Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - There's a lady sitting in the tree across the street from my house. There's something very wrong with her.

Episode Date: March 31, 2023

🎧 Check out The SCP Experience here: https://spoti.fi/3juM1og 👕 New Dr. NoSleep Merch: DrNoSleep.com - Free shipping within the U.S. 🎉 Get ad-free episodes + over 50 bonus episodes here: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep ✅ Send all advertising inquiries to: [e-mail] Author: Maliagirl1314 Check out more of her work here: https://www.reddit.com/user/Maliagirl1314/ * * * 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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And profite. Viaray, the voice that we love that we love. Want to hear brand new horror stories brought to life? Live. Join me every Sunday at 7 p.m. Eastern Time on the Doctor No Sleep podcast YouTube channel, where I narrate fresh, never before heard stories in real time. Just search Dr.

podcast on YouTube and make sure you're subscribed with notifications on so you don't miss it. Looking for a new nightmare? Support my horror podcast on Patreon be the first to hear every spine-chilling episode. Plus get access to exclusive bonus content. She's been up there for the last few weeks now, but that's just when I first noticed her. She very well could have been up there much longer. It certainly looks like it. I've called the police and the local news. station, and even the damn mayor's office, but not a single person would help. Oh, they were concerned at first. Then they would come out and walk over to the tree and look up, and within a minute or two, they'd be walking right back to their car, and sometimes they'd even run. It sounds absolutely

absurd. A lady sitting in the tree in February. She's definitely not dressed for the weather, and normal people shouldn't be able to endure frigid temperatures like that, wearing nothing more than what looks like a filthy potato sack. But she has, and it doesn't seem to be bothering her at all. On the contrary, in fact, she seems to enjoy it. Look, I think I'm a reasonable guy, who's fairly tolerant of his neighbors. I didn't complain when the Messick's nine-year-old son took up playing the damn trumpet, one of music's loudest instruments.

And when Mrs. Hedinger next door insisted that I removed my juniper bush because she was worried it might give her cat diarrhea, I did the neighborly thing and dug up the old bush and tossed it out. I didn't even bat an eye when Ralph Larson down the street drove his golf cart into my mailbox last month. I just gritted my teeth and hauled away the splintered remains. My point is that I'm not some overly uptight person, but this, whatever this is, is going about. bit beyond anything I'd call normal. And no one seems to want to help. I guess it started a couple of weeks ago, but that's really just when I first noticed her up there. God knows how long she's been there before that. It was about seven in the morning. I walked out to my car,

keys in hand. I was just opening the car door when I saw her. I didn't even know it was a her at the time. Just a splash of white that caught my eye. I stared up at the tree. squinting to focus on the spot amidst all the brown in an attempt to determine what it was. There was no real concern yet, just a vague sort of curiosity. I checked my watch, making sure I wasn't running late before walking down my driveway toward the street. The tree is a massive thing, standing directly across the street from my house in the little cul-de-sac. I stood on the sidewalk, trying to see if I could get a good look at whatever it was without having to cross the street. But from my position, all I could see were brief glimpses between the thick branches.

I sighed, knowing if I didn't actually get eyes on whatever it was, it would bug me all day. For whatever reason I had to know. I crossed the street and stood on the sidewalk for a few moments, shielding my eyes from the sun. Whatever it was, I couldn't see it through the thick branches and brown decaying leaves. Staring up in the tree, I was immediately overcome. with a feeling of unease that I couldn't explain. The feeling was strong enough that I decided to forget the damn tree and headed for my car. Once my back was to the tree, I had an intense urge to run, almost akin to when I was a little kid, and I was sure something was just behind me.

