The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S10E02

Episode Date: November 19, 2017

It's episode 02 of Season 10. On this week's show we have five tales about frantic families, taxing taxis, and sinister slaughterhouses. "My Sister Jo"‡ written by C.E. Avery and performed by Penny Scott-Andrews & Erika Sanderson & Andy Cresswell. (Story starts around 00:05:20) "Duplex"† written by Henry Galley and performed by James Cleveland & David Ault & Erika Sanderson. (Story starts around 00:35:05) "Rosewood and Vine"† written by M.L. Hotz and performed by Dan Zappulla & Erin Lillis. (Story starts around 01:03:25) "Laughterhouse"† written by Tanja Simone and performed by Jessica McEvoy & Matthew Bradford. (Story starts around 01:23:05) "Gehenna"¤ written by A.A. Peterson and performed by Nikolle Doolin & Atticus Jackson. (Story starts around 01:46:50) Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast   Click here to learn more about the NoSleep Live Tour 2018   Click here to learn more about Henry Galley   Click here to learn more about M.L. Hotz   Click here to learn more about A.A. Peterson   Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone Audio adaptations produced by: Phil Michalski† & Jeff Clement‡ & Jesse Cornett¤ "Gehenna" illustration courtesy of Charlie Cody Audio program ©2017-2018 - 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

Yes, I know, Erica. David is tormenting you again. What do you mean, not on the podcast? In real life? You got a minute, boss, man? Hold on a second. What's up, Dan? Well, I was about to record the latest ad when we had a bit of a problem in the studio.

What happened? Uh, you better come see for yourself. Can I call you back? Thanks. See? This massive sinkhole opened up while I was recording. I almost fell in. Yikes, that's a doozy. What ad were you recording? Oh, it's for Naturebox.

I was talking about how Naturebox has over a hundred snacks that taste good and are actually better for you. All snacks are made from high-quality, simple ingredients, which means no artificial colors, flavors, or sweeteners. So you can feel good about what you're eating. Ah, I see. I think that explains it. You see, NatureBox snacks are so good they can fill that huge empty void you feel when you're hungry. This hole must represent that. I have an idea.

Hand me that Nature Box we just got today. Here, what are you going to do? Well, when my stomach feels like an unfillable sinkhole, I try some delicious, crunchy barbecue twists, or these lemon-almond-biscotti bites. Mmm, I'm obsessed. Just like our listeners can find their new snack obsession at Nature Box. They add new snacks every month,

inspired by real customer feedback, the latest food trends, and professional chefs. Okay, put them down the hole, see what happens. Nothing seems to be happening. Well, you delivered the snacks just as easily as ordering them. Just like getting 50% off your first order by going to naturebox.com slash no sleep, choosing the snacks you want and then NatureBox delivering them right to your door. And of course, there's no risk.

If you ever try a snack you don't like, don't eat it. Naturebox replaces it for free. The sinkhole hasn't changed. Do you think it needs more to fill it? Here, you know what? Try some of these awesome preline pumpkin seeds. Nope. change. Nature Box snacks are an easy way to up your snack game, but I'm not sure anything could close

up this, say Cole. I think I know of something big enough to satisfy it. What? You. Oh, I'm so glad to see Cummings. Fell for it. Remember, Naturebox is offering No Sleep fans 50% off your first order when you go to naturebox.com slash no sleep. The following audio horror presentation. is intended to frighten and disturb. Join us on this dark and unsettling journey at your own list. Because behind these doors, there will be no sleep. Brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. It's the No Sleep Podcast. I'm David Cummings. Thanks for joining us. On the show this week, we have five tales about frantic families, taxing taxis, and sinister slaughterhouse.

We want to thank everyone who has become a season past 10 member. We know there's been some issues recently with the order process on our website, so we thank you for your patience as we work through some of the glitches. I think things are back to normal now, so give it another try if you're still waiting to get your season past 10. And if you have any problems ordering or with your membership, you can contact us at admin at the no sleeppodcast.com for tech support. And speaking of thanks, I want to thank the many people who have already purchased their tickets for the Sleepless 2018 tour.

Great to see such enthusiasm. And as I mentioned when I announced the tour, we couldn't pass up the chance to perform in the city where so many fans requested we appear. That's in Atlanta. And I got to say, order me a Coke and smother me in grits, because you know sleep fans in Atlanta, Georgia, and the Southeast U.S. weren't kidding, were you? Our Atlanta show currently has more than 55% of the tickets sold. That's what I call Southern Hospitality. So if you're hoping to attend the tour's final show in Atlanta, you'd better not wait to get your tickets.

They're going faster than a ripe peach at a Braves game. We look forward to seeing many of you across the U.S. on the tour next February and March. So, speaking of season 10 and adventures, it's episode 2. The stories are ready, so let's start the journey. In our first tale, we meet a woman and her young sister who are destitute and struggling to survive. But as author C.E. Avery explains, their struggles are soon compounded by changes both outside and inside of their farm. Performing this tale are Penny Scott Andrews, Erica Sanderson, and Andy Cresswell. So let's learn the truth as revealed to the person.

whom the woman calls my sister Joe. My sister Joe and I didn't always live alone. There used to be our parents. Our warm and gentle mother. How a care-worn father. We owned a farm in the English countryside, miles from anywhere, a situation which most children would have been in a great hurry to get out of. But Joe and I weren't like most children.

