Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - I Found An Unmarked VHS Tape In My Basement. It Shows Me Doing Things I Never Did.

Episode Date: May 12, 2025

A stoner trapped in his mother's basement discovers a cursed VHS tape that shows his own bloody fate—just moments before it begins to unfold in real life. Author: Jake Bible * * * EXPLICIT CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and graphic depictions of violence intended for adults 18 years of age or older. These stories are NOT intended for children under the age of 18. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 18. Listener discretion is advised. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Frank? What are you doing down there? My lip curls at the sound of my mother's voice, echoing down the basement stairs. It's Denny, Ma, not Frank. Frank's your other son, and he's gone. I hear her breathing hard at the top of the stairs, then shouts. What are you doing down there? Nothing. I yell from the ratty green couch we have shoved into the far corner. There's also a rug and a little TV stand with a TV and an old VCR. The satellite signal is shit out here where we live,

due to the wrong angle or low-lying hills or some shit like that. And the cable company shut our cable off last month. Don't even ask about internet. That ain't a thing. So all I got to watch is whatever I can get over the air with the rabbit-ears antenna and the old VHS tapes my brother left behind in a nasty shoebox. My mother yells. Yes, she pronounces it, pronnography.

Rhymes with prawn, like I'm down here watching some nature special on shrimps. I'm not. I'm watching porn. I ain't watching pornography! A shout, which ain't a lie since there is no shrimps anywhere to be seen in this video. They don't hire guys with shrimps between their legs. I could totally do porn. Doesn't look like a tough job. The ladies do all the real work.

They're the ones that got to act and shit. Of course, I'd have to get up off this couch and get myself. in shape a little, maybe lose five pounds, or ten, possibly 20 since the camera adds ten pounds, they say. Yep, just gotta get in shape and lose 30 pounds. It also sleep with a lady too. Never done that, just haven't had the opportunity. Yeah, so lose 40 pounds and sleep with a real lady, and then I'll be a star. It sounds like pornography! And mother shouts, it's not, Ma! I yell then find the remote and stopped the old tape.

It's a nature show on shrimps. On shrimps? On shrimps? Those are some damn loud shrimps. Then hear the basement door close and click shut. Thank God. I thought she'd never leave. I press play on the remote.

Nothing happens. Huh? I press play again. Nothing happens again. Or nothing still happens. However you want to say it, No porn comes back on the screen. I open the remote and take out the double-A batteries and put them back in on opposite sides.

That usually does the trick. Not this time. I press and press and press no goddamn porn. God damn it! I hear my mother shot back from up in the kitchen, but I ignore it. She's got nothing to say worth hearing. The remote sits in my hand like a dried turd. My eyes go from it to the TV.

From it to the VCR, back and forth, back and forth. I'm stalling. I know I got to get up. Just don't want to. Gonna need some fortitude. I grab the bong, back it tight, and light up like there's no tomorrow. Coughing hard over and over, my mind starts to clear. That's the stuff!

I choke out as I set the bong back on the floor next to the couch. What was I doing? Oh, right. Calling myself to my feet, I realize I haven't stood up from the couch on a long time. My legs are like jelly. I glanced back at where I was sitting and make sure I didn't piss myself. It doesn't look like it, but you never know. The couch is pretty stained already, like really stained.

I shrug and stumble the six feet over to the VCR. Pressing eject, the cartridge slides out, and I expect there to be a tangle of tape spilling out. but it just slides out like normal. I grabbed the tape and check it over. Nothing wrong that I can see. So I put it back in. It doesn't want to go back in. What the shit, man?

I mumble as I try again and again, jamming the tape into the slot in every direction I can think of. I come at it from the side. Nope. I angle down and try to slide it in that way. Nope. I hook it from the bottom. Nope.

Doesn't matter how I try to try to try to try. trick the fucking machine, the damn tape won't go in the slot. Son of a bitch! And mother screams from above. Nothing, ma! Fuck off and leave me alone! She doesn't shout back, so either she didn't hear me, or my ears just don't give a shit and tune her out.

Probably that last part, because goddamn, that woman really gets on my last nerve. I stare at the tape in my hands, and look over at the shoebox next to the VCR and the other tapes. There's one about big-boobed girl, on spring break, and one about big-boobbed girls in a sorority, and one about big-boobed girls at a car wash, and one about girls at some boarding school, but they aren't all big-boobed. There are also some old kids cartoon shows on a tape, but fuck those. Then I see a different tape.

