Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Never buy a stuffed animal off the dark web...

Episode Date: December 6, 2021

🎧 Check out my new True Crime podcast here called Crimehub: https://spoti.fi/3nIcpKY 🎉 Ad-free episodes + bonus episodes: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🎥 YouTube: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep ✅ Send all advertising inquiries to: [e-mail] 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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If you'd like to support the podcast, head over to my Patreon page, where you will receive ad-free episodes and new exclusive scary stories every week for just $5 a month. The link is in the description below, and now time for the story. December 14th. I fucking hate Binzo Bezoui. The little bastard popped up on network television less than two months ago and took the world by storm. I don't see the appeal. He's just some purple thing with purple fur, googly eyes, and a goofy smile. Despite its unoriginality, Binzo Bezoui has become the hot ticket item for this Christmas.

Nothing else is capturing kids' attention like Binzo Bezoui. And sadly, my son Billy is no exception. Nothing will do as a substitute. Any suggestions with alternatives have always ended with tears and tantrums. I thought maybe this would be a teachable moment, an opportunity for him to learn you can't always get what you want. My wife had only scowled and reminded me that he's only two years old. Guess it's going to be a benzobazooy Christmas.

December 15th. I sit at my computer sweating as the price continues to climb. on eBay. My bid is at $700, and I'm already $300 over the limit I had set for myself. The price is holding firm for the first time all day. My office desk sits under a massive pile of paperwork, neglected because of the purple nightmare that has taken up my life. Hey, Dave. Shane, the new intern, slides into my cubicle. I got a question about, say, what you got there? It's nothing. I try to close the browser, but he slides up closer. Binzo bazooie? That thing really has no age limit, huh? It's for my son. I gasp as the price suddenly doubles. What? How is this

stupid thing worth more than a PS5? Yeah, Shane sits on the corner of my desk. My niece and nephew are Gaga for him too. Glad I was able to nab one for each of them. Two? I bolt up from my chair. I can't even find one. How did you manage two? Shane hesitates and rubs a hand along the back of his neck. You ever hear of the dark web? Isn't that illegal? It's sort of a gray area,

but you can find anything there, a lot cheaper too. The thought of not spending a whole month's salary silences any moral scruples I might have. The next several minutes pass as Shane talks me through the basics of what I need to do. The door browser, Alpha Bay, and the seller, Mr. Claus, and how to convert my money to Bitcoin. Bit of advice, Dave, he tells me as I close out my browser. Best not to do this on your work computer.

December 16th. I toss and turn on the couch and look at the clock. It's 2 a.m. I'm here, courtesy of Binzo Bazooie. Who else? Carol and I have been fighting for weeks now. ever since we got Billy's Christmas list with the sole item. Dinner had been tense, with her asking if I made any progress.

I did my best to explain the price gouging on eBay. Apparently, I'm putting a price tag on my family's happiness. Unable to sleep, I finally pull out my laptop and remember Shane's advice from earlier. A nervous shrill goes through my body as I set up the Tor browser and download a VPN, just to be safe. My fingers tremble as I type in the complicated link to Alfa Bay. My eyes widen as I scroll through the first page. Drugs, porn, murder for hire. Just what the hell am I thinking going on a site like this for a Christmas present?

I type in Mr. Claus's name. The rows and rows of toys and games that fill my screen give me a bit of comfort. Sure, you can use the dark web for all sorts of nasty things, but it's how you use it that's important, right? It doesn't take me long to find Binzo Bezoui on his list, and I click on it. Whoa, he's got hundreds in stock, and the condition is listed as new with the box, and the price is cheaper than regular retail. My father was a salesman, and I remember the advice he gave me.

No one sells something for less than a profit, so if it sounds too good to be true, it is. Still, I'm desperate, so I add one to my box and click the same-day shipping option. Too good to be true, but maybe the effort will be enough to get Carol off my back or, at the very least, get me back into the bedroom. December 17th, I'm exhausted by the end of the day. Only a couple of hours of sleep on our crappy sofa and all the work I've neglected before the holiday break has warned me to the bone. I stepped through the door to our living room, and Billy nearly knocks me over as he charges and wraps his chubby arms around my legs. Thank you, Daddy, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

I love it. I notice he doesn't say he loves me, but before I can say anything, he's running back into the living room. Billy sits down in front of the tree and squeezes the purple ball of fur tight to his chest. Carol comes in beaming, and I frown. I thought we were waiting until Christmas? That was the plan, but well, it was hard to hide it from him, given the condition of the box. She takes me into the kitchen and shows me what she means.

