The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S13E09

Episode Date: August 18, 2019

It's episode 09 of Season 13. On this week's show we have tales about the horrors of trying to fix things.   "Lego Lasts Forever" written by S.J. Budd (Story starts around 00:04:25) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Kim/Boy – Erika Sanderson, Monster – David Ault "Welcome to Pleasanton" written by Blair Daniels (Story starts around 00:20:55) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Caroline – Jessica McEvoy, Brandon – Peter Lewis, Vee – Nichole Goodnight, Tuxedo Man – David Cummings "What Haunts Me" written by Donald Sherman (Story starts around 00:40:00) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Sandy – Mike DelGaudio, Alma – Sarah Thomas, Luke –Mick Wingert, Doctor – Addison Peacock, Officer Sims – Kyle Akers, Detective Carlyle – Graham Rowat "New Ownership" written by Justin A.W. Blair (Story starts around 01:03:00) Produced by: Jeff Clement Cast: Narrator – Jeff Clement, Strange Man – Elie Hirschman, Dan – Dan Zappulla, Narrator’s Mom – Nikolle Doolin, Apartment Girl – Jessica McEvoy "Grunts" written by Neil Noon (Story starts around 01:31:00) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: General Consuela Velez – Nikolle Doolin, Specialist Gordy Pickford – Graham Rowat, Specialist Walter Stroheim – Kyle Akers, Specialist Magz Maloney – Erin Lillis "The Light from Windows" written by Laura Cabral (Story starts around 01:57:30) Produced by: Jesse Cornett Cast: Narrator – Dan Zappulla, Aiden’s Dad – Jesse Cornett, Noah’s Mom – Nikolle Doolin, Noah’s Dad – Mike DelGaudio, New Mom – Jessica McEvoy Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast   Click here to learn more about S.J. Budd   Click here to learn more about Blair Daniels   Click here to learn more about Justin A.W. Blair   Click here to learn more about Neil Noon   Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone "What Haunts Me" illustration courtesy of Alexis Bristowe 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

Hey everyone, Jessica McAvoy here, speaking on behalf of our content manager, Olivia White. I'm speaking on her behalf because she doesn't like talking publicly and struggles with various things involving social contact, in-person interactions, being in large groups of people, and other similar things. But unlike this time, sometimes these things are necessary, or maybe appealing if only the issues could be gotten over. That's where talking therapy and a bit of guidance can make all the difference.

And that's why I'm here to tell you about BetterHelp, which will assess your needs and match you with a licensed professional therapist to suit them. It's not a crisis line for emergencies or self-help where you're given a few mantras and that's it. It's a worldwide service matching therapists with clients, and you can start communicating in under 24 hours. BetterHelp is committed to facilitating the correct matches. and make it easy to change counselors if needed, and financial aid is available if required.

You'll get timely and thoughtful responses from your therapist, as well as scheduled video or phone sessions, with chat and text available in between. This way, you'll be able to feel that your counselor is with you, helping you along the way. It's all about helping you access the therapy you need, even if it's locally unavailable or too expensive. It can be difficult when there's something you need. to do that you struggle with, or it can be disheartening when everyone else is having fun and you're unable to join in because you struggle to socialize. But these things can be made easier, or therapy can even simply help you to deal with and be at peace with the things you can't do. So if you feel

that you want to join the 500,000 people who are taking charge of their mental health with the help of experienced professionals, you can sign up at betterhelp.com slash no sleep and get 10% off your first month. So don't be afraid to reach out and take that helping hand. Go to betterhelp.com slash no sleep and sign up today. We dare not close our eyes. Brace yourself for the no sleep podcast. Welcome to the no sleep podcast video store. I'm David Cummings. Our VCR is ready to play stories about the horrors of trying to fix things. Well, after two consecutive weeks of tour announcements, things return to normal for this episode. It's been very exciting to see the responses to both the Halloween tour and the Euro 2020 tour.

All the tickets for every show are now on sale, and many venues are selling quickly. We're grateful for the tremendous support we get from you, our wonderful fans. Remember to go to the no-sleeppodcast.com slash tour for all the tour details and tickets. And so while you wait to experience us with your eyes, we have many tales for your ears right now. So turn down the lights and grab the remote because it's time for our feature presentation.

In our first tale, we meet a mother who's struggling to keep her son happy. As shared with us by author S.J. Bud, it can be difficult to keep children entertained. Every look of disappointment, every tear. It's easy to take it personally and feel like you're letting your child down, but there have to be boundaries, and sometimes your child might not like to hear them. Performing this tale are Erica Sanderson and David Alt.

So settle in and get the toys out because it's playtime, but be careful where you step because Lego lasts forever. His slap stings my arm. More sharp leg. is thrust at my face, right when I'm trying to pee. I never dare shut the door to him. Not now, Blake, I'm busy. He glows at me. Even by three years old, he's bitterly disappointed. My motherly shortcomings revealed. He hates having been born to me. But I never wanted this. I didn't ask for him, but he came regardless. I love him, but it wasn't my choice that brought him into this world. I was that unfortunate girl who got pregnant by the first guy to look deeply into my eyes and say he loved me.

