Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - I went to a Halloween party with a friend. I barely got out alive.

Episode Date: October 5, 2022

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Before we start this story, I'd like to thank my newest supporters, Monkey 602, Tysane, and Queen B. If you'd like to receive access to my archive of over 42 bonus episodes and early access to podcast episodes, the link is in the description below. I awoke to something dry and bristly rubbing against my face. Tilled earth and fertilizer filled my nose as I lay on the ground. Face pointed toward the moonlit sky. A wave of rustling echoed in my mind as a cool breeze flowed over my face. My eyes struggled to open, matted from a heavy sleep. Turning my head side to side, all I saw were endless rows of corn. The tops of the brown, crisp stalks bobbed lazily in the light wind.

Their dry leaves brushed against each other, making a sound like dry skin, catching on cheap linen. My head swam. It felt like a hangover, but I knew I hadn't drank enough to cause that. Three or four beers at most. Maybe someone put something in my drink. That's the only thing that made sense. I pushed myself unsteadily to my feet. My vision doubled and refocused.

A clawing pain ripped through my stomach as though I hadn't eaten in weeks. It was a sickening mixture of starvation. and nausea, the rancid taste of vomit filled my mouth. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I was concerned to discover that whoever had dumped me here had taken my cell phone. My wallet was missing too. The only things left in my pockets were a half-crushed pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Looking to the ground, I saw the remains of my meal, congealed, and soaking in the loamy soil. Sitting next to it, Looking into the moon-filled sky was a silicone Halloween mask.

The skeleton face framed in a ratty white whaler's beard smiled up at me. Funny meeting you here, the mask seemed to say. I nervously chuckled as the thought bounced inside of my head. Yeah, I said to the mask. Pretty wild. My mind was foggy, but I could remember a few details from earlier in the night before I woke up alone in the cornfield. Marcus Hart, my roommate,

told me one of the fraternities on campus had planned a Halloween gegger at someone's cabin. A girl Marcus was chasing after, mentioned that she would be there, and Marcus had dragged me along. Marcus and I weren't outcasts by any means, but we weren't hanging with the popular people on campus. Friendly, sure,

but party invitations weren't filling up our mailbox. The entire concept of a frat party seemed a little off-putting, but I hated to make him go alone. I think Stacey's into me, Danny, Marcus said as my Accura rumbled down the country road. I was going to the party as a favor to him, so he had the pleasure of driving us. Seems like a good signal that you told me about the Halloween party tonight. She didn't exactly invite us, I chuckled as I took a drag off my cigarette. A crisp autumn breeze was blowing in through a crack in the window, blowing ashes wildly through the cab of the car. She didn't exactly volunteer the information.

Didn't you ask her if she had plans? Marcus took a hand from the wheel and extended his middle finger in my direction. I chortled again as I flicked the smoldering butt out the window. It bounced off the mile marker sign, exploding into a cloud of red cinders. I'm just busting your balls, I heckled. She could have just told you she was busy, and it seemed like she was pretty happy when you said you would stop by. Relax, it'll be a fun night.

Marcus smiled at my response. Let's not stick around too long, I said. Frat guys are a bunch of assholes, and I'm not looking to spend the whole night with them drinking cheap beer and watching them show their ass. They aren't all bad, Marcus responded. I have some classes with a few of them. Decent enough guys?

I rolled my eyes and lit another cigarette. I don't know what high school was like for you, I replied Snidly. For me, those are the guys that gave me hell all the time. Being in a frat is for rich kids who want to buy friends. Not my kind of scene. We drove on in silence. I guess I offended him, but it was how I felt. Not everyone in a fraternity was a bad guy.

guy most likely, but it seemed like an accurate stereotype to me. After what felt like an eternity of winding down two-lane country roads, the GPS on my phone alerted us that the house was ahead on the left. As we rounded the final corner, we could see smoke rising from a bonfire by the edge of a cornfield. Loud music blasted through the air as nearly 100 college students milled about. We parked in the field across the road and headed over to the thriving party. After grabbing a few beers and making laughs to see if we knew anyone there, we settled toward the edge of the costumed horde and watched the chaos. Marcus looked frantically through the crowd trying to spot Stacy. Did you see her anywhere? He asked, slight panic in his voice. Everyone at this damn party

has a mask on. I'm not sure I'd recognize her in one. I shrugged. He had a point. She would blend it to the crowd. I think I'm going to make another pass and see if I spot her, he said. Gonna come? You go ahead, I said, pulling a pack of cigarettes from my shirt pocket. I'm going to step off to the side for a smoke. Marcus tossed me a wave and headed off into the crowd, scanning the shifting cluster for Stacy.

