Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Let the Games Begin!

Episode Date: February 23, 2022

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I woke up with a pulsing headache, a throbbing pain at the back of my head. The world was spinning before me, and I couldn't properly make out any shapes or colors. As I came to, I realized that I was handcuffed to what looked like a school desk. A quick study of my surroundings told me that I was indeed in a classroom. There was a man alongside me on the floor. I noticed he was also handcuffed to a desk, and behind him lay numerous, other people all handcuffed to desks. I was in some kind of classroom, with at least a dozen or so people, all of whom seemed to be chained up. My eyes took in the surrounding posters and artwork.

There were children's drawings and safety reminders all scattered across the wall, most of them older than I was. Then my attention went to the blackboard in front of the glass. Written in chalk was a simple concise message, large enough for all of us to read. Tornado drill, 805 a.m. I checked the clock on the wall. According to the time, we only had a few minutes before the event was supposed to happen, so I talked fast. Hey, hey you, where are we? I asked, kicking the man's foot next to me. His eyes flared at me suspiciously. Like how would I know? How should I know? We could be in hell for all I know. I decided to not bother talking to him anymore, and turned to my left. A petite young woman was there.

What about you? Do you remember how we got here? I asked, yanking on the handcuffs. I was in the mall with my boyfriend. We were headed toward the food court when I don't remember anything after that. She admitted timidly. I could tell by the look on her face, she was more worried about the boy than her own safety. But something told me that pretty soon that would change. The clock struck 805 a moment later, and suddenly a shrill, scratchy noise came on over the PA intercom.

The system had to date back to the 1980s, I thought to myself. Attention class of 2021. A very strange voice announced. It was difficult to say for sure what gender it even was. It didn't sound quite human. Then there was a sharp click and a grainy old recording of the Pledge of Allegiance that came on over the speakers. As it finished, all of us looked at one another in confusion and fear. What the hell was going on?

How the hell are we supposed to do that? I said out loud. Not that I expected the strange machine to respond. Instead, there was a loud rattling from above, and it made me look at the ceiling of the room for the first time. Above every desk, there was an air vent, and on cue, the vents opened. All of a sudden, loud noises and shards of glass shot out from the vents and headed straight toward us.

I reacted quickly, yanking my body toward the floor as the broken glass sliced across the back of my neck. I did my best to huddle under the desk, but a portion of my thigh and right foot was damaged from the sudden unexpected rush of projectiles. Others in the class weren't so lucky. A man sitting two desks in front of me had a glass shard impale him straight in the neck. A woman had several shards hit her across her cheek, and the rain of sharp blades continue to come. The hallway!

The woman beside me shouted, We can scoot the desks and use them for cover. I nodded and took the woman's suggestion. While still taking cover from my desk, I slowly nudged the desk forward. As I slowly traversed forward, the ceiling rumbled and shook. I looked around and saw that the falling glass

had been replaced by rain. Thank God, I thought to myself. Rain is harmless compared to shirk. shards of glass. My relief was replaced with horror when I heard people screaming around me. Those that weren't fully under their desks were burned by the rain. Instantly I knew that was not normal rain. It was water composed of dangerous chemicals. You might as well call it acid rain. Those that weren't under their desks were given second-degree burns. We all shouted for them to take cover. The hallway felt like it was a lifetime away. I pushed.

the desk slowly, doing my best to try and time the pattern of the falling chemicals. My hands were already burnt from the hot toxins, and my shins were bleeding. I just needed to get out of here. I resolved as I pushed toward the door. Some of the others were fighting to exit the door, trying to shove their way through and pull their desks along. I knew there would be no way we could escape this hill as long as we were shackled down. Then I looked up at the burning acid and had a horrible realization. We need to let the chemicals burn through these cuffs, I told the girl. I held my arm at a specific angle and then scooted my desk toward the proper position. I bit my tongue and held in a scream as the torturous acid hit my skin and the metal at the same time. It only took 10 seconds for the

acid to eat away at the metal and set me free. I ran through the door, urging the others to do the same. The girl managed to pull through with only minor burns along with three others. Then we heard a strange clang and realized that the class door was sealed shut. The ones that didn't make it out were now slamming their heads against the door, trying to wriggle the knob, but it was pointless. We watched as the vents reversed flow and sucked the other people in the classroom up towards the ceiling. It was like watching a real twister. All of the people were slammed against the roof of the classroom, I looked around in disbelief. Everyone around me had a similar expression. And just like that, the nightmarish event seemed over, and I was standing in the hallway

looking down at my burnt, shaking hands. The other survivors were turning their attention to our new location, a long tile hallway that seemed to connect to at least a dozen other classrooms just like the one we came from. As I stared down the hallway, people from other classrooms escaped into the hallway. Some were fine, and others were badly injured. They were trying their best to cope with the situation and recover just as we had. We all shared the same beaten and confused expression. None of us are sure where we are or how we got here. Attention class of 2020 are principal, a voice said over the intercom. Then the lights in the hallway came on, illuminating a path toward the right.