He didn't mean it. He never stuck around. Neither did my friends. They all got out of this shithole town. They went through university, had fun, got jobs and took themselves off to the cities like untethered birds. Limited only by what they could dream of. Now they saw miles above me, speaking a language I don't understand. I live off-state benefits. Though I could have been something had this not happened. I could have done things with my life too. They say motherhood is the greatest joy on earth. They say a lot of things.

Mommy! My shoulders sag with his drag on me. He keeps me down and tethered to his every woman need. They fluctuate with every passing minute. I'll never be myself again. Even after he grows up and moves out, Every day he takes from me My food, my money, my joy, my time, my life

But I do love him This little creature Born from my blood My heart and soul I can't deny him that I thought it would have got easier as he got older But he senses my detachment Children can be wise too

And he feels me trying to escape from him He does all he can to pull me back down to him and hold me there. He'll never let me go. I don't want him to either. And now here we are, locked into this never-ending state of push and pull. Today we are playing Lego. We're always playing Lego. It's expensive, but at least it'll last forever. Hopefully he'll never grow bored of it, even when he's a sour teenager, eager for something to hate. We play with these bricks for hours. He never gives me rest. I want to be sat on the sofa with a coffee. in a book. I want to be somewhere else entirely, but a good book can do that for a few blissful,

transient moments. I could never afford to go anywhere. I could never leave him. I'm building his Ninar police car that he breaks time and time again. Each time I tell him that this will be the last rebuild. My mother scolds me that he's too young for Lego, but it's what he wants, what he gets. I don't have the energy to endure his hate as well as his love. When it's meant to be he's He'll be quiet. I'll have earned a few minutes of peace. He didn't sleep well last night, so we didn't sleep well. I'm obliged to be awake when he is. We live by his clock. I'm left a wreck having to deal with his frustrations along with mine that I've carried on my back since childhood. Blake's been complaining that there's a monster in his wardrobe which comes out at night. He doesn't like its raspy voice and the prickles on its back that tickle his face when it climbs up into bed with him. Or the smell. Blake moans that it smells worse than wee-wee. It doesn't like the stories it tells him long into the night. He says the monster promised him all his dreams if he pays the price.

Poor boy. He's yet to realise that monsters aren't furry friends lurking in the dark, but people who walk this earth among us, staining our lives. There are friends, our bullies, our bosses, our lovers, and there's no getting away from them. I'll never get away from him. I put two bricks together before I'm plunged into my third existential crisis of the day. Is this all there is going to be?

It's time for a coffee. I just have to endure this until 7pm. If I'm lucky, he'll fall asleep earlier and I'll have a brief respite until it all starts again. I pour in tea and Maria into my coffee. I've been doing that a lot lately. This is my fourth one today.

Only because I need a release. I don't care where it comes. from? No one knows. No one minds. Blake, honey, I need to cook dinner for Nana and Grandpa. They're coming over later and we're going to play at happy families in a brief respite. He throws all the Lego out of the box, scattering bricks far and wide across the front room. I hear them rattling over the floor as they slide to a still under the sofa. I can't count all those little pieces that I'm going to have to find and pick up. I need another coffee for this. I want to play Lego with you forever.

He stands as tall as he can, forcing himself into a man. Tears sting his eyes. He's hurting, and it's so much worse than his tantrums. I'm a spineless coward. I have to walk away if I'm to stay sane. I can't be near him. Can't look upon that face.

I shut the door. He can't reach the handle to open it, and instead he bangs his little fists, wishing it was me he was hitting. I can't do this today. But tomorrow, I'll be better. There are so many things he will never learn about me. One of them is that I love him so much, but I can't show it.

He'll go through his whole life and never know it. I got cold on the inside. He's screaming and screaming while I do nothing. I can't be moved by it. I love him, but I can't today. An existential crisis hits me with the force of a hundred oncoming, galloping black stallions. This time I cry. It's good to let some of it out. I failed him and myself. I never got my chance to fall in love. I hadn't been allowed to have a good man, someone I could

have loved with all my teeth. Had I been granted a family that way, of my own choosing, it would have been okay. Instead, I've spawned a clone of the man I despised the most. He left me and started a nice, sweet family with someone else. There's another one. woman out there. She's living the life that by right should be mine. One day Blake will blame me for this. Blake becomes very quiet on the other side of the door. He's become used to me pushing him away. Shame burns my cheeks. Has the goblin king come for him? Would that be a bad thing? I run back to the front room where I left him locked in. What's made him so quiet like that? My thoughts turned to dark things. Could he be in trouble? Is he choking?

to death all alone. My veins flood with overwhelming love for him. He drives me crazy, but he keeps me together. Without him, I'm nothing. The door almost swings back into my face as I run in, my limbs powered from motherly love. For a few moments, I can't see him. I look around. I can't hear him breathing. I step in, afraid of the pervading silence. Something has happened here. There's something here that I have inadvertently allowed to slip in. Something else has found its way into the room. I feel it. He's there. I find him sat out of sight behind the sofa.

