The NoSleep Podcast - Nosleep Podcast #2

Episode Date: June 26, 2011

We’re back with the second episode of The Nosleep Podcast! Featuring stories from the No Sleep forum at Reddit.com, these stories will send a shiver down your spine while the dark night hours beckon you to try to sleep. This second podcast features four stories:  My First House written by an anonymous Redditor and read by David Cummings (Redditor MikeRowPhone). By the Light of the Firefly written by Redditor Luke13 read by David Cummings. I Still Don’t Know What to Think written by Jason Baird (Redditor Earthling-2822) and read by Allison Stein (Redditor Majidae). The Basement written by Matt Dymerski (Redditor M59Gar) and read by David Cummings.   Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

For the dark hours when you dare not close your eyes. No sleep. It's the No Sleep podcast. No Sleep. Featuring stories from Reddit.com's No Sleep Forum. Join us as the sleepless hours tick past. Our first story is an anonymous tale entitled My First House, read by David Cummings. I recently moved into a new house and now live alone.

The house is near a small town, maybe two miles away. The house itself is in the middle of a nicely wooded area in a smaller town, which is perfect for me. I love the serenity of the woods being untainted by urban life. The idea of having a barn thrilled me with all of the possibilities of what I could turn it into. My parents recently gave me this house as a graduation gift. The house was given to them by my grandparents, which is strange because we didn't live in this house growing up. In fact, my parents never mentioned it to me until I graduated college,

admitting that they much preferred the city life over living in the middle of nowhere. My mother lived in the house briefly until she was around seven, when my grandparents decided to pack up and move one. day. They never sold the house. They said there were too many memories and at the very least my parents could use it as a vacation home. They never did. The house was in a slight state of disrepair. However, I couldn't care less. I was a homeowner. Mowing the lawn and clearing the branches was the easy part. The real work began within the house. Dusting old furniture, clearing cobwebs and throwing away old canned food. It took me about two weeks of cleaning until I decided it was sanitary enough to move

into. I decided to take a few weeks to just relax. I was tired of partying and I didn't want to start searching for a job just yet. I spent my first day at the house hiking near the creek, fishing on a small pond and meeting folks in town. That night, however, I was restless. There was no TV and I didn't have any books other than textbooks. I needed something to do after it got dark out, so I started exploring the house. The attic, to my surprise, was filled with random furniture, toys and trinkets from my mother's childhood. I found baseball cards, jump ropes, a little football helmet, action figures, a dollhouse, board games, etc. This was fascinating to me. I then found an antique dresser in which I found my mother's diary. Jackpot! I can read this at night until I fall asleep.

Not this night, however. I was tired and decided to go to sleep in my new bedroom, in my beautiful new house. Sleep came fast, however, I was woken by creaking from the stairs and attic. This was to be expected living in an old house. I was sure I'd get used to it. The next day I decided to check out the barn. I decided to turn it into a hobby lounge where I could do woodworking or whatever my wavering enthusiasms desired. The barn was, in fact, in pristine condition, aside from a pile of cigarette butts in the corner and a musky smell which hung in the air. The smell was the only thing that bothered me. I am a non-smoker. I hate cigarettes. The stench they give off makes me want to vomit. There was a very unstable looking ladder leading

up to the loft, which I decided not to use. The last thing I needed was to break my neck in the middle of nowhere. There didn't appear to be anything up there aside from some hay creeping over the edge. After picking up the butts, I realized that I had more free time than I planned, since I assumed I would spend the day cleaning the barn. I decided to explore the attic more, as I could not find my car keys to drive to town. Oddly enough, I swore. that I left them on the kitchen table next to my wallet, as this is what I have always done with any set of car keys I own. Aside from an old mirror and a pile of old clothes, I couldn't find anything of much interest. As I left, I noticed that there were less dolls than I had remembered.

I could swear one of them was not there before. Whatever, I decided just to read my mother's diary. Lying in my bed, I read through the diary, laughing at the entries. Several of them mentioned her older brother James throwing temper tantrums for no reason, punching himself in the face or trying to fling his baseball bat into a tree. My mother must have had a very overactive imagination as a child, since she had no siblings and grew up an only child. I marked the page I was on and went downstairs to get a snack, growing more annoyed by the constant creaking in the attic.

I decided to go to town the next morning and find some, who could fix it. Remembering I had lost my keys, I decided to retrace my steps so I could leave for town early in the morning. The sun was beginning to set, a dull orange peeking over the horizon, so I decided to check the barn before it became too dark to see. I brought a flashlight just in case it did become too dark. I couldn't find my keys. However, I did find a few cigarette butts in the corner which I had apparently missed from earlier. I set down the flashlight and scoop them up and threw them away. After an unsuccessful search, I glanced up toward the loft and noticed there was a doll propped up against the wall. I could have sworn the doll was in the attic yesterday,

so against my better judgment I climbed the rickety ladder to the loft. There was nothing up there aside from an old hammer, the doll and a pile of hay. I picked up the doll and climbed down and walked towards my house. When I entered the front door, I noticed my keys on the ground, only the car ignition key was mangled and bent. Annoyed that I somehow must have stepped on the key to bend it, I decided to go to bed and walk to town in the morning. Before going to sleep, I cracked open my mother's old diary to read. She was surprisingly articulate for a seven-year-old, and I became so entranced by the story that the old house is creaking, no longer bothered me.

