The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S11E13

Episode Date: August 26, 2018

It's episode 13 of Season 11. On this week's show we have five tales about menacing media, heavenly horrors, and malicious mothers. "VIRUS"† written by Mike Thorn and performed by Jessica McEvoy & Nichole Goodnight & Mike DelGaudio. (Story starts around 00:03:40) "The Time-Out Doll"† written by Rona Vaselaar and performed by Addison Peacock & Alexis Bristowe & Nichole Goodnight & Erin Lillis. (Story starts around 00:33:55) "In Between The Dry-Heaves"† written by J.D. McGregor and performed by Atticus Jackson & Kyle Akers. (Story starts around 01:09:20) "Backyard Astronaut"‡ written by Elias Witherow and performed by David Cummings & Jeff Clement. (Story starts around 01:23:15) "Weird Church"¤ written by Jennifer Winters and performed by Erin Lillis & Mary Murphy & Jessica McEvoy & Jesse Cornett & Nikolle Doolin. (Story starts around 01:53:55) Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast   Click here to enter the Sennheiser AMBEO Smart Headset Contest   Click here to learn more about Mike Thorn   Click here to learn more about Rona Vaselaar   Click here to learn more about J.D. McGregor   Click here to learn more about Elias Witherow   Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone Audio adaptations produced by: Phil Michalski† & Jeff Clement‡ & Jesse Cornett¤ "The Time-Out Doll" illustration courtesy of Hasani Walker 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 it to your fear because tonight there will be... 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 menacing media,

heavenly horrors, and malicious mothers. Your ears may recall me mentioning a contest a few episodes back. Well, it's time to believe your ears, if you can. The No Sleep podcast and Senheiser USA are proud to give you the chance to win a Senheiser Smart Headset. This combination headset and binoral microphones allow you to record stunning 3D audio on your iOS device. In fact, I even have my own pair. Let's try them out. I just need to head over to this other room. Ah, yes, here we are. You see, in this special room, I have a severed head, and let's pretend it's a fake severed head. And on this head, I have put the Senheuser Ambio Smart headset. So, what is it with this headset? Well, let me tell you. The O-in-one headset contains in-ear canal headphones with lightning connector.

It features high-quality music listening, transparent hearing mode, active noise cancellation, 3D sound recording, immersive playback, and crystal clear voice calls. Yes, it is an impressive headset. So, there you go. I'm going to leave the fake head over there and head back to the booth. So, as you can hear, these are excellent for recording immersive and realistic audio right on your iPhone or iOS device with a lightning connector. How do you enter? Well, you head over to contests.com. The nosleeppodcast.com. There, you'll find five audio samples recorded by our senior producer, Phil Mikulski, using the Senheiser Ambio Smart headset.

Listen to each sample and tell us what you think Phil is recording on those samples. Email us your answers, and if you get all five right, you'll be entered to win. All the details and rules are on the contest page at contests.com. We hope to be hearing from you very soon. But now it's time for you to hear us. Because the tape is in the machine, the stories are ready, so let's press play. In our first tale, we encounter a whole. horrible crime. Whether it's movies, music, or podcasts, I'm sure author Mike Thorne agrees that

pirating digital media is a heinous act. But when the two young women in his story finally find the torrent they're looking for, they learn all too well about the horrible consequences. Performing this tale are Jessica McAvoy, Nicole Goodnight, and Mike Delgado. So do the right thing and don't pirate media. You run the risk of getting a virus. I entered the URL and landed on a dead page. I double-checked Carol's text message, re-typed, and got the same prohibitive message again. This site can't be reached. I texted her back. Deadlink. Then rolled the chair away from my desk. My phone bust. It was a text from dad. Hey, Shelby, watching a movie called The Taken.

Come on up and join if you want. Love you, Dad. I'd already told him approximately six million times not to text me while we were both in the same house. And also that he didn't need to sign off every single message like it was a greeting card. But every time I reminded him, he got this weird, bleary look in his eyes and asked why, I wanted to hurt him. Count me out, Dad. It was time to put on my headphones, chill with some music,

and maybe even do some much-needed snoozing. I sprawled out on my bedspread with iPod in hand when my phone vibrated again, rattling against my laptop. I groaned, set my iPod down, and patted back to the desk. My phone screen was still bright, casting Kempark. Carol's reply up at my sleepy eyes. Be right there. I lifted my cell, fully intending to protest. Something like, mom and dad said no friends over on school nights.

Or maybe, I'm kind of tired. Can you just try texting me a different link? But when it came to Carol, there was no point. I had tried bringing up my friends' strange, bordering on insane obsession, far too many times to count. I'd done it this morning while we were walking to school

from the train station. You know, you've been super fixated on this torrent thing for a while now. Like a weirdly long time. Carol tried to sniff through blocked nostrils. I'll stop fixating once I find it. Gross. I reached into my parka jacket

and pulled out a mini Kleenex pack. Take one. Carol took four, blew her nose and tossed the used tissue into the snow. Here's the thing. I have this niggling feeling that you're going to be even more obsessed once you track it down. Did you just say niggling? What does that mean? You know, niggling.

