Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - The Half-Faced Man Behind the Trees

Episode Date: August 3, 2026

Check out our brand new show, ⁠Bedtime Horror Stories⁠ on ⁠Spotify⁠ and ⁠Apple Podcasts⁠ – no sound effects, just relaxing rain sounds to help you relax and fall asleep. Casey is just a kid when he hears a laughing man peering from behind a tree: half a face, one bloodshot eye, and a filthy finger silently calling him closer. His mother stops him before he reaches the tree, and the man vanishes. Then years later, that same maniacal laugh returns—this time luring his best friend into the woods. In a trance, his friend reluctantly follows the man into the trees.. and is never seen from again. Listen to over 100 exclusive bonus stories with a 7-day FREE TRIAL of Dr. NoSleep Premium: ⁠⁠⁠patreon.com/drnosleep⁠⁠ – Cancel anytime. No commitment. Are you still drinking that stale, store-bought coffee? Head to ⁠⁠⁠NoSleepCoffee.com⁠⁠⁠ to try our fresh roasted-to-order coffee delivered straight to your door! Be sure to use promo code NOSLEEP20 at checkout for 20% off your first order! NoSleep Coffee – The freshest coffee money can buy. Guaranteed. Huge thanks to our sponsors: BetterHelp: Sign up now and get 10% off at ⁠betterhelp.com/dns⁠. Shopify: You don’t need anyone’s approval to make a living. Build your own business with a free trial at shopify.com/dns Author:  Jake Bible Check out all of Jake’s horror story collections at: https://jakebible.com/short-storiesnovellascollections/ * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 18. Listener discretion is advised.  #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #creepypasta #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

In today's story, Casey is just a kid when he hears a laughing man peering from behind a tree, half a face, one bloodshot eye, and a filthy finger silently calling him closer. His mother stops him before he reaches the tree, and the man vanishes. Then years later, that same maniacal laugh returns, this time luring his best friend into the woods. In a trance, his friend reluctantly follows the man into the trees and has never seen from again. But before we get into it, if you enjoy scary stories like this, be sure to like and subscribe so you never miss any of our weekly uploads. Now, let's get into today's story. I first saw him when I was eight, maybe nine. I can't pin the exact year down, but I know I was

still living in Manchester, so eight or nine, I guess. Montchester had one of the best parks around, lots of trees and tall. Or tall to my eight or nine. nine-year-old self. Picnic tables were spread out everywhere. Swing sets, a big play structure. Sand pit and seesaws. It was a kid's dream. The man behind the trees was not. He was straight out of a kid's nightmare. Not that I knew many other kids. Friends weren't my specialty. I hopped off one of the swings, launching myself through the air until my feet hit the dark mulch. Real mulch. Not that rubber stuff that turns to hot tar in the summer and stinks like a truck stop. Manchester wasn't having any of that.

My shoes slid in the mulch, but I stayed upright, smiling at my dexterity. A year before, I would have landed on my face, but at eight or nine, balance was starting to kick in, standing there, almost about to lift my arms in triumph. I heard the laugh. It was a man's laugh, I know that. But it wasn't deep. It was high and tinkling, as if the owner of the laugh had a secret they wanted to tell, but, oh no, they could not tell it. No, they could not. It was that kind of laugh. Shivers ran down my spine, and any happiness over sticking the landing slipped away as fear and dread crept into my belly. I looked to my right and could see my mother at the picnic table. Her book open, her nose, stuck right in it.

I looked to the left and saw the cops of large fir trees. I think they were fur, huge things. Behind one was half a face. There was probably a full face somewhere beyond the tree, but I could only see half of it. The high-pitched laughing man, staring at me with one bloodshot eye, the corner of his mouth that was visible

lifted the moment he noticed me watching him. His laugh grew louder, then fingers long and dirty. with nails that hadn't been trimmed in a very long time, slipped around the tree's trunk, almost like a spider crawling toward its prey. The hand connected to the fingers came into view, and I remember the skin being so pale,

translucent almost. I could see veins, thick and ropy, criss-crossing the back of that hand. Then a finger curled and beckoned me. The man behind the tree wanted me to come closer, standing there with a hot sun beating down on my head and shoulder, the smell of mulch filling my nostrils. All I wanted to do was run screaming for my mother, but I couldn't. I stood there, transfixed by the beckoning finger. Then my left foot took a step,

followed by my right foot, a second step, a third, a fourth, and I was out of the mulch and on to the freshly mowed grass, Oregon rye. The information sign at the park's entrance made sure Everyone knew that Manchester used Oregon rye grass, thick, soft, lusciously green. My feet slipped through the grass. I felt as if I was gliding toward the fir tree, toward the finger, toward the man. I still could only see half of his face, which I was thankful for. Even at eight or nine, I somehow knew that I didn't want to know what the other half looked like. More steps, getting faster.

