The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S12E10

Episode Date: February 17, 2019

It's episode 10 of Season 12. On this week's show we have tales about those thoughts and visions of the darkness beyond the veil. "Far and Wee"† written by M.J. Pack and performed by Sarah Thomas & Atticus Jackson. (Story starts around 00:04:00) "Pass It On"† written by Penny Tailsup and performed by Addison Peacock & Nichole Goodnight. (Story starts around 00:18:45) "The Halfway House"† written by Edwin Crowe and performed by David Ault & Erika Sanderson & Andy Cresswell & James Cleveland & Penny Scott-Andrews. (Story starts around 00:39:00) "Things We Say"‡ written by Michael David Wilson and performed by Ian McQuown & Jordan Cobb. (Story starts around 01:04:40) "Behind the Black Curtain"† written by C.K. Walker and performed by Jessica McEvoy & Mick Wingert & Erin Lillis & Graham Rowat & C.K. Walker. (Story starts around 01:20:00) "Bolts"¤ written by John F.D. Taff and performed by Peter Lewis & Jessica McEvoy. (Story starts around 01:43:10) Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast   Click here to learn more about Calling Darkness   Click here to join our Facebook Group to attend C.K. Walker's Live Q&A on Febraury 23rd at 11:00 AM MST Click here to learn more about Ian McQuown   Click here to learn more about Jordan Cobb   Click here to learn more about Women in Horror Month   Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone Audio adaptations produced by: Phil Michalski† & Jeff Clement‡ & Jesse Cornett¤ "Pass It On" illustration courtesy of Jörn Audio program ©2018-2019 - 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

Welcome to our sleepless sanctuary. You enter at your own risk and choose to be entertained with dark and disturbing horror stories. You have been warned for the dark hours when you dare not clit. Tales of horror to frighten and disturb as the sleepless hours tick. Brace yourself for the next. No Sleep Podcast. Welcome to the No Sleep Podcast Sanctuary. I'm David Cummings.

Our service this week features tales about those thoughts and visions of the darkness beyond the veil. If you don't already know, February is Women in Horror Month. And while we here at the No Sleep podcast celebrate Women in Horror year round, it's a great time to support and recognize the strong presence of women in the horror genre. For example, we have two of our longtime and best women writers on this week's show, MJ Pack and C.K. Walker. And speaking of Ms. Walker, she'll be doing a live Q&A on our Facebook fan group on Saturday, February 23rd, at 11 a.m. Mountain Time. Make sure you stop by to learn lots from the woman who has written some of our books.

best stories, like Room 733, Boraska, and of course, who wrote on the marvelous Netflix series, The Haunting of Hillhouse. And Women in Horror Month is a great time to announce the release of a new horror comedy podcast, created by and starring a wonderful group of women, many of whom you know from this podcast. It's called Calling Darkness, and it's created by Gemma Amour and S.H. Cooper, who also perform on the show. It's about six women, one book, and a demon from hell. It follows the mishaps of six girls who inadvertently summon a demon and have to deal with the chilling consequences.

The series is narrated by Kate Siegel from the movie Hush and the aforementioned Haunting of Hillhouse. So don't miss this cheeky and creepy series. Its first episode is out now. Calling Darkness. Find it wherever you get your podcasts or check the show notes for more details. And finally, I'm proud to announce two guest voice actors joining us this week, Ian McEwan and Jordan Cobb. Ian is a talented L.A. based actor who you may have heard on such podcasts as The Bright Sessions and Ars Paradoxica.

Jordan is a talented New York-based actor and writer who, among other projects, is known for writing, and starring in the wonderful sci-fi podcast, Janus Descending. I highly recommend you check out both Ian's and Jordan's website to hear the projects they've been involved with. I had the pleasure of being on a voice acting panel with them at PodCon, so it's a thrill to have them join us. So let's celebrate the wonderful women of horror this month and beyond. And now, it's time for our service to begin.

Bow your heads and hear our words. In our first tale, we meet a woman whose husband is out of town and she's having trouble sleeping. As we learn from author MJ Pack, the woman decides that a sleep app might help her, but instead of choosing the most popular calming app, she chooses a different one, one which brings her anything but a peaceful sleep. Performing this tale are Sarah Thomas and Atticus Jackson. So if you have trouble falling asleep, make sure you listen for the sound that is far and... What do you do when you can't sleep?

Everyone has those nights. You get in bed, try to find that perfect spot for your head on the pillow, close your eyes. Wait for that slow haze of darkness to creep into your brain and let you disappear from the world for a little while. And wait, and wait. It doesn't come. You start to worry about how much time you have left before the sun comes up, which ironically makes the whole thing worse. Now you're aware of the fact that you can't sleep,

and your whole body feels like it's tensing up. All this stress is counterproductive. You're hyper-focusing, and it's making you crazy. All you can think of is how the night is slipping away from you, one awful, sleepless moment at a time. But that's just been my experience. Who knows? Maybe it's totally different for you.

These nights usually happened when my husband was out of town. There's something about the absence of his weight in the bed, the lack of a warm body next to mine, reaching for someone in the darkness only to remember they're gone. So this time, you know what? I decided to do something about it. Lance had left for Baltimore on business Sunday evening, and I had an important meeting early the next day. I already knew I was in for a rough night without him, but I really couldn't afford to be exhausted.