I walked a few feet away from the cluster of people to save a little. them from the cloud of cigarette smoke. Just because I was destroying my lungs didn't mean they had to suffer the secondhand effects. I lit my cigarette and turned to look out at the immense cornfield. A long draw of smoke was drifting into my lungs when a heavy hand fell on my shoulder. It startled me, and I choked as my body ejected my last draw. Body shaking with tremors from my deep coughs, I turned to see a shirtless man wearing a monstrous jester mask. You're breaking the rules. The demonic harlequin shouted.

In his hands, he held a floppy Halloween mask and a red plastic cup filled with beer. If you want to stay at this party, you have to wear a mask and you have to drink some beer. He shut the mask and cup into my hands. Turning the mask over in my hand, I saw the smiling skeletal face framed in the white whaler's beard. The hollow sockets seemed to look into my eyes. I had worn dozens of masks in my life, but something about this one made me uneasy. I couldn't explain it.

Taking a long swig from the red cup of beer, I held the bearded skeleton mask out toward the man and the jester mask. He tilted his head to the side to express his confusion. I smiled at him and gestured toward the mask. I'm not my style. I replied as politely as I could. I'll have a few beers, but I'll pass on the borrowed mask. Sounds like an awesome way to catch COVID.

I don't think you understand, said the jester in a booming voice. He pushed the mask back toward my chest. I could see over his shoulder that the outer rim of the crowd had fallen silent. Dozens of masked faces turned toward us and watched our exchange. A few of the larger guys donning floppy masks and fraternity shirts stepped out of the crowd began to walk toward us. Wear the mask or get out of here. Are you too good for my mask?

My eyes scanned the line of large men marching toward us. Some of them dropped their cups to the ground and clenched their fists, veins bulging under their skin. Others cracked their neck side to side as they approached. More and more of the crowd behind them turned to watch us. I tossed the beer back nervously and smiled in an attempt to calm the situation. Reaching out, I grabbed the man. and stretched it over my head.

The inside of it smelled like a medical glove, and the large frame caused it to shift randomly in front of my eyes. The world looked like a claymation movie as the scene before me came in and out of view. The line of fraternity guys stopped and eased their posture. Most of the crowd began to turn away and started dancing again. The jester patted me on the shoulder and laughed loudly. That's the spirit?

He held. Let's get you another beer! He put his hand on my back and guided me toward the crowd and waved his hand. A young woman wearing a terrifyingly realistic zombie mask darted forward. She shoved another beer into my hand as the jester began chanting for me to chug. Soon, the crowd nearest to us joined in. Feeling a mixture of peer pressure and exhilaration, I pulled the chin of the skeleton mask over my mouth and tipped the beer back.

Long waves of beer poured down my throat, leaving a metallic taste in my mouth. Almost, like it had said in the keg too long. I wanted to spit it out, but I was afraid of how the jester may react. Cheers erupted from the crowd of dancing college kids. Their masks bounced and contorted unnaturally as they moved. My stomach churned as it tried to settle the sudden flood of beer. My vision began to blur. Just one more!

said a man dressed as a gorilla, shoving another beer into my hand. Just one more, and you'll be in the spirit of things. I once more tipped the beer back and the crowd roared with delight. That's the last thing I remember, before waking up in the cornfield. They must have drugged me. My head throbbed as the rustling of the corn waxed and waned. Bright moonlight washed over the field, casting the faintest of shadows as it passed through the stalks.

I looked at my watch and saw it was nearly midnight. Marcus and I arrived at the party around seven that night. It couldn't have been longer than an hour before I had funneled the three drugged beers, so I had been out in the field for at least four hours. Unsure of what to do, I decided to try to make my way out of the field. There were no landmarks available,

so I started walking through the rows of corn. The stalks towered overhead, unusually tall. I had no view of the field at all. I even tried to jump a few times, but the massive wall of vegetation was too high to see over. In the distance, I could see that the row of corn appeared to come to a dead end. Most of my life had been spent living in a mid-sized city, and I didn't know much about farming, but I knew it was odd.

