The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S11E08

Episode Date: July 22, 2018

It's episode 08 of Season 11. On this week's show we have five tales about sinister screens, malevolent medicine, and wicked wilderness. "Tales of the Backroads"† written by Jazzmin Forrestall and performed by Jessica McEvoy & Mike DelGaudio & Atticus Jackson & Kyle Akers. (Story starts around 00:02:55) "Reel to Real"‡ written by C.M. Scandreth and performed by Kyle Akers & Atticus Jackson & Elie Hirschman & Jessica McEvoy. (Story starts around 00:25:37) "Effects Vary"† written by Michael Harris Cohen and performed by Peter Lewis & Mike DelGaudio & David Ault. (Story starts around 00:50:09) "Critter"† written by Annemarie Hartnett and performed by Mike DelGaudio & Erika Sanderson & Nichole Goodnight & Alexis Bristow. (Story starts around 01:13:02) "In a Land of Weeping Corpses"¤ written by Felix Blackwell and performed by Armen Taylor & Addison Peacock & Peter Lewis & Mick Wingert & Nikolle Doolin. (Story starts around 01:37:18) Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast   Click here to learn more about our Season Pass program   Click here to learn more about C.M. Scandreth   Click here to learn more about Annemarie Hartnett   Click here to learn more about Felix Blackwell   Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone Audio adaptations produced by: Phil Michalski† & Jeff Clement‡ & Jesse Cornett¤ "In a Land of Weeping Corpses" 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

This audio program presents horror, which is frightening and disturbing. You left us into your mind at your own risk. The sunlight fades to darkness. The frightful tales creep into your mind. It's time to give you to us tonight. Brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. It's the No Sleep Podcast. I'm David Cummings.

Thanks for joining us. show this week we have five tales about sinister screens, malevolent medicine, and wicked wilderness. Before we kick off this week's show, I wanted to send a heartfelt thanks to all of our Season Past members who've joined us for Season 11. I don't mention our Season Past program that much, but this season has seen more members than ever before at this early point in any season. I'm grateful so many of you have chosen to support us in this way. And if you're wondering what the Season Pass program is, it's the way you can get all the full-length episodes, which include an extra 70 to 90 minutes of stories after the end of the free episode. You also get three

exclusive bonus episodes. All in all, you get well over 60 hours of stories for only 1999 US. You can find all the details on our website, the no-sleeppodcast.com, and click the Season Pass link on the top menu. So no matter which version you listen to, We're all set to go. The tape is in the machine. The stories are ready. So let's press play. In our first tale, we visit the Annapolis Valley in beautiful Nova Scotia, Canada.

A lovely place most of the time. But as author Jasmine Forrestall shares, there are some dark encounters amidst the beauty once the sun sets. Performing this tale are Jessica McAvoy, Mike Delgado, Atticus Jackson and Kyle Acres. So enjoy the fresh fruit and the wine and the scenery, but pay heed to the tales of the back roads. When I was 12, my family moved to a small farm in the Annapolis Valley.

I remember the relief I felt after moving away from our old home in the big city. I was bullied horribly at my old school, so it didn't feel like I was being uprooted from any social circles. It felt more like I was pulled from a sinking ship, minutes before drowning. I loved the fresh air of the quiet county we moved to. Our nearest neighbors were a kilometer away, rather than being so close I could hear them fighting every night as I tried to go to sleep. Here, there were tall oak trees that seemed older than time,

cool, dark lakes, and winding dirt roads that crisscrossed the deep green forests like pale red. ribbons. I wanted to explore every inch of this new and magical paradise. That proved to be an even more interesting experience than I thought. Over the years, I've had some experiences. Some are funny, some are sad, and some are downright terrifying. It's the third type that I've always found the most interesting. Hopefully you will, too. I like to take long walks after dark,

especially in the summer, when the heat of the day makes the pavement hot enough to fry an egg. Now, the roads around here don't behave like your typical garden variety roads. Well, they do during the day. At night, though, that's a different story.

They like to confuse unwary travelers. If you let your guard down, you're liable to wind up turned around, and that often doesn't end well. I was lucky to have started my nocturnal adventures quite young. The roads don't particularly like confusing children, and even though a 12-year-old me considered herself quite grown up, the roads figured that I was young enough to spare the terror of getting lost. Since then, I've gained their respect. I've learned that if you respect the road and aren't too stupid, you shouldn't wind up too dead.

