Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - I’m a Paranormal Investigator. This Is the One Recording I’ll Never Release | Part 3

Episode Date: July 24, 2026

Paranormal investigator Duncan Crowley possesses a recording so dangerous that he believes playing it could end the world. When his former partner steals it and auctions it to a room filled with killers, cultists, and creatures wearing human faces, Duncan is forced to reveal what really happened during his team’s final investigation. But the recording isn’t merely evidence of an ancient evil—it’s the key to waking something that has been hiding inside him ever since. 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

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Get a quote at bellairdirect.com. Part 3. The recording. I stare at my gore-coated laptop. Then look about the bar and the bloody mess that covers it all. Slowly, I shake my head back and forth. You don't know what you're asking. I say to three fingers in a small voice. You think you do, but you don't.

The dangerous old man leans in close. and places the dagger tip under my chin. With only the slightest pressure, I feel blood begin to well. Oh, I know exactly what I am asking, boy. He looks at Knott's, who is stone-faced, but probably about to shit himself. Tell him, fool. Tell him to do his told. Or there will be pain inflicted upon his loved ones, the likes of which no one has ever experienced upon this mortal plane.

Um, yeah, do what he says, Crowley. Knotz glances at Allison's mangled corpse on the makeshift sacrificial altar in the center of the bar. I don't want to be ground meat, man. I really don't. And think of your mother. They've got someone close to her right now, Crowley. Stop calling me that. Oh my God, dude, let it go. I kept telling you that it's just a stupid nickname. Everyone gets shitty nicknames. This asshole here keeps calling me a fool? Do you think I like that? Do you think I want to be called fool? No. but I'll deal with it as long as... He coughs up blood as three fingers flicks his wrist, then walks away. At first, I'm not sure what is happening.

Then a red line appears across Knots his throat. The line widens, widens and splits, sending blood gushing down to the table. My first instinct is to reach out to my friend, but I can already see that he's beyond help. My second instinct is to grab my laptop and clutch it to my chest. I get up to run toward the back hallway, with three of the robed figures tackle me, and we go sliding in the blood and gore until we collide with the jukebox.

The laptop is fried for me, then cultist boots get to work. By the time they are finished, I'm fairly certain I'll be pissing blood until I'm old enough to collect Social Security. I certainly won't be chewing crunchy foods for a while. A hand grabs me around the neck and lifts me off the ground. I'm dangling with my toes a good foot from the floor,

as three fingers carries me back to my table and tosses me onto the bench. My eyes instantly go to Nazis slumped corpse. My laptop is set down in front of me, tearing my attention away from my dead friend. Open it. Start it. Put in your password. Then find me that for which I have hunted so long. Play the recording. Please don't do this. Now! My eyes find Emmys. They tell me all I need to know.

We are dead. All of us left. Dead. How we die is up to me. If I fight, we'll endure agony that I don't even want to think about. If I give in, three fingers wins. And maybe our deaths will be quick, painless. Then I think of what is on the recording. No, none of our deaths, and I include three fingers and his cultist buddies, will be quick or painless.

Agony? Oh yeah, big time. For eternity. Three fingers shows me as an eye. Not overtly, just enough that light catches off the slim part of the blade, not coated in blood. You know what? Screw it. This guy wants to hear the recording? Then fine. He gets to hear the recording. An eternity of pain may be worth it if I'm taking this asshole with me. My shoulders relax as I boot up my laptop and enter my password. Very good, fool. Very good. Yeah, well, you say that now. I chuckle.

You find this amusing? You are fun. friend has been butchered and you laugh? I'm laughing because I know the punchline to the joke. My finger slides across the trackpad, and I find the folder where I have sequestered the audio from that night. I open file folder after file folder. I really buried this thing. Good for me.

Too bad it made no difference. When I find the MP3 file, I pause and look up at the two eager son of a bitch. My speaker's are crap. Should we hook it up to the bar's sound system? I want to laugh out loud at the look on his. face. He has no idea what to do. His world is filled with ancient and esoteric shit, not AV tech. While I was learning how to set up multiple remote gigs to capture the paranormal, this guy was dicking around skinning squirrels and killing the family dog.

I can run a studio's worth of equipment from my phone. He knows how to match his robe to his dagger hilt. Screw this guy. Hey, are you listening to me? I bark. Just play the recording, he says. His eyes small cold. of fire filled with a burning anger and desire. Christ, as much as I don't want to think about it, I bet this guy has a heart on right now. I hit play. Three fingers smiles. Let's see how long that lasts. The first sounds are static, then heavy footsteps, followed by my voice telling everyone to be quiet and be careful. When I hear my late friend's voices, I almost tear up, almost. Now is not the time to fall apart.

