Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Pt. 1 - I was delivering food when I stumbled upon something terrible

Episode Date: January 27, 2023

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The map was wrong, and the food was getting cold. Where the hell is this place? I sat over the noise of the podcast playing through my cars, speakers. There was no moon tonight, or if there was, I couldn't see it through the thick cloud cover. I was going barely 30 miles an hour on the 50-mile-an-hour road. Luckily, there were no headlights in either direction. Although, at the moment, as I looked in every direction out of my Nissan Versa's windows, I kind of wanted the familiar splash of headlights coming over a distant hill.

There were little groups of trees here and there on the sides of the rural road. Copses, they were called. A copse of trees. But that word always made me think of corpses. A corpse in the trees. I shook my head, wondering why my brain always betrayed me. Alone at night on a rural road with not a soul around? Let's think about dead bodies in the trees.

God forbid we think about a Will Ferrell movie Or that time I made my cousin Sidney laugh so hard He peed his pants in the middle of a restaurant Of course, it didn't help that I was listening to a horror podcast I consider myself a pretty capable guy But you encounter some strange people When you deliver food for a living There's something about people being at home

That brings out their weirdness Like they're no longer trying to hide their oddities As they do in public They're comfortable at home and when strange people are comfortable, they do strange things. Screw it, I said, pulling over onto what little shoulder there was. I turned my hazards on and snatched my phone from its cradle, pausing the podcast. The smell of the Chinese food on the seat next to me was making my stomach growl.

I'd eaten not that long ago, but when you're delivering delicious-smelling food all night, you tend to get hungry a lot. According to my phone, the house I was supposed to deliver to was just behind me on the same side of the road. There was nothing but darkness there, as far as I could tell. I checked my mirrors while taking off my seatbelt, and then I opened the driver's side door, stepping out of the car with my phone. I left the door open and the car running. I just wanted to see if I could spot a house nearby.

Moving to the back of my Versa, I peered into the darkness. bordering the road. I saw nothing but the dark shapes of trees in the middle of a field. Then a flash of light caught my eye. I turned and looked ahead, past my car. About a half mile distant, there were headlights on the road. I watched them as they grew closer. They were high up, making me think they belonged to a truck or an SUV. The vehicle was moving slowly, which I thought was strange. But soon I saw why, it turned, making a left off the road onto some kind of driveway

I hadn't seen before. The driveway was bordered by trees, and I watched the twin cones of illumination as they moved deeper into the corpse. Cops. As they moved deeper into the copse of trees. The glow disappeared, but I couldn't tell whether the driver had turned off the lights,

or if the vehicle had gone beyond a wall of foliage, cutting off the illumination. Checking the map on my phone, I verified that there was no official road there. That meant it was probably a driveway to a house. Maybe the very house that I was supposed to deliver to. And if it wasn't the right house, maybe they could tell me where the correct one was.

Worth a shot. As I got back into my car, my phone chimed with a message. It was from my mother. This was supposed to be the last delivery of the night. night. In fact, the whole reason I'd taken it was because it was on the same side of town as my mom's house. Well, her house was about half an hour from where I was, but it was better than driving across town, which could take 45 minutes or more. She had Parkinson's disease,

and it was getting steadily worse, so I stopped by most nights to help her get ready for bed and everything. A nurse came by in the mornings, but I generally took care of the nights. Take your time, the message said. Watching John Wick again. My mom had seen the John Wick movies more times than I had. She was obsessed. She'd even been inspired to purchase a pistol and do some range shooting after the first one came out. And she'd gotten pretty good.

Of course, that was before the Parkinson's diagnosis. She hadn't gone shooting in a while. I smiled and put the phone back in its cradle, deciding I'd message her back after I delivered the food. She always worried when I took too long to reply to her. I put the car in gear and drove forward, slowing as I came to the driveway. There was no mailbox and no sign with an address on it. Nothing to show that there was even a structure back there.

But it was all I had, so I turned down the dirt drive and rolled slowly forward, scanning the trees ahead for any sign of a house or vehicle. The dirt road, more of a track, really, ran straight for a couple hundred yards before starting a curving journey deeper into the trees. Soon, I found myself not in a copse of trees, but in a legit forest. I had no idea how far I'd gone from the road, but it seemed like a mile, and I hadn't seen a single thing that would indicate someone lived down there. Maybe it was someone going car camping or something, I thought. As soon as I made the decision to turn around at the next spot wide enough to accommodate the maneuver, I spotted a house through the trees.

