The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast - October Opening

Episode Date: October 2, 2016

We're in-between Seasons 7 and 8 so to tide you over during this opening at the opening of October we have two stories for you. "Stories for My Daughter" written by J. M. Kendrick and read by Erika Sanderson & David Ault. (Story starts around 00:03:30) "The House in the Field" written by Elias Witherow and read by Jessica McEvoy & Erika Sanderson. (Story starts around 00:21:00) Click here to pre-order Season Pass 8  Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast  Podcast produced by: David Cummings Music & Sound Design by: Brandon Boone & David Cummings. Audio program ©2016 - Creative Reason Media Inc. - All Rights Reserved - No reproduction or use of this content is permitted without the express written consent of Creative Reason Media Inc.. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Be forewarned, this is a horror fiction podcast. By listening to our stories you are choosing to be frightened and disturbed for your entertainment, you do so at your own risk. Brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. It's the No Sleep Podcast. I'm David Cummings. Thanks for joining us. We're currently in between seasons 7 and 8, working hard.

for next week's big season 8 premiere. But during this opening in our schedule, we just happened to be at the opening of October, and we couldn't bear to go even one week without providing some frights for our festive month of Halloween. So we have two stories for you this week, both originally presented for our Season Pass six members. Speaking of Season Passes, our new Season Pass 8 is now available for pre-order on our website at the no sleeppodcast.com. And we hope everyone will join us on October 9th as we launch season 8. So without further ado, let's open October with this week's special show. In our first tale, we jump right into the spirit of telling spooky Halloween stories, just like the mother in this tale from author J. M. Kendrick. She and her daughter have a

yearly tradition of foregoing the usual Halloween festivities, and instead the mother shares three tales with her of a decidedly disturbing nature. Performing this tale are Erica Sanderson and David Alt. So let's listen in as the mother shares her stories for my daughter. I know they say Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year, but for me, it's Halloween. I deck the halls with cobwebs and fake spiders. It's just such a special time. Autumn is here and the leaves are beginning to fall. It's a time for dressing up and suspending reality.

We sit in our cozy homes with our jack-o'-lanterns and candy, scaring ourselves and almost will ourselves to see something otherworldly. My daughter has always loved scary Halloween stories, and last year was no different. We were at the kitchen table, hollowing out our pumpkins and drawing scary faces on them ready to carve. As we scooped the stringy seeds into a large bowl on the table, she asked me her usual question. Is it time yet? Time for stories. Okay. Where should we start? How about the monkeys' paw?

No, no, that's an old one. Tell me something new. Okay. Okay, right. I've got one for you. I glanced out of the window and saw the moon disappearing behind a cloud. And as we scooped and carved, this is the story I told her. Once upon a time, a long time ago, there was a boy named Jacob, and he lived with his father in a house on the outskirts of a forest. One night, his father roused him from a deep sleep. My son, I have to go out.

One of the women in the village is about to give birth, and I must be there. Jacob's father was the village doctor, and much respected. But father, what about the wolf? There had been sightings of a large wolf around the edges of the village and the forest, and the villagers were living in fear. Don't be afraid, son.

I will lock all the doors and windows, and you will be perfectly safe. The boy's chin trembled, but he trusted his father, and agreed to try and go back to sleep. Once his father had gone out, Jacob couldn't sleep. Every noise and creak in the house seemed amplified. He took his blankets from the bed and curled up in front of the window,

waiting for his father to return. He saw the full moon through his window and was comforted by the light. Smells of the night forest wafted through his window, and he dozed fitfully. Eventually, he saw the lights from his father's car coming back up to the house. He was so relieved he ran to meet him. Jacob's father saw a huge wolf bound out of the house towards his car, but before he could do anything, he heard the sound of a shotgun,

and the wolf fell to the ground. From the edge of the forest, a group of villagers appeared. They had formed a posse and had been out hunting the wolf. At first, they didn't understand the doctor's anguished cry. What have you done? He ran to the spot where the wolf had dropped, grabbing its body and cradling it in his arms. As it took its last breath,

the villagers were horrified to see the wolf's massive furry body transform back into that of a child. So the doctor's son was the wolf? That's a sad story, my mother. I guess it is, sweetheart. But sometimes horror is sad as well as scary. Anyway, I think these are ready to be lit. Our pumpkins were finished and we carried them into the living room.

We put them on a low table in front of the TV and lit candles in them. Tradition dictated now it was time for spooky cartoons. She'd seen them many times before and quickly got bored. She picked up a dusty pattern. of tarot cards from the table. Tell my future, Mummy. I don't like to use those anymore, honey. How about I tell you another story?

Is it about tarot cards? No. Although the magician in it did use cards to do some of his magic tricks, this story is called smoke and mirrors. She curled into me on the sofa and I began. Once upon a time, there was a man, and he made his living doing me. magic tricks. He did children's parties and very small venues. He wasn't very good, and most of the

time people could tell when he switched cards or pulled things from up his sleeves. Then, one day, he was browsing the local newspaper when he saw an advert. Free to good home, pair of magic cabinets. Amaze your audience. Well, he was very keen. He didn't turn to much money and that was the kind of thing he would love to use in his act but could never afford. He quickly rang the number on the advert and arranged to go and pick them up. When he saw them, they were more than he could ever have hoped. They were roughly six feet tall and hexagonally shaped. Each outside wall was covered in full-length mirrors. The doors on the front swung open noiselessly and the interior was lined in plush black velvet.