He's lying on the floor playing Lego and nodding his head as if in deep conversation with someone I can't see. His cheeks so full and plump. I just want to start again with him. I want to be the best mother I can be. He jumps up when he sees me. Has a look upon his face that suggests he's been up to no good. I don't probe him to find out what he's. he's done. We've had enough upset for one day. Now he's all smiles and I cherish fleeting moments like

these. Go and do your cooking, mommy, and then you can play Lego with me forever. He cackles at his own wit and charm. Whatever it is he's done, I'll deal with it tomorrow. I get back to the cooking. It's a mindless chore that lets my mind run, allowing me to detach. He lets me be for the rest of the afternoon. my anger to wash away dusty limestone, conquering the shower door with my fury. It shines like a mirror. My arms ache. I wish I could do more for him. Rise up and conquer as other single lioness mothers do, building up their own business empires, powering themselves from a ferocious strength only mothers possess. But I'm not like those heroes. I'm too much like myself, too busy surviving each day to stop and think about what little future I have.

This cleaning has to be done. I have a date tomorrow night. My first. Kind of funny it comes after I've had a kid. I met him in my local supermarket. Got chatting to him when I couldn't find the Marmite. He has to come round to mine. I have no friends to call on for babysitting duties.

It's embarrassing, as is most of my life. But I have a feeling this could really be the start of something. I can take Blake out of this hideous life and give him what he's always wanted. A loving family and home. I clean and clean to get things ready once the bathroom is done. I tackle the carpets, but only after all the toys and mess have been cleared. I don't know how I'm going to get it all done.

As I clean, instead of playing with my son, I convince myself that this is what a good mum is, making a home out of a cheap two-bed council flat. Maybe this date will go well. It could lead somewhere. We're both the same. Neither of us have a grand plan. We're both plodding along.

Each month will struggle with the bills. There'll be too much month left at the end of the money. Things will be tight forever, but at least I won't go through all this monotony on my own. I don't care whether I fall in love with him, or him falling for me, just as long as I have someone. Tomorrow, I vehemently vow as I scrape the brown from the toilet.

I'm going to change. I'm going to be a better mum. I won't let Blake fall into this life of mine. That's why I keep him separate from me. I want something different for him. Overnight, my vows take seed. I wake up, fully charged. I'm going to make a change.

Something's happened already. I'm not in my bed where I was when I close my eyes. I'm cold and stuck. My limbs rigid. Not even my muscles can twitch under my futile command. Am I still sleeping? I try to shuffle to see what's what, but I can't seem to move. Something's very wrong.

Could it be that my skin and bones have been replaced? Everything around me is so shiny and cold. Brilliant colours reflect into a nauseating, kaleidoscope haze. Once again I try to wriggle free, but I'm stuck firm in place. I can't move my neck to look around. My eyes see like tunnels. All they can gather are bright colours, but no texture or shapes. Only shine.

I'm in the front room. The curtains are still drawn. Red shadows from the blinds pool in the darkness. I'm covered in Lego. But it's worse than that. I'm cold and stiff. But I'm not dead. It's much worse.

I'm in the Lego. I am the Lego. The price is paid. What has he done to me? My own son. In the reflection from one of his toys, I see myself. Someone stuck me in the Lego chair behind the red steering wheel into Blake's favourite Ninaw Laurie.

They stare out to the radiator which is chipped and splattered with ketchup. I can't move. I can't turn. Can't close my eyes against this. Can't allow my heart to stop beating. It's gone. But yet I still endure. I went to bed as Kim and woke up reborn into an eternally smiling mummy made into Lego with yellow hands and an everlasting smile.

Did Blake do this? Who else could it have been? An ultimate act of love. He's bound me. Now he has me all to himself. No distractions. But in this state, I can't talk. I can't scream, which is what I really want to do right now.

I can't breathe. I can only smile. He comes running down the stairs into the front room. This is better than Christmas morning. He wants to see if his dreams have come true. His hair is still sticking up and he's still wearing his Jimmy Jams. The monster turned out to be really nice, said he would look after him. He runs straight to his Nina Lorry and picks it up carefully with both hands.

He's not going to break it this time. Yes, he beams. She is inside. She's not frowning like she usually is. Now she is happy. rescued her. Are you ready to play Lego forever? She doesn't respond to him which he doesn't like.

He doesn't like being ignored. Things are supposed to be different now. He shakes his Nina Lorry a little more to see if she moves. She doesn't. Hot anger builds up and takes him. He throws the Nina Lorry

on the floor and it falls into pieces. He doesn't know how to put it back together. Only she could do that. No fair. He sighs as he lifts the lid to his toy box and retrieves something new. He's too busy to play with her. Now he's into dinosaurs. His interest is peaked slightly when he sees Lego Mummy wriggling on the floor.

