Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Invasion of the Home Invaders

Episode Date: May 16, 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: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com 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

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The conditions apply. Talk to nicely. Something's wrong. An evolutionary instinct deep in my lizard brain sounds the alarm. And my eyes come open in the darkness of my bedroom. I look to my left to see that I'm alone in bed. Real memories push the jumble of dream memories out of the way,

reminding me that Shannon is chaperoning a two-day trip to Washington, D.C. for our daughter's sixth grade class. They won't be back until tomorrow. The house is empty. I listen hard for a moment. I know what my empty house sounds like, and although I don't hear any noises that should alarm me, there is something different in the air.

It's like an interruption in the background hum of the house. Grabbing my phone off the bedside table tells me that it's just past 2.30 in the morning. The carpet is soft under my feet as I head over to the chair in the corner of the room and grab my pajama bottoms off the armrest. I put them on, and I'm reaching for the shirt when I hear the soft creak of a door hinge down the hallway.

It's the door to my daughter's room opening. Forgetting about the shirt, I move over to the closet where I keep an old golf club. I'm suddenly regretting the decision Shannon and I made to not purchase a gun for home protection. Golf club in my right hand, I open my bedroom door quietly, glancing down the dark hallway. nothing there. But my daughter's bedroom door is open, and I definitely remember that it was closed when I went to bed. There's a bedroom turned home office on my left. The door closed. I moved past it, golf club ready for action. The hallway bathroom is on my right. The door open as it should be. I glance in quickly, making sure it's empty. Next up is my daughter's

bedroom on my left. I lean against the wall outside the doorway and try to calm my breathing. Pivoting, I rush into the room, a low growl coming out of my throat, arms tensed and ready to deliver a blow. But there's no one here. The room is empty. Suddenly, I know someone's behind me. I can sense their presence. Stepping forward to gain some room, I start to swing the golf club while turning around. But the club doesn't make it even halfway through its arc before it's yanked out of my grip. And then there's a gloved hand on my face, shoving me backward and slamming me against my daughter's dresser. I cry out as my back hits the knobs and edge of the dresser. The hand shoves me down to the floor, crumpling me like I'm a cardboard cutout.

The guy's strength and speed are immense, and it makes me realize that I have no chance of fighting him, not even close. He slams my head into the floor twice, and the world loses its focus. I feel his steel grip around my ankles. He lifts my legs up and pulls me out of the room, my chest, arms, and face dragging against the carpet. We get to the stairs, and he tosses me down. Luckily, they're carpeted. I end up in pain, but nothing feels broken as I come to rest at the foot of the staircase. Risking a glance up at the guy, I see a man I don't recognize.

His pronounced brow and craggy face make him seem like a tough guy from a bygone era. He's wearing a black hooded sweatshirt, black jeans, and black boots. He walks down the stairs, not moving fast or slow. I managed to get to my feet and stumble into the kitchen. But I smack the outside of my shin into something as I move, and a sickening pain runs up the side of my leg. I fall to the floor and look back to see what I've hit, but all I see is a scurrying shadow that slips into the living room. Convinced that the stress of the situation and the panic

enveloping me are playing tricks on my mind, I scramble to my feet and head toward the kitchen door, the one that leads into the backyard. I hear the man's footsteps coming into the kitchen behind me, but I also hear a kind of wet, sloshing sound, like a bowl of cooked pasta being stirred. As I open the door, the cool night air hitting me. I hear the footsteps stop. I don't wonder why. I just lunge out the door and down the three steps to the dew-coated grass in the backyard. Moving toward my neighbor Seth's house,

I realize that the pain in my leg isn't from smacking into something. A glance down at it confirms the notion as I see the blood running from a circular wound there, a couple of inches above my right ankle. I clear the low fence between my house and Seth. Then take a moment to inspect the wound a little closer. A half moon sits in the sky above, providing a pale and somehow sinister gray light by which to see. The wound is about an inch and a half in diameter. It's almost as if someone took an ice cream scoop and swiped a shallow chunk out of my leg.

