The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S10E18

Episode Date: March 25, 2018

It's episode 18 of Season 10. On this week's show we have five tales about wild women, hapless husbands, and phantasmagorical fantasies. "Glue Girl"† written by Felix Blackwell and performed by Mike DelGaudio & Corinne Sanders & Addison Peacock. (Story starts around 00:03:00) "500 Yards"† written by Henry Galley and performed by Addison Peacock & Erin Lillis & Dan Zappulla & Atticus Jackson & Mary Murphy & Corinne Sanders. (Story starts around 00:22:10) "Honeymoon Videos"† written Kelly Childress and performed by Jesse Cornett & Atticus Jackson. (Story starts around 01:03:00) "Jack in the Box"¤ written by Gemma Amor and performed by Mick Wingert & Erin Lillis & Elie Hirschman & Nikolle Doolin & Jeff Clement & Mary Murphy. (Story starts around 01:15:00) "AFFY"‡ written S.H. Cooper and performed by Addison Peacock & Nikolle Doolin & Matthew Bradford & Erin Lillis & Kyle Akers & Corinne Sanders & Mike DelGaudio & Mary Murphy & Dan Zappulla. (Story starts around 01:51:10) Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast   Click here to learn more about Jen Tracy   Click here to learn more about Felix Blackwell   Click here to learn more about Henry Galley   Click here to learn more about Kelly Childress   Click here to learn more about Gemma Amor   Click here to learn more about S.H. Cooper   Host & Executive Producer: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone Audio adaptations produced by: Phil Michalski† & Jeff Clement‡ & Jesse Cornett¤ "Jack in the Box" illustration courtesy of Jen Tracy 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. It's the No Sleep Podcast. I'm David Cummings. Thanks for joining us. On the show this week, we have five tales about,

wild women, hapless husbands, and phantasmagorical fantasies. It's a pleasure being back in the big chair again this week. The tour has wrapped up, we've all returned home safe and sound, and that devilish Peter Lewis has been relegated to wherever it is he relegates to. A simply massive amount of thanks goes out to Peter for hosting over the last month, along with the home team, who participated in all the shenanigans they got up to. It was Peter himself who, let's say, scripted all those events, and I'm thankful his creativity is used mostly for good. I'm glad so many of you enjoyed the adventures Peter took us on.

And of course, a big part of what made the past five episodes go so smoothly was the tireless work of our admin and production team. Senior producer Phil Mikalski, along with producers Jeff Clement and Jesse Cornett, kept things sounding amazing. And editor Olivia White, along with editor Gabrielle Lux and Kristen Neubert, made sure all the day-to-day details got looked after. All the voice actors, illustrators, caterers, you're all fantastic, and I'm so grateful the show could be entrusted into your worthy hands. And, of course, my gratitude is immeasurable for Brandon, David,

Erica, Jessica, and Nicole for making the tour an overwhelming success. 20 shows over 28 days, driving 9,500 miles across the United States, and performing in front of 4,000 fans. The response from everyone who attended the shows was simply incredible. We can't thank you fans enough for coming out and participating in the shows, including the many volunteers who showed up to help work our merchandise tables at various venues. Our fans, simply put, are the best. And so, as a sense of normalcy returns to what we do,

I think it's time to keep season 10 rolling. Our stories are ready, so let's start the best. journey. In our first tale, we meet a young man working part-time while at college. But as author Felix Blackwell describes, when a co-worker of his begins dating a somewhat mysterious man, her behavior becomes even more mysterious than the man she's supposedly seeing. Performing this tale are Mike Delgado, Corinne Sanders, and Addison Peacock. So keep an eye on your co-workers, especially if one of them is the glue girl. In my junior year of college, I got a part-time job in downtown Santa Cruz,

just down the hill from the university. It was one little office in a big building full of other small businesses. We were affiliated with the registrar division on campus. And if you don't know what that is, they basically handle student enrollment, records, graduation, and so forth. While my office's task was to print, prep, and ship the physical diplomas you receive when you graduate with a degree. It was boring work.

But since little supervision was required, my boss was hardly ever around and I could blare music or Netflix while working. A handful of other people worked there too, but I often ended up on the late evening shift by myself. One day, my boss hired a new employee named Stephanie. I actually knew her already. She was a freshman on campus and the younger sister of my close friend, Brianna. Stephanie had guys crawling all over her, and we often spent the long evenings talking about all the terrible dates she'd go on each weekend. Stephanie was chronically in search of a boyfriend, so each Monday she'd have a new story to tell me about an awkward, boring, or creepy date. She was one of those unlucky folk who seemed to only attract people who are totally wrong for them.

I found the tales of her romantic conquests, or more accurately, failures to be incredibly amusing. Eventually, one of my coworkers quit, so I moved into the empty position. It was more administrative and required that I sit in front of a computer all night. Stephanie took over my responsibilities as a printer slash assembler, so I had to train her on how to prep the diplomas. Part of this process involved gluing a shiny gold seal with the university logo onto the paper. Well, my company used this horrible aerosol glue that smelled like varnish,

and its fumes were so intense we couldn't spray it in the office. Instead, whoever got stuck with the gluing had to go down a floor into the underground parking garage. The building was in a guard at Business Complex, so there weren't any homeless people or weirdos hanging out down there. It always felt pretty safe, but it was lonely and dark. I hated being down there because by the time I was just arriving for the late shift, everyone else in the building had already gone home.

