The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S13E16

Episode Date: October 6, 2019

It's episode 16 of Season 13. This week we serve up stories about determined detectives and dietary dilemmas.   "They Still Haven’t Found Stevie" written by Scott Weisser (Story starts around 00:12:05) Produced by: Phil Michalski TRIGGER WARNING! Cast: Narrator – Nikolle Doolin, Greg – Mike DelGaudio, Stevie/Cheryl – Erika Sanderson, Tommy – Elie Hirschman "Better than Mardi Gras" written by MJ Mars (Story starts around 00:21:33) Produced by: Phil Michalski TRIGGER WARNING! Cast: Sheriff – Mike DelGaudio, Morris – Dan Zappulla, Janey – Addison Peacock "The Garden Gnome" written by Kenneth Kohl (Story starts around 00:37:58) Produced by: Jeff Clement Cast: Juliet – Sarah Thomas, Jim – Jeff Clement "Santanic Rituals of the Greater Butler County Area" written by Dan LeRoy (Story starts around 01:06:00) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Rozier – Mick Wingert, Terry – Atticus Jackson, Rodger – Elie Hirschman, Sabbath Shirt – Kyle Akers, Weasel – Matthew Bradford "Bad Apples" written by LP Hernandez (Story starts around 01:28.22) Produced by: Jesse Cornett TRIGGER WARNING! Cast: Sadie – Addison Peacock, Bruce – Elie Hirschman, Sadie’s mom – Nikolle Doolin, Grace – Erin Lillis, Dan – Jesse Cornett, Mrs. Chapman – Sarah Thomas, Mrs. Dubois – Mary Murphy "Plan X Part 2" written by Peter Lewis Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Addison Peacock, Nikolle Doolin, Graham Rowat, Erika Sanderson, Sarah Thomas, Peter Lewis Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast   Click here to learn more about MJ Mars   Click here to learn more about Kenneth Kohl   Click here to learn more about Dan LeRoy   Click here to learn more about LP Hernandez   Click here to learn more about Peter Lewis   Host: Peter Lewis Executive Producer: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone "The Garden Gnome" illustration courtesy of Jen Tracy 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

Ready? Ready for the dark tales when we dare not close our eyes. Brace yourself for the No Sleep podcast. We have contact bearing 1-40, 2,000 yards, closing. Understood. Rick for silent running. I said, hush, Lady Chatterley, you mutinous future lamb shank. That was unpleasantly close and massive.

Who the hell is something that big in play out here? In these waters, I haven't the foggiest. Oh, my stars and garters. All ahead, two-thirds. Did something just eat the... I need your attention on your station, Graham. Aye. Right. We have two contacts, 800 yards, both still. 1,000 yards. Wait, contact lost. One contact remains. Now closing.

All ahead, full. Contact still closing. What is this thing? I don't know. But I don't think we can out-swim it. You're not wrong. Contact gaining. Damn it, don't we have any non-narrative weaponry aboard? No. Just a thing. targeting beacons or long-range direct story missile. It's all we're licensed for.

600 yards. Stand by for battle surface. Captain? You heard me. Programming SOS message for immediate delivery. We'll just have to hope that someone is listening. Ready one? Fire one.

Now, let's get out there and land bastus Leviathan the old-fashioned way until help arrives. Aye, Captain. Passenger log. SSF airship Olivia. Addison Peacock. here. Life up in the clouds has been, well, it's beautiful, and I'm glad to be out of the freezer making a direct contribution for a change. I think we all are, but I'm still feeling a little traumatized. I'm not sure what I even mean by that. Rudderless, trying to adjust.

It's not just the steadily increasing pace of life without cryogenic interference. It's like this dreary dark cloud that follows us all. Some secret pain we've locked away, even from ourselves. Losing Peter didn't help morale. A week or so after the touring team returned in 2018, something happened at the compound. David told us that Peter came up to the office, I guess, upset about the hosting gig.

We were never quite sure. Apparently it came to blows, the whole signs of struggle. It was bad. David had to subdue him. It still makes me shiver the way he told us about it all so mournfully, blood still clinging to his shirt sleeves. I guess we were all really involved in our cereal. We didn't even hear him dragging the burlap sack of unconscious actor past the media room. David maintains that he took Peter for treatment, that he's going to make a full recovery, that he'll be back any day now.

He's been saying that for over a year. We haven't heard from Peter, apart from the old files he left behind. Ghosts in the machine. We're not really sure what happened. David seemed heartbroken, like he was suffocating on the thin air of secrecy. But he asked us all for our blind trust,

and we gladly gave it. Over the next few months, David's mood became increasingly dark. unpredictable. He was suffering. We all were. He began letting all of us out of cryostorage slowly, safely, explained that he was only trying to protect us and never intended for us to feel like prisoners cooped up in some dungeon. We all suddenly had the freedom to plan our lives, to spread out around the compound. We've expanded, specialized. For the ones who've stayed, it's a community now, a home.

But another emotional uppercut was incoming. James. He fell ill. Kind of lost it. Locked himself inside the data center, listening to the archives at full volumes, screaming past the din, tearing at his clothes.

Trapped outside, we could only watch as he finally walked. Arms outstretched into the mainframe itself, and we only found ashes after. It was horrible. Targeting beacons have been successfully deployed across the last frontier. Oh, sorry. I didn't know you were recording. No, it's totally fine.

I was just... I can do this later. Let me turn it off here. There we go. It's off. Sorry, what were you saying? Olivia just fired the final volley of guidance beacons. Alaska is covered.

We're en route back to headquarters. Have you eaten? Oh, no, just tea. Please come, sit. Let's see. We have cheese, olives, honey, jam. Hmm, the fresh bread from yesterday. Fruit.