It means what it sounds like. Carol bumped my shoulder and laughed. You talk like an old woman. lady. I had then replied that Carol talked like someone with a severe and incurable cognitive disability, whereupon Carol suggested that her niggling friend go find something better to do, like fuck herself. We hadn't discussed the torrent thing anymore throughout the day, and I had expected not to hear about it again until the next morning, when Carol would inevitably lament that she still hadn't managed to dig it up. When a message from Carol containing the URL

popped up on my phone earlier that evening, I actually let out a gasp. Now, I found myself gasping at a message for the second time that night. I'm outside. I bolted up the stairs two at a time. As I opened the door, I imagined Dad's ears swiveling like a bat's. I could never enter or exit this house without first answering some stupid question. Where are you going? How was your day?

Did you get your homework done? I needed you to pick up bread on your way home. Didn't you get my text? Lo and behold, Dad called out from the living room. What are you doing, darling? The volume lowered on whatever movie he was watching. I heard Liam Neeson growl something threatening. I'm just about to invite Carol inside.

Pause. I mouthed Dad's expected reply as he spoke. On a school night? Homework. I quickly stepped outside to meet Carol on the driveway. She strutted toward me with both arms crossed under a too thin hoodie. Purple bangs flapping as she moved. I know why it isn't working.

Hold up. I blocked her with my arm. Before we go inside, you have to promise you'll play along with my alibi. We're doing homework. Got it? Sure, fine. Carol pushed me aside and continued crunching through the snow. But you need to learn to stand up to authority every once in a while, Shell.

Stung, I almost said something nasty. At least I know who my parents are. Thankfully, I'd always had more restraint than my plum-haired friend. We stepped inside. Dad emerged from the living room as we kicked off our boots. He paused, bawling his hands on either side of his polo-clad punch. Really, ladies? Homework? He tapped his wristwatch.

It's getting a mite late, isn't it? Computer science. Uh-huh. There's this thing called lying. You might be familiar with the term. You wouldn't happen to be doing something like that right now, would you? I collected myself. No, Dad. I'm only laughing at Carol

because she left her homework up to the last minute. Good save. Dad shot a faintly disapproving stare that somehow enveloped both Carol and me simultaneously. What? Dad strained his face into a joyless smile that said We'll talk about it later. Just keep it down,

and I want your friend out of here by midnight, understood. Okay, Dad. I grabbed Carol by the arm and led her toward the stairs. My hand was on the doorknob when Dad called down. Oh, and girls? Carol raised her eyebrows. This guy needs to pop a volume or take up drinking or something. Jesus, Mary Joseph.

Shut up. I opened the door and pushed her through. Yeah, Dad? Don't make this a habit. I said nothing. Followed Carol into the room and shut the door behind. me. What was so universe shaking that it couldn't wait until tomorrow morning, Carol? Jesus Mary Joseph yourself. Carol was already in the desk chair, rolling toward the laptop wearing an expression

of maniacal focus. I had it all wrong. You can't just swipe this thing from the pirate bay or whatever. All the versions that have been popping up on the well-known torrent sites are fake. I made a hesitant step toward her. Are you sure you're okay, Carol? You're sure you're not just trying to distract yourself? At this, Carol whirled around. Chair wheels purring angrily. Distract myself from what?

Gee, let's see. Maybe from your abusive foster parents, or from your slipping grades? Or how about the reality that high school ends in just a few months? And that for you, that could mean the end of a lot of, of other things, too. Does that sound right? Forget it. But if you ever need to talk... Yeah, whatever. Carol faced the screen again, tapping away at the keyboard.

Huh, the site's not even on anyone's radar, Shelby. I had to get access to this private chat room. They call it Anglo Properties, help forums. Names absolute bullshit. Doesn't mean anything. But it sounds innocent. Sounds like nonsense. Your foster jerks took away your laptop, didn't they? Carol paused. Her shoulders bunched up under her hoodie. I don't want to talk about home life shit, okay? I'm trying to show you something that's important to me.

Can't you just be a friend and listen? I moved closer and pulled Carol's hood over her eyes. Relax, Carol. Okay, show me. What is this all... Oh, fuck! She yanked off the hood. Oh, fuck me!

Hey, language! I rested my forearm on Carol's shoulder and leaned in to look at the screen. What? What is it? Her torrent client filled the screen. A single file announced the name, Seed and Die. I didn't usually download illegally, but I'd given in to temptation once or twice when I couldn't find the movie or album I wanted through legitimate vendors. Seed and Die downloaded quicker than anything I'd ever snagged online.

The progress bar filled green within 30 seconds. Before the file status could switch from downloading to seeding, Carol clicked the pause button. We surveyed the screen in silence. I is scanning back and forth from the title to the status. Done. Okay, so what is it? A horror movie?

That's a pretty lame title. Carol sat on moving, her eyes staring straight ahead. I can't. I can't believe it. We have it. What is it? A snuff film? What stupid thing did you get me to download?

Shut up! Carol's voice sounded authoritative, almost adult. You can't, for one fucking second, imagine what it's like to need something so bad and never be able to find it. You can't know what I'm feeling right now, so just shut up and stop making assumptions. I threw up my hands. Wow, because that's not dramatic or anything. Carol ignored me, opening the file on VLC Media Player. The player opened with a black loading screen.

Then the video began. I expected some faux hardcore shit, maybe some cheap exploit. notation imagery that would leave me feeling like I needed to take a shower. Something along the lines of the nasty horror movies that Carol usually made me watch. What filled my laptop screen was something I never could have expected. And it was somehow much, much worse for that. Carol and I stared in unison at a skewed version of the room we occupied. On screen, I sat in the table.

chair while Carol stood behind, leaning on my shoulder. The video versions of ourselves looked duly unsettled, staring back at their reversed real-life counterparts. I backed away from the screen, fuming. Okay, Carol, this is far enough. This is the meanest trick you've ever pulled. On-screen Carol matched real me's movement, shrinking into the darker background. On-screen me turned in the chair to face her, just as real Carol twisted to face real me. Please tell me you have one of those uploading blocker software things. What the hell are you talking about? Please tell me you weren't uploading this file as you downloaded it?