As far as travelers go, I've escaped relatively unscathed. That isn't to say I've never slipped up. I have a rather nasty scar on my back from the roads. It serves as a useful reminder that, no matter how much mutual respect we've built up over the years, I must not, under any circumstances, get cocky. I am not immune to their wrath. I may be smarter than those tourists who vanished last year. I may be physically stronger than them too,

but it's still possible that I could meet the same fate. I remember that incident well. There was a family on vacation from the States. They were clearly city folk, just here for the sites and the beaches. They had gotten lost on their way to Upper Clements. I still don't know how they got so lost that they wound up here of all places. They made their way to the local inn and restaurant to ask for directions.

I was having a beer and some seafood chowder when they showed up, restless and praying for a chance to see some sights. All heads turned when the family entered, all clad in matching T-shirts that said, I love Nova Scotia, next to a caricature of a fisherman. I guess they approached me because I was the least sketchy-looking local in the place.

Great. When I let them know where they were, the father decided that they were going to stay the night at the inn. That was fine. When his family begged him to go sightseeing, I started to get a bad feeling. When he looked at me, obviously exhausted after a long day and spoke,

I identified the feeling. Dread. Yes, it was definitely dread. Hey there, miss. Could you, uh, show us around? I can give you ten bucks, make it worth your while. I politely told them that, no, I was trying to eat. And ten bucks wouldn't be enough even if I weren't busy.

But this guy was a real piece of work. This spoiled rich man had never been told no in his life. life, especially by someone who he perceived as some Canadian yokel. I'll give you 20 then. Look, I'm a partner at Leonard and Johnston Law Firm. I'm very busy. I don't get much vacation time. So when I do, I need it to be stress-free.

Right now, my family is bored, and my children need something to do. Because when they have nothing to do, then they want my attention. For God's sakes, there isn't even any Wi-Fi in this horrible backwater. Perhaps if you won't help us, your husband might be willing to be slightly more welcoming to tourists. All we want to do is see some attractions. Why would you assume that there are tourist attractions in this? Oh, what did you call it? Oh, yeah. Horrible backwater.

I didn't even bother responding to the husband comment. His face started to turn from the pale white of a man who had never had to do hard work in his husband. his life to a deep, angry purple. Now look here, young lady, I'm not going to accept this rudeness from some female. I'll give you one more chance to do your country proud. Let bygones be bygones. What do you say? He wasn't taking no for an answer.

My answer was still no. I still had most of my beer, and was nowhere near done with my chowder. The sun had almost set when one of the other pages, Noticed what was going on and stood up. The father, whose bark was apparently worse than his bite, scurried off in a huff, shouting something about finding things himself. I knew that this wasn't going to end well, but there wasn't really anything I could do to stop them.

I finished my drink and ordered another. The next morning, I asked the innkeepers if the family had come back. They hadn't. The police never showed up. After all, the family was headed for the Annapolis Royal Area, not here. That night, I got all the evidence I needed to know what happened to them. I was walking down a dirt road that didn't exist during the day, enjoying the smell of wild roses that climbed the trees beside it.

I felt like the place was a reward of some kind, like the road knew how badly the guy had treated me and wanted to say, Sorry about that jerk. Here are some flowers. Up ahead in the distance, I spotted a yellow light. It was a street lamp.

Beneath it, there lay a bloody scrap of cloth, depicting the caricature grin of a stereotypical fisherman. The roads can be tricky. One day they're giving you flowers, and the next you're being chased by some horrible creature from hell.

I don't think they have a concept of what a healthy friendship looks like. I'm pretty sure that this sort of thing is just a way of keeping me on my toes. I almost appreciate it in a way. If it were always flowers and calm seas, I'd get bored of life pretty quickly. I'm fairly sure that the road isn't going to give me a fight I can't win, and that gives me the confidence I need going into battle. Now, I always carry around a stainless steel water bottle. It isn't just good for remaining hydrated.

There are a number of dens from when I've used it to defend myself. Where the roads are concerned, it comes in quite handy for fighting off whatever they decide to throw at me. This was the case with the thing that gave me the scar. It was, as I said, the night after the roses and the T-shirt. It was colder than usual, especially since the day had been unseasonably hot. I was enjoying this bliss when I turned a familiar corner. The first thing I noticed was that there was a street light that had never been there before. It wasn't the typical cheap modern LED light either.

