Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - I'm Beginning to Regret the Mile High Club

Episode Date: November 26, 2021

🎧 Check out my new True Crime podcast here: https://spoti.fi/3nIcpKY 🎉 Ad-free episodes + bonus episodes: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🎥 YouTube: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep ✅ Advertising Inquiries: [e-mail] Author: P.F. McGrail P. F. McGrail’s Book: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08M8YR7N5   P. F. McGrail’s Subreddit: www.reddit.com/r/ByfelsDisciple 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

Hey guys, I want to give a shout out to Ashton, Charlie, and Caleb for recently becoming Dr. No Sleep patrons. You guys now have full access to my ad-free podcast episodes, along with all bonus episodes I've posted over the past six months. If you'd like to receive access as well, going over to my Patreon page at patreon.com slash d.r-no-sleep to sign up. That's patreon.com slash DR. No sleep. Now time for the story. Venereal disease sucks twice as bad on an airplane because you can't scratch your balls without some cranky passenger bitching to the flight attendant that a terrible man is fondling himself in the aisle seat

and it's not even my fault that I have to sit by the aisle that's just the nature of my job the man sitting next to me blinked awkwardly as though still getting used to a body that wasn't entirely his he kept his eyes very wide behind his round spectacles first staring at the seat ahead, then pivoting to face me. While I appreciate the insight into your genitalia, I fail to understand how it pertains to my current condition.

He responded with a robotic softness. I sighed. It's called making conversation, Ellard. We're stuck sitting next to each other until we get into Atlanta. So we pretend to be interested in mundane shit that would otherwise get left unsaid. It, you know, prevents people from being alone with their own thoughts. He tottered his head back and forth on his thin neck,

looking for all the world like he was trying to balance the damn thing on a stick. What's wrong with your own thoughts? I shrugged uncomfortably. If we really think about it, we end up realizing that no one truly knows us, which makes us wonder how long the world will remember our presence after we die. Look, Millard, don't be a fucking downer. Either come up with a better topic of conversation, or hear me out when I talk about just how badly it burns when I pee.

He rotated slowly around to the empty window seat next to him. We could have had more companionship, but you were the one to arrange a vacant seat between me and the wall, he slowly said as he lifted his hand to point. I snatched his wrists and quickly stuffed them under the coat on his lap. What did I just explain to you? I hissed in a furious whisper. Don't let anyone see those cuffs.

People will freak out. I looked down at the rigid carbon fiber bonds on his wrists, then hastily wrapped his gray jacket around them. People freak out when they hear that prisoners are being transported on their flight, so please keep a low profile. He stared at me, expressionless, before offering an excessively wide smile, paired with his perfectly hairless head,

the effect was quite chilling. I grunted. No offense there, Millard. But you suck as a traveling companion. Did you know that I used to play baseball for the University of North Carolina? The team traveled all over the country. Those guys were great.

They would listen to stories about my genitalia. Did those stories also involve venereal disease? Millard looked his lips softly. Of course they did, Millard. Where do you think I learned to pronounce Trichomoniasis. We were somewhere over Texas when it became unbearable. Hey, Millard, wake up!

I urged as I poked his forehead. He had been sleeping with his hands folded neatly on his lap. His head pointed upward and his eyes wide open. It really did give me the hebi-jeebies. His eyes rolled around like an old record player before he found me and focused one pupil at a time. What is wrong, Jonathan? He asked robotically. robotically. I don't know what I picked up from that chick, but my bladder feels like it's ready

to unleash a demonic horde of sulfur ants. But how does that? It affects you because I cannot leave you alone, even to piss. A shot back in exasperation. We have been over this, Millard. But the average airline bathroom only has 60 cubic feet of, and I am not looking forward to sharing those 60 cubic feet with you. But this piss is coming now, so I can either wet in my pants like that creep Jimmy Fisher from middle school, or we can find a toilet. Considering this fire urine just might burn a hole in the fuselage, I've decided that it's wisest to deposit it in the proper receptacle. I unbuckled us both and stood, trying my best to ignore the tiny explosions of pain in my crotch. I'd led my companion by his hands on our journey to the restroom. As I opened the

door to slip inside, I noticed a woman gawking at us in repulsion. I stared right back. Don't judge us like you know us, sister. I snapped before pushing Millard toward the toilet. It seems that there is not sufficient space for us to occupy this room without continuous physical contact. Is it customary to engage in this endeavor with my buttocks or with my genitalia pressed against your posterior? Nothing is customary about this, you freak. Now pretend you can't see me while I piss. Why would I pretend when it's obvious what you're doing?

Because shut the fuck up, Miller. I tried to relax, and then I finally started peeing. Have you ever imagined what it would feel like if a scorpion wore a suit of broken glass while scurrying through your urethra? I hadn't either. It was at that particular moment, with my garden hose spouting fire, the bald criminal pressed up against my ass in an airplane bathroom, and in my glory days of college athletics,

now four years in the rearview mirror, that I realized my life was at its lowest. That's when the announcement came through the speakers. Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. He sounded muted, defeated. The men you're seeing in the aisle have infiltrated the cockpit. It was too painful to stop midstream, so I whipped my hose back inside my pants while I was still going.

How the fuck did they do that? I whispered to Millard. The cockpit is supposed to be ironclad. He stared back at me without any noticeable change in his feet. vacant gaze. The speaker crackled once more. Please remain calm while we reroute the flight. We will be cooperating fully with these individuals. Nothing made sense. Then they forgot to turn off the speaker. Because they have my daughter, Sid. She's eight years old. And I know that we're breaking

protocol. The speaker was cut off instantly. Shit, I whispered. Do you need me to stay in here while you defecate? Millard asked innocuously. Fuck, man. How do you not get what's happening outside? Of all the flights to be hijacked, I'm here with you. I stared at him, slack-jawed. Then I refocused.