There's nothing that would do that in my house. So I assume it must have been something the intruder set up, a trap he was driving me toward. No time to worry about it now, though. I moved through Seth's backyard toward the back door. I need to call the police since I left my phone in my room, like the genius that I am. I limp up onto his back deck and start dodging around the patio furniture to get to his sliding glass door. But just as I'm moving past the weatherproof fake wicker couch, I see a couple of figures in the dark interior of Seth's house.

And I'm almost certain one of them is the intruder from my house. How the hell could he have gotten over here so fast? I crouched down behind the couch on the deck and gaze in through the glass door. Moving to get a better angle, I see that Seth's whole family is sitting in the dining room, in the dark. The craggy-faced intruder stands next to the table while Seth, his wife, and his three teenage children sit around the table in their nightwear, staring blankly at one another. A minute passes, but none of them move.

I swallow hard, unable to comprehend what's happening. This makes no sense. Did the intruder know that I would come over here? Does he have a twin brother that's waiting for him to get done at my house before they do God knows what at Seth's house? Whatever the hell is going on, my priority hasn't changed. I need to find a phone to call the police, so I move back down the deck stairs to the yard and head out into the street.

My neighbor Trudy lives across from Seth, and she's usually up late ever since her husband died several years ago. I look both ways as I reach the street, hoping to see a car coming that I can flag down, or, better yet, a police cruiser with its lights on coming around the corner. No joy. The street is deserted. So I limp across as fast as I can, my bare feet cold on the damp asphalt. Trudy's house, and all the houses on this side of the street, back up to a stretch of undeveloped woodland.

This is the edge of the housing development at the edge of this city. So as I head around to Trudy's back door, terrified the guy at my house will look out and see me if I go to the front, I noticed something is off about the woods. It takes me a moment to place it, but I realize that there's a gap in the trees just beyond Trudy's property line where there never was one before. Just a dark absence of trees in a spot about ten yards wide. I can't tell how deep the gap goes, thanks to the darkness. limping up to the back door is less involved at Trudy's house because she doesn't have an elevated deck like Seth does.

I bang on the door and call out her name in a harsh whisper. The lights turn on quickly, as though she were in there waiting for me to show up. But I can't see inside, thanks to some white drapes covering the square of glass in the back door. A shadow obscures some of the light hitting the drapes, making a faint silhouette. It looks to be the shape of Trudy. The deadbolt slides back into the door,

and the knob turns. Trudy's face appears. Yes? She says. Trudy, I say. There's someone in my house, and Seth's house too. I need to use your phone to call the police. She looks at me blankly for a moment, the nods,

opening the door further to let me in. I step inside and she shuts and locks the door behind me. She's wearing a pink nightgown, and looks like she just woke up. Something really weird is going on, I tell her. She steps over to her kitchen table. and looks at me curiously, tilting her head slightly. She must have been asleep when I knocked,

but then she opened the door so fast. You said you needed to use the phone? She says, seeming to snap out of it. Yes, please, I say. Trudy nods, looking around and then sticking her hands in the little pockets of her nightgown. She's in her early 60s, but she looks considerably younger, probably because she dives her graying hair the natural brown color,

from her younger years. Let me find it, she says. I must have left it upstairs. Just stay here. Okay, I say. Staying where I am, just a few feet from the back door. I look over my shoulder to make sure the deadbolt is locked. It is.

Trudy disappears into the dark adjacent room, and then I hear the creak of her stairs. Noticing that I'm bleeding on her floor, I move over to the counter and grab a wad of paper towels. The circular wound stings as I push the paper towels against it. There's a built-in desk next to the doorway out of the kitchen, and I see that there's a roll of duct tape sitting in the corner amid stacks of mail, a cup with pens, pencils, and scissors, and other various office supplies.

I pull out the desk chair and sit down, grabbing the duct tape and wrapping it around my leg to keep the paper towels on. After I call the police, I'll make sure to treat the wound properly, but for now, this will keep me from bleeding all over the floor. My mind goes back to when it happened, and I still can't think of anything in my house that could have made such a wound, especially not anything between the entryway hall and the kitchen doorway. It makes no sense.

Then my mind goes back to Seth and his family, the Graebles, just sitting there at their table, staring at nothing, and the same guy from my house standing next to them. It's not possible. They must be twins. There's no way he could have gotten over there before me. No way. The stairs creak again as Trudy comes back down. I remain seated in the desk chair, seeing no point in moving.

