Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Illuminati Underground

Episode Date: July 1, 2022

🎧 Check out my new True Crime podcast called Crimehub. Just search Crimehub in the search bar to find it. 🎉 Ad-free episodes + bonus episodes: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🎥 YouTube:��https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep ✅ Send all advertising inquiries to: [e-mail] Author: Jordan Grupe Website: http://jordangrupe.com/ New Book Release: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08M3ZHK1L/ref=cm_sw_r_awdo_G7796479F48T86Z6ECQN 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

I'd been working on this story for years before arriving in Paris. This trip was meant to be the culmination of nearly a decade of exhaustive research and interviews, all of it leading here. Everything I'd discovered up until now told me without a doubt that I would find the secret ceremony chambers of the Illuminati here, in the ancient catacombs beneath Paris, France. Once we get down there, you'll be overcome with a claustrophobia? You're going to want to come straight back. up. It's normal. Everybody gets this feeling? Just give it five or ten minutes. It will pass. That is,

if you're serious about this? Oh, trust me, Jacques, I'm dead serious. Nothing is going to stop me from getting this story, I said, climbing down the ladder into the sewers. My guide followed after me quickly, replacing the sewer grate above us with the pry bar. I surveyed the stonewalled tunnel and saw a Rat scurry past my feet, trying not to overreact. I backed away as it ran past. Jacques saw all this and smiled. His teeth yellow with nicotine stains. Come, brave journalist.

This way to the catacombs? We're not even in the crypts yet. If you're already getting scared, maybe this journey isn't for you. Taking a moment to tuck my pants into my socks, I stood up straight and looked him in the eye. Show me the way, Jacques. I'm right behind you. He began to lead me deeper into the underground, his flashlight beam bouncing up and down with his strides.

After traversing dozens of tunnels leading to a winding staircase, this staircase descended to lower and lower levels, going down for what felt like miles. After a while, the stairs ended, and we were walking down long limestone corridors again. The stone tunnels became narrower, the ceilings lower, creating a sense of claustrophobic unease which was difficult to shake. The stones which made up the walls and floor were beginning to look ancient and crumbling in places.

And I wondered momentarily how common it was for the ceilings to cave in. Even worse, the next level was half flooded, and we waded through water up to our knees to get to the other end of these long, black corridors. My flashlight flickered once or twice as it got wet, unexpectedly. and I was plunged into complete darkness. I shook it hard and banged it with my palm to get it going again. The light beam came on again, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Another winding staircase brought us down even lower yet, and we began to finally see the first traces of bones.

They lined the sides of one hallway, like a decorative fringe made of human remains. The bones and skull started to appear occasionally on the walls, ceilings and floors, becoming more common as we descended lower and lower into the crypts. At first, they acted as decoration, but soon they were the predominant building material, femurs and skulls, making up the walls around us. Ziggs million dead berry Jones, are said to be buried down here. Did you know this? Jock asked in his heavy accent. Yes, I stumbled across that number quite a few times during my research. They brought them here from all around to be buried. They did outnumber the citizens of

ferry ten to one at that time. Can you imagine the wagons of dead being hatted into the city by the town? The smell? Only broader to the black plague, the great death, and, of course, a dear causes. We came to a small room that had walls made of bones. It It reminded me of a jail for some reason. The space cramped and small. A low ceiling loomed above us, seeming to bulge downwards precariously in places, and in the center of it all was a barrel-shaped pillar made of large femur heads and skulls which connected the ceiling to the floor and dominated the room. There is another chamber like this further up, more well known, and visited by two east.

Jacques said as we went through the room to the other side. But this room signify the entrance to the Illuminati's territory. We are past, this threshold now. No one comes down this way except for them. Very few people even know about the existence of this room. It was stunning to see the labyrinth of tunnels below Paris in person. The rooms were made of bones, and entire hallways seemed to be constructed from the macabre building materials.

