Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - I work as a medical examiner. Some of the bodies are dissecting themselves.

Episode Date: December 2, 2022

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And sometimes, a smooth, silky latte just wins. It's exceptional but effortless. Like actually effortless. Simply press, brew and explore. Nispresso, what else? Keep exploring at nespresso.com. My name is Derek Redding and I've worked at the Barlow County Medical Examiner's Office in Tennessee for about a decade. During those years, I have seen my fair share of awful things.

Awful to most people anyway. To me, every corpse that is brought into our office is like a jigsaw puzzle to work in reverse. Opening up a dead body and searching for the cause of death has always been a rush for me. I never expected them to start opening themselves. Barlow County in the past few months had seen a sudden increase in unexplained deaths, mostly at Tico Mine Number 2. Tico 2 to the locals. The local phosphorus mine has always been the only anchor in our economically depressed area.

If high school kids don't manage to go to college or trade school, they end up running heavy equipment hauling Tennessee brownstone out of the ground. Mining in the area is generally safe, but industrial accidents aren't unheard of. Phosphorus mining is mostly done as surface-level mining, with drag lines and buckets, so don't get it confused with coal mining. These guys aren't crawling around inside dark tunnels miles below the surface. Most of the workplace death investigations I've done there involve machinery malfunction or slip and falls.

About two months ago, while I was sitting in my office, my cell phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and saw it was Brent Tucker, the local sheriff. Brent was a good friend of mine due to how often we worked together, but any time he called during working hours, I always knew there was a body involved. Morning, Brent. I said, after putting the phone to my ear, Brent responded. I'm going to need you to head on down to time.

Tico too, Bub. Got a cold one for you. Let me grab my gear and head that way. I said as I scooped up my work back, you all finished with the investigation? What's it looking like? Brent didn't respond to me immediately. I could hear him muffled the phone receiver with his hand

and whisper something to someone on the scene with him, but I wasn't able to make it out. He usually shot pretty straight with me, so it concerned me a bit that secrecy had suddenly become a factor in our friendship. Yep, he finally responded. Looks like an animal attack. The body's chewed up real bad.

We ended the call, and I slid my phone back into my pocket. It was a decent little drive out to Tico 2, so I turned on the police scanner to pass the time. I expected radio chatter from the local Yokel deputies, who usually kept the channel lively when there was a dead body found. But today, it was oddly silent. Not a great sign. As I pulled onto the gravel trail, I remembered Brent didn't tell me where to meet them,

but the question faded away when I saw the cluster of patrol cars, ambulance, and the mine formance pickup, circled up like covered wagons. I wedged my little sedan between the pickup and a patrol car and slid out with my bag in hand. The men were in the center of the vehicles huddled under a canvas tent top. Brent waved me over. What have we got, gents? I asked, in as happier tone as I could manage. Looks like a critter ate up one of the Tico 2 workers last night,

Brent set his emotion toward the body under the tent. A man who appeared in his mid-20s lay on the stony ground, staring dead-eyed at the tent above his head. His shirt was soaked in blood on the left side a few inches above his hip, And he clutched a hunting knife in his right hand. I could see a portion of his shirt folded back, revealing a shredded mess of flesh and gore. Any wildlife spotted here lately? I asked the crowd as a whole.

Nope. Responded a big man wearing a Tico mining hat. The foreman, I assumed. Noise from the machines and the vehicles coming and going tends to keep them clear most of the time. I nodded in response. After slipping on a set of clothes, gloves and knelt by the body and pulled back the shirt from the wound. The area of the wound was folded back like a surgical incision, but the jagged edges showed

none of the same care. Flex of white and blue flesh were speckled around the shirt and appeared to be pieces of the large intestine and bladder. Some of the intact intestines were protruding from the wound. It looked like something had pushed out of the opening. the center of the wound was jagged and torn, there was an inch-long straight line cut at the top. I glanced over at the knife in the man's hand and noticed that the top third of the blade was caked in drying blood. Pulling an evidence bag out of my gear, I pulled the knife out

of the dead man's hand and put it into the bag before handing it to Brent. The deputies should have already collected it, but in a county our size, sometimes you see more Barney Fife types than you would care to. Catalog that and get it to my office with the body, said to him. Looks like he may have cut himself. Brent nodded and directed the deputies to collect any remaining evidence and transport the body to the medical examiner's office. The foreman gave me the man's identification information,

and I stuck it in my bag. My mind was swimming with possibilities from the preliminary examination, so I hadn't bothered to look over the documents. It was clear, law enforcement felt that a local predator had killed the man and abandoned the meal, but that didn't appear to be the case. There were no defensive wounds, and other than the small self-inflicted cut, all signs pointed toward something escaping the body. The autopsy wasn't as enlightening as I had hoped.

