The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S10E15

Episode Date: March 4, 2018

It's episode 15 of Season 10. On this week's show we have six stories about nightmarish nature, confident cults and ancient evils. "The Conqueror Worm"† written by Edgar Allan Poe and performed by Peter Lewis. (Story starts around 00:06:00) "Edward"† written by Sarah Daly and performed by Erin Lillis & Addison Peacock & Kyle Akers. (Story starts around 00:10:00) "Kensey Kendall’s Entrepreneurial Extravaganza"† written V.R. Gregg and performed by Peter Lewis & Mary Murphy & Jeff Clement & Erin Lillis & Nikolle Doolin. (Story starts around 00:28:15) "Three-Faced Thelma"‡ written by S.H. Cooper and performed by Addison Peacock & Nikolle Doolin & Erin Lillis. (Story starts around 01:06:00) "What Was Under My Bed"† written by C.E. Avery and performed by Elie Hirschman & Jesse Cornett & Addison Peacock & Mike DelGaudio. (Story starts around 01:26:50) "I Can't Let My Friends Leave The Mine"¤ written by Jon Grilz and performed by Jesse Cornett & Atticus Jackson & Nikolle Doolin & Mike DelGaudio & Dan Zappulla. (Story starts around 01:52:15) 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 Jörn Heidrath   Click here to learn more about Edgar Allan Poe   Click here to learn more about Sarah Daly   Click here to learn more about V.R. Gregg   Click here to learn more about S.H. Cooper   Click here to learn more about Jon Grilz   Host: Peter Lewis Executive Producer: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone Audio adaptations produced by: Phil Michalski† & Jeff Clement‡ & Jesse Cornett¤ "The Conqueror Worm" illustration courtesy of Jörn Heidrath 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

Well, it sure has been encouraging to see such a positive response to talk space, hasn't it, Jessica? It's been wonderful. In fact, our community manager, Olivia White, wants me to share how talk space can help her. She asked me to speak on her behalf because she's not comfortable speaking publicly. Indeed, talking and presenting can be intimidating for some people. But Olivia still wants us to talk about talk space, the online therapy service where anyone can get therapy without traveling to an office. It's important that we accommodate people whose mental health prevents them from doing certain things. Go right ahead. Olivia suffers from a condition called borderline personality disorder,

brought about by trauma from her teens that also ties into a physical disability she has. Because of this mental problem and her physical disability, reaching out and getting help can be an extremely daunting prospect. She has difficulty reacting to social situations and talking to people directly, and this extends to therapy, not to mention the fact it's hard for her to travel. Sounds like Talkspace would be a perfect fit for her. Right. That's why she loves Talkspace, the online therapy company that lets you message a licensed therapist from anywhere at any time. All you need is a computer with internet connection or the TalkSpace mobile app.

That means you can improve your mental health even if you've had trouble making time for it in the past. You can't imagine fitting anything else into your life. Well, with Talkspace, therapy is as easy as sending your therapist a message. Talk about everyday challenges at work or at home. Get something off your chest whenever you need to. Just chat about life. There are no extra commutes, no leaving your home, and no judgments. And for someone in Olivia's position, whose options are limited,

talk space can be a lifeline. And remember that therapy can be about practical everyday strategies for stress management and living a happier life. It isn't just about venting your innermost thoughts or digging into childhood memories. Having a therapist simply provides you a designated person for you to talk to who's trained to listen and help you make positive changes. And Talkspace is there for you whenever you need it. For some of us, mental health issues will be a lifelong struggle that can sabotage our attempts to get help. And knowing that support is out there can make a world of difference.

The Talk Space platform has over 2,000 licensed therapists. who are experienced in addressing life challenges we all face. To match with a perfect therapist for a fraction of the price of traditional therapy, go to talkspace.com slash no sleep and use the offer code no sleep to get $30 off your first month. That's talkspace.com slash no sleep with the offer code 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. Lovely night. Yeah, if you're into creepy, badly tented graveyard, shrouded by an eerie fog, illuminated only by scant, shimmering beams of lunar radiance, weaving through the canopy to grace it all, an eternal otherworldly glow, which I mean, I am. Breathaking. Flashlights, crisp, delicious flashlights?

It's straight ahead, I think. Hard to get an accurate read this far into the forest, but I'll try to narrow it down here. Understood. Everyone stay alert and do try to avoid common horror film faux paws, huh? I drive all the way out here, bumping around, ass just as an hour. numb as a snowman's carrot. The last thing I need is for one of you to wander off and get macheteed or wake the living dead. Atticus, keep your top on.

That's always how they get you. Think this is it? Over here. Hey, bring the shovel. I'll get it. Let's get our friend out of the back to. No tomb like the present. I'll help.