The magician couldn't believe his luck, and asked why the man was just giving them away. The cellar just replied he had no use for them anymore. So, how do they work? The cellar disappeared back into his house for a moment and came back carrying a large cage with a parrot in it. I don't know how this works. It just does. He put the parrot into one of the cabinets. He walked to the second. cabinet and knocked on the door three times.

Welcome back! He boomed in a very theatrical tone. A hissing sound came from the first cabinet and smoke could be seen coiling from cracks around the door. He opened the door of the second cabinet and there was his parrot in its cage. Oh, these are marvellous. He loaded them into his dilapidated old van.

Just one word of caution. When I procured them, I was told under no circumstances to use a human being when doing this trick. I suggest you invest in a parrot yourself. The magician nodded his head eagerly and went on his way. After this, things quickly picked up for the magician. While the rest of his act was still mediated. at best, people were very impressed with his magic cabinet act. He would leave the cabinets where people could examine them during his performance

and do his transportation trick last. For most of his act, the audience would barely be watching, poking and prodding at the cabinets and trying to work out their secret. The magician was very proud of his new act. But something was bothering him. He currently used either a rabbit or a rabbit, a goldfish in a bowl for his cabinet trick, and he felt there was something a little dull about that. One day, as he was reaching the finale of his show, he realised his rabbit had escaped.

He tried to explain, but the audience began to jeer at him. Someone from the crowd shouted out that they would quite happily get into the cabinet. In desperation, he agreed. A tall, muscular man made his way through the audience. and got into the first cabinet. The magician was very nervous. He knocked on the door of the second cabinet and loudly announced,

Welcome back! Clouds of hissing smoke roiled from the first cabinet and the door of the second cabinet swung open. The tall, muscular man stepped out. He looked a little dazed, but none the worse for his experience. The audience clapped, and that was the show over.

For the next few months, the magician carried on with his show. Sometimes two performances a day. Only now he used audience members for the transportation trick. He thought it looked more impressive and the audience loved it. One evening, after a busy day, he was sitting, relaxing, watching TV, when he saw something that made his blood run cold. There was a story on the news about a man who had gone crazy and killed his family, with a kitchen knife.

The magician recognized the man instantly, the tall, muscular man who had been the first to go into his cabinet. He couldn't eat or sleep, and nagging fears ran through his mind. In the end, he determined to go visit the killer in prison. He faced the killer through a thick glass pane. He picked up the phone on the wall next to him and gestured for the prisoner to do the same. You may not remember me. Oh, I know who you are, Magic Man, and I'm glad you've come.

I wanted to thank you. Thank me. For what? Why? I don't understand. Oh, it's so much cooler and so many of it. I don't understand. Why did you kill your family? What happened in the box?

The killer began to laugh. It was a sound that chilled the magician to the bone. So it was an accident? Oh, you stupid little man, didn't you know? Your cabinets are portals. We've been watching and waiting for so long. We can't fit into parrots or fish or rabbit. Oh, but give us a human body.

A demon can fit nicely into a human body. How many people have passed through your cabinets, magic man? With that, he dropped the phone and got up and walked back into the prison. The magician sat numbly. In his estimation, it was well over. a hundred. A hundred demons on the earth. My daughter's eyes were like saucers. Oh, at least. I'm not sure the magician's maths was very good. Anyway, baby girl, it's getting very late now. It's time we tucked you up in bed. We headed up the stairs and got her settled. She was very

sleepy now. It had been a long night. Tell me the Halloween story, Mummy. Now, which story would that be. How about the one about the hitchhiker? She shook her head. The Halloween story, mummy. Okay, okay. Now, you're sure you won't have bad dreams? She shook her head more vehemently and grinned. I would never understand why my daughter loved this story so much. But I began. Once upon a time, there was a kindly queen, and she lived in a big castle in a kingdom far away from here. Her husband, the king, however, was mean, and cross almost all the time, and one day he threw her down the castle stairs. The queen was badly hurt, and after that, she couldn't have any children. She had always loved children, and every Halloween she would invite all the children from the surrounding village to the castle,

which would be decorated with hundreds of carved pumpkins and thousands of candles. She'd give them the finest treats, and the children always had a wonderful time. Eventually, the king died, and the queen was left alone. Now, I know you probably think she'd be pleased that the evil king was dead, but all that happened was that she got more and more lonely. She realised what she had missed out on in her life and became sad and bitter. Her heart grew cold and black. She would look from the castle tower and see the little children playing in the courtyard,

and it no longer gave her joy. Their laughter grated on her like nails on a chalkboard, and an evil plot hatched in her mind. The next Halloween, she she shooed the cooks and the maids from the kitchen and prepared all the Halloween treats herself. They were the most sumptuous candies and cookies made with only the finest ingredients. There was one ingredient she used that had no place in her recipes. She liberally mixed rat poison in with the sugar,

and there was sugar in everything she made. Just like all the years before, the children came to her Halloween party, and like every other year they stuffed themselves with all the goodies the Queen had provided. As usual, they all had a wonderful time, and at the end of the night their parents came and took them home. That was a terrible night in the village. Some of the children were terribly sick, and a lot of them even died.