As I wait, my heart finally starts to slow down a bit. She comes back into the kitchen, still looking like she's not quite awake, and hands me the phone. I take it and dial 911. The conversation goes on for several minutes, but after assuring the operator that I'm safe, I hang up and wait for the police and ambulance to show up. While I don't think I need an ambulance for the wound on my leg, there's no telling what's been going on over at Seth's house. Better to have one and not need it,

then need one and not have it. Trudy steps over in front of me to get her phone back. But as I hand her the device, she slaps it out of my hand and grabs me around the neck, throttling me with more strength than she should have. I struggle, squirming in the seat, trying to shove her off me. over her left shoulder through the doorway to the rest of the house.

I see shadows moving as something comes toward us. Whatever it is moves fast, and rope-like appendages seem to whip back and forth quickly. It's dark and shiny with slime or sweat. I can't tell what, it's too dark. As panic starts to trample rational thought, I remember the scissors and the cup on the desk to my right. I lash out with my hand, knocking the cup down,

and then groping around until I finally feel the tool under my fingers. I grabbed the scissors in my fist and slam them into the left side of Trudy's body, just under her armpit. She doesn't let go, but she does make a strange sound deep in her throat. I pull the scissors out and slam them into the side of her head, stabbing her in the skull. This time she lets go and straightens up, her eyes wide. I jump out of the chair and move toward the back door. I'm unable to stop myself from turning around to see if I've really just killed my neighbor. Whatever was in the living room, the fast-moving shadow and shrouded thing, is nowhere to be seen now, as if it was never there to begin with.

Trudy turns toward me, her eyes still wide. Her skin seems to bubble around the scissors stuck in her head, moving like a nod of writhing worms under the skin. There's a dark liquid coming out from the wound, but it's not blood. It looks more like oil with an elusive green hue to it. Over to my right, the door to Trudy's basement opens. catching my attention. I looked that way and see another Trudy come up from the basement. The same empty look in her eyes, the same pink nightwear, the same everything. Behind her comes another one, and another, and another. They all stare at me with that blank expectancy.

A high-pitched sound escapes my throat as my mind rebels against this impossible sight. Somehow, I forced my body to move as the Trudies shuffle toward me around the kitchen table. The chilly early morning air hits me as I do. jumped down into Trudy's backyard, thinking only of getting away. I run toward the woods, covering the 30 yards or so quickly despite my limp. I then duck into the relative darkness provided by the trees. I immediately see the reason for the strange gap in the woods I noticed earlier, although I have no logical explanation for it,

where there were once tall and lush American elm and honey locust trees, there are now only the shriveled remains. They're still identifiable as trees, but they're all lying where they fall. It's as if they've experienced years of rot, disease, and decay much quicker than should be possible. And I think I know why. Running along the ground and over these trees are black vine-like veins. Even in the pale moonlight, I can see that they're to blame for the destruction of the trees.

The tips of the veins disappear into each dead tree, making them the only logical explanation. I don't dare touch any of these black veins, but as I move deeper into the woods, I stay clear to the woods, I stay close to the swath of dead trees they've created. A look over my shoulder reveals that the Trudies aren't following me, at least not that I can see. So I search for a place to sit and watch, a place to wait for the moment the flashing red and blue lights of a police car show up on the street.

But I can't help but notice that there's a clearing ahead, in the middle of which sits some kind of dark, round structure. Another glance over my shoulder reveals no women in pink nightwear fire. following me, no men in all black with craggy, tough guy faces, and also no flashing lights. The woods seem eerily quiet as I make my way toward the clearing and the strange structure. There are no crickets chirping, and I hear no nightbirds. But there is a faint cracking sound coming from up ahead. As I get closer and start to make out some details of the round structure, I forget all about the cracking sound, pouring all my focus into trying to try and

to figure out what this strange object is. It looks like a huge iron ball with holes all around, leading to the dark interior. But iron isn't the right material. I don't know what is. Iron's just the closest to my brain can come up with. The holes are arranged over the thing in a grid-like pattern, each about a foot in diameter. I can't see what, if anything, is inside them. They're all just dark. The whole thing is probably 15 feet tall and 15 feet wide, sitting in a clearing of its own making. The black veins lead back to this large sphere. The trees in a wide perimeter around the object have all been killed by the black veins,