There's something on the floor. Angie. God, I miss her. Jesus hell. What is all this crap? Looks organic. Luca, a great guy. Always ready to dive in no matter the job. Smells organic. Christ, is it rotting? If it is, it's rotting in real time. And at an alarming rate, look at that stuff. It's moving, pulsing.

Bear, that huge, hairy son of a bitch. I might miss him the most. Do you hear that? Angie again. What is that noise? Duncan, you picking that up in the van? Luca. Sort of, um, I hate to admit this, but I lost the video feed. All I have is audio now. So you can hear it? Yeah. What is it? It sounds like someone crying? If you see a creepy doll, run.

Knott's being a smart ass from the seat next to me in the van. Shut up, Knott's. Guys, can you pinpoint the source of the noise? I have prayed every damn night that I never asked that. question, but I did, and I have to live with it. Coming from this room here. Angie, always ready to take lead. Careful, Ang, I think whatever this is might be waking up. Duncan, what are the sensors telling you?

Hold on, Luca. Um, yeah. Okay. Sorry guys, but sensors are offline. Coms are fine, but like the cameras, I'm not getting a signal from any of the sensors. Told you we should have splurged for the next tier up. Shut up, Nats. God! I wish that shut.

It would stop. It's giving me a headache. Bear groans. I don't blame him. The noise eats at you. Riggles and worms its way past your ears until it has embedded deep in your skull. Same man. Lucas sounds like he's trying to catch his breath. Hey guys, I think I found the source. Angie's tone isn't one of triumph. The fear, no. The terror in her voice is just about ready to break through. But she's tough as shit. Tougher than all of us men. so she's keeping her horror under wraps like the professional she is. She was... It's nasty!

Luca sounds almost jubilant. It is an amazing discovery. If we could share it with the world, it would change everything. But this is not to be shared. As I have said all night long, this is to be kept hidden, secret in the dark where it belongs. It is meant to be the source of nightmares, not the spotlight shining upon them.

This is a mistake what I am doing. This is all wrong. I shiver and lean back in the world. the booth as the recording continues. Is it an egg sack? Bear was more correct than I knew. If it is. Luca's enthusiasm breaks my heart.

But damn, look, so I'll have a local file to transfer to you. Copy that, Luca. A steel claw of the hand grabs the back of my neck and squeezes until I'm seeing spots. There is video? Three finger snarls as he leans down. His mouth pressed to my ear. Play the video. I want to see it.

No. There's no video. I reply. Your dead friend says he was recording. I must see it. I must witness its greatness. I bet you would love that, you sick freak. Just listen and you'll hear.

There's no video. His phone didn't survive intact. Jesus, nothing survived intact. Least of all me. Angie is telling everyone to walk slowly in case the sack is triggered by motion. Luca makes a crack about alien and a giant facehugger popping out. Bear tells them both to stop. For his size and proven bravery, Bear gets the willies surprisingly fast. I mean, got, got the willies,

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Three fingers still has me by the back of the neck. His long fingernails are slicing into my flesh like five steak knives glued to the ends of his fingers. The warmth of my blood trickles past my nape and down the troughs on either side of my spine. Luca, Luca, are you all right? I close my eyes at Angie's words. I know what is coming.

I don't believe you about the video, fool. And I don't care whether you believe me or not. I pause the recording. What are you doing? Keep it playing! His nails cut deeper, and the pain makes me gasp. But despite the pain and the damage, I turn my head and stare up at him, using all of my willpower not to show on my face

what the nails are doing to my flesh. The video is lost. I didn't recover any of their phones. There was no point. All of them had been smashed beyond repair or recover. His eyes search mine, and I feel like I'm being violated. I want to rinse my eyes with rubbing alcohol, then scrub them for hours under scalding hot water. Very well. I see truth.

Somehow, he manages to squeeze even harder without tearing my head from my body. The trickle of blood down my spine is now a small stream. But I also see a secret. What aren't you telling me? Everything. But he doesn't need to know that. Yet. You're about to miss the good point. You're about to miss the good part. He sneers at me, then let's go.

Making sure to shove my head forward as his fingernails slip out of my flesh. I almost smack my head on the laptop screen. The recording continues. Angie and Bear are now both asking if Luca is all right. My voice interrupts, trying to figure out what is going on, what they are seeing, what Luca is doing. Knott just makes snide remarks. Coming out and back to the van, Luca is in some sort of trance.