She wants to get up, but she can't. Only he has the power to move her limbs and pull. her in places. Mummy is trying to get his attention and he feels a certain satisfaction that she's now in his shoes. Not now, mummy.

I'm busy. It's nice to go on a romantic trip with your loved one. Go out for dinner, take in the sights. Very romantic. But in this tale, shared with us by author Blair Daniels, our amorous pair discover they're lacking something on their couple's ghettoes.

away, gas. Performing this tale are Jessica McAvoy, Peter Lewis, and Nicole Goodnight. So why not pull into the nearest town to fill up your tank? But when you get there, pay attention to your surroundings. Not everything is as it seems, but still, welcome to Pleasanton. Gas. The four most terrifying words you can hear when you're barreling down the highway through an empty desert. Don't worry, though. We got an exit coming up. Pleasanton, one mile. I scanned the empty sand.

I don't see anything from here. What if it leads us 50 miles in the wrong direction? It's this or breaking down on the side of the road, sweet bee. Your choice. I took one look at the buzzards circling overhead and told him to turn. My heart sank as soon as we pulled into the little town. It was one of those towns. You know the kind. Where rich women spend their Sundays buying a whole lot of nothing with their husband's money. Where bed and breakfasts are the norm, Wi-Fi is unheard of. And you have to pay five bucks for a cup of coffee.

And where gas stations are non-existent because they're an eyesore. I don't see a gas station. Relax. I'm sure there's one around here somewhere. The flag above Linda's salon flapped noiselessly in the wind. The tables outside of Café Italiano stood empty under a striped awning. A train station sat in the distance, visible through a narrow alleyway. But no gas station. Maybe we should ask someone.

If you can find someone, sure. Despite the town's quaint charm, despite the perfectly manicured grass, the freshly painted siding, the myriad of shops, we had yet to see a single soul. The road branched, and Brandon swung right. This street looked the same as the last, except for the park, squashed between Elle's dresses and very berry pies. It was perfect, like the rest of the town, as if ripped from a painting. The green grass rippled in the wind.

The pond was still and glassy. reflecting the cloudless sky above. Let's try this one. Brandon took the next left, but we were somehow back on the same road again. Linda Salon, Cafe Italiano, all exactly as we left them. Even the train was parked in the same spot as before.

We went in a circle. Good job. Let's stop and get our bearings. We rolled to the curb. A quick, glance at maps would tell us where we were, where the nearest gas station was, I was staring at a black screen. My phone was dead. Mine's dead too, but I could have sworn I charged it before we left. Oh, just like you could have sworn you filled the tank? Come on, this was supposed to be a fun trip,

for our anniversary. Don't ruin it with a petty fight. Petty? We're stranded and stranded and the middle of some backwards town out of gas. And it's your fault. But I took a deep breath and nodded. Brandon swung the door open. Let's go into the bakery, ask someone there. I heaved myself out of the car. As soon as I did, a gust of wind blew through my hair, flipping it over my face. Great. I trudged out of the car and joined Brandon at the window. It's empty. I looked inside. There sat a beautiful array of baguettes, rolls, and loaves. Crispy golden crusts that I could almost taste.

Layers of cinnamon sugar perfectly applied as if by paintbrush. Nuggets of nut and raisin dotting the surfaces. As fresh as the breads looked, there wasn't a baker in sight, or any customer. and when I took a deep breath in, I didn't smell butter and dough, but the acrid burn of paint and plastic. Let's go down this way. We've got to run into somebody at some point, right? begrudgingly, I followed him onto the sidewalk. After a few minutes, we rounded the corner, and the park came back into view. It looked even more perfect up close. The violet swayed in the wind. The leaves. shuddered, shifting the shadows across grass, making it appear like the ground itself was moving.

The pond glimmered brightly as ever, the reflection undisturbed by ripples. Almost too perfect. Do you want to check it out? I thought we were looking for people to get out of this place. But look, it's so pretty. Fine. We walked across the street, my coat billowing out. behind me. I undid the lock on the gate and stepped inside. This is kind of nice. A gust of wind

blew across my face, sending a clump of hair into my mouth. I sputtered, realizing what was wrong. Despite the wind, the pond didn't have a single ripple. I ran towards it, kicking up dirt behind me. Caroline, what are you? But I ignored him, brought him. Running across the grass as fast as I could, I fell to my knees, took a hand from my pocket, and stretched it out to the water. My fingers hit a smooth, solid surface. It's not water, it's glass. Brandon stooped and hit it with a heavy hand. He stared at me, wide-eyed.

What in the world? I stumbled over to the cluster of violets. My fingers fell upon bumpy, hard stems, not smooth, supple ones. Plastic. They're plastic. It's all fake. I leaned against the oak tree. I think this tree is fake, too. But why?

I don't know. It's so weird, isn't it? More like disturbing, but... He stopped. His eyes locked on the shop to our right. I followed his gaze. In one of the shop windows stood a woman watching us. I ran out of the park, across the perfectly clean sidewalk,

to the front of Elle's dresses and banged on the glass. Hello? The woman was gone. You should just forget about it, huh? It doesn't seem like she wants to talk to us. Do you want to get out of this town or not? Hello? Excuse me?