but I don't know how or why. And I can't begin to imagine why these strange veins have killed a 10-yard-wide strip of forest leading back toward Trudy's yard. Suddenly, the cracking sound. gets louder, and I realize it's coming from a tree across the way, on the other side of the sphere. I shift around, trying to see it. Sure enough, I watch as a tall American elm tree shakes and shrinks and cracks right before my eyes. It goes from a healthy tree with green leaves to a miniature husk, with shriveled leaves that fall away and break apart in the ground only moments

before the tree itself comes down. It's as if the black veins are sucking the life out of the trees. but why? My question is answered as something moves on the other side of the ball. I can't quite see what it is, but I can hear it. It's a wet, sucking sound. Staying in the cover of the woods,

I round the perimeter surrounding the sphere and see that this side of it isn't covered in holes, not yet, at least. There are clear outlines of the holes, but there's also some kind of covering over each of them. And as I continue, I see a mess of black tentacles whipping around, squirming at the mouth of one of these newly opened holes. As the moonlight

hits them, the shiny black tentacles give off a sheen of dark green. They don't have suckers like octopus tentacles, but some of them seem to split at the end, flattening out to push against the sphere. Terror descends on me, and I run. I don't wait around to see any more of this hellish creature. I just run. I take long, limping strides, ignoring the pain in my leg, and staying well away from the slightly different route this time. And before I'm even out of the woods, I notice that the wonderful red and blue lights are there, splashing against my house.

Taking my attention from the ground at this beautiful sight, I trip over something and fall. I glance back and see that I've tripped over a body, one that I recognize. In the space of three heaving breaths, I see that this body belongs to the craggy-faced man from my house and from Seth's house. Only this one has been mutilated.

Holes taken out of him, much like the one for my leg. The bloody holes cover his chest, legs, neck, and even parts of his face. But it's the same guy, same clothes and everything. It's all starting to come together in my mind. But I refuse to believe it. So I get up and run some more, knowing that if I can just get to the cop that's outside my house, all will be well.

I pump my legs, breaking out of the woods, and heading past Trudy's house. The squad car parked in front of my house comes into view. There's a police officer there, standing a few feet away from his car. But there are other people around too. There's the craggy-faced man stepping out of my house. There's Seth's family stepping out of his house. But there are too many of them.

Five of each, followed by another craggy-faced man. I look to my right and see a half-dozen Trudies coming out of her house, along with another copy of the dead man from the woods. And to my left, the family that lives across for me has multiplied and is coming out of their house. The policeman looks around in growing alarm. No! I scream, running toward him as all the other people close in. Run!

He looks at me with wide eyes, pulling his gun out of his holster. Don't let them touch you! I shout. Beyond the policeman, stepping out of my house, is me. One hole taken out of me, one copy. Stand back! The policeman shouts at the craggy-faced man closest to him. The one that came out of my house, but it's too late.

A mess of writhing black tentacles speeds past me on the road and leaps at the policeman. One of its tentacles whips out and takes a chunk out of the officer's right arm. More of these monsters seem to appear out of nowhere. The man fires his gun twice before he's surrounded by these hideous black creatures that look like they came out of hell itself. They whip tentacles out at him, each taking the chunk. He stumbles forward several steps, and then falls onto my lawn.

I've stopped running, and now I stand in the middle of the street. All eyes turn toward me, and I look both ways, seeing that copies of people are coming out of nearly every house on the block, each group coming out with a copy of the craggy-faced tough guy. I think about how many holes were in the man's body in the woods. He must have been the original,

robbing houses in the neighborhood when he stumbled on the sphere in the forest. They attacked him and copied him, and used him to break into the houses. The sphere in the forest wasn't the only one. It can't have been. There are too many copies coming out of all the houses along my street. Too many for just that one sphere, that one ship, a troop carrier,

able to suck the life out of trees and transfer it to these creatures, maybe waking them up from a long sleep, or maybe they just need energy to transform into us. I realize that it's an invasion. And it looks like they've already won. I back up until I hear the wet sound of whipping tentacles behind me. There's nothing left for me to do. I think of my wife and daughter as I close my eyes.

And I wait for them to finish me off.