The man, who shall remain nameless out of respect, had died of massive blood loss. While most of the blood had drained from the wood, wound onto the ground, there was a fair amount of internal bleeding. An area the size of a softball had been torn to bits between the large and small intestines and led out through the bladder just above his groin. To the untrained eye of the sheriff, it seemed like an animal attack, but I could see clear signs that the attack in question had started in the man's body. I had almost completed the autopsy and was finishing the weight and measurement of the internal organs when I spotted something out of place.

Reaching into the bowl hanging from the scale, I removed something from the intestines that resembled a hairnet. A small cord ran from the black membrane and attached to a section of the intestine. Carefully, I grabbed a scalpel from the tool tray and sliced the cord away and gently stretched the black mass out on the table before me. It was a semi-transparent membrane. Thick, black cords ran through the membrane creating the appearance of a net. In all of my years, I had never seen anything like this, so I began to describe it to the audio recorder while I went to grab my digital camera. Our funding was low, so we didn't have a video system in the autopsy room, and I had never been sadder about that fact until that moment. When I returned with the

digital camera to take a picture of the alien object, it had changed. Where the veined membrane had been only moments earlier was now a pile of ash. It looked like someone had burnt a slip of notebook paper. In a panic, I began to sweep the ashes into my hand to try and put them in a specimen bottle for testing. But as I brushed them toward the edge, they dissolved even more and floated into the air above me. I watched helplessly as the dust swirled into the air scrubber above my head. Over the next few weeks, there were three more bodies discovered at Tico 2 with the same injuries. I performed all of the autopsies myself, but had an examiner from the next county over assist me.

When I called them, I explained the odd nature of the deaths, but my real motivation was to have a witness if I found another of the black membranes inside of the body. No such luck. All of the wound patterns were the same, but the membranes were absent. I think it was possible that the membranes couldn't survive long-term exposure to open air, but I still don't really know. The first body that showed these weird wounds had been discovered within hours of death. The three most recent bodies that had been brought to me had been dead for considerably longer,

and weren't discovered until they had been deceased for two or more days. It had been a few days since another one of the mysterious bodies had turned up, when I received an unusual call from Brent. We're on our way with one, the sheriff said. Different from the others, though. It's a Tico worker, but he died at home. The wife said he started screaming in the shower, and when she found him, he was cutting himself up with a straight razor.

Died a few minutes later before EMTs. Where was he cutting himself, Brent? I asked, but I already knew. Same spot as the others, Doc. He replied flatly. I hung up the phone and headed to the office. Two EMTs unloaded the body from the back of the ambulance and wheeled him into the autopsy room.

I asked them to stay and assist, but they both declined, stating they were only the EMTs on duty. Brent had been with them as well, but said he had too many deputies off-duty tonight and had to run patrol routes. Frustrated with the lack of help or witnesses, I decided to prop up my cell phone on the ledge overlooking the autopsy table to capture anything unusual I may find.

I didn't even bother trying to call the examiner from the next county. She had gotten tired of assisting when what she considered to be routine cases of animal attacks. My shitty cell phone video would have to do. This is Derek Redding, and it is currently 1735 PM CST, and I am beginning the physical examination of Carlton Jet, H-32, Height is 6.2, and weight is approximately 210 pounds. I said into the microphone. The subject's body appears to be free of wounds other than a three-inch self-inflicted incision just below the navel. Mr. Jett has been deceased for approximately three hours.

I used some gauze to wipe the blood away from the wound and cleaned the area. My tool tray was just to my left, and I picked up a scalpel and moved it toward the dead man's abdomen. There were no other signs of trauma, so I knew I was going to have to run this examination from the top to bottom. The subject expired due to unknown circumstances after cutting themselves with a straight razor. I am now going to... I was cut off by the phone ringing at my desk. Putting the unused scalpel back on the tool tray, I took off my gloves and headed to answer the phone. I was hoping it was Brent with some additional information and didn't want to miss the call.

I plopped down in my desk chair and answered the phone. Against my hopes, it wasn't Brent. A county across the state was calling to request an autopsy report on a body I had examined the previous year on one of their residents who had been visiting our town. I told them I would send it over this afternoon after I finished my current examination and hung up the phone. As I pushed myself away from the desk,

I looked through my office window into the autopsy room and froze. Lazang surgellied, power and means 15 minutes. We're like it's the door. Prere to play.

