The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S13E14

Episode Date: September 22, 2019

It's episode 14 of Season 13. On this week's show we have tales about nightmares from the past, present, and future.   "Dancing Demons" written by Laura McCammon (Story starts around 00:03:15) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Addison Peacock, Grandma – Erika Sanderson, Demon – Peter Lewis "Mr. Ghoul’s Adventure" written by Cody Hall (Story starts around 00:18:45) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Kyle Akers, Mom – Erin Lillis "The Storm Game" written by Meg Molloy (Story starts around 00:33:00) Produced by: Phil Michalski TRIGGER WARNING! Cast: Ness – Jessica McEvoy, Tara – Addison Peacock, Niece – Nichole Goodnight "Into the Black" written by William Meikle (Story starts around 01:01:20) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – David Ault, Greer – James Cleveland, Carruthers – Andy Cresswell, Williams – Erika Sanderson "Globus Hystericus" written by Jim W. Shoemaker (Story starts around 01:35:35) Produced by: Jesse Cornett Cast: Kathy – Nikolle Doolin, Joelle – Sarah Thomas, Kent – Mike DelGaudio, Alan – Jesse Cornett, Process Server – Dan Zappulla, Waiter – Atticus Jackson Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast   Click here to learn more about our Season Passes, Bundles, & Rent-to-Own program   Click here to learn more about the NoSleep Halloween Live 2019 Tour   Click here to learn more about William Meikle   Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone "The Storm Game" illustration courtesy of Thea Arnman 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

Close our eyes. Brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. The No Sleep Podcast video store. I'm David Cummings. Our VCR is ready to play stories about nightmares from the past, present, and future. With this being the 14th episode of season 13, many of you might be thinking about our rent-to-own program. That's where if you buy 14 episodes from any one season of our show, you can, can get upgraded to a full season pass from that season. But this is a reminder that since episode 12

was a free episode, you have one more episode to go until you hit the 14th. So at any point, if you buy 14 episodes from season 13, for example, you just email us at admin at the no sleeppodcast.com and we'll upgrade you to a full season pass. Simple as that. And speaking of the next episode, the Halloween Live Tour will be getting underway, so the tour team and I will be hitting the road. But rest easy. Despite what happened during last year's tour, I've been assured by our very own Peter Lewis that no Tom Foolery will take place. As such, Peter will be resuming his hosting duties. That's right. Nothing could possibly go wrong, nor will it. And if you haven't already purchased your tickets for the Halloween live shows, you better be quick. Many venues have,

or are close to selling out. And for our fans in Europe, don't think that just because our European tour is a few months away that you can dawdle. Tickets are going fast at many venues. So go to the no-sleeppodcast.com slash tour for tickets to both the Halloween Live and European 2020 shows.

We'd hate to miss seeing you there. And now it's time to delve into this week's nightmares. So turn down the lights and grab the remote, because it's time for our feature presentation. In our first tale, we join a teen who's been packed off to stay with grandmother. It's important to spend time with elderly relatives. They've got so many stories to share, so much wisdom to impart. In this tale, though, shared with us by author Laura McCammon,

it's tempting to question Granny's wisdom. Performing this tale are Addison Peacock, Erica Sanderson and Peter Lewis. So when the night is dark and the moon is full, remember what your grandmother told you and look out for the dancing demons. I was less than pleased when my father told me he was dropping me off at my grandmother's house.

It wasn't that I didn't like the old strange woman, but since she had a turbulent relationship with all ten of her children, including my dad, it meant that I, nor her 20 other grandchildren, ever spent much time with her. Instead, each of us took turns every summer, so that no one got stuck with the old crazy lady for very long. I groaned as my father left me standing in the gravel driveway, leaving me in front of the old farmhouse with nothing but a suitcase. The wind chimes and dream catchers that lined the front porch sung as the wind rustled through the surrounding cornfields.

Come on in, dear. My grandmother suddenly appeared in the front doorway. She didn't have eyes. Only big white cataracts that were already boring into my soul. We have so much to do before they get here. Who? I asked, tugging my suitcase up the porch steps. The demons, of course.

For anyone else, this might have been an odd response. But for my grandmother, it felt customary, since she was obsessed with anything that had to do with magic, spirits, or ghosts. Inside, the house smelled of incense and dogwood. Across each wall hung different tapestries, some with colorful patterns and designs, but most with pentagrams and other symbols and amulets I didn't know. You're just in time.

Grandma gazed out the window as the sun began to set. Even from where I stood, I could see that, The sky was exploding into a mirage of purples and blues, and the full moon beginning to make its way above the corn that outlined the property. They're going to be here soon. Who? Grandma turned to me, astonished. The demons.

My cousin, who had visited her before me, had warned me that grandmother was really beginning to go off her rocker. Every time one of us visited her, all of us noticed her getting crazier, and crazier. One of my cousins, James, had seen her talking to herself while she rocked back and forth in her rocking chair, from sunrise to sundown.