It was always Joe and I ever since we were small. She came first. She was the oldest and the natural leader. I followed her every order, but never resented her. I adored Joe and would have followed her into a burning house if she'd asked me to, but I knew she would never ask. I mattered as much to her as she did to me. My glamorous, dark-eyed, big sister had inherited mother's looks,

whereas I had father's lanky, awkward frame. She was 15 when they died. I was just nine. Starvation and fatigue got mother, and then depression did for father, did for him in our old barn swinging from the rafters. I cried my heart out, but Joe didn't shed a tear.

She was as devastated as I was, but she would never let it show. Steely, was our Josephine and smart as a whip. Of course, there wasn't much food around that first winter after they left us. Well, there wasn't much food anywhere in the country, anywhere in the world from what the rickety old radio in the kitchen told us. The seas were rising and the crops were failing, ours being no exception and for once I was glad that our farm was so isolated

people did terrible things when they went hungry and we were just a pair of young girls with no means to defend ourselves we got by on turnips and bone broth and never saw another living soul I think the people of the nearest village had forgotten we were even out here or maybe assumed we'd died off without our parents to care care for us, but they were wrong. Joe took care of me, and between us, we kept the farm running to the best of our abilities. We milked the one cow we could resist slaughtering for its meat,

right up until it collapsed from hunger. And then Joe took a knife and slit its throat. I was too disgusted to do it myself and hid behind her skirts until she took the blade from me, and, sighing, drew it across the cow's jugular. You'll have to learn sooner or later, Beth. You're ten years old now and you're not a baby anymore. I'll get us through this, you know I will. But I need you to help me. I nodded, sniffing and furiously rubbing my eyes

so she wouldn't notice I was crying. Her hands were bloody as she drew me into an embrace and I gratefully collapsed into her arms, not minding at all the dark red stains that she left on my clothes. We made it through the harshest winter And as summer approached We both felt the life returning to our weary bones Like a sunrise peaking over the horizon

The weather had grown strange over the last few years And that spring it was scorching hot Far hotter than even the summer had been when I was a baby We were happy, believe it or not Two sisters in our own little world We had little food but enough to nourish our bodies. I played outside in the dust with only the mayflies for company,

but I didn't mind as honestly I had grown fearful of the outside world. I never saw anybody, ever. That seems a little odd to me, as I could remember back when my parents were alive, and there were always seasonal workers at the farm, visitors of all sorts. Now there were none. Still, a lot of change since those days, And it wasn't just that our parents now lay in the hard ground behind the house.

There was the hazy mist in the sky which never seemed to lift. And the extreme heat which saturated our clothes with sweat before we'd even had breakfast. The lush countryside had turned dry and sparse like a desert, devoid of life. And I took to thinking that perhaps there were no other people out there at all. No, that wasn't right. I knew there must be some life still, as Joe, on extremely rare occasions, would suddenly announce she was going into the nearest village to barter some of our vegetables or the eggs from our chickens for meat. I would always scream and cry when she said this, as I never wanted her to leave my sight. But she would settle me down, take my face in her cool hands, and promise to be home before it got dark.

I would barricade the door to our shared bedroom and hide underneath the creaky bed until I heard her soft tread on the front step shaking with fear in the shadows I could scarcely breathe as I waited but I never doubted that she would come home to me when she had unloaded her bags of food into the pantry she would come upstairs find me and soothe me

we would sit on the floor her smoothing my hair to calm me and calling me her little darling, and she would tell me stories at the world outside. The details she gave me was sparing, and I understand now that she was tactfully leaving out some of the darkest sight she'd witnessed. Still, I was then rapt. She had seen animals running wild.

Perhaps we would be able to go out and hunt them when I got big and strong, dogs and cats roaming the broken empty streets. This sounded like paradise to an animal lover like me, and I fantasized about finding a puppy to call my own. She had seen people still alive, kind people, she said, who were given her bread and cheese to take back to me. There were cars abandoned for miles along the main road that cut through the valley, and she said the air was hard to breathe. Every time I expressed a desire to see these things for myself, however, Jew would become stern and tell me that it was too dangerous. Looking back on these conversations, I know she was terrified in a way that I couldn't have understood. A teenager, suddenly finding herself forced into the role of caring mother and fierce father with no training for either part.

How could she defend me against whatever was out there in that desolate world that was once ours? So I never did leave the farm, but I still learned about what the world was. out there had become, and I learned it in the worst possible way. It was a dark night when the air was still, the yellowing leaves on the trees echoing the sickly colour of the sunset, but it was as hot as day. Joe and I both knew we would be going hungry in a few days' time, with our stores depleting, and I knew she was contemplating a journey in search of food. She was quiet, and I noticed they're biting her lips as we cleared away our bowls,

having enjoyed yet another meal that was essentially re-boiled bone fragments from last week. I was impervious to her worries and was happily chatting on about something or other when there came a sudden loud bang from the front of the house. Joe froze, and we stared at each other, our eyes wide, her so dark with alarm that they looked like black voids in her pale face. When no other sound came, after a few moments she began to move on swift, silent feet, putting a finger to her lips as a warning and pushing me down beneath the dining table. I did what I was told, but had to work hard to get my muscles to function.

I was so scared. She slipped out to the kitchen without a backwards glance and left me alone. I whimpered then and stuffed the fist into my mouth. What was happening? I stayed hidden there for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes. My ears drained to hear any hint of what was going on outside the kitchen. To my joy, I heard steps outside the door that led to the hall, and when it creaked open, I leapt out from my hiding place,

sure that Joe would be there to reassure me that it was just the wind making noises and to calm me, as she always did. But it wasn't Joe who had just walked into the room. It was a stranger. The man was tall and lanky rather than slim, as if the weight had just dropped off him due to hunger rather than diligent exercise. He was smiling, but I didn't trust him.