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assuble Bix Bonanza. Beas playing flat on the table. But I could see him plunging the scalpel from my instrument tray

into his abdomen and slicing it down to his groin. His body shuddered violently as he sliced himself open. After he finished his incision, he slid his hands into the bleeding opening and pulled the skin apart with a wet rip. I couldn't move. The dead man began to shove his hands into the cavity

and pulled handfuls of intestines out and let them slide down his side, onto the table, and eventually onto the floor. His body began to shake so hard that the autopsy table was bouncing on the tiles, and the instrument tray fell and scattered randomly across the floor. And then he stopped moving. My heart thundered against the wall of my chest, and I could feel my pulse in my throat. He had been pronounced dead by the EMTs at his home, but I had just watched this dead man disembowl himself on my table. My hands shook as I reached for the receiver of the phone to call Brent.

As I began to dial his number, I saw the wet mess of entrails on the autopsy table begin to rive. I dropped the phone back on the receiver. A chittering noise began to fill the air as more of the man's intestines dumped out of his body onto the table. Four slender spider legs erupted from the wound and pulled out a black, tear-drop-shaped mass. The legs straightened themselves underneath the teardrop shape

and the thing began to shake off the flesh and gore. As it shook itself clean, the teardrop expanded itself into a sphere covered in fine, shiny quills. A black membrane slid off of the spines onto the steel table, and dissolved into ash. I stared helplessly at this hellish thing that had crawled from the dead man. It jumped off of the table

and began to skitter around the room. A loud clicking noise followed it as the crustacean-like legs moved across the tile. After a few moments of aimless wandering, it tapped one of its legs into the stream of blood flowing into the drain beneath the table. Slowly, it followed the flowing trail to the great, chittering all the while.

It slid a leg into the grate and flipped it over before folding its quill-covered body into a teardrop shape and dropping down the drain. After I was about to calm my nerves, I went into the room and retrieved my cell phone. Every horrifying moment had been captured, up until the point the spiked creature dropped off of the table. I called Brent, who came and surveyed the scene but found no traces of the thing. He called for an examiner from another county to come and fill. the autopsy. I left the office with Brent, who said I looked like I needed a beer. I couldn't have agreed more. A few hours and too many beers later, we sat on Brent's front porch and an old set of rockers, looking out into the field in front of his house. We had gone over the events

dozens of times. He had already called the foreman of Tico II and told them what we had seen in the videos. The conversation seemed to be one-sided from that point. with the foreman doing the talking, and Brent doing most of the listening. He finally hung up the phone and gave me a sad look. Derek? He said, sympathetically. I sure am sorry you had to see all of that. I just nodded, but just stare down at the porch as I rocked.

Mind if I watch that video again? He asked. I tossed him the phone and he hit play. The sounds of the rattling autopsy table, the churts. shittering, and the clicking on floor tiles made a chill run out my spine again. If I never saw that video again, that wish came true almost instantly. Brent dropped my phone on the porch and stomped it with his foot. After a moment of grinding it beneath his heel, he pulled his service revolver out of the holster

and pointed it at me. That shit loaded up to the eye cloud or whatever you call it, he asked in a flat tone. What the hell, Brent? I questioned and raised my hands in the air. What are you doing? Answer the question, Derek, he replied. No. I said.

My cloud is full, so nothing new is uploading. Why the hell did you do that? Brent stared at me in a way that almost seemed remorseful. Tico's big business around here and this could mess up the operation, he replied. We need those jobs. The foreman knows all about this shit. Some of those boys dug up some weird black rocks a few months back. When they tried to sift through it to identify it, the stuff turned to powder.

Some of them breathed this shit in and got sick. You saw how it turned out. And you're okay with this? I asked and discussed. Hell no, he spat. But what am I going to do about it? The foreman said this jet fellow was the last one alive that had any contact with it and now he's gone. It's over. You're a good fella, Redding, my friend, even.

I just need you to be quiet about this. If we lose the mine, this town is finished. Brent went on for a while, but I'm too shocked and disgusted to write it all out. He drove me back home and told me if I told anyone about it, that some men from the mine would make sure I vanished. There was no more video to prove what I had seen, and by the time I got back to the office, Carlton Jets' body along with the files and recordings were gone.

So here I sit. People need to know about this. Tico mining in the sheriff's office here know there is something dangerous in those mines. But they are just going to hide it. The things I saw must be some sort of airborne parasite. You breathe in that black dust, and before long, you'll be trying to cut yourself open too. It's been a few weeks, and I'm trying to let things get back to normal. But I feel like I hear skittering noises and clicking everywhere I go.

I've even gone back to work, but I always feel like something is watching me. Surely the thing isn't still in the drain. Is it?