The diary's entries became more disturbing, however. James began cutting himself in front of the family and starting fires. The story was becoming very morbid for a seven-year-old's imagination. The most disturbing entry, James had tried to kill my grandfather with a knife and ran off into the woods after stabbing him, my mother bearing witness to the entire scene. After returning from the hospital, James had not returned. dead animals started appearing outside the front door and messages were being written on the house with blood

she wrote how her grandparents had been whispering among themselves for a week now and no longer allowing her out of the house alone she also frequently wrote how much she missed james the diary ended here with no mention of when or why they moved it just stopped my heart was racing my pupils dilated in my heavy breathing silent. I didn't want to stay here anymore. True or not, the diary chilled me to the bone. I was aware of everything due to my adrenaline rush, the wind blowing outside,

and every little creak the house made. Wait, the house was no longer creaking. It was dead silent. I pushed my bed against the door, barricading myself in the room. I moved my dresser in front of the window, knocking over my lamp, and only light source.

The blanket of darkness covered the room, the only source of light coming from the tiny keyhole in the door. Determined to stay awake until sunrise, I sat with my back against the wall next to the bed. The floor began creaking down the hallway, stopping right outside my door and then stopping. The light seeping in through the keyhole went dark. I tried to listen over the deafening sound of air,

entering and exiting my lungs. What was worse was my constant thumping of blood entering and leaving my heart. A few minutes after soul-crushing fear, light returned through the keyhole, followed by more creaking. I refused to look through the keyhole to confirm my worst fear. After what seemed like days, morning finally came. When light creeped around my dresser blocking the winter, I moved it and waited until sunlight saturated the whole forest. Cautiously, I moved my bed and bolted down the stairs outside. I didn't need a car. I was going to run to town. I ran into the barn to quickly grab my heavy mag flashlight as a blunt weapon if I needed it.

I plucked it from the pile of cigarettes it was hiding under and ran down the dirt path into town. I called my parents to come and pick me up from a greasy spoof. diner, making sure to sit in a booth which was against a wall and not a window. Aftermath. I did call the police who insisted they found nothing out of the ordinary, and both my mother and grandparents deny any existence of a family member named James. I returned to the house with several friends, and my parents, mind you, to retrieve my belongings. I was not living in this damned house.

There were blank pages from the diary stacked nicely on the nightstand. However, we couldn't find the diary no matter how much we searched. My mother vehemently denied ever having one and scolded me for smoking in the barn and littering the ground with cigarette butts and having such an active imagination. Story is entitled By the Light of the Firefly, written by Luke 13 and read by David Cummings. When I was a boy, I lived with my mother in an old house in Georgia. It was small, and most parts of it were fairly worn,

but the asking price was cheap, and we needed a home. It wasn't all bad, though. The place had a pretty large backyard and acres of woodland behind it. On one particularly hot summer day, I was sitting inside playing with my dog Marley, as my mother was leaving for work and discussing the usual guidelines with the babysitter. I'll be back around 11, I remember her saying. Make sure he's in bed by 10.

The babysitter nodded and smiled as my mother called goodbye to me and shut the door. Now it was just me, Marley, and the babysitter from down the street. I'm going to run a couple of errands, said the babysitter, to which I nodded without looking up. I suppose here is where I mentioned this babysitter was an asshole. After my mother would leave for work, she would politely excuse me. use herself from the house, returning just in time to collect her pay. I never complained, however. I wasn't ever afraid of being alone,

and what kid doesn't like having no rules for a while. I spent most of the day playing Game Boy or chasing Marley around the house. When the sun fell, it came time for my favorite summer activity, catching fireflies. I couldn't tell you why, but I was just so fascinated by fireflies and liked to keep them as pets. I grabbed an old mason jar from under the sink and left through the squeaky screen door to the back porch, Marley following at my heels. I was greeted by the overwhelming sound of insects buzzing all around the backyard.

I walked down the wooden steps of the deck and began my search for fireflies. I looked for the faint glowing lights for what felt like hours, shuffling through the grass and the warm night air. Suddenly I saw it, the biggest firefly I had ever seen, blinking around the old rusted chain-link fence in the very back. With jar in hand, I whipped after it, Marley barking after me. I had soon made it to the fence when the firefly began to retreat into the woods. I wasn't about to go back empty-handed, so I climbed over the fence with a bit of a struggle and into the woods. Marley whined on the other side as I walked past old mossy trunks, leaves crunching under my feet as I went, following the glowing yellow light. The woods felt like I had stepped into another world. The trees were enormously tall, and the leaves atop shrouded any moonlight from entering.

