The NoSleep Podcast - Nosleep Podcast #17

Episode Date: January 22, 2012

Our 17th episode of The Nosleep Podcast presents tales of tormented tenants and frightened families. 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: Baked Beans written by Allison Stein (Redditor Majidae) and read by Max Glaspey (Redditor MonthlyMarmot). The Neighbors Upstairs written by Whitley Olivier and read by Wendy Corrigan (Redditor EchoWind). Grandma and Grandpa written by Alexander White (Redditor Mister_Famine) and read by David Cummings (Redditor MikeRowPhone). It’s Locked written by Avery Nelson (Redditor yellavalley) and read by Corinne Sanders (Redditor SandyCornn). The Tunnel written by Joey Murray (Redditor InferiousX) and read by David Cummings. 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. Our first tale is entitled, Baked Beans. Sharing a living space with people means you have to put up with some odd idiosyncrasies, especially the things that go on in the middle of the night. This tale was

written by Alison Stein and is read by Max Glasby. I used to live in one of those shared buildings, one that has multiple bedrooms and bathrooms, but a shared living area. At the time of this incident, I lived there with three other people, a mother and her grown son who shared one part of the living area, and the typical middle-aged, grizzled veteran who had the other one. Most of the time, we didn't interact. I and the mom had jobs at separate ends of town, and the kid apparently helped people move and do chores for cash. The old veteran guy stayed home a lot and ate baked beans. Now, let me get this straight when I say this guy loved baked beans. He had had them for every meal. Usually a can of bushes, with some other thing, usually a bit of whatever

the mom made. Though, if the mom and son went out, this guy would have an entire pot of baked beans. I'm sure he had horrible gas, but I never managed to smell it, which was fine by me. He bought the beans on his own pay, so nobody ever complained about it either. At this time, I was a huge fan of MMORPGs, so I would often stay up all odd hours of the night playing them. This particular night, I was talking to some of my online buddies. I don't remember the circumstances around it, but I do remember talking to them about scary stories. As we were telling them, I began hearing creaks and groans in the house. No big deal. This was an old house. It still creeped me out, though, and I kept telling my mates to knock it off. They did eventually,

but soon after I heard the call of nature. To get to the bathroom allotted to me, I was would have to go down the hallway through the shared area to the other hallway in the bathroom. Normally no problem, but it was dark and scary out there. Yeah, I know. I'm a wuss. Eventually, I worked up the courage to avoid pissing my pants and go. I opened the door and left it open so I could use the glow of my computer as light. I walked down the hallway as fast as I could go without going into a full-out run and made my way through the shared space into the bathroom without consequence.

I did my duty, then flushed the toilet. When it was done, I realized the house seemed eerily quiet compared to before my trip. Still, I washed my hands and made my way back out. This time, I was slightly more relaxed as I was walking, though it didn't last long as I almost shrieked when my foot landed in something wet and sticky as I walked through the shared area. I stopped myself from screaming when I realized that it was probably just a spilled can of baked beans that the veteran guy had left open on the counter.

I'd probably knocked it over while running to the bathroom. Without even thinking, I grabbed a couple paper towels and mopped up as much of the mess as I could see from the glow of my computer. When that was done, I went back to my room. As soon as I sat down, I noticed the game had logged me out, which was weird since I was sure I hadn't taken that long. I logged back in to find myself greeted by at least a thousand frantic whispers, asking me if I was all right, what had happened.

