Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Each. Precious. Moment.

Episode Date: August 29, 2025

After buying a black-market “clocker” pill that bends perception of time, a burned-out lawyer named Desmond slips into a terrifying spiral of skipped moments, lost months, and fractured realities, where each leap forward steals more of his life, his family, and his memories—forcing him to confront whether he is racing against time, or if time itself has already left him behind. Author: Dave Kavanaugh * * * 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

Desmond had only ever smoked cannabis on one occasion, at a high school party 20 years ago. The drug had not agreed with him. It had resulted in Desmond puking into a kitchen sink in front of his high school crush. He had steered clear of it ever since, and yet, two decades later, the smell of pot still made him nauseous. The human brain is funny about that kind of thing, about what it remembers and what it forgets, and the way events and feelings and sensations get all tangled together in one's neural networks. That explained why, as his dealer opened the front door, the overwhelming odor of cannabis from within the apartment made Desmond wince and swoon.

It was as if the smell had magically brought him back in time to his teens, and his stomach clenched. He held his breath for as long as he could as he followed the dealer inside. "'Tapper-looking suit, man,' said the dealer. "'You just coming from the office?' "'Head in there now, actually. "'It's going to be a long night. "'Big fire to put out. "'Bummer.

"'But I thought you were some kind of lawyer.' "'It's not an actual fire, obviously. "'One of my associates totally screwed up a filing. "'I've got to read through about a thousand documents by tomorrow morning, "'so I'm in a hurry and not in a good mood. "'Do you have the meds or not?' "'Yo, chills! I got you.

He led Desmond into the apartment's living room, where another dude was passed out on a couch. A haze of smoke filled the room, and beside a glass bong on the coffee table, there lay a miniature pharmacy of medications, from which the dealer snatched up a bottle of pills. 120 tabs, five milligrams, as requested. He tossed the bottle to Desmond,

who caught it and read the label. No, wait, these are the wrong ones. Nah, man, that's just the European name for it. Check the label again. It's the same act of ingredients. Legit like, I got you. Hmm, you better be right. Pocketing the pills.

Desmond pulled out his phone and opened the money transfer app. Right then. 600. Oh, actually, I've sort of had to up my prices with what, you know, tariffs and whatnot. Desmond raised an eyebrow. Tariffs. Yeah. So it's going to be 1,200. It's doubled?

Seriously? The dealer shrugged. Desmond grumbled something under his breath as he set up the transaction. You know, just because I wear a suit doesn't mean I'm made of money. And I'm not like your other customers. This medication helps me to focus, that's all. And my doctor won't up the prescription anymore, and so I just need... little help. Hey man, I hear you. Whatever gets you through the day, am I right? Speaking of,

I've just got in some new products. Really exciting stuff if you're interested. I don't want your party drugs, thank you very much. Desmond grumbled. The smell was now making him dizzy. He wanted out of there. Nah, man, this ain't that. Here, check it out. Desmond had been about to transfer the 1200, but waited impatiently as. the dealer walked from the living room and returned half a minute later, his bloodshot eyes squinting in a smile. He held up a tiny plastic bag containing half a dozen small, square orange pills. No, what these are, man? I do not, obviously. The dealer whispered. Okay, and what are our... Oh, wait. Seriously? Those are the pills that are all over the news? The ones those

Silicon Valley guys were caught with? Hell yeah, they are. And they're the future, man. Next level, legit. Know how they work? Desmond stepped closer, staring at the little bag. They temporarily adjust the speed of neural connectivity in the parietal cortex and hippocampus,

altering the user's perception of time. The dealer blinked. Whoa, that's like crazy that you know that. I specialize in medical law. May I? He reached for the bag, but the dealer took a step backward. Slow down, my man. We haven't even talked price.

Well, how much? The dealer took a moment before he answered, no doubt considering how much he could get away with charging. 2K. For the bag? For one. You know how powerful these things are? They slow down time!

Desmond rolled his eyes. They only alter the user's perception of time, he corrected. Allowing the processes of thinking and memory encoding to speed up, relative to the sober mind. Yeah, sure, that. He rattled the pills. Take one of these clockers, and for the next 12 hours, everything around you seems to just, like, decelerate.