Binzo Bazooie had been new and in the box has advertised, but the box is shredded, like something with a pair of claws was desperate to get inside it. I thought maybe it was Saul, but he's hiding under the kitchen table, shaking and whimpering. It's out of character for him, but I'm too relieved and exhausted to ask. ask questions. I go to bed and don't think anything of it. December 18th. Last night wasn't much better than the previous one. I was trying to get some sleep when I kept hearing random scratching throughout the house. Carol slept through it, and I couldn't find a source for the noise everywhere I looked. I stopped in Billy's room several times, but he remained sound asleep.

His face buried in his new Binzo Bazooie. Saul spent the night in our bed. His behavior is worse than before, shivering and whimpering even harder. Some guard dog. At breakfast, I asked Carol to take him to the vet. I wolf down some eggs and toast and swallow some coffee. I'm out the door, and Harry, one of my neighbors, is waiting at my car. Dave! His voice is full of desperation.

You got to tell us how you got a binzobizui. Us? News spreads faster in our suburbs than the flu. Everyone's been struggling to find Binzo Bezoui, and the package that arrived on my door yesterday is the biggest news on the block since the Carmichael divorce. Since it's the holidays, I share with Harry what I know before I head off to work. Shane hasn't shown up to work since I last spoke with him, and now I'm stuck doing the work for two. December 19th. It nearly killed me getting all the work done. I was at the office until midnight, but I'm off until after Christmas.

so it was worth it. I asked what happened to Shane, but my boss said that he just stopped showing up. It's not too surprising. We have lots of college kids that disappear the closer he gets to Christmas. Eggnog is just too tempting for college credit, I guess. I spend the day relaxing on the porch with a cup of coffee,

smiling as the delivery trucks make their way down our block. Each one drops off a familiar package, and the neighbors smile and nod at me. Even the Mitchells get a delivery. It makes me laugh. The Mitchells, with their huge nativity scene on the front yard broadcasting their faith, ventured onto the dark web for Binzo Bezoui. There's a foul smell rising from under our porch.

I've put it off for as long as I can, hoping that it would pass, but it's only gotten stronger. Saul's probably found another unfortunate rabbit or squirrel. I climbed down off our porch, peer under it, and gasp. It's Saul. His tongue lies lifeless and limp outside of his mouth, and his eyes are empty and vacant. Flies swarm all over his dripping red body. Some animal had gotten a hold of him. Deep claw marks cut his body to ribbons. December 20th, I buried Saul in our backyard. I'm not religious, but still, I say a few words. I was worried about how Billy would take it. We've had Saul since before he was born.

He knew the dog his whole life. But he just smiles and laughs, consumed in conversation with a silent Binzo-Bizooie. The day passes in a whirl. My concerns about Saul's death, ruining Christmas, prove unfounded. Billy is too enraptured with Binzobizui. Carol walks about in stunned silence,

but the kitchen is filled with the smell of her baking. She didn't seem upset by Saul's death, so maybe the baking is a way of distracting herself. We all grieve in different ways. I'm walking back from the bathroom when I noticed Billy's room ajar. I push it open and my mouth drops. It's more than the typical disaster area

you would expect for most three-year-olds. The teddy bear he's had since he was born has its head ripped off. Plastic action figures have had their limbs twisted off. Even the poster of his favorite cartoon character has been shredded. All of his toys have been, utterly destroyed. I turn around and find Billy, smiling, with Benzo Bezoui in his arms.

Son, did you do this? He smiles and nods proudly. Why? His smile grows. No false idols. December 21st, Billy's words still shake me. No false idols. Where did a kid learn a phrase like that? For punishment, I tried to take away Binzo Bezoui, but he had kicked and screamed. Things only got worse after Carol joined in and took his side. I sit at the kitchen table and frown at the bowl of porridge. Carol always makes quick breakfasts when I'm working, but during the holidays, she's always been one to spoil us with mounds of bacon and biscuits. Her bland meal is uncharacteristic this time of year.

