Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - I AM HAPPY

Episode Date: April 1, 2021

This story was written by u/Born-Beach on Reddit. He is an incredible horror writer. You can check out his subreddit here: r/TalesFromTheCryptid This is one of many bonus episodes available on my Patreon. You can get access to all of them here: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep Dr. NoSleep YouTube channel: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep Dr. NoSleep Merchandise: teespring.com/stores/dr-nosleep-merch DISCLAIMER: For adults 18 years or older. This podcast is NOT for children.  #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

We've all been there. The watch party finally makes it out of the group chat, and uh-oh, you volunteered to host. Suddenly you need snacks, drinks, dips, cups, and all the other party essentials. With Instacart, you can get all those groceries delivered in as fast as 60 minutes. No extra errands for you. One quick order for everyone. That way, everything shows up right on time, making hosting easy and, like you had it planned all along. Download the Instacart app today and get no markups at select retailers.

Fees and exclusions apply. I am happy. I say it into the mirror. Brows furrowed and mouth pulled into a tight smile. I am happy. My fingers clutched the edge of the bathroom sink, and a muscle twitches near my eye. Something tugs at the corner of my mind.

A thought, baby. It's tempting me to peek at it, begging me to acknowledge it and push it out into the light of day, but I can't. I won't. My mother calls me from the kitchen. Are you ready for school? Yes, I call back.

I am. I take another few moments to stare at myself. I burn the image of how happy I am into my memory just in case I start to forget. It's a big day, after all. The car chokes and sputters as it makes its way to school. I'm in 10th grade, and I have no idea what I want to do with my life. But I know that's okay. It's normal.

Nobody does. Except for Maggie Taller and Suki Raj and David Cho and Adam Wallace. They're going to be doctors and engineers and carpenters and drug dealers. They're going to be happy. We pull into the school parking lot. The van spits out a plume of smoke the size of Jupiter. Once the pollution clears, I open the door and look out over a sea of faces. Some of them are staring back at me.

Some of them are snickering. One of them is Maggie taller, and she's waving, all red curls and dimples, so I wait back. My stomach does a front flip. Have a good day, my mother says. I look her way, and her face lights up with an expression that resembles a smile, but it's not. There's not enough play in her cheeks. She forgets to engage her eyes. I will, I reply.

I use the same smile that I practiced earlier. It's much better. When I look back to the steps, Maggie is gone, and my stomach settles. I lurch out of the car. Honey, my mother says. She reaches a hand toward me, but stops short, as if she's worried I might snap at her or bite it off. She stares at me.

Things will get better for us, you know? I close the door. The car leaves backfiring as my mother runs the stop. sign and nearly collides with an oncoming pickup truck. It's okay, though, nobody is hurt. I am happy. The mutters follow me to my first period English class. The voices are hushed, but loud enough that I can hear them. It's intentional. It's by design. Walks like a goof. Saw him staring at Maggie's ass. Smells like a dead animal. We'll get him after school. I listened to Mr. U discuss the significance of metaphor in literature. He spends the hour comparing animal farm to Twilight,

and demanding why we waste our time reading the latter. He says it's dumbing us down. He says it's a problem. I've never read Twilight, but I smile and nod all the same. He asks me to define the word metaphor, and I do my best, but I get the answer wrong. Somebody laughs. Why wasn't I listening earlier, I wonder.

What's wrong with me? What a dumbass. I am happy. At lunch, I get a table to myself. It's good because it means I have personal space to come up with ten different metaphors for Mr. You. The cafeteria is loud, too loud. I try to focus on my paper and pen,

and I scratch down my favorite metaphor to get started. It's raining cats and dogs. I look at it and smile. It makes me think of my sister before the horror took her. I wonder if it won't take my mother too. The other examples don't come easily for me. My eyes scan the definition of the word over and over, but my mind draws a blank.

I can't think. I can't focus. I wonder where Maggie is sitting today. A folded piece of paper lands on the table, in front of me. I look up to see where it came from, to see who dropped it, but I can't tell. There are too many people moving around, too many faces swimming, and too many voices drowning my concentration. I open it. There's something written on the inside, hastily scribbled and messy. It says, you're dead in pencil gray. A stick man is lying beneath the words, surrounded by three

other stickmen. They're stepping on him, kicking him. Red penstrokes paint the page haphazardly, trailing from the crying man on the ground. I look close. The other stickmen are smiling. They're happy. Something pulls at the edge of my thoughts. I ignore it. The bell rings, and school is over. I gather my things and pull my backpack up and over my shoulder.

