The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S10E14

Episode Date: February 25, 2018

It's episode 14 of Season 10. On this week's show we have five tales about blinding betrayals, disturbing deaths and fated friends. "Crone's Wood"† written by S.H. Cooper and performed by Corinne Sanders & Addison Peacock & Erin Lillis & Alexis Bristowe. (Story starts around 00:08:40) "My Father's Confession"¤ written by Grace Russell and performed by Mick Wingert & Jesse Cornett & Peter Lewis & Dan Zappulla & Matthew Bradford & Mike DelGaudio. (Story starts around 00:25:34) "It'll Be Back Tonight"† written by J.D. Smith and performed by Addison Peacock & Jeff Clement & Nikolle Doolin. (Story starts around 01:12:25) "Incomprehensible"† written by J.D. McGregor and performed by Atticus Jackson & Mike DelGaudio. (Story starts around 01:39:46) "The Flame That Wouldn't Burn"‡ written by Manen Lyset and performed by Matthew Bradford & Peter Lewis & Kyle Akers & Addison Peacock. (Story starts around 02:04:45) Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast   Click here to learn more about the Escape the Black Farm Tour   Click here to learn more about Mark Pelham   Click here to learn more about S.H. Cooper   Click here to learn more about J.D. McGregor   Click here to learn more about Manen Lyset   Host: Peter Lewis Executive Producer: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone Audio adaptations produced by: Phil Michalski† & Jeff Clement‡ & Jesse Cornett¤ "It'll Be Back Tonight" illustration courtesy of Mark Pelham Audio program ©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

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. Good morning, all. I see you've had a chance to defrost and furnish yourselves, looking sharp. Well, of course we had a chance, Peter. You've been locked in the control room for days.

We've been knocking and calling, screaming for you to open up. What happened? What's going on? Okay, listen, I didn't want to tell you this, but the truth is I fell asleep. And then when I woke up, I found this book hidden in the control console. At first, I thought it had a hideously disfigured face. screaming in some eternal, silent torment. But then I realized that it was just dusty. I must have lost track of time flipping through the pages.

It's really very fascinating. Particularly this one page marked the Master Key. However, it seems to be in some sort of code. May I see it? But of course. Oh, and Alexis, see what you can do with this, huh? Is this the story button? The green button from the control room?

I don't think you're supposed to take this off. That's ludicrous. If it wasn't supposed to come off, I wouldn't have been able to remove it so easily with a straight razor. Just slap on one of those... What do you call them? Interdimensional telegraph poles, huh? Okay, it's called a quantum transmitter, and it's not really that simple. I'd need to completely rewire that...

I have absolute confidence in your abilities, Edison. I know this script. It's ancient. If sickness should assail my mind or eon's mar reflection, the source will keep the key confined, awaiting recollection. Looks like there's a set of coordinates after the poem. If I'm reading this right, it's not far from here. Few days walk at most. Neat.

So, who's up for a little fresh air? Wait, wait, wait, wait. Let me get this straight. You think whatever's at these coordinates is just going to magically unlock the compound security system and unfreeze the rest of us? Just like that, happy ending. What if it's dangerous?

What if it's nothing? Like, the thing... The geese... A goose, chase? Gentlemen, please, this is no time to be thinking about food. And yes, I expect... that we'll walk right in and find exactly what we need. But how?

I mean, why would you expect that? Because we just spent like five minutes discussing it. It had better be important to the plot, or this is all just a huge waste of the listener's time, isn't it? Okay, buddy. I think someone spent a little too long in the control booth, huh? Does he think he's on the podcast now? I'm sorry. I must be a little tube.

lagged or something. What's going on here? Where is David? Ah, yes. My apologies. For those of you just joining us from a pleasant, if chilly slumber, I regret to inform you that our darling David has dearly departed. What? For Portland, Seattle, Oakland, Los Angeles, they've been tearing it up. It's some sort of living meat show. Frankly, I can. I can't claim to understand it, but we hear the leftovers, the B team, well, we may not be much to look at, Kyle, but we are not going to let this chance go to waste. I believe that Spiekel appointed me to host in David's absence for a reason that it is my destiny to free us all from this three-ring hippodrome, all of us. And I swear if I have to strap Kyle down and peel the secrets from the innermost walls of his mind with a citrus knife, I will do it, whatever it takes. What? Why would...

Oh, purely hypothetical example. It's oddly specific. No, first thing that popped into my head, really. That's not better. We've wasted enough time. There are more of us, and who knows what else is locked to watch. down there. If this key can help, I'm in. Now that's the spirit. Alexis, how is the button coming along?

Are you serious? It's been like four minutes. You can't just... no. You know what? It's done anyway. Here. Should work fine? On this continent, as long as you don't get it wet. Did you really just... Mm-hmm. Nice work, and not a moment too soon. I think I feel the story's just beginning to bubble now. Anyone who plans to stay, we may return empty-handed, so keep trying to revive the others. Make your hay. Search for your answers. Stay safe.

