Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - My Dad mysteriously went missing and I finally found out why...

Episode Date: May 21, 2021

This story was written by user u/throwaway121639 on Reddit.   🎉 Unlock my exclusive bonus episodes HERE: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🔔 Dr. NoSleep YouTube channel: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep 🎽 Dr. NoSleep Merchandise: teespring.com/stores/dr-nosleep-merch DISCLAIMER: This story is R rated for adults 18 years or older. NOT for children. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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description, and now, time for the story. I've always known there was something off about my mother. My whole life, she has never once taken an interest in me. Call it a conceded thing to notice or whatever. But I think most would agree that mothers typically have some sort of role in their son's life, especially if they're an only child. My mom never has. For as long as I can remember, she's been indifferent to me, and her only focus has been my father. She rarely lets him

leave the house without her, and when she does, it's never for longer than 20 minutes, and she usually calls him once or twice while he's gone. As I got older, I found this extremely strange, but never in a years what I have guessed what I think is going on now. Basically, I think 17 years ago, my mom kidnapped him and I am the product of a victim and his captor. I swear I'm not crazy. I'll explain everything as best I can. We live in this big house in the middle of nowhere, Oregon. And last night, my mom told me to clean out this storage room in the basement so she can put a piano in it for my father's birthday. Okay, fair enough. I know better than to argue with her. It was taking a lot longer than expected.

The room was no bigger than a medium-sized bathroom, really. But it had been packed wall-to-wall with stuff, and before I knew it, it was 11 p.m., and I was barely halfway down. She hadn't told me what to do with everything, just that she wanted it gone. As I was attempting to move an antique-looking coat rack that was missing two prongs up top, I noticed one of the legs had snagged on what was once a white trash bag in the far corner of the room. The thing had musty gray streaks from the dust, and was torn in some places.

So to avoid all its contents spilling out, I reached down and carefully attempted to move it out of the way. However, there was a rip in the back that was out of my line of sight, and the jostling movement knocked something out of the hole and onto the floor. It sounded like when I dropped my student ID, like laminated plastic hitting linoleum flooring. Great, the thought. I pulled the bag out off the coat rack and tossed it behind me into the bigger part of the basement,

no longer caring, and quite pissed at my mom for giving me such a tedious, and nitpicky task. I felt around the floor for the thing that had fallen, and finally my hand closed around a long string of nylon fabric. A lanyard, duh. I picked it up and headed out of the room, assuming it was one of my parents' high school IDs before I glanced down and did a double take. It was a picture of my dad. He looked much younger, but definitely not high school young. I tore my eyes away and forced them to look under the photo where it read, Federal Bureau of investigation. My jaw dropped. My dad is not an FBI agent. He's never even had a job as far as I know. He's a stay-at-home dad. My mom is the one who works. I noticed the name on the badge was wrong, too.

Neither the first nor surname were accurate, not even initials. I must have stared at it for a good five minutes while attempting to rationalize. Maybe it was from a costume? No, they both hate holidays, especially Halloween, and it was far too elaborate to be a prop. When I finally managed to tear my eyes away, I instantly dropped to my knees and ripped open the rest of the tattered trash bag. A slew of strange items poured from its remains, but the first thing that caught my eye was a piece of folded leather in the shape of a book. I flipped it open. Federal Bureau of Investigation, same name, same picture, same signature, passport, driver's license, checkbook, all things that could be used to identify someone had this same

goddamn name on it. I don't even remember what was going through my head, if anything even was going through my head. There were an assortment of other strange items to go through, a wedding band, not the one I knew my dad had on his finger at that very moment, a revolver not loaded, a broken watch, a partially smashed flip phone. I remember being confused, like nothing was clicking. Was my dad leading some sort of James Bond double life? No, he barely left the house. So what then? About 20 of my questions were answered when I found the newspaper. It was an article belonging to what I assume is some local paper in Washington, D.C. The same picture from the badge was on the front page, and the headline read as follows. Renowned FBI agent, kidnapped. Wife makes distressed appeal.

