The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S13E19 - Halloween 2019

Episode Date: October 27, 2019

It's episode 19 of Season 13, our 2019 Halloween Episode. On this week’s show we have seven tales celebrating the Halloween Season. "Family Familiar" written by A.B. Cooper (Story starts around 00:09:34) Produced by: Phil Michalski TRIGGER WARNING! Cast: Narrator – David Cummings, Nate/Steve – Elie Hirschman, Suze/Mae/Tooth Fairy – Erika Sanderson "Halloween in the Suburbs" written by Manen Lyset (Story starts around 00:24:52) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Dan Zappulla, Derek – Matthew Bradford, Suburban Dad – Jeff Clement, Ghost Kid – Jessica McEvoy, Ellie – Nichole Goodnight "Pork n’ Stuff" written by Charlotte Ledville (Story starts around 00:42:00) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Addison Peacock, Black-haired Girl – Sarah Thomas, Pig Man – David Cummings, Teenage Boy – Kyle Akers "What Halloween Left Behind" written by S.H. Cooper (Story starts around 00:59:52) Produced by: Phil Michalski TRIGGER WARNING! Cast: Narrator – Mary Murphy, Alec – Erika Sanderson, Police Officer – Atticus Jackson "Masks" written by Charles Davenport (Story starts around 01:17:54) Produced by: Phil Michalski TRIGGER WARNING! Cast: Judd – Mike DelGaudio, Head Doctor – Mick Wingert, Molly – Nikolle Doolin, Bob Strickland – Atticus Jackson, Brenda – Erin Lillis "How Not to Get Rid of a Body" written by Gemma Amor (Story starts around 01:37:00) Produced by: Jeff Clement Cast: Norman – David Ault, Steve – James Cleveland "The Halloween Children of Old Harrington" written by D. Williams (Story starts around 02:11:09) Produced by: Jesse Cornett TRIGGER WARNING! Cast: Haylee– Jessica McEvoy, Ada/ Old Harrington Girl – Addison Peacock, GPS Voice – Nikolle Doolin, Bobby – Elie Hirschman, Delilah/Little Boy – Erika Sanderson, Little Girl – Nichole Goodnight, Man – Mick Wingert, Old Harrington Boy – Kyle Akers Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast   Click here to learn more about Manen Lyset   Click here to learn more about S.H. Cooper   Click here to learn more about Charles Davenport   Click here to learn more about Gemma Amor   Click here to learn more about D. Williams   Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone "Halloween 2019" illustration courtesy of Abby Howard 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

Hi listeners, voice actor Penny Scott Andrews here. It's Halloween, and at the No Sleep podcast, Halloween, means scary fun and games for all of us. In the run-up to October the 31st, we all work extremely hard putting together content that we hope you'll all enjoy this spooky season. But sometimes when you're trying to work hard and do things that'll make others happy, it's easy to forget your own happiness and well-being. Or maybe there's something interfering with you. your happiness and preventing you from achieving your goals. All of us at the podcast need downtime and the chance for self-care. So does everyone. But for some people, achieving that might require a helping hand. That's where Better Help comes in. Better Help will assess your needs and match you

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All of us at the No Sleep podcast, hope you have a happy, healthy, spooky, fun-filled Halloween, and we hope you enjoy everything we've got in store for you. So remember, reach out to that helping hand by visiting betterhelp.com No Sleep to get 10% off your first month. Happy Halloween. We miss at our own risk. Ready for the dark tales when we dare not close our eyes. Brace yourself for the No Sleep podcast.

And so that is why I always bring Silver Bullets on tour. Wow, that was a wild story. I had no idea we had so many close encounters last year. You really are a modern day van. Van Helsing? Van Helsing? They did that song, might as well jump, right? Yeah, that's a good one, Jessica.

Wait, was I wrong? Van Helsing is a literary vampire hunter. You're thinking of the band Van Halen. Stop the goddamn presses! Whoa! What's the matter, boss? Oh, I think I just got whiplash. Okay, two things, guys.

One, I've just realized something terrible. terrible. We forgot to prepare a Halloween episode of the podcast before we left on tour. Peter's not hosting that episode. We've made no preparations whatsoever. Oh no, I knew I was forgetting something. I thought that was your machete collection. Well, yeah, I forgot that too. But I still had this nagging feeling. Okay, well, let's not panic. I'm sure we can come up with something, right? Yeah, yeah, I think we can. Let's pull in at the next motel, get the recording of quick. out and tell some tales ourselves. Ah, that'll have to do.

Us? Make up the stories? I mean, how hard can it be? If Olivia can do it? I'm a master storyteller anyway. I got this. Look, I'll tell you about the time I met a Bigfoot. And when I say... Save it for when the mics are rolling. We'll look for somewhere to pull in and get this done.

Look, thanks guys. I'm not even slightly worried now. Let's go. Wait, you said there were... You said there were two things. What was the other? Oh, seems like we left Brandon behind at that service station we pulled into 50 miles back. Me?

Yeah, it'll be fine. Brandon's a fitness buff. If we're going to be pulling in somewhere, he'll catch up to us. He'll probably hitchhike. We're driving through a desert in the middle of nowhere. The sun's beginning to set. It's the perfect time for hitching a ride. He will be fine.

Yeah, you're right. Onwards. Man, we've been driving for hours, and not a motel in sight. If I stay cooped up in this van any longer, I'm going to lose it. Whoa, whoa, wait, wait. What's that up ahead, off the roadways? It looks like a house. Hmm, and there's a light in the upstairs window.

Do you think, should we... Pull in, ask if we can stay overnight and use this ramshackle house as a makeshift recording studio to bash out our last-minute Halloween episode? Absolutely. I'm down. Plus, the snacks are packed in the back under our luggage, and I'm really hungry. Damn, doesn't seem like anyone's home after all. Uh, is it just me, or is this place creepy as hack?

What makes you think that? I like it. Oh, I don't know. The shutters swaying in the breeze, the rusted bicycle in the yard, the dead tree from which hangs a severed rope that once held a beloved tire swing, that eerie stable out back with the... the darkness so impenetrable you can feel it? I was thinking the facts of the front door's ajar.

Oh, so it is. Hello! Anyone home? It doesn't seem like it. Damn, guess who better leave? Yeah, we don't want to become accidental home invaders. Yeah, shame. The acoustics here are great.

Would be perfect for some spontaneous recording. It's got surprisingly nice decor, too. I was expecting an Ed Gein special. Uh, guys, come check this out. Jessica, don't go exploring. No, I really think it's fine. Take a look at this. Whoa.

Unreal. Let me see that note. To the No Sleep Podcast Tour Team. Play me. Lots of love, your mysterious Halloween benefactor. Play what? I don't get it. It was attached to this.

Wow. That's a little. A genuine eight-track cassette tape. Yeah, and there are six more. They're all numbered. You're holding number one. Is this the player? It looks like the player.

Why, yes, it is. Well, I guess we'd better do what the note says then. Hold on. Let me check this tape again. There's something on the label. Halloween Tape One. Family Familiar by A.B. Cooper. Wait, is this our Halloween episode?

Only one way to find out. I'll do the honors. Grace yourselves. Here goes. October 31st, Halloween. Russet leaves lie drifted in piles in the glow of late autumn sunshine. The air feels raw. A sense of anticipation drifts on wood smoke,

curling seductively into nostrils. The perfume of fire and cleansing. Tonight. The piece is broken in an explosion of red. and gold, leaves shattering and scattering like a nest of cockroaches, brittle, dry, and scuttley. Eleven-year-old Nate Parker kicks again, hard. Blonde hair flying, muscles taught as he swings with all his strength, powered by pent-up frustration. Nate? Cut that out. Your stepmom just cleared those from the yard. She's not my mom.

To say Nate is not happy as an understatement. He has moved, or... or been kidnapped as he thinks of it, to live in the UK, leaving his hometown of Atlanta far, far behind. Friends, school, familiar places, all gone. He feels quite alone. A chill raises goose flesh on his arms. He glares towards the house and his father, Steve,

standing in the doorway, hands on hips. It happened four months ago when his father finally married his long-distance girlfriend. Nate's mom had left them when Nate was only a baby. His dad raised him alone until Sue's came along, interfering, trying to fix them. Nate resented her intrusion. They didn't need her.

They were fine, just the two of them, as it had always been. Worst of all was May, Sue's five-year-old daughter. Get out! He had yelled when he caught her playing with his Disney Cars collection that morning. He didn't play with him anymore, but that wasn't the point. They were precious, a proper collection. His mom had sent them to him every birthday. Christmas, school report.

Each occasion marked by a small brown package in the post and a short note. Darling Nate, so very proud of you. Love always, Mom. May could go jump. She'd been annoying him all morning, following him about, asking stupid questions, copying his every move. He'd just about had enough. He was tired and irritable from a disturbed night's sleep.

He'd woken, sitting bolt upright at 1212, the remnants of a nightmare still clinging like a spider web to the face. Images of dark, veined wings and needle-sharp teeth, ghoulish pumpkin faces yawning black, melting and twisting, swirling away into a dark, vortex. He sat, sweat growing cold and clammy, calming himself. He was too old to be freaked out by nightmares. They were just stupid dreams. But still, he felt a pang of envy when he thought of Sue's warm in his spot. If she wasn't here, he might have snuck in and spent the rest of the

night in the safety of Dad's bed, as he always had as a child. He hadn't had a nightmare in years, but they've become more regular again since the move. Why don't you come inside? Suez has some pumpkins for us to carve, ready for the Halloween party, remember? His father smiles, trying to cajole Nate out of his black mood. I don't know why she's bothering.

It's not like they do Halloween properly here in England anyway. It's just going to be lame. A bunch of May's stupid little kid friends and some apple bobbing. Whooppy. Nate, I'm happy here. We will be happy. happy here. Just give it a chance, okay? He reaches out and rests a hand on Nate's shoulder.

Nate shrugs him off and stalks inside. It's great, May. I love his jaggedy teeth. May beams up at her mother, chubby fingers stained orange with pumpkin pulp. Nice work. Steve high-fives the dark-haired child. Her cheeks are flushed, bangs framing her mother's amber eyes. Let's have a look at yours, Nate. Sue's smiles, reaching for his pumpkin.

Nate's hand whips out lightning fast, snatching it away. I'm not done. Sue's smile fades as she brushes a stray strand of hair from her cheek, leaving a smear of orange. Here, let me get that. Nate's father leans in and wipes the splodge of pumpkin flesh. They share a quick glance. Steve pats her hand and shakes his head almost

imperceptibly, warning her not to push him. Nate misses nothing and feels a stab of jealousy, but also of satisfaction. He's scored another point. Pushing her chair back, Suse begins to clean up pulp and seeds while Steve rummages in the kitchen sideboard for tea lights and matches. Nate continues whittling. Blocking out the happy family chatter, he focuses on the shape emerging. Narrow eyes, horizontal slits. angled menacingly, skeletal nostrils flaring in the fiery skin.

Nate finds himself shaving strips of flesh, carving teeth into fine, needle-sharp points to frame the gaping mouth. He grins, the face leers back. May reappears. He hadn't noticed her leaving. She's dressed for trick-or-treat, or so she thinks. What are you supposed to be? I'm being the tooth fairy.

With my wings and a little bucket for my teeth and sweets. May dances on the spot, waggling a glittery wand. Her excitement fizzing just below the surface of her skin, like bubbles popping and bursting, releasing little jets of energy into the room. It's infectious. Nate longs for quarantine. That's a stupid costume. Don't be such a baby.

May's face falls. What? It is. The tooth fairy? I suppose you still think Santa Claus is real. Silence falls. Two pairs of adult eyes stare at May and horror, watching for her reaction. Breath held tight in pounding chests. He is. The doubt that had flashed momentarily across her face had passed like a cloud, and her determination to believe shines through. Oh yeah? So what about when you woke up

and saw your mom with a red sack last Christmas? Nate knows he's being deliberately cruel, baiting the five-year-old, but he can't stop himself. May's bottom lip wobbles. The realization causing tears to well

as Nate neatly and cruelly slices away pieces of her childhood never to be healed, knit closed, made right, gone. Nate, that's quite enough. If you don't have anything nice to say.

Yeah, yeah, whatever, stupid tooth fairy. What's so scary about that? Nothing. It's just L-A-M-E. Enough. We've had just about enough of your rudeness. You will not ruin this evening, Nate. We have guests arriving in half an hour.

