Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - The Book that Foretold Death

Episode Date: September 14, 2022

🎧 Check out The SCP Experience podcast here: https://spoti.fi/3juM1og 🎉 Ad-free bonus stories + exclusive uncensored animations: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🎥 YouTube: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep ✅ Send all advertising inquiries to: [e-mail] Author: Jessie Langley Check out Jessie's subreddit here: https://www.reddit.com/r/storiesfrompapabear/ 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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20-Ratue to the machine-a-Bass Bonanza, depop min'i-Busonononon This episode is brought to you by Nespresso. Hear that, that's your next obsession. Every coffee, a new world. Every sip, a new taste. This is the new Nespresso.

One touch, endless possibilities. Iced, flavored, long, short. Because some days call for that espresso kick. And sometimes, a smooth, silky latte just wins. It's exceptional but effortless. Like actually effortless. Simply press, brew and explore. Nispresso.

Keep exploring at nespresso.com. Talk to nicely. I'd like to give a special thanks to my new patrons, Mitch, Clifton, and John. If you'd like to support the podcast, head over to my Patreon page where you will receive new exclusive scary stories every week for just $5 a month. Go to patreon.com slash DR No Sleep or click the link in the podcast description. Row after row of books. I loved them.

the smell of their pages, the ribbed spines and eloquent lettering, the cover art so beautifully hitting at the plot that lay within. I'd meant to become a teacher, of course, perhaps even a professor one day at the local community college. But the position for head librarian had opened right after I'd moved back to town, and what can I say, it was destined to be. I spent my day sorting books on shelves, assistant. and I got to participate in just about every event within the community.

I didn't earn a luxurious salary, but I was rich in purpose and contentment. The grandfather clock sounded in the hall, alerting me that it was 6 p.m. and closing time. I quickly scoured the library to ensure it was empty before locking the entrance doors and setting out to complete my end-of-day routine. I wiped down the front counter, sprayed Lysol on the keyboards, and filled my cart with books that needed to be returned to the shelves. As I wheeled the cart around, I noticed a book that had been dropped on the ground. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands. It was ruby red and had nothing on the cover whatsoever.

No title or author on the spine either. Strange, I thought. I flipped through the pages and they were blank, at least at first. Then images begin to fill the pages, as if someone were painting them from the other side of the paper. I cried out in surprise and dropped it on the ground. What in God's name? I whispered before gingerly kicking it open with my shoe. It showed a picture of, well, of me, or someone who looked suspiciously like me.

My hair, glasses, and even the cardigan I was currently wearing. Impossible. I snatched the book from the floor. The first page showed me, and the library smiling. Then cleaning and locking up, putting books on shelves, and then leaving to get into my car. A shiver traveled down my spine. What was this? A joke?

It looked like a children's book. There were no words, only pictures. The last page terrified me. My hands trembled, and my mouth went as dry as a dust bowl. I was in my Honda, and it looked like I was pounding on the windows, screaming, as flames poured out from under the hood and engulfed the car. The brushstrokes of the fire raged violently on the page, as death came to take me in the most horrific manner.

I left the cart and took the book to the front desk and locked it in the drawer. I didn't know where it had come from or how any of this was possible. For a while, I thought I was losing it. A sudden onset of schizophrenia or something worse. It had me wondering if perhaps there was a gas leak at the library, and I was hallucinating. I'd heard of that happening to people in their homes on the news one night, but I didn't smell any gas, and it was summer after all. The heating system would remain dormant for months.

I shook my head, said a prayer, and then gathered myself and my things. The walk to the parking lot was shaky. My knees felt weak, and I couldn't stop trembling. Images of the fire danced in my mind. The small cartoonish depiction of my cries for help made my stomach twist and churn. My car sat ominously in the stall. It wasn't on fire. It looked perfectly fine and normal.

But I just couldn't bring it. myself to drive it, so I decided to walk home. I lived only a couple of blocks away and it was a beautiful evening. I convinced myself I wasn't being paranoid, that perhaps I needed the fresh air to clear my head and that walking was a wonderful idea. Maybe after a stroll through town and a strong drink, I'd feel right as rain and could put the whole thing behind me. But that night, I dreamt of burning, my flesh charring away from the bone on my forearms as I cried out for help, pounding on the glass of the window that refused to roll down. Neighbors passed by, but wouldn't even look my way as I cooked inside the car.

My flesh melted like candle wax as muscle and tissue sizzled like meat over charcoal. I awoke at first light, drenched in sweat, and with a pounding headache from grinding my teeth through the night. It was just a nightmare. It wasn't real. I shook it off, chocking it up to nonsense, and made myself an extra strong pot of coffee, powering through my morning routine and determined to put the dream and the book out of my mind.

