The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S13E08

Episode Date: August 11, 2019

It's episode 08 of Season 13. On this week's show we have tales about the horrors found returning to and escaping from home. "Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea" written by Nick Moore (Story starts around 00:08:40) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Addison Peacock, Dennis – Atticus Jackson, Steve – Mike DelGaudio, Sea Gal – Jessica McEvoy "Suicide Stitch" written by Sarah L. Johnson (Story starts around 00:30:45) Produced by: Phil Michalski TRIGGER WARNING! Cast: Minnie – Jessica McEvoy, Celia – Nichole Goodnight, Nate – Dan Zappulla "Last Man" written by Liam Hogan (Story starts around 00:59:40) Produced by: Phil Michalski TRIGGER WARNING! Cast: Narrator - Peter Lewis "The Voyeur" written by Ethan Hallstrom (Story starts around 01:16:00) Produced by: David Cummings TRIGGER WARNING! Cast: Narrator - David Cummings "The Skeleton Key to the City" written by BD Zamia (Story starts around 01:40:15) Produced by: Jesse Cornett Cast: Maggie Heartwell – Nikolle Doolin, Dan Cone – Jesse Cornett Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast   Click here to learn more about the NoSleep Live: 2020 European Tour   Click here to learn more about Nick Moore   Click here to learn more about Sarah L. Johnson   Click here to learn more about Liam Hogan   Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone "The Skeleton Key to the City" 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

Who's my widow boo-boo? Who's my sweet little kitty cat? Oh, you're so cute. Hi, David. You wanted to see me? Ah, yes. Come in, Jessica. Recently you told me about a new cat litter you've been using. What's it called again? Oh, Pretty Letter. Yes, that's it. Your glowing endorsement of Pretty Letter inspired me. So I got myself a new kitty. Meet Little Miss Prissy Paws. Isn't she adorable? Um, why yes. She's nice. Hello, little Miss Prissy Paws.

I never knew having a cat in my life could be so much fun. She loves to play and hunt for her toys. Look what she brought up from the dungeon. Is that part of a human scalp? Like Peters? But by far, the worst part of being a cat owner is dealing with the cat litter. It's messy, it's smelly, it's heavy. That's why I switched to Pretty Litter. It's Kitty Litter 2.0. It's shipped right to my door in a small lightweight bag that lasts me the entire month. And Pretty Litter has next level odor protection. It uses super absorbent crystals that actually trap and conceal odor and moisture.

No smell, no mess. Forget about dirty clay or compost that's completely gross to clean up. It sounds perfect. But I want to make sure Little Miss Prissy Paws stays as healthy as she is now. A healthy? Is that blood dripping from her mouth? Tell me about how pretty litter can help monitor my kitty's health. Pretty litter changes colors to detect underlying illnesses before urgent medical care is needed,

saving you money, stress, and potentially your cat's life. Back when my mom first found Ginko in her front yard when he was just a little kitten, we had to keep him separated from the other boys just in case he had any sort of illness that could be contagious. We had a lot of vet visits involving blood work and stool samples and shots. But now that all the boys are grown and with pretty litter, I can tell every day every time I change their litter box. And honestly, knowing my boys are healthy and happy is the best part. I'm convinced.

I'll be ordering pretty litter for Little Miss Prissy Paws. Say, do you want to hold Little Miss Prissy Paws? I think she likes you. Ah! You know what? You'd better hold on to her. I'm allergic to whatever that is. I mean, to those kinds of cats.

Oh, but she's so cute. I know she's bigger than most cats, but she's a sweetie. Here, just watch out for her three barbed tails. They can sting. No, I really don't. No, she's biting. Oh, don't be silly. She's playing with you.

Do what I'm going to do and make the switch to Pretty Litter today by visiting pretty litter.com and use promo code no sleep for 20% off your first order. That's PrettyLitter.com promo code no sleep for 20% off. For the dark tales when we dare not close our eyes. Brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. No Sleep Podcast video store. I'm David Cummings. Our VCR is ready to play stories about the horrors found returning to and escaping from home.

After last week's little mishap with the announcements, I am fully prepared this week. I have my items written down so I won't forget what's. to say. Now, in the... Oh, wait. Why is that music starting again? Oh, no, no, I'm fading out. Not again. The No Sleep Podcast will soon be embarking

on its third nationwide tour of the United States. But it's become clear that our live show is bigger than just one or two countries. There is a whole sleepless world out there waiting for us. And that's why we are proud to announce

the... Uh, David, excuse me, um, David. Uh, Mr Cummings, what are you doing? What? Why, I'm trying to make another exciting tour announcement. Well, yes, we know what you're announcing. We're just, uh, questioning the, um, the tone of your announcement. Yes, all that ominous music and, uh, brace yourself for the dark hours.

Stuff might work in the colonies, but it's not going to work over here. Really? You think we should take a different approach? Absolutely. We're talking about touring a part of the world known for culture and art and refined old world tastes. No, just step aside.