And you have all this extra time to do, like, whatever. You could watch Lord of the Rings on. fast forward and view the whole trilogy in like ten minutes. And I'm talking extended editions. Desmond exhaled, turning back to his phone. Hmm. Well, I'm not interested. You sure, man? Because in your case, the dealer went on, marching closer.

Think of how quickly you can get all that paperwork done tonight. You feel me? Or, or you could come into work on a Monday morning, pop one of these and whoosh, you zoomed through the whole week's work in a few hours. Then you'd have all that extra time to spend with your family and stuff. Hey, last time you were here, didn't you say your kid was sick? Like, legit sick? Wouldn't you want extra time to spend with your kid?

Desmond felt his stomach clench again, and not just because of the cannabis in the air. Really? You're going to use that in your little sales pitch? He shook his head. Unbelievable. Hey man, I'm just saying, we only get one life, right? This is the opportunity to, you know, extend it. Each precious moment, or at least to, you know, expand the perception of it. Nicely said. So? Desmond glanced at the bag again. And were these manufactured somewhere legitimate? Oh, yeah, man. Best lab in Hyderabad.

I haven't heard about a single dud or any bad trips yet. Desmond's gaze locked onto one of the tiny orange squares within the plastic. Tell you what, here's my best and final offer. Your meds, plus one of these, for three grand. Now that's a good deal. Desmond's stomach gave its most violent lurch yet. Swallowing down the taste of vomit, he nodded. Yeah. Okay then, fine.

He transferred the money before he could change his mind and hurried from the apartment, the pill bottle in one pocket, and one tiny orange clocker in its own baggy in the other. It was dusk and getting cold. It was supposed to flurry that night, the first snow of the season, and Desmond was annoyed at himself for not bringing his winter coat. He ran to his car and turned on the engine as soon as he was inside. as he waited for it to heat up and waited for the motivation to drive to the office and get started on the night's miserable workload. The little orange pill in his pocket weighed heavily on his mind.

He should not have bought it. Not for 1800 bucks. Not for anything. It was stupid and dangerous and irresponsible and... Fuck it! Desmond wrenched out the little bag, grabbed the pill, and shoved it into his mouth. He swallowed it dry, and when it didn't go down all the... the way, he gagged, grabbed his travel coffee cup from the passenger seat, and quickly drank the

one sip of yesterday's coffee that was left inside. As the pill and the cool coffee settled in his stomach, he released a shaky sigh. All right, he said to himself, putting on his seatbelt. It's all good. Just let's get to work. Let's see what happens and, yeah. He reversed out of the parking spot, drove to the exit of the apartment complex parking. and turning right headed down 3rd Street toward the office. In the afterglow of the setting sun, the clouds above shone violet, and Desmond could see tiny specks of swirling snow beginning to fall. He blinked, sniffed, and adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.

The street light up ahead turned from green to yellow. Desmond slowed, flipped on his turn signal, then hung his car keys on their hook magnet on the fridge. What the hell? He mumbled, going suddenly weak in the knees and almost falling into the kitchen floor. He was back home somehow. He was standing in the kitchen, and there was snow on his shoes and shoulders starting to melt. So then, he must have.

But then, when did, he muttered to himself. Well, that was quick, called Penny. Desmond gasped and spun around. His wife was standing in the hall, a basket of laundry under one arm. I thought she said it would take all night. I, well, shit. Desmond closed his eyes, shook his head, and groaned. Whoa, you all right?

Asked Penny coming into the kitchen. Desmond looked up at her and forced himself to smile. Yeah, sorry. I guess I just zoned out. I was driving to the office, and then I guess I have to go back out. He grabbed the keys from the fridge mat. What are you talking about? Asked Penny.

You just got back. Yeah, no, I know, but I haven't actually gone into the office yet. I just went out to... His mind raced to find any alternative to saying drug dealer's apartment. I grabbed coffee. He lied. Coffee? Yeah.

