The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S12E16

Episode Date: March 31, 2019

It's episode 16 of Season 12. On this week's show we have tales about the people and things hidden away yet still so close by.   "My Boyfriend Doesn't Know About The Man In The Basement" written by Alynda Gatewood (Story starts around 00:02:00) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Nikolle Doolin "MJ Was Here" written by Nickolas Johnson (Story starts around 00:21:25) Produced by: Jesse Cornett Cast: Marisa Jones – Jessica McEvoy, Karen Cook – Addison Peacock, Peggy – Corinne Sanders, Marisa’s mom – Nikolle Doolin, Teacher – Jesse Cornett "The Unquiet Grave" written by Rona Vaselaar (Story starts around 01:11:40) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Helena – Sarah Thomas, Willy – Matthew Bradford "The Town Without Sound" written by Manen Lyset (Story starts around 01:25:50) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Atticus Jackson, Jessie – Matthew Bradford "Doll in the Hall" written by Michael M. Kelley (Story starts around 01:50:20) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator & Rebecca – Erika Sanderson, Kurt – David Ault "Not All Lighthouses Are Built to Guide Ships" written by Rene Rehn (Story starts around 02:03:10) Produced by: Jeff Clement Cast: Narrator – Jeff Clement, Mister Wallace – Mick Wingert Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast   Click here to learn more about Rona Vaselaar   Click here to learn more about Manen Lyset   Click here to learn more about Michael M. Kelley   Click here to learn more about Rene Rehn   Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone "Not All Lighthouses Are Built to Guide Ships" illustration courtesy of Hasani Walker 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 news. for the No Sleep Podcast. Welcome to the No Sleep Podcast Sanctuary. I'm David Cummings.

Our service this week features tales about the people and things hidden away, yet still so close by. It's hard to believe we're well into the second half of season 12, and I want to tease you a bit by letting you know we have some exciting things planned for the remaining episodes. We're working hard on the season. 12 finale, an epic tale to be sure. And the episodes leading up to the finale will be, well, I don't want to give too much away. All you have to do is brace yourself and let us lead you down the road. And since you're likely already braced, I think it's time, time for our service to begin.

Bow your heads and hear our words. In our first tale, we meet a woman in the early stages of a relationship. You know what that's like. You're just getting familiar with each other, but the thrill of the new relationship is still there. But as author, Alinda Gatewood shows us, not everything is meant to be shared. Performing this tale is Nicole Doolin. So she might be bashful with her lover,

but she doesn't mind telling us that, My boyfriend doesn't know about the man in the basement. Pete and I have been dating for a few months now. We're doing so well. Your typical honeymoon phase. Sharing our pasts, our secrets, telling no lies. Except for one, and that's entirely my fault, Pete doesn't know that I've been married.

More specifically, Pete doesn't know that I was married, and that my ex-husband has been in my basement this entire time. I know what you're thinking. What kind of lifetime fuckery have I stumbled across? I promise it's a little different than you think. There's no dramatic cheating, no kidnapping scene, no twisted stalking or forced pregnancies. There's just two people who were very much in love

until one of them wasn't. The one who wasn't was my ex-husband, Mark. He filed for divorce as suddenly as an unexpected storm passes. I was devastated for the longest time and tried really hard to rekindle our marriage. We got married young, after all. He was all I knew, all I had. When the divorce was final, he let me keep the house,

a ranch style with a finished basement, and he moved out and moved on. He quickly started seeing someone he worked with, and by all accounts, they looked really happy. That relationship lasted until Mark was killed in a drunk driving accident, a little over a year after our divorce. I guess I was still listed as his next of kin

and his emergency contact. He had no other living family, and I was the one who was called to identify his body and make arrangements. I played nice with his girlfriend there for a while. She was so devastated the poor thing, almost as devastated as I was when he handed me the divorce papers. I let her have a hand in the arrangements.

Let her convince me he wanted to be cremated. Which was such bullshit. We had that tug a hundred times and he always wanted a proper burial. I let her handle all of the details with the crematorium. She made all of the phone calls, selected all of the dates, invited who she wanted to be there. I sat back and let her take the wheel. And then I took my ex-husband's body. I know, I know, what the fuck?

Look, we hadn't been divorced long enough for him to belong to anyone else but me. He didn't even properly express his final wishes with his new lover. So I had to take care of his arrangements. I didn't want to start a fossor upset anybody. I suppose if you're assuming I had a bit of a mental breakdown that you're right. Just a little bit. Paying off the nightcard at the crematorium was easy. Hauling his body in the back of the outback and then into our once shared basement was easy.

Laying down the plastic sheeting and purchasing a couple additions to Mark's old toolbox was easy. cutting him up into manageable, Freezable Pieces was... Not. The idea had come to me in a dream after Mark's passing. I thought, Why the hell didn't I deserve

to have him with me always? I thought, why the hell should he burn when that's not what he wanted? I dreamt of sharing meals with him for at least another year, or however long a human body lasts inside a freezer.