etc. I wasn't sure what they were talking about until somebody sent me a log of my whispers to various mates. All of them detailed gruesome, vicious murders, suicides, and other nasty, horrible things, some that still make me shudder when I consider that some human mind must have come up with them. All of these whispers were sent while I was in the bathroom. I couldn't find any explanation for them, seeing as I knew everybody else was in bed. It took two hours from my mates to finally calm me down. I didn't think I could get to sleep, but I guess my body eventually drifted off from exhaustion. I woke up the next morning to policemen banging on my door. Apparently, during the night, somebody had broken into the house through a window accidentally left open and taken an axe

to the mother and her son. They had then dragged the two corpses to the window and left. I was horrified to see the bloody paper towels in the trash can, and then went into nervous panic attacks when a crime scene analyst began detailing how the murders could have happened. I don't remember his entire speech in detail, but I do remember one part, which he told to me directly. Here, this is where you mopped up the blood. But this spot here, see this stain? This indicates that he kept the bodies here for a good while, almost as if he stood here for a long moment, watching something. Our next tale is entitled The Neighbors Upstairs. When noisy neighbors keep disturbing you, sometimes it's what you find out about them.

That's the most disturbing of all. This tale was written by Jennifer Mouser and is read by Wendy Corrigan. My husband and I moved into our new apartment back in February when I was about seven months pregnant. We love this complex. The staff is always friendly and helpful. We've never had any issues with any of our neighbors, except for a crazy old lady that lived under us for about four months and complained about us making loud banging noises at all hours of the night when we had long since gone to bed. She sent the cops to our apartment

in the wee hours of the morning several times, and the apartments themselves are very nice, spacious, high ceilings, brand new appliances, etc. For the last six weeks or so, however, we've been dealing with some very noisy, inconsiderate upstairs neighbors. I assume they have a few young children because we hear them running through the apartment constantly. Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, back to the other. Things falling over, what sounds like someone jumping up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down. We've tried our best to ignore it, but it's getting to the point where it's waking us and our daughter up in the middle of the night. Having a child under a year old is hard enough without asshole neighbors upstairs being noisy

and waking us all up every two hours. About a week ago, I decided enough was enough. I went upstairs and knocked on the door, but there was no answer. From the way the apartments are set up, if you walk through the front door, you'll pass the kitchen and end up in the living room in front of a door leading to the balcony. So if the blinds are open, you can see the light coming through the peephole

outside the apartment. I stood for a moment, watching the pee-pole, and after there was no answer, I knocked again. I'd heard them banging around upstairs. I knew they were home, and was getting upset that they were ignoring me. Suddenly, the light in the pee-pole started to go out. It started getting dark from one side,

as if someone was leaning over to look through. I said, hello, and waved at the peephole, and then waited for the door to open. but it never did. I knocked again lightly and said, Hi, I'm your downstairs neighbor. Can I talk to you for a moment? And leaned in slightly to listen for a response.

But it was completely silent. What must have been no more than a minute, but felt like five, passed, and I said, Thanks a lot, and walked back downstairs. When I got to my apartment, I wrote out a note. Dear neighbors, I am writing this note to you, asking if you would please try and keep the noise to a minimum.

I understand that there is a certain amount of noise to be expected when living in an apartment, but recently it has gotten out of control. The persistent banging noises in running through the apartment wakes my baby in the middle of the night. I wanted to meet with you in person, but I guess you are out. Please understand I am not trying to be rude. Feel free to come by my apartment any time

if you would like to speak to me. sincerely your neighbors downstairs. Running back upstairs, I stuck the note on the door. The peephole was still dark. Fast forward to this morning. The noises continued off and on for the last week. I'd gone upstairs a few times since I left the note and hopes that I would catch someone home

that would actually open the door, but still hadn't been able to talk to anybody. The note was gone, but apparently they didn't read it, because they were still banging away like always. This morning my husband and I were sitting at the table drinking coffee when there was a huge bang upstairs from the living room area that sent my daughter into a fit. I completely lost it.

They woke us up three times last night making noise. I grabbed a broom and banged on the ceiling. I'm still surprised I didn't damage it, until my arm got tired, all the while screaming obscenities at the ceiling. When I finally calmed down, I called the office. I explained the situation to a woman that picked up, and she told me she'd speak with the manager and get back to me ASAP.