I was close, so close. I had jerked to the right, and I saw my mother standing by the picnic table, worry on her face. Her book was closed, and she had one hand on her hip. Where are you going? If you need to pee, use the restroom. Do not pee behind that tree. Behind that tree. I looked back at the fur, and the man was gone. No half face, no beckoning finger. Gone as if he'd never been there. I hadn't before, but I hadn't. But I had. suddenly needed to pee then. I smiled at my mom, ran to the picnic table, and then let her walk me over to the restrooms. What are you looking at? I was surprised by the question. I didn't know I was

looking at anything, but as soon as she asked, I realized that my head had been on a swivel, and I was constantly scanning the park for signs of the weird laughing man. Nothing. For the rest of that summer, I kept scanning every park, every backyard, every line of trees, but he never showed again, not in Manchester. So when Mom told me we were moving that fall, some job of hers, some reason that had nothing to do with me, a part of me was glad. I'd convinced myself he belonged to that park, to those furs, that if I just left, I'd be leaving him behind too. I was eight, maybe nine. I didn't know any better. We ended up in Little Fork. It was okay, but it wasn't Manchester. The parks in Little Fork used that rubber mulch. Elementary school ended, middle school

started, and somewhere in there, something happened that had never happened to me before. I made a friend, just one. But one was more than I'd ever managed in Manchester, where friends weren't my specialty. His name was Mickey Tynston. We'd met in gym class. Both of us bored out of our skulls by the endless free throws Coach Peters made us shoot every single day. We all knew we should be learning some other sport, but Coach Peters coached basketball. And that was the end of that. He was shorter than me, which wasn't a surprise. I sprouted up in sixth grade, getting close to five and a half feet by the time I turned 11. I'd be six two by sophomore year in high school, but that was a different town, a different school, a different lack of friends. The park that Little Fork did have was subpar

to say the least. One swing set, no seesaws. The sandpit was basically a toilet for the neighborhood cats, the town drunks, and the few homeless who tried to hide in the woods that skirted the park. No cops of tall fir trees. The park in Little Fork was surrounded. by pine woods, scraggly, misshapen, pitch-dripping pines. I stayed clear of the woods, yet I always came home from the park with pine sap all over my clothes and my backpack and my bike. Mom yelled, but I swore to her I was staying out of the woods, and I was, until I wasn't. It was a Saturday and early. Mom had come home late the night before, some date, some guy, one drink too many, And by morning she was nursing coffee, like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

After the third time I asked about breakfast, she crammed a 20 in my hand and told me to grab an egg and cheese biscuit and go play at the park. The diner was only two blocks away. The park, a block past that. I know what a hangover is now. I don't blame her one bit. One thing I've learned from building businesses is that getting started is usually the hardest part. we launched No Sleep Coffee. We already knew exactly what we wanted to sell. We just needed a website. Shopify made that step incredibly straightforward. We set up our storefront, added our products, uploaded the descriptions and images, and within a few days we had a fully functioning online store. What I really value is how Shopify takes care of so much behind the scenes. The checkout experience is

extremely smooth. Customers complete their purchases quickly, giving you peace of mind as an owner that you're not losing sales at the last step. If you've been considering selling a product online, whether it's coffee, merch, or something you made yourself, Shopify is definitely worth a look. With Shopify, nothing stands between your idea and a real business, so go make it one. Start your free trial at Shopify.com slash DNS.

Start your free trial at Shopify.com slash DNS. If you're into horror with a heavy dose of sci-fi, classified experiments, and things humanity was never meant to understand, check out my other podcast, the SCP experience. Each episode pulls you into the hidden world of the SCP Foundation, where dangerous anomalies are studied, contained, and sometimes unleashed. These aren't just scary stories. They're classified nightmares. Click here to listen now or search for the SCP experience wherever you get your podcast. When I got to the park with my egg and cheese biscuit, I rolled my bike up to one of the few picnic tables. This one covered in sharpy graffiti and carved initials. I sat my butt down and opened the white paper bag. The smell of cheese and grease hit me hard, and I smiled down into the bag. Hey, loser, you got enough for two?

