The NoSleep Podcast - Nosleep Podcast #12

Episode Date: November 13, 2011

Our 12th episode of The Nosleep Podcast brings you tales of unwanted visitors and betrayed friendships. Featuring horror stories from the Reddit.com horror writing community, these stories will keep you awake as the darkness of the night surrounds you.This episode features these stories:The Smiling Man written by Cedric (Redditor leutroyal) and read by Max Glaspey (Redditor MonthlyMarmot).Angel written by Chris Coffman (Redditor snapjamma55) and read by Jacob Comeau (Redditor Jakemasterflex).A Horrible Game written by Lexie X. (Redditor LexieX) and read by Christina Scholz (Redditor giant_squid).They Were Looking Back at Me written by Ben Peirce (Redditor ScumbagRedditor) and read by Stephen Hanson (Redditor Monycker).  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Through the murky darkness of the night, when fear banishes sleep. It's the No Sleep podcast. Born from the nightmares of Reddit.com's No Sleep Forum, and featuring tales from Reddit's authors of horror, we present you with tales intended to frighten and disturb, and keep you awake as the night slowly creeps. past. The No Sleep podcast is now on Stitcher.

Listen to us on your iPhone, Android phone, or Blackberry. Stitcher is smart radio for your mobile device. Find it in your app store or at stitcher.com. Stitcher Smart Radio. The smarter way to listen to

frightening tales that keep you up at night. Our first tale is entitled The Smiling Man. A shortcut Cut down winding coastal roads can end up getting you lost along the way and found by something you don't want following you. This story was written by Cedric and is read by Max Glassby.

For college, I lived in a coastal Californian town and frequented the clubbing scene. There was a particular part of the town that was essentially a city of mansions. The feeling in this area during the day had a sense of confusion. Roads made no sense, and you could easily find yourself driving in circles, or even leaving at points opposite of where you headed. I had always chalked this up to the winding roads easily defeating my sense of direction. Because of this, it was easy to avoid police checkpoints, and it was a shortcut to the college. At night, though, it became something else entirely.

The roads lacked lights or any illumination whatsoever, and tall oaks obscured the sky. I became convinced that something was watching me when I took those roads. I dismissed these feelings to the normal creepy road phenomena, and it stayed that way for a while. After one particular night, I was driving a couple friends home. I was the designated driver. I decided to take a shortcut I knew through the roads

when I saw someone walking along the road up ahead wearing a hoodie and jeans. I thought nothing of it until a little. I noticed a limp in his gate and decided to give him a ride wherever he needed to go, perhaps even the hospital if need be. Pulling up past it, I rolled down the window and asked it if it needed anything. A row of jagged teeth and hollow eyes greeted me and my friends. The teeth were arranged in a stretched smile. The car immediately erupted into screams and yells to drive, and so I did.

However, the more I panicked, the less sense the roads began to make. Every turn became more confusing and frightening. What's worse is that at every turn the thing was there to greet us with its smile and clawed fingers pointed directly at me. What should have been a five-minute drive became at least 30 minutes of squealing tires and sobs. This is where it hit me. The more panicked and frightened I became, the worst things got. Pulling my willpower together, I put my fear aside and concentrated on getting out of these roads. The next turn took me to a road along a small lake leading out of those cursed roads.

I took one look back to see the smiling man curling one of his fingers, beckoning me back. Our second tale is entitled Angel. When the thin line between the worlds of dreams and reality become blurred, the two can blend into a terrifying mix of both. This story was written by Chris. Coughman and is read by Jacob Como. I'm tired of carrying this as my burden. I don't know what she wants or why she chose me.

I just hope someone out there can help. Please. I'm so tired. In winter of 2010, I worked in an apartment store warehouse. On a busy day, I went up and down ten foot ladders, probably hundreds of times, retrieving merchandise. Nothing washed away the tension and dust of that warehouse like a hot bath. A steamy soak in the tub after work quickly became a ritual. One icy December night and exhausted me arrived home to find the apartment was freezing.

The last thing I wanted after trekking across town through frosty streets. I had been stupid enough to leave the window above my futon wide open after airing out the morning's bong smoke. I must have forgotten to close it in my rush to work. I was pissed at my forgetfulness, but the irritation immediately. immediately gave way to a much darker emotion. Nothing scared me more than the thought of an intruder. My house was for me, not for dark figures bent on doing harm. I slowly peered into the bathroom from the doorway, about five feet away.

