Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Halloween Horror Stories | The Witcher Series

Episode Date: October 4, 2021

👕 Dr. NoSleep Merchandise: drnosleep.com 🎧 The Dr. SCP podcast: https://spoti.fi/3zCFjQc 🎉 Ad-free episodes + bonus episodes: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🎥 YouTube: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep ✅ Advertising Inquiries: [e-mail] DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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And sometimes, a smooth, silky latte just wins. It's exceptional but effortless. Like actually effortless. Simply press, brew and explore. Nispresso, what else? Keep exploring at nespresso.com. The last time we really celebrated Halloween was on the 31st of October 2005. My wife and I had both grown up and found our place in a small, friendly neighborhood.

It was full of families that loved the fun tradition of trick-or-treating. Each year, dozens of tiny monsters would pour out onto the street, looking for all sorts of candies to fill their bags. Linda and I were thrilled when our own son, Matt, finally grew old enough to partake himself. And at the ripe old age of five, we accompanied him on his first journey into the night, making sure he'd stay safe. He was a bit nervous at first, seeing all the masked children running about, some jumping out from bushes and futile attempts at scaring their friends.

But he quickly came to enjoy the sight. We'd dressed him up as a tiny version of death, with a minuscule scythe made from wood. He'd swing it around clumsily, more often than not, hitting himself in the head. Together, we made our way from house to house. watching as Matt's bag slowly filled up. Before we'd even made it halfway through, we knew there would be no way he'd finish a fraction of the candy without getting a tummy ache,

meaning I'd have to find a way to sneakily claim some of his treasure for myself. A lesson in sharing, perhaps. As the clock struck nine, it was the high point for the kids. Most were running on a scheduled curfew that would take effect at 10, meaning there was precious little time to knock on as many doors as possible. I took note of a particularly good costume that looked like a demon, full on with wings and a tail swinging with each step. That temporary distraction was all it took. My wife had just turned to say goodbye to one of the neighbors, and as we reverted our attention to Matt, he was just gone.

We didn't take it too seriously at first. We figured he was waiting around a corner, preparing to jump out and scare us. But as we called his name, he still didn't respond. Matt! Linda called out, getting more distressed by each second. I ran around the houses, checked in the bushes, scouted the crowds of costumed kids, but he was nowhere to be found. We started knocking on doors and asking bystanders if they'd seen him,

at which point we quickly realized that the entire neighborhood had fallen into a state of panic. There were parents all over, running around and calling out the names of their children. Have you seen Dylan? One of them asked with a panic in their voice. Twelve kids had gone missing in the span of a single minute, all disappearing without a trace. Those who remained were quickly escorted back inside as the parents ran around the neighborhood

in a frantic, with futile search. The police arrived swiftly, taking questions and joining in. But they too were quickly overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the event. Never had a kid gone missing more than a couple of hours, much less without a trail. But that night, a dozen children vanished off the face of the earth,

and despite every effort made, they could not be found. The search went on for weeks, then months, and by the time a year had passed, the missing children were unofficially declared dead as means to give the family's closure. But no answer could be given, and in the wake of Halloween 2005, our neighborhood fell into a deep depression. All public events were canceled, and Halloween itself became a day we could only try to ignore. Linda and I never stopped looking, but without anything to go on, we could only look to others who'd experienced, similar events. But wherever we turned, we were given the same answer. You have to let it go. You have to move on. Still, we managed to stay together. Though I could see Matt's eyes and my wife's, and she saw his smile and mine, our love was the only thing preventing us from drifting to madness.

Each Halloween, we'd lock our doors, hide away from the world until the day passed, a tragic tradition that would occupy each of the next ten years. And as time passed, we tried to get back on with our lives. Our son was nothing more than pictures and memories that haunted us. That was how it would be until Halloween of 2015. We were sitting in our living room, looking through old pictures when we heard a screen coming from the street. Thinking someone was in danger, we rushed outside. We found one of our neighbors tightly hugging a little girl dressed as a witch. It was an odd sight, considering our neighborhood didn't celebrate Halloween. One made even stranger by the fact that her neighbor was hugging a random girl.

