Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - I Work at a Pawn Shop That Only Opens After Midnight, and Our Customers Aren't Human

Episode Date: June 16, 2025

At a pawn shop that only opens after midnight, every broken item hides a secret—and when a meth-addicted vampire pawns the wrong artifact, it draws the wrath of something far worse than death. Author: Jake Bible * * * EXPLICIT CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and graphic depictions of violence intended for adults 18 years of age or older. These stories are NOT intended for children under the age of 18. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 18. Listener discretion is advised. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

to nice sleep. My teeth clench, and I can feel that molar on my left side slip a little. It's been bothering me for a while now, but I don't have time to go get the dental work it needs. The simple answer is to stop clenching my teeth, but that ain't going to happen. Not with the job I have. And not with that damn neon sign buzzing like a mosquito on meth. Enzo! I shout, smacking the side of the sign with my left hand,

instantly regretting it as pain radiates through my palm and up. my arm. The damn sign is buzzing again. Enzo, the owner of the pawn shop I work at, waddles down the center aisle, the huge bulk of his body straining the weak metal braces that keep his legs from completely going out from under him. Without the braces, Enzo wouldn't be waddling anywhere, not after getting jumped in an alley by a gang of haints, and having both kneecaps turned to dust when he was 20 years younger. Shit, I hope I'm still not working in this shit hole in 20 years. Leave it be, Brand. Anzo says when he reaches me.

You're the problem, not the sign. I'm the problem. How the fuck am I the problem? You upset it with your anger. My anger? Your anger. It upsets the sign. The sign has two jobs.

To be on and show folks we're open. Or to be off and show folks we ain't open. Being upset isn't one of its jobs. It's okay. It doesn't mean it. Enzo whispers, stroking the sign. He's just a grumpy Gus.

I shake my head at the absurdity of Enzo's deference to the things and items that fill the shop, including the neon open sign, the cash register, the unbelievably still working coffee maker in the back room, and the fluorescent light bulbs that flicker and strain to keep the dark at bay. I can't fault him for wanting the fluorescence to be happy. In the city, especially after midnight, you do everything you can to fight all. off the gloom that pervades the streets, the alleys, and a whole damn place, really. After a few strokes of Enzo's old hand, the neon sign slows its buzzing and smooths out. It's crazy, but he's got the touch.

Hey, you open or what? I glance out the glass of the front doors and do everything not to start cursing. I don't want to upset the neon sign again. My jaw clenches instead, and I wince as the loose molar sends a jagged jolt of pain through my jaw. Alistair is here early. Enzo says out of the corner of his mouth, as he turns carefully and waddles back to the counter where he'll post up behind the register until the sun comes up.

He's right. Alistair usually shows up about an hour or two before dawn. The shop is on his way back to his lair, and he always has some trinkets and jewelry to pawn after a night of feeding off idiots who aren't hexed up or wearing a cross, or, at the very least, know to eat garlic-laden meals. if you're going to walk the streets of the city after dark. The city has a vampire problem,

and Alistair is one of the worst offenders. I really like fucking with him. What's that say, Alistair? I shout, pointing at the still chilled out neon sign. Open! He shouts through the glass. Then he grabs the doors and pulls. They don't budge.

But it ain't open. Pulling the keys out of my back pocket, I jangle them in the air, taunting the vampire trash. Oops, I say as I unlock both doors, pushing one wide open so he can walk past me. Sorry about that. His aroma hits me in the face like a sledgehammer. Rot and earth, blood and meanness, and meth.

So much meth. The city has a vampire and meth problem. Mostly, though, it's vampires on meth. Apparently, it's the one street drug they can take as is. They don't have to give it to a sucker to use, then feed off. that sucker. Although, I guess the vampire is the actual sucker in this scenario. Either way, vampires meth, bad combo. Thanks, thanks, Alistair says as he absentmindedly pats me on the cheek. He's flung halfway across the shop the instant his cold, dead skin touches my warm, live skin.

I sigh and watch him float suspended above the aisles of cheap metal shelving that hold everything from broken TVs to broken crutches to broken scrying balls to broken. crystal balls. No one pawns shit that works, but there's a huge market for broken things. There always has been since the beginning of time. The city ain't no different. A broken crutch can be transformed into a powerful staff, drawing from the misery that is seeped into the wood from years of pain. A broken scrying bowl can split reality, turning the image into a kaleidoscope of possibilities. All you have to do is pick one. A broken crystal ball, if an experience, experienced hands or paws or talons can tell fortunes of the unborn and the long dead.