It took you four hours to grab a coffee? What? No, I... He looked over at the time displayed on the market. microwave. It was 1022. But that can't be right. I haven't. Penny reached up and placed the back of her hand against his forehead. You feeling okay, Des?

Hmm. You don't feel like you have a fever, but you're acting weird. Desmond shook his head again. I don't know. I was at the office? Just now? Well, yeah. You texted me like 40 minutes ago. You said it was going well and wouldn't take a long as you thought, but I didn't know you meant this fast. Oh, uh, right. Penny gave him another hard stare. I don't think you've been getting enough sleep lately. Yeah, maybe that's it. Hmm, anyway, Mal is still awake, I think. You should say good night to her. Oh, okay, he stammered, trying to smile again. As soon as Penny had left the kitchen, Desmond leaned against the counter-inclosed as

God damn it. Idiot, idiot! Anything might have been in that pill. Now the stupid thing was messing with his memory. That was not the intended effect. It must have come from a bad batch or something. Well, at least its effects were only supposed to last 12 hours. He could say good night to Mallory, then head right to bed and sleep it off. He'd feel better in the morning, surely, and then this nightmare would be over.

Steadying himself, he hung back up the keys, left the kitchen, and he had to be able. headed upstairs. The door of his daughter's room was ajar, and the drifting shapes of stars from her projector nightlight were shining into the hall. Desmond tapped on the door and entered. Mallory was sitting up against her pillows, a book in her hands. A little reading light was on beside her, and by its glow, and the spinning stars projected across the ceiling and the walls, Desmond thought she looked like an angel. She looked just as beautiful as ever, even with her head shaved and the unsightly shape of the chemotherapy port in her upper chest showing through the fabric of her pink pajamas. She looked up at him smiling. Hey, dad. Hey, kiddo. It's getting late, don't you think?

She shrugged. I've met a really good part in my book. I always lose track of time when I'm reading. Do you do that? He stepped inside and approached at the bed. Lose track of time? Uh, yeah, sometimes, he mumbled. Looking around the room, his gaze following the path of the projected stars as they passed over all the standard decor of an eight-year-old girl's bedroom. The pink walls, the bin of Barbies, the stuffed animals piled on every surface. Is that snow in your hair? He reached up and felt at the top of his head. I guess it is, yeah.

Is there a lot of snow? Will it be on the ground in the morning? How deep is it? He smiled down at her. I don't know. I don't think there's not much yet. Maybe there'll be more tomorrow. If there is, can we go out and play? Please. I'm feeling better today. I've only thrown up once, and we haven't made a snowman in forever, because last winter I was in the hospital.

Desmond pulled the chair over from the desk and sat, leaning over her bed. If there's still snow in the morning, and if you're up for it, I'm sure your mom will take you out. her smile wavered. Can you play two? Oh, maybe. I'll have to see. You know, work. But I'll try, okay?

She looked down at her book again. Okay, Dad. Mallory went quiet, reading. Desmond watched her. Then he reached up and ran his fingers lightly over the smooth top of her head, where once had been long, bouncy curls of ginger hair, just like her mom. Then he settled himself back in the undersized chair. Picture this.

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Last thing I remember you saying was Dawn thought her new house was haunted, right? Your smile returned. That was in the last book, Dad. I already finished that one. In this one, a boy named Logan moves into town, and he really likes Marianne. And I think she likes him too, but... And he sat and listened as she told him all about the various misadventures of the babysitters club,

until the character names and their juvenile dramas all blended together in his head. Before long, Desmond felt a yawn rising in his chest. He raised a hand to cover his mouth, and a car honked at him. He jumped, turning his head, and found himself looking into the backseat of a car, and out the filthy rear window. A man in a pickup behind him was holding up a middle finger and honked again. Shit, shit, shit, shit. Grumbled Desmond, turning back around. He was in the driver's seat, only it wasn't his car.

It was some junker, with duct tape on the steering wheel and fast food bags everywhere. The driver of the pickup honked a third time. Desmond winced, and looking up through the windshield, saw that the stoplight there was green. Shaking, he pulled his foot off the brake and accelerated. He recognized the street he was on, so that was good. And as soon as he came up to a parking lot, he turned into it. A-hawl! yelled the driver of the pickup, speeding past.

