The Tall Dog of Barrow Heights | Part 1

Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep

A monster hunter known as Inquisitor June investigates the mysterious disappearance of children at Barrow Heights, an old apartment building

Key takeaways

• The building's architecture contradicts the boy's claims of a hidden basement, suggesting supernatural manipulation of space.
• Agnes Miller, the elderly landlady, exhibits signs of possession or transformation, indicating she may be both victim and vessel for a powerful entity.

Main topics

• Supernatural entities in urban environments
• Psychological trauma and its manifestation in children

Notable quotes

"The apartment building eats children. It has been for almost a century now, ever since the first girl vanished in 1936."

"You remind me of him. Pathetic. Annoying."

Conclusion

As June confronts Agnes Miller—revealed to be a dying woman bound to an evolving entity—he realizes that

Transcript preview

Speaker 1 (0:00) In today's story, a monster hunter takes a case at Barrow Heights, a rotting apartment building where children have been vanishing for almost a hundred years. The only witness is a ten-year-old boy who says something called, the tall dog whistles to him at night from somewhere below the building. But according to the floor plans, there is nothing below Barrow Heights. No lower level, no sealed off rooms, no basement. And as the hunter starts asking the boy what happened down there, Every light in the building goes out. But before we get into it, if you'd like early access to all four parts today, start your seven-day free trial of Dr. No Sleep Premium by going to patreon.com slash drnosleep. That's patreon.com slash drnosleep. The link is in the description below. The bad ending. Speaker 1 (0:56) The apartment building eats children. It has been for almost a century now, ever since the first girl vanished in 1936. I fish inside my black suit, pulling out a notebook. Inside are newspaper clippings, photos. It's a record of this case, the Barrow Heights anomaly. I've been tracking it peripherally for the last six years, waiting for the cycle to start again. And now the nightmare's returned. The sunset climbs up the apartment's crumbling red brickwork. The rotting behemoth is ten stories tall and looks as poor as its residents. The sounds of the inner city howl at my back. Sirens honking and everything else that reminds me of my past, that reminds me of her. Jesus, Vincent. I claw a hand through my hair. She's dead. Let her be dead. I shake the memory, punch the unit number into the buzzer, and it rings twice. A woman's exhausted voice crackles through. Evening, Mrs. Copeland. This is Inquisitor June. Clear my throat. Inquisitor June, with the orders of Alice, we spoke over the phone regarding your son, Tyler. A sharp inhale. You actually came. Line goes dead. After a harsh buzz, the lock disengages, and I push through the doors and into the lobby. A chill runs through me. The place sets my teeth on edge. Maybe it's the peeling wallpaper or the black mold. Or maybe it's the graffiti. Or the paint, splashed over it like scabs on a wound. Or maybe it's what's underneath it all. Feeling like this building has been waiting for me. Overlapping layers of duct tape and a hand-scrolling sign, out of service, block the elevator doors. Shit. I take the stairs. My mind... churning through the case details, distracting itself from how much the building reminds me of my old apartment. It's the same claustrophobic air, the same... Tyler Copeland. I murmur to the empty stairwell, forcing my attention back to the case. I'm going through them like a mantra, saving me from my own memories. Male, ten years old, two months of recurring hallucinations, medication ineffective, psychiatrist out of options, mother... Desperate enough to bring in a priest for an exorcism. Which failed, naturally. Because real monsters don't leave when you tell them to. I trail off. The kid claims he found a basement beneath Barrow Heights, that there's a monster down there. Trouble is, this tower doesn't have a basement. I should know. I checked, phoned ahead, and got the landlady to pull up the original floor plans, and the documents confirmed that Barrow Heights has always been strictly above ground. Which means Tyler Copeland's either lying, delusional, or knows something I don't. I slip my pocket watch from my suit as I reach the apartment. There's no alerts, just a pair of antique hands ticking lazily behind scuffed glass. Delusional, then, or lying? I knock twice. A stampede of footsteps answers. The door swings open to reveal a stout woman with frazzled hair and kind eyes darkened from sleepless nights. Ah, Mr. June. She seizes my hand, shaking it with the desperate grip of someone who's been drowning and just spotted a lifeboat. Come in, come in. I'll show you to Tyler. I follow her into an apartment that assaults my senses in the best possible way. It's cluttered. Carpets overlap carpets in clashing patterns. Drapes and jewel tones frame every window. Antiques teeter on the edge of every surface. But it feels lived in. Loved. It's the opposite of my own apartment. A sparse, functional... Series of cube-shaped rooms devoid of anything that might remind me I once cared about something outside my job. She leads me to a door with a Superman poster taped crooked to the front. Oh, a small request, if you'd be so kind. His action figures. He's got them arranged to protect the bedroom, so I'd appreciate if you avoided moving them. Action figures? She lowers her voice, almost embarrassed. Dr. Kinsley