What is it, Matt? A headstone, I think. It's all covered in moss and... hair? Oh, that's disquieting. Someone lose a gaggle of wigs? God, I hope so. Does anyone have a flint and striker? Um, do you mean a lighter? Does anyone have a lighter? Please. Great Scott! What? What does it say? The flashlight, bring it closer. Here lies David Cummings. Born 1799.

died 1814, 1912, 1937. Brace yourself, dot, dot, dot. He died as he lived, stark naked and smiling broadly. No, it doesn't say any of that. Wait, lower down here, more of that archaic scrawl. Peacock, would you be so kind? Hmm, let's see. Below your somber, stony head, beneath at least six feet, of course, among the still and silent dead,

the key awaits you in the source. I'm just going to start digging. Because I feel like we're going to have to dig no matter what. We might as well just start now. And because I can dig it. I've been trying to find a way to say that for like an hour. Nice. Taking charge.

Ponds. The beautiful human form in most... I think at this point, it's fried just about everything it's going to fry. So that's good. Hmm. It tastes like spicy pickles. Now where did I put that button? That is not where I expected. Here we go.

There, if Alexis's modifications were successful, the stories should be flowing back at the compound. They are. You can't hear that? Hear what? Welcome back, listeners. I am a constant disappointment to those who put their faith in me most. And this is the no-sleep part. We are happy to have you aboard for this season 10, episode 15 of NSP. I've abbreviated it there to save some time, is why.

Now, to anyone familiar with me, it will come as no surprise that there are two things I enjoy. One being the flat-out murder of a dozen glazed donuts in a single sitting. The other of those things is poetry. All of us here at NSP, again, just for time's sake there, support literacy and fanciness wherever we come across it, which is why it is our special privilege to present a classic bit of poetry from a classic master of horror. Written by Edgar Allan Poe and performed by Lincoln merch, This is The Conqueror Worm. It is a gala night within the lone son.

latter years, an angel throng bewinged, bedight in veils and drowned in tears. Sit in a theatre to see a play of hopes and fears, while the orchestra breathes fitfully the music of the spheres. Mimes in the form of God on high, mutter and mumble low, and hither and thither fly mere puppets they who come and go. admitting of vast formless things that shift to the scenery to and fro, flapping from out their condor wings invisible woe. That motley drama, oh be sure it shall not be forgot, with its phantom chased forevermore by a crowd that sees it not,

through a circle that ever returneth in to the self-same, spot, and much of madness and more of sin, and horror the soul of the plot. But see, amid the mimic rout, a crawling shape intrude, a blood-red thing that writhes from out the scenic solitude. It writhes, it writhes with mortal pangs. The mimes become its food, and seraphs sob at vermin fangs in human gore imbued. Out, out are the light, out all, and over each quivering form the curtain. A funeral hall comes down with the rush of a storm, while the angels all pallid and wan, uprising, unveiling, affirm

that the play is the tragedy, man. and its hero, the conqueror worm. Uplifting stuff, many thanks, Lincoln. All things must die and or be consumed eventually. In this we can draw great comfort. I feel invigorated enough, I do believe, to introduce another story if it's not too much of an imposition.

In our first proper tale this week, we find a loving foster mom welcoming a second child. He is mute and fascinated by nature documentaries, birds in particular. But things take a turn for the sinister when he begins to imitate birds of prey. We are pleased to welcome author Sarah Daly to the show. You may know her already through her work with Hex Media as the writer of multiple indie horror movies. including Lord of Tears, the unkindness of Ravens, and the Black Gloves. We are honored to collaborate with her as well as performers Aaron Lillis,

Addison Peacock, and Kyle Akers. So, let's meet Edward. It all started with a belated, maternal urge. At 45, having never had any children of my own, I found myself longing for that most sacred and intimate bond, the bond between a parent and a child. It was too late for me to start a family the normal way, so I looked to the other possibilities. Adoptions seemed a long, drawn out, often traumatic process, riddled with potential disappointments and judgments. So I looked to fostering to fill the void.

Elisa was my first foster child. The day I brought her home was easily the most joyous day of my life, and by far the most terrifying as well. This little blue-eyed girl looked to me for everything, for food, for shelter, for love. The moment she took my hand, I sensed that life as I knew it would be turned on its head. Despite how she had,

suffered at the hands of her mother. She trusted me easily, totally. Her willingness to trust was worrying but beautiful. We had one year together, just the two of us, growing comfortable with each other, figuring it out between us as we went along. And then Edward arrived. The agency had called many times before about other children needing care, but I had always refused, adamant that I should devote all my attention to little Eliza. But when they called about Edward, something prevented me from refusing so easily. For one thing, Elisa was doing exceptionally well.

She had transformed from a meek, apologetic doll to a bubbly, robust, well-adjusted little girl. Secondly, this poor Edward sounded desperately in need of a home, of a mother's love. According to the agency, he had been severely neglected and either didn't or perhaps couldn't speak. For this reason, they were having serious trouble placing him in a home, but assured me that that was where he needed to be. So I agreed, and just three days later, Edward came to live with us. Edward was an unflinchingly solemn boy.