My husband left for work, and about 20 minutes later, I got a call back from the office. This time, the manager was on the line, who I've gotten to know pretty well since we moved in. Brittany told me about the noises you guys have been dealing with. You're in apartments 128, right? Yeah. They're driving us nuts.

I left a note the other... Well, Jenny, nobody lives in that apartment. The last tenant was a single man, and he moved out about two months ago. Are you sure? Yes. But that doesn't... Are you sure? If you like, we can send someone out to check the apartment in a few minutes.

But yes, it's been vacant since Mr. Rupert moved out. About half an hour later, I was standing at the front door of the... apartment with one of the other office assistants. The light in the apartment glowed through the peephole. She slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open to the empty apartment. The new carpet showed no signs of someone even walking through it. We stepped inside and looked around, but there was no sign that anyone had been in the apartment recently, except for a pile of shredded paper in the corner of the living room. She walked up to it and began collecting the pieces, and I immediately recognized the writing on the pieces scattered on the floor.

It was the note I had left a week ago. Maybe the old lady living under us wasn't crazy after all. Our next tale is entitled, Grandma and Grandpa. A son discovers a family secret about his deceased grandparents and the unsettling events in their old house. This tale was written by Alexander White and is read by David. The last few holidays I had noticed a bit of friction between my dad and my uncle.

I didn't think much about it at first. I mean, they are brothers after all, and brothers get into it sometimes. My uncle, though, he was not getting over whatever it was that had been bugging him. I mean, this went on for like four years. So, last year, on the day after Christmas, I asked my dad, what's up with Uncle Ken? He seems really combative lately. Well, he's just mad that your mom and I sold your grandma's house after she passed away instead of living in it.

Oh yeah. Why did you guys end up selling that house? I asked. My dad seemed to get a bit flustered and he said, Well, you know, it was just a really old house that needed a bunch of work and we didn't really feel like restoring it. and I left it at that A while later I was talking to my mom about something I don't really remember what

But she said You know we didn't sell your grandma's house Because it was too old Oh I asked Now I didn't tell the other kids about this But do you remember after your grandma passed away Your dad and I went to go clean up her place Sure

Well the first day we went there we met up with your uncle Ken, Sharon, Jeff, Greg, and Aaron. Your dad and I got there a few hours earlier and started cleaning out the garage and most of the basement. We ended up working straight until almost 10 o'clock at night, and by that time we were too tired to drive home from Berwyn,

so we just decided to stay the night. Did Ken and Sharon stay the night too? No, they left a few hours before then. That sounds about right. So your dad, and I went to go sleep in his mom's old room. Really? That's kind of creepy.

I guess he thought it might help him feel closer to his mom. You know, after his dad passed away, it was really hard for him to watch her grieving so much. I always thought that she died so soon afterwards because she just missed him so much. Yeah, I could definitely see that. So your dad wakes up in the middle of the night because he thought he heard something downstairs. Like what? Well, he wasn't sure at first, but he thought he heard someone calling his name. Are you serious?

Absolutely. He turned the light on and looked at the door and heard it again. It sounded like his mom calling his name. So he went out into the hallway and sure enough he could hear his mom saying, Phil, Phil, and he says that it didn't sound like distant or ghosty or anything like that. He said it sounded like she was just talking to him. So he went out into the hallway and turned the corner, and at the end of the stairs, he saw her and your grandpa standing there.

He said that they didn't look half transparent, and they weren't glowing or anything like that. They just looked solid like you or me. He did say that your grandpa looked very, very tired, and your grandma, well, she didn't look bad. She just looked... heavy, you know? Like she was sad. Are you kidding me?

Not at all. In fact, the next day, after your dad left, I found this, she said, pulling out an old diary from under the table. Wait, so you guys stayed the night? After your dad saw that, he rushed back into the bedroom and locked the door, which, by the way, had three locks on it. one in the knob, one deadbolt, and one chain. We didn't know why at first, but the knob and the chain had been broken off, like the door had been kicked down. He left the light on all night and left first thing in the morning. You stayed behind?