Just as I was beginning to feel I had gone too far, I looked back to find the shining porch lights of my house, but I could not see any trace of them. I had been engulfed by the woods. I couldn't hear the buzzing of insects anymore. It was silent now. I looked forward again to find the firefly drawing closer. I needed to catch it now, if only to use it as a light to find my way back. I swooped at it with my jar and caught air. Startled, the firefly began to float upwards, blinking its yellow light as it went.

It kept going higher and higher out of my reach, and I followed it. with my eyes. It drifted up the high timbers and suddenly I saw, I saw everything. Bodies, hundreds of twisted bodies, men and women, boys and girls, strung up like puppets in the branches, illuminated only by the light of the firefly. I couldn't move, paralyzed by fear. I could hear everything, the creaking of the ropes, the moaning of the old trees, and the footsteps close by. I ducked behind a tree trying to quiet my harsh gasping. I had gone too far, I thought, and now I was going to live up there as another puppet. I didn't know what to do, whether to run or wait, but the footsteps were growing closer. It knows I'm here, I thought. There was no way it couldn't

have heard me coming. Mustering all my courage, I shoved off from the tree and bolted towards the direction I came, whipping up leaves as I went. I could hear it giving chase behind me, its feet pounding the earth rhythmically as it went. I ran faster than I ever had in my life. I couldn't stop the tears from streaming as the wind slapped against my face. I hadn't even said goodbye to my mother when she left. As I had hoped, the lights of the back porch were shining.

through the dark ahead of me. I could hear Marley barking and I knew I would soon meet the old rusty fence. I remember thinking that climbing the fence would slow me down, but it was the only way. The trembling earth was growing closer and the tip of my shoe caught a root and I slipped, landing on my stomach. I fumbled over onto my back and began kicking away from the faint outline getting closer. I gripped my mason jar and threw it as hard as I could into the black wood. I heard a thud and got to my feet I met the fence and vaulted into my backyard I screamed for my dog and we both dashed up the deck and inside

locking the door as we rushed through I sprinted upstairs to my room and took Marley with me locking the door and pushing a chair against it I collapsed onto my bed with the lights on my mind racing I checked the clock 1033 relief washed over me I was safe now and soon mom would be home.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline leaving my body because I suddenly grew very tired. I didn't want to sleep, but I couldn't fight it. I passed out on my bed with the lights on and Marley by my side. I awoke suddenly in the night to a pitch black room. The covers were over me, so I had guessed mom had gotten back and checked in on me. I was sweating under the warm comforter

and turned on my other side. That was when I saw it. A face, inches away from my own, with bone white skin stretched tightly over its skull. Its tall, thin figure was hunched and bent over my bed. Its lidless eyes watched me, studying me. I wanted to recoil at the sight of it, but I couldn't move. Suddenly everything changed. I woke up gasping.

The lights were on in my room and the chair was still pushed against the door. Marley lifted his head and looked at me. My eyes drifted to the clock, 1046. I heard the doorbell ring, and I ran downstairs to the front door, wrenching it open and falling into my mother's arms crying. And so here I sit, ten years later to the day, in a lobby crowded with people, because I can't stand to be alone.

I remember my mother traveling into the woods the next day against my wishes, only returning to say she hadn't seen any. My brain had played tricks on me in the dead of night, she said. I didn't believe it at the time, and I don't now. There isn't a night that goes by that I don't think about it, that one night I'll wake up to see that horrible face again, and this time it won't be a dream. What scares me most is the thought that on that warm summer night,

ten years ago, I was the one that got away, the pet it didn't get to keep. Our next story is entitled, I still don't know what to think. Written by Jason Baird and read by Allison Stein. First, let me tell you about my grandfather. I literally just met him a few days ago. He's my dad's wife's dad.

And as she's the new stepmom, this is the first time we're visiting her family. My new grandfather isn't too old, I think. Somewhere around 50 or so, maybe. He's sort of grumpy, but he's all right. he's got a pretty kick-ass beard. He's got something wrong with him. Not entirely sure what, but due to poor circulation, he can barely walk.

His feet are blue, and he has to wear slippers all the time. He can barely walk ten or fifteen steps. He's got sores and lesions all over his legs and feet, plus one huge open sore on the back of his hand. He lives downstairs in the basement because, well, I don't know, really. I think he might be embarrassed having to sit around all day and not move while we all pass him by.

