Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - I uncovered a disturbing secret while robbing a house

Episode Date: May 27, 2022

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Stop, I said, talking to Vic. You hear that? Oh shit. Vick said. They're home. They're fucking home, Dale. They're not supposed to be home yet. Without a word. I moved to the stairs and listened hard. We were on the second floor, busy going through the jewelry boxes and looking for expensive watches and electronic gadgets. The sound we'd heard was their garage door opening. Now I heard the door from the garage to the house opening. I moved back to the bedroom. and looked at Vic, who stood there, eyes wide. Put everything back, I said. Quickly, then we hide. While Vic dumped the jewelry he'd taken back into the boxes,

I headed to the bedside table and put the tablet back. Then I went to the closet and put the two expensive watches back where I'd found them. I heard voices from downstairs, a man and a woman. They seemed to be arguing about something. There was a loud thump from down there. And then, what sounded like a muffled cry of pain, something struck me as strange about the thump and the outburst, but I wasn't sure what it was. In my mind, I pictured the man of the house stubbing his toe on something and then crying out. But that didn't explain why it sounded muffled,

more muffled than the voices I'd heard just before. I patted out of the walk-in closet and grabbed Vic. You done? I asked. Yeah, it's not perfect, but hopefully they won't notice. Okay, I said. We hide until they go to sleep or leave again. Then we get that hell out of here. There was momentary silence from downstairs, which put my hair on end. I stood there next to Vic, listening hard. Where are you going?

The woman downstairs called. I'm making sure everything's locked up. The man called back, but he was closer. It sounded like he was halfway up the stairs. I yanked Vic's sweatshirt, pulling him back toward the walker. in closet. There was an attic access panel just above the built-in shelves at the back of the closet. I pointed at it and signaled that Vic should climb up. He nodded and went over, using the shelves as a ladder to get up there. Meanwhile, I closed the door to the closet and listened. There was a

child's bedroom between the stairs and the master bedroom, and it sounded like the man stopped in there. I heard him open the door to the room. Presumably, he walked in and made sure everything was locked up, whatever that meant. But I couldn't hear anything else until he closed the door again about 15 seconds later. I looked over my shoulder to see Vick's sneaker-clad feet disappear into the attic. Turning from the closet door, I heard the man step into the room. What the hell? He said. My heart jumped in my chest, and I guessed the closet door was normally left open. Moving as quickly and as quietly as I could, I climbed the shelves and lifted myself into the attic. I heard the closet door open just as I got the panel seated in the frame. Vic and I didn't

breathe. We heard nothing. I pictured the man standing in the closet doorway. His brow furrowed, looking around and trying to remember if he closed the closet door. After a few long moments, I heard him doing something in the bedroom, and I finally took a breath. It was early in the afternoon on a spring day, and the attic was warm. There was some sunlight filtering into the place through vents on either side of the house, giving us some illumination to see by. We'd watched the couple for a week, and had never seen them come home this early before. It wasn't good. We had a long wait ahead of us. I wondered if it was because of the child. When I'd first opened the door to the bedroom, a little girl's bedroom judging by the decor, I was surprised. I'd never seen them. I'd never seen the

with a kid. Not once during the week we were casing the house. Maybe the kid was at camp or something, or at a boarding school, and today she was coming home. Hey, I whispered to Vic. Did you ever see a kid when we were watching the house? We took turns, so it was possible I'd just missed it on my shifts. No, never. I nodded. It was strange. I figured if we needed to, we could overpower them, But that was a last resort. We never wanted to hurt anyone. We just wanted their jewelry and cash and expensive trinkets. Stuff and insurance company would reimburse them for.

So violence was to be avoided unless it absolutely couldn't be. The man went back downstairs. I could tell because the bedroom went silent. And a minute later, I heard his voice downstairs. Then I listened as both the husband and wife seemed to go into their basement. We sat in the attic for several minutes, listening and sweating. Both Vic and I were wearing normal, comfortable clothes, aside from the gloves, which were the only items that would have made us look out of place.