I heard a tiny snuffle from my daughter and looked down to see her sleeping peacefully. I kissed her forehead and made my way quietly out of her room. If she made it to the end of the story, she'd always say. And that's why I'm not allowed to go trick or treating, isn't it, Mummy? I thought back to the inspiration for my cautionary tale. that terrible Halloween night six years ago when some crazy woman had poisoned the children's candy. The sound of sirens filled the night air

and there were parents panicking and crying in the street. My neighbour came rushing out of his house, holding his limp son in his arms, the jackalantin on the step, tumbling down in front of him and shattering into mush on the sidewalk, while he made a noise of pain so terrible it barely sounded human. I stood on my porch and stared at it. Unable to comprehend the horror unfolding in front of me.

Some of the children were dead before an ambulance even arrived. The clock on the mantelpiece downstairs struck 12, calling me back to reality. And I turned and looked back into my daughter's room. The witching hour had come and gone. And our special day was over. Her bed was empty. In our final tale, we hear the story from a woman's younger days growing up on a farm. In this tale from author Elias Withero, the woman recalls the strange events which took place one summer

when she, and seemingly only she, noticed something new suddenly appearing across from her house, something which changed her life forever. Performing this tale are Jessica McAvoy and Erica Sanderson. So look again and make sure your eyes aren't deceiving you. Maybe it really is there. The house in the field. It all started when I was seven. That was 20 years ago now.

I was a curious kid. Always out exploring our family's land, taking the trek out to the woods across the grassy fields. I would collect rocks, watch animals, splash around in the streams I discovered, most of the time by myself. I didn't need company. I never felt lonely.

Or maybe that was just because I was used to being alone. My parents owned a farm, a vast, sprawling plot of land that stretched from miles in every direction. It was beautiful country, and the golden sun accented the acres of mint-green cornstalks that lined our backyard. My father worked hard, spending his days to be able to. tend in the crop with the help of a few farmhands. My mother took care of the house and the occasional trip into town, stocking up on the essentials. They were a good team, and they loved each other very much. They loved the life they shared and depended on one another.

During the school year, my mother or my neighbor would take me and Trevor into town for my lessons, alternating days. Trevor was my age and my only friend. During the summer, I didn't see him much. His own duties grounding him at his parents' farm 8 miles down the dirt road from us. Occasionally, our parents would get together and share a big country dinner

while Trevor had I wolfed down our food and went out to play. I was a happy kid, content with my life. I don't remember ever feeling isolated or lasting unhappiness. My parents were good to me and the expansively surrounding land consistently kept my explorer tendencies busy.

As I stated, we lived off a single lane dirt road, miles from town, miles from everything. Behind our ranch-style house were the cornfields, rows and rows of stalks that reached out and touched the horizon. At least, that's how I remember it. I often worried about getting lost in the green labyrinth whenever I had to go fetch Dad for supper, a tight stalks towering over my head. In front of the house was a vast stretch of flat, open grassland that expanded for a couple dozen acres before reaching the tree line where the woods grew dense. I loved to explore those woods.

Most of my summers spent venturing deeper and deeper inside their sap-crusted guts. But this isn't about the woods. This isn't about the cornfields. This is about the house that suddenly appeared in the field across the street. Like I said, I was seven when it suddenly appeared. I remember going to bed on a hot June night, sleep slowed by the heavy heat. When sleep finally came, it didn't last long.

I woke up some time in the night, my throat parched from the thick air. I went to get a glass of water, and as I passed my bedroom window, I saw it for the first time. The first thing that struck me was how tall it was. Three stories, its roof reaching for the star-filled sky. It was the biggest house I had ever seen up until that point.

My little hands gripped the window sill, and my nose pressed against the glass as my eyes took in this nose. wonder. It sat directly across the dirt road from our house, only a couple hundred feet from our front porch. It was painted dark green, or so I'd see in the morning, and it looked well kept. The dark windows were framed by hideous yellow shutters, looking like mold in the silent moonlight. It had no porch, just a single ugly door of the same color as the shutters. I stared at it, my young mind growing excited at this new mystery, the following day already filled with thoughts of exploring it. But of course I couldn't. That was someone's house. Someone was living there.

As these thoughts destroyed my enthusiasm, I remembered how badly I wanted to run and wake my parents and share with them what I was seeing. At the time, the concept of a house suddenly appearing. across from ours was fascinating. I didn't think it's scary or even odd. It was just something that happened, and my seven-year-old tomboy mind just accepted it. Eventually, I went and got a glass of water and went back to bed, mind buzzing with possibilities.