It may not be a good. Exactly what he wished, but I couldn't stomach the thought of him being chomped on by worms. Or thrown to the wind never to be found again. So his body disappeared. They questioned everyone around him for a while, and let me tell you how thrilled I was that they questioned me the most. That meant he must have still thought about me, or brought me up. Why else would the cops think I was still in his life enough to even consider stealing his corpse?

There were a few times his girlfriend got balzy and drunk, calling me, accusing me of stealing him. I calmly asked her every time, why would I do that? She didn't have an answer to that. The cops didn't have an answer to that. I didn't entirely have an answer myself in the beginning. I mean, I stole his body because of the dream. But I didn't realize exactly what the dream meant for the long. longest time. After the initial day or two that I kept him in the deep freezer in our basement,

I knew what I had to do. I could share meals with him for a long time and also have a piece of him with me forever. It was simple enough. I had to ingest the entirety of my ex-husband, so I laid out the plastic and hacked him up. It took a lot more swings of the various tools I purchased to really separate his limbs into manageable pieces. I couldn't just Google this shit after all. I was always the first mistake of the guilty. I tried a me, Cleaver. Too messy.

A hatchet. Worked for the smaller extremities, but not for the big shit. And finally, garden shears, which surprisingly worked the best on his meaty frozen body. I removed his extremities first, and they were easy enough to hack off. All of the obviously human body parts were separated and put at the bottom of the freezer. Hands, feet, genitals, and head.

I ran into a few issues, the first being Mark's torso. In order for him to fit into the freezer, I had to get creative with my portions. If anyone ever peeked into the freezer, I didn't want them to know right away that there was a human body in there. So I had to hack below his ribs to reach the lower part of his spinal cord, which I then had to use all of my strength to snap with the garden shears. Once I separated his organs into individual freezer bags, I ran into my next issue. You never realize how thick someone's sternum is

until you're trying to snap it in half with already dulled garden shears. Not wanting to risk enough. trip to Home Depot at this delicate time, I decided to go the old-fashioned route. If ancient peoples could create everlasting works of art using just a hammer and chisel, then why couldn't I? I slammed the end of my biggest paint edger with my sturdiest hammer into the center of Mark Stern and finally heard the satisfying crack I needed to know I had separated one of the tougher bones in the human body.

My final challenge, and definitely the hardest one, was separating Mark's hips from the rest of his body. There wasn't much meat on them, and they were so obviously human, I couldn't risk keeping them around. The hips are complicated. Their lower half is surrounded by muscle protecting the femur, and the rest of the hip is tough bone and a tight ball and socket joint. Packing through the cartilage there was the only part of the process that made me nauseous,

especially with my limited tools. Only when I had destroyed the cartilage, protecting the ball and socket, was I able to rip and twist the femur from the hip joint. This took up most of my day and a lot of my strength as well. I spent a lot more time shaving down and shattering the obviously human bones that I couldn't risk to keep around. This meant I couldn't keep Mark's head. I saved that task for last and spent a few hours staring longingly at his chubby cheeks and his bright blue eyes,

faded to a milky gray, before flaying the skin from his cheeks and prying his skull open. I had a plan. I wanted to save Mark's brain for our last meal together, his heart for the second to last. Maybe when I had eaten all of him that I deemed safe to eat, could I understand why he had ended our marriage? Maybe when I had ingested all of Mark, I would know his last thoughts and wishes, hopes and dreams. I teared up over that thought as I sliced the thin membrane from his brain

and proceeded to scrape it from his skull. This long after his death, I had to basically remove the brain like one. would scrape the wet lining from a pumpkin before one carved it. Eventually, I had it in my hands, though, and I hoisted it gently into its own freezer bag and buried it under the rest of his meat. I had to wait a few days before I started dining with Mark, though, because the cops were sniffing around and that drunk bitch of a girlfriend was calling me every night to harass me. During my wait, I met Pete. It was unfortunate.

timing. I had healing to do from my past and plans for my future that possibly included this cute new guy. He was sweet and easy to talk to. Our relationship quickly grew more and more serious. When we weren't spending time together, and when I had finally convinced at least the police that I had nothing to do with Mark's body disappearing, I finally got to share my first meal with Mark. I figured I'd start with the mediest parts. Mark's calves, thighs, and upper arms lasted me maybe two weeks. I was definitely under the impression that we'd have a year or more together, but his body went quickly.

His glutes and his stomach lasted me only a few more meals. With the many meals with Mark, I quickly became more accustomed to the taste of human meat than any other kind. and I started eating only vegetables and fruits in front of Pete. I figured I wasn't getting the right kind of protein from Mark, as I was constantly feeling weak and sick to my stomach. When I started eating more produce, I felt a little better, but not 100%. Pete assumed almost immediately that I was a vegetarian, and I didn't correct him.

I guess that is another lie I've kept in a way, by omission. Believing I was a vegetarian worked in my favor, though. Pete didn't even know there was a deep freezer in the basement. When I first cautiously allowed him in my home, I told him the basement was an unfinished cold slab of cement, just big enough to fit a washer and dryer. As much as I liked, Pete, I refused to let him stay over very often. so we never needed to do laundry.