I looked to the others for ideas, uncertain of what we should do. There was an emergency exit nearby, but it didn't take one guest to assume it was sealed shut. So instead, all of us shoveled our feet down the hallway, following the guiding light to our next torture chamber. We soon arrived at what looked like a cafeteria with long tables, all arranged with simple school breakfasts. Packaged donuts, boxed milk, fruit bowls. At least 30 meals were all lined up and ready for us as we entered the room. A couple of survivors went to check the windowless exits, while the rest of us settled and decided to eat. Surprisingly, the food was delicious and fresh.

Our captors must want us somewhat healthy, I said, as I carefully opened the milk. My hands were still shaking. Then I saw a shadow cross the back curtain of the stage that overlooked the cafeteria. Immediately I jumped up and pointed. A few others saw it, too. Who goes there? One man shouted aloud. The shadow paused.

It looked unusually tall. Then we heard this strange, obnoxious laugh. A second later, the curtain pushed back and revealed a costumed mascot, a large stuffed animal costume that resembled a walrus with a goofy cartoon smile and enormous floppy arms. From the center of the stage came a microphone that rose up towards the walrus's mouth. Well, what a squeaky clean group you are. Welcome, class of 2021. Welcome to Final School.

It announced happily. I couldn't tell for sure if the thing was a robot or a person in a suit. Today has been fun, but don't forget here at Final School. The fun can only last until the bell rings. And then it's time to learn, learn, learn. Are you for real? What is this? One man asked.

He abruptly jumped toward the stage, ready to attack the mascot. A moment later, two children pushed their way out from the curtain and stood in the way of his attack. It made the man pause and confusion, and that was all it took. One kid whipped out what looked like a cattle prod and struck the man straight in his chest with it.

He flew back hard to the tile floor, coughing and wheezing. Then a few other children appeared alongside the mascot. All of them wore generic uniforms. And all of them looked like they were emotionally disconnected to whatever the hell was going on. Remember to play nice, the walrus chuckled. Just as he finished talking, we heard a buzz, and the doors to the cafeteria unsealed themselves. Recess! The kids all squealed as they ran back behind the curtains out of sight.

All of us that had survived the initial insanity gave each other a long stare. Then we bolted for the doors. I could see sunlight. I was ready to taste fresh air. The moment we stepped out to the playground, I suddenly realized I wasn't looking at the sky at all. It was some strange reflective surface that covered the entire surrounding area.

It's like we are trapped in a giant fishbowl. One man realized. I got a good look at the playground. There was plenty of equipment, all of which seemed to be in good working order. There was also a long, tall fence with barbed wire that surrounded us on all sides. Just as the last survivor came out,

the cafeteria doors slammed shut. No entry until the bell rings, a sign set on the doors as we looked around and tried to get our bearings. This has got to be some kind of crazy dream. What is this? Lord of the Flies? Woman asked, as she approached a tall juniper tree that was growing near the center of the playground.

There were names carved on it. Hundreds of them. them and tally marks. Counting the day stuck in here, the names covered the entire base of the tree. Then we heard a strange whirring noise and we watched as some of the equipment seemed to move on its own, as if someone was using it. Something tells me this is going to be worse than before, the first man said as the ground below has started to shift from grass to sand. One man was standing there watching as it did and then realized he was sinking. I quickly climbed onto a jungle gym.