The next morning, I bounded out of bed, the sun only barely warming the sky with splashes of deep purple and puddles of soft pink. I raced in my window to make sure I hadn't been dreaming. The house still stood, dark and motionless. I thundered into the kitchen, almost knocking over my dad, anxious to show my parents. I felt like it was my own personal discovery,

like somehow I was responsible for it being there. After my dad scolded me, probably irritated by my burst of early, morning energy. I asked him if he had seen the house. He didn't seem to know what I was talking about as I hurriedly pulled him to the front door, my mouth running like a dirt bike. I flung the door open and pointed to the house, my feet padding down the steps of our porch. My father stood in the doorway, eyes scanning the field, a look of confusion on his face. He looked down at me with a worried look, and then back at the field. He scratched his chin and motioned for me to come inside,

telling me to stop being ridiculous, that if I had this much energy, I could help him out in the fields today. He couldn't see the house. At that age, my mind couldn't wrap itself around that fact because, well, it was right there. I continued to point and tell him, but it didn't do any good. he was blind to it. This left me frustrated and confused. I didn't know why he couldn't see it. I wanted desperately for him to acknowledge what I had found in the middle of the night,

but no matter how much I talked and argued, it was of no use. As sentenced, I spent the day helping my dad in the cornfields. Shortly after breakfast, three of the usual farmhands arrived and went out back. for our day's labor. If they could see the house, they showed no sign of it.

I even asked Louis, the guy who had been helping my dad the longest, if he noticed anything on his way in. He ruffled my hair and said that seeing me up this early was the only thing he witnessed. I shook him off, getting angry as to why no one saw it. As I went about my chores, I couldn't stop thinking about the house, The looming quiet way it sat there in the long grass.

It's three levels begging for investigation. I wanted to tell Trevor, but I knew I wouldn't be able to today. He would believe me. He would be able to see it. I just knew he would. Trevor shared my sense of adventure, and I knew that the next time we played together, our time would be spent discussing and maybe even snooping around the house.

There was such an air of mystery about it that I felt myself almost physically pulled towards it. I couldn't see it from my place amidst the corn, but I could tell you exactly where it was from any point that I stood. The sun tugged itself across the sky, one labored hour after another, and finally, my dad announced it was time to call it quits. I walked back to our house next to my dad. listening to him talk to the three workers about what needed to be done tomorrow and what time to come back in the morning. They plodded up the back porch and were met by my mother, who offered them all cold beers, which they took with big smiles. Feeling tired and slightly annoyed still, I walked around the side of our house, wanting another look at the green house with yellow shutters. I turned the corner and stopped dead in my tracks.

The house was gone. I rubbed my eyes, convinced my mind was playing tricks on me. As I opened them again, the field still stood empty, the grass rustling like running water as a warm breeze rustled through it. I turned completely around, my eyes searching in all directions, thinking that maybe I had misplaced a location it was in. Nothing but grass in front of me. and corn behind me.

I squinted and scanned the distant tree line at the far end of the field in front of my house, but nothing stood out. Feeling angry, I kicked at the dry dirt, knowing now that Trevor would never believe me. I had wanted to show him so badly, desperate for anyone to acknowledge this unexplainable phenomenon. I remember cursing for the first time then.

After I did it, I nervously looked around to make sure my mother hadn't heard me. Her voice floated in the warm air toward me, and I felt relief wash over me as I realized she was still on the back porch. So I cursed again, kind of liking the way it made me feel tough. Sying, I dejectedly shoved my hand in my pockets and rolled my head back to stare at the evening sky. The darkness of a storm was creeping in from the west, down the road where Trevor and his parents lived. I watched as the billowing black clouds piled over one another, felt the air wince as distant thunder shook it. Later that night, the storm reached us.

Rain shook the walls and lightning split the sky. The blinding white veins followed closely by cannon blast thunder. I sat in my bed, feeling a little afraid, contemplating whether to go into my parents' room or not. My dad was probably snoring through the whole thing, but my mom might be awake. I didn't want them to know I was scared, though, because, after all, I was seven now. As another bone-shaking blast of thunder fell from the sky, I slid out of bed and went to my window. forcing myself to go and watch the thing that was scaring me. My dad always told me that brave people only get brave

when they stand up to the thing that makes them want to run away. And so I planted my feet firmly in front of the window and watched as nature crashed down around me. The wind was howling, causing a house to tremble, and I listened to the rain slam onto the roof, sounding like a thousand galloping hooves. Another bolt of lightning illuminated the land. Its sparking suddenness causing me to blink.

God again. The house was back. I frantically cupped my face against the glass, trying to see through the rain street pain. I could make out its shape. A dark square hole cut into the night, and I waited for more lightning. My heart was racing.

excitement bubbling up inside of me. It was back. I knew I hadn't imagined it. I wanted to go and tell my parents, loudly exclaimed that I wasn't wrong, that there was a house across from us. The thought of waking my father in the middle of the night kept me in my room.

After a few bated minutes, another flash lit the world, and I focused on the house in the brief second it was illuminated. The front door was wide open. Now, I don't know why, but I remember seeing that and feeling terror slowly began to creep its way into my mind. I knew something was wrong, that people don't open their front doors in the middle of a storm. But there it was, completely open, rain and wind pushing through towards the blackness inside.

