Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - I Found Evidence of a Secret American Ritual. No One Will Talk About It... | Part 1

Episode Date: June 10, 2026

Listen to the full story now with a 7-day FREE TRIAL of Dr. NoSleep Premium: ⁠⁠⁠patreon.com/drnosleep⁠⁠ – Cancel anytime. No commitment. In 1985, America held a lottery no one was allowed to talk about — and the people chosen were not winners. Decades later, one forgotten ribbon leads to a secret the whole country buried: every day is a gift, but someone had to pay for it. Are you still drinking that stale, store-bought coffee? Check out ⁠⁠NoSleepCoffee.com⁠⁠ to get 20% off fresh, same-day roasted coffee delivered straight to your door. Just use promo code NOSLEEP20 at checkout for 20% off your first order! Huge thanks to our sponsors: BetterHelp: Sign up now and get 10% off at ⁠betterhelp.com/dns⁠. Shopify: Sign up for your $1 per month trial today at shopify.com/dns. Author:  Chase Shustack * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 18. Listener discretion is advised.  #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #creepypasta #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

If you're into horror with a heavy dose of sci-fi, classified experiments, and things humanity was never meant to understand, check out my other podcast, the SCP experience. Each episode pulls you into the hidden world of the SCP Foundation, where dangerous anomalies are studied, contained, and sometimes unleashed. These aren't just scary stories. They're classified nightmares. Click here to listen now or search for the SCP experience wherever you get your podcasts. Listen to the full story right now with a seven-day free trial of Dr. No Sleep Premium. No Waiting. Just go to patreon.com slash DR. No Sleep to join. Cancel any time. No commitment. That's patreon.com slash D.R. No Sleep. This all started with the death of my uncle.

Back in April, he had committed suicide at the age of 53, a tragedy that of course deeply impacted my family. I knew that leading up to his death, that my uncle was going through an intense depression period. While I wasn't incredibly close with my uncle, I never remembered him ever being the type of guy who had a habit of falling into depression, let alone any history of mental illness. He was more the guy known for coaching high school football or being part of the Elks Lodge than anyone with the pattern of depression or anxiety. It must have been something very personal, considering that as far as I knew, there had been

nothing drastically wrong with my uncle's side of the family in the months leading up to it. There were no issues between him or my aunt, no dire financial problems, or even any issues at my uncle's work, serious enough for him to stop going in. My father was very close to him, being his brother, of course, and he had never indicated to us that something was wrong beforehand. What struck me as particularly odd was that everyone, or at least everyone older than myself, our cousins and the younger members of our family,

seemed to know what exactly was causing his depressive episodes. No one mentioned what it could be, but anytime someone would bring it up, there was an uncomfortable pause in the air, and the subject would be quickly changed. Even at the funeral, Even at the funeral, there was that air of secrecy around it. It was like there was some open secret that was too ugly to talk about.

Whatever it was, none of us were sure and no one asked. Since they didn't have any kids, my father volunteered that he, my grandfather, and myself would help go through my uncle's belongings to see what could be kept or donated. That was when I found them. I was clearing out a trunk, looking for anything valuable that he might have had stashed away when I found the ribbons. Think of those dinky little ribbons you get when you do a 5K run or donate money to a charity. They were a combination of red, white, and blue, and had a huge gold button that read, America needs you, 1985, lottery organizer.

It didn't look like anything all that unusual, except that my uncle's only a single. association with any kind of lottery as far as I knew, was spending $20 on scratch-offs every other week. Underneath the ribbons was an envelope, a very old one by the looks of it, considering the white paper had turned a dark yellow from years inside the trunk. Crammed inside the envelope was a very poorly folded up letter. It was as yellow and as illegible as what it was stuffed into. I could only make out that it was addressed to my uncle, and it seemed to to be from someone thanking him for his help. I asked my aunt about the ribbons and the letter. It was a casual kind of question you ask when you find interesting things in your loved

ones' possessions, you know. I was mostly expecting her to tell me some story about how my uncle announced some charity bingo or lottery event in town some years back as part of a community raffle. But instead, she immediately tore the ribbons from my hands, threw them on the ground, and then told me that I never saw them. When I brought this up to my father, he suddenly became incredibly agitated and told me in no uncertain terms that I was never to bring that up in the house again.

