Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Halloween Horror Story | The Faceless Man

Episode Date: September 17, 2021

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If you're an international listener, you can have it shipped to anywhere in the world. That's DR.noseleap.com. And be sure to create an account to stay up to date whenever I release new merchandise. Again, that's d.r.noseleap.com. You can also check the link in the episode description, and now time for the story. The small town of Bridgeview, Colorado had folklore, tales, and disturbing stories of plenty when I was growing up. We were a town that bordered a vast and uncivilized forest.

I think the archetypal landscape drew the stories from the lips of the citizens of Bridgeview. The stories ranged from realistic serial murders to supernatural accounts of the undead and alien visitations. Some of these stories were verifiably true, like when Connor Mason murdered his own mother with a shovel. That story was all over the news. It happened back when my mom was in high school. Other stories were much less believable. Mr. Dixon tried to scare us in middle school with the tale of the otter people. Supposedly, somewhere along the rivers of our own forest,

there lives a grotesque tribe of crossbreeds, half human and half otter. Mr. Dixon said their shrieks are so guttural and terrifying that the very sound can make a person go mad. But there was one story that stuck out to me, one story that disturbed me more than all the others. This was the legend of the faceless man. No one knows exactly where the story came from, but even my grandparents remembered sharing the story around campfires when they were young.

The faceless man was an impossibly tall man, nearly eight and a half feet in height. The story goes that he prowls the forests of Bridgeview, looking for unsuspecting campers to make his victims. His name, as you might have guessed, came from the fact that he did not have a face. This is where different variations of the story come in. Some say he's a World War II veteran whose face was blown off in the war,

and he kills because he is still looking for enemy soldiers. Others say his face was cut off by his insane and abusive father, and now he exacts the same punishment on the people he stumbles upon. Still, others say that he is not really human. Instead, he is some supernatural monstrosity, a demon, who devours the fear of his victims as he does. guts them. But in every version of the story, he carries a rusty hunter's knife and dismembers the campers he finds without mercy. I think the story disturbed me so much because it was somewhere

on the border of reality and fantasy. The faceless man was almost believable. I could picture myself stumbling upon his disturbing form in the forest at night, but he was also inhuman enough that my reason couldn't quite wrap itself around him. I wouldn't want to run into a serial killer in the woods, but at least I could know that a serial killer could die or could be outrun or arrested. I didn't know what rules the faceless man played by. Two years after graduating high school, I was working in the local grocery store. I spent most of my time organizing merchandise and stacking boxes in the back room. It was the day of Halloween, and I had just stepped outside to take a smoke break. The autumn air chilled me. Samantha Harding, a senior at her local

High School, followed me outside to bum a cigarette. We both inhaled and released clouds of smoke that were indistinguishable from our frozen breath. You coming out tonight? Samantha asked while tapping the end of her cigarette. Oh, I said, maybe. I'm pretty tired. I might just go to bed early. Oh, come on, Samantha said. We need someone to buy us booze. I didn't say anything. That was a joke, she added. You don't need to bring anything. We all just. We all just, genuinely want you to come. For reasons I can't understand, people really like you. She smiled. I blew air out of my nose. Well, I said, we'll see, I guess. I crushed my cigarette under my heel and turned to head back inside when she said. He was my friend too, Hayden, and we're still allowed

to have fun sometimes. It's been two years after all. I felt a hint of anger, but I knew it wasn't fair to be mad at her, so I gave a quick smile and nodded. The rest of my shift consistent of me turning away customers who were looking for last-minute bags of Halloween candy. We were sold out. Well, one customer said, Guess I'll have to be the loser that gives out apples or some shit to the kids. My shift ended at four in the afternoon, and the sun was preparing to drop behind the mountains. I drove home in my old, rusty truck, and found my mom decorating our front yard. Hey, sweetie, doing anything fun tonight?

She asked while laying spiderwebs across a skeleton. I might go to the Halloween camp out. I don't know. I don't really feel up to it. Mom looked at me sadly. Are you feeling okay today? Yeah, just tired. I think it would be good to be around your friends tonight. Anniversaries of tragedies are always hard, but it is better to not be alone, even if we feel like we really want to. My mom was the school psychologist for our district. I should have been grateful for her expertise, but I usually just found it to be annoying. Yeah, I said, okay, mom. Mom suddenly wiped tears from her and sniffed. It's hard for me too. All day I've been thinking about when you two were little,

playing right in this yard. I always thought of him as a second son. The second son she was referring to was Henry Lawson. He was my childhood best friend, and he had disappeared our senior year of high school on the day of Halloween. I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed tightly. I'll go, I said. Oh good, she replied. Have fun, sweetie. She kissed me on the cheek. I changed out of my work clothes and put on a warm flannel sweatshirt. I pulled a joint from my sock drawer and smoked it, careful to blow the smoke out my bedroom window. After eating leftovers from the fridge, I got back in my truck and headed for the local liquor store. Samantha had been joking, but I still didn't want to show up empty-handed.

As I pulled out of the driveway, a glance at my rearview mirror made my heart skip a beat. I thought, for an instant, I had seen something standing at the edge of the forest. It looked like a person, tall and pale, but the light was dim, and I couldn't quite make it out. When I turned a look with my own eyes, nothing was there. I shook my head and shocked it up to paranoia from the weed. After picking up a handle of vodka, I headed out into the forest along the old back roads that led to the usual meeting spot. I was becoming unnerved as I drove alone in the dark.