Everyone else? Well, you're with... I wish there could just be a siren or something. Hey, hey, Atticus. High five. Nailed it. Welcome, friends. sensitive, beautiful, artistic creature in need of self-validation. And this is the No Sleep Podcast. We're staring down the barrel of Season 10, Episode 14,

which means if you've purchased every episode so far this season as part of the Rent to Own Season Pass program, you are eligible for an upgrade to the full pass. If you've individually purchased 14 episodes of this, or any other relevant season, simply reach out to admin at the no-sleep podcast.com and we'll get you all squared away. Thanks for hanging in there with us.

We do hope you and all of our dear listeners enjoy the remainder of the season. Now, on with the show. In our first tale this week, we find a young woman feeling abandoned by her best friend who has started to hang out with the cool, girls. When a cruel prank widens the rift between them even further, the friendship begins to unravel with haunting consequences. Author S.H. Cooper, joined by performers Corinne Sanders,

Addison Peacock, Aaron Lillis, and Alexis Bristow bring you the tale of Crohn's Wood. Hope makes you dumb. It makes you forgetful and blind and overly even. eager, especially when you're a teen girl on the outs with your best and pretty much only friend. It was a tale as old as time, two childhood besties who Pinky swore to never, ever stop being friends, grew up and grew apart. At least Claire realized that was happening. I was blissfully and a bit willfully ignorant, still believing in those promises made by flashlight during long ago sleepovers. Sure, I noticed that she'd been talking to other older girls more during class, calling me less and making excuses not to hang out as much,

but we'd gone through Lulls before. I didn't expect this to be any different, not until I started receiving the notes. Written in brightly colored gel pens and folded into overly complex shapes, they began appearing on my desk when I arrived to homeroom, and then in my textbooks, carefully nestled between pages, and then jammed in the slits of my locker. I read them all, but the message in each was pretty much the same.

You're ugly. You're a loser. Nobody likes you. I didn't want to admit that I recognized the handwriting in some of them. How could I not? I'd received hundreds of much kinder notes before with the same large looping letters. She even wrote them using her favorite aqua pen, the one I'd given her for her 14th birthday. I showed her every single one,

and every time, without so much as batting an eye, she'd give me a hug and tell me people are assholes and I shouldn't listen. I cried into her shoulder and told her honestly how hard it was not to believe everything the note said and how I was starting to hate myself more and more, and she would just nod sympathetically along. Maybe she was waiting for me to point out the obvious, to ask her why, to yell at her and end our friendship.

But I never did. We were both cowards in her own ways. I can't say what Claire was holding on to. Maybe I'd become a source of entertainment for her and her new group of friends, or maybe she genuinely enjoyed tormenting me. For me, though, it was hope. I hope that it was a phase

and that if I was patient and quiet and went along with it, She'd revert back to being the same girl I'd always been so close to. Claire continued to feed into it just enough to keep me stringing along, and I let her. Didn't I say hope makes you dumb? When she came up to me after Trigg class one day, I dared to let myself believe that I'd been right all along, and I couldn't stop the wide, desperate smile from crossing my face at the sound of her saying my name. Hey, Sally. She'd started to dress differently.

more like those girls she'd been spending time with, and there were blonde streaks in her hair that hadn't been there before. But the cheerful greetings sounded just like it always had. Are you busy Friday? Immediately I shook my head. No, do you want to come over? We could rent a video. I already had something in mind.

Yeah? It was hard not to sound excited when this was the first time she'd invited me to do anything in almost a month. You know Patsy and Angela, right? I nodded, my enthusiasm dwindling just a bit at the mention of the two junior girls that Claire had started to replace me with. There's a party in the Crohn's Wood Friday night, and I want you to come. We haven't really spent much time together. I miss you. If she hadn't tacked on those three magic words at the end, I might have turned her down. As much as I wanted our friendship to be back to normal, a party with kids at least two years older than us was not.

not how I pictured it happening, especially when that party was supposed to be taking place in the Crohn's Wood. Local legend held that it was haunted by the spirit of Ermeline Johns, a spinster who had lived alone and been murdered deep in the woods sometime in the early 1900s. All that remained now was the crumbling remnants of a small stone house that was said to have belonged to Ermeline, and supposedly, her restless spirit. I hated scary things and it always made a point to avoid the Crohn's Wood before. But now, Claire had said she'd missed me, and that was all I needed to hear. We put a plan in place and told our parents we'd be spending the night at each other's house, and I anxiously awaited Friday's arrival. It was a cold,

gray afternoon, and I was growing more unsure of my decision with each passing hour. Lying to my parents, something I never really done before, had been hard enough. But the idea of being in the Crohn's Wood after Dark was really starting to get to me. It wasn't like I really believed the stories about the place, but it still gave me the creeps. The only thing that kept me from wavering was the thought of Claire and I being friends again. After the last bell rang, I shoved all of my books into my backpack and hurried out to the quad, where I was supposed to meet the others. Claire was waiting for me right where she said she'd be, and when she saw me, she grinned and hooked her arm through mine.

