Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - I’m a Paranormal Investigator. This Is the One Recording I’ll Never Release | Part 2

Episode Date: July 22, 2026

Get early access to all 3 parts now with a 7-day FREE TRIAL of ⁠Dr. NoSleep Premium⁠ — Cancel anytime. No commitment. 👉🏼 ⁠http://patreon.com/drnosleep⁠ Are you still drinking that stale, store-bought coffee? Check out ⁠⁠NoSleepCoffee.com⁠⁠ to get 20% off fresh, same-day roasted coffee delivered straight to your door. Just use promo code NOSLEEP20 at checkout for 20% off your first order! Huge thanks to our sponsors: BetterHelp: Sign up now and get 10% off at ⁠betterhelp.com/dns⁠. Shopify: You don’t need anyone’s approval to make a living. Build your own business with a free trial at shopify.com/dns Author:  Jake Bible Check out Jake's latest collection of stories, They All Bleed: Ten NoSleep Stories, Volume Two https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0G96H432Y Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Frozen lasagna, medium power, 15 minutes. Sounds like Ojo time. Let's play. Feel the fun with Play Ojo. The online casino with all the latest slot and live casino games. What you win is yours to keep. With no wagering requirements, instant payouts, and no minimum withdraws. Hey, I just won.

Woohoo. Feel the fun. Play Ojo. Honey, forget about the lasagna. Let's celebrate. 19 plus Ontario only. Please play responsibly. Concerned about your gambling or that of someone close to you.

Call 16-531-2600 or visitconnectsontario.ca. You know that moment when everything feels in sync? That's Bacardi's vibe. Canada's number one white rum, a rum born from a rhythm, set to a soundtrack of laughs, loud music, and looks that say stay a little longer. Because weather pouring an ice-cold majito or a classic Bacardi and Coke, you're opening the door to the party that lives in everyone. So, consider this your invite. Behn'enido at La Fiesta. Bacardi, do what moves you.

Tap the banner to shop now. Live passionately. Drink responsibly. Want to listen to the entire three part? I'm a paranormal investigator. Start your seven-day free trial of Dr. No Sleep Premium now and binge all three parts without waiting. Just go to patreon.com slash DR No Sleep to sign up.

You can cancel any time, no commitment. That's patreon.com slash DR No Sleep. Part two. The auction. Emmy brings another pitcher of beer to the table since I've already downed the first one. She gives me a look that says thanks, and also that she's sorry. I give her a look like I want to kill her.

Just relax and don't make waves, and it'll all go fine for you, Duncan. She says. Can't say the same for you, Emily. When this is over, no one will be happy with how it turns out. Stop being so melodramatic, Crowley. Not says, helping himself to the pitcher. But she isn't wrong. Relax.

Cooperate. Don't make this a battle. Tell me the password. Do that. and you walk out of this bar in one piece. If I give you my laptop password, and you give them the recording, no one will be in one piece. I stand up.

Knots grabs my arm, but I shake him off. You hear that? I don't know what you all think is going to happen, but let me tell you now that if you play the recording, there is a definite chance that the world will end. You say that like it's a bad thing. Mr. Sketchy cackles. The world as it is has had its time.

Now we try something different. When I have the recording, I'm going to broadcast it, beam it, live stream it, and put it out on every platform imaginable. Only those lost tribes in the Amazon will be spared. Quiet. Three fingers of whiskey points at Mr. Sketchy. The recording will not be released into your hands. Says you, I have more money than God, old man. Old man?

Three fingers shakes his head. You have no idea what you were dealing with, you little shit. I knew. Hide Top picks up his two nine millimeters and waves them around casually, like he's conducting an orchestra. Can we get on with things? He stops waving the guns and aims them at Emmy. Who's running shit? You or shotgun over there? Not us. We provide a secure location.

She snorts at her own statement, since she's holding a bar towel to her chin, still trying to stop the bleeding caused by Mr. Three Fingers' stupidly sharp fingernail. The proceedings are up to the holder of the item. And that's Knott's. Knott's stands, lifts my laptop into the air, and bows. Never run an auction before, so be gentle with me. No one laughs at his lame joke. He clears his throat.