Unease warmed its way through my stomach, and I swallowed heart, suddenly aware of every shadow in my room. I gripped the window sill and waited for more lightning. A few moments later, it came, bringing with it another glimpse of the house across the street. Something was standing in the doorway, staring directly at me. It was blurred by the storm. But I could tell it was big, and it looked like a twist of colors and human form. I dove from my bed, illusions of bravery shattered in an instant, and I dug myself deep into the covers. I lay there, shaking, and feeling like I had just seen something I wasn't supposed to.

The next day, the house was gone again. Part of me was a little glad, because it gave my young mind time to wrap itself. around what it had seen. I kept replaying it over and over again, my imagination giving the human-shaped blur details and features. But whatever images I conjured were soon erased by the reality of my memory,

and that reality was, I had no clue what I had seen. I ate my breakfast in the kitchen, listening to my parents' talk about the day's plans. My ears perked up when my mom told me we were having the Harvies over for supper. I would finally be able to tell Trevor about everything. Excitement pushed away my cautious fears of the previous night, and I gobbled up the rest of my pancakes in a couple bites.

My father said he didn't need my help today, and so after I helped Mom with the dishes, I sprinted out the front door towards the woods. With the house gone, it felt like just another wonderful summer day. bursting with early morning possibilities. Should I go swimming? Should I build a fort? Maybe once Trevor got here, we could play Lewis and Clark.

Whooping and hollering, my feet took me across the grassy field towards the tree line. As I passed the spot where the mysterious greenhouse had sat, I wondered what would happen if it suddenly appeared with me running over its spot. Would I magically be inside of it all over the other? the sudden? Or would I be flung high into the sky as it came rocketing out of the ground? Feeling suddenly nervous, I put on an extra bit of speed and passed over where it had rested. The day passed in a blur of imagination and summer heat. I spent most of it splashing around one of the streams, collecting rocks and pretending I was fighting Indians. It was one of those days

that shaped how I looked back on my childhood. where everything seemed just right, a day of make-believe and adventure. As I lost myself in whatever fiction I was enacting, the thoughts of the house faded further and further from my mind, burned away in the growing heat. The sun climbed into a blistering climax, then began the slow descent, dipping towards the horizon and fanning out in a pool of color

that mixed in the sky like melting popsicles. Not realizing how late it had gotten, and also how hungry I was, I threw the last of the pebbles I had picked up into the stream and began to make my way back to our house. I wondered if Trevor and his parents had shown up yet. I looked up into the sky, trying to gauge what time it was.

From the way my stomach was rumbling, it had better be time to eat. I broke through the tree, line and was about to sprint the rest of the way when I stopped. The house was back, except something was different. The house was facing me. I felt unease creep across the ground and climb up my legs. This wasn't right. It was supposed to be facing my house. Why was it like this now? I swallowed hard, my own house now blocked from sight. I watched the windows, dark and empty, looking for signs of life, looking for signs of the thing in the storm.

It was motionless. I began to make my way around it in a wide circle, keeping my eyes on the front door as I walked. I kept expecting it to burst open and some creature come charging at me. But it didn't. Nothing moved. Getting halfway around it, I made a break from my front porch. My legs kicked through the knee-high grass, shoes digging into the soft earth as I ripped my eyes away and focused on my destination.

Panting, I clambered up the steps, sucking in lungfuls of evening air. I turned around and almost fell over. The house was back facing mine. I stared for a moment, sucking air, and waited for something to happen. In my mind, the house was alive, some kind of living beast that watched me. I didn't know what it wanted or what its purpose was, but I was beginning to feel like it was dangerous. Turning away, I went inside. I was greeted with a savory aroma,

a gentle heat filling the air with mouth-watering smells. I heard commotion in the kitchen, along with the rolling laughter of conversation. I walked into the dining room and was greeted from the stove by my mother, who informed me I had kept Trevor waiting. I said my muttered hello's to Trevor's parents, who smiled and returned my greeting

before returning to the conversation with my parents I had interrupted. I went to the bathroom to wash up, followed by Trevor, who was excitedly telling me about a fort he had been building in the woods by his house. I shared with him my adventures of the day, and together we began to make plans to sleep over at each other's homes,

with hopes that tonight would be one of those nights. As I dried my hands, I asked him if he noticed anything, on his way to my house. He looked confused, and so I led him down the hall to the front door. I opened it and pointed to the green house with the yellow shutters. Hesitantly, I asked him if he could see it.

He chuckled and slapped me on the back, saying, of course he could. Relief washed over me, and, closing the door behind us and stepping out onto the porch, I began to share with him my strange experiences with the house in the field. His eyes grew wide and a smile split his face in half. The longer I talked, the more I saw his eyes light up. He asked me if I had explored it yet or poked around the outside to see if I could get inside.