Every little sound echoed on forever. So when the pipes clanked or the building shifted, it always felt like there was someone or some thing skulking around nearby. Stephanie was terribly creeped out by the parking garage. So I agreed to come down and check on her every 20 minutes or so while she glued. Whenever she was down there, she wore her iPod earbud so that random little noises of the building wouldn't freak her out. Occasionally, I'd sneak up and scare her, and she'd smack me. Her playfulness made the job tolerable, and we goofed off more than we worked on most nights.

About a month into our new positions, Stephanie excitedly told me she'd met a guy she liked. His name is Tommy. Tommy, eh? Tell me more. So he doesn't go to our university. He lives nearby and we met while I was waiting for a bus. So you're basically living in a rom-com? I could practically see hearts in Stephanie's eyes.

It was a far cry from her usual cynical, self-deprecating rundowns of disastrous dates. According to her, Tommy was handsome, smart, and hilariously funny. His parents lived in Maine and he owned a huge house and a bunch of land and horses. You wanted to take her there to visit. Already talking about meeting the parents? That's bold. Hey, I've just always wanted to go to Maine, okay? Stephanie was twirling her hair around her fingers,

and after speaking, she bit her bottom lip gently. Even in the dark, dingy underground parking lot, I could see she was glowing, smitten. That was the best way to describe it. For about two weeks, Tommy was all Stephanie ever talked about. Whenever I visited her in the parking garage, she'd prattle on and on about their most recent date, or a movie they watched together, or something sweet he'd done for her. This guy was so invested in her that his romantic gestures even gave me

some ideas for my then-girlfriend, now wife, Faye. But as time passed, I started to notice a change in Stephanie's personality. She'd come into work exhausted and lethargic, sometimes totally spaced out. Then she'd suddenly perk up and talk my ear off for hours before going quiet again. I figured she was adjusting to the ebb and flow of stress as midterms passed. Or maybe she'd started some medication. I never brought it up. We weren't close enough for me to ask about stuff like that. But eventually, she began to worry me. One night as I stepped out of the elevator to go check on her, Stephanie's rolling laughter filled the parking garage. I first thought was she was listening to Dave Chappelle on her phone, whom she often talked about. But when I rounded the

corner, I found her diligently gluing and stacking diplomas with her earbuds dangling around her neck. When I asked her what was so funny, she gave me a big, beaming smile. Tommy took me out for pizza last night, and he... Take your time. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just, oh my God, he took me out for pizza last night, and he was walking, and he tried. And he tried. Tripped and fell face first into the pizza. I stood there, trying to picture the scene. It kind of felt like the thing that doesn't really happen, like something that only go-down staged for YouTube.

For a moment, I wondered if Stephanie was lying. But her residual giggles giggles and expected look as she stared at me caused me to relent. We carried on talking. She described the evening in great detail, fawning over the lustrous Tommy and her news, yet now familiar way. After our conversation, I got back into the elevator to return to my floor.

Just as the doors closed, I heard Stephanie try to conceal another explosion of laughter, which she followed up with a whisper. They've broken me out. I don't know how. For sure that she wasn't talking to me. Rather than confront her about it, I decided to just pay attention to Stephanie's behavior and see if I could figure out what the deal was on my own. She'd clock in at the office, print up a few dozen diplomas, grab her supplies, and then disappear into the parking garage.

Sometimes I'd hear her muttering to herself as she walked to the elevator, or slipping out a few ill-concealed giggles. One night, I found Stephanie in her corner of the parking garage. She seemed too focused on her task to chat with me, which was a little odd, given her normally loquacious nature. I asked what she was listening to on her earbuds. Just random shit. This guy has a weird voice. As I left, I hung back in the shadows and watched her. She hummed and sang nonsensical phrases to a song I'd never heard, occasionally pausing to look up into the darkness at something I couldn't see.

When she leaned over to grab the glue, the cord of her headphones spilled out of her sweatshirt. The jack wasn't plugged into a phone or an iPod. She wasn't listening to anything. It was at this point that I realized, she'd probably become addicted to drugs. One of my best friends fell into meth a few years back, and I'll never forget his psychotic behavior whenever he was frying.

I finally confessed my concerns to Brianna, but her reaction surprised me. My little sister has never done drugs in her life, dude. Okay, but that you know of? There's always a first time. You don't have any siblings, do you? No. Well, then, I'd know.

Trust me. I'd know. You just do. Okay, then. What about this Tommy character? You don't think there's any chance he's gotten her into drugs or something? Tommy? The guy she's seeing? What? Okay, that's... That's news to me.

You must have got it wrong, dude. She's not seeing anyone. She would have told me for sure. Okay, but... Nope. You're mistaken. Ask her. Fine. Have you really not noticed any unusual behavior in her? Like, at all?