The sun was warm on my face, and I could smell the fresh lavender for Mrs. Jameson's yard next door. I repeated my daily affirmations like a mantra in my head in an effort to dispel any name. negative thoughts or energy as I walked. It's going to be a good day. Don't worry, I told myself. But it wasn't.

Not at all. I reached the library to see two fire trucks and an ambulance in the parking lot. Smoke billowed 100 feet up in the air as they sprayed water at the inferno that was once my Honda Accord. I couldn't believe it. I stood for a while in shock, watching as they put out the fire. They told me it must have been an electrical issue that caught the engine ablaze and to contact my insurance company immediately, which I did once I was inside the library, and they assured me the issue would be taken care of, and a rental car would be dropped off at my home within the next couple of days.

I placed a sign on the door that stated the library would be closed today, and sorry for any inconvenience this has caused. I was too shaken up, and I knew the townspeople would understand. understand. News of the car fire would travel by word of mouth soon enough. I was about to leave again when I thought about the book. The idea of looking at it again almost made me sick, but the curiosity outweighed my trepidation. I unlocked the door and slid it open, and there it was. Today it looked more like a blood red to me, rather unpleasantly so. But that could have been because I knew what it contained. I pulled it out and sat it on the table, taking a deep breath

before opening it once more. The pages were blank again as before, but they quickly began painting themselves, just like they did last night. This time I saw Mr. Davis, who owned the gas station on the corner. He was counting inventory when a hooded man entered the store. They seemed to wrestle for a moment on the pages before the cloaked man stabbed him repeatedly in the chest. Blood puddled at the bottom of the page. The ink was so wet it stained my fingers red. My heart thundered in my chest. What do I do? I thought about calling the police. But how would I explain myself? Yes, hello officer. You see, I have this magic book that predicts horrible things, and I think Mr. Davis is in danger. Please head there immediately. No, that wouldn't

do. I tucked the book under my arm and took it with me this time. Urgency rippled through my body as I sprinted all the way to the corner of Main Street. I burst through the double doors of the nickel saver and ran through the back of the store. As I was rounding the corner, I slipped on the wet floor and smacked my head against the tile. My vision spun for a moment before I could sit up. I put my hand in something wet and impossibly thick. I brought it to my face. Blood dripped down my fingers, soaking my sleeve in crimson.

I rolled to the side and saw Mr. Davis struggling to breathe. His body spasmed as blood spurted from his lips and down his neck. A whistling sound came from his chest as air tried to make its way through his punctured lungs. Oh dear God! Mr. Davis, stay with me! I cried as I cradled his head in my lap. I scrambled to dial 911 on my cell phone. His eyes. His eyes were so full of fear.

begged me for help. It's okay, sir. I've got you. It's going to be okay. I pushed his gray hair from his face and begged God not to take him. I told the operator that I needed the police here immediately, that Mr. Davis had been stabbed and he was bleeding out. I tried to stay calm, but couldn't keep the stutter out of my voice. She assured me that the entire sheriff's department was on their way and to stay calm. It took them eight minutes to get there, which was about Two minutes too late. Clark Davis died in my arms, murdered at the age of 56. I was still holding him when they stormed through the back of the gas station.

After an hour of being checked over by paramedics, and then another half hour of questioning by the police, I was sent on my way home. I hadn't shown them the book, of course. I knew it would be blank once the death had occurred anyway. They'd just think that I was insane or in shock, or both. I wept uncontrollably for three days after that. My assistant, Natalie, came off of maternity leave early to take over at the library for a while.

It took almost a month before I opened the book again. But when I did, I made a promise to myself that I would try to prevent as many deaths as I could, just like I had my own with the car fire. Sometimes I could, and sometimes I couldn't. Sometimes it was people I knew, and other times it depicted deaths of people I've never seen before, but read about in the paper from a neighboring county days later. This went on for over a year. The work certainly took its toll.

I was popping anxiety medication like candy, and my clothes grew loose and baggy around my bones. Sleep became a fond memory. Something now that was incredibly elusive. Deaths where I'd shown up a moment too late haunted me terribly so. And not everyone I successfully rescued was appreciative. They of course didn't know I could see their fate on the bloodstained pages of the book that foretold death, and thought I was a lunatic.