It was just a glimpse, but enough to tell me I might be in the right place. As I came around the final bend leading up to the house, I saw an old Bronco parked in a clearing in front of the place, lights off. There were no other vehicles, so it must have been the one I saw turned down the drive. The house was brown and sagging, and a little bit of the place. in a state of disrepair. It was two stories, but the first floor looked like it was struggling to hold up the second. There was a low porch under an awning and a light on in one of the bottom floor windows. I looked for any numbers on the structure, but found none. In contrast to the state of the house itself,

the area immediately surrounding it was neatly kept. There was an orderly pile of firewood next to a chopping station. A new-looking shed crouched darkly on the other side of the house. There was enough room to park my Versa next to the Bronco. I left the car running, but snagged my phone as I jumped out and headed for the front door. I also left the food in the car until I was sure this was the right place. Hello? I called out. Hello? Anyone home? As I stepped onto the warped wooden porch steps, the sound of footsteps on wood floors came from inside the house. They were fast, yet heavy footsteps, and they seemed to move away from the front door, rather than toward it. A door slammed somewhere near the back of the house, and then there

was silence. Strange, I thought. It was clear someone had heard me, so why had they retreated to the back of the house? Like I said, people are weird. I raised my hand a knock. "'Help you,' a voice said from behind me, making me jump. I turned around to see a man with long, dark hair, pulled back into a ponytail gazing up at me from the bottom of the steps. He wore a dark green vest jacket over a white short-sleeve shirt. His jeans and boots looked new. Both his hands were tucked into the front pockets of his vest jacket.

"'Yeah,' I said, smiling at the scare he'd given me. "'Is this 531 Shipley?' "'No,' the man said. His voice was low, as though he were talking at half volume. I detected no accent. Right, I said, stepping down toward him. Do you know where that is? My map seems to be wrong.

I still had my phone in my left hand, and I held it up to illustrate. No, he said, staring at me with bright green eyes. I'd like you to leave now. Fine, I said, anger flaring inside. Just thought you could help, that's all. As I moved away from the man, I heard a crash inside the house, like a lamp had been knocked over. I half turned, looking back toward the man and the house beyond.

The noise had drawn his attention as well, but his head turned slowly back toward me. We looked at each other for a long moment. Something shady was going on here, but it wasn't really my business. Family drama, maybe. Thanks anyway, I said sarcastically, stepping up to my driver's side. side door. As I opened the door, a scream came from inside the house. A woman's scream, filled with terror and pain. I froze. The man still looking at me, but his blank expression morphed into a look of dark determination. He stepped toward my car, pulling both hands out of his

vest pockets. His left hand was empty, but in his right hand, he held a knife. The blade was long enough that I figured he probably had a hole in his right pocket. As I threw myself into the car, I tossed my phone onto the front seat next to the bag of Chinese food, just wanting to free my hand. I slammed the door while simultaneously putting the car in reverse. Then I looked up to find the man gone. I hesitated for a moment before taking my foot off the break and putting it on the gas. The front side of my car shifted toward the ground as the sound of rushing air came to my ears. Shit, I said, realizing that the man had simply dropped down next to my car and pierced the tire with his knife. I hit the gas and twisted the wheel, reversing out of this spot.

I had to fight the steering wheel, thanks to the rapidly deflating front tire. As I whipped the front of the car around to face back down the driveway, I spotted movement in my right side mirror. The man appeared, jamming the knife into the back tire on that side. I pulled the shifter into drive and hit the gas. The car lurched forward, but I knew I wouldn't get far. Still, it would get me out to the road at least. I could drive it faster than the man could run. I knew that.

Rounding the curve away from the house, I put the gas pedal down as far as I dared, my pulse hammering in my head. The steering wheel jiggled violently, wanting to pull me to the right and off the dirt road. I glanced in the rearview mirror, only to see dark trees and empty road. Gripping the steering wheel in my left hand,

I took my right hand off and reached down for my phone. As I grabbed it and straightened back up, blinding lights bounced off my rearview mirror and into my eyes. The Bronco. I jammed the gas pedal to the floor while navigating to the phone app. I pressed 9 and 1, just before the Broncos slammed into the back of my VERSA. The impact wrenched the wheel for my hand and my car went off the road, crashing into a tree.