Corn was planted in neat rows. A nervous bubbling grew in my stomach as I grew closer to the end of the road. row. When I was a few feet from the end, I saw that the row didn't end. There was a 90-degree right turn. I went around the bend to see another turn about 20 feet ahead of me, leading to the left. It wasn't a damn cornfield. It was a maze. In frustration, I sat on the ground and began to run my hands through my hair. Panicked thoughts raced through my head as I tried to figure out what the hell was going on. None of it made sense. The fraternity hosting the party had drugged my drinks, but why? Was it some kind of hazing ritual? No, that wouldn't make sense. I hadn't

pledged to any fraternities, and I wasn't popular enough to be approached by one directly. Was it a practical joke? Probably so. But what the hell was the point? None of those guys knew me. Regardless of why they drugged me and dumped me in the middle of some stupid maze, I was terrified. The corn was unnaturally tall, and the rustling noise produced by the wind and the plants made me feel like something was moving through them, watching me, hunting me, even. Some ancient sense filled my body with a dread that something stalked me. And then I heard a voice. Found your mask back where we left you.

It shouted from a few rows away. I thought you knew the rules. Gotta leave your mask on. Don't worry. I'll bring it to you. Just hold tight. Heavy footsteps began to mingle with the rustling of the dry corn. We have to punish you for breaking the rules, though.

He shouted again. It'll hurt, but I'll try to make it quick. Bults of panic filled my body, and I jumped from the ground and began to run back in the direction that I had come. My body weight was trending forward, causing me to fall to the ground, before regaining my feet and running as quickly as I could. Over here, shouted the voice, I assumed, belonged to the jester. He's running back to where we left him.

No cheating, pledges. Stay in the maze. Anyone caught running through the rows will be punished. Dozens of footsteps filled the air now like a demonic herd of cattle moving through the field. Brief glimpses of masked faces appeared and vanished rapidly in the rose beside me. Some of them were so close I could hear their ragged, hot breath billowing inside of their rubber masks. Their hands reached out, slapping the dry stalks of corn. It created a deafening web of noise all around me.

Only one plunge spot to fill this year, boys, came the voice of the jester. Whoever brings me his ears will join our brotherhood. A chorus of laughter broke out around me in response to the macab order. There was a boiling sensation of fear and anger in my stomach as my feet hammered the ground, pushing me back toward the clearing where I had woken up. I had no plan, operating off of pure fear and adrenaline. As I neared the end of the row into the clearing where I had awoken, I saw the jester standing with his back turned away from me.

In his left hand, I saw the skeleton mask, and in his right, he held a long-bladed knife. In a mixture of terror and rage, I barreled toward him and tackled him to the ground. The knife and mask fell to the ground as we slammed to the earth with a sickening thud. His head smacked heavily against a rock, protruding from the ground. A gust of air and a whimper burst from the jester's mouth as I landed on top of him. Unsure if he was still conscious, I pushed myself up from the ground and grabbed the knife. Turning back toward him, I pointed the knife in his direction.

At first, I thought he was still. He was dead until I saw his back rise and fall, taking shallow breaths. I inched toward him, knife still outstretched, ready for him to attack. He never moved. Kneeling, I settled my knee in the center of his back. He groaned in pain, but remained in place. Slowly I tugged the jester mask off his head. His face was a ruin of fractures and lacerations from his fall on the rock.

Dark red blood traced through his messy mop of blonde hair. His glazed eyes twitched and struggled to focus on my face. You better, better. He coughed, and a spray of blood and phlegm peppered the ground in front of his mouth. Better run, man. They won't stop. I could still hear footfalls in the distance and the whisper of the corn stalks. They would be there soon, and I knew I had to move.

I needed to slow them down, buy me some time. Then I saw the discarded skeleton mask. Everyone at the party had seen me wearing it. Maybe it would throw them off. I grabbed the crumpled mask and tugged it over the blonde man's head. He fought weakly against me, but I was able to get it onto him without much trouble. After I placed it on his head, I grabbed his jester mask and put it on. It was disgusting, but maybe they would recognize the mask and think I was one of them.