Excited? Yeah. It's going to be tons of fun. Don't be so nervous, okay? She gave my arm a squeeze and practically dragged me into the parking lot where Patsy and Angela were waiting. We had a few hours to kill before the party really got started, so we drove around town for a while, went to the mall to wander and eat at the food court, and stopped by

Angela's house to change into more appropriate clothes. They let me borrow an outfit and even help me put on makeup and do my hair. I was surprised by how much fun I was having and how easily things were falling into place. We talked about boys in school and told jokes and laughed all the way to the Crohn's Wood. It was just after seven when we started to creep up the dirt road that wound through the trees. Night had fallen thickly, cold and black, and I hugged Angela's borrowed denim jacket tightly around myself. I peered out the car window, trying to catch any sign of other parts, partygoers driving up the hill, but all I saw was darkness. The road ended in a small clearing

and Patsy parked the car. I looked over at Claire beside me. Where's everyone else? A lot of people probably walked up. It's not that far. The party's at the Crohn's house. Just up the way a bit. Oh, okay. Not nervous, are you? A little. Why? Because of the ghost? I half shrugged. Come on, it's fine. Once we get up there, you'll feel better. Besides, it's just a stupid urban legend. Nothing to be scared of. Patsy's words did little to reassure me.

Despite my rattled nerves, I climbed out of the car with the others and followed them towards a footpath that would take us up to the ruined stone structure that had once belonged to Ermeline. We chatted sporadically while we walked, but the ground was uneven and a bit challenging in the dark, so I focused war on staying up. bright than keeping up with the conversation.

I thought they were having the same trouble because after a few minutes, they went quiet, too. It wasn't until we'd gone a good way up that I started to think there should have been music, voices, the sound of high schoolers letting loose away from the watchful eyes of their parents. Instead, all I heard was my own footsteps. By the time I realized how wrong that was, the other three had already fallen quietly back. Guys? I paused and glanced over my shoulder. I knew with an icy certainty that it didn't matter.

They'd left me. There in the woods, I felt angry, afraid, lost. But most of all, I felt a deep, cutting sorrow in that thin thread of hope that had led me out here in the first place was finally severed. Tears pricked like needles at my eyes. My pity party was quickly interrupted by the low moan of wind moving through the trees, a stark reminder of where I was. I shivered against the deepening chill and looked around, trying to figure out the best way to get back down the hill.

It was almost impossible to see more than a foot or two in front of me and I took a ginger step back in the direction I'd come from. A twig snapped loudly under my foot. Out of the corner of my eye, a faint light flickered into the, life far off to my right. The voice was coming from my left. The light bobbed once, twice, and then started to drift towards me. I slapped a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming and started to run as quickly as I dared down the path. I didn't get far before I caught my foot in a dip in the ground and sprawled face first into the underbrush. I pushed myself up and looked over my

shoulder, only to see the light had faded into total darkness again. I scrambled to my feet and limped a few more steps when another light, this went off to my left, started to weave slowly between the trees. From my right, the voice, raspier and rougher, angrier, repeated the same word as before. This time, I couldn't stop myself from screaming. With no sense of direction and no real visibility, I dove forward again. I pushed myself onward as fast as I could go despite my ankles throbbing protest. I didn't know if I was still on the path heading down to the clearing or if I'd beard off further into the woods, but I couldn't stop to try and figure it out.

I stumbled along clumsily, driven by the sound of steady, stomping footsteps that seem to come from every direction and the cry of girl. It echoed from both sides, sometimes a harsh whisper, sometimes a near shriek. Each ragged call was a reminder that it was said Ermeline Johns had had her throat cut before being strangled. I tripped again and rolled roughly a few times until I was able to get my knees up and stop myself. Light splashed a few times further up the hill

and then all was dark and quiet except for my own wimpers. I pulled myself over to a nearby tree and huddled against its thick trunk. The voice hissed from somewhere off. to my right. Now it was coming from my left. It sounded like she was all around me, closing in on me with her malicious fury. Ermeline had been a loner in life, and now, in death, she was vengeful. Leaves rustled and crunched with every slow step she took towards me. The lights flashed again, first from one side and then the other. She howled in that awful dual voice that surrounded me

from just beyond my tree. I pressed both hands over my mouth to try and quiet the terrified sobs that were burning in my chest. She was so close I could hear her breathing, hard and heavy. To my left, just next to me, a light appeared.

I couldn't stop myself. Terror drove me, launching me to my feet and I barreled unthinkingly away from it in the opposite direction. Almost immediately another light flickered on just in front of me. me and I collided with something and shoved it violently away as I fell onto my backside.

There was a short yelp and the light fell away followed by the sound of fast tumbling down the hill. And then a thick, heavy thud. The silence that came after was broken by a voice calling out nervously from behind me. By the time Patsy and Angela were able to rush into town and get help back up the hill, Claire was dead. It was just supposed to be a joke. Angel and Patsy said in the investigation that followed. A joke that had all been Claire's idea. She had known I was scared of the legend of the Crohn's Wood

and wanted to play a prank on me because I'd been annoying her with how clingy I was. Once they'd worked out the details, they'd lured me into the woods and then quietly split up behind my back when we were far enough in. Patsy returned to the car and made it sound as if they'd left me while Claire and Angela spread out on either side. The voices I'd heard had been theirs. The floating lights were just their flashlights as they turned them on and off and pursued me,

and the flashes I'd seen had been from the disposable cameras they'd brought to document my fear. They'd never meant for anyone to get hurt, especially not Claire. She had been standing just off to my side, opposite Angela, waiting to turn on her flashlight to reveal, feel herself and laugh at me when I'd suddenly bolted right into her and unintentionally pushed her down

the hill. The thud we'd heard had been the sound of her head colliding with a tree. She was buried a week and a half later, after it was concluded that it really was just an unfortunate accident. I couldn't bring myself to go to her funeral. Her parents didn't want me there anyway. They blamed me for her death. That was okay, though, because I did too. My family moved away a few months later. I wasn't coping well and my parents thought it best if we had a change of scenery. They believed that it would help, that I would be able to move on, maybe even forget, but I knew it would never be the same. I knew I would never forget the sound of Claire hitting that tree and Angela's frantic run back through the woods to get to the car.