says it's... a sign he's developing his own coping mechanisms. That if I make him feel safe with his rituals now, he might be more willing to try healthier ones I suggest later. Oh, I say. Right. No problem. Bless you. Her knuckles wrap the door. Tyler, dear, there's a man here to see you. A muffled groan comes from the other side. Another doctor? No. I clear my throat. My name is Vincent. I'm an Inquisitor. And I'd just like to talk for a bit. Silence. Just talk? Just talk. The door swings inward to reveal a room that looks like a comic book store exploded, every inch is covered in superhero paraphernalia, and there, arranged across his desk in careful formation, is an army of action figures standing shoulder to shoulder like soldiers manning a barricade, led by Superman himself. Cool suit. I look down. A small boy stands before me with mousy brown hair that sticks up in the back. His bloodshot eyes tell me he hasn't slept for weeks. You look like you work for S.H.I.E.L.D., he says casually. Cool gun, dude. Not dude, Mrs. Copeland says gently, glancing uneasily at my revolver. This is Mr. June, and guns aren't cool. They're a big responsibility. You should know that after. Her voice catches before she forces a smile. Right. I'll let you two get acquainted then. Supper will be another hour, so no rush, Mr. June. Hope you enjoy roast beef. My cheeks burn. I appreciate it, ma'am, but I really shouldn't. She sweeps past me. Nonsense, you're a guest. If you're under my roof, then you're eating my food and I won't hear otherwise. She levels a finger at Tyler, ruffling his hair. And you, my littlest gremlin, had best behave. I always behave. She snorts and closes the door behind her. clearly not buying it. Her footsteps fade down the hallway, accompanied by the distant clatter of pots and pans. Tyler and I size each other up. Inquisitor, huh? He folds his arms suspicious. You don't look very Spanish to me. It takes me a second before it clicks. Ah, Spanish Inquisition. I shake my head. Very funny. I'm old, but not that old. What kind of Inquisitor are you, then? The kind that likes stories. I'm told you've got a good one. He slumps back onto his bed, pulling his knees up. Yeah, right. Mom and Dr. Kinsley both hate my story. Why's that? Because it's scary. He picks out a loose thread on his blanket. They don't think kids should tell scary stories or whatever. I'm hearing them again. Screams. Hers. Maybe I disagree. I pull out his desk chair, take a seat, burying my daughter's memory. Maybe I think scary stories are the only ones worth telling. Tyler gets smaller, pulling the blanket around his shoulders like a shield and bunching the fabric in his fists. You want to hear about the tall dog then? I pull out my red book, flip my pen. The tall dog? He swallows hard. That's its name, or at least, that's what I call it. I see. My pen scratches across the page. What else can you tell me about it? His eyes swivel, fixing themselves on the rusty pipes running down the wall. It whistles at night, after everybody's gone to sleep. Whistles? He nods. pulling the blanket tighter. From down in the basement, that's where it lives. And there it is, the structural flaw of this twisted narrative. I've had a look downstairs, I say slowly. There's a janitor's closet, but not much else. No basement, Tyler. There is, but you have to know how to find it. And who showed you? His grip tightens around the blankets. The landlady. A frown creases my face. You're talking about Agnes Miller, the 96-year-old woman that runs this place? He nods. She called me on the phone. The old one out there in the hallway that spins. When? A few days ago, after mom fell asleep, the landlady said she used to hear the whistling too, back when she was a kid like me, that she knew a secret to make it stop, a secret that could make me happy again. His voice cracks. A secret that could bring my, that could bring my dad back. My chest tightens. Constable Frank Copeland was killed in the line of duty two years ago. I read the file on the way over. An undercover op gone wrong. caught in the crossfire of a human trafficking bust, the kind of grief a predator could smell a mile away. So you followed the landlady downstairs? Tyler nods, cheeks red. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, Miss Miller seemed to change. What do you mean? She didn't look right. She was all slouched and fat, like way, way bigger than I remembered. Her hair went past her shoulders, and her face looked stretched out like silly putty. He shivers. There was this hole in the wall behind her, and she told me it led to the basement. and that only she could make the entrance appear. Then she told me my dad was on the other side. If I crawled through, we could be together again. But first, I'd have to make a hard choice. Tyler's voice cracks. His eyes crinkle shut. I crawled through the hole like she said, and it was dark inside. But I could hear the whistling up ahead getting louder. She told me to follow it. I came out into this room full of old laundry machines. Everything was rusty, brown, and orange, and... His voice snags. I shouldn't have listened. His hands twist the blanket tighter. I should have known better. You didn't know. I say firmly. You couldn't have. His hands shoot up to his hair, fingers tangling in the mousy strands. It was obvious I should have run away, but I was too scared of the landlady and I just, I just... My hand closes over his wrist. Tyler. He looks up at me, shaking. Let go of your hair. I say gently. His lower lip trembles. Tears spill over, tracking down