The smile didn't reach his eyes. They were cold and pale, like milky water. He was dressed better than we were, his clothes looking as if they hadn't been taken in and stitched together as many times as our own, but they were odd and mismatched. I had a sudden thought that they weren't his clothes at all and wondered who he could have stolen them from. As I stood watching him, he moved further into the room and stretched out one hand to me, keeping the other buried in his dusty jacket. I saw that despite his lean appearance, his arms were well-muscled and powerful. Hello, sweetheart. He sounded a little like the people I used to hear on the television sometimes,

when television still worked and weren't just blank boxes to use as a table. I shrank back from him. Are you from the town? No, lass. I'm not from these parts at all. I'm just passing through when you're not. find myself a little shorter supplies. So I'm just calling upon you to extend the hand of generosity,

like to me, in my time of need. I blinked, but remained silent. What I'm saying is that I want food and clothing and bedding if you have it, but mostly food. We don't have any. What is it that I see upon the table, then, if not dishes and plates? Don't lie to me, girl. If you do.

His tone became menacing, and he took another step towards me. If you do, it shall go hard with you. That was just broth, honest, sir. I was sobbing now, wanting this stranger gone, wanting my sister, wanting my Joe. We have barely anything, save for the chickens and the clothes on our backs. Chickings, eh? Better than nothing, I suppose. Right then, lass, is there anybody else here with you?

I shook my head, not daring to take my eyes from his. I had seen, in the shadows of the doorway, a figure creeping up behind him. Joe, my answer seemed to please him, and he rubbed his free hand across his face, relaxing and looking suddenly very tired. when he spoke it was low and almost to himself good did know how much longer i could keep moving on his words were interrupted by a great shout of rage joe had leapt through the doorway onto his back taking him by surprise and uttering the loudest cry i had ever heard from her it was a lioness's roar a battle cry the stranger flailed around madly trying and failing to throw her off I was so happy and no longer felt afraid. I was saved like I knew I would be. My joy turned to horror again quickly, however,

as the stranger yanked his hand out of his jacket and revealed what he had been hiding. It was a pistol. I ran to my sister's side and tried to help her, clawing wildly at the man. His eyes, his flesh, even attempting to bite his outstretched arm in my desperation. It was all in vain, however,

because he managed to push Joe from his back and send a sprawling to the floor. As soon as he trained the gun on her, I knew it was over. I would never keep fighting him if he would endanger her any more than she would put me in harm's way. You little witches, you lying little snake! I should teach you a lesson.

Shoot your tricky friend here, right in front of your eyes. Anything. Do anything you want to me, just leave her out, it leave my sister alone well it all depends on how you two behave yourselves doesn't it if you he gestured to me with his head while waving a gun at joe keep a civil tongue and don't try anything stupid that i won't have to hurt anybody but if either of you don't do what i tell you i will shoot the other one how's that sound I wept silently, nodding my head and not daring to look at my sister.

I heard a whisper under her breath a quiet little yes, which filled my heart with relief. If both of us just went along with what this scavenger wanted, then maybe he would allow us to live. Good. Now, I want food, and if all you got is chickens, then I'm taking those with me. But I think I'll stay a while. I like it here And God knows this is better than being on the road It's hell out there He trailed off

And again I saw a deep exhaustion in his face Then he flashed me a grin And my stomach turned Besides, I do like the ladies The next few hours dragged like an age To my young mind it felt like forever So I can't imagine how agonising It must have been for my older sister

who was aware on a more adult and more horrified level what dangers this stranger could pose to us, what he could do to us. He sat at our kitchen table, his boots kicked off and legs thrown over it as if he were a reclining prince, and made us bring him what little food we had in our stores. Some of it he tore in too greedily on the spot,

his dirt-blackened hands grasping it and gobbling it down while we stood and watched. Joe held my hand tightly and didn't let go all evening, even as we moved silently and fearfully around the room to do his bidding. We didn't dare speak to each other and only talked when the stranger bark questions at us with his mouthful, which he did frequently. I tried not to look at him and kept my gaze low to the ground. Joe's eyes never left the gun, now tucked into his belt. He was obviously at ease, but still looked abominably.

tired. It was with drooping eyes and slightly slurred speech that he asked me. So, why are you girls all on your own out here anyway? Where are your parents? Dad? That's a shame. I truly am sorry. I lost my family too. A long time ago. My wife, Jeannie, my kids. But hell, I suppose everyone's lost someone. now everyone is alone in this new world. He trailed off. I looked up, frowning. What do you mean?

Joe hissed at me under her breath, warning me to stay quiet, but I ignored her. The stranger looked perplexed. Blas, it can't have escaped you notice what's going on out there. The whole world has turned to shit. I mean, there's gone to hell in a handcart, as my old mum used to say. He watched my still confused expression

and slowly understanding dawned in his face. You mean you don't know what's been happening? Shut up! I turned on Joe, shocked at her frantic outburst to see her glaring, dagger-eyed at the man. I was scared for a moment that he would turn violent, but instead he gave her a sad look, almost pitying. If you want to spare your sister the grisly details, lass, then I'd understand.

But she'll have to learn one day. She'll have to leave her childhood behind. It's gone. Gone like the city. Gone up in a mushroom cloud. Then he looked at me very seriously in the eye. Scarcely anybody has left alive in this area, except for yourself. Your sainted sister here and me.