Ashley had seen her get up and go stand in the middle of the yard at night, just to stare into the corn for hours. Dominic, the one who had been here before me, who my grandma had been able to convince to sit for a seance, swore he'd never come back, still unable to tell us what he'd seen that night. Since my grandma left me alone and busied herself with lighting candles and singing songs,

only stopping every few minutes to pray, I decided to go upstairs and unpack. It had been a long day. As the sun began to settle beneath the horizon and my room darkened, I fell asleep on the bed that smelled like sage. I don't know how long I slept for, but when I was shaken awake,

I could see the full moon high up in the night sky from my window. Get up, get up! The demons! The demons! They're outside! I blinked a few times, letting my eyes adjust. Night had fallen and only moonlight lit my room enough for me to see her, hovering above my bed. Her two big white eyes glowed as she stared down at me. What? The demons!

It's the summer solstice and of my bed. full moon, which means the demons are coming and they're already dancing in the yard. She looked out the window with such delight that it actually sparked my interest. I threw back the covers and sat up to look out the window when she stopped me. No, dear, come downstairs and look. You can't let them see you. She then trampled down the stairs faster than I had ever seen her move before. I couldn't lie that I was curious, so I followed her down to the the first floor. All of the lights were off, and I found her on her knees, peering out of the window.

Come, look at them dance. I bent down beside her, and she pulled open the curtain enough for me to see out into the dark yard. To my surprise, I saw five figures dancing in a circle at the edge of the yard, their black, wicked forms blending perfectly with the dark summer night. Some were big while others were small, but they all moved in the most unnatural way, throwing their crooked heads back and laughing up at the moon as it rose high above the corn. We stayed and stared at them, watching as they danced and danced around and around in a circle, transfixed on how they moved, how they were mesmerizing in the world. their own evil way. Suddenly, the curtain was thrown in front of my eyes. Don't let them see you.

If they see you, they'll never leave. After another peek at the dancing devils, my grandma insisted that we had already looked too long. She then got up and made her way down into the basement, leaving me alone in the living room. I rubbed my eyes, not being able to believe what I had just seen. I'm probably sleeping, and this is just some messed up dream that I'm going to wake up to in the morning. Every time I had ever come over to the house, I had always encountered, heard, or seen something that couldn't possibly be there. Perhaps this is just like those times, I told myself. Or perhaps there was something in the water. Curiosity got the best of me, and I started to wonder if what I really saw could have really been there. There's no way to do that. There's no way to be. You know,

demons could really be dancing in the yard. I got on my knees and pulled back the curtain, but sure enough, the black devils were still dancing in the circle. This can't be real. Just as one rounded the circle facing the house, it stopped, its white eyes finding mine, almost as if it had heard me. I stared at it, and it stared back. A smile spread across its face. I dropped the curtain and hid behind the wall, my heart pounding in my chest. There's no way it's real. There's no such thing as demons and this isn't real. But I had seen it, and I had felt its eyes on me.

My hands shaking, I got up on my knees and pulled back the curtain. A face appeared, only a few inches from mine, shaped like a skeleton with black, crusty skin, stretched. across the bone. It grinned at me. I fell back crawling across the floor to get away from the window. Grandma! But for the first time, the old woman didn't appear. I ran downstairs to the basement to find the light off, and no one there. When I tried the switch, the bulb never came on. I slammed the basement door shut and ran back into the living room to find the front door open. The warm summer air billowed into the room, reminding me that whatever had been out in the yard was now in the house.

I slowly stepped across the hardwood floor to peek outside of the door. The moonlight showed an empty yard. Where had they gone? My pulse pounded in my ears. I didn't know what to do, to go outside into the dark or to stay inside the house where whatever I had seen in the yard now. was. I couldn't help myself but to go to the open door, curious to see whether anything lurked in the vast backyard. My eyes swept from the right to the left across the property, where I found a black silhouette standing in front of the cornstalks. The demon smiled, staring at me. I screamed and

slammed the door, darting through the now pitch black house, I ran across the living room, and up the stairs to the guest room I had been staying in. The room was dark, and I tried the light switch in hopes that the power had come back on. No luck. Being in almost total darkness, I wondered if I looked out the east-facing window toward the backyard, if I would see the same figure standing there.

The two windows in the room were only covered by cheap blinds. I crawled, trying not to make a sound, across the floor toward the one that faced the backyard. Ever so carefully, I pulled back one of the thin strips of plastic and gazed out at the yard below. The moon was high in the night sky now and illuminated the yard nicely. I didn't see anything besides the corn dancing in the wind. Then the demon's eyes were directly in front of mine.

I jumped back, falling onto the wood full. floor. Panicking because I knew the creature could see me just as well through the slits of the blinds. I took the blankets from the bed and threw them across both curtain rods. My breaths came out in short bursts. I covered my mouth, trying to quiet them. The door behind me was still open, and I didn't know whether to close it and barricade myself in or to run and find another hiding place. Not being sure if Grandma knew where I was or not, I slid on my knees across the floor and closed the bedroom door softly. I reached up and clicked the lock into place.

My grandmother's voice got louder and louder as she went up the stairs, the song gaining momentum with each step. I could feel the vibration radiating across the floor as she reached the bedroom door that I now had my back against. She still sung as she tried the lock. It shook above my head. I covered my mouth, trying not to scream. The lock fell quiet after she realized she wasn't getting in.