Julie, I can't believe it's you, the woman cried. The name rang a bell, and I quickly realized it was the name of her daughter that had vanished on Halloween 2005. She had been 10 on the day she vanished, and despite a decade having passed, she hadn't aged a day. She'd returned wearing the same clothes, though a bit worn out. Two more of the missing children were found shortly after, both wearing their costumes from 10 years ago, not having aged even a bit.

Within the next hour, more children kept reappearing in the same spots they'd vanished from. Linda and I ran towards the last place we'd seen met, not willing to believe, but desperate to see our son again. Sure enough, there he was. Still dressed as death, but missing his sight, we called his name in tears as we ran towards him, but he didn't share the same enthusiasm. He stared at us with him empty, horrified look in his eyes, as if he couldn't trust what he was seeing. We kneeled down and hugged him tightly, expecting some sort of reciprocation, yet he didn't seem happy to see us. He just seemed afraid. Each of the returned children behaved the same, nervous, barely responsive, traumatized by an experience none of us could even begin to understand. They were all brought

to the hospital for observation, where a massive team of specialists were brought in an attempt at understanding the situation, but none were successful. In the end, once they'd been declared physically healthy, they were taken to a psychiatric facility for rehabilitation. I'm not going to say it didn't help, but these kids were traumatized by something none of us could even begin to comprehend, and not one of them ever spoke up about it. They remained under the care of doctors for three months until they were rehabilitated enough to come home. Even then, none of them were themselves. We were advised to take care of them and not pry into what happened until they were ready. Over the course of the next few months, Matt hardly ever left his room. He barely ate. He

didn't play with his toys. He'd just sit by the window and stare onto the street or spend hours drawing things he'd never let us see. They looked like symbols, but he'd always hide them away in a secret chest. Only on a rare occasion he'd whisper a sentence or two. They're coming, he said, who's coming? I asked, the watchers. Who are they? He'd freeze up as he heard that question, I knew it had something to do with his disappearance. And the closer we got to Halloween of 2016, the more frantic his whispers would get. I don't want to go back, he said, but he wasn't talking to us.

Who are you talking to, Matt? They can hear us. Who? The watchers, he repeated. Who are they? They needed us to make the door into our world. Now they are just waiting, he whispered. Waiting for what?

I asked, my heart racing within my chest. He stopped talking after that, At which point I finally decided it was time to invade his privacy. Once Matt had gone to sleep that night, I dug through his locked chest of drawings. I expected depictions of his dark thoughts or an insight into the horrific memories he had. But instead, I only found hundreds upon hundreds of pages, each filled to the brim with text written in an unknown language. I took pictures and put the papers back, hoping he wouldn't notice.

Then I sent them around to the other parents who'd also lost their kids during the vanishing. Most of them had no clue. Hadn't even bothered to check what their kids were drawing. Only a few were worried enough to invade their privacy, but were too ashamed and scared to share the message. Though no one had been able to decipher the language, some had noticed a repeated pattern. We decided to hire professional help,

and due to the mystery surrounding the disappearance, more than a few were willing to help, but they would need time. In the meantime, I did the best I could for Matt. He was still refusing to play, still drawing symbols we weren't allowed to see. I tried to ask a few times what he was creating, which would always cause him to freeze up and say one thing. The watchers will come soon.

Then you will know. And his fate would have it. The translator would send us a message on the 31st of October 2016, Halloween. All it said was, call me now. I picked up my phone without hesitation. Once he answered on the other end, he sounded distant and distorted, as if the phone signal was dying out. John, are you there? He asked with fear in his voice.

Yeah, what's going on? I managed to translate pieces of the text. It's talking about another world merging with our own. The children disappearing was just the beginning. They needed kids and their malleable souls to form a link between their world and our own. But the final connection will take time to be created. The signal was lost for a moment, at which point I only heard mumbled intermingling with static. Are you there?

How much time do we have? I asked. I don't know exactly, but it won't be long. And if it... He was cut off again. John, you have to leave the... the children behind and get out of town. There's no other... The call disconnected.

He was too late. I heard Matt say softly from behind. They're already here. That's the moment I realized just how dark it had gotten outside. It was only four in the afternoon last time I had checked, yet the skies outside were pitch black. What's going on, Matt? I asked in terror, but he too looked terrified. And without an answer, he just fled inside his room and locked the door.