I suggest you go to your room and make a decision about whether you'll be joining us. But know this. You will stay up there if you can't treat people civilly. She reaches a protective arm Around the whimpering May Nate's chair legs Scraped painfully on the kitchen floor As he stands

I hate you It's Halloween And the only witch around here is you He jabs his finger At Sous with feeling You suck All of you Hot tears pricking his eyes

He runs from the room And humiliation They must not see him cry Nate slams the door and flops onto his bed, face pressed hard into the pillow, willing the tears that threaten back up into his tearducks. He hears his father ensues comforting May and feels even more alone.

No one is interested in his pain. He can rot! The tone of sounds coming up from downstairs changes abruptly. False brightness rains, friendly hallows and laughter. Nate, you coming? Nate ignores him. He drifts ever further away from the camaraderie downstairs.

Nate, we are heading out in two. If you're not down here, we'll go without you. Still, he maintains his silence, stubborn and isolated up in his room. Sure enough, they didn't ask again. Next thing he knows, the front door slams, and he sees a small-tooth fairy, a witch, a vampire, A zombie, and two black cats tumble down the path, basket swinging and laughter peeling as they disappear down a street punctuated by flickering candlelight from pumpkins grinning on porches.

Nate feels the bitter sting of disappointment that they didn't try harder to cajole him. His isolation complete, exhausted by the emotional energy it is taking to maintain his anger, he soon drifts into fitful sleep. Deep in the darkness there is a scratching sound, claws skittering and clicking on hard floors, then silence. A faint whiff of something burning becomes a thicker, choking cloud, crackling crescendos to a roar. Suffocating blackness begins to glow orange and ruby, a bright ring of flame and circling a black hole. It's pull irresistible and inevitable. Nate feels himself drawn, tumbling towards.

the impenetrable dark. Three slashes of fire flare in the hole, eyes and a mouth. The black pumpkin face looms menacingly as Nate is pulled ever closer to its furnace mouth. Fire licks his cheek, pain lancing his jaw. He screams, long, high and wet with sorrow and despair.

Sobbing with relief, Nate catches his breath, sweat pouring in rivulets down his sides. As the nightmare and adrenaline recede, he becomes aware of a profound ache in his jaws. Examining tentatively, his fingers find wet stickiness. He looks, they are slick, darkly red with thick clots of blood. Stumbling out of bed, Nate knocks his pillows to the floor as he crashes toward the mirror. A ghastly sight greets him.

His mouth is an empty black cavern, not a gleam of polished, white enamel can be seen. Blood is smeared all over his cheeks and chin like a zombie fresh from gorging. He staggers back, the edge of his bed catching him just as his legs crumple and give way. He lays curled, shaking, mind empty, but for terror and disgust, bowels liquidizing like writhing worms. A tattered scrap of paper catches his peripheral vision, singed at the edges. It's covered in scratchy black writing, ink splotches tattooing the page. So you don't think I'm real? Not scary enough for you.

And now? Next time it'll be your tongue I take. Nate whimpers. Saliva, tears, snot and blood bubble forth. The door bursts open. Suez enters, stop short and stares. He stares back. A wounded end.

All fight gone from him, breathing shallow and ragged. Oh, Nate. She comes to him, wraps him in her arms, and rocks him. Don't worry. We'll fix this. He collapses into her, broken. Over his shoulder, something catches her eye in the shadows. In the corner of the room, black wings unfurl, skin stretching taut, translucent, vainy webbing. They shudder and shake as the creature unfolds.

A dark grin slides across its leathery face, red tongue licking hungrily at the rows of needle-sharp teeth. Their eyes meet. She smiles and nods in satisfaction. The creature slinks back into the shadows. It's job done. That sure was an actual, fully produced, No Sleep podcast story, all right?

And a great one, too. You, creepy. Yeah, I've fought a tooth fairy before, punted it right into the sea I did. Proper epic battle. Mm-hmm. And I suppose you drop-kicked the Easter Bunny next. No. Easter Bunny isn't a monster, come on.

I was scared of it when I was a kid. The Easter Bunny? Yeah. Hey, why do you think we don't have a figure like that for Halloween? Oh, that's a good point. We should invent one. No way. It ended up being a creature.

with pale skin, long limbs, and a too wide, sinister smile. I thought one of those once. Of course you did. Guys, guys, guys, we're getting sidetracked. We should play the next story. There's six more to get through. I'm sure Alts beaten up the monster in this one, too. Yep, I have.

We haven't even listened to it yet. Well, let's do it then. Halloween episode, Tape 2. Halloween in the suburbs by Manon Lyset. Grace yourselves again? Always trust your guts, my mom used to say. If something doesn't feel right, it probably isn't. Great advice from a great woman.

Something I hoped to instill in my own kids. It kept me out of trouble growing up. I found myself remembering those words as I chaperoned Ellie's trick-or-treating. See, I have a habit of people watching. especially when I'm bored. Now, I love my kid, and watching her excitedly running around in her Spider-Man costume was fun, but after the first dozen houses,

the novelty wore off, and my gaze began to wander. That's when I noticed an odd pair. If I say the words, suburban dad, what do you picture? Probably someone in khaki shorts, bluish polo shirt, ankle high white, socks, perfectly coiffed hair, maybe a barbecue spatula in hand. That's, well, exactly what this guy looked like. He was the perfect caricature of a suburban dad, like to the point that he was almost too perfect. I get how dumb that sounds. If I told you an apple looked too much

like an apple, you'd look at me like I lost my goddamn mind. But I don't know. Something about him made my skin crawl. He was with his kid. I couldn't tell whether it was a little boy or girl because they were covered head to toe in a white sheet with two holes for the eyes. Sometimes I could see little light-up shoes peeking out from under the sheet. They walked, hand in ghost hand, from door to door, at a fraction of the speed of my sugar-fueled daughter. My attention was split between them and Ellie as we progressed down the street. I'd sometimes catch snippets of conversations between them and the neighbors. The dad spoke in an odd, stiff tone like, oh my God, this is going to sound so dumb, but bear with me.

Like a human pretending to be a robot pretending to be a human? Like, ah, yes, hello, fellow human. I too like to consume calories to function. I am a fan of converting oxygen into carbon dioxide. Exactly like that. Suburban Dead drops some real bangers such as... What about that game, eh? These mortgage rates, huh?

I could use some coffee. They don't make them like they used to. I wondered if this was part of his schick. Maybe he was one of those cool rocker dads dressing up as a boring dad for Halloween? As we bridged the distance, my stomach became unsettled. His mere existence was wigging me out. On the outside, he was no different from the other parents.

But there was something off, and I couldn't put my finger on it. His eyes seemed a bit too sunken, his lips were a bit too pale. The partition in his hair was a bit too perfect. Even the creases of his crotch had a precise kind of symmetry that just doesn't happen naturally. And no, I wasn't checking his ball. I promise. It was just hard not to notice the folds. Fuck.

Yeah, I really sound crazy. Ellie ran down the driveway and joined me on the sidewalk, squealing about her latest acquisition. I glanced at her pillowcase of candy, which she whipped away quickly in favor of bolting towards the next house. The house suburban dad and his ghost kid were approaching. My hand instinctively reached to grab her by the shoulder. She looked confused. But Daddy, they have Skittles. They're your favorite.

Candy bribes weren't gonna work, not this time. I gently pushed her forward and gave her a reassuring smile. I know, Spider-Man, but not this house, okay? Truth be told, I had nothing against the house itself. I'd met its owner a month ago when a drunk driver crashed into her mailbox. She was a nice lady, bit eccentric. Had one of those admiral cat portraits hanging in the entranceway? Nothing against her.

It was the suburban dad I wanted to avoid. If he noticed my dodging him, he didn't show it. The Skittles' house was soon forgotten, and Ellie ran to the next one over while I walked by the fire hydrant, peeking at suburban dad. I couldn't help but notice his perfect hair was starting to slip? It was sliding in a single mass towards his neck. When he reached to adjust it, his skin... Shit, I don't even... Okay, so imagine a ball taffy, right? Now, imagine stretching it and trying to

reform the shape seconds later. What do you get? Air pockets and wrinkles, right? I swear, along his hairline, there were airy wrinkles where his clump of wig hair had been fixed. Thing is, wigs don't make your skin bunch up like that. My daughter whacked me in the leg with her pillowcase, demanding my attention. Daddy, Daddy! My leg throbbed. That was going to leave a bruise. What is it, Spider-Man?

It's your turn to hold the candy. It was my turn to hold the candy. She ram the pillowcase into my stomach, grabbed the small pumpkin-shaped pail I had been carrying, and skipped off with it. I heaved the pillowcase over my shoulder, shaking my head. It weighed as much as a toddler. How my kid was able to lug it around like it was nothing was beyond me.

Maybe I should sign her up for deadlifts. In any case, We'd broken off from the unsettling pair, and I was back to people watching. Something rubbery whacked me in the face and obscured my vision. I don't want to wear the mask anymore. It's your turn. The mask fell. Not sure if she'd been aiming at my face or what. Okay, honey. She abandoned me yet again to chase the sugar dragon. She's a good kid, I swear. Don't let her...

enthusiasm, tell you otherwise. Halloween was her favorite, and yeah, I swear I'm not a failure as a parent. We continued with neighbors squealing over how adorable she was, handing her handfuls of candy, down one street, up the other, down on the other side. The crowds were thinning, my arms were growing tired, but my girl was as hyper as ever. and suddenly, I heard, We're also renovating our kitchen. A mountain range of goosebumps spread down my arms.

Suburban Dad and Ghost Kid were on the other side of the street, speaking to old man Murray, dispenser of cheap caramel and hard candy. I didn't want to look like I was looking, but I looked. Fiddlesticks and Fudgecicles. I wish I hadn't. Suburban Dad wasn't so immaculate anymore. Those odd wrinkles in his hairline? Yeah, they had spread.

Where his arms and legs connected to his pant legs and sleeves were large rolls of skin, like a sharp hay dog or a wrinkly shirt. I saw him pulling his arm's skin up under the sleeve, but it sprung back down, forming waves of loose skin. As they left, old man Murray's, suburban dad spoke. It's time to go home now. The little ghost stomped its feet into the ground.

I brought my phone to my ear and pretended to take a call, pacing circles as an excuse to keep them in my sight. My eyes locked on suburban dad's hairline. It was slumping forward this time, but he didn't seem to notice. too preoccupied with pulling his leg skin back under his shorts and smoothing the rest into his white socks. Where head met neck, his flesh was stretched so thin, it was breaking in thick gummy strings,

exposing redness beneath. There was no blood, though, like a latex glove being pulled off a burnt hand. We can't stay. Please. The ghost child begged, tugging on his shirt in desperation. Suburban dad sighed. He looked around the now nearly empty street, and I averted my gaze to sell my role as

mail on the phone number five. There came a sinking feeling at the pit of my stomach when I realized I'd lost track of my daughter. I scanned the street and, thank goodness, she was only a few doors down. I jogged after her, but as I did, I heard an odd, two-toned growl. I quickly grabbed Ellie's hand and tugged. Come on, Spider-Man, we're going home. Please.

Very well, but I need to change. One more street, please. The fact that Ghost Kid had made the same request weirdly put me at ease. Like, okay, this was clearly just a guy in a late-tube-old. text suit, taking his kid out, trick-or-treating. What the hell was I imagining? Nothing weird there. The tension lifted, but it was still time to go.

It's late. Papa's waiting for us back home. Ew. You're the adult. You got this. Tell you what. If you come home now without making a scene, I paused, glancing at suburban dad and ghost kid at a stranger's door.

Suburban Dad was gesticulating weirdly, and I rolled my eyes and shrugged. Nope, not my problem. Enough people watching, enough spooking myself. Daddy? Huh? Oh, right, yes. If you come home without making a scene, I'll make you a Sunday. Don't worry, she was on the cusp of a sugar crash.

That Sunday would never materialize. Mark my words. From the corner of my eyes I spotted the pair stepping into the house. I could have sworn as I rounded the bend that I heard screaming. But that must have been from one of the dozens of Halloween decorations lining the street. We got home, and just like I planned, Spider-Man conked out. I fell next to Derek on the couch. He gave me a sympathetic look and ran his fingers in my hair.