I could make you some eggs. Um, toast would be wonderful. Maybe a mango? I'll grab the butter. Toast, mango coming right up. I am sorry to intrude. That sounded like a... difficult subject. No, you're fine. It's just life. Now, that is a difficult subject.

Still, I'm grateful to see someone's trying to put it into words. That's more than I've been able to do in a long while. We'll get there. We all well. I'm sorry, where are my manners? Olivia, would you like to join us for breakfast? I did not want to impose, but I must confess, it is my favorite meal of the day. By all means, I'll up a chair. Ha, ha, thank you. I am grateful that you both decided to volunteer for this mission. It would have been possible, perhaps even more efficient, without human escort. But I would not have enjoyed it.

I agree. Superfluous human escort and breakfast mangoes from now on. Here, here. Gough, I am not awake enough for this. Olivia? Scanning. It is one of ours, a narrative projectile, decoding message for playback. Holy hell, help us!

Triangulating origin point. I have their location. Suit up, Peacock. Sounds like we have another difficult subject headed our way. Such is life. Hey, thanks for breakfast, you do. Likewise. Approaching S.N.F. Chartreuse.

Preliminary. scans indicate that some form of metallic squid is attempting to hug the vessel to death. Sorry, that can't be right, running self-diagnostic. Huh, all systems normal. Well, I guess we have a squid to skewer. Shatrues calling overhead airship. Olivia, is that you? Yes, Captain. Glad to hear you're still alive down there. Glad you could join us. And not a moment too soon. Understood. Persist if possible.

Assessing situation. Channel muted. I cannot open fire without risking injury to our own. Concurrently, the structural integrity of the vessel has been compromised. We have a matter of minutes. May I suggest an absil? Clifton? All set?

Double check for me. Please? Sure. Opening rear door. Three. Two. Wee! Fine.

Descending now, Captain. Hang in there. We're going down fast here, Olivia. I need to transfer host credentials to your bridge. We'll manage the broadcast from up there. If we live. Understood. Receiving host credentials now.

Broadcast relay online. Accessing Directory Structure Tour 2019. Team, team, team. Introductory sequence GXJBP Hello dear listeners This is the No Sleep podcast And these are neuroses bar graphs As you can see

Levels of Excessive Worry Profound feelings of despair And of course, mlingering Are at an all-time high This is not a coincidence I think you know that Somewhere deep within yourself Things have been difficult lately, more so than normal, and often more so than you've known how to handle.

I feel it, too. The entirety of your mind screaming so loud and long that you're unable to form another thought, the dark tendrils of sorrow ever present in the periphery of your emotional vision. You are not imagining things. So, thank you for joining me, despite the many dangers, and agreeing to once more uncork your imagination, to let the dark cordial of your consciousness pour forth engulf you, carry you downstream, destination unknown. If you are able to relax, please do so. I will attempt to contain my envy. Let us proceed. In our first tale, two brothers walk into the woods, but only one comes out, refusing to speak about what transpired. Written by Scott Weiser and performed by Nicole Gulen, Mike Dilgadio, Erica Sanderson, and Ellie Hirschman,

with so little to go on, it's no wonder they still haven't found Stevie. It's been three weeks now and they still haven't found Stevie. The shock they felt at first has worn off. It's been replaced by a sense of dread that never really goes away. The apprehension is like an ambient hum, tuneless and pervasive. It's the air they share. Because missing is sugar-coating the situation, isn't it? A six-year-old boy doesn't play hide-and-seek by himself for three weeks.

The woods where he disappeared has neither pond nor river to long. a child to an untimely death. There are no sinkholes or caves. There were no signs of a struggle. No blood or torn scraps of clothing. No freshly turned earth. There was no stevie. The woods cover many acres, but volunteers turned out by the dozens. They searched for hours. They would have found him. The volunteers who took part in the search effort were mostly friends and neighbors. Though friends and neighbors is a waste of words around here, people use them interchangeably and sincerely. When they talk about what happened to Stevie, what must have happened, they quietly share the hope that it was someone just passing through.

The alternative is too terrible to consider. There has been talk about Tommy, of course. How could there not be. Tommy and Stevie were seen walking into the woods hand in hand. Only Tommy walked out. So yes, people talk, but not within earshot of Greg and Cheryl, the boy's father and mother. Tommy and Stevie just a little more than a year apart in age. Well, we like the first one so much. It was a joke Craig used to make, back when there was anything to laugh about. In those better days. Cheryl said that when Stevie was born, Tommy got a little brother and best friend at the same time. She wasn't exaggerating. Tommy and Stevie were each other's preferred playmate and pal. They liked the same books, food, games, and TV shows. They shared everything without quarrel,

even their imaginary friend. Charlie. Perfectly harmless and pretty common at that age. said the school counselor when the boys' folks quizzed her about invisible companions. Cheryl had been the one to suggest meeting with the counselor. Greg hadn't been worried at all. You know, I had an imaginary buddy when I was little, too. Greg actually was the first grown-up to learn that Charlie was in the house. He loved to stand outside the boys' room and listen to their chatter. One night he heard them talking, but not to each other.

Each boy would ask a question. Who are you? Where are you from? And then wait quietly for an answer. Their father spied on them the following night, too. Tommy and Stevie sat facing a corner of their room. Silent, except for periodic giggles. They seemed for all the world to be listening with rapt attention to a storyteller.

At breakfast the next morning, their father asked them about their nocturnal antics. Boys, has someone been in your room at night? Charlie! Well, what's he like? Cheryl shared a smile with her husband. The boys considered this a moment. Tommy spoke first. Big.

Where does he live? Here now? Pricing honesty over secrecy. Greg and Cheryl didn't press the issue. And after the talk with the school counselor, they even got in on the fun themselves. Good night, Charlie, became a nightly parental refrain when the boys were put to bed.