I'd been working on a campaign pitch for the last four months, and like hell I was going to have bags under my eyes when I presented it to the client. Sleeping pills were out of the question. I always woke up feeling like I'd been roofied. Camamel tea relaxed me, but not enough to get me a great. cross the coveted threshold of sleepiness to sleep. So I did what most of us do in this glorious digital age. I set out to see up there was an app for that. And of course, there was. It was titled simply Sleep Sounds,

and the thing was loaded with ambient noise. I mean, packed. You want rain? This thing had rain. Summer rain, city rain, rain, rain downpour, rain on a tent, And if rain's not in your back, there was crackling fire, harbor seagulls, outdoor fountain, even a goddamn dishwasher. At first, I was a little overwhelmed at the sheer number of choices, but I ended up settling on forest rain. Just the idea of a quiet green glen in the middle of the woods with the gentle pattering of water on leaves was soothing.

I hit the selection with my thumb, plugged my phone into its charmed. and nestled myself into my side of the bed. I never sleep on Lance's side. It just feels weird. I closed my eyes. Using a method I'd read about online, I tried to picture the forest where forest rain was falling. It was dark.

Shades of lush green illuminated by moonlight filtering through the trees. Water beated on the surfaces of the leaves, then slowly rolled off and soaked into the soft wet earth. branches swayed gently in the wind. Yeah, it sounds pretty lame, I know, but it was working. Until I heard the whistle. I didn't know it was a whistle right away. The first time it echoed through the rain sounds,

I figured it was a bird, added for effect. I had been drifting towards a sound sleep when it caught my ear, and I began wondering if there were other animals in this sound loop, deer or squirrels or bears crashing through the underbrush and damn it i was fully awake again stupid bird then slowly it came again a long wavering whistle not a bird call but a whistle a distinctly human-sounding whistle you know when you're trying to sleep sometimes the weirdest shit pops up in your brain like out of nowhere you'll remember your seventh birthday party or that embarrassing moment in a public bathroom last week. Well, I heard that whistle again and suddenly all I could think of was a poem I read in college, the one about the goat-footed balloon man. It was the weirdest thing. I could see it on the page of my 20th century poetry textbook, all broken apart and scattered like glass on the ground. Nonsensical line breaks and capitalization.

made up words like mudlushes and puddle wonderful, words that belonged in the rainy forest inside my head. I listened hard and heard it again. Two notes, one high, one low. Like someone calling to me. A bird. It had to be. Besides, it was stupid to let one dumb whistle distract me from getting my rest.

Like a domino effect. The whistle, then the end. Animals, then the poem, it set my brain firing off again when it was supposed to be shutting down. I turned on my side and let out a deep breath. Tried to clear my head. Pictured the forest again. Only now, the forest floor was all muddy from the rain. Puddles were collecting in tracks on the ground.

Snatches of that poem came to me again. The goat-footed balloon man whistles far and weed. Nonsense. Stupid nonsense. I hadn't thought of that dumb poem in years. Even during my poetry class, I remember thinking how dumb it was, how it was just a mash of words all smushed together to sound pretty, but it meant nothing.

Just what the hell was a goat-footed balloon man anyway? The whistle came again. A thought popped into my head suddenly. Where is my husband? Where is he? Really? It almost made me. sit straight up in bed, but I resisted the urge, knowing I'd be starting from square one if I did.

Why had that even come to mind? Lance was in Baltimore, sleeping soundly in a hotel room. He had no problem sleeping without me, that bastard, until he went to his conference the next morning. Oh, really? Is that really where he is? Another one of those weird impulsive cuts your brain shoves at you when you're trying to relax? It didn't feel like that. It felt like something else. Like something was needling into my head to put the idea there. Did he bring his assistant with him? The one with the hipster glasses and the long, tan legs?

I tried to remember and couldn't. Lance travels so often, it's hard to keep his itinerary straight. Yes, he travels so often. Isn't that a little strange? It hadn't occurred to me before. I loved Lance. I trusted Lance. Why should I be worried that he was away for a few days on business?

Exactly. I make it easy for him. He leaves the warmth of our bed for strange hotel rooms with his slutty little assistant, and I don't even ask questions. I just lay here alone and wait like a stupid puppy for him to come home. Now I did sit up. I knew Zoe. She was a nice girl and smart as a whim.

She had worked hard for her position with my husband and had never been anything but. but nice to me. I'm sure she worked hard, worked hard in a position under my husband. Don't you know what's really going on here? He is far and we from you. Don't you know it? Far and we indeed. Stop! For a moment, the awful thoughts did stop. I fell back against my pillow, squeezed my eyes closed, and forced the image of the forest to my head. I tried not to think about the accusations that came from nowhere, or whether my husband was where he said he was. Rain, leaves, puddles in the tracks on the ground, tracks that looked like hooves.

Far? If he's cheating on me, I'll kill him. I seized onto this thought like a dog on a scrap of meat. Yes, I'd check his luggage when he came home. I'd see if anything smelled like another woman, whether it was Zoe or not. Look for condoms, snoop on his phone, find out what was really going on. The rain came down endlessly, endlessly, and the whistle echoed through the trees in my mind. I could Google, tasteless poison, and see what comes up.