Even my grandfather gave me a love tap on the back of the head for just asking him about it. What's the matter with you bringing up something like that? My grandfather told me. Christ, don't you understand how terrible that was for everyone to do. That, I suppose, was what led me towards investigating what I know as America Needs You 1985 and the resulting events that followed.

America Needs You 1985 was, as far as I can gather, a massive nationwide assembly of some sort that took place on March 13th of that same year. Participation in the event seems to have included most, if not all 15th, states. Although at the time of writing, I base this claim on what few promotional materials I managed to acquire. As to what America Needs You 1985 was based around, or what exactly its purpose was, continues to remain elusive. The exact mission of America Needs You seems to have been based around an incredibly specific cause or concern. Said concern, however, appears to be either deliberately vague or produced exclusively for a very well-known issue relevant only to the time period.

For something that by all accounts seems to have been an enormous national event that involved the participation of multiple states, there is almost nothing that provides any kind of comprehensive documentation regarding it. There are no articles, no memorials, and no public databases mention the event in any capacity. The lack of information is compounded by the fact that, so far as I've experienced, people above the age of 40 outright refused to discuss it. They almost all share the same reactions of paranoia, fear, and anger at the mere mention of it, with only vague explanations as to why.

Of course, I only understood, or at least somewhat realized, the full implications of this, following what happened over the course of several weeks. Had I known the scope and scale of it, I would have forgotten all about the ribbons I found and brushed off my relatives' behavior as stages of grief. But I didn't. I didn't let the sleeping dog lie, sort of speak. Out of bored curiosity, I suppose fueled by the idea as to what it was about these ribbons that upset my relatives so much, I decided to ask the internet for answers. I went on Facebook, and found a page that was made for local events and gossip in my town. Updates on traffic, nosy neighbors, flyers for bake cells, things of that sort.

I thought, what the hell? If anyone could help me, maybe someone here might know something. The post I made was as simple as it could be. I included a photo of the ribbons and the letter, followed by a very basic question. Hey everyone, I found these while cleaning out my office. uncle's attic. I've never heard about this America needs you event before. Could someone please explain what it is? Thank you in advance. To be honest, I didn't really expect anyone to give me an answer. I wouldn't have been surprised if maybe two or three people commented on it, with all

responses being the same cookie cutter ones. I decided to just wait a few hours and see if anyone would see it. Until then, I busied myself with finishing up housework. cleaning up and getting ready for bed. You could probably imagine my surprise then, when I clicked the notifications on my phone a couple hours later. There were about 75 responses to the post already. A few of them obvious bots. But the rest were from various older people.

Most of them baby boomers and older folks. Their profile pictures were shots of their own faces from various angles or them sitting in their cars with stern, expressions. Each of their responses were, for the most part, strange and cryptic, some with American flag or cross emojis that made up the bulk of their replies. I remember I was digging more holes with my dad and my uncle so we'd be ready. My sisters and I hit in the attic all day. My Aunt Lacey said we couldn't come out till it was over. Real Americans keep in America going, hashtag 3,000 strong.

I remember my dad was watching GHW doing the drawings all night. He hugged me real tight and told me we were going to be okay after we were done. We hid in our school gymnasium. The sounds were so loud. It taught me that every day is a gift and I never want to forget that. Hashtag, everyone makes a difference. Every comment followed this similar pattern, cryptic, vague statements that went nowhere. Oftentimes it would just be things like, so sad, or sorry, or it would be these blunt,

unfinished sentences like the person writing it couldn't remember anything else. In the span of less than five minutes between me opening my phone and looking through the comments, 26 other people had commented. Like all the other comments, they were fragmented, obscure repetitions that made little to no sense. I closed my phone and later had to mute it entirely. As every minute or so, I kept receiving a constant barrage of notifications telling me someone commented on my post. I suspect that over the course of the night, I must have received 500 to 600 responses to my post. I'm not even sure if 600 people in my town even had social media, let alone Facebook.