I rocked forward since I had no seatbelt on, slamming the bridge of my nose into the top of the steering wheel. Searing pain flashed in my head. Somewhere between getting rear-ended and hitting the tree, I dropped my phone. The Chinese food had broken out of the bag and was all over the footwell. Instinct kicked in, and I scrambled out of the car, falling down as I tried to run. The blow to the head had messed up my equilibrium. My vision swam. As I lurched to my feet again, I glanced over my shoulder to see that the driver's door of the Bronco was open. There was no sign of the man. ran away from the crash site and into the woods.

I made it no more than five steps when the man appeared from behind a tree right in front of me. He was grinning, revealing widely spaced teeth clamped on a busy tongue. His hands came up to my throat. I swung at him, cracking him on the side of the head and eliciting a pained grunt. But his tough, calloused hands tightened on my throat in the side of my head. He kicked at my legs and bashed my head into the side of the tree. I crumbled to the forest floor while the man stood over me. you, I said, slurring my words. He stepped forward and slammed his foot into my face.

I was lying on my back in my mother's spare room. The door open when she called my name. Kurt? Kurt, can you help me? Her voice wavered. Sometimes she had trouble talking. It never used to be like that. The Parkinson's was getting worse. I opened my eyes and winced at the pain in my head. It felt like I'd been hit by a bus. Coming, I said, sitting up and trying to control the nausea rearing its ugly head in my gut. Standing, I made my way uneasily into the hallway and toward the living room. As I turned the corner, I came face to face with my mother, standing upright and staring through me with wide eyes. Her mouth was agape.

Mom? Are you okay? I said, fear mounting. She said nothing, just stared with unseeing eyes. Mom? She sucked in a huge breath, jerking myself to sit up only to be stopped by my hands, which were bound at the wrists. The events came rushing back to me, their dark implications, seeming to seize my heart. I looked around, knowing immediately that I wasn't in my mom's house, and whoever was screaming wasn't her. It was the person in the house, the same scream I'd heard earlier. I looked around, seeing that I was lying spread-eagled on a hardwood floor in the middle

of a spacious hallway. My arms and legs were affixed to the floor with straps that had seen better days. They looked like they were made from the kinds of thick ratchet straps truck drivers used to secure their cargo. But they were cut and modified for this purpose. And they were bolted to the floor near the sides of the hallway. The walls flanking me were coated with faded green and white floral wallpaper, but down near the floor, around where my feet and ankles were strapped. The wallpaper had been worn down. There were dents and scrapes there. The implication stood out starkly in my mind. I wasn't the first to be strapped to this hall floor. By the looks of it, there had been many before me. Raising my head and putting my chin to my chest, I saw a staircase

leading to the second floor. The edges of the stairs were littered with beer cans and old old dull parts and rusty tools. A soft orange glow spilled through a doorway to the right of the staircase. I put the crown of my skull against the floor, tilting my chin up so I could look backward. I could see the closed front door about 15 feet away. Adjusting my head into a neutral position, I stared up at the ceiling, chest heaving with shallow breaths. My head throbbed.

My nose was a source of constant pain. My mouth and chin were covered in dried blood. Footsteps sounded from upstairs, heavy and steady. They continued down the staircase. The man came into view, still wearing the same clothes. But now his long hair was hanging free, cascading down his shoulders. He carried a white five-gallon bucket in one latex gloved hand. Its lip and upper edges were stained with dark liquid.

I didn't want to believe it was blood, but I knew better. The man set the bucket down at the foot of the stairs and walked directly toward me, staring down with cruel, hooded eyes. He stepped on my left thigh and then my upper chest as he walked down the hallway, like I wasn't even there. Then he turned around and came back. His foot came down toward my face, prompting me to turn my head at the last moment. As he put his weight on my head, his boot dug my right ear into my skull.

Then his other foot came down on my crotch. Despite my best efforts, I cried out as he crushed my genitals before stepping off. What the hell? I gasped weakly as he turned around, standing in the space between my legs. That's what you are to me, he said. That's all. Just more trash to walk on. What's wrong with you? I said.

What the hell did I ever do to you? It's not personal, you know, the man said. You shouldn't have come here. Well, it's not too late, I said. I can still leave. We can forget all about this. No harm, no foul. The man shook his head.

All harm, all fell. He said, then turned away. He picked up the bloody bucket and went into the room casting the faint orange glow. I heard a door open and shut. Then the house was silent. Lazang surgellied, Pucance-Moyerned Phrance Moines

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