Just please. What? Thank you. Yep, go on stand over there and let us handle this. What, oh, I mean, this is my show. Rude. At long last, dear No Sleep podcast fans of Europe,

our long wait is over. The No Sleep podcast is proud to announce the No Sleep Live 2020 European Tour. Taking place in January of 2020, spanning seven countries over 21 days with performances in 17 cities. Brace yourself as our sleepless tour visits England, Scotland, the Netherlands. France, Germany, Denmark. And the tour concludes in Stockholm, Sweden. Oh, just think, Erica, for once we won't have to fly across the Atlantic.

You're right. Now Cummings, McAvoy and Boone will have to come to our home turf. They'll be at our mercy. They'll be out of their element. We'll have complete control over them. David, Erica, I think you're getting carried away. Yes, quite right. So, make plans to see the No Sleep Podcast live in a city or country near you. Tickets will go on sale on the 12th of August, that's Monday, at 11 o'clock Central European Time, or 10 o'clock British summertime. Just go to the no sleeppodcast.com slash tour and click the button for the European tour page. There you'll find a list of venues and links to tickets. Joining Erica and myself will be Jessica McAvoy with Brandon Boone providing a live musical score.

How exciting! You're forgetting someone! Are we? Oh! Yes. and David will be Cummings to Europe as well. All right, all right, that's enough. So much for all that class and culture you're going on about?

All right, all right, you're done. Go drink some tea or something. Well, you don't get tea in America. That's right, fans from Europe. We're coming to see you. Go to the no sleeppodcast.com tour and click the link to our European tour dates. Make your plans now to join the No Sleep Podcast live on their 2020 European Tour. I'm not even sure why I bother hosting anymore if I'm just

going to be interrupted every episode. Anyway, announcement time is done. So turn down the lights and grab the remote because it's time for our feature presentation. In our first tale, we get to experience the fun and frolics of a young woman heading off on a much-needed vacation. But as we dive into this tale shared with us by author Nick Moore, it becomes clear that her travel journal isn't just a list of places she went, because what this young woman experienced was a horrible monstrosity. Performing this tale are Addison Peacock, Atticus Jackson, Mike Delgado, and Jessica McAvoy. So grab your suitcases and don't forget your toothbrush, lest you find yourself between the devil and the deep blue sea.

This trip is badly needed. Can't believe how bad life has been the last few years. Maybe I'll stay here. I'm just kidding. Maybe. My boss barely gave me time off as it was. That job sucks, but I need the money and the insurance. I didn't want to leave mom for a week either with how sick she is,

but she really pushed me, said a week away would rejuvenate me. We've just got each other, but it's hard to get away. It really was a spur of the moment decision. I was walking around the touristy downtown here and deciding where I should eat before I headed to the beach. The guy selling snorkeling excursions really did a good job selling the outing. Three hours out, a few hours of snorkeling at a reef and a picnic lunch at an island, and three hours back. A full day out on the water sounded appealing, and before I knew it, I was putting down my credit card and climbing aboard a boat.

A few hours later, we were swimming and exploring this gorgeous spot. It was a fun group, and there were more than a few people there by themselves, so I didn't feel left out. The water was so clear, and there were so many... and so much coral, and I didn't even realize how quickly time was passing. After lunch, we had some time to walk around the small island we were on. There wasn't a lot going on, though we stumbled across a small cave that was filled with what looked like ancient figurines. They looked really old, and I was worried someone was going to damage them

before one of the crew came over and told us we couldn't be in the cave because it was an archaeological landmark. said they normally had signs up on the beach that you couldn't go past a certain point and that the cave was well into the protected area. I'm glad nothing got broken. He was so mad, said we were risking their license. They let us swim a bit more before we left, and I was so thrilled for the chance.

The day was perfect, and it was disappointing to hear them call us in and start for shore. We rode into heavy fog on the way back, and visibility dropped to almost nothing. It's spooky to be out there in the main. middle of the fog. And the boat has slowed down quite a bit. They just told us we would be late getting back.

A few people griped, but they've passed out some free beers and drinks, and everyone has cheered up pretty quickly. I think I fell asleep. Must have been the drinks. I'm such a lightweight. I can hear some nervous whispering. Two crew members are talking in hushed voices, and it's clear something is up. It sounds like the instruments are down, and...

and we might be off course. I'm going to use the bathroom and see if I can see anything. I just worked my way up to the bathroom and peeked over the side. The dark water was just below me, though I couldn't see more than a few feet away in the fog. I used the little bathroom and then peeked back over the side. It looked like we were in shallow water. I could see the bottom below the surface of the water.

And then it was dark again. I'm going to ask one of the crew, that's safe. My memories of last night are hazy. I remember grabbing my bag and looking for the crew. I remember the boat lurching. I remember being airborne for a second and then hitting the water. I remember voices in the water and swimming toward them. I remember how scared I was until my feet finally touched sand. There were 28 of us last night, 22 customers and 6.5.5. And so, six crew members. Now there were four crew members and 18 customers. The rest, we assume, drowned. We have no idea what we hit in the dark and the fog. A bunch of us were tossed overboard.