Weird night. You're telling me, I serve three people dressed as Bob Ross. Is Bob Ross making a comeback or something? I leaned my head against his shoulder. Not as far as I know. Derek rolled his eyes and grabbed the candy bowl. I'll turn off the light after this. He headed to the door.

I closed my eyes, and then I heard it. An adult voice with the distinctive unnatural cadence. It was unmistakably suburban dads, except the pitch was slightly more feminine. What a lovely home you have. Isn't this a lovely home? Yes. Shucks, thank you. And isn't that a cute ghost costume?

My heart thrashed. I heard the door closing as air turned to cement in my lungs. Derek returned. Okay, the porch lights off, that should be the last of them. You okay? By any chance, that wasn't some barbecue grilling, suburban-looking man and a ghost kid, was it? No, soccer mom. It couldn't be.

It couldn't. And yet, I knew exactly what I'd see when I looked out the window. I knew, but I looked anyways. Pulled the curtain, peered outside. There they were, the little ghost with the light-up shoes, holding hands with what could only be described as the most soccer-mom-looking soccer mom ever, a caricature of a soccer mom. The Karen haircut, the purple sports jacket, yoga pants, running shoes, and yet as though she, he, it, were wearing a latex mask. Its skin was starting to sag. I don't need to tell you they found two bodies skinned alive in their homes the next morning.

Do I? Knew what? Yeah, I thought one of those. Just ignore him, Jessica. Don't stoop to his level. Did you all hear that? Hear what? That creaking from upstairs.

Maybe someone's home after all. We should go check, perhaps? I'll know. I'm not creeping around a spooky house on Halloween. I mean, it's someone else's house, and we're kind of home invaders here. They're probably more scared of us than we are of them, like spiders and authors. Whoever lives here left these tapes for us, though. They must have been expecting us. I bet our editor Olivia is behind this somehow. It's the kind of creepy-ass thing she'd do. Did you hear she convinced Atticus she's an actual ghost?

No, I didn't. Huh, that's pay-raised material right there. It's not Olivia. How do you know? I face-timed her during the last story. She swears it's nothing to do with her. She could be lying. She's not.

I have dirt on her. Real scandalous blackmail material. She'd never lie to me. I bet it's just the house shifting. Hello? Anyone up there? It's the No Sleep Podcast Tour, T. Apart from Brandon, who we forgot back at a rest stop.

Yes, well, you were clearly expecting us. Come out if you're there. Well, nothing else for it to do, but listen to the next tape. I've definitely fought the monster in this one. I guess we'll have to see about that. Roll the tape, David. On it, Halloween episode tape three. Pork and Stuff by Charlotte Leadville.

She stood behind the counter, smiling, like, like her face was paralyzed that way. Her abyss-like black hair was lit into two braids that fell over her chest and came to a stop around her ribs. I looked around. It was a restaurant called Porkin' Stuff

on June Street in a small northeastern town called Anderson City. Anderson City was not a city. It housed barely over 5,000 residents and even fewer opportunities. I had grown up here, and just come back after getting my master's degree in biology

and ending a three-year relationship with my fiancé. There was definitely going to be an adjustment period after spending the last four years in Chicago and the four years before that in Austin. You were on your own in this place. There was no door dash or postmates, and you had to drive an hour to the nearest Walmart. The people here probably hadn't even heard of sushi.

Didn't this used to be a video store? I knew for a fact it used to be a video store, but I was just trying to make conversation. The place was clean, almost sterile. The walls had been stripped of the shelves that had once held movies and video games. The wood paneling had been replaced with clean, attractive white tile. The carpet had been ripped up and a more modern marble stone flooring had taken its place. I noticed the scandalous curtain that led to the adult's only room of the past was now a door. that led to a restroom.

My sister and I used to dare each other to run through the curtain and see how long we could hide in the room before being found. I made it back once and was bombarded with dozens of movie covers featuring undressed women with massive breasts and inviting eyes. My mother soon grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me back out. I was giggling hysterically. My mother was not. I was not in trouble, but the store manager was.

How could you have a room like that in a place where children are allowed? At least have a door with a lock. The manager merely shrugged and said it was good for business. In the present, the woman behind the counter ignored my question. Would you like to try one of our free samples? I looked at her, thinking that was an odd response. She gestured to a tray of mini sandwiches on the counter. They were all perfectly uniform,

like they'd been copied and pasted onto the tray. Um, sure. The flawless little squares of crustless bread had what looked like goat cheese sprinkled on top, and slices of pink meat between them. What kind of meat is this? I picked one up. Pork! She just smiled, sounding almost happy to be telling me this. Like ham or? I examined the little sandwich. The woman just stared and kept smiling.

I didn't know what else to say, so I popped it into my mouth. The salty meat and goat cheese melted together. It was delicious. My immediate instinct was to reach for another, but I reminded myself that would be rude. It was probably one per customer. Wow, this is excellent. Did you make these?

No. She kept smiling. Oh, well, please tell whoever did that they're amazing. She just smiled. Okay, well, can I order something? Here's the menu. She handed me a folded up piece of glossy paper. Every sandwich on the menu was some type of pork sandwich.

I chose an avocado BLT. Great choice. Then she disappeared behind a curtain into the back where they must have installed a kitchen. I stood there, waiting. I wasn't sure if I should sit down or not. I heard her repeating my order to someone, but I didn't hear a reply. It was so weirdly quiet. In all the restaurants I had gone to, you could always hear clattering and loud chatter from the kitchen.

The woman didn't come back out for a few more moments, and I stood in an odd, gripping silence. Then she popped back out. It will be ready soon. Thank you. Okay, cool. Should I sit down, or will you bring it to me? Yes, I'll bring it to you. Okay, sorry, I've just never... ever been here before. I actually just moved back from Chicago. Are you new here too? Yes.

I opened my mouth to ask her where she was from, but a bell rang, signaling more customers. A couple walked in, and she immediately redirected her smiling gaze to them. Hello! Would you like to try one of our free samples? I went there for lunch a few more times, but honestly, the lady at the counter made me uncomfortable and turned me off any further visits. I felt ashamed because I knew that was mean for me to judge her. I wasn't a perfectly adjusted social butterfly myself and definitely had my own bouts of awkwardness. But something about her just set off alarm bells in my lizard brain.

It wasn't until Halloween that I went back. I had gathered but some high school girlfriends for a night of Halloween bar crawling. It was late and we were making our way down June, a giggling blob of costumed women who had imbibe maybe a little too much alcohol and weed. Dude. I stopped and stood for a moment in my giant avocado costume and pointed to pork and stuff across the street.

They have the best sandwiches. Let's go, let's go! My friend said something to the effect of not wanting sandwiches. They wanted donuts instead. They informed me that there was a crispy cream right around the corner. I'll meet you there then. Order me a latte? I'll pay you back. I stumbled into the empty street.

Through the front glass I saw, for the first time, someone other than the black-haired girls standing behind the counter. It was a man, wearing a giant pig mask over his head and a plain t-shirt. Clever costume, considering the theme of the restaurant. I never got a good look at him because he ducked behind the counter as soon as the bell rang announcing my arrival. The woman, always smiling, looked at me. What would you like to order? Can I please get one of those ham and cheese croissants? I playfully tried to sound like I would absolutely die if I didn't get one.

Yes. She disappeared behind the curtain, leaving me in the quiet. I fidgeted with my phone and hoped she'd come back. My friends were gone and no one else was there. I was drunk and high. and happy for the first time in months, and I wanted to talk to someone. Anyone.

Yeah, she was a little weird, but maybe I could get her to come out of her shell. Maybe she was new here and needed friends. These were the things swirling around in my brain when the door opened again, and a group of teenage boys walked in. They had hockey masks and gorilla masks, and one of them were the classic hangover-era

Zach Galefinakis with a baby costume. I continued to look at my phone and ignored them. I had Snapchats from my friends around the corner, showing me the donuts and fancy lattes they had ordered and begging me to come join them. I was never one to send pictures of my food to my friends, but I suspected their real motive was to shame me for my restaurant choice instead of gorging myself on junk food like a normal person.

Hey. I looked up, realizing I had completely lost track of time. I wasn't sure how long I had been standing there, on my phone. Has anyone taken your order yet? Oh, yeah. I wonder what happened to her. I looked at the curtain.

After another minute or so, the boys muttered about going somewhere else and shuffled out the same way they'd come in. The weirdness of the situation was starting to have a sobering effect on my buzz. I looked at my watch. It was 1032. I decided if no one came out by 1035,

then I would do something. The restaurant was only open until 11. Maybe they were juggling their closing duties with making my sandwich. But I was the only customer, and it was a very simple sandwich. Maybe they baked their bread in-house. 10.35. Hello? I stepped up to the counter and leaned over, trying to get an angle to see behind the curtain.

Hello? I'm sorry, but I've been standing here a while. Nothing. I texted one of my friends. said I was still waiting on my stupid sandwich. She replied, saying I should have gone with donuts. Then she texted me again, saying my latte was getting cold. Technically, I had not paid yet. I could just leave. When I turned around to walk out the door, I heard a tiny, almost inaudible grunting noise. No, it was like a snort, like the sound of pig makes. I was sure I wouldn't have

heard it if the restaurant weren't empty. Did they have pigs in the restaurant? Did they butcher them here? Was that even legal? I stepped back up to the counter and leaned over it again. I jumped suddenly at the sound. Shit, pick that up for me. I stood straight.

That voice, it was so strange, gargly and... It sounded almost like he was snorting the words. I heard the faint sound of them talking again, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. I decided to go behind the counter. I don't know why. I don't know why I didn't just leave. I crept up to the curtain and listened to them. That is a lot of blood.

You should stop. We have enough. It will grow back. I whisked the curtain aside. I screamed. The man with the pig mask was sitting in a chair, holding a knife. He was shirtless and covered in wounds. Chunks had been taken out of his chest and arms and placed on a tray next to him.

But that wasn't the worst thing. It wasn't a mask. He had a pig's head. It was attached to him, not with stitches or anything. It was a part of his body. As surely as my own human head was a part of mine. What? What?

What? Wait, please. It's okay. Watching him speak was something entirely different. He had a pig snout and pig mouth, but a freakishly human voice was coming out of it. I turned and ran out of the restaurant. My friends were already walking back down the store.

sidewalk laden with donuts. One of them stopped and held out my latte, but they all stopped when they saw the state of me, hyperventilating and crying. Even in that state, I knew no one would believe me. I told them I was just having anxiety. Bad high. I just needed to go take a warm bath and watch TV. They comforted me and walked me back to my house, but it was hard to tell if they believed me. The restaurant was closed every day after that, and soon the same. The restaurant was closed every day after that, and soon the space was vacated. They were gone. A mobile phone store popped up in its place a month or two later.

I tried convincing myself it was all in my head and even considered going to therapy or seeing a doctor. Maybe something was wrong with me. But nothing like that ever happened to me again. And in my day-to-day life following the incident, I felt perfectly normal and sane. Anyway, me being ill didn't explain why the restaurant would suddenly close down.

I came to terms with the fact that I had seen something real and unexplainable. For a day or two, I dug around in the corners of the internet, trying to see if anyone else had ever seen something like that. I decided it was pointless, as there was no way to tell if they were telling the truth or not. I was alone in this. I would just have to carry on with my life,

having seen what I'd seen. So? That's what I did. I hoped the pig man and the strange girl were doing okay, wherever they were. Yep, I was right. I thought that thing too. And I've eaten at that restaurant. Was it good? Yeah.

Landed a few throat punches, did some cool karate moves. I meant the restaurant, not the fight. Oh, yeah, yeah, it was decent. I recommend the pork. I feel like that's literally the one thing on the menu you would have. want to order after listening to that. Oh, I wasn't really paying attention to the end? I mean, never mind.

Ha! Someone's at the door. Trick-or-treat! Trick-or-treaters! How festive! We should answer! I mean, it's not our house, but... Listen, there's some poor, eager kid out there desperate for her Halloween candy. Are you really willing to be the one to ruin Halloween for a child, Nicole?

I guess not. So, who has some spare snacks we can give her? Wait, why are you all staring at me? Because you clearly, obviously, have some snacks tucked away somewhere. You said spare snacks. None of mine are spare. In fact, they're distinctly not spare. They're taken.

