Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Never turn to the Dark Web to pay off your debts

Episode Date: May 20, 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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on the machine-a-Bass-B-B-BINZ $10 dollars. Beigh I'm doing Responsible. The conditions apply. who was the only person who had a key. Deck, are you here, man? I asked. No answer. But it didn't feel like an empty apartment.

Something deep in my reptilian brain was putting me on edge. So I stepped over to the closet and put my jacket away, leaving my gym bag where I dropped it by the door immediately after coming in. I reached into the corner of the closet and retrieved the wooden baseball bat I kept there, resting it on my shoulder as I closed the door with my other hand. My living room was on the left, and I stepped into it quickly, flipping the lights on in hopes of surprising anyone who was there.

But the only one surprised was me. Decker was sprawled on the couch, his eyes open and looking straight ahead at the blank television mounted on the wall. His neck had been sliced open, the raw meat and cartilage still glistening with moisture. What the fuck! I shouted. Decker!

Running up to him, I forgot about the bat momentarily, setting it against the couch. I reached out and grabbed my brother's arm through his black hoodie. I don't know what I was hoping to accomplish. Nothing probably. I was disbelieving, hoping that my eyes were playing tricks on me. But they weren't. Decker's head lulled as I jostled his body. The wet sound the wound made sent a sick pang through my stomach.

He was dead. He was really dead. My little brother. A shadow fell over me from behind, and I turned in time to see an elbow coming at me, slamming into my forehead. I fell back onto my brother's body, then onto the floor at his feet.

What the fuck was that? A scratchy voice came from further in my apartment. He turned, the guy standing over me said in a New England accent, his tone defensive. I was trying to hit him in the side of the head. The man who'd hit me was big, probably about 230 pounds of muscle. packed onto a frame just over six feet tall.

He had orange hair and a short beard of a slightly darker shade of orange. He had the freckled face of a born ginger. Another man came into view, this one older, with a dark complexion that I thought was maybe part Italian or Greek. He was bald, his head shaved to the skin. But he had a big, bushy black beard with streaks of gray in it. He wore a suit, while the other one wore jeans and a sweater. You owe us $418,200, the bald man said.

My eyes whipped between the two men. What? I managed. Your brother owed us $418,200. Now you do. Since your dumb-ass brother went and got himself killed. I don't even know you, I said, stammering. My mind racing.

Oh, how rude of me, the bald man said. Unsledged, and this is hammer. Now you know us. I'm giving you a month to get us the money. A month? No way. This doesn't even have anything to do with me. I don't know what my brother was into with you, but this is his mess, not mine.

Sledge leaned down to look at me. Are you really as stupid as your brother? I thought you were the responsible one. Don't you have a good job at a bank or some shit? It's impossible, I said, moving to get up off the floor. Sledge kicked me in the chest with one sharp derby shoe, sending me back down. We'll keep you going up the line. Sledge said.

Hammer here can slit your throat just as easily as he did your brothers. So if you don't get it, we'll go for the next family member. Your parents, they're still around, right? In Florida some such place? And if they don't get it, we'll slit their throats. There's not a throat hammer can't slit. I'll tell you that right now. Unless they're wearing armor, Hammer said.

What? Sledge asked. Armour? How many people you see walking around wearing armor around their necks? Jesus Christ. I was thinking like a knife. night, you know, or like Iron Man. Sometimes I wonder about you, Flanagan, Sledge said, turning his attention back to me. One month, he said. Then he pulled a business card out of his

pocket and tossed it at me. Hammer here will be hanging around. Some other associates of ours will be coming up to take care of your dumb-ass brother. Can't have the police getting involved with this. And if I hear you go to the police, well, I won't wait to slit your throat, nor will I wait to visit your parents. You understand me, Victor? I nodded. Good. With that, Sledge walked out of the living room and then out of my apartment.

Flanagan stayed where he was, looking down at me. My head was pounding, and my stomach hurt from where Sledge had hit me. But I was still sitting on the floor at my dead brother's feet. Can I get up now? Hey, man, Plannigan said. It's your place. Do what you want. I got up slowly, then leaned back down to pick up the business card off the floor.

It was blank, aside from a phone number. I slipped it into my pocket. Flanagan reached down and grabbed the baseball bat I'd leaned against the couch. I'll be hanging on to this, he said. I need to use the restroom. Go ahead. Don't mind the mess, he said. I walked back to the hallway bathroom and stepped inside, closing and locking the door behind me. I threw up in the toilet.

my hands shaking as I emptied my stomach. It was only after I threw up everything that I saw the bit of blood in the bathtub. I realized that there wasn't very much blood on my brother's clothing, and I certainly didn't see any on my couch. They must have forced him into the bathtub before slitting his throat. How conscientious of them. I stayed in the bathroom, shaking with fear.

