Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - I Wore a Serial Killer’s Mask as a Halloween Costume, and it was the worst mistake I ever made...

Episode Date: October 17, 2022

🎧 Check out The SCP Experience podcast here: https://spoti.fi/3juM1og 🎉 Ad-free bonus stories + exclusive uncensored animations: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🎥 YouTube: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep ✅ Send all advertising inquiries to: [e-mail] DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

My mom took me to the costume store a week before Halloween. I searched up and down the aisles for the perfect costume, but couldn't find what I was looking for. My friends and I had agreed that this would be our last Halloween to go out and trick or treat, since it was our last year in middle school. I wanted my costume to be special. Halloween was one of my favorite times, and I was sad that I wouldn't be able to enjoy it anymore.

At least, not as a kid. Sure, I had heard that in high school there would be Halloween parties where we could drink and have adult fun, but I enjoyed the childish nature of it as well. I liked the simple joy of going house to house to collect candy, then returning home with my friends and sorting out all our sweets and trading them with one another. So, I needed this Halloween to be perfect, and I needed a unique and terrifying costume. My mother tried to be patient with me. She knew I was upset about this being my last real Halloween.

And I think she was upset about it too. I was growing up faster than either of us wanted. But eventually I exhausted her patience. And she said that I just needed to choose a costume. I decided on a pale mask that would drip with fake blood when I tilted my head. It came with a black cloak. The concept was interesting enough. But still, it was made from cheap plastic, and I wasn't satisfied.

But I pretended to be happy as my mom paid for it, and we returned home. To make up for a costume I wasn't thrilled about, I began planning the route my friends and I would take through our neighborhood. I circled the houses that handed out full-sized candy bars, and I crossed out the houses I knew that gave out apples or toothbrushes. I went to the laundry room to find a pillowcase for collecting candy. Halloween baskets were for chumps. I couldn't find any that were big enough,

but I knew my mom had once used a king-sized pillow. She had moved to a single bed the year after my dad left. Hey, Mom? I called. Do we still have a king-sized pillowcase? Oh, she called back, a little sad. It would be in the attic, I think. I ran upstairs and pulled down the drawstring from the ceiling that released the old fold-out ladder.

that led to the attic. Scambling up, I began to search the old boxes for any sign of bed sheets. The attic had not been tightened in years, so it was difficult to know even where to begin. However, I eventually found an old cardboard box with a bed sheet spilling out the side. At the bottom of this box was the prize I had been looking for, a massive king-sized pillowcase. There was a second one as well, and I grabbed it for my best friend Todd. As I was turning to leave, I tripped into a stack of cardboard boxes and knocked them to the floor. That's when I noticed something I hadn't before, something that had been hidden under a collection of boxes. It was an old luggage chest without wheels, one of those you would see in movies that had leather and buckles like a briefcase.

I popped the buckles open with a satisfying click and looked inside. It was filled with old musty clothes, but as I dug underneath them, I found something that made me shiver with both fear and excitement. It was an old hockey mask, and I suddenly realized what this chest was. My mother had tried to keep this hidden from me, but nothing could be kept secret in an age when even young children had access to the endless knowledge of the internet. As it turns out, my grandfather had been a criminal, a terrifying criminal. He was a serial killer, and his iconic look was that of a hockey mask.

This was the very mask he had worn when he had slaughtered his victims. I have no idea how or why my mom had kept it, but I felt myself drawn to it. The hockey mask was sturdy and authentic, not made from cheap plastic like the lame mask I got at the store. It was perfect. My final Halloween, I would have a costume that no one else could ever dream of. He had a terrifying mask worn by a real-life murderer. I tucked the mask under my shirt. There was no way my mom would approve if she knew, and headed down the ladder with the pillowcases in hand. The night of Halloween finally arrived, and my mom dropped me off at Todd's house where Todd and our friend Alex were waiting for me. I entered the house with the costume my mom

and bought me. But once we got to Todd's room, I pulled out the hockey mask. Whoa, Todd said, where did you get that? It's terrifying. I found it in the attic and my grandpa's old luggage. You don't mean, Alex trailed off in fear. I had told him and Todd the story of my grandfather than the moment I found out. Yep, I said with a devilish smile. An authentic killer's mask. That's so cool. And creepy, Alex said, a sense of awe in his tone.

All right, let's head out before they run out of full-sized candy bars, Dodd said. We walked out into the cool October evening, and I tied the hockey mask behind my head with the attached strings. The second it was secured to my face, I felt, Strange. It was as if a current of energy was rushing through my body. I can't deny that it felt good, that I felt powerful and confident. We followed my planned route, and had acquired a good deal of candy when we ran into Mark Miller. He was by far the largest student in our class,

and he made it his personal mission to make my life miserable. Calling him a bully was an understatement. As he passed us on the dark street, he shoved me to the ground. Watch where you're going, loser. He snickered and then picked up my pillowcase. Hey, thanks for getting this all for me. It's going to save me a lot of time. Leave him alone. Alex shouted.

Why? He needs to toughen up. You all do. Just wait till you get to high school next year, Henry. He said this directly to me. If you think I'm bad, wait till you meet the older kids. They're going to eat you a lot. He tossed my pillowcase over his shoulder and left laughing into the night.