They're needed. They're mine. Kid. Candy. Halloween ruined. Jeez, fine. I'm sure I can spare this extra one kilo sack of candy corn. Whoa.

Where did you even produce that from? I have snacks hidden in places you wouldn't even believe. Like Ohio. I'm not even going to think about this. I'm coming, I'm coming. You impatient, brat. Tricker, tree. A trick?

Jessica I meant treat How does this candy corn sound? Nope, sorry I have to take your first answer Trick it is How's this? Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap

Did she not like candy corn? She whipped her mask off and her face like exploded Her jaw and hinged and her eyes popped out and she looked ancient and evil, and then she disappeared. Yeah, you know, I've thought something like that. Well, she's still out there, probably. Go and see her off.

No way, I'm on vacation. Jessica, are you sure you saw that? Maybe you're sleep deprived. I know what I saw, David Cummings. Hey, there's something stuck to you. Get it off, get it off. It's okay. It's a note.

Let me see. To the No Sleep Podcast Tour Team, Thank you for sharing my carefully curated stories. Please continue to do so. Much love, your mysterious benefactor. Oh, there's a postscript. P.S., don't worry about the noises from upstairs. It's just the house settling, nothing to be concerned about.

However, under no circumstances must you go up there. Stay focused. Thanks, bye. Halloween episode, tape four. Wait, we're just going to continue? I feel like we have to, don't you? Yeah. Please do not risk the wrath of that thing I saw outside. Play the next tape.

Come on, hurry. Okay, okay, okay. Halloween episode tape four. What Halloween Left Behind by S.H. Cooper. Work for a startup, they said. It'll be fun, they said. Excitement. Driven young people living their dream.

A front row seat to the next big thing. What they also fail to mention are the long hours, the poor and often late pay. And if you're a little grunt worker like I was, all the scut work you can handle. Instead of being at any of the parties I'd been invited to or passing out candy in my pajamas, I'd drawn the short straw and was stuck at work at nine o'clock on Halloween night, trying to get client files sorted and invoices squared away. During the normal daytime shifts, I didn't mind being alone in the office. It was an old, tired high-rise in the heart of downtown

that had only just reopened after a decade spent shuttered. Floors 1 through 13, the one we were on, had been remodeled before the prior owner went bankrupt and had had to close the whole thing down. In an effort to bring back life into it, the new owner just dusted off the existing renovated space and lured in small companies with dirt cheap rent. The result was a dated interior from the mid-90s

with a blue-speckled carpet throughout and cream-colored walls trimmed in beige. The only indications that the place had made it into the 21st century were the computers on every desk, and the rather impressive coffee maker in the break room. The remaining upper floors stayed unfinished and veiled, At night, however, all the bright lights and noise that gave the place its corporate charm were dimmed to a scattered fluorescent glow in silence. Even with music blasting from my computer

speakers, there was a distinct, muted feeling that surrounded my workspace, like I was in a little safe bubble surrounded by so much dark space. At least it set an appropriate mood for the holiday I was missing. I sighed and leaned back in my chair, rubbing my tired eyes with the heels of my hands. The numbers on the pages in front of me were starting to run together in black smudges, and I'd still had at least another hour to go before I'd be able to call it a night. You'd better have a big fat bonus check with my name on it come Christmas, David. I was still grumpy that my boss had dumped the excess on his underlings as he walked out the door. I shoved myself back and got up with a groan.

After a quick stretch, I left the well-lit circle around my desk and walked to the break room to put the overpriced coffee maker to good use. While it began to brew, I leaned against the counter and rubbed my temples in slow, gentle circles. Distantly, from the reception desk across the office, the buzzer signaling someone was at the front door of the building and wanted to be let in sounded. I frowned, but decided to ignore it.

Probably just trick-or-treaters who thought the building was residential, I figured. Sorry, kids, no candy here. A sugar boost to go with my coffee sounded really good right about then. When I returned to my desk, the buzzer was still going off in short, quick spurts. Persistent, assholes, I'd have to give them that. I turned up my music even more in an effort to drag. down out the annoying tone, but it wasn't enough. I could still hear it, filling the reception area with its incessant, irritating noise.

Great. Now they were just holding it down. With a few choice words dancing on the tip of my tongue, I stalked to the reception desk and pressed the answer button on the call box. I met the door. He sounded young, probably around my seven-year-old nephew's age. I immediately softened a bit and switched on my auntie voice. Sorry, hon, this isn't an apartment building. No trick-or-treating here. The boy didn't answer. I snorted softly with a shake of my head and returned to my desk. Some kids were just

determined to rake in as many Halloween treats as possible. With coffee cup in hand, I started going over my next invoice, matching up as product number and amount with the appropriate client file and marking whether it had been paid or not. You have got to start hounding these people, Olivia. They're already a month behind with their payment. The shrill ring of the receptionist phone going off cut my complaint short. My coffee slashed dangerously in its mug, and I held it away for myself, cursing. On the third ring, the call should have been transferred to the after-hours voicemail,

but it kept going. I looked down at my own desk phone to see line one lit up. in bright red, perfect. So our voicemail wasn't even set up properly. Why was I not surprised? Grudgingly, I put my mug down, wiped my hands on my pants, and picked up my receiver to answer. I'm in the lobby. The same little boy's voice. There was no teasing or menace in it, just a flat delivery. It sent goosebumps rushing up my arms all the same. Who is this? I set the phone back down and stared at it, my pulse quickening in my throat. There had to be someone else working a late night in the building.

The kid had just buzzed every floor until he found someone to let him in. But that didn't explain how he got our office number or a strange statement. Suddenly, the stack of papers in front of me didn't seem quite so important. This was weird. I was creeped out. It was time to call it a night. I gulped down the rest of my coffee and pulled open the drawer containing my purse. I kicked it closed again and set my purse on my lap to dig out my keys.

It almost tumbled to the floor when my desk phone rang. Line one lit up once more in bright red. Nope, nope, nope, I'm done. I'm out. Good night. I shot upright, trembling hand, raking through the gum packet, chapstick, and tissues until my fingers closed around my keys. I didn't even pause to turn off my computer or desk lamp. I just wanted to leave. As I reached the elevator and pushed the down button, my cell phone vibrated in my pocket.

I tugged it out, grateful to have someone to talk to on my way to the parking garage, and flipped it open with barely a glance at its small outer screen. I didn't care who it was. I just appreciated the company. Hey! I'm on the 10th floor. I scrambled to slam my phone. phone shut again without dropping it. With my free hand, I press the elevator button repeatedly,

as if that might make it come any faster. Its cables groaned as it began its ascent from far below. Hurry up, hurry up! It made it to the seventh floor before I said, Fuck this! And ran to the stairwell. The door clattered noisily against the wall as I shouldered it gracelessly open, and I'd launched myself onto the landing. Slow, Steady footsteps echoed upwards from the floor below. Desperate not to scream, I slapped a hand over my mouth and darted back into the office. I flipped my phone open and had my thumb poised over the nine when a faint child's voice drifted up from the earpiece. I'm on the 12th floor.

The only thing that kept me from shrieking was the ding of the elevator finally arriving. I didn't even wait for the doors to fully open. I threw myself through the slim gap and started hitting both the closed doors and parking garage buttons at the same time. When the elevator doors slid closed, I sobbed with relief. But when the elevator started going up,

the sobs turned to screams. It shouldn't have been able to do that. It wasn't supposed to go any higher than 13. No, no, down, down! I slapped the parking garage button with the flat of my hand, shouting at it to go the other way. But up it went, past the 14th floor, and then the 15th, before shuddering to a halt on the 16th.

I press myself against the back of the elevator, barely able to breathe through the fear that had closed around my chest and gripped the handrail. The doors opened onto the unfinished floor. Bare concrete and patchy drywall was visible in the pool of light that spilled from the elevator. but beyond that was just a thick blackness. When nothing came hurtling out of the dark at me, I peeled myself away from the wall and leaned as far forward as I dared. One hand outstretched to press the parking garage button again,

and the other still clamped tightly around the rail. The elevator didn't respond, and the doors didn't close. A glance at my phone revealed that it had no signal. I tried the elevator's emergency phone next. I was met with dead air. in no response. I sank into the corner of the elevator, hyperventilating in high-pitched,

panicked breaths with my knees pulled against my chest. I couldn't stay there. I couldn't let myself be trapped. I clawed at my thoughts, forcing them to come together until a single word tumbled from the scattered mess. Stairs. Even if that child voice thing was still on them,

maybe I could run past it. It was a better option. and then staying stuck here. It was the only option. With my phone flipped open and held out in front of me like a flashlight, I took a few hesitant steps out of the elevator. The 16th floor smelled of dust and air that had laid undisturbed for a long time. A slow pan of my phone revealed more of what I'd seen from the elevator.

Half-finished office space, empty save for a few forgotten sawhorses and plastic sheeting hung in doorways. only one door had ever been installed. Just down the hall from the elevator, the one leading to the stairwell. I gripped my phone in one hand, my purse in the other, and charged toward it. I only made it a few steps before a tall, thin shape separated from the shadows against the wall and swung down toward me. I let back, narrowly avoiding having it land on top of me. It banged against the ground and went still again. The light from my phone shook as I cast it downward.

A ladder, filthy and splattered and chipped paint, lay at my feet. I swallowed hard and flashed the phone this way and that, trying to figure out what it made it fall while not being entirely certain I actually wanted to know. I'm up here. My head snapped back toward the sound of the boy's voice. In the feeble beam from my phone screen, I saw that one of the ceiling tiles above me had been disturbed.

and was pushed aside. I'm up here. I screamed all 16 flights of stairs down and didn't stop until the police arrived in response to the frightened, babbling phone call I was finally able to make. Twenty minutes after two of them went into the building, they came back out and quietly radioed for an ambulance.

No sirens needed. What is it? What's wrong? We found the boy. The ambulance arrived. The paramedics were led upstairs with a gurney, and shortly after, they returned with a small figure shrouded in a black bag. His name was Alec Kubreski. Ten years before on October 31st, the eve of their company's foreclosure,

the owners of the high-rise had thrown one last hurrah, a Halloween party to send their workers off into unemployment with a bang. Everyone gathered on the first floor for games, food, and desk-to-desk trick-or-treating for the kids. Alec had been one of them, an eight-year-old dressed as Superman. His mother had let him join the group of kids going around to get candy while she chatted with friends. She kept an eye on him at first, but soon grew distracted by conversation. She thought he was safe, surrounded by adults she knew and trusted, and that he'd listened to her instructions to come back when he'd finished making his rounds. But Alec didn't return.

Mrs. Kubreski said it had only been ten minutes at the very most, but in that time, she'd lost track of him in the crowd. She went around, asking if anyone had seen where he'd gotten off to, but no one could give a definitive answer. A couple of the other kids said they thought they'd seen a boy in a Superman costume go outside. The party ended in a hunt for Alec. The first few floors were cleared, and then the streets outside where the children said they'd seen Alec, but they didn't find the boy. His family spent the decades searching for him, all the while unaware that he had never left the building. From what the police were able to piece together, they believed that Alec, with his childlike need to explore, had gotten onto the elevator and

ended up on the 16th floor. There, he'd found a ladder left by a workman who wouldn't return. positioned beneath an open ceiling tile. Curious as any little boy would be, he climbed it and entered the ceiling. As he did so, he must have kicked off of the ladder, causing it to fall. Trapped, alone and undoubtedly terrified, Alec curled up in the ceiling and waited to be found.

He kept waiting until hunger and thirst claimed him. He kept waiting for all the years of Bill. building lay dormant. He kept waiting until he could finally tell someone where he was. Wow, that was sad. It was, it was, but we must soldier on through this Halloween night. So, next tape then? I don't know. I'm still uneasy about this. Maybe we should explore. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait just a goddamn minute. What? I'm thirsty. I need a drink. I need a drink. Geez, I thought you'd seen another monster. Thirsty. I really need a coffee.

Well, the kitchen's back there. Knock yourself out. Fine. I guess I'll go make it myself then. I mean, yeah, we're not her servants, are we? Hey, Jessica. I'll have a cup of tea while you're out there. Cheers, love. Screw you, Alt! Oh, she loves me. Hey, wait a minute. Nicole, how did you know the kitchen was through there? The door's being closed the whole time.