I heard men's voices after a little while, and then some activity. Still, I didn't come out. I couldn't. Sometime later, I don't know how long it was. A knock at the door startled me. All done, Victor. Plan to get sent from the other side of the door.

I'd get to count your money. You got a month. Footsteps faded down the hallway, followed by the sound of my front door closing. I waited another ten minutes before stepping out of the bathroom and inspecting my apartment. It was as if nothing had ever happened. Aside from the little bit of blood in the bathtub,

As I sat down on the couch where my brother's body had been, I thought about how I'd always figured I'd be able to stand up to danger when it came. I thought about how people in movies are always facing up to their demons, overcoming their weakness to dispatch the bad guys. But I hadn't done any of that. I'd been scared shitless. I still was. My actions weren't that of a hero.

They were that of a coward. At my first chance, I ran to the bathroom to hide, and I knew that I'd do the same thing again in the same situation. Suddenly, I realized I was crying, mostly for Decker, but also for myself, and for my parents. There was no way I could get that kind of money together in a month. I had a decent job at an investment firm, but my yearly salary wasn't even six figures. I only had about $80,000 in savings, much of which was in an IRA account. Exhausted from the experience, I fell asleep on the couch.

My nightmares paled in comparison to my new reality. The next week passed in a blur. I asked a few friends for loans, even securing another $50,000, but it wasn't going to be close enough. Not at all. After getting together all the money I could, I was still nearly $200,000. short. I even called the number Sledge had given me and asked if they would accept half. The man on the line, who sounded like Sledge, simply laughed and then hung up on me. I spent the next several days researching ways to make quick money. This is what led me to the dark web. I'd never been

on the dark web before, but I quickly tried to get acquainted with it, getting on forums, and looking at what other people were offering and at what price. A couple of things. A couple of things that came to mind were selling drugs, stealing, and contract killing. I had no idea how to get into selling drugs. It wasn't like people were advertising drug dealer wanted on the dark web. Most of the listings I saw were for drugs already for sale, so that was out. Stealing was something I could do, at least in theory. But to steal the amount that I needed, I would have to include at least one more person while simultaneously developing special skills that would take years to cultivate. A smash and grab job would likely get me arrested, and I had no doubt that

these men could get to me in jail. Contract killing wasn't really a serious consideration. I didn't have it in me, and I didn't want to. Besides, putting up an ad for that kind of thing, with all I knew about the dark web, would probably just get the FBI to my door. But as I was scrolling through a black market website, I saw some ads that gave me. me an idea. They made me realize that I did have something to sell, my body. I admitted I wasn't underwear model handsome, but I figured I was good-looking enough to demand a fairly decent price from rich, lonely women. I stayed fit, and I was in my early 30s, young enough to be attractive to older women. Maybe I could even steal some jewels from some rich widow and sell them,

or make one of them fall in love with me and convince them to loan me the money. money. I could be charming when I wanted to be. It was a long shot, but it was the only chance I had. So I took an emergency leave of absence from work and dedicated myself to becoming a male escort. Honestly, it wasn't that hard. I found a classy looking market website on the dark web that specialized in male escorts, and I constructed a profile. I put my price range close to that of other men on the website. Next day, I got an email through the website asking for my services. The way it worked was the client sent you a picture of them and an address, along with how many hours they wanted you.

If you wanted to accept the job, you contacted them through the email provided and set up a time. I was surprised to see that the woman in the picture was very pretty. She looked to be in her early 40s, with blonde hair and a beaming smile. I'll actually enjoy this a little, I thought as I replied to the email. When I showed up at the place, a hotel in the downtown area, I was wary of any signs that it was a setup, but the hotel was nice, and I doubted anyone looking to rip me off would drop several hundred dollars on a room. Besides, I didn't bring anything with me aside from a little bit of

cash, my car keys, and a small bag with clothes and other items I thought I would need. Anyone looking to rip me off wouldn't get much. I went up to the room and knocked on the door. The woman from the picture answered, greeting me with a smile. Several hours later, I walked out of the room exhausted and a few thousand dollars richer. I checked my phone and saw that I had another email from a potential client. For the first time since Sledge told me about the debt, I started to think that I would actually get through this.