It's cleared out. The villages are burned, and the nearest town, well. He made a slicing duster across his throat with one filthy hand. It's terrible out there, it really is. Bodies in the streets, packs of wild dogs gnawing at their insides. Only just yesterday I came upon a house full of the dead, an old couple in their son, and it looked like something or someone had been at him. Them?

Yeah, Atom. Stripped them bare with a knife, I'd wager. Right down to the bone. It's an awful world out there now. So? He brightened, giving me a wink. Think how lucky I am to have stumbled on you two lovely, obliging girls. He leaned forward suddenly and drew a wiry arm around my waist,

putting me with brute strength towards him. I squealed in horror, and he chuckled, his eyes travelling up and down my body in a way which made my cheeks burn with shame. Joe jumped forwards and made to strike the stranger, but stopped short when his free hand shot, quick as a flash to his pistol. He released his grip on me, but kept his steely glare on my sister's face. Heed my words, girl. If you try that again, it'll be her blood that spatters the floor, and you'll watch. Don't go thinking that just because I'm being such a polite gentleman that I'm not a dangerous man, because you don't know the half of it.

He seemed to consider things for a moment, then lean close into Joe's pale face, smirking as if something funny had just occurred to him. Do you remember when I said that I lost my wife? Well, I'll tell you something about that. And maybe you'll understand why I'm not a safe man to cross. I killed her. I killed her, and I do it again tomorrow in a heartbeat. My horrified expression must have amused him

because he was laughing as he rose from his seat. He staggered a little and grabbed out at the chair to regain his balance. I hated him. How I hated him rolling around our kitchen after gorging himself stupid with our food. His face was flushed when he looked up at Joe and demanded a place. faced asleep for the night, with a warning that we not try any funny business. With him standing, I was starkly reminded of his height, his weight and hour defenselessness,

not to mention the gun which was still slung in his belt. Joe nodded and stiffly guided him out of the room. When he was gone, I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. Perhaps when he had slept, he would leave us, rob us blind, but let us live. unharmed. I had no intention of even closing my eyes that night. Looking around the room, I saw that the knife we'd used for slaughter was neatly folded in its bloody wrapper on the window sill. Slowly, wary of my agonisingly loud footfalls, I moved over to it and slipped the weapon into the pocket of my apron. Joe returned a moment later and told me in a hushed voice

that our menacing guest had locked himself in the parlour, warning that we'd better keep out or he would shoot us. I could sneak up on him, sneak up with a knife or something. And what then? Listen to yourself. You're a child. You couldn't even slaughter a cow. I'm afraid, Beth, and I just want to do whatever we must to get through this.

You told me that I had to grow up and leave my childhood behind. I turned on her angrily. What did she want to do? Allow this disgusting man to just waltz off and take everything we had. Joe dispersed her lips, her face the colour of sour milk. Be careful what you wish for, my darling. Then she was folding me into her embrace, and I was sobbing against her shoulder. We stood like that for a minute, until my cries dried to sniffs,

and my sister held me out at arm's length. Beth, I need you to be strong for me. Can you do that? I need you to go upstairs and hide underneath the bed and not come out. No matter what you might hear or think is happening, I need you to stay out of sight. Promise me. But Joe, what are you going to do? She gave me no answer and just sent me running up the stairs with a push, running like this stranger was right on my heels.

I threw myself into the dark and dusty space beneath my bed, fingering the knife which was still in my pocket. I still slept in those dark hours, because I was suddenly jolted awake to the sound of a scream. The door and light was illuminating the bedroom with an eerie glow, and for a moment I was confused, not remembering why I was underneath the bed rather than on it. Then the scream once again,

and I was out from my hiding place in a shop, my muscles screaming from the hours of restriction, but I barely noticed. I tore down the stairs, two at a time, halting as the kitchen doorway came into view. and I could see the figure of our dangerous stranger stood blocking the way. He didn't see me in the shadows. His eyes were locked on the small, frail shape of my sister,

who I could see over his shoulder was cowering up against the wall. His eyes were blazing with fire, and his pistol was out, trained on her heart. What did you do to me? His words were so slurred. that he sounded drunk, and I thought for one mad moment that he had got hold of father's old whiskey store. I noticed as I moved slowly closer that he was stooping, staggering, as if his legs weren't working properly, and he was raising his hand against the door frame in order to stay standing. You witch, you've poisoned me.

I woke up when I saw terrible, terrible things, nightmares, living nightmares. I saw her, my genie, leaning over me, and she was wearing the sheet I buried her in, and she said to me, she asked where the children were, and I told her, and she cursed me. But what else were we to do? I had to keep her safe. I couldn't lose her, so what else was I supposed to do? And then I saw them, too, our little boys, and they were crying out to me, but I could, couldn't stop. Oh, oh God.

But it wasn't real. It was you and your poison, you evil little witch. You... Suddenly, the ceiling was falling in, dust and spiders and wooden boards raining down. My sister shrieked,

and the man yelled, throwing himself towards her, waving the gun like a bludgeon. Ah! Don't try to fight him off, He was too strong, too big. As his fingers wrapped around her neck, he screamed out a slur of words that didn't make any sense to me.

I told you last time, Jeannie, I had to do it. I had no choice. It was either all of us or just them, and I chose them. I admit it, but I couldn't lose you. They were never going to survive, not weak as they were, so young and helpless. But we could have lived. You could have lived, Jeannie.