Uh, um, I, uh, kind of wandered off and when exploring during one of the stories. That door actually leads into the dining room. The kitchen's right beyond it. Did you find anything else interesting? Like, I don't know a clue as to who's left these tapes for us? Nope. I mean, there was a locked door upstairs, and I guess that leads to an attic. Ah, a locked door, eh?

That'll be no problem for, the master of Unlegged. locking. And who's that? Well, it's Brandon. Who isn't here? Well, yes, but shouldn't he have arrived by now? Actually, it's fully dark out. No, you know Brandon. He's probably stopped along the way to host an impromptu concert. There's that sound again. I don't like this. Yeah, and where's Jessica with my tea? I don't hear her. Bet she's forgotten the milk again.

That might be here now. Jessica, are you okay? Okay, absolutely screw this. Why? Don't tell me they only had decaf. This isn't funny. I was making the tea, your tea, and gazing out over the dark garden, and suddenly a face popped up. A face in the window. What kind of face?

I don't know. A face. A normal face. Well, did it have a body attached? I don't know. I guess so. Jessica, listen. Calm down. Whoever set this up clearly wants us to play the tapes. I feel like things like faces and trick-or-treaters are popping up when we don't do what they want. Besides, we can't leave. I'd play the next tape if I were you, boss.

Agreed. Halloween tape 5. Masks by Charles Davenport. I used to love this time of year. I used to love Halloween. When I was a kid in Rhode Island, the October temperatures rarely got higher than the low 60s. But here in California, you can be out trick-or-treating with your kid in full costume, all in a sweltering 80 degrees. So it was a bit of a surprise when I found out just how into Halloween L.A. folks seem to be. You see, for the last two weeks, I've been working the final room of a haunted house called Asylum X over in Lyons.

I get it. It's not the most original haunt you'll go to this or any year. but it has a couple of good jolts in the half an hour you spend in there. It's for charity, and my mother-in-law lives with us, so anything that gets me out of the house, you know what I mean? Anyway, a guy named Steve Gleason is the organizer.

He's a member of the Rotary, coaches intramural basketball, and he runs things like you'd expect from a super upstanding citizen. Foremost in his mind at all times are the phrases, Now don't scare him too bad, and, hey, let's not wait, the neighbors. Well, we're in this old hardware slash feed store and there's what feels like

acres of space from where the stock rooms used to be for us to work with. The rest of the team keeps the customers moving and by the time they get to me, they just need that last little push to send them out screaming into the night. So imagine this. As you enter my room, a fog blast fills the area, scrawled along the walls or the words, the cure kills. in bold and ragged capital letters, and you see a large chair dead ahead. Sitting there is a foreboding man in a blood-spattered smock. He reveals himself to be none other than the head doctor

of the institution you've been trespassing through. Ah, there you are. The orderly is ready to take you to the operating room. No, he's just a mannequin, and the speech he gives you as a recording, but it does draw your attention. An An cue, bright lights flash, and a man wearing bone-white scrubs and a mask made a burlap that looks like it was bolted to his skin emerges from behind a panel in the wall.

An engine revves in his hands, an inarticulate series of guttural nonsense spewing out of his mouth as he looms towards you with clearly murderous intent. I love being that guy. Despite his middle-of-the-road approach to most scares, Mr. Gleason had pretty much made my Halloween by letting me have that chainsaw. Watching everybody from the most jaded teenagers to the biggest bro fleeing from me as if their lives actually depended on it? Well, by the end of the night, my face practically ached from the smile under my homemade mask.

at least until last week. I had just received a text for my wife, Molly. Are we okay with Allie going as Princess Jasmine? Is that even okay anymore? As I stood behind the black plastic sheet contemplating my answer, I heard a tentative little cough like someone was clearing their throat to announce their presence. Oh, tucking my phone into my pocket,

I came roaring out of my hiding place with the tiny gas motor. Bucking in my hands. But the guest had their back to the dummy in the center of the room. The doctor's speech holding no interest for them. Instead, they were looking right at me as I approached. My prop weapon useless in my hands. The mask itself was alabaster white and featureless, you know, the kind they sell at Party City for kids to decorate themselves.

I can't describe what they were wearing, but whatever it was, it was all black. Even in the quick flashes of brightness, the strobe provided the figure practically blended into the plastic trash bag coverings that surrounded us, creating the illusion that just their mask was just floating in mid-air. Now, Halloween was a week away, and even if a customer came in costume, the ticket booth would never let them in. I shut the saw off, preparing to let them know that they couldn't be in their dress that way. when I noticed, I noticed a tiny dark line running down the very center of the mask, cleanly separating its left from its right. And this tiny detail, it drew me in.

It fascinated me for some reason. The mark spread across the mask until I realized that it was splitting it, and both halves clattered to the floor. there was nothing underneath. I stood there for the longest time, unable to process. What had just happened? And then a group of middle schoolers filtered through a blonde kid about my daughter, Allie's age, waved at me as he passed.

When he spoke my name, I reached a hand up to my face and found that my own mask was gone. So I raced to the back and I got the attention of our security guy, Bob Stry. Drickland. I didn't really elaborate except to tell him that there was someone in costume roaming around the haunt. He told me he'd keep an eye out. I grabbed a spare surgical mask and got back into place before the next group wandered through. I carried on the rest of the night and slowly found myself rationalizing away the more peculiar portions of the occurrence. We were only a couple of miles from Hollywood and makeup FX had come a long way since the days my mom would smear green paint all over her face and don her most threadbare shawl and cackle maniacly over a plastic cauldron filled with dry ice

you know to scare the shit out of the trick-or-treaters when we were putting the gear away for the night strickland came up to me i didn't see the little punk but i wouldn't worry about it probably just some youtube or thing and he assured me that if my mask turned up inside the house house somewhere, he'd be sure to put it back with the rest of my gear. Thanks, Bob. Then I found myself staring at him without saying anything, long enough for the moment to become awkward. Judd? Are you feeling okay? I nodded and gave a weak smile. I decided that it was his eyes. They looked a deeper set than I remembered or something. I don't know, I put it down to the extra hours we'd all been putting into the haunt, and we ended our conversation by telling each other to go get some sleep.

Tired as I was, I decided to walk home that night. You know, maybe with a quick stop off at Hudson's to get a beer. Lions is a hotbed of holiday hustle and bustle for sure, but at its core, it's a bedroom community. And to find anyone out on the streets after 10 is unusual. With the big night still a week away, it was practically a ghost town. and I had its quaint roads to myself. I walked until I saw the warm light and heard the low murmurs

spilling out from the bar's open door. Hudson's had the seasons required orange and black craped garlands and paper skeletons hanging haphazardly from its ceiling. A number of patrons crowded the various tables and the rail along the bar. But there was a single empty chair right there in the center, right in front of Brenda.

Brenda was one of those people that went about her day with a warm, gregarious smile on her sun-weathered face. It said, I'm happy to be here, and I'm happy that you decided to stop by. I honestly think she's half the reason anyone comes to Hudson's in the first place. She saw me, pulled a pint of my favorite beer, and signaled for me to come and sit. It should have been a warm and familiar, comforting gesture, but it wasn't. As I approached my stool, I gave an involuntary shot. and I felt myself slowing.

I did not want to be in this place. I wanted to go no further into it. But being unable to find a rational reason for this, I pressed on. I felt an enormous and frankly inexplicable relief when Brenda turned away from me, ringing up a bill at the register. I took my seat and my first sip. And that's when I saw the string. Running from just above her ears and tied together in a bow at the back of her head was a thin white cord.

I caught sight of her face in the mirror hanging behind the bar and saw the smile, the same one I'd been greeted by on a thousand Friday nights. But now, now it seemed it was just ever so slightly off to the right. In fact, the whole left side of her face, seemed to have slipped, revealing nothing but a roiling, inky swirl underneath it. Brenda's eyes rolled in the loose sockets of her mask and caught me staring in the reflection. With the workmanlike efficiency of any woman pulling their hair back into a ponytail, she tightened the string and cinched her mask back into place.

She twisted around back to me, a fresh drink in her hand. Another one, Jed? I looked down towards the end of the bar, hoping that someone else was seeing this. Another set of eyes that could give me confirmation that this was actually happening. But as my eyes swept over the sea of friendly faces, folks I played softball with in the summer months. I saw that each one was covered by a mask. Something sat on Will Bryson's customary seat. It was pouring a pint of Magic Hat No. 9 down a cheap or cheap or

approximation of his bespectacle bearded features. Monica Castillo sat opposite Terry Galley. Her lifeless lips frozen, puckered tightly in anticipation of a kiss. Terry tilted his head up towards the ceiling. The plastic around his eyes puckered into laugh lines, and his motionless lips pulled back to show his flimsy rows of perfect white teeth. I realized that I was heading for the door when my foot crunched down on something. There, deformed under the sole of my shoe, was half of a white plastic mask.

Suddenly, the conversations that had maintained themselves around me ceased. I ran. I ran faster than I ever had in my life. Past storefronts as the lights came on inside them. Past homes where porch lights and bedroom lamps snapped on in anticipation of my passing. past a few solitary individuals out for a lonely stroll. Faces with curious eyes marked my progress. From behind, hard plastic masks every step of the way. I ran until my foot hit the steps of my own house.

And I collapsed there. My heart feeling ready to explode in my chest and sweat pouring down from the top of my head. My flesh slick and clammy in its past. Honey? I looked up and saw my wife Molly. Her smooth brown skin glowed in the moonlight. Her hair draped in loose ringlets around her shoulders.

Concern forming deep furrows in her brow. She looked down at me with her own beautiful face, not some mockery of her features. I jumped and caught her in a fierce bear hug. She took me into the kitchen and got a kettle. of tea going, listening as my words came out in just a mad rush. I sounded more like a kindergartner lost at the mall rather than a grown man at the edge of his 40s. And Brenda, you remember Brenda, right? Brenda, Brenda was smiling at me, but it wasn't moving. None of their faces were moving.

She waited until I ran out of steam, letting my litany fail of its own volition. We need to go to the emergency room. I sat there, blinking. I can see that you think that happened. But you also have to know it didn't, Judd. So that means you're having a stroke or someone dosed you with something. Whatever is happening, you need to have a doctor look at you. In a way, it was kind of a relief. My brain was just misfiring because of a chemical or an organic reason.

Something that could be fixed. Within minutes, she'd thrown on a pair of sweats, stirred her mom awake long enough to tell her that she might have to get Allie ready for school in the morning and roused me for my seat and led me to the front door. She used the same tone she used when our daughter was on the edge of tears brought on by minor boo-boos. It'll be all right, Judd, I promise. Then she held her arms out towards me. As limp as a wet dishcloth, I let myself be drawn into her embrace. My hands traced up her back, feeling the comforting realness of her form. underneath. We stood that way for a long time and I just listened to the sound of her breathing

and the creek of our home around us in the October wind. I looked into her face. Same when I'd spent the better part of 15 years waking up next to and I found my hands sliding around it. I cupped the warm softness of her skin under my palms, drawing her closer to me, just needing the comforting press of her lips against mine. Then my fingertips felt a scene. Jud, what's wrong, sweetie? It even sounded like my Molly,

but I could feel the edge just around her jawline, hidden by her hair. I could feel the string tangled in the mass of her deep chestnut curls. It was just a thing wearing a better mask, a thing that had taken my wife's place. My mind flashed to my daughter, our child sleeping defenseless in her room, ignorant that her mother, my wife was gone.

My hands closed around the Molly thing's throat, and I squeezed until the phony expression of surprise and fear faded from its eyes. I obviously haven't been back to the haunt. That was a week ago, and Ali hasn't stopped asking where mommy and grandma are. I keep telling her they'll be back in time for trick-or-treating. They're everywhere now. Out on the street, driving down the freeway in my office on the television. The world is being covered by them in a thin sheen of plastic. And I don't think anyone has noticed that we're being replaced.

Allie thinks we're trick-or-treating and we'll keep our masks on until we're out of the city. in plain sight among these atrocities. I don't know what happens next. I am done with Halloween. I don't think it's done with me. Creepy. That kind of thing really gets to me. Same.

Ever since I was a kid, I've had a fear of people close to me, not really being who they're supposed to be. Me too. Actually, I used to have recurring nightmares about it. Suddenly finding out a loved one had been replaced or something, the fact I could fight them was my only solace. I used to have similar nightmares, too, come to think of it. Christ.