Don't you mean you weren't uploading it as you downloaded it? Let's not get confused here. Girls? Carol stood up and raised two placating hands. Here's the thing. This torrent is weird and trippy to watch, but if you see that even for one second, shit goes haywire.

This is what all the people in the forum are saying. It's like a drug. You do it right, it's maybe a little bit scary, but overall fucking awesome. You do it wrong, your trip can be hell. And it can feel never ending. I wanted to share a good trip with you because you're always so uptight.

You're talking about drug trips? Carol, someone's recording us right now and messing with the footage. Some sicko is watching us right now and getting off on it. And it's your fault! Expressionless, Carol pointed at the laptop's duct-taped camera eye. Only we both know that you covered up your webcam ages ago because you were freaked out about creepy dudes hacking you

and watching you while you slept or jacked off or whatever it is that good kids normally do on school nights. Are you seriously joking right now? Girls, what kind of homework are you working on? Don't let him in. You let him in here, and shit's going to get worse. Believe me. My head felt like a balloon swelling with too much air.

I dug my fingernails into my palms and seethed breath through my teeth. We've been friends a long time, Carol. But I'm sick and tired of you turning your own messed up life into my problem. Your problem? Carol made a face like she was staring at a fresh car wreck. Your problem? You know what happened last night when foster daddy found out I skipped third period physics? Carol, don't make this about your...

You think it's tough to have a dad who cares a little too much? Shelby? Carol? I spoke without turning. We're fine, Dad. Carol just... How about having a dad who pins you down by the wrist and skips all the lecturing to build up a big luggy in his throat and shoot it in your face? Carol unrolled her sleeves to reveal two arms covered in purple splashes of bruise. How about dealing with this kind of fucking shit?

Shelby, let me in. How about we find out if the stories about this torrent are true? She leaned over the laptop and clicked a VLC drop-down labeled Media. Dad pushed the door open a smidge. Shelby! My chest felt like a tiny room whose walls were steadily moving. inward. My face was hot. It seemed to pulse. Without pause, I whirled around and shut the door in his face. Can't you both just leave me alone for once? I can't breathe! Suddenly my vision and body twisted

so that I was now standing over the laptop and tapping away at the keyboard. One glance at the screen revealed that I was typing nonsense. It entered a string of seemingly random letters and symbols into a dialogue box labeled Seated World. I was where Carol had been a second ago. On the screen, I saw myself raging at my father, who held me by the shoulders like I was a hysterical woman in some 1950s melodrama. My mirror image, Carol, leaned over the laptop. And, and I was a hysterical, just like me. Carol had entered some fucked up techno-pagan code into a category in the media drop-down.

Whatever she'd typed, it had flipped reality and laptop simulation, leaned in closer to the screen, as if I could simply probe my head through the glowing surface and re-emerge in my real bedroom. I'm inside my computer, and everything is all mixed up.

Behind me, Dad shouted that he couldn't breathe. The carol on this side touched his arm and told him to be calm. In the room's background, the bedside table lamp sucked light into its bowl and cast back palpable. My bed quivered like a distressed animal before bristling suddenly with rows of glimmering spikes. The room spun like a wheel, bottom over top, and I fell upward for a moment before collapsing down on the ceiling.

The laptop dove and smashed beside me with a fatal shrapnel raining crash. I pulled myself to a shaky sitting position and dabbed a finger at my throbbing temple where I'd smacked the corner of my upended bedside table. Something vast and orange filled the blackness behind the window shades, which rattled as if assaulted by a vicious windstorm. You can take back from the other place, but don't ever, ever, ever give back. The thought was not my own.

It crowded out my mental processes like a siren invading sleep. The voice was old and sexless and undoubtedly inhuman. It gave the impression of un- Don't ever seed and die. The window shades finally relented and peop. heeled back, flapping out like a tongue, revealing a shape too large to be viewed from this window or any other. I scuttled toward my upside-down bedroom door, away from that horribly vital glow. The shades finally tugged loose from their fixtures, tracing clumsy cartwheels over my head.

My brain chimed in with a terrible and ill-timed joke. This has got to be the most hardcore anti-pirating campaign of all time. I didn't take time to entertain any further thoughts. I ignored the persistent ache in my skull, got to my feet, and ran for the door. Carol fought to remove the tangled shades that landed on her face. Wait for me! Dad used his collar as a tissue for his blubbering face.

I ignored them both, passing through the door and expecting fully to exit into a flipped version of the landing at the bottom of my house's stairs. Instead, I practically skidded to a stop at the edge of a precipice, where I'd expected to tread on stucco, an expanse of blackness yawned instead. Once, as a young girl,

I'd gone off to find a campsite toilet while my parents were busy sleeping on their side of the RV. I'd forgotten to bring my flashlight and ended up stumbling through a brambly patch of forest, whose thick overhang seemed to block out moonlight altogether. My petrified seven-year-old brain had thought this to be the darkest place in existence. The darkness of that scratchy and moonless place was like a floodlight compared to the expanse of nothing that stretched before me now.