I won't rewrite the entire article here, but this is a general summary. The missing FBI agent, my dad, has allegedly disappeared into thin air. Clues to his captor's identity have yet to be release to the public, but inside sources are claiming it's a woman who's been causing the Bureau trouble for years, motives unknown. The victim's wife made a heartbreaking public appeal for her husband's safe return on local news early this morning. The paper was dated October 16, 2003, exactly one year before I was born. I must have re-read the article 10 times, and not once did the gravity of the situation truly weigh on me. Things like this only happen in movies, not to me or my family. And then I found the folder. It was a file folder. Printed on the front was Federal

Bureau of Investigation, with classified stamped below it. There was a picture of my mom inside. It was a mugshot. I wasn't in the least bit surprised when I saw that her name on the file didn't match the one I'd been calling her my whole life. She was a serial killer, black widow as they referred to her. My fingers traced over the black print numbly. Her estimated body count, whereabouts, her guest, next moves, The final paragraph was about her connection to my dad, or rather her obsession with my dad, the FBI agent. Whatever I should call him. According to the file, she'd been stalking him for years.

Ever since he'd found her and locked her away, she'd escaped prison and they'd assume she would be coming after his wife. Clearly they were wrong. Then came the letters. I noticed all the crumpled up pieces of notebook paper scattered on the floor. There must have been 15 of them. I opened each and every one, and they were all the same thing, the same thing. letter, same message, just worded slightly differently. Some were shorter than others. It was clear the

writer had been struggling with what they wanted to say, but this was the final product. I thought you would have known better than to let that bitch go on TV. I specifically told you no media coverage. This was meant to be kept under wraps. If you care at all for the well-being of your co-worker, you will get rid of it, or I swear to God you'll never see him again. I'll make sure his death is more painful than even you could imagine. Feel free to look for us as much as you want, but I promise you, if you don't follow my rules, you won't be finding him alive. This is your last cuts off there. I read that more times than I could count.

And when I eventually put it down, I sat on the basement floor for about 30 minutes, just staring at the pile in front of me. Then I walked upstairs, got a new trash bag from the cabinet, and moved all the items in there. The light of my parents' room was dark. Like a zombie, I went into my bedroom, stashed the bag in my closet, and laid on my bed staring at the ceiling. I was numb. Five hours went by, and I didn't move once.

My mind was going a million miles a minute, and yet, not once did I form a coherent thought. It wasn't until four in the morning that I came to some sort of sense. I shot up out of bed, yanked open my closet door, and tore through the garbage bag once again. What the fuck, what the fuck? What the fuck? I'd been suspicious of my mom's behavior for years, especially after I took my school psychology elective

and learned just how abnormal her behavior was. I'd assumed she was your classic narcissist or something, with manipulative tendencies. I'd even gone as far as to ask my dad about it. He'd always defended her weakly. I know you're probably wanting to scream at me. Why didn't I do something? Well, what was I to do?

Go to the police and tell them my mom's an asshole? She never physically abused him, or at least, I never saw her. And like I said, my dad defended her. No one would have believed me, but this, Never in a million years would I have expected anything like it. My mom kidnapped him.

She's a serial killer, and she kidnapped him, stole him away from his wife, career, family, just because she could? Did she love him in some fucked up way? Still so many unanswered questions. I combed the internet for traces of my father's article, but none were found. Same for his wife's appeal.

I guess my mom got what she wanted. I wondered about the trash bag as well. If my mom really was such a skilled criminal like her file said, Why had she left behind so much evidence? My best guess is she'd meant to burn it or get rid of it some other way, but she'd either forgotten or something got in the way of her plans. I'm assuming the latter. So now, here I am, writing this on my closet floor.

I've been sitting here for about an hour now, staring at the wall and trying to decide what to do. My parents will be waking up soon. They like to go on early morning walks together. What do I do? What can I do? My entire life has been a lie. I don't know how my dad can even look at me. He's always cared for me, made up for the lack of attention I get from my mother. I owe it to him to get him out of this.

If you have any advice at all, please let me know. I'll take anything you've got. I already know so little about my mom, so God only knows what kind of thing she's done to keep my dad in her cage for so long. There's a pretty good chance she'll find this post. Please help before she does. Thanks for listening. If you're tuning in on Apple Podcast, please take a minute to leave a review.

Your review directly helps the podcast grow and allows me to continue coming out with the best horror stories on the internet. Thank you so much.