The captain somehow managed to keep the boat afloat a little longer. He saw something that looked like an island and headed towards it. Good thing, too. He grounded the boat in shallow water. so we've been able to raid it for food and water. Unfortunately, the communication systems are all down. The few cell phones that weren't destroyed get no service. Having mine in a Ziploc bag saved the day, but I'm keeping it off so the battery doesn't get wasted. We don't know where we are,

except it's a little group of islands. Two seem to pretty much touch, and the other looks to be about a half a mile away. We're going to walk around and see if there's any water or fresh, while we wait for rescuers to come looking for us. Can't believe this has happened. What are the chances my one vacation would wind up like this? Something is wrong.

We had explored the two close islands and had come back to our makeshift camp. We hadn't really been keeping track of how many people we had, but around sundown, we realized we were down to 21. The missing person had been behind us on the way back, but we were walking along the beach and she took. just vanished. The crew was arguing about how far off course we could have gotten. I guess it makes a difference in how long it'll take to find us.

I want to go home. We spent today walking around the island looking for the girl who vanished last night. The captain said she must have tried to take a shortcut across the island and probably hurt herself. We walked all over the place. I stuck in a group with a couple, Alice and Dennis, and a guy named Steve who seemed to bit quiet but nice. It was actually a nice day. We hiked back and forth across the island, and I managed to forget how bad everything was for a bit. It's really beautiful here. We didn't see any sign of the missing woman, but we found what looks like a small freshwater spring.

We made it back to camp a bit before dark as other groups came back. Four more people have vanished, including the captain. The three remaining crew, members are standing by themselves, having what does not sound like a happy conversation. What is happening? The three remaining crew members took off in the night. They took one of the lifeboats and some of the water and food, leaving the other 14 of us to fend for ourselves. They said something was wrong with the island, and they were going to get help for us. But it feels a lot like we've been abandoned. None of us are sure what to do right now. We don't have a ton of food and people keep disappearing. We decided to stay on the beach today and come up with a plan,

but mostly people are just arguing. A few of the guys swam out to the reef the boat is stuck on and raided it for fishing equipment. They haven't caught anything yet, but at least it's something to do. I saw it. This morning there was suddenly a bunch of movement in the water. A whole ton of fish were right in the shallow water in front of us. A few guys grabbed us. A few guys nets and were just scooping them out of the water while we cheered. It was incredible. It came up. I can't explain what I saw. At first I thought it was a giant shark or a whale, but then I saw the tentacles. It didn't look like anything I've ever seen in any book or picture. It was huge, and it came out of nowhere. Everyone was screaming and running up away from the water. It grabbed three

people and was gone almost before we could tell what was happening. We've decided to camp up near the tree tonight where it's safer. Everyone is freaked out. Alice and Dennis are sitting off by themselves. Alice sounded like she was crying most of the night. Steve cornered me and asked me if I had seen anything anyone had in their possession, something that could be attracting this beast to us. Like what?

This thing is eating us. So probably we make a good meal, Steve. Everyone is divided on what to do. I say we stay the fuck away from the water until help gets here, though someone else made the point that this thing might be what we hit in the night. Maybe it's mad about that. But who's to say it won't hit another boat? Now that we've all seen it, the creature seems emboldened.

Most of the time we can see it, coming up to the surface, working its way from one side of the horizon to the other. It's watching us. The third island has a higher vantage point. One of the guys here, Mark, wants to swim over with a radio and see if he can signal someone. Sounds like suicide to me. I was up early this morning and decided to take a walk by myself to get us more water.

I picked my way across the interior of the island, staying away from the sand. After getting water, I decided to walk a bit further to see the far beach. There, in the sand, sat the missing lifeboat. The three crew members were nowhere on board, but the bottom of the boat had a large pool of blood. I haven't told the others. I don't want them to know that help isn't coming. Mark grabbed the radio and tried to swim for it.

We didn't realize he was gone at first. But when we did, we ran to the channel between the islands. The beast was nowhere in sight, and he was already halfway across to the third island. He was a strong swimmer, and it actually filled me with hope to see how far he had made it. Steve walked down to the water and looked like he was going to swim after him. But before he started, we suddenly saw it, cruising through the water. From our vantage point, you could really see its size. I have no idea how big.

it was, but I have been on whale watching trips before, and this thing dwarfed any of them. It didn't even slow down as it plucked him from the surface and continued on. What are we going to do? We needed a plan. We sat around the fire, arguing. I tried to be quiet, but no one had any good ideas. We were running out of food, and getting near the water to try to catch fish would be suicide. In the fire, the dancing lights gave everyone's face an interesting aura. I watched as some people yelled, some whispered, and some said nothing at all. I finally interrupted. Listen, the 11 of us need to work together. Dennis shot me a nasty look. Ten, Mark is dead if you didn't remember. I lowered my head. But then,

realized he was wrong. There were 11 of us around the fire. I had been looking at everyone's face in turn. That's when it clicked. I saw her. She was sitting among us, looking as sunburned and bedraggled as the rest of us, but I had never seen her before. Her face was entirely unfamiliar. I pointed with a shaking hand. No, 11. Her smile was more of a snarl. Return it.