That Christmas, a stalking labeled Charlie, and loaded with sweets, was hung on the fireplace, much to Tommy and Stevie's delight. Charlie says thank you. Cheryl thought the boys ate all that candy awfully fast, but why be a scold at Christmas? And so it went for the next few months. Charlie was the family's unofficial fifth member.

Then came in early morning, near the end of the school term. Sometime past midnight, Stevie began to scream. Cheryl and Greg ran to the boy's room to find both children shaking and sitting upright in their beds. Neither said anything when asked what was wrong. Tommy and Stevie were too busy staring

at a corner of the room. They seemed to be listening to something, or someone. It was just a bad dream. It's okay now. Tommy and Stevie talked to you. about Charlie less and less after that, even when their folks asked about him. How's Charlie?

Fine, I guess. Is Charlie still around? I don't know. What happened? The answer seemed obvious. Tommy and Stevie were growing up. They were putting away childish things. How then to explain what their Uncle Rick overheard?

It was Tommy talking to Stevie. Because Charlie said so. that's why. By this time, everybody in the family had heard about Charlie. Uncle Rick didn't think it was anything to make a fuss about. Walking past the boy's room one night, Cheryl heard bits of whispered conversation, too. I promise.

She'd meant to ask him about it later. On the day he disappeared, did Stevie seem apprehensive? When Tommy took his brother's hand and announced that they were going to the woods, did Stevie hesitate? Just the slightest bit? No one could seem to recall.

The woods are barely a quarter mile from the boys' home, and familiar stomping grounds for generations of the town's children to play. Cheryl told the boys to be back by suppertime. When they didn't come home, she went looking. She was the one who saw an ashen-faced Tommy emerge from the woods alone. Tommy was mute in response to the increasingly urgent questioning from his parents and the police. Where was Stevie? What happened to Stevie?

Tommy spoke not a word until the fifth day after the disappearance. He's gone now. The investigators wanted to know where. Not here. The boy has been silent ever since. His parents are beginning to wonder if they lost two sons that day in the world. woods. They still haven't found Stevie. But they're not giving up hope. Not just yet. The police feel that Tommy must know something he's not telling. Something important. Tommy's father finally snapped.

It was during the latest round of questioning with the lead detective in the case and yet another child psychologist. That's it. No more. Tommy didn't do anything. He's a big brother who loves his little brother, and he's a good brother. Lying awake that night in the room he used to share with Stevie, Tommy thought about what his father said. He'd sounded so protective and so proud. It made Tommy happy. The little boy was just beginning to drift off to sleep when his dad lightly knocked on the door. Hey, sleepy head, can I come in?

Greg sat on the edge of Tommy's bed. He patted Tommy on the knee and told him not to worry. I know this is hard, but everything's going to be okay, Tommy. Charlie doesn't mean any harm. He just gets lonely. Well, sometimes he plays too rough. He did when I was little, too. Tommy's eyes got very big.

You're not going to tell on your friend, Charlie, are you? No. Good. Charlie wouldn't like that. In our second tale, a sheriff and his deputy interrogate a young woman regarding a series of murders that took place in New Orleans during Mardi Gras. Her responses soon become difficult to believe, but impossible to ignore. Written by M.J. Mars and performed by Mike Delgado, Dan Zupula, and Addison Peacock,

just what is it that could possibly be better than Mardi Gras? You ever been to New Orleans Mardi Gras, Sheriff? Just tell us what happened, Janie. cut the chit-chat. Janie smiled a little, flashing her eyes at Morris. I glanced at my deputy, but he just stared straight into the girl's face, ignoring her flirtation. She was kind of intimidating in her own cutesy, Daisy Dukes and Pig Tail's way. Her attitude towards an arrest for first-degree murder,

the same as an invitation to take part in a miscingeniality contest. She leaned back in her chair, and her eyes glazed over, shining gleefully while she thought back to the night of the murders. Her cheeks flushing with joy as if she was reminiscing about a snowy Christmas. If you have been to Mardi Gras, you'd know that the streets are so busy and noisy, anything can happen out there and no one would know it. I was walking through those crowds thinking I could strip naked right now and nobody would even glance my way. It was perfect.

Plus, near enough, every other person I passed was done up to look like Deke. Wided out face with skeleton eyes and mouth. Black top hat like slash from guns and roses. You know that band, Sheriff? Nope. Now go on with your tail. Irritatingly, November rain jumped into my head. I had to concentrate.

She was slippery as a greased rat. And something in that room was making me feel real uneasy. Only difference was, Deak was the real deal. You mean a voodoo priest? You could say that. We prefer Vodin, but it all boils right down to the same thing, really. We were there with one purpose. Deak wanted to collect some souls.

I snorted. I couldn't help it. Collect souls, my fat ass. Morris leaned forward and placed his palms flat atop the desk. And how would one collect souls? Well, that's where I come into it. Before you can get some souls, you got to get some people. So you acted like a lure. The girl nodded, her braids bouncing jauntily.

First one I found was covered in beads and liquor, almost passed out on the ground she was. I made a show of picking her up and trying to find her friends, but really I was seeing if they had all just gone off and deserted her, or if they were just waiting nearby. When nobody claimed her, I did. Well, Deek did, really. Explain to me what you did. I told her I was taking her to my place for a coffee and a sleep, you know. Sober her up a little. She was so far gone, I don't think she'd. even cared where I was taking her. We slipped off the main road and went down the steps to where Deke was waiting.

The steps were so dark, she went on and slipped right over, cut the back of her head open before Deaker, I even laid a finger on her. I glanced at Morris, thinking of the coroner's report that had identified a blow to the back of the head that didn't seem to match the weapons used on the rest of the body. I felt pretty darn irritated that the investigation team hadn't managed a full sweep of the stairs. Lord knows what else they missed. Morris raised his eyebrows, evidently thinking the same thing, and he turned back to the girl.