It was an old gas lamp that looked as if it would fit in better on the streets of Victorian London. I stopped in my tracks. Sensing danger, I turned off my music, hearing twigs snap from the woods on either side of the road. Something emerged from the trees, just barely illuminated by the lamp. It looked like a tall person dressed in black. There was something off about the way they were moving. I began to back off slowly, squinting to see which direction the stranger was headed. Based on the way their legs moved, it looked like they were headed away from me.

I sighed with relief. No, wait. They were getting closer. A nod of fear began to tie itself in my gut. I realized why their movements looked odd. Their legs were facing the wrong way. I turned on my heel and bolted back the way I'd come, not even bothering to look behind. me. I'm not sure how long I was running, listening to see if it was following me. The world was

silent except for my heavy breathing. I started to slow down at the top of a small hill, figuring that it was just a little scare. I turned to look behind me and nearly had a heart attack. It was at the bottom of the hill, walking towards me at a leisurely but fast pace. Looking again, I realized it was far too tall to be human. I couldn't make out any features on the thing, except for some rather wicked-looking claws on its hands. It was gaining fast, so I bolted. I rounded a bend that I knew would lead me to the highway and home,

only to see that the dirt road now led to a sheer 10-foot drop onto the beach. This was impossible, but I was used to that by now. Without even thinking twice, I vaulted over the edge and onto the coarse sand. It was high tide, and the water only left around two meters of sand from the waves. To make matters worse, the water was rising. I quickly realized that I had two options. I could either fight a thing that I had little chance of beating, or I could swim for it. I looked down at my bottle.

It was a fine weapon in most cases. But it seemed a bit lacking considering the scale of the beast. Deciding that fighting was off the cards, I ran for the water. The second my sneaker touched the waves, I knew what I was expected to do. The ocean was almost as cold as it is in winter, so cold that it can freeze your flesh off at times. Salt water has a lower freezing point than freshwater, so it gets outrageously icy. It looked like I was fighting after all. I held my bottle at the ready, hoping to get a headshot and somehow get it into the water.

I waited there for what must have been at least 20 minutes. The creature didn't show up. Soon, the water was lapping at my heels, and I knew I needed to climb back up. I poked my head above the cliff, noting that the coast was clear. Something told me that it was hiding just out of my line of sight. Unfortunately, I didn't exactly have a choice. I climbed up, vigilant for the thing that was surely hiding in the dark. Once I was atop the cliff, I slowly made my way to the top of the hill, clinging to the shadows by the side of the road.

I expected it to be stalking the middle of the road. Stupid. A twig snapped from the woods beside me. I barely had time to process the sound before the thing sprung from the trees. I swung blindly, striking it in the head with my water bottle. This only seemed to anger the thing. It struck out with its claws, slashing my back.

I managed to duck under its second strike, rolling between its legs. It was strong, but slow and uncoordinated. I knew that my only option was to get it in the water. Springing to my feet, I made a break for the cliff. I looked behind me to see it running at top speed. It still wasn't as fast as I was, but it would certainly fly off the cliff at that pace.

I slowed down, letting it get less than a meter away from me. At the last second, I hit the ground. It tried to stop, but its momentum carries. I carried it over the edge and into the freezing water. I heard a great splash and a horrible shriek of pain and terror. I looked over the edge to see it flailing in the ocean. The tide wasn't too high, but it was cold enough to burn. I could see patches of pale gray spreading across wherever the water hit.

It wouldn't last long. I turned and walked away. When I got home, I treated my wound. The roads didn't test me again for a long time after that. They don't do it very often. It was smooth sailing for quite a while. They actually adjusted the temperature so that it wouldn't be so hot all the time. I had earned their respect yet again.

The thing about respect is that if an outside force tries to attack, they will fiercely protect me. This was the case with yet another group of American tourists. Now, the group of frat guys had come up to me in the local pub, around a kilometer away from the inn. They were on their way to rent a cabin a few minutes away. They all offered to buy me drinks, and when I politely declined,

they left with insults and threats of violence. I ignored them, but I was wary. as I made my way home. As I was walking, an obnoxiously masculine-looking car sped over a hill ahead of me, music blaring from speakers that filled the trunk.

I noticed that it was driven by the frat bros, all of whom had been drinking heavily. They turned the high beams on and honked the horn at me. I managed to jump out of the way as the car sped onto the shoulder of the narrow road. They were leaning out of the wind,

and screaming vulgarities at me, mostly about various disgusting acts, the likes of which you'd imagine frat boys to yell about. Hey, baby, want to come over here and suck on my tailpipe? I've got some maple syrup for you to gargle down. Yeah, come on, girl. We don't mind having your cousin's sloppy seconds. Just give us a quick flash of your tits, babe. Ain't nobody around to see. Great. Now they were drunk and distracted, and driving. The police never go out onto the roads after dark, so I'd have to deal with an entire car full of drunk and stupid by myself. I thanked myself internally for the large hunting knife I'd started carrying after the creature incident.