I wore a long-sleeve blue and black flannel shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Vic wore a dark gray sweatshirt, black jeans, and sneakers. We also both had baseball caps on. Still, the attic had trapped much of the day's heat in, and I was starting to worry that we'd end up with heat stroke if we had to stay for hours. So when I didn't hear anything else from downstairs for several minutes, I decided we should try to get out of the house. I climbed down first, carefully, listening hard for movement from the floor below. I heard none. Leaving Vic up in the attic, watching through the access hole for me, I made my way about halfway down the stairs before I could

even hear the couple in the basement. It sounded like they were working, maybe on some kind of remodeling project. I heard lots of taping and figured they might be getting ready to paint a room down there or something. Figuring now was the best time to leave, I headed back up to get Vic. We made it down the stairs and were creeping toward the front door when we heard the sound of an electric saw warring to life, followed by a scream coming from the basement. It was a man's scream, long and terrible and full of pain. A wave of fear traveled up my spine, and I froze at the noise. I looked over my shoulder to see Vicks' wide, terrified eyes staring back at me.

I rushed to the front door and tried to open it, but it was locked. And the deadbolt required a key to unlock it from both sides. I looked around frantically for a key set nearby, or a bunch of them hanging from a key ring, but I didn't see any keys. The door was solid wood, and there was no way to break through it easily. It would have taken an axe and an axe. hour of work. Vic looked over my shoulder and saw the dilemma. What the hell, man? He said, moving over to a nearby window and fumbling with the latch.

He got it undone, but when he tried to lift the window, it moved about a quarter of an inch before stopping. He pulled on it again, but it wouldn't move. Out of the way, I whispered. Let me try. Vic moved, and I took up his position. I lifted, but I couldn't get it to move either. Then I realized why. There was a small metal mechanism affixed to the track just above the window. It stopped the progress of the window simply by blocking it, effectively locking the window down unless you had the key to take the mechanism off.

Look, I said, pointing at the mechanism. What the hell is this place, man? He said, as if in answer, another terrified scream rang up from the basement. I moved to the next window in line, tossing the curtains aside only to see another of those locked mechanisms. When I moved to the next window, I bumped into a chair there, lifting it off the ground about an inch. It came back down with a dull thumb.

Vic and I froze, hoping they hadn't heard it from downstairs. A whimper from the basement was suddenly cut off, like a hand had been slapped down over the guy's mouth. The whole house went silent. They'd heard the thumb and were listening for four. further movement. Then I heard the barely audible sound of harsh whispering. I mouthed, move to Vic, and tiptoed away from the window toward the garage where we'd come in to the house. We had a friend that could hack into phones and duplicate the garage door opener apps

that many rich people had on their phones. It was how we got into all the houses we robbed. So if we could just make it back to the garage, we could make it out. But the problem was that we had to pass the stairs to the basement to get to that side of the house. As we moved through the hallway that traversed the house, heading toward the garage, I could hear someone coming up the stairs. The door opened, just as Vic and I turned out of the hallway and into the kitchen. We made it into the pantry and closed the door without producing much noise. Since the hallway ended at the door to the garage,

we would have been spotted easily. So once again, we had to wait it out and hope they didn't find us. Who's there? The husband's voice called from the hallway. I'm calling the police. The word sounded hollow, and I knew he wouldn't make good on his threat. Not when they were torturing someone in their basement. So we kept quiet in the pantry.

Is there someone here? The woman's voice said. I hadn't heard her coming up the basement steps. She was light on her feet. I don't know. Let's check the windows and doors again. What if it's their friends? The woman said.

What if they followed us? No one followed us. It's probably nothing. We're just a little keyed up, that's all. I'm going to check the windows in the living room. Okay, I'll check the dining room windows. I heard the man walk off, back toward the side of the house we'd just been on. I didn't hear the woman, but I figured I wouldn't. Maybe she wasn't wearing shoes or something. Turning the knob on the pantry door slowly, I opened it a crack and peered out, looking at a side. slice of the kitchen. Suddenly, the woman came into view, nearly causing me to cry out in surprise. She was wearing old, paint-spotted clothes, and her sandy brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

Her hands and forearms were splashed with blood. She stepped to the sink, turned on the water, and started scrubbing her hands, the water coming away pink. I didn't dare close the pantry door again, fearing she'd see the movement out of the corner of her eye. All that blood. These people are sick. A pair of serial killers. Maybe they'd even killed their daughter, if they'd ever had one. Just beyond the woman.