Or, even better, take the old-fashioned route and spike his food with drain killer. Slow, but effective. Watch as he gets sicker and sicker. stroke his hair and tell him I wish he'd feel better. Watch as he vomits out his insides and laugh at him behind his back. Laugh, like he's been laughing at me. It filled me with such a simple pleasure that I actually clinched the sheets between my fists.

In the forest, drenched by rain, I could see Lance doubled over. His base twisted into a grimace of pain as he clutched his middle and wretched onto the mud, onto the clove and hoof prints squelched deep into the ground. Huddle Wonderful. Oh, yes. Huddle Wonderful. Mud luscious to see the light go out of his eyes. Far and...

The forest of my mind shuddered and vanished. I sat there dumpstruck for a few seconds before the bells got louder, and I realized it was my phone ringing. The call had overridden the sleep sounds app. I picked up the phone in a shaking hand and stared at the screen. My husband... I slid my thumb across the glass and answered. Hello?

I hoped my voice was steadier than my hands. Hey, sweetheart? It was enough to bring me all the way back, make me realize what I'd just been fantasizing about. Just touching base. My flight landed a little late, and I only checked into the hotel a few minutes ago. I didn't want you to worry.

My stomach felt loose and watery. Where had those thoughts come from? Thanks, babe. That's sweet of you. I'm headed to bed now. Flight was bumpy as hell. I need some rest. How's it going with you?

You gone to bed yet? Not yet. Headed there, though. Well, trying to get a good night's sleep. You'll need it if you're going to nail that presentation tomorrow. You know I'm going to nail it. I faked our old banter, praying he'd hang up the phone before I couldn't keep my bile down any longer.

How could I have thought those things? Those awful, terrible things. Yeah, I know. There was a smile in his voice. All right, I won't keep you. Get to bed. Love you. Love you, too. I hung up the phone the second I heard the line go dead. Almost at once the rain started up again, and as fast as I could, I closed the app.

Jesus, those thoughts. My husband, dying. The pleasure I felt at doing it myself. Just what the first? fuck was wrong with that app. I was staring at my phone, running through the potential solutions in my head. Some kind of weird sound frequency, auditory hallucinations, subliminal messaging, when I heard it again. Not from the phone, from the air vent beside my night table.

I could feel the anger from earlier beginning to boil inside me again, but I pushed it down. I scrambled out of bed and headed towards the stairs that led to my basement. It was crazy. I didn't know what I was doing, but all at once I was overtaken by an urge to catch whoever it was. See the person who was whistling into my brain all night. The sound of one of the basement windows slamming closed. Too late. Had the windows been unlocked?

I didn't think so. No way to tell. When I reached the bottom of the steps, I just stood there. What else could I do? Cry? Lose my mind? All I could do was stand there and stare at the muddy prints that tracked from the source of my bedroom vent, all the way to the window that had just banged shut.

Muddy cloven hoof prints. Far and so I ask you again, What do you do when you can't sleep? Because I don't think I'll be sleeping for a very, very long. long time. Back in grade school, the lessons didn't always capture our imagination, did they? Games were invented to make the dull routine go quicker. Just ask author Penny Tails Up. She shares a game where notes are passed among the students without the teacher knowing. But when the notes start to become disturbing, the game stops being fun. Performing this tale are Addison

Peacock and Nicole Goodnight. So if you're handed a note, don't read it. It's best just to pass it on. This is not a cursed story. You will not be asked to tell it to five other people. Hearing it will not kill or doom you. This is a story about my childhood, a memory, one that just resurfaced, kicking and screaming to the forefront of my mind. I'd managed to forget about it. But the past, Always has a way of coming back around. Forgetting didn't make it go away.

I was a kid when the internet was new, and cell phones were an expensive novelty. I didn't have as many distractions as modern children, but it wasn't for lack of trying. Rather than pay attention in class, I'd create my own distractions. It didn't take much. I was a daydreamer with a well-traveled imagination.

As I got older, I became more interested in making new friends, real friends, which were easily gained when I invented a game for the entire class to play. It wasn't exactly imaginative, but it was fun. The game? Passing a single note around without getting caught. The game didn't have a name. We figured if we didn't name it, it would be a lot harder to get caught. We didn't even use the word game. we referred to it as taking notes just in case anyone overheard.

A lot of the fun came from the secrecy, and the ninja moves we had to master in order to pass the note around unnoticed. There were three rules. Don't get caught. Add something. Pass it on. We won when the note was passed around and came back to me.

At recess, we'd read the note and have a good laugh. Sometimes we'd collectively make up one big story, or each share a joke. It all depended on what I wrote first. It was only a little bit of power, but it still went straight to my head. Suddenly, I was the most popular kid in class. I didn't need the daydreams, not like I used to.

We almost always won. I'm not sure if we really were a master's sneaks or if Mrs. Not didn't care. In order to be stealthy enough to play, we were well-behaved and didn't interrupt lessons. It was a harmless game. Part of our camouflage required us to actually take notes for class. It was funny.

I didn't realize the game inadvertently defeated the purpose. Kids really aren't as clever as they think they are. At least, I wasn't. I remember when everything changed. The game started off like it always did. Every time the teacher turned to write something on the whiteboard, the note changed hands. I thought about how things had been different just the year before.

Real friendship was a lot less frightening than the warped version my mind had made up. I didn't miss any of my imaginary friends. They were all but erased as I started learning the social skills I lacked when I was younger. I was roused from my reverie when Lydia jumped out of her seat, stumbling backwards and falling on her bud. Most of the class laughed at her expense, all of us immature enough to find it funny. No one disliked Lydia.