Oh, Jeannie, why did he try to stop me? The stranger blink. His leery eyes were red as he turned towards me, releasing Joe from his grip. He looked woozily down at his clothes, covered in blood, and then at the handle of the knife which was sticking out of his side. His last wheezing breaths told me that it was his lung I had punctured, the blade slicing true and clean.

I backed away from his body as it fell to the floorboards with a final thud. I was only dimly aware of Joe coming to my side, smoothing my shock tears away with her gentle hands and leading me from the room. I caught some odd scraps of what she was saying to me as she did so. You should have stayed upstairs, Beth. You didn't need to do that. But I'm so proud of you, so proud all the same. Go to bed.

Don't think on this anymore, and I'll have them's all sorted out before you come back down. All sorted out. My sister Joe and I didn't always live alone. But as I reflected the day after the stranger came, I wouldn't change things for the world. Standing outside the house, I looked out across our farm and sighed contentedly. This was our home and our world. I was happy with Joe. She would take care of me, and I would always take care of her.

Are you coming inside, Beth, darling? Dinner's ready. Coming! I called back excitedly and turned to climb up the steps to the kitchen. Inside, my sister was waiting for me, a smile on her pretty face and a steaming joint on the table before her. We've been looking forward to this all. day.

With a little laugh, Joe began to carve the meat. Dealing with the death of a child is an unimaginably traumatic ordeal, one which could drive a parent to the most irrational of actions. As we learn from author Henry Galley, one man seeks a way to be with his lost son again, even if his methods bring the ordeal into the life of a stranger. Performing this tale are James Cleveland, David Alt, and Erica Sanderson. So no matter where you live, be thankful it's not in this duplex. People are always asking me.

So, how much do you remember? Well, I remember two cold metal prongs pressing into the small of my back, then an electric flash of lightning white pain that seemed to relieve me of my motor control. I fell forwards into the darkness of a family-sized sedan's trunk. My limp arms and legs bundled in after me until the last few snatches of light were shut out with a distant slam. There was a gap in my memory after that, like a redacted line in a government report.

When I eventually woke up and the continuity of memory returned, my body felt cold and achy, and my nostrils were assailed by the twin sense of basement, and chalk dust. I was in a cellar, not some kind of customized murder dungeon, but an actual normal person's cellar.

There were rows and racks of junk that had been relegated down here over the years. A pair of old bicycles propped up against a body-length mirror and an inflatable pool that wouldn't see use again until the summer. It was completely inane, save for the long set of shackles

that bound my leg to the pipes of a nearby radiator. There were different markings. As arcane as they were numerous, scrawled in chalk across the basement floor around me, my sleeping body had been ringed by a series of complex circles with each tier being filled with a different variety of bizarre, occult symbology. It was like something out of a fever dream. I'd been tricked, tased, and kidnapped, and whoever had done it was holding all the cards now. That much, I remember for sure. A door opened somewhere in the distance,

lighting in the last few shards of natural light I'd see in the next couple of weeks. A middle-aged man, probably in his late 40s, tall and unassuming, a kind of inoffensive-looking guy you'd get to model a sofa in a furniture catalog, walked in and closed a door behind him. He was whistling a tune. but I can't for the life of me remember which one. Ah, you're awake, wonderful. He made a beeline towards me through the city of forgotten crap.

His little eyes were glinting with purpose. I don't know who you are, and I'll forget your face soon enough. If you're having a second thought, you can let me go. I won't tell the police, I swear. I'll just act like it never happened. I had no idea if it'd really work or not. I think I saw it in a movie once and was just parroting back what I remembered. My kidnapper pulled up a little fold-out chair and took a seat across from me,

picking me apart with his eyes the way a man does when he's buying a used car, trying to haggle down the price with the salesman. I'm Alan Leary, pleased to make your acquaintance, son. You don't know it yet, not fully, but you've done me a great kindness. Is it money you want? Look, I'm not rich. I can give you all I have, but it's not much. You better off just dropping me off somewhere.

I won't talk. He gave a soft chuckle in a fatherly smile. The kidnapper leaned back into his chair and started picking at the threadbare patches on his worn pair of jeans. You've already paid for yourself, my boy. You even look a little like I imagine he would if he'd ever been allowed to get old.

Please, just tell me what you want and I'll try and get it for you. Only if you let me go. Please. Alan sighed and rubbed his eyes. wearily. What's your name, boy? And how old are you?

Alex, and I'm 23. We're both owls. Funny, so you're not old enough to have ever fathered a child then, Alex? Well, not by the standards of my day, that is. No, sir, I don't even have a girlfriend. He gave a good-hearted chuckle at this and shook his head. Once I had a son much like you, Alex. His name was Richard.

The sweetest little thing. I'm sure you would have liked to meet him if that were possible. He was only age, you know. The chains around my ankle were thick and heavy. It had taken angle grinder to break them off unless you had the key. My dread bubbled closer to the surface with every passing moment. My wife, my son, and I were so very happy together, Alex. Our lives were complete.

Alan was clearly getting emotional. His voice trembled. until the actions of a reckless driver took our little angel back to heaven. Alan covered his face and sobbed loudly into his hands. It was strange. He made me feel more uncomfortable than afraid because even considering everything he'd done to me, I couldn't help but feel a nagging little pang of sympathy for him.