A portly bald man in his underwear stumbled into the kitchen. This time I did make a sound, but it was lost over the woman's cry of surprise. The man was covered in blood, and his right hand was missing at the wrist. The gory wound made me sure that he'd just suffered it recently. There was a thick black zip tie just under the nub, acting as a tourniquet to staunch the flow of blood. His pair of white underwear was stained with blood at the crotch, and the red liquid was dripping steadily through the fabric. I didn't even want to think about what they'd done to him down there. Preston!

The woman screamed, stepping with dripping hands over to a knife block on the counter. The injured man was clearly delirious. He stumbled toward the woman saying, Please, please, please. The woman grabbed a large knife. out of the block and threw it at the man. The blade stuck into his upper chest, but its momentum took it out again. It tumbled over his shoulder and fell to the floor behind him, leaving behind a gash in his pale skin. He barely reacted to the wound, but he did turn and look at the knife

on the ground. Meanwhile, the woman was grabbing another one out of the block, and when the injured man bent over to pick up the knife off the floor, the woman lunged at him, stabbing him in the back three times. This time, the man did cry out, but he fell to the ground, his bulk hiding the knife. The woman screamed out and stabbed him several more times before the husband, Preston, came running into the kitchen. Are you okay? He asked the woman. She was sobbing, but she nodded. How did he get out? Preston asked. The woman shook her head. Preston came around and helped his wife up. She left the knife embedded in the man's back. I doubted she would need it again. Again, the guy looked dead.

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Veil to play in a way to be responsible. The conditions apply. Stay here. Preston said to her once he got her leaning against the counter. I'm going to check on the other one. He walked out of the kitchen, and I heard his footsteps fading away as he went down the steps. There was another person down in the basement.

And if these sickos caught us, we'd be dead too. I knew we didn't have a chance. We had to make a move. And now was our chance. Around, I found a large can of peas on a pantry shelf. Vic watched me grab it with a question in his eyes. He didn't dare speak, and he hadn't seen what I'd seen to the gap in the door. He'd only heard the commotion.

I put a finger to my lips before turning around to face the door again. Taking a deep breath, I gripped the can tightly in my gloved hand, rehearsing what I was about to do in my head. I shoved the door open and lunged out at the woman, who turned to face me just as I reached her, Her eyes were wide with surprise as I brought the can down in her head. The heavy can made a dull thump as it caught her on the curve of her forehead, immediately splitting the skin open. She stumbled back, blood pouring down her face.

I moved in on her. And just as she was about to open her mouth to scream, I slammed the can down again, hitting her in the face this time. I felt the left side of her face cave in under the blow. Her body went limp, and she fell back, smacking her head against the tile floor hard enough to make a crunching sound. Come on, I said to Vic, who looked with sickening fear at the two bodies lying on the kitchen floor. We ran through the hallway toward the garage, no longer worried about being quiet.

I still had the dented can of peas in my right hand, so I used the left to twist the doorknob and pull. The door didn't open. It was locked, and, like the front door, it required a key to unlock. Fuck! I shouted. We need to break a window. Move! Vic and I turned into the nearby dining room, which had windows in two walls. The sound of running footsteps coming up the stairs sent an electric fear through my body. Vic picked up a wooden chair from the dining room table, but I knew we'd never make it out in time, not before the husband got up here, and who knows what kind of weapon he'd have with him.

I moved quickly to the wall by the doorway from the hall, the most likely place for the husband to enter the room. Holding the can up, I waited for him there, listening hard. Just as Vic smashed the window with the chair, the guy rushed into the room. He yelled out at Vic, rushing past me without a glance. He had a machete in his right hand, which he raised as he moved directly toward Vic. I stepped up behind him and slammed the can down on the back of his head, causing him to stumble forward, tripping, and falling headfirst into the smashed window, right onto a piece of jagged glass sticking up out of the bottom frame.