Desmond maneuvered into an empty spot, parked, and turned off the car. He took a deep breath. What? The hell is happening. And whose car is this? He looked around for a clue and was about to open the glove box to check the registration

when he noticed a line of trees on the edge of the parking lot. Their branches were bending in a soft breeze and were covered in bright green leaves and tiny white flowers. But it can't be spring. Now properly panicked,

his hand shot to his pants pocket. His phone was still there, thank goodness. He pulled it out. The screen was cracked. But when it came on, he saw that the phone's wallpaper remained the same. A photo of six-year-old Mallory at Disney World, grinning from ear to ear and standing beside Minnie Mouse. Her red curls were thick.

Her face was full and healthy. Desmond's gaze moved to the top of the screen. It was 2.35 on a Monday on April 22nd. Holy shit, he panted. Four months. It's been four fucking months? He didn't want to believe it. But, but here he was.

And April 22nd, that was Mallory's birthday. He clapped a hand to his mouth and flinched as his skin felt pricked by a thousand needles. What the? Twisting the rearview mirror to look at himself, he saw that he hadn't shaved in weeks. And his beard was half gray. There were bags under his eyes. He looked terrible, he muttered. And saying his wife's name out loud brought him a wave of reassurance.

He left the parking lot and headed toward the house. Yes, that's all he needed to do. He needed to find Penny to tell her about the stupid pill he had taken. She'd help him. She'd take him to a doctor, and they would figure out what was going on in his brain. They'd put a stop to it. They'd fix it. They'd fix him.

And then, then, they could celebrate with Mal. He'd get her an ice cream cake if she wanted, whatever she wanted. When he pulled into their driveway, ten minutes later, He noticed the landscaping was different. There were now flowers planted along the front path, daffodils, like Penny had always wanted, and the old shed beside the house was gone, replaced by a swing set. That, at least, was a good sign. It meant Mallory was better enough to play outside more.

He parked behind another vehicle, someone's silver minivan, and feeling dizzy from adrenaline, climbed from the car and sprinted to the front door. As he went to unlock it, he realized the keys in his hand were different than usual, and the house key wasn't on them. Desmond rang the buzzer, then immediately began to knock as well, hard and fast. Penny? I lost my key. Are you home? He heard movement on the other side of the door, a lock being turned, then the door creaked open a couple of inches.

Penny stood inside, standing back in the shadows. Oh, thank God, Desmond sighed. He started to step forward, but she held the door firmly in place. What are you doing here, Desmond? What am I? Man, it's me. You shouldn't be here. He swallowed, squinting through the open door, staring at her.

You cut your hair, he said. And you dyed it too. When was that? Letting go of the door, she placed her hands on her hips. She looked thin and tired and different. What are you doing here? She asked him again. I... I just... I just want to be home, he said. She shrugged.

Then go home. And she grabbed the door to close it. Desmond jammed his foot in the door. Wait, don't. Why are you... Penny, something's really wrong, Ben. I don't know what's happening to me. Stop it. Penny grunted.

kicking at his foot in trying to close the door. Don't make a scene, Desmond. Not again. Just go. He pushed his whole weight against the door, shoving it open so that Penny gasped and stumbled backwards. I'm sorry! Desmond shouted, reaching out to steady her. But she slapped his hands away.

Get out of our house! Now I need help, Ben. I think I need to see a doctor. Then go see a fucking doctor! He stared at her. She looked equal parts angry and frightened. She had never looked at him that way before. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down and take a step back.

Okay, I'll go. I will. And I'm sorry. Just let me get my insurance card and... He turned and was heading toward the hall when she marched around him and blocked his path. No, Des! Leave! Now! But I need to... She glared at him. There were tears of fury in her eyes. Okay. He said, nodding. I'll go, but can I just see Mal first? The expression on Penny's face changed.

Her eyes widened, spilling their tears, and the color drained from her cheeks. Fuck you, Desmond! She said, wiping angrily at her tears. What? Penny, what is it? What happened I? Where is she been? I can't believe you.