Then what did you do? Janie folded her arms and pouted her bee stungs a little, glaring at Morris. Deke had told me I could have some fun with them before he got to work, but when I tried to play, he wouldn't let me. Said the first one had to be totally pure, but that I could play around later. He said I had to go out and get another one sharp-like. And you weren't happy about this? I wonder why he'd even bothered to ask. It was obvious she wasn't happy about it.

Whatever her idea of playing entailed, she was royally pissed off that she hadn't gotten to do it. I looked at Morris and wondered if he was getting a cold or something. His voice sounded a little gravely, and he didn't seem as sharp as he often did an interview. You're darn right, I wasn't happy. Janie thumped her fist on the desk. Hey, calm down or I have to put you back in cuffs, Missy.

I shot Morris a little. look. So, back to that night. What happened next? Did you see Deke do anything to Marcella Lucas? That was her name? Pretty. No, I didn't see anything of Marcella until I got back with the next one. He was a boy. Real cutie. I thought if Deke didn't let me do what I wanted with this one, I was just going to walk right out of there and leave him to it. I watched her gaze intently at Morris as she spoke. Her eyes narrowed in that way a domestic cat has of making you unsure. if they're playing with you, or about to scratch you in the eyes. I realized she rarely even looked my way, even though I was in charge of the interview.

I felt a little annoyed. Morris was a good-looking boy. Anyone without cataracts could work that one out, but I wanted her full attention. I was running this show. So what did you do? And look at me when I'm talking to you. Her head swiveled towards me, and her lips parted with shock, the corners tilting upwards, flirty. Why, Sheriff, ain't you the commanding one? Just answer the question, damn it. Sweat was pooling under my armpits, and I couldn't understand why she was getting to me so much.

Just... I took a long slug for my tepid coffee, careful not to dent the plastic cup in my grip and reveal how tense I was. Which one? The one about what I saw of Marcella, or the one about what I did next? Both.

She was toying with me, smiling and licking her lips, and it pissed me off. I found the boy at a hot dog stand and made a big show of buying a hot dog, then eating it real seductive like, you know, like I was blowing the waning. I get the idea.

So I asked him if he wants to come and fool around, and of course he does. I told him I was better than Marty Gras. So I takes him down to the room and tells him to watch his step after what happened last time. She grinned. Oh my, he was hamper.

I was just dying to get him all to myself. Only, it wasn't just yourself, was it? Nope. No, sir, Rie. Deke wanted his part, too. When we got down there, I couldn't see Marcella's body. Most of her he'd put away in the barrel, the leftovers, the bits he didn't need. But he had the brain and some strips of skin and hair on the blanket in front of him, and the boy saw it all there in the candlelight.

You know the funny thing? He tried to protect me. me, isn't that hilarious? Tell me another one. I was starting to feel sick to my stomach. She pouted, a caricature, and then inspected her fingernails. Anyway, Sporosport, so he throws himself in front of me shouting all kinds of things, like I should run away, and he would have my back and all.

Deak could give me a little knife to carry while I was out collecting just in case. I took it out of my belt and got him right in the side. She imitated stabbing the boy in the kidney. I opened a manila folder and slid out a glossy photograph, pushing it towards her. Is the boy? She leaned over and licked her lips again. Yeah, that's him. Gummy.

A gesture to the picture, bile in my throat. That is 20-year-old Peter Walker, a straight-A student who was about to go to Africa to teach English to needy kids. They would have been lucky kids. Yeah, wouldn't they just? So I pushed him forward, and he almost landed right on that brain, which I thought was funny, but Dick didn't. He had it all set out just as he wanted. He grabbed the boy Pete, took him around the throat. I yelled that I wanted some fun first, so Deak tied him to the barrel.

He was bleeding pretty bad, so he didn't put up much of a fight. She started to wriggle around in her seat, as if she was squirming up against someone. I took off my clothes, and I cut his shirt and pant. off at the front. I pressed up against him, and I enjoyed the feel of his blood on my skin. So, I cut him a little more here and there. A little more? I stared down at the photograph that showed the boy's torso hacked and sliced across pretty much every inch. I didn't kill him or nothing. Like I said, I just wanted to play. She looks down at the photograph with desire in her eyes, as if he's, he's not. As if,

if it were the boy's finest prom portrait. Then, he went and cracked in his pants. Isn't that just the worst thing ever? I would never, ever, ever do that in a million years. What if Deke asked you to? What was it with his weird damn questions today? The girl's smile froze on her lips. She stared at Morris uncertainly.

He wouldn't. But what if he did? He wouldn't. The girl rose up in her seat. a little, and I realized that she had clenched her butt cheeks tight. Stop it! All right, all right. Morris, quit it.

Janie, we're going to take a five-minute break, okay? We'll be back shortly. I read the time into the tape recorder and snapped the stop button. Outside the room, I headed straight for the box of cookies in the kitchen, in desperate need of some sugar. I felt completely drained. Maybe I was coming down with something, too. Morris stood still beside me, not even going to. for a cup of fresh coffee.

I grabbed the pot from its stand and filled a cup, the bitter smell of the crushed beans reviving me a little. Morris, why'd you have to say that? We know the girl is completely under that guy's spell. She believes in all that hoodoo voodoo shit, and you know you're going to get her all riled up if you push her. I thought we said we'd go easy on this one. Let her do the talking.