Behind the shaking glass, the lavishly dressed mannequins stared at us with blank faces, as if silently judging us. I tried the door, locked. Then I cupped my hands over the windows and gasped. Beyond the dress forms, there was nothing. Just a large, empty room. No dresses, no clothes, no inventory at all. It's not a real store, just a facade. I looked up.

In the distance sat the train in the same place as before. It took us 20 minutes to walk to the station. When we finally got there, it was my turn to be disturbed. There were no train tracks. Well, unless you count crudely painted railroad ties on the asphalt, No wonder I hadn't seen it move since we arrived. It was a train sitting on flat ground. Brandon laid a hand on my shoulder.

We shouldn't go any closer. This whole thing feels weird. Like a... Like a what, Brandon? Like a trap. I glanced at the windows. Within a few of them, I saw the dark silhouettes of people, contrasting starkly with the yellow light.

There are people in there. Maybe they can help us. I started towards it. Caroline, no, we shouldn't... What, you want to walk around this town forever? No, but... I wheeled around, the anger suddenly bubbling inside of me. No, you know where I thought you were taking me?

New York City. To see a Broadway show. Or climb to the top of the Empire State Building. Caroline. You said that's where we were going. You said it. But then you lost that game of poker with Greg. And suddenly the plans changed.

At least have the decency to admit it. But... So you find some stupid little bed and breakfast. And then to top it all off, you forget to get gas. And we wind up stranded in this stinky little town. I yanked away from him. With a deep breath, I climbed the metal. stairs and pulled the door open.

Hello? The yellow light flickered. Seats, upholstered with red fabric, flanked the aisle. They were empty. The pockets on each seat back were also empty, as were the luggage racks overhead. Hello? Brandon stepped in behind me. Okay, we'll explore this thing.

Just let's try to make it quick. Okay? I ignored him and walked farther down the aisle. Hello? Every single seat was empty. Hello? There, painted on the window was the silhouette of a man. Caroline!

I whipped around. Brandon was standing by one of the seats. His face pale. I know where the voices are coming from. I rushed over. He was pointing frantically to something embedded in the arm of the chair. I crouched down to get a better look. It's a speaker.

The sound reverberated through the metal of the train, shaking the floor underneath us. I looked up, and through the window at the front, I saw something, a shadow in the next car coming towards us. We ran down the aisle, past the empty chairs, the silhouette. on the windows, the speakers, and their recordings of chatter. The doors rolled open behind us. A tall, thin man walked in, wearing a tuxedo and a mustache. As soon as his eyes met ours, he quickened his pace. Caroline, stop staring and run.

Brandon pulled me out of the car. We ran down the street, past the fake trees, the glass pond, the empty shops, We ran until our legs ached, our lungs burned, our feet stung. There, the church! In front of us to the church, one of the doors was propped open. Faint organ music spilled out into the air. It would have been beautiful under different circumstances. We ran into the atrium.

Brandon lifted the welcome sign and with a grunt, pushed it through the handles to barricade the door. Let's get inside. He pulled open the door. No. The church wasn't at the pews were filled with people. They all sat, still and quiet, faces turned towards the front. My heart left with hope. I grabbed the arm of the nearest woman, black-haired and dressed in her Sunday best.

Hey, can you help us? She slid off the pew and clattered. floor. It was a mannequin. They were all mannequins. Stiff dresses and suits covered their bodies. Blank expressions graced their plastic skin. I stared at them, glancing at each lifeless face. A heavy terror setting in my heart. I whipped around. Brandon was pointing to the front of the church. There stood a woman, or rather, the skeleton of a woman. one. It appeared she had died at least several years ago from the state of her body, sunken flesh, leached bones poking out through the papery skin, eyes pressed shut. But she was dressed for a wedding.

A new, crisp white wedding gown covered her body. Makeup was expertly applied to her discolored skin. A shiny wig had been carefully pinned over her decaying, patched scalp. She was propped up against the altar, as if awaiting her blue. The painted eyes of the mannequins stared at us blankly. A blonde woman in a summer hat, her plastic hair trailing down her neck. A dashing man, eyes dull and black, wearing a stiff gray suit. We should get out of here. It's only a matter of time.

before he finds us. A hand shot out from the pew and latched onto mine. I lost my balance. Pain shot through my knees. I screamed and tried to yank my hand away. But she was so strong, pulling me into the pew. I looked up. It wasn't one of the mannequins, but a woman,

the same woman from the shop. In the light of the church, I realized she was quite young, maybe 20 at most. We don't have much time. When it gets here, he'll... I can protect you, I promise. Just come with me.

It's another trap, just like the train. I'm telling the truth. Then tell us the truth about everything. Who is he? Why is everything fake? He's... My father. Brandon and I looked at each other.