Nope. And that was the end of the conversation. I sat on my concerns for a while and considered two possibilities. That Brianna had been totally duped by her sister, or that she was lying to protect her. I struggled to accept either one. Brianna was whip smart and saw right through people's bullshit, especially that of her friends and family, and she was honest to a fault. The only other explanation I could come up with was that Stephanie acted weird at the office,

but not anywhere else. The next time I went to work, I perused the office, looking for anything that might cause someone to act strangely. Asbestos, gas leak? I'd even heard about electrical wiring and how it causes some people to feel like someone's watching them. Same goes with vibrating pipes. There were pipes in the garage, weren't there? Where she goes down to glue. And I thought about that horrible glue.

But it couldn't be that. I worked with that stuff for months without much more than a few headaches. When Stephanie came in that night, she seemed to be in a good mood, for the first hour anyway. But after printing up her diplomas and grabbing her supplies, she eyed me suspiciously and set off toward the elevator without so much as a nod. I suspected she was angry at me for having spoken with her sister. But as the night passed by, I realized she was vacillating back and forth between cheerfulness and looking like she'd seen a ghost.

I visited her twice that night in the parking garage. The first time she was warm and friendly and told me all about how Tommy had taken her to the movie theater where they first met. I thought you met him at the bus stop. Uh, nope. I hardly ever used the bus. Do you, uh, do you have a photo of Tommy on your phone?

I'm dying to see this attractive mystery man. Tommy hates having his photo taken. He's one of those people. Alarms were going off in my head. I was pretty sure this girl needed some psychic. attention. But aside from her weird stories, she seemed completely lucid. The second time I went to visit Stephanie that night, I found her crying beside a splay of diplomas and a mess of glue on the pavement. I ran over and asked what was wrong. Tommy, he's gone. He left me. In fact, I felt relieved. But the waves of

sadness coming from Stephanie caused me to relent. He's... He's got someone else. Another girl. He doesn't want me anymore. I was trying to pry more information out of her when something shattered my focus. I looked to the far end of the parking garage and saw a man speedwalking through the shadows toward the exit. His movement seemed too furtive for a businessman leaving work late.

Hey! At the sound of my voice, he bolted. I chased after the man, wanting to catch sight of him in case I had to make a police report, but he vanished into the night. I went back to ask Stephanie if that guy was Tommy, but she was gone. The diplomas lay neatly stacked where she'd been sitting, and the glue canister was nowhere to be seen. I found Stephanie upstairs in the office,

reading off the names from another pile of diplomas and laughing hysterically. I demanded to know what the fuck was up with her, And when she ignored me, I whipped out my phone and told her I was going to call 911 and get her to a hospital. She dropped the diploma she was holding and shot me a furious glare. When I looked into her eyes, I didn't even recognize the person staring at me. All I could see was rage. Everything else about her presence felt hollow. It felt as if Stephanie had vacated her body to make room for some demented spirit.

After staring daggers at me for a few seconds, Stephanie jumped up from her chair and dashed. out of the office, screaming and babbling as she went. The word of it. But I was absolutely certain at this point that she was experiencing a psychotic break. I told two police officers everything that happened and gave them Stephanie's phone number, as well as her sisters and my bosses. They assured me they'd find her, then get her the help she needed. Two days later, Brianna called me.

I haven't worked another shift yet. I haven't seen her outside of work either. Why? Haven't you? No. I'm sure it's fine. Sure, she's fine. She's probably taking some space to hit her head together.

I'm sure she's fine. It sounded like Brianna was trying to convince herself, more than me. When I went to the office, my boss told me Stephanie hadn't clocked in all week. A little more time passed, and it became clear it wasn't fine at all. Brianna was panicking now. The police visited me in my dorm, this time with a police detective and a few school officials. They took a much more detailed account of my interactions with Stephanie, then left without telling me much. They only said that a missing person's case had officially been opened.

The days came and went. They blended to weeks, and I watched Brianna slowly break down and drop out of her classes. She took a leave of absence and went back home. Losing someone you love to an untimely death is terrible. But when they vanish altogether, and sometimes even worse, you never. You never know when to start the grieving process. You never know when to let go. A little over a month after her disappearance, Stephanie was found.

They wouldn't tell me anything over the phone. I had to go down to the station at the base of the campus, then to the headquarters downtown. It made no sense to me. The first tip came from a police department in Portland, Maine. An old couple had witnessed a young woman walking around on their property, completely nude, just before dawn. She was shouted.

was shouting and behaving strangely. The couple lived near the ocean and said that the girl ran back and forth from their beachfront yard to the water, screaming at the lighthouse in the distance, begging someone named Tommy to come get her and take her out there. The man called the police and went outside

to talk to the girl, but she ran away. Stephanie's wallet, with her student ID and credit card, was found on the rocks just beneath the lighthouse. Now, this particular lighthouse is accessible only by boat, and only operators are permitted on the island. It was not a tourist destination. How her possessions ended up there was beyond the local law enforcement. But it only got weirder and more terrifying from there. Twelve hours later, Stephanie's body was found deep in an abandoned mine shaft, wedged between two jagged boulders, an idle wild,

a mountain town in Southern California. Local hikers heard a young woman screaming, from holes in the stone walls around suicide rock. She was screaming for a man named Tommy. How she was screaming is still a matter for the police to determine. Stephanie's nasal passages and throat were completely clogged with glue, and her eyes had been glued shut. They found the substance kicking almost every inch of her hair at the roots, but none of it was found on her hands,