I know. I just thought I'd get a reaction out of her. Well, don't. Let's try and keep her calm. Hey, are you feeling all right? You sound like you're coming down with a sore throat or something. I'm fine. Morris plucked a cookie from the box and broke it in two,

poking one of the pieces into his mouth and leaving the other one on the table. All right, in that case, let's go back in. And try to keep it together this time, I'll do the talking. The girl was slumped on the table, her head resting on folded arms, her cheeks wet with tears. I snapped the tape recorder back on and introduced us again, then sat down and slipped my new coffee cup inside the old. Okay, Janie, you were telling us what happened to Peter.

She sniffed and sat back up slowly, looking nervously at Morris. Yeah? Deep grabbed him and cut off some of his hair. He put it in a jar. Then he drilled a hole in his head. Using this drill? I slid another photo from the envelope. The drill bit was crusted brown with blood, a tag on the handle marking it with a D.

Yeah, I think that's it. Why did he do that? She glanced at me, uncertainty clouding her eyes for the first time. It's something to do with the soul. I'm not sure. He won't teach me yet. She looked at Morris then, and her expression was one of hurt. You must have really gotten to her with that crapping her pants comment.

So you don't partake in the rituals? Not really. He helped me make an amulet once. I used my daddy's blood and hair to keep him away from me. I didn't want to take that any further, but Morris leaned forward. She smiled, short of herself once more. He died. It worked. You helped Deke find one more victim that night, didn't you?

Will you tell me about that one? Last one was a girl I knew from school. She trusted me. I took her down the steps to Deke. That's that. That's that? You didn't want to play with her? She shrugged, twirling a pigtail between her fingers. I was tired. I'm tired now.

She turned to Morris. I want to go home. That's not going to happen, Janie. You've admitted to being an accomplice in three murders on the night of March 5th. You are to remain in custody until you're tried by a court of law. Morris mumbled something beside me, something I couldn't quite make out. What'd you say? I looked at him, but his head was bent low to his chest.

Morris? I shook his shoulder, worried that he'd gone and fainted on me, but his body was solid under my hand. This is what he said, silly. Before I could stop her, she reached to the tape player, snapped the rewind button, and pressed play. Worcesterney, until you're tried by a court of law. I was certain the voice did not belong to Morris, and a cold shiver shot like an iced ferret down my spine. I spun from my chair and staggered backwards, staring at Morris as he rose slowly to stand. When he turned to me, his features were molding, changing, his sharp nose spreading across his face, his cheeks filling out,

his eyes darkening, black circles forming around them as the rest of his skin paled. Janie squealed and clapped her hands into light. Do it, Dickey, do it! Oh, my God. It's been you all along. The figure before me nodded, a smile twisting the painted skeletal teeth along his lips. He moved forwards, and something jingled around his neck, a pendant of teeth and feathers congealed with dried wax. He brought his fingers to the necklace and raised it slowly,

then held out his other hand towards me and parted his lips. He blew. The feathers ruffled as his breath passed through them, the teeth clacking together. I felt his breath wrap around me, binding my arms to my sides, pulling the strength from my legs and my neck. I dropped to the floor, unable to move my eyes wide open. From my place on the floor, I watched him hold out his arm to Janie, and she leaped from her seat and placed her small, fine-boned hand into his.

His enveloped hers like a catcher's mitt. It was a long time before anyone found me. Deke and Janie were long gone, and of course I was unable to explain what had happened. I think about those too often as I lie here with nothing else to think about. The nurses are usually kind. They turn me gently and tend to my bed sores. They wash my rigid body with suitable grace, averting their eyes as much as possible for the more intimate areas.

I have a tube that feeds me directly into my stomach. They can't brush my teeth as my mouth is clenched tight shut. I can taste them rotting away. I once read somewhere that if you don't believe in voodoo, then the power is broken, that it can't hurt you. How can I not believe after what I've seen? So I lie here, and I wait. Sometimes I think I can hear him, coming back from my soul. In our third tale, we meet Juliet, who has recently inherited a house from her great aunt,

Beginning the long task of care and upkeep for the property, she discovers a lawn gnome in the backyard that, uh, well, it doesn't seem to want to sit still. Written by Kenneth Cole and performed by Sarah Ruth Thomas and Jeff Clement, this is the garden gnome. I stood on the sidewalk, hands on my hips, and stared at the house. How depressing. My aunt Camilla had passed.

passed away just three short months ago. An aneurism or stroke is what the doctors had said. Camilla had been in her 90s and a spinster. With no husband or children, the probate court had informed me that I was the nearest living relative and had therefore been awarded my aunt's estate. At first, I looked upon it as a windfall. I had hardly even known my aunt, actually my great aunt, and could count the number of times I had visited with her on one hand. I sadly realized how lonely the old woman's life must have been. Even her closest relative was almost a stranger. Each time I showed up, she would hug me, call me her little Juliet,

and ask when I would find my Romeo. I tried to put that feeling behind me when I drove to the small New England town, where my new home was located. I tried to avoid thinking about the point that I was, in fact, not much different from Camilla. My Romeo seemed to have missed the memo. I am an only child. My parents are long since passed on,

and I have no real friends to speak of. At the age of 52, I was resolved to the fact that I would be a spinster myself. I had been living on social security income ever since an auto accident in my 30s and had a small apartment that I could barely afford. It was for this reason that I had decided to pack up my few belongings and move into the old house. Looking at the house from the outside, I could see that I had a lot of work ahead of me.