I'm almost positive Pete has never gone down to my basement, meaning he has never been anywhere near Mark. Something I'm very happy about. My dilemma now is not whether or not to come clean to Pete. I think I'm in too deep to tell him about my biggest secret. Plus, we haven't dated long enough for me to know for sure he wouldn't run crying to the police. My dilemma now is simply how to finish Mark. Mark off. Pete has been coming over more and more often, sometimes entirely unannounced.

Once he came over when I was making a stew of Mark's forearms and pecks. With all of these close calls, I had to decide whether to end things with Pete so I could enjoy a completely uninterrupted night with Mark's brain. Or draw some better boundaries with him so I didn't have to worry about Pete busting me, but still enjoy my relationship with him. Have my brain and eat it too, you could say. I eventually decided to keep Pete around. I would eat Mark's brain a little bit at a time.

Besides, I had seen all of the horror movies and documentaries. Eating a human brain all at once was bad news. And eating Mark's heart hadn't given me any mystical and romantic answers like I thought it would. I had only the brain left after barely a few months of feasting on my ex's flesh. I had underestimated how long we'd have. The effects of eating Mark's most precious organ came on pretty quickly. I had been sick for months, but I definitely felt the difference after only three or four large tastes of his brain. Whenever I tried to hold Pete's hand, I shook violently. I was cold constantly, feverish almost. I was wracked with headaches and joint pain.

Pete was so sweet throughout the entire thing. He asked constantly how I was feeling, brought me soups and breads and soft pillows, took my temperature for me. He offered continuously to take me to doctors, but I claimed over and over again that I had gone to them already. and they just hadn't found any sickness. Another lie to add to the growing pile, I suppose. I had a few moments when I thought I should stop, yes. When I thought maybe if I didn't take another bite of Mark, then I could have this whole other life with Pete.

We were doing so well after all. I finished off Mark's brain like a fat kid finishes off forbidden cake, though. The effects of that were immediate. Now, not only could I barely speak or walk, I also couldn't swallow. Keep my emotions in check. Or catch something to save my life. I was losing weight rapidly, and I kept calling off of work. I cancelled plans with Pete.

Plans that sounded so fun. Plans that he made with such enthusiasm. plans I would have enjoyed. I was slowly dying within my own house. A house I shared with someone who was long gone and didn't love me anymore. Instead of living life with a man who was probably falling in love with me, I wish I could take it all back. I do. I wish I would have called Pete and asked for help, made up some bullshit just to see him one more. more time. But my hands weren't working well enough to accept any calls. And every time I stretched my arm out to text him, I saw more and more lesions seeping, pussed developing on my skin.

There was no way I wanted Pete to see me like that. Instead of answering his messages, I dedicated what time I had left to document what I had done. I saw so many texts pop up from Pete asking why I was blowing him off out of absolutely nowhere. I wish I could have explained it all to him. Where are you? How are you? Are you sick? Food poisoning?

I could bring you something. I might have suspected food poisoning too. I was too out of it to tell him he was close, but not quite there. I was too out of it to tell him to come over or call 911. I was too out of it to tell him I regret quite a few things I had done in the past month. I heard my phone going off, but it was like trying to listen to something on the shore while deep underwater.

Everything was muffled and my eyes wouldn't focus. My voice wouldn't work. I felt awful and all I wanted was to call for help. Instead, my weak form remained curled on the couch in the fetal position. My hands dipped in my own puke. My back arched away from my own excrement. My skin was blistering and splitting open at a rapid rate. It was horrifying and painful.

There's no cure for the neurodegenerative disease that is killing me faster and faster by the hour. Pete stopped texting a few days ago. I guess he gave up on me. I guess I don't blame him. I am going to die. In a few days or a week. And Mark will die with me. This wasn't worth it.

I didn't even learn why he left me when I ate that final bit of brain. Being a teenager can be tough. Kids are cruel and high schools of minefield. It's understandable if you seek a friend in the strangest of places. Even when, as told by author Nicholas Johnson, that friend only communicates with you by writing on the wall. Performing this tale are Jessica McAvoy, Addison Peacock, Corinne Sanders, Nicole Doolin and Jesse Cornett. So check your closets and then check everywhere out. because you need to find out if MJ was here.

When I first came here, I didn't expect everything to be so small. In fact, I was intimidated by how large the school looked from the outside. But now that I'm in it, I think I can get used to how, well, quaint this place is. Yeah, I know what you mean. Small towns are nice. You know everyone, and everyone knows you. Trust me, you'll feel right at home here. Yeah, I get the feeling.

Who's that girl? Sweetie, you're going to have to be more specific than that. That girl over there? The one who just dropped her books? Ugh, you mean the one the jocks are hassling? They're a bunch of dicks. I mean, some of them are good, I guess, but you get them together and bam, pack mentality. You know, men.

Oh yeah, that's Peggy. She's... Well, she's okay, I guess. A bit of a shy girl, you know, keeps to herself. A bit... How do I put this? Weird? Yeah, she's just strange, you know?