She was a little chubby, but very sweet. But seeing anyone fall like that was bound to get a laugh. Every eye in the room watched the girl fumble and fret. Lydia was red-faced and sweaty as she quickly collected her papers off the floor and sat back down at her desk without a word. Her round cheeks quivered as she tried to compose herself. But the damage was already done. I thought I saw a spider, a big one.

I'm sorry for interrupting Ms. Knott. Lydia hung her head, wringing her braids. Mrs. Knott nodded and turned back to the whiteboard without comment. Either accepting her explanation is true or choosing not to question it. I turned my attention back to my note-taking. Before long, the note made its way back. I didn't look at it right away. I liked to be surprised at recess.

The bell rang and I cheerfully shuffled out the door for lunch. The class seemed quieter than usual as we filed out and headed for the cafeteria. Lydia stopped me in the hallway. Her face was still red and her eyes glossy with unshed tears. Lydia usually kept to herself. She participated in taking notes, but she was shy and didn't usually socialize unless she had to. What's the matter? We were alone in the hall.

Staff and students alike didn't waste time going to lunch, especially on Pizza Day. I felt a flutter of annoyance, but given the look on Lydia's face, I pushed it back. Don't show the note at recess, please. I reached for the note so I could see what the problem was. Why? Half the class already saw it since you passed it on. Lydia was pulling on her braids. I was worried she might pull them right off her head. I wish I hadn't.

The game... Taking notes isn't fun anymore. Not if it's going to be like... this. Like what? My first thought was that someone threw boobs or wrote swears. Either of those options would have been scandalous to our fourth grade sensibilities.

Lydia looked at the note I was unfolding, chewing on her bottom lips so hard it started to swell. In an instant, I understood the problem. It was Lydia, a drawing of her, so well drawn there could be no mistake. It was almost like

looking at a black and white photograph. if not for the horizontal blue lines faintly visible beneath the expert pencil strokes. The drawing was not at a fourth grade level, but that wasn't what was alarming about it. In the picture, there was a horizontal cut across her stomach. Her hand held the wound open, bloody fingers digging in to pry the apparently self-inflicted gash wider. Her other hand, unraveled intestines, pulling them up to gore-smeared lips as though she were about to slurp them up like noodles. Her chubby arms were bloody up to the elbow. Even in black and white, I could tell what I was looking at.

The rivulets were dark and glossy, even forming a reflective pool to display the gore from a different angle. Never in my life had I seen something like this. I wanted to throw up just looking at it. I couldn't imagine how Lydia must have felt. Once the full impact of the drawing hit me, I came back to my senses and crumpled the paper into a tight ball. I won't show anyone. Lydia nodded, shuffling from foot to foot in an awkward dance of nerves.

The girl opened her mouth to say something else, then thought better of it, scurrying down the hall. I'd lost my appetite. No doubt Lydia did too. The air was thick with unassified. questions. Who had drawn that? When I'd started the note, the drawing hadn't been there. I really didn't think anyone in the class would have or could have drawn it. There was no obvious explanation, but I didn't want to think about it. For some reason, it felt wrong to even wonder. At recess,

half the kids protested when I said I'd lost the note. The other half was conspicuously quiet. one mentioned the drawing. There seemed to be an unspoken rule. We couldn't talk about it. We didn't want to. It was unanimous. The next day, Lydia wasn't in class. At first, I wasn't going to play the game, but some of the kids kept looking at me expectantly. Only about half the class knew what happened. The other half expected we'd be taking notes as usual. For some reason, pretending it didn't happen seemed like the most sensible option. The game continued. I tore out a fresh sheet of notebook paper and stared down at it blankly, unsure of how to start this one. Any sense of mischief or fun was long gone for me. I didn't want to play anymore. Why did it feel like I had to? I scribbled

something down. I don't even remember what. The game began, but I didn't really pay attention until the dreaded note made its way back. I felt like a prisoner to the game. It was only a piece of paper, but it felt heavy to me. I didn't know what I'd see. I couldn't convince myself the game hadn't changed in some fundamental way. I wasn't the only one who felt that way. Just days before we were all laughing and smiling. Not anymore. Only about half the class waited eagerly for me at recess. The other half trickling in, heavy-footed with reluctance. It was as if they were here out of obligation. As I smoothed out the creased note,

I almost wasn't surprised to see the new drawing. This time it was Brian. A grisly scene sketched out with such realistic detail that my brain at first refused to register what I was looking at. Bubbling, blistered, and blackened skin might have left him indistinguishable, if not for the fact that his face was left untouched by the licking angry flames, drawn out in color this time. Red, orange, yellow, and black. Brian's dimpled smile and freckled nose were unmistakable. His body was positioned in a crouch

beside a wall of flames as though he were merely warming himself by a campfire. Arms extended, hands rubbing together, charred skin flaking off with friction, peppering the fire with bits of blackened flesh. I pressed my hand over the drawing, covering it up. But it was too late. We'd already seen it. Even the drawing felt hot beneath my palm, words and bile competing in my throat as my eyes skimmed the rest of the note. Everything else was harmless. Snipets of conversations and jokes, benign doodles, I recognized the handwriting, knew who wrote or doodled what.

