Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - The Night I Became the Vampire King

Episode Date: September 15, 2021

This story was written by Bikram Mann. You can check out his new book on Amazon here: Unclean Spirits 🎉 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 #scarystories #horrorstories #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Welcome to aboard Via Rai, Embarked and Profite. Embarked and celebrate. Rigolet. Publié. Savoray. Admirate. And profite. Villaray, the voice that we love.

Talk to Naisley. The warehouse sits in the middle of the old industrial district, an ugly block of concrete. It sprawls across the land, casting its weary gaze out onto its dilapidated surroundings. There was a time when it was the shining jewel of this town. A time when it would bustle with the optimistic energy of the workers who lived identical lives in identical houses just over the hill, when large boxes of electronics would pass through it

on their way to different corners of the country, and sometimes even across the sea. But all that is ancient history, of course. For now, it is nothing but an eyesore battered with age. A sad and decrepit reminder of this town's once great potential. Wind whistles through its shattered windows like the mournful house. of an abandoned dog. Weeds and ivy crawl up its sides as if trying to make it sink it to the ground while a chain of grimy, flickering tube lights, adorning its crumbling boundary wall, desperately try to sweep aside the gloom that is settled into its very bones. Definitely not a

place a fledgling like me would choose to spend his Friday night at. But sometimes things are so far beyond our control that we can do nothing but be swept by the tides of causality. As I climb out of my car. I adjust the buttons of my suit and let my eyes drift over the warehouse, not because it holds my interest in any way, but because I would rather look at anything but at the man. No, the creature standing outside the rusted front gate. I fix my gaze on the walls. I focus on the paint that peels off them, making the building look like a dying snake, trying to shed its skin one last time. I imagine myself wriggling into the cracks of the warehouse, hiding until all the shit that's about to go down tonight is over. But I know I will not be afforded that luxury.

Already I can feel the man growing restless. Immense pressure emanates from his body, presses up against me like a knife scraping against the very bone of my throat. I sigh, shake my head, and begin walking towards him. The air grows colder and thicker the closer I get to him, gently swirls around him, shimmering like a soft white mist under the dull streetlight. I loosen my tie to try and make it easier to breathe. It doesn't work. Fuck. I really should have drank more blood before coming here. You are laid, the man remarks. His silky voice gliding effortlessly out of his mouth. Apologies, your excellency, I reply. My head bowed. The preparations took a little longer than expected. I risk a glance at him. He's staring at me. Ageless,

poreless skin stretched across a youthful face studded with ancient eyes. Arch, gold-rimmed black pupils like twin solar eclipses, I feel a shudder run through me. Let's dispense with the formalities, shall we? Call me Julius. I may be young, but I wasn't a total novice at the dance. I knew a trap when I saw one. I couldn't possibly do that, sire. He smirks, his fangs glinting silver under the pale light. It would be so easy for him to rip my throat out. You're a quick learner, aren't you? I can see why Jacob thinks so highly of you. I say nothing. I just give a reverent nod in response. Pity he couldn't be here.

The king requested my master's presence at the Royal Lodge, sire. Ah, yes, of course. When his most venerable majesty calls, you sure damn well answer. A lesson Michael here seems to have forgotten. He reaches into the jacket of his sleep gray suit, pulls out a cigar from a small metal case, and jams it between his teeth. So, are your men ready? They are at your command. I replied. as I give him a light. Praetorians, all of them. Finest troops on the East Coast. But of course he knows that. Who? How many? Where? An elder like him would have known the answers to those questions the minute those soldiers stepped foot inside the town. I wish I could sense them as well. My inability to do so reminds me of my own weakness. Makes me feel uneasy, exposed. Elder Julius takes a long

drag from his cigar. I'm impressed you managed to convince the Prime Council to hand over the I give him a humble smile. It was all Master Jacob's doing. It was he who convinced them that it was necessary to bring this war to an end. And of course, a phone call from the Royal Lodge sealed the deal. The powerful vampire shakes his head with a chuckle. All that for Lil Old Michael. Overkill, if you ask me, that little cockroach doesn't deserve all the attention.

The eponymous cockroach here, of course, is the little brother of the vampire king of this great nation. and also the seventh most powerful blood-sucking creature on the continent. I curse him under my breath, yet again, for setting up his base on what has just recently become our turf, forcing us to participate in this civil war. Elder Julius sniffs the air, like a bloodhound. I can smell them in there, Michael and his men. It's faint, but it's there.