Do you want to die today, Millard? All options considered, I'd rather not. I took a deep breath. If I do this, you need to cooperate. You want to be on good terms with my bosses, right? He furrowed his brow. I don't think they like me very much. I can assure you that.

that the feeling is mutual. I sighed. Millard, my man, I said as I pulled the key from my back pocket. There's no greater friend than the person standing by your side when you're both neck deep and shit. I unlocked the cuffs with the click

and took them in my right hand. He looked down at his wrists in apparent shock. Leaning in, I pressed my face up against his. You've got a choice between helping us out, thereby putting yourself in the good grace of my employers in the process, or dying in a fiery crash over Texas. I cracked open the bathroom door because I wanted to rush his decision before he had time to

think about it. Looks like life has thrown you a curveball. He stared at me for a second longer. Then his eyes turned pure white. Millard stepped out of the bathroom, and I followed him. You, why are you out of your seat? The authoritative voice of a hijacker bellowed from down the aisle. Millard raised a hand. As I watched, the fingers elongated. First seven inches, then two feet, then longer. The joints disappeared as his digits bound together and wove themselves into a thick, writhing tentacle

that wiggled in the air above the seats. What the fuck? Millard launched his arm forward, the appendage lengthening beyond my view and cutting out the voice of the man who had yelled. Everyone in the cabin scream. Millard smiled a large, genuine, hungry smile as he walked away from me. A cacophony of voices drowned out what happened next.

I dove to the floor and crawled after Millard, praying that I hadn't just made the worst decision of my life. Of course, I was feeling the damp swashing of a trap to urine pool with each movement of my pants, so I greatly doubted my own judgment in that moment. I don't know exactly what the freak was doing, but I managed a pretty good guess once my crawl brought me to a dead hijacker. His head had been crushed like a walnut.

Gray and white-brain coil squeezed through his shattered temples like rotten spaghetti. One eyeball had popped clean out of his skull, and the other was reduced to a globy white soup on his wrecked face. Millard was a special little duck, that's for sure. It's why I've been stuck with him. The veterans never have air transport duty with the Uber Freaks. A scream tore through the cockpit, then was immediately cut off at what sounded like a water balloon filled with tomato sauce exploding against concrete. Okay, Millie, I thought, you need to be done now. That's when he emerged. His eyes were now glowing white, and his right arm had grown into a tendril that was 10 feet long. He was holding the head of another hijacker like a trophy, and his jaw

hung eight inches down in what was clearly his version of an evil laugh. I expect to be a head of a I acted screams to tear my eardrums apart, but everything got very quiet. Millard! I shouted, you've done enough. Come back to me. Now! He was either unwilling or unable to hear my demands. Instead, he reached his tentacle across the aisle and let it slither along the headrests behind the passenger's necks. He looked down at them hungrily. Then he raised his appendage to strike. I was a good 20 feet away with a four-inch target. which put me right in my element. The anticipation of movement is ingrained in the wind-up,

and reaction comes before thinking if accuracy is at stake. I whipped my wrist forward and watched the cuffs fly along the arc I knew they would travel. The carbon fiber band caught the edge of his tentacle, curled around, and snapped tightly shut. Millard's eyes instantly switched back to normal, and he watched helplessly as his tendril shrunk back into a regular human arm. Seconds later, he stood looking like an almost normal man, albeit a very confused one. I rushed over to him and grabbed him by the neck. Good work on the hijackers, Millie, but you really, really should have quit while you were ahead.

He blinked awkwardly, then stared back at me in mild confusion. If you'll remember correctly, I gave you the same advice when that young lady approached you yesterday. Perhaps your pants would be clean if you'd heated my words. I scratched my damp balls. Yeah, well, you wouldn't be in cuffs right now if you'd kept your own wild snake at bay. So let's just have a seat and ride this flight in peace. Are the pilot and co-pilot still alive?

Yes, he responded calmly. It certainly did not seem wise to hurt those who control our collective fate. Only the hijackers were killed. Great, I answered an exasperation. Now the 197 people on this plane will need to have your actions wiped from their memories so they don't go insane. And then we can pretend this fifth-degree fuckery never happened. We walked past the woman who had judged us on the way to the bathroom. If she were staring at us any harder, her eyes would have actually popped out of her head.

I smiled at her. At this point, ma'am, you can cast all the judgment you want. Hell, I had sex with five strangers in three days. picked up an exotic disease and learned nothing in the process. Doesn't matter what you think, because Flight 1913 is making an unscheduled stop in New Orleans so that my people can make you forget everything before we hit Atlanta. She was speechless as I turned to Millard. Hey, you ever been to the Big Easy?

He looked his lips. You'll love it, or at least you'll love the hotel room. I'll chain you up while I hit up Tinder. I turned back towards the woman. Don't worry. We'll still be in Atlanta by tonight. The mind-washing process usually takes about three hours for a group this big, which is just enough time to have my kind of fun. We settled back into our seats.

The plane was quiet enough to hear a pin hitting the floor. Or maybe a splash of infected urine on an airplane toilet seat. My name is Jonathan Hush, and I'm an air marshal for supernatural prisoners. the powerence for 15 minutes. We'd say that's the hour dojo.

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