Just as I reached my front walk, a sound broke through the quiet early morning, sharp and clear and unmistakable. P-st, like a voice trying to get my attention. I stopped. dead in my tracks. Without turning around, somehow I knew the voice was coming from that tree. Pride be damned, I ran. I ran right to my car, fumbling to get the key in the lock. Before I got the door shut and locked behind me, I could have sworn I heard another sound. Someone was laughing. That night I didn't sleep soundly. I kept staring at my bedroom window, imagining that I could see the trees swaying in the breeze, a drop of pale-colored skin moving along with it, as if waving. When the sun finally came up, I dressed quickly and hurried across the street, hoping none

of my neighbors could see me. Part of me chided myself for being irrational, but my legs continued moving nonetheless. I could hear birdsong and the faint hum of traffic in the distance. I pulled my jacket tighter around me, and the chilly winter breeze whipped at my skin. I stood at the base of the tree and looked up into it. The tree had lost most of its foliage due to the cold. But even though the tree was nearly barren, the many decaying leaves made it seem fuller. I positioned myself right under the thing, and that's when I finally saw it. I'm not sure what I was expecting to see, but it sure as hell wasn't that.

A woman was sitting on a thick limb, about 50. 50 feet off the ground. I stood gawking at her, trying to make some sense out of her presence there. She was staring straight ahead, unblinking and unmoving, wearing what looked to be a tattered potato sack. But it could have been the remains of a dirty old dress. Her thin bare legs dangled from the limb, twig-like and filthy. For a moment I thought she was dead, but I could see her movements, however slight. I looked around the ground for a ladder. or some other way she'd gotten up there, but there was nothing. I wasn't sure how the woman had gotten in the tree in the first place.

The tree wasn't what you'd call a typical climbing tree. It was much too wide around, and the only reachable branches were too thin and spaced out, so climbing would be next to impossible for most people. The more I thought about it, the more I began to think it had to be some kind of prank, albeit a really strange one. Miss?

I called up to her finally. Are you all right up there? Do you need help getting down? If she heard me, she showed no sign of it, and continued to stare ahead blankly. She had to have been freezing, considering the temperature. That dress she wore, it couldn't possibly have offered any warmth. A few seconds passed, but the woman still didn't respond, or acknowledge me at all. I was about to call up to her again, but before I could, the lady made a noise. A strange, ragged, wheezing sound floated down to me, growing louder with each passing second.

It took a minute for me to realize what the sound was, and for some reason it sent a chill through me. I took a step away from the tree, my instincts screaming at me to run. I had no explanation for this instant feeling of terror. All I knew was that something was terribly wrong with her. Before I could get my feet to move, the woman's head shifted. She began to lean out over the limb that she sat perched on, her face tilting downwards ever so slowly, until she was staring down at me.

She leaned so far over that I felt certain she'd fall. At first her face was blank, void of any emotion at all. But that changed in the blink of an eye. Her lips stretched into a ghastly grin that somehow took up most of her ashen face. She was breathing in shallow weasas that became almost deafening. Her hands were gripping the branches so hard that I could hear the bark ripping free

and see pieces of wood falling down to the ground where I stood. We both stared at one another for a long time before she suddenly opened her mouth. So wide, I thought her jaw might break, letting out a deep, raspy wine. And that's when I ran. I ran home and burst through my front door in a panic, slamming it behind me and locking both locks.

Even that didn't seem like enough. I waited there with both hands on the door, waiting for the sound of a body ramming into it. When I finally got myself under control, I risked a look out the window of my front door. But thankfully, I couldn't see her. I didn't go to work that day. As silly as it may sound to you, I was afraid. Afraid of leaving my house. Afraid I'd hear that shallow wheezing laugh and see her glaring through the branches at me.