Oh, come on Angie, don't do that. Nantes, of course. You're right there. We leave now, and who knows when we can come back? I shouted him to be quiet. He shouts back for me to get a grip, for everyone to get a grip, because this is the shit we do for a living. We don't quit just because things are getting weird.

Danger is part of the job, and I don't disagree with him. Well, I sort of do, but I don't vocalize it. I should have. I should have pulled the plug and told them to return to the van. I should have done something, anything, other than what I did. Five more minutes, Angie. Four of the most horrible words to cross my lips. They didn't deserve what happened to them.

Before Angie can argue, and I know for a fact that she was about to argue her ass off, Luca begins to chant. The vibe in the bar changes instantly. Three fingers and his cultists perk up and move in closer to the booth. They're hooded heads facing my laptop and the tinny sound coming out of the crappy speakers. Emmy and the bartender backed themselves against the wall behind the bar. Emmy had been tough all night. She's not so tough now.

She may want to rethink her business plan. Maybe bring in karaoke or add a trivia night instead of catering to the supernatural underworld. I'd advise against a lady's night, since that tends to bring in the covens. Luca's voice is warped past human, multi-tonal, fractured, out of sync with time. He drones on and on in a language no one has heard or spoken in millennia. How does he know that? Who taught him that incantation? I ignore three fingers question and let the recording play. There's no stopping it now.

Oh shit! Oh shit! Bear is freaking out on the recording now. He's bleeding from his damn eyes! I close my eyes at what comes next. Luca's chanting doesn't stop, but the sounds of scuffling feet and bear grunting are overlaid. Then Angie shouts. Luca! No! There's a tearing sound, and the recording spikes high into the red, distorted.

by Angie screams of horror. Then her screams of pain. Luca continues his chant. I feel the stirring in my chest. You need me to turn this off. It's a statement, not a question or even a suggestion. I am telling three fingers and his cultists what they need, not what they want. Touch the laptop, and I will remove your hand and feed it to you.

I don't doubt that he'll follow through on his threat. The problem is, he's too late. I shrug. Luca's words are almost physical, lifting from the crappy speakers to fill the air. They fly about the bar, touching all corners of the space. Emmy and the bartender both whine and cry. The cultists moan. Three fingers sighs.

I listen. It's all I can do now. It's all I am supposed to do. The incantation or whatever it really is, because the hell with the cultist and their ignorant idea of what is happening right now, well, the incantation fills me up. All of the fear and regret and anger I felt earlier that I felt only moments before leaves my body. All I am are the words coming from the recording, the words that were uttered by my dead friend that night. They can't know from this recording, but I yanked my headphones off and burst from the van just after Angie stopped screaming. I knew she was dead. I knew Bear was dead too. I could feel it in my bones.

Not the way I feel it all in my bones now. No, this was a human feeling, a simple knowing. I ran up the driveway and into the old house. I did not stop in the foyer. I did not slow down as I hit the stairs and raced up them. I could hear Luca's voice, and I sprinted to them. A perverted clarion call forcing me on. The organic matter started on the landing, wereopee chunks of black sinew and slick flesh.

It coated the floor, then worked up the walls to the ceiling. I followed, and by the time I reached what probably should have been the master bedroom, I was surrounded by the stuff. Luca continued. I pushed open the door. I don't want to think of what I saw. I don't want to remember how Bear was hanging upside down from the ceiling. His legs, having been shoved through the plaster, all that kept him from falling.

I don't want to bring back the images of Angie over against that wall, and against that wall, and on the floor at my feet. Still, Luca chanted. I found him standing before the black, fleshy, pulsing egg. His eyes were rolled up into his head, showing only bloodshot whites. His mouth hung wide open, barely moving as the words seemed to pour out of him just like they pour out of my crappy laptop speakers. His lips didn't move. His jaw didn't move. He was a transmitter. That was all. And the black egg was the receiver. I could see it responding

to the words. The pulsing increased. The egg swelled. And cracks started to show. Fetted liquid seeped from those cracks. And the smell was of sulfur and sewage. Luca turned to me as the final words echoed out of him. Then he exploded. But I didn't care. All I cared about was the egg. No, no, that's not true. I only cared about what was crawling out of the egg. Clawed hands split the black flesh, tearing their way free. A head followed, twisted and misshapen. Eyes blinked away red goo, then found me.