It would be close. but if I kept getting clients, I might just make it. The next week was a blur of women. Some of them were beautiful and accommodating like that first one. But most of them were ugly in more ways than one. Even some of them that were outwardly beautiful were abusive and twisted. But this, I learned, was a good thing. I could refuse to do whatever BDSM stuff they wanted

until they agreed to pay me more. Many of these rendezvous left me feeling dirty and shameful, but I was working toward my goal. I was fighting for my very existence, so I did what I had to do. But apparently words started getting around, because one client changed everything for me. The location was a mansion, and there would be a small party going on. The woman who'd contacted me through the dark web, Lorena, told me it was a masquerade party, and I was to wear a mask. I specified that my services were for women only, and were for one-on-one time, not group time.

She agreed, giving me assurances that she was the only one who would require my services. I told her I'd be there. When I arrived, a large man in a suit waved me through the gate. I drove up to the mansion past strange statues lining the driveway. They'd looked like some twisted take on Greek gods or something. Many of them were eerie, but I didn't. I didn't pay it much mind. I'd come to learn that rich people have very strange tastes.

There was a small parking area with fancy cars there, and I parked my decidedly average sedan among them, then donned my mask and got out of the car. I straightened my black suit as I headed inside. My little bag held in one hand. The door opened before I could knock, and an older woman who introduced herself as Lorena answered the door. We wore an extravagant golden mask and a sleek golden dress. Come in, come in, young man, she said, stepping back from the ornate wooden door.

I stepped into a large foyer with marble floors and a small fountain in the middle. Two curving staircases ascended to the next of three levels. The banisters were immaculately shined, and the white marble steps were like something from an Italian castle. Lorraine led me into a nearby room where six people stood and sat around chatting, all of them wearing masks. There were four women and two men, and they perked up at my entrance. Lorena introduced me as her latest fling, telling them all my name was Chester. I went along with it, although I was starting to get a bad feeling about this. The room was large, with elegant furniture in the middle arrayed on a large and expensive-looking rug.

A low table between the Chesterfield sofas, divans, and Chase lounges held piles of drugs. One woman sniffed a line of white powder before standing up to greet me. She had chosen a mask that left her nose exposed for easy access. In fact, all the people had. They'd clearly done this before. There were candy trays filled with pills of all types, vape pens for smoking, and there were even some syringes for shooting up God knows what. Another table against the wall held liquor bottles and buckets of ice and mixers.

Help yourself, Lorraine said, gesturing to the drugs. Oh, no, thank you, I said. Oh, you're no fun, she said in a playful tone. Then she sat down and patted the cushion next to it. I sat down and listened to the people talk and laugh and argue as they consumed more drugs than I thought possible. The rena didn't partake in the drugs, but she did have several cocktails. More than an hour passed while I made small talk and tried to get comfortable. Something about this didn't seem right.

And it wasn't just the massive amount of narcotics that could send us all to jail for a very long time. I just couldn't get into the rhythm of the party. I was waiting for something to happen the whole time. Lorina got up and poured herself another drink. It was only when she sat back down next to me that I noticed she had two drinks in her hand, one of which she held out to me. No thank you, I said. She leaned over to me, smiling, and whispered,

You're supposed to show me a good time. If you want to get paid, loosen up and have a drink. Talk, laugh. I looked at her for a long moment, then took the drink. It was a green liquid that tasted a bit like. Midori, only with a strange undertone to it. I just assumed it was mixed with some other liquor. But soon after I finished the drink, things started to get strange. Lorina got up and left, saying that she'd be back shortly. Then, I blacked out. I woke up screaming. For some reason,

I was on my hands and knees, looking down at the intricate designs of a rug, a rug that someone had spilled red wine on. My vision swore. I swam, going in and out of focus. My screen faded to a whimper. My lungs expanding and contracting as if I'd just been running a race. I felt sticky for some reason, and to glance down in my arms told me that I was no longer wearing my black suit jacket or the white dress shirt I'd had on underneath. My vision went blurry as I tried to look closer at my skin.

