Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - HELPLESS...

Episode Date: July 27, 2021

Author: P.F. McGrail P. F. McGrail’s Book: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08M8YR7N5 P. F. McGrail’s Subreddit: www.reddit.com/r/ByfelsDisciple 🎉 Get access to new ad-free episodes and my exclusive bonus episodes HERE: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🔔 Dr. NoSleep YouTube channel: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep 🎽 Dr. NoSleep Merchandise: teespring.com/stores/dr-nosleep-merch ✅ Advertising Inquiries: [e-mail] DISCLAIMER: This story is rated R for adults 18 years or older. NOT for children. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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$0. Beye, I'm doing in a fashion responsible. The conditions apply. Before we get started, big thanks to Brandon, Becca, and Roscoe for recently becoming Dr. No Sleep patrons. Now you guys can enjoy early access to all my ad-free podcast episodes,

including bonus episodes on my Patreon page at patreon.com slash DR No Sleep. For those of you who'd like access, it's only five bucks a month. And you can find the link in the episode description. Now time for the story. So I pontificated. My finger waving has a lot.

as I swayed on the bar stool. Andy finally broke up with me after weeks of my self-sabotage, because I not so subconsciously looked down on anyone willing to date me. Today's fight with my mom probably ended our relationship for good, and the cherry on top is that tomorrow's interview for the regional supervisor position is over before it starts because I'm up against the chief financial officer's niece. What do you say about that? She sighed and crossed her arms.

I'll say that I'm sorry because this bar closed half an hour ago. I slipped off the bar stool without a word and walked in a semi-straight line toward the exit. I always feel slightly underwater when I'm drunk, because the world gets wavy, and no one can say anything to hurt me. And of course, because enough of it will kill me. I chuckled and pushed my way through the door stepping into darkness. Shit, I mumbled, as the moment. The latch clicked shut behind me.

I'd gone into the alley instead of the street, leaving me to wander in complete darkness until I picked my way out. I looked to the wavy light ahead, balancing delicately as I moved toward it. There must have been an echo because every one of my steps was immediately followed by another. No, not an echo. Someone was following me. I expected a jolt of adrenaline, but none came. I was okay with being followed.

followed. I realized that I didn't want to live or die. The knowledge arrived with a distant sense of surprise, curious, but far away. Step, step, step, step. It was getting closer. I wondered if it would catch me before I found the light. Yes, he would, but I kept walking toward the street lamp ahead. It was beaming just beyond my grasp as I reached. I felt a full body chill as his arms touched me. Together we walked out of the darkness. You look lost. His words were colder than his touch. I pulled my arm away like it had been burned, then turned around to face the man. He wore a gray trench coat that appeared nearly black at the edge of our dark alley. It suited him. He definitely looked the part of an alley pervert. Do you love your life? I stared at the ominous

looking man. He was ancient. Probably in his 80s. and he wore the years hard. His cobalt blue eyes sunk deep into translucent skin that turned opaque, only in the bags beneath his lids. I studied his face. I love the life I wish I had. He pulled a small black box from inside his coat and extended a gnarled, knobby hand.

To the one who wants to be the best person for the task before them. It went against every warning that had been drilled into my head since childhood, but I took a gift from the stranger. I looked down as I opened it to find a single black ring inside. Good luck at your interview tomorrow, Jasmine. He whispered in a voice that was so much more chilling because it was an attempt at sounding sweet. How did you know my name? And when I looked up, he was gone.

Natalie Bedford walked into the interview looking immaculate from the top of her $500 haircut to the tips of her Jimmy Chews. I was proud of how genuine my smile looked. I had a lot of practice at faking it. We both looked across the desk at Erin. She smiled at me, then smiled wider at Natalie. You've both impressed us over a series of very enlightening discussions. Jasmine, you've continued to succeed in a variety of tasks here at Lutchford Eons, over the past seven years.