My mother died 10 years ago, and after she did he got a little obsessed. He wanted to recreate their perfect wedding day, down to the quaint little town they got married in. Why not just move back to that town? It had already changed significantly since that day. A dominoes where Cafe Italiano used to be, a parking garage on top of the park,

not to mention the tons of tourists visiting from the city every weekend. Why does he want to hurt us? I mean, we'll sit in on his little corpse wedding if it means he'll let us go. No, he won't have it. People are imperfections, according to him. This is his perfect town, and he wants no one messing it up, and he...

The doors of the church shook and shuddered, making a sickening, splintering crack each time they were hit. Let me in. Let me in, V! Come on. We followed her to the back of the church, down a dark set of stairs.

The air grew thick and... musty, cold emanated from the stone walls. She led us through a few doors, locking each one as we went by. As we entered a narrower tunnel, we slowed to a walk. Walk that way, 30 minutes. You'll come up on the other side. There's a convenience store there on the outskirts of Franklin. They'll give you a lift. What about my car? She stared at Brandon without a smile. Don't come back for it. V was true to her word. In a half hour, we had resurfaced on the other side, next to a mom-and-pop convenience store.

While Brandon called for a ride, I stared across the desert at Pleasanton. In the distance, I heard the faint toll of wedding bells ringing out across the sand. When you've lost a parent, there's a lot to talk about. There's even more than normal for the man we meet in this tale, shared with us by author Donald Sherman. You see, this man's father died in a most horrific way,

and there's a lot for him to unpack after what he's heard and seen. Performing this tale are Mike Delgado, Sarah Thomas, Mick Wingert, Addison Peacock, Kyle Acres, and Graham Rowett. So pay attention to what this man has to share, because this father-son relationship was... challenging, and we should listen as he tells us what haunts me. So, I'm going to give this a try and see if it helps.

Honestly, I don't think anything can help me at this point, but I'm not going to last much longer like this. I'm not eating. I'm not sleeping. I can barely keep it together long enough to get out of bed in the morning, and I'm worried that I'm not going to keep winning that fight. So I'm going to try something new. Well, not exactly new. When I was a kid, after we lost mom, I went to a counselor for a while.

She suggested that I try something like this, but I don't know. Always seemed kind of silly to me. I guess it still does, but clearly, clearly I'm desperate enough that I'm willing to try anything to move past. What happened? Who are you talking to? No one. I'm recording myself. I just thought that saying it out loud would help.

I thought, I don't know. Can I come in? Yeah, of course. Let me just turn the recorder off. Don't. Let it run. Keep talking if you think it'll help. I just want to be near you. Don't let me interrupt. Don't stop. Keep going.

I think this is a good idea. Okay. So, um, I can't sleep. I said that already. Shit. That's okay. This is just for you, right? It doesn't matter if you repeat yourself. No one is going to hear this. You will, but I guess you're used to hearing me repeat myself, huh? I'm your wife. It's kind of in the job description. Do you know how many times I've heard you tell that story about the time you shared an elevator with Christopher Waiper? walk in? Could you press lobby for me? Ah, I love you, Alma.

I love you too, Sandy. Now get yourself together and do this. You need to say it aloud. I need you to say it. Yeah. Okay. Three weeks ago, my dad died. That's how this started. So I guess that's where I should.

It started with my dad. dying. He, I can do this. My dad died three weeks ago. He had been sick. Not bedridden or anything. He just, he just had a bad cold. He did what we all do. He loaded up on over-the-counter medication. He tried to push through it. He used to clean buildings for a living. He had a pretty tight schedule to keep. He was manager for this janitorial outfit that cleaned buildings all over southeast. His territory went from Columbus, Georgia, all the way over to Mobile, Alabama. So he was on the road a lot. I don't imagine it was easy work for a man in the 60s, but he'd been doing it for a long time. When I was little, when I was a kid, he had other jobs. He was a CPA, you know, an accountant.

You see, what happened, the reason he started cleaning buildings, he, you know what, it isn't important. He had a career. It ended, and he started working for the janitorial company. Now, I don't mean to be snobby or whatever. I never understood that decision. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that I didn't look down at it or anything, but he had worked so hard to build a career and then he just decided to throw all of that away. Is this really what you want to talk about? No. You're right. I'm sorry. Stop apologizing. Just remember why you're doing this. Why am I doing this?

Dude, I found you hunched over a cassette recorder in a dark room. The fact that you took the effort to drag that ancient recorder out of whatever hole it's been sitting in makes me think you thought about this before starting. I don't know why you decided this would help, but if it can... You aren't okay. You aren't even in the neighborhood of okay. If this can help, then you need to try. I need you to try.

I know. Okay, so dad had been sick for a while. It was just a cold, but it kept getting worse, and he wasn't doing anything about it. When I called him, we used to talk every Sunday afternoon. He sounded awful. Hey, Sandy. Hey, dad.

Hey, you don't sound so hot. Yeah, can't seem to shake this. It gets harder the older you get to get over these things. You'll see. You know what? You haven't sounded well for weeks. I really think you should go see a doctor. Nah, no, no. I'm about due for another round of cold medicine here in a minute.