When I went to check my phone the next morning, I found that I had received a message from Facebook itself. To be more precise, an automated notification, not from the administrators of the page itself. My post had been removed for inappropriate content. Starting a business always sounds exciting until you realize how many little things you suddenly have to figure out. We've experienced that firsthand with no-sleep coffee, getting the idea of, was the fun part, but then came building the website, making it look professional, adding products, organizing everything, and making sure people could actually buy without a headache. That's where Shopify made things so much easier. With Shopify, designing the No Sleep

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Going there was very little help. Not only did the librarian seem to have no idea what I was talking about, but most of the reference materials I searched up were dead ends. I spent a good hour and a half digging through the library's online database, hoping that maybe there was something in there that mentioned America needs you or anything regarding a similar event in U.S. history in 1985. There were obviously major historical events in 1985, but nothing that would have been so horrible

that people would have traumatized reactions when mentioning it. The only thing I found that may have been any hint as to what I was looking for was buried in the digital backpages of an older, clunkier database that looked like it hadn't been updated since the mid-2000s. It was an article from Virginia, specifically from the Richmond area. It was published on March 11, 1985, and was talking about a visit from Vice President George Bush, H.W., not the other Bush, regarding upcoming festivities.

The article itself didn't say what kind of festivities these were, but it mentioned that the visit would be to encourage every American to participate as a source of civic and national pride. Whether or not this was about America needs you wasn't clear, as I could find nothing else regarding festivities around. this time. Throughout my entire two hours at the library, I had the feeling that the librarian was watching me. It wasn't in that old, stereotypical old woman librarian watches you because she thinks you're being too loud. It was more that she was keeping track of me, looking at me when she thought I wasn't paying attention. At one point, I think she was writing something down

about me until I turned my head and she suddenly stopped what she was doing. In an anti-climbinger, mactic twist, however. Nothing happened while I was there. There were no men in black coming in to take me away. The librarian didn't call up secret agents to arrest me. Nothing like that. It was on the way home that something happened. I must have been speeding, or maybe I didn't use my turn signal when I made a left-hand turn. I was about two miles from my house when I noticed the cop car behind me. Either it didn't turn its sirens on right away, or I was too focused on whatever to hear them because I looked back in my rear view and saw a state trooper riding my bumper. I pulled off to the shoulder and the trooper slows down, goes around me, and then parks directly

in front. He did it at an angle, close enough that if I were to move forward, I'd run into him instead of getting onto the road. The cop gets out and I start getting my license and registration ready. The trooper's badge seemed unusual. Now, I'll admit that I didn't take too good a look at it, but even with just a quick glance, I could tell it wasn't an ordinary badge. From what I could remember, it was silver and diamond-shaped, the crest depicting two swords crossing each other with an American flag in the background. Maybe it was something else, but that's the closest thing I could remember it being.

I roll my window down and the trooper looks down at me. His face shouted under his hat. Do you know why I pulled you over today, son? No, I'm afraid I don't, officer. I speedin. 40 in a 20 zone. License and registration, please. I handed him my paperwork and I watched him walk off back to his patrol car.

He climbed back inside and he remained there for five minutes. Then 10 minutes. Then 15. I had been pulled over before, as most people have, but it never took this long for them to run my registration or my license. After a bit, he walked out of his patrol car with my papers. He hands them through the open window, looking down at me with what looks like suspicion in his eyes. You got new family in the military there, son. I have a cousin who works as an engineer for the Marines.