In addition to a thorough cleaning inside and sorting through all my aunt's possessions, the yard needed some serious, tender-loving care. The lawn had grown so tall that it had gone to seed, and it was riddled with weeds. A row of five things that might have once been considered true, shrubs were so overgrown that they about covered the house's front porch. The wrought iron railings of the porch that did manage to peek through the bare spots were wrapped in dead remnants of ivy. I rubbed the back of my neck in anticipation of the coming pain. Ah, well, it's not like I don't have time. Hey, free house, right? The first thing that had to go, though, was the ugly old garden gnome that

was poking its disturbing head up from the tall grass. It was male, bearded, wearing a red hat and smoking a pipe. I had never been a fan of lawn ornaments, especially gnomes. They were so tacky. This one, though, was especially disturbing. Its glazing was faded and crackled, leaving the face looking jaundiced and wrinkled as if it had once been an actual living creature that had died and was rotting away. Yep, that thing has to go. First things first, though, I don't even own a lawnmower. A week had gone by, and I had all but forgotten about the gnome.

I had visited the local hardware store and bought the first pair of hedge trimmers I had ever owned. A man would be stopping by later in the day with a lawnmower he had for sale on Craigslist. I had spoken to him on the phone earlier in the day, and he promised it was in great working order. I had already decided that I would use my feminine Wiles when he arrived and try to whittle the price down a little. Not that I have much left in the Wiles department. In anticipation of the arrival of the promised lawnmower, I dressed in my recently purchased gardening clothes. I stopped in the front hall and looked at myself in the full-length mirror,

mounted to the closet door. I had to admit that the work boots, shorts, flannel shirt, and my aunt's old sun hat did look somewhat cute on me. I was still hacking away at the first shrub, which was starting to resemble a real hedge, when a red pickup pulled into the drive. The man who got out of the cab seemed to be about my age, and not too bad-looking either.

I pulled off my gardening gloves and jogged down the drive toward the truck. Hey there, stranger. So, I believe you have a mower for me? The man surveyed the yard and let out a long whistle. Yeah, and it sure looks like you could use it. Name's Jim, by the way. You must be Juliet. Yes, um, so how much did we decide on?

25, but, um, I didn't realize that I was headed to old Camilla's place. I'd about give it to you for free just to see the place cleaned up. Yeah, it's pretty much a hot mess. How's the old bird doing anyway? I bit my lower lip and winced. Oh, she passed away about three months ago. That's why the yard is in such bad shape. I'm afraid that I haven't really had a chance to come out before now.

Oh, geez. Way to go, Jim. Open mouth, insert foot. He removed his baseball cap and ran a hand over the top of his head, ruffling his unkempt hair. I'm sorry. So, are you her granddaughter? No, I'm sort of her great-niece, I guess.

I never really did see too much of her, but apparently she didn't have any other family. Yeah, yeah, very sad. Hey, let me get this old mower down. Come to think of it, I'll let you have it. just bought a new one and I would have just put it at the curb anyway. I thought I'd try Craigslist first. But you seem like a nice gal.

I just wouldn't feel right taking your money. Really? Even without rent to pay, I was still strapped for cash, so I wasn't about to turn down the kindness of a stranger, especially when it came to cash. That's so nice of you. Jim pulled the mower to the edge of the edge of the... of the pickup's bed and heaved it down with very little effort.

She still has a little gas in her. Hey, I was about I help you tackle this lawn. Oh, no, I couldn't. But Jim put up a good fight, and, truth be told, I was looking for an excuse to get him to stick around. I hadn't noticed any sign of a wedding ring on his finger, but I decided to test my theory, just to be sure. Well, would you like to use my phone?

You know, let your family know that you. you'll be late. If by family, you mean a wife and kids. Well, then that won't be necessary. Never did get around to settling down. And there's not much of a selection of pretty ladies in this town. Until now, that is. My face must have been as red as a beat.

But I didn't care. I was beginning to think that moving here might have its perks. I returned my attention to the hedges while Jim started up the mower and began pushing it through the tall grass. It cut out on him several times as he got into the thicker stuff. I was glad I hadn't resisted his offer too heartily. With my neck pain, taming this jungle would have been impossible. When Jim was about halfway through the front lawn,

I stood and yelled out to him. Hey, Jim! I'm going in to get us some lemonade. Be right back! Jim stopped, but didn't turn off the mower. He just smiled and waved back, Mouting the word, okay. As I stood in the kitchen, I stared out the window over the sink and regarded the backyard. It would need as much work as the front, possibly more.

I was certain that I could get Jim to volunteer to help. The thought excited me. I had just finished pouring out the second glass of fresh lemonade when I heard the mower stop. I was pretty sure that Jim hadn't finished mowing the lawn yet, so I assume that he must have run out of gas or hit another rough patch of grass too heavy for the old mower to make it through. Holding one frosty glass in each hand, I made my way through the living room and pushed open the screen door with my hip.

I stood on the porch and looked out to see Jim, standing motionless and staring at the ground with a blank look in his eyes. As I approached him, I noticed that he was standing directly in front of the ugly old gnome and gazing as if he were entranced by the malice in its eyes. It's pretty ugly, isn't it? I didn't see you coming. It is ugly, though, don't you think?

It might actually be considered handsome in a way. He spoke as if he did not wish to offend the statue. His attention began to drift back to the gnome again, but he caught himself and turned away to face me. You know, it seems like everyone in town has one of these little guys. But I never noticed one in Camilla's yard before. Yeah, well, I'm not surprised, given how tall the grass was. No, even when Camilla was living here and having the lawn mowed by the neighborhood kids, I never saw it.

I would have noticed. I know a little something about gnomes, you know. You might say that I'm even a collector of sorts. I groaned internally. I began to question my thoughts of inviting Jim to stay for dinner that evening. Well, you can have it if you want. I plan to get rid of it as soon as possible. You can't.