She's nerdy, but not the superhero and gaming nerdy. She's the anime body pillow nerdy. Look, I'm disgusted that I even know what that is. Look, I wouldn't hang out with her. Too much, at least. You don't want all that weird to rub off on you. Shit. Sorry to ditch you, but I have a speech I have to get ready for.

I guess I'll see you tomorrow. Yeah, see ya. Let me help you with that. Peggy, is it? Yeah? Hi, my name is Marissa. I'm new here. Nice to meet you.

So, So, Peggy, what's with all the books? Do you like to read? Yeah, but that isn't why I have so many books. No, actually, I'm a teacher's assistant for one of my class periods. Well, not a teacher. I help the librarian. I should get going now.

I still have to get these back to the library before I go to my next class. It was nice meeting you. Yeah, it was nice meeting you too, I guess. So, I suppose that right now you suspect this story is about some lame high school drama. Well, you're wrong, though I suppose you're not too wrong. Yeah, this isn't about Peggy or Karen, though it has a lot to do with them. No, this is about me. Marissa Jones, your average teenage girl from Ohio.

Though, this wasn't Ohio. No, this was a new state, a new town, another painful start to high school life. But I guess it didn't matter, though. Wherever I went, I was shy. I guess I just never really had that much to say. Looking back, I wish that were always true, because at times, I should have just kept my mouth, shut. I suppose I shouldn't give away the rest of the story just yet. It all started on my first day

at my new school. The day went just as well as could be expected. And so, after the end of the school day, I made the short walk back home. Hi, Mom. Hey, sweetie. How was your first day? It was good. We took turn smoking bath salts and making sacrifices to Satan. Well, at least it sounds like you have a good time. Make any new friends? Friends, acquaintances, enemies, people? Who knows? I guess I did, but it's hard to be sure. You can never really tell who's being nice to you because they genuinely want to be friends with you or because they're just being polite. I can tell you one thing for sure. I met people. A lot of people. So many new names. God, it's just information over. God, it's just information Overload.

Well, don't strain yourself, sweetie. You have two whole years to memorize everybody's names. Yeah, I know. I think I'll go up to my room and rest a bit. Relax. Maybe do some homework. Yep, relaxing homework. That's my daughter. Wait.

They gave you homework on the first day? Yeah, I know, right? It's just some useless syllabus worksheets, though. Shouldn't be too challenging. All right. Don't have too much fun. Be down in time for dinner. And so I went up to my bedroom,

finished my work, and listened to some music because I had nothing else to do, really. Everything was normal. I just laid there, listening to whatever song came up next on my phone as I drifted off. It never occurred to me

that something was a bit strange. Yeah, every once in a while I thought I heard a noise through the music, but I always brushed it off. I would take out my earbuds, hearing what sounded like the scraping of wood or a light knocking sound, but the sound would stop. Mom? She did an answer. I'd get up every time I heard it and go to the door. Opening it, I looked out the hall and downstairs, and there she was, each time, still preparing dinner. She wasn't aware that I was watching her.

She never even smirked. So either she was playing a long, well-thought-out practical joke, or I was just hearing things. Knowing that my mother was a bit no-nonsense, I chose to believe the latter. By the time my father came home from work and my brother came back from his evening classes at the university, I'd stopped bothering trying to figure out

what was causing the strange noises. Came down to greet them, we had dinner, and we talked about, day-to-day life like the picturesque family we always strive to be. It was nearly 8 o'clock when the conversations died down and I cleared my spaghetti-stained plate. Time for me to slowly start my nightly rituals. I didn't do much besides brush my teeth, comb my hair, and the like, but it always took around an hour or more.

So I typically found myself in bed by 9 or 10, with plenty of time to relax before I fell asleep. Sometimes I would entertain myself however I could. I would get on my phone and scroll for hours through different social media sites, just zomboifying myself with useless information and depressing myself by seeing what my old high school friends were up to. Other times, more rarely, I would just stare at a wall for hours before I eventually succumbed to my restlessness. And that's exactly what I found myself doing that first night.

It's a strange sensation of mindlessness, but I think we can all agree we've done it at least once in our lives. I just stared at the far wall of my room. No music, no thoughts, just gazing blankly off into space. It took me a good ten minutes to realize that I was just sitting there on my bed doing nothing. When I finally snapped two, it was already ten-thirty, so I decided to turn off the lights and go to sleep. Getting up, I walked over to the door and began to turn off the lights. I flicked the appropriate switches, the lights turned off, but there was something weird. From behind me, from the far wall of my room, I could hear a faint sound. It was soft but sharp, like a quiet scratching sound.

I listened for a moment, barely breathing, in utter silence as I focused on the noise. Without turning around or looking away from the direction the noise was coming from, I carefully clicked the lights back on. And then, walking slowly, I neared the far wall of my room and got closer to the closet, the likely source of the noise. Here it was again. Calmly reaching down, I let my hand linger on the doorknob of the rickety closet door. I looked the door up and down and prepared myself for whatever lurked on the other side.