He might have seen some action in the Middle East, but not a whole lot. The cop turns his head and spits, some of it landing on the rims of my car. So you, or at least your family, understands the importance of serving one's country, am I right? You seem like a good enough guy, so I'll assume you do. He leans in a little more against my car, lightly kicking his foot against the tire. See, a lot of people like to think they know about sacrifice. They wave flags during the 4th of July, put some greeting card slogan on their Facebook,

or whatever about respecting those who serve. They'll bring some poor veteran up on one of those talk shows and treat them like a little kid, asking about what it was like when they were in combat, or what boot camp was like, kiddie stuff like that. But... The cop takes off his hat and he squats down so he's looking directly into the car. I think the most respectful thing folks can do is not talk about it. Excuse me, officer?

You know what I mean. Ask anyone who's ever been in the Army, the Marines, the Air Force, and almost all of them will tell you that they don't want to talk about it. They don't want someone prying at them for every little detail, interrogating them over something that, that hell they'll never understand unless they were there too. You don't ask a doctor how many patients he's lost or a fireman how many bodies he's pulled out of a burning car. It's pretty disrespectful, don't you think?

I, uh, I guess so. The officer gives this low, knowing chuckle. The kind you'd do when you knew something someone else didn't. Yeah? Well, of course you do, since your cousin's serving. But you wouldn't believe how many people don't. I was asking the same old stupid questions over and over, and all those folks want to do is just leave it in the past.

They served their country. They did what they were supposed to do. Wasn't pleasant and hell. Maybe it wasn't good either. I watched as his hand slipped over his service weapon. He slipped it coolly out of the holster and pretended to inspect it. Some folks served this country more than others. Ain't it their right to want to keep quiet about it?

He flicked the safety off the pistol, and for emphasis he tapped it against the roof of the car. I remember the way he looked at me, with this knowing grin on his face. He looked up and down the road, almost as if to make sure we were alone. What do you think, son? His patrol car was parked right in front of me, almost bumper-to-bumper with mine. He spoke in a calm, collected tone. I remember he never raised his voice. He only just kept slowly tapping his service weapon on the roof,

leaning himself in just a bit so I could look him right in the eyes. I, yeah, I think so. You think what? I think we should just let those veterans keep it to themselves. At this, the officer seemed to change. He looked at me for another good few seconds before he laughed heartily. That menacing look in his eyes melted away. instantly, and in less than a second he was back to a regular, friendly state trooper.

Ha ha, I'm glad to hear that, son. He put his hat back on, followed by replacing his service weapon back in its holster. It's good that we came to an understanding about this when we could. And remember, every day is a gift. About two days after my encounter with the police officer was when I received the package. To this day, I have to have to be a gift. I have a gift. To this day, I have a have no idea who delivered it or how they got my address. As I went downstairs to see what it was, I noticed out of the corner of my eye a car speeding off down the street. Maybe it had nothing to do with anything. Probably one of those guys who doesn't know what a residential speed limit is, but the way it peeled out heading away from my house seemed strange. What I found lying against

my door was a box. Well, it wasn't really a box. More along the line, of someone binding a bunch of stuff together with packing tape and wrapping it in brown paper until it looked like a misshapen basketball. Written in black marker across the front was my name, although they misspelled my last name. Visit BetMGM Casino and check out the newest exclusive. The Price is Right Fortune Pick. BetMGM and GameSense remind you to play responsibly, 19 plus to wager.

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I brought it into my house, set it down on my coffee table, and cut it open with a knife. Outspilled two envelopes, one larger than the rest like you'd use for sending paperwork, and the other, an ordinary letter, alongside a VHS tape clumsily secured in bubble wrap. The letter was postmarked from somewhere out of Kansas City that it didn't give a name or return address.