I had researched this place exhaustively before traveling here, but to see it all in real life was astonishing, and I was more than a little scared. There were human remains everywhere, and they were becoming the primary building materials used at this depth. The next room was also made of bones and skulls, extending like an antechamber into a larger space which reminded me of a church foyer. I couldn't help but gasp at the breathtaking. number of bones, arranged in perfect formations, not one piece slipping or falling away over the

centuries. Rats were growing more common now, as were mice, roaches, bats, and bugs of all kinds. I brushed a spider out of my hair and hurried to catch up to my guide, seeing I was falling behind. How do they keep people out of this section? I asked Jacques, genuinely curious. It seemed like we just walked right in with no problem. Two hundred miles of tunnels make up these slabbeds, and that is all it takes to keep people out. No one wants to get lost down here. So they just avoid certain sections known to be dangerous. They place us where people are known to disappear.

I gulped. My throat dry and no saliva left to swallow. I knew it was dangerous coming down here. But maybe I was in over my head. Still, Jacques was a professional. You've been down here before, right? Of course. Jacques said, continuing to march.

Many, many, many times. He was picking up speed and I was tired, finding it harder and harder to keep up. Hey, can you slow down? I'm running out of steam here. But he didn't slow down. In fact, he kept moving faster down the corridor, the distance between us growing larger and larger.

Jacques, hey buddy, hold up. Stop! I yelled, my voice echoing loudly in the tunnel. Suddenly, I tripped over a raised stone in the middle of the corridor, falling hard on the ground. My wrists flared with pain as they braced my fall. My palms rode rash from scraping the ground on impact. But the worst pain was in my ankle. It felt as if I'd rolled it. I looked around for Jacques, my eyes searching for him in the dim light. But Jacques was gone. I stood up gingerly, trying to put pressure on the ankle I had just injured. Immediately, I felt an agonizing pain like a jolt of lightning running up from the bottom of my foot as I set my weight upon it.

I collapsed back down under the cold stone floor, sweating, despite the cool temperature underground. Calling out loudly for Jacques again, I screamed until my throat was hoarse. But he did not come back. It's okay, I told myself. Just turn around and walk back the way you came. Simple, easy does it. Standing up, this time supporting my weight with my hand against the wall, I managed to rise to my feet. Or should I say, foot. Whatever was wrong with my left leg, it would require a doctor and x-rays. And that meant getting out of this place as quickly as possible, hopping on one foot. Clearly, Jacques was not in his right mind, I decided, hobbling in the direction I'd come from.

It would do something like this. I'd paid him to be my guide through these dangerous tunnels, and he'd brought me down here and abandoned me. He'd left me for dead. The catacombs were no joke in that regard. Many people had become lost and died down here over the centuries, and their gravestones dotted the tunnels. I wanted to punch Jacques in the face. Didn't he realize this could mean my death?

Of course he realizes that. He left you down here on purpose. Now you're going to remain down here until you run out of food and water. You'll be roaming these tunnels until you collapse from exhaustion. These thoughts were not helpful. So I tried to put them out of my mind.

It was difficult to do, considering the labyrinth I'd found myself in without a guide was constructed of bones. A constant, grim reminder of my likely, There were a few intersections leading back towards the room with a giant pillar made of bones. I figured I could navigate these by memory easily enough and then could use that room as a checkpoint of sorts. But, much to my surprise, I made the turns by memory and did not find myself back at the room I was remembering with a large pillar at its center. Instead, I found

myself at another intersection, with two identical branches leading left or right. My heart was pounding faster and faster as I thought about this, guessing that I'd misjudged the number of turns. I decided to go right. But at the end of that long tunnel, I found another intersection. No, this isn't it, I said aloud, second-guessing every decision I'd made. I hobbled back to the last intersection and went the other way instead, but I only found another identical fork.

Oh, no. Oh, no. No, this isn't good. Every wrong turn was exhausting me, taking the last bits of my energy, and I had barely anything left now. I pulled out my phone, hoping there would be some shred of signal, but of course there was nothing. The maps I had downloaded onto the device only showed the well-known levels above, so they

were of no use. This section was uncharted, hence why I'd hired Jacques. I heard a voice whispering softly from down the long tunnel. Oh, thank God. Jacques? Is that you? The voice repeated, sounding like a snake hissing. I took a tentative step in that direction, wincing as I forgot momentarily about my injured leg. Jacques? I did as the voice directed, not seeing the source of it. The whole situation was creeping me out, but I was thankful Jacques had found me.