Huh? I pick it up and turn it over in my hands. I have never seen this tape in my life, and I've gone through all these tapes more than a few times. There's an old woman's screaming on the front, and she looks familiar. A shotgun is on there and a whole lot of dripping blood, and some stairs. It's a messed up cover and makes no sense. A fucking horror movie? I shiver. I hate horror movies.

So I set the weird tape aside and try the one with the big-boobed girls in the sorority. The tape won't go in the slot. You know, if my older brother Frank were still here, he'd make some joke about how I can't get it in the slot. because I'm such a loser. But Frank ain't here no more now, is he? Nope. He and Ma got into an argument.

The next morning, he was gone. Backed his shit right up and left. Except for his car. He didn't take his car, which was weird. Ma says he left it for me to use, but I know that's bullshit. Frank hated my guts. And besides, I never did get my license. He left it because it was out of gas and two of the tires were slown.

No clue how they got slashed. They were like that when I went out and looked at them. The tape with the big-boobed sorority girls goes back into the shoebox. I pull out the one with the big-boobed spring breakers. Nope, on that one too. And the car wash is a bust. I even try the boarding school tape, even though not all the girls are big-boobed.

Even that one won't go in the goddamn VCR. What the fuck? Frank, be quiet down there! down there. I'm watching my stories. Ma yells from the top of the stairs. I didn't even hear the door open. I'm not Frank, Ma! I shout, reminding her for like the millionth fucking time. I'm Denny. Don't sass me, mister. I know who came out of my hoo-ha. Just keep it down while I watch my stories. And no prongography. I ain't watching pornography. God damn, Ma. Leave me alone. The door shuts again. And I mutter curses under my breath, because God damn that woman gets on my nerves.

She'd better watch herself. She doesn't know what I'm capable of doing, which is a lot. I can do a lot. One day she'll see. But today I want to watch a movie, a porno movie. Except none of the tapes are working no more, so I guess I'll have to see what's on the actual TV. Sighing loud because life is fucking hard, man. I kneel in front of the TV and change the channel from Channel 4 to

channel 6. The screen is a bunch of staticky nothing, so I grab one of the rabbit ears and move the piece of metal until I start to see something like a person on the screen. I grab the other rabbit ear and move it a few inches to the left. The picture clears up enough for me to see that it's a game show. Some frumpy housewife is jumping up and down because she guessed how much a can of fucking beans costs. I like the jumping. The front has a nice rack. I wouldn't call it. I wouldn't call her Big Boo, but she got more than a lot of the boarding schools got. The game show host congratulates her, but I can see he's lying. It's like when Frank used to give me a compliment, but I knew he was really making fun of me.

He did that a lot. Make fun of me. I'm kind of glad the asshole is gone to tell the truth. Not that I like being left alone with Ma here. God damn her. Picture this. It's late at night. You're scrolling, and suddenly you find exactly what you've been looking for.

You add it to your cart, maybe browse a little more than head to checkout, only to realize you don't have your wallet. But then you see it, that purple shop pay button. And just like that, you're done in seconds. That's the power of Shopify. It supports millions of businesses and drives 10% of all e-commerce in the U.S., from major brands like Mattel and Jimshark to entrepreneurs just getting started. With Shopify, everything you need is in one place, from customizable store templates to

built-in AI tools that help write product descriptions and enhance your images. It also makes marketing easy with integrated email and social campaigns. And if you get stuck, Shopify's award-winning customer support is there for you 24-7. See less cards go abandoned and more sales go with Shopify and their shop pay button. Sign up for your $1 per month trial today at shopify.com slash DNS. Go to Shopify.com slash DNS. That's Shopify.com slash d ns. The Frump runs to the host and hugs him. I've had enough of this shit, so I changed the channel to channel 8.

There's more static, but not as bad as before. I adjust the antennae again and see it's on talk show. The host is a woman with really big hair. That's all that's big. She's flat-chested, and I curl my lip up in disgust. But then the camera pulls back, and her guests are just right. A caption at the bottom of the screen says, When Good Girls Go Bad, and I am instantly hooked.

I hurry back to the couch, flop down, pick up the bong, pack it, and get to work making everything all right, all right, all right. Then just as two of the good girls who are going bad stand up and start to face off against each other, a real catfight brewing, the picture goes all staticy. Then it cuts out and all I see is snow. Son of a bitch! A foot pounds away. pounds from above.