And perhaps mother will spare the rest of you. It was not yours. We watched, slack-jawed, as she sprinted into the waves, disappearing into the night. None of us said a word. What in the hell do we need to return? What was she? A crate of food washed up this morning.

I woke up to excited voices talking about it. It was huge. Must have been ten feet long. With it, we wouldn't have to worry about our provisions running out for weeks, maybe months. Dennis carefully worked his way down to the edge of the water, but he couldn't budget. It was stuck, right in the shallow water. We stared up and down the beach, looking for any sign of the beast,

before deciding we would all run down together and pull it up the sand. If we moved quickly, we would be safe. We moved down toward the water, still seeing no sign of the monster that had stalked us for days. We got in position and heaved. The crate wouldn't budge. We all decided to get on one side, see if we could tip it over instead of trying to pull it. By heaving, we managed to get it rocking and finally tip it over. As it splashed down, I looked into the shallow water where it had been,

confused about the purple streak, now visible under the water, perplexed about what I was seeing. Then I realized that the crate hadn't washed up. As the beast pulled itself up from the sand it had been buried in, we all sprinted towards the safety of the trees. Only three of us made it. Dennis, Steve, and I sat and watched as it slowly pulled itself back into the deeper water

and where it had been hiding in the sand, pulling the rest of our sorry band of survivors into the depths. Three of us left. I've stopped thinking of the beast as a mindless killer. There is something to it. It is smart. It hunts?

It... She can set traps? We'll never get out of here if we don't figure it out. Steve has been sitting and staring at the water for hours. Dennis has been polishing off the remains of the alcohol while sobbing. I've been watching them both. One of them is hiding something. None of us will survive if I don't figure it out.

Steve woke me up in the night. Walk with me. We walked down the beach, staying well clear of the waterline. Did you take it? Take what? In the cave. Did you take a sculpture? I stopped walking and stared at him.

After we snorkeled? No. It was Dennis then. What did he take? Something that was not his. I paused, and the realization hit me like a wave. You weren't in the cave. Steve, he shook his head and smiled.

Who are you? He looked sad. Get it from Dennis and bring it to the water. You'll be safe if you do. Then he took off his shirt, revealing what looked like gills on his sides. He smiled one last time, and then turned and sprinted into the waves, vanishing before my eyes. I didn't wait until morning. I marched back to where Dennis. Anas slept and shook him awake.

What did you take? What did you take? He was awake then. You can't have it. It's all I have left of her. All these people died because of you. It was for Alice. Show me.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small stone artifact. It looked like. something she would like. Before he could react, I snatched it from his hands and went running for the water. Stop! He gave chase, but I had a good head start. I was almost at the water when he hit me from behind, and we tumbled into the sand. The statue went flying, and he was up, running towards it.

I don't think he saw the tentacle coming until it hit him. It connected hard with his gut, knocking him in the same. to the water. I stared as another tentacle wrapped around him and pulled him under the waves. I stood and slowly made my way to the small statue in the sand. I picked it up and looked up at the massive beast before me. This was nothing I had ever seen before. Something else entirely, something ancient, that had been in the ocean. Forever. I felt the weight of its presence wash over me. Then I walked forward and placed the statue upon one of its giant tentacles. The second I did, it began pushing itself backwards into the

water. I stood and watched it until it disappeared. I stood and watched for a long time after. I waited until morning to leave. I packed a bag of food and water and pushed. the remaining lifeboat into the ocean. Then I slowly started paddling. I didn't have an idea of where I was going, but something told me that didn't matter. Sure enough, a current picked me up a short time later and started pushing me along.

I sat and watched the islands disappear behind me, seeming to sink into the ocean itself. I sat and watched the sea unending on every side as I floated along. I woke up this morning to seagulls. I opened my eyes and saw them flying over me. It was then that I finally took my phone out and powered it on. The voicemails poured in and I clicked through them.

My boss was unhappy about a report he couldn't find, despite me telling him four times where it was. He got progressively angrier. My mom's doctor wanted to talk. A colleague was telling me she was worried about how mad my boss was. My boss fired me. Then my mom's doctor again. Then a third time.

By the third time she left a message, she finally told me what I already knew. I have nothing to go back to. I see the shimmer land on the horizon and know that there is nothing waiting for me there. Steve has appeared next to the boat, swimming in the water. He tells me I proved myself. He tells me I can be like him. He tells me I can stay in the water. I don't think I'm going home.

Or maybe. In some ways, I am. Worrying about a loved one's state of mind can take its toll. When they've expressed suicidal thoughts in the past, past, it's easy to wonder exactly what happened when they die in a supposed accident. That's the case for Minnie in this tale shared with us by author Sarah L. Johnson. Did her sister finally achieve her life's ambition of sewing the perfect dress? Or is everything Minnie knows about to unravel?