I knew I would never forget holding my best friend in my arms one final, time as the other two, the newcomers, left us there to get help. I knew I would never forget this final moment we shared together, just the two of us. And I knew I would never forget Claire's face as she gasped and gaped and stared at me with those wide, panicked eyes, illuminated by the flashlight that had fallen beside her. I would never forget pinching her nose closed and covering her mouth with my hand. She had, didn't struggle much. She couldn't. It didn't take long. I had hoped that Claire and I could have been friends again. It was all I wanted. But I realized then, after seeing what lengths she was willing

to go to hurt me, that that wasn't possible. She had changed too much. I had changed too much. Hope makes you dumb. And I was just so tired of playing the fool. Our next story, a father's impending death leads him to make the shocking revelation of a deal made long ago. As the truth comes out, the son must ask himself if fate is something to be accepted or if one must merely renegotiate. Featuring author Grace Russell and performers Mick Wingert, Jesse Cornett, Peter Lewis, Dan Zippula, Matthew Brantfell

and Mike Delgadoio, this is my father's confession. My father was a good man. Ever since I was a kid, my dad and I were close. To be honest, I had always thought of him as my own personal Superman. I know, I know. Most kids regard their parents as superhuman, especially when they're young. But for me, I don't know, for me, dad really was my Superman. Growing up, my mom was the disciplinary figure in the house, and she ruled the roost with a firm hand.

Luckily for me, Dad was always on my side, looking out for me and making her laugh to forget any of my smaller wrongdoings. Don't get me wrong, my mom was a wonderful woman with a heart of gold, and everything she did, she did for me. Maybe that's why when she died, just before I was due to go off to college, I took it so hard. But that's when my dad really came through for me. When I dropped out of school a couple of months later, he welcomed me home with open arms and let me wallow in my own misery for the first six months. I remember him coming into my room,

sitting down next to me at the edge of the bed, and we would just talk for hours. I think that's what I needed. After that, he got me a contract doing some part-time construction at a lumberyard that he worked at, and eventually I bucked up. the courage to reapply for college. And it wasn't just me that Dad was there for. He donated to a variety of charities and regularly volunteered at the hospital. He was a pinnacle of support in the

community, head of the neighborhood watch and the first person that people would turn to when things started to go wrong. When the next door neighbor lost his job, Dad was the first one around to offer advice and support. When a couple down the road were having a tough time, Dad was the one they turned to. And he never turned anyone away. It's just the kind of guy he was. My father got sick at the beginning of this year. The doctors later said that from the quick progression of the disease, it's likely he'd been ill for a long time before that. At first, it was nothing, really, just some unexplained aches and pains that he attributed to getting older. But when he blacked out at the top of the stairs and woke up bleeding at the

bottom, we knew that something was wrong. My wife and I took him to the doctors, and he was immediately admitted for tests. When we got the results, I was devastated. The first time I went to visit him in the hospital, he just looked so small, hooked up to all those machines. And after visiting hours were over, I went back to my car and cried and cried. It was hard for me to see my father like that. Speaking was painful for him and moving even more so. When the doctors told us that the disease that had ravaged his body wasn't going to go away, it almost made things better for me, knowing that his pain would soon be over.

By that point, all the doctors could do was hook him up with a cocktail of drugs for the pain. But if it helped him, then that was all right by me. I tried to get out to visit him at least three times a week. I knew that he was on borrowed time and I needed to be with him as much as possible in his last days. That day, it was even harder for me than usual. Most days when I went to visit him, he drifted in and out of consciousness,

the drugs that dulled his pain also doing a pretty good job of dulling his mind. But on that day, when I bumped into his nurse in the hall, she told me that he'd insisted on lowering his morphine dose. She said he wanted to be alert when I'd. came to visit. When I entered Dad's room, he was sat up, pillows behind his back, and his face

lightly frowned with pain. The constant noises of medical machinery beeping that were so familiar to me now seemed to fade as I saw him. His eyes lit up as I walked in, and sat down in the seat next to his bed. Jason, Jason, my boy.

I smiled at him. Hey, Dad. I was trying not to let my concern for him show on my face. He looked at me, his eyes softening. I'd never been able to hide my emotions from him. Oh, Jason, son, it's okay. I'm fine. Not the most comfortable I've ever been. But in life, we have to put up with a little bit of pain once in a while.