By mid-afternoon, that fear began to dwindle, and I started to feel angry. Whether this was some weird joke, something stemming from a mental illness, or something else entirely, made no difference to me. I was pissed at being made to feel terrified to leave my own house. I went to bed fuming, with plans to go right out there in the morning to have a chat with that lady, if she was still there. I didn't sleep well that night. My eyes kept drifting to the window, staring out at the darkness beyond. I couldn't help but imagine the lady from the tree, with her dirty face pressed up against it. I woke the next morning before my alarm, and even beat the sun. I dressed quickly and drank

my coffee while I waited for the sun to fully rise. By the time it had, all of my bravado from the previous night seemed to vanish. I stole a glance out the living room window, but didn't see anything. I ignored my trembling hand as I opened the door and made my wife. way across the street. The branches swayed in the icy February wind that stung my face and crawled up my jacket. I stood a few feet from the base of the tree and looked up into it. I didn't see her and let myself relax slightly. I hoped the frigid temperatures had made her find a new spot. I took a step closer, but that's as far as I got, as the quiet was interrupted by a loud growling, coming from right above me.

Before I could look up, I heard something crashing through the branches and smacking onto the frozen ground with a wet sledge, landing right in front of me. A dead squirrel lay at my feet, its fur soaked in blood and bits of flesh. It looked to be empty inside from what I could see except for a few bones that helped it keep its shape. Even the eyes looked to be missing. I stared frozen at the partially devoured carcass in front of me. Then I heard a muffled yet familiar sound.

I ran home without looking up, knowing I'd see her bloody face grinning back at me. The next day was a Saturday, and I vowed to do something about the lady in the tree. I was past the point of talking to her, and after the squirrel, I was no longer angry. I was disturbed. She was clearly suffering from a mental illness and needed some professional help. I did the only thing I could think of, and called the police and explained. the situation. The dispatcher assured me that they would make sure the lady got the help she needed. I stood by the door, occasionally peering through the blinds. The officers arrived about

20 minutes later, and from the little window above my door, I watched them walk straight towards the tree. They stood directly underneath and looked up into it. For a long moment, they just stared, as if confused at what they were seeing. Even from across the street, I could see their expressions change, going from a vague curiosity to completely unsettled. They shared a brief look of concern at one another, before the female officer began talking up at the lady in the tree, shifting uncomfortably as she did so. She spoke for a few minutes,

and then the officer's unsettled expressions changed again to one of utter horror. The burly male officer jumped back from the tree as if he'd been stung, quickly grabbing his partner by the elbow and pulling her with him. She didn't seem to protest this, and together they backed away from the tree, their hands hovering over their holsters and nearly falling over the curb. Once they reached the street, they both stopped and stared up at the tree, neither saying a word.

Suddenly there was a flash of movement from up in the tree, causing the branches to shake violently in the spot where I knew the lady sat. The officer spun around and booked it across the street to their car. Their faces twisted with fright. I scrambled to unlock the door and ran outside, calling out to them. They looked at me, and for a second I thought they might leave. I could tell they wanted to. When they didn't, I jogged over to their car. Are you the person who called? The male officer asked. From up close, I could see how pale they looked, with sweat beating on their

foreheads despite the cold. Yes, sir. Are you going to get her down from there? I asked, hopefully. The officer briefly glanced sideways at the tree, shuddering a bit before looking back at me. The fear in his eyes was suddenly replaced by anger. Sir, this isn't an issue for the police. Go back inside you. He started, but I quickly cut him off. Not an issue for the police? Then whose issue would it be?

I asked, shocked. The lady has been up there for God knows how long. She's clearly not in good shape. You saw what she was wearing. The female officer stepped forward, threateningly. Sir, I'm going to need you to calm down, she said. The lady doesn't seem to want our help at the moment. moment. She is content where she is, and that is her right. She glared at me, her eyes begging me

to push the issue. But she can't possibly be well. You spoke to her for less than a minute. Shouldn't you at least have her checked out by a doctor or... The male officer stepped toward me, so close that I could smell the stale remnants of spearmint gum on his breath. He clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing as if he wanted to hit me. For his second, I thought he might. She's a grown woman and is free to sit in a tree on public property if she likes. You don't own the tree, sir. And let me remind you that it is a crime to misuse 911. Now, don't call us again about this, or we'll be coming to arrest you.

