Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - The Neighbors

Episode Date: October 26, 2021

Halloween Horror Week Special. 🎧 Check out the Dr. SCP podcast here: https://spoti.fi/3zCFjQc 🎉 Ad-free episodes + bonus episodes: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🎥 YouTube: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep ✅ Advertising Inquiries: [e-mail] DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drnosleep #halloween #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Fan of soccer, you could assist a moment historic. You could get any of the final of the Cup of the World of the FIFA 2006 with Visa. It's just to have a card of credit visa BMO for participate. Inscribe you at BMO.com bar-oblique concourse. The reglements of the October. The Morrison family would leave their homes. They would return on the 1st of November with their memories erased from Halloween. This might not sound like a strange.

occurrence to any ignorant bystander, but as someone that grew up in our neighborhood, I'm unfortunate enough to know better. The annual getaway started shortly after their grandmother's death. She had been cared for by her son during the end stages of her life, and he'd moved his entire family into the house to make sure her last days were comfortable. The woman herself had lived in the house for decades as a recluse hidden away from society. Even as a kid, I'd always kept distance. Her eerieness factor partially came from her obsession with the occult and unknown, a fact reflected by her creepy house decorations and strange rituals. But she wasn't breaking the law, nor did she appear to hurt anyone, so the neighborhood mostly stayed clear of her and let her do

her thing in peace. On the first Halloween after her death, the Morrison's left town for a few days. None of us thought anything of it. We just kept up with our annual preparations and got ready for the annual trick-or-treating events. On the night of Halloween, strange sounds emerged from the house. In a way, it sounded like an old woman crying through a broken trachea, faint, but ever-present. With every neighbor covering their house in creepy decorations and sound effects, no one gave it any thought. Still, knowing the Morrison's family history, the strange sounds didn't sit well with me. I decided that year to just do a neighborly wellness check.

As I approached the door, I was met with a less than welcoming message. We do not celebrate Halloween. If you've come looking for candy, please leave. It was an odd statement, considering that the family had always been a large part of the annual Halloween festivities. especially the two kids. But since the grandmother's death, something had changed. Once Halloween had ended that year, I tried approaching the family. I asked how they were doing and offered my assistance during these tough times. I mentioned the crying sounds coming from their house, which was swiftly brushed off. Thanks for your concern, but we're fine. The sounds

are just the house making weird noises. Old buildings do that, you know, the father said. His name was John, a man whose stress had aged him prematurely. Following that year, the family kept mostly to themselves, and despite the oddity surrounding their home, we slowly began to forget. Alas, the blissful ignorance would only last until the Halloween of next year. And just like last time, the Morrisons abandoned the neighborhood a day before Halloween, leaving a note to keep people away. As the sun set in the evening, those same haunting cries filled the air, adding an extra layer of dread on top of the already creepy festivities.

That year, I didn't bother checking on them. Instead, I sat on my front porch with candy for the kids, all the while keeping an eye on the neighbor's house. A couple of kids went up to the door, ignoring the warning to stay away. When no one opened, they were quick to move on, an event that occurred. several times throughout the night. This was until I noticed a couple of teenagers walking into the Morrison's backyard with several cartons of eggs. Due to their costumes, I couldn't recognize them. They were most likely pissed that no candy had been handed out. I decided to follow them with a flashlight, hoping to catch them red-handed and teach them a lesson. I ran into their backyard,

only to be met with an empty garden. On the ground lay a couple of broken eggs. but the kids were nowhere to be seen. The only thing I noticed were the eerie noises emerging from the house. I figured they must have bolted as they saw me. I returned to bed thinking nothing more of it. I was abruptly awoken the next morning to a group of people patrolling through the street.

A dozen people were walking around calling out for someone. I stumbled outside, still in my pajamas, asking one of the neighbors just exactly what was going on. Two kids went missing last night. The Peterson boys, the man said. I just knew them in passing. They were two teenagers that caused enough trouble to repeatedly get kicked out of school. Based only on their size, it was plausible that they were the ones I'd chased the night prior, but I wasn't confident enough to say anything. I joined the search for a bit, but we didn't get far. I returned to the Morrison's backyard,

wondering if I could uncover any clues to the boy's whereabouts. What are you doing? John asked as he saw me intruding on his property. Hey, I said meekly. I was just, there were some kids in your backyard last night. They were going to egg your house, and the Peterson boys went missing last night, so I... His face turned pale, as if a horrific realization just hit him. They were in the backyard? he asked. I nodded.

For a moment, he just froze, as if a million thoughts were rushing through his mind. but he quickly snapped back to reality with a simple order. I'm going to need you to get off my property, he said in a voice filled with fear. I left him alone, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something about the strange noises within the house was connected to the boy's disappearance. I decided to turn to the police with the information. With my limited information, they couldn't get an official warrant, but they still decided to drive by and check out the house.

The Morrisons let the officers in, but nothing was found. The mere presence of the police at their place was enough to start a cacophony of rumors circulating around the neighborhood. The family was casted out of the neighborhood's circle, never more to be invited to any parties or events. By the time Halloween rolled around once again, every child in town knew to stay away from the Morrisons. But not every person believed in the rumors. and some took it upon themselves to solve the mystery of the haunted house. That year, four boys and two girls vanished from our town after visiting the Morrison house. The following investigation came up empty, but they wouldn't be the last people to vanish on the eve of Halloween.