I mean, I couldn't take him. It wouldn't be right. It's very unlucky. Really? Enlighten me, gnome, man. Jim removed his hat, almost reverently, and stared at the gnome as he spoke. Well, gnomes are a class of legendary creatures,

originating in Europe, which could take on several meanings. Most generally, though, they refer to very small people, usually men that live in dark places, especially underground, deep in the forest or more recently in gardens. Most European ethnic groups have their own gnome legends with local variations. Despite all the varying forms, gnomes all possess the common attribute of being able to move through the earth as easily as we move atop it. Some gnomes help plants and animals, some help humans, some reclusive ones stay underground, perhaps hoarding treasure. By now, my eyes had begun glazing over, but I was trying to keep up my end of the conversation. Mm-hmm. And which type is this little guy?

Well, out in the open like this, I'd guess that he's one of those mischievous ones. the sort that plays pranks or even causes harm to humans. Now I stared into his eyes defiantly, but still with a sort of playfulness. Well, great, that's it then. It goes in the trash tomorrow. No. Please, just leave it where it is. It's probably quite valuable, you know. Most of the people around here have those cheap hardware store gnomes made of resin, a plastic, you know?

But not this guy. Jim stooped lower to look at the gnome, almost affectionately. This guy is definitely terracotta and old at that. The artist sculpts a model and then casts a mold around it. Once the mold sets, it's removed, reassembled, and then thin runny clay is poured in. He allows the clay to set against the mold's inner walls for a bit, And then he pours out the excess. So he's hollow?

Well, maybe. Unless there's a real gnome inside? I friskly punched him in the arm. Enough! Or he definitely goes in the trash. We drank our lemonade and resumed work on the yard. A few more passes with the mower, a couple more stops for lemonade, and we stood in the driveway admiring our work.

We agreed that it wasn't too bad for the first day. and Jim offered to return the next day to tackle the backyard. Oh, you really don't need to. No, I started the project. Now I want to see it through. That's the way my daddy raised me. I offered to cook dinner, but Jim begged off, saying that all he needed after that day's work was a hot shower and a soft bed.

I paused to wonder if that had a double meaning, but shook off the thought as wishful thinking. So, we exchanged phone numbers, agreed on getting back to work in the morning, and parted ways. I chased him back to his truck, though, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. I couldn't believe how bold I was acting. You're staying for dinner tomorrow, though. I won't take no for an answer. By the time I finished up with my own hot shower, it was dark outside.

I tiled my hair dry and put on a robe. Stepping into the kitchen, intending to make dinner, I stopped at the rear window to try. check out the backyard and come up with a preliminary plan of attack. That was when I noticed a pointy, faded red hat sticking up from the tall grass. I immediately ran to the back door, flipped on the jelly jar light, and stepped out onto the rear porch. Sure enough, there was another gnome, identical to the one in the front yard. I was surprised that I hadn't noticed it earlier. Confused, I walked back through the house and out of the house.

onto the front porch. The gnome that had been there was gone. I realized that the one in the backyard must have been the one previously out front. What the hell? Muddle-headed. I again ran back through the house to the rear porch to examine the gnome in the backyard, just to be certain. When I got back out, it was gone.

I ducked inside the door and slipped on my tennis shoes, then went back out for a closer look. Five minutes of walking back and forth through the tall grass turned up no sign of the gnome. After standing still for a minute, thoroughly baffled, I went back inside, locked the door, and turned off the light. As I did the same at the front door, I could swear that I saw the pointy hat sticking up from behind the hedge.

I briefly considered stepping outside again, but decided against it when a chill ran up my spine. Too tired to deal with this shit. I locked up, returned to the kitchen, and made a light meal. After a little television, I turned in early. I drifted off to sleep, looking forward to another day of demanding work, with Jim's help. I told Jim all about the gnome the next morning. He told me about the pastime of gnoming.

Kids would cruise around town, stealing lawn ornaments from people's yards, and moving them around, sometimes taking them from one yard and placing them in another. It was a nationwide fad. In some extreme cases, kids would steal a gnome and travel around, texting pictures of the gnome in various locations, sometimes across the country, to the original owner, or posting them on websites. It was annoying, illegal in some cases, but mostly harmless.

Well, another reason that I don't want it in my yard. Maybe the next time the kids take it, they won't return it. I'm telling you, Juliet, it's bad. luck. You better off just leaving him be. Now you're creeping me out. Stop calling it a he. As if the terracotta gnome itself wasn't creepy enough, Jim went on to tell me about so-called real gnomes. He said that gnomes consist of several distinct types. The most common is the forest gnome, who rarely encounters man. The garden gnome lives in old gardens and enjoys telling melancholy tales. Dune gnomes are slightly larger than their woodland brethren are, and wear drab clothing.

House gnomes have the most knowledge of man, often speaking his language. Farm gnomes resemble their house brethren, but are more conservative in manner and dress. Siberian gnomes associate freely with trolls. They are much larger than the other types and have an infinitely nastier nature. Jim said that it is best never to evoke the ire of such gnomes, for they delight in revenge. So if all of that is true, then why is it lucky to have one in my yard? Well, garden and house gnomes are very protective, both of their home and the people living in it. Hopefully, he's interested in protecting me and not the house. I slapped myself on the forehead.

Oh, God, now you've got me calling it a hymn. Thankfully, Jim stayed for dinner that evening. Although I desperately wished that he would stay the night, for more reasons than one, I didn't feel comfortable enough to hint at it yet. I walked him to the door, but waited there while he walked to his truck. I felt a little creeped out by the thought of walking outside after dark now. He made it halfway down the drive, then turned around to give a little wave goodbye. I waved back, and then, after staring at the house for a few seconds, he walked back toward me. My heart leapt a little.

Um, Juliette. Yeah? I think that your gnome moved again. It's not here. I was really beginning to like, Jim, but I was getting a little pissed off about this whole gnome business. I considered telling him to go home and slamming the door, but now, more than ever, I didn't want to be alone.