I shook my head violently, expressing the feeling of fear it emitted. I told him it wasn't safe. something was wrong with the house. I told him my parents couldn't see it, and that something had been watching me in the storm. This only egged him on, sparking his enthusiasm to explore it. As I tried to talk him out of it,

I heard my father call me to set the table. Groaning, I complied, and the conversation ended there. Trevor helped me fill the water glasses, and soon we were sitting around a table filled with steam. food. I didn't care about the banquet in front of me. It was just an obstacle to Trevor and my playtime. Disregarding the hard work that went into the preparation, I dug in with a vengeance after my father said grace. My mother shot me a look or two as I proceeded to stuff my face, pounding the food

down with mouthfuls of water. When my plate was clear, I looked across the table and saw Trevor was of the same mindset. I waited the appropriate amount of time and then asked if we could be excused. My father waved us away, commenting on my poor table manners, but I barely heard him as Trevor and I shot for the front door. The sky was an expanse of brilliant,

deep purples and blues, as the sun departed for the day. Stars twinkled above us like tiny candles, their light pulsing, as the sound of night critters filled the air and sang up to them. Trevor and I sat on the front steps, giving ourselves a moment to let the food settle. We stared across at the dark house,

waiting to see some flicker of life. The moon glowed in the deepening darkness, lighting the field and joined in its efforts by a sea of blinking fireflies. Trevor was anxious to go look in the windows, expressing these desires with statements of bravado and courage. I shook my head, knowing that some mysterious malevolence shrouded the looming house. It was a gut feeling, a twisting in my stomach whenever I thought about the thing in the storm. After fruitlessly arguing with me, Trevor stood and announced he was going to go by himself and have a look.

I snapped my eyes to lock with his and hurriedly voiced my opposition to the idea. No matter how much I pleaded, there was no changing his mind. He called me a big chicken and pranced around the porch clucking and waving his arms. This did nothing to change my mind, and I continued to shake my head in disagreement. Sying, Trevor ceased his antics and began to trot down the steps to the grass. He gave me a wink and a thumbs up, telling me I was being a baby. I watched him walk towards the house, my heart beginning to beat faster. I felt like I should stop him, that I should tell my parents, but what would they do?

They would see him walking towards an empty field, and my dad would probably slap the back of my head. He was 30 feet from the house, his outline in the dying light nothing more than a black smudge of movement. I could hear him saying something to me, but his words were swallowed up by the night. Twenty feet now, his pace was slowing. My mouth was dry and panic was rising in my throat. This was a bad idea. This was such a bad idea. I bawled my hands into tiny fists, feeling the sweat coating my palms.

Ten feet from the door now. All was silent, the house an unmoving giant, its yellow shutters now looking like dirty teeth, the greasy yellow popping in the darkness. Trevor was almost there, his footsteps cautiously taking him to the right of the front door, his target, the first floor window. That's when I saw something in the third floor window on the far left of the house. It looked like a candle, a soft glow popping through the dense darkness. It wavered there, in the middle of the window, and then began to move. I watched as the light passed from window to window, then disappeared. Frantically, I called out to Trevor to come back, running down the stairs and towards the field.

He was about to look in the window when he heard me, turning and taking a window. few steps towards me. I crossed the road and kicked into the long grass, slowing and waving my arms for him to return. The light was on the second floor now. It's glow smoothly hovering past the windows. It was getting closer. Terrified to go any further, I danced from foot to foot, heart thundering in my chest. My face contorted into frantic terror. Trevor was calling out to me, asking what was wrong. I screamed at him to come back, that something was coming,

that he was in danger. And then I cursed at him. It was the only thing I could think of to get his complete attention. Hearing me swear, he finally began to trot back to me, throwing a look over his shoulder. The light was gone,

but as he made his way towards me, I saw it reappear on the first floor, shining in the window Trevor had been about to look into moments before. It stayed there, just floating in the darkness, and I felt something looking at me from the black. Trevor reached me, spewing questions, and I grabbed his shoulders, spinning him to look at the light.

As soon as he saw it, the house went dark. We stood there, breathing heavily, unsure what had just happened. I asked him if he had seen it, and he nodded slowly. We knew now that something was definitely in there, that something had seen us. I felt exposed, the plump moon working as a spotlight, making me feel like I was on a stage that was watched by whatever was in the house. We turned and ran back to my house, both of us sharing silent guilt, we had done something

we shouldn't. The fear of being found out, the anxiety of getting in trouble, flooded us as we scampered up the porch and pushed our way back inside. I should have told my parents something at that point. Even if they didn't see the house, I feel like if I had tried to explain it to them, maybe a shred of my honesty would shine through and give them a sliver of belief. But I didn't. Neither of us did. We knew snooping was wrong, and we'd get in trouble if they did, in fact, believe us. As we took our places at the table, now filled with hot pies, Trevor and I exchanged a look that vowed complete silence. Our parents asked us why we were back so soon, Trevor's mom joking the smell of dessert being the cause.