Afraid a deranged psycho from the street saw my absent-mindedness as a sinister opportunity. The bathroom was empty. My apartment was a tiny studio, so if Freddy Kruger, or whoever, wasn't hiding behind the bathroom door, I was definitely. alone. I breathed the giddy sigh of relief. I started the bath water and went to light the propane heater the landlord installed what must have been decades ago. Upon removing the access panel, my entire body shuddered. After the winter storms of the year before, I made sure to always keep a lighter by the pilot light. I never wanted to shiver my way through another icy winter

night without the heater blazing. I never moved this one-liner, so why the hell was it missing now? I froze at the thought for a good minute or two, thinking about what I should do. There was no one in the place now, and the window was good and locked, as was the deadbolt on the door. I urgently lowered the cheap blinds, terrified of the darkness beyond the glass. I sat on the edge of the futon for a good ten minutes, breathing deep, trying to calm myself. I was smoking lots of weed back then, so I ultimately forced myself to believe it was hiding in some pair of jeans somewhere. I refused to look through my pockets in case I was wrong. The cold was manageable, but the fear of an intruder was not.

I took a few more deep breaths and slipped into the hot bath water to clear my mind. After an hour, I was totally relaxed, giggling, and what a pussy I was. I drained the tub, dried off, and bundled up in layers to prepare for a cold night. Grabbing the remote, I switched on the shitty little 15-inch cathode tube TV that served mostly as a nightlight and background noise for me. me to fall asleep to. I wrapped a down comforter and any little blankets I had around me, making a nice little shell to catch my body heat. I never once looked toward that window. As my makeshift incubator grew warmer, my eyelids felt heavier. The grainy basic cable

drifted out of my consciousness as sleep overcame the cold. What happened after I fell asleep was stay burned in my mind's eye forever. There's really no way to candycoat this, so I'll just describe it as best as I can. I have no explanation. Tears are welling in my eyes as I think about this. It's the most detailed dream of my life. The dream was so realistic that I thought I woke up, only to find it was not in my apartment,

I sure as hell was not me. Whoever's eyes I was seeing through was hunched over a knotty wooden table. The air was extremely humid, and wherever this was, winter was long gone. Dust covered every flat surface in the room, and the primitive wooden floorboards were caked and grind. The walls had been mostly stripped of their paint and were instead covered in mold. An antique full-length mirror was shattered in the corner, covering the floor and shards of glass. A large piece of mirror rested on the table, covered in whiteish yellow crystals and powder.

All the tools for hardcore drug use were laid out in front of me, a burn-covered light bulb, a small cracked torchlighter, several rusty-looking spoons and needles. The strangest part of the whole scene was the peasants of actual physical physical. sensations, which I usually never feel in dreams. All the muscles in my body were cramping, trembling uncontrollably, and I could actually feel it. The cracked peeling skin on my hands horrified to me the most. Every fingertip was blistered and deep scabs ran the length of my forearms. I wanted to scream to call 911 to end the misery, but I was not in control.

This was not my body. In an instant, searing pain shot through my chest. My eyes rolled back into my skull. It felt as though a power drill was boring through my ribs and into my heart. The agony quickly enveloped my whole body. I was dying. I collapsed face first into the floor, hundreds of jagged shards digging into my skin as I writhed and seized.

My mind screamed, please wake up, wake up, oh my God, why am I not waking up? Oh my fucking God! While this body shut down, my eyes rolled back from inside my skull and I saw the the room once more in slow motion. Only there was someone else with me. In the corner, curled up, staring at me with a hauntingly blank expression, was a little girl. Her hair matted with grease and her face was obscured by dirt. Her once white summer dress was heavily soiled and hung loosely from her skeletal body. She clearly had not eaten in weeks. In her arms was a ragged clump of fur. The child stood up, a few tears rolling down to her.

her cheeks. As she crossed the room, I saw she was clinging to a lint cat. Time returned to normal and brought with it the pain. My field of vision flooded with white, and in a second I was back in my bed. Four minutes, I was stunned, and I had no idea what to think. Then I noticed I was absolutely drenched and sweat. I unwrapped my blanket cocoon, expecting the room to cool me down, but the temperature in the studio was exactly as it had been in the dream. The heater was now roaring. Fear and confusion were creeping up on me when I heard a noise from inside the bathroom. A silhouette appeared in the doorway and began moving toward the bed.