As I watched, I saw the car hit a pothole that hadn't been there before. It was quite the pothole too, even for Nova Scotia. In fact, it was so large that one of the car's axles snapped right in two from the impact. The car swerved, fish-tailed, then idled to a halt. The drunken party stumbled out of the vehicle, swearing and growing increasingly furious. I tried to slink off without them noticing me, but one of them saw me making my hasty retreat. treat, and suddenly their anger had a target. Well, I gripped the hilt of my knife, trusty water bottle at the ready in my other hand. There was going to be a confrontation, and even though

I'm much stronger than the average person, and they were drunk, I'm still no match for five American football jocks. Maybe if I managed to disembowl one of them, the others would run away. That was the hope anyway. They started making their way towards me. Their intentions perfectly clear. In their eyes, I was the bitch who wrecked their car and wouldn't give them what they wanted. I wasn't going to live to see another day as far as they were concerned. They probably assumed that I was unarmed. This would work to my advantage if so. They weren't expecting any fight at all, not from a poor, fenceless woman alone on a road in the dark. Turns out, I didn't even need my knife.

As they began their approach, there was a sound like an earthquake, and the pothole in the road began to get bigger. No, not a pothole. Not anymore was a sinkhole. The jocks heard the sound, turning to look as the ground began to cave in. I saw confusion and terror twist their smug faces as they fell. Their screams echoed through the night as they hit the bottom with a splash. Casually walking up to the edge, I looked down.

The jocks were panicking, sitting in around a foot of filthy water. One of them had a broken leg, and he was crying. His jeans had ripped, and the bone was protruding. the fabric, a nasty, bloody splinter. It looked extremely painful. I let out a chuckle, and they saw me. As they screamed for help, I laughed harder. They didn't notice what was in the water with them.

It was too funny. I had to point it out. When they saw the horrible thing, their screams became shriller. I sat on the edge and watched as they tried in vain to fight off the irate beast they had disturbed. It had more mouths than I could count, each resembling that of a lamprey. Its tentacles were barbed and flailing. There was a moment where it seemed as though the creature was sizing them up,

perhaps deciding how good a meal they'd make. Then it fell upon them. The interior of the sinkhole looked more like frat boys in a blunder than anything else. The water was a thick red soup by the time the creature was done with them. When it had finished dismembering its meal, the thing slurped up the thick crimson mush

like a puppy eating gravy. I thanked the roads for the show before heading home. Nobody messes with me and lives to tell the tale. These aren't the only strange things that have happened here. I have many more tales to recounts

recount about this strange place. For now, though, I'll leave you with this. Please be careful if you plan to wander the backroads of Nova Scotia after dark. I have built up a rapport with this place for years, and it still isn't entirely safe for me. If you aren't too stupid, you should be fine. Just don't get lost. And always show the right amount of respect. Back in the 80s, a group of teenage friends realized that VCRs were having an impact on their local movie theaters.

And as we learn from author C.M. Scandrith, when the group realizes they can spend their time in the closed theater and watch all the movies they want, they soon discover that the movies offer a sense of reality that is much more than virtual. Performing this tale are Kyle Akers, Atticus Jackson, Ellie Hirschman, Jessica McAvoy. So enjoy the silver screen. Just make sure things don't go from real to real. Anyone who was a teenager in the 80s seems to have strong memories about it. It was a youthful age, a time full of flavor and color, when plastic pop fakery distracted us from the darker undercurrents of the adult world's climate. Teased hair, big earrings, neon clothes and jelly shoes endure in the lighter recesses of my own memories. A ton of other stuff is more background

focus for me. Transformers, side ponytails, an orange bubble gum that smelled like soda in the sun. But I guess certain imagery defines an age differently for different people. We're transported back to slightly different worlds whenever we remember. For someone else around my age, it might be a packed gaming arcade. Your lips are sticky with Fanta and the menthol burn of the stolen cigarette you just traded with someone, your mental soundtrack, an out-of-sync chorus of Pac-Man's burbling waka-a-waka in the background. Or maybe your memory's self is edgier. Making out in your parents Pontiac Fierro, his denim jacket tucked into the window for a makeshift privacy curtain, and the heavy, sickly scent of strawberry lip gloss filling the tiny space.