Natalie, in six short months, you've proven to be a strong candidate for a supervisory position. It's crucial to see how you interact with people in unexpected situations. So, we've called in our two finalists to see how you think on your feet. Her plastic grin grew wider.

Natalie, what would you say if two of your subordinate task managers refuse to work together? I twirled the ring on my finger, sliding it across the sweat I kept hidden in my palm. While it didn't have any real emotional significance, I'd decided to wear it after realizing that it was the first gift I'd received in two years. Well, I'd say this is why you should only hire white people. She slapped both hands over her mouth as her eyes bulged.

Aaron and I stared at her in silence. But it was too late. The supervisor position came with a lot more benefits than simply doubling my salary. I finally had authority over the people whose slack I'd been picking up for seven years, and my new office was half the size of my entire apartment. Natalie had ordered several pieces of furniture from Wayfair before her interview, and they fit my office perfectly. Since they'd been purchased on the company dime, I was allowed to keep them.

She seemed as shock as I had been at her answer, but no matter how much she begged, pleaded, and swore she didn't know why those words came out of her mouth. It was too late. HR had been notified, and there was no way that she'd ever get a supervisory position with that on her record. The interview had immediately ended with my promotion by default.

With Natalie out of the picture, there was no denying that I was the best person for the task. I should have realized that my $500 haircut and Jimmy Chuse would make me a target, you can spare a few bucks. The Scragly Man muttered as I walked by. I almost hadn't noticed him curled up on the fringes of the streetlights glow, but he was impossible to ignore up close.

Every tooth was black and rotting. His hair hung in tangled, greasy strands that clearly hadn't been washed in days. His long, broken fingernails were dirty and yellow, and track marks blemished both arms and his neck. I could smell his smile. Sorry, I, um, I can't right now. It wasn't a question. He pressed, stepping forward, click.

He'd drawn the switchblade before I even realized that he was moving his hand. I looked frantically around the dark street to realize that we were completely alone. He'd planned this attack carefully. I stepped back, trembling as he moved forward. I squeezed my purse with my left hand and covering the ring with my right thumb, fruitlessly hoping to protect them both. Only one of us is leaving with your cash, he gurgled, raising the knife higher, and I don't think you're up to the task. What?

I gasped. He reached for the purse as I raised a hand to protect myself, and we both stumbled. His arms pinwheeling while I spun around, and he lost his balance. He hit the ground with the sickening crunch thud of a watermelon colliding with human teeth. He groaned and rolled over. The knife stuck out of his chest. Its blade lodged between his ribs. Frothy blood churned a continual stream of air bubbles from the open wound.

I was watching a human lung deflate. His spinning eyes finally found me. The man's cracked lips tried to form words that couldn't escape from a dying lung. He wanted me to help him. I reached in my purse for the phone. Then I stopped. We were completely alone. I hesitated.

Then I ran. I tapped my finger against the steering wheel as I hugged the curves. This, technically, was the long way to work, but that was a deliberate choice. Route 1913 added 20 miles to my trip by making a rural loop around the city, but it cut out all traffic, and the BMW M3 was a hell of a lot of fun on winding country roads. I spun the ring on my finger as I smiled, lifting my hand as I reminisced, finally telling Roger in accounting that he needed to spend more than 10, of the day on his actual job.

The ring bounced off. A jolt of fear shot through me as I instinctively dove after it, slapping the floor and panic. I knew I shouldn't take my eyes off the road, but I only took half a second to grab it before I was looking out the windshield again. The car was still going straight. I relaxed.