It's quicksand! I shouted to the others. Everyone frantically ran as the sand started to swallow them whole. Half of us mated onto different pieces of equipment, using them as lifelines until the strange sand disappeared. Then we heard a bell from the cafeteria ring and saw the children standing and beckoning us back inside. I cautiously touched the ground,

looking at all of the different areas that swallowed people alive. Something told me. There would not be a graduation ceremony anytime soon. The attractive nurse administered some kind of shot directly into my bloodstream without even bothering to tell me what it was for. As I watched the needle press into my body, I was sure that I was about to die. Instead of a quick death like the other adults here, it would be slow and torturous,

and this strange woman would revel in my suffering. Immediately, I started to sweat and feel faint. My lips were clammy as I begged her to stop. The entire room felt dizzy, and then at last, she tossed the needle aside into a container and commented. My, you certainly are a squealer, aren't you? I was panting, hardly able to see or speak coherently, but it didn't matter. She was going to make me listen to her strange ramblings. You have been brought here for a reason, student 6091, and that is to prove yourself worthy of readmission to society.

Given your skills so far in our school activities, you stand a high probability of being able to graduate from our program. She commented as she pulled a file from a nearby metallic cabinet. She read off my file as though I had died long ago. John Readers, age 32, a single father living in the suburbs of Chicago. You have two children, David and Susanna, ages eight and four respectively. You work as an auto mechanic and enjoy chess matches and hiking in your spare time. She commented as she slid the profile across to me. Does all of this sound accurate?

Despite how parched I was, I managed to give her a whispered reply. I have no idea what you want, but once I get out of these bonds, I swear I will kill you, bitch. She leaned over to me, smiling coyly, before a smile. backing me across the face with her gloved hand. You will learn that we do not tolerate insubordination in this facility of any kind. Do I need to remind you why you are here? She snapped. She turned the folder over to the next page,

which showed photographs of me having drinks with friends and spending long hours at work, not coming home to be with my family. Things I had felt guilty over for the past six months. Bad habits I was struggling to cope with. And here they were on display. as crimes, my sins that had landed me in this hell. You are fortunate that the charges aren't more severe, or we wouldn't even be having this conversation.

You have forsaken your family, Mr. Readers. You have fallen into a lifestyle of pleasure rather than responsibility. As a result, you squander what money you earn and your children starve. You are a poor excuse for a father, and therefore unfit to return to being a parent until you are taught a proper education. taught a proper education. I didn't fully comprehend what she was saying, but I gathered that this prison was a place for people like me to be rehabilitated under whatever strict guidelines they enforced, a second chance according to their standards to be a better person. And if we failed to be strong enough, then a deadly fate awaited us. I knew her logic about health and

recovery and being a good parent didn't line up with the atrocities that I had seen here so far, but I was too frightened to correct her. When is this graduation ceremony? he asked. Tonight after the final period, we will gather our students together in the band hall for a celebration and announce the graduates. But to make it there, I needed to make sure you are on equal footing with the others. Hence the need for your vaccination, she commented. I looked at the needle, wondering what exactly she had dosed me with. Suddenly a bell rang, and the nurse stood up, pleasantly smiling.

Enjoy the rest of your school day, Mr. Readers. I hope to see you again tonight. I think if you apply yourself to your education, you will go far, she said. Confused and disoriented, I was marched back down the hall by school children. We passed by what looked like class photographs of previous girls. As I paused to look at the numerous alumni, it occurred to me this secretive program had been running for quite some time undetected. Who could be handling all of the finances?

And how did they even find people to be candidates for their experimental prison? Another sobering fact was evident about the photographs. Less than half a dozen persons were in each picture. The rest of the seats were empty, meaning the chance of survival here was slim. perhaps even impossible. Still I had to think of my own two children and fight to survive as long as I could, even if it did mean against the others. I thought as I was escorted into an art studio.

There were perhaps only nine of us left, and as soon as I entered the classroom, each of them viewed me with a new suspicion. It was easy to guess why. I had been given special privileges to not go through with the remainder of the fitness test, And that must mean they think I'm involved in whatever is going on. I thought as the children ordered me to take a seat near one of the easels. Our teacher, the strange, emotionless, costumed walrus, immediately gave us instructions on the assignment.

Each of you is filled with inspiration, aspiring dreams that are waiting to burst forth. Here, we get the chance to express ourselves and show our achievements on the canvas. He explained as the children locked the doors. Whatever was about to happen, I knew good and well. It was not going to be as pleasant as he claimed. Under your desk, you will find the tools you need to create a masterpiece, something that truly speaks to us and helps us to see what type of artist and person you really are, the mascot said.