I retreated back toward my room, but stopped when an infernal racket erupted from inside. I turned my head slid. and saw that blinding orange energy rushing, pulsing, flooding. Dad and Carol made ghastly, despairing sounds. I looked ahead, tremors crawling up my lips. Pure light or pure dark. I poised again on the edge of the void, my brain teetering on the line between the equally horrific options.

Then something moved in the absence before me, a group of humanoid figures swimming through the blackness with an eerie, graceful synchronicity. As they drew nearer, I discovered that they were scarecrows of identical appearance. There were three of them, locked arm in arm, all dawning the same gray overalls and the same orange plaid shirts. The middle one extended an arm, which I half expected to bleed a trail of hay or dead grass. The scarecrow spoke in unison, their stitched mouths on... Come with us. I only needed to turn for a second to realize that the tangerine glow was spreading fast, now urging its way toward the doorframe with terribly indifferent force.

Pure dark. I clutched the re- I expected a sensation of weightlessness below my feet, but the blackness was thick and soupy. I tightened my grip on the scarecrow's hand anyway and landed a pleading gaze on its vacant button eyes. All three members of the weird trio

remained silent as they turned back around, pulling me along. Once we fully faced the darkness, we glided away from the light, swift, advance. I felt the orange glow's heat on my back. Something gooey and warm coiled around my ankle. Unresponsive, the scarecrow sped faster into the void. The one to my right turned its lumpy body and chopped at the pursuing light matter with its arm. The light loosened its grip, and I fixed my eyes on everything that stretched before me. Everything was nothing.

Snap out of it! Carol, I propped my eyes open and saw my laptop screen glowing mere inches from my face. I shoved it back. It clacked against the wall so hard that the light blinked out for a second. Shelby, chill! Carol leaned in and soft punched my shoulder. It's over. What?

I looked around my room. Everything looked. Normal. I reached down to pinch my leg. It hurt. How? The torrent was everything I heard it was. And more. Did you see shit, too, like hallucinations? Yeah, I... I guess I did. These techno-ocultists are making some trippy trips. Was it worth it? Worth it? My tiny arm hair stood on guard. How? How? How? Don't ask me how?

Carol laughed and wiped a purple bang away from her eyes. I'm not a computer scientist. My body acted before my mind. I reached out and yanked a stunned Carol across the room, pulling so hard that I heard the seams straining in her hoodie. Leave. But... I pushed the door open and shoved her toward the stairs.

Carol's shin thudded against the bottom step. Shit, I got the fucking message. Dad called over the din of his action movie. Language! Carol ascended the stairs with purposeful stumps. As soon as she pulled on her unlaced boots, she plunged outside and slammed the door behind her with an echoing bang. Dad paused his film yet again.

What's with all the door slamming? Shell, my troublesome bell. I stood trembling at the foot of the stairs, unresponsive. I pinched my arms again and again, finding comfort in the stings. This is real. You're awake, and this is real. The thought no longer brought comfort when I saw my father emerge from the living room and peer down the stairs. I wasn't looking at the dopey, wrinkled face I loved. even when I hated it.

Instead, the neck rising from Dad's ill-fitting polo shirt produced a blinding orange orb, which conveyed terrible awareness even despite its lack of features. The voice was like a nasty thought, forcibly transplanted straight into my brain. I would have turned to run back into my room, but I could hear the shades fluttering angrily against the top of my window again,

as if actively battling against what was trying to get inside. So I sprinted up the stairs, eyes squeezed shut, barreling through whatever my dad had become. I ignored the Doc Martin's I'd left lying on the entrance mat, bursting through the door to run down the driveway in my socks, spraying starbursts of snow in my wake. The coldness on my skin was all too real, but I had no intention of stopping to think what this meant. I charged straight at the vast fiery wave that spanned everything in my eyeline.

If you're going to kill me, then get it over and done with, I thought. Everything went from icy cold to scorching hot, and I screamed a silent scream before my world was snapped open. Everything looked blobby and indistinct. I blinked hard a few times, and Carol's face. swam into view. Oh shit. You look like you had one hell of a trip. I pulled away and shot her a suspicious look.

Stop it. Don't mess with my head. Carol raised both hands and laughed desperately. Over, Shelby, for real. Don't tell me it's over unless it's really over. I promise, look, let's just go outside and get some fresh air. I looked at my friend's extended hands. and the way one might look at a king cobra.

I'm good. I'll see you tomorrow, okay? That's enough excitement for tonight. Yeah, okay. Carol smirked. Whatever. See you tomorrow. She pushed her fingers through her bangs and blew a stream of air.

What a trip, man. I ignored her, flopping back on my bed. She exited my bedroom and climbed the stairs. For the second time that night, I reached for my iPod. I didn't even get a chance to open my music library because Dad was calling to remind me that everything was most certainly not okay. Hey, girls!

He sounded elated, like he'd been huffing gas rather than taking in a flick. You're on TV! Channel 99. Seed and what? Oh, seed and die. What is this? My question too, Dad. I flipped over to bury my face in my pillow,

hoping I could suffocate myself before that orange-headed monstrosity tried to start another conversation. I opened my mouth wide, sucking cotton, and howled with that. out making a sound. There are lots of wonderful treasures to be found in antique shops.

But in this tale from author Rona Vassilar, we learn there are also items to be avoided. When a shop's owner goes through some recent items from an estate sale, there is one item in particular with a very dark past. Performing this tale are Addison Peacock, Alexis Bristow, Nicole Goodnight, and Aaron Lillis. So if you find yourself browsing through an antique shop, steer clear of the timeout doll. It's sort of a shitty excuse for an antique store. There's one or two good pieces in the store. Aside from those, it's a whole lot of junk.