She scraped her fingers down the wooden door behind me. Even though the door separated us, she was so close I could almost feel her breath against my neck. The song stopped, but her presence never disappeared. You should come out, darling. They're going to get you anyway. tears rolled down my cheeks and my heart hammered in my chest. I shouldn't have ever come here, I thought.

I shouldn't have ever let my father guilt me into coming to visit the old crazy lady. I stayed where I was, and the house fell quiet. Even from where I sat I could see the moon make its way across the night sky as the light above the windows shifted. The sound was ethereal and light, and at first I wanted to be. I wondered if I imagined it. Then, I realized it was one of the many wind chimes that my grandmother had strung all over the house.

It wasn't until this moment I wondered why she'd have them inside, where the wind could never touch. The wind chime that hung across the room by the closet, danced, emitting its sweet light chime. I watched as the strings with the shiny mellows cylinders clanked against each other, making the quiet room suddenly feel loud.

I was still sitting with my back against the door. The doorknob above my head was still clearly locked, but the closet door on the other side of the room was cracked open, just enough to see that darkness hid inside. Then, something clamored inside the closet. I closed my eyes, praying that it was just my mind, that I hadn't really heard anything. But the noise was there, and the wind chime kept dinging, almost as if there was a storm brewing, waiting to explode. The closet door glided open, hitting the wall behind it. I covered my mouth, trying not to scream.

Claws crept around the corner of the door. The demons long. Black, snaky fingers clinging to the door jam. Then its eyes peaked around the corner at me. It stopped to stare, its white irises finding me, before it crawled out, hand over foot, toward me. It stopped only when it was inches from my face. Black, almost burnt-looking skin, stretched across its face.

But I couldn't help but look. look into its eyes. Even though they were white, there was something familiar about the shape and the look of them. In fact, they looked just like Dominic's eyes, who had just visited Grandma before me. Now you get to dance with us. The chimes never stopped as everything went black.

Retro video games hold a special place. in our hearts, glorious 16-bit technicolor, platformers, shoot-em-ups, RPGs. But in this tale, shared with us by author Cody Hall, we're introduced to a game that brings back its share of bad memories along with the good. Performing this tale are Kyle Acres and Aaron Lillis. So when you go rooting through childhood memories, be prepared for what you might discover. Mysteries of the past might start having. answers, especially if you embark on Mr. Gould's adventure. I'm not as close with my parents as I should be.

It's not that they did anything wrong or that we had some sort of dramatic falling out. We've just drifted apart since I graduated from college. I still live fairly close, no more than an hour or so with traffic. But aside from Christmas and the occasional family members' birthday lunch, we just don't really talk. I guess I can use Dylan's death as an excuse. Dylan was 16 when he died. He was the best older brother any kid could have asked for. We played sports together.

He let me hang out with his cool friends, but where we really bonded was our love of video games. Back in the late 90s, we had almost every console, from the first PlayStation all the way to the Sega Dreamcast. Our favorite games, however, were the ones on the Super Nintendo. Sure, when Nintendo 64 came out, everybody at school had one, but we always seemed to find a reason to come back to that classic SNES. Maybe we loved it for those dusty old cartridges,

or maybe we were just stubborn and didn't want to move on with the times. Dylan did always talk about how he never wanted to grow up, something my parents always hated hearing. About a week ago, my parents sold our old childhood home and asked if I wanted to help them move. It had been years since I'd been there, and of course I didn't have a better way to spend a Saturday afternoon, so I said I was free.

On the drive down, I thought a lot about Dylan. About the morning, I discovered his body. I remember waking up to the most horrible smell coming from Dylan's room. It's something I can't really describe, but the closest I can compare it with would be a burning log, if that makes any sort of sense. It was something kind of similar to what you smell when you sit around a campfire,

but this was a more heightened version of that. It doesn't matter though because there wasn't a fire inside that room, or was there any evidence of one taking place? When I opened the door that morning, I saw the cold, lifeless, pale corpse of my brother, lying in a pool of his own blood. I saw his normally white t-shirt, hardened and dark, dried, crusty blood that emerged from so many stab wounds that I lost count.

But that wasn't even the worst of it. I'll never forget the horrified feeling I felt when I saw Dillard. Dylan's bare, empty eye sockets staring back at me. I screamed. So loud, I couldn't speak for two days. My parents rushed me out of there as quickly as they could, but the damage was done. Dylan's murder was never solved. The detectives reassured us for years.

They were going to find out who did this, but eventually we stopped asking. I guess my parents just wanted to move on and try and forget it happened. I know I never will. I pulled up alongside the curb and there the house was, still with the same ugly maroon paint job. Dylan always joked that if we ever got lost, we'd be able to find our way home just by looking for the ugliest house in the neighborhood. I helped my dad lift some furniture into the U-Haul before ending the day packing the last of the boxes with my mom. I didn't say much to either of them aside from the usual, what's new with work, and how's the weather? The last few boxes were in the garage, and after that I would be free of this awkward prison I found myself in.

I thought I had loaded the last box and was ready to go just before I noticed one more in the corner of the garage. It was relatively small, no taller than two or three feet. It was dusty and faded, and the packing tape was already peeling off. On the side of the box in faded writing was his name. Dylan. I thought about leaving it. I really did.

