Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - I'm a social worker for the homeless, and one case will haunt me for the rest of my life

Episode Date: March 13, 2023

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Satisfy your thirst for horror with my Patreon, gain access to a trove of bonus episodes, and help me continue to create chilling tales. I know what this is about, the man across my desk sneered. You're trying to find out why I'm a psycho or a junkie or a career criminal. You're trying to find out why I can't just live in a little plaster box and pay my taxes like everybody else. I'm trying to find out who you are, Marcus. I sighed. And I would never call anyone any of those things. A person is more than just the problems they face. Problems? You don't know shit about problems.

They may not be like those sad fuckers out there. He gestured to the other homeless waiting in the hallway of the center. But I've got a big fucking problem. That's why I'm here, Marcus. Why don't you talk to me about what's troubling you? Because I want to sleep under the stars tonight, not get dragged off to some padded cell in a straight jacket. I leaned forward and pushed up my glasses,

stroking my chin like I just couldn't find the right thing to say. It was a disarming gesture that helped people to open up to me. As a social worker specializing in homelessness, I needed every helpful strategy that I could get. Most of the people I worked with viewed me at best as a waste of their time, and at worst as a threat. The more I understand, the more I'll be able to help. That's all I want, Marcus, to help you.

Will you let me do that? The 20-something blonde across the desk from me rolled his eyes. They were red and dark-pitted from lack of sleep. Apart from that, however, Marcus wasn't a typical case. He was well-dressed and clean-shaven, even though his suit had seen better days. Look, if I talk about this, there might be consequences. horrible consequences. It might even bring her into your life.

And I don't want to be responsible for that. I've got enough shit to deal with already. Marcus grabbed the arms of his chair and pushed himself to his feet. If he walked out that door, I was sure I'd never get another chance to get him the help he needed. Marcus, it says in your file that you never sleep in the same place twice. Why is that? Marcus paused. His worn-out pack halfway up his back.

Through its bulging seams, I could see his tent, sleeping bag, and clothing all packed neatly away inside. It's because of her, isn't it? Marcus sat back down. You have to promise me that I won't get locked up anywhere. The young man muttered gruffly. And that if I ever get picked up by the cops or whatever, you'll do your best to spring me the very next night. I need you to promise me all that and mean it. Look, I know it's a tall order, and it's okay to say no. I'll just walk out that door. You'll fill out your little form, and we can both pretend that this

conversation never happened. As he looked across the desk at me with those soulful, sleepless blue eyes, I had the strangest feeling that he was the one taking pity on me. Marcus, I grabbed the young man's hand solemnly. I promise that I'll do everything in my power to meet your conditions should they ever arise. Marcus looked around, as though to reassure himself that no one else was. listening. The troubled expression on his face was one I recognized. He was struggling to convince himself to open his inner world to a stranger. I let him sit in silence for a while, knowing full well that at this point, what happened next was up to Marcus.

Sometimes it's so right it feels wrong, he said suddenly. You ever been in a situation like that? You find the perfect job or the perfect girlfriend or the perfect opportunity. But there's something off about it. Know what I mean? I nodded. It was like that with the apartment. Marcus went on. My lease was running out, and I couldn't find anywhere that wasn't an hour away from work or a total scam. Then I found it. Two bedrooms, one and a half baths, newly renovated, but in a handsome old building. It was so close to my work I could walk there. And the price, it was less than half of what I was used to seeing. I flipped through the contract looking for a catch, but there wasn't one. The place was rented by a small property management group that only

owned a few buildings. I seemed like a reliable renter, they said. And I guess they liked that. Marcus laughed bitterly. I still remember how it felt, looking around at those bare wooden floors and perfectly white empty rooms. I still hear my gut instincts whispering to me. Something is wrong here. But what can I say? For 800 a month in the heart of downtown, I signed right away. I moved in a few days later after work. It was late, and I was too tired to mess with unpacking all those cardboard boxes.

I fell asleep on the bare mattress without even bothering to take off my suit. Marcus rubbed his sleeve thoughtfully, and I realized he was referring to the same suit he was wearing now. I had horrible dreams that night, but try as I might. I couldn't remember any of them the following morning. Marcus shuddered. Then I noticed the footprints. It looked like some barefoot person had crossed the dusty floor

and stood just inches away from where I'd been sleeping. Funny thing was, those bare footprints started from the wall and didn't turn back. Like whoever it was, had walked out of a solid brick wall, hovered over me all night, then disappeared. Was I creeped out? Sure, a little. but I also had to be at work in an hour, and I had no idea in which one of those damn boxes my coffee pot was hiding. The next night...

A door slammed in the hallway, and Marcus jumped. Look, do you mind if we walk and talk for this next part? I need a cigarette. And I really don't want to tell this part of the story indoors, just in case. It was my policy to never meet outside the office. I heard horror stories of caseworkers who were robbed at gunpoint, stabbed with dirty needles, or simply got too attached, or crossed the boundaries of professionalism in ways that ruined their careers. I don't know why I made an exception for Marcus.

Perhaps I, too, needed some fresh air. There was something claustrophobic about his story, the way his eyes kept darting around the room. After work on the second day, I was beat. A picky client with a complicated problem had trapped me on the phone all day, and the stress. burned the image of those creepy footprints right out of my mind. When I walked in the door, I kicked off my shoes, chugged a glass of water, and fell onto the mattress face first. I only meant to take a little nap before unpacking more.