Eight years old, he carried with him the grim, aura of one who had borne witness to a lifetime of horrors. That first day, Eliza and I threw a little welcome party for him. Elisa presented him with a cupcake. She had baked specially with the letter E spelled out and chocolate on the top. Edward looked at it for a long time. Then, as if unsure as to the cake's purpose, he simply laid it down on the table and never returned to it. As the days passed, It became clear that there was much Edward was unacquainted with. He didn't seem to know how to do even the simplest tasks and showed no willingness to learn.

I tried several tactics to encourage him to brush his teeth, for example, but he would simply not comply and I couldn't force him. I wasn't even sure whether he understood what I was saying. A second and more disturbing problem was that Edward did not eat. No matter what I put in front of him, he simply ignored it. The more I tried to encourage him, the more disinterested he became. Those were tough times, but tougher times yet were just around the corner. One morning, Elisa and I decided to play a game while Edward was watching television.

Watching television, incidentally, was all Edward ever seemed to want to do. He would sit inches from the screen, eyes glazed, absorbing hour upon a an hour of nature shows. An odd choice for a little boy, I thought. But since it was the only thing he enjoyed, I left him to it. In any case, when I did attempt to turn the thing off or remove him from his favorite spot, he would throw terrible tantrums. To amuse ourselves, Elisa and I played a lot of board games, bringing the two of us even closer.

That particular Saturday, it was snakes and ladders, an old classic. Elisa made her move, then glanced back into the sitting room. Edward was entranced and paying no attention to us. Satisfied that he wasn't listening, she leaned towards me and whispered in a grave voice. Edward is none. I was immediately disturbed by this. I had never heard Elisa speak badly of anyone, not even the bully she had briefly endured in her playgroup,

not even the parents who had so abused her. Well, that's not a very nice thing to say. You don't have to listen to him. Now I was unsettled. The boy was mute. I had not heard him utter a single sound since he had arrived three weeks before. Even his tantrums were silent affairs, all flailing and banging. Eliza, what are you talking about?

You know Edward doesn't speak. I never said he was speaking. She looked at me. like I was the world's biggest moron. Cheeky, though her response was, I couldn't help but love how sassy she had become. I hear him in his room at night. He makes strange sounds.

I don't like it. A chill passed through me. I looked to the solemn little boy, sitting cross-legged in front of the television, and wondered what I had let myself in for. Nothing I can't handle. That's what I told myself as I stood outside. Edward's room that night, listening out for the sounds Elisa had spoken of. So far, I had heard nothing.

Then it started. I pressed my ear against the door. The sound continued. It wasn't a squeak, as I'd first thought. It was more like a chirp. In fact, exactly like one. For all the world, it sounded as if there was a bird in Edward's room. Could there be? Can I come in? I didn't expect an answer. When I opened the door, seconds later, I saw Edward apparently fast asleep in bed and no sign of any creature in the room with him. I walked over to the bed and sat with him. He was so frail-looking, so small for his age. He frowned even as he slept. What had happened to the poor boy to make him this way?

The next day was when the real trouble started. I woke to a woeful scream from downstairs. "'I'm instantly I recognized the scream to have come from Elisa. I jumped out of bed and ran to her. When I found her, she was sitting in the corner of the living room, crying her eyes out and cradling her left arm. I asked her what was wrong, but she was in too much of a state to reply. Gently, I eased her arm towards me to examine it.

Long, angry red scratches ran down the length of her forearm. Beads of blood adorned the deepest points of the cuts. The droplets trickled and ran down the child's pale arm. Elisa stopped crying. She was not calmed, but in fact seemed even more deeply troubled now. She stared at something behind me, terror in her bright blue eyes. I turned to see Edward watching us, that same somber look on his face. Elisa buried herself in my chest, shaking in fear.

I held her close. Edward walked into the kitchen and began opening cupboards, the fridge, the breadbin. He found nothing he wanted and left the room, leaving all the cupboards open. He went to the sitting room and turned on the television. He increased the volume as far as it would go until the whole house was filled with the sounds of the rainforest. Elisa looked at me with puffy red eyes, a heart-wrenching sight. I thought you'd be angry. I don't know what you mean, sweetie.

She stood up, took my hand, and led me out into the garden. I soon knew what she had meant. Almost half of the small-walled garden was taken up by an enormous mound of branches and grass. The branches had come from the neighbor's Japanese maple, stripped bare on one side, the grass from my own garden. The lawn peeled away to the brown earth. Edward did this? She nodded, brave.

That night, I cut Edward's fingernails. He squirmed and kicked and shook, but he was small and I was strong. I would have to be firm if I were to get through to him. Well, I clipped. I explained to him why what he had done was wrong. I told him in the simplest words I could that he was grounded for a week and would not be allowed in the garden to play. He showed no sign of having understood except for the continued physical protest over the fingernail clipping.

Nevertheless, I would stick to the punishment. I had to do something. I would have to redouble my efforts on getting him to eat as well. The boy was becoming worryingly thin. The next day, Elisa and I were in the garden, wondering where to start, when we were distracted by a movement at Edward's window. He was staring out through the glass,

not at us, but seemingly at the sky. There was nothing of particular interest in his line of vision as far as I could tell. Then suddenly something flew at the window so fast it was difficult to tell what. There was a sick thud, and then the something fell to the ground, limp. I rushed over to see it, motioning to Elysa to stay well away. It was a tiny bird, a wren, perhaps. For a few awful seconds, its body shook violently.

