end, I decided to go for the gun. I picked it up, pressed it against my temple. I felt like hours passed, but I just couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger without letting every possible scenario run through my head. Then the phone rang, and I almost dropped the gun. in shock. I glanced at my phone to see a call incoming from an unknown number. Hello? I asked as I picked it up. A twisted, robotic voice said from the other end.

Not like what. Who are you? The voice continued. Whoever they were, they were using some kind of voice changing software to make them unrecognizable. How did you? I began, before noticing the camera on my computer. Of course they'd been watching. I didn't even need to ask. I just stared at the camera and the mysterious person on the other end confirmed. So all I have to do is to kill myself and the suffering ends? I can't let anyone else die because of me. I just pray that once I'm gone, it'll finally stop. For all of you tuning in on Apple Podcasts, please take a quick second to leave a rating down below. This greatly helps others determine whether Dr. No Sleep is a quality podcast or not. I would really appreciate it if you could take a couple of seconds to do this. Thank you guys so much.

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