Fuck off, Ma! I yell at the basement ceiling. The foot pounds again. God damn, Ma! I said fuck off! No more foot pounding, but I swear I can hear the angry pout on her face. She always gets angry and pouty when I tell her to fuck off.

It's her own damn fault. I wouldn't have to tell her to fuck off if she'd just leave me alone and fuck off. The TV is nothing but snow and white noise. I haul my ass up again and shuffle over to the fucking. thing, smacking the side of it when I get there. Nothing. I smack it again. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Smack, smack, smack. Nope, not this time. I won't warn you again, Frank. Ma shouts back at the top of the stairs. Ma, it's Danny, not Frank. God damn, woman, pull your head out of your ass. Don't you make me come down there and teach you some matters, young man? I can still

whoop your butt. Ma, you can't whip a piece of white bread. My stomach grills. White bread makes me think of a sandwich. Ma, make me a fucking sandwich. I'm hungry. Make your own damn sandwich. I'm trying to fix the TV.

What's wrong with the TV? If I knew that, then it'd already be fucking fixed. Stop cursing it me, Frank. God damn, Ma. It's me. It's Denny. Danny? Yeah.

Well, keep it down. The door closes, and I go back to fixing the TV. Except nothing I do helps. I remove the rabbit ears in every damn direction they can go. I check each channel, one by goddamn one. No picture. I heard a sound like a man shouting my name, but that's only because I'm high.

It's only me and ma in the house, and no one on TV would know my name. I take a step back from the TV, and I swear to God I'm ready to kick that screen in when the shoebox catches my eye. I haven't tried putting that stupid horror tape in the VCR, so I lower my foot, giving the TV a harsh look because it knows what it did, and step to the shoebox sitting on top of the VCR. I pick up the horror tape and turn it over in my hands. This farmhouse will know all the horror before the night is over, the back reads, and that's all it says. The rest of the description, and most of the graphics, are smudged with old mildew.

I wipe the stuff off and it takes everything with it, erasing the words and graphics and leaving a black and blue and brown mess. Stupid tape, I say, and go to put it back in the shoebox. The tape slips out of the cover and almost smashes onto the basement's concrete floor. But I dip my hand down and catch it in time. I can be really coordinated when I want. I should have been a ninja or baseball player or one of those guys who spins those signs and tosses them up in the air

in front of cell phone stores. Mostly, I should have been a ninja. With the tape in my hand and no other choice, I stick it into the VCR slot. It slides in easily and the grabber thing grabs it. I do a little happy dance and shuffle back to the couch. I'm seated and loading my bong when I realize I left the remote by the TV.

there is the scrape of a chair upstairs and heavy footsteps. I ignore them. It's just Ma being a bitch. Before I can get to the TV, and way before I can grab the remote, the tape starts playing. I freeze. On the screen is me. Me? He is standing right where I'm standing now, except the me on the TV is covered in blood,

and looking all around like he's super panicked and wants to hide, which is exactly what he does. He finally spins about and scrambles over to the couch. What in the hell? To me on the TV attempts to leap over the back at the couch, but misses and slams into the back cushions instead, then rolls himself up over it, falling out of sight. Then a face appears for a split second and I gasp.

Frank? But the face is gone just as fast. I shake off my confusion and hurry to the VCR, hitting pause while I grab the remote. The image stops, and several lines on the screen warp and twist everything on the screen. The couch is almost split in half, and the wall behind it is just a bunch of wriggly mush. Then I go and sit my ass back down on the couch. No, I don't look behind it.

That'd be some goddamn coward shit, and I'm not a coward. We've already established that I should be a ninja, and ninjas are not cowards. I hit play on the remote. The squiggly, wiggly lines go away, and I stare at the image of my basement in the couch with the bloody stains and handprints now on it. Nothing happens. No TV me, no Frank's face. I wait for a good few minutes.

Still nothing happens. Fuck this, I say and press rewind. But it doesn't do anything. Come on! I press and press and press, and the tape still won't rewind. So I hit stop, then I hit rewind. The VCR makes a loud thunk, then a loud thunk. thunk, then I hear the whir of the motor rewinding the tape.

Counting to ten, I hit stop, and the whirring slows, then the thunk and clunk happen again. Let's see what you got for me, I say and hit play. Frank's face is there, screaming silently at me, and I almost scream back at him, except he disappears once more. Now the images of the basement, same angle and everything. It's like there's a video camera on top of the TV, recording it all, except there isn't a video camera on top of the TV. Not right now. We used to have one, but Frank ponded so he could get an iPod. And I haven't seen Frank or his iPod in a very long time, so what the hell?