Suddenly he seemed to look so much older than he did when I first saw him. It was clear to me in an instant that losing his son had driven Alan completely insane. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away the stray tears, sniffing up the rest of his sadness and trying to hide it. Behind the thin veil of fatherly calm, Alan was clearly a broken man. Sorry, I'm so sorry. I get emotional sometimes when I'm talking about him. No, it's okay. I understand, Alan. I've lost people too. it. But you've not lost a son, so you can't possibly understand. No father should ever outlive his son, Alex. That's why I've done this. I've righted the wrong. I found my eyes scanning the symbols

chalked into the ground around me again with increasing panic. I was the centrepiece in a puzzle coming together by the second, like a crime scene. And something told me that the crime I was looking at here was far worse than kidnapping, and it defied laws far larger and older than those established by a government, or even by people. The rule Alan had broken was much more fundamental than that. The body can die, my boy, but the soul is eternal. Nothing can destroy a soul, but a soul, you see, can only occupy a living body. If there was any other way, I assure you, I would have gotten my hands on a corpse instead, but sadly the buck has reached you, Alex.

What the fuck have you done to me? Alan gave a sad sort of smile and leaned towards me. You're 23 years old, Alex. You must have already lived the real prime of your life, so perhaps it's time for someone else to have a turn. We can't be so selfish as to always deprive the needy of our things, can we? No, my dear boy. Through some methods I learned from less than savoury sources,

your body is the new home of my darling little Richard's soul. Of course, I couldn't overwrite yours. The only way to get a soul to leave the body is to kill the body, so you'll just have to share. Think of your body more as a duplex now, and it'll all start to make a lot more sense. You're insane. You're completely fucking crazy. There's no need for bad language, Alex. I've worked out a fair rotor. You get it during the day. Richard gets it at night when you're not even using it. Fair and square. I began tugging at the chain on my leg, the same sort of frantic, terrified desperation that drives coyotes to chew off their appendages when they're caught in a trap. I didn't believe a single word this crackpot was saying, that the fact I was trapped in the basement as someone with a loosey-goosey grip on his sanity was worrying enough. No matter how much I tugged,

It seemed totally utterly futile. I don't expect you to believe me, Alex, not yet. Words can only do so much, but you will believe me in five, four, three, two. This was absurd, I thought, but I didn't get to think that for long. One. My body seized up in a kind of heart-stopping lethal paralysis. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak, I could barely even breathe. It felt like I was being compacted by a pair of walls moving ever closer together. Alan sat and watched the picture of equanimity

as thick poles of black smoke came barreling towards me in all directions, rumbling like the last creaks of a building before collapse. When the smoke hit me, suffused me, consumed me, Things went cold and dark, and consciousness was just a dream again. I woke up an indeterminate amount of time later. There was a clock in the room, up on the wall behind me, but I hadn't noticed that the first time I'd woken up. The second time I regained consciousness, my head was pounding, and my extremities felt as cold and dead as granite. It worked like a charm. Oh, Alex, thank you. You've no idea how much this means to. me thanks to you my son is alive again but i don't get to live what happens to me a nonsense my boy

you'll live just fine i'll keep you chained down here during the day well watered well fed and i'll come and unchained the body when richard takes the wheel at night i'm a person not a fucking houseplum you can't treat me like this oh but i can Alex and i will there's no greater love than a father's love for his son my wife she left after richard was murdered he's all I have, you see, so I'm afraid I won't give him up again just because you won't stop belly aching about your living conditions. You're just going to have to suck it up.

Fuck you, old man! The full gravity of everything that had happened was finally dawning on me. Rage gave way to pure despair, and I sat cross-legged and sobbing on the cold concrete floor of the basement. It seemed, for all intents and purposes, that my life was finished.

I only existed now as, a body that Alan's dead kid could occupy for half a day, every day, until the body gave out on both of us. Thank you for your donation, Alex. And for what it's worth, you've made an old man happy and given a young boy a new chance at life. This was meant to be my life. It was your life, my boy, but like I said yesterday, you can't be selfish.

Sometimes it's just time to let someone else take the wheels. See where they take it. I promise you'll be kept very well in the meantime. What a horrible sinking feeling it was to realize that my life was now categorized as the meantime. To Alan, my existence was the 12-hour placeholder between meetings with his son. I could cry and beg and yell and threaten, and he'd never let me out, because why would a man who missed his son enough to kidnap and raise the debt for him ever even consider letting him go again?

I'd have better chance reasoning with stone. If I ever wanted to be free again, and trust me, I did. I knew it'd have to be by outsmarting my captor. Here, he had every advantage except a clear head. I'd never met this man before he kidnapped me, so the chances of the police finding him were slim to none. I knew that. If he was ever going to be stopped,

I had to do it myself. The next few days were just planning and reconnaissance, trying to learn everything I could about what was happening to me. Every night, as sure as the sun sets, the black smoke would descend and Richard would gain control over the body that had always been mine. It was just like blacking out. My mind took a back seat to the soul of the kid, and he got to walk around in my shoes.

An important fact I learned early was that I didn't have access to any of his thought, and memories, and I assumed it worked like that both ways. We truly were a duplex, separate houses in one building, separated by a thick, ineffable wall. The slack on my chain was just long enough to feel around in the closest rack of junk for tools. I prayed for a screwdriver, or something heavy enough to attack Alan with when he came down to deliver my food. He was a mediocre cook, but true to his word, he got me three crappy meals. day. But in that regard, I was shit out of luck. Rack by rack, I was just delving into more piles

of cheap, plastic crap. I just had to sit and watch my own look of humiliation in the full length mirror behind the bikes, knowing nothing in there could help me. With the exception of one key item, found tucked away in the bottom left corner of the rack, it was an old-fashioned cassette tape recorder with a spare cassette still inside. Even I didn't see the use at first. But with enough fear and boredom in Alan Seller, it finally dawned on me. This was my one chance at a window into Richard's world. It had given me the intel advantage over my captors.