Despite my fear, I felt compelled to walk over to the window. As I got there, all the lights inside went out, including the streetlights outside. The town's power grid had been cut. The screaming started shortly after that. Blood-curdling screams as people were being brutally murdered off in the distance. Linda joined me at the window, scared, speechless. Then a brief, dark blue flash filled the neighborhood, followed by a strange black hole floating in the middle of the street.

Moments later, a tall, lanky creature with obsidian black skin and a split face exited the void. It looked side to side, observing the neighborhood with unseen eyes before moving away from our house. Just down the street, there was a car that had run into a garden due to the shock of the sudden darkness and screaming. The creature walked in its direction with long steps, reaching out a hand towards the car door. The man inside tried to get out, but he was immediately snatched up by the creature. He let out a quick whimper before his bones audibly shattered from within. He was dead before he could even begin to fight back. Another three of the creatures emerged from the void,

at which point Linda and I retreated back upstairs to bring Matt with us down into the basement. It was the safest place in our house, built by its previous owner during the Cold War, hidden behind a bookcase. We'd remain there for the rest of the unnatural night, disturbed by the many screams in the distance. It wasn't until daylight finally broke before we could see the true extent of the damage. The creatures had retreated back into the voids, leaving one-third of the population dead, with their guts and flesh scattered on the streets. Of the dozen children that had been taken all those years ago,

only Matt survived. According to witnesses, the creatures were specifically looking for them. But since our basement was hidden in a windowless bunker, they never found him. In the days following the carnage, we got another call from the translator. He explained that the horrors we'd experienced

during the Halloween of 2016 were nothing more than the initial priming for things to come. He said they'd return each following year, Always on Halloween, and that everyone within town during the priming were now bound to the place. Unable to leave for more than a few days at a time without being killed. Each year they will return.

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We're running out of time and we still don't know the rules. Don't miss what the movie blog calls something you need to watch. Saving those children is how we all go home. From Binge All Episodes exclusively on Paramount Plus. For the first time in a decade, an inhabitant of Fairview had agreed to an interview. Just a day before Halloween, during the lesser-known annual evacuation. My partner and I managed to grab one of the residents for a quick, voluntary talk. Sir, you mind telling us what exactly is behind the annual migration? I asked,

as I held the microphone close to his face. If we got answers, we'd be the first journalists to ever report on the situation with actual, believable intel. But rather than getting an answer, the man just froze. His eyes lit up in fear. I, I can't, he stuttered. They'll know. Who'll know? I asked, still insisting on an answer. The man stood silent before me. His eyes darting around us as if he was waiting for someone to strike him down. The watchers. His 10-year-old son finally whispered, Matt, keep quiet, the man ordered. Who are the watchers?

Why do they force you to leave each Halloween? I asked. I just can't tell you. It would risk all of our lives. The only reason I agreed to this interview was to warn you. Stay the hell away from Fairview. If you see a cheap house for sale, if you get an incredible job offer, it doesn't matter. Stay away.

Let the town die out. don't enter its borders. If it's so terrible, how come you don't move away? I asked. You think I haven't tried? No one can leave. If we stay away for more than a few days, they'll get angry. We have until midnight on the 1st of November to return. Or what? I've already said too much. Come on, Matt, let's get out of here.

There was something strange about his son that I couldn't quite put my finger on. He looked faded, emotionless. Though he was conscious and aware of his surroundings, his eyes just seemed empty. Alas, I wouldn't get the chance to ask any further questions because the man grabbed his son and fled in the direction away from town. Barriers had been put up on every road, strictly controlled by the local police force. Since the rest of the region was densely covered in forests, it made traversing the area by car an impossible feat without getting caught. It's not exactly the front-page story we were hoping for, Alex said as he turned the sound equipment and camera off.

I guess we have to visit the town itself, I said. If we get caught, and spend a few nights in jail, it would still be worth it. How? Without a car, we're not getting there with any real equipment, Alex said. In this case, sacrificing quality for an actual story is worth it. So we drove back to the nearest motel, where we'd set up a portable base. We grabbed the necessities and went to hike through the woods towards Fairview. It was a decently long trek, taking five hours on foot. But if we could get actual footage from Halloween within the town,

we'd be hailed as heroes back at the office. We'd enter Fairview just past midnight, setting foot in town an hour into Halloween. We snuck deep into the woods, making sure we got past the security checkpoints before going back onto the road. Once we'd made absolutely sure not a single officer stood guard, we took our chances and followed the road straight into town. It was a dark night, cloud-filled skies that refused to rain, barely letting the moon shine through. In the absence of people, the road remained perfectly quiet. It was a silence only briefly interrupted by the odd branch swaying in the wind. It's a bit too quiet.