Thinking of Frank, I start to wonder when this video was made. I don't remember making it. And how could I? My phone is a flip phone that was Frank's old one. He left that too, which was kind of stupid of him. Who leaves their phone in car? I guess Frank was an asshole and an idiot. I packed the bong. When I take a hit, I suck in too fast and start coughing like my lungs want to crawl out of my throat and explode all over the rug. War pounding from upstairs. I'd tell Ma to fuck off some more, but I can't catch my breath, so I just cough and cough. The image on the screen shows me coming down the basement stairs, then plopping onto the couch.

TV Me, packs the bong and hits it. Good on TV Me. He hits it too hard too, and both. me and TV me are suffering through an epic coughing fit. The pounding from above gets louder and louder and louder. Then I hear the doorbell ring. Ma shouts something. I don't know if she's calling me to go answer the door or yelling at the person at the door to go away. Hard to hear since I'm still coughing. Footsteps above. Angry, heavy footsteps. Ma is pissed. She must have been yelling at the person at the door to go away.

Still coughing, although not as bad, I watch as TV Me gets his shit together and slowly stops coughing. I slow and stop, too. Voices from upstairs filter down through the floorboards. That voice is Ma. County office. Don't know that one.

It's a guy, though. Your ass! Ma again. Come back. The guy. My ass! Why is Ma talking about asses so much? Then, I jump and look up at the ceiling.

The TV me does too and jumps up from the couch, hurrying up the stairs and off the screen in a flash. Should I do that, too? I hear someone yelling. The guy. He's shouting something about, Now I know that, Kaboom. That's Daddy's old shotgun.

I'm off the couch and running to the stairs. No guy is shouting anymore. I don't hear Ma either. When I get to the top of the stairs, I shove the door open and hurry through the kitchen. Ma! I yell and rush down the hallway to the front door. I'm out on the porch and a heartbeat, because I'm a fast fucking ninja.

Then I come to a full stop. Ma? I ask right before I rush to the railing and throw up over it into Ma's azaleas. I don't know who that used to be on the front steps, but there ain't much of him left intact. That's for goddamn sure. Stupid fucking assholes interrupting my stories. Ma mutters as I stand up, turn around slowly, and wipe the puke from my mouth with the back of my hand. Done with it. Yeah, yeah, done with it. Ain't going to deal with these assholes no more.

Ma, I say, and she pauses as she breaks the shotgun with one hand and holds two fresh shells in her other. She slowly turns her head and looks at me. Her eyes are bloodshot and kind of wild. Ma, I say again. You all right? She cocks her head. I already killed your noisy ass. She says to me and continues what she was doing. She dumps the old shells out, then slides the first. breast shells into the barrel, snapping it back together with a flick of her arm. How'd you come back? Devil send you? He sent you to take my soul down to hell? That it, Frank?

Ma, I'm not... I start to say, but don't finish, because I'm diving down onto the porch as Ma swings the shotgun at me. She pulls the trigger and the air over me explodes. So does the railing I just leaned over and used to hold myself up as I puked in Ma's azaleas. Goddamn, Ma! Ma! I'm sorry about the azaleas! I scream as I scramble on my hands and knees, shouldering into her legs, knocking her out of my way as I try to get around her so I can get off the porch and make a run for it.

Fucking chill, Ma! God damn! I make it to the steps, but forget that there's a lot of blood and body bits coating them. My hand hits what looks like part of an ear and slips out from under me. I lose my balance and faceplant hard on the edge of the top step, my teeth biting right through the tip of my tongue. Screaming from the pain,

I use my other hand to push myself up, but can't hold on, and in half a second I'm slipping and tumbling head over ass down the front steps. I killed you proper before, Frank. Ma screams as she reloads the shotgun. I'll kill you proper again. It's me. It's deadly. I shot around my bloody tongue as I try to get my feet under me, but they keep slipping in the dead guy's mess. Ma don't care who it is. She levels the shotgun at me, and I have a second to roll to the side before she puts both barrels into the pile of goo that used to be whoever was unlucky enough to come and interrupt Ma's stories today. I managed to get to my feet and race around the house. The basement storm doors are locked and bolted, so I keep going until I reach the side door into the kitchen. Yanking on the

knob, I slam into the door. It's fucking locked. God damn, Ma! Why'd she fucking locked the kitchen door? But she ain't as smart as me. I crouch and pick up the flower pot on the right side. Huh? No key. I set the pot down and pick up the flour pot on the left side. There's the fucking key. With it gripped in my hand, I stand and unlock the door. Blood is pouring out of my mouth and all down the front of my t-shirt.