Something was wrong with it. It seemed lumpy. My entire body felt sore. like I'd done a two-hour full-body workout. I licked my lips and tasted copper. Sitting back on my feet, I straightened my upper body and looked ahead. Someone, a woman, was passed out on the floor about 10 yards away. I recognized the room as the one from the party,

but I couldn't recall the last clear memory I had. Rubbing my eyes, I tried to get my vision to clear. My stomach was queasy, and I needed a big glass of it. water. As I stood up, the whole room seemed to shift around me, and I almost went back to my knees. I closed my eyes, stood there, counting to 20 in my head. Then I opened my eyes and turned my head to look around. I saw the liquor table nearby, and a man's severed head sitting among the bottles. For some reason, that made sense to me at first, like that head was supposed to be there. But then it seemed to compute, and I'd looked back. The man's sandy brown hair was sticking up,

and I somehow knew that a bloody hand had grabbed a handful of his hair to put his head on the table. He was no longer wearing a mask, and his eyes were wide, although pointed in different directions. I swung my head back to the woman I thought was passed out, and immediately saw that her arms were missing. The stains at my feet weren't from spilled wine. They were from spilled blood, Turning slowly, I took in the rest of the room, and the other body parts littering the place. Another head, this one a woman's, was on the drug table. Her nose pushed into a pile of white powder. The other man's body was lying across the room.

His chest a mess of stab wounds. The Chesterfield's sofa nearest me held a woman that had been skinned from the waist up to the neck. A large knife was sticking out of her face, where it had been jammed into her left eye. I couldn't breathe, looking at all this gore and destruction. But it was almost as if I was experiencing deja vu. Every mutilated body I looked upon was at once unsurprising and a fresh horror. I stumbled toward the back of the house, calling out for help, passing into a smaller sitting room.

I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror. I screamed, realizing that I was wearing a dead woman's skin on my chest and arms like a smock. I reached up and pulled it off, tossing it to the ground. Bits of flesh clung to my blood-covered skin. I found the kitchen and turned on the sink, scrubbing my arms and hands with dish soap to get the blood off. You did so well, a voice called from behind me. I spun around to see Lorena and two large men wearing suits standing in the kitchen. Marvelous, she said, worth every penny.

She gestured at one of the large men, who removed a thick envelope from his seat. suit jacket and placed it on the marble countertop. What the hell did you make me do? I screamed. What was that drink you gave me? Why would you do this? Oh dear, you won't remember a thing. Don't worry about it. Just take your money and go home. After you get cleaned up, of course. And remember, we've got it all on camera. So don't think about going to the police. It wouldn't be good for you. I stared at her for a moment, resisting the urge to to lunge at her. The two bodyguards wouldn't let me get anywhere near her. Why? Those people were your friends. Uh-huh. No, they weren't, she said. Disgusting leachers. They were fun for a while,

but things are more fun this way. You're fucking sick, I said. Lorraine smiled. I've been called worse. She started to walk away, then said to one of the men, show him to the downstairs bathroom, will you? He'll be forever trying to clean himself at the sink. The one she'd spoken to stayed in the kitchen, while the other one followed her deeper into the massive house. I looked at the wall clock and found that it had been about four hours since I'd blacked out, give or take, 20 minutes or so. This way, the guy said, there's a shower. I stood there, dripping bloody soap suds onto the floor, staring at him. You want to do this the hard way? He said after a moment, because I'd rather not, and I'm sure you'd rather not either. I turned off the sink and followed him to the downstairs

bathroom to take a shower. When I left the house 30 minutes later, I was starting to feel better about things. The envelope in my pocket, the one from Lorena, was considerably lighter than it should have been, but that was okay with me. The phone rang, as I called the man, I knew only a Sledge. The deadline was at its end. And Sledge sounded amused as he picked at the phone. I said, come over and get it. Sledge paused for a moment before speaking. With that, he hung up. A moment later, I got a text with an address in the warehouse district. I got everything together, carrying the bag of cash as I went down to the lobby. It was sprinkling slightly as I hurried across the parking lot to my car. There were massive thunder-hound.

heads on the horizon, moving toward the city, making it prematurely dark at 30 minutes before sunset. It took me 15 minutes to get to the address, by which time it was pouring. I ran to the door of the warehouse, carrying the canvas travel bag with the money in it. Flanagan opened the door after I banged on it a couple of times. He beckoned me inside and shut the door. Then he told me to stop. I was in a reception area, but the desk didn't have a computer, or any normal office supplies. I could see an open door to the warehouse area ahead. Put your arms up, Flanagan said. I dropped the bag, hoping he wouldn't open it and put my arms up. He frisked me for weapons, pulling a metal object out of my jacket when he came to it.