And sometimes I really thought I was going insane. It certainly seemed like it on some days. But what kept me going was the knowledge that, some people were still here because of me. Some families got to keep their fathers, mothers, sons and daughters for many more days to come. A funeral that never happened because I pulled a teenager back from the sidewalk a second before a truck ran up on the curb. A gravestone that was never chiseled because I confronted a man with a gun before he went through with his crime and changed his mind. The book was a burden, but it was working. I was making a difference.

until the day where it finally broke me. It was a Sunday morning at the beginning of October. It was colder than usual for this time of year, an early frost that forbode a bitter winter yet to come. I didn't mind, though. Winter was my favorite season after all. The great slowdown, I called it. All the busyness of summer and fall

left me ready for sheets of snow with nowhere to be but curled up next to the fireplace with a good book. But not with this book, that's for damn sure. I sighed wearily as I turned it over in my hands. Maybe I could take a few months off after this one. Enjoy the season and get some sleep. Perhaps put some weight back on. Just enough to make my rib cage not visible anymore in the mirror.

The thought was a pleasant one. Maybe I could use a season to myself, a little break from being a martyr for the cause. One more, and then a well-deserved break. I repeated in my mind as I flipped open the book. The phantom painter set out immediately to its work. Blues and black spilled shadows across a room of brick and mortar. It looked like a basement.

A woman sat chained to the corner. Tears cascaded down her cheekbones as her mouth opened in a wail. Her clothes were tattered and torn, and her bare feet were as black as coal. I turned the page. A large man descended the staircase. His hulking figure came to tower over the woman. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fillet knife. The next page is stained my hands with red ink as he gutted her like a fish and ran her through a meat grinder. I dry heaved in the sink as I finished. The scenes were in the style of a children's book, but my imagination filled in the gaps. Knowing that it was a pending reality made them much more vivid.

Oh, how I'd love to skip this one and go on to that four-month-long hiatus. But I knew that I couldn't, especially since I was pretty sure I knew exactly where this woman was being held. Winner's meats had glowed in neon behind the meat grinder that the butcher had fed the body parts through on the pages. A shop with the same name was two towns over in Brookville. I grabbed my keys from the counter and slid on my jacket before hitting the road. I didn't really have a game plan. I just knew I had to help the poor woman in the basement. On the drive, I considered calling the police and reporting an anonymous tip,

but I just wasn't 100% sure that it was the right butcher's shop. I mean, I was almost certain, but not completely. The book always seemed to portray deaths that were somewhat local to me, within an approximate two-hour radius. So, by that logic, it should be the right place. I parked at a church that was across the street so that I could get a good view of winter's meets. I watched for an hour,

as customers poured in and out of the storefront in a regular stream, smiles on their faces as they carried an assortment of chops and steaks. The building was plain brick with a tin roof, nothing ominous in nature whatsoever. It was hard to imagine the horrors that possibly laid below its surface. The day moved on painfully slow as I worked on crossword puzzles to pass the time. Just as I was starting to drift off to sleep in the driver's seat,

I saw a large man in an apron exit the store. He spun the lock and flipped a sign over the glass that read, closed. The man shuffled across the parking lot before jumping in a truck and leaving. I waited for five minutes to be sure he was gone for good, and then exited the car. Once I got to the store, I peered inside. Winner's meats glowed from a neon sign behind an enormous commercial-sized meat grinder. I swallowed hard as the images from the book played in my head. I pushed them away and made my way around to the back.

There was a service door that had a 12-by-12-sized window at face level. It was dark inside, but I could see. these stainless steel tables with various cutting instruments strewn about the place. I shimmied a loose brick off from around the door frame and struck the window. It took five hits before the thick glass firing shattered. My hand stunned from the force of the blow and the brick was now in three pieces. From there I was able to reach my arm through the hole and twist the deadbolt, allowing me to open the door.

I quickly shut it behind me and found the light switch. The floor shimmered from my recently being mopped. I crossed the room to a red door and tried the handle. It was locked. Shit. My gut told me this was the right door too. I guess if you were a psychopath with a woman chained up downstairs, you'd want to keep the door secured. I paced across the red quarry tile for a time debating my options before finally just kicking the damn thing. My foot struck the door, and I could have sworn I broke it. A sharp pain radiated up my shin. bone and into my pelvis. It wasn't like the movies at all. I kicked at the door again and again and again. The frame began to splinter and give way. The pain was unbelievable. Finally, the door burst open.

One of the hinges hung loose and broken on the edge. I stumbled down the stairs, favoring my right leg, trying to keep as much weight off of it as possible. The smell was vile. It reeked like a port-a-on from a construction site in the hottest part of the summer. I fumbled around blindly before finding the chain to an overhead light. I pulled on it, illuminating the dingy basement. And there she was, cowering in the corner, black hair, torn clothing, and a chain around her ankles, just like in the book. Hey, hey, it's okay.

I put my hands up to show I meant no harm. She murmured something through the bandana tied around her mouth, but I couldn't make it out. I'm going to get you out of here, I said, as I crouched down low next to her. I tried pulling on her chains, but they didn't budge. They were fastened to the wall with anchor bolts and weren't going anywhere.