Everyone was accounted for, except for Lydia. The only addition I couldn't explain was that drawing. It shouldn't have been there. It was as though some malevolent presence had decided to include itself in our game, uninvited. No one spoke of it, but it was clear from the shock and tears that we'd all seen it this time. When I pulled my hand away from the drawing, it came. away stained, red, and black. I buried the note, along with the one depicting Lydia, by the sledding hill.

A cluster of silent children stood around. It felt like a funeral. Brian was the last to leave the mound. His skin was the color of sour milk, which made his freckles seem dark and stark contrast. He didn't cry. He didn't ask questions. He just stared at the dirt with glassy eyes. even after the bell rang and everyone else went to class.

When I began to trudge back to class reluctantly, I swear I heard a whisper. Brian and Lydia were both absent the next day. Their two empty desks, an ominous reminder. No one wanted to play, but all of us felt strangely compelled to participate. I tore a new page from my notebook, not caring when the paper ripped like jagged teeth along the side.

I started the game with a plea. I don't want to play this anymore. The scrawled message was almost ineligible, as if even this violated some implicit rule. My hand kept moving across the page. Before I even realized what I was doing, before I realized I wasn't in control of my arm anymore, I'd written a reply, written in perfect cursive,

handwriting that wasn't my own. I'd lost feeling in my hand. Looking down at it, it felt somehow separate from me. Detached. As though I were looking at someone else's hand. My hand, the hand, passed the note to William next. And so the game repeated. With each game, a new deadly prediction was pictured.

Although we didn't know what happened to the students chosen by the note. We did know that they never came back to class. Tammy's demise was drawn, a snarling pack of dogs tearing at her legs and snapping her bones between sharp, bloody teeth. The girl smiled in the picture, petting one of the dogs as though it weren't tearing the flesh from her forearm. Calvin's portrait painted his body at the bottom of nightmare stairs. His body contorted, bent, and broken in every unnatural direction. His arms and legs resembled the very stairs he must have fallen from. No one wanted to play anymore.

We were the ones being played. When I resisted, my arm would move on its own. I wasn't the only one. We stopped looking at the drawings, but it didn't matter. Someone would still be missing the next day. That day, there were seven empty desks. Lucy was about to finish the eighth deadly game when Mrs. Knott swiveled around from the whiteboard

and caught her slim wrist. Without hesitating, the teacher took the note out of her hand and began lecturing us about disrupting our learning environment. The lecture was worth it. By getting caught, Lucy had lost the game. Losing the game had freed us somehow, breaking whatever hold it had over us. We never played the game again.

Seven students never returned to school. As children, we were spared any sort of explanation. and no one asked. I spent the rest of that year, and every year after that, as a serious student. I went back to being a loner with no friends or games of any kind.

I didn't even go to recess, opting to work on homework or read books in the quiet solitude of the library instead. I didn't think about what happened for a long time. I moved on with my life, until last night.

I was drinking by myself at the bar into the early hours, hoping that liquor would lubricate my sleepless night. An old woman claimed the stool beside me. Her body stooped with age, although that didn't stop her from swallowing several shots in quick succession. I didn't pay her much mind, staring vacantly at the assortment of hard liquor as a drunken haze began to sweep over me like a warm blanket. I could feel the woman's intent stare as she slid a piece of paper towards me. A soft rustle I somehow heard even over the loud music. I stared down at the note on the counter.

Dirty notebook paper. Folded into a square with frayed edges. I looked up at the woman. Her mouth was moving soundlessly. I could tell she was saying the same thing over and over again. Mrs. Not. There was no doubt about it. She hadn't aged well.

Her eyes dark and haunted. touched with madness. Her features were haggard and pale, her body frail as though she were made of paper mache. I didn't need to open the note to know what it was. For all these years, that last game had gone unfinished, until Mrs. Nott finally passed it on.

Back to me, the game was won. I can't begin to guess what happened to my old teacher, but it was enough to drive her to seek me out and deliver this note. I had to take it. Although my right hand felt like it was filled with pins and needles, it was my choice to reach out and take it. The game had been my idea. The lives lost were my burden to live with.

I had to take my turn. Thank you. I'll take it from here. You protected us. I'm so sorry. It was clear my old teacher had been fighting this curse for so long, long enough that I had time to forget. Forgetting didn't make it go away. She said nothing, but her expression told me everything I needed to know, terror and regret competing on her face.

We both sat and drank for a while in silence before I sent her home in a cab and headed home to face my fate. I haven't slept since. The note is on my desk, unopened. It doesn't matter. Even if I don't look, the game is over for me. I don't even need to wonder who it will claim next. And even when it does, I have a feeling it won't be over. Somehow, the note will go on.

But it won't be my cross to bear, I guess. Although I live by myself, I haven't been alone since the note found its way back. From the corner of my eye, I see a dark, ungraspable shape waiting in the darkness. Getting lost on your drive isn't as common these days with satellite navigation, but it still happens. And as explained by author Edwin Crow, when a couple get lost among the moors, they soon realize they're not alone out there. and seek refuge in a very special sanctuary. Performing this tale are David Alt, Erica Sanderson, Andy Cresswell, James Cleveland, and Penny Scott Andrews.

So if you find yourself in need of shelter, you can always turn to the halfway house. I'd been married to Karen for ten years. We were young when we tied the knot and couldn't afford to go anywhere for our honeymoon, and it had bugged me for years. When I told her we should finally do it, I said we could go anywhere, Vegas, the Maldives, wherever.