What's this? he asked. What do you think it is? I asked, giving him a look. If he took it, I was screwed. But I didn't think he would. And sure enough, he shrugged, and gave it back to me. Finding nothing else of interest on my person, he led me into the warehouse proper, where there were cars parked on the far side and a lounge area on the near side. Sledge and two other men were seated on a couple of leather couches,

watching a soccer match on a television set. Sledge was smoking a cigar, so a cloud of smoke hung over the men. The sound of rain pounding the metal roof high above was a constant but not unpleasant sound. Boss, Victor's here, Flanagan said. Yeah, no shit. I know. Sledge said, turning his head to watch me approach.

You got it all? Check it, I said, tossing it down on the couch beside him. Sledge glared at me, then picked the bag up. Flanagan, count it, he said. The two other men, large but not as large as Flanagan, seemed focused solely on the soccer game. Flanagan sat down next to Sledge and put. the bag on the wooden coffee table between the two couches. As he opened it up, I pulled the metal object out of my pocket. Sledge noticed the movement and looked up at me.

Ah, did I drive you to drink? He said, chuckling. I unscrewed the cap on the flask and upended it. Flanagan started pulling stacks of money out of the bag. I drank all the liquid in the flask, screwed the cap back on, and held it down by my thigh in my left hand. A strange feeling came over me within minutes. But instead of completely blacking out, I was somehow able to experience much of what happened next. Maybe it was because I'd had the drug before, whatever the hell it was. Or maybe it was because I actually wanted to kill these men, unlike those people at the party. Whatever the reason, didn't really matter. Right about the time Flanagan was realizing that the money in the bag wasn't enough, a seething rage was spreading through my

limbs, expanding capillaries, causing blood to rush to my muscles and adrenaline to flood my bloodstream. My amygdala started working overtime, telling the rest of my brain that these four men in front of me were the ultimate threat to my existence. But there was no question of fight or flight, no doubt about what had to be done. Suddenly, I was jumping over the couch, slamming into Flannigan and knocking him to the ground. Sledge was yelling beside me, and the other men were getting up off the opposite couch. I reached into the bag I'd brought, batting aside a couple of stacks of money and pulling out the sharp kitchen knife I'd hidden at the bottom. Flanagan brought his fist up in a wide roundhouse, hitting me in the chest and knocking me down

onto the couch. I slashed out with a knife, slicing the ginger man's face open. He screamed and jerked away from me. To my left, Sledge was getting up off the couch, pulling a pistol from a shoulder holster. I reached out and slammed the bottom of the metal. flask into his gun hand, the force of the blow breaking several of his fingers. The two other men were drawing pistols of their own, but one was in front of the other, making only the one in front the immediate threat. I threw the flask at his face, buying myself enough time to lunge off the couch and shove the blade into his chest, pushing him back into the other man. I blacked out for a moment, losing time, coming two with both of the men dead.

One of them smashed with the television, the other one with knife wounds on his face and chest. I was crouching over Sledge, hacking his left hand off at the wrist as he screamed and tried to hit me with his right arm, which was broken at the elbow. I looked over and saw Sledge's lit cigar on the ground. I leaned over and grabbed it, then shoved the burning tip into his eye, making the man scream even louder. Flanagan was crawling away toward the front door, leaving a streak of blood behind him from wounds in his legs. Before I blacked out again, some part of me decided to finish up with Sledge before going for the man that had actually sledge. lit my brother's throat. When I came to again, Flanagan was pleading for his life as I sliced him down the chest, digging the knife up under his skin to separate it from the muscle below.

Somehow, I dislocated both his arms so he couldn't fight back. Everything went black again. That feeling of single-minded fury, the need to kill and maim and torture, disappearing along with my conscious mind. And when I came out of the drug-induced trance, that fury was gone. and I was sitting on the floor of the warehouse, wearing Flanagan's skin. I looked around, not surprised to see Sledge's head lying on the floor several feet from his body. Pulling Flanagan's skin off me, I stood up and walked carefully across the blood-slick concrete floor to gather up the money I'd earned. I packed it all in the bag and brought it to the door.

Sheaps of rain wet my feet as I opened the door. The storm was still raging. Before I stepped out into the downpour, I thought about how easy it was to convince Lorena's bodyguard to sell me some of the drug. The thought had occurred to me while I'd been showering, and I offered him half of what Lorena paid me. He refused, so I offered him three quarters. That did it. He even threw in the flask for free. I was grateful that I couldn't remember killing those people at the party, but part of me was happy to have been conscious while I did away with these criminals who had killed my brother. I stepped out into the night, letting the pouring rain wash the blood off of me as I

headed to my car, bag of money in hand.