Then it stopped. The poor thing was dead. I went inside to fetch a place. plastic bag to scoop the creature up, and when I returned, the horrified look on Elyce's face immediately told me that something was terribly wrong. I soon saw the source of her terror. Not one body lay on the ground, but many. At least a dozen birds had fallen to their deaths onto my concrete garden path. I looked up at the window pane, now smeared with blood. Edward looked down entirely unfazed at the scene of death below,

then turned and walked away from the window. I carried poor Elisa to her bedroom and tucked her into bed with her favorite teddy bear for company. Battered old Ted always calmed her down when nothing else could. Then I went to Edward's bedroom. As soon as I entered the room, I could sense that something was not right. My stomach turned itself in knots, and my palms turned clammy.

Edward stood at the window again, facing the garden. But this time, the window was open. I noticed something else, Edward's fingernails. Somehow they were long again, long and impossibly sharp. I stared at them for a short time and finally realized that he had glued sharpened triangles of wood onto his fingernails. A wooden ruler, with sections missing, lay on his bedside table, proving my theory. I approached the boy slowly, my arms in front of me to show that I meant no harm. And then he climbed onto the windowsill, and before I had time to scream or grab him, he had thrown himself out.

I screamed then, all right. He would surely be dead, or at the very least, badly hurt. I had been entrusted with this sick, damaged boy, and I had failed him. His blood would be on my hands. With these awful thoughts echoing around my head, I ran to the garden braced for the worst. But I was not ready for what I saw. Edward stood on top of the pile of branches, seemingly unscathed. Perhaps I imagined it, but he even had the slightest hint of a smile on his face.

Not a pleasant smile of joy, but the smug grin of someone who had just outsmarted you. How was it possible that he had not been hurt? My head was spinning, my stomach sick. Edward bent his arms at the elbow, tucked his hands into his armpits and flapped. He strutted around his nest of branches, head jerking forward and back as he did. It was a troubling sight, to say the least.

Edward, what are you doing? He jumped down from his nest and began to strut towards me. He was still just a small boy, but some instinct in me kicked in and I was afraid. Afraid for my life. Boy's dead eyes were fixed on me, focused for the first time on something other than the television. At the last possible moment, he changed course and walked around me towards the French doors. I had to stop him. I couldn't let him back in the house where Elisa lay sleeping. So I grabbed him and held him tight.

But he was strong, stronger than he should have been for a child his age, and he struggled free, drawing blood from my neck as he did with his makeshift talons. Then he ran inside into my relief did not make for the stairs, but instead for the television, his mother, his sister, his only friend. He turned it on. My God, how I wish I had stopped him. The screen displayed A-Py. brutal scene of Mother Nature at her most fierce.

A vulture feasted on the corpse of a dead sheep. The bird sunk its talon into the animal's eyeball and plucked the thing out. It punctured the organ with its sharp beak and began to suck on the juice inside. Edward was fascinated. He looked at his own talons. Then he turned his head towards me. My gut told me to step back. to stay out of his way, but my head said to stay on my ground.

But Elisa, little Elisa, entered the room at that very second, looking for me and for protection. But before I could offer her any, her foster brother Edward swooped towards her, knocking her to the ground, and sunk his sharp talons into her precious blue eyes. As I grabbed my screaming child, Edward, into the sweet delicacies he had discovered,

and for the first time, smiled with joy. He had finally found something to satisfy him. To this day, I still don't know what happened to Edward to make him that way. The boy had no empathy, no kindness, nothing but pure animal instinct and hunger. I still believe that I failed him. But most of all, I failed Elisa. because of my unwillingness to seek help to admit defeat,

she is left blind. Her beautiful blue eyes plucked from her skull under my care. That day, Edward disappeared and was never found. I was deemed unfit to provide adequate care, so Elisa was taken from me and given to another family. And now I am alone again, except for the crippling regrets that haunt me, each and every day.

I know now the pure incomparable contentment that parenthood can bring, and that I will never know that joy again. In our next tale, a disillusioned startup owner pays $500 to attend a motivational seminar. However, he soon realizes that the charismatic speaker holds a cult-like sway over the crowd and subscribes to some rather violent methods for achieving success that will leave him asking, what cost must one pay to reach their goals? Allow author VR Greg and performers Mary Murphy, Jeff Clement,

Aaron Lillis, Nicole Doolin, and Peter Lewis to explain Kenzie Kendall's entrepreneurial enterprise. Saw the signs around town. And I have to say they intrigued me. Our community is pretty small, and it's not often that a big-name entrepreneur comes to town to share their secrets with us wage slaves in Nowheresville, USA. It didn't matter that I didn't recognize the name of said big-name entrepreneur. His tagline was pretty compelling. Trust the program.