I looked up, grinning. Mickey was riding his bike straight for me. Mickey hopped off his bike as it was so. still moving, letting it ditch itself in the definitely not Oregon rye grass that grew sporadically around the park. I'm pretty sure it was made out of tin foil and scratchy wool. The weeds were softer to step on and bare feet. Oh, seriously, man, you got extra? My mom was not in a good mood this morning. Neither was mine. I split the biscuit and handed him half as he sat down next to me. We ate in silence, munching away with our mouths open. No one to tell us to

close them and prevent biscuit crumbs from falling down the fronts of our shirts. What are you up to today? Want to go check out comics at the dungeon? I shook my head. Nah, I'm broke. Mom hasn't given me. Then I realized Mom gave me a 20, and the biscuit had only cost three bucks. I fished into my pocket and pulled out my change. Mickey's face lit up. I'm sure mine did too, for half a second. Because as I held up the cash, I looked past Mickey and saw half a face peering out from one of the pines. Dude, bet! He snapped the cache out of my hand, stood up, and started running away.

All the comics are mine! He danced away, just playing, obviously waiting for me to chase his ass down. But I couldn't move. My eyes were locked on the half-faced man behind the pine. Then on the long, dirty fingers, the thin-skinned blue-veined hand. A finger curled. The half-faced man laughed. Mickey stopped running around, finally realizing that I wasn't going to chase him.

He stood there and was ready to give me shit, his mouth open, starting to shout. Then it snapped closed as the laughter reached his ears. He looked over his shoulder. The bloodshot eye and the half-face switched from me to Mickey, and the finger adjusted its aim. I wanted to scream. I wanted to get up and run and tackle Mickey into the patchy grass and piles of drifted pine needles. I wanted to grab our bikes and get the hell out of that lame park. I did none of that.

I sat there and watched as Mickey cocked his head and slowly started walking toward the woods, toward the finger, toward the half-faced man. The laughter got louder, faster, as Mickey drew closer to the pines. I stayed on my ass on the picnic bench, watching as if the scene was on television and not happening before my eyes. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight steps.

Mickey was at the edge of the woods. 9, 10, 11, he was inside the shadows the pines provided. 12, 13, he was only feet away from where the man behind the pine stood. That finger, still beckoning, beckoning, beckoning. The laughter grew. All I needed to do was open my mouth and shout Mickey's name like my mom had done in Manchester, breaking whatever spell the half-faced man had over me. I could do that for Mickey.

I didn't do that either. I could almost taste the laughter at that point. after at that point, it was thick with death and violence, like the stench of roadkill you drive by with your car window down. Fourteen, fifteen steps. And Mickey was gone. I saw the hand shoot out and grab him around the neck. Then the man pulled him behind the pine tree.

Gone, like that. My paralysis broke, and I lurched up from the picnic table. My legs rubbery but able to move. I shuffled, then jogged, then ran my ass off straight for the pines. Mickey? I reached the woods, burst into the corner. pool shade and slid to a stop at the pine tree I knew had hid half that laughing, beckoning man. There was no one there. I ran to the next tree and the next. I searched those woods for hours

until I finally heard my mom shouting for me. When I emerged from the pines, I was coated in dirt and pine needles, tears making deep tracks on my soiled cheeks. I told her everything. The police searched. The community searched. No Mickey. His mom blamed me. The police blamed me. The police blamed me. The town of Little Fork decided that was good enough for them, so they all blamed me too. We moved to Churnan three months later. They never found Mickey. The rest of middle school passed by in a haze of anxiety and depression. I barely slept. Images of that finger, that half face filled my mind. Being in a new school didn't help. Zero friends. No interest in riding my bike through the surprisingly affluent neighborhood my mom.

moved us into. I watched TV, I did my homework, I read a lot. I stared at my bedroom window at the line of birch and maple and oak trees that rimmed our big backyard. They were old trees, trees that had seen stuff over the decades. I would whisper to them that I'd seen stuff too. They never whispered back, thank God. Of course, I was looking for signs of him, of the half-faced man, for signs of a finger with a cracked nail, thick dirt clinging under it, beckoning me to slide my window open and just climb out into the bed of flowers my mom had planted. But the man didn't show. Not that year, not the next. Middle school became high school. High school became community college, and still,

nothing. No half face, no finger, no laugh. I should have felt relieved. Mostly, I felt like I was waiting, like he was just letting the line play out before he reeled me back in. There wasn't enough money to go away for school, so I stayed close. Community College, living with mom, saving my cash for the day I'd need a place of my own. I walked to the bus stop every weekday morning, ready to get to class, to get my two years done so I could transfer away from Chernin and really get my life started. Three weeks away for my two-year Associates of Arts degree, and I was standing at the bus stop like always. At first, I didn't hear the laughter. I had headphones on and was bopping to some tune, probably not a popular tune or a cool tune. I wasn't that guy.

