Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - When The Bugs Start Acting Strange, It's Time To Get Out Of Town

Episode Date: November 30, 2022

🎧 Check out The SCP Experience podcast here: https://spoti.fi/3juM1og 🎉 Ad-free bonus stories + exclusive uncensored animations: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🎥 YouTube: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep ✅ Send all advertising inquiries to: [e-mail] Author: John Beardify Check out more of his work Here: https://www.reddit.com/user/beardify/ New Book Release Here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09QJXLHF4 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

She knows. How? Did you blouse? No. The Devil Wares Prada 2. He's the movie event 20 years in the making. Honestly, can't with the secrets anymore, so I think we just should tell her. Will you two please spit it out already?

This Friday, be the first to experience it only in theaters. In light of the recent scandal, I'm here to restore your credibility. Oh, because we're a team now. That's a nice story. The Devil Wears Prada 2 in Theaters Friday. Welcome to aboard Via Raille Embarked and

profite Embarked and relax Ciroat Bookiné Oh, so and profite Via Raille The Voice

Weehm Talk to No Sleep Hey guys I want to give a quick shout out to Adam Amy and Alley for becoming Dr. No Sleep patrons

You three now have full access to my ad-free podcast episodes and bonus episodes If you'd like to receive access as well, go on over to my Patreon page at patreon.com slash DR No Sleep to sign up. That's patreon.com slash DR. No Sleep. Now time for the story. If I hadn't been about to fall asleep,

I never would have stopped in that damned town. But the Missouri Highway seemed endless, and I'd already been jolted awake twice by the sound of my wheels rolling over the ribbed asphalt alongside the road. My windows were down. The radio was up. The frigid Great Plains Wind was blasting my face, and 80s metal was blasting my ears. But despite everything, I couldn't keep myself from drifting off. I was on a 12-hour drive back home after burying my foster father, and I had to be at work the next morning. I didn't have the sort of cushy job that gives any real time off for the death of a loved one, But I was the oldest foster child, and the only one stable enough to handle the details of a burial.

The experience had been exhausting, however, and the desolate straight line of highway ahead warned me that the upcoming exit would be my last chance for a pick-me-up. Even so, a hard feeling of foreboding settled in my stomach when I didn't see lights right off of the exit. The flat fields on either side of me were as dark as the sky. above and pretty soon I felt like I was driving through black paint. Finally, I spotted the warm yellow light of the promised 24-hour breakfast spot up ahead. I was the only customer. Walking inside, I nodded to the 40-something waitress cleaning the waffle irons. She looked even more tired than I was.

Donna, her name tag red, and her heels clicked across the spotless tile floor as she approached me. You're not from around here, she said quietly. For some reason, it didn't sound like a question. It sounded like a warning. Nope. I tried to smile without much success. Just passing through. Can I get a coffee and a waffle breakfast?

I've still got a long ride ahead and only if you're sure. I couldn't tell what she was trying to make me understand. But something about the whole situation, the empty too clean diner, the fat black fly that had begun to buzz around my head, the nervous expression on Donna's face, suddenly made me want to run out to my car and never, ever want to come back to wherever this was. But then the feeling passed, and Donna went behind the counter to prepare my order. The coffee kick started my brain, and the sugar re-energized it.

I was even in a good enough mood to start chatting with Donna, but she seemed to be actively avoiding me, cleaning, doing dishes, and disappearing into the kitchen. I couldn't blame her. It had to be creepy being here all alone at night, and I figured most of her customers were probably a lot rougher than I was. It would have been the perfect recharge for my trip home if it weren't for the fly.

The fat black insect wouldn't stop buzzing around my head. It was making so much noise that I couldn't even eavesdrop on the whispered conversation Donna was having with the cook in the kitchen, or even focus on my meal. Finally, I brought my menu down with an almighty whack, ending its buzzing forever. Two startled heads, Donnas and the cooks, poked out through the kitchen door. They exchanged a worried glance. To my surprise and horror, a Black Widow's spot. that looked as big as my fist, descended from the ceiling above Donna, and perched on her shoulder. Her face went pale, but instead of screaming or trying to brush it off, she walked calmly over

to me, forcing herself not to look at the bloated, hairy arachnid, just inches away from her face. She wants to see you. I'm sorry. Who wants to see me? I demanded. I didn't like this at all. I didn't like the way Donna and the cook stood in front of the booth, blocking off my exit. I didn't like the sight of my lone truck in the parking lot. I didn't like the pinching sensation that I suddenly felt on my left ankle. I ducked my head under the table and spied several long, glinting shapes coiling around my leg. Turning my foot to get a better view, I finally saw the enormous centipedes that were moving inside my socks, up my bare calves. The pinching I'd felt had been the scurrying of hundreds of tiny legs.