He didn't tell me what had happened until much later. I figured he was just too emotional to be there so soon. So he left you in the house with the ghosts. Well, he figured I would probably just call him crazy. You know your dad. Do you think he believes in ghosts? No, of course not. Right.

So, like I was saying, I found this diary that your grandma started keeping after your grandpa died. Oh, I didn't know she had been keeping one. Oh, me neither. It starts off pretty normal. She does write about how sad and lonely she was after Grandpa Jim died. She really only talks about him for the first few pages. Then after that, it's mostly really in-depth stories about her going out and talking to her girlfriends and shopping and all that. For the first few weeks, she wrote every day.

Then it was every other day. And then it started getting really, well, really sad. Like here. She opened up the diary to a page that had been dog-eared. The only thing it said was, Spent some time in the garden today. I miss Jim. The handwriting was pretty sloppy, but I didn't really think much of it.

My grandma never had very steady hands, and I knew her arthritis was getting pretty bad near the end. Adam, you know the garden was the only place your grandma never went, right? My mom said. Really? I replied. That's where your grandpa had his heart attack. She never went out there. Here, keep reading. The next entry was dated a week and a half later.

It said, Feeling lonely. My mom looked at me, and she had the most dead serious look on her face. If you knew my mom, you'd know that she's the type who always has something witty to say, always cracking jokes, and even when she's serious,

she's never that serious. But the look she was getting, giving me at that moment, at least to me, was downright unnerving. From here, it gets pretty morbid. And that's all she said. The next entry was a little over two weeks from the last one. It read, Last night I was woken up in the middle of the night.

I thought I heard something downstairs. I turned the light on and put my hearing aid in and listened for a minute. I heard something again. It sounded like maybe the TV was on downstairs, but I hadn't been watching TV. I put my robe on and opened the bedroom door. I could hear it more clearly. It sounded like James. He kept saying, Eleanor, Eleanor.

But it was quiet, not like he was moaning or yelling or anything. I went to the stairs, and I saw him at the bottom of the stairs looking up at me. It wasn't a ghost, it was him, and he looked real sad, tired and sad. He looked at me and said, Eleanor, and I turned and ran into the bedroom and locked the door. I know I'm not crazy. I know what I saw. The next entry was from the next day. I had a man come by and put extra locks on the bedroom door.

There is the lock in the door now, a dead bolt, and a chip. He looked at me like I was crazy, but I know I'm not crazy. Last night when I went to bed, I locked all three locks, left the TV in the bedroom on and the lights. I thought I heard James again, but it might have just been the TV or the wind or something. The next entry, dated two days later. For the last few nights, I've been sleeping with the TV and the lights on. I haven't been woken up by James again. The next entry dated the next night.

I went to go have lunch with Florence today. I wanted to tell her about James, but I didn't dare. There isn't no way she'd believe me. She was telling me about a cruise her and Ruth were going to take in the fall up to Alaska to see the glaciers. I think I should go. It would do me good to get out of the house for a while. We had to end lunch early because storm clouds were coming in, and she doesn't like to drive in the rain.

The next entry dated later that night, 2.30 a.m. The power went out. I heard James calling me from outside the door. I unlocked the doorknob and the dead bolt and I cracked it open to look out into the hallway. I saw him on the floor. He was on his belly pulling himself around the corner towards my room. He looked just awful, just awful, just awful, just awful, just awful. awful. His face was falling apart and his hands were just skin and bones and his eyes.

He was growling at me. He's coming to get me. There was only one more entry, I think. It covered over the next five or six pages and it just said, he's coming to get me over and over again. It might have been written the same night. It is completely. completely impossible to tell. So, my mom said, we never really told you what happened with your grandma. I looked at her, but I didn't say anything.