But I've seen them on TV and in the movies. So how hard can it be? Move it along. Three fingers slowly walks back to his table and sits down. Then, Miracles of Miracles, he downs one of his glasses. Set the opening bit, fool. Knotts tries to laugh it off, but I know the guy. He's in way over his head with this shit.

Not surprising. This recording is beyond him. It's beyond all of us. I don't even think three fingers, despite his creepy bravado, knows what he's bidding on. Okay, okay. Let's start to bidding at $3 million. How's that sound?

Like highway robbery. I tops nine millimeters turned to Knott's. I thought we agreed that six figures was going to be. be the floor? Seven is my lucky number. Notts jokes. Three mil? Anyone? Three mil? Mr. Sketchie picks up his hand cannon and sort of dangles it in high top's direction. Put the pea shooters away, will you? Man in their guns. Emmy steps behind the bar and switches out her bar towel for a fresh one. Instantly, the semi-white of the bar towel becomes pink, then red, then deep red. What the hell kind of finger now does three fingers have anyway? All the weapons,

will be removed from play. Three fingers finishes off the second glass. Be civilized. This coming from the guy who sliced a waitress's chin open, simply because she was trying to calm the vibe down. Granted, I'll slid her chin, and more likely her throat if I get the chance, but still. Good idea. I concur.

Knott's shakes my laptop, then places it back on the table. We have three mill. How about three point two? What happened to three point one? Hightop asks. If you can't afford the price, then why come to the auction at all? Mr. Sketchy chuckles.

High Top still hasn't put his nines away. He sneers at Mr. Sketchy. Not all of us have to flash our riches to prove we have them, but there's a process to an auction. And I'm the damn auctioneer! Nottes nearly shouts. Do I hear 3.2 mil? Yes, from three fingers.

Although maybe I should call him something else now that he's finished his drinks. If anyone should have a nickname like Krauth, It's this guy. I'm sure he's very familiar with the old occultist. Shit. From the look of the man, he may have even known Alistair Crowley personally. He's old, that's for sure. But not frail.

I'm not fool enough to underestimate the man. Knott's might be, though. I need to get control of things before whatever this crap is goes sideways like a tortilla chip down Knott's throat. Three mil, 3.2, 3.9 doesn't matter. I'm not giving any of you my password. I tap my laptop. I don't even think of trying to hack it. There isn't a tech alive that can get into this thing.

Who says I employ the living? Three fingers dead eyes me. And who says we need you alive in order to give us the password? I swallow and turn away from his gaze. All that is in those eyes is death. Forget the password for now, will you? I need to hear 3.3 mil, or he goes to creepy old guy over there. 3.3!

Hightop's response is filled with anger. He still hasn't put his nine millimeters away. Great. How about 3.5? Do you even understand numbers? High Top is on his feet and aiming the nines at knots. Now Mr. Skechy is on his feet, pointing his hand cannon at High Top. The bartender thinks about getting in the mix,

but lowers the sought-off shotgun when Emmy reaches out and pats his shoulder. Stay out of it. We've done what we can. You all right? You need to tell? I'll be fine. Hey, hey, hey, gentlemen. It! This is exactly why I said no weapons. If you two are going to measure dicks all night long, then I'm handing this to the old guy with the deadly nails.

Knots, smirks. As long as he can come up with 3.5 mil. I accept your deal, fool. Whoa, hold on! Mr. Sketchy slowly sets his hand cannon down on his table. No need to derail things. It's all good. Everything is chill like you want. He glares at Hyattop. Right? We chill, bro. High Top, seeing how things are turning. Shows more smarts than I thought he was capable of. And finally sets his nines down too. Three fingers sneers.

Fine. Now that the children have agreed to behave, 3.5 million is my bid. Knots nods to the old man. All right. There we have it, kids. 3.5. Do I hear 3.75? Why bother?

I ask Knots. That money won't be worth shit when the world is set aflame. Set of flame? Listen to you, Crowley. Always got to be the smart one in the mix. Can't just say burns. I did say that, you dumbass, but you wouldn't listen. I stand and grab for my laptop, and pain rips through my head like a buzzsaw.

