Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - My Grandfather Was A Mafia Enforcer. His Deathbed Secret Destroyed My Life.

Episode Date: January 6, 2023

🎧 Check out The SCP Experience podcast here: https://spoti.fi/3juM1og 🎉 Ad-free episodes + bonus episodes: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🎥 YouTube: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep �� Send all advertising inquiries to: [e-mail] Author: John Beardify Check out more of his work Here: https://www.reddit.com/user/beardify/ New Book Release Here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09QJXLHF4 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

Fan of soccer, you could assist at a moment historic. You could get any of the final of the Cup of the World of the FIFA 2006 with Visa. It's just to have a card of credit visa BMO for participate. Inscribe you at BMO.com bar-oblique concourse. The reglements of the concourse is applicable. Beanie byraitherto, Enbarque and Profite. Embarque and celebrate. Rigolet.

Publied. Savouring. Ammire. And profite. Vi-a-Rai, the voice that we love. Talk to nicely. The last day I saw Grandpa's Sylvia alive. The weather was cold, gloomy, and matched my mood.

As much as I'd idolized the old man when I was a kid, I hadn't visited him in years. The mandatory counseling sessions I'd undergone in prison made me question a lot of what my grandfather had done for me back then. Or all those expensive gifts open-hand to generosity? or enticement. Had Grandpa Sylvia trusted me with secrets or used them to manipulate me? Maybe that was why I'd avoided my grandfather for so long. Maybe I was afraid to learn the truth. As it turned out, on that dreary winter evening, I learned a truth that I won't share until I'm on

my own deathbed, if I make it that far. A truth, I wish I could forget. Like most kids, I took people at face value. I didn't look for the shadow behind. But also like most kids, I had a better and faster understanding of power relationships than the average adult. And when Grandpa's Sylvia walked into a room, it was obvious who had the power. The adults who I considered mean or unfair because they scolded and corrected me kept their traps shut if Grandpa Sylvia was around. all their confidence and righteous anger about the windows I'd broken, or the schoolwork I'd cheated on just shriveled up and blew away when my grandfather stood beside me.

The fear in their eyes was sweeter than stolen candy. I didn't ask how my grandfather somehow always got me out of trouble, or how he paid for all those expensive gifts. I only cared about what I had in front of me, and those facts were clear. Grandpa Sylvia was stylish, rich, and on my side. It was those other adults, with their boring chores, annoying rules, and drab way of living, who were the bad guys.

My parents wore supermarket khakis, were too broke for restaurants, and made me go to bed at 9 p.m. sharp. My grandfather, on the other hand, showed me pictures of the town in Sicily where his suits were made. He gave $100 tips to the Italian restaurant's delivery boy and let me stay up late to watch ultra-violent movies with him. He even gave me a sip of his whiskey and laughed when I pretended to like it. Grandpa Sylvia always reminded me that our fun could only go on as long as I kept his secrets. And for a middle-aged guy with a fancy car and a nice smile,

Grandpa Sylvia sure had a lot of secrets. It was hard to forget those sleek black cars. the tough faces and tougher conversations of my grandfather's friends, Tommy Monk Espero, Anthony Shades Marino, and Ray Tooth's Papolado. On the nights after I came home from spending the weekend of my grandfathers, I mentally rehearsed the things I hadn't seen and heard. I never saw Mr. Tooths smash that man's head through a jewelry case.

I never saw Mr. Shades take that envelope from the man in the purple car. What gunshots? I never heard any gunshots. As I grew up, I began to think, or maybe hope, that Grandpa Sylvia was exposing me to the gritty source of his income on purpose, training me to take over someday. God knows that my father wasn't up to the task. He'd chosen a boring, broke, square life,

even though he'd had the whole world right at his fingertips, just waiting for him to reach out and take it. I'd lay awake watching the streetlight shadows, telling myself I wouldn't be like him. I would be strong. On my drive to the hospice facility, after receiving the call from Grandpa Sylvia's nurse, I thought about that promise and how it had all gone wrong. Had my jailhouse psychologist been right, was it possible that things hadn't been quite how I remembered? Maybe it was just the nasty weather.

But the medical building felt empty, apart from me, a coffee-fueled nurse, the beeps of machines and the ragged breaths of the dying. The man who shared my grandfather's room had died less than an hour before, leaving him by himself in a dark corner at the end of an antiseptically clean green hallway. The darkness was at Grandpa Sylvia's request. It wasn't that he didn't like the light, the nurse informed me. It was that he didn't like the shadows. Good.

My grandfather wheezed when I walked into the room. You beat them here. We haven't got much time. He coughed and spat into a handkerchief. They are coming? I winced and put the flowers I'd brought on the plastic food tray. The old gangster looked like a withered wax candle, yellowed, melted down, and thin.

