Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - The Weeping Widow

Episode Date: August 26, 2022

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Talk to nicely. You ever been on a boat before, Lucas? Asked the burly man on the pier. Dangerous work. A man's liable to go over the side if he ain't careful. I ran my hands through my mop of Auburn hair. I had sent in an application months before and told the captain I had no experience on the water,

but maybe he didn't see that part. It had worried me at that moment. that I may be about to lose the job before I even started. No, sir, I replied. I have no experience on a boat. I know how to swim and have spent time at the lakes back home, but nothing like this. Captain Orange furrowed his brow as he looked me over. It was hard to determine his age.

All of his hair had gone gray, and his face was lined with deep wrinkles. His body was a stout rack of muscle. He was either in his later years or life on the sea had worn him down. My business manager must not have looked over your application too well, he said dismissively. Crabbing on the Bering Sea ain't a game. You young folks watch some damn show on the Discovery Channel and think it's a quick payday. It ain't. Not sure this is going to be for you.

I grabbed my duffel bag from the wet concrete and turned to walk back to the hotel. My mind raced between the disappointment of rejection and the panic of having to pay for a plane ticket home. My bank account was nearly drained, and I would have to use my already maxed-out credit card. Hang on, he shouted. Be here at six in the morning tomorrow. It's too damn late for me to find a new deckhand, and you're just going to be just going to, to have to learn to be useful real quick. If you can't keep up, crab ain't going to be the only thing we dump at the port. The old man turned and walked back onto the deck of his boat before

vanishing into the wheelhouse. F. V. Weeping Widow rocked gently against the pier. I spent the first two hours of our trip to the Bering Sea, violently dumping my breakfast into the filthy toilet just off the kitchen. Every time I wretched, I could hear the other deck hands howl with laughter outside. Captain Orange had told the crew to hit their bunks for a bit of rest, before we reached the crabbing grounds. But their laughter and jeers made it clear they had no intention of heating the advice. It seemed like all of my stomach contents had successfully ejected

when pounding began to sound against the thin wooden door. All right, green horn, one of the deckhands shouted. Time to get off your ass and on your feet. We'll be dropping pot soon, and that herring won't hop in the bait bag. Let's move! I could hear the sounds of their voices growing quiet, and the thuds of heavy boots heading up the steps under the deck. Wiping my face on my sleeve,

I pushed myself onto my feet and walked out the door. The smell of beer and cigarette smoke nearly made my C-6 stomach turn again, but I managed to press the urge back down. Pushing the bulkhead door open, I entered the equipment room where the other hands were slipping into their cold weather gear and waiters. A big man who I thought was named Jimmy, shoved a bright orange body suit into my hands and smacked me on the shoulder. I looked at it in confusion. It was completely different from the gear the other men were wearing. What's this? I asked the man.

It doesn't look like the same gear the rest of you have. That's an immersion suit, son. He responded with mild annoyance. Captain told us you've never been out to sea before and got no boat experience. Me and all the boys think you'll fall overboard. And this is the only thing likely to save your rookie ass. The other man began to howl with laughter again. I began to put on the enormous suit.

Unsure if it was a joke or not. There was no other gear in the room, so my options were limited. The others began to file out of the bulkhead and onto the deck. After five minutes of struggling into the immersion gear, I was finally ready to join them outside. Cutting wind and water slapped my face as soon as I stepped onto the deck. The other hands scurried from crab pots, cinching ropes, and checking for holes.

Jimmy stood beside an industrial grinder and waved me over. Grab these bait bags, and we'll start lining them up over at the pot launch. He said, gesturing to a pile of mesh sacks filled to the brim with ground fish. Gotta hurry if you want to keep the job. I grabbed as many of the bait bags as I could and began to clumsily waddle toward the launcher at the side of the ship. The immersion suit was unbelievably bulky and made it difficult to bend my legs to walk.

My feet slipped and shuffled as I tried to find purchase on the wet deck boards. I had just finished dropping the first load of bait bags when the boat grew silent. The engines had stopped. There was no more hurried noise from the crew who had been readying the crab pots to launch. An electric sensation of fear jolted through my body in the sudden silence. I turned toward the deck to see all seven deck hands surrounding me in a semicircle. Just as I was about to speak, I heard the door from the wheelhouse open and slam closed. Looking up, Captain Orange stood against the railing. Hands clenched around the frigid metal, a grim look on his face.