Broken dolls, chipped tables, incomplete dinnerware sets. It isn't arranged in any sort of order or with care. objects are piled on top of one another half-hazardly. You have to be careful walking through the aisles so a tower of useless junk doesn't topple over and bury you in an avalanche of obsolescence. There's dust on the shelves. The carpet is 40 years old.

And there's always at least one light bulb out, leaving the store surrounded in a dim gloom. So, yeah, we're not exactly quite. cornering the market on class or sophistication, but it's still the one place in the world I can call home. My name is Serena Kingsley. I'm 23 years old, and I've worked at this store since I was 16.

I didn't have the greatest home life, so the owner of the store, an elderly woman named Marcia Capstan, took me in, gave me a place to stay, and took me to work in her store. She and I became very close. She was the mother that I never had. When she died, she left the entire store and all her worldly possessions to me.

Since then, I've done my best to keep the place up and running. It hasn't been easy, and some years are better than others. But since I took over, I've made some changes, and things are going better than ever. I've even made enough money to hire an assistant. A young lady named Stephanie Baker who keeps me sane. She and I couldn't be more different. I'm soft-spoken with mousy brown hair, Coke bottle glasses,

and an upturned nose that makes me look aloof no matter what I do. Stephanie has fire-engine hair, a smattering of freckles across her face, lively green eyes, and a booming voice that draws the attention of every red-blooded man and several women. for miles around. I'm extremely lucky to have her.

I'm even luckier that she happens to like mousy brown nerds. Relationships between bosses and subordinates are frowned upon almost universally. But Stephanie has never felt like a subordinate to me. She and I work as a team. And together, we are raising this store from the dust, expanding our horizons, bringing in new clientess,

One of the things Stephanie excels at is finding things. She goes hunting for products for the store, and she always, always finds something. On the weekends, she starts up her pickup truck and helps me climb into the front seat, always pushing me up by my ass just to see me blush. We drive all over the country looking for antiques. We've found some pretty cool things together.

It's my favorite way. way to spend a Saturday. But a few months ago, Stephanie had to make one of the trips herself. I'd gotten food poisoning, should have expected it from that gas station sushi. So she was on her own for the estate sale we'd been eyeing. It was only a few hours away, and the estate had belonged to a pretty wealthy woman, Mrs. Carmich, with excellent taste. She only had one child, who must have resented her a great deal because he was selling everything she owned and selling it really cheap.

Stephanie came out good on that one. When I saw her at work that Monday, we went through her spoils and I was very pleased. She'd gotten an ornate jewelry box, a chest of drawers, a small coffee table, and a few other pieces of furniture, all things that would sell relatively quickly

since they were in such good shape. and we'd gotten a great deal on it. She spent about half as much as I told her she could. I was so excited about the furniture, I almost didn't see it. When I did, I jumped out of my skin. Stephanie, did you let a kid in here? There was a child in our store, about an hour before opening,

hiding against the front counter. Her face was tucked in her hands as she leaned against the counter, like she was playing hide-and-seek. What was most bewildering is that she was dressed in a floral-patterned dress with a matching bonnet. I'd never seen a little girl dressed like that. She looked like she'd walked right out of the pages of the little house on the prairie or something. Stephanie laughed at my shocked expression. I wondered how long it would take you to notice.

She walked over and pulled the little girl away from the counter. Now I was able to see that she had no face and that her limbs did not bend. What the hell is that? This is a timeout doll. I wrinkled my nose and disgust, managing to convey through my lack of response that I had no idea what that even meant. These used to be really cool back in the day. My grandma had one, and sometimes people put them up at car shows, although I never could understand why. Anyway, after I bought all this furniture, Mr. Carmite gave me this doll as a bonus.

Said I was the only one who would take it because it creeped everyone else out. I wonder why. That last part was clearly sarcastic. I couldn't imagine anyone looking at such a thing and thinking it was cute. You should have told him to keep it. Come on, Serena. This is exactly the type of thing our clientele by. I'll bet you this doll won't be here a week before some little old lady snaps it up.

You'll see. I sighed and gave in. Fine. But you keep that thing away from the front counter? Put it back in a corner somewhere. Far, far away from me. Stephanie laughed and moved the doll. I watched her, hauling it down one of the narrow pathways in the store,

and tried not to shudder. I hate dolls. I hate their lifeless eyes and their stiff limbs and their cold cheeks. or even worse when they don't have actual faces painted on them and a doll that looks like a toddler waiting in timeout something about that just makes my skin crawl maybe because they look so lifelike or maybe because they're meant to embody a state of abject misery

that just seems sick to me but for all my complaints Stephanie had good taste and a good eye for what our clientele like. If she said the doll would be sold within a week, it would be sold within a week. Everything from the estate sale sold well, and that week of work was excellent for business. We ended the week on a high note on Friday,

when a white-haired woman in pumps and a Vero Wong dress waltzed into our store and zeroed in on the timeout doll immediately. Well, if this isn't the cutest thing I've ever seen, My sister has one of these. I simply must have it. Stephanie made the sale and gave me a smirk that screamed, I told you so. I kissed it right off her lips, mostly because I was so happy to have that thing gone. I thought that was the end of my doll trouble.