I'm soaked in my own blood. I shoved the door open and run into the kitchen. Ma is coming down the hallway with a shotgun up. Gonna kill you dead this time for sure, Frank! Ma, goddamn! It's me! It's Danny! But I can see by the cuckoo look in her eye that she doesn't hear me.

Always coming home high off your damn mind, stumbling through the door like some stray dog. And always interrupting my stories. What kind of son are you? You deserve this, Frank. Ma, stop! She fires and I throw myself to the kitchen floor. My hands are super bloody, and they slip out from under me.

My face plants again, and I feel my nose go crunch. Pain shoots through my bones rattling my teeth, and I gasp and grunt, crawling toward the basement door, my hands and knees, and whole body slip sliding through my own blood. I managed to get to the door, reach up, yank it open,

and then I'm on the basement stairs. I stand and pull the door closed, then rush down the stairs. Which is exactly what TV Me is doing. It's the same scene from before, the exact same one. Yeah, well, fuck the TV and the tape and the TV me and everything.

I'm going to do this right. I turn and sprint to the couch, leaping over the back in one fluid motion, just like a ninja. Well, almost. I totally slam into the back cushions and have to sort of drag and roll myself up over the top of the couch.

When I fall behind it, my shoulder slams into the concrete floor and the pain radiates all the way up into my head, making my tongue and my nose cry with pain. All my shit really fucking hurts. I could use a bong hit. So I crawl around the side and grab the bong and my stash. That's when I see Frank's face again on the TV.

He's screaming and screaming and screaming. Use your goddamn words! I shout at the Frank ghost thing or whatever it is. Then I scramble back behind the couch. I have the bong packed and lit just as I hear the door open above. Ma shouts, and then she starts down the stairs. I go for full courage and hit that bomb. Then I realize that I hit it all wrong,

and the smoke is going down the wrong pipe, And oh fuck, I'm so gonna cough my brains out. Where are you hiding, Frank? My calls. I can tell from her voice that she's halfway down the stairs. Where ya? Teach you to interrupt my stories again. You hear me, Frank?

Gonna finally teach you. My lungs ache and my chest hitches as the smoke fights to get free. But I hold it and hold it, and then cough like I've never coughed before. There you are! My eardrums nearly burst as both barrels unloaded. on the couch. Bits of stuffing and wood splinters explode all around me. After a moment, I check and make sure I'm not hit. Doesn't feel like it. What the heck is this? Ma asks. Is that me? Why am I on the TV? There's a pause. Frank? Why am I on the TV?

Slowly, I crawl to the end of the couch and peek out. Ma is watching the TV, and I can just catch a part of the screen. Yeah, now the damn tape is showing her in the basement. She's reloading the shotgun. As if that reminds Ma, she does the same thing, and in seconds she and TV Ma are locked and loaded. Did you kill Frank, too? Ma asks the TV. I don't hear an answer and can't see if TV Ma nods or not.

Ma? I whisper, and then duck my head back. Who's that? Where are you, Frank? It's not Frank, Ma. I say from behind the couch. It's me. It's Denny.

Danny? Yeah, Ma. Denny. Frank ain't back there. You, Izzy? No, Ma, Frank's gone, remember? He left. Ma! I pull myself up and look over the back of the couch. Ma is giggling like a schoolgirl. Frank ain't gone? Ma says around her giggles. Who told you that? You did, Ma. I say and stand all the way up.

You told me he left. Ma keeps giggling, then looks over her shoulder at the corner of the basement. It's an area we had to repair once because the wall was starting to crumble. I've stared at those newer concrete blocks for hours, tracing their outlines with my eyes over and over while I took bong hits. Then it hits me like a shotgun, which is a horrible thing to think right now considering. I think I know where Frank actually ended up. Ma, did you kill Frank? Ain't you been listening? She asks as her giggles subside.

I've been telling you that I killed you all day long. But I'm not Frank, I say. I'm Denny. Your other son. My other son? Yeah, ma, your other son. I say and start to ease out from behind the couch. Danny?

Yeah, ma. Not Frank? No, Ma. She nods. Then she lifts the shotgun. Danny interrupts my stories, too. As the life pours out of me and it all fades to black, I hear her ad.

God damn, pronography, watcher.