They hopped in the car without another word and sped off. I watched the car disappear down the road, completely baffled. I didn't look up at the tree. I didn't want to see her, but somehow I knew she was there watching, and maybe even laughing. I spent the rest of the day thinking about what I could do. I figured if the police wouldn't do their job, then I'd find someone who would. I called the local news station and told them about the woman, and how terrible of a condition she looked to be in, as well as how the police came and went without doing a thing.

The lady I spoke with sounded appalled at the situation, and her lady I spoke with sounded appalled at the situation, and promised to send someone out to speak with me. They came the following afternoon, a lady reporter and a licensed psychologist, and after speaking with me for a few minutes, they walked over to the tree. I watched them talking to the woman from my front porch, but I couldn't hear what they said. I could see how the smiles slid off their faces the moment they looked up into the branches. I could see how antsy they became as they spoke. Just like the police officers, they didn't last.

long. Three minutes later, they were hurrying across the street. Their expressions, a look of sheer panic. They didn't even stop to speak with me. The cameraman almost knocked me over when I tried to talk to them, and all my calls to the news station afterward went unanswered. At a loss, I tried the mayor. I left numerous messages, and finally got a response the next morning. The mayor's office sent someone out later that day. A cocky little guy in a suit with slicked back hands. hair and a sly grin that seemed a permanent fixture on his face. I tried to prepare him for what he would see, but he waved me off, as if I were just some overdramatic person afraid of a mentally ill woman in a tree. She hasn't been violent at all? he asked, a sneer on his face that I

wanted to slap. No, not yet, I said through gritted teeth. So she just sits up there? he asked. I could tell he was thinking me a fool for being afraid of a woman. a woman who hadn't done anything to me. But he didn't know. He would, though. Like I said, she isn't well. She hasn't come down in days, and she's got to be freezing, I said. He nodded, bored.

How do you know she hasn't come down at all? Have you watched her constantly? He asked, that stupid grin again. No, not constantly, I said. But I think I would have noticed if she had come down. He looked down at his phone, pretending to listen. All right, sir, don't you worry. I'll go have a talk with the lady.

He strolled across the street as though he were walking in a park, oblivious to what he was about to see. He looked up into the tree, and that stupid smirk instantly fell from his face. His skin went pale. The longer he stared, the worse he looked. His mouth went slack, and his legs looked as if they were ready to buckle. All of a sudden something dropped from the tree,

something much too small for me to distinguish what it was. His hands flew to his face, frantically wiping at it. He fell back onto his ass and scooted away from the tree. He ended up crawling on his hands and knees until he reached the street. When he ran to his car, I could see his face was speckled with rusty brown spots. I watched him drive away. I felt completely dejected. No one wanted to be near the woman, so they just left her up there.

Out of options, I did the only thing I could and tried to ignore her. It definitely wasn't as easy as you might think. I avoided going outside as much as possible and never looked in the direction of the tree whenever I had to leave the house. The next couple of days were awful, but the nights were the worst. I was afraid to close my eyes as I lay in bed, always watching that damned window. I could see the start of frost at the corners of my glass window. And as fucked up as this sounds, it became my only solace that night.

I pictured her up there on that tree limb, her bare feet and exposed skin slowly turning blue. And it made me feel a little better. I hoped she would have one comfortable night out there and finally abandon the tree. I told myself that I did my part to try and help her, and if she eventually succumbed to the elements, it wouldn't be on my conscience. As strange and unsettling as the woman was, she was still just a person with an obvious mental illness. I had a feeling that it wouldn't be long before there would be nothing but a corpse up in that tree. I hate to admit it, but part of me was looking forward to it, an end to this very disturbing ordeal. I was able to avoid the tree for the rest of the week, taking a few days off from work.

I only went out to get the mail or if I desperately needed something from the store. Those brief moments out there, with the tree looming across the street, the very air around me felt ominous. I tried to tell myself that my fear was irrational, but on Monday, things took a turn for the worse. It was around noon that day when I heard a knock.