Whatever you remember, there's often a curious innocence when people recall that era, right down to the music and the TV shows. Young people seemed less afraid to do new things, to express themselves in ways they couldn't in the 60s and 70s, and less jaded than they seem now. But when I scrape away the brightly lit plastic surface of my own childhood perceptions, there's something much darker spliced in my memory real.

Whatever else it was, and whatever it was to you, it was a time of wonder and tragedy for me. I suppose that's why I still live. linger there in my mind, wishing I could go back and set things right, to change history, and to bring back my friends. We weren't exactly losers, but we sure weren't part of the cool click either. My mom was a teacher and my dad ran a furniture store with my uncle, selling space-age mattresses and couches that tried to eat you if you sat in them too long. Chris and Tony's dad worked at the local brewery as a foreman, and their mom sold makeup around the neighborhood.

Jason was the odd one out, because he only had a mom. His dad died, working as a diver on an oil platform. But the insurance money meant that they'd be comfortable for the rest of their lives, if they were careful. Despite coming from what looked like on the surface, like pretty normal families, we never quite jelled with the popular kids. I was skinny and geeky, obsessed with Tolkien and everything fantasy. Jason's love of video games also bordered on the obsessive, and Chris talked motorbikes 24-7.

His room wallpapered with magazine pictures of red and white Japanese bikes that look more like spaceships than wheeled vehicles. He'd been saving every cent from his allowance since he was in kindergarten in anticipation of the day he could buy his own. And Tony, who would punch anyone who called her by her full name, was far too much of a tomboy to ever fit in

with all the fashion-obsessed girls at school. So we kept to ourselves, our own private little gang. and we were mostly ignored by everyone else. I suppose it was that isolation, but still being part of a group that allowed us to just do our own thing, free from the worst social consequences of being considered weirdos. That was how we managed to start up our little film club. When the sales of ECRs really started to boom,

it had a big effect on one of the mainstay leisure activities in our small town, going to the movies. After the video store opened up, and you could rent out tapes for a fraction of the, cost of a movie ticket, there was a sharp downturn in the number of folks who wanted to go out to the picture theater. At first, not everyone owned a VCR, but people would crowd around neighbors' TVs to maximize the number of viewers, stuffing their faces with homemade popcorn and drinking cheap beer. There were two cinemas in our town, and the larger one managed to keep going,

but the smaller ones slowly fell into disuse, eventually opening only on Friday and Saturday nights when people were too drunk to care about the price. That meant that during the rest of the the week the theater was empty. And because his mom's newest boyfriend owned the place, Jason was allowed the keys. The huge metal lockers in the projection room were filled with carefully labeled reels of film, which smelled of something faintly insectoid, like crushed ants. Jason had been taught the basics on how to use the projector, but as a resident smart kid in our group, I quickly gained a knack for knowing how everything worked. So it mostly fell on me to sit in the booth and change the reels mid-film. We took our turns.

picking the films. Jason nearly always wanted to watch the last Starfighter. Chris was all about night riders and savage dawn. Tony usually went along with whatever her older brother picked, but once in a while she'd ask for splash or Freaky Friday. As for me, you can probably guess, a steady diet of labyrinth, the never-ending story, and the dark crystal. There was a sort of unspoken pact in our group that we didn't mock anyone else's choice

of film, but probably because he was a year. or older than the rest of us, Chris often felt he could break our unwritten rule. Most of the times he only did it to me, to make fun of me for my girly choices. He would growl at me, crumbs of popcorn stuck to his nascent mustache. Matt, sometimes I swear your dick fell off when the doctor spanked you at birth. Jason would laugh too loud, and Tony would just stare at me with those huge brown eyes of hers. But as time went on and his hormones really ramped up, I wasn't the only one that Chris clashed with. It was because of one of his testosterone-fueled teenage rages

that we made the greatest and worst discovery of our lives. How the fight originally started, I don't remember exactly. I think Chris complained that he didn't want to sit through the 20th rerun of Return of the Jedi. Then Jason got shitty because it was his turn and the rules were the rules. I do remember that as the film started, Chris climbed up on the low stage under the big screen and started reading out the opening scroll in a pompous, mocking voice, peppering it with foul language.