I fall back onto the bench seat and press my palms to my temples. Shit, what is happening? No touch and the lot until the auction is concluded. Knott's smiles at the still bleeding Emily. Part of the bar security package. Okay, good for you. Now make it stop. Waitress, can you ease my friend's suffering, please?

My name is Emily. I know. Don't care. Turn the pain off. Crowley has learned his lesson. I hate you. So much. I gasp as the pain does turn off. Like a switch has been flipped. I look at Emmy. Oh, Jesus.

Thanks. I think she smiles at me. But it's hard to tell with most of the bottom of her face covered by a bloody bartow. Why? Why did I agree to this?" Allison shrieks. I'm about to piss myself. I'd gotten so used to her crying that I forgot she was even still at the table.

No one answers her. I have to pee. She gets up and sort of shuffle walks her way to the back hall and the restrooms. Should someone go with her? Make sure she doesn't try to escape? Knottes settles his gaze on Emmy. Waitress? Kind of makes sense for you to go since you have the same plumbing.

She can't escape, Emmy says. No windows or back door. The only way out is through the front. Seems against fire code, but whatever. Christ, knots. I take a couple of deep breaths. How about I go? I'll keep an eye on her.

Not literally, because that'd be gross, but you know what I mean? The waitress just said there's no way out. There are other ways to escape, Three Finger says. Go, boy. Watch the sacrifice, so she does not harm herself. I glare at knots. That's what I was thinking. I elbow him in the hip, hard.

Move, Dick. Fine, whatever. Knott's moves, and I scoot out of the booth. He grabs my shoulder. Don't you try to do yourself in either, Crowley. The old guy may call me fool, and you boy, but you'd be the fool to think I don't have someone watching your dear old mother right now. So many responses come to mind, but none will make the situation better.

So I ignore his threat and hurry after Allison. When I get to the ladies' room, I shoved the door open and see one of the stalls close quickly. A few years ago, we decided to launch No Sleep Coffee. We already had the audience and the concept, but we needed an easy way for people to purchase our products. That's why we went with Shopify. What surprised me the most was how straightforward it was to create the storefront and list our items. We got our coffee online in no time and could focus on what we love, dropping new blends, expanding the brand and engaging with our customers.

And when a customer is ready to buy, the checkout process makes all the difference. Shopify's checkout is super seamless, and returning buyers can have their details saved for quick and effortless repeat orders. For us, that translated to spending less time stressing over the site, and more time growing the business

and connecting with even more customers. With Shopify, nothing stands between your idea and a real business. So go make it one. Start your free trial, at Shopify.com slash DNS. Start your free trial

at Shopify.com slash DNS. Recently, our company's softball team lost the big game by one run. Then Dale tried to console us with the quote,

winning isn't everything. Well, Dale and I are very different. I get early payout from bed 365. If my team goes up big, I get paid out instantly, even if they blow the lead later.

Sound familiar, Dale? Thanks, Bet365. Must be 19 or older Ontario only. Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or the gambling of someone close to you, please go to Connects Ontario.c.com. I heard it all. I just need to pee. Allison says, and in a second, I hear that she's not lying.

I'm not going to kill myself. I know what happens if I do that. What does happen? I move close to the stall door. What the hell is going on up there? Who are those people? Who are you? What is this damn place? I don't know who those people are.

Honest to God, truth. Then what are you doing here? What's this sacrifice crap? You're a ghost hunter, right? A spook inspector? A monster fighter? I'm a paranormal investigator. I try not to fight anything if I don't have to,

because pretty much everything I study can and will kill me if it's given a chance. Whatever. So you know about demons, right? I have some knowledge. Not as much as the Catholic Church, but I've tangled with a couple of them before, and was lucky enough to live through it. Great. Well, Mr. Parenthorminal investigator. My daughter is possessed. I tried mediums and psychics. Didn't help. I tried the church. Same. I tried a couple of hucksters, this married couple, and they just took my money and left when things got too hard. So I had to find alternative help.

I rubbed my forehead, knowing where this is going. Cultists. What is? Cultists. Group of people who believe in some old god or some ancient prophecy. or that aliens are coming to save us, or that there is a secret to immortality, shit like that. If you say so. The toilet flushes, and Allison steps out of the stall. I called a number and they said my daughter will be saved if I give them me.