It ain't personal, Lucas, he shouted. We've got a tradition here on the Weeping Widow. Every four or five years, me and the boys sacrifice a man to the sea, keeps the rest of us safe. Superstitious, maybe. But we ain't lost a man accidentally and to, 22 years. That suit will give you a few hours to get right with whatever God you pray to.

At first, I thought it was a joke, but a few of the men pulled worknighes from their belts as they all walked toward me. Captain Orange had already turned and walked back into the wheelhouse, slamming the door behind him. The engines roared to life in the boat jolted forward. Over the side, Jimmy said. Or the boils will have to stab you a few times to inspire you. Please! I screamed at the men as they slowly closed in on me. Don't do this.

Just take me back. I won't tell anyone. They remained silent and continued forward. The first man was in arm's reach and leaned in to grab me. I swung my fist as hard as I could and made contact with the side of his head. He stumbled back, shocked at the unexpected blow. As I prepared myself to throw another blow, the others began to move in faster. While I was distracted by the first man, the others seized the opportunity to tackle me to the railing of the ship.

I thrashed violently and hit every man within reach, but it was no good. I felt two of them wrapped their arms around my ankles and lift me into the air. My hands clenched around the metal railing, and they tipped me over the side. Grip still in place, I slammed against the heart. of the ship and looked up in horror. Seven crazed faces stared down at me, smiling with sadistic glee. One of the men began trying to prime my fingers from the rails, but the sudden surge of adrenaline had increased my strength. No matter how hard he pulled my fingers or slammed his fist down, my grip wouldn't break. Then I saw one of the men vanish. He returned moments later with a

hammer. Lifting the hammer above his head, he brought it down on my left hand with a sicken crack. White blurs of pain filled my eyes as I heard this sickening crunch. My left hand spasmed in pain and fell from the railing. The weight of my body strained my right arm as I continued to hold onto the rail. My muscles burned with agony as I watched him lift the hammer a second time. The second wave of pain swept my body as the hammer made contact. My vision went black. The splintered bones of my right hand gave way, and I fell to the churning sea below. My loss of consciousness was momentary. I felt as though I slammed against concrete

as my body met with the rough waves below. The unimaginable cold encompassed my body almost instantly, and any hope of drifting away to a peaceful death vanished. I began to struggle against the waves and paddled my arms to turn myself upright. Fresh bolts of pain erupted in my hands and shot up my arms as I tried to use them to right myself in the water. The suit had kept me dry, but the bulk made it nearly impossible to control my movements.

Finally, I managed to get myself onto my back and floated on top of the choppy sea. White-cap waves lapped and slammed against me, filling my mouth with briny water and making it difficult to breathe. As soon as I passed over the top of a new wave, I would coast back down the back and dip below the water before coming back up and gasping for air. I could see the F. The weeping widow rocking gently on the waves, and the spotlight moved into the distance. A man was standing at the back of the boat, one arm propped on the railing, and the other waving merrily in my direction. It looked like he lowered it to blow me a kiss. Thank you, Greenhorn! He shouted with glee.

If my kids knew what you sacrificed to keep their old man safe, they'd thank you, too. Please. I shouted. I slipped under the water again. Come back. Another white cap swelled over my head, filling my mouth with salty water. Don't leave me! A larger wave pushed me a few feet under.

Sending water into my lungs, I can't, please. The lights vanished over the rolling waves, leaving me in the pitch dark. The water began to calm a bit as the wake of the boat settled. My balance returned, and I began to float calmly in the water. Stars burned brightly overhead. I had never been this far away from a city to see them so clearly. They would have been beautiful in any other setting. There in the Bering Sea, the stars would be the only witnesses to my funeral.

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Saving those children is how we all go home. From Binge All Episodes exclusively on Paramount Plus. I drifted for hours. The immersion suit had kept the worst of the cold at bay for a while. But I had eventually started to feel the icy daggers of the frigid water creep into my muscles. I had given up on trying to swim. My body ached and it hurt to move. Hopelessness had overtaken me, and I simply waited to die.