I became paralyzed. Every fiber of my being told me to scream, to jump out the window, to grab something and start swinging. But the sheer tear was wholly overpowering. The figure stepped into the glow of the TV, and I could see it was the little girl for my dream. Her limbs were like tree branches, gnarled and extremely bony. Her eyes sank back into her skull as she ambled closer. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear the blood pumping through my skull. She reached the edge of the bed, staring directly into my eyes.

Her mouth opened unnaturally wide and a silent scream, and both the furnace and the TV shut off, plunging me into complete silence and darkness. I prepared myself for death or worse. After a few minutes, my eyes adjusted to the moonlight. My apartment was empty. The cry of a small animal broke the silence, and a wave of eerie serenity washed over me. I fumbled around for the remote and turned the television back on. There was again like a chipmunk or something.

I cautiously peeked over the edge of the futon to see a tiny white kitten gazing up at me, meowing pitifully. I picked it up and it started licking my hand. I had absolutely no cause to think this, but for some reason I just knew this. animal would do me no harm. I looked up and saw three people smiling at me from the television. A gorgeous woman, stood next to an equally attractive man. In front of them was a young girl with long, shiny blonde hair under a white bow wearing a perfectly ironed white summer dress. Her innocent smile faded to the same haunting gaze she had in the dream, and her dress

reverted to the tattered stained rag. The two adults became twisting, thorny shadows, and within seconds the image faded to static. The waves of emotion were too much for me, and I broke down sobbing. I couldn't stop crying until the sunrise five hours later. The next day, I called my parents for the first time in three years. After a long, heart-to-heart with my dad, they let me move back in, and I started school in the fall. This wasn't the last time I saw the little girl. Angel, the kitten, disappeared about nine months after the events.

from this entry. Then I saw her my dreams. She hasn't appeared in person again, but I have come to accept sleeping means I'll see her. And she'll show me things. Gasly and beautiful things. Our third tale is entitled, A Horrible Game.

The usual drabness of an office cubicle farm can be a dreary place, but a small shift in perspective can make things get unspeakable. worse. This story was written by Lexi X and is read by Christina Schultz. There was a running joke that our workplace was haunted. It was an older office building and we were on the 33rd floor. I had been skeptical but my attitude changed as the rainy summer wore on. A strange quality seemed to hang about the place.

coming and going at odd times. I soon developed the ability to sense it beginning. I would be working, eating, talking, some mundane activity, and then I would feel a slight rotation of reality, as if existence itself had faded into a subtly different spectrum. It was during those times that work became gray and unbearable. Paranoia was the first and most vague symptom. I would repeatedly sense someone coming up behind me and I'd tap back to my work only to find myself alone.

I would hear soft footsteps on the carpet or see a shaded flash of someone approaching in propagated reflections, but there was never anyone there. There was only the ever-present gloomy rain against the same. me rain against the glass walls of our floor. The other interns reported these same experiences in hushed tones. Then equally without warning, the indescribable tilt would fade. Reality would write itself and the 33rd floor would become a normal cubicle farm again. The occurrences became disturbing enough that we took to researching the effects.

We each took a different category. Jake investigated whether the place had a history. And Steve looked into similar experiences, reported elsewhere. I turned to science and soon struck gold. I found a published paper that detailed how a standing airwave of a certain frequency could cause an unexplained sense of fear, paranoia, and even visual hallucinations. The study seemed to explain exactly what was happening. We were immensely relieved.

That discovery also happened the day before we were scheduled to run the office alone for the afternoon. All of our co-workers were slated for a corporate restructuring meeting. Steve suggested that it was the perfect opportunity to play around with the air system. I agreed, wanting to alleviate my fears by taking control of them and making them seem harmless. Jake agreed as well, though he seemed hesitant. It came as no surprise that the afternoon in question was gloomy and rain soaked. We saw nothing but streaked rain through the windows around our floor.

The atmosphere was perfect for our game. We wanted to see how far we could push the experience and bet on who could stand it the longest. I found the floor's air controls in a hallway closet and we messed with them in an attempt to modulate whatever it was that caused the strange effects. After a few adjustments, I felt that inexplicable shift. It was working. A few more minutes of tinkering caused another deeper shift and I knew we'd done it. The very air seemed to pound through my head in a manner imperceptible and impossible. We returned to our desks, alone on the floor.