I smiled at him. As difficult as it was to see him in pain, after weeks of him being barely conscious during our visits, it was great to get the chance to actually talk to him again. I reached out and clasped his small, frail hand in mine. How are you doing, Dad? I'm doing okay, son. I'm doing okay. He smiled at me sadly, and I felt his bird-like fingers tighten around mine.

I need to tell you something, son, and I need you to listen to me. I need you to... Oh! Dad, there's no need. Please don't wear yourself out for this. There's nothing you could have to tell me that could warrant you putting yourself through this. He looked at me miserably.

Please, son. I need you to understand. I shut my mouth. Surely I thought to myself it was better to let him just say what he had to say than to carry on like this. Okay, Pop. I felt him relax his grip on my hand.

Go ahead, but I'm warning you if it gets too bad, I'm going to have to call for the nurse. Dad smiled at me, and I grinned back at him weakly. He cleared his throat once more and began. This thing, I need to tell you, it's not a good thing. And it made me hard for you to accept, even harder for you to believe.

But I need to. You ever lied to you, and I'm not going to start now. He looked at me with such desperation in his eyes that I knew I had to believe him. He nodded at me, my expression confirming to him that I would listen with an open mind. Now it may be difficult for you to believe this, but when I was a young man, I was not the kind of man that I am today. I had a temper. I had a temper and I was selfish.

As you know, I was born and raised in the Midwest. Your mother and I knew each other our entire lives, and in high school we finally got together and fell madly in love. A few years after we finished school, we got married and fell pregnant with you. I smiled. I'd heard my parents' love story a thousand times. But what we decided not to tell you is that when I was 17, just after we finished school, I walked out on your mother. I left the Midwest behind, and my best friend Johnny and I headed to the big smoke looking for adventure.

What? My father motioned at me to be quiet and continued. I know. I should have told you. especially after she died, but I was just so ashamed. And I know what you're thinking, and sure, I felt guilty at the time as well, but New York, I fell in love with New York the moment I set eyes on it. Despite my shock, I could picture it. My father, a young man, entranced by the bright lights of New York City,

there to carve a life out for himself. him and Johnny, eager and fresh-faced, ready to take on any challenges the city threw at them. And so I listened, wrapped, to the story my father told me. Johnny and I signed up with a construction agency and were set to work at building sites around the city. We were in at a tiny, grotty apartment on the Lower East Side. And when I say tiny, I mean tiny. Jeez. There was a bedroom with two single rooms.

mattresses raised off the floor on wooden pallet crates, a bathroom with a toilet and sink, and a little kitchenette with a fridge, sink, and stove top. But boy, did we love it. We spent our days on the construction sites, and at night we'd go drinking in the mustard lounge, our local watering hole, a dingy sports bar about a 10-minute walk from our apartment. Now, me and Johnny, we were best friends, but two young men working and living together in such close quarters well, as I'm sure you can imagine, we had our fair share of arguments, but at the end of the day, we were more like brothers than friends. There was nothing that either one of us could say or do that wouldn't work itself out eventually.

And all in all, we spent about two years in that shitty apartment working and drinking, and generally doing the things that young men do. One night, after work, we were out at the mustard lounge with some of our buddies from the construction site. There was some game on that night. I can't remember who was playing or even what sport it was. But Johnny got at him to his head that I was deliberately rooting for the other team. I mean, it was ridiculous.

And even if I was, Well, what? But that was Johnny for you. The argument got heated, and Johnny leaned past one of the guys and shoved me. The bartender, a burly guy from Brooklyn, rolled his eyes and from across the room growled at us. Cool it, guys. Cool it or take it outside? I looked at Johnny and muttered something about him being crazy, but left my beer on the table and headed out of the back door, hearing him following behind me. I stepped out into the cool night air. What had been a downpour had tapered off into a light drizzle, and I turned my head up to the sky. The cool rain hit my face in light droplets, and I felt the anger flood out of me. I turned to

apologize to Johnny, and wham! His fist smashed into my cheekbone, sending me staggering back. Johnny stood in front of me, nursing his hand, a sheepish look on his face, and I saw red. Hey, Pete, man, I'm... My fist making contact with the side of his head, blood pounding in my ears. Vision clouded by a crimson mist. His head twisted left, and he stumbled back from the impact. His foot slid on the wet sidewalk, a shocked expression on his face, and he slid. and tumbled sideways, his head smacking off the side of the curb as he hit the ground.

He spluttered once, and then was silent. The stillness that followed stretched for an eternity. Then the rain grew heavier, and the silence was engulfed by the sound of droplets hitting tarmac. Johnny's eyes, wide and unblinking, gazed up blankly from the floor. Blood seeped from the back of his head and oozed, mingling with rainwater, and washing way down the grate. I stepped back, staring at him. Donnie's eyes didn't move as droplets of rainwater fell into them. I fell to my knees, the palms of my hands stinging as they hit the floor. I crawled toward him and gingerly touched the back of his head. My hand came away, stained red.

I lurched backward in horror, wiping my hand on my jeans, twisted around, and threw up the contents of my stomach onto the sidewalk. I crouched there on all fours for a few seconds. Then I pushed myself slowly to my feet, and without turning around to look at him, I walked one step. Then two, then ran into darkness. I wandered through empty streets for hours. my mind racing and unfocused. When I finally broke out of my thoughts for long enough to register where I was, I was stood outside a dark bar in some part of town I didn't know.