Excuse me. That'll help. Anyway, I'll be all right. How have you been? I'm fine. Work is busy, but it's fine. Just life, you know. Yep.

I know. Still, you have a great job, that beautiful wife of yours. You got a pretty good, kiddo. Dad? Dad, are you okay? Hey, talk to me. Shit, dad? Do I need to call 911?

Are you okay? I'm okay, son. I just got choked up a little. Nothing to worry about. It's damn cold. Maybe I will go to the doctor tomorrow. Why not today? It sounds pretty bad. I know it's late, but you could go to urgent care. No, I have a building in Troy that has to get done tonight.

None of my people will go there. Something about the place that makes people uneasy. Even my best guys won't clean there after dark. It's not a joke. Bill, remember him? He said he'd quit before he went back to that place. Said it wasn't right. Oh, wait, you're serious? Didn't that guy fight in Vietnam or something?

Two tours, yeah. Yeah, Bill doesn't scare easy, and he's a hard worker. He'd ever turn down any other job day or night. That man will go wherever I send him. With one exception. Is it really that bad? Look, I don't like it either. It's an old facility.

It used to be a government building or something. Now it's just used for long-term storage, I guess. It's a big place, but the current owners only use the top floors. I'm not sure what they keep in there, but I can tell you, people are rarely in and out of that place. It stays vacant most of the time, which means they don't need it cleaned regularly, but they call us in a couple of times,

a couple of times a year. We have to be willing to come in within 24 hours of being called, and we have to do the cleaning at night. It's not a hard job. Like I said, people rarely use it, so there isn't much to clean, but, you know, sometimes there's stains, puddles, messes that need cleaning, you know, that sort of thing. Messes that don't make sense in a place like that.

Dad. Anyway, we got the call tonight. Since someone has to go in there and no one else will go, that someone is me. Okay, just promise me you'll go to the doctor tomorrow. Sure thing, son. I got a call the next day. Dad had dragged himself into an emergency room in Troy before collapsing in the waiting room. He showed up there around three in the afternoon, which didn't make sense to me.

Why was he still in Troy? The job should have been done the night before. Why didn't he go home? Why was it so late when he finally made it to the hospital? I didn't think about it too much then. I was only an hour away when the call came in, so I just hopped in the car and drove there as fast as I could. We aren't sure.

He walked into the waiting room of the ER, and before he could say anything, he collapsed onto the floor. We rushed him back, and almost right away, his breathing stopped. We don't know why. He had no apparent injuries, no obstruction to his airways, there were no signs of allergic reaction, heart attack, or stroke. He just stopped breathing on his own. We've run every test we can think of, and so far we can't tell what's wrong with him. The ventilator is keeping him breathing for now, and everything else seems stable at the moment.

He hasn't woken up at all? No. He's been unconscious since he fell in the lobby. How long does it usually take people like this to wake up? There aren't people like this. Your father doesn't seem to have anything wrong with him, other than the fact that he stopped breathing and remains unconscious. I think there's a good chance he can breathe on his own, and we're going to try to take him off the ventilator soon if all of his vitals stay strong.

I wish there was more that we could do, or something definitive I could tell you. Sometimes we just don't know. Things just got worse after that. So much. I don't think I can do this. Who could do this? Sweetie, you can stop if you need to, but I think you need to get this out. You've never even told me what happened exactly.

It was all done by the time I got there and no one would talk to me. You were covered in all that blood just sitting there crying. That administrator from the hospital said he had been instructed not to talk about it. And when I cornered one of the nurses and asked her what happened, she just started crying and shaking her head. The police, the news, everyone was vague about what happened. I haven't wanted to push you to tell me, but I feel like I can't help you if I don't understand. I know something horrific happened and that you saw it happened, but I just don't understand. I'm not a doctor or therapist, and maybe talking about it won't help.

I don't know. I just know that nothing seems to help, and ever since it happened, it's like, it's like part of you never left that room. I miss you. The thing is, I'm not even sure that I understand what happened. It started when I was out of the room. I had gone down the hall to get some coffee, and when I came back to his room, they were trying to recite. I guess his heart had stopped at some point, and they were doing compressions to try and get it, to try and get it started again. There were so many people in the room, doctors, nurses, even some security staff, all wearing gloves and taking turns giving him CPR.

I guess it's so they don't get tired or something. I don't know. But it went on forever. I just stood there outside the door and watched. They tried medicine. They tried shocking him, but nothing worked. Person after person took turns doing compressions on his chest. And I just stood there and watched. I couldn't take my eyes off at that thing on his stomach. I didn't notice it before because he had been in a hospital gown, but he had a mass or something on his stomach.

It was huge. the size of a bowling ball and it just it just jutted out right below his chest the thing looked like some kind of obscene jello mold made of raw hamburger meat it was a red model mess of tissue that it shook violently each time they pressed down in his chest oh it was fucking disgusting and it was mesmerizing and it started to bleed what the hell is that what's how happening to his stomach? I didn't notice at first because the lump was already so red and raw looking. It started weeping blood out of the pores of his skin.