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Voices behind me began to grow loud, and the sound of hands brushing against the rose of corn swelled. They were getting closer. I had to leave and hoped that the man wearing my mask would slow them down. At first I considered bursting through the rows of corn to run in a straight line, but thought better of it. The noise would be immense and alert them to my location instantly. Even if they didn't hear me breaking through the dry stalks, the visible path I would leave behind would provide them with a direct path to track me.

I moved toward one of the rows of corn and carefully pushed two of them aside, leaving enough room for me to slide through. carefully, I lifted one leg and sat it down on the other side of the row. Once I had solid footing, I brought my second foot and gently released the two stalks I was holding and allowed them to lazily bounce back into place. I performed the same separation and stepped through move on the second row of corn, leaving two rows between myself and the jester's battered body. I hoped the group would find him and be satisfied that it was me on the ground. but there was no way to be sure.

If they discovered that it was their friend on the ground, I had no way to be sure they wouldn't ignore the rules and burst through the maze walls to search for me directly. There he is! I heard a voice shout in the distance. It sounded hauntingly familiar, but in my panic, I couldn't figure out where I had heard him before. At the party most likely,

he's on the ground. His ears are mine. Between the rows of stalks, I could see a young man wearing a werewolf mask run toward the body. The jester, now wearing my skull mask, pushed himself onto his back and held up his shaking hands toward the approaching man. He stood over the broken man and pulled a knife from his belt. Put your hands down and take it like a man. The werewolf said and kicked the jester in the ribs. A loud crunch exploded from his side as a high-pitched wine escaped the mask.

I'm just taking your ears. Sit still, and I'll cut them clean off, won't even hurt that much. You may even make it to the main road before you bleed to death. The werewolf kneeled and reached his hand toward the top of the skeleton mask. I had been transfixed by the events, but suddenly I realized my half-clever diversion was being wasted as I watched them. Moving as quietly and quickly as I could, I began to slip carefully between the rows. All the while, I prayed I was moving close.

closer to the edge of the field instead of farther in. Guys! shouted the werewolf. It's Brandon! The son of a bitch heard him. I think... It looks like he smashed his head on a rock and broke his ribs. Asshole!

I thought to myself as I pushed through the corn. I busted his head up, but you broke his ribs. I almost chuckled to myself at the thought, half maddened as I was. Footfalls sounded behind me as the cluster of psychotic pledges pounded through the field. looking for me. My heart thundered against my chest as I continued to quietly slide between the rows of corn one at a time. With each successful pass, the sound of the mob grew a bit quieter.

Even with their leader killed or out of commission, they seemed dedicated to holding to their rule of not breaking through the corn maze walls. It was a relief, but I still doubted I would be able to move out of the field quickly enough to escape them. Even if I did, it would be able to move There was no telling how far I was from my car. Even if I found it, Marcus had the keys. In the distance, I thought I could hear the sound of cars. My heart filled with hope, and I began to move a bit more quickly toward the noise. For a moment, I had hope that I would escape.

Suddenly, there was the sound of snapping corn stalks behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see glimpses of the werewolf mask bounding after me through the rows of corn. He was alone and must have assumed the other pledges wouldn't see him. My reliance on them sticking to their own rules had failed. I see you, he whispered as he pushed through the corn. That same familiar voice scratched at my ears. Stop running, and this can all be over.

I began to run faster through the rows. Leaves and corn cobs smacked against my face. He was gaining on me. His footfalls were near me. My mind raced between turning to fight and continuing my failing escape attempt. It's done, Danny, he shouted. It'll be so much easier if you would just give in.

All I need are your ears. Called me, Danny. The werewolf knew me. I stopped and spun around to face him. The Jester's knife was still clutched in my hand, and I held it toward the werewolf. He stopped in place and held out his knife toward me. Marcus?

I asked, between gulbing breaths. What the hell? Marcus? The werewolf grabbed the tuft of hair on top of the mask and pulled it off. Before me in the cornfield stood my best friend, Marcus. A hateful smirk curled his lip. His hair was matted to his head with sweat, and his eyes were full of madness.

But it was him. I pulled off the stolen jester mask and stared and bewilderment at Marcus. Sorry, buddy, he said calmly. I hate that it had to be you. Why are you doing this? I said, holding back my desire to scream. It would only have attracted the rest of the murderous pledges. You don't have to go through with this.