Billy sits at the table, laughing and chatting away with her. with Binozooie in the chair next to him. I look at Carol questioningly. Binzo likes oatmeal, she says in a monotone voice. December 22. The neighborhood is quiet. Every year there has always been a whirlwind of activity at Christmas time.

People coming and going, neighbors caroling on the sidewalks, kids running wild with no school with the glee of Christmas quickly approaching. Now I don't see anyone from my porch. No one's even put on their Christmas lights in days. Not every Christmas can be a winner, I think to myself as I raise a cigarette to my lips. It's the first one I've had in years, and my hands tremble as I light it. The events from the last few days have gotten to me.

Last night, I saw claw marks on Carol's legs. She quickly bandaged them up and said it was just a scratch. I look across the street towards the Mitchell House. The baby Jesus that's in their yard every year is missing. In its place is a binzo bazooie. There's something else here now. Something new. From, exclusively on Paramount Plus,

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Every day this year, we deliver cookies to the neighbors. Carol always makes enough to feed an army. This year, though, Carol only made a dozen cookies. And when I frown at her, she gives me a chilling answer. BINZO doesn't like cookies. I realize I'm delivering the meek supply of cookies just to get out of the house. The bizarre behavior of my family is getting. to me, and I need to see something, something normal. Since we're the closest to Harry and his family,

I decide he'll be the only one getting cookies this year. The neighborhood is still quiet as I make my way up Harry's steps. His door is open a crack. I push it all the way open, and the scent of blood overwhelms me. The walls are covered in red. Harry and his wife sit on the sofa. Their mouths open in horror. Jagged claws have ripped their throats out and torn their stomachs out. Their entrails have been wrapped around the tree like some twisted decoration. Giggling brings my attention below the tree. Harry's twins, Timmy and Tammy sit in front of a pile of opened presents. Each of them holds a binzo bassooky in their laps, and they smile and cackle hysterically. Their pajamas are caked in dried blood. And although it's impossible, one of the Benzo Bazooie's turns and looks at me.

I run back to my house, slam the door, and lock it. I stumble through the kitchen, find Carol and Billy sitting beneath the tree. They look up at me, and I babble out what happened. Billy laughs in a manic pitch that closely resemble Timmy and Tammy's laugh. They tried to take Benzo away, he says with a smile. December 24th. I spent the rest of yesterday, trying to call the police, but my phone wouldn't work. No matter what I did, I couldn't get a signal. Even when I tried to send an email, I couldn't get any Wi-Fi, and I'm too scared to leave my family alone. I spent the day sitting around, doing nothing in helpless horror. I lie awake in my bed. It's late in the night. Thinking I'm foolish for what I'm about to do, I get up and creep into

Billy's room. I keep expecting his eyes to bolt open with every step closer, but the They never do. Quickly, I snatch Binzo Bazooie away from him. I wait, but nothing happens. I walk down the stairs as quietly as I can with the damned toy in one hand. We had never used the fireplace before. Since the house is heated by electricity, it's always just been a nice bit of ornamentation for the holiday.

A fully functional ornament, though, after putting Binzo on the couch, I pile in the unused firewood, douse them with lighter fluid, and strike a match. The flames erupt instantly. I let out a breath and soak in the warmth of the fire for a moment before turning back to Binzo. He's gone. Something cuts across my leg and I fall to the ground. My head bounces off the carpet. A purple haze fills my blurred vision. As my eyes clear, Binzo stands before me. A set of razor-sharp claws have extended from each hand. One set dripping with my blood. It takes a step toward me. The goofy smile and googly eyes on its face remain unchanged.

No false idols. A deep voice bellows from within the toy before it steps forward and rakes its claws across my face. I scream and shove my hand at the toy, only to come away with more blood and missing fingers. I stumbled toward the door and bump into Carol. She swings a butcher knife and fresh pain cuts across my shoulder. I limp away and into the hallway. and into the hallway. Billy is sitting at the bottom of the stairs, laughing his head off as he points at me. The sound of tiny feet scrambles after me as I just make it to the basement,

slamming and locking the door behind me. December 25th, I sit in the basement, cradling my wounds. The scratching at the door has been steady all night and into the morning. The wood is finally starting to give way. Somewhere above me, Carol starts to sing. Come all ye faithful, and Billy laughs with glue. Lazzangue surgellied, puissance-molyne for 15 minutes. We're like it's the lojo. Preete the pleasure with Leo Jo.

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