For a moment, I just stared at the door, imagining the lady from the tree standing on the other side. I hesitated, but as the knocking grew louder and more insistent, I finally made myself open it. Mrs. Hedinger stood on my porch, her hands on her hips. Didn't you hear me knocking, Michael? She snapped. I glanced over her head at the tree. And for a second, I thought I saw a glimpse of flesh peeking through the limbs, and I forced myself to look away. Fan of soccer, you could assist a moment historic.

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. The reglements of the concourse sapplic. Sorry, Mrs. Hedinger, I was... You look terrible. Haven't you been to work? I haven't seen you leave in a few days.

I haven't been feeling well, actually. She stepped back, eyeing me carefully. You don't have COVID, do you? Because you legally have to tell me. Uh-huh. I don't have COVID. It's not that kind of sickness, I said, wanting to get rid of her and close the door as fast as possible. She stepped forward, attempting to peer over my shoulder into my house.

You're not drinking, are you? You know, my grandson has a drinking problem, and he... Was there something that you needed? I asked, cutting her off. She gave a little huff, obviously displeased at my interruption. I was wondering if you'd seen my cat Thurston, she said dryly. He sometimes wanders over here, and I've been calling him all day. I shook my head.

No, sorry, haven't seen him, I said. But if I do, I'll... A loud meowing echoed from across the street. Mrs. Hedinger heard it too, and turned around. Did you hear that? That's my thirstin. I know that cry from anywhere. She started down the porch steps, but I quickly grabbed her arm.

Don't go over there, I whispered, as if the lady in the tree could hear me. What in God's name is wrong with you? She snapped, yanking her arm free. I'm sorry, I didn't mean... Mrs. Hedinger, there's a lady in the tree over there. What are you talking about? Are you drunk, Michael? No, I don't drink.

There is a lady in that tree. I've called the police, and no one will get her down. She isn't. She might be dangerous. I'd stay away from her. She huffed and looked towards the tree, squinting. She must be one of those. drug addicts I hear about on the news every night.

Probably up there smoking the methamphetamine, she said, shaking her head disgusted. There's something very wrong with her, but I don't think she's on drugs. You can't always tell who is and who isn't, Michael. My grandson hung out with people like that. They seem fine until they show up at your house one day and all your spoons disappear. I don't think it's drugs, I said again. Michael, sober women don't go climbing trees in the mess. middle of February. She's on something. And I'll be damned if I'm going to let her sit her bony

ass up there while my cat has to breathe in her poison. She hurried down the walk, ignoring my pleas. I know I should have done more to stop her. But like the coward I am, I just ran inside and locked the door. I watched her from my front door, my heart hammering in my chest. She stood on the sidewalk just beneath the tree, staring up, one hand over her eyes. I could. couldn't see the lady in the tree, but I could tell Mrs. Hedinger did. She looked surprised at first, but quickly recovered herself, and began gesturing for the woman to come down. She spoke for a few minutes and then stopped talking suddenly. A look of sheer terror washed over her face. Her mouth dropped open, and even from across the street, I could see her hands trembling. Branches began

swaying high up, shaking so hard the dead leaves began raining down around Mrs. Hedinger's feet. When the tree stopped shaking, Mrs. Hedinger stepped closer to the trunk, so close that her body pressed up against it. I could see her lips moving quickly, just before she began to climb up the tree. I don't know how she did it at her age with no reachable branches, but she somehow managed to shimmy up the tree, disappearing inside the dying leaves. I waited for her to reemerge, But the minutes ticked by, and there was no sign of her. I was just about to open my door when I finally saw her, climbing backwards down the tree. When she reached the bottom, she stood frozen, staring right at me, as if she could see me.