Only one of my headlights worked, and it was hard to make out where I was going. My phone buzzed, and I glanced down. to see a message from Samantha, asking if I was coming. In the instant I looked back up. I saw something large lunging in front of my truck. I slammed on the brakes and my tire skidded in the soft dirt. I sat in the dark for a moment. The only sounds were my heavy breathing and my truck's clunky engine. Slowly, I opened my door and stepped out onto the dirt road. I looked at either side of the forest. Nothing. I surveyed the dirt for tracks. It might have been an elk. They were common out here. I didn't find any prints in the dirt, but what I did find, sitting just at the

edge of the forest, made my heart thunder. There was a blue lighter on the ground near the bushes. I approached it slowly. It looked like, but it couldn't be. I picked the lighter up and held it in my palm. Drawing on every ounce of my courage, I rolled the lighter over. And there it was. Crudely carved into the back of the lighter were two letters, H and L. Henry Lawson. It was his lighter. It was Henry's lighter. The same lighter I had used with him so many times before, I wanted to cry or scream.

Instead, I jumped into my truck and headed for the campsite. I didn't want to be alone. And I needed to show Samantha. I needed someone to help me understand how this was possible and pull me back from the brink of insanity. Not wanting to draw attention, I parked my truck on the outskirts of the campsite and walked toward the fire.

I scanned the shadowed faces for Samantha. Hey, someone shouted. It's Hayden. Faces turned. I smiled and tried to greet my various friends with affection. Samantha excitedly ran up to me. You came! She shouted.

She hugged me and spilled a drink from her red solo cup. Hayden? She questioned, looking into my eyes. What's wrong? Can I talk to you alone? We walked to the edge of the campground. Before she could speak, I thrust the lighter into her face. It's his.

I said, choking on teeth. tears. It's Henry's. Samantha turned the lighter over in her hands. Her expression unreadable. After a long silence, she looked up. Where did you find this? Something ran across the road when I was driving. I almost hit it. But there was nothing there, except I found the lighter. Samantha, why was his lighter lying in the road? I don't know. I guess he lost it a while ago. That's bullshit, Samantha. The entire town and the police combed these woods when he went missing. This wasn't here before, and there was something big out there. Something bad is happening.

I... Hayden. Samantha gently stroked my face. It's okay. You're okay. I get this is weird. I don't know why his lighter was there, but it's nothing crazy. You're just upset right now, and you're panicking.

She hugged me, and I began to sob. After a while, I took my head off her shoulder. Here, she said, have a drink. It'll help you calm down. I chugged the cup she handed me, and we went back to the fire. I continued to drink, and I felt better. I calmed down. Samantha was right.

There was an explanation. It was just a lighter. I left the campsite to relieve myself on a nearby tree. And that's when I saw him. Standing like a statue, just a little way behind the tree. My childhood nightmare. The monster from a campfire story, there, illuminated by the moonlight, was the faceless man. He was tall.

not impossibly so. Somewhere around six and a half feet, his skin was pale and his head was hairless and smooth. Where his ears should have been, there was only smooth skull. There weren't even empty sockets for his eyes. Instead, the skin grew over the sockets. There was no mouth. The only features on his head were two tiny slits where a nose would be. It looked as if he had been born this way, if he had been born at all. The nose slits flared, and he turned toward me. I was about to scream and run, but something made me pause. Tied around his waist was Henry's leather jacket, the one he had been wearing when he went missing. I approached the monster.

Where is he? I demanded in a harsh whisper. I doubted that this thing could hear or answer me, but in my anger I still challenged him. Where is my friend? The faceless man, slowly, reached into a fold of the jacket and pulled something out. Something that dangled in the moonlight. He lifted it to his face and pressed it on. There, leathery like a cured deer hide, was the skin of a human.

face. It was Henry's face. I could tell by a small scar on the left cheek. My mouth was frozen in horror. The faceless man reached up to the skin again and pulled at the open slit where Henry's mouth was. He stretched the nightmarish mask into a grotesque smile. My mind snapped. Nothing else in the world seemed to matter, and I charged at the faceless man. Pounding my fists against his chest, I found him to be incredibly sturdy. He grabbed my wrists and lifted me into the air with one hand, His other hand pulled a rusty hunting knife from his pocket. Hayden! A voice shrieked.

The slits of the faceless man flared again. He turned his head toward Samantha, who had stumbled into the clearing. Effortlessly, he flung me aside. My skull cracked against a lark boulder, and I collapsed. I heard muffled screaming. Through bleary eyes, I saw him on top of her. He was covering her mouth. The knife in his hand raised high, glinting in the moonlight.

Then it lowered. It raised again, tripping thick, dark blood. It lowered again and again. And again, I tried to crawl toward them. There was a terrible ripping noise. Looking up, I saw that the faceless man wore a new mask. Samantha's face, dark with blood, was plastered onto his. Her dark hair rolled down to his shoulders.

He had scalped her. The faceless man tossed Henry's face onto the ground along with his sweatshirt, his watch, and other trinkets I couldn't identify. He had collected Henry's things when he had killed him, and he had carried them around for two years, wandering these woods. Silently, he'd tied Samantha's to. jacket around his waist and tossed her motionless body over his shoulder. He turned to the forest and walked away. From the back, I could see Samantha's mutilated head. It was meaty and leaking blood all over.

I stumbled after them, barely able to stand on my feet. Hot, sticky blood poured from my head, dripping into my eyes. Help! I tried to shriek, but I could only muster a whisper. I collapsed. Somewhere in the bushes, my face angled upward. I saw him one last time, the monstrosity. The wicked that had now stolen two of my friends. He stood over me, Samantha's face dripping blood onto mine. The faceless man turned away and, with utter indifference, disappeared into the darkened woods.