Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep
I Work in a Prison for Vampires. I Interviewed a True Original. | Part 1
27 Apr 2026
Transcript generated automatically by AI and may contain errors.
Chapter 1: What is the main topic discussed in this episode?
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Staring down at the chocolate chip muffin in my hand, I sigh, knowing it'll be a while before I can eat again. Sorry, Doc, but you know the rules. No food or drink allowed in the Warren, the guard says as he casually picks under his fingernails with the paperclip. He snorts back a wad of snot, swallows, coughs, then looks up from his attempt at grooming.
They can use them against you, make you see things. I am aware of the dangers, I say, still staring at my muffin. And I'm not a doctor. I'm a certified eldritch psychologist.
that's so fancy title still can't take your muffin down there or that coffee he takes a big sniff oh my mistake that's not just coffee that's a caramel latte sprinkle of nutmeg on top from cooper's ain't it um yes that's correct how did you know you spend as much time in this dismal hellhole of a place and you learn to appreciate the finer things
I like to pick up a different drink every evening when I get off shift. I've gone through their menu at least six times over since I started working here. Wow, that's, um, a healthy way to handle the stress of the job. It's that or heroin, and I hate needles. You can smoke it, I pause and chuckle. I have no idea why I just said that. I was being helpful, I suppose.
Not sure encouraging an opioid addiction is helpful, Doc, but I appreciate the gesture. As I said, I'm not a doctor, just a psychologist. I know, I know. Just busting your balls. You've been here at the monument for what? Two years? Three? Going on three. Good for you, Doc. Good for you. He eyes my muffin, then my latte.
I can take those off your hands if you can't finish them before the lift arrives. I look over at the elevator doors. The guard had called for the lift a good five minutes ago. Does it always take this long? You should have been here back before they added the turbo boost. Going from top to bottom and back took almost half a day. How deep is it again? The Warren?
I try to keep the fear out of my voice. I'm not good with being underground. Caves, mines, tunnels, subways.
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Chapter 2: What is the premise of working in a prison for vampires?
Not my cup of tea. Unfortunately, as an eldritch psychologist, the denizens of such spaces tend to be the targets of study for me. So I've learned to live with it. First time in the Warren Dock? The guard's voice brings me out of my head. Um, yes, to be honest. I've mostly been handling the surface sectors. The meadow, the woods, the pond, and the cabin. Good practice, those places.
But you ain't really in the game until you go down into the warren. The guard's eyes fall on the closed elevator doors. We got the real nasties down there. Not something you want to take lightly or for granted. The moment you step into the Warren, you'd best watch your ass at all costs. There are guards down there though, right? You bet there are. He nods at my muffin.
You sure you're gonna finish that? Here. I hand him the muffin. He eyes the latte too, but that's not happening. I quickly drink off half of it, burning the hell out of the top of my mouth. Thanks, doc. The guard wolfs the muffin down like he hasn't eaten in days. Then he keeps talking, around the muffin. But does guys cap me a bit of lob? Um, what? He swallows hard.
I said, but those guys can be a little off. You gotta understand, Doc, we got the worst of the worst down there. Real evil shit. Things that have been on this earth for centuries. He leans across his desk. Millennia for some, I bet. Although they never will tell you their ages.
Chapter 3: What challenges does the protagonist face with the prison rules?
I've tried. The other guys have tried. The creeps just won't say. Understood. Thank you. I check the inmate tag on the outside of the file I hold. I'll be talking to inmate zero. How far down is that? What Muffin the guard has in his mouth is instantly sucked into his lungs.
He starts choking and coughing, and I have to hurry around the desk to give him a couple of hard slaps on the back to help clear the muffin from his airway. He coughs some more.
Thanks for that. Would have sucked to work around those damn monsters down there and end up getting taken out by a chocolate chip muffin, right?
He laughs and coughs, coughs and laughs. Then he coughs some more, and some more, and some more. Here, I say in hand of my latte, clear your throat and tell me why you reacted so strongly when I mentioned inmate zero. Thanks. He takes the latte and downs it in one long sip.
That's good.
I'll have to order that next time. I tap the desk. Inmate Zero, what do I need to know? He nods at the file. Everything should be in there. Your reaction to the name isn't. What else isn't in the file? Ah, Doc, if I tell you that, then it'd ruin the surprise. He grins, and I see bits of muffin stuck to his teeth. The look in his eyes isn't exactly reassuring.