All that was written on it in rather shaky handwriting was my full first and last name and my own. home address. At first, I didn't know whether to open it or not, considering that I had no relatives in or around the Kansas City area, and I had no memory of giving my address to anyone around there. But, after doing a quick feel test and finding that what was inside was just a heavily folded up piece of paper, I decided there was no harm in opening it. The letter itself was handwritten in shaky, uneven handwriting. It was written in a very heavy, uneven handwriting. It was written in blue ink on the back of a faded takeout menu, as if someone had grabbed the first

piece of paper they had on hand. Whoever had written it was either old or had very poor grammar skills. I say this because, in addition to the messy handwriting, the letter mainly consisted of a combination of run-on sentences, short half sentences, and disjointed rambling. It was like someone was trying to write cohesively, but memory or lack of education, and made it impossible for them to keep track of their own thoughts. Dear Alan, I saw your post on the blog a couple days ago, and I wanted to let you know that, yeah, America Need You was a real thing. Happened in 85, maybe around the spring or early summer.

Probably in March, since those kinds of things gotta happen when it's real warm out. Or else it don't work at all, see? Ain't no good asking around about it, cause there's too many, many bad memories people got with it. And we did what we did because it was what we had to do, but still good folks scream like the locusts are coming in when you mention it. I don't think too many young people nowadays know about it. And that's a damn good thing people say. My brother, he made sure we'd all live to see another day and every damn day is a gift. And we should all be grateful by not flapping our gums about it. Hard to forget, even at my age.

And sometimes I even consider that if God were as kind as he's in the Bible, he'd probably give this old man dementia to make it easier. But somehow, some way, people need to talk about it. It'll happen again just as it happened to us and our grandparents and the Indians and the cowboys and the pilgrims from here to Plymouth Rock. It's in our nature, and you can't fight nature. We read in school about what them fellas in Mexico used to do, and maybe we got to thinking about it. Maybe we don't like saying it, because we're all ashamed, and maybe we should be. I still wake up hearing them screams at night, and the invisible things that leap through

fire darker than coal, so keeping quiet about it doesn't help me much. If I give you these things, little presents, maybe it'll ease my conscience a bit. Or it'll remind you how lucky you are to still be innocent and look at yourself in the bathroom mirror, whichever won by me. God bless and keep America beautiful, a concerned citizen. First, I have no relatives or friends in Kansas City. So how this person knew my name and address is beyond me. Second, if he was referring to the Facebook post I had made originally, I would have no idea how he could have seen it from Kansas City, considering the page was a social bulletin board

for my town in Kentucky. My closest guess was that he used to live here but moved to Missouri and checks the page out of nostalgia. The second envelope was unmarked and stained in some places, either from moisture or spilled drinks. Opening it up, four large Polaroid envelopes fell out, folded and crumpled but still legible. They were faded somewhat with age, and written on the bottom of each one in blue ink were captions, apparently written by the sender himself.

Photograph one was of a poster, one plastered on the shop front of a grocery store. It depicted a chalk drawing of an American family, a mom, a dad, a boy, and a girl, staring out at the viewer. Their hands were across their chests with their left index fingers raised to their lips in a shushing gesture. Aside from their poses, each member of the family was wearing what appeared to be a small pin on the right side of their chests. Two swords crossed over an American flag. At the bottom of the poster, written and blocky white letters read,

volunteered today to keep America safe. The title of this photo was USDRS recruitment poster. Photograph 2 was an image of a crowd gathered in front of a large stage, similar to a bandstand, a man who bears a striking resemblance to then-governor of Iowa, Terry Edward Branstett, whom I learned about following a quick Google search,

is speaking at a podium. him. He is dressed in long, violet robes. A crowd of men and women, all dressed in affluent suits and dresses, stood behind him, each holding a candle. In the center of the stage were six people, four men and two women, each with numbers hung around their necks. The title of this photo was, Participant Raffle, Des Moines, Iowa. Photograph 3 depicted a tall wooden pole, surrounded by an enormous pile of sticks. Attached to the pole were what looked like long shackles, two for the wrists and two for the ankles.

A group of men in military uniforms are seen in the far back, apparently overseeing some sort of work. The most unusual part of the photo is the large medallion mounted on top of the pole, displaying an elaborate symbol. The symbol is too out of frame to be clearly identified. The title of this photo was, Aftermath 3-3-85. Photograph 4, unlike the other photographs, appear to have been taken at night or in a very dark area.