We sat in sight of each other, so the first few minutes was spent joking and laughing about how tough we were. That stopped at the first distant noise we heard. We each snapped to face the distant end of the office, but saw nothing. I could feel my heart beating faster, and I knew it was starting. A loud noise erupted under my hands, and I jumped up. hands and I jumped up. They watched me, stifling laughter as I answered the phone. We continued working for another 20 minutes, occasionally looking around for something we couldn't specify. The various offices around seemed to take on a menacing cast, as if somebody was hiding just

inside them and watching us whenever we looked away. I remember looking at Steve and noticing how real he looked, like a movie on the wrong frame rate. He looked like a textured sack of flesh and organs moving about, and the thought profoundly disturbed me. That's what he really was. Something moved at the other end of the floor. Again we jerked to look. This time, I thought I saw a bray shoulder as someone slipped into a cubicle. I peered at the spot but saw nothing further. I slid my chair around with a start as something clattered behind me, but again I saw nothing. I turned back to Jake and Steve, who watched me with wide eyes.

I felt another shift, and the blanket on my thoughts grew heavier as the floor's emotional connotations faded further into a dark and unfamiliar space. Where Steve, I asked, turning to Jake. He seemed worried. I was literally just looking at Steve a moment ago. Or was I? Did I look at Jake and merely imagine that Steve was also there? We jumped up and ran to the hallway where we found him closing the closet door that held the air controls.

I could almost feel the building pulsing. It seemed to sink my heartbeat and breathing with a rolling heaviness in my awareness. Just seeing if I can't, Steve began. Can't what? I asked. Didn't you ask me to turn it up? Steve asked, forming his words with trouble. I shook my head.

Jake grabbed my arm and we three turned as one. At the distant end of the hallway at the T-junction, a grave foam walk passed. Steve yelped and we ran. Then back into the cubicle space proper, a gray shade took slow, jerking steps between the foam walls a few rows down. It seemed to be facing away from us, and we hid behind a desk as it turned. Something hurt inside my head just above my eyes. Steve looked even more like a grotesque sack of flesh, leaking shiny fluid from vivid paws on his sagging skin, and I found myself unable to look at him

even as I had to crouch next to him in our hiding spot. We froze in silent terror as the indefinite gray apparition took halting broken steps past our hiding place. I somehow summoned the strength to look up as it passed and saw in its ragged outline an expanse of undulating nothingness.

A circle and a jagged line floated through it, and I realized what I was seeing. Come on, I whispered, fighting an intense lethargy that tried to prevent me from speaking. It's not real, it's in our eyes. I saw veins. I staggered to my feet and helped pull Jacob. I couldn't bring myself to touch Steve, who now seemed to me to be an aberrant abomination of quivering and pulsing organs. I was seeing him as he truly was, without my mental filter that made people seem like people.

I turned to continue to ward the hallway, but froze. Dozens of grey entities stood throughout the maze of cubicles watching us. They seemed to shift and redefine each time I moved my eyes. I took a step and they made jerky motions toward Jake and I in sync. I kept telling myself that they weren't real, but I could feel their eyes on me. I felt their malice. I took one step at a time, carefully wending our way through the cubicle maze, as the apparitions took steps in rhythm with mine, trying to reach us. Sweat poured down my face as I calculated each next step, finding myself further and further from the door to the hallway.

What the hell was I doing? I couldn't focus. The floor's breath still pulsed through my head. Jake's nails dug into my arm. The atmosphere shifted negative even further. The rain-slick windows visibly darkened as if night had fallen. I looked at Jake whose eyes were glazed with terror. When I looked back, the gray forms were vanishing one by one,

each turning to the south wall of glass before fleeing into nothingness. There came an overwhelming sense of something approaching. I ran for the hallway, Jake hot on my heels. The closet door with the air controls was already open. Had Steve found his way here without his noticing? Who had adjusted them the final time? The living pulse of the floor rang through me with an intensity so full

that I knew the perfect frequency had been found. I wasn't about to wait around to experience what was going to happen. My fingers cracked into the door. I stared at them in pain and reached to open the door to the air system controls

that I had sworn was open. I couldn't locate the handle. I could see parts of it but was unable to recognize the object. itself. Jake, open the door, I told him, but he just stared at me in terror. I started flailing at the slick metal and I felt it open just as the hallway lights dimmed. My hand went for the controls, finding them this time, and I shut it off. A rush went through me a moment later, a barely discernible lifting of the weight on my thoughts. It was just enough for me to pull Jake