It was probably just such a long tunnel. He didn't want to walk all the way down it to meet me. I hurt my leg, man. Can we go back up? I need to get to a hospital. To go back up? Okay, slow down. I'm coming. Hopping on one foot, it took me a while to reach the end of the long hallway.

The walls were skulls with empty black eye sockets peering out at me from their positions in the mortar. I expected Jacques to encourage me, or say something sympathetic about my. injury as I hobbled along, but instead it was completely silent in the catacombs, aside from the sound of my awkward movements. Once I reached the end of the corridor, I found no one waiting for me. Jacques was gone once again, and all I heard was the sound of his voice from far up ahead.

He said from down the narrow tunnel, Hey, will you stop for a minute? You're freaking me out, Jacques. Just stop, will you? But the voice just continued whispering, the sound of it fading off as if walking away. I couldn't make out the words. But the idea of being left completely alone down here terrified me, and I hurried after him, ignoring the pain in my leg with each limping step forward.

Hold on. I'm... Ow! I'm right behind you. Can you just wait a second? Stop. A rat. A rat. A rat! My French was limited.

But I knew the word stop. at least. It didn't seem to have much impact on Jacques, though, as he continued moving away from me, the sounds of his muffled footsteps growing quieter as he disappeared down another long tunnel. The flashlight in my hand went dark yet again, plunging me into total pitch blackness. I banged on the bottom of it with my palm, trying to shake the batteries back to life, but it remained dark. I slapped the flashlight once more, as hard as I could, my palm flaring with sharp pain. It flickered on reluctantly, looking dimmer than before, and I breathed a sigh of relief. My eyes scanned the walls as I shuffled past thousands of pieces of human remains. This hallway

ended in a room with three entrances. I didn't recognize it at all, and realized that despite my efforts to leave, I was only being led deeper and deeper into the catagombs. Jack wasn't showing me the way out. He was leading me further in. I looked at the same. I looked at stone walls which made up this chamber. Instead of bone, it was made of more traditional materials, but that didn't make this space any less creepy. For one thing, every inch of wall space was covered with scratches, shallow marks where someone or something had attacked the stone walls, trying to claw their way out, as if they had been trapped in this room. An unsettling feeling came over me, and I spun around with a sensation that someone was now standing just behind me,

someone looming and tall with bad intentions. But when I looked, I saw there was nobody there. The room was empty except for me. Even Jacques's whispering voice was gone now, and I was beyond freaked out. Suddenly, I remembered the stories I had heard of the whispering walls of the catacombs. Supposedly, the restless spirits which haunted the place would lure you deeper and deeper,

causing you to become disoriented and confused. The old legend said never to come down to this place after midnight, as that was when the spirits began to speak. That was when I heard the singing start. It was a low, chanting, humming sort of song, like you'd hear monks singing in a cathedral. But it was darker somehow, more unsettling and unfamiliar than that. There were words I couldn't make out.

the sound of them drawn out and ranging in pitch from very low to very high at times. It sounded alien and wrong to my ears. But it meant there were people down here. Even if they were Satanists or cultists or whatever, there were people up ahead. I began to hobble along, traveling down the corridor and moving in the direction where I heard the voices coming from. They grew louder as I drew closer, and I tried to make out the words.

Whatever language the song was in, it wasn't English. It didn't sound like French or German either, nor did it sound like Spanish or Latin, or any other language I had heard. The closer I got to the chanting voices, the more terrified I became. The voices sounded cold and inhuman. Their song filled with a strange power which reverberated and echoed throughout the catacombs, as if they were calling forth something from deep beneath the earth, which was meant to remain. locked away and hidden forever. It occurred to me for the first time since shock had abandoned me

that I had come down here to find the ancient ceremony chambers of the Illuminati. Amidst the adrenaline rush of my injury and becoming lost in the maze of limestone and bone, I had forgotten all about it. But as I turned the next corner, I came face to face with what I had come down here to find. A large chamber the size of a church sanctuary had been dug out in this section. The walls were made of skulls and bones, as were the candlelit chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings above.

