Creepy - Sleepless Bonus Episode!

Episode Date: June 14, 2018

What if that voice in your radio wasn't just talking, but it was talking to you?***Credited to user A.S. Judge on r/nosleep***Guest narration by David Cummings and music courtesy of Brandon Boone.***Season 11 passes for NoSleep can be purchased at https://www.thenosleeppodcast.com/season-pass/season-pass-11***For your chance to win a NoSleep podcast season pass, you can follow Creepy on Twitter or Instagram @creepypod or on facebook at facebook.com/creepypod***Produced by Steve Blizin of Puzzle Audio Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Hey everyone. No, there's nothing wrong with your feeds. No, this isn't a paid advertisement. Yes, this is a bonus episode for everyone. But, to be fair, there is a reason behind it. I've never made any secret of my love at the No Sleep Podcast. What they've done for me personally and as a podcaster can never really be repaid. Beyond being amazing artists and creators, David Cumming,

and the entire crew over at No Sleep support horror. As a premier horror podcast available, it'd be easy for them to just focus on themselves. But No Sleep is one of the strongest and most active voices supporting horror podcasting and creation. And now that they're just getting into their 11th season, yes, 11th, I wanted to do my part to give back to the people who give so much

by spreading the word a little. If you haven't heard of the No Sleep podcast, before, well, I don't even know what to say to you. Find them immediately. And if you have, now is this as good a time as any to buy a season pass. No Sleep already provides at least an hour of free content every week, but season pass holders get even more. And I know, money's tight. As someone who's gone through his own bad days, I completely understand. So for the next five week days, starting Thursday, June 14th, 2018, and ending Wednesday, June 20th. I'll be giving away one season pass of your choice each day to followers of our social media

accounts. So, if you follow at creepypod on Twitter or Instagram, or like the creepy podcast Facebook page, you already have a chance to get yourself a free pass. Just be paying attention to your feeds around noon, central standard time, on Thursday, Friday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday for your chance to win. Sorry, I can't give away which account will have the contest each day. Where's the fun in that? And depending on how busy I am at my day job that day,

it might be as easy as asking for a comment on a post or posting a picture, or answering a slightly more difficult horror-related question. You'll just have to wait and see. So, be on the lookout at noon tomorrow for your first chance. All right, enough all this. All you really need to remember is that the No Sleep Podcast season 11 is starting now. And you can get your season pass at the No Sleep Podcast.com or try your chances at our social media give away.

Or both, I suppose. Now, let's get to a story I don't think could be any more appropriate. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents.

David Cummings is talking to me on the radio. Credited to writer AS judge on Reddit No Sleep. Of course I'm here. This is the only place I could even share this. If I told anyone else this, they think I'm a fucking lunatic. I'm not. I'm definitely not. I'm not sure if I'm here because I choose to be or if this is where he wants me to be.

David Cummings is speaking to me on the radio. But I'll start at the beginning. Where else would I start, right? I've been working a contract job in a small town in Washington for a few weeks. It's a temporary gig and it pays good, but commute is brutal. 90 minutes there on the I-5, 90 minutes back. The only thing that eases the monotony is listening to Back episodes of the No Sleep podcast. I adore this podcast.

The creativity, the production values, it's a splendid way of killing time. As I began the drive home last Friday, I plugged my phone into the speakers, put on an episode, and merch onto the highways, boon's creepy, scratchy intro music played. David began with his usual episode intro and his radio announcer voice. It's the No Sleep Podcast. I'm David Cummings. Thanks for joining us. On the show this week, we have a special treat for you. One story, but it's a doozy. Huh. This doesn't happen often. But when it does, it's a good one.

This week's tale is about a man trapped in the drudgery of life. Every day he drives to work. works, drives home, sleeps, and so on and on and on. I frowned a bit. There was nothing wrong with the description. It just reminded me of my own life a little as all. The only thing that gets his blood pumping is a good, scary story. So tonight's drive home will be a little unsettling. My frown ticked up.

This was going to be good. As the sun dips below the horizon and the road fades into the rear view, make sure you don't switch that station as David Cummings is talking to me on the radio. I did a double take. That was weird. I took my eyes off the road for a second to look at my phone. Season 5. Before I could glance at the episode number of horn blared. I looked up and saw that I drifted into the oncoming lane.

I jerked the wheel and narrowly miss smashing to the front villa of the semi. I drifted a bit before straightening out. He screamed and punched the wheel in terror and frustration. Stupid! I pulled over to the side of the road to calm down. I needed a minute. That was silly, wasn't it? Your father taught you to keep your eye on the road and away from that phone.

Episode 41. The fuck. No season of no sleep had 41 episodes. The speakers elapsed into silence again. My mind was racing. My heart was racing. I shook my head. I opened the door and stepped out to get a breath of fresh air.

My dad used to tell me that every time I received a text, switched. You know that feeling, right? You get that little ping or something, and you immediately, right away. I feel like you have to check it You don't want to miss Whatever's happening Without you there I stepped back into the car

Started it I checked to make sure there was no traffic And pull back onto the road Imagine it friend David's knowing voice Came out of the car speakers again It's like I've always been here Always here with a spooky story

To ease your mind before bedtime Or before you walked into another soul-sucking day at a job that you don't seem to very much care for. Do you know what I thought at that moment? Not that I was going insane. Or that David Cummings, a podcast host from the other side of the continent,

was actually talking to me. It's that he seemed to be critiquing my life. Incredulously, I said, I like my job. Every day you imagine walking into that idiot client's office, pulling out a revolver and blowing your own brains out and hoping to see the look on his face before you drop. That does not seem to be a job that someone enjoys, friend. He's a shitty client.