It was a song from whatever mix the latest algorithm had decided I would like. The girl next to me, high schooler, not a college kid, turned and frowned at the trees behind us, and I realized something was off. She cocked her head and took a step away from the the bus stop. Lowering my headphones to my neck, I heard that laughter, a sound that was etched into my brain. I spun quickly and grabbed the girl's arm before I even saw the half-face peering out from behind an oak. I didn't need to see it to know it was there. But as soon as I faced the oak, that bloodshot eye swished its focus from the girl and onto me. There was a noise, like an animal trying to free itself from a trap, a high screeching. Then I felt the pounding

of a fist on my arm. I looked down, and the girl was screaming at me, her free hand, trying to pull my fingers from her arm. I could see her skin turning purple from my grip as I dragged her toward the oak tree with me. Let me go, you freak! Let go now! Her words were real, yet I felt like I was hearing them in a dream. I didn't let go. Instead, I gripped harder and continued to pull her to the oak, to the half face, to the finger curling over and over, wanting me to come closer. Come closer, it'll all be okay, I won't hurt you, not much, maybe a little, maybe a lot, maybe I'll even eat your... I was flung sideways and my shoulder and face hit the edge of the concrete sidewalk, scraping off skin. The pain brought clarity, and as blood seeped from my cheek, I looked up at a man in uniform, the bus driver.

What in the hell do you think you're doing? I pushed up on my elbows and could see the bus idling at the stop, the high school girls sitting on the steps. a woman crouching behind her, consoling her as she sobbed and sobbed. The bus driver placed a foot of my chest and pushed me back down flat. He bent over and jammed a finger in my face. You ain't going nowhere until the police get here! He was true to his word and kept me pinned until a squad car pulled up in front of the bus, and the cops took over.

One thing I've learned from building businesses is that getting started is usually the hardest part. When we launched No Sleep Coffee, We already knew exactly what we wanted to sell. We just needed a website. Shopify made that step incredibly straightforward. We set up our storefront, added our products, uploaded the descriptions and images, and within a few days, we had a fully functioning online store.

What I really value is how Shopify takes care of so much behind the scenes. The checkout experience is extremely smooth. Customers complete their purchases quickly, giving you peace of mind as an owner that you're not losing sales at the last step. If you've been considering selling a product online, whether it's coffee, merch, or something you made yourself, Shopify is definitely worth a look. With Shopify, nothing stands between your idea and a real business, so go make it one. Start your free trial at Shopify.com slash DNS. Start your free trial at Shopify.com slash DNS.

If you're into horror with a heavy dose of sci-fi, classified experiments, and things you're, Humanity was never meant to understand. Check out my other podcast, the SCP Experience. Each episode pulls you into the hidden world of the SCP Foundation, where dangerous anomalies are studied, contained, and sometimes unleashed. These aren't just scary stories. They're classified nightmares. Click here to listen now or search for the SCP experience wherever you get your podcasts.

Folks were questioned. The girl was questioned. I was questioned. I didn't have much of a story, except to say that I was trying to stop her from getting closer to the man behind the tree. A man no one saw. The girl said she didn't see a man. She didn't even say she heard his laughter. The bus riders had only caught part of it. All they saw was me dragging her toward the oak while she slapped and shouted at me to stop. The bus driver confirmed that and told the cops that he had to physically tackle me to get me to stop. I kept mentioning

the half-faced man and his beckoning finger. The police glared at me, not believing a word. Then I made the mistake of mentioning what I saw in Manchester and Little Fork. And I made the bigger mistake of mentioning Mickey. The cop's glares grew narrower. One of them went back to the squad car, while the other stood over me as I sat on the curb. My hands cuffed behind my back. When the cop returned, the two officers had a quick chat. I was informed I was being arrested for assault an attempted kidnapping. I argued, and they both told me to shut the hell up, which was weird. They read me my rights, so they should have been happy I was explaining myself. Later, I found out that they didn't want to prejudice the case, not the case of the high school girl,