There were more than a dozen people in long, brown-hooded robes, their faces shrouded in darkness. Symbols of pyramids with eyes at their center could be glimpsed decorating the walls, and were stitched on crimson red banners which hung from the arches. This was it, the secret ceremonial chambers of the Illuminati, the place where they held their most sacred rituals. And of course, I had chosen a night to come when they were performing a ceremony. Good for fact-finding, not so good for my safety. I ducked back behind the wall again, scared of being seen by the robed figures.

At least I could follow them out of here, I thought to myself. Once they finished whatever they were doing down here, And in the meantime, I could take notes in order to write the most expansive and detailed article ever, covering the real workings of the Illuminati. I was sure to get a Pulitzer for this. Listening closely, I took notes on my phone and watched as the ceremony proceeded. The slight glare of my screen made my eyes blind to the darkness and my peripheral vision, or else I might have seen the people sneaking up on me,

or felt their presence more quickly. But instead, I spun around just as they were closing in on me, and two large, strong men and brown robes were grabbing me, holding me so tightly I could barely breathe. Jacques was suddenly there in front of me. Reaching out towards my face, he grabbed my left cheek and squeezed it, pinching a flap of fat between his fingers hard enough to sting. Say you are, monsieur journalist, I'd be looking everywhere for you.

Then they were dragging me into the ceremonial chambers. My toes sliding over the stone floor as I screamed, kicking and thrashing, trying desperately to get away. A moment later, someone shoved a rag in my mouth, muffling my cries for help. There you are. We've been waiting for you, Pierre. The men in the sanctuary looked impatient as we approached, and Jacques responded to them quickly, as if they were his superiors. I was beginning to realize Jacques was not this man's real name, and he was not a tour guide. They began to talk back and forth about a ritual, the leader of the robed people asking Jacques, a series of questions about me. It turned out, my guide's real name was Pierre, and he knew a lot more about me than I had realized.

He rattled off details about my personal life, friends, family, contacts at work, and most disturbingly, how long it would take for my disappearance to be noticed. We can rest assured, no one will report them missing until tomorrow after. at the latest. That's when his next phone meeting is scheduled with his editor. I tried to bluff them somehow, but the rag in my mouth prevented me from speaking any lies, and what Pierre was telling them was essentially true. Somehow, he had managed to access my email

and was privy to all of my communications. Can you send a message to delay the meeting, bias a bit more time? I can try. I'll send something tomorrow. saying that he isn't feeling well, or that he's tired and needs to rest. He should give us a few more hours at least. Maybe another full day.

Then there will be many questions for me to answer. There always are. But that's why we pay you so well. Good work, Pierre, the man said, handing my guy to thick manila envelope. Your service is always appreciated. It, merci, he replied, dowing his head, then turning to leave. Oh, one more thing, Pierre. You did put the fear of God into him, didn't you?

The ancient ones, revered their taste of terror in their meals. Always, monsieur, I always make sure they are brought to you this fear. And trust me, this one is full of it. For once, Pierre didn't lie. I had been terrified since stepping foot down in this cursed place. And since he'd left me to die in that dark corridor, I'd been on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. Looking around at the bones all around me,

making up the walls, sconces, pillars, and ceilings of this room, I realized I would soon be added to this collection. Just another stack of bones for the ever-growing pile. I thought of the bustling city above us, living in blissful ignorance of this terrifying place below the ground. I pictured the cafes, restaurants, and even fast food places above us. My captors forced me down a narrow, spiraling staircase, taking us into the depths beneath Paris. After a while, my captors got fed up with my cries of pain and slow movements as I stumbled on my injured leg,

and the big men around me picked me up like a child and carried me. It seemed like we were walking for hours, as the temperature grew cooler at first, and then much, much hotter. When we finally reached the bottom of the staircase, I saw we were in a place which resembled images of hell I'd seen, depicted by artists over the centuries. It was a massive cavern made of reddish stone, the ceiling high above us dotted with stalactites. A large chasm stretched across the center of the chamber, dividing it in half. Flames licked up from this trench, and the heat of these fires could be felt from where we stood, a hundred yards away or more. There's the ritual chasm.