Maybe he should stay with the house, I thought. I heard my dad start the U-Haul just before my mom walked in. Oh, we had one more? After she saw the name on the side, her face seemed to go lifeless. Oh. I can take it. I wasn't really thinking and just wanted this moment to be over more than anything. I picked up the box, said my goodbyes, and left.

On the drive back, I considered leaving the box closed, but my curiosity got the best of me. Dylan wasn't just my older brother. He was my best friend. And if whatever was in this box was going to bring back at least some of those great memories we had, or if it could miraculously give me clues as to what cost his death, and it was worth it. I lifted the heavier-than-expected box up five flights of stairs before I got back to my small one-bedroom apartment.

The elevator was broken, of course, just my luck. When I got to my place, I set the box down in my living room and opened it up. Despite the tough time I had lifting it, there wasn't really anything heavy inside. Our old Super Nintendo was resting on top of Dylan's small 20-inch TV. I remember being so jealous when he got that on his birthday. I pulled out the two items and set them on the floor. They both still had their cables attached,

and the S&ES even had a cartridge left in there. It was a game I didn't remember. It had plain black labeling with white texts that read Mr. Gould's Adventure. That was it. No ESRB rating, no artwork, nothing. I plugged everything in and gave it a whirl. The TV slowly faded on, and the first thing I saw was a dark gray screen that contained only the words begin game.

I started the game and was greeted with the words level one. I was then shown my 8-bit avatar, a short, hooded figure with a skull for a face. He appeared to jump up in joy as the game loaded up. After a brief moment, the screen pixelated into what appeared to be a dark and rainy alleyway. This was a simple, side-scrolling game, so all I had to do was move to the right. I did so, and after jumping past a few dumpsters here and there, I passed what appeared to be a homeless man. He was just laying on the ground, not really moving. But the animated breaths he was taking proved he was still alive. I couldn't advance past him, so I just waited there for a moment

until a pop-up tutorial window appeared on the screen. The bubble said to press B to kill. That seemed pretty cruel and mean-spirited for a video game, but I figured it wasn't much different than killing hundreds of soldiers in call of duty or ripping the heart out of my opponents in Mortal Kombat, so I did what I was instructed to do. My avatar reached down and stabbed the homeless man. I had to do it multiple times to get the job done, with each stab accompanied by an eerily joyful sound similar to when you received coins while playing Super Mario.

Eventually the body disappeared, and I was able to advance through a dark portal of sorts that manifested itself against the brick wall. I advanced to level two. My avatar appeared in front of the tall front doors of a large upscale mansion. A tutorial window popped up again, this time telling me to press B to pick lock. I did so and walked in, which caused the screen to morph into what appeared to be the main living

room of the house. The low sounds of crying played through the speakers. I moved along to my right, heading up a large, spiraling set of stairs. As I ascended them, the crying became louder. And when I had moved onto the upstairs hallway, I learned that it wasn't actually crying that I was hearing. It was the sounds of a couple having sex. I opened the door to the bedroom, and there they were under the sheets.

The outdated graphics made it look so ridiculous. I moved forward. I didn't need the tutorial. I knew what to do. I pressed B multiple times, stabbing the couple repeatedly. When I was done, a portal opened up to my right again, and I stepped through. I was over it at this point. I don't know what demented soul made this game, but this wasn't my type of thing.

I was done. That was until I saw what level three had in store for me. The game faded into another hallway, but this wasn't some rich corridor with numerous rooms to pass like the last one. This was different, but all too familiar. This was my old house. My avatar wasn't there this time. In fact, no one was at the start of the level. Eventually, the doors on the left opened up and out stepped two avatars, a man and a woman.

I instantly recognized them as my parents. As I moved around, I was weirdly able to control both of them in a business. bizarrely synchronized way. I should have just put the controller down and thrown the damn system out of my window, but I was so stunned, I guess my eyes were glued to the screen. My parents reached the only door to walk through. Dylan's door. I entered the room and there Dylan was, quietly sleeping in his bed. My parents both looked at each other and then back to me. The tutorial window popped up on the screen, reading Press B to begin. My thumb instinctively rested lightly on the top button, but I had no intention of pressing it. It wasn't until I was startled by a sudden

wicked laughter coming from the game that I was jolted to press B. My parents' avatars paused and looked at me, me directly, before smiling and moving over to Dylan's bed. They both gleefully stabbed my brother numerous times. He tried crawling away from them, but with every move he made, they jumped in front of him and resumed their attack. I was completely frozen. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I sat there and watched in horror as my dad stood Dylan's body up for my mom to gouge his eyes out of their sockets. When they were finally finished, they dropped the body to the floor, looked right back at me and waved. I chucked the game out of my living room window immediately after that.

I didn't sleep for days. I couldn't bring myself to go to work. I couldn't forget what I saw. Those terrifying memories I had that morning came rushing back, but mutated into some fucked-up combination of the events I witnessed in real life and what I'd seen on that TV screen. The same TV that suddenly came to life on its own in the middle of the night, a week after I threw the game away.