The stale stench of fear, like rust on an old metal pipe. He smiles, bears his fangs. Oh, how I've looked forward to this night. I've finally caught you, you slippery little bastard. My throat feels like sandpaper. The very thought of standing in the same room as these monsters sets my nerves on edge. But to go to war with them? I can feel the beast within me lashing out,

trying to rip my sanity to shreds for daring to go along with this foolishness. I grit my teeth and steady myself. All right, let's get started, shall we? Elder Julius says as he tosses his mostly intact cigar aside. It bounces off the asphalt, sends sparks flying into the air. The old vampire proceeds to untie his ponytail, his long silver hair spilling across his shoulders like a lion's mane. He then closes his eyes, cracks his knuckles, and unleashes himself. Terror ripples through me as I'm hit with the full extent of his power.

It feels like my head is being crushed in a vice while I'm drowning in acid. My brain pounds in my skull, my lungs burn, my knees wobble, heat sears every pore in my skin. It takes everything I have just to keep standing. Dear God, just how powerful is he? And then, just as quickly as it had started, the insane pressure is gone. The power that burned hot enough to scorch my soul itself is once again ensconced with an elder Julius's body. I lean against the wall, trying to catch my breath.

You all right there? He asks, amused, twirling a small. knife in his hands. I cough. You certainly know how to make an entrance, sire. He glides over to the wall, eases himself against it, and waits for the chaos to start. That little display of power is intended to hit two birds with a single stone, to throw Michael and his men into complete disarray, and to signal to the Praetorians to take advantage of the resultant confusion and begin their assault. Cold air licks at the back of my neck as I strain my ears for any signs that the enemy has taken notice of Elder Julius's performance, frantic pattering of booted feet, angry, panicked whispers,

metallic cliques of guns being loaded. But there's nothing. The warehouse is shrouded in a nervous silence. Something's wrong, I say, my tense shoulders turning in knots. He doesn't say anything. Did they know that he was here? Is that why they haven't broken the silence? Couldn't be. I'm sure they must have sensed my presence when I arrived here. I'm too young, too weak to fully meld with shadows. But Elder Julius? No. You only see him if he lets you. Something is terribly wrong here. Muttering something under his breath, Elder Julius whips his knife in the air and begins marching towards the front door of the warehouse. I pull my Glock out of its holster and start to follow. I spot the Praetorians as soon as we turn the corner and walk through the gate.

They have fanned out, surrounded the warehouse from all sides, guns aimed at the numerous shattered windows that dot its walls. Two of them break off and begin jogging towards us. Their boots clicking on the cracked and overgrown asphalt. Elder Julius stops as they approach, lower their rifles, and greet him with a bow. Sire, the one on the right says, fangs and blood-red lips peeking through the balaclava. We've taken a look inside. It's strange. Explain, he demands. They exchange a look. It's best if you see for yourself. He nods and they draw their guns up and begin leading us towards the broad front door of the warehouse. Fated white paint, rusted hinges that creak with the cold wind.

The door is on its last legs, and the Praetorian puts it out of its misery by kicking it down, sending it slamming onto the ground with a resound. The Praetorian switch on the flashlights mounted on their guns, swing it around the dark interior of the warehouse, and we see why none of our enemies had reacted earlier. Because they're all dead. The warehouse had been turned into a fortress, sandbag defenses, machine guns mounted at key positions.

They had a death trap waiting for us. But the only carnage that greets us is one that's the one that's, that seems to have taken place hours ago. I see walls and floor splattered with dried, corrupted blood, corpses slumped against sandbags and machine guns, sometimes whole, often in unrecognizable pieces. Shriveled up innards, littered the dusty floor, and hang from broken light fixtures like bunting. And the smell, dear God, the smell. Vile stench of vampire gore and refuse stabs at my brain through my nostrils. And something else, old rot, like things decaying under a hot desert, son. I clamp my hand on my mouth to stop myself from retching. Seems like Michael's group had a bit of a falling out.

The Praetorian who led us here remarks, that's not what this is, Elder Julius replies. His voice now muted, serious. The boisterousness and his demeanor is completely gone. I force my pupils to dilate and stare at him. The worry that creases his forehead is more terrifying than the macabre's sight in front of me. I feel saliva drying up in my mouth. Is something wrong, sire? The Pretorian asks. Yeah, the smell. It's strong here. Overpowers the senses.

But it's far too faint outside. I had to concentrate just to get a slight whiff. He takes a pause. Almost as if the stench is being suppressed, contained within these walls. Cold shivers rack my spine. He turns to look at me. You had people watching this place, did you not? I nod.