I stumbled in through the door, down the stairs, and collapsed onto a stool by the bar. Me steadily, and without asking, poured a drink into a glass and placed it in front of me. Thanks. I took it gratefully and stared at it. my drink, a deep sickness in my belly, and a nauseating dull thud echoing in my head. A scraping sound interrupted my stupor, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the shape of a man pulling up a stool next to me at the bar. Nice night.

He gestured to the bartender for a drink. A tumbler of dark liquid was placed in front of him, and the man took a seat. sip. I looked down at the floor of the bar. Rainwater from my clothes was forming a puddle at my feet. Nice night. Stumbled further into the bar and sat numbly in one of the dark booths near back. I closed my eyes, swirling my drink in my hands. Nice night. What? I opened my eyes in shock. The man was sat opposite me in the booth. A slight smile playing over his lips. Don't you agree?

Look, man. I'm not in the mood for conversation right now. So if you don't mind, could you please just go sit somewhere else? I see. I'm sorry for the intrusion. I was just waiting for a friend. And you looked like you could use some company, he's all. I shifted in my seat uncomfortably, feeling with compressions.

foam of the seat move beneath me. I'm fine, but thanks for the offer. Not at all. I'll just leave you alone and wait for my old pal Johnny back at the bar. I froze. The hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention. I said I'm just waiting for my old pal, Johnny. He was being...

I suppose I can't blame him for being late. I imagine being dead slows one's sense of urgency somewhat. He winked at me. What the fuck? I pushed myself back into my seat, putting as much distance between me and the man as possible. Who the fuck are you? The man smiled wider. Too many teeth in his small dark mouth.

The dimness of the booth. seemed to grow, and he leaned toward me, hands clasped together on the table between us. Me, why, what does it matter, who I am? He paused and leaned even further forward. Hey, do you want to hear a story? Terror rose in the back of my throat like bile, and I jerked my head left signaling no. The noise of the bar seemed to fade away. darkness engulfing and leaving just me the stranger and the booth.

You do. I promise it's a good one. It's a story of two best friends, Petey and Johnny. And about how dear Johnny was murdered in cold blood and left to die alone on the sidewalk. Eyes filled with tears. And do you want to know what the saddest part about this story is? The tears began to fall from my eyes, and the darkness around the booth grew even more stifling. The saddest part, my sweet pity, is the twist.

The saddest part is that our dear Johnny boy who wasn't dead yet. Dying, yes, but not dead. When you ran away and left him on the side of the road like a dog, he was still alive. And the last thing he felt, other than the excruciating pain of death, cold fingers twisting around his heart, was fear. And the last thing he thought was... I choked out a silent... No. The pain of physical synchewsend.

sensation. I could feel the ground beneath me, the ache in my head from contact with the side of the road, the water forming shallow pools beneath me, the taste of blood in the back of my mouth. I closed my eyes, and I saw him lying on the floor. Eyes, milky white, hand stretched out towards me. Stop this! To tears and sunk forward onto the table. My body shamed. from thick, heavy sobs. Immediately, I could hear the low murmur of the other patrons and the light clink of heavy liquor being consumed. I opened my outranger sat opposite me, a sad smile on his lips.

I can take this away, Pete, the pain, the guilt, everything. I can bring Johnny back. I can make it just like it was. All I need from you is a promise. Piches of Johnny's milky eyes floated before me. Anything! Promise me, your child, Pety. Promise it to me, and I will bring Johnny back.

Visions of Johnny crawling down the stairs to the bar. Dead eyes staring at mine. Trails of dark blood. behind him flooded my vision. I could feel my mind was on the brink of insanity. Promise me, Pete. Promise me the first one. I could feel the back of my throat,

filling up with blood. My best friend mouthed the words, reaching up to me from the gutter. Save me. The flood of clamped down on my shoulder, and I just, I shouldered upright. I opened my eyes and looked over my shoulder. The bartender stood over me. Look, buddy, that one's on the house, but you've had enough. You need to go home.

I started and looked around wildly. There was no sign of the stranger. Where is that man? Tears were still streaming down my face. I wiped my nose roughly with the back of my sleeve. Where is the man from the bar? Tender gave me a look. It was just you at the bar, buddy. Just you. Now, I'm not going to tell you again. You need to leave.

Don't make me repeat myself. His hand left my shoulder, and he stood over me. Oh, shit. I got up. The world swaying around me, and the last memory I have was crawling up the stairs and out my eyes the next morning. The yellowing white ceiling of my apartment slowly rotating above me. I groaned and rolled over.

My head was pounding and my stomach was swirling. Then the events of the previous night came crashing back to me. My stomach, already in turmoil from the last night's alcohol, lurched, and I doubled over and threw up on the floor. I tumbled from the bed, staggered to the mirror, and there reflected back at me was a newly blossoming black eye from where Johnny had punched me the night before.

I broke down. The side of that dark bruising around my eye dismissed any hope I'd had that the previous night had been a dream. I'd lay on the floor next to the puddle of cooling sick consumed by grief and terror. I had killed my best friend. I had to hand myself in.