But she had her heart set on the quaint little seaside town where we met. Back then, I had a summer job as a waiter at a hotel in Cornwall. I was wet behind the ears, and to be honest, not very good at my job. When she came into the restaurant with her family, My knees turned to jelly. I got their order totally wrong. Her father was given the sea bass instead of the crawfish. Her mother didn't even get her food.

But for my soon-to-be girlfriend, I got it right. And she said, after that, she loved the fact I messed up her parents' orders. A decade later, and we were in the car, driving down south. A large curtain of fog had veiled the roads in front of us. I peered at the satnav that kept dropping its signal as we took the once-familiar roads down to the seaside. Do you know where you're going? Yes, of course I do. This was a lie. I was praying the sat-nav would lock onto a signal again soon.

You have no idea, do you? Admit it. I didn't appreciate these attacks on my masculinity. No, you're right. I have no idea. But if we head for the ocean, we can take the coastal road and we'll find a place in No time. We haven't seen the ocean for the last ten miles. Signals back. Oh, fuck, I think I missed a turning. I watched the red line that indicated our route. It folded back on itself to where we came from. I'm sure if we follow this road we'll get there. It's telling you to turn back. I ignored her and waited for the device to correct itself. I drove slowly on the wet roads,

unable to see more than a couple of feet in front of us. The red line snapped back to the road we were following. I told you, it says we'll be there in ten minutes. I hate these roads. The head rose loomed down on us like castle walls, keeping us to a lane that was barely wider than the car. Look out! I took my eyes off the satnav to see the bright lights of a vehicle bearing down on us at immense speed too much for these small roads. Instinctively, I pulled the car to the We came to an abrupt stop, Karen's face almost coming in contact with the dashboard. Are you okay? Yeah.

She sat back upright and held her neck. I'm so sorry, I was looking at that damn thing. I didn't see him coming. I knew better than to say anything else. No signal. Figures. How are we supposed to call the AA if we can't get a signal? Come on. Look, I'm really sorry. I put my hand to her back and began rubbing.

She ignored me and stared into the gloomy night. You're mad, I know it, and I don't blame you. Karen, say something, shout at me anything. A lower lip began to quiver, and her eyes welled up. Karen? I stopped rubbing. My gaze followed her hand as she brought it up in front of her and pointed through the windscreen. A large, dark figure stood in the road.

The fog swirled around it giving its substance. What the fuck is that? I couldn't tell if it was man or animal. We'd heard about the beast of Bodmin Moor, though we were far from those parts. Its large upper body heaved up and down as it breathed. A cool vapor left its mouth with each exhale. Start the car! Please, please, please.

Come on. The thing began to amble forward. I've never seen anything like that in my life. Life. We're going to die, aren't we? I turned the key back and the engine went silent. It's probably just some big cat that's escaped a zoo. It's no cat. I looked up, seeing the creature's eyes light up, big and piercing and red.

Dropping its head, spiky fur stood in hackles on the back of its neck. Without warning, it sprinted. Jesus Christ! I didn't stop to think. I put it in first and slammed on the accelerator. The car fish-tailed struggling for grip. The creature reeled in surprise, then charged as I drove straight at it. The tires lost grip and the car atroplained into the near side hedgerow. Karen's head whipped forward, her seatbelt bracing her. The car died again. No matter how many times I turned the key, there was nothing. The car was dead.

Karen, can you get out? She was dazed. I exited the vehicle and rushed around to her side. The door opened with some difficulty. Her body flopped out and I caught her. I turned to see the beast writhe in the road, obviously injured. We've got to go. I reached over to unbuckle the belt, sliding Karen out of the car and linking arms.

Are you hurt? I think I'm fine. We moved down the road slowly. Karen hobbled as her legs tried their best. to gain traction. I think I could do this. Yes, you can. I took more of her weight on my hip.

We approached a little humpback bridge. To the left, a small white sign with broken black lettering said, River Leithy. I heaved her up to the top and heard the rushing water below. The river was cold and dangerous. We moved quickly down the other side. To my relief, the fog was clearing. I could hear the ocean.

In the moonlight I could see the waves breach the sand. We're almost there. Karen didn't respond. In the distance, a lighthouse sent out a powerful beam that swept back and forth along the coastline, illuminating the way for non-existent boats. The stones and mud underfoot made me slip and almost lose my footing. Karen was losing consciousness.

I hauled her up in my arms and ran. Holding her small frame allowed me to pick up speed. I sweated and panted. The dirt path improved until I was walking on stone. Up ahead, I saw a small building, lit by a few dim lanterns. I had no idea where we were. It wasn't where we were heading. It wasn't familiar at all.

I placed Karen on the grass and caught my breath. I checked behind me. The black beast was there limping, dragging a leg as it approached the brow of the bridge. In morbid fascination, I stared. It fell to the floor, collapsing under its weight. For a brief moment, I felt sorry for it. Then it was eerily silent. No bird's sun, no crickets chirped.