Don't you think? Alex asked. Really? Did you just say that? I joked back. Seriously, though. I mean, where are all the animals and stuff? He had a point.

In the absence of humans in such a densely forested area, I'd normally expect all kinds of animals. But there was nothing there. Shivers shot down my spine, both from the eerie atmosphere as well as the cold. But a minor spook wasn't going to. scare us away. Just as midnight rolled around, we could see the town gates in the distance. It was a neatly decorated pair of pillars to signify our arrival, barely lit up in the moonlight. In their absence, the inhabitants of Fairview had cut the electricity, whether it be to save money

or for another more ominous reason, we didn't know. On the inside, it was a little more than a ghost town, abandoned to escape something we knew only as the watchers. But the more we saw, The more we started to think the whole thing was an over-exaggerated case of mass hysteria. Hey, is that another person? Alex asked. On the corner, there was a tall woman dressed in a trench coat, facing the wall and drawing strange symbols on it. Excuse me, ma'am? I asked as I approached her. Alex seemed more hesitant, but followed suit. I pointed my flashlight in her direction, lighting up the text on the wall.

It was red, still dripping down onto the ground, creating silent plops. Is that? Alex began. She ignored us, prompting me to go closer as concern arose within me. Are you all right? I asked. No response. That's when I first smelled the stench of rot emitting from the woman, combined with a metallic tinge hanging in the air. The crimson text on the wall still poured down the wall, the mystery language hiding its true meaning. Then I saw the tool of her writing. It was the remaining stump and bone of her finger,

leaving broken flesh and blood at its tip. She'd been writing on the wall with her own blood. Oh, God, I let out. I think we should leave. This place doesn't feel right, Alex said nervously. I ignored him for a bit and tried to nudge the woman away from the wall to stop her from hurting herself. But no matter how hard I tried, she wouldn't budge. It was as if an unseen force was holding her in place, forcing her to hurt herself. All right, let's go, I mumbled, finally allowing fear to take over. This is too much. But before we left, I needed proof. I pulled out my phone to record the insane site. Be it drugs, or a mental illness, or supernatural forces, it didn't matter.

The world needed to see it. As I opened the camera application, I realized that it didn't have any signal. It either meant that a jammer had been set up or that the nearby cell tower also had no power. Come on, hurry! Before Alex could finish that statement, we heard a cry for help coming from inside one of the buildings. We rushed towards the sound, only to find it coming from within a boarded-up residential home. Its only entrance was a door marked with a red cross. Help me.

The voice of a woman called out, weirdly monotonous and tired. Alex went to work, pulling the planks away from the door, just barely managing to move them. All the while, the strange voice called for help. As we opened the door, we were met with total darkness. Even the minute amount of moonlight penetrating the clouds was halted by the boarded-up windows. Hello? I asked.

I'm here, said the voice, coming from the living room, Without hesitation, Alex rushed in, letting out a loud gasp as he saw the woman. I followed closely behind, halting dead in my steps. The woman's skin and muscle had sloughed off. Fusing with the chair, she sat in. Small tendrils of her meat had slithered along the floor, reaching out towards the body of what must have been a dead cat lying in the corner. Help me.

The woman said emotionless, her eyes unblinking due to the lack of eyelids. At that moment, my journalistic skills completely failed. without even thinking to gather evidence, the two of us rushed out from the house. But before we could even begin to process what we just witnessed, we saw a sight ten times more horrifying. There, at the end of the street, wandered a 12 feet tall, lanky creature. It moved away with long, determined steps, seemingly searching the neighborhood. What the hell is that thing? Alex whispered. I remember the kid mentioning something called watchers,