into an elevator and hit a button for another floor as the hallway became pitch black. As the elevator doors closed, I felt an awareness brush past, something heavy and filled with rage that had barely missed us. I felt reality shifting back to light and normality as I wiped blood from my nose. No, Jake muttered, we can't. Can't what? I asked him. I didn't tell you, Jake continued. I didn't want to believe it. The place did have a history, reports of things they got worse, the fewer people there were. I froze with agonizing fear and regret. We had left Steve alone on that floor. Somewhere above us, a scream echoed with soul-chilling terror. I lived the next few days in fearful panic, which turned to confusion when I returned to confusion when I

return to work the following Monday. Steve was there, sitting at his computer and doing his job, and made no mention of our game gone horribly awry. I watched him covertly for hours, still seeing a mechanical contrivance of flesh and pulsing organs instead of a person. I thought it was just my imagination except for his eyes. They were lifeless and dull. I shuddered, and had the urge to hide whenever his gaze fell on me. When he spoke, his words seemed to mask a dark void, and his smile was empty and mocking. It was at the end of the day that I finally snapped and ran.

It was his goodbye. As he waved at me, I had the flash impression of an enormous black shadow over him, pulling strings like a marionette. His arm jerked in mockery of a living wave, and it was then I knew Steve was dead. All that remained of him was a corpse, pulsing, breathing, and walking around as some sort of twisted prank. His lifeless eyes watched me go with a tilted, off-kiltre smile. So, who do you think one-hour game? His voice called out as I ran for the elevator.

His laugh echoed behind me. I never returned to that building. Our final tale is entitled, They Were Looking Back at Me. After a visit to a long-forgotten cabin in the woods, a group of friends begin a descent into a world of unsettling betrayal. This story was written by Ben Pierce

and is read by Stephen Hansen. I don't tell people this story much. I'm just typing it out because my therapist suggested it. Hey, couldn't hurt, right? He doesn't believe me anyway. It'll be nice to have someone hear the story and not immediately dismiss it out of the band as bullshit. Or maybe you guys will too. Suppose I don't really care anymore.

Anyway, this all started when three friends, Alex, Paul, and Chris and I were in the woods behind Paul's house. sneaking cigarettes. We were all 15, except for Alex was 14 and lived on Chris's street. We just started smoking, thanks to Chris, who was far more rebellious than the three of us, plus his dad smoked. So we'd started hanging out at Paul's house more and forging further and further into the woods to find a good spot to stand around, smoking cigarettes, and feeling cool. That afternoon, we'd found a narrow path and followed it for a good 15 minutes or so.

Eventually we saw a little shack in the distance, silhouetted against the setting sun. We walked around it and could tell that it was in disrepair. The roof was sagging and the window next to the door was missing three of its four panels. Paul, have you ever been back here and seen that? Chris asked, stepping forward and ducking under a branch to get a better view at the house. Nope, Paul said his cigarette in his mouth and leaned against the tree. We don't own these woods, and no one ever had to be. never comes back here because none of my neighbors wants the duty of keeping the path clear. It's probably a storage shed, I offered.

We got closer and could see that the set of steps up to the front door looked rotten and unstable. Oh, shit! Alex was the first to notice a large, dark stain on the small square of porch in front of the door. I'm almost positive that's blood, you guys. We all stopped walking and looked. It certainly looked like, Blood. I glanced at the others, but I could tell from the looks on Alex and Paul's faces

that they weren't too keen on going forward. Fuck, let's check it out, Chris said, tossing his cigarette aside and putting his hand on the wooden stair railing to the right of the steps. He looked back expectantly when none of us followed him. I don't know, Paul said dubiously. I don't want to trespass, especially not into some murder scene.

blood looks pretty fresh, probably from an animal or something. Chris looked at me, then Alex. Really? None of you guys want to check it out? You guys are such fags. Come on, Chris, it's getting dark anyway. I didn't want to seem like a pussy, but I also didn't want to go into the house. It was probably just an animal's blood, but still, who knows? You could be some crazy person living in there or something.

something. Cast a nervous glass at the horizon, noting that the sun was almost gone. You can stay if you want, man. I gotta get home before my parents get pissed. Chris swore at us again, calling us girls and faggots, but eventually seeing that we weren't going to change our minds. All during the walk home, he kept making fun of us. When we parted ways, though, that was the last I thought of the shack in the woods for some time. The next week, Chris started to to act a little odd. It wasn't noticeable at the time, but a couple of the things he did were off-putting.