Change your financial destiny. The signs explained these words across the features of a smiling man in a high dollar suit, in small print below. Kenzie Kendall has helped thousands achieve success in marketing and business. Why make money for someone else when you could be taking it all home yourself? Followers of the program are welcome to find out how you can be the best version of yourself at Kensey Kendall's entrepreneurial extravaganza. In smaller print below was for followers of the program only. I shrugged that off.

I couldn't blame the guy for trying to sell more books and kits or whatever snake oil makes one a follower of the program. But clearly it wasn't mandatory if they were advertising openly. I've always thrown around the idea of starting my own business. I'm a pretty clever guy, or at least I'd like to think so. I wasn't making much money at my office job, and I figured it wouldn't hurt to see what business secrets Kenzie Kendall could share. The price was a little steep. $500 for a single seminar was out of my comfort zone, to be sure. But something about that smiling picture gave me

confidence. What was $500, if not an investment in myself? I made plans to take off work the next Tuesday and drive out to the chain hotel by the interstate. If nothing else, it would be an entertaining day off, even if I didn't become a millionaire overnight. The hotel ballroom was arranged much like any conference I'd ever been to. At the front of the room was a stay. slightly elevated from the blue carpet tiles that covered the floor. A pair of white screens flanked it, and a single microphone stood in the middle. Across the top, a bright green banner declared, Kenzie Kendall's entrepreneurial extravaganza.

The ballroom was filled with long tables covered in navy tablecloths. Kenzie Kendall was evidently expecting a crowd. I counted over a hundred seats on one side of the room alone. I guessed that they had seating for 250 in the cramped ballroom. A few hotel staff bustled around the room, arranging centerpieces and placing cheap hotel pens and pads of paper on the tables. I looked down at my watch and saw that I was earlier than I had expected. I set up at the hotel coffee shop and watched as the cramble.

crowd began to roll in. There were a lot of people, more than I thought our small town could reasonably produce. Most were middle-aged women dressed in long-sleeved blouses, despite the humid July weather. They came in groups, all bedazzled jeans and oversized purses. They all clutched books with Kenzie Kendall's face smiling from the cover. And every one of them had a look of excitement on their faces, as if they were teenagers at a rock concert. There were a few odd balls, like myself in the group, bored-looking husbands, stooped old men, and the occasional unaccompanied guy. I tried to make eye contact when I saw the latter group just to feel less out of place.

As soon as they met my eye, though, they'd dip their heads down and disappear into the crowd. Must be feeling a bit embarrassed, I thought. By the time I finished my coffee and slipped back into the ballroom, it was nearly filled at capacity. I spied an empty seat toward the middle of the ballroom between a round-faced woman of about 50 and the wall. Next to her were half a dozen hard-cover books spread out on the table. Just like the other books I'd seen,

And each one bore the smiling face of Kenzie Kendall himself. I hesitated before approaching, unsure of sitting next to what looked to be a true superfan in a room of superfans. A glance around the room, however, confirmed that my seating choices were limited. Is this seat taken? She smiled up at me, and I saw that she was all. than I originally had guessed. Her eyes were wide and owl-like and rimmed in red. She looked as if she hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in some time.

Please have a seat. She cleared a couple of books away from the table and padded the chair. Aren't she just beside yourself? I mean the Kenzie Kendall in the flesh. Well, I just about died when I heard he was coming here of all. places. I smiled at her. I'm not too familiar with him, to be honest. I was just hoping to get some useful career advice. The woman looked momentarily taken aback before recomposing her face into a smile. Well, that's just fine, dear. The amazing thing about Kenzie Kendall is that he helps everyone.

No matter if you're coming to us late, the important thing is you've found us. I nodded and surreptitiously looked around the room to see if there was another empty seat. The woman had already started speaking again. He's just changed my life he has. I've read all eight of his books and I've followed his program to the letter. She paused as if remembering something. By the way, my name is Judy. Judy Cantwell. Uh, Robert.

Well, Robert, it certainly is a pleasure to me. meet you. I just know Kenzie Kendall is going to change your life too. Her voice lowered to a whisper. You wouldn't have felt compelled to come if you weren't ready. Ready for what? Judy laughed and touched my shoulder with a heavily ringed finger. You'll see, dear. I was about to ask what she meant by that when the lights in the ballroom dimmed. From somewhere above me, I was, you'll see, dear. I was about to ask what she meant by that when the lights in the ballroom dimmed. From somewhere above me, I was heard the loud thumping bass of upbeat music. It was so loud that I had to cover my ears. A single spotlight illuminated the stage,

which now swirled with white vapor from a hidden fog machine. From this whirl of noise and confusion a man appeared, he stood silently and unmoving just behind the spotlight. Though his details were hard to make out, I could tell by the crisp tailoring of his pinstripe suit and his tall, thin figure that this was Kenzie Kendall. With a single fluid stride, Kenzie stepped into the spotlight. The crowd let loose what I can only describe as a howl at his appearance. He smiled, and his white teeth caught the spotlight, reflecting their bleached brilliance back at me.