I made a noise somewhere between a scream and a moan. It's better if you come quietly. Donna gave me a pitying expression. They're very, very venomous. Don't try to hurt them. Don't struggle. The cook added. Just two or three bites can put a man in the hospital.

And there's no hospital around here. What? What is this? I'm mumbled numbly, forcing myself to ignore the crawling sensation on my thighs as I slid out of the booth. A rusty pickup rumbled into the deserted parking lot. The young man driving it shoved open the passenger side door,

and Donna escorted me out into the silent, windy night. The spider remained on her shoulder, and something about its quiet stillness reminded me of the overseers at the warehouse where I worked. I got the absurd feeling that it was checking to make sure that a command was being followed. Looking over my shoulder, I saw more spiders crossing the road of the diner,

lowering themselves down in front of the window on flimsy threads. But they were enjoying the show. In the light of the pickup dashboard, I could see a cold sweat glistening on the forehead of the young driver. As our terrified eyes met, I could see why. Several hand-sized hornets crawled slowly around his neck, and I could see two purple, engorged holes where enormous stingers had already pierced his flesh.

The way they were lined up made me think, of a punishment. Get in! He choked through his swollen throat. I hesitated, thinking about everything I'd ever read or heard about going to a second location. But a sharp pain in my abdomen got me moving. The centipede seemed to get restless

when I didn't follow my orders. I looked once again at the pulsing purple holes on the young man's neck and shuddered. What's going on? I tried to sound brave, but my voice quavered as the warm glow of the parking lot disappeared behind us, along with my truck, my only way out of here. The young man shook his head and fiddled with the radio dial. The staticy voice of Whalen Jennings

accompanied us as we sped past a green reflective sign. Population 5,879, read the second line, but the first line was distorted. Whatever the name of the town had originally been, someone had crossed it out with spray paint and replaced it with a single word, Michaela-dom. With its white-sided houses and lawns strewn with children's toys, it could have been any small town in America. If it weren't for the huge shadows of hornets buzzing unnaturally through the night air, like patrolling helicopters,

or the wispy strands of cobwebs that hung from every tree and streetlight. When we reached the far end of town, the houses got bigger. And on a hill in the distance, I spotted one that topped them all, a two-story McMansion with fake Roman columns and even an iron gate. Whoever had built it might not have had taste,

but they'd certainly had money. As we approached, however, I saw that one of the gates hung off its hinges. It squeaked in the prairie wind. The black scorch marks of peeled out tires covered the road in front of the big house. and cars were parked in the lawn out front. It seemed that every light in the McMansion was on,

despite the lateness of the hour. A feeling of doom settled in my gut as we rolled up the concrete driveway. Where was I being taken? And why? Even after the pickup rumbled to a halt in the grass, I didn't want to get out. But the feeling of hundreds of sharp, tiny legs on my lower abdomen reminded me

that I had no choice. As I got out of the truck's cab, I cautiously lifted up my shirt. The blackish red armor of the centipede's body was barely visible above my waistband. Its legs and antennae writhed impatiently. I shouldn't have looked. We walked toward the imposing facade of the McMansion.

The young man moved gingerly, as though he knew what those hornets on his neck might do if he put one toe out of line. At first, I thought that someone had hung sheets out to dry between the columns, but as I approached, I realized that I was looking at a vast complex of webs over which millions of spider swarmed, bred, and fed on hollow carcasses. Higher up, enormous hornet's nests grew from the eaves of the house like some nightmarish fungus. In the light pouring out the windows, wasps the size of hummingbirds buzzed angrily through the night sky. The young man opened the door for me, and two of the

hornets on his neck took to the air on either side of us like an honor guard. I was surprised to find that the house looked mostly normal inside. A little messy, maybe, but not a nest or cobweb in sight. Half-eaten dishes of ice cream were piled on a designer coffee table. Glitzy gowns and accessories lay discarded on the floor, like someone. had hosted a costume party, but got bored with it halfway through. Hail to the queen had been painted on the wall with that same purple spray paint. And from somewhere deep inside the house, I heard the booming of a surround sound audio system. We walked toward it and finally found ourselves in a massive living room with Florida

ceiling glass windows, a flagstone fireplace, and a big television on which old cartoons were playing. In the blue glow of the screen, I could make out a room full of tents, exhausted pre-teen faces, all except for one. A brown-haired girl of about 13 sat on a fancy office chair, as though it were a throne. She'd been drumming her fingers boredly on her knee, seemingly getting more enjoyment out of her classmate's fear of her than from the courage the cowardly dog reruns on the screen. When she saw me, she smiled. Took you long enough, Travis. She sneered at the young man, who bowed so low he nearly fell over. She waved a hand like she was shewing away a fly. You can go. Then she pointed at me. You stay. Who are you? I finally managed to speak.