Your Aunt Marie went by her place about a week after that. She knocked on the door, but no one answered. She used her key to get inside, and she saw that all the lights were on, even though it was the middle of the day. She went upstairs and heard the TV coming from inside her room, She knocked and knocked, but there was no answer. Marie called the police and told them what was going on,

and they came out with the fire department and some EMTs. They were able to break the door down. Apparently your grandma had just locked the doorknob and the chain. They found your grandma in the far corner, curled up underneath a blanket. They said she'd been there about six days and had died of dehydration. After we found out what had happened, your dad didn't want anything to do with the house. So we put it on the market and got rid of it as fast as we could. We didn't want to tell Ken what had happened.

I'm sure you can understand why. Our next tale is entitled, It's Locked. A single woman living alone endures a disturbing ordeal due to a door that just won't stay locked. This tale was written by Avery Nelson and is read by Corinne Sanders. About 10 years ago, I was recently divorced and living alone in a one-bedroom apartment. The place was clean and the rent was decent. One of those places that had a doorman, I felt safe here. I was alone and loving it, focused on my career and not on my clingy ex-husband.

things were finally looking up for me. At the time, I was working pretty late at the office and would often stumble into my apartment sleep-deprived in the early hours of the morning and wake up by 6.30-7-ish to start the day. I started noticing that in the morning my door would be unlocked sometimes. I usually dismissed this as my sleep-dead brain, thinking that the bed looked more appealing than locking the door. Another thing that I noticed since moving in was that I seemed to misplace things more than I used to.

Little things, like a hairbrush or nail polish, that sort of thing. It wasn't really that big of a deal, just enough to be a slight annoyance in my day. The longer I lived there, the more frequently I seemed to forget to lock the door. At first it was every once in a while, then it seemed like an almost daily occurrence. More things went missing, things like pictures, shaving razors, and most disturbingly, my underwear. This went on for long enough that I started to get a little paranoid. I started to take the time at night to make sure the door was locked. I got into a habit of every night after I locked the door to turn the handle three times and say to myself,

It's locked. It's locked. It's locked. Time after time I would wake up and the door would be unlocked. One time I even tried staying up all night to watch the door, but I ended up falling asleep in my chair. I decided that my mind was not reliable enough to stay up all night, so I invested in a video camera. I went all out and bought the fanciest camera that I could get my hands on. So one night I set the camera up facing the door I hid the camera under a pile of towels on the floor I locked the door and went to bed When I woke up my apartment looked normal

Nothing missing that I could see I decided to check the tape I fast-forwarded through hours of footage not saying anything I was just about to give up when I noticed the handle of the door jitter then it slowly crept open. A figure slid through the half-open door and walked towards the camera. It paused, looked around as if it was listening for something,

then walked forward into direct view of the camera. I paused the camera. The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck started to rise. I was staring directly into the face of the maintenance man of the building. I could see those big, thick glasses and curly hair. I had no doubt who it was. I played the tape a little more. He looked comfortable as he walked around the apartment.

Then he turned and walked towards my bedroom and out of the view of the camera. I didn't know what to do. Sobbing, I called the police. I tried to explain over the phone but couldn't. Soon enough, two officers arrived at my doorstep. I told them everything and showed them the tape. I remember seeing the blood drain from their faces. They promised me that I was safe and that they were going to get this guy.

I needed to lay down but didn't want to be alone. One of the officers offered to stand outside my apartment door as I took a nap. As I was laying in bed unable to sleep but too drained to move, something kept nagging at me. I laid there for a few minutes, tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable or rest. My mind was racing. Then a realization slowly washed over me and chilled me to the bone. We watched the tape and saw the man enter my home, but we never saw him move. leave. I froze, then started shaking. I needed to get to the front door. I sat up and looked around the room.