I regretted visiting. I didn't want to remember him like this, raving like a lunatic in a dark little room that smelled like, like a bedpan. Grandpa Sylvia's skeletal hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. His dark eyes searched mine. And I knew that look. He was trying to figure out what I knew. They are coming? Grandpa Sylvia repeated. There's not much time. Who are they, Grandpa? I indulged him. I wasn't at the hospital the night you were born, boy. Want to know where I was? Grandpa Sylvia didn't wait for an answer.

Monk, shades, tooths, and I were walking up this professor's driveway, ready to blow his little world apart. See, his wife had tried to start a little bakery. It flopped. She owed us money and wouldn't pay. Thought the police would protect her. Grandpa Sylvia snorted. It was a cute house, a tutor with a rose garden,

and an antique door. I almost felt bad when toothed kicked it in. I stuck my head into the hallway to check for eavesdroppers. The nurse, half a ward away, continued to sip her bottomless cup of coffee. I quietly closed the door. Shades tried the lights. No dice. The power was out.

There was this smell, like a nasty, rotten, burnt smell. I figured they'd skipped it down till I saw the candlelight beneath the library door I just started walking toward it when monks screamed Someone's here, someone's here He wasn't kidding either Something had just run crazy fast Through the professor's living room

Shades tried to chase it But he tripped on some antique furniture and busted his ass Grandpa's once hearty laugh was a dry cat We had our guns ready by then. Tooth went from room to room, smashing stuff with the butt of his shotgun and singing, Come out, come out wherever you are. His usual strategy for scaring somebody out of hiding.

This time, though, he was the scared one. I could hear it in his voice. Hell, I was scared too. Everything about that night was wrong. The big old house on a quiet forest lane, the dark rooms, the candlelight in that awful burning reek, and them. My grandfather took a deep, shuddering breath. You know how sometimes you're sure that you saw something out of the corner of your eye,

but when you turn, it's gone. That's what they were like. They skittered under chairs, over the professor's wood-carved dining-room table, across the fucking ceiling. Shades couldn't take it. He started shooting at shadows, screaming about how we were surrounded.

No good. They were too fast, until one of them stopped right in front of Shades. It pulled the barrel of his forehead. into its chest and let him fire until the magazine was empty. I could hear the empty clicks. Then it pressed its thumbs into Shade's eyes, and he fell on the floor, screaming and foaming at the mouth.

That's how Shades got his nickname, see? You know those sunglasses he always wears? The glass is custom made with silver, because without him, he sees things. Awful things. Things that ain't there. Or hell. Maybe they are. And we just don't know about it. What about monks and tooths? While Shades was having his little seizure on the hardwood, Tooths came running down the hallway, blasting behind him with his shotgun. One of them came out of nowhere and tripped him.

When he hit the ground, it climbed on top of his chest, pinched his nose shut. and started pulling his teeth out of his mouth one by one. Monk and I crashed into the library and... My grandfather's door flew open. I jumped, my hand fumbling for a gun that I no longer carried. Not that I thought it would do much good. Grandpa Sylvia's nurse had arrived with his medicine. He put on a brave face as she took some measurements.

How am I? Still dying? Grandpa Sylvia sneered. The nurse gave him a sad little smile. not noticing how he hid the pills under his tongue and spat them out after she left. He nodded to me to check the corridor after she left. We were alone again. You ever wonder why monk doesn't talk?

Grandpa Sylvia said suddenly. It's just his thing, right? I replied. Shades has the sunglasses, tooths has the flashy golden grill. Monk doesn't talk. Monk doesn't talk. Because there's only one line he can say. Doctors have looked at him, speech therapists. But ever since that night, the man's lips can only form one phrase.

Read the books, read the curtains, read her bleeding heart. Just that one line over and over. Because that's pretty much what he saw that night in the professor's library. It would have been beautiful. sealing high antique bookcases, Turkish carpets, even a goddamn chandelier. Problem was, it was all covered with blood, absolutely soaked with it, like a human bomb had gone off, and the stench was unbearable. In the middle of it all stood the professor. His wife, or what was left of her, lay in front of him, wrapped in curtains.

There were these weird symbols carved into the floor, and those tall black candles that flickered. Monk pointed his 38 at the professor and felt it ripped right out of his hand. They had finished with shades and tooths. They were behind us now. We were trapped. So what happened? My boys were bleeding, unconscious or insane, and they were closing in. Hungry.

What can I say? I made a deal. A cut of my profits in exchange for my life. Kind of funny in a way. I went to that damned house to shake down the professor's wife. But he'd killed her first and in exchange found a way to strong arm me instead. Ever since then, I kicked back a percentage of our business to the professor. In exchange, I don't ever got to go back to the quiet house at the end of the wooded lane. I don't ever got to see whatever horrors are going on inside. For as long as I live and our family kicks back on time, I don't have to look over my shoulder for them. You keep saying them, them, grandpa. What are they exactly? Why don't you ask him yourself, they are going to be here any second? The hospice room door creaked open, and I found myself face to face.

with the professor. He was about what I'd expected, a pudgy-balled white guy in a rumpled sweater vest and pants, too long for his legs, fiddling with his umbrella. I wouldn't even have to hit very hard to break his jaw, but they were standing right behind him. Tall bodyguards in trench coats and old-fashioned hats, backlit by the fluorescent hallway lights. That's what they looked like at first. But when the door closed, the room filled with the the reek of sulfur and scorched flesh. What it looked like high-shouldered, ankle-length coats, now appeared more like featherless wings.