So I did. She washes her hands, then frowns at the lack of paper towels. Damn shit hole. Might be the last time I wash my hands and no damn towels. She starts to leave, but I grab her arm and hold her back. Why are you a sacrifice? I know what's on that recording. I've studied everything I could find on it.

Not once is a sacrifice mentioned. How should I know? I met a guy, and he told me what I had to do to save my daughter. I die. She lives, demon-free. Seems like a bargain to me. It ain't like life has dealt me a great hand or anything. But it doesn't make sense.

There doesn't need to be a sacrifice. I hear shouting from the bar and close my eyes, waiting for gunshots. Allison grabs me now, moving her body in close. When there's no shooting, we both relax. Can you get me out of here? She asks quietly. What?

No, you heard what Emmy said. There's no way out except for the front door. Bullshit. You think that cooos and her partner don't have a way to escape when things get shitty? They'd be idiots not to. I start to argue, but she's probably right. Yeah, people like Emmy usually rely on whatever esoteric skills they possess to keep them safe. But if they deal with guys like three years,

like three fingers regularly, they have to have a backup physical way out, too. Like Allison said, they'd be idiots not to. Okay, let's see what we can find. I turned to search the ladies' room. Why not? But a pounding on the door stops me. It's shoved open, and Knots is standing there, coated in blood from head to toe. So, auction's over. He gives me a blank smile that does not reach his eyes. He turns to Allison, and the smile falls away. Looks like you're a up, little lady. Nope, please. Allison backs away from him.

Her eyes flitting in every direction, desperate for that escape we'd just been discussing. No, I don't want to. I'm taking it back. I quit. I'm killing the deal. I want to go home and see my daughter. I don't want to die.

Knott's looks down at his gore covered self. Yeah, well, I'm not sure any of us have that option anymore. He shrugs. Personally, I say get the hell out. Go see your breath. I don't really care. He glances over his shoulder, then back to Allison. But it ain't up to me.

And it ain't up to that waitress bitch either. Not anymore. Nots? Why are you covered in blood? Took you long enough to ask, Crowley. He smacks his lips, grimaces, and spits out a small strip of what I have to guess his skin. I am covered in blood because the old guy won the auction. Then he turns and walks out.

Don't take too long. He calls from the hallway. Five seconds. and then it's totally completely out of my hands. What does that mean? Allison turns, pleading eyes on me. I don't know. She spins in a circle, then stops and looks up.

Drop ceiling. Give me a boost, will you? I bet the way out is up, not through the walls. There's probably a hatch to the roof, then a ladder down into the back alley or something. I don't move. She may not hear them, but I do. Heavy footsteps, and more than just one pair. What are you doing just standing there?

Cut your hands so I can step into them, and you can boost me up to the ceiling tiles. The door is flung open, and four robed figures rush in, each taking Allison by a limb and lifting her off her feet. I'm shoved out of the way as she screams and thrashes, trying to fight off the attackers. Stumbling back, I fall into a stall and land on my ass. The back of my head snaps back and collides with the rim of the toilet. Stars flitter in my vision, and I'm helpless to stop the figures from carrying Allison out of the ladies' room. When the start her, stars ease, I push myself up and stagger out of the stall, out of the ladies' room, out of the hallway, and back into the bar. I turn and throw up before I make it two steps toward my table.

The place is coated in gore. Blood and small bits of flesh drip from the ceiling, from the walls, coat the floor, and all of the furniture. Larger bits of skin and flesh hang from the light fixtures, cover the front of the jukebox, dangle from old beer signs. I see hunks of bone floating in the thicker pools of blood on the floor. And are those teeth? I throw up again. After a few deep breaths, I wipe my mouth and truly look at what is going on.

In the center of the bar, four tables have been shoved together. On top of the table is a naked, gagged Allison, her wrists bound, pulling her arms back over her head, her ankles tied tight to the corners of the table, ropes dropping down to the table legs. Surrounding her are several robed figures.