Performing this tale are Jessica McAvoy, Nicole Goodnight, and Dan Zapula. So fold up the fabric and iron out the creases as we prepare to sew the suicide stitch. I stood on my sister Celia's clover-infested lawn as the dumpster slid off the truck and settled on the driveway with a steely boom. I had ordered the biggest, knowing I'd needed emptied at least once before I was done. The driver lowered the hydraulic bed. I gave him a thumbs up and he drove off in a rumbling diesel crue. The edges of Celia's key dug into my palm as I turned back to the house with its scabby brown paint and leaky windows. Once I got the front door open, I had to kick a trail through a heap of garment bags just to get past the gloomy foyer.

I reached for the light switch, but let my hand drop short. Full exposure could wait. I peered into the living room, finding it crammed full of boxes and bags. containing buttons, zippers, snaps, rivets, thread, and piping. A mountain of notions so high it brushed the beards of dust hanging from the motionless ceiling fan. I shoved my way through more garment bags and slipped down the hall, sideways, on account of the bolts of fabric stacked up against the walls on either side. I knew it would be bad.

When it comes to hoarders, there is no rock bottom. Not until you've hit the rafters. Damn it, Celia. I'd been doing that a lot the last few days. Damning her for being a complete fuck-up. For leaving me with this disaster. For ripping a vital stitch out of my life without any warning. I wasn't ready to sort through her shit and clean up her mess.

I wasn't ready for my little sister to be dead. I pulled my phone from my skirt pocket and scanned the screen. My thumb hovered over the decline button, except I knew he'd only keep calling. I brought the phone to my ear. Hey, Nate. He paused, and I heard a whining roar in the background, which meant he was driving. I've been trying to call you for days. I'm so sorry.

Thanks. Why did I thank him? Why did he apologize? He didn't do anything. And I wasn't grateful. That was the problem with us. Our deference lies came automatically. Truth had always been a weapon of last resort.

It was a car accident? That's what the police officer said. But you told them. Told them what? Your sister wasn't exactly stable, men. Doesn't matter anymore. Layers of puddled fabric baffled my voice into a flat slurch of sound. More lies.

Of course it mattered. If it really were just an accident, I probably wouldn't be here. Are you all right? Do you need help? Celia's the one who needed help. I wandered into the kitchen and headed toward the stairs. And the whole point of divorce is for you to extricate yourself from my life. Not weave your way back into it. At least that's the impression you gave me when you asked for one.

Come on, man. like that. He might have trailed off. More likely, I stopped listening because I saw her. Above me, on a steel pedestal in the middle of the landing that split the steep staircase into two manageable halves. Buff canvas stretched over a woman-shaped torso. She faced me head on, as much as a headless woman can. Her curves pleasing.

Her posture inscrutable. Sunshine poured through the window behind her, and her shadow yawned down the stairs towards me. Min? Gotta go. Wait. I found Dolly. I hung up, shoving the phone into the pocket of my skirt. Celia knew I liked pockets, and always found a way to sew them into my skirts and dresses.

From my vantage point, Dolly looked as big as she had the day my grandma brought her home for Celia and I. when we were nine and ten years old, respectively. Grandma was a seamstress, and she planned to teach us her trade. My first turn at her old Kenmore sewing machine, I stomped on the pedal before lowering the pressure foot. Grandma had to yank the needle out of my fingertip with pliers. From there, she decided it might be best to teach us to sew by hand. But my stitches were uneven, my seams crooked,

and the fabric consistently ended up dotted with specks of blood. Celia, though, in her little hand, the needle became a magic wand. Within a week, she'd turned out a whole dress. Nothing fancy, just a blue shift, but her seams were strong and straight. Her stitches, meticulous. I'm going to kill myself. Huh? I looked up from my math homework.

Celia sat down across the table, resting her chin in her hands. Not today. Tomorrow? Probably not for a long time. I have to make a perfect dress first. That one you just made is perfect. Grandma said, Dolly says the zipper is uneven, just a little.

Who's Dolly? The dress form. Dress forms don't have names. She says that once you've done something perfect, there's no point in doing anything else. You're a weirdo. Celia bounded over to my side of the table and grabbed me up in a hard hug. I wasn't expecting it, and my pencil led pricked my neck. Don't worry, men.

I promise not to kill myself without saying goodbye first. And so it went through our teens, 20s, and 30s. Periodically, I'd get a voicemail, email, or once a registered letter saying something like Thursday or Sunday or whatever. a terse missive indicating the date she expected to finish her magnum opus. I'd go to her house on that day, and I'd have to find the tiny flaw in an otherwise perfect dress, a tailor-made game of Where's Waldo? I figured she was sloppy on purpose, on account of her not really wanting to kill herself, but being too proud to renege on an oath she took as a nine-year-old.