suggesting she had not been the one who applied it. In the following weeks, I was informed that Stephanie's credit card had been used to purchase a one-way ticket to Maine. No return ticket had been purchased. The cops pulled her cell phone records and found that no calls or texts had ever been made to anyone living in Maine, nor anyone named Tommy. All of her recent phone correspondence was investigated. And although Stephanie had gone on many dates and texted many guys in the months leading up to her death, all of them had alibis, and the case currently has no leads. I sometimes wonder if Tommy was real,

if he was some psychopath who preyed on young unstable girls, if he gave her drugs. I wonder if Stephanie had simply given herself brain damage by sniffing too much glue. And I wonder if the woman spotted in Maine really was Stephanie at all, or just an elaborate ruse to complicate her kidnapping and murder. Stephanie died eight years ago, and on my old campus she's become a dark legend known as glue girl, talked about only in the meadows on Friday nights by stoners trying to scare each other.

I will never forget the murder in her eyes when she glared at me, nor the sincerity in her voice when she talked about the man of her dreams. Imagine yourself waking up in the empty large trailer of an 18-wheeler, tied up, mouth duct tape shut, and not alone. That's where we join this tale from author Henry Galley. A woman and her friends find themselves at the mercy of a dangerous trucker whose idea of fun is a nightmarish game of chicken. Performing this tale are Addison Peacock, Aaron Lillis, Dan Zapula,

Atticus Jackson, Mary Murphy, and Corinne Sanders. So keep your wits about you when all you have to do is make it 500 yards. I was moving when I opened my eyes. It was dark, and my legs were crumpled beneath me in some awkward approximation of kneeling. The whole environment seemed to jutter and quake, thrusting forwards, but always rumbling steadily. When the sharp, piercing ache in the back of my skull finally settled down, I could think straight enough to realize I was in the back of a vehicle, and I hadn't gotten in by choice.

When you wake up after being knocked unconscious, you're stuck playing CSI with your own crime scene. My wrists were bound together at the small of my back with a thin length of rope that burned my skin when I tried to move them. And when I finally became lucid enough to attempt calling for help, a strip of duct tape stopped my words at the door like some asshole security guard. Next up, what was the likelihood of escape? Considering I was a 21-year-old girl and not Jason born, I didn't fancy my chances. My phone was in my bag, and that didn't seem to be with me, so it essentially didn't exist.

I didn't carry any kind of weapon on my person, and even if I did, with the bindings in place, I'd need to be a professional contortionist to reach it. The one line of defense still on my person, as I could tell from the uncomfortable lump in the butt pocket of my jeans, was one of those rape alarms that squeals like a banshee that's just stubbed its toe when you pull out the pin. Seeing as I was already in the back of a van, probably taking me to Ted Bundy's tricked-out murder dungeon,

it seemed a little late for that to be useful. Conclusion? I was pretty much screwed. Screaming came next. Again, duct tape, so it was more like a kind of muffled, distressed, Deep, that came mostly out of my nose and could barely be heard over the growl of the engine in motion. An impotent non-scream, lobbed out into the dark like a message in a bottle getting thrown into the mouth of a fucking volcano.

I didn't think for a second anyone would hear it. I guess I just figured it was one of the things you're supposed to do in a situation like this. That's when a few similar noises came back to me. too diverse in pitch and volume to be echoes. Not being alone. I couldn't decide whether that was a good or bad sign. It could have been good in the sense that there's strength in numbers, but I still couldn't shake the feeling that someone capable of subduing a group of people

and tying them up in the back of God knows where was more of a threat than someone who just stopped at one. An ambitious kidnapper? one that was happy to take chances, probably knew what they were doing by now. They were less likely to show mercy. We all just sat there in the rumbling dark, quietly moaning behind our duct tape bandanas and hoping this would somehow be less terrible than it seemed. It didn't feel likely, but we had to hold out hope for something.

That's when the vehicle ground to an abrupt halt and threw us all sideways. I suddenly became aware of the space around me, the expanse of it. We weren't in the back of a van. This was far too big for that. And all the moans, in hindsight, sounded way too far apart. We must have been in the back of a... Sudden silence as the engine died. It felt eerie.

To suddenly be able to hear myself and all the others breathing. May this whole nightmare of a situation seem more... real. Somewhere, beyond the thin metal walls of our prison, a door opened, then slammed shut, and footsteps crunched across the ground outside. Not one of us dared make a sound now. A rectangle of blinding white light yawned open about ten feet in front of me, scorching my retinas and forcing me to turn my head in search of the welcoming dark. But there was no dark. But there was no Then. Just four people. All my age. All tied up with a shimmering strip of silver plastered over their mouths. All sweaty. All disoriented. All bug-eyed in terror. It was Mark, Ellen, Doug, and Jody, my friends, my teammates. Ah, you're awake. That's good.

adjusted and I turned to see what I hoped was a squad of cops here to rescue us. It wasn't. It was a woman in a brown flannel shirt and a denim jacket, wearing a trucker cap and sunglasses that seemed to hide most of her face. But all of those details just felt incidental to the pump-action shotgun she was leveling at us with a smile. Up and at them, kids, I'd hate to messy up my trailer. She pumped the shotgun for what felt like effect and gestured to the outside. Slowly, and with aching bodies, we found our feet and shuffled down towards the mouth of the trailer. From the dimensions of the big chrome toy box we were being kept inside, the vehicle must have been some huge truck, probably an 18-wheeler.

