Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - I Have the Best Halloween Candy!

Episode Date: November 10, 2021

Check out my new True Crime podcast called Crimehub by searching it on Spotify or Apple podcasts. 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 🎉 Ad-free episodes + bonus episodes: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🎧 Check out the Dr. SCP podcast here: https://spoti.fi/3zCFjQc 🎽 Dr. NoSleep Merchandise: teespring.com/stores/dr-nosleep-merch ✅ Advertising Inquiries: [e-mail] DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not suitable for children under the age of 18. Parental discretion is strongly advised. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

You're the most horrifying little monster I've ever seen. I'm tempted to run down the street just to get away from you. The little boy froze. What do you say? His mother prompted. Thank you. He replied, staring at his feet. And?

She pressed. Trick or treat, he added. Holding his bag open before me while keeping his eyes locked on the ground. My face split into a grin. I couldn't help it. Kids always touch my heartstrings. I reached into the metal bowl and pulled out a tightly wrapped little bundle with Halloween tape keeping it together, dropping it softly into his bag. The boy whipped around and whispered something to his mother, who bent down to hear what he was too shy to say in front of me.

She looked up and raised an eyebrow. He wants to know what you've made this year, she relayed. I looked directly at him as though he'd asked me. That's the important thing about kids. Treat them with respect. and they'll let you in. You've gotten the last of my dumplings. There are a special recipe that I'm trying out for the first time.

He met my gaze through the Coco mask and found his voice. You gave me a meat pie last year. Do you have any more? His mother rested her hands on his shoulders. It's all he's been talking about for days, she sighed. I wish I could get him as interested in my own cooking, but nothing compares to the chef's house on Halloween. I looked up at her, nodded, then knelt down to speak with the boy face to face.

It warms my heart to know that you love my cooking, because I enjoy making it. What's your name? I asked, ignoring the pain in my knee. He glanced up at his mother, who nodded. Daniel, he responded with confidence. That's a good name, Daniel, a strong name. There's an entire book in the Bible written by a Daniel. Let me tell you about my recipe. See? I also worked very hard, just like your mom does, making sure my children had good meals

so that they would grow up strong. You know what happened, Daniel? He shook his head. They did just that. I smiled. They grew up strong, got older, and moved away. Now I don't have anyone to cook for, which is why I love sharing my meals when children come to my home. You loved my meat pies? He nodded eagerly. Well, these dumplings are made the same way. I worked and worked until I got them just right. So you go ahead and give them a try. If you don't like them, you can come by my house tomorrow,

and I'll make a special meat pie just for you. How does that sound? He paused. Then he nodded so fast that his mask threatened to fall off his head. I kept smiling as I watched them disappear into the night. Excuse me, Mr. Chef? Did you just say that you gave away all your treats? because we really wanted some.

I looked down to see a tiny Cinderella, no more than five years old, at the head of a very long line that I hadn't noticed forming before my porch. The group of costumed children extended far past the meager glow of my outdoor light, disappearing into the shadows. Oh my, I breathed. Looking down at her, I found that words threatened to elude me. I had no idea that my treats were so positive. Yes, I am unfortunately out of dumplings this year.

Wincing, I knelt down again, but there was no erasing my smile as I spoke with the little girl on her own level. But I've got a question for you, Your Highness. I raised an eyebrow. Do you like tamales? They picked me clean, I announced with dramatic flair, throwing my hands up as I moved around the kitchen. No joke! Two kids fought over the crumbs. I continued while scooping up a pair of dirty bowls and whisking them away to the sink. I'd been transported 30 years into the past by the feeling of excited children, telling me how

much I was loved. I stopped to catch my breath. I'm getting ahead of myself. I explained in a quiet voice. Got over-excited. Then I grinned again. But I have to keep the energy going. Would you believe it? I've been roped into making food for a Dia de los Muerto's celebration for the elementary school just down the street. Two different parents asked about it. Apparently, my tamales were a hit. I wiped my hands on my apron, pulled out the rolling pen, and laid a knife on the table. They offered to pay me, but I'd never accept it. I rubbed away a tear. I don't think they realized just how much this means to me. I sniffed. Offer me money? I've already been paid in full. George tried to focus on me, but his unlawful. But his unlawful,

eyes didn't work right. He was still conscious, though. The IV bag was keeping a steady flow of O-negative blood in his arm, and there was plenty more in the freezer. His pupils grew wide as I lifted the chef's knife. Thirty to Mollies by tomorrow, shook my head. It's going to be a long night. He groaned as I slid the blade into a fat section of his thigh, taking care to avoid any significant blood vessels. I prefer to slow cook the pulled meats for at least 24 hours, but I'm on the clock. Ah, well, the chef's two main ingredients are versatility and adaptability. Georgie gurgled as I sliced through him, but he was otherwise quiet. Putting his tongue into the very first batch of meat pies was the kind of plain, old-fashioned common sense. You don't see

much these days. The neighbors hadn't heard a peep out of him since. Of course, his screaming would have added to the Halloween ambiance, but hindsight is 2020. The flexors were surprisingly hardy given their size, but the most important fact was that he could no longer move his fingers. My oh my, was he shocked when I told him what he'd just eaten. He was conscious for their removal, but had blacked out from the pain. So I didn't tell him afterwards that his hands would never heal as a direct result of his own gastric juices doing their job.

There's irony for you. I looked Georgie up and down. At least, I took in what was left of him. All four limbs ended in stitched stumps. Though my knees might be aging, my fingers were as nimble as ever, and I knew just how to close each fresh wound by keeping the blood vessels intact

and nerve endings as preserved as possible. I was very proud of the neck. The deep scars looked like those of a dead man, but I knew just how to sever the vocal cords without touching the carotid, vertebral, or jugular. The feeding tube was expertly played, and he had stopped trying to remove it after watching me chop off the last of his fingers. That rascal!

He looked eerie with no cheeks. Gum recession is real, folks. Even if you can't see it. His chest heaved once, twice, and I had the bucket by his head on the third pump as a wave of hot vomit streamed from his mouth and nose, the chunks dribbling from his open cheek. I can't have you choking on your own puke, Georgie, I scolded.

He gurgled again as a bubble of phlegm and vomit in flog. in the gaping cavity where his nose used to be, popping against his eye. I tousled his hair in a rough but playful way. The meat only has that special flavor when it's harvested from a living donor, I explained with a shrug. I don't know the science of it. That's just the way the world works. I slid the blade delicately into his wound, cutting the most recent sutures as I reopened

his abdomen. You're running low on flesh, so I have to improvise, I explained as he trembled. Did you know that you just don't need most of your colon? I slid my fingers delicately inside him. The interior of a human body is scalding hot, but I was on a mission. I smiled as my fingertips found a loop of intestine. I'm betting I can take 19 feet out and still stitch you back together. Pushing the knife deeper, I aimed a delicate cut.

Oh, Georgie, I gasped. This colon absolutely reeks. Were you about to take a dump? Very softly, Georgie cried. I sighed. It's fine. I'll clean you up. People eat sausage all the time, and that's made with inside-out intestine, so that the poopy part is all that's touching your mouth. They won't notice a difference.

I pushed the knife deeper still, beginning to saw. Georgie continued to shake and sob, but he had no energy to do anything else. Don't be so glum, Georgie, I offered, pumping my arm faster. If it makes you feel any better, the kids absolutely love you. Lazzangues sur-gillet, Puitance-Moyerned 15 minutes. We're like it's their dojo. Pre-to-Jew!

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