The doctors refused to help him until, he stops smoking. He doesn't think he can stop after smoking for his entire life. The following occurred around 3.30 or 4 a.m. this morning. I was sitting here on Reddit as I'm usually doing around that time, when out of the dead silence I begin to hear a faint buzzing noise. At first, I ignore it, probably just my imagination. But it gets louder, so I went to investigate. I opened my door and crept toward the source of the noise, down the hall through the living room, Peering around the corner I see that the basement door is open, the light is on, and my grandfather is standing at the top of the stairs. He had his head thrown back, mouth open wide, and the buzzing noise was coming from inside his throat.

It was intense. It sounded like a really, really large bee. I asked what was wrong, thoroughly creeped out at this point, but he didn't seem to hear me. I got a bit closer trying to get his attention when the buzzing abruptly stopped. He lowered his head and looked directly into my eyes. Then he grinned the largest grin I'd ever seen in my entire life. It seemed to extend past the boundaries of his face by a good three inches. He twitched once and took an enormous breath. When he spoke, it wasn't in his normal voice with a buzzing sound just formed into words.

Still staring me dead in the eyes, he growled. We were never met for this place, and neither are you. Then he threw himself backward down the stairs, I lunged forward to try and grab him by the shirt, but I missed. And even if I had caught him, he probably would have just taken me with him. He is large. I am not. The fall broke his neck, and he died.

Our final tale is entitled The Basement, written by Matt Dimmerski and read by David Cummings. I was home alone for the week as my family had gone on vacation while I, had to stay and work. It was around 2 a.m. and I'd stayed up to watch a scary movie in the dark in my basement. I was intent on really scaring myself and seeing how far into terror I could really go while still knowing I was safe in my own home. It was then that I heard pounding footsteps on the first floor. This was a common annoying occurrence when my family was home. Every time they passed Through the front hallway, past the basement door, I heard their footsteps.

This time, fear immediately shot through me at the sound. My reflex was to turn the television off immediately. The basement door was up a flight of steps and around a corner, so whomever it was would not have seen any light. I heard the basement door handle click and turn as I sat in absolute darkness. I moved slowly so as to be absolutely silent and crawled behind our large television. As I passed it, inch by inch, I noted with panic that its black screen still dimly glowed. I heard footsteps coming down the carpeted but creaky stairs.

I froze in my hiding place, listening. For many long minutes, I heard nothing. Had the intruder seen the television's afterglow, or had it faded in time? Was he standing in the pitch dark listening for me? I seemed to lie there in total silence for an interminably long time. My panic began to fade, and I began to think more clearly. Had I really heard an intruder? Could someone possibly be standing there in silence for so long without making any noise?

The basement was so exceedingly quiet that the silence itself began to hurt my ears. Could the unknown person really avoid any noise from shuffling or breathing or anything else? If there was an intruder, he was still in the basement. Because the creaky stairs were incredibly loud, the door handle clicked, and he wouldn't know to mask his footsteps on the first floor so that they couldn't be heard down here. I began counting in my head trying to pass the time as drool fell from my mouth onto the carpet. I didn't dare risk the sound of swallowing. I reached 60 seconds once, twice, 30 times, 60 times.

By now my fear had faded and I was more confused than anything. I estimated I'd been crouched in the absolute black for almost two hours. and had still heard nothing. If there was an intruder, none of this made sense. Finally, I decided I'd have to make a move. If I did nothing, eventually the sun would come up and shine in through the small basement windows. And worse, I began to smell something horrible and cloying. Slowly, ever so slowly, I began inching my way to work.

the stairs by way of the walls. If someone was standing there in the dark, I should be able to go around them and then make a break up the stairs. Meanwhile, the horrible odor grew stronger. Had something died down here in the night? No living person would smell like that. Terrible images of some sort of corpse monster

listening for me in the dark erupted in my thoughts and I moved as fast as I could without. making a sound. Just as I finally approached the stairs, there was an enormous clatter as of something falling or collapsing on the floor. It was at that moment I leapt forward and

crashed up the stairs, running out through the open basement door and my wide open front door. Now certain that someone was in the house, I called the police from my cell phone and watched my house from afar. The police came,

checked inside the house, and then grimly came back out to question me. They had found a body in the house. My elderly neighbor, who seemed to have died of a heart attack, their belief was that I must have left the front door unlocked, and he must have wandered in my house while dying, looking for help. At first, I felt horrible, thinking that I had sat there in the dark while the old man literally died a few feet away.

Then it occurred to me What the hell was that loud noise of things falling That last prompted me to bolt up the stairs and out of the house I asked the police and they confirmed The back door of my house had been left open as well Near a single bare footprint in the mud Somehow for some reason I'll never know There was someone else in that basement with us

silent, waiting, and listening in the dark over the fresh corpse of an old man. Your sleepless tales have come to an end. Close your eyes. Drift off. And don't look under the bed. The No Sleep podcast is licensed under a Creative Commons license, 2011. Some rights reserved.