The driver, with her patch-covered denim and glinting weapon, definitely looked the part. There were five of us, so the natural instinct would be to rush her. She could only fire one shot at a time, after all. But none of us seemed to be in a fit state to do that. I felt somewhere between having gone ten rounds in the ring with Ali and experiencing a 26-hour budget flight with no layover and nothing to drink but cheap airline booze. You could have knocked me down by breathing at me.

Nice and steady, nice and steady. Don't want you poor kids, kids. getting injured just yet, do we? One by one, we made the surprisingly large jump from the trailer's maw down onto the dirt road we'd parked on. There was a dense thicket of trees, teeming with green, standing at attention on either side of us. You could smell oil and burning dust hanging heavy in the evening air as the falling sun painted everything in tones of glowing orange. There we go. That wasn't so hard, was it? The driver, our captor, the one threatening to blow us away any moment now, seemed a lot bigger up close.

She looked like she was in her early 40s, probably a good 6-2, towering over me, Jody and Ellen, and standing at least nose-to-nose with Mark and Doug. She was built solidly, with thick arms that filled out the sleeves of her jacket, sturdy legs, broad shoulders, and a beer gut that strained the buttons of her shirt. She didn't look fat, though. She was solid, like she was carved out of wood. The word fits was embroidered on the left breast of her jacket in red string. Okay dokey, let's have you all down by the side of the truck, near the edge of the forest.

She gestured with the barrel of her shotgun, grinning like she'd just won the lottery. None of us saw any reason to rebel. It wasn't worth the risk of getting reduced to squishy pink mist by a shotgun blast. Not yet. We trudged down into the shadow of the big rig, belonging to the woman whose name I could only guess was Fitz, if that was even her jacket. She stole people, so I wouldn't put it past her to steal clothes.

We were all like a line of ants, following one after another. When we were positioned neatly in front of the forest, Fitz retired to the cabin to put away her hat and shades. When she came back, we could see her face properly. And the mane of thick brown hair that rested on the back of her jacket. It looked matted and tangled in places, like she'd not washed it in months. Fitz walked down the line until she reached me. I'm going to need you kids to get down on your knees.

It took us a second, seeing as we were still dead. dazed from the darkness of the trailer and the wax to the head that presumably got us there. But Fitts was impatient. She put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me down like a child. She was strong. Not normal strong. Scary strong. Strong in the way the truck she was driving was strong.

Even if I had tried to resist, there was no chance in hell I could have done so successfully. I went down on my knees and the others followed. my example, or rather the example Fitz had made of me. Sorry if I seemed a little short there. I skip breakfast for this. Always makes me cranky. They don't call it the most important meal the day for nothing, you know? Let's just talk about this, is what I tried to say. But thanks to my good old friend, Mr. Ducktape, it came out as muffled gibberish. Oh, right, shit, you can't talk. Okay, okay, I'll take the gags off.

But let me just tell you, kids, we are in the ass end of nowhere right now. You can scream until your lungs bleed, but all you're going to succeed in doing is pissing me off. And you don't want that right now. You all understand? We nodded, like a collection of bobbleheads she'd probably keep on her dash. Fitz stepped toward me and leaned forward. Great. All right. You first, sweetheart.

I prepared for the sudden pain of the tape being torn off as she raised her hands up to my face, but I noticed something about her fingers, specifically the nails. They were long and sharp and pointed, but not like any nails I'd ever seen. They were too thick, too opaque, almost conical, but curved. Those weren't nails. They were claws. She moved a clawed index finger over the tape like she was drawing a smile onto my face with it. And then the tape came apart.

A rush of dry summer air forcing down my throat. Fitz moved across the line and did the same for all of us. Look, miss, be reasonable. We don't want any trouble. Ever the people pleaser. Fitz gave a cruel half-smile. Aw, but I like trouble. Why do you think I kidnapped you?

Jody spoke now. We don't know your name, and we'll forget your face. Nikki Fitzgerald, but please call me Fitzgerald. And who could forget a face as pretty as mine? She gave a wide grin and fluttered her eyelashes mockingly with one hand under her chin. I wanted to believe it was just a trick of the light or my scrambled brain, but her teeth seemed unusually pointed at the ends. Mark looked like he was going to cry.

We won't tell anyone about this. Me either. Let's just keep it our little secret. Look, we could do this back and forth bullshit until nightfall if you want, but it's not going to do you any favors. I'm not going to just let you go like that. It'd be a waste of time and effort.

But that's not to say you won't survive this. chances are slim but you might Ellen was already crying ugly crying covered in tears and snot the only thing stopping me from being the same was the sense that all of this could still be a dream oh then let me explain young lady

what we're going to do is play a little game see this here forest it goes on for about 500 yards before it reaches a nice little clearing, where all there is is some wild grass. What I'm going to do in a minute is take off all your bindings, so you can make a run for that clearing. You probably all know why I picked you now. The realization set in like the feeling of hearing footsteps in your house at night and trying to remember if you locked the door. Me, Jody, Mark, Ellen, and Doug.