We're shit. I thought we were friends. Marcus lifted his free hand and wiped the streams of sweat away from his face. You could see the moisture evaporate from his skin in the cool night air. His smirk faded away and turned into a determined glare. I'm tired of being nobody, he said flatly. Being a face in the crowd at a party doesn't bother most people. But I've spent too much of my life being ignored.

I pledged the frat, but didn't tell you. I knew you wouldn't support it. You think you're better than them. You think you're better than me. Marcus, I'm sorry, I muttered. He was inching toward me, and I walked backward, catching my feet on the stalks and stumbling. You're not like them.

This isn't you. Let's get out of here. We'll get you some help. We can... Before I could finish my sentence, my shoe tangled in a half-bent stalk of corn, and I tumbled onto my back. The air rushed out of my lungs,

and bright white stars shot across my field of vision. I couldn't see him. But I heard Marcus say something under his breath, and the sound of his feet hitting the ground as it began to run toward me. I held the knife out in front of me as my vision steadied. just in time to see Marcus. He was running toward me, knife above his head, preparing to plunge it into me,

and I lay helplessly on the ground. This is it, I thought, killed in a damn corn maze. Marcus was just above me, swinging the knife in a high arc when I made my final desperate move. I picked up my right leg and drove it and it was me. The joint hyper-extended,

angled in the wrong direction. He fell to the ground. shrieking in pain. The knife flew from his hand and into the row behind us. His howls of misery filled the air. I knew it would draw the rest of the back. They were far enough away that it would be difficult for them to figure out where we were immediately. But I knew they would find us in a matter of moments if Marcus continued to scream. At that moment, I did the worst thing I had ever done, the worst thing I ever would do. I placed the knife to his neck and ran the blade from ear to ear.

His cries and bellows ceased immediately. Dark crimson blood began to pour from the wound, bubbling as he attempted to speak. He reached for me and took a hold of my sleeve, but I slapped his weak hand away. As I stood to leave, he reached a hand toward me, gesturing for help. I looked into his eyes. The madness was gone. It was Marcus again, my friend. He was dying, and I had dealt the killing blow.

Only moments later, his hand went limp and fell to the ground. Hot tears streamed down my face and bile rolled in my stomach. I had to get out of there. I needed help. I wanted to survive. The field was mostly quiet again. A cool breeze picked up and began to rustle through the corn again. The dry leaves crackled and scraped against each other.

In the distance, I heard the horde yelling again. They weren't close yet, but they would be soon. My mind was still hazy from the drugs, and I was struggling to recover from having the air knocked out of me. All of my energy had been exerted during my escape attempt from Marcus. My tank was empty. I had killed my friend. The pack of pledges would find me soon.

Even if I did manage to escape, what cop would believe any of it? I reached into my pocket and pulled out the crushed pack of cigarettes in a lighter. If I was going to die, I thought I should have one last cigarette, soothe my nerves and enjoy one final thing before I went. Placing the bent cigarette in my mouth, I cupped the end of the lighter and put the flame on the tip of my cigarette. As I was taking a drag to keep it lit, a cornstalk bent in the breeze and pushed a dried leaf into the flame of my lighter.

It began to ignite rapidly. In a panic, I swatted the burning stalk and smothered the fire. The smoke and light would lead them right to me. There was no need to draw attention to me any more quickly. Besides, it would ignite the entire field. That was it. the field on fire, trap them inside. Cigarette dangling from my mouth, I placed the lighter on one of the dry stalks in front of me

and sparked the flint. A tiny flame danced from the end of the lighter and spread across the dry leaves. It leapt from stalk to stock in a matter of moments. I passed through the row of corn behind me and set two more stalks ablaze. Just like the first round, the tightly packed stalks of corn passed the flames between each other like cancer. As I passed through the third row, I set a final blaze before turning to run toward the sounds of the road. I must have run through the seemingly endless rows for ten minutes before I finally hit the edge. A wide open field spread in front of me, and beyond it

sat the country road that had carried me and my best friend to this ill-fated party. I turned toward the cornfield a final time before I collapsed to the ground. What had only been a few small fires when I left had turned into an enormous blaze. The flames licked toward the night sky, dancing like spirits against the dark backdrop. Over the crackles of the blaze, I could swear I heard screams.