Here we go. I slowly pushed open the sliding door. Light poured into the dark and cramped space. And there I saw, well, nothing. With way more effort than should have been needed, I pushed the door wide open to reveal the rest of the closet space. And it was as I would have expected. My clothes were still neatly hung,

old boxes I had yet to unpack, still huddled in the darkest corner of the closet, and some old piece of teenage graffiti was still there from the last inhabitant, same as when I had first moved into the room. It was on the northernmost wall of the closet. Whoever wrote it probably left it as a reminder that this was once their home, and they would never forget it. It was a sort of rebellious act, I guess,

but it was a fun little thing that gave the room character. Written in charcoal letters were the words, A.W. was here. I began to move my hand over the letters, feeling the grit of the old, painted wall against my fingertips, and the words began to smudge. I stopped, not wanting to mess up the memento any further, and looked down on the charcoal left behind on the tips of my fingers. That's when I noticed something else. Just below the writing was a small hole in the wall that looked like it had been chewed through by a mouse or rat. I ran downstairs to the basement and got some mouse traps. I littered a few in my closet and around my room.

I didn't like killing things, and I knew that if I actually got a mouse, I would have to have my dad remove it for me because I wouldn't be able to bear to look at it. But I wasn't exactly going to make my room a foster house for rodents either. So I did what I did, and brushed off any guilt that I had just as I fell asleep. All right, all right.

everybody settle down. Now take your seats. Every day started the same. I woke up, got ready for school, and went to my first class, English. As could be expected with the public schooling system, we hadn't started on anything yet.

And the teacher decided that, in order to create a more conducive learning environment, we would need to get to know each other. Yeah, it was going to be one of those classes. So we all got up one by one and introduced ourselves to the rest of the class. We were told to simply say our name and state an interesting or fundamental fact about ourselves. Sounds harmless, right? All right, Peggy, why don't you start us out?

Wrong. And we'll just go around in alphabetical order after that. Oh, me? Okay. Hi, my name is Peggy. and, um, well, um, I really like Japanese culture. In fact, I have a large manga collection that spans about the length of my room. All right, Karen, you're next. Hey, everyone, I'm Karen.

I'm on the debate team, cheer squad, and I am completely. It wasn't much, but there was no doubt. This was my first exposure to how Karen treated Peggy on a day-to-day basis. Sure, it was hardly even a joke, and at first it went over my head, but it was the tip of the iceberg for Peggy. As the day went on, I got to see the rest. Class after class and during passing periods, I watched as Karen and the jocks would circle Peggy like the vultures they were,

picking on her fears, weaknesses, and insecurities. I thought about doing something, you know, see something, say something. But the teachers saw just as much as I did, and they didn't care. They just occasionally reprimanded Karen and her friends, but nothing ever came of it. I did what little I could to be there for Peggy. She was actually pretty cool, so we hung out some between classes, but there's only so much you can do and say in seven hours. How is school today?

Busy. I think I'm just going to go upstairs and lie down for a while. All right. I sat down on my bed and just thought about everything. I felt sorry for Peggy, and I was pissed at Karen. I had hoped that high school would be more than this, but even the best of schools have clicks, nerds, and the bullies who beat and belittle them. No, it wasn't worth my time.

Someday, we'd all be sent out into the real world, and they'd all get their just desserts, as people like Peggy prospered and lived happy lives. No, it wasn't worth thinking about at all. It would all work out in the end. So, I sighed and looked around the room for inspiration on what I could do with my time. I caught a glimpse of one of the mousetraps and saw that it was completely empty. I looked over the rest of my room at the other traps and confirmed that they hadn't caught any scurrying little creatures either. I jumped out of my bed and walked forwards towards the closet.

Opening it, I got a weird feeling like something was different, and I searched around for a moment before I figured it out. See, no matter how hard I looked, I couldn't find the moushtraps in my closet because they were gone. Mom? Yeah? Mom, did you move the mousetraps in my room? No. I didn't even know that you had mousetraps in your room.

Well, do you know if maybe dad has been in my room? Marissa, why would anyone have any reason to go into your room? I don't know. Honestly, I didn't know. It made no sense why someone would go up into my room and take the mousetraps from my closet. The only explanation I had was that maybe one of them heard the traps go off and decided to remove the deceased mouse for me. But then, why take them all? Later that night, I asked my brother and my dad if they had taken the mousetraps. My dad was convincing when he told me

no, but for some reason, I didn't quite trust the response that my brother gave me. He told me that it wasn't him either. But when we were kids, he had a tendency to go into my room and take whatever he needed without asking. But it's not like we were low on mousetraps. There wasn't any motive to speak of. When I went to bed that night, it was all that I could think about. There was a part of me that was nervous about the whole thing because it was kind of weird. But the way I saw it, things seemed fishy. Typically, when you watch those stupid ghost hunting shows, things fly off the shelves, move slightly. They don't just disappear. No, there were two logical conclusions, one being that I had moved them and simply forgot about it. Or my brother had moved them. Perhaps he was trying

to freak me out, and it was working. Here I was wide awake, thinking about those missing, mouse traps. So, deciding I wasn't going to let my brother's stupid prank get to me, I got up, walked over to my door, and turned off the lights. Immediately, I paused. Maybe it was a mouse, but I could hear it clearer now than before. It was like someone was scratching on a chalkboard, pressing a piece of chalk against it with a lot of force. I waited until it ended, then I flicked the lights back on and made my way slowly towards the closet. Every inch of me twitching with a nervous curiosity, I took step after step, feeling the carpet moved gently under my feet. Eventually, I felt that familiar sensation on my fingertips as my hand lingered softly on the closet door. Moving quick,