But when I woke up, it was already dark and... And... Someone was chewing on my toes. I stopped walking. I know what you're thinking, Marcus sneered. It does sound crazy. My brain didn't want to accept it either. I didn't want to believe that a naked old woman with white hair hanging down past her waist was gnawing on my foot with a mouthful of twisted teeth.

I yelled loud enough to wake up half a city block and kicked her right in the face. Or at least, I tried to. My heel went through her like she wasn't even there. No matter how I kicked and squirmed and fought, it didn't matter. She just kept biting. When I ran away, she slithered after me on the floor like a boneless goddamn snake, always nibbling, licking blood out of the bite marks on my legs. I threw pots and knives, said the Lord's Prayer, even swatted at her with a broom.

Nothing worked. In the end, I ran out of the apartment, barefoot and bleeding, with two of my toes missing. Of course, my neighbors had called the cops, but when they went back inside with me, it was like she was never there. I was a mess. Marcus went on. I think I actually cried on the cop's shoulder. The hospital wanted to keep me for a house.

observation for a few days, and I said yes to everything. I mean, I sure as hell didn't want to go back to my place, and I was in no condition to work. Every time I looked at my feet, the reality of it hit me like a punch in the chest. A ghostly old woman really had walked out of the wall of my apartment, and she really had chewed off my two right toes. The cuts were as neat as though I'd been born without him, and there wasn't any blood in the apartment either. It was like she'd lapped it all up. Lazzangue sur-gilled, Puisance-Moyerned 15 minutes.

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who attacked you? I summarized. It's not like I don't have proof. I can show you the missing toes if you want. Marcus knelt to take off his shoe.

Hey, there's no need for that. I moved to stop him. And as I did, I felt a ragged gap in the flesh of the arm beneath his suit. During the few seconds

that my fingers brushed against it, I couldn't help but notice that the gap was the same size and shape as a human mouth. Marcus stood. looking up at the sinking sun with a sigh. I thought I'd be safe in the hospital.

Who wouldn't? There are armed guards and nurses everywhere and emergency call buttons. But even with all that, I still expected to see her come crawling around the corner. A hungry smile on her rotting face. I hardly slept at all that first night. Maybe that's why I dozed off so quickly on the second.

Marcus took a deep, shuddering breath. All I remember is the pain. The pain. and her face. I'd left my arm hanging over the railing of the bed that second night, and she just chomp down on it. Her tongue jabbed at my veins, thirsty for more blood. Her eyes rolled back in her head.

Her tangled hair and decrepit face shook from the joy of it. Then the nurses came running in, and she was gone. The chunk missing from my arm was the only proof that she was ever there. The doctors couldn't explain it. But after hearing my crazy story, They didn't want to just let me go either. In the end, I had to break out of the place. I made a mental note to check the hospital database for any record of Marcus's story.

You wanted to know why I live on the street, right? Marcus's shout brought me back to reality. That's why. Because every time I stay any place for longer than a night, she shows up again. I don't know who she is or why she chose me to torture. All I know is, if I ever spend two nights someplace, I'm done for. That's why I need you to help me. Make sure that no matter what, I never sleep in the same bed twice.

Otherwise, she... Marcus sniff. I was surprised to see tears pouring down his face. She won't even leave the bones, man. She'll drain me till there's nothing left. I can't remember what I said to that. Or how I concluded my interview with Marcus. I just gave him my card and wished him the best

while I tried to pretend my mind wasn't buzzing with unsettling images of his bizarre stuff. When I finally calmed down, I realized I hadn't scheduled a second appointment with Marcus, or even established a way to contact him again. I'd have to rely on him to get in touch with me, which, considering his homelessness, wasn't likely. The guilt aided me while I typed up our conversation and archived the file. Marcus never came back to the center after our talk, and I knew better than to go looking for him. for him. I'm ashamed to admit that after a few years, I completely forgot about him until I got the

phone call. It wasn't the harrowed young man in a business suit who reached out to me, however. It was a police officer from a few states away. He was getting in touch with me, he said, because of something sort of strange that had happened in the county jail. Marcus Reginald Brownwell, male, Caucasian, 31 years old, had been detained a few days earlier for vagrancy. Since then, he'd been, No end of trouble, screaming about needing to change cells. When Marcus didn't get his way, he got violent. The warden had him transferred to solitary confinement for three days. The officer who called couldn't say exactly what had happened to Marcus during that time.

The damn cameras all went dead for some reason. He could, however. Tell me what was left of Marcus afterwards. An empty jumpsuit and a sickening greasy stain on the floor. It's the strangest damn thing. I could hear the officer scratching his head on the other end of the line. We figure he's escaped somehow. And since he kept calling you over and over and asking for you and saying you'd get him out of there no matter what,

well, we figured you might know something, doctor. The sneer in his voice told me all I needed to know about his view of my profession. But I hardly noticed. My thoughts were fixed on the last words he said. calling me over and over asking for me saying i'd get him out no matter what of course marcus had my old number when i switched jobs to work for an NGO i'd updated my contact information with all the contacts i could find but i hadn't been able to find marcus and if i was being honest with myself i knew the real reason why i had been too disturbed by marcus's story to do my job properly i didn't

take down his information when I should have, and as a result, I had the first dream last night. The sheer horror of it, and the fact that I couldn't remember any part of it afterward, made me think of Marcus. Then, beside my bed, I saw the footprints. I'd been remodeling the kitchen, and with all the powdered plaster everywhere, it was easy to see that whoever had been standing beside my bed all night had walked out of the kitchen wall. A packed rucksack is leaning in against my desk. I hope I've got everything I need. I've learned a lot about life on the streets over these past four years, but some things always surprise you.