I stepped out and confirmed that the gnome, was gone. Do you mind checking the backyard, Jim? No problem. I waited at the front door, and after what seemed to be the longest minute of my life, he popped back around the corner of the house. He's not back there. Maybe you got your wish, and the kids took him for good. Oh, that's too bad. I said it for Jim's sake, but I was secretly jumping for joy inside. I was glad it was gone, and hoped that the kids who took it never brought it back. So, we wished each other a second goodbye and promised to get together again the next night

for a real date this time, dinner at a restaurant. I watched him walk to his truck and pull out of the drive. I shut the door slowly and flicked off the porch light. Putting my back against the door, I sighed. Aside from the gnome business, the move to this new town, the house, the opportunity for a fresh start, and Jim, were all working out quite well. I went to the kitchen and cleared the plates from the table.

As I set them on the counter beside the sink, I attempted to resist the urge to look out the window. I realized how silly that seemed, but still. Finally, as if in defiance of my fear, I looked up quickly. There, even closer to the house than the night before, stood the gnome. Jim and I went out the next night. He walked me to the door, but didn't come in. The date did end with a kiss, though, which was pleasant. I was almost as pleased by the fact that the gnome was back in its original position in the front yard when we returned from dinner.

I couldn't take much more of this joking around by whomever was trying to prank me. They probably thought that it was funny, but to me it was not. I had no reason to enter the kitchen that evening, and so I didn't. I even avoided looking out of the rear window of my upstairs bedroom for fear of glimping that stupid gnome. I didn't want to spoil an otherwise perfect evening getting upset over it. I had just slipped my clothes off and was about to get into the shower when the doorbell rang. I assumed that it must have been Jim, and so a thousand thoughts raced through my head. Why did he come back?

What did he want? What should I do? I pulled on a Terrycloth bathrobe and quickly patted down the same. steps. I flipped the light switch for the front porch and threw open the door, a smile on my face. Well, hello, stranger. Long time no. I jumped back from the door. There, on the doorstep, stood that dreadful little gnome. I quickly slammed the door and locked it, leaving the light on and ran back up the stairs. Grabbing my cell phone and throwing myself on the bed, I punched in Jim's number and waited. It rang six excruciating times before going into voicemail. I hung up and dialed again.

This time, he picked up on the first ring. Hey, babe. Sorry I couldn't make it to the phone the first time. I was just walking into the house. Missed me already? Jim, thank God. He's back. He's doing it again. Slow down, Juliet. Who's back? What's going on? The gnome! The door was. The door was bell rang. I, I answered, and oh my God, he was standing there on the... Calm down, hon. It's the kids again. They're messing with you. A clay statue can't move on its own, and it sure can't ring a doorbell. Okay, you're right. I'm being silly, aren't I? Why am I letting this upset me? I'm sorry, Juliet. I shouldn't have filled your head with all those dumb stories. Nomes aren't real.

I let out a little laugh as I calmed down. I stood up and began to stroll around the bedroom while I spoke with Jim. I reached the rear window and gazed down toward the ground. Holy shit! It's in the backyard again. It's on the back porch. Juliet, stop. Do you want me to come back over there? Yes, please. Try to hang on. I'll be back in ten minutes. I couldn't bear to be near the windows. In fact, I wanted to be in as small a space as possible.

I considered my walking closet, but decided that would be overreacting. So I went into my bathroom, locked the door, and sat on the closed toilet seat. I waited and waited, checking my cell phone every few seconds to watch the time go by. Just ten minutes? Just ten minutes. I jumped. It couldn't be Jim. He had only hung up a minute ago. I just knew that it was the gnome again, or the kids who were pranking me. Either way, I wasn't about to answer it.

I couldn't tell if it was the front or the back door, but I had a good idea that it was the back. I left the bathroom and poked my head out of the bedroom door. My skin tingled and goosebumps raised up as the knocking started again. It was the back door. I dove back into the bedroom, first slamming. its door shut and then locking myself back in the bathroom. The ringing doorbell and the knocking alternated back and forth, back and forth.

Then the knocking turned into hammering, as if whomever was there was trying to smash its way through the door. Now the hammering was coming from both the front and the back, again alternating. The doorbell began ringing incessantly. With horror, I realized that when Jim did arrive, I wouldn't be able to tell. Yes, Jim? I'm here, Juliet. I'm at the front door. No kids, no gnome.

You can let me in. I bolted down the steps, and, after turning on the light and carefully pulling back the window shade on the front door, saw Jim standing there on the porch. In a state of near panic, I struggled with the lock, but finally threw open the door and hugged Jim tightly, burying my face in his shoulder. I began to cry. Jim had a duffel bag with him. He planned to stay the night, on the couch, if necessary.

But I sensed that he could tell I wanted him closer. He had barely stepped through the doorway when the hammering on the back door resumed. Oh, that is enough. I'm going to beat the living shit out of whoever that is. He charged toward the back door and yanked it open. Who the hell? There was no one there. We simultaneously realized that we had failed to shut the front door.

He was the first to enter the living room, but I was just behind him. My hands flew to my mouth as soon as I came into the room. The gnome was standing there in the middle of the living room floor, a trail of dirt leading from the doorstep to its current position on the carpet. Jim lunged for the statue and picked it up with both hands. The way he picked it up, I could tell that it was heavier than he had imagined. He made for the door and ran out into the driveway. I followed a few steps behind.

Screw bad luck! We're through with this. thing. He threw the gnome onto the concrete drive with all the force that he could muster. On impact, it shattered into pieces, sending bits skittering across the driveway. Staring down at the aftermath in the cold light of the moon, we were aghast. Our breath caught in our throats, and we were barely even capable of making a sound. Mixed in among the broken shards of terracotta, there were the remains of a tiny humanoid skeleton. As the lights come back on, our stories come to an end.

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