There's not much you can do with the broken TV, though. You know the rules, Al, I say as I stand under the floating vampire. No touching the staff. Aw, man, come on. I didn't mean nothing by it. No exceptions, Al. But I ain't got any cash for the fine, Brann. Brand? Uh, no. We're not on a first-name basis.

But you call me, Al. Yep, he sighs. That ain't fair, man. Nothing is fair in the city, Al. That's just the way it is. I look over at Enzo, and he isn't even paying attention. Shananigans with Alistair are too common to even warrant a glance in the meth-smoking, blood-suckers direction. What are you holding, Al?

I ask up at him. Oh, I got about three grams on me, man. Good score tonight. Good score. No, not meth. Goods. What did you bring to pawn? Oh shit. I got the bomb diggedy, man. The bomb diggity.

No one says that anymore, Al. Shit, man. You've been alive as long as I have and everything comes back around. It'll be hip again. Just you watch. You weren't alive. You know what I mean, man? What is this bomb digotty? Enzo asks from the counter, still not glancing our way. He's busy counting and recounting the till. I can tell by his voice that he's frustrated. If they're a problem? I ask, turning my attention to Enzo. The count is off, he says, finally looking up.

You closed out last night, yes? Yep. The deposit receipt is in there. It matches sales, and I left the usual 500. You keep 500 in that old piece of shit? Alistair asks. Do not speak ill of the register, Enzo says. It has lived a long and prosperous existence and deserves our respect. I've lived a long and prosperous existence, and none of you all respect me. Alistair says, outing a little.

Prosperous? Really? I laugh. What have you brought us tonight, Alistair? Enzo asks, giving up on the count. Even frustrated, he doesn't take it out on the register. He closes the drawer with a soft clack and a loud ding. Alistair? You gotta let me down, man.

Alistair whines. I raise an eyebrow. Enzo nods. I mumble the release word under my breath, and Alistair drops to the worn, stained carpet. Damn! He says as he gets up, brushes himself off, then rubs his backside.

Is it just concrete under there? You all need to get some padding for this carpet. We wouldn't want you getting too comfortable, I say and hold out my hand. The bomb diggity? Oh shit, man! He exclaimed, and hurries past me to the counter. You ain't going to believe this!

When he places the item next to the register, my mouth goes dry, and I lock eyes with Enzo. Where? Where did you get this, Alistair? Enzo asks in a quiet, firm voice despite the initial stammer. My instinct is to mutter, fuck me, but I hold my tongue. No pun intended, considering the item sitting on the counter. Oh, you know, man, Alistair says and shrugs. By stealing from the people you kill and drain?

I say. Enzo holds up his hand and I go silent. Then he points at the item. Alistair, how did you come to be in possession of the silver tongue? Enzo asks. I can see the worry in his eyes. The last I had heard, Lord Wallace was the owner. The silver tongue right there on the counter.

Shit. The legend is that it's the tongue of Judas Ascariot encased in the very silver he took from the Pharisees as payment for betraying Yeshua. Picture this. It's late at night. You're scrolling, and suddenly you find exactly what you've been looking for. You add it to your cart, maybe browse a little more than head to checkout, only to realize you don't have your wallet.

But then you see it, that purple shop pay button. And just like that, you're done in seconds. That's the power of Shopify. It supports millions of businesses and drives 10% of all e-commerce in the U.S. from major brands like Mattel and Jimshark to entrepreneurs just getting started. With Shopify, everything you need is in one place, from customizable store templates to built-in AI tools

that help write product descriptions and enhance your images. It also makes marketing easy with integrated email and social campaigns. And if you get stuck, Shopify's award-winning customer support is there for you 24-7. See less carts go abandoned and more sales go With Shopify and their shop pay button, sign up for your $1 per month trial today at Shopify.com slash DNS. Go to Shopify.com slash DNS. That's Shopify.com slash DNS.

To own the silver tongue is to also be believed, no matter the size, audacity, or impossibility of the lie. I stare at the item, then look over my shoulder at the front doors. We should lock up, I suggest. No, Enzo replies. Our hours are set. Enzo, no. I nod, but turn my body slightly, so I can keep an eye on the front doors.

Normally, as in the case of Alistair touching my cheek, I have zero worry about my personal safety when I'm at work. We got the place so hexted that it'd take an army to do either myself or Enzo any harm. The problem is, Lord Wallace has an army and then some. I'd steal it from that withered old pencil. Dix, son of a harpy, that's what you think. Alistair says, You think I'd mess with that old demon? Come on, man. Indignation doesn't suit the meth head, but I believe him. I nodded Enzo. He nods back. Fine. Then who did you steal it from?

