Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Why I removed all the doors from my house...

Episode Date: August 11, 2021

📘 Check out Richard Saxon's new book on Amazon here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08SWMTRBL 🎉 Get access to new ad-free episodes and my exclusive bonus episodes here: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🔔 Dr. NoSleep™ YouTube channel: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep 🎽 Dr. NoSleep™ Merchandise: teespring.com/stores/dr-nosleep-merch ✅ Advertising Inquiries: [e-mail] DISCLAIMER: This story is R-rated for adults 18 years or older. NOT for children. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #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 obliq concourse. The reglements of the concourse is applied. My grandmother used to say her house was haunted. They're on the other side of the doors. If you listen closely, you can hear them.

She'd say, her words weren't those of an afraid woman. filled with sadness nor despair, but rather joy. She'd tell me stories about the ghosts that had stayed behind in her house, and as she did, her eyes were always filled with longing and love. So they're not bad ghosts, I would ask, too young to understand the complexities of good and evil. Of course not, sweetheart. They would never hurt you. I truly loved my grandma, but I didn't visit her often. My mother wouldn't let me. To her, the house had an uneasy atmosphere, one full of malice, as if an unknown and frightening entity loomed over the place. It didn't help that we lived several hours away, making it difficult for grandma to visit us,

with her advancing age and declining health. It made me sad that she lived all alone in such a big, old house, but she didn't seem to mind it. I'm not alone, she would say. Our love kept us together, even after he passed. I knew she was talking about my grandpa, her late husband, However, she mentioned several figures that kept her company. People I assumed were her own parents and even some who could have been siblings. Back in her day, people remained at home to die, spending their last moments with loved ones, comfortable at home in their own beds. Because of that, a multitude of different people had drawn their last breaths in her very own house. As time went by, my memories of the old house started to fade. I was too busy growing up, and my mother didn't care to visit her childhood.

home. At the ripe old age of 95, my grandma passed away, peacefully at home with a smile still lingering on her face. Her last will and testament arrived a couple of weeks later. By that time, I hadn't seen her in years, and the sight of the papers made me feel a bit guilty. There wasn't much of a personal message left behind, but it was stated that my mother would inherit all of her belongings, everything except for her house, which was left to me. Seeing as I've been, I was just in the process of getting married to my very pregnant fiancé, it would be the perfect gift to start our newlywed life. We moved in about a month later after spending what little money we had left, refurbishing

the place. Unlike the warm, yet mystical feeling the house had held when I was a child, it felt cold and eerie as an adult. Even with new furniture and fixed frames, the house was still loud with creaks and strange whispers behind each closed door. My fiancé, soon to be wife, Alice, also noticed the strange fog of weirdness blooming over the house, and my mother was still hesitant to visit. But, when all things were said and done, my grandma had led a full and happy life in that house,

and no harm had ever come to her, so we were eager to start our life together. It truly turned out to be an idyllic place, perfect to raise children, with lush green fields and vast forests surrounding the neighborhood. We spent the next decade there, gifted with two children, a young boy named Alex and a little girl named Amanda. From the very beginning, it looked like we were in the makings of a happily ever after story. Alas, it wasn't meant to be. On the 3rd of September, 2017, my entire family was killed in a burglary gone horribly wrong. I don't remember much from the night itself, just that I woke up to strange sounds and a shattering window.

I wasn't a particularly brave man, but if my family was put at risk, I'd do whatever I could to defend them. I grabbed the baseball bat and went to investigate in the dark. Before I could even turn the corner, I felt a sharp paint shoot in the chest as one of the intruders lodged a knife in between my ribs. I fell to the ground, unable to breathe, and unable to move my legs. I tried to call out for my wife to warn her about the approaching men to give her a chance to get the kids and run, but my lungs had filled up with blood, and I couldn't get a single coherent word out. There I lay, dying helplessly on the floor as my wife tried to fight off the two men that had entered our house. She screamed as they stabbed her, quickly going from panic to a gargle,