I sprung off from the couch, which wasn't too difficult to accomplish since I couldn't sleep to begin with. The screen welcomed me back with the main menu of the game. The same fucking game I watched fall five floors down to the ground and shatter into a million pieces. Text appeared on the screen. New level unlocked. The screen changed into what I immediately recognized as the ground floor of my apartment complex.

Mr. Gould appeared and waved at me. He then moved to his right, having up the stairs. I wasn't controlling him, but someone was. Someone was playing the game, and I was the next level. I grabbed what I could and ran out the door. Thank God the elevator was working again. I really didn't want to meet whatever the hell this thing was halfway down the stairs. I went straight to the elevator door.

and tapped quicker and faster on the closed door button than you can possibly imagine. The elevator doors slowly cracked open and I forced my way in. As I desperately tapped the closed door button as fast as I could, the song became so loud. It blasted through the hallway. Mercifully, the doors to the elevator were finally closed, but not before I caught a glimpse, just a glimpse of the shiny white skull,

of who I can only assume is Mr. Gould himself, staring right back at me. He didn't run after me. He simply tilted his head and waved. I got to the bottom floor, ran to my car, and drove off. It's been three weeks since. I've been staying in a different hotel room every night. I figured as long as I'm moving, he can't catch me, but I'm running out of money.

And I'm running out of time. I've had to leave earlier than I wanted to these past three nights. He's getting closer and he's getting faster. I could only ignore my best. parents persistent phone calls for so long before I had to leave my phone behind. I don't know who they are anymore or if I ever knew them at all. I can't go to the cops. What am I supposed to tell them? I'm recording this as a last-ditch effort, hoping it reaches the right people. I don't know who made the game. I don't know how my brother got it, but please, if you ever come across it, or if you're

the one playing right now, I'm begging you. turn it off and run. You can't destroy it. You'll just waste time trying. Stay on the move. And if it comes for you, you'll know you need to get going the second you hear that damn theme song start playing. Having a best friend means being able to share fun experiences,

good times, and even secrets. But of course, having a best friend comes with its own set of pitfalls. Sometimes your pal can talk you into things you might. not want to do. In this tale, shared with us by author Meg Maloy, we meet a girl whose bestie just might be a bad influence. Performing this tale are Jessica McAvoy, Addison Peacock, and Nicole Goodnight. So don't give in to peer pressure,

especially not when it involves dangerous powers and ritual sacrifice, and certainly don't say yes when your BFF asks you to play the storm game. After we killed Stephanie Taylor, Tara started telling people that she could control electricity. When she got mad at school, she pretended that her rage

made the lights flicker. She went around shocking people with static and saying shit like, that was only one percent of my power. She even blamed herself for my mom's blender shorting out and my phone not being able to charge anymore. Needless to say,

she was a weird kid. We were both weird kids, which brings me back to Stephanie Taylor and how we murdered her. Tara and I were 14 in 2007. Stephanie was 13, but she was in our grade because her birthday fell late in the school year. She was friends with both of us. I didn't know why we had to kill Stephanie specifically, but Tara said we did, and I always did whatever Tara said. I wish I could say it was because she had.

had some kind of natural Manson-esque charisma, but that would be a lie. Tara was a dork who thought she was the queen of darkness. I only followed her lead because I was hopelessly in love with her. I had been ever since the first time she sat next to me at lunch and asked me why I carried around an old shoebox with my school books. It's for protection. I opened it up to reveal a decrepit Barbie doll, some sticks, and a collection of loose animal teeth I had found in the woods behind my house. Instead of laughing at me like everyone else usually

did, Tara had responded by pulling a rabbit skull out of her messenger back. I need it to keep my enemies at bay. She had a lot of enemies, apparently. It's funny that Tara turned out the way she did. Her mom was a cop, and ever since getting shot in the leg during a drug bust, she'd been just about the most staunch anti-gun and anti-violence person I knew. Tara was not allowed toy guns as a child, not even water pistols. The movies she watched were screened beforehand, and she was rarely allowed to see them in the theater. However, despite her mom's best efforts to keep her away from the influence of violent media,

Tara still found a way to get her fix via the internet once she got her first personal laptop. I admit that it was partly a result of my influence. Tara and I were, like a lot of kids, bloodthirsty at that age. I brought over Friday the 13th and Evil Dead and all their respective sequels on DVD. We binged Super Jail and Happy Tree Friends. We watched anime. We watched a lot of anime. It wasn't good anime.

It was the stuff you get shoved into a little. locker for admitting you like. Shows with nigh, incomprehensible story arcs, full to the brim with gratuitous hyperviolence and body slapstick, starring characters who all looked about 12 years old and were identical except for their hairstyles and bra sizes. The kind of stuff that gets you branded as one of those anime fans. We would sit at the computer desk in my room, or on Tara's bed with her laptop, and we'd spend hours flitting between YouTube and whatever illegal streaming sites had what we wanted,

enthralled by the highly-pixelated, poorly translated garbage unfolding on the screen before us. We didn't care that every episode of every show came to us in decentralized fragments. We took pride in our little niche. Gossip Girl and Skins and whatever the hell else was on TV back then, it was all too mainstream for us. Tara and I were counterculture. We were underground. This made us smarter than them.