Jason went red and started pelting with stolen popcorn, but Chris wouldn't stop. He just got louder and more obnoxious. When Jason launched himself out of his front row seat and shoved Chris against the screen, the rage of someone daring to retaliate was writs so large on the older boy's face it was visible even from my spot in the projection booth. Chris vanished through the screen. I sat for a moment in shock as I realized he must have torn right through the shiny fabric.

Jason's uncle was going to kill us. But when Chris didn't reappear, and Jason's yelling didn't cause him to emerge, I got worried enough to leave the booth and run down the stairs to where the others were. Jason babbled and pointed at the screen. There's no hole. He just disappeared. Stay calm.

It's what my dad would say to my mom when she started freaking out about things. There will be a good explanation for this. We checked in the small room behind the stage, filled with coils of old rope and broken wooden pallets, but he wasn't there either. He's just messing with us. He wants us to freak out. Let's just watch the film and forget about him. That seemed logical, so we did. I enjoyed not having our pubescent friend ruining things for once. But as the film eventually ended, something strange and wonderful happened. Striped with the text of the end credits, Chris stumbled through the screen and fell onto the scene.

sticky carpet at our feet, laughing hysterically. Holy shit, guys. I met Luke Skywalker. It took Chris a while to tell us the story in its entirety, but the general gist of it was this. When he had been pushed through the screen, he had somehow gone inside the film. He paced back and forth in front of the blank screen

more animated than I'd ever seen him. I had different clothes and everything. Like, I was a part of it. And the whole gang was there. Chewy and Han and Leah and look. Luke. This isn't funny. I'm telling the truth, man.

I was there. In Jabba's Palace, even on the Death Star. Wait, look at this. He rolled up the sleeve of his jacket, showing a fresh burn, the welt running from his wrist to his elbow. Vader's saber grazed me while me and Luke were fighting him. His grin was enormous as he ran his hand through his thick, curly hair. Holy moly. This is the best night of my entire life.

prove it. Do it again. Matt, set the film up. I have to rewind the reels. That's going to take a while. We need to get home. It's getting late. Tomorrow then. Jason shouldered his school bag. He shook his head at Chris, eyeing the burn on his arm, skeptical and jealous all at once. But if you're lying, I swear I'm going to tell you dad you're making shit up. He'll knock the snot out of you again. After locking up the projection room, I handed the keys back to Jason. Do you think he's for real? I don't know, man.

I guess we'll find out tomorrow. Everyone was early, already eagerly waiting by the side door to the old theater when Jason finally sauntered up with the keys. Chris was telling us his plans, his eyes bright with barely contained excitement. This time, I'm going to go for the emperor. I reckon I could take him out while Luke and Vader are fighting. I reckon you're sorry. so full of shit I can smell it on your breath.

Once everything was set up and the film had started, I ran down to meet the others. We all stood in front of the screen, bathed in the yellow light of the text crawl, barely able to look at each other now. Do we go in now? Wait a sec. As the words faded into infinity,

Chris shoved Jason at the screen, then jumped into it himself. They both vanished instantly. Tony and I exchanged a long, terrified look, then she grabbed my hand and we both leaped after them. Eyes shut tight and braced for the inevitable impact with the top fabric. Instead, we found ourselves in another world. It's hard to describe that first experience on the other side.

It was everything Chris had said and more. Whatever we did, the story took our actions and wove them into the plot, inexorably guiding us towards some heroic conclusion. We felt different too. for the first time in my life I wasn't afraid of everything I felt bigger, stronger than I did in the real world

ironically I felt more real Chris was like a young Han Solo so full of confidence in bravado it was infectious and we followed his lead I never wanted it to end and I knew the others felt the same way but it did

and far too abruptly we found ourselves ejected from that world just four ordinary kids again flying face down on the stained carpet of the theater. What happened? Tony rubbed her hands, filthy with droid grease on her dungarees. I blinked staring up at the booth. I wasn't there to switch over the reels. We got kicked out early. Chris swore as he stood and dusted himself off, his hand still shaking from adrenaline. Son of a bitch. One of us is to stay in the booth. Only me and Matt know how to do it. Well, you two clowns will need to take turns then, won't you? I miss the next adventure on the other

side of the silver screen, and the one after that, since Jason heard his hands riding dirt bikes and time rider, which was Chris's next pick. By the time it was finally my turn to pick a film, I was fit to burst with excitement and spent the whole day at school doing nothing but staring at the clock. Today, I was going to ride Falcour and save the childlike empress. Once inside the theater, Chris rolled his eyes at my choice and asked me if I was in love with Bastion because I was such a girl. but I knew that once he was riding our tracks across the grassy plains and hunting purple buffalo, he'd shut the hell up. How could a motorbike compare with that?