At the apex, the top of the inverse, improvised sacrificial altar, stands three fingers, a nasty-looking dagger in one hand, a, um, still beating heart in the other, which, everyone knows, shouldn't be possible. Standing behind the bar are the bartender and Emmy. Mr. Sketchy and High Top are nowhere to be found. Then it hits me that I'm probably standing in them right now, and the old guy is holding one of their hearts. I puke a third time. Hey, Crowley, come out of a seat, not says from our table. Still got some business to work out. Listen to your friend, boy, three fingers bellows. Sit. You should do what he says, Crowley. I glance at Emmy again, and she nods. I slip and slide my way

to the table and sit down opposite knots this time. No need for us to be hip to hip. When my ass hits the bench, something squishes, and I reach under myself and pull out a hunk of scalp. Looks like Mr. sketchy, from the smell of expensive hair moose that somehow manages to waft through the stench of blood. What the hell happened? Nott's puts a finger to his lips to silence me, but I'm having none of that. Knott's? Why are there people exploded all over the bar? Silence! The force of three-finger's voice nearly sucks the breath for my lungs, but it does the trick. I go silent. The only sounds now are Allison's terrified, incomprehensible pleas from behind her gag. I see the people. I see the pure fear in Knott's eyes, and I almost laugh. He is an idiot. He is a fool. This wasn't

ever going to be an auction. It was a slaughter from the beginning, except only three fingers knew it. I'd ask Knott's if he even got the money, but I don't dare say a word, and I already know the answer to my own unspoken question. No, no, he did not. It was all a setup from the beginning. I don't think that Emmy and her partner were in on it, though. The looks on their faces tell me they're just as frightened as I am, as Nautz is. And I doubt that Mr. Sketchy or High Top, whoever they really were, would have shown up if they thought there was even a slim chance that they'd end up as flesh confetti. Allison screams behind her gag and throws her body from side to side. Three fingers places the tip of his very large dagger against her forehead.

I guess as a threat for her to calm down. But it has the opposite effect, and Allison goes completely ballistic, her arms and legs straining against her bonds with what looks like superhuman strength. The human body can do some crazy shit when it's pumped full of adrenaline and fighting for its life. The rope holding Allison's left leg to the table snaps. One of the robed figures grabs for it and tries to tie it back down. But he catches a heel to the face instead and collapses into the bloody muck on the floor. No! Three fingers roars. Allison's eyes are wide and wild, and she looks up at him, still screaming, still thrashing, still fighting her bonds. He presses a thumb to the spot between her eyes, shakes his head, and just like that,

she calms down. There we go, he says, removing his thumb from Allison's face. Be calm, sacrifice, be calm, and your daughter will be saved. That is why you are here. I've been around the block a few times in my career. I have seen some seriously messed up shit. I have witnessed things that even God might look at and go, What?

So I recognize the results of a paralysis hex when I see one. I don't know how he cast it, but he did. And now the only thing Allison can move are her eyes, which turned to the side and lock into mine. I'm sorry, I mouth. Let us finish this, Three Fingers says. The robed figures all reach into their robes and produce some seriously nasty daggers of their own.

A couple I recognize as prized items that would fetch a ton of money on the black market. Not that I deal with that stuff. I'm an investigator, not a profiteer. I thought Knott's was the same, but it goes to show you only know a person so well. Three fingers begins to chant, and it's a language that I don't recognize, and I am pretty damn proficient with all the human-dead languages, not to mention a few non-human ones. His words wind and twist and dip and swirl, almost is if I can see them, like there's a child running with a Fourth of July sparkler inside my head. The cultists lift their daggers higher and higher with each new stanza. Then three fingers goes quiet, and as one, they plunge their daggers into Allison.

She stares at me the entire time, and I do not break eye contact, no matter how much I want to turn away and face the wall. Up and down the daggers go over and over and over, until Allison's body looks like the remnants of a pig-pig. at a Southern church social. Her eyes turn glazed and empty. I throw up a fourth time. When I'm done, I wipe my mouth and almost scream when I see three fingers standing right next to me. Now it is your turn, boy. He brandishes his gory dagger at me, then twists it and aims the tip at my blood-slicked laptop. Now we listen to the recording. I puke a fifth time.