Having that thing in the store creeped me out, even when I couldn't see it. Actually, it was probably worse when I couldn't see it. But then, come Monday morning as I went to open the store, the little old lady was back, doll in hand, waiting outside. I'm so sorry to do this, but I have to return this doll. Oh, sure. Of course. Was there a problem with your purchase, ma'am?

I was shocked because most people don't bother returning things to our store. We sell old crap, and the people who buy it know they're buying old crap, so what's the point? No, not with the doll. her say. It's just that my granddaughter is terrified of it. She's staying with me for two weeks this summer, and I thought she'd like it, but the poor dear can't be in the same room with it. I'm at my wits, and she just won't stop crying. I have to get it out of the house as soon as possible. Is there any chance you'll take it back? Of course. We don't often accept returns, but in this case I felt it was wholly justified.

And I felt very sorry for that poor little girl. I gave the woman her money back as she apologized profusely. She showed her gratitude by buying a little trinket box for her granddaughter from us. As I sent her on her way, I stared back at the doll, now standing against the front counter once again, and wondered what I was going to do with it. I told Stephanie what happened when she came into work that day.

Poor kid. She smoothed out the doll's dress and pouted. I can see where a kid might be a little freaked out by it. What, you mean faceless corner dolls aren't child-friendly? Stephanie just rolled her eyes. We'll find someone to take it. Give it another week. Hey, maybe we can put up a sign.

Haunted doll. Cheap. Don't even joke about that. This time, Stephanie and I decided to keep the timeout doll near the front. I figured I could put up with it for a few days if it meant someone would see it and pick it up sooner. Besides, I decided it was better left where I could keep an eye on it. Several days passed without incident. Although nobody bought the doll, we did make a lot of big furniture sales, and that kept me in a good mood.

Stephanie was out for the second half of the week to attend her cousin's wedding, so the store was a bit gloomier than normal, but I managed. I went to the store early that Friday to do some housekeeping and go over some paperwork. Tax season was right around the corner and I needed to get things done. It was still dark outside when I reached the store and I had to feel blindly for the lights once I was inside. I found the light switch, but the store remained shrouded in darkness. No power. Just another thing to add to my to do list that morning.

I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness as I fumbled for my phone. I was about to press the number for the power company when a soft sound made me pause. I lifted my head and strained my ears. It was hard to hear at first. But once I focused, it became clear that the sound I heard was crying, which meant that somebody was in my store. I tensed and turned on the flashlight app on my phone.

I cast its bluish light around the room, looking for the source of the crying. As it fell on the doll, I practically jumped out of my skin before remembering that it was just that. A doll. The crying sounded like it was coming from that doll. I squinted at it,

thinking my ears must be playing a trick on me. The sound had to be coming from somewhere else. Maybe a kid had gotten into the store somehow. But as the crying got louder, I was forced to face an ugly truth. It was definitely the doll. As I stood there hesitating, the crying turned into wailing. It should have inspired pity, but instead it made me want to bolt. What was I supposed to do?

Was I supposed to talk to it? Should I run? But I didn't want to turn my back on it to get to the door. Before I could make up my mind, the crying stopped abruptly. Silence descended on the store, so thick I was choking on it. The doll didn't move, and neither did I. Please let me go. The doll's shoulders shook just a bit, and it spoke.

I'm sorry. Its nasally voice told me that it was. on the verge of tears once again. The voice was so pitiful, so despairing, that I felt a sharp pain in my heart despite the fear. I found myself wanting to reach out and comfort the doll, as though it was a real little girl. I reigned in my fear as I stretched out my hand,

wanting to give some comfort, if only to stop the crying. In a flash, its head jerked up, facing me. His face was as blank as the day it was brought into my store. The tears had stopped. The voice had died out too. All that stared back at me

was a faceless wooden doll. I stumbled backwards, shocked. And the doll followed. It stretched out its hands and came after me, its wooden feet thumping hard against the shop floor. Its gate jerky

and uncoordinated due to its lack of knee joints. It waddled like a toddler. Its wooden hands reaching for me. It was shockingly fast. Before I could even move, it was nearly in front of me. I screamed and backed away towards the door, stumbling and nearly falling on my ass on the dusty carpet. Still, the doll came with a vengeance, its blank face somehow staring at me without eyes. I managed to propel myself out of the door and slam it closed, locking it just as the doll thumped hard into the glass. I yanked my hands off the door and stumbled away, breathing hard, expecting to hear the doll at the door shaking the handle waiting for me. Instead, everything was silent. I approached the door cautiously,

my body shaking with terror, sweat pouring down my face. I held my phone up. The flashlight's still on. Its beam erratic in my shaking hands. The doll was nowhere near the door. I peered inside the store, getting minutely closer to the glass over several long minutes, terrified that it would jump out at me like some kind of horror movie monster. Finally, I spotted it.

It was standing against the front counter. Its hands on its face just like when I'd come in that morning. as though it had never moved. And why would it? It was just a doll, after all. Understandably, I didn't open the store that morning. I waited until Stephanie was back from the wedding before even considering going to the store.

When I explained to her what happened, she was doubtful. But she knew that I wasn't the type of person to make things up or imagine things. I want that doll out of here. I don't care where it goes as long as it's gone. I'll take it home with me. I'll just sell it online or something.