Yes, sire. Two men positioned on the hill overlooking this warehouse around the clock. and I'm assuming they didn't hear our friends here being torn apart. I shake my head. What could be powerful enough to hide something like this? Just the thought makes my head swim. Intriguing. He places a foot on a mutilated corpse lying face down on the ground,

kicks it onto its side. And there's the matter of the bite marks on these bodies. I narrow my eyes as they wander over the corpse, but my vision isn't strong enough to make out the wounds. Thankfully, the white glow of a flashlight passes over it, revealing the injuries, small bites, single puncture wounds, Elder Julius says, all over the body, like he was bitten by some sort of a critter. What do you think happened here? I whisper in disbelief.

That's exactly what I intend to find out. He replies, before jabbing his thumb at the Praetorian. Get your men inside. Search all the bodies. Find Michael. I'm going to find out what happened here, even if I have to drag that bastard right out of hell. The rest of the Praetorian swiftly pour into the warehouse. their flashlights bobbing and weaving across every inch of the structure. The very air inside brims with power oozing out of the powerful vampires. But there's an undercurrent of something else in here,

a faint presence of something long gone that still lingers in the air. Even I can sense it, a trace of immense power that makes everyone inside uncomfortable and fearful. The Praetorians, clad in black body armor, sift through the tattered remains splattered everywhere. Some faces are too brutally smashed to be recognized, and for that they rely on Elder Julius and the Bertoreans who've interacted with Michael in the past and are familiar with the stench of his blood.

We don't find Michael and Elder Julius begins to grow restless until we do find something tucked away in a damp and dark corner of the warehouse behind a sandbag wall beneath about a dozen bloody and broken limbs. There's a trapdoor here! We rushed towards the voice, waiting through the bloody muck on the floor and find two soldiers hunched over the dusty, grimy trap door. It's large, about the length of a man. I didn't know this place even had a basement, I say. Yeah? Maybe this is why old Michael chose this place, Elder Julius says.

Open it. There's a shrieking groan as the two Praetorians forced the hatch open, revealing a steep flight of stone stairs that leads into the darkness below. Elder Julius bends over, squints, and then frowns. Give me a flashlight, he says, and for a moment there's a pause. All of us around him are taken aback, for there is no reason a creature as old as him would need a light to see in the dark, a natural darkness, that is.

He grabs a flashlight from one of the soldiers and begins descending down the stairs. I follow, and so to two of the Praetorians. The steps are too small, and I'm afraid of tripping and crashing into the elder, sending us both hurtling downstairs. What would he do if that happened, I wonder? Cut my head off mid-air, simply for my stupidity? It's damp down here. Smells of wet clothes forgotten in dark, unheeded room.

or water leaking from cracked pipes and rotting in the walls. And there's another scent, somewhat masked by the former, yet not quite blending in. It reeks like moist ashes of a dead fire. I crinkle my nose and keep moving downwards. The stairs drops us off at a small landing, hemmed in by the walls. A sleek wooden door is set into the wall directly in front of us. Faint yellow light seeps out from the gap beneath the door, suggesting that the room beyond might be illuminated.

Elder Julius steps forward, places his hand on the gate. gilded doorknob, turns it, and pushes the door open. My mouth drops at the sight beyond the door. The room is cramped, with a mud roof that hangs so low I have to bend my neck just to stand here. Dozens of shadows dance across the room as candles. At various stages of their life burn from their perches on earthen flooring, on shelves carved into the mud walls, and most importantly, on the altar placed next to the far wall, bathing the tiny space in a dull, shimmering yellow glow, and slumped against the small table that serves as the altar, rests the corpse of our quarry.

Michael, his jaw has been ripped clean off, his tongue hangs limply on his neck, even his eyes have been gouged out. Blood from his wounds has drenched his white dress shirt, turning it dark red. I have never seen such terrifying violence. It would inflict such hatred on someone else and be powerful enough to inflict it on a vampire like Michael.

Oh, Michael. Elder Julius whispers. You reckless fool, fuck have you done? I sense pure, unadulterated terror in the elder's voice, and that terror gets magnified in my heart. My eyes get drawn once again to the altar. In the middle of it sits an eight-pointed star made of some strange black metal that I don't recognize.