After letting go of the fear and anxiety, I noticed I felt a bit better. The water didn't seem to be as cold now. My body aches were dissipating. I felt almost comfortable. Hypothermia. Late stage, probably. It's no way to go. But by the time the false warmth starts filling your body,

you're almost thankful. I had decided to close my eyes and rest and let the ocean take me. When I heard something in the distance, a brumbling sound, a ship's engine. I opened my eyes and scanned the area. and in the distance, I could see a dim light. There was a ship passing to my right.

Too far away to see me. Too far away to hear me scream. I rested my hands on my chest as tears filled my eyes. My hands rested on top of a hard, found piece of plastic. Confused, I fumbled at it with my bent and broken fingers until I felt a bump on the side, pushing it in. The night sky filled with obnoxious light. The damn suit had a strobe.

I had been out here for hours and never checked the suit for any gear. There was no telling how many ships might have passed close enough to see it, but in my panic, I never checked. Bright flashes of light nearly blinded me as they radiated in the night sky. I shielded my eyes with my crippled hand and turned my head toward the boat passing me by. My mind was foggy, but I thought I could see a spot. light burst to life on the deck. A thin beam of harsh light began to scan the sea all around me. With great effort, I'd lifted my arms in the air to wave, hoping the reflective tape on the sides of the suit would catch their attention as well.

After a few moments, the spotlight fell on me, and I had to shield my eyes completely. The light remained on me for what felt like an eternity until I could hear the deafening roar of the engine of a ship nearby. Waves began to crash violently against me. Once again, I struggled to keep my head above water and breathe. This is the United States Coast Guard. A resonating voice called from the ship's loudspeaker. We will dispatch a rescue team to pull you aboard. A few moments later, I was pulled into an inflatable boat.

There were a few men and women on board talking into radios as we sped back to the larger ship. The luminous spotlight followed us the entire way. It was like a light from heaven, carrying me back to safe harbors. I started sobbing uncontrollably. A woman sitting next to me grabbed my hand to comfort me. The pain was excruciating, but I didn't bother telling her about my injuries. I was too relieved to be in the sight of another person that the pain was worth the contact. I squeezed her hand back as best as I could with my shattered fingers.

We pulled alongside the Coast Guard boat and forced her. cables dropped from a crane above. The rescue team started attaching the clasps to the boat, and in moments we were lifted from the choppy sea. Tears flowed freely as we drifted upward to the deck. As we lifted above the side, the crane began to swing us onto the deck before gently lowering the boat. A swarm of warmly dressed men and women pulled me from the boat and put me on a stretcher. They chattered back and forth about care measures, as my mind swam in the joy of my rescue, Hey there, big guy, one of the men said. Can you tell me how you ended up in the drink out there?

You're a long way from land. Throne overboard, I said in a croaky voice. Grabbing boat, weeping widow, crew tossed me overboard. The man's expression changed from professionally friendly to concern. Let me go grab the captain, he said before vanishing through the rest of the crew. A few moments later, a woman stood beside the stretcher as the crew pulled me from my wetsuit and wrapped me in blankets. The serious woman held a warm cup of coffee to my lips, and I drank deeply. Sir, can you please tell me what happened on the F.V. Weeping Widow?

I told her how the crew had cornered me before throwing me from the boat. She listened intently, as I explained to her how I had treaded water for hours, and how I had struggled to flag down their passing vessel, she nodded and assured me that I would be safe. Her version of save differed greatly from mine. I was flown back to the mainland, and my hands were treated at a hospital and anchorage. After my recovery,

I was placed in an involuntary psychiatric hold for observation. The crew of the FV weeping widow all reported to authorities that I had become unstable after going out to sea. After running a string of crabpots, the captain had given the crew a few hours of rack time. While everyone was in their bunk, I must have snuck to the equipment room, put on the immersion suit, and jumped overboard in an elaborate suicide attempt. None of the crew faced charges, and the hospital eventually released me to fly home, broken and destitute. I'll never be the same. Yet the FV weeping widow still safe.

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