I opened the door to my closet, and there it was again. Nothing. I looked around, and it was the same old closet, with my clothes hung here and there, and a little charcoal sketching that said, that's odd. I swore it had said AW was here. But looking back at it again, in that moment, it clearly said A.W. is gone. Yes, written in charcoal on the wall were the words, A.W. is gone. I could see how I could confused the two. Both had similar meanings, though one was a bit more sinister. Clearly, I just saw what I wanted to see the first time. Yeah, it probably said AW was gone the whole time, and, no, it wasn't possible. It said AW was here. There was no doubt about that. Or was there? I think it goes without saying, but I didn't get very much sleep that night.

Hi, sweetie. How was school? You know, boring as usual. I was meaning to ask you this morning. What is it? Well, the family that lived here before us. What was their last name? The Walters, I think. And the Walters. Did they have any children? A daughter whose name started with A, maybe? Did your brother tell you? Tell me what? The, uh, Walters did have a daughter, but they moved after she died. How did she die?

She committed suicide. Oh, what was her name? It definitely started with an A. Am something? Amanda, I think. I don't know, honey. Why do you ask? No reason.

I just saw a drawing in the closet that said AW was here, so I was curious who A.W. was. Are you okay, Mom? It's nothing. I just could have sworn that that closet was completely empty when we checked out the house. I don't remember any. drawings. Anywho, don't be late for dinner. At first, crazy thoughts filled my head and I began to panic.

But up in my room, it clicked in my mind. Did your brother tell you? What was that supposed to mean? Did he know about Amanda Walters before I did? Why didn't he tell me? Unless... Getting up, I looked in the closet. The words were still there, seemingly unchanged. I guess that it could have been my brother's handwriting. In fact, I could see it all now. He learned about the story of the Walter's girl before I did, and decided it would be good grounds for a prank. Each day, as I went to school,

he could have easily snuck into my room, written something, and left. All he would have to do to sell it was make it sound like someone was writing it each and every night. His room was back to back with mine, so this part would have been easy for him. He could just go into his closet, scratch on the wall, and it would totally sound like it was taking place in my closet. And these types of elaborate pranks weren't out of the realm of possibility for my brother. Yeah. Case closed. The only thing left was to catch him in the act.

I waited until after dinner when my brother would be up in his room, ready for whatever was next in his series of pranks. I decided, whatever I did, it had to be. foolproof in order to catch him red-handed. So, I devised a plan. I stood in front of my closet and talked to whoever was listening. Hello? Amanda? Amanda, can you hear me? Is there somebody there who can hear me? Knock twice if you can hear me. Good, he was in the pond. Now all I had to do was convince him to take the bait. I waited for a moment, pretending to be all scared and in awe that I was communicating with the dead. Then I made a simple request. Amanda, if you're there, prove it by

leaving an apple on the desk of my English teacher. A red apple. Can you do that? Knock twice if you can do that. Good. Everything was going as planned. My brother didn't know it at the time, but I had just outsmarted him. See, without saying anything, I took out a piece of paper and wrote down the following. Don't give my teacher a red apple, Amanda. Give my teacher a yellow one. I took the paper and slipped it under the closet door. I knew that there were only three ways this could go.

Either my brother wouldn't be able to deliver the apple on time, which Amanda had promised to do. So upon arriving at school and seeing no apple, this would prove that it was him. Or I would arrive at school and find a red apple on my teacher's desk, which would also prove that it was him because Amanda would have read the note and left a yellow one instead. Or, finally, after I left, he could go into the closet, read the note, and try to beat me to school, leaving a yellow apple. But this too would prove his guilt. The school was a little bit of about a five-minute walk from my house, so any advantage he'd have in his truck was actually negligible. Also, it was a straight shot, so he'd have to go out of his way for me not to see him.

Any way you thought about it, I'd catch him trying to place the apple. So, having made the end-all be-all of traps, I turned off the light, walked over to my bed, and fell asleep with a proud smirk on my face. All right, all right, all right, settle down, people. Now we're not even a weekend yet. Oh, Miss Jones, you're late. Actually, I was early, but he didn't need to know that. I'd been walking around, watching the doors and stalking the parking lot.

And nothing. I never saw my brother's truck, and as I walked into the room, I could see clear as day that there was no apple to be seen. I had won, so now I would have a little, Eagle boost to get me through the rest of the day. I know, I'm late. I'm so sorry. It's a long story.