We were talking about anime when she first told me about the Storm game. We were getting changed in the locker room after gym class, and she was giving me a review of a smutty Naruto fan fix she'd started reading the night before. The dialogue is great, but the sex scenes so far have been awful. She sprayed two squirts of impulse siren under each arm pit, even though she hadn't broken a sweat at all. Tara had a heart condition that kept her from participating in most of the activities,

but she still got changed for PE every time we had it, just so she wouldn't be alone while I was in the locker room. She handed me the can of deodorant and dug around in her gym bag for the invader Zim shirt she'd been wearing before the class started. I hope they get better later on. I'd stop reading it, but literally nobody else is writing gnarly. I guess that's what I get for having a rare OTP. I grunted an agreement while I got my purple skinny jeans on. You'll always have Will S and Hunter

waiting for you out here in real life. I still think you can get them to hook up if you paid them 20 bucks. They'd probably let you film it for 30. I promise, that's what I'm gonna do with my birthday money this year. I thought you wanted a taser. Tara finished changing and zipped her bag up.

She looked up and gave me a cryptic smile. Not anymore. I found something way better. She took both of my hands and squeezed them. Remind me to tell you about the storm game at lunch. And tell me she did. The storm game was a ritual, Tara explained to me. During thunderstorms, the veil between Earth and the beyond was thin.

So if you provide the right offering and say the right incantation, you might be able to call up the old gods and receive some kind of otherworldly blessing. Like you might be able to pass through dimensions or see into the future, or, and this was the important one, harness the powers of the natural world. Like water, for example, or electricity. And you're sure it works. Oh yeah, I've seen videos. I nodded slowly. Okay, what's the incantation?

Into the heart of the gathering storm, we offer up the blood that's warm. Looking back, that was very obviously written by someone about our age. In the moment, though, I didn't think anything of it. I believed everything, Tara said. What's the offering? Tara leaned in and grinned at me. A human sacrifice. Like I said, Tara and I were equally bloodthirsty as teenagers.

Nonetheless, the eager look in her eyes unnerved. me just as much as it excited me. We planned a sleepover as a cover, waiting until the weather started to turn nasty before settling on a date. Tara told me to invite Stephanie after class. Tara and Stephanie didn't have any classes together. She called her stepdad to get the okay. She suspected nothing. The rain had already started by the time Tara and Stephanie arrived at my house. I was sitting in the kitchen with the pizza money and a few bags of Doritos on the table in front of me. I don't remember what we did for the first part of the sleepover, probably just standard sleepover things. The next thing I remember clearly, as much as I've tried to forget, was me making

a hot cocoa for Stephanie and stirring in a handful of ground-up sleeping pills. Tara gave me a conspiratorial look when I handed the drink over, like it was just a prank, like I'd just put pepper in it. Stephanie fell unconscious during a viewing of nightmare on Elm Street 3. The rain started to pick back up again. Tara and I looked at each other. It's time. Tara took a knife from the kitchen, and the two of us carried Stephanie outside. It was hard. She wasn't as big as Tara or me, but we still weren't very strong, and the increasing amount of mud and wet leaves in our path made the way down to the clearing a little more precarious than we'd planned for. Hold her down! I think she's waking up!

There was a crack of lightning that illuminated Tara's face and the knife in her hand. She gripped it tight and plunged it down into Stephanie's chest. Tara was breathing heavily, and for a moment I worried that her heart would give out. I pictured myself alone in the woods with my two dead friends And that terrified me more than the idea of being a murderer Tara, do you want me to do it? I try to tell myself I only asked her that out of concern for her health I try to tell myself I wasn't trying to impress her

No Say the rhyme with me We chanted it together over and over In loud but shaky voices, Tara continued to stab in time with the words. Into the heart of the gathering storm, we offer up the blood that's warm. The more she stabbed, the more I could feel the life draining out of Stephanie. She was awake now, but far too wounded to fight back against us. Tara stabbed her 14 times in total before she was satisfied that Stephanie was dead enough.

Both of us sat there on our knees, panting and bloody. We stared at the body for a long time. I can't speak for Tara, but I know that I didn't really believe that anything that had just happened had happened. There was a storm drain that the creek led into. With some difficulty, given the slippery conditions and Tara's weak heart, we dragged Stephanie to the opening and shoved her in. Once she was down there, Tara started peeling her top off.

We don't need to get rid of our clothes. I can wash them. You won't get all of the DNA residue. Tara and I stripped down to our underwear, threw our clothes into the gutter, and walked back up the steps to the back door. When we got inside, after taking our shoes off to prevent tracking anything inside,

we just collapsed onto the back room couch together. We were soaking and shivering, with our hair stuck down to our faces and dirt caked around. around our ankles and caps. Tara and I looked at each other. I didn't know how to feel. My mind was reeling with the image of Stephanie's blood

spraying onto Tara's face, the feeling of her body twitching and shuddering every time the knife went in, the sound of flesh ripping barely audible through the thunder and rain. But Tara was sitting next to me now, bloody-faced, underwear and hair clinging to her pale skin, looking exhausted, but pleased. I was a mess, but she was so happy. This was the closest I'd ever felt to her. Are you scared? I nodded. It's gonna be okay, Ness. She said it gently,

pushing a sodden strand of hair behind my ear. I leaned over to put my head on her chest and my arms around her torso. She let me, and she rubbed my back. reassuringly. We're going to call your mom and tell her Stephanie ran away. By the time the cops get out here, the runoff from the storm will have washed her out to see. It's all going to be okay.