Mickey's missing person's case. My lawyer tried his best to get me to shut up, but I had to tell them. They had to know about the half-faced man. They needed to be warned. He was everywhere, following me from town to town. I know he wanted me most, but he'd take whoever was closest if he could. He wasn't picky. A catch was a catch. Three lawyers quit on me until the last one who stuck by me decided that the only way to win the case was to lose. He informed my mother and me that I should plead insanity. It was either go to the state hospital or go to prison. And if I were found responsible for Mickey going missing, there would be a whole lot of inmates in prison who would want to meet me when I arrived. Meet me in dark corners with homemade shivs and

pillowcases filled with bars of soap. My lawyer described what a broom handle could do to a person when inserted. I pleaded insanity and was evaluated by several doctors. Then the judge and district attorney signed off on the deal, and that was that. Off to the state hospital with me. And do you feel you made the correct choice, Casey? My eyes are focused out the window of of Dr. Lovechick's office. The hospital's lawn stretches on and on, then stops dead at a chain-link fence, a stand of fir trees only a few feet beyond it. Other inmates, with several handlers swirling around them, walk and dance and cry and shout and skip on the lawn. I look past them all. My eyes are on the trees. Casey, did you hear me? I nod. Can you look at me, please? He takes all of

my willpower to swivel my head away from the window and what beckons to me out there. Thank you. Now, answer my question, please. What question? Do you believe you made the correct choice with your plea? Not much of a choice. Dr. Lovechick smiles at me and waits. I sigh. Yeah, I think so. Good. Acceptance is an important part of the process. I turned back to the window. A woman is naked and streaking across the lawn with two handlers chasing after her. Soon, more staff joined the case. Can we go for a walk? A walk?

You want to go outside? I nod. You haven't expressed a desire for outside time since you arrived. Quite the opposite, in fact. Can I? Well, yes, you may. Some fresh air may do you some good. I'll join you, and we can continue.

you are, Chad. I nod. I smile. I stand. I'm led from the doctor's office down several corridors and through many locked gates. When we reach the lawn, the naked woman has been caught. I grinned her as she's carried past me by the staff. Pink, foamy spit is dripping from her mouth, her body thrashing like an overtired toddler's. The doctor and his assistant walk me around the lawn. I hear the doctor's questions. I answer appropriately, all the while, slowly angling us toward the chain link fence and the furs. I know what you were doing, Casey. I understand where you are taking us. I stop and look at him. I see disbelief and no kindness. He studies me like a curious bug he's just found. The staff behind us only look bored. Why did you stop? Are you done walking for the day?

I shake my head and move even closer to the fence. My handlers move with me. When I'm at the fence, I slip my fingers through the links and stare into the furs. Hello? Are you there? Okay, Casey. I think that is enough. Then the laughter begins. That high, silly laughter.

The doctor freezes by my side. I only smile. Um, hello? Hello? This is state property, and trespassers will be proper. The laughter stops. Okay, we're done. Time to go back inside. Dylan? Please radio security that we have a trespasser on the property.

I see the half-face peek out from behind one of the larger furs. The finger follows quickly. Dear God, Dylan! Dylan's response is a pained grunt. Dr. Lovechick whips about and gasps. The half-faced man starts laughing again. When I glance over my shoulder, I see Dylan, down on the ground. being pummeled and kicked and bitten and scratched by a dozen inmates. I smile at them.

They stop assaulting Dylan and smile back at me. Dr. Lovechuk doesn't say a word. He just turns and runs along the chain-link fence as fast as he can, digging in his white coat pocket for his phone. Finished with Dylan, the other inmates stand and join me at the fence. I can hear shouting from the handlers who are just now realizing things aren't how they should be. We, my new friends and I, ignore their shouts and grasp the chain link, then start to climb. The razor wire on top snags a few, and their bodies hang from the top of the fence as they cry and plead to be set free, so they can join me amongst the furs. Those who make it to the other side are bloodied and slashed, but upright, and still walking alongside me as I focus on that finger.

A quarter of us make it to the half-faced man, the rest, having fallen due to blood loss, it happens. I brought friends. The half-faced man cackles with pleasure and slowly reveals himself. I was right. I didn't want to see the other half of his face. Neither do my new friends. So we scream and scream and scream and scream and scream until he takes us away. I don't know where I am, where we are.

But I am happy to see Mickey is here too. What's left of him. He tells me to find a tree of my own. And I do. We all do. Now I can peek out from behind a fur or pine or oak with my own half face and make even more new friends. Finally, thanks for tuning in. If you enjoyed the story, be sure to follow or subscribe and share the show with a fellow horror fan.

I'll see you in the next one.