but whether he had meant the monstrosity standing before us or another horrific creature, I couldn't tell. Then a few of the doors in the neighborhood opened, and people started walking out. There were about three of them, all walking mindlessly towards the watcher. In response, it turned, reached out a lanky arm, and wrapped it around one of their waists. It squeezed, at which point a central spike seemed to emerge from its palm, penetrating the victim. Only when it pulled away could we see the sharp tendril retreating back into its hand. Once the first victim was let go, they just retreated back into their house, their abduments torn, and their guts visible. I pulled Alex by his arm and signaled for him to start running. We chose the fastest route towards

the town gates, only to be stopped as two more of the watchers walked by. They froze as they saw us, almost perplexed that we weren't transfixed like the others. Run! I called out, turning around and fleeing. Alex followed suit, only a few feet behind me as the creatures gave chase. With their long steps, they quickly gained ground. As we turned a corner, one of them reached out a hand, narrowly missing myself but getting Alex. No! He cried out, but it was too low. late. There was nothing I could do. I just kept running, escaping inside an unlocked house, praying they hadn't seen me. I thought I was in the clear, but the loss of Alex had rendered me unable to come up with any feasible escape plans. Instead, I chose to sit there and wait for

daylight to finally break me free from the nightmare I'd willingly entered. But as the minutes turned to hours, and not a single hint of daylight shone through the small cracks in the windows, I knew something was wrong. It wasn't until I heard the door open that I dared move. I grabbed a piece of wood I could wield as a weapon and prepared to fight, but it wasn't a monster that had entered the house. It was Alex. He had a severe abdominal wound, but it wasn't bleeding too severely, meaning he might have a chance at survival. Yet he ignored me completely, apparently in a trance like the other remaining inhabitants of Fairview. He casually walked over to the nearest empty wall. Once there, he pulled on his abdominal wound, covering his hands in blood, and started

writing in the same strange language the woman had been writing it. Day will only come once all are one, he whispered, seeming to translate the text. I jumped at him, hoping to stop him from digging into his own wound, but preventing him from hurting himself was a futile task. I could only watch as he mutilated himself and kept writing. Day will only come once all are one, he repeated. I tried for hours to stop him from bleeding out, but for each attempt I made, he just hurt himself more until his body just collapsed, dead on the floor.

Even then he didn't stop talking. Day will only come once all are one. Knight still ruled the world outside, and I was starting to understand what he meant. Day wouldn't end until all had been taken by the watchers, and until then, the night of Halloween would last, which led me to this moment. I've hoped for my phone to regain signal,

or for someone to come to my rescue. But with the everlasting night, my phone's internal language has morphed into something similar to the writings on the walls. The only way to end this night is to join the rest of the night. the inhabitants and get embraced by the watchers. I only pray that once I do, the suffering of all the undead people in Fairview will finally end. $10,000? You are fucking with me, right? Tony Aston's shock. I'm dead serious. We'll split it three ways. We just need to stay in there for

12 hours, Dan explained. Man, I'd pay to stay in a haunted house. This is literally a dream come true, Tony said. Sounds good, but this is different. Ten years and no one has completed the challenge. Dan said. I'd remain silent during their discussion. Just like them, I loved anything abandoned, haunted, or scary. But Dan was right. That place was different. It was just wrong. Hey, Ian, what do you say? Dan asked. I don't know. Come on. Are you actually scared? He asked. I just think it's strange. The challenge has been out for 10 years, and no one has managed to get through the night. Some even suffered mental breakdowns and allegedly suffered mental breakdowns, Dan clarified, cutting me off.

$10,000, man, come on. Dan was a hard guy to say no to. And with the additional prize money, it was a challenge we seemed destined to take upon ourselves. The three of us, just barely out of high school, which literally meant that sum would literally change all our lives. At no point would the front doors be locked. We'd be free to leave at any point, forfeiting the challenge.

To win, we'd have to stay inside from six in the evening to six in the morning. In theory, sounded easy. but reality would prove to be far more complex once we set foot inside. You're the next ones? An elderly man asked as we waited in front of the main gate. He looked worn out, tired from the stress brought upon by years of an uneasy life. Yeah, we're here for the challenge, Dan said. You're just kids. Are you sure you're old enough?

He asked. We're all 19. Well, Tony is still a week away. He's a slow one. Dan joked. I'm going to need some ID, he said. driver's license would suffice, and with a sigh, he led us towards the front door. Twelve hours, these are the rules, he said. We know it's going to be fun, Dan said. No, it won't.