Then I realized I had changed lanes and was about to drive into oncoming traffic. I overcorrected just as a bridge came into view, and there was no doubt that I was going to crash. The car had too much power before the turn, and all I could do was brace myself. It spun so violently as it crunched and crunched and crunched and crunched, and I was reminded just how tiny and fragile my body was against a world that truly didn't care if I died. I wasn't upside down or right side up when the spinning stopped,

because it's impossible to know which way gravity works when everything you feel is pushing back. All the world was smashed, and I couldn't move in this claustrophobic, prison that kept me mangled on all sides. I didn't have enough energy to cry. It took several seconds to find my right arm. It was still attached, but felt wrong, like my elbow had forgotten which way to bend, and my shoulder was a long way from where it should be. I was glad the arm was pinned out of sight beneath my body, because I was terrified of what it looked like. I wanted to pass out, but that release eluded me. Hazy, semi-consciousness untethered me from understanding, with enriched pain serving as the lone chord between stark reality and fever

dreams. Mom and Andy and a thousand other images stood large and wrapped me in giant hands, crushing my chest so that I couldn't inhale. I awoke to the taste of copper in my mouth and the feeling of drowning. The car's metal frame had closed so tightly around me that I couldn't take a full breath. I hadn't prayed in years and had never done so with a full heart, but I called out to God and Satan in my mind, promising to love whichever one ended my pain first. We found something.

Came a voice from above. It sounded distant, like it was filtering through a swimming pool that wanted to drown me slowly. But they came closer, and I made the stupid choice of letting myself hope. We're going to set you free. Just hang on for me, okay? I turned my head slightly, stopping when shards of glass pressed into my soft cheeks. I didn't even try to cry. The glass was too sharp and too close to my face for anything but complete stillness.

Daylight flooded in as they pulled debris away. A hand came through the light. It touched my shoulder, and I screamed with agony. The arm bounced back in shock as I heard the unmistakable sound of tearing flesh, just like a raw chicken breast was being pulled apart by its fibers. Holy shit! Mitz your arm! Second voice was close, very close and filled with panic.

It must have been the paramedic. partner and he sounded like a man about to lose control. There's so much broken glass. I told you to stay back. Mick, fuck, bleeding. It's everywhere. Okay, Jim, listen to me. I've severed my brachial artery. Listen, we don't have much time. How are you so calm? Look at your fucking arm. You're going to die. Mitch, stay quiet. And listen, this is what being a paramedic is all about. We stay calm. This is a rough situation for your third day on the job, but I need you to stabilize my arm before I lose calm. consciousness. My heartbeat faster with each word. I wanted to cover my ears, but my arms were still

pinned. Okay, Mitch, I'm calm. The second voice responded in a slightly less terrified tone. Okay, okay, I'll... Holy shit, is that a pool of gasoline? Mitch, the entire undercarriage is sparking, and the smell is getting worse. I nearly puked when the odor hit me. Somewhere nearby, a lot of gas was leaking. Jim? Mitch groaned in an extremely tired voice. We're very short on time. I'm about to... Look, if you want to be the best paramedic possible, then prove it through whatever task fate hands you. Oh shit. I rubbed the ring. I'd slipped it back on my finger just before the accident and it sat snugly at the base of my finger. I tried to slide it off. It didn't budge.

My arm was too pinned, too mangled for even such a simple task. I wanted to sob, but the car kept my lungs from expanding wide enough. The sparks hit gasoline. Mitch? Mitch, can you hear me? In the ensuing moment of silence, I heard the first flicker of flame. Oh, shit! Mitch, we have to get the fuck out of here. Mitch remained silent.

I'm sorry. He sobbed? I'm so sorry. I shouldn't. I should have never been a paramedic. I should have never been here at all. The receding sound of his footsteps was quickly replaced by the noise

of a growing fire. For the first time, I spoke. I didn't realize it before. I moaned. And I'm sorry. Please, somebody hear me. Please. I cried softly as the glass cut my face.

I want to live. My leg was suddenly wet. Heat followed. The fire was still small and would nibble at little bits of me while it prepared for the main course. I sobbed openly now, not caring that my cheeks were getting cut to ribbons,

as the heat began to roast my leg meat right on the bone. Thanks for listening. If you're tuning in on Apple Podcast, please take a minute to leave a review. Your review directly helps the podcast grow and allows me to continue coming out with the best horror stories on the internet. Thank you so much.