He dropped the machete and stood up, pulling the glass out of his neck. He put both hands to his neck, which was pouring blood. His hands did little to stop the flow. He looked at Vic and then turned to look at me. His brow furrowed as he couldn't understand what was happening. Then he fell down and emptied the rest of his blood onto the plush carpet of the dining room floor. Oh my God! Dick said, putting his gloved hands to his head.

Oh my God. We just killed two fucking people! We need to get the fuck out of here. I'm going to be sick. Go, I said, get out of here. I'll meet you back at the car. I felt like I was going to be sick, too, but I didn't say so. I was trying my best to keep it together. What are you going to do? Vic asked. They have another guy downstairs. I can't just leave him. These sickos probably have him tied up. He might die if I don't let him go. Vic looked at me for a long moment.

Then he turned to the window and started kicking the pieces of glass, including the bloody one, out of the frame so he could escape. I tossed the can of peas on the ground and rushed down the stairs and into the basement. There was plastic sheeting all over the unfinished main room, and a medical table in the middle of the space with built-in restraints. The table was coated with blood. It looked like one of the wrist straps had broken, which was probably how the guy managed to get out and go upstairs. A workbench sat to the side, covered in medical instruments and and construction tools. There was an electric saw there, its blade covered in blood. There were two large dog cages in the corner of the room, one of them empty and open. The other one contained

a man who looked up at me with fearful, pleading eyes. His mouth was covered with silver duct tape, and his hands were similarly bound. He had long, stringy hair and an average body type. His jeans and t-shirt looked filthy. I ran over to the cage, noticing, that it was fastened with a large padlock that required a key. The guy pointed at his pocket and then pointed upstairs. It wasn't hard to figure out what he was saying. I found the keys in the husband's pocket and used them to let the guy out. Then I used some scissors from the workbench to cut the tape.

Thank you. Thank you so much, he said. These people are fucking crazy, man. They were going to kill me. I know. I'd call the police if I were you. They're both dead. Relief came over the.

the guy's face. He nodded. If you do call the police, I was never here, okay? I said to one. This meant he'd have to take the blame for their deaths, but it would be self-defense, surely. I think it's best if I just leave, he said. I nodded. We headed upstairs, and I used the keys to unlock the front door. The guy thanked me again, and then ran off. I ran the other way and got into the car parked a couple of blocks away. Vic was there waiting. As soon as I got in, he put the car in gear and we drove off. Vic and I got back to my apartment on the other side of town. I turned on the news immediately. I knew it would probably be a while before anyone found them, but I couldn't help myself.

I'd leave the news on for a day if that's what it took. I wanted to ensure we got away clean. As we were sitting on my couch, unsure what to do with ourselves. A news story came on the that caught our attention. Today marks a year since eight-year-old Lily Shaw went missing last spring, the blonde male newscaster said. The picture of a smiling little girl came on the screen. The young girl's parents, Preston and Leslie Shaw, had this to say shortly after their daughter's disappearance.

A video of the husband and wife, whose house we'd just been at came on the screen. They were huddled together, arms around each other, sitting on a couch in their house. Please, we just want our daughter back. Preston said. If the people who took her are listening, we just want her back. That's all we care about.

So if anyone has any information on her whereabouts, we're offering a $500,000 reward, no questions asked. We just want her back. The newscaster came back on the screen. Eyewitnesses to Lily Shaw's disappearance identified two men who police say are known sex offenders, Tim Duke and Kelvin Reynolds. Two mugshots came on the screen.

Both faces I recognized immediately. One of them, Tim Duke, was lying dead on the Shaw's kitchen floor across town. The other one I'd set free barely an hour ago. Anyone with information on either of these men should call the crime stoppers hotline immediately. This time, I couldn't keep the sickness down. I leaned over and vomited on my floor. What did we do? Vick said. What the fuck did we do?