Don't get me wrong. The dresses were works of all. art with an inner light and life of their own. She sold them on the internet, complete with the one small Waldo that she always left uncorrected. Say this dress was the one. How would you do it? I had just identified a poorly executed blanket stitch on a buttonhole. She gave me a despondent shrug and unzipped the yellow frock. The bodice slipped down dolly's molded breasts and dropped into the skirt pooling at the pedestal base. Swallow a bunch of pills maybe, or pins. You know, whatever's around.

It ought to be spontaneous, don't you think? Then her eyes, the deep slate of black pearls, welled up. She gathered the yellow dress in her arms, hugging it for a moment before tossing it on her work table and shuffling over to me. I tucked her head under my chin and held her as she. she cried out her obvious frustration and secret relief. I hiked up to the landing and rested my hands on Dolly's shoulders. Didn't expect you to be naked.

Truly, I didn't. Why wasn't she in the sewing room, haloed by the sun, wearing a diaphanous petal pink gown? I always imagined that perfect dress being pink. No idea why. I curled an arm around dolly. waist and hauled her up the next flight of steps, trying not to trip on the grocery sacks stuffed with brown tissue paper patterns and piles of remnants in an endless array of colors.

How Celia found anything in this nut house I could never figure out, but she had a system. I could ask her for the teal zipper from a tartan skirt she wore when she was 16, and she'd buzzed down to the basement, make a hell of a lot of noise, and minutes later be back in her sewing room, teal zipper in hand. A fat tear licked down my cheek. I wiped it away and cleared a passage to the sewing room. The door swung open without meeting any obstructions. I carried dolly inside and set her down on the dust-free floorboards. The sewing room was the one orderly space in the house and militantly sewed. Afternoon light came in through a clean window over a large, uncluttered worktube. I sat down at the smaller sewing table that held grandma's old Kenmore. I rested my forehead

on the cold enamel, smelling machine oil and synthetic fibers. Then I got up and opened the closet. Several dresses hung from the rod. Red strapless tea length, blue maxi dress, slinky plum wrap, A chartreuse number with a tutu skirt that should have been hideous, but was, instead, strangely adorable. All lovely, but none perfect. I'd post them on eBay as usual. I glanced over at the dress form. Well, Dolly, care to point me in the right direction? Dolly stood impassive.

Fine, but I know it's here somewhere, and I'm going to find. it. I got up and strode out of the room, flicking dolly's left breast as I went by. The front door seemed a logical starting point. I opened each sticky plastic garment bag clog in the foyer and sorted through their rumpled contents, mostly thrift shop rags destined for repurposing. No dresses. I dragged the bags and clothes by the armful out to the driveway, where I tossed them over the lip of the bin. Next, I tackled the hallway. The purge would move faster if I could at least get from the front of the house to the back without turning sideways. I carried bolts of fabric, three at a time out to the bin. Wool, linen, poly blend, satin, crepe, and a variety of knits. In they went. Deep jewel

tones, delicate pastels, and smart geometric patterns. My sisters, she's. My sisters, she's shattered rainbow of accumulation thudded to the bottom of the dumpster. My phone buzzed in my skirt. I checked the screen. An email from my lawyer. Not my divorce lawyer, my traffic court lawyer, reminding me of my appearance next Tuesday. I'd already paid the fine and had the breathalyzer system installed, but I needed to shave some demerits off my license before my insurance came up for renewal. The whole thing was mortifying. I'd been upset on account of a fresh firing from the tool rental place, or was it the caterers? Sometimes my resume blurred into a single gray streak of failure. Anyway, I'd lipped off an obnoxious customer. Can I help it if I have a medical condition?

My manager humorlessly informed me that a severe asshole allergy wasn't a thing and tossed me out on my ear. I bounced my way to the nearest bar. A series of poor choices followed. Darkness fell, forcing me to turn on a few lights. I finished clearing the hallway sometime near midnight, my hands and arms raw with fabric burn. Tomorrow I'd wear long sleeves and a pair of work gloves. I slid down cool plaster to the floor and stretched my legs out across the newly exposed hall run. vibrant cobalt, a faded stripe worn down the center from years of Celia's sliding down the narrow passage she'd left between bales of textiles. I blotted the sweat behind my ears with a scrap of cotton, burnt orange paisley. I'd bought it myself, envisioning a simple sundress. A few days later,

Celia had whipped up a sheath, cut on the bias with a fringed hemline, you know, the opposite of I'd asked for. On Dolly, the sheath looked fabulous. On me, it looked like a lampshade, until Celia attacked it with a mouthful of pins and commenced pinching, tucking, and gathering. A vein pulsed blue on her pale forehead, the color of concentration. Of course, the dress wasn't perfect. The hem drops slightly in the back, a flaw easily interpreted as a deliberate stroke of style. Even her mistakes were meticulous. Sprawled in the hot, dim hallway, I hiked my skirt up and draped the paisley over my bare legs, so cool and soft. Nate never understood Celia, but he loved that dress. I tipped my head back, recalling how his hand strayed to my lap under

the restaurant table, wedding band grazing my thigh as he worried the silky bronze fringe between his fingers. That was before. And now, Nate, gone. Celia, gone. Me, alone, with a breathalyzer in my car and all my seams coming apart. I dragged myself off the floor and walked down the hall, arms out, fingers brushing the walls on either side. I wanted to go home and have a drink. Vodka, with a splash, and a splash of lime, or some other dilutive technicality. Instead, I locked the front door, switched off the lights, and made my way upstairs, gathering up an endless bridal train of tool as I went. In the sewing room, silvered by moonlight, Dolly stood on her pedestal, facing the door. Had I left her that way? I dumped the bundle of tool in the corner and approached. Sorry about earlier.