Who am I? The brown-haired girl threw back her head and laughed. I am Queen Michaela. And you're in my queendom now. So what I say goes, got it? Otherwise, you'll end up in a bad way. She nodded to some lumpy shapes on the wall, barely visible in the glow of the television. The wall wasn't painted dark brown, I realized. It was a squirming, solid mass of insects.

Stuck to it by filth and webbing were four people. Or what was left of them. A cockroach crawled out from the, open mouth of the obese man closest to me. Suddenly, I was sure he'd been eaten alive from the inside out. As if to add insult to injury, a cheerful purple and yellow party hat had been placed atop his head. The woman beside him wore a red feather boa and googly eye goggles over her empty eye sockets, while the other two boys beside her had carnival masks stuck to their half-eaten faces.

Hey, Michaela shouted suddenly. A skinny boy in front of the television had nodded off, his chin dropping to his hollow chest. No sleeping, Max! This is a party! We're all here to have fun, aren't we? Malice sparkled in the green eyes behind Queen Michaela's thick glasses. The terrified faces of over 20 preteens responded with fake smiles and hollow cheers. Their queen sat back and crossed her arms. satisfied. As a punishment for not having fun, Max, why don't you tell Mr. Stranger here why the

breath hits are stuck to the wall? Yes, Queen Michaela. The boy practically saluted. He looked up at me and took a ragged breath. Mr. Breathhead owns, used to own, the biggest mill in town. The house was his, but... Max glanced nervously at Michaela, who nodded for him to go on. But Mr. Brethet fired Queen Michaela's dad just because he had a few drinks before work. And Terrence and Kyle Breathett, their kids, were so dumb that they actually thought they could get away with teasing Queen Michaela about her clothes and her hair. They got what they deserved. A sudden burst of hate contorted Michaela's face. She grabbed a valuable art piece that someone had filled with Cheetos and hurled it at one of the web-covered shapes on the wall.

The art piece shattered and the web collapsed, revealing a skull that dangled by just a few bits of sinew. Anything to say now, Kyle? Mikaela added triumphantly. The corpse made no response. But the centipedes inside my clothes and insects swarming across the walls all seem to get disturbingly agitated whenever Michaela was seized by a strong emotion. Come on, Mr. Stranger. Let's take a walk. Michaela hopped down off of her throne and fixed the others with a long, cruel stare.

Remember? She pointed to a fat fly that buzzed near the television. I'm always watching. We stepped out into the endless backyard of the McMansion. The ground was crunchy and sticky at the same time. I didn't like to think about why. Michaela blinked slowly as she walked, and I realized that she was using those moments to spy on the same time.

the townspeople through the eyes of her insects, like a prison warden, scrolling through the feeds of different security cameras. Queen Michaela, who was always watching. I thought of the fly in the diner and the huge spiders that had followed after it. How long have you been able to? I began. To what? Control bugs? Michaela rolled her eyes. Only since forever. When I was a kid, I thought everybody could do it. Back then, it was just little things, like getting a butterfly to land on my finger or telling a bee to buzz off. But now that I've started to grow up, it's gotten pretty wild. Look! Michaela waved her hand, and a swarm of tiny glowing shapes burrowed out of the dead grass. Even though it was November on the prairie, the air was suddenly

full of fireflies. They draped themselves over Michaela like a cloak of flickering, greenish, yellow light. The sheer strange beauty of the sight took my breath away. Hey, Michaela asked softly. Who do you hate the most? Uh, I stalled. It felt like a dangerous question. And honestly, I couldn't think of anyone. Come on, Michaela demanded. Everybody hates. Somebody. My boss, I guess, I suddenly realized. Alan. I pictured his bald head and wrap

around glasses the way he'd walk around the warehouse threatening our jobs just for fun. Alan was the reason I hadn't been given time off to attend the funeral. He was the reason I'd wound up in this nightmare in the first place. Check this out. Michaela waved her hand again, and the fireflies took to the sky. They formed themselves in the night. into huge, blinking words. Fuck you, Alan. Michaela snickered, but her laughter sounded hollow. Soon, it turned into sobs.

The fireflies dispersed, and the centipede skittered across my naked skin in a panicked frenzy. It wasn't supposed to be like this, Maca sniffed. My controlling parents, my stupid teachers, assholes like the breath hits. I thought once I'd made them all pay. I'd feel better. But now they're all just dead. Even though everybody does whatever I tell them to, even though everybody worships me,

I feel even worse than before. Michaela clenched her hand into a fist, and a rain of snuffed out fireflies fell from the sky. I hate this place. I'm getting out of here, and you're going to take me. I don't know if that's a good idea. Don't you dare question me. Michaela snapped.

I felt the horror. unmistakable sensation of tiny teeth, puncturing my skin, injecting something. I felt the flesh of my abdomen swell, becoming hot and feverish. One centipede crawled down my leg and off into the grass. The other crawled up to my jugular, as though awaiting the command to kill.