You wanted to see their ceremonies up close, right? Yeah, you're going to get to see everything up close and personnel now. Get your camp cordial ready, Mr. Journalist. We got to the edge of the fiery chasm, and I looked down, terrified as the ground shook constantly beneath my feet. All around us were pits and holes in the rock from which flames rose up, higher and higher by the second. I could hear chanting voices far down below us, singing inhumanly,

in languages that were evil-sounding and terrible. It hurt my ears just to listen to these sounds, and I struggled to break free. But the men holding me were strong and pushed me closer and closer to the precipice. I looked down to see huge, monstrous forms moving down below. There was not just one, but several Goliath beasts, the size of cities by the looks of them.

As they moved around, their footsteps shook the ground, causing me to tip off balance and nearly fall into the chasm. My captors let go, and I started to plunge downwards. I could hear the chanting, sick voices of demons growing louder in my ears for a second as the above world slipped away. But then someone grabbed my wrist and pulled me up in one quick, strong motion. I was speechless, my legs shaking, my injury completely forgotten in the adrenaline of the moment, as I stared at Pierre's face in front of me. The man who had led me down here as Jacques, the fake catacomb tour guide, had just saved me from certain death. If not for him, I would have fallen hundreds of feet into darkness and flame, screaming the whole way down,

only to be snapped up by the jaws of some massive subterranean creature. Again to watch you, to another innocent person," Pierre said to the men, pulling a pistol from his belt. Now, get down on your knees and face that way. Do it now. The men got down on their knees, facing the fiery chasm. Without a moment's hesitation, Pierre shot each one of them in the back. One by one, they fell face first down into the pit of flames. A few moments later the sounds of screaming could be heard distantly below. The ones who were still alive would not stay that way for long. What the hell, man?

I managed to say getting to my feet. I guess I should be thanking you for saving my life. But damn, how many people have you brought down here to be sacrificed by them? Pierre looked at his feet. His face red with shame. Too many, but there is a reason for it. They must be appeased every so often, or the consequences for humanity would be dire.

Come on, let's get out of here. I will pay for my crimes. Trust me, and match his own air than you might sink. He put his arm around me and helped me up the winding staircase leading away from that dark, terrifying place. Pierre led me back out slowly, letting me take my time on my wounded leg, until the Illuminati picked up our trail and gave chase again. I was forced to run on my wounded leg, but Pierre knew the tunnels well enough. to lose them. Traversing down each dark and twisted tunnel, we made our way up to the spiral staircase

and eventually to the top. You can find your way out from here, Pierre said, looking me in the eye for a moment before turning back and walking away. Get up that corridor until you find the ladder. And then run until you have nothing left inside of you. Run until you are back in America, Monsieur Journalist. What are you going to do, Pierre? I asked him. His form disappearing into the shadows of the tunnels. Isn't it obvious? He said, laughing mirthlessly. I'm going to join the dead.

Six million served, I thought, limping towards the ladder. I began to climb up towards the sewer grate, lifting it with all of my effort. Looking out at the street, I saw it was morning, and we had been down there all night. A local saw me and came over, speaking rapidly in French. I tried to explain that I only spoke English. It's not a problem, he said, thinking for a moment, then continuing in English.

Are you all right? Did you become lost in the catacombs? Yes, I said, slightly shocked. How did you know? He pulled back his jacket to reveal a pistol, and a belt buckle emblazoned with a silver triangle, an eye at its center. Easy, monsieur, journalist, he said. We see all and we know all. Now, get back down in the fucking ladder. Lazzang sur-gely,

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