I remained there for a while. Images of Johnny's prone body going around and around in my head as I rocked back and forth, trying to gain the courage to get up. Eventually, I managed and forced myself to change out of the previous nights, vomit-stained clothes, and into clean ones. I left the bedroom, closing the door behind me. And I was standing by the front door stealing myself to leave when I heard it. No one but me and Johnny had the key to our shithole of an apartment.

Someone had broken in. My grief momentarily blocked out by a flash of white-hot rage, I kicked open the kitchen door and launched myself into the room, standing at the sink, doing the dishes. What's Johnny? He turned in surprise as the door burst open, and when he saw me, held up a hand in a casual greeting. Wow, man, you look terrible.

He grinned at me, wiping his hands dry on a towel. Where the hell did you run off to last night? He continued talking, not waiting for me to answer, whilst I stared at him, slack-jawed. Jeez, man, what the hell? happen to your eye? I said nothing. Pete?

Pete, are you okay? I crossed the room in three swift steps and clasped him in a great big bear hug. Hey, man, you stink. What the hell is wrong with you? He pushed me off him, and I grin back at him. Man, I have no idea. Gazed at him for a moment. Uh, I don't know.

I guess maybe I'm still a bit drunk from last night. I might try to get a bit more shut-eye. Yeah, you look like shit, man. All right, well, don't forget. We got to get to work for six. I nodded at him and then excused myself and returned to the bedroom. I lay down on my bed, a feeling of deep relief sweeping through me. It was a nightmare.

It was a nightmare. A fucking nightmare. But what about the blood? That little voice in the back of my head dismissed it. I didn't even remember the walk home, so no doubt my temper got me into trouble. And I was too drunk to defend myself. I lay on the bed and laughed to myself so happy that it had just been a terrible fucking dream. My father sputtered out the last word, and the sputter gave way to a cough.

I quickly reached for the glass of water by his bedside table and gently lifted his head to assist him in taking a sip. His hands were trembling as they grasped at my arms, and his body shook with each painful wheezing cough. I'm sorry, son. Tears rolled down the deep lines on his cheeks, and he covered his face in his hands. I'm so very... widening. Dad. Dad, listen to me.

It was a long time ago. It was a drunken nightmare. You have nothing to apologize for and certainly nothing to confess to. I paused, reflecting on the story. I didn't want to say too much more as the story clearly pained him, but I couldn't let him hold on to this crazy guilt. Dad, look, you said it yourself. You saw Johnny in the kitchen the next day.

Whatever happened between you and Johnny that night, whatever you think happened, was over the moment you saw him standing in the kitchen. I couldn't help but grin. In any case, even if you really had met that freak at the bar, it looks like he messed up. I'm your firstborn child. I patted myself down and smiled. And I'm pretty sure I'm fine.

My father just looked at me, with tears in his weathered, grief-stricken eyes. No. You don't understand, Jason. That isn't my confession. Stay in the city after that. That nightmare really stuck with me. The drinking and the partying, being surrounded by just guys all the time,

it was making me into a version of myself I didn't like. I left the city a couple weeks after that night and swore to myself that I would do my best to change. to be someone that I could be proud of. I went back to the Midwest, got a decent job at a lumberyard, and luckily for me, your mother, may God rest her soul,

was willing to take me back. A few years later, we were married, and a couple of years after that, she fell pregnant with you. We spent most of our spare time, baby-proofing the house. and arguing about what color your room should be. I wanted blue for a boy.

Your mother wanted yellow. So, of course, I got a couple of cans of yellow paint from Home Depot and set to work. And then, just days after we'd put together the finishing touches, the time came. You were born on the night of October 12th, and the first time I am. held you in my arms. I felt a love that I had never experienced before, but have been lucky enough to feel every day since. We were overjoyed. Yes, it was hard work, and boy, did you love to keep us up at night, but you were perfect weeks old. I woke up suddenly in the middle of the night. You know that feeling of pure terror you get sometimes when you jolt awake in the night.

That was the feeling I woke to, but to be honest, that had happened a few times since you were born. And each time, it turned out to be nothing. I think it's the parenting brain. But this night, I could feel something was different. I had a deep sense of unease, and it was quiet, too. A thick kind of constricting silence. I looked over at your mother, but she was breathing softly in a deep sleep. I remember thinking to myself that it was a blessing,

as she wasn't getting much sleep at all those days. I nudged her gently, but she didn't stir. I smiled and pulled myself up and out of bed to go and check on you. I walked up the corridor towards your room. my slippers shuffling softly as I approached your room was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open and stepped into your bedroom. Standing there in the middle of the room, over your crib, was the stranger.

For a moment, I just stood there frozen, too shocked to even react. He, his eyes, bright and malicious, shining out at me from the shadows, a ghost of a smile playing on his twisted mouth. Long time, no see, Pedy. He spoke without breaking eye contact, reached a clawed hand into your crib. I snapped out of my stupor.

No! The stranger cocked his head quizzically at me, but it was a sharp, unnatural movement that made my blood run cold. No? Oh, no, no. I realized with horror that the clicking noise was laughter.