Thin turcles of blood started coming out of every inch of that thing. The doctors and nurses seemed just as confused, but they didn't get a chance to do anything about the blood before it started to split open. There was the sound. The skin on the mass tore apart at the places the blood was coming out. It happened so fast, but you could see these tiny tears open up and just widened all over that disgusting lump. And then it bled. It bits of skin went flying across the room.

It was like fucking confetti from hell, and it covered everything and everyone. I ran into the room to get a better view, because, the windows and everything was streaked with red. No one stopped me. They were all just, they were just frozen, staring at the ruined hole in my father. I got to the foot of the bed and, oh God. That's when I saw it, the hole. Inside my father, there was, there was this mess of wriggling,

tendrils, I don't know. They looked like a giant pile of worms or snakes without skin. Pink, slimy tubes that stood around on top of each other. I staggered away from the bed. The doctor pushed past me to stand in front of it, over to get a better look. And all of a sudden, the tendrils shot out and wrapped around the doctor. They held her arms.

They were wrapped around her body. They tied themselves to her legs. and pulled her closer, and then the rest of it came out. Oh, God, oh God, oh God! When the rest of it came out, it was sharp and angled, and it had patches of hair or fur in some places, and its scales covering it and others. The tendrils were attached to its stomach,

and it had legs like a spider that seemed to stretch out from its back. The spidery limbs reached out of the hole and gripped the sides of the table. Its head was long and narrow, like a crocodile. Its jaw, it unhinged at the bottom, and it opened wide as it pulled the doctor closer until her head was almost inside its mouth. Long, black, daggered teeth lined the top and bottom of its jaw. Gray tongue snaked out and roused. wrapped around the doctor's head.

And then it jerked its head back, ripping the doctor's head free from her spine. It opened its mouth towards the ceiling, so her head could slide down its throats. And then it turned and looked right at me. It had oily black eyes that locked onto mine. It opened its mouth, and then it turned away and propelled itself out the door.

It was fast, scuttling out of the room, crawling from floor to ceiling, and in no time it was down the hall and out of sight. There wasn't even time for us to scream. We just fucking stood there inside this charnel house that it had made from that hospital room. Oh, God. Sandy, I had no idea.

No wonder you can't sleep. That's not why I can't sleep. I mean, yeah. I'm sure all of that is keeping me up. But that's not what haunts me. What do you mean? When it turned its head towards me, when that monster opened its mouth,

it said my name. Officer Sim, stop the tape. There's more, sir. Well, I've had enough. I mean, really, a monster? Come on. It's been weeks now since these two went missing, and you want me to waste time listening to this crap?

Either this guy is delusional, or he's made this shit up to hide what's really happened with his wife. Either way, I'm not going to waste any more time on this little horror story of his. But, sir, the scene at the hospital? The missing head? It happened just like...

Yeah, the crime scene was a real mess. The forensics team can't explain what happened, and no one who was in that room is talking. I don't know what happened at the hospital, but I can tell you there sure shit wasn't some monster that popped under this guy. father and started eating people. Do you really buy that story? Creatures exploding out of people's bodies? It's like a bad take on one of those alien movies. You think maybe we should call in

Sigourney Weaver for a consult? Or should we just round up some villagers with pitchforks and torches to chase the monster out of town? Jesus, Sims. If you really want to be a detective someday, you need to pull your head out of your ass. Detective Carlisle, sir, the only lead we have is this guy's Sandy Bailey, and he and his wife are nowhere to be found. Their cars, credit cards and cell phones were all left at their house. All we have to go on is this tape. Finding the recording at their home today was the first break we've had since this thing started. I get that what he's saying is crazy.

It's nuts. I agree, but it's all we have. Anyway, listen to it or don't listen to it. You're the detective, but don't give me grief for doing my job, sir. We found new evidence, and I brought it to you. Why are you mad at me? You're right. I'm sorry. There's just a lot of pressure to solve this thing right now. and I've got nothing but blood and ghost stories to go on.

Leave the tape. I'll listen to the rest of it later. I just need a couple of minutes alone, okay? Yeah. Okay. But, um, detective, can I ask you a question without you getting pissed off again? What is it? Well, I understood the Frankenstein reference earlier about the villagers and pitchforks,

but who's Sigourney Weaver? Kid? You got three seconds to get the hell out of my office before I turn into a damn monster. Geez, sorry I asked. I'll just Google it, okay? I'll leave you alone. Christ, that kid makes me feel old. He's right, though.

This is all we've got. Just some nut on a tape. Fine. Let's see what else this lunatic has to say. Said my name. It sounded like dad. I don't understand it either. The whole fucking thing is insane.

After everything that happened, It turns to me, bits of bone, its skin falling out of its mouth, and then it... What is that? No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, go away. You're not my father. Leave us alone. Please. Dad! Before the lights come on, remember, don't be afraid to reach out and take that house.

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