It's fine. Just don't make a habit of it. All right, all right. Everybody, take your seats and quiet now. Did something happen? You're usually mispunctual. I'll explain later. Before we begin, I must admit that some students have tried to get on my good side,

knowing my reputation as a harsh teacher. But flattery will get you nowhere in this class. So to whoever left this golden delicious on my desk today. Thank you. But this doesn't mean that you'll be passing my class. It may bump you up a grade or two, but you're too kind. You're too kind. I'll be here all week.

Now, let's get into grammar today. One yellow. One little apple. and how was it there? I watched this place like a hawk, and there was no possible way he snuck by me. He couldn't have gotten him through the windows, could he? No, he wouldn't have fit.

These weren't the type of classroom windows that opened in a conventional sense. He wouldn't have been able to fit through a crack that small, and besides, even if he could have, the windows overlooked the front entrance. I would have seen him, but I didn't. Not to mention the apple. it was yellow.

How would he have known to check my closet, find the piece of paper, and get a yellow apple? We didn't even have apples. So he would have had to have gone to the store. But in that kind of rush, where would he find the time to check my closet for the note first? My eyes began to twitch and my fingers began to shake. There was no logical, feasible way for it to have been him. I had at least a three-minute head start on a five-minute walk. There was no way, no way at all.

It had to be... But... But, oh, Christ, it couldn't be, right? No, it wasn't possible. Marissa, Marissa, are you all right? You've been shaking whole class. Yeah, I'm fine. So, there it was.

the closet door. It was an unassuming thing with a glass doorknob, dark wooden panels, and a scratched-up border. But it didn't seem so unassuming now. I had thought nothing of it when I first moved in, but now the closet door of my room was all I could think about. Was I going crazy? There was no possible way, but it was the only thing that could be true.

Standing there in front of the thing, I stepped forward. With each step, I could feel my heart beat faster and faster. It felt like it was going to pound out of my chest. And why? For some dumb closet? It didn't seem right to me. I still had my suspicions, but on the other hand, something primal in me knew that something was wrong. Step by step I approached.

I grabbed the door and slowly pulled it open. I went back to the sketching on the wall. It hadn't changed since the last time I saw it and still read, A.W. is gone. Thinking about it, this message held a lot more weight now. A.W. Amanda Walters had lived in this same room and committed suicide in the very same house. and now, after her death, someone had written that she was gone. Was it her?

No, it couldn't have been possible. But I was left with no other answer. It was her. She wrote those words. I went over to the light and hesitated. I knew what would happen as soon as I flicked them off, but it wasn't like I had a choice. I mean, I guess I could have slid. up with the lights on, but it wasn't worth it to change my life, to live in fear. So I let it happen.

The scribbling was faster, louder than usual. I waited for it to end, then slowly tiptoed to my bed, wanting nothing more to do with the noise in my closet. Curiosity killed the cat. I got up and turned the lights on. Heart pounding, hands shaking. I walked over to the closet. I waited, listening to see if I could hear anything moving just beyond the door, but it was silent. I turned the knob and pushed the door open. I paused for a second, double-checking all the decisions that had led me here, and then I went straight for it. That changed. Where the old words once were, new ones took their place.

Did your teacher enjoy the apple? P.S. I'm not. I tried asking more questions that night, but to no avail. It seemed to be a once-per-night sort of thing. So, the very next day, I spent all my time thinking about what I should ask next. Well, the next day and the days after that, I spent the next few weeks just asking it questions.

If you're not Amanda, then who are you? What's your name? No response. What are you? No response. Did you know Amanda? Yes, we were friends. Why did Amanda kill herself?

She didn't. How did she die then? She was killed. Who killed her? My heart sank and a chill worked its way down my spine. Every inch of me was screaming, run, get away. But I was in too deep and had to know. I spent the rest of the next day looking over my shoulder as I thought about why it killed Amanda. And I prepared myself that night to ask

that very question. Why did you kill her? I waited nervously in the dark as the familiar sound of scribbling ushered in a new message. I hesitated a second before reading it. I killed her because she asked me to. I don't kill unless told to do so. I was a little relieved, but it was all so strange. I wasn't sure if I was terrified out of my mind or curious. It was clear that whatever this thing was, it was powerful. It was capable of putting the apple on the desk, so clearly it wasn't restrained by the house, which I thought was strange. Weren't ghosts supposed to be sort of bound to whatever they're haunting? Anyways, not only could it move an apple across town without anyone noticing, it's,

that thing had the ability to kill. Terrifying to say the least. But oddly enough, I had no problem sleeping soundly that night. Hey, Marissa. Hi, Karen. What's going on? What is everyone talking about? Oh, you didn't hear? Hear what? Peggy finally killed herself. Wait, what? You're kidding, right?

Afraid not. Her parents came home and saw that little Peggy had decided to paint the ceiling with her brains. Holy shit, Karen, how can you joke about this? How can you not? Jesus, Marissa, it's not like I think. hold the trigger. Seriously? Like that can justify the way you treated her? The way you still treat her? Acting like her life doesn't matter? Like it's a joke? Are you trying to blame this on me?