A mouth full of razor-sharp teeth spoke, but I couldn't understand. It wasn't a language made for man to comprehend. What is happening? What is that? Three fingers has a panicked edge in his voice now, as he should. I returned to my recollection of that night, and the thing that emerged from the egg. It extricated itself using its claws, tearing the egg to shreds, as it forced its bulk out onto the floor. Its leg were like a goat's, its body that of a pig, its head, a horned nightmare.

I watched, frozen to the floor, as it crawled its way toward me. I watched, unmoving, as the clawed hands gripped my legs and pulled. It climbed me, shredding my jeans, shredding my skin underneath, until it was finally upright, and we were face-to-face. My human nose against its slidded gap, where sulfur steam emanated with every exhale. It spoke, I nodded. My mouth opened wide. My jaw distended, then completely dislocated. I was a snake devouring my prey, except I was the prey, and it was the predator.

Those clawed hands reached inside my mouth. Its hoofed feet clambered against my shins, then my thighs, as it tried to gain purchase and leverage. My face split open. My head was torn in half. I couldn't scream, not with a thing climbing into my mouth and down my throat. My vocal cords were shredded. My esophagus crushed. My lungs and heart pushed aside to make room.

I could feel my liver tried to retreat, but there was nowhere for it to go. Then it was in me, hooves and all, and my head joined itself back together while my internal organs shifted. Moving back into their proper places, my jaw snapped shut, and I worked it a little, trying to get it to fit right again. Drop everything. The McDonald's Creamy Parmesan and Bacon Quarter Pounder is back for a limited time. So juicy, so cheesy. This burger demands your full attention. Made with 100% Canadian beef,

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Knots had followed me in, a little late, but it was the thought that counted. He stood there, shaking at the sight before him. Angie everywhere, bare, hanging from the ceiling, the broken egg already rotting and dissolving. Where's Luca? I made an indistinct gesture at the room, then turned and shoved past Knott's. I needed to get back to the van. The recording on my laptop stops. There was no reason to keep it going.

No need to record me opening the back of the van and pulling out the can of gasoline we kept there for emergencies. No need to record me walking around the old house, splashing gas on the foundation. No need to hear knots asking me what the hell I thought I was doing. No need to hear the flick of my lighter. No need to... Is that all? Three fingers asks, interrupting my remembrance. That can't be all.

Oh, it's not. I say and stand up to face him. Sit back down, fool. I don't think so. Oh, it is stirring in me now. The sad, sad man in front of me was warned. I told them, I told everyone this was a bad idea. My eyes find Emmy and the bartender.

Right, I say, even though there is no place to run to. Not anymore. Neither argues. They sprint out from behind the bar and toward the hallway. I hear a restroom door open. Then I hear crashing and scraping. Noises echo above us. Huh, what do you know?

Allison was right. There is a hidden escape route through the roof. I should have listened to her. None of what is about to happen would have come to pass. Three fingers tries to grab me, but I snap his wrist and tear his hand off, tossing it at one of his cultists. His screams are more of surprise than pain. The stirrings in me become tearings.

I wince and grunt as fresh pain racks my body. A couple of the cultists bolt for the front door. No, I say, and I'm there, blocking their way before they've taken three steps. They try to retreat, but I can't allow that. I rip them to shreds. What are you? Three finger screeches, the remainder of his cultists cowering behind him. I am your wish come true, I say and walk back to him.

I am what you were seeking. I am what you wish you were worthy to worship. No, no, no, no, this isn't how it was foretold. Oh? Gee, I'm sorry to disappoint. My organs shift and burst, but I do not fall. I feel my throat start to expand. to tear wide open, but I continue to speak.

I warned you so many times. I said that this would destroy the world. You smiled. You laughed, because you believed that is what you want. I have been faithful. I will be part of the chosen. Oh, buddy, there are no chosen. There is only destruction in the end of everything.

My eyes find poor Allison's shredded body. A pointless death. You thought that sacrifice would do what? Allow you to control what cannot be controlled? I gasp as it climbs me, pushing itself up from my insides. Now words are becoming hard to manage, yet I still have more to tell this stupid old man. You know how they say let sleeping dogs lie? Or how they say let a sleeping baby be?

He doesn't know. I can see the complete and total confusion in his eyes. Yeah, well, the same can be said for gods. But you just had to go and wake one up, didn't you? And my jaw pops and widens, and my mouth tears and my face bursts apart. and all I can think in my last moment is thank whatever God this is coming out of me that I won't be around

to see what it's going to do to the world. After all, it was inside of me for so long that it had plenty of time to tell me its plans and I warned them all. I really tried to warn them, but they refused to listen. Thanks for tuning in. If you enjoyed the story,

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