He said as it unlocked the door. It creaked loudly as it opened, revealing little more than a main hall covered in dust and darkness. Feel free to leave any time, but you should know that it keeps getting worse the longer you stay inside. At some point, you won't be able to leave. No matter how much you wish to. What do you mean? Tony asked. That's all I'm allowed to say. You wouldn't like it if I said more.

Yeah, yeah, let's go. I want to get paid, Dan said. He nodded and let us inside. The clock struck six the second it locked in place. The sound echoing through the large halls. It had begun. 6 p.m. Seriously, this is the impossible challenge?

Dan asked. Yeah, looks kind of lame to be. honest, Tony chimed in. They were both right. Though the place looked eerie enough, it wasn't different from any other old house, small windows letting the smallest amount of moonlight in, and dust-covered furniture from the last century. It was spooky, but that was about it. 9 p.m. We'd spent the past three hours exploring every dusty room of the house, and we were woefully disappointed in the lack of eerie events. It seems like child's play getting the 10,000, yet something felt wrong about the place. Logically, there wasn't a single,

threat nearby. Yet for each passing minute, I got an unexplainable feeling of impending doom. I didn't feel comfortable sharing it with Dan or Tony, but the look on their faces told me they could feel it too. 11 p.m. We decided to spend the remainder of the night in the main hall. All things considered, it was the cleanest and most well-lit-up place in the house. Only on the rare occasion that someone needed to take a leak, we would split up to visit the ancient bedroom. Dan and I were sitting silently together as Tony did his business. The house creaked weirdly as the wood reacted to the changing temperatures outside. We were considering whether or not we just sleep through the night and collect our winnings,

when we heard a loud gasp coming from the second floor. We rushed towards the sound without hesitation, running through a door none of us had even noticed up until that point. It led into a children's room with cheerfully painted blue walls with ducks on them, and in the middle stood an empty crib. Tony stood motionless in front of it. not even reacting to our presence. The entire room felt out of place.

Too modern compared to the rest of the house. But it wasn't exactly scary. Tony, are you all right? I asked carefully as I tapped his shoulder. It's not possible, he mumbled. What is it? This is Henrik's room, he responded meekly. Henrik had been Tony's infant brother,

one that passed away from SIDS at six months of age. Tony had been the one to find his lifeless body in the crib. an event he'd only mentioned to his closest friends, one that had traumatized him. That can't be! How could they know? I was cut off by the faint sound of a baby crying. Is that? All of us stood frozen in shock as we realized the crying was coming from the crib. Dan started pulling the blankets away, desperately looking for a speaker or something planted there to scare us. But it was empty.

As he knocked the crib over to check under it, the crying suddenly stopped, giving way to a twisted child's laugh. Then the door slammed shut, plunging us into total darkness. We quickly got our flashlights out, but as we scanned the room, we realized the innocent wallpaper had been replaced by cold stone walls, and the crib had turned to little more than broken wood. The room had vanished, replaced by an empty prison. We rushed outside, retreating to the main hall.

For a moment, we contemplated leaving the house, but instead we remained, sitting in silence as we tried to process what had just happened. 12 p.m. So are we going to talk about what happened in that room? Dan finally said after an eternity of silence. Tony didn't respond. He just sat motionless in a corner, staring out into the room. It was a trick, right? I asked.

Of course. But how did those fuckers know how to perfectly recreate that room? Who told them? Dan asked. It was a question none of us could answer, but Dan wouldn't let it go that easily. I'm going to check the room out, look for recording devices, speakers, and so on.

I joined him, but Tony remained almost catatonic in his corner. I should have stayed with him, but a part of me believed it would help if we could confirm it was all just an illusion. Dan and I walked back up to the second floor, searching for the door that hid the nightmare. But it was gone. We inspected the wall from top to bottom, looking for any cracks in the facade. But the cracked paint and panes of wood showed no sign of hiding a door. By all means, it was as if the door never existed.

As we returned to the main hall, Tony was missing too. Did he leave? Dad asked. Just like that, without saying anything? I asked back. Come on. You saw how messed up he was. So, what do we do?