I couldn't see anyone. I swung my legs over the side of the bed cautiously. My feet hit the cold wood floor, and I felt warm breath on my ankles. I raced out of my apartment as fast as I could, and to the safety of the police officer. He called for backup. They found the man under my bed, clutching a knife and a Polaroid camera. To this day, I cannot sleep alone. For final tale is entitled The Tunnel. A family outing to do some fishing is interrupted while driving through a dark and menacing tunnel. This tale was written by Joey Murray, and is read by David Cummings. I was all of about five years old.

My mother, who was pregnant with my little sister, was in the car with me and my dad as we were out on a fishing trip at a nearby river in Montana. The road to this area often fell into states of ridiculous disrepair. In certain areas, you had to drive extremely carefully if the vehicle you were driving in

didn't have four-wheel drive. This particular event happened in mid-June. The surrounding area was serene, but somewhat creepy at times. Being fairly high up in the mountains, it was not uncommon for the weather to still be pretty cool and wet. That day was no exception. One side of the road was a steep decline that went to the river. The other side was an even steeper incline that went up into thick trees, and on that particular day, thick fog. We had been fishing for a while with little success. I know this because if my father was in a good spot, you couldn't move him for all the money in the world. So the fact that we got back

into the car from our initial fishing spot and proceeded to drive down the road indicated that my dad was not pleased with his luck at that particular band of Brooke. The three of us were in an old Chevy Coop, my parents up front and me by my lonesome in the middle of the back seat. My father got to talking, as he would do, and probably drove a little further than he had intended. He slowly came to a stop when he realized we had come to a point in the road that went into what used to be an old railroad tunnel. The tunnel wasn't that long, maybe half a mile at the most, but it got dark very fast if you went into it. Regardless of its short stretch, the light on the far side felt like the exit to the tunnel was miles away.

My dad spoke up. You know, they say these tunnels are haunted by people who killed themselves on the train tracks. Stop it, you're going to scare him. Well, I'm just letting him know in case we go through and something happens. My father turned around to face me and looked at me wide-eyed. If I was older, I would have thought it humorous. At five years old, it was terrifying. Even before my father's grandstanding, I didn't want to go in there.

Something about the very sight of the tunnel unnerved me. Had there been a back door to the car, I would have considered bailing out as my father drove closer. The car crept along at what felt like a turtle-like crawl. It took no time at all for darkness to completely envelop everything. Within seconds, it was so dark inside of the car that I couldn't even clearly see my parents who were a foot away from me. Suddenly, it became slightly more luminousant as my father popped the round lever that turned on the headlights. There were various bits of debris and,

rock that had to be navigated around inside of the tunnel. Little bits of barb and concrete that had fallen to the dirt many years before we had decided to traverse this eerie passage. The car came to a sudden halt. Within a second, the lights had been turned off and the engine died. Mom? Oh, no. Stop it. You're scaring him. Now, it off. My father let out a slight chuckle, though my mother and I were far from amused. The laughter quickly ceased from my dad when he turned the key to the old Chevy, only to hear a click sound in response.

Now, what the hell? Stop messing around. Turn the car back on. I'm not messing. Suddenly, the whole car felt as though it hopped into the air, like we had hit a small ramp while moving at a considerable speed, except no such thing happened. We were completely still. What the hell was that? What are you doing? I... Dear, I didn't do that. How would I... Three huge bumps. It was as if a large invisible hand was violently rocking the car. My father was now cursing up a storm and frantically...

turning the key, the car wouldn't respond at all. The car was now rocking without pause. My mother became hysterical. Terrified, I covered my eyes. Then came the screams. At first, I thought it was the frantic cries of my mother, but within seconds I realized that there were two sets of screams. My moms, and a much more ear-piercing and sinister scream that sounded as if it was right behind me. At this age, I had never known what it was like to hear someone scream as if they were dying or about to die. But I knew even at that young age that the screams I heard behind me must have been what they sounded like. And the clawing.