Today, of all days. Where is Mallory? Get out! Where the fuck is my daughter? She gazed at him, unblinking very still. She's in the Lutheran Cemetery. Desmond froze. His whole body seemed to have gone, numb and cold. What?

Why would you say that? Desmond. No. He shook his head. No, Penny. You shouldn't say that. That's not. No, no.

Pushing past her, he hurried to the stairs and ran up them three at a time. Penny was running behind him, trying to grab the back of his shirt, grunting at him to stop. He reached the landing, marched to Mallory's bedroom, and threw open the door. Desmond, stop! He stood just inside the doorway staring at the bed. It was different. It was a bunk bed now. And the walls, they weren't pink anymore.

They were white and covered in posters of race cars. What is all this? He heard himself ask. Benny came in behind him, panting slightly. The fight gone out of her. It's Riley and Palmer's room now. Who? My stepkids, Desmond, you know that.

You can't be in here, okay? You need to leave now, before Alan gets home with the boys. He didn't speak or move or do anything at all for almost a minute. He just stood there. What? Just tell me when she died, please. Penny walked up beside him, staring at the bottom bunk, staring with him. Four years, eight months, two days.

He closed his eyes. Today would have been her 13th birthday, said Penny. Our little girl. Desmond opened his eyes. I'm sorry I scared you. He said his voice flat. I'll go. And he turned, walked down the stairs and out the front door.

When he climbed into the old car and started it up, he saw that the gas tank was almost empty. He didn't know if he had any money, but it shouldn't matter. The cemetery was only a couple of miles away. He drove out of the neighborhood, barely noticing the homes he passed, or the clear sky outside, or the time whizzing by, but not because his altered brain chemistry was playing tricks on his perception. His brain was working fine for the moment, but his heart, his heart was broken, smashed, shattered, pulverized. He parked by the church and got out.

He didn't know where to look, so he just started walking, up and down the grassy aisles of the cemetery, scanning the names on row after row of headstones. Eventually he found it, a whole aisle just for kids. The headstones were nice, well-carriage, for. Most had flowers stacked around them. Some even had toys. Plastic bulldozer, a doll, a stuffed penguin that had been out in the sun and the rain too long and had gotten grimy.

Mallory's grave was toward the end. It didn't have any toys around it, but there were flowers. Lots of flowers. Daffodils. He stood there in the sunshine, staring down at the rectangle of slightly discolored grass before the headstone, then up at the stone it's There was her name, her date of birth, predative, and there was an inscription below. Our angel, always in our hearts, forever among her beloved stars. Desmond fell forward onto his knees and started to cry. Hey, watch it, you're spilling! Desmond blinked and looked to his right.

The man who was speaking, a white-haired, red-faced stranger was sitting on a couch. Desmond was sitting on the couch too. There was a bottle of beer in his hand, tilted sideways, dribbling onto an already stained carpet. He straightened the bottle and looked up. A football game was playing on a large TV. Where? He mumbled. His voice sounded strange, weak and raspy.

And looking down at his hands, he saw that they were bony, wrinkled, liver-spotted. Swallowing, he looked around. The man next to him had turned to watch the game. game again, and there was another man in an armchair next to the couch, snoring. They were in some sort of dingy apartment. Bottles and cans littered the floor. It stank. Excuse me, Desmond said slowly. But where exactly are we? And can you tell me what year it is, please?

The man on the couch glanced over at him, annoyed, and a little amused. Yes, eh? He grunted with a chuckle. Groaning, the man rose to his feet and shuffled to a messy table in the corner. He returned with something and shoved it into Desmond's lap. As he collapsed back onto the couch belching, Desmond looked at what he had been handed. It was a laminated sheet of paper, its surface covered in a number of smudges and what looked like a cigarette burn. Squinting, because his eyes didn't seem to work very well, Desmond read the text on the page.

Hello, do not panic. Your name is Desmond. You suffer from a rare condition known as chronic memory reset syndrome, a result of an adverse drug reaction to an illicit substance. This means your brain is unable to permanently hold on to a majority of your memories, and on occasion, it resets itself, seeming to thrust your conscious experience forward in leaps. Do not be afraid.