I'm going to call the cops, okay? We're going to get you out of here. I smiled at her and reached for my phone. She started murmuring again but louder as I dialed. Her eyes grew large and fearful as she looked over my shoulder. I spun around a second too late. A massive arm brought a piece of lumber down on my head so hard that I thought it cracked my skull. I went out like a light.

I awoke to a thundering throb in my head. My vision swam as I lulled my head from one shoulder to the other. I blinked the blur from my eyes and could see I was in the storefront area of the butcher's shop. I tried to move but quickly realized to my horror that I was tied to a wooden chair. I struggled against my restraints, but they didn't budge. A loud humming came from behind me. I cocked my neck to see over my shoulder, but immediately wished I hadn't. I screamed as I watched an arm sink through the feeder of the meat grinder from the corner of my eye.

I was too late. The large man stormed over to me and slapped me so hard I almost blacked out again. Who are you? What? The room spun. He slapped me again. but lighter this time. I'm no one, nobody.

I cried. How did you know she was here? He brought his face down low close to mine. I could smell whiskey on his breath. I don't know. I whimpered. He pulled a knife from his belt and pointed it at my throat. How did you know?

He pressed the tip of the blade on my skin. From the book. From the book. Tears screamed down my feet. face. I couldn't hold them back any longer. What book? He was getting impatient. I have a book and it shows me deaths. Random people who are going to die and I try to save them. It's true. It's out of my car across the street. Just let me go and I'll go get it for you so you can see it.

The man furrowed his brow. His eyes were hard and unforgiving. I could tell he didn't believe me. Who would? Who knows you are here? He stood. I felt a stream of blood trickled down my neck where he'd held the knife. No one. It slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it. If I'd been smart, I would have bluffed. I could have said anything to keep myself alive. But I didn't.

Good, he whispered. With one quick twitch of his arm, he buried the knife into my abdomen. I cried out in pain. Please, no. I begged. He pulled it from me. and stuck me two more times in the gut. Adrenaline and shock kicked in,

and I felt nothing except for the blood that was collecting at my waistband. My mind was full of static, and the colors of the room became so loud and vivid. I didn't know what to do, so I closed my eyes and played dead. It seemed to be the only play I had, so I played it. He must have assumed I fainted,

because after a moment he began untying me. He tossed me over his shoulder, and started to carry me to the prep room. I didn't think. I just reacted. I reared my head back and sunk my teeth into his ear, and I twisted and turned as hard as I could, ripping it from its root. He hollered in pain and dropped me to the floor.

I scrambled to my feet and spit his ear at his chest. He swung out at me wildly, but slipped on the blood that had pulled on the floor from both of us. He went down like a sack of bricks, smacking his head on the corner of the meat counter. He was dazed and struggling to roll. over. Before he could, I sprawled across him and straddled him. I pressed both my thumbs into his eyes. He screamed that, not like a man, but like a child. He clawed at my neck unsecretfully as I drove

my thumbs deeper into the sockets. His eyes popped and oozed like a jelly at the first muckle, and then at the second he quit screaming altogether. For a moment, his body thrashed against mine in a death rattle. But then stillness. I don't remember much else after that. The police told me later that I had wandered around the parking lot, rambling something incoherent. Someone from the church had called them after they saw all of the blood after approaching me. The paramedics said I had lost a dangerous amount of blood, and that I was lucky to be alive. I guess that's true, but I don't feel lucky.

I hadn't saved the woman. The police told me she was. Jennifer Flowers, a missing woman from Indiana. She had been abducted eight weeks ago from her home. She had two kids and a husband. That part was hard to hear. I felt bad for the children and hoped they were never told about what had happened. The killer was Carl Estes. They found remnants of two other bodies at his home in Clarksville days later. They said I probably saved countless lives of his future victims. It still didn't feel right, and when I cried, I still felt the steel of his knife in my stomach. I decided then that I was done, no more playing savior.

I couldn't. It was June 16th, and rain poured outside in a monsoon as thunder roared above. I flipped open the book of death for the first time in three and a half years as I sipped a cup of tea. It had been sitting dormant on the shelf for all this time, but for some reason today, something told me that I needed to look inside. It showed the entire town of Fairview being wiped out by a massive tornado. The devastation was horrific, even in the cartoonish painting of the pages. I should have been afraid, but I wasn't. I was tired. I was weary. I was ready to go. I shut the book and went to sit out on my porch. The wind howled like the devil as people scrambled inside of their homes.

I sipped my tea as the sky turned to a threatening shade of green. The sirens rang out to take cover as an enormous funnel cloud began to stir angrily above. But I rocked in my chair and hummed a lullaby that my mother sang to me as a child.