It is ringed by half a dozen tiny, underdeveloped skulls, like those of aborted fetuses. Their white bones have been splashed with blood, human blood. He opened a door that should not. have been open. My heart skips a beat as the strange feminine whisper drifts through the stale, smoky air in the room, reverberates through the walls. It echoes in my bones, makes me feel violated, like a wet tongue forcibly thrust down my ear. Those of us in the room whirl around frantically, weapons waving in the air, trying to locate the source of that voice. It sounded like it had been

spoken by someone standing with us. But of course, that voice was totally alien. My sanity begins to fray. voice once again fills the air, but this time it's even lower and completely incomprehensible. But I can feel the power in it, makes my bones rattle, shakes the blood in my insides, and then another sound joins in, squeaks. At first it's barely audible, like a fly buzzing in my ear, but it continues to get louder and louder till it becomes deafening, starts to scrape at my very eardrums. What the fuck is that? One of the Britarians shouts, Stand back to back! Elder Julius screams.

No one listens. For the next second, something digs through the ground beneath us. The dirt in the center of the room is pushed aside. A small hole is opened up, and a mass of brown fur pours out of it. Rats. Hundreds of them start to swarm us, all squeaking with glowing red eyes and serrated smiles. The flood of moving fur and flesh crashes into us, biting, gnawing, picking the flesh from our bones. We try to fight back, but it's useless.

I get two shots off before the pain from the bites, makes me drop the gun, and I stumble backwards. Little rat paw scratching my flesh. They crawl up inside of my thighs, and all I can do is scream. The Praetorians don't fare any better. Even Elder Julius, old and powerful as he is, meets an inglorious end at the hands and claws and teeth of the rats. He waves his knife around, slicing dozens of them into pieces with each swing, smashes apart hundreds of them with his telekinetic powers. But thousands instantly replace them, tumbling and trampling over another. They wriggle out of holes in dark, unseen corners and blanket the room, a moving carpet of brown fur that snuffs out all traces of light.

It isn't long before the pain numbs my mind, knocks me unconscious. Pain, it's the last thing I felt before fading away, and is the first thing that greets me when I wake up. It feels like my entire body is on fire, every muscle, however many the rats left behind, throbs and aches. I would scream if I had any strength left to do so. I'm lying face down on the ground? Where?

I can't tell. It hurts too much to move my head, but my cheek feels wet. Blood, slowly and very carefully, I sniff it. It's not my own, not even human. It's clotted and has a vile, corrupt stench to it. But it's blood, nonetheless. My tongue darts out of my mouth, takes a quick lick. It's utterly disgusting, yet in my weakened state,

Feels heavenly. I move my head, bite my cheek to fight through the pain that explodes in my skull, and to begin lapping at the pool of clotted blood on the dusty ground beneath my head. Strength begins to seep into my body once again. Oh, looks like you're finally awake. My body trembles and surprise. It's that voice again, the one that unleashed the nightmare on us. I crane my neck and look up and see a naked woman staring down at me. She's holding a rat in her hand, a long and sharp fingernail digging in its throat. Need more, she asks, amused, and slices the rat's neck open before I can answer.

I hungrily drink the blood that streams down on my face, grateful for the sustenance. I can feel some of my wounds stitching themselves back up. The woman reaches down towards me, lifts me up by the arm, and helps me sit up against something cool and smooth. I cough, and notice it's the door of a car. My car. How are you feeling, child? I look up again and notice the blazing scenery behind her. It's the warehouse. It's on fire. Dazzling orange flames burst out of the windows, crackling and licking the air. What? I croak. What happened? To your friends? She asks. I killed them all, just like the ones who summoned me. I stare at her. She has no presence. Unlike Elder Julius who would make your heart tremble by just standing next to you.

This woman feels like nothing, like a dark, empty void. It makes my soul shiver. What? What are you? I ask, terrified. A friend. If you would let me be one. She answers, smiling.

It doesn't reach her eyes. Oh God, those eyes. Large yellow irises and narrow black slits for pupils, like a cat. You can call me, Anana. Please. I beg. For what? My life, I think.

Let me go. I'm afraid I can't quite do that. My heart sinks. Why? What do you want from me? She caresses my cheek with her hand, looks at me with pity. I'm going to make this world burn, child.

And you're going to help me. Are you not? My mouth begins to move on its own. Yes, mistress. Of course I am. Thanks for listening. This story was written by Bickram Man. He is a very talented horror writer.

If you'd like to read more of his stories, Check out his newly released book, Unclean spirits, available on Amazon. It's only $2.99 for Kindle users, or free if you have Kindle Unlimited. The link to his book is in the episode description. Fan of soccer, you could assist a moment historic. You could gain the bia for 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 concour.

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