to silence. Then everything went black. I guess they didn't bother double-checking, or maybe the pool of blood I'd produced around me made me look dead. But despite their best efforts at exterminating my family, I had somehow survived. I awoke as the ambulance rushed me to. the hospital and I cried for my family as they prepared me for surgery. I didn't know that they'd all been killed yet. I still had hope. But that tiny amount of belief that my wife and children had survived was quickly extinguished. According to the police, the intruders were junkies looking for anything they could sell. During the break-in, they'd been doped out of their minds and attacked anyone in their vicinity. Even as the police chased them down, they fought back, which ultimately resulted with them both

getting shot dead. There was no closure. There was no apparent reason for their break-in or why they'd chosen our house rather than the neighbor's vacant home. I was left with no good explanation, no justice. As for myself, the stab wound had been deep, so much so that the knife had partially damaged my spine, enough to leave me with limited use of my legs and left arm. It would take months of rehabilitation before I could even go back home to an empty house. Naturally, my mother wanted me to stay with her, until I could come to terms with what had happened. She had gotten old, but she still wanted to take care of me, help me through the trying times. She meant well, but in a morbidly depressing way, staying in that house was the last connection I had to my deceased family. It was a place of love,

filled with memories of a life brutally cut short. Though I felt more connected to them at home, I couldn't sleep in our old bedroom, nor enter our children's rooms. Instead, I slept in the guest room, one of the few places still untainted by tragedy. The next few weeks were spent in a haze of denial and anger at myself that I'd failed to save my family. In just the span of five minutes, my entire world had been shattered beyond repair, and I saw no solace in the foreseeable future. The house still made its usual, weird sounds, creaks, howling wind, and whispers hiding behind each and every closed door. They'd always kept me company, but in the past, they'd been little more than a vague presence, something to ignore, to push to the back of my mind. After the tragedy,

they seemed to wake up, becoming coherent and understandable. As I listened intently to the house speaking, the strange whisper started to take shape, and before long, I could actually understand them. One night, I awoke to the sound of a voice coming down from the hall. I shot to my feet, and slowly approached the sounds. It was something singing, a beautiful, cheerful voice coming from inside her old bedroom. But it wasn't just any song. No. It was one my wife frequently used to hum as she got ready in the mornings. Some old Italian verse her mother used to sing to her when she was a kid. While I never understood the words, it had always comforted me, even on the most stressful day. It had become a symbol of love, peace, one I missed every day without her. Alice? I said,

starting to wonder if I was dreaming. I pressed my ear against the door and displeased my ear against the door in disbelief at hearing my dead wife's voice. She didn't respond. She just kept singing on the other side. As soon as I confirmed it was her voice, I hopelessly barged in through the door, distraught to find it empty on the other side, filled with nothing but an empty bed and a closet full of clothes never to be worn again. For a second, I'd felt a grain of happiness, but it was swiftly taken away as her serene voice vanished in the darkness of night. I collapsed to the floor and cried for the first time since their deaths. I'd been so numb that my ability to feel had simply shut down, but the overwhelming emotion I felt from hearing my wife again finally broke me.

I fell asleep on the floor that night, and once I awoke, I convinced myself it had all been just a dream and nothing more. The heartbreaking belief lasted until the next night when I awoke to laughter coming from Alex's bedroom. Alex, is that you? I called out as I approached. his closed door. The laughter, unmistakably belonged to my dead son. That, along with the sound of toys being flung around and light footsteps running around the room, made me temporarily forget everything that had happened in the past few months. Alex? I said again with tears in my eyes, but he couldn't hear me. And once I opened the door, I was met with another dark, silent room. In the blink of an eye, I was plunged back into reality, alone and afraid. As I felt his presence face, he was. He was in a