I gently twisted the dials on her chest, waist, and hips. Guess I'm a little jealous. She never talked to me the way she talked to you. I closed dolly right up to a size zero, approximating Celia's petite dimensions. The waist still wasn't small enough. My sister wore steel-boned corsets that, over the course of two decades,

had irreparably mutilated her ribcage. She never denied being self-destructive. She just didn't think it was a problem. Celia, you can't live on alphabet soup. But I like it. It's not about what you like. Wearing a torture device that forces you into a liquid diet is not healthy. I held a can of Campbell's in each hand.

Celia cocked her hip, emphasizing the brutally cinched middle under her polka dot shirt waist. If anyone drinks too much, Minnie, it's you. I tightened my grip on the soup cans. Do you have any idea what I'm going through right now? Nate moved out. Work is bad. I'm not sleeping. And now I'm worried about you not eating.

I know, Minnie. I know, I know. Her hands reached up to cool my cheeks. I leaned into her and dropped my head on her shoulder. I let my delicate doll. of a sister, hold me up and stroke my hair. You worry too much. Why can't you believe that I'm happy?

Just because you don't understand the way I live? That was the worst part. I did understand. I just couldn't accept it. Saving Celia from Celia had been my purpose since I could remember. Since Grandma died, I'd sacrificed a career, friends, and probably my marriage to me. make sure my sister showered at least once a week, turned off her stove, and paid her utility bills.

I put the sprinkler on her grass in the summer, turned her furnace on in the winter, and kept her hoarding in check all year round. Most importantly, I found those clever mistakes in her work. But what if Celia didn't need saving? A person who truly intended to kill herself would not be dissuaded, no matter how many shoddy blanket stitches I pointed out. Dolly's minimized form detached easily from the pedestal, and I carried her into Celia's bedroom where the quilt was thrown back in a jumble. The depression of her body still outlined on the bottom sheet. I shed my clothes and crawled into the twin bed, pulling Dolly in with me under the covers. I turned my nose into the pillow. The sheets were dirty, saturated with the twin

the smell of Celia's hair and sweat. A good smell, on account of the fact that even at age 35, Celia perspired like a child. Honey and salt, grimy and golden, like the food you buy at a fairground. I hugged dolly's unyielding flesh, wetting her canvas skin with my tears. I imagined her phantom arms holding me the way I had held Celia after every failed attempt at perfection, each slender stay of execution. She promised she wouldn't leave, not without saying goodbye, the only promise she'd ever made to my knowledge. I drifted off knowing that. Somehow, I had failed her. A gale rattled the window panes and shrieked under the eaves of Grandma's house. I rolled on my side, facing the wall, even as I heard a whimper, the rustle of blankets and the slap, slap, slap of bare feet.

Nine-year-old Celia clambered into my bed and squirmed up against my back. I felt the chill of her through my jammies. Cold-blooded she was, like a reptile, warming only to the temperature of her immediate environment. A spray of lightning through Dolly's eerily stretched silhouette against the wall. Celia shoved her face between my shoulder blades. Min, I'm scared. It's just a storm. Can I sleep with you?

You're too old to be crawling into my bed every time it rains. Dolly says you can protect me. I looked over my shoulder at the dress form standing by the closet. I hated her, hated that she shared our room. Shadow rivulets of rain trickled down her body. Then her dials began to turn. I went rigid as her seams opened wider and wider, until the stuff inside, the black blood that made her dolly,

rather than just a dress form, poured out in sheets. It's okay, it's okay. And her quaking little body woke up shivering. in a bright pool of sunlight from the east-facing window. Oh, my head was full of mud, and my mouth dry as talc. The worst hangover in history, and I'd consumed not a drop of alcohol. Bad dreams will do that to you, which probably explained why I drank so much in the first place. Dolly?

I flipped through the covers, searching for my best frenemy, as if she were as easily lost in the sheets as an iPhone, which just then buzzed from the pile of clothes I'd left on the floor. My hand walked off the bed far enough to grab the phone out of my skirt pocket, and then retreated back under the covers. Hey. Hey, did I wake you? Yeah. I thought I might as well let him feel bad about it.