Even the ocean was silent. The choppy waters were now. calm, flat as glass. It was like the eye of a storm. The air was charged. The hairs on the back of my arms stood upright and alert. The beast pushed itself up on his arms and instantly appeared more comfortable, like a dire wolf of legend. It appeared as a wave of black tar rolling along the coastline, shrouding the beast before hiding it entirely. A battalion of reinforcements, miniature clones of that black thing now raced towards me for their master,

their duplicate red eyes like an evil starscape dancing forth. Fuck! I picked Karen up and with renewed vigor ran towards the only thing I could. The building jumped up and down in my vision as I tried to focus on it, gradually growing larger. My chest hurt as my body used more energy than it had to give. The lighthouse beam turned further than it had before

and blinded me, forcing me to close my eyes. I stumbled. When I opened them, the light was fixated on the stone building. I could see a man now standing out front. Calm, quickly. I didn't look back. I didn't want to know how close that sea of heinous creatures was. I stopped.

My arms buckled and I let my wife go. With incredible reflexes, the man caught her. Get inside! Now! I barely made it into the building before collapsing on the floor. I rolled onto my back to see the man looking down at me. You're safe now. Welcome to the halfway house.

And I blacked out. When I came to, I was sitting in a lounge chair. I recognized the movie playing some sort of Western. He wakes. Drink. Looks like you need it. The man handed me a glass of water. I sipped it at first, its taste delightful, then downed the remainder.

My head pounded. I couldn't remember the last time I'd exerted myself so much. Where's my wife? She's resting. I've had one of the doctors staying here. Have a look at her. She's got a mild concussion and a sprained ankle. You just relax for a bit.

The thing's out there. You're not from around here, are you? What were they? Nothing for you to concern yourself with anymore. Nothing to concern myself with. Have you seen them? I've never seen animals that big. Are we even safe in here?

They look like they could eat through concrete. I assure you, we're safe. How thick is this? Thick enough. Curtains hid windows on each side. I pulled back one, the velvet material, stiff in my hand. It revealed a bricked up wind. window frame. What the fuck?

Sir, there are children here. Mind your language. I checked the other window. Again, bricks and mortar. Is that to stop the creatures getting in? Please sit down. You're not yourself. I need you to relax. I'm Hayden. I'm Ben. Pleased to meet you, Ben. You can stay here as long as you need. Oh shit, I don't have my wallet on me. It's in the car, I, I, I, I can't pay you. Your money is no good here. Relax. From where I come from, they don't even

let you in the door without handing over a credit card. Easy, bed. Can I check on Karen? In time. She's sleeping now. Thank you so much. You're welcome. My car, we, we crashed. It's, it's on the road by the bridge. Stop worrying. That will be sorted eventually. Now is the time for rest. I sunk back into the chair. But the things outside, you know what I'm talking about? The beasts? I nodded. We have a lot of wild animals around here. They're as scared of you as you are of them. Is that why you don't have windows? Partially. We hit one. Suddenly, I didn't care anymore. I was exhausted. I was exhausted. I was. I was. I wanted to rest. My mind beginning to wind down, I started to take in the other occupants of the

room. A boy, no more than seven, sat in the chair opposite me frantically scribbling with crayons. He seemed so content. What are you drawing? He looked up, then continued his masterpiece. Not a talker. That's okay. I peered around the lounge. A woman in a wheelchair anxiously rolled. back and forth watching the television. An old man sat next to her. He kept stealing glances at the woman, clearly irritated with her obsessive movement. I stood up and walked over to him.

Enjoying the film? On the TV, Clint Eastwood pointed his gun. He was dressed as a cowboy. The gun fired. Oh, I know this one. It's good. The ending's great. Shh, I have not seen it all yet. Almost as if it was something I said, the channel changed to an innocuous game show. Bloody hell, not again. This is your fault.

He wagged his finger in my direction. The woman in the wheelchair stopped rocking. Her face lit up. The little boy looked up again from his drawing. I'm drawing the creature that ate my mum and dad. I crouched down next to him, a coldness. washing over me. What did you say? The picture was of this massive black thing with red eyes. It had in one hand what appeared to be a man and in the other what appeared to be a woman. This was only obvious by the triangle that represented the dress. Her head was missing, red lines jarred out from her neck. Are you alone? He nodded. How long have you been here?

He shrugged his shoulders and continued to draw. Concerned, I approached the front door and jiggled the handle, but it wouldn't budge. I wondered if the solid door was there to keep those creatures out or to keep us in. Hayden spoke up from behind the bar. Death comes after everyone, Mr. Summerfield. You were lucky today. What about the little boy? He was lucky too.

His parents, not so much. What's he doing here? Why is he not with the police or something? He's waiting for a ride to pick him up. Oh, good. His parents? Hayden shook his head. My God. It was those things, wasn't it? Hayden didn't reply. To be so young and to have lost your parents, that's so sad. Hayden slid a glass over to me.

Here, drink up. I picked up the water and necked it. shivering as I felt the cool liquid travel downward. Oh, that water is so good. From the local river. Purest water you'll ever have. Don't you have anything stronger? We do.

I'd advise against it, though. I really want to see my wife. It'll be some time before she's back on her feet. But she will be, I promise you that. In the meantime, I need you to relax. Hang on, you called me Mr. Somerfield. I didn't tell you my last name. I know everybody's name.

Hayden picked up the phone and nodded after a moment. Ben, your taxi has arrived. Sorry? You're ready to leave now. But my wife? It doesn't work that way, I'm afraid. I'm not leaving without her. Ben, this is your right.