I can't tell if the man is mocking me or trying to help me. Such is how it is at Monument Prison for the Criminally Vampiric. A maze of sectors above ground, designed to keep the lesser of the creatures contained, so they can be studied and kept from harming us humans. The meadow, the woods, the pond, the cabin.
Each sector holds a different… well, species isn't the correct word, since the creatures are mostly parasitic entities that inhabit human bodies, corrupting them and using them for their own ends. But the last sector, the one for the truly dangerous of their kind, The old ones is the Warren. This sector is at least a mile deep and more of a maze than the above sectors ever could be.
It's said that even the architect got lost after he took a solo tour of the sector once it was finished. They found him three days later, half mad and dehydrated, almost to the point of death. The first words he spoke when rescued were, What have I wrought upon humanity? No one knows why, least of all the architect. He doesn't remember saying anything.
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Chapter 4: How does the protagonist cope with the stress of the job?
as a pleasant chime rings out and a small red light suddenly burns brightly above the elevator doors. The guard says, What can I say? You never heard this from me, you got it? I nod. That inmate Zero is a true original. Not like some of the posers down there who say they were of the first. No, this one, inmate Zero, is the real deal. So watch yourself, Doc, you hear? This guy is pure lies.
Um, good to know. Thank you. The elevator doors open, and a different guard steps out, while keeping one hand firmly on the left door, preventing both from closing. He points at me. You are... He pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket. Banner Watson? Yes, that's me. I say and smile at the guard at the desk. Thanks for the advice. What advice? He replies with a wink.
Keep your wits about you, Doc. I'd hate to be the one who drank your last latte. That rattles me a bit, but I put on a brave smile and walk toward the elevators. Hold up, the elevator guard says. Do you have any weapons on you? No. Any food sources? I glance back at the desk guard. Not anymore, no. Do you have a history of mental illness? Depression? Psychosis? Anxiety?
Um, I get acute anxiety every once in a while, but nothing major and never an all-out attack. I just take a few deep breaths and I'm good to go. You sure about that? He looks back inside the elevator and licks his lips. They'll know if you're lying. They sniff out lies like a pig sniffs out truffles. I'm not lying. No mental illness. Any blood disorders? No.
Are any of your relatives vampires or vampire-adjacent? I laugh. He doesn't. Um, no. No vampires in my family. Or vampire-adjacent? Familiars? Henchmen? Lawyers? My uncle's a lawyer, but he works in corporate law and retired two years ago. He ever try to drink your blood? Or exsanguinate you for his master? No, he's not a vampire or vampire adjacent.
He lives in Boca Raton now and spends most of his time on the beach with a metal detector. And he's Catholic, wears a cross and everything.
Good, good.
I say he's set to go, Wes, the desk guard calls out. No point in dragging it out and making the poor doctor suffer. I'm not a doctor, I say to the elevator guard. I know, he replies and rolls his eyes. Thanks for the assist, Brandon. I'll take it from here. No problem. See you soon, Doc. Be safe. Thanks. Come on, Mr. Watson. Let's get you into the warring, Wes, the elevator guard says.
I step onto the elevator car, and Wes waves his hand at me. Better stand back. These doors close quickly, he says. I take a few steps back, almost pressing myself up against the wall. Wes lets go of the left door, allowing both to close. And he wasn't kidding. The doors basically slam shut. Seeing my surprise, even with the warning, Wes smiles.
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Chapter 5: What is the significance of the Warren in the prison?
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There are no buttons anywhere inside, and no counter above the doors to tell me what floor we're on. But I suppose, with the Warren, there is simply up and down. If one of the creeps tries to get out this way, they'll make it past those doors before they can even twitch. Unless the creep is too desiccated and weak.
But those hungry bastards can be seriously dangerous, so watch your ass with the skin and bones ones too, okay Mr. Watson? Yes, of course. Thank you. Really. And it may sound counterintuitive, but the well-fed creeps are the easiest to deal with. They are fat and happy. So why make a fuss about trying to escape, right? Do many try to escape? Many? I wouldn't say many.
But we have our repeat offenders. Some creeps just can't stand being contained. I believe that goes for humans as well. You're probably right. We ride in silence for a moment. The elevator motor hums along, the descent smooth. I know I should have asked up above, but how long does it take to get to the bottom? About 15 minutes. But this lift doesn't go to the bottom.