I couldn't bring myself to talk. I just kept nodding. I'll call her, okay? She stood up and closed the back door before walking to the door out of the back room into the living room. I couldn't have done it without you. Tara called my mom in face.

to tell her that she and Stephanie had gotten into a huge screaming match, and Stephanie had run out into the storm and not come back. She said we'd gone out to look for her and found nothing. We were so worried about her in this awful weather. Mom came back immediately, and the police came pretty soon after. We were questioned on the events, asked for details, then quickly sent up to bed. We'd been through enough. After brushing our teeth, Tara and I got into my bed and lay next to each other in silence for a minute. How do we know if it worked? We'll know in the morning.

That was all we said to each other that night. I turned to lay on my side and she curled up next to me. Despite what I expected, I didn't have nightmares. I didn't even dream. The police found Stephanie's body pretty quickly, but they never. ever found our clothes bore the murder weapon. We had a memorial service at school, which Tara and I skipped in favor of going behind the library for a smoke. I was more than happy to miss out. I didn't like the idea of facing all those people after what I'd done. We sat cross-legged on the ground,

and Tara pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She tapped the bottom of it with her palm and pulled one out. I expected her to go for her lighter, but instead she just held it up and squinted at it. What are you doing? Testing my powers, obviously. She strained, glaring at the stubbornly unlit cigarette for a little while longer, before giving up and grabbing something from her back. I guess it hasn't taken effect yet. Oh, well.

She held up her mom's police-issue taser and winked at me. Back up. She pressed the button, and an arc of blue lightning appeared between the prongs of the taser. Gingerly, she touched the edge of the cigarette to the ark and lit it. We both hooted excitedly like we were the first apes to make fire. For the next two weeks, Tara was as unbearable as I had ever seen her. Even with all the evidence to the contrary, Tara was absolutely convinced that her powers had manifested

and that she was now Zeus, God of thunder himself. She took every chance she could to shock people with static and took credit for every technological glitch or power failure that happened within 20 feet of her. She said she was immune to electrocution too, and she would touch her bare fingers to the slots and the power sockets to prove it. Never mind that you wouldn't get electrocuted from doing that anyway. Even I was starting to get tired of it, but I humored her.

I still wanted to be around Tara And on top of that I was afraid of what she'd do If I made her angry She could tell the cops everything She could pin it all on me And get me put away forever One day at lunch

Tara came over to where I was sitting Lost in thought And brought me back to reality By slamming her tray down next to me Fucking bitch that I'm grounded for a month Can you believe that? We should confess. Tara looked at me like I had two heads.

Did you even hear what I said? Yeah, your mom grounded you again. For taking her taser. And for the cigarettes. It's like, why do you keep that shit in the house and then get mad at me when I borrow it? Fucking bitch. No offense, but that's not important and I don't care.

What bug crawled up your ass today? We should confess. Don't be such a pussy. I should strike you down for talking shit like that. You couldn't strike down a fucking mosquito. You're just faking it, because you know that if you didn't get powers, it means you killed someone for no fucking reason. Tara slapped me across the face.

The kids at the lunch table next to us immediately went silent. I got up and left. I didn't take my food with me. I spent the rest of the break in the bathroom, crying. Tara apologized to me after school when we saw each other again. It's just been stressful lately, all right? There was real guilt in her voice, real genuine remorse. And I got the feeling it wasn't just for slapping me.

It was for all of it. It was for involving me in any of this in the first place. I know. You should come over tonight. We can de-stress a little bit. Watch some fucked up gory shit, eat Cheetos. You know, like old times. Yeah.

I'll go get an overnight bag and come to your place in a couple hours. On my bike ride over to Tara's house, I saw rolling storm clouds off in the distance. I looked up and felt my stomach drop. Part of me should have known what was going to happen next, but a larger part of me was so convinced by Tara's apology that I thought it was all over. I thought we were just going to put Stephanie and the storm game behind us and go back to being our normal selves, living our normal lives. But I guess when you do something like commit murder, you can't really go back.

Tara's front door was open, and when I went inside, she was sitting on the kitchen island, holding her mom's taser. So the good news is I'm not grounded anymore. I dropped my bag on the floor. It took me a while to respond. The scene in front of me felt like a dream. The kind of dream where you're in your house and everything looks like real life. But there's one tiny thing that's just wrong enough to make you question whether or not you're awake.

Your mom's car was in the driveway. She's fine. She's in her room. Tara smirked, spinning the taser around on the counter. I'm waiting for the rain to pick up. Tara, you already did this. I remembered reading something somewhere about how hostage negotiators used reverse psychology. You've already got lightning powers.

Why are we doing this again? You're doing it. You're going to kill my mom for me. So you'll be the next one to get a gift from the storm gods. You'll know what it's like and will be equals. I gulped dryly. I don't know if I want anything. Sure you do.