He'd spend more time relaxing on the grass in front of the school by himself, smoking a cigarette and watching people walk, except the way he did it was creepy. He'd just turn his head and follow their movement until they were gone. Far from normal high school or awkward, this constant staring seemed almost predatory.

Another time we were smoking behind the school. We were all trying to keep up with Chris's new pace, so he wouldn't make fun of us for being babies. And a frog hopped along. Chris bent down and scooped it up, staring at it for a few seconds, then put the cigarette out on the frog's back. Actually, the frog's skin seemed pretty wet,

so it didn't seem that badly hurt. but it did squirm around a lot. Chris, what the hell? Alex looked disturbed. He was a fairly sweet kid and this kind of casual sadism didn't go well with his personality. Stop torturing it, man.

Chris looked up, and he had a gleam in his eye I hadn't ever seen there before. What, this bothers you guys? He looked down at the frog as if he'd already forgotten he was holding it, stroked it, mindedly twice, and without warning, wound up and hurled it into the brick wall ten feet away.

The frog hit the wall with a splat, and we all turned away and disgust. What the fuck, Chris? Paul looked pretty pissed. You gonna start kidnapping stray cats now or something? Chris just laughed, flicked his cigarette away, and walked back towards the school. We exchanged uneasy looks. The next weekend, we were staying the night at Chris's house because his parents were out of town. Chris had snuck half a bottle of rum and a third of a bottle of vodka from his parents' liquor shelf,

and we were all kind of tipsy. We sat on the couches and talked about girls for a while, but Chris started getting quiet. Five minutes, he didn't say anything at all. Then he got up without warning and walked towards the window, looked out. and then turned back to us. Hey, do you guys want to see what I snagged from that house? I didn't even see you go inside, Paul said. Chris waved a hand dismissively.

Not with you guys, I went back the next day. You wouldn't believe how much is in that house. Not just in terms of stuff, either. There's knowledge inside that house, man. What? I looked over at Paul, who gave me a wary glance. Chris, what the fuck are you talking about? He turned around and faced us full on.

It'll be easier if I just show you guys. It's up in my room. One at a time, though. His face lingered over all three of our faces before settling on Alex. You first. He turned and walked out of the room without waiting, and we could hear his footsteps going up the stairs. We all exchanged no.

nervous glances. Alex, we can come with you, dude, Paul said, setting his cup on the counter and looking worried. Alex took a swig from his cup and shook his head. Nah, man, no need, I'm set. He didn't look all that worried, but he did look a bit drunk. It's probably nothing anyway. He walked out of the room a little unsteadily. We heard him go up the stairs and heard the door to Paul's room open.

There was a pause of about 20 seconds. Then, a high-pitched scream. We heard running footfalls descend the stairs, and then the sound of the front door bursting open. Paul and I looked at each other, panicking, then followed. We saw Alex's back disappearing up the street. Alex? I yelled. Alex stopped running maybe 75 yards away

and threw up all over the sidewalk. He straightened up, wiped his mouth, and kept running. Paul and I turned and jumped to see that Chris was waiting in the doorway. What the fuck did you do to him? I asked, fists clenching. Chris laughed and crossed his arms. He was drunk, dude. He kept weaving, and he took a good five seconds to react to what I showed him. He was sober. He probably wouldn't have flipped like that, I bet. It's not that cool

What the hell was it? Alex wasn't super brave, sure, but then again Not even whims throw up from a scary sight I was definitely weirded out Chris stared at me for about ten seconds See for yourself He turned and walked back up the stairs I turned to Paul

Seriously, what the fuck? He looked worried. I'm going to check on Alex. Dude, just go home. Fuck whatever he found. This is fucking weird. Seriously, man, don't feel some bullshit need to find out what it was. I'd get far away if I was you.

I nodded, and he took off up the street after Alex. I looked up towards the top of the stairs. If I was sober, I might have gone home. But I was curious, too, and Alex was kind of a wimp. I went back into the kitchen, opened the tool drawer under the sink, and stuck the buckknife that belonged to Chris's dad in my pocket. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I wasn't going up there empty-handed in case Chris flipped on me. Fingers wrapped around the buck knife in my pocket, I went up the stairs and pushed the door to Chris's room open. The light was off, and Chris was standing over by his desk, hard to make out in the gloom.