I don't know. Are you trying to pretend like you're not the least bit responsible for this? Look, bitch, I had no way of knowing that Peggy was the type of loser who'd blow her brains out just because some people joked around too much with her. Jesus Christ, Karen, you didn't joke around. You made her life a living hell. So what if I did? Tough shit, that's life. Damn it, Karen, this is serious.

Let go of me. No. So what if she's dead? This whole place is better off without her. If I had the chance to do it all over again, I'd put the idea in her head on day one so we could have had it over with sooner. Shaking and trembling, I stood there in the darkness.

Tears dripped down my face and my knees shuddered. Standing there, I knew. And it, it knew too. It was waiting for me as sweat dripped down my brow. My breath was heavy, and my heart pounded in my chest as I stood and gagged on the words that I tried to form. I knew it had to be done. The way she talked about it all. The way she didn't even care that she drove another living being to commit suicide.

The way she could just joke about it. She didn't care. She wouldn't learn. No, she'd just go on to destroy someone else's life. She had to be stopped. She had to be punished. I had to do it. I had to say it.

Kill, care. I waited until I heard that familiar sound, and then I saw what was written. Consider it done. Sweetie, we need to talk. Okay. What about? Just sit down for a second with me. Okay. How has school been? Fine.

Are you feeling okay? Not depressed? Jesus, Mom, I'm fine. Okay, okay, I just... You know, it's got to be hard, you know? Barely even a month has passed by, and the two friends you made have... Well, taken their own lives.

Karen was not one of my friends. Marissa, there's no need... No, Mom, really. We weren't friends at all. She's the reason Peggy. killed herself. What are you talking about? Karen bullied Peggy every day.

She drove her to it. No, sweetie. Peggy left a note. She killed herself because her parents were getting a divorce. I mean, I don't know anything about this whole Karen situation, but I talked to Mrs. Cook, and

she mentioned how Karen found out about it before school and cried for hours. I thought you all were close friends. Are you sure you're going to be all right? Yeah, I'm fine. I was anything but fine. I was so utterly not fine. Yeah, Karen messed up beyond belief, but she was just a stupid kid. She made a mistake and learned her lesson. She likely thought, as I did, that it was all her fault. That's why she cried over Peggy's death. That, and she likely just felt remorse as any

normal person should, and she hid those emotions from me at school. I should have known that after all those years of being mispopular that Karen would, in times of trouble, fall back to what she did best, keeping up appearances. She wasn't glad Peggy was gone. She was destroyed, devastated. She was and I killed her for no reason. I had played judge, jury, and executioner. I had played God without knowing the full story. And now Karen's blood was on my hands. I tried to move on, but I couldn't.

I couldn't eat dinner, couldn't look my family in the eyes knowing what I had done. I just wasted away in my own guilt as the night dragged on. Eventually, I found myself not so alone in my room and broke down. I knew I had to come clean, and I knew I had to tell someone about the monster in my closet. So I turned off the lights and prepared to cry myself to sleep, ready to tell everyone in the morning. But as soon as I turned off the lights and threw myself on my bed, the noise began. It was scurried. It was scurried. faster than it had ever done before.

And I just wanted it to stop. I wanted to be done with it all. So I got out of my bed and shouted at it. You anymore! I'm coming clean. I'm telling everyone! No matter how much I yelled at the damn thing, it wouldn't stop writing.

So I decided to get up and see what message it decided was so important to tell me. I walked over, lingering on each step. I could barely see in the dark, but eventually I made it to the door. Resting my hand on the doorknob, I could still hear it riding on the wall. I opened the door and immediately stumbled backwards, falling to the floor in shock. There, there it was, hunched over in the corner with a piece of charcoal in its hand. Looking up, I could barely see it in the dark.

It had long, wild, dirty hair. It faced away from me, ignoring me as it continued. But I saw what I could of the... The thing. He had a long, pointed chin and skinny arms and legs. He was pale as hell and bony, too. wearing only a torn pair of jeans he looked sickly with his rib cage sticking out from under his skin his body shook as he wrote wheezing with each breath i stood up looking at the door i thought about booking it but i remembered that he said he only kills those he's told to besides he hadn't noticed me so i decided to look over his bony little shoulders and take a go glance at what he was writing. Reading it to myself, I began to shiver. I feel that I should come

clean too. Amanda and I were about as close as you and I were. We weren't friends. Also, I lied. She didn't ask for me to kill her. That I did for fun. She'd become way too boring. You, on the other hand, were starting to become interesting. I stopped reading. Suddenly and without warning, he finished his message and dropped the charcoal on the ground. He stood still for a moment, then turned to look at me out of the corner of his glowing eyes. I read the words over his shoulder, but I can't have you going around telling my little secret. There was more, but his body.

he obscured the final sentence. He turned further, lips quivering. He bore his teeth, sharp and jagged, and smiled the widest grin I had ever seen. His eyes, radiating a fierce yellow, met mine. He cocked his head to the side in a sickly, arrogant way. I stood still as he moved aside. It was clear. He wanted him. me to read the rest. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and readied myself.

After what felt like an eternity, I opened, in fact. If you're reading this, you're already dead. As our service concludes, we send you away with our blessings. If you would like to find

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