It's not hers. Where is she? I turned and saw the corridor that ended in stairs. Is she up there? Mr. Summerfield, please. It's your time to go. Not without Karen. I ran down the corridor and up the stairs, then stood shocked as I came face to face with another brick wall. I raced back to the bar.

Where the fuck is she? Hayden took a step backwards. The woman in the wheelchair turned and shushed us. Mr. Somerfield. She's sleeping. My shoulders deflated. My mind swam, unable to comprehend what was going on. It's time. You won't get another.

I can promise you that. Hayden gestured to the door. It was now open, and on either side stood men in pristine armor. Long broadswords were held in front of them majestically. Reluctantly, I approached, peering out into darkness. A single car sat idling next to the curb, lit by a magnificent light from nowhere. The two knights turned on their heels, marching out. I followed.

The back door of the taxi opened on its own. Get in, please, sir. Every fibre of my being wanted to say no, to go back inside and find my wife. The knight's sword glinted in the light, as if telling me the way back was off limits. I stepped in and looked towards the driver. Where are we going? I jumped as the door slammed shut beside me. He said, nothing.

We drove into the dark. All around us, I could see thousands of red eyes glowing, waiting. Before I knew it, the blackness lifted and was replaced with a beautiful light. I closed my eyes. It was so bright. It was still blinding. when I opened them. Doctor, he's awake.

An older man rushed over and pointed a torch back and forth in front of my eyes. I turned away from its harshness. Can you hear me? I nodded faintly. I'm Dr. Ellis. You're in hospital. Where's my wife, Karen? She's here, too.

Over the next few hours, more doctors ran tests and I was given some food to eat. I asked to see Karen. They told me I could once they had finished. We're going to have to keep you under observation for a couple more days before we can let you go, Mr. Summerfield. What happened? You were in a car crash. My mind flashed back to the speeding van like a slideshow.

The first picture I was turning the car away to avoid the collision, the next hitting the hedgerow and nothing else. I want to see Karen. I have some bad news. My heart thumped in my chest. A cold sweat enveloped me. She's in a coma. The signs aren't good.

She suffered major trauma on her brain. She was wearing a seatbelt. I'm sorry. He put his hand on my shoulder. His warm fingers made my flesh tingle. I want to see her. It would be best if you'd be best if you'd. give it another day.

No, I want to see her now. I made to get out of bed. A pain stabbed my ribs as I tried to stand. Please get back in bed. I ignored him and got to my feet using the table next to me to steady myself. Please, doctor, I need to see her. John, get a wheelchair.

A man entered. Get in, please, sir. I did. John opened the curtain and led me. me down the ward. We stopped outside another bay, and he pushed me through the screen. I gasped upon seeing my wife's bruised face. A mask was strapped over her mouth and a machine beat in rhythm next to her. Come this way. Why don't you stay over there for a few minutes? Stunned, I let him roll me to an area where other patients watched TV. I heard quiet sounds of gunfire. The orderly left and I looked up.

Hmm. A nurse opened the curtains around the bed nearest the TV and wheeled away a blood pressure machine. I recognised the man in the bed, though I didn't know where from. Curious, I got up and approached. I was stunned. It was the old man from the halfway house, the one who'd been enduring wheelchair woman's constant movement. Now he looked so peaceful as he slept. nurse what's wrong with this man he's in a coma i'm sorry i sat down again and watched the tv clint eastwood pointed his gun he was dressed as a cowboy the gun fired i know this one it's good turning i saw the nurse push a woman in a wheelchair she parked her next to me the woman's

head lulled to one side, drool leaking from her mouth. The nurse reached up and brought down the remote from on top of the television. Wait, what are you doing? Putting on this lady's show. What about the film? We play it every day. It's one of only a few we have. Can you leave it on? Why? The man over there, he's not seen the end. The man in a coma? Yes, him. Please, leave it on just for today. He really wants to. He really wants to. to see the end. Are you sure this isn't just for you? No.

For him. Please? Why not? She replaced the remote and left. I felt happy. It was an odd feeling. Then I thought of Karen again and it soon left. I watched the rest of the film paying little attention, but mainly to make sure no one turned the channel over.

When it did finish, I got up. up. My knees ached from sitting in such a small chair. Another curtain swung back and a little boy in a wheelchair emerged. Hey. Hi, Ben. Do you know him as well? I shrugged my shoulders turning towards the boy. All better? Yep. Your aunt and uncle are waiting to see you. Are you looking forward to that? He nodded again. Good. I watched him as he left the ward and I found. And I found. I felt happy. Then the doctor came back, his face somber. I'd prefer if you went back to bed. I'm fine right now. I'm enjoying the TV. Your wife, though, with the trauma she has suffered, you have to brace yourself that she may never regain consciousness. I smiled. He cocked his

head. She will. I know she will. He nodded nervously. It's good to be optimistic, but you have to be realistic as well and prepare for the worst. My smile didn't dissolve. If anything, it got bigger. She will be okay. It may take some time, but she will. Hayden told me. I'm Hayden. Dr. Hayden Ellis. Hmm. I offered my hand. He accepted. I'm Ben. As our service concludes, we send you away with our blessings. 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 past program. Over 60 hours of content for only 1999. half of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast. We thank you for listening. Join us again next week in our sleepless sanctuary. Copyright 2018, 2019 by Creative Reason Media, Inc. All blessed rights reserved. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors.

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