Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Even The Purge Has Rules

Episode Date: April 25, 2022

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Gripping the rope tight, I look over my shoulder at the cameraman. He looks at me and nods, a nod back. Even though I don't really want to, I look into Roy Dempsey's green, bulging eyes. The rope digs into his neck just under his chin. His face is already changing color, turning red. I don't know if it's from rage or embarrassment, because it sure as hell isn't from lack of oxygen. Not yet.

The crowd standing around us on the other side of the hastily constructed barrier, barricades watches me with intense interest, where once they were yelling and screaming, they're now eerily quiet. I know they'll go crazy once I yank on the rope to lift Dempsey's feet off the ground, but I don't have much of a choice. This is a big fucking mistake, Perry says from nearby. Maybe it is, I think, and I yank on the rope. The purge isn't as simple as everyone thinks it is. Most people think it's just a night where it's free to kill,

rob, steal, and torture. Some people hate it. Others love it. But what most people don't think about is all the other stuff that comes along with it. Some cities have body collectors rolling around throughout the night,

collecting dead bodies for disposal. Other cities wait until morning, preferring to clean up the mess and the harsh light of day. Either way, someone's got to take care of the bodies. have them identified and get them to their loved ones, or, in many cases,

cremate them on the city's dime because there are no loved ones to be found. It's a lot of work. Liberals argue that this is just adding to already bloated municipal budgets. Conservatives say that since mostly poor people die during the purge, the whole thing is a wash, since those dead poor people are no longer sucking America dry, overloading the ragged social safety net.

The far right, new founding fathers of America, goes so far as to say the purge is propping up the economy, saving counties money despite the extra cost of hauling away bodies, cleaning blood off the streets, and fixing any damage done to public infrastructure. I don't know what the truth is. I'm guessing it lies somewhere in between. What I do know is that without the purge,

I wouldn't make nearly as much money as I do. My one-night-a-year job is to enforce the rules of the Purge. And it pays well. It has to. Otherwise, no one would do it. The thing about Purge Knight is that you can't use weapons above Class 4, which means no explosives, no chemical warfare, no weapons of mass destruction. The rules also state that government officials above a level 10 are immune from the Purge. They can't be killed. Anyone who breaks these rules is sentenced to death by hanging. But just as most of the people don't think about who cleans up the bodies and blood from the purge. Most people don't know

how those rules are enforced. After all, the police have the night off, and judges sure as hell aren't working. So it's up to people like me to enforce these rules. And usually, it's pretty straightforward. Find the asshole that used a homemade bomb to blow up his neighbor's house, locate the creep who broke into the senator's house and killed the old guy, and hang them publicly, broadcasting it live. After all, people need to know that even on Purge Night, there are still rules. But tonight is anything but straightforward. It's a messed up situation, and a lot of people are going to get killed because of it. Hell, I may be one of them. It all started innocently enough. My team and I were rolling around our nation's capital in our heavily armored trucks. I was in the lead truck,

sitting in the front passenger seat while Perry drove. Five other guys were in the back, monitoring calls, checking security camera footage, and operating drones that flew high above the city, looking for explosions. The other two trucks were behind us, each of them with guys doing the same things. It had been a slow night so far, but it wasn't even midnight yet when we got the call. Whitlock, we've got some explosions on the east side, Ellis said over the radio. I'm looking at them right now. We got a drone over the area. Copy that, I said. Where are we going?

Ellis, who was in the trail vehicle, told me where the last explosion had hit. You get that? I asked Perry, who nodded, then stepped on the gas. We made it there quickly, with only a couple of people taking pot shots at us as we drove. Small arms fired just bounced off the trucks, and we were pretty used to it after several years of doing the job. We turned a corner to see a smoking tenement. The front door of the place was blown to shit. The flicker of flames inside told me that the place was on fire. But there wasn't anything we could do about it.

Those people were on their own. We crawled slowly down the silent street until another explosion lit the night ahead of us. Another tenement building rocked by the explosion. Before the smoke and debris concealed it, I saw a vehicle heading away from the area. It was a black SUV. and I told the other two trucks to move onto parallel streets while we closed in. I knew the SUV was quicker than our heavy, RV-sized vehicles, and I didn't want to have to call in the more maneuverable but also more vulnerable backup units.

Hang back until the trucks are in position, I said to Perry. We kept the SUV in sight far up ahead until I got the call from both vehicles. Okay, I said, let's do this. Perry hit the gas, just as another building in front of us exploded. I figured whoever was in the black SUV had somehow gotten their hands on a grenade launcher and was firing it from inside the vehicle. Perry slowed slightly as we passed through the black smoke from the detonation and then sped up when it was clear we weren't about to run into anything.

The SUV saw us and swerved right at the next street. We turned the corner just in time to see one of our vehicles slam into the SUV at the front right panel. The SUV spun around once, coming to rest, pointing directly at us. The front-right tire was flat, but the SUV still tried to run, heading straight for us. Luckily, it was a narrow street, so Perry pulled across both lanes, blocking the SUV's path. I grabbed my Benelli M-4 tactical shotgun out of its holder next to my seat and jumped out. The SUV started backing up, so I hurried over and blew the front left tire out. Then I pointed the gun at the windshield where the driver's head would be.

Get out of the vehicle! I yelled. After several long moments, three of the doors opened. By then, the vehicle was surrounded by my men, all ready to fire if need be. The driver and front passenger got out with their hands up, looking scared. But the guy that got out of the back had a shit-eating grin on his face. And he held a grenade launcher in one hand, pointed down at the ground. In the other hand, he had a phone, held outstretched.