We were Virginia U's track and field team heading out of state for an athletics tournament. Somehow, Fitz must have known about that. And she wanted us. She wanted runners. Here's the dealio. If you reach that clearing, you're free.

You've hit a home run. You won't see or hear from me ever again, and you'll get to live happy lives with all this behind you. but I'm going to give you a 10 second head start, and then I'm going to start chasing you. Fitz was built like a bear, like she could twist one of our heads off with her bare hands and not break a sweat. But she didn't look like she could outrun us, not even when we were confused and scared and aching. What happens if you catch us? She gave a big, uncomfortable grin that bared what I now knew couldn't be anything.

but fangs. Isn't it obvious, beautiful? I'm gonna eat you. In any other context, I would have laughed. It seemed so ridiculous. Not even Fitz was taking it seriously. Doug's brow knitted into a wrinkled arch of disgust.

You're crazy. Crazy? No, I'm not crazy. Five is the perfect number. Four, and I might have to stop at fucking burger. on the way home or some shit and six. I'm bloated all weekend and that's no fun. Five, that's the magic number, baby.

I like to think of Saturday as my cheat day. I get to be a little naughty. My fear became anger, and that anger found its expression in words. Why are you doing this? Just told you, if you wanted to eat us, you could have done it already. I could hardly believe I was actually saying this.

What's with all the chase bullshit? Why can't you just get it over with? The others stared at me like I'd just personally signed their death warrants. Fitts just laughed and reached into a little leather pouch attached to her belt. She pulled out a buck knife with a surprisingly small blade, and she seemed to sense me thinking that when I looked at it. Oh, I'm a grove, not a shower. Fitz walked behind me, and...

I half expected to feel the blade sever my spinal cord at the base of my neck, Wolf Creek style. Instead, she sliced through my bindings in a single deft stroke and walked back around to face me while I was rubbing my burning wrists. She leaned down and grabbed my hand, placing it on her chest. What do you feel? Nothing about this situation made any kind of sense. Sorry, that was kind of a trick question. What don't you feel? It didn't occur to me until she said it.

I felt the worn fabric of her flannel shirt, the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest with every breath she took. But something was missing, something vital. You've got no heartbeat. Yup. Weird as shit, ain't it? I mean, it must work. If not, I'd be worn.

but it takes a lot to get my ticker pounding. You know what does, though? You know what really revs my engine? The wind rushing through my hair, the adrenaline of the chase, all the screaming. Fitz seemed enraptured by the thought of it. Please, just let us go.

Fitz smiled. It was at least half sympathetic. Oh, I'm sorry. Sorry, I really am. You all seem like good kids. But a girl's got to eat. She stood up and started walking behind Jody, who was next in line. For what it's worth. I hope at least some of you win. One by one, she sliced through our bindings with her little buck knife. And we rose shakily to our feet. We were all still mindful of the shotgun she was carrying in her other hand.

Well, surely it's cheating if you've got a gun. Doesn't matter how fast we run. You could just shoot us. Fitz shrugged. Leveled the shotgun at Mark's head and pulled the trigger. This thing ain't loaded, you dingus. Mark was quaking like he'd just stared death in the face. I'm going to head behind the trailer and change.

Don't you kids go anywhere. We'll start the game when I get back. Fitz disappeared around the front of the truck. Out of sight, but far from out of my mind. What in the living fuck is going on? Josie was shaking so hard she could barely speak. We should make a run for it. Try her luck.

She's got a fucking good! It's not loaded. But she could fucking load it. That's not hard. I was about to say something more, but was cut off by a noise, unlike anything I'd ever heard. The noise alone, coming from behind the truck, brought me to the precipice of vomiting.

I scanned the faces of the others and saw a similar look of fear, disgust reflected back at me. Then, that noise stopped, and another noise started. A humid gust of air hit the top of my head, and something thick and wet and foul-smelling splattered onto my shoulder. a gnarly translucent goop. We all looked up and met the eyes of something inhuman looking back at us. Huge and yellow, focused, intense, nestled in a bed of fur above a long black canine snout, itself above an arsenal of bone-white, razor-edged fangs, all about five inches in length, snarled and slobbered and drooled, a flesh-pink tongue licking and lapping around its canines in hunger.

A pair of clawed hands, and they were hands. Huge, human hands coated in the same coarse black fur, with claws that rivaled even the fangs in size, curled around the edge of the trailer. It was sitting on the roof, watching us, waiting for the game to start. Den. It was Fitz's voice. And with that, we were running, faster and harder than we'd ever ran for any practice or event or tournament.

Legs working like pistons on the edge of overloading and exploding on us. Behind me, I could still hear the deep, bassy voice of Fitz or whatever the hell she'd just turned into. Counting down. I couldn't run in a straight line with all the trees. We had to duck and weave and maneuver, knowing that to trip or to slow down probably just meant death. Doug was a sprinter, so he was lagging at the extra work of dodging the trees, around 10 yards behind us.