This takes you to the Warren's reception area. You'll have to go through more security checks before you can get on the lift that'll take you to it. It? The creep you're going to interview. Inmate zero, right? Right. Yeah, that guy is close to the bottom. Not quite, but close. Okay, good to know. Before I can say anything else, Wes laughs. We got time, Mr. Watson. Go ahead and pick my brain.
He laughs again. Just don't drink my blood. I laugh too, although I'm not sure why. It's not a particularly funny joke, but I suppose in our line of work, any gallows humor helps. I put my back to the wall and try to get comfortable. All right. First, why do you call them creeps? Above, the term is vamps. I find it slightly reductionist, but the prisoners don't seem to mind.
But creeps sounds quite derogatory. Do the prisoners seem offended by it? I sure as hell hope they're offended by it. He rubs his face and leans a shoulder against the side wall. Can I speak frankly, Mr. Watson? Of course. And call me Banner. That a family name? I nod. Interesting. He scratches his chin as he thinks. We call them creeps because that is what they are. Creeps.
These things down there aren't like the others. These are old. Real old. Yes, I am aware. An inmate zero is one of the oldest, right? That's right. One of... Wes's eyes seem to drift for a moment before he shakes his head and smiles at me. Anyway, you're going to witness for yourself, so don't judge yet. The old bastards are nasty, just gross. They will say things that will make you want to puke.
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Chapter 6: Who is Inmate Zero and why is he important?
You seeing anything I should be worrying about? A squeal of static explodes from his radio, causing me to wince. Wes doesn't seem phased by it and waits patiently for an answer. Nothing that I can see, a craggy voice replies. Systems look fine on this end. Probably a rat in the cables. Again, I'll have maintenance check it out when the shift change is over. Sounds good, Command. Thanks.
Copy that. Stay frosty. Always. Wes smiles at me. Then he looks up at the ceiling. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. Damn rats. You can spend a billion dollars and it won't make a bit of difference. If rats want in, rats are getting in. There isn't a rat problem above, I say, wishing instantly I hadn't. I sound like a stupid rookie. I mean, this is below, so I guess that's the difference.
That and the damn creeps call to the little shits, Wes says and laughs. We got one creep down there, Mason, who used to spend night and day whispering. It wasn't until the ventilation shaft collapsed and a thousand rats came pouring out that we realized what the son of a bitch was doing.
That loophole got fixed, and now we regularly interrupt the creeps with loud noises and random pop songs to keep anything like that from happening again. My stomach turns at the thought of a thousand rats suddenly being let loose. Wes must see my discomfort because he gives me a warm smile. Don't worry, the rats are under control. That's good to hear. Thanks. Without being prompted, he continues.
So we call them creeps That's one reason. The other is because they are just creepy. They mess with your mind. They say horrible shit, like about your family or your deepest, most inner thoughts. I thought there were measures in place to stop psychic attacks. Oh man, they don't need to get psychic.
These guys have been around so long and have been preying on humans since they were created that they can just play your game. My game? Psychology. You don't want to play poker with a bunch of creeps. They can smell fear, see a tell, and know your next move before you do. They can get in your head without getting in your head, if that makes sense. Unfortunately, it does.
I do work with vampires regularly. Even the ones above are keen manipulators. Not like the creeps, Banner. Those kittens up there are nothing compared to what's in the Warren. Not even the ones in the cabin. Just watch yourself, okay? Of course. The elevator lurches again, smooths out, and lurches once more. The lights flicker, then go out, plunging us into pure blackness. I hear Wes whisper.
Hold on.
The elevator suddenly comes to a full stop, knocking me off balance and onto the floor. I flail about blindly until I'm able to get back to the wall and slowly crawl myself upright. How often does this happen? I ask. Are you going to call command? Wes doesn't answer. Wes? Are you alright? Still no answer. Maybe he fell and hit his head when the elevator stopped. Wes? Wes? Wes! I shout.
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Chapter 7: What happens during the elevator ride to the Warren?
requesting an interview with me.
The voice is ancient, so old that the words almost don't make sense. The pain stops, and in the darkness I see a hint of a face, one that is wider, much wider than the others I saw in passing. My hands are shaking, and the file folder falls to the ground. I pick it up and set it on the desk. I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself down.
Just the sight of inmate zero, as limited as it is, makes my heart palpitate. Then what it said catches up to my startled brain. My request? No, that's not true. You requested this interview. Did I? I open the file and pull out the piece of paper, then frown at the words at the top. Request by Banner Watson, it reads. Inmate Zero chuckles. Do not fret.
Things change down here.
I hear it cluck its tongue.
Shall we begin?
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