Imagine if Brandon shows up at the door now. But it's not really Brandon. And we can tell. But he doesn't know we know. Oh, Jessica, don't. I swear to God, if he knocks now. He's going to knock, isn't he? Phew, I think we...

Nah! Nah, sorry. That was me knocking on the wall. I had to. Sorry, guys. You are literally... Fired. Aw, admit it, I got you good.

My heart's kind of like, ba-dum, ba-dum, but-d-d-d-dam. Oh, my God, I'm gone, oh, my God, I'm-gall. Walt, it's okay. It was me. He's pointing at... Huh. Where the hell did that come from?

It was right behind us. Someone has placed and lit a jackalander right behind us, and we didn't notice? Look at that eerie grin. The carving's so realistic. Why did you do that? Someone put it there. It was horrifying. You've destroyed a jack-a-lantern on Halloween.

You've cursed us for sure now. Look, though, there was a note underneath it. Dear No Sleep Podcast Tour Team, please play the next damn tape. We don't have all night. Love, your mysterious benefactor. P.S. If you don't get a move on the next time,

it'll be a real head I carve. Yours. Which one of us are they talking to? All of us. They're going to carve all our heads if we don't play the next tape. Okay, okay. Halloween tape six. How Not to Get Rid of a Body by Gemma Amor. I didn't know I was going to do it when I went over to Steve's house late on Halloween. I mean, okay, I took a gun, concealed it in my back pocket.

And a knife, which I hid up my sleeve. and a small can of pepper spray so that I could gain the advantage over him quickly when he answered the door. But just because I took those things with me doesn't mean I'd 100% made up my mind I was going to do it, you know? It just meant I was really prepared

in case I did want to do it. And it's not like I have a history of homicide or a criminal background of any sort. I'm not a psychopath or a sociopath or a sociopath or a serial killer or anything other than a decidedly average, quiet sort of person, although prone to occasional flashes of anger, but generally I don't like trouble of any sort. But I think maybe on reflection that when it comes down to it,

when we get to the real brass nuts and bolts of the situation, it's fair to say that there is a murderer living inside all of us deep down, hidden under layers of behavioural conditioning and moral foundations and social constructs like wrong and right. He lurks underneath like a crocodile gliding under the water, waiting for prey, and all it takes is a man like Steve to strip away those layers. And here we are. I certainly didn't think I was capable of murder, but as it turns out, I knew very little about myself.

And when Steve opened the door that night on Halloween, I realized how much I fucking hated him. It was like a flare going up into the night sky, illuminating everything in red. I fucking hated him and wanted him to die. So, I stood there for a moment, frozen to the spot, feeling totally overwhelmed by this feeling of pure unadulterated loathing. And I could hear music coming out of his house, the same music he always plays. Fucking Linnards, Skinner's Freebird again. Top volume from some ancient old boombox that makes everything sound like you're listening to music from a band playing in the very back of Satan's asshole. and I hated him because I actually kind of used to like Linnard Skinner once when I was a kid.

But it's been ruined for me now, like so many other things that had been ruined, thanks to Steve. Steve, who couldn't see the can of pepper spray I was carrying, or the knife up my sleeve, or the gun in my back pocket, just waited, scratching his belly, which was hanging out from the bottom of his shirt, staring at me like I was a piece of shit under his shoe. The fuck you won? And I lost it. Just like that.

I squirted him in the eyes with the pepper spray, and while he was screaming and clawing at himself like a lunatic, I stabbed him six times with the knife, and then shot him with a handgun, point blank in the face, until there were no bullets left. It made a hell of a mess. one real hell of a mess. For the record and for context, or both maybe,

Steve and I have history. Steve is, was my next-door neighbour. As neighbours go, he was the worst thing that ever happened to me. He was a fucking slob for one thing. Rusted out cars all over the front yard, weeds, broken furniture, beer cans everywhere you look. And the inside of the house was worse, much worse. So much so that a rat infestation started up and quickly spilled over into my property and...

You know what, there's no point getting into it. Not now, it's not an excuse. He was a complete low life and a drug dealer and a slob and an ignorant, foul-mouthed dirty pig, but it's no excuse. I am a murderer. So I should probably just shut my mouth. But it's context, like I say. I hated the guy.

I wanted to kill him. And so I did. But what I didn't do was think about how to get rid of his body afterwards. Luckily for me, Steve was kind of a small guy and I'm kind of a big guy. I stabbed him so hard that he fell backwards into his house so that when I finally shot him in the face, It was indoors and not on his doorstep for all to see, which is something, I guess. In truth, I wasn't overly worried about being seen. Our neighbourhood is quiet, and Steve never used the front door,

because his porch was so covered in junk that he couldn't actually get to the front door. So Steve used the side door, which pointed at my house and wasn't visible from the road. So, no, I wasn't worried about witnesses. I was worried about disposing of any evidence that could incriminate me, namely Steve's dead body. The problem is that dead bodies are kind of bulky and messy and heavy and awkward to move around. And so I decided after 20 minutes staring at Steve as he lay on his back, leaking his brains out all over his disgusting brown linoleum floor, that I needed to cut him up if I was going to get rid of him.

Cut him up and scatter him round across the county, across several counties. Maybe pull out his teeth so he couldn't be identified, sand his fingertips off, that kind of thing. First, I needed to shut the fucking music off, though, because I was damned if I was going to dismember a corpse to a soundtrack of Lillard-Skinnet. So I went into the house and shut the door carefully behind me,

I made my way to where the boom box was blaring out freebird, and I hammered the stop-lock. The music mercifully shut off so that all I could hear instead was the sound of cars going by in the distance every now and then. I went back into the hallway and looked at Steve, trying to think of the best way to do what I needed to do. Tools, I realized eventually I needed tools. Power tools. I'm no expert, but I imagined human bodies were kind of difficult to take to pieces because of all the bone and gristle and sinews and stuff. Ever tried cutting through a leg of lamb before it's been cooked? Well, neither have I, but that's because I know there would be no point. So I needed tools with a kick, but I'm not stupid.

I might be impulsive, but I'm not stupid. I wasn't about to use any of my own tools, even though I had a perfectly good tool. good electric carving knife in my kitchen and a chainsaw in the garage. No, I wasn't about to use anything that could link me to the body. Neither was I about to go to the hardware store and buy anything. For one, it was late Halloween night. For another, people look for that kind of behavior with probable suspects, and being a next door neighbor, I would qualify as such for sure. And nothing says, I did it, more than a random midnight purchase of rubber gloves, sharp night. And a hacksaw and a ton of bleach and disinfectant.

So I would have to improvise. I left the body on the floor and started looking around the house. And believe me, when I say that Jesus Christ on a bike, Steve was a pig. He lived like a goddamn animal. There was food lying all over the floor in almost every room of the house. And I mean like half-eaten hot dogs and pot. Pop-tarts and bags of Cheetos and bananas that have gone all mushy and liquefied and chocolate bars kind of half-chewed and crawling with ants and just, God, how could anyone live like that?

Like a pig wallowing and shit. Ash trays overflowing on every surface. Cobwebs in every corner of every room. Dead flies all over the place, living flies buzzing around everywhere you went. Oh. The bathroom. was the worst place I've ever stuck my head into in my entire life. I could smell it from 20 feet away. The toilet was blocked with a massive wad of paper and feces and cigarette butts.

And instead of cleaning out the blockage, Steve had taken to pissing into plastic bottles instead. They were all lined up along the edge of the bathtub like fucking... perfume bottles in a shop. There were flies everywhere, clouds of them buzzing about, and a bucket with a lid on it standing in the bath. I had a pretty good idea of what was in that bucket, given what was in the plastic bottles. I nearly threw up then, but managed to keep it down,

my hatred for Steve, only getting stronger the more I saw of how he lived. Gagging repeatedly, I kept searching the house, and eventually, eventually, hidden under the house. a mound of clothes and bin bags in what I can only assume was a bedroom, I found an axe.

Just laying on the floor of his bedroom like it belonged there, like it was a totally normal thing to have there. A long-handled axe, a type lumberjacks used for chopping down trees. A fucking slob. Anyway, slob or

otherwise, the axe was as good a place to start as any when it came to cutting stubborn things into little pieces. So I dragged it downstairs and then just stood there looking at Steve's body for a bit, wondering where to start. And I couldn't think of a better place to start than with the head, because honestly, I was extremely tired of looking at that hideous fucking face. So I hefted the axe in both hands, swung it high above my head, and then paused, because it dawned. on me what I was about to do.

And then I just stood there like that. Axe held high, staring down at the body on the floor by my feet. And as I looked at Steve's face, which was mostly not there because I'd shot him at such close range, the only eye he had left opened up and winked at me. I fell backwards in shock, reaching for the wall to keep me upright as I did so, dropping the axe and tripping over a stack of old porn mags piled in the hallway instead. And there was a brief moment where I thought I'd be able to keep my balance, but that moment passed and I fell onto my backside and sort of slipped sideways,

getting Steve's brains all over my trouser legs as I did so. And that's how I ended up almost face to face with the man I'd killed. His horrible eye, all bloodshot and bruised around the iris, rolled crazily about in its socket, and his tongue sort of slipped around in his mouth. What kind of fucking idiot kills a man on Halloween? I lay there, nose to tip with a talking corpse, and nearly fainted with fright. My heart felt like it was stuck up behind my Adam's apple somewhere, and my chest felt all funny and tight. Steve's dead head halt and spat a goblet of bloody,

flam across the room. He had good reach for a deceased dude. I screamed then and scoched back as fast as possible, back to where I dropped the axe. It occurred to me at this point that maybe my brain had failed. Maybe the shock of the situation I'd found myself in, had rewired something, and I was reliving some horrid hallucination right now. A perfectly reasonable reaction to extreme stress. Or maybe I was actually insane and had to. been all this time and I just hadn't been aware. Or maybe, just maybe something else was going on here. Maybe I hadn't killed Steve thoroughly enough the first time and he was fucking with me. Only one way to find out. I scrambled to my feet, lifted the axe and, screaming, chopped Steve's head off.

It took me four attempts, but I did it. The head finally detached from the body and, still screaming, although I'd kind of forgotten I was, I kicked the head hard so that it separated from the neck and rolled across the hallway floor like a ball, finally coming to rest next to a rusted out old lawnmower that was propped up against the wall. And wouldn't you know it? The head came to rest in such a way that that fucking eye was still looking at me. Kind of heavy lidded, half-closed, but still looking at me. Chest heaving, I lowered the axe and gently laid it on the floor.

Fucker was definitely dead now. Except the mouth widened into an evil grin, and the eye twitched and rolled. And Steve's voice started talking again, even though his mutilated head was at one end of the hallway, and his body at the other. Did you really think? He crowed, and I screamed again in absolute horror. What the fuck?

You really are a dumb shit, Norman. You know that? I don't understand why aren't you dead, you horrible fucking son of a bitch. Why? Steve rolled his eye and spat once more. Halloween, the one night of me here when souls to talk. dead come home for a visit. I wiped my eyes but found I couldn't stop crying.

My shoulders shook and heaved and my jaw ached from trying and failing to hold it in. You always did think you were smarter than everyone, didn't you, Norm? You with your Toyota Prius, brand-new sneakers and fancy schmancy office job. Well, turns out you ain't so smart, Norman, because it's Halloween. The boundary between this world and the other world is at its thinnest on Halloween. Dumb-ass. Dumb-fuck, stupid-ass, motherfucker.

So, it's not like I had far to go, is it? My soul went up out of my body and then came straight back down into it, two seconds later. And if that ain't the funniest fucking thing I've ever heard in my life, life, then I'm a Jehovah's Witness. And with that, Steve's head started to chuckle and then to laugh, a terrible, mirthless, dead man's

laugh, even though I realized the head was not attached to anything from where that noise could come from. His lungs, his vocal cords, everything else that made talking possible were all attached to his body, which was lying on the linoleum behind me. Shut up. I clapped my hands over my ears, but I could still hear him. Stupid, fucking moron, norm. Stupid, fucking dumb shit. Morer.

I was sweating heavily and feeling sick once more. It might have been chilly outside, but it was a sauna inside. Steve always liked the heat turned up hyenas house on account of his poor circulation. Whatever that meant. From where I was standing, it didn't seem too fucking poor to me. Might as well land yourself in now. Steve's thinking process was scarily similar to mine.