That morning I spent practicing, making sure I could still get it to record and play back my voice. The plan was simple. I'd hide it back in the rack a few minutes before I turned, which observation had taught me always tended to happen around 9.15 p.m. And the next morning, I'd get to hear what happens when I check out. It was 9.10 p.m. when I put my new plan into action. I hid the tape recorder beneath a dusty old washcloth and assumed the normal position, lying flat on my back, waiting for that tidal wave of smoky darkness to take me off

into whatever oblivion would be my home for the next 12 hours. It never got any easier to changing. It always felt cold and dark and terrible. And that night was no exception. I braced myself. My chest tightening as the blackness washed over me. I was gone again. When I woke up the next morning,

I was close to what you might even call excited. This was progress. This was headway. It was something other than sitting on the freezing basement floor waiting to lose control of my body and seething. It'd be a couple of hours before Alan showed up with some tepid offering, so I had time to see what I'd got. I walked the length of my chain and felt around for the cassette recorder.

When my fingers hit plastic, I felt as happy as I'd ever felt in the several days I'd been in this shit hole. Finally, once I'd fished it out, I sat down and listened to my night's catch crackle into life. There was total silence at first. Then the sharp intake of breath that came with the changing. More silence for a little while, until the chain began jangling against a concrete and Richard's mind sat in the driver's seat.

Daddy! He used my voice, if a little higher, a little more petulant. Daddy, I've woken up. Come help me. In the tape, the door into the cellar opened and Alan's soft tentative steps patted in. Richard, my darling. His voice was full of a kind of generosity I'd never heard from him in real life.

How did you sleep, dear? Oh, so wonderful to have you back with me again. Let me out, Daddy. I don't like this chain on my foot. Get this chain off my foot, Daddy, it's hurting me. Perfect, quiet. Daddy. What's the password, Richard?

I must be sure it's you before I unlock those chains, son. Soliloquy. Alan laughed heartily. That's my special boy. Let's get you out of those chains. Footsteps and the metal-on-metal grind of keys turning in the shackles. They came loose in a way I could only wish they would for me, and Richard got up. He and Alan walked briskly out of the room and the tape stopped a few minutes afterwards. That's all she wrote.

Meanwhile, I was beaming. I'd gotten exactly what I wanted. the key to my escape. That night, I told myself, I'd be leaving this terrible place and there wasn't a damn thing Alan could do to stop me. As far as I was concerned,

hell, I'd already won. It was just a matter of waiting. The time was 9.05pm when I decided to put my escape plan into action. It had to be close enough to the time of the changing or Alan would never buy it. Timing.

The whole plan would live or die by the timing. Daddy, Daddy, I'm ready to come out. Come help me, Daddy. I don't want to be left in here any longer. I sat in silence and waited, listening for Alan's footsteps as he walked towards the room. He wore an old pair of slippers at night

that made his footfall sound like soft wet slaps on concrete. The door opened and the curious face of Alan Lairie came peering in. Little Ritchie, you're up a little bit of. little earlier today. What a pleasant surprise. Alan walked into the room, sporting a large mug of tea that he occasionally took careful sips from. He was inspecting me still, taking me apart, layer by layer, with those strange, pensive eyes of his. Daddy, I want you to take the chain off, Daddy. It hurts me. His face softened from an analytical stare into a sympathetic half-smile. I was cracking the old bar.

busted by inches. What's the password, darling? I replied in my elevated Richard pitch. Soliloquy, just as I'd hoped, Alan took the bait. Of course, Richie, let me help you. He leaned down towards the chains with a key he'd produced from the breast pocket of his shirt.

We can play some catch in the yard. It was then that I felt this terrible pang of guilt. That same white, hot flash of pain. the taser gave me. Alan wasn't a monster. He was a broken man, driven by grief and desperation. He'd hurt me, but could I take his son away again? The chains were unlocked and my body reacted before my mind could even consider the reality. I drove my elbow up into Alan's nose, splattering the cartilage and spraying blood onto my shirt. He stumbled backwards and I made a run for the door, just wanting to get the hell out of this nightmare. It was terrible what had happened

to Alan's son, but that didn't give him any right to take my life. I had nothing to do with it. I found myself toppling forward, smashing my chest against the concrete, knocking the breath out of me. Alan's wiry fingers had gripped around my ankle and tripped me up with startling strength. In seconds, he'd regained his footing and began dragging me backwards by the leg. back towards the chain. In sheer panic, I just kicked at him, freeing myself from his grasp, but he didn't let up. He ran forward towards my torso and grabbed me by the shoulders.

His arms snaked around my throat and pulled me backwards into a sloppy headlock, choking me. Alan was no strong man, not normally, but this animal was what rage and fear and despair had turned him into. He'd never stop, not while I'd still be a wrong, risk of taking away his precious Richie. You little bastard, you tricked me. You'll never take my Richie away, Alex. Never.

I bit down hard into his forearm, feeling more blood seeped through the fabric and hit my teeth. He recoiled falling backwards onto the bikes and gripped the wound on his arm. He still didn't look like the monster I wanted him to be.