I asked. Money or not, we should check up on him. Let's get out of here. Neither of us would admit it, but we were relieved to finally be leaving. If Tony had already left, we'd at the very least have a valid excuse. But as we pulled on the front door, it wouldn't budge an inch. we were trapped. Are you serious?

Dan asked, annoyed. Let me try it, I said. As I pulled and pushed with all my force, Dan had vanished from sight. No matter how hard I tried, the door would not open. In a way, it felt as if the door was a part of the wall. The continuous part of thick wood fused together.

By the time I'd finally given up, Dan returned with an axe. Where the hell did you get that? There's a small crawl space under the stairs. Stand back, he ordered. With that, he hit the door with the axe. Splinters of wood shot out in every direction, and after half a dozen hits, he'd gotten through. What the hell? Behind the door, we found little more than a solid brick wall.

We're trapped? I asked. Without responding, Dan just moved over to one of the windows, pulled the curtains apart, and froze in place. Behind the curtains, we just found more bricks. In the few hours we'd spent inside, someone had boarded up every single door and a window in the house. We spent the next hour desperately looking for a way out, yelling and banging in the hopes that someone would find us, but no rescue would come. 2 a.m. Exhausted.

We just collapsed in the main hall, contemplating our next move. We searched through every nook and cranny, and nothing had worked. A moment of rest would not come before the faint calls for help put us right back into a state of panic. Help me! A voice called. Was that Tony? Dan asked. I nodded.

For a while, we couldn't figure out where the same. We couldn't figure out where the sound had come from. It was muted, distant. It almost sounded as if it was coming from below the floorboards, but during our entire stay, we hadn't yet found a basement. At least not until Dan stumbled upon a door none of us had seen thus far. As we stood before it, ears pressed against the old wood. We clearly heard Tony's voice coming from the other side.

Don't go inside, Dan said with undeniable fear in his voice. But it's Tony, I said. We don't have a choice. I opened the door, revealing pitch black darkness. below. Tony called into the void. He called out with a weaker voice than before. We turned our flashlight back on and rushed downstairs. At the bottom, a massive basement was revealed, causing all sounds to echo in every direction, making it impossible to find out where Tony was calling from. After a moment of hesitation, we spurred it into the dark, calling his name. The basement

was impossibly big, and before we could even search half of it, we were long since out of breath. But just before I felt my knees go weak, I heard Dan gasp in shock. What is it? I asked as I turned around. There he was, Tony hanging from the ceiling with his chest torn open. His body has been turned into a bloodless, hollow cavity drained from all signs of life. At first glance, I would have thought he was a doll. But his face had been permanently contorted into an expression of agony. He was dead, and he'd clearly been dead for quite some time,

which begged the question, who'd been calling for help? Dan, I think, was all I managed to get out before I realized he had vanished from sight. Dan? With my old friend left missing, terror shot through my body. My mind became overwhelmed with a simple desire to escape. So, I started running, not even knowing where I had come from. I stumbled through the dark, desperate to find the stairs I had come down. But it was a hopeless task.

Then I heard footsteps surrounding me. At first, I assumed it was Dan. But upon calling his name, I got no response. That's when I realized just how many there were. tiny footsteps coming from all directions, letting out ominous whispers. I kept running, going in circles until I finally saw a light. It was coming from the stairs. Just as I reached the threshold of the first step,

I felt something hit me on the temple. Immediately I could feel the blood poured down the side of my head, and the attacker was nowhere in sight. I swiftly climbed the stairs as my vision started to get blurry. My head felt numb from the hit, and as I'd gotten halfway up, the world around me went dark. As I finally awoke for my slumber, I found myself being carried away.

Above me hung a perfect night's sky with just a hint of orange on the horizon, making the beginning of a new day. Two paramedics were lifting me onto a stretcher, trying to talk to me, but I was too disoriented from the hit. According to witnesses, I'd stumbled out onto the street in a hazy state. They'd all assumed I was drunk until they saw the gash on my head. The police searched the haunted house, but could find no trace of Tony or Dan. They were just gone, as was the man who'd led us inside in the first place.

To this day, no one knows what happened to Dan and Tony. And the few people I've told this story, too, I'll recommend that I seek out a therapist. But I know the truth. I just don't know how or why it all happened. If you enjoy listening to these stories, please take a second to leave a review for the podcast, especially if you're tuning in on Apple Podcasts.

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