That night was so magical and wonderful, it left me gasping for air when we reemerged. I'd been the hero, slaying Gomorke and ending the nothing before it could rip Fantasia apart. Okay, I guess that was pretty fun. We fell into a decent rhythm after that, even if Jason shirked his real wrangling duties more and more all. and leaving me in the projection booth while my supposed friends experienced things most of us can only dream of. Still, I made the very most of my time in those places,

exploring the labyrinth with Sarah, Ludo, and Sir Didomis, or slaying wing terrors with Galen and Dragon Slayer. The best night of all was the one when Chris and Jason were both grounded. Tony and I went back to Fantasia, just the two of us, and it was so different without the others. Of course, it was cut rudely short because there was no one to change the real,

but for half an hour we had our heart's desire. She was the chosen one and I was the moon child. And everything felt right as the nothing was banished, along with all the some things we couldn't express. We never talked about that night again. Because like all good things, our adventures had to come to an end. Chris turned up that Sunday in a foul mood,

one eye suspiciously puffy and both of them read. Tony wouldn't say a word, even more mute than usual. Chris snapped at Jason as we filed into the theater. Just play the damn film. It was my turn again. I wasn't accepting any excuses from Jason this time. It had been too long since I'd been in. I'd picked Labyrinth again.

There were still plenty of places I hadn't gotten around to exploring in detail. I should have known from the beginning that Chris was going to be an asshole. I should have told him to wait outside, but I guess I thought that fighting Jarrett might improve his mood. It didn't, and the further inside we went, the worst things got. One moment we were walking through the maze, the castle shimmering in the heat haze of the distance,

and the next Chris and the protagonist, Sarah, were gone. Tony and I searched to no avail, calling out their names, which echoed strangely off the stone walls. What do you think happened? I'm not sure, but don't worry. It'll work out. Everything always works out in the films where the good guys win.

It was that moment that I heard a muffled scream not far away. I ran faster than I could in the real world. Some instinct guided me around several corners until I all but tripped over Chris who was lying on top of Sarah. His hands were guiding hers into the flagstones and he forced his mouth over hers while she struggled and kicked underneath him.

Get off her! I kicked him in the ribs as hard as I could. He rolled to one side, winded, letting go of Sarah's hands. I turned my back on him and helped Tony get the shaking Sarah on her feet. Tears and dirt streaked her pale cheeks, and I reeled with emotions I couldn't even name.

None of this is real. None of this matters. She doesn't matter. She's not a real person. I shoved him hard into the stone walls. Why? Why did you have to ruin everything? Why do you shit on everything I like?

Why do you have to be such a fucking dickhead? His sneer was ugly in adult as he spat on the cobbles at my feet. You're just jealous. You just. I just wish you were her, don't you mad? He pursed his lips at me obscenely, then turned and ran awkwardly into the depths of the maze, still half-winded and holding his side.

There are no more adventures for the rest of that movie. We sat with Sarah, making soothing plans to get her baby brother back, until the film ejected us. Tony and I didn't look at each other as we wiped our own eyes, but we briefly touched hands in the dark of the theater before we both headed home. All we saw of Chris was his back.

as he pushed through the fire exit and let the door bang closed. The next day, as we assembled outside the doors, Chris ambushed me from behind. He grabbed me by the collar and threw me into the brick wall of the theater, jerking once to make my head smack painfully into the pocked surface. You might be the hero in your faggot fantasy films, but out here in the real world, I'm bigger and stronger than you, and I can kick your sorry ass any time I want. He threw a significant look at Tony, and his breath was, hot as he whispered two words in my ear before he let me go, shoving me toward the doors.

Now get up to that booth and put on Easy Rider before I break your fucking nose. The pain in my head was a sharp, fiery knot. It throbbed as I climbed the stairs up to the projection room, each pulse in time with those words I couldn't unhear. Those two beautiful, secret words made into something so ugly. Jason wasn't a bad guy, but he would never do anything to gainsay Chris's authority, so I knew I wouldn't get any help there. He wanted me stuck on projector duty, so he never had to miss out on anything himself.

I had thought that Tony wanted to help, but she had to live with Chris. And clearly he had so much power over her that she had told him the very thing I never dreamed she would share. As I got the canisters down from the shelves, an ugly, terrible idea flared in my head, replacing all the pain and betrayal.