You don't have to deal with it anymore. I tried to talk her out of it. I thought of that doll scurrying after me like an overgrown spider out for my blood and imagined what Stephanie might do under similar circumstances. But she wouldn't hear of it. Stephanie is stubborn as a nail when she wants to be. She won't bend for anybody. That very morning, she took the doll back to her apartment

and forbid me to talk or think about it for the rest of the day at work. I have to admit, it did make me feel better having it gone. By the time we closed for the day, my mood was considerably better than it had been since the incident. But that night, after I went home, I started getting anxious. I couldn't stop thinking about Stephanie alone in her apartment, with that doll. I tossed and turned all night, plagued with nightmares about waking up to see her

face on the news, to find out she'd been tossed out of a window or something. I woke up exhausted and put out, wanting to do anything but go to work. I trudged to my kitchen to put on some coffee when a tentative knock came at my door. I opened the door to find Stephanie standing there. Her face white as snow Her eyes rimmed red from crying Holy shit, are you okay? She was wailing before she could give me an answer. I ushered her inside and sat her down,

wrapped her in one of my blankets, and got her a cup of hot coffee. It took a while to get her to calm down enough to tell me what had happened. By the time she did, I was as pale as she was. She'd placed the doll in the corner, of her living room when she got home that night and promptly forgot all about it.

She went to bed, only to wake up a few hours later from a strange noise. There, at the foot of the bed, was the doll. Its head laid down on the bed spread, its shoulders shaking as it sobbed. It begged Stephanie to forgive it, to let it go, the same things it had said to me. And then it raised its head and charged, just like it had done to me. I got out of the apartment as fast as I could. I tried to get myself to calm down before I got here, but I just wanted to see you. I don't know what to do.

Something is wrong with that dog. I took her in my arms and petted her hair, letting her lean on me and feel my support. How about we stay home from work today? You can hang out here with me and take the day off. She agreed, and I managed to convince her to lay down in my bed and try to get a little more sleep. I stayed next to her until she dropped off to make sure she was all right. Then, after I was sure she was fast asleep,

I went on my computer and looked up Mr. Carmich's phone number from the estate sale. It was still early in the morning, and he was a little groggy. He was understandably cranky when I told him I wanted to discuss a purchase we'd made at the sale. Why didn't you keep it? It's nothing like that. I just wanted to ask you a question about something. See, we got this doll from you, and I wasn't sure how to continue with that statement.

Fortunately, I didn't have to. Time out, doll. Even though that was technically Stephanie, I answered in the affirmative, eager to. to hear what he had to say. In that case, it seems I really do owe you an apology. Perhaps I could take you out for coffee sometime today and explain. I agreed right away, and we settled on a location halfway between our respective cities. It was an hour-long drive, and we decided we'd meet in the early afternoon.

I told Stephanie about it when she woke up, and she insisted on coming with me. We met Mr. Carmike in a small indie coffee shop. He was a handsome man who looked to be in his early 40s, with a slight gray tinge to his hair that only made him more attractive. He was swab and very happy to see Stephanie. He frowned a bit when he saw me. Stephanie? I didn't realize you were bringing company. Ah, this is my girlfriend, Serena.

She and I run an antique store together. That's why I was at the estate sale. Mr. Carmich's face soured immediately, and I saw why he had wanted to meet with Stephanie. for coffee. A bit of anger and jealousy surged in me. I slipped a possessive arm around Stephanie's waist and stared him down. He managed to get over his annoyance and quickly told us what we wanted to know. Right. So, the timeout doll. To be honest, I probably should have just tossed it, but I couldn't bear to. It's the last thing in the house that really reminded me of my sister. Oh, I thought you were an only child.

Mr. Carmich smiled tightly. I am now. My sister disappeared when she was six years old. I was eight. I have very few memories of her, other than that doll. She loved that doll and used to call it her best friend. She called it her little Tracy timeout. She would tell Tracy all her secrets

and would set her up against her bed every night to watch over her as she slept. Stephanie and I exchanged a glance at that. Anyway, after she died, my mother threw out everything of my sisters, except that doll. I think she couldn't bear to throw it away. Dad, I thought you said she just disappeared. Mr. Carmack sighed and stared into his coffee for a few minutes, as though trying to decide what to say.

Finally, he seemed to resolve. solve some sort of internal struggle. His gaze rose to meet mine with a barely leashed ferocity. My mother murdered my sister. He waited for a moment, looking at our shocked faces in a way that made me very uneasy. The police were never able to prove it. And besides, my mother was a very rich woman, as I'm sure you know, an upstanding member of the community. They had no interest in sullying her name for something they likely couldn't prove anyway.

So they didn't search very hard for her body, and they quickly decided she'd been kidnapped. But I knew what happened, even though nobody would believe me. He paused for a moment, then looked at us with the kind of look that breaks your heart. You two are the first people I've told since I was eight, and the first people to care. My mother never cared for my sister. Cecily was a little slow. I guess nowadays you'd say she had some sort of disability. But she was a good little girl,

always begging me to sneak her sweets from the kitchen and to play hide and seek. That was her favorite. She cried a lot, though, and my mother resented her. My mother was not a kind woman. One night my sister wouldn't say. stopped crying. She cried and cried and cried. And my mother took her away. I woke up to our back door slamming and listened as my mother dragged Cecily away. Cessaly was screaming for mother to

forgive her, that she was sorry, that she didn't mean it, but my mother wouldn't listen. I ran out to try to stop her, but I was too late. My mother was already coming back to the house. alone. I guess I can't rightly tell you how she did it, but there was a lake out behind her house. I would bet you anything that she tossed my baby sister in there, knowing full well she couldn't swim. Mr. Carmack's eyes filled with angry tears, and he dashed them away. I never forgave her or myself. Since my father's death, I was the one watching out for my sister. I should have been there for her. I should have stopped her.