Don't listen to him, Todd said. And we can share my candy, Henry, or we can tell his mom and... It's fine, I said. Todd and Alex exchanged a confused look. I wasn't known for being a tough kid. Normally, I would be crying right then. But I felt a strange sense of calmness. As the night continued on, my thoughts became lessened.

less about candy and trick-or-treating, and more and more about Mark Miller. I fingered the pocket knife I always kept in my pocket, and dark thoughts flooded my mind. And those dark thoughts made me smile. We returned to Todd's home, and I told my friends that I would be heading home early. Again, they looked concerned, but they didn't argue. I walked into the night. All the kids were gone, and all the house lights were out. My steps were powerful and confident. I knew what I was planning on doing, but somehow I wasn't quite aware of it, as if there was someone else thinking for me.

I also somehow knew that I would be able to get away with what I was about to do. I suddenly had a vast knowledge of a very sinister and particular skill set, the knowledge of a serial killer. I approached Mark's house from the back. He lived on the edge of the forest that surrounded our town. Staying in the shadows, I began tossing small pebbles at his bedroom window. He approached it and looked around confused. I tossed more.

Mark opened his back door and stepped into the yard. Who's there? He called in a harsh whisper. He walked closer to the forest edge. Is that you, Jacob? This isn't funny, dude. He took one step into the darkness. In a single fluid motion,

I pulled him into the forest and plunged the pocket knife into his neck. I instinctively knew the exact placement necessary not only to make him bleed out quickly, but also to prevent him from screaming. Mark stumbled forward, clutching his neck and sputtering. He fell to the ground and went silent. Without thinking, I dragged his body deeper into the forest. It should have been nearly impossible for my small body to have dragged someone so heavy for such a long distance.

But I didn't even feel it. I reached the river that flowed far into the wilderness and tossed Mark's body into it. He floated out of sight, and I returned home feeling giddy and satisfied. Lazzang sur-gillet, puissance-moyance-moyant for 15 minutes. We're like that's their dojo. Pre-to-Joo! Vive the pleasure with the Ojo! The casino in-line that proposes the most recent machines-assine-sos

20 machine-assau and games of casino in direct. Profite of 50 tours gratu on Big Bas Bonanza. Without exigance of mise and with payment instantane. Hey, I've got to. Woo-hoo! Sentire the pleasure, play.

Oh, Joe. 18 years, 1,000, only, expugned in Ontario. 50 tours gratuys on the machine-assoulement of $10. Deppos minimum of $10. Veil to play a way responsible.

The conditions so apply. The next day I woke up and found the hockey mask sitting on my nightstand. All of my own thoughts had returned. I felt weak and terrified again. and the realization of what I had done hit me like a punch to the stomach. I felt sick, so sick that I actually puked into the bathroom's sink.

Sneaking downstairs with the mask under my shirt, I tossed it into the trash can on our curb. Today was pick-up day, and soon the mask would be far away in a landfill somewhere. I told my mom I wasn't feeling well, which was the truth, and stayed in my bedroom all day sobbing and expecting a police. police officer to come to the door any minute. A small sense of relief filled me when I heard the garbage truck take the mask away. Apparently, my body was exhausted from having heightened levels of anxiety all day, because when nighttime came, I fell asleep quickly. I awoke standing in the darkness of the forest. There was something stuck to my face, the mask. But that was impossible,

wasn't it? Even if I had somehow been sleepwalking, I never could have found that mask in a landfill. Panic filled me, and I began tugging at the strings holding the mask to my head. But no matter how I pulled at them, they didn't budge. The mask seemed to suppress my own conscious once again, and I became calm. There was someone screaming in the distance. I saw, on a lonely forest road, a man grabbing the woman. She was fighting against him and screaming for help. Again, like an instinct. I walked up behind the man who had the woman pinned to the ground.

I had brought a much larger knife this time, apparently. I pulled the man back by his hair and slid his throat quickly. The woman continued to scream as I dragged the body away. Somehow, I already knew where I was going and what I needed to do. I knew that I had already dug a grave out in the forest earlier. Pushing the man into the hole, I covered him completely with dirt, then methodically shifted the dirt and covered it with pine needles in such a way that no one could tell a hole had been dug. Again, I felt giddy, almost high.

I felt accomplished, and I walked back to my home in peace. The next day I woke up and smashed the hockey mask with a hammer and scattered the pieces in different trash cans. This was to no avail. That night I found myself with my grandfather's mask on my face in the middle of a premeditated murder plot. I killed again that night. I tried burning the mask. I tried burying the mask.

I tried tossing it into the river. But I always woke with it on my face and with my heart full of overwhelming bloodlust. Fifteen people I have murdered as I sit writing this. And I know that I will kill again tonight. At first, I thought that somehow the spirit of my grandfather was driving me to do this. I thought he had been so evil that his vile spirit had imprinted on the mask. But now I wonder, was he just as much a victim as myself? Did he unwittingly try on this mask?

Was he then forced to live out a serial killer's fantasy every night? I know where this will end. No matter how much supernatural skill I have in killing and hiding bodies, I know that it must catch up to me at some point. Would they consider the death penalty for me, even though I'm a child? Or will they lock me away in a psych ward, where I will grow in both age and madness until I die? Either way, one thing is certain, the mask will remain, waiting for another poor soul to unleash

its terrible power.