He asks, Alistair. You two are always thinking I'm stealing from folks. Not cool, mans. Not cool. I never steal. Enzo and I share another luck. The owner doesn't know it's missing, Enzo states. Makes sense, I say. Or we'd have believed this blood-sucking piece of tweaker trash is BS. I got feeling, you know, Alistair says, frowning at me. Okay, if I'm so horrible, then why do you always buy my shit, huh? Who's the bloodsucker piece of trash now?

You still are, dipshit, I say. I'm not a vampire or a meth head. Neither is Enzo. I'll need to call someone, Enzo says. The second words come out of his mouth. Alistair leaps for the tongue, snatching it up in his grubby, bone-white hands. No, thank you.

He shouts, shoving the silver tongue into his coats inside pocket. No fucking thank you! He turns to run, then freezes solid. Literally, his entire body is over, and he balances there on one foot, the other in the air behind him, mid-run. Ah, fuck, Enzo says. We're in deep shit if Enzo is cursing.

That's not the shop, is it? I ask, as I circle Alistair, studying the frosty wrinkles of his frozen skin, the glazed sheen of his frozen eyes, the crisp tangle of his frozen dirty hair. No, the shop did not freeze him. How screwed are we? That hex was launched remotely. The owner is on their way. Lord Wallace, Enzo shrugs. Perhaps, but Alistair said he didn't take it from him. We both believed him. Then who was on their way? Enzo's eyes fall on the front doors. Mine follow his.

I suppose we shall see, he says after a few seconds. Do we close the fucking shop now? No, our hours are our hours. We will forfeit what little protection the shop affords if we close early. Yeah, well, I'm not saying we close up and stick around. I'm saying, I know what you are saying. It makes no difference. We will be in violation of our charter, and I will lose.

the shop if I were to leave. Fuck! Indeed. He sighs. But you can go. Fuck that. A grateful smile briefly illuminates his face, but it's quickly obscured by worry once more. So, what do we do? We prepare, he says and reaches under the counter. What he pulls out from under there makes my insides go all watery. That? You think we'll need that? I ask, staring at the puzzle box. Maybe we can if we can talk our way out of this first? There will be no talking, Enzo says, and taps the puzzle box with his index finger. Are you sure? Because once we open that, there will be no we. Whoa, hold on now. You can't take the burden on all by yourself.

He gives me a sad smile. I won't be. He shakes his head, and the smile slips away. It is my shop, Brand. I am the listed owner, and I signed the deed with my blood. This is my responsibility. I've watched him pull out the puzzle box before in cases like this where extra protection is needed. My memory is fuzzy on what the box does. All I know is that there is some serious mojo connected to it, and most things that inhabit the city tuck tail and run when Enzo has to bring it out. Maybe whatever is coming will do the same. The door chimes, and it feels like all of the air is sucked out of the shop in an instant. I actually feel lightheaded and my lungs sting,

as if I've been holding my breath forever. I gasp and there is a low chuckle from the front doors. Enzo Bigliasi, a smooth, vicious voice says. It has been some time. When I glance at my boss, I see his index finger still tapping the puzzle box. Often, Enzo says. My eyes are locked. on the front doors, but I don't see anything or anyone. There is a slight shimmer just to the side of the left door, but that's about it. The hexes, I mutter. Enzo shakes his head once. Shit, no hexes.

How can our shop's hexes not work on someone, or something? Enzo pays good money for the shop to be nearly impregnable, which means whatever we're dealing with fits into the nearly category. Shit! My jaws clench, and I feel that molar come completely loose, slipping from its socket with a squishy plop. I almost swallowed the tooth, but managed to cough it up and spit it into my palm, along with a good amount of blood. Dorenzo, is someone having a hard time staying human? The smooth, vicious voice asks.

What are you, boy? Not a boy, I reply, still trying to penetrate the shimmer, but failing as my eyes. strain and strain. The smooth, vicious voice says, then the shop fills with a laugh that is part roar, part hiss, and all madness. I want to clamp my hands over my ears to shut it out, but I know that if I show that kind of weakness, whatever this thing is will have an advantage over me. So I keep my hands down at my sides. You are not welcome here, Oxton, Enzo says, and picks up the puzzle box. He doesn't brandish it or wave it around. He simply holds it in his palm, a few inches above the counter. I am asking you to leave. But you cannot make me,

because of this shop's charter. The smooth, vicious voice responds. That laugh again, I shiver. And you are playing with some very dangerous forces. Are you sure you want to open that box? Leave, and I will not have to. Ah, except I am here on business, and I have not threat. And I have not. you in any way. I haven't even threatened your boy here. And you know that all I need to do is snap of my claws and his insides will become outsides. I know what you are capable of. Yes, yes, you do, don't you? Why are you here, Octan?