What had looked like hats now seemed more like twisted horns and mangy, singed black hair. Were their faces hidden in shadow, or just burnt off? They moved too fast to see. Suddenly, there was one on either side of me, pressing me down into the hospital chair. I tried not to look at their hands, which were so long that they reached from my shoulders to my stomach.

Up close, I would have sworn I could hear the rustling of their leathery wings. Antonio Sylvia. The professor leaned on his umbrella and smiled at my grandfather, who was empty, sallow, and hooked to beeping machines. You don't quite look like the man who destroyed my wife's business, ruined my family, and tried your best to kill me all those years ago. You look about the same, my grandfather spat. My research has yielded some wonderful results,

the professor admitted, taking a seat across from me. Based on my grandfather's tail, the ordinary bald man in front of me should have been almost 90, but he didn't look at day over 60. Unnatural results, you mean? Come now, Antonio, let's not fight in front of the boy, your protege. That's why you called him here, isn't it?

To take over your debt. My research, unfortunately, is incredibly expensive. The professor was addressing me now. It took all of your grandfather's rackets working overtime to finance my needs. I do hope that you are up to the challenge. He handed me a paper with an impossible figure. We really did make that kind of money.

Once. My grandfather gave me a hard look. But times have changed. Monk, shades, and tooths are all gone. And the chumps I got working for me now don't have a tenth of their heart. You'll have your work cut out for you. But this is what I raised you for. You're the son I should have had.

You'll find a way. I don't. I can't. I rambled. I just got out of prison. What if I don't want to do this? What if I can't make it work? The twelve fingers criss-crossing my chest squeezed horribly,

and the tall figures on either side of me let out an awful, angry hiss. The professor looked almost heartbroken. Oh, let's avoid hypotheticals, shall we? Let's just assume you'll make your quote on time each month, every month. I sincerely hope you can. Because if not, not even in death can you. escape us as your dear grandfather is about to find out. I'd been so terrified by the future that awaited me that I hadn't noticed the way my grandfather's machines had begun to sound alarms.

The sudden appearance of the professor had been too much for him. I could hear the fear in Grandpa Sylvia's erratic breathing as he fought desperately to stay alive. No, he rasped. We had a deal. My grandfather's bony hands clawed. lot in empty air. Our deal, if you recall, was that we would never harm you for as long as you lived, the professor corrected him. There was no clause about what happens after death. I squirmed helplessly in my chair as my grandfather flatlined. They hissed with glee. For a brief moment, something silvery and spectral that almost looked like Grandpa's Sylvia floated above the deathbed beside me. Then came the rush of black wings as one of them flew at it, dragging what was

left of my grandfather into a burning, stinking, screaming eternity of darkness. I watched one of them fly through a wall, and Grandpa Sylvia was dead. The professor had watched him go with a thin smile, the smile of a man getting revenge for a small offense that had long since lost its importance. He stood, tapped his umbrella, clapped his hands together, and turned to go. As they held open the door for him, he turned back to me. You know, my wife thought that I was insane for thinking I could find a solution to Antonio Silvia's threats in ancient books and forgotten rituals. For her, suicide was the only way out. Fortunately, I found her before the pills took full effect.

The ritual requires a living sacrifice, you see, and she didn't have much time. If it wasn't for that, I don't think I would have had the guts to do it. I suppose I should be thanking your grandfather, but you have no idea how much I'll enjoy listening to his screams forever. It was too much. With an angry grunt, I sprung to my feet, rushing them with a fist pulled back. Then one of them shoved its face directly toward mine. The shadowy illusion that made them look at least somewhat human fell away completely. I screamed and screamed and screamed. That was how the nurse found me.

In the chair beside my grandfather's corpse, staring at the scrap of paper in my shuddering hands. The contract that forever bound my family to the professor and to them. A reminder that my grandfather's deal was eternal. Lazzang sur-joled, puissance-moleaned for 15 minutes. You'd say that's their dojo.

Prere to play. Vive the pleasure with Leo Jo. The casino in line that proposes the most recent machine to money to and the game of casino in direct.

Profite of 50 tours gratuys on Big Bas Bonanza. Without exigance of mis, and with the payment instantane. Hey, I've gained.

Woo-hoo! Scenture the pleasure. Play-O-Joe. 18-year-depos only, Excluent in Ontario. 50 tours gratuys on the machine-assoubeckbas Bonanza. Depos minimum of $10.

Veilipo to pay for a fashion responsible. The conditions apply.