Each year on the 31st of October, the Morrisons would leave town for a couple of days. Kids and teenagers would take it upon themselves to figure out what was going on. not really believing the rumors, and they'd always vanish. The police were called, but no bodies were ever found. Four years passed until I decided it was time to take action. Though we had no conclusive evidence that something within the Morrison House was killing people, I knew in my heart that something evil was lurking within there. So as Halloween came around once again,

I waited until the early morning hours, making sure no kids tried to get insane. Once the trick-or-treaters had gone to bed and the few remaining parties had dulled down, I decided to make my move. I grabbed my handgun and moved to the back of the Morrison house. The windows were all covered up and the doors were locked, but the second floor window looked like it was cracked open. As I climbed up onto the roof to open the window, the same wailing that had plagued the neighborhood sent shivers down my spine.

I pried open the window and entered into a small bathroom on the second floor. It immediately became apparent that the wailing was coming from downstairs. I turned my flashlight on and followed the sound. The soul-shattering cry, though broken and distorted, unmistakably belonged to an elderly woman. Each step I took was filled with trepidation, but I was determined to get to the bottom of the mystery. I kept moving down the stairs towards the ground.

floor. Each inch moved, I could feel the atmosphere change around me. The ground turned soft beneath my feet and the walls seemed to pulsate against the touch of my light, almost as if alive. A twisted voice called out, barely intelligible. I considered turning around, wondering what the hell had gotten into me, but as the thought of escape entered my mind, I could feel the stairs beneath my feet get softer and wet. With a single clumsy step, I slipped in a viscous liquid and fell pummeling down the stairs. The gun slipped from my grasp and I landed defenseless within the living room of the Morrison house. As the flashlight landed beside me, I finally got a good look at the monstrosity that surrounded me.

The entire room was encased in living, pulsating skin, emitting the stench of putrid rot. Help me, please! A voice called out. I grabbed the flashlight and pointed it towards the direct. of the sound. There, consumed by the skin, I saw a horrifically familiar face, stretched and torn by the surrounding flesh. It was one of the Peterson boys, still alive, but mutilated beyond what could be recognized as a human being. Kill me! Another voice said. Another kid consumed by the flesh. All along the walls were missing children and young adults trapped in the flesh

scape, begging for death. I tried to get up. But the skin had already seen. stuck to me. As I pulled my arm free, a chunk of my own skin came off, leaving a trail of blood where I'd fallen. Then I pulled my legs free, leaving behind chunks of my clothes. I was trying to find my gun, but for each step I took, the skin tried to consume me. All the while, the faces on the walls were crying out for help to end their torture of an existence, but my gun was nowhere to be found. I took another heavy step, which caused me to trip and stumble back onto the ground. As I lifted my head, I saw a figure appear around the corner. It was a mutilated lump of flesh that effortlessly morphed with the skin as it passed. A part of her mangled being

resembled that of an old woman with a contorted face that seemed to be in absolute agony. As she passed the flesh and faces, they all fell silent. She was in charge of the monstrosity, the one that controlled it. She let out a broken cry, something more akin to a twisted laugh, and I immediately realized that she was the one I'd heard on each Halloween for all those years. That's when it dawned on me. She wasn't just some monster. She was the Morrison grandmother. Come to me.

She groaned. I tried to get back up, partially tearing up my arms and the underlying fat. I winced in agony, but I couldn't pull myself completely free. Be one with the flesh. The grandmother said. I desperately tried to get free, peeking outside the mostly covered up windows, praying for someone to walk past and help. But there was no one there. Everyone was fast asleep.

The monster kept getting closer as the skin dug further into my body. There was nothing I could do. Within a minute, the creature would consume me like the rest, and an eternity of suffering would ensue. The time is come. She said as she stood before me, ready to strike. But something kept her in place. She looked towards the window, seemingly paralyzed, at which point I noticed the first rays of daylight,

gently shining through the window. She let out in barely a whisper as her flesh started to dry out. She fell to the ground as the skin turned to dust, sinking into the ground and erasing all traces of her existence. The faces begged for the sweet relief of death, but they too were vanishing into the walls as the light touched them. Within only a few seconds, Their existence was erased as if they'd never been there.

They were gone. I crawled out through the front door, immediately collapsing on the street, where I'd lay until someone called an ambulance. My wounds could hardly be explained by any natural phenomenon, and I couldn't exactly tell them the truth without coming off as a lunatic. So I told them I couldn't remember, hoping they'd let me go home. I can't let them lock me up, and I can't tell anyone what I saw. I need to go home and wait for next Halloween.

Because when the time comes again, I'm burning that place to the ground. Lazzangue sur-gely, Pucance-Moyerned for 15 minutes. We'd say that's the hour of dojo. Preet to enjoy? Vive the pleasure with the Ojo. The casino in-line that proposes the more recent machine-assoo and games in direct. Profite to 50 tours gratu on Big Bas Bonanza.

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