Disorientation momentarily took over me and I shut my eyes against the chaos. Finally, the lights in the room came back up and the music wound down. It was several long seconds before the crowd took the hint and settled back into themselves. Kenzie Kendall approached the microphone, looking like a well-polished hoaxter. We all know why we're here. He grinned out at the crowd. A smattering of yeses came in response. Oh, I know you have more energy than that.

I said, we all know why we're here, don't we? This time the crowd erupted in noise. That's right. We all have a vision. We all have a desire. He pulled his microphone from the stand and walked to the edge of the stage. Now, tell me, young lady. He bent down to a middle-aged woman at the front table.

What is your desire? I don't want to work anymore. You don't want to work anymore. You don't want to work anymore. He turned to face the audience. Who here doesn't want to work anymore? The audience cheers. in unison.

Who here is tired of the daily grind? Who here is tired of being told what you can and can't do with your own time? Who here is tired of the lack of respect that the world gives you?

More cheers from the audience caused my ears to ring. There was a fierceness to their enthusiasm that caught me off guard. Kenzie Kendall stood for a moment, seeming to revel in the adoration being thrust upon him. Now, you all know the overwhelming power of my program. You've seen the results in your own lives. I know you have, or else you wouldn't be here today.

Once again, deafening cheers. I thought by now the crowd might be settling down, but they only seemed to be ramping up. But I thought I'd bring out a living example of your collective success. I'd like to introduce you to Marla. Marla is a former housewife and current mother of three handsome boys. She discovered my program three years ago and followed it to the letter. At that time, Marla was stressed.

She was tired. She was given no respect at all. Her husband had to put her on an allowance. Kenzie spit the last word and the audience hissed audibly. But now, Marla is a successful businesswoman. She owns three luxury cars, a ski cabin in Aspen, and has been able to pay Ivy League tuition for each of her boys. Please welcome Marla.

The crowd roared as a petite woman in fitted pink suit walked onto the stage. Marla stood for a second, letting the audience calm itself back down. She looked every bit the polished corporate climber. A helmet of ice blonde hair framed her immaculately made-up face. She wrapped a manicured hand around to the microphone and began to speak with an assertive self-confidence. My dear Kenzie has already told you about my successes, But he only tells part of the story. He hasn't touched on the many failures that got me to where I am today.

Oh, before the program, I'd tried just about everything. I sold makeup door to door. I hosted candle parties, bugged my friends and relatives to buy leggings and skin care products, and weight-loss drugs. Marla paused for the audience to boo, and they happily obliged. I was lost, frankly, like so many of you were.

Then I discovered Kenzie Kendall in his remarkable program. At first, I was unsure. His method seemed so unorthodox. But hadn't I lost so much money on Go-Nowhere schemes? Why not try his program and just see? Well, I did, and the rest is history. Marla beamed out at the crowd as Kenzie Kendall approached her clapping. One by one, the audience members rose to their feet to give a standing ovation.

Marla did an odd sort of curtsey and waved as she retreated back behind the white screens. What immediately followed wouldn't have seemed out of place at any marketing convention. Videos were projected on the screen of normal people who had attained unheard of riches by following the program. Happy smiling faces of stay-at-home moms, unsatisfied 9-to-fifers, and the occasional retiree. Never in the videos did anyone mention what the program was or how they amassed their fortunes. I turned to Judy and whispered, what exactly is the program? She shot me a sharp look, eyes wide and panicked, before softening slightly. You really should have read Kenzie Kendall's first book before coming, dear.

But I guess she'll find out before too long. I felt like a world-class chump for falling for what looked increasingly like a pyramid scheme and seriously considered leaving. A little voice in my head reminded me that I had spent $500 to be in that hotel ballroom. Why leave now when the good stuff could still be coming? When the videos were over, Kenzie Kendall stepped back onto the stage to uproarious applause. It was as if you were just walking out for the very first time. He made a hand motion asking for calm and waited patiently until the cheering died down. Now you've seen what you can accomplish.

Now you've seen what you can become. You are all so close to finishing the program and today is your day! A feral cry erupted from the room as Kenzie Kendall continued. Join me. I'll make you wealthier than you ever imagined. I shifted in my seat, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. Beside me, Judy had bawled her hands into tight fists and was red in the face. Ecstasy was written on her broad features, and I looked away in embarrassment.

All around me, the same thing was happening to the other attendees. Some had their heads thrown back. Others were locked on to Kenzie with the kind of focused intensity I'd only witnessed at a strip club or in a nature documentary. For a moment, I thought they were going to storm the stage. Join me! You've given so much of yourselves already. Aren't you ready for your reward?

There was a wildness in Kendall Kenzie now, a feverishness that reflects. back out onto the audience. Yes, yes! Then it's time for the final stage of the program. Confusion spread through me as Kenzie Kendall began to undress on stage. He folded his jacket and shirt neatly and laid them on the stage, followed by his pants and shoes.