Your panic will subside. everything is going to be all right. Once you relearn about your current life circumstances, you will start to get used to. ...to focus on the blurry image of the words on the page. Only, the page was gone. Desmond was looking down at his lap, where a threadbare blanket was laid over his knees.

He was in a wheelchair, and he was... Outside? Yes. There was a breeze, and birds singing. And something long. long and thin and white was tickling his cheeks and swaying before his blurred vision. It must be his hair.

And on his chest, that must be his beard. It was so long and it needed combing. Desmond tried to raise his head, but his muscles didn't want to move. He concentrated, flexing as hard as he could, and craned his neck a few inches, letting his tired gaze look around. He was at the edge of a park maybe? It must be autumn. There were many trees, and their leaves were gold and red and orange.

There was a pond with a fountain in the center, but the fountain wasn't on. Beside his wheelchair, he saw other people, sitting or laying or shuffling slowly around, amidst what looked like little tents, and rusty shopping carts, and a few barrels spitting up sparks and smoke. Then his energy waned, and his head tipped forward again. He blinked, going dizzy, and realized he was lying on his back, on a bed, with a pillow under his head and a blanket tucked up to his neck. The room was white. A young man was standing by the bed, doing something with a... A machine on a pole.

The machine was beeping. Desmond tried to speak, but all that came out was a little squeak and a snort. The young man turned. Desmond couldn't see his face well, but he didn't think he recognized him. He was dressed in blue scrubs. Do you need some water? The man asked.

I'll do it. Desmond watched, confused, as the man in blue moved aside, and someone else leaned into view, raising a cup with a straw. He felt the straw poke against his mouth and tried to fix his lips around it. It was very hard,

but he was able to be able to. able to suck a small sip of cool water and swallow. After that, his throat didn't hurt so much. The person with the cup withdrew her hand, but remained beside the bed. Her face was just a beige blur, haloed in curly white hair, but somehow Desmond knew her. Penny? Hi, Desmond. Penny.

Are you in much pain? She asked him. Her voice was so old, high and high. and sort of squeaky. Somehow, it reminded him of, of Mallory's voice. Back when she was just a toddler, running around causing mayhem being perfect. So long ago, though, it felt like only yesterday. They called me, Penny was saying.

They said someone found you passed out on the sidewalk. You were unresponsive, and they brought you here to... Ben! He interrupted. He could already feel himself skipping again. fading out. He didn't have long, and this time, this time... I missed it all, Betty, he told her. My life, it slipped away over and over, and I missed it. I know, she said. He saw her lay a hand

on his arm over the blanket, but he couldn't feel it. But you did live, Desmond. I wasn't there for most of it, and it sounds like... like it wasn't easy, but the snow. He cried out, spasming on the bed. Beside him, the machine started beeping faster. Was there? Enough snow in the morning. Was there?

Penny leaned closer. What about snow? Desmond was having trouble breathing. His throat felt full of mucus. He tried to swallow. It didn't work. I can get the water. Penny offered.

But Desmond shook his head. That first night, when I came back, all confused, it was snowing. Do you, do you remember, Penn? She nodded. Yes. And the next morning, was there snow on the ground? Did we, did I take her out? Did I take Mallory out?

Did I take her out to play? Penny was silent. Desmond started to swoon again, to fade. He fought back, spasmed, felt a rush of hot pain somewhere in his abdomen. Did I take Mallory outside? In the snow. Did I? I don't know, said Penny.

Maybe. I'm sorry, Desmond. I don't remember. He felt his body shut. shutting down. He tasted bread. He felt cold. He felt weightless. He felt... Wait! He gasped, tears filling his eyes. I... I remember. I remember, Ben. We did. You and me and Mallory.

We made a snowman, Ben. We made a snowman and it kept falling over. And we laughed so much. so much. She was so happy. And we laughed until we cried. He blinked. His vision fading. The room tilting, turning, rolling. And there, spinning against the growing darkness, he saw them an endless field of twinkling stars.