Shit! Michaela's eyes went wide. Look, uh, just do as you're told and that won't happen. Got it? She tossed her hair. and turned her eyes back to the McMansion. As soon as those idiots get my stuff together, we're leaving. Michaela traveled with only two purple gem bags,

one full of clothes, the other bursting with all the cash and jewelry that Michaela Dum had to offer. Dawn was breaking as Travis drove us back to my truck, and in its gloomy gray light, I could see the full extent of the horror that had been wrought on this tiny town. gigantic hives burst like tumors from the sides of trees and houses. Houses where, I assumed, Michaela's enemies had once lived. The school, the police station, and several other unidentifiable buildings were mummified with spiderwebs.

The shells of millions of cicadas crunched beneath the tires as we drove through the silent streets. Residents who'd survived Michaela's reign watched us go in silence. Their faces hollow with the horror of the things that they had seen. They didn't dare to believe that their queen was going away for good. Michaela fiddled with the radio dial while I drove, but most of the stations were just static. There's no good music out here. There's no good anything out here.

She sighed, crossed her arms, and looked at me with big, bored eyes. Is it nice where you're from? There are worse places. I answered carefully. Michaela nodded, as though that was about what she expected. A huge wolf spider crawled out of her sleeve, and she played with it for a while, before turning to watch the endless brown fields fly by outside the window. For a long time, neither of us spoke.

Do you think I'll get the death penalty? Michaela asked finally, in a small voice. What? I asked. When they catch me? I mean. Pretty soon people back home were going to realize that the bugs go back to normal after I get too far away to control them. And I know what'll happen then. Reporters and police and people from the government. Personally, I thought Michaela would probably end up in a secret laboratory

somewhere, but it didn't seem like a good idea to mention it, especially not with the centipede still on my neck. The first bite had made me queasy and feverish. But I was holding on. But if Michaela lost control again. Where do you want to go? I changed the subject. Like I tell you. Michaela scoffed.

You'll probably go right to the cops as soon as you dropped me off. I didn't have a reply to that. I just felt grateful she didn't plan on killing me outright. Five hours later, we were idling in the parking lot of a large bus station. Traffic screamed by on the highway overhead, and I could smell the reek of gasoline, garbage, and fried food even with the windows up. Michaela bit her lip and looked nervously out at the smoggy horizon. Now that she'd come this far, she seemed reluctant to open the door and take the next big step.

She couldn't be older than 13. Where would she go? How would she get a ticket? In spite of everything that it had. happened, in spite of the people she'd killed, including the police and her parents, I couldn't help but feel a pang of worry for Michaela. With a deep breath, she pushed open the door and dropped down onto the asphalt. As she did, I noticed a small swarm of cockroaches approaching her. They carried a wrinkled bus pass in somebody's wallet. Michaela picked them up with a smirk.

worry about yourself, Mr. Stranger. She waved and walked away. But I still had a huge centipede on my jugular. I slowly backed my truck out of the bus station parking lot and returned to the highway home. I'd been driving for about an hour when the centipede and several hundred spiders that I hadn't noticed crawling just above my head, all migrated toward the driver's side window,

scratching at it like they wanted to escape. When I rolled it down, They skittered outside, flying away into the chilly Midwestern air. The proof of everything I'd seen and heard disappeared along with them. I didn't even bother trying to explain what I'd been through to Alan. I had a story about a flat tire all prepared when I went into work a day late, only to find that it'd already been fired and replaced. Fuck you, Alan, I thought with a smirk, imagining a cloud of fireflies twink.

over the warehouse roof as I drove away. Nothing about Michaela-dom ever appeared in the media, not even on conspiracy forums. I couldn't help but wonder who was covering up the insectoid nightmare that the tiny town had been subjected to. Just like I couldn't help but wonder about Michaela. Where she was, what she was doing, whether she'd been captured,

or whether she had instead set up a new hive someplace else. I never found out. But every time I see a spider, a wasp, or a cockroach, I find myself waiting to see thousands more come streaming under the door or up my pipes. I imagine them forming themselves into words, an inescapable command. Your queen is calling you.

Lazzang sur-gillet, puissance-moyerned for 15 minutes. We'd say that's their dojo. Prere to play? with Leo Jo, the casino in-line that proposes the most recent machine-a-sou and the games of casino

in direct. Profite of 50 tours gratu on Big Basinza without exigience of mis, and with payments instantanate. Hey, I've gained. Woo-hoo!

Sentire the pleasure. Play-Ojo! 18-8 and plus, 1, 1,000, expusual in Ontario. 50 tours on the machine-a-sou Bik-Bas Bonanza.

Depos minimum of $10. DePo minimum of $10. Veil to play to a way responsible responsible. The conditions can we apply.