I didn't feel like eating. my stomach a mess of nodded emotions, but I dutifully shoveled steaming cherry pie into my mouth, barely tasting it. I was afraid they would find out that whomever was in the greenhouse would suddenly knock on the door and tell our parents what we had done. It was the illogical fears of a child, the haunting giant that loomed over every kid's life, getting in trouble. After we finished eating, I asked my parents have tried,

Trevor could spend the night. After some discussion between the adults, they agreed, extending the stay to two nights. Apparently Trevor's dad needed to borrow our tractor, but we needed it for just a few more days. So when the tractor was available, my dad would drive it down to them along with Trevor. My fear subsided a little, the excitement of two whole nights together causing the unease to fade. We whooped for joy and jumped around the house, cut short by a bark from my father to settle down. We scurried up to my bedroom and began to make plans for the stay. With so much time available, we decided that tomorrow we would begin construction on a tree fort in the woods.

Crude sketches were made in crayon, both of us laying on our stomachs on the floor, heads knocking together as we crammed around the piece of paper we were drawing on. storylines were spun as to who we were and why we needed to build a fort our vast imaginations manufacturing motives and villains it was exciting our conversation fueled by sweet pie and i felt like i could burst for joy looking back it's one of those feelings that you only get as a kid where everything is perfect and it's just you and your friend with the whole world to play with. Eventually, we heard his parents call him to say goodbye, making him promise to behave and listen to my mom and dad. As I waited for him to come back, I glanced out my bedroom window. The house was gone again. It was midnight. Trevor lay snoring in the sleeping bag my mother had taken out for him. He was curled up, his head barely poking out of the opening. I didn't know why

I had awoken. The house lay silent, my parents long asleep. Even with Trevor there, I remember feeling scared, like something was in the room besides us. I looked towards the corners, the closet, my cracked bedroom door. Shadows formed monsters, then dispersed as my eyes focused. I thought about waking Trevor, but didn't one be called a chicken again. I felt exposed like something was watching me, like something at the window was watching me. I chanced a glance at it, but the moonlight was the only thing that trickled through.

No eyes, no faces pressed the glass, no candle hovering in the darkness. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I felt a shiver run down my back. I didn't want to be thinking about that when it was this dark and everything was so silent. Something was drawing me to the window, though. I could almost feel a physical pull towards it, goading me to go to it. I resisted at first, but knew I wasn't going to be able to fall back asleep until I had done so. Quietly, I slipped out of bed, being careful not to step on Trevor's head. I tiptoed towards my window and felt dread begin to rise like bile.

With every step, my mind repeatedly begged me to go back to my covers. Over and over, the thought rippled through my mind. Don't look, don't look, don't look. I reached the window and looked out. My eyes went wide, and I felt a scream rising in my throat as I slammed my hands over my mouth. My heart was a wild drumbeat in my chest and I felt myself grow sick with gut slamming fear. To this day, thinking about what I saw that night fills me with horror. The house was back, standing where it always stood, dark and silent. But something massive

was peeking at me over its rooftop. Its head was enormous. spanning almost the entire length of the house. It's almost human eyes terribly wide with sick excitement. Two colossal hands grips the roof, making the whole thing look almost like how a child would peek over a table. It made the night look white. The darkness that colored its mass almost burned to look at. Two white eyes punctured through its black human-shaped head,

shining like two full modes. The iris of each eye was the sharpest crimson, almost neon in the way they glow. Just visible over the peak of the roof was its mouth. It was grinning, its massive square teeth practically exploding out of the shadows of its cold black face. They radiated like the eyes did,

their bleached white starkness accenting just how inky black. the rest of its head and hands were. I was frozen in place, the whole world melting away like burning wax. My eyes locked with whatever it was, and its smile widened. It never blinked.

Those two perfectly round, gleaming eyes reaching into my brain and ripping up every fear I ever had. I waited for something to happen. feeling like at any second I would scream or pass out. It just watched me, smiling, its mouth stretched to immense proportions. Its long ebony fingers shifted on the roof every few seconds, like it too was waiting. And then something said my name from the crack in my bedroom door.

I spun, a scream already halfway up my third. throat. From the partially open door, I saw an impossibly large eye and half a mouth smiling at me, one midnight black hand reaching inside to grip the wood. I dove towards my bed, digging myself deeper into the covers, shaking and crying. I heard my door open and Trevor stirring on the floor. I peeked out from my safe haven and saw it. It stood in the doorway, a tall human-shaped figure. Its skin was a constant swirl of dark colors, looking like paint being gently mixed in real time. Its face the same liquid texture with one giant eye popping in and out from the surface.

The mouth faded in the same manner, constant twisted grin emerging from its hideous face. And then it spoke. Its voice was one and many at the same time, sounding like a collection of vocal cords being filtered through running water. Come with us! I shrunk down into my sheaths. Every ounce of my being trying to scream, but the sound was caught in my throat, choked back from fear. I heard movement, and then a thump followed by a silky dragging sound. I shifted in my cotton force field, sweating and trembling, wanting, needing to cry out from my parents.