All of us reached down to take a small bag from the underside of the desk, unzipping it to reveal razor blades and other sharp objects that people would typically use for self-harm, and the costume mascot explained. You have 30 minutes to put your sweat, tears, and especially your blood into your work. Those that put in the most effort will get to move forward to the next class. So try your hardest and work for a better grade than your classmates. Immediately a timer started above his head. I looked at the objects in horror, realizing that he expected us to actually cut into our flesh

and let our own blood act as paint for the project. The others hesitated and started to use the razors on their skin, wincing and shrieking in pain as their blood dribbled onto the paper. One woman had a different type of masterpiece in mind, though, and immediately lashed out toward one of the other adults with the sharp weapons, stabbing them to the ground. Surprisingly, the costume mascot did nothing to stop it. After she killed her art partner, the woman announced, I found out that she'd been sleeping with my husband,

so this is my artist's depiction of what I want to do to him. She spit on the bleeding corpse, even as the mascot nodded and announced, You get a 90. Head for the music room and enjoy your extra recess. She dropped the weapon and stepped over the body, leaving the rest of us confused and befuddled, but also no less suspicious of each other. What about you, John? What did you do? The petite woman I had talked to earlier asked, as she held the blade safely in between her knuckles. I couldn't tell if she intended to harm me or the others as well.

None of us could be certain what each other was capable of. As I looked down at the bloody mess, though, I began to feel dizzy and stumbled across the room to vomit. It must be the side effects of whatever the nurse gave me, designed to make me incapable of completing this task, I realized. I vomited in the trash can several times and felt the room began to spin. One man tried to approach to help, but I pushed him away, uncertain if those in charge would view it as cheating. I needed to act fast,

and the only thing I could think of was to use the blade against myself and hurt myself. If this is really supposed to be about rehabilitation, then let the rest live. Let us get out of here, I demanded. The children actually seemed to show a motion for a split second as I held the knife against my wrist where I knew the most blood could be spilled. Nothing happened.

I knew they wouldn't let us leave if we didn't spill blood. I drove the blade into my wrist. Blood gushed out everywhere. A few of my fellow classmates did the same as me. After about a minute, my body was on the verge of passing out. That will be enough, the mascot bellowed, motioning for everyone in the class to stop. I immediately took my shirt off and made a makeshift tourniquet. The mascot went from desk to desk to look at the artwork,

supposedly grading each and every one of us as though it really mattered. It felt like our survival was going to be a toss of the dice. Myself, the petite woman, and two others were told we could head to the music hall. I knew that meant the others who didn't draw blood would be executed. As the knife was wrestled from my hand, I considered trying to stand up for them. I have to be able to make it back to my own family. I kept reminding myself, if I don't push forward, it will all be for nothing. Somehow I got the impression.

The others that were told to leave had the same guilty conscience, and we all reluctantly were led away. The art studio doors closed, and we heard the ones left behind beg for their lives. A roar of gunfire and paintballs filled the air, and we heard their screams grow higher, almost to a crescendo until at last. Everything became silent. Paint and blood mixed together, drained from under the door.

I had a sickening feeling in the bottom of my stomach, as I realized that the four of us were the only ones still standing for this final round. We were taken to a music hall, where the children took us to pick out an instrument. I found myself, hardly able to stand up from my blood loss, and the nausea caused by the vaccine. I finally reached the flute stand near the middle of the class, when I saw the playbook was open to a song that told me my suspicion was right. We were nearly at the end of this mad game. They were going to force us to play the ceremonial orchestra, followed by a funeral procession theme. This was going to be our bitter ending, and something told me.

Not all of us would get the chance to receive diplomas. Slow, soothing music began to play as all of us took our seats and watched the children line up against the wall. Despite the pretense that everything was fine, I knew good and well that only a few of us would survive this final test. I didn't know the people alongside me in this class, but I still couldn't believe. that all of them might be dead in a few minutes. As the music got a little faster, the children ordered us to start playing, and we all did our best to keep up.

I have never even had talent for music, but I tried my heart as to appease them, even as I felt the room beginning to move. Everything suddenly shifted around as we kept playing. The whole area rotated, and small holes were revealed behind the walls. Each hole had spikes, Each hole had spikes in them poking straight out.

I knew that if we stayed where we were sitting, we would be impaled in only a matter of seconds. I immediately tried to stand, only for something to shock me and caused me to collapse back in my seat. I was hit by a dart that made my legs immobile. The performance mustn't stop, a child said as the room kept rotating.