The only light source is an enormous ball of hazy white light that almost envelops the whole room. There are distinct silhouettes, but they are either too distant or misshapen to clearly identify what or who they are. Whoever is taking the photo is either lying on their side or on their knees. The title for the photo is Ceremony at Galveston, Texas. Lastly, the tape was in a weathered old box. One of those generic VHS covers that you might use for tapes of home movies. There was nothing written on the cover except for a date, though it was so smeared that I couldn't make out what it said.

The tape itself was in decent condition. decent condition, with just a few surface scratches on the front. The only thing written on the label were the words, presidential address. It took me a bit to find the old VHS player I had stored in my basement. Keep in mind, this is the 21st century, and like most people, I don't watch a lot of cassette tapes. I was worried that whatever was on the tape would be something incredibly illegal or shocking. You don't expect random strangers to actually send you anything decent in the mail. And the bizarre way they talked about it gave me the impression I'd be disgusted by what I'd see. But by playing the tape, I saw nothing unusual. In fact, out of context, it was like I was

watching home video footage of then President Ronald Reagan sitting in the Oval Office. The only thing that seemed even slightly out of place was Reagan seemed almost defeated in his expression. Granted, I wasn't around during Reagan's presidency, but even I could tell that the look of weariness and exhaustion spread across his face wasn't something he was known for. It looked alien on him, especially by the way he stared at the camera. He sat there for some moments before he spoke. My fellow Americans, I would like to thank you for sharing your time with me tonight, as we prepare for one of the most difficult challenges our great nation has ever faced. Tomorrow will be a day of great struggle, both for the United States and millions of families

across the country. From New York to California, from sea to shining sea. Every man, woman, and child has been called upon to act with dignity, strength, and courage in the face of overwhelming odds. I understand that in these desperate times, there are many among you who are deeply apprehensive about what must be done. Nancy and I, rest assured, understand your concerns. I will tell you now that if there were any other option available, we will be. would not hesitate to accept it. But just as our forefathers a century ago, as did their forefathers before them, understood that sacrifice is a core tenet of American philosophy. So too must we accept

this. Whether it was through the soldiers on the beaches of Normandy or the laborers in our factories and oil fields, Americans have known sacrifice. We see, sacrifice our time, our money, some even their lives, to ensure the safety and prosperity of their fellow citizens. Even today, when our enemy is more ancient than our nation itself, we must accept this as another sacrifice for the common good. Three thousand individuals will accept the mantle of hero and the hearts of their countrymen, and will live on in hearts, in minds, and in eternity, Tomorrow is no different. Yes, it will be hard, and there will be some personal loss. Some of our bravest citizens may be called to go above and beyond for the continued survival of their nation.

But much like America's finest generation that stood to combat an unrelenting force in the most overwhelming odds, we too shall stand to drive back the forces that may destroy us. As those brave men shed their blood to ensure America's future, so too shall we shed our blood to ensure our own future. There is a deep sense of courage to be found in that. I ask you to remember that. Raffold drawings will be held in two hours. Vice President Bush will oversee it to ensure that all participants are chosen equally and fairly. I ask all Americans to cooperate with law enforcement officials during this time.

We will rise to this crisis with the same courage, honor, and dignity our forefathers carried before us. By the end of the day tomorrow, the sun, God willing, will rise over a new, stronger and more united America. Until then, God bless and good luck. The camera pulled away from Reagan. and then slowly faded to a clip of the American flag flying over a rolling meadow, full of blooming poppy flowers. The national anthem played over it, slow and somber like a funeral procession. On white rolling text that played at the bottom of the screen, there was a message.

We make America strong together. The footage played for five more minutes until the tape spit itself out onto my floor. Thanks for tuning in. If you enjoyed the story, be sure to follow or subscribe and share the show with a fellow horror fan. I'll see you in the next one.