I chanced another look to see if it was gone. My room was empty, and Trevor was gone, along with his sleeping bag. As I ripped myself free from my bed, heart thundering, I heard my friend from the hallway begin to wake. I couldn't make out what he was saying, but it was muffled and confused. Then his tone shifted, and I could hear panic begin to blossom like a black rose. I begged my parents to wake, shutting my eyes and willing it to happen. I heard heavy footsteps and the dragging sound retreating down the hall, Trevor becoming more and more vocal. I heard him begin to cry, his voice soft.

and muted. The front door crashed open, causing me to jump and emit a tiny squeal. I heard the sound of the monster and Trevor receding. I ran to my window, feeling tears begin to form around my eyes. The monster had Trevor trapped in his sleeping back, dragging him down the porch and across the field, towards the house. The death black giant looked down at them. His teeth shining in the moonlight, crimson eyes ever wide with excitement. The monster who had Trevor didn't look back as it continued its march across the field. I watched as the front door opened on its own, the darkness and sighs seeming to ink out into the night. Finally, I screamed.

I screamed till I couldn't scream anymore. My voice cracking and high. pitched terror. I heard my parents wake from their room in the back of our house as the monster entered the green house. As my dad came charging into my room, I watched Trevor squirming frantically in his sleeping back, then disappear as the door was shut behind him. He was in there, in that horrible house, with that thing. My dad grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me, asking me what was wrong. What happened? Tears running down my face.

I took one last look at the house in the field. It managed. That was 20 years ago. That night, my parents called Trevor's parents and then the police. I explained over and over what I had seen, but no one believed me. It was chalked up to a kidnapping, and over the next couple months, a thorough investigation was initiated. Trevor's parents never spoke to mine again. The house never reappeared, and neither did Trevor.

That is, until two days ago. I got a phone call at work from the police, telling me they had found someone, a child. They said the child knew me and kept asking for me from his hospital bed. They said that my name were the only words he would speak. I hadn't thought about the house in the field or Trevor in years, but as soon as the policeman finished, I knew who the mysterious child was. Trevor.

I rushed to the hospital, heart a disjointed mess of frantic thunder. I was questioned by the police on my arrival, asking me for my full name, of birth and where I worked. When they seemed satisfied, they told me I could see the child under police supervision. Something was off, though. They all seemed quiet, shaken.

As I was about to enter the room Trevor was in, the officer escorting me placed a hand on my shoulder. He told me to prepare myself that what I was about to see might be upsetting, confused and a little unsure I pushed into the room. My breath was robbed from my lungs when I saw what lay in the bed. A child laid above the sheets, his small body rising and falling with labored breaths. His size was the only way I could discern his approximate age. His entire form, from head to toe, was covered in a pure white glaze.

His eyes, his mouth, his shining, hairless head, everything. He looked like a mannequin made from snow-white yogurt, but hardened and sleek. Its head turns to me, and then it said my name. I recognized the voice instantly, memories of my chest. childhood collapsing like an avalanche of nostalgia. It was Trevor. I went to his bedside, pulling up a chair, hands shaking as they reached out to touch his. My voice cracked as I said his name, my mouth suddenly dry. I asked him what happened. He took a moment to answer. How long has it been? Twenty years. Trevor was silent for a moment.

Then spoke again. It can't be. Again, he paused. It will happen soon. What will happen? They're coming. Who? The grins.

They took my youth away. They will come as children. Are you talking about what happened all those years ago? About the monsters we saw? They will come as children. They will come from between the colors. From between the colors, they will come as children. Trevor, please, help me understand.

Where did you go? What happened in that house? Trevor's voice began to shake. They took me between the colors, took my years away from me, took all those children's years away from them, all of them, So many houses, so many children. They're ready. They will come now as children.

Who is coming? The grins. What does that mean? What are the grins? Do you mean that thing we saw in the house? Please, help me understand. Trevor was growing frantic. They will walk among us, waiting until

they have grown, waiting to reveal themselves. The darkness, red eyes, oh, such red eyes! They will come as children and we will see them smile. We will watch them grow. The grins, they will eat everything. They will eat the world out of existence. At this point, Trevor went into a fit, his body convulsing and sputtering. I was hurriedly shoved out of the room as the nurses went to work,

trying their best to calm him. The police told me I would need to leave for the day, but that someone would be by to question me. Trevor died later that night. I don't know what happened that night. My friend disappeared into that house. I don't know where he was taken, what was done to him. I'll never know.

But what I do know is that it was real. I can't explain it. I can't make sense of it, but that coal-black giant with red eyes, that thing that came into my room, those were real. Trevor's final words stuck with me. They made me afraid. There was such conviction in them, such sureness. They are ready.

They will come as children. As I drove home, I pulled a child. out my phone and dialed my husband. I needed to know what my son was doing. It includes our nocturnal presentation. Now it's time to drift off into your own nightmares. If you would like to find out how you can hear the full-length versions of our audio program, please visit the no-sleeppodcast.com to learn about our season past program.

25 episodes, each over two hours long, and three exclusive bonus episodes, all for only 1999. On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast, we thank you for listening. Join us again next week. We'll have more stories for you and whatever that is standing right behind you. This audio production is copyright 2016 by Creative Reason Media. Inc. All rights reserved. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted without the written consent of Creative Reason Media Inc.