I moved away from my window, contemplating calling the police again, even if it meant getting arrested. Something was very wrong. I risked another look out the window into my horror. Mrs. Hedinger was grinning. A smile so twisted that it made my skin crawl just to look at it. The moment my eyes fell on her, she began to shuffle across the street. Her eyes locked on my house. I had no idea what I would do if she tried to get inside,

but she never made it across the street. It all happened as if in slow motion. A black car came speeding down the street. The driver's face turned towards me, grinning wildly. A face I recognized. the man from the mayor's office. His car slammed into Mrs. Hedinger, her body bouncing off the hood

and onto the pavement with a sickening crunch. He peeled out of the neighborhood, never stopping once. I ran out front, but was unable to look at the broken remains of Mrs. Hedinger. I called 911, and her body was eventually taken away. No one cared about the lady in the tree, though. They did, however, take down the info about the man from the mayor's office. I heard he was found dead in his car by self-inflicted stab wounds just a few miles away. I overheard one of the officers say that when they found his dead body, he was still smiling.

I stayed in my house for the weekend, thinking seriously about moving. Yesterday, when I went into my upstairs bathroom, I couldn't help but wonder if she was still there. I was hopeful that maybe, just maybe, she'd finally left. I carefully looked out the window at the general spot where I thought she sat. The sun had already begun to set, but the streetlight across from me illuminated the tree well enough. My eyes scanned the branches for her, but the distance made it difficult. Just as I was about to give up, I saw her. High up in the tree, almost nearing the very top.

A face peered through the branches, that same dirty, smiling face. It was too far to make out all her features, but I could see her, and I knew she was smiling. But the worst part was that I knew she was smiling at me. I yanked myself away from the window, heart racing. From the distance and the angle it was hard to judge whether she was actually looking in this direction, but it sure as hell looked like it.

I could have ignored it, but I had to know. I had to know if she was watching me, even from all the way across the street. something that should have been impossible. I ran to the other end of my house to my office. I dropped to the floor and army crawled to the window. I got into a crouched position and carefully lifted the curtain and poked just my eyes up over the window sill.

The tree was a bit closer to my office than my bathroom, but the angle was slightly different. I scanned the top of the tree, but thankfully I didn't see anything that shouldn't be there. I was examining every branch. when my breath suddenly stopped. Halfway down the tree, the lady's face protruded through the branches, smiling and deranged.

She seemed to be bobbing up and down, like an excited child. I watched her, mentally telling myself that she couldn't possibly see me or know where I was. As if she could read my thoughts, her thin arms shot out from the branches and began frantically waving at me. I scrambled away and sat in the hall where there were no windows. I tried to understand how she'd done it, but I couldn't figure out how she would have known where I was. I came up with the conclusion that I must have given myself away somehow.

Maybe I moved the curtain or something. I went downstairs, sticking to the walls and away from any windows. I took my time and crawled to the window in my living room, and without touching the curtain, peeked out through the slight gap in the corner. It took me a few seconds to find her, But when I did, I had to stifle the scream. She had moved, now perched on a limb about 20 feet high.

Her neck stretched out so that her entire head jutted through the leaves. She was smiling even wider, if that was possible, with one arm sticking straight out and one finger pointing straight at me. I flattened myself against the wall, my chest heaving. I felt dizzy with panic, and I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming. Maybe my fear seems unwarranted to you, but it wasn't just her presence in the tree, or even her disturbing behavior that terrified me.

There was a sense of very real danger when you were near her, when you looked at her, a feeling that this lady could hurt you, and she would enjoy it. As quietly and carefully as I could, I sneaked down my basement steps, leaving the lights off. The window was high up on the wall,

and I had to stand on some dusty boxes to be able to fully reach it. I made little to no sound, certainly nothing she could hear. I was sure of that. I knew I probably wouldn't be able to see her in the dwindling light, but I needed to try. I had to know whether she was somehow able to anticipate where I'd be. I stood up onto the boxes, cupped my hands around my eyes, pressing my face up against the glass. I'm writing this all out from my bathroom.

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