The moment the red, white, and blue engine tank flashed up on the screen. The others jumped into the film, vanishing into a world of hippies and Harleys. But that world wouldn't last, because the second reel, all set to go on the second projector, not contained the second half of Easy Rider. By the time I started the motor on the second projector, my hands were sweating and shaking. In a few seconds, the gang would be hurled out of their drug-filled motorcycle adventure across America, and into a far more terrifying world, one of flayed faces and severed limbs, inspired by the real-life serial killer Ed Gein. I've often wondered exactly what happened during that transition.

Sometimes, when Jason got his timing wrong on the reel switch, the movie world would flicker and ripple around us, like fluorescent lights dying, then writing themselves. I imagine this abrupt switch would be much more profound, and I have expected the poorly understood magic of this place to kick them out prematurely, with the threat of continuity lost. But nobody emerged as the second reel kicked in. And I sat back, smugly imagining the terrors that awaited them. When the film ended, only one figure emerged.

Tony's face was streaked with blood and her clothes were torn, but she was otherwise unharmed. I ran down from the booth as she stumbled off the stage, her legs trembling so much that she couldn't hold herself up properly. As I reached out to steady her, she pushed me away into the front row of seats. Her tears tracking furrows through the half-tried blood. You changed the reels, didn't you? And leatherface murdered them. No, they can't be dead. They can't be.

I just wanted to scare them. Have you actually watched the Texas chainsaw massacre before? No, this was my first time. You know I don't like horror. Tony's next words were heavy with meaning. Layers of counter-betrayal and insult beyond anything I had even thought about. The stupid girl is the only one.

who survives. Slumping heavily into one of the seats, my mind raced as I tried to think of a solution. We can go back in. Maybe they're still in there. Maybe we can stop Leatherface. Her dark eyes were so bitter, so full of pain,

fixed on me. Kill you if he go in there. Don't you get it? He wins. The boys all die, and you can't change who wins. You know that. You can't change who wins, and you can't change who you really are.

Then you need to go back in. Her lip was shaking as she spoke, and fresh tears dripped from her trembling chin. There is no way I'm going back in there. Do you hear me? You have no idea what they did to me in there. I wanted to comfort her, but I couldn't fix any of this. What are we going to do? I don't know, but I don't want anything to do with you ever again, Matthew Lawson.

The boys were declared missing persons, and the whole town was turned upside down to search for them. I told the cops the whole story, but they wouldn't believe me. The police psychologist told my parents that I'd suffered an acute nervous breakdown, and I was put on strong sedatives for the better part of a year. Chris and Tony's dad went on a huge bender and crashed his car into the river. The rumor was he'd used the money he'd pilfered from Chris's bike fund a few weeks before. Maybe that was Chris's own final act of inadvertent revenge. His deadbeat dad freezing to death in the dark, icy water, too drunk to fight anything anymore.

Neither Tony or I ever went back to the theater, as far as I know. And six years later, two days after my 20th birthday, it was torn down and turned into a parking lot. We met then, one last time, as we watched the last trailer of brick and rubble being hauled away. She didn't even turn the engine of her bike off And she didn't say anything to me She didn't need to Those huge expressive brown eyes Wordlessly informed me

And she still didn't forgive me And that as far as she was concerned I was still a murderer As she rode away Her dark hair streamed behind her And all I could think about was how it had whipped in my face as I clung to her waist Her cries urging our tracks

Into a full gallop across the grassy plains I never watched the never-ending story again or labyrinth. These days I can't really watch any film for very long, because eventually I'll glimpse their faces, and I'll know they're inside somewhere, reliving their horrible deaths over and over again. Even now, 30 years on from those events, I can still hear Chris's words echoing in my head, a mantra that will haunt me for the rest of my life. None of this is real. None of this matters. But it was real, and it did matter.

in one petty act of revenge I killed my best friends and they were my friends despite all their complexities and all their flaws and all their unique pain concealed beneath the bright veneer of those times I killed them as surely as if I'd done it with my own

hand and I'm still trying to find a way to live with that but I can't seem to change the real If run out of tape it's time to press eject and end the show We thank you for letting us perform for you. If you would like to find out how you can hear the full-length versions of our audio program,

please visit the no-sleep podcast.com to learn about our season pass program. Over 60 hours of content for only 1999. On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast, we thank you for listening. Join us again next week when we'll insert another tape and press play. Production is copyright 2018 by Creative Reason Media, Inc. All rights reserved. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted

without the written consent of Creative Reason Media, Inc.