Got kind of late last night, so I stayed over. Are you sure that's such a good idea? Jesus. The only contact we've had in weeks has been. through our lawyers, and now you're concerned with what's good for me? Why don't I come over? Bring coffee, some food maybe? I help you clear out all that garbage. A part of me, a large, lonely part, wanted to say yes. Wanted to fill the hole in my heart with something, anything, even Nate. But rage got there first. Garbage? Where do you get off calling her life

garbage? His misguided use of the sisterly appellation sealed his doom. I leapt out of bed and paced back and forth between the closet and the window, righteously indignant in my panties. You left me, Nate, because you didn't want to share. Now you think that because I don't have to look after her anymore, you can stampede back into my life and everything will be perfect? I left because you wouldn't listen to reason.

I couldn't want you get dragged down with her. So if Celia's death gives you a chance to really live for the first time, then, yeah, maybe I don't think that's the worst thing in the world. Go to hell, you son of a bitch! I cranked the window open, punched out the screen, and chucked the phone into the clear blue sky. A second later, I heard it pong against the dumpster below. Not hell, but close enough. I stomped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Hot water slowly rumbled through the old.

Pipes, gave me time to think. Nate hadn't deserved that, but I wasn't exactly sorry for saying it. I needed to assign fault and unleash my emotional hurricane on someone. Nate saw Celia as the root of all my problems, which made him sort of stupid. He sneered at my devotion to the only family I had, which made him sort of mean. The mirror fogged over. I pulled back the shower curtain and stepped into the grungy tub, finding half a bar of ivory soap and a lime-scaled razor in the dish. Objects in situ. After my shower, I wrapped myself in a cleanish towel and used Celia's toothbrush. I didn't relish the idea of slipping back into my sweaty clothes from yesterday, but none of Celia's tween-sized get-ups would fit.

I stepped out of the bathroom and into a long shadow reaching out. out of the sewing room door. My heart clobbered my sternum, and I tightened the musty towel around my chest. The shadow shifted slightly. Celia? My voice burned off my lips like morning fog. I didn't expect a reply from my dead sister, but was nevertheless disappointed by the answering silence. I took three steps forward and pushed the sewing room door wide open.

Oh, there you are. Dolly, back on her pedestal. And this time, she wasn't naked. I supposed I could have done it. Sleepwalking are some such. Or someone could have broken in, pulled Dolly from my sleep-dead arms and dressed her up. Hell, as long as I was flinging ridiculous hypotheticals,

Dolly might have managed it herself with her no arms. I ought to have been scared. Except the how of it didn't seem to matter as much as the why. A breeze from the open window feathered my damp hair. I was wrong. The dress wasn't pink. And of all the colors in the kaleidoscope Celia worked in, I'd never once known her to a stew color altogether.

But there it was. A full skirted gown of plighton. black silk, draped and swirled in dramatic arcs, shivering in the draft like an obsidian butterfly. No weapon could have looked more lethal. The plunging neckline exposed the re-open seam bisecting Dolly's chest. I didn't have to see her dials to know the measurements. 35, 27, 37. I dropped my towel.

Lots of women wore a size six, but this was no coincidence. Carefully, I lifted the gown off dolly and dropped it over my head. Cool silk whispered against my skin. Unlike the spotty bathroom mirror, the full-length glass in the sewing room gleamed pristine silver. I pulled up the side zipper and studied the dress from every angle. A flawless fit. The dress that murdered my sister was made for me. Its living curves transformed me into the cruel beauty I'd always been on the inside.

I slid my hand through folds of midnight and into the pocket I knew I'd find there. Something pricked my finger. I pulled out a gold needle stuck through a spool of black thread. She'd left it in the pocket. For me. I stared at that school for a long time until I could no longer avoid the obvious conclusion. Celia's accident was really just an accident. She didn't break her promise.

Somewhere on this black beauty, I would find something left undone or poorly finished. I fell to my knees, skirt billowing around me. I pulled the hemline through my fingers in. inch by inch, examining every fine stitch until I found it, a pinky's width of raw edge. No one was perfect, but this dress could be. I could finish what my brilliantly insane little sister had come so close to accomplishing. Celia wanted this. She needed it.

Actually, Celia doesn't meet anything on account of her being. dead. Remember? You ID'd her body. She's dead. Your sister is dead. No matter how many times I slapped myself with the words, they never penetrated. My brain couldn't unravel me from her, couldn't stitch together a reality in which I was alive and my sister was not. All these years, I tried to save her. I gazed up at the dress for. form with her cracked open seams. She was the one who'd understood, and I'd held her in such contempt. I reached up and stroked her hard hip. Thank you, Dolly. Then I licked the end of the thread, slid it through the eye of the needle, and was more precision than I'd applied to anything

else in my life. I finished the hem, double knot on the last stage, just like Grandma taught us. I lifted the scissors off their designated hook above the work table, pulled the dangling thread tight, twirled slowly in front of the mirror, admiring how the sunlight died a shimmering death on contact with black silk. I twirled once more. Then I placed the still threaded needle on the back of my tongue and swallowed. Before the lights come back on, don't forget to go to pretty litter.com. and use promo code No Sleep for 20% off your first order of Pretty Litter.

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