I wanted to help him somehow, but I knew I couldn't. You hear machine guns and movies all the time, so you think you've got a good idea of what they sound like. But when you hear it in real life, those deep, rattling, percussive booms, one following another at a rate you could only describe as insane, it'll always take you off guard. When Fitz started running, her footsteps sounded like a machine gun, and not a movie machine gun, but the terrifying, dirty reality. She was a blur of fur and teeth and claws. She was looming over Doug. She was looming over Doug.

who couldn't do anything now but crouch to make himself a smaller target. Fitz the human was tall, but Fitz the creature was ginormous. Around 14 feet off the ground, the upsetting locus of humanoid and lupine, pure muscle and energy, and fuck you. It was the fevered image your lizard brain conjures up when you hear the word predator whispered on a dark night. The best I can say about Doug's fate is that it was quick. He didn't even have a chance to scream. Fitz descended on him, making noises I can barely even describe. And a few seconds later, there was nothing of Doug left.

She gobbled him down like a fairy tale, big bad wolf, and started giving chase again. I could scarcely say Doug's death even bought us any time. Run, rabbits! Run, run, run, run! 500 yards was feeling more like 500 miles. Almost by pure chance we paired off, with Mark and Josie veering off in one direction, and myself and Ellen running in the other.

I guess luck, if you could call anything about this lucky, because Fitz went galloping after Mark and Jody first. When she ran, she always ran on all fours, tearing craters into the ground with the sheer force of her movement. A few seconds later, we heard Marks, Then Jody's scream. And then... I can't keep running.

She's... We have double-300-year-al-le-le-least. We can make those 200 yards a lot faster than either of us can. If we try to make a run for it, the only way we're getting to that clearing is if she spits out our fucking bones there. We need to think tactical. Ellen just shook her head at me in exasperation,

and he kept running. I would have called her, begged her to come back. But the noise wouldn't do either of her. us any favors. All I could do was take refuge behind a nearby oak. She sprinted, panting like a dog, and that staccato machine gun thundering started again. I hated being right. Fitz sideswiped Ellen, grabbing her by her leg and lifting her off the ground with ease. So close, honey, so close. Fitz licked her. You did better than the other three, if that's any good. You did better than the other three, if that's any consolation, I'm sure they'll congratulate you.

Wait! A single chump, and it was over. I winced, tears spilling down the swell of my cheeks as I watched Fitz gulp down Ellen's limp, lifeless legs like she was nothing. Four of my friends, my teammates were dead, devoured, and it was just mean left. This is fucking fantastic. I feel so alive. Your buddies were good, but I'm not satisfied.

Not yet. Still room for dessert. Where are you, sweetheart? You couldn't have gone far. Seeing her walk around so casually on two legs was somehow more upsetting than watching her go full wolf. There was never a second where she lost control. It was all so calculated, so deliberate. She looked and ate like a beast, but she didn't think like one. Even now, her mind was

terrifyingly human. I darted from tree to tree, keeping my eyes on my feet to make sure I didn't step on anything that would crunch. In the distance, Fitz was just a giant, eye-peer. I pears. Ketal wolf having a casual stroll through the forest. That it all changed the second she realized where I was hiding. Come out, come out, wherever you are. If you play nice, I'll be quick. You won't even know it's happening. Doug and Jody were sprinters.

As far as Ross Bede was concerned, nobody could beat them. And it still didn't save them from Fitz. I was long distance. So what I lacked in speed, I made up for impatience, stamina, and timing. And those three attributes were the only thing keeping me from a one-way trip into a werewolf's jaws. I inched from tree to tree, getting closer to that almost mythical clearing in increments. Even if I did reach the clearing, I wasn't sure if I could trust that thing to stick to her word. The closer I got to the clearing, the thicker the undergrowth seemed to get.

beneath me. Dense clumps of rotting foliage, old twigs, skittering insects. It was a minefield of potential noise, any of which could have fits bounding toward me if I put a foot out of place. I started seeing dirty white sticks protruding out of the masses of dead leaves, and it took me a second to recognize them as bones. Old, grubby bones. Bones beyond counting. How long had Fitz been doing this? How many people had met their end here? That's when I saw a golden sunset, breaking through the wall of trees in the distance. The clearing.

It was finally within reach. It couldn't have been more than 40 or 50 yards in front of me. Something that someone less terrified and exhausted could probably make in a mad dash. Escape seemed possible. Survival seemed possible. I didn't have to die in this terrible place. A step forward, careless step, a stupid step, and a twig crunched under my sneaker. In the distance, Fitz's ears pricked up.

Hey there, girlie, I think we're alone now. There doesn't seem to be anyone around. I fell backwards and tried scrambling away from her. Back towards the clearing, my hands brushing through the dried out leftovers of her meals. The last ones are always the best. The others, I have to rush, see, in case one of you gets away. But when it's just you and me, I can take all the time I need. Really savour.

it. Fitz, still on all fours, started patting towards me like a mad dog. Get the fuck away from me. No, I don't think I will. He was with your friends again. A big happy reunion. I mean, I'll be happy at least. A clawed hand extended and batted me, making my right side flare up in a sudden influx of pain. Fitz was a cat, toying with a ball of yarn or a half-dead mouse. She poked and prodded at me with her claws. And when I tried my best to flip over and crawl away, she pinched at my ankle with her thumb and forecloth,

pulling me back with all the effort and exertion of filling in a goddamn crossword puzzle. Funny little bunny, I can't wait to watch you die. I rifled through the rug of Ted leaves with aching hands, looking for something I could use, something to give me some kind of advantage in this fight. Every time I tried to crawl away, she just pulled me back again, but a little closer, a little nearer to those gnashing, drooling jaws that seemed so eager to receive me.