He stood before the crowd in his boxers, staring, unblinking into the audience. I shifted in my seat. What was this program? Did I inadvertently entangle myself with a group of middle-aged swingers? Before I could reflect on the bizarre scene in front of me, the audience rose as one to its feet. I hunkered down in my chair, hoping to go unnoticed. From my vantage point, I looked on in horror as the people in the crowd began to remove their clothing, too. Piece by piece, jackets, shirts, skirts, and pants fluttered to the blue hotel carpet, until each attendee stood naked in the crowd. But it wasn't the nudity that bothered me in that moment.

It was what the clothing had so effectively hidden. The skin of each body was criss-crossed with an elaborate webbing of scars. Some were old and white raised lines on soft bodies. Others were new and ugly, jagged wounds that still seeped and festered. On every attendee there was such a network of scars that only the hands, neck, and face appeared untouched. Beside me, I could see the flesh of Judy's thigh. A wound was open there from her hip bone to her knee, freshly scabbled over and deep.

My first thought was that she needed stitches that I should call an ambulance for her. My thought was interrupted by a squeal of microphone feedback. Why don't you stand? Kenzie Kendall's voice boomed out at me across the ballroom. I tried to shrink further into the wall partition as his voice drilled into my head. Next to me, Judy pointed a finger at my retreating figure. He hasn't read the books. He hasn't done the program. I could feel hundreds of eyes lock onto me. No, no, no, no, no, no.

I couldn't think or move. Kenzie, Kendall. looked at me curiously. Bring him to the stage. I tried to fight back as a dozen nude bodies descended on me, but it was no use. Two older men grabbed my arms and roughly dragged me to the stage. They shoved me before Kenzie Kendall and stood back, a foot behind me with their arms crossed, like mafia goons in an old movie. What's your name?

son. His eyes twinkled kindly as he looked at me. It's Robert. Kenzie nodded. Well, Robert, you're new to the program then. I nodded, uncertain. Good, good.

That's just fun. The seminars tend to be a little advanced. Kenzie Kendall turned to the audience and winked. Laughter filled the room. Tell me, Robert, what did you hope to gain by coming here? Out hard. Well, I guess I hoped to eventually start my own business.

Kenzie beamed at me and smacked me on the shoulder. Then you've come to the right place, my friend. I'll tell you what, Robert, and I don't do this for everyone. I'll let you join in today. The audience cheered as I should. shifted from foot to foot. I was aware of the two burly men standing just in my back. No thanks. Really, I'm... I'm fine with what I've already taken in. I tried to smile back at Kenzie, but he only shook his head.

Nonsense. You've paid your money. You've earned your reward. I watched as Kenzie approached a frail old... woman in the audience. What's your name, sweetheart? Sue. Sue. Beautiful name. Sue, would you like to help me initiate Robert

into the program? Sue's features lit up. It would be my greatest honor. Perfect. Kenzie led the old woman to where I stood. I moved to turn away from her, filled with an overwhelming sense of unease. The two men behind me grabbed my shoulders and turned me back toward Kenzie and Sue.

Before I knew what was happening, a straight razor was being pushed into my hands. I turned around to see Marla. Her pink suit was nowhere to be seen. I stared gawking at the white scars that had replaced the crisp fabric. She lightly tapped the straight razor and produced a ceramic bowl to go with it. Marla smiled sweetly as she shoved the bowl toward my chest. I stood numbly looking around at the scene before me. I held a razor and a bowl in my hands, unsure of what was about to unfold. All around me, the crowd stared at me, eyes wet and focused. Even Kenzie himself was watching me with that same predatory intensity. Sue cleared her throat and I snapped back to myself.

Right here, dearie. She pointed to an unscarred patch of skin on her clavicle. I froze. You want me to cut you? Well, yes. Just right here. Make sure to catch it in the bowl now. We don't want to make a mess.

I'm not going to cut you. I'm not going to cut an old lady. The crowd booed and hissed, moving noticeably closer to me. I tried to shrink away, but the two men behind me held me in place. Robert, Robert. Do you really want to deny Sue here the chance to complete the program? Look at how far she's come already. I stared at the roadmap of scars on the wrinkled body.

What had they done to her? Kenzie leaned in close to me and whispered. Each hand was bald into a fist. I swallowed hard and held out the razor in a shaking hand. I drew it lightly and unsteadily against Sue's breastbone and saw the faintest line of red appear. Deeper. I increased the pressure of the razor

until blood began to flow into the ball. I could hear the crowd beginning to make noise again. It was a hungry, impatient sound, and I told myself not to look at them. I focused entirely on Sue. They were closed and head across her face. I held back my finally when my bowl was nearly half full, Kenzie Kendall spoke up. That's enough. That's great, Robert. Now please drink.

What? From your bowl. Please drink what Sue has so kindly offered up. You don't want to waste your sacrifice, do you? I felt the eyes of the entire ballroom on. me. I looked out at the audience. Each person was holding their own straight razor and bowl. They must have been distributed while I was cutting soup. I gulped and brought the bowl to my mouth, afraid of what the crowd of razor-equipped crazies would do to me if I didn't.