My mother never spoke of Cecily again. She put the doll in the attic, and I hadn't seen it in all these years since she died. Oh, I hope she burns in hell. Really? I do. And the doll... I just couldn't keep it. Every time I look at it,

I'm reminded of how I failed, Cecilie. How disappointed she must be in her big brother. He dropped his head and stared down into his coffee. Stephanie reached across and squeezed his hand. Mr. Carmich, it wasn't your fault. You were a child. You couldn't possibly have stopped her. It sounds like Cecily loved you a great deal.

She was so lucky to have you as a brother. I'm sure she would never blame you. Mr. Carmich's face spasmed as he fought back more solid. Thank you. You have no idea what it means to me. He looked at the both of us and added, You two have been very kind, and you've helped me unburden myself in a way I haven't been able to in years. He stood up and sighed, leaving enough money on the table for all of our coffees, as well as a healthy tip. You two seem like nice girls. I wish you the best of luck.

please take care of Tracy for me. She deserves a good home. By the time Stephanie and I had arrived back home, she had formed a plan of action. We have to help, Cecily. We have to get her out of that doll. Stephanie had that look in her eyes that she gets when she's really set on something.

I, on the other hand, was not convinced. Don't you think maybe we should call someone? I don't know, a priest or something? I don't think we should be handling this ourselves. It's not a demon in that doll. It's just a confused, scared little girl. I think if we talk to her, if we help her understand what's happened to her,

she'll leave us alone. She'll cross over or whatever it is ghost do. I hesitated a moment longer. I really wasn't sure about this. But Stephanie took me by the shoulders and stared deeply in my eyes. Please trust me on this. Serena. We can help her. I know we can. And then she gave me puppy dog eyes. I've always been a sucker

for puppy dog eyes. That's how we ended up back in the store that night. The lights turned off, clutching flashlights to our chests. My anxiety was high and I had to concentrate to control my breathing. Stephanie spoke to me in a low, soothing voice to try to calm me down. Meanwhile, Tracy Cecily just stood against the counter like she always had. We waited around for several hours. I became more tense with each passing second. By the time it hit one in the morning, I was about ready to leave. Clearly nothing was going to happen that night.

However, as soon as I opened my mouth to voice my decision, the doll emitted a quiet whimpering sound. Stephanie's eyes lit up. My heart sank. Cecily? Cecily Carmich? Is that you? The crying, which had just been starting to build, fell off abruptly, and the doll fell silent.

Bingo. My heart was pounding in my chest as I watched the doll stand there, stiff as a corpse. Knowing that it was only the spirit of a timid little girl didn't really put me much at ease. Cecily Your brother sent us to talk to you We want to help Stephanie and I waited in silence It seemed like a very long time passed

Before the doll answered I'm not Cecily My heart leapt up into my throat And I turned to look at Stephanie Her brow was creased in confusion But she didn't take her eyes off the doll And who are you Rather than answer

the doll started weeping. Why are you sorry? What didn't you mean? Stephanie, we have to get out of here. I struggled to my feet, grabbing her arm in an iron grip. I didn't mean it. She won't let me go. Who won't let you go?

She was on her feet now due to my urging, and I was trying to drag her to the door. However, she stood, resolute, intent on getting an answer I wasn't sure either of us wanted to hear. won't let me go. I'm sorry, Cecily. I don't. This is how! I yanked hard on Stephanie's arm, and it seemed to break the spell she was under. We made a mad dash to the door, the sound of the doll's agonizing cries following us like a curse. I fumbled with the lock on the door as

Stephanie screamed next to me. I looked back to see the faceless doll scrambling towards us. It had fallen over somehow and was using its stiff, arms and legs to propel itself across the floor. Its head was bent down, and its shaggy, blonde curls jostled with every jerk forward. I finally managed to get the door open, and we launched ourselves outside, slamming the door shut, locking it, and running back to my apartment. Stephanie and I came back in the light of day, with a burlap sack and a length of rope. We threw the doll in the bag and tied it.

as tightly as we were able. Then, we drove three hours to the nearest lake in complete silence. We weighed the bag down with rocks and tossed it into the lake, watching as it sank to the bottom. We waited a full hour, unable to take our eyes off of its watery grave,

before going back home. The whole affair took a heavy toll on Stephanie. She lost her ability to sleep on her own and could barely function without somebody by her side. It broke my heart to see her that way. My headstrong, impetuous Stephanie, reduced to a timid shadow, ever waiting for something to go bump in the night.

She moved in with me, and I supported her over the next few weeks until she started acting like her old self again. She and I returns to the store and got it up and running once again. Basically, we've tried to put every single. behind us. It wasn't easy, but we began making real progress until this morning. Because when I opened my front door this morning, I found a doll on my front step. It was drenched with lake water,

weeds tangled in its hair, its dress, dingy and muddy. Its limbs were pulled out of its sockets and hung, limp and useless on the ground. Its blank face was turned up, as though waiting to see my reaction. I haven't told Stephanie yet. I don't know what to do. It's still sitting outside, waiting for us, and it's only a matter of hours before it starts crying again, begging us for help. I thought about calling Mr. Carmich, but what could he do to help us? Would he even believe us? But most importantly, how would I be able to face him and tell him the truth? There's something trapped in the doll.

But it isn't his sister, Cecily. It's his mother. 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 show, our audio program, please visit the no sleeppodcast.com to learn about our season past

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