I thought back to my childhood, spending time with my grandmother, listening to her stories. They're on the other side of the doors, always there. If you listen closely, you can hear them, she'd say. The whispers I had heard since I was a kid, they were real, just too vague and hard to decipher. My grandma heard her husband, because he was the person she loved the most in the entire world. That's why I couldn't understand. Now that the ghosts belong to my family, it became a abundantly clear why my grandma loved that house so much. It was because she could stay surrounded by her lost, loved ones. Each night, the voices continued. Next in line was my daughter, Amanda. I heard her jumping up and down while she talked to her stuffed animals, pretending they were

real creatures out on adventures. She sang to them with a voice as beautiful as her mother's, and I listened while holding my breath. That night, I never opened the door. I just sat there listening to her play around, smiling as I was once again, living in a house full of life. It quickly became a nightly routine. I'd sleep during the days, and at night, I'd huddle up outside the bedroom doors with a blanket, just to listen to them go about their lives, not knowing what terrible things had happened to them. Days, weeks, and even months passed, and I lived my life vicariously through them, unable to let go. It wasn't a great life, but it was all I had. I couldn't stand.

to lose my connection to them, so I kept at it. My wife was the first to break her unusual nighttime routine. She'd usually wake me with the sound of her singing, or by telling bedtime stories to our kids. But that would all come to a crashing end. On that particular night, I was jolted awake at the sound of a terrified screams. I shot to my feet and instinctively called out for her. On the other side of the closed door, I heard her struggle, demanding that someone stay away from her. It was an all too familiar memory when I'd struggled to forget. It was the moment the killers entered our room to murder her. I burst in through the door, knowing fully well that I couldn't help, but that I could at least end the nightmare. As usual, once the door had opened, everything

fell silent. Then, I heard cries coming from Alex's room. He'd been awoken by Alice's screams and wanted to find out what was going on. His cries were quickly shut up as one of the intruders entered his room and slid his throat. I heard a short whimper before he too. fell silent. Last in line was Amanda, but I quickly opened the door before I could be tortured by the sounds of her frantic screams as the intruders entered her life. Following that night, I decided to leave the doors open, no matter the fact that I'd never hear from my family again. I just couldn't face their deaths for a third or fourth time. Alas, once nightfall came, the doors were somehow shut again, and the ordeal started all over. The screams of my wife

and children, their cries as they realized what was about to happen to them, my failure to save them. It all crushed me. In the end, I had no option left, but to remove each door from their hinges to end the nightmare once and for all. Only the bathroom and guest room doors remained. It worked without a filter between the real world and the past. I had nothing to listen to. Nothing save the deafening silence of an empty house. It was an impossible choice to live peacefully without the comforting voices of my family. Never again would I hear them die, but I'd also be left alone, forever.

Then, I heard the sound of someone crying. I was heading to bed when I heard a familiar voice sobbing through the guest room door. It wasn't my wife, nor the cries of a child. It was me. I'm sorry, I couldn't save you. I stood speechless, too terrified to even open the door, but I was quickly brought back to my senses

when I heard a gunshot from the other side, followed by a quiet thump, and then nothing. Until that point, the house had always spoken to me with voices from the past, but then something more sinister had approached, something that hadn't yet happened. I didn't go to sleep that night, nor did I dare to enter the guest room. I simply sat at my kitchen table until I passed out from a haze of exhaustion and alcohol, and once daylight arrived, I removed that door as well, whether what I heard behind that door is my ultimate destiny. Or if I can somehow survive this nightmare remains to be seen. I can't say I haven't thought about ending at all, but for now, I've just removed every single door from my house.

Richard Saxon wrote this story and many others for this podcast. He recently came out with his first book. It is only $2.99 on Amazon, and it is free if you have Kindle Unlimited. Search Tales from the Depths on Amazon, or click the link in the description below. Thank you so for tuning in. If you're listening on Spotify, don't forget to hit that follow button to get notified every time a new episode is released. Also, please take a second to leave a rating for the podcast. This is so important to help the podcast grow. Thank you. Lazzang surgelley, puissance, power for 15 minutes. We're saying that's their dojo. Pre-a-joo? Vive the pleasure with Leo Jo. The casino in line that proposes the more recent machine-assed and some games of casino in direct.

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