I realized he was filming himself. A live stream, maybe. Put the weapon down, I said. The guy did as he was told, smiling like a. had been caught pilfering from the cookie jar. He was in his mid-30s, with slicked back hair, an expensive black suit, and manicured hands. There was something familiar about his face, but I couldn't place it. The other two guys had cheaper black suits on, and they had the look of ex-military types. Looking down at the front license plate on the SUV, I realized it was a government vehicle.

Perry stepped over beside me and said, Whitlock, that's a senator. He's a level 10. It all clicked in my head then. He'd been in the news lately, mostly for the outlandish shit he said pretty much every time there was a microphone placed in front of him. His name was Roy Dempsey, elected to the U.S. Senate last November. Put the phone down, sir.

I said. No can do, boss, he said to me. My followers need to see that I'm unharmed. I'm a level 10 after all. You can't touch me. He laughed after he said this, a shrill, maniacal sound. You've used explosives on Purge Night, I said, walking toward him.

You're sentenced to death by hanging. Being a level 10 only protects you from murder. It doesn't mean you can kill people with explosives. Bullshit! He said, but he wasn't smiling any longer. I stepped up to him and reached for the phone, but he ducked away. These fascists are going to kill me. He said into his phone.

Come down here and stop them. They can't do this. They can't. I'm a level 10. I slapped the phone out of his hand and then. tripped him, slamming him down on his face. Then I pulled a pair of plastic restraints out of my pocket and bound his hands behind his back. No one is immune from the law, I said to him, pulling him up with Perry's help.

The guy's face was now pale, and there was fear written all over it. You kill me? You'll have a fucking riot on your hands, he said in a shaky voice. I don't think so, I said. You didn't even tell them where you were. Uh, sir? one of my guys, Beasley said. He had the senator's phone in his hand. He was broadcasting his location.

That was part of the live stream. Well, turn that shit off, I said. We better get this done quickly. We loaded the three guys up into one of the trucks and relocated to a nearby park with a tree with nice, thick branches. Then we got to work setting everything up. But even before I had the rope around the tree branch, people were showing up and crowding in on the barriers

I had my guys set up around the area. We had all the broadcast equipment in one of the trucks, and a couple of my guys were experienced in running it. Broadcasting is part of the job, because people need to know what happens if they break the rules. But this time it worked against us, forcing us to take time to set everything up. So by the time we were all ready to go,

the crowd had expanded. It was all my guys could do to hold them back. A couple of people had tried to take some shots at us, but the guys on perimeter watch took them out quickly. They were loud at first, shouting obscenities at us, telling us what they'd do if we went through with the hanging. But as soon as we got the rope around Dempsey's neck, they all went quiet. But not the quiet of defeat. It's the quiet that comes before chaos and violence.

I look over my shoulder at the cameraman, Brown. He nods. I nod back. Then I look over at Dempsey. His eyes are bulging, staring at me, seeing what I'm going to do. I look around at my men, the taut rope in my hands leading up over a branch and down to Dempsey's neck. The park is small, and we've managed to position our vehicles in such a way that we've limited the areas where civilians can gather. They're not surrounding us, thanks to the vehicles, but they are on three sides.

My men stand behind the barricades, their semi-automatic rifles up and ready. This is a big fucking mistake, Perry says from nearby. He has my shotgun on a strap over his shoulder, his own semi-auto rifle held at the ready. I think that maybe he's right. It probably is a mistake, but I don't have a choice. I pull the rope hard, Dempsey's feet leave the ground, and he starts shaking and swaying, his hands still bound behind his back. The air seems to crackle as disbelief ripples through Dempsey's crowd of supporters.

The crackle turns to an explosion as disbelief morphs into rage. The crowd surges forward. The sound of gunfire echoes off the buildings surrounding the small part. I look left to see my men mowing down civilians as they back away from the surging crowd. At such close range, bullets punched through people and into those behind them. The sounds of gunfire are joined by the sounds of screams, both of rage and pain. Keep them off me! I scream, wrapping the rope around my left arm and pulling out my pistol with my right hand.

I watch two of my guys go down. the crowd enveloping them. Knife blades flash, disappearing into flesh. Bludge and swing down, cracking faces. Perry moves ahead of me, firing into the group of people that are killing my men. I don't fire yet. I need to conserve my ammo.

Dempsey is still bucking on the end of the rope, and I wonder how long it will take him to die. A man with a painted skull in his face breaks through, running straight at me. I wait until he gets close and put a bullet in his head, splattering his brains all over the woman running behind him. She seems to suddenly come to her senses, turning around to run away,

only to get hit in the head by a man with a baseball bat. It's a free-for-all now. Many of the people are still trying to get to me to stop me from killing their celebrity politician. But a lot of people are just killing each other any way they can. I have to shoot three more people with my pistol before Dempsey stops moving. I let go of the rope, confident that he's dead.

I holster my pistol and Perry tosses me my shotgun. I move forward to back up my guys, blowing a hole in one man's chest and shooting a woman's hand off, just as she's about to stab one of my men. Suddenly, it's over. Those who are still able are running away. Bodies are everywhere, and the air smells like nothing but blood and gunpowder.

Shell casings litter the ground while blood soaks into the grass. Fucking hell, I say, looking around. Seeing the cameraman over near Dempsey's body brings me some degree of comfort. You get all that? Call to him. He swivels to me and gives a thumbs up while balancing the camera on his right shoulder. Good, I say. Let that be a lesson.

Maybe no one will ever try any shit like this again. I turned to Perry, who's looking around. His face slack with shock. Perry, you take Truck 3 and get back to headquarters. Take the wounded with you. Get them looked at. What are you going to do? There were three people in that car, I say.

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