An item was stolen from my horde. I want it back. That's all? That is all. Give me back the item and I will leave. No one will be on. Your precious shop will be untouched. You know that's not how it works. Oh, I know. Rarely does anyone come away unharmed when I show up. As for the shop, well...

A shelf holding an assortment of kitchen appliances collapses, spilling broken toasters and broken blenders and broken stand mixers all over the floor. A dough hook bounces and rolls to my feet. I bend down to pick it up. Leave it. The smooth, vicious voice says. I feel the voice seep into my mind and I hesitate. A whisper in my head says to leave the dough hook on the carpet.

But the whisper isn't as strong as it thinks it is. I pick up the dough hook and bounce it in my hand. The smooth, vicious voice laughs and laughs. Ha ha ha, spunky. It says, still laughing. But you are? I don't know what that means, I say. and glance over my shoulder at Enzo.

Your call, boss. Enzo, still holding the puzzle box, looks at Alistair. Name the item, and I will see what I can do. Enzo says, his eyes still on Alistair's frozen form. You know what did his eyes seek. The smooth, vicious voice says. All hint of laughter gone now. Name it, Ogden.

The voice sighs. Young is what was stolen from me. That is what was stolen from me. That is what I seek. That is what shall be returned. I am not in possession of the silver tongue. The transaction never took place. The shimmer ripples, and for a brief second, I think I see the voice's true form.

If I'm right, then we're screwed, like really screwed. The transaction never took place. The voice echoes. Well, looks like we have found ourselves in a little bit of a procedural quagmire, where words may no longer work. Perhaps I should be slightly more forceful. Alistair's frozen body explodes. The vampire becomes a bomb of undead flesh shrapnel.

I cover my face with my arm and feel the frozen chunks pierce my skin. I'm not sure exactly how vampirism works, but I hope it's not as simple as blood-to-blood contact, because I have a whole lot of Alistair mingling in my veins now. Not that anything is that simple. I automatically start picking it. out bits of Val for my arm, but my eyes are on Enzo and that puzzle box. He clears his throat.

Since you are the rightful owner, you may come claim the silver tongue, Enzo says. The thief has been destroyed, so there is no ambiguity as to ownership. There never was, the voice says. He sighs. But I will need the boy to bring it to me. No, Ogden. That is not how it works. Shop rules. The voice laughs and laughs and laughs. Shop rules? You know they do not apply to me?

A place so simple cannot touch me. The voice is no longer smooth, but it is still very vicious. Have the boy bring me the silver tongue, or you and I will have to settle that old score of ours. It was settled long ago, Ogden. Was it? Hmm, if you say so. You may retrieve the silver tongue yourself.

Enzo said. and nods at the slowly thawing hunks of Al. I believe it's amongst that mess you made. Enzo. Ogden. There's movement. I can feel it more than see it. Then I smell it.

Sulfur, brimstone, a deep, dank stench of rotted meat and wet animal musk. You're a dragon? I gasp. Oh, child, how quaint you are. The voice chuckles. As I see the shimmer move along the aisles and head straight. for Alistair's obliterated body. And me, the shimmer is heading straight for me.

The shimmer is heading straight for me. Enzo! I growl. What's the plan? I didn't know. Enzo says firmly. You do not want to do this. Oh, but I do, Enzo, Bigliasi.

I so do. Before I can say another word or move a muscle, I'm gripped around the throat and lifted into the air. I said for the boy to fetch the silver tongue. and you refused, the voice says. Then it's no longer just a voice. I watch as the thing is slowly revealed. First, its arm becomes visible, and I see green and brown scales.

I can't see the hand that's out of sight under my chin, busy choking me out. Then the shoulder and chest become visible. More green and brown scales. Finally, the whole body is revealed, including the head. You're kind of short for a dragon, aren't you? I gasp. Spunky. The dragon, Ogden says.

Time to get rid of that. No! Enzo shouts as Ogden tightens his claws around my neck and my vision begins to darken. Then I hear the distinct click of the first piece of the puzzle box move. Ogden's claw stops squeezing. You are actually going to open that thing. Ogden says with a chuckle. Do you even know what it contains?