That doesn't mean I don't like my job. Be like everyone else, friend. Telling yourself stories to get through the day. The little white lies, the rationalizations, it's just so ordinary. You are not ordinary. Why was Boone's music playing through this? I suddenly thought. Ghostly whispers of music and static filtered through my car.

David continued. Seven billion people live on this earth, you know. Seven billion. Most of them will die unremembered and unremarkable. Ordinary. What the fuck are you on about? who turn someone into a story, they are remember forever. What are we beyond our bodies?

Once our bodies have turned to ash or dust or organic matter, what lives on? The stories told about us, the legends. Friend, a story is forever. David, why are you telling me this? I stammered. I knew this was insane. I could not actually be talking to David Cummings. This was an elaborate prank.

Someone had set me up, or maybe I'd lost it. My grandfather had schizophrenia. Maybe this was it. Adult onset schizophrenia. I was nuts. Insane. You are not insane. Shut up.

Just shut up! The speaker. With one hand, I yanked the auxiliary cable out of the phone. And the voice cut out, silence. No voice. No music. Just the sound of the robe beneath my wheels. The gentle engine humming.

Rain drops. It had begun to rain and I hadn't noticed. Had it always been raining? Couldn't remember. Thanks straight. Just came out of the speakers. The ghostly music accompanying it. I'm sorry, my friend.

And I realize this is a bit disconcerting for you. I looked at my phone while keeping an eye on the road. The oncoming lane was empty. The episode wasn't playing anymore. But the voice was coming out of the speakers. The radio was off. David continued. At west, so gray and dreary and yet so very green,

endless green for miles. and miles and miles. A man can explore the Pacific Northwest every day for his entire life and never see even a tenth of it. I didn't respond. He just continued talking. Also means that it's a great place to hide bodies. The amount of missing and dead people in this part of the country

is quite astounding, don't you think so? The Green River killer, Willie Picton, Ted Bundy, the highway of tears. So many shadows, nooks and crannies to hide and to hide in. I felt sick. There's something about the air here. How isolated it can feel. Outside of the big cities and the dying little town, wet, infinite expanse,

you could die and no one would ever find you, ever remember you, and remember you. Punch the radio as hard as I possibly could. Again, I kept punching it until my knuckles were bloody. And then some more. I don't know why. If you came and asked me, I wouldn't be able to tell you why. I just felt like I didn't see the bend in the road. Next to the small river.

I didn't immediately feel that when the car smashed through the guardrail and sailed into the water, the windshield shattered. And the water hit me. Everything went hot. I woke up a few moments later on the side of the river. A gruff bearded man stood over me, soaking wet. He was shouting at me, but I couldn't hear him. Couldn't make out the words.

It hurt like hell, but I could move. I wasn't paralyzed. Nothing seemed broken. There was no voice. Thank God. The paramedics came, and the police came. Check me to make sure I was okay. Check to see if I've been drunk.

Fallen asleep at the wheel, I told him. They admonished me. I didn't mention David Cummings. They put me in the back of an ambulance. I made sure to thank my savior before they drove me to the hospital. I lay down on the gurney. The paramedic had insisted. A police officer accompanied us in the ambulance, and that's when Cummings began speaking again.

Through the officer's shoulder radio, but I didn't say anything. I looked to see if the paramedics or police officer could hear him as well. If they did, they didn't show it. I was now criticizing how I'd almost died, the straight thought entered my mind. The soundtrack was still playing. Through the shitty, tinny speaker of the officer's shoulder, the music came out shrill and out of tune. David's voice was clear, though.

Don't worry about you? Dying like that? That's not an appropriate death for a person like you. What is? I croaked. Now the officer reacted, looking at me. I'm sure we can think of something special for you. It's been a week since that night.

David hasn't stopped speaking to me. The voice filters through my TV speakers, PA systems at the store and hospital, random car speakers, shitty boomboxes on street corners. I get phone calls, and when I answer them, it's him. I don't know what he wants. Does he want me to die? Am I just a story to him?

A story to collect and disseminate to his listeners? How? How was he doing this? I tweeted him and emailed him. I called his production company. I tried to contact all his contributors, Peter Lewis and Nicole Doolin, Brandon Boone, the rest. But they're not responding.

No one is responding to me. I called every property management company in Ontario. The address doesn't exist. Twitter accounts and websites and numbers exist. But they don't lead anywhere. I can't talk to anyone. I can't get through to them. I tried to explain this to my mother, to my friends.

They thought I was joking. When I kept insisting, they just left harder. I stopped when I began to wear them out. I couldn't even prove the episode was on my phone. 41 was a corrupted file. I was told to see a therapist by one of them. David just mocked therapists, saying there was no therapist that would be able to help me, put my job.

I left the last month's rent from my apartment with the landlord. I got to find him. I'm going to head east. at east and I'm not stopping until I find him. Now, friend, now this is a story that might warrant retelling. As is talking to me on the radio and he won't stop. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, or to suggest stories for future episodes.

visit us at creepy pod on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. Email us. All stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypasta wikia.com and are protected by a Creative Commons license. Some rights reserved unless otherwise stated.