His eyes. Please, there is no, please. Petey boy, we have a deal. Please. I tried again, edging closer to where you lay, just inches from the stranger's hand. Please, please don't take him. I was now at the edge of the creature.

standing opposite him, and I knew with a sickening, heart-wrenching jolt of realization that there was nothing I could do to stop this from happening. We have a deal. Smiled, revealing far too many small, sharp, bright teeth. I have come to collect what is owed to me. I threw myself at him, but an immediate fear. force pushed me back and I went crashing into the bookcase. The air was knocked out of me, pain radiating down my spine. The stranger by the crib yawned. You let out a little snuffle and I started to cry.

The stranger smiled wider and suddenly was right in front of me. His hands curling up into fists in the cloth of my pajamasure, pulling me towards him so that my face was just inches away from his. Now, now, darted in and out of his mouth, his putrid breath

falling over my face with each word. A deal is a deal, old friend. A deal is a deal. A patient man. Renocate terms, if you will. I will leave this sweet, innocent child with you.

Just like last time, I will wash away the sins of your past. But in return, you must grant me something else. We have an agreement, Pedy Boy, and I will exchange only blood for blood. Only blood equals blood. Your firstborn grandchild for your dear firstborn son. Oh! The stranger grinned at me, and I could see bits of black and rotting meat in between his teeth. Than you in his arms.

The dense liquid darkness of the room tightened around my heart. and hardened. In that moment, I knew that I simply had no choice. With tears in my eyes and hating myself, I echoed the words I'd said years. Smiled one was gone, threw myself towards the crib, and there you were, sleeping silently. I sunk down beside you on the floor, and I cried huge, racking sobs crying in a way that I hadn't cried since the night that I murdered my best friend

in my father's hospital room I pushed back my chair away from my father and quickly stood up my hands going to my mouth in a horror my father looked up at me from the bed eyes pleading do you see you see why

I had to tell you why you had to know. I backed away from my father's wretched form, my eyes wide, my hands shaking. No, Dad, this isn't real. I knocked against the window sill sending cards cascading to the floor. This can't be real. Back as the full horror of his story sunk into my brain. I looked at him once more, pleading and frail in the blankets. And without saying another word,

I turned on my heel and sprinted out of the room. I got out of the hospital and into my car as quickly as I could. I drove at full, reckless speed away from my father and his confession and back to my home, where my wife lay in our bed, nursing our newborn baby girl, a little of weeks ago. I got a call this morning from the hospital. My father passed away last night. The nurse on the other end of the line was curt. She knew I hadn't seen my father since that last morning

when he told me about Johnny. It's nighttime now, and the shadows seem a little bit darker than they have before. There is a thickness to this night that permeates my bones and makes my skin crawl. My wife is sound asleep in our bedroom, dosed her bedtime drink with sleeping pills, so she won't wake up.

She doesn't need to know what I'm about to do. It's getting late now. And I sit in this thick, suffocating, familiar blackness next to my daughter's basket and watch her ball her tiny, perfect hand into a fist. I know that tonight is the night that he will come for her. I can feel it in my bones. And so here I sit,

remembering my father and how he did, It is very best to be a good man, and I don't blame him for what he did. Not anymore. I can't, you see, because now I understand. As I sit here watching my infant daughter take one tiny, perfect breath after another, I understand the deal that he made, because I'm sitting here, waiting to meet a stranger and to make a deal of my very own. Hello there.

Well, hello. Days getting on. Awful, far from town. Did your car break down? Car, no, no, no, nothing like that. Just, uh, just out in the nature, enjoying the natural feelings. Oh, sure, sure.

Nice day for it. Isn't it? Hmm, lovely. So you're just going to stroll down this road here? Yes, sir. That is the plan. Well, son, you might want to rethink that plan. Because this road, you see, and everything down it is my private property. Now, I'll be glad to give you a ride back into town,

but I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to turn around either way. Oh, fair enough. Here's the funny thing, though. I do need to go that way, you see. I do not have time to go around, so could I, oh, pretty please, just tiptoe through your garden? You have my word. I won't harm a thing. Really, what do you say? You have a real unsettling manner about you, boy. So I've been told. Now, I think I've been exceedingly kind. But this is my final offer. Turn around now. And I won't have any reason to pull this trigger.

Well, when you put it like that, it doesn't seem we have a choice. We. What do you mean, we? What's going on here? Stop, all of you. Stop right. Kyle? Kyle? Kyle? What have you done, Kyle? Sorry. Oh, God. Sorry. I just thought, I mean, because of the gun and all.

No, hey, no complaints from me, just a surprise. Aw, and the tension was just getting good. Is everybody okay? Yeah. I mean, well, kind of. He's a little flat on that side now. Whoa. You thonked them? No, Kyle thonked. Look, I'm just a harmless bystander in all of this. I'm going to search his pockets for jerky. Bingo.

Nope. Hey, someone want to grab the legs? I've got them. We have keys? Check. Moral qualms about all of this? Anyone? I found a dollar on him.

I guess that's a no. All right, let's clown car it up, huh? We've still got ground to cover before the sun goes down. If we're going to pull this off before Atlanta, we can't afford to spend all night out here fumbling around in the dark. Hello, Kyle. Hey, James. What?

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 Pass 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.