Everyone wants power. Power feels good. Tara looked up and grinned, clutching the taser. Choose your weapon. It's time for your initiation. I went to the kitchen and took out a knife. I held on to it and followed Tara to the master bedroom. When we got there, Tara's mom was gagged with a balled-up t-shirt and tied to the bed with a mismatched collection of makeshift ligatures.

a jump rope, a bike chain, some stockings. The knots were tight. Tara and I used to be Girl Scouts. She was thrashing wildly, yelling at Tara through the gag. Her makeup was streaked, like she'd been crying earlier. It was weird to think of her crying. I remember thinking she should have been beyond that because she was an adult and a cop on top of that.

But I guess the thought of your own child plotting to kill you Would rattle just about anyone, Regardless of how much they'd already prepared for. If you don't shut the fuck up, I'll zap you again. Tara's mom yelled some muffled curses at her, and Tara pressed the prongs of the taser to the side of her leg in response. Tara's mom convulsed, then went limp, moaning in pain. And that was still the lowest setting, bitch.

She turned to me and smiled. She looked so reassuring, so incongruously warm. All yours, Ness. Let's do the chant. Okay, sure. Into the heart of the gathering storm. We offer up the blood that's warm. Tara and I chanted in unison.

I took the knife in both hands and squeezed it. There was no way for me to get out of it. of this. I was going to commit murder and probably go to jail. And for what? Tara's approval? The faint possibility of magical gifts? I felt pathetic. I felt hopeless. I squeezed my eyes shut and kept chanting. Tara raised her arms like the high priestess of some dark cult. A flash of lightning lit up the room, followed by a thundercrack so loud it shook the windows. I stood next to Tara's mom and raised the knife over my head. I looked at Tara's mom.

I lowered the knife. Ness, what the fuck are you doing? Stap her! You're fucking sick! And I'm an idiot for going along with your bullshit. Fuck you. Fuck you! Fuck your rabbit skull necklace.

Fuck your fake lightning bag. Fuck your cheap-ass cigarettes, and fuck the storm game. Tara raised the taser and made a move towards me like she was going to zap me, but I raised the knife again. Come near me, and I'll gut you. I don't have to come near you. I can get you from here. She pointed a finger at me and squinted like she'd done at the cigarette. You're crazy. Just admit that it's fake and admit that you killed Stephanie for no reason.

not fake. You killed Stephanie for no reason and you can't live with it. Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up. You don't believe me because you're weak. I thought you were cool, but you're just like everyone else. You don't get it. You don't deserve power. Neither do you. Tara grunted in frustration and clutched her mom's taser to her chest, dangerously near to her damaged heart.

I felt my heart rate spike instinctively, and I heard Tara's mom cry out. You don't believe me because you can't see my true power. If I show it to you, you'll believe. I'm the master of lightning. Electricity bends to my will. It does whatever I command because I'm in control. I made the sacrifice.

and this is my gift. I got a flash of memory. Tara earlier in the week, pressing the end of her finger over a power socket and loudly announcing that she felt nothing. I could sense where she was going. I unagged Tara's mom and used the knife to cut her wrists free from the ropes tying her.

Another flash of lightning lit up the yard outside. By my command, this electrical energy will not harm me. We were too late to stop her. By the time Tara's mom was free, Tara was already pressing the end of the taser into the heel of her hand, laughing like a cartoon supervillain.

She didn't vibrate and shake and spit blood like I'd seen in the movies. There were no sparks. I didn't smell her hair cooking right off of her head. She just fell over, mid-lap, and went completely limp. I told Tara's mom everything. She hugged me,

and we both cried for a long time. I wasn't put away forever for what I did, like I'd feared I would be. The sentence was softened because I pled guilty and because it was obvious to both the judge and jury that Tara had been the real mastermind

behind Stephanie's death. The local news had fun with the case for a while, running with the details I had given police about the storm game. The story has been embellished over the years since. I've heard some people say Tara was a witch, or that she was possessed, or I was, or we both were. None of it's true. The real truth is simple.

Tara was unhappy with her life, so she turned violent. I was desperately lonely, so I went along with Tara. That's all there was. us to it. No demons, no storm gods, just the destructive power of teenage boredom. The reason I'm telling this story now is because my current girlfriend doesn't know about any of this. She knows I've got a rap sheet, but she doesn't know what for, because I live in a different city now, and I go by a different name. I don't know how she'll react to finding out, but I know that as soon as I get the chance, I'm going to tell her the truth.

Because recently, she took me home to meet her family. She has a little sister who's in about 7th or 8th grade. She was laying on the sofa, watching a video on her phone when I walked into the house. My girlfriend asked what the video was about. She answered without looking up. It's a list of the scariest rituals people have done that actually worked. Have you guys ever heard of the video? the storm game. As the lights come back on, our stories come to an end. Please remember to be kind

and rewind. If you would like to find out how you can hear the full-length versions of our audio program, please visit the no-sleeppodcast.com to learn about our season past program. On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep podcast, we thank you for listening. Join us at the video store next week. Our door is always open. This audio production is copyright 2019 by Creative Reason Media, Inc. All rights reserved. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted without the written consent

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