I, I hesitated as the porcelain brushed my lips. I tipped the bowl and, and, I tipped the ball, And I drank. God help me, I drank. The liquid was thick and warm. It was all I could do not to vomit it back up onto the carpet. It seemed to take forever. But finally... Good!

The sound of his clapping was the only thing I heard as a rush of blood ran. Good! Wasn't that good, everybody? The audience nodded their agreement, now curiously silent. Their eyes were blazed over and their hands clutched their razors so hard their knuckles were white. Now, Robert. Kenzie turned his attention. You've got a lot of lost time to make up for.

Luckily, we've got a whole room full of people willing to help. Isn't that right, folks? On cue, the entire audience began to crowd in on me. I was taken momentarily by the precision of it. There was no pushing or shoving, no jockeying for position, just a calm, mechanical march toward where I was standing on the stage. I moved to run, but the two men and Marla blocked my path. They grabbed my arms and held me in place as the first of the audience members.

swiped at me with her razor. The others soon followed, crushing me in an onslaught of scarred body and flashing blade. They made quick work of my clothing, tearing at it with razors and fingernails, until I cried. Stop! Stop! Stop!

Tears. Well, the razors descended in earnest then, as if spurred on the scream. out and thrashed against them, but the hands on my shoulders were too strong. I barely felt the first of the cuts, numbed by adrenaline and panic. The pain began with the second wave of audience members. I cried and mutilated before me. Inch by inch, my flesh turned red and raw as blood deported from the gashes and cuts. Judy took a swipe at an unblooded spot along my torso, cut in into a soft space between my ribs, into her mad, lethal us took over. I was in my own bed,

wrapped in bandages from head to toe. I expected to feel pain, but instead I was curiously light. My body thrummed with a peculiar energy like I drank several espressoes in one sitting. A copy of Kenzie Kendall's foolproof program for success and happiness sat on my bedside table along with a bottle of disinfectant. I don't know how long I'd been lying there before I regained consciousness. It might have been hours, or it could have been days.

I suspect I was drugged after the initial bloodletting, but I can't confirm that suspicion. I might have known how long I was out if I'd bothered to call into work. I didn't even try. They'd figure out soon enough that I was quitting. It might sound strange, but I just can't imagine myself ever going back. to work for someone else. There are too many opportunities out there in the world that are mine for the taking. A great idea for a new startup.

And I've been working on the business plan, practically since I woke up. I can taste the success of it already. I can feel it in what's left of my blood. Got something. Do you... Do you think, uh... Do you think a withered hand, but like super strong, like pop out through the middle of the lead? Try to grab one of us, and we're all just like, Ah, Atticus's face.

His beautiful face is gone. We should never have come. No, just me. We've come all this way. We have to open it. Yes, let's pry the lid off. David isn't. He's not in there.

Is he? No. It's empty. Except for this little... What is this? A canister? It's got a little glass vial built into it. Whoa.

It almost looks like mercury inside. But it's floating or shifting somehow. No key? No secret panels, hidden levers. It does not appear so... Strange. So, do we still dump this? guy or...

Yeah. I mean, I guess if David needs it again later, he can just take him out. Right? It does seem to be our best option, poor man. We certainly don't have time to watch Atticus dig another hole.

The eyes have it, then, tipping him in. Son of us. Did the coffin just, like, digest the corpse? That would explain what I'm smelling. Hmm.

Should this be making me hungry? Uh, so anyway, I guess that's a proper enough burial there. Um, not, uh, not what we were expecting, perhaps, but a lovely ceremony. Anybody want to say something? I'm sorry, I hit you with a shovel. That was my bad, man. And thanks for the truck. It was really generous of you.

He didn't, uh, technically, you know what, that's a lovely sense. I'm just gonna go with that, and then I'll just slide the lid carefully here, back, back in place. There we go. Why do I feel as though we've struck some sort of bargain? I have the same nagging feeling. Well, what's done is done. Let's re-bury this bone, huh? Kyle, you've the vial?

I've the vial. Excellent. Let's get it back to the others at HQ and see what we can learn. It's possible this is the key we're looking for. We just need to understand it better. You know, it just occurred to me. Did anyone check his pulse? No, not really.

I found a dollar. I'm sure Kyle got him before the... Yeah, man, I'm sure I got him. He definitely didn't fall into the, into the, alive. I hope not. What a way to go, huh? Well, let's get on out of here before that hair grows back. Atticus, how's your whole?

Expertly filled. Great, and let's get back. Do we have everybody? Where's James? Uh, it's just us. Yeah, James isn't here. Of course James is here. I've just been talking to him.

I... Oh, what has James been saying to you? Tell them nothing, Kyle. They are incapable of understanding. Kyle? What did he tell you? I... I don't know.

He's really not here? Of course I'm here. I'm right here, Kyle. I won't leave you until it's all over. Get him in the truck. Nicole, keep an eye on him. Let's get back to base before this gets any weird. There just grew back.

Of course it did. 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 nosleeppodcast.com to learn about our season past program. 25 episodes, each over two hours walk,

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.

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