Nothing. Enzo says, another click. You think it's not. true however I know it is true oh because I opened it a long time ago I managed to shift my neck slightly so I can see Enzo out of the corner of my eye click click click the box begins to move on its own you opened it and survived Ogden sounded impressed that is not how the box is supposed to work you should have been devoured by whatever it contains your soul obliterated into the

avoid. Enzo shrugs. Then who would run the shop? Your boy here, perhaps. He is a little dim-witted, but that spunk of his might make for good management potential. Brand cannot run the shop. That is not how this works. You shouldn't have told me the boy's name, Enzo. Now I will have power over him. No, Ogden, you won't. I am sorry that the silver tongue was taken from your horde. I am sorry that you had to come here to fetch it. I am not sorry. for what comes next. I will give you one more chance to leave peacefully. If you let Brand go and walk out of the shop right now, then none of this needs to happen. There is one last click from the box. The sides begin to open.

I believe I'll stay. I am a dragon. Nothing in that box can harm me. But I already told you, Ogden, there is nothing in the box. I already said it three years ago. Then why even bother to open it? Ogden asks, his grip starts to tighten once again. He's done playing around. So that what came out can return, Enzo says, and sets the box on the counter as the sides finish opening. And I feel it. A screen building in my belly.

It bubbles up, then bursts from my lips. Ogden drops me immediately, is clawed hands clapping against his scaled ears. And we are no longer in the shop. I am standing on smooth, black glass that stretches on for infinity. Ogden is right in front of me, his true form revealed. The dragon is 20 feet tall and twice as long. His wings spread wide, and he rises up onto his haunches, his red eyes glaring down at me. Where have you brought me, boy?

The roar is so powerful that it should tear the skin and flesh straight off my bones. Except it doesn't, because I don't have skin and bones. My home, I say, and dissolve into the mist that I am. You! Ogden roars again. You are what was in the box. I suppose so, I say, and drift to the side, circling the huge dragon. What are you, foul creature?

No need for name-calling, especially from a monster like you. I will show you a monster. Flames shoot from Ogden's maw, headed straight for the spot I'm about to occupy. The heat is incredible. I can feel a piece of me evaporate instantly, but it returns as soon as the flames stop. I am whole again without any effort on my part. You have no power here, dragon, I say and spread myself far and wide, filling the infinite black glass plane. You are nothing here. You only exist because I allow it. No. Ogden shouts, and more flames fill the air. My mist wraps around the fire and squeezes, just like Ogden did to my neck in the pawn shop.

The flames are extinguished instantly, leaving a single spark behind. I gaze at the beauty of the ember as it drifts down and dies on the black glass. Let me out. That will happen. My mist has him encircled. He is trapped by my very essence, by my very being. But first, you must learn to follow the rules. Ogden screams.

He doesn't rule. He doesn't bellow. He screams. And it is a scream made of pure terror as my mist envelops him. Teeth clench, and I can feel that molar on my right side slip a little. It's been bothering me for a while now, but I don't have the cash to cover the dental work it needs. The simple answer is to stop clenching my teeth, but that ain't going to happen. Not with the job I have. And not with that damn neon sign buzzing like a mosquito on meth.

How are you feeling this evening, Bran? Enzo asks, startling me as he comes down the side aisle. Any issues? The only issue I have is this damn sign always buzzing. I snap. Then I shake my head and give Enzo an apologetic smile. Sorry. I don't think I slept well today.

I suppose not, he says. He reaches up and strokes the neon sign. It slows and then stops its buzzing. You have to treat everything in here with respect, Bran. Enzo says. and gives me a sad smile. You never know what some items have been through, or what some are capable of.

Ah, okay, I say, and then take out my keys and unlock the front doors. Enzo turns carefully and waddles back to the counter, where he'll post up behind the register until the sun comes up. I do a double check of the hexes, making sure all of our protections are in place. They are, which is a good thing, since you never know what threats may come walking through our front doors. With the hex check done, I move on to inventory.

When did we get this dragon statue? I asked, seeing the new items sitting on a shelf right next to a broken ukulele. That came in last night, Enza replies, busy counting the till. It did? I don't remember that. He looks up from the cache in his hand and gives me that same sad smile. Oh, not at all. No. Well, he says in shrugs as he goes back to counting again. You were a little distracted last night.

I frowned at him, but he doesn't look up. I don't remember being distracted. In fact, I don't remember much at all. I shrug and walk down the aisle, very ready to get the tedious chore of inventory done for the night. Then I see something stuck to the side of an old, broken, of course, portable record player. I pick it off and give it a sniff. Damn, I exclaim.

Whatever it is, it smells nasty, but sort of familiar. I sniff again. It kind of smells like Alistair, our perpetual pain in the ass. I glance at the front doors. I wonder what he'll bring in tonight. Ooh, Alistair. Oh, we probably won't be seeing him again. Really?

I laugh. How do you know that? Enzo doesn't reply. Just keeps counting the till. So.