It's heavy and awkward. It takes me three tries to get it right. Today is a big day. I make my way from the school grounds, over the hill that leads to the forest path that runs along the little creek. I make my way home. My arms are tired by the time I get over the hill, but that's okay.

It just means I'm getting stronger. stronger. All the work I've been doing in the forest is going to pay off. Voices follow me. I recognize some of them. Pervert is going to get what's coming to him. I'll believe it when I see it. Heard Maggie moaning about wanting what's inside of him. Fuck you. The forest is full of people. There are joggers and people walking dogs. A homeless man asks me if I have any change, and I say that I'm sorry, but I don't. He tries to spit on me but this is, liar. Gimps like you make bank off disability checks. My arms gets sore by the time I'm halfway through the forest. I take the same shortcut I usually do, the one that runs by the creek, and there are fewer joggers and dog walkers. I get nervous, but the babbling sound

of the water helps me relax. Today is a big day. I'll kill him. Watch me. Yeah, right, he'll be fucking Maggie before you ever get the balls to. We've only been dating two weeks, I'll fuck her. Not before him. Footsteps approach from behind. It sounds like three people and one more in the distance. I don't see them, but I know them. I know their smiles. I know they're happy. A fist connects with the back of my head and I fall forward, losing control of my crutches. My face smashes against the pavement and my vision swims as pain explodes across my cheek. I taste something in my mouth, blood.

I try to push myself up, but my legs aren't cooperating. They're hardly moving. They're useless. Crippled fuck, voice shouts. It's Adam Wallace. He's working himself up. You thought I'd let you get away with staring holes in my girlfriend's ass? I try to say something.

Put a foot steps on my backpack. I'm pressed to the ground. The wind's knocked out of me. I can't breathe. Shoes connect with my face one after the other. There's laughter in the air. A sneaker finds my nose and there's a crunching sound. And suddenly I can't stop screaming as warm fluid spills down my face, cascading over my lips. I sputter and whimper. My eyes well up. Somebody will see us. Hands grab my limp legs. I'm being dragged backward, off of the cement path, and deeper into the forest.

I call out. And somebody stuffs a ball of cloth into my mouth. It reeks. It tastes like sweat and filth. Bet you wish that was Maggie's panties, you preferred it shit stain. I close my eyes. I try to smile. I am happy. Tears slipped down my cheeks and something tugs at the edge of my thoughts. I ignore it. I have to. It takes 10 minutes to get where we're going. The skin on my elbows is split and torn, caught on too many rocks and roots. They let my limp legs drop with a dull thud. I'm hyperventilating. It's hard to breathe with a jockstrap in my mouth and a broken knows, there's death in the air. I'm rolled onto my back, and I feel my backpack shift against my spine. It's uncomfortable, but not half as uncomfortable as Adam Wallace wrapping his hands around my

neck and strangling me. He's actually doing it. I thought he was just fucking around. The trees above me fade with the air in my lungs. I gasp and sputter, but there's no air to breathe, and I'm not strong enough to pry his hands for my throat. He leans in close. His lips pressed to my ear. You think I'm going to let you cuck me? He asks, and his voice is dipped inside. I warned you to stay the hell away from her. Taking too long, use this. I hear the sound of a switchblade opening. The hands around my neck let go.

And I take in a lung full of air. My heart hammers in my chest. I try to move, instinctively, and crawl away. But somebody grabs me by my backpack and drags me back. There's something in there. Open it. Four arms wrestle the backpack off of me. And I groan in agony as somebody presses my broken nose into the dirt.

I protest, but it's muffled by some. soil. Nobody hears it. Nobody cares. I hear my knapsack's zipper being undone, and my pain is washed away and replaced with terror. My body seizes. I forget to breathe. The moment lasts a lifetime. I know their words before they ever speak them. What the fuck? I hear the sound of a backpack hitting the forest floor and things spilling out of it. I hear gagging, retching. I hear footsteps stumbling backward. Soon, their shock will be replaced with anger. Rage. Something tears at my mind. It's crashing against it, demanding its time in the light and roaring at me to stop being such a coward and do something about this. I slam my eyes shut. I can't. I won't. I am happy.

Filled with dead animals. He's a fucking psychopath. Ans gripped the front of my t-shirt and pull me up from the ground. They're shouting about the dead squirrel and the dead rat and the dead cat in my bag. A fist connects with my face. Blood hits the ground. Another fist. More blood. Whose cat did you kill, freak? I'm going to hurl. I open my mouth, and I don't care anymore. The words come out like a broken dam. It feels good. It feels overdue. Offerings! I sputtered. They're offerings. He's lost it. Offerings for what? I smile, and my teeth are slick with my own blood. Offerings to cure me! Adam Wallace raises the switchblade, pressing the cold steel against my throat.