We all reluctantly played, and as we did, I noticed that the room began to move out of, the way of the spikes. Someone was actually getting the music right. Keep playing correctly! I shouted to the woman. She had a trombone, and I could tell that she was exhausted, but we couldn't afford any mistakes. One man tried to flee, only to get hit by a dart that sent him back in his seat. We kept playing to the end of the song. As the chorus came to an end, the room stopped moving, and the children cheered. Some even suggested an encore,

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the voice that we am. To my surprise, as we were moved from the band hall toward the mess hall, I saw the nurse that had tried to kill me. She was waiting for us with what looked like awards.

Since there were only three of us left, I was hoping this meant all of us would get the chance to make it out here. But I noticed that she only was carrying two awards. One of us would be put to the test a final time. I realized, as we were told to stand at the center of the stage, all of you have managed to come so far in this program, and we can't thank you enough. for all of your hard work to reach the top of your class.

The nurse announced. As she was talking, I saw that the auditorium was filling with children. I was surprised to see that there were so many of them. At first, it was just a dozen. Then I realized that there were hundreds of them. Did they all live here in this underground hell? How did they survive? Before we pass out the awards, I think it's time for a quick snack for all of you.

the nurse said. The doors at the back of the cafeteria opened, and I saw more adults rolling in carts. I held my nose as the stench of human meat overpowered me, and I saw that they were actually being fed the corpses of all the other adults that hadn't made it this far. The children didn't even wait for a serving bell. They growled and snapped at one another to grab a piece of the chopped up bodies, and they chewed it as fast as they could. I felt. like I was about to throw up again by watching the cannibalistic display. Now I knew what these children were being turned into. Monsters.

I didn't care to have any other questions answered, too sickened by the realization that if we had lost, we would be in that meal as well. To my surprise, the petite woman that had been here since the beginning reached for my hand. Her eyes filled with tears as we listened to the children eat the flesh of our competition. My name is Sam, by the way,

she whispered as her lips trembled and the children finished the last bits of meat. For but a moment, there was a connection between us, a mutual understanding that we didn't deserve this treatment despite whatever issues we had in our real life. Nothing could even come close to this level of hell. And then the nurse got out a raffle ball and started to spin it.

The numbers clattering around as the children waited to hear who would be crowned a champion. I didn't have to guess what would happen to the loser. Our graduate in this class is none other than John Readers. Step up here, John, she announced. Immediately the children moved towards Sam and to the others, ready to eat them alive. I tried my best to hold onto her for as long as I could.

She was screaming and kicking the entire time. You will forget about this place soon enough, John. I knew you would make it. Come, as we get you ready to leave, there is one final thing I need to show you. The nurse ordered. I try to keep from looking as the children trampled and attacked my friends.

I was so traumatized by the event, I found myself shaking as I moved toward the back hallway. I'm sure by now you recognize that this entire process was orchestrated to make you a better person. But we couldn't have done this without people that were in particular. predicaments just like yours, down on their luck, angry with loved ones, scorned.

We want to offer you the chance to be able to recommend a future student to us, she said, passing me a small pamphlet. You mean someone to send here to die, I realized. If they can survive our tests, they will be fine, she commented softly. She soon led me to what looked like an old elevator that had a key code to provide prevent anyone from entering, and as she got me ready to leave, she added, Just think over all that you have learned here, and I'm sure you will see the benefits to our program. Then she injected me with a strong sedative this time, and pushed me into the elevator.

I couldn't even open my mouth to scream, as the door slammed shut, and I found myself getting dizzy. The last thing I remember was the elevator rising toward the surface. When I did wake up, I was in the middle of a heavily wooded area. It felt surreal to imagine that everything I experienced was real. The pamphlet the nurse had given me was more than enough proof. In addition, the wound on my wrist was all stitched up. I walked for about a mile to the road, and from there, I hitchhiked. Where to?

A passing motorist asked. They actually looked a bit nervous to help me, And it was then I realized I still had the clothes from the prison underground. I probably looked like an escaped convict. I told them to take me to the nearest police station. I told them my story from start to finish. I showed them the wound on my wrist. I also insisted that they could check my clothes for fingerprints and gave them my pamphlet.

There was nothing that matched any known criminals in their database. It suddenly occurred to me. This was likely why they had trained the children to be their foot soldiers. None of them would be traced. And likely, all of them had been kidnapped at infancy. I thanked the officers for their time and managed to get a ride home from one of them. I was desperate to see my children again. Once I got home, I made a promise to them that I would be a better father.

I can only hope that time will erase some of my awful memories of school.