I cautiously moved across the floor, gripping the buck knife harder. You want to see it? He had some kind of box in his hands. I edged a little closer cautiously, nodded once. He took off the lid of it just a crack. I bent over and went to take a look. I only got a brief glimpse before Chris shut the box suddenly, but I straightened up fast.

Fuck, Chris! Did you see it? Not enough to get a good look. Chris, were those eyes? I had seen them looking back at me. I was sure of it. Human-sized eyes, white, bloody spheres, the size of golf balls. Chris, are those real?

Don't worry about it. Just get out. Chris put the box back in his desk and started pushing me towards the door. I didn't resist. Chris, what the fuck? What's going on? Just go home. I messed up.

I gotta go check on Alex. He started moving down the stairs ahead of me, walked into the kitchen. I stood near the front door, hesitant. Chris! I didn't know what to say. Just go. It'll be fine. I went.

I didn't know what to do. I walked home, a solid 20-minute walk, looking over my shoulder the whole way. My parents were still at a movie. I was freaked out. I went up to my dad's office and booted up his computer, deciding to see if there'd been anything in the news about the shack or recent disappearances. I debated calling my parents, but I was sure I still smelled like alcohol and decided against it. I remembered how the two pupils in the box had stared up at me.

They had certainly seemed real. What the hell had Chris found in that shack? About 20 minutes later, I hadn't found anything, but a movement outside the window made me whip my head around nervously. I looked out the window and saw a figure on the other side of the road outside my house. It wasn't moving and appeared to be looking up and down the street. I was paranoid before, but now I was a wreck. I turned off the light in my dad's office and snuck back to my room, grabbed a baseball bat, and came back in time to see the figure.

approaching the porch. As he moved towards the light, I could see it was Chris. I relaxed a little and was about to go downstairs to open the door when he moved further into the porch light. His shirt and pants were covered in dripping red. At first, I thought he had been hurt, but I remembered the way he had taken his time crossing to my house, casing the neighborhood first. Not the actions of someone who needs help.

My heart started beating fast in my chest. Chris raised his hand and the light glinted off something silver. At first I thought it was a knife and my breath caught. But then I saw it was just a spoon. He tapped on the door with it three times. As he did so, I could see that his shirt was clearly streaked with blood. He dropped the bat and skittered down the stairs on my hands and knee. He's desperately hoping to be able to lock the door before he tried the knob.

I tried to stay quiet as I crawled like a spider on all fours to the door. When I reached the latch, I heard more tapping on the other side and almost shit myself. I recovered and flipped the lock. I then moved to the back of the kitchen, trying to stay in the shadows, and peeked out the windows. Chris's head was swiveling, appraising the empty house. His eyes raked over the window and then stopped. He made eye contact for a brief, horrifying second. And he lunged forward and tried the doorknob.

Upon realizing it was locked, he turned and sprinted away. My house had two other doors. I ran to the glass sliding door at the back of the kitchen and turned the lock a second before Chris came around the side and crashed into it. He reared back and we locked eyes again. He looked terrifying. His lips were twisted up in a snarl. And his eyes were wide and staring.

He punched the glass door. The glass was thick and didn't break. He snarled and raced toward the other side of the house, but I beat him to it, turned the latch, then slid against the door, unable to look out and face that monster again. I heard him walk away and knew he was prowling around the outside of the house. I prayed my parents hadn't left any windows open, but the weather was still nice.

I was sure they had. I was dead. My last few seconds on earth, and all I could do was close my eyes and crouch against the door. The sound of tires squealing jolted me from my stupor. Light flashed against the kitchen wall. A car was pulling into the driveway. My parents were home. I jumped up and ran to the kitchen window, praying that Chris wouldn't hurt them.

It wasn't my parents. The car door opened and a man barreled out. He tackled Chris to the green. ground, sending the bloody spoon flying. The man pulled a pistol from the small of his back and jammed it into Chris's face. I recognized him as Alex's dad, the ex-marine. He was screaming as he pushed the pistol harder and harder into Chris's cheek. He didn't say much before the gun shout drowned out his words.

But I'll never forget what he yelled. My son's eyes! What did you do with my son's eyes? This concludes this episode of the No Sleep Podcast. Thank you for listening and for letting us share the blackness of the night with you. To learn more about the podcast and the ways you can help us make more episodes, please visit nonsleepaudio.reddit.com.