I close my eyes. Something riots inside of me, throbbing against my skull. I push it back. Death is in the air. Rough hands grip my hair, and I wince as they lurched my head roughly to the Adam's voice is beside me. It's up against my ear. Offerings, huh? You think you're some kind of fucking witch or Maione Granger? No, I say. Something shifts in the trees behind Adam and his friends, and a figure steps out from the brush. I recognize them. They've been following us since we left the school. Suki recognizes them too. He tries to step in front of Adam and me, block us from view. Words fall out of his mouth. He's giving her an explanation, maybe. A reason things aren't as bad as they seem. He's interrupted by a horrible, wet,

sounding jab. Then another, there's a series of four slick rips, like a pen tearing through paper, or a knife cutting into skin. A gasp. Jesus Christ, Maggie! Adam clambers off of me. What's wrong with you? She fucking killed him, Adam. Suki falls to the ground. I close my eyes. I am happy. Warm piss soaks the dirt beneath me, and my limbs tremor with anxiety. I am happy. There's the sound of panicked feet, but it's going in the wrong direction. It's running away from me. The person's muttering and whimpering, and I think it sounds like Adam Wallace, but I can't be sure. Somebody else is struggling now. Two voices dance together on my left. Just past my vision. A boy and a girl. It's David Cho and Maggie. They're grunting a symphony of dying breaths. I hear dirt shift and leaves crack

beneath stirring footsteps, and the smack of limbs, grasping limbs. There's another wet jab, and a body drops. David asks, why? Another slick rip. The knife's tearing into him over and over, and he keeps asking why. Why are you doing this? He cries. Why me, Maggie? I hear his skin split twice more and the questions stop. A girl steps into view standing above me. Her hair is a wild red and her face is speckled crimson, just like the knife in her hand. She reaches down and I think she might help me up, but instead she starts placing the dead animals back into my back one by one. You forgot the rabbit, she says, and her voice is colder than winter. Her eyes appraised me, but they're missing something. They're empty. That demon will

kill you, you know, just like it killed your sister and just like it'll kill your mother. And just like it'll kill your mother, too, unless you give it to me first. I know, I say, I'm trying to. She pouts her lips, folds her arms. A doll hangs from her neck, and it's dressed in pins and needles, and it looks like me. I told you three offerings, didn't I? She looks around. I count two and a bag of roadkill. Adam, I have to roll over so I don't choke on the blood spilling into my throat from my broken nose. I can't, I cough. I can't catch him on crutches. Then don't, she says with a sneer. Something tugs at my mind. I close my eyes. I clench my fists. I want to scream and lose control, but I can't because if that happens, then I'm not happy anymore. People I love will die. They always do. Can't you get

them? I've already done my part. The spell is specific. The final offering dies by your hand or your nightmare doesn't end. Her mouth splits into a wide smile. You don't have to kill him alone, though. I stare at her, and I don't have any words to fight back. She kneels next to me and runs a hand through my tangle of hair, gripping it painfully. She's smiling, but she's not. There's not enough play in her cheeks. She forgets to engage her eyes. Now or never. I can't. Sure you can. I whimper as the knife plunges into me. Again and again. There's a ripping sound followed by another and another. I clench my eyes. I ball my fists. I am happy. I am happy. The knife sinks into me once more. In this time, Maggie fishes it around my stomach a while.

It twists and I scream. I thrash and roll. I'm. something escapes, it pulls itself over my bones, wraps itself around my mind, and extinguishes my thoughts before whispering madness into my ears and breathing violence into my lungs. I am not happy, and neither is it. This story was written by user U.S.S. Born Beach on Reddit. He is a very talented horror writer. To check out more of his work, go to his subreddit at R slash Tales from the Cryptid. The link to his subreddit is in the episode description.

Lazangue sur-gillet, Puisance-Moyerned 15 minutes. We're like it's the hour dojo. Prere to play. Vive the pleasure with Leo Jo. The casino in-line that proposes the most recent machine-assau-sou and

do you do to get-a-dose-Bas-Bonanza. Without exigance bonanza. No, I've got made. Sonture the pleasure. Play-O-Jo! 18-10 and plus, 1-Depo SOUcese on Ontario. 50 tours-grat suhrued on Hesuble-Bas Bonanza.

Depos minimum of $10. Veil to pay for a way responsible. The conditions apply.