I'd fucked up. I could see that now. Disposing of the body was not going to be as easy as I'd thought it would be. And more to the point, I had murdered someone in a fit of cold, hard rage. Had I been thinking? Maybe I should give up. Hand myself in right now. Tell them I was out of my mind, didn't know what I was doing. Except I had known. I did, no. I didn't have any history of mental illness and it was unlikely I was going to be able to convince someone I had suddenly lost it. I'd gone to the house with a gun and a knife and a can of pepper spray so it wouldn't take long to come up with a charge of premeditated murder.

and I was no expert on jail, but I did know this. I didn't belong there. No, sir, not me, no, thank you. My brains are literally sprayed all over the place, norm. Like every inch of this room will have some tiny molecule of me all over it, even if you can dump my remains somewhere else. And I'll tell you this, I've got a lot of buddies inside Norm. And police these days is smart. Smarter than what they used to be by a long way.

What they can do now with forensics and stuff, well, you're a hot buttered toast neighbor. And that's the truth. I lost it then. Because he was right. My ass was toast. What had I been thinking? What the fuck up?

I picked up the axe and wheeled it around to finish the job I'd started. I went for an arm first, meaning to separate it from the torso, because smaller chunks would be easier to pack up and throw away. But as soon as I started chopping, I knew I was onto a losing streak, because it was hard. Real hard. Steve's bones were dense, and I was getting tired. All the time I was hacking that axe up and down, Steve's head was laughing behind my back.

It was enjoying itself, mocking me even. Oh, no, don't do it. No, it hurts. Oh, please, let me. Oh, please help mercy on me. Come on, Norm, put your back into it. 90-year-old granny got more gumption than you, your worthless numb nut maggot. By this point, I was chopping frantically, sobbing open mouth like a toddler,

more so that I could drown out Steve's voice than for any other reason. But it wasn't working. The arm just wouldn't detach from the body. I kept chopping, but the axe would stick in a bit of bone or miss or just glance off of something, and I got more and more tired. Steve's head just kept on throwing out insults like gunnery Sergeant Hartman from full metal jacket. And it was getting to me, really getting to me, to the point where if I hadn't emptied the gun I brought into Steve's skull, I would have put it into my own mouth and chewed on it just to end this situation. Except it was Halloween, so who knew if that would even work?

And thinking about this, I paused. The absurdity of it all crashing down on me, and I started to laugh. Steve's head quieted down, listening to me, and I laughed and laughed and fucking howled with mirth, whooping and slapping my thigh, bent double with it all, and that's when I found new strength. Chuckling gleefully, I gave the axe one final monster swing. And Steve's arm came off clean below the shoulder at last. I did a little happy dance right then and there on the spot, snatching up the arm from the floor and bouncing around from foot to foot,

waving Steve's dismembered limb around like a flag at a parade. Take that, Steve, take that and stick it up your ass. Right back at you, norm. And his bloodied... Limp hand, which was up at my eye level, went for my throat. It leapt at me like a jumping spider launching itself at a fly, and I could feel Steve's fingers closing in around my windpipe, shutting off my air supply.

The axe clattered to the floor once more. I was making a hell of a mess of the linoleum, and I scrabbled for freedom, hearing something crunch under the grabbing, squeezing fingers. I slipped on something then, something unmentionable, probably more brain matter who knew at the point, and, wham! I was flat on my back again, staring up at a yellow cracked ceiling with mould patterns spotted across it, and there was a reanimated, dead hand squeezing the life out of me. And I thought, screw this.

I worked the fingers of both my hands around the thumb that was dug into my neck, grabbed hold of it and yanked it back sharp. Steve's thumb snapped at the knuckle and went limp. I did the same to Steve's index finger, getting hold of it with both my hands and pulling back until I heard a clean, dry snuck, like a tree branch. One by one I did the other three fingers until they were all useless and limp,

and Steve's hand fell away from my throat. I rose groggily to my feet, opened the door to the hallway and booted the arm hard out the door with my foot, slamming it behind. Steve's head watched me from its resting place on the floor, his one eye wary and shining with mallets. A tiny twisted smile hung on his lips,

and we looked at each other, me gasping and panting, getting all the air I could down my sore neck, him, disembodied, disgusting, smug. He did. This answer frightened me more than anything so far because everyone wants something, right?

There had to be a motivation for doing things, and if there wasn't, I wouldn't be able to escape Steve. Because if he didn't want anything, that meant he was just doing this for the hell of it. Because he could. Because it was Halloween, and he wasn't dead like he should be,

and that meant he put. probably wasn't human anymore. It was probably something else, something I didn't understand. Something that would never leave me alone. I fucking hate you. Steve's smile got wider until I could see all his peggy brown teeth

and the tip of his spotted gray tongue. There was a slight movement outside the door, a sound low down near the bottom. I stood there swaying, watching Steve's face, watching mine, and the sound started up again like a muffled dragging noise, and then it stopped Steve's arm, trying to get back in, despite all the broken, mangled fingers. It was knocking at the door like the fucking postman,

just like I'd knocked on the door earlier before all this idiocy had started up. Another part of Steve that wouldn't give up, not ever. I hate And I meant it Oh, how I meant it Time to finish this For once and for all So what if

All the parts of him kept coming back for me Eventually if I kept going Until those parts and pieces got smaller And smaller they'd have to stop, right? Right? Basic laws of physics, surely Force and diminishing size And

I was useless at things physics at school. But I could still apply the basic laws of common sense. And those told me that all I had to do was keep going until there was nothing of Steve left to come after me. I was going to stake Tartare, that son of a bitch, until he stopped talking, and put those pieces in a blender and make Steve's smoothie. And then I was going to pour him down the drain, wash him away, pack a bag, buy a ticket and get on a plane, go on a long trip to the other side of the earth, and try and forget about what happened here. Except Steve was smart.

Turns out Steve was probably always smart. I'd made the mistake of judging him based on his appearance, but he was smarter than me, had been smarter than me this whole time. And he figured out that eventually I'd run out of places to run. Even if I got on a plane, even if I found myself living in a shack on a remote beach, on a desert island,

he'd find a way to come and get me, wouldn't he? Even if I poured him down the drain, even if it was just in my nightmares, I would always see his head rolling along the floor coming to a rude stop, winking at me, laughing. I'd always feel those fingers around my neck and hear their dry twig snap as I broke them one by one. I'd always hear the knock on the door.

Remember the words he spoke, more wrong. He would say over and over in the back of my mind, Moron, Norman the moron, Norman. Steve was smart. He'd figured out that the best way to get back at me was to find a place in my brain and stay there until the day I died.

And just as I was thinking this, two shakes of a mole's tail away from being swept along by a tidal wave of futility and realization, his remaining arm, the one that was still attached to the rest of his headless corpse, shot out and grabbed my ankle. It pulled me backwards, trying to drag me to the floor, and although Steve was a little guy,

dead headless Steve was also incredibly strong, and deterrented. I kicked savagely until I shook him off, then bolted from the hallway, past his cackling head into the kitchen, which was almost as disgusting as his bathroom, was. I managed to grab a hold of the kitchen door and slam it shut. And this is where I am now. Locked in Steve's disgusting kitchen with a stack of dirty pans, a sink full of brown, scummy water,

roaches climbing the walls, a rat in the pantry and a yellow film of cooking grease all over everything. And there's music playing outside the kitchen. Linnard skinned again, because Steve has a well-developed sense of humour and he has a well-developed sense of humour and he has a He knows I hate his music playing as loud as he plays it, and his corpse has made its way to the boombox, and his dead, dirty little finger has jabbed that play button on, and Free Bird is blaring out just like it did before. Because this is Steve's house, after all,

and a man can do whatever the fuck he likes in his own house, can't he? So what do I? The door to the kitchen is closed, but the handle is rattling. There is a dead man on the... other side, a dead man with no head and one arm missing, and he is laughing at me. He wants to come in, and I have half a mind to let him, because I don't know what else there is left for me to do. I just don't know. Any ideas? You know, I haven't considered this until now, but I do not remember recording that story at all. Yeah, I don't recall any of this. Me either. This is very curious.

Mind you, they can do some real smart things with audio production these days. Plus, you know, Erica's really good at doing voices. Wouldn't surprise me if she played all these roles, then the producers did a little tweaking to make her sound just like us. That sounds extremely far-fetched, David. Oh, God, I know, I know. I just don't have any explanation for what's happening. How badly do you want an explanation?

Honestly, pretty badly. I'm worried that this is some kind of ruse to lure. us here and replace us. Whoever's on those tapes isn't us, but they sound like us. Maybe they look like us, too. Oh, God. It's our nightmares come to life.

Remind me again why we can't just leave? Because whenever we take too long to play the next tape, something terrifying happens. Usually to Jessica. Yeah. So I'd rather just play the tapes, honestly. There's only one left, though. How do we know that playing the last table will free us?

This is clearly some kind of horror story. It's much more likely that the advent of the final tape will lead to some kind of deathly consequence for us. Never fear, everyone. I, David Alt, have a plan. We're not fighting anything. I mean, we could if we actually knew what to fight. No, no, it doesn't involve fighting. Come closer and listen.

It comes after us when we don't play the tapes, right? So we play the tape. Great plan, Alt. None of us would have thought of that. Wait. Wait, I think I know where this is going. We play the tape, then while it's playing, we go and explore the house, right? Exactly.

Nothing seems to happen to us while the stories are playing. And if this is the last story, then it stands to reason it'll be the longest one. Story 6 was half an hour long, so we can count on at least the same amount of time to explore and uncover who or what is behind all this. And then? And then we fight it, of course. Well, I don't have any better ideas. What do you say, boss?

I say let's do it. Halloween tape seven, our final tale. The Halloween Children of Old Harrington by Dee Williams. Is the welcome sign in focus, or do I need to back up closer to it? No, no, it's good. How's the lighting? Well, it's daylight, so if it's bad, bad, there's not much I can do to fix it. But you're in luck because it's good, too.

Okay. Hi, everyone. This is Haley Higgins with more hauntings in America. As you can see, my crew and I are venturing out on this very special day to bring you this very special Halloween episode from Harrington, the most haunted town in Tennessee. Legend has it that on Halloween night, Ghosts walk the streets of this little town, and we're hoping to discover what has them wanting to scare up more tricks than treats. Make sure you like and subscribe and support us on Patreon for access to bonus episodes and content. How was that? Was that good? Yeah, that was perfect. Why do you always say your crew, though? It's literally just me.

I don't know. Sounds more official, I guess. Plus, if people think there are more of us, maybe they'll give us more money. Don't I wish. Besides, calling you my crew is way better than calling you my assistant or something. Wait, are you still filming? Well, yeah. Why? Oh, uh, I don't know.

Bonus content? Bonus content of me driving? Well, no. I mean, we've never really done an episode. episode out of the studio before, so I thought maybe we could do it kind of like those ones on the travel channel, you know? Or they do a bunch of candid filming and try to catch some scary things happening on camera. In a half mile, turn right onto cross lane. I'm not sure that really fits with the show. The point is the unsettling history and cultural stuff, not jump scares.

Besides, I doubt an iPhone is your best bet for getting ghost footage. I'm not so. I'm not so. I'm not saying we'll actually get anything scary, but it's a fun little departure. And it can still be unsettling and cultural and all that smart people's stuff, just with a touch of extra added spooky. It is a Halloween special. I don't know. If it doesn't work out like you want, we can always just cut stuff and run it more like a normal episode, right? Well, yeah, sure. Why not? Might be fun. Only as long as you think we can still get it edited and up before the end of the night, though. Totally. I can totally do that. So let's try...

Let's try you giving us the scoop on the case while you drive, okay? Use that to do a further introduction for the show. Those kinds of shots are always cool. The scoop on the case? You know what I mean? Like, tell the audience what we know about the Halloween legend here. Well, I honestly don't know much about the legend part at this point. The few sources that I found online are really vague.

Basically, people think these ghosts come back on Halloween, and the whole town kind of freaks out about it. Haley, that's nothing. How are we supposed to work with that? Hey, don't be like that. I'm not super clear on everything yet. Sure, but I know enough to get us started. Like, did you know this place isn't the original Harrington?