Had to find something. Had to find something. My fingers curled around something rough and hard, and without hesitation, I turned to swing it at her in a desperate arch. What I was holding was a large branch that sailed impotently through the air, missing Fitz's face by a good few feet. She just laughed at me. And with a gentle flick of her claw, cleaved the branch in half, leaving a foot-long, jagged stick, a flash of inspiration. I turned to crawl away again, knowing what she'd do to me.

I felt the familiar, stinging pinch of her claws around my ankle, pulling me back towards her. With my free hand, I dug into the earth, being sure to show resistance that I knew would only succeed in amusing her. She kept pulling until I was farther back than I'd ever been, laying right underneath her chest. Seizing my chance, I flipped onto my back and forced the stick. It struck something tough, but I kept pushing, forcing it up into the flesh of Vince's chest. She gave an animal yelp of pain. recoiling and standing back up on her hind legs,

trying to assess what the hell had just happened to her. But somehow, she seemed otherwise. My heart sank. That was supposed to kill you. Fitz's inhuman face seemed to sneer at me, as she plucked my last hope out of her chest like it was no more than a splinter. You're thinking of vampires' dipshit. You just keep misbehaving.

I think it's time to eat. She grabbed me by the torso and lifted me up like a Barbie doll. Those yellow eyes burning with hate and hunger, devouring me before her mouth even got the chance. Head or legs first? No, wait, I'll surprise you. I was being lifted up to her mouth, a cavern of enamel razor blades glistening with salivation,

so ready to finally finish this awful game. I wanted to escape, but I was a girl in my early 20s up against an apex predator. She was stronger than any human, faster, crueler. Even if I escaped, hate again, she probably had my scent. And even if she couldn't smell me, her hearing was incredible. Another sudden flash of inspiration. Now things were darker than ever. A last ditch attempt at survival.

I was feet away from getting consumed when I reached into my back pocket and grabbed the rape alarm. In a moment of panic, before Fitz could realize and snatch it from me, I brought it to my face and clenched the pin in my teeth like some war-movie hero preparing to throw a grenade. One bite, one yank, and the screeching began. louder than I'd even remembered it being. A piercing, ear-splitting din, a migraine-inducing nightmare of sound. A fucking lifesaver.

Fuck is that! Her grip loosened around me, and I came tumbling to the ground. I threw that god-awful noise grenade into the chaos of leaves and twigs, and made that final mad dash to the clearing while Fitz tore into the ground in agony, trying desperately to find it. Shut that racket off!

Shut it off! Shut it off! Muscles burned. Lungs filled with hot tar. Wind stung my skin. Fifty yards. Forty yards. 30 yards.

20 yards. 10 yards. Fitz found the alarm and shattered it. She took a second to recalibrate. She'd extended a clawed hand to snatch. The claws grazed my ankle, but that was all. it did. I tumbled forwards into a bed of wild grass and soft earth. The setting sun, unobstructed by the

trees of the forest, warmed my sweat-slicked skin. I had reached the clearing. I'd reached salvation. Twenty years. I heard Fitz's voice from the forest. I've been doing this for 20 years, and you're the first one to ever make it to the clearing. Color me impressed, girlie, color me impressed. I looked up and saw fits, standing in the shadow of the trees, human again, and naked, save for the apron of dark blood staining her torso. She seemed half exhausted, half contented. Her eyes wide and her stomach bloated.

She raised a hand up to the bare, bloody skin of her chest, and felt it. And there it is. Bab boom. Bab boom. Bab boom. She moved her hand up and down, imitating the rhythm of her heartbeat.

Makes me feel young again. Thank you for that. Why don't you just kill me? What's stopping you? Fitz gave a gravelly chuckle. Can't break the rules. If I break the rules, the game doesn't exist. It loses the excitement. Where's the fun in that? No, little lady, you won

fair and square, and I respect that. You ate my fucking friends, you evil, crazy piece of shit. Yeah, sorry about that. It was a little excessive, I know, but sometimes the red mist just descends and it's out of your hands. They were good for whatever that's worth, filling. I don't turned my head and began crying into the grass. When Fitz spoke after that, she sounded more awkward. Oh, come on. Don't be like that. You're alive. Breathe it in. Be grateful. You've taken everything from me.

Fitz grinned. Not everything, girly. In fact, I left you a little something. A gift from me to you. So the next time we meet, we can understand each other a little better. Next time? You fucking liar! You promised you'd never come bother us again.

Oh, I won't. You'll come to me. Why the hell would I do that? Because you'll have questions. Lots of them. No point wagging our jaws about it now, though, because you're not going to get it. Not yet. But you will, girlie, you will soon.

Trust me. And with that, Fitz turned and began walking back into the darkness of the forest. So casually, so divorced from the fact, she'd just murdered four of my closest friends. She didn't give a damn. Thanks for the lunch. She was gone. It was me. Just me.

Left all alone in the clearing. The sun slipped beneath the horizon. And darkness set in, slowly at first. And then like a cloud of gas, smothering, the stars came in. One by one, it seemed. And soon enough, as big and as brilliant as in the scratches, fits left on my ankle, began to burn. It's time to rest on our dark journey.

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