He just looked pitiful, like a drowned cat. It's not your life either. We were ground fighting, punching and grappling, hitting, scratching. The pure will to escape and survive was driving me now, and I could feel Alan's energy faltering. But he wouldn't stop. He'd never stop, not while his blood still flowed and there were still breath pumping in and out of his lungs. I delivered a sharp, cruel jab to the side of Alan's face and he just saw. sat there, dazed. While he was still out of commission, I grabbed the chain he'd used to

bind me and wrapped it around his throat, looping it twice so he couldn't escape. Alan was fighting me again now, but I persisted yanking the chain tighter and tighter around the old man's throat. I pulled him back onto me, eliminating any room he had to fight back and kept strangling. He flailed wildly. He let off a flurry of desperate kicks. one of which shattered the full-length mirror behind the bikes into a hundred razor-ed shards. He didn't have the air to scream anymore, and soon barely had the air to even gurgle. The final twitch and an ugly crunch, everything was over. Alan just went limp.

This wasn't a victory. Not really. I'd killed another human being. And no matter who they were, I felt wrong to me, so deeply profoundly wrong. Like both of us had broken the laws of nature now, I'd lost my moral high ground over that sad, desperate old man. I got up and started limping for the door, still baking all over from the fight.

In the silence of recent death, I heard a soft, metronomic tick. I found a sudden sense of dread setting in. Knowing what I was going to see, but not wanting to see it, I slowly turned to the clock mounted up on the wall behind me. The time, just as I'd expected, was around 9.14 p.m. I said earlier that this plan would live or die by the timing, and that right there was me watching this plan keel over and die like Alan had. because of me. The black smoke came rolling towards me from every direction and I sat down,

ready for its embrace. My body seized up. My heart seemed to almost stop and everything just got so damn cold. For once, I felt almost like I deserved it. The place I was waking up in, thankfully wasn't Alan Seller. It was the clinical white trappings of a hospital that surrounded me to my inexpressibly huge relief. A doctor was leaning over me, wearing an immaculate coat that felt such a far cry from the dismal basement where I'd spent the last, I don't know how long. So, how much do you remember? As I recall, I just laughed, even though she hadn't said anything funny.

I just knew that if I told her even I owed her of what I remembered, she wouldn't believe a goddamn word of it. That's when I felt this terrible pain in my face. But when I tried to move my arms, I realized that they were fastened to the bed with thick fabric straps. It seemed I was out of one cage and into another. But this one, I couldn't figure out why I was here, or why my face was in so much awful pain. I... hurts. It suddenly occurred to me that I... I could no longer pronounce a letter F. I should think so, Mr Bates.

We saved what we could, of course, but you didn't leave us much to work with. What the act? Are you talking about? It's quite an enigma. You disappeared for a few days, then you call the hospital saying someone's killed your father. Richard. How could I have forgotten about Richard? God damn it.

There were no drugs in your system, no records of mental health issues. She stared at me with the dispassionate ire of looking at a murderer, which I was. So we've got no idea why you did what you did to Mr. Leary, or yourself? What I'd done to myself? What had I done to myself? Well, nothing, nothing at all. Richard, on the other hand, he'd woken up to see that I'd murdered his father, and his mother would never take him back in my body.

For all intents and purposes, I'd fucked up his second life irreparably. So, with the penchalent, self-destructive rage of a child twisted by loss and hatred and death, he took up a shard of broken mirror and returned the favour. Cheeks, lips, chin, forehead. He'd skinned almost all of it before. the police had chance to arrive, reducing our face to a raw, bloody, screaming, mess.

It must have been just as agonizing for him as it was for me, but it was worth it for him, I'm guessing, because he's not stopped. They keep me in the hospital now, supposedly stricken was something they can't possibly diagnose, something that drove me to kill that old man and compulsively mutilate myself whenever I get the chance. Of course, during the day I'm fine, but at night, all the staff and psychiatrists tell me I'm a different person. So how much do you remember? It's what I'm asked every morning when I'm forced to take inventory of what parts of me are left in the wake of Richard's nightly wrath. I'm reduced to... I'm reduced to two fingers on each hand.

He'd bitten off the rest. And I lost my voice when he changed. chewed out our tongue. I feel like I'm locked in a box now, so terrified of nightfall, wondering what form Richard's vengeance will take then. He's knocked out teeth, gouged out an eye, ripped out hair and scalp by the handful. For such a young boy, he's so skilled in the art of deconstruction. What's left doesn't look all that human. This twisted little creature held together by skin grafts and transplant that Richard will only pull apart and rip off the second he's given the chance.

Some nights he'll be patient, he'll behave, but only to gain the chance to perform some greater act of self-harm the second security around him is loosened. I'm a hostage, but I'm also the hostage taker, so there's no saving me. Every single night I think of Alan as the supposed, Black fog surrounds me. I think of how it had been a better life if I'd just behaved. Been a good little duplex and remained in the basement, letting him feed and water me like a well-kept house plant. That form of entrapment qualifies as a fantasy now. Most of all, I'm full of hope.

Hope that one night, Richard, child that he is, will get bored of torturing our body. that he'll try to slit our throat, hang us from the rafters, find the nearest ledge, and fling the both of us off of it. But on some level, I know that's not what's going to happen. I know he wants me to do it. To grow a spine, to take the plunge, to send us both to wherever dead people go. You know what? Tonight, I think I might just take him up on that. It's time to rest on our dark journey.

We thank you for joining us. 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, when the journey resumes. its descent into the sleepless night. This audio production is copyright

2017-2018 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.