They were frantic clawing sounds, like an animal was trapped in a metal box and trying desperately to escape. I felt my mother's arms wrap around me. As much of a moment of release as that was, I could still hear the screaming and clawing. I was still so terrified. I didn't dare open my eyes. My mother's grip began to feel tight. She must have been as scared as I was. Gradually, the embraced titan to where I started to have trouble breathing.

I went to open my mouth to say something, but my mom's hand covered. it before I could even breathe a word. Her hand felt ice cold and was trembling. She had to have obviously been so scared that she didn't realize what she was doing. Suddenly, she let me go. I still had my eyes closed until I heard the most relieving of sounds. The old Chevy roared to life. I opened my eyes. The headlights were now on. Both parents were dead silent as the only sound now was the growl of the old V6 getting us out of that darkened hell the screaming and rocking had also stopped my father didn't ease up on the gas at all even as we exited to the other side of the tunnel remember this was a mountain road that was very poorly

maintained driving quickly one risk actually causing real damage to a vehicle or even worse Losing control and veering off the road and into the river. My father couldn't have cared less. About 100 yards away from the tunnel, my father gradually came to a stop and pulled off on the side of the road. The three of us were completely silent. Dad slowly opened the door and got out of the car. He walked around to the trunk and opened it.

Now, from my perspective, I obviously couldn't see much. Through a small window of space between the trunk lid and the rest of the car, I could see a little bit of my father, and I could tell he wasn't moving. My mother became impatient. What is he doing? Mom? My voice was incredibly weak. Yes, dear? You were squeezing me too tight.

I couldn't breathe. When? Back there. My mom's face. face went ghost white. Honey, I haven't touched you. After a short while, my father slammed the trunk shut and hurried back into the car. We're done fishing.

We're going home now. My mother asked. What? Dad just cut her off immediately with a sharp shaking of his head, followed by his eyes flashing back towards me in the back seat. Whatever it was that he saw, he didn't want to discuss it with me present. We finally got back to the house and my father told Mom to take me upstairs before he unloaded the gear from the trunk. Mom took me by the hand, led me up into the house and told me to stay in my room and not to come out until they were done bringing the rest of the fishing stuff into the house.

Dad and Mom got done bringing everything in. Mom started dinner and everyone kind of settled back into a more normal routine. I, of course, was still dreadfully curious as to what was in the trunk that I wasn't allowed to see. My father had fallen asleep on the couch and my mom was preoccupied with her cooking. Even at that age I knew where they hung the spare keys and which key went to what. I grabbed the key for the old Chevy and went out the front door to tell my mom I was going to play in the yard while I waited for dinner to be ready. I pretended to play a little bit with some sticks in the yard just so I wouldn't get busted by running straight out to the car. Once I had made a couple of glances at the window to make sure I wasn't being watched,

I snuck around the yard hedges to where the car was parked. The anticipation was one of excitement, not one of fear. I slid the key into the lock and popped the trunk. My excitement quickly turned into a sensation of a sensation of the car. of pure horror. I was barely able to breathe seeing what it was that I saw. The entire interior of the trunk's upholstery was shredded as if a wild animal with claws was locked inside of it.

There were dark red-crusted stains splattered all over the tatters of cloth. And the smell? Oh God, the smell. I was too young to know. know what I was smelling, but my older self now knows what it was that offended my senses. It was the smell of death. It smelled like dead, rotting flesh and not from fish. I closed the trunk quietly and snuck back into the house.

I never told my parents that I went out and looked at the inside of the trunk. They ended up getting rid of the car a few months later. They practically gave it away for the price that they sold it for. I can't say I blame them. Every fishing trip in that area then after, once we got to the tunnel, we'd turn around and head back the other way. That was always the sign that we had fished all of the river that we had cared to that day. I've revisited that area many times as an adult, and I still can't bring myself to go

back in there. the side of the tunnel sends chills down my spine. 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 nosleepaudio.reddit.com.