What does that mean? So Harrington was originally two-ish miles north of here. But now that one is at the bottom of Kowanus Lake, because the Tennessee Valley Authority built a dam and flooded it out in 1948. So a bunch of people built this new Harrington right here on the shore. But what does that have to do with Halloween? Well, if you let me finish, I can tell you. They completed the dam and flooded Old Harrington.

That's what they call it now, Old Harrington. They flooded it in 1948 on Halloween. Oh, whoa. Right? So what I'm thinking is that maybe the water rose faster than they expected. Some people didn't get out. Exactly. And that is the recipe for big cultural ramifications.

Halloween generational trauma, which would explain why the town is the way it is about this. Except we really don't know how the town is about anything right now. In 500 feet, turn left. Your destination is on the left. Is this it? It is.

Delilah's bed and breakfast. Hmm. I like making the creepy show, but I'm not sure how I feel about sleeping in the creepy old country house. I thought you talked to the owner on the phone. I did, and she was very nice. But that doesn't make her house any less creepy.

Hey, she's a local. What if we ask her about the legend and see what she knows? And then if we learn something new, we can reshoot the intro and figure out where to go from there. If not, we can scrap it and hit the library instead. Yeah. Or better yet, maybe I can do an interview with her. Have her tell us and the viewers. It's candid, like you said.

Oh, yeah. Yeah, that's a great idea. Come on, let's go. But we don't mention to her what the show is about. She might react weird to it. Good call. Grab the computer bag, would you? Spooky door to match the spooky exterior.

Oh, good. And the interior, too. Maybe we'll get lucky and just find out this place is haunted. That'll make finishing the episode way easy. Hello? Anybody home? Drake or treat? Haley.

Sh! Hush! Sounds like there's a spooky little ghost in here, somewhere. But I don't see him. Where are you hiding, little ghost? Trick or treat. If you don't pick, you get a trick. Haley, I don't think you should encourage this. Don't be stupid. I pick trick. You don't belong here. You don't belong here.

Oh my God, I really don't like that. Okay, little ghost. I think that's enough. You're scaring my friend. Bob, you take that off your head this instant. Leave those young ladies alone. Lord, I'm so sorry he's forgot his manners. Ah, Nana, I was having fun. It's okay, really.

It almost gave me a panic attack. Hita. That's a really cool mask, Bobby. Did you make it yourself? It's just an old flower sack. My mom did it for me so it would look right. Well, I like it a lot. Very old school.

Yes, we do costumes a little more traditional around here. Now, what can I do for you, ladies? Oh, um, we're here to check in. Reservation is under Ada Ford. Nice to meet you in person. I'm delighted. You two my only guests for this evening. Now, let's see.

I've got it down that you prepaid and you booked into the suite upstairs. Let me just get your key. And there you are. Breakfast is served 8 in the morning and the Wi-Fi is free. It's the one that says Delilah's in. Is there anything else I can do for you? Well, actually, yes, maybe. So I do a YouTube series on American History.

and if you're willing to answer some questions about Harrington, I'd love to film a little interview with you and include it in the show, if that's okay. Nana, they're YouTubers. Well, sure. I think that sounds fine. Can I be in it too? As long as it's okay with your Nana.

You won't mention him by name or anything, will you? No, no, of course not. Well, then, I don't see the harm, Bobby, so long as you stay quiet. Ask away So, why don't you tell us a little bit about Harrington? Well, it's one of the oldest towns in Tennessee, second pretty much only to Jonesburg, or it would be, except the historical record don't consider Harrington today to be the same town as Old Harrington. Old Harrington was where the reservoir is now, you see?

Yeah, I read that it was flooded when they built the dam. I bet people were really upset when that happened. Oh, no, not so much. According to my daddy, folks were pretty much relieved by an eminent domain and all that. Put a little extra money in their pockets. Oh, so everyone was moved out ahead of time? Sure was. Headed just a few miles away to where we are now.

And no one fought it? There wasn't anyone who just stayed with their homes when the water rose and... My gosh, no. Oh, that is awful dark. Where'd you hear a thing like that? Nowhere, really. I just thought... I heard this legend that on Halloween,

ghosts come out here in Harrington, and I thought since that's when it was flooded, maybe... Oh, no. Nobody died in the flood. And I certainly haven't heard anything about ghosts. But Nana. And hush, Bobby, the grown-ups are talking. So nothing special. on Halloween then.

Nothing like what you're talking about. This little gathering, bombfire, and kids dress up and play. That's about it. If you two are looking for Halloween fun, I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place. Your best bet is just to stay in and watch a scary movie on the television.

Well, maybe Ada and I can go to the gathering for a little bit. Meet some more people to interview. No, I'm afraid it's not... Well, it's for really, for locals only. Honest, it's better if you just stay in tonight. Oh, gosh, I forgot to set a timer for my pie. I ought to go check on that.

Oh, okay. Well, thank you so much for your time. That'll be a nice little clip for our show. You're welcome. And let me know if you need anything. I'm going to lock up at dark when Bobby and I leave for the fairgrounds. Whatever you do this evening, you need to be back by then. Oh, no worries. We'll probably just stay in, like you said. Can I borrow Bobby for a minute? I'd like a little help with the backs.

Sure. You heard the lady. Get a move on. Okay. Here, I've got my suitcase. But if you'll take this computer bag for me, perfect. Thank you. What are you doing? Just wait. Keep filming. It's that last door on the left there. Bobby. You hold on a second and I'll get you a tip out of my purse. Okay. Thank you. So, I couldn't help but notice that when your Nana and I were talking about ghosts there, it kind of sounded like you had something to say too. Maybe. Well, tell you what, if you tell me what it is, I bet Ada and I can scrounge up a few extra dollars for you. What do you think, Ada? Yeah. Yeah, I think I've got a 20 with your...

name on a kiddo. $20? Yep. All yours. But first, you gotta tell us what you were gonna say before Nana shushed you. Well, I was just gonna... She was only kind of telling the truth. They're not ghosts, but Halloween is special here.

It's when they come back. Who comes back? The kids. The ones from Old Harrington. Way back in Old Harrington, Halloween was as big a deal as Christmas, except it was all about the harvest and old ways instead of Jesus. Everybody got together and had a big party and a bonfire and dressed up and all the kids loved it. But then about a hundred years ago, everyone in town got real sick and a bunch of the kids died. Coughed so hard their insides came out is what my friend Blake says, and his dad's a doctor.

But then the next Halloween rolled around and all those dead kids. came back, all dressed up in their costumes. They came back, but not like ghosts or whatever. They were solid and they walked around and talked, but they weren't alive anymore. Nana says it happened because they missed their parents so much, but I think it was because they didn't want to miss the party. And then the next day they were gone again. And it happened every year for a long time and it made everyone real sad and scared. That's why people were happy when TVA flooded the town, because it happened on Halloween, so they thought it had washed all the dead kids away.

But it didn't? No, they just started coming out of the lake. Except now, Nana says they're confused and lonely as all, but I don't believe it. I think they're mad, because now when they leave again, they take people with them. And that's why I got this mask. All us alive kids do.

It looks like the kind they wear. If they think you're like them, they leave you alone. And if you hold on to your parents, they leave them alone too. I think you're already trying to take them away. That's what the thing at the fairgrounds is really for. We do the party just like they used to and trick them into going away without taking anybody. But why do that?

Why not just hide until they go away? If there's no party, they go looking. for people. They get into the houses. Somebody always gets found. I don't want to talk about this anymore. Can I have my money? Yeah. Sure, Bobby. Here. Don't tell my nana I told you. Holy shit. Talk about generational trauma. Did you get all that on camera? Every word. Jesus Christ, who tells a kid something like that? I don't know, but no wonder Delilah wanted us to stay in tonight. We got to get to that gathering.

We have to. That's the show. Absolutely. What he said, plus actual footage of all these kids dressed up for this ritual, it won't be like anything anyone has ever seen before. I mean, I've heard of small town superstitions, but this is... It's a cultural phenomenon.

A cultural aftershock from the... The tragedy this town went through. This has turned from a Halloween special into a freaking documentary. Do you think they actually believe it? I don't know. He certainly does. All the children probably do.

And with the power of group think, maybe the adults... Okay, so we'll wait until we hear Delilah leave, and then... There's a tree right there. We can go out the window and shimmy down, get the footage, then shimmy back up before the night is through. If this takes long, the episode is going to go up later than we promoted for, maybe even by a couple hours. It's fine. We'll still catch the West Coast in plenty of time.

And this is going to be worth waiting for. Let's do a quick voiceover when we get back to the room. Turn the light off. Okay. Do you think the bonfire will give me enough light to film by? Only one way to find out. Quietly. Keep the camera running. I am. Stop, stop. Right here. This is good. Are you getting that? All these kids have death. Zoom in on that one. On their hands there. Christ. That's a... Stop. I don't think he followed us. We're okay? Yeah. I think we're okay. Oh, Jesus. That's gonna be... I don't even know. Those kids were terrified. They're traumatized. They're traumatized. their freaking children.

Okay. I vote. We go back to the hotel, slap this episode together, and get it up, and then just get the fuck out of here. Yeah, let's... Did you hear that?

No, I'm what is? Really? Why'd you leave, Ma? Time for the celebration. This seems to be the place. Creepy, middle of nowhere, desert house. Hey guys?

Anyone around? Whoa, the eight-track player with seven tapes. Maybe I should listen to them all. Nah, I got to find the guys. We need to get back on schedule, or we'll miss out on our last shows. Hello? David? David?

Nicole? Jessica? Oh, okay. They're hiding upstairs, probably waiting to leap out and scare me. Oh, these guys. Well, better not disappoint them. Hmm, nobody around. Just two bedrooms and a bathroom.

All empty. Oh, sweet. There's another floor. Ah, here's the door. Okay, up the stairs we go. Whoa! Brandon, help! Someone tied us up.

And me without my machete collection. I tried to fight them off, but... But we didn't see them coming, whoever it was. What the? Hold on. Slow down. What happened? Okay.

we got here and discovered someone had left us seven tapes containing seven stories for the Halloween show. We have no idea who left them here. Wait, what? Those tapes downstairs? We recorded them before we left for the tour, guys. Then you had them shipped here so we could broadcast them for the Halloween show. Huh? What?

Do you really not remember? We said we'd get them sent to where we were staying. I mean, it was ages ago, all the way back in September, so I don't blame you for forgetting. Wait. So you're saying we did make those recordings? Yes, I did the music for them and everything. I have no idea why David wanted to record them to eight-track cassettes, but he's quirky like that.

Wait, wait, wait, I do remember this now. But why are they here? What? Our Airbnb, you shipped them here? This is where we booked to stay for the night. You picked it because, and I quote, it looks creepy as heck. Oh my God. So we got ourselves freaked out over nothing?

That is so relieving Honestly, this is just like us Managing to create a horror scenario where there was none Typical No Sleep Podcast Tour team Yeah, what a wild ride, guys Who even forgets recording seven Halloween stories? Hold on, hold on a minute What about the notes?

And the Jackal lantern and the face in the window and the trick-or-treater? So, uh, I have a confession to make Well, this should be good. So, the trick-or-treater wasn't real. That was just me knocking on the wall and throwing my voice. Then I pretended she was there and came back with that story. I knew you'd send me out because, well, I have snacks. I made up the face in the window, too.

Okay, but the rest? Well, the notes? Yeah, that was me as well. Remember I went into the living room before the rest of you, and I found the first note? I'm starting to understand. Well, anyway, here's the thing. Olivia told me to make sure that we absolutely, definitely got a Halloween episode put together, and to do whatever I could to make it happen.

So when I found those tapes, I knew you wouldn't just play them without some encouragement, so I kind of orchestrated the whole thing to make sure y'all focused on getting an episode. episode out. What about the jackal lantern? I slipped it there while you were all distracted by the door-knocking prank I pulled. Okay, but where did you get a jack-a-lantern? I told you. I have snacks in places you wouldn't believe. An entire pumpkin is a snack now? Depends on how hungry I get. Well, unbelievable. And I was right. It was Olivia behind it. Well, it wasn't her fault. She just asked me to ensure the show would go on. I don't think she expected this level of deception.

Sorry, guys. But hey, we put out a really good Halloween show, and we all survived. I, for one, definitely survived, yep. I can't argue with that. All's well that ends well. Every mystery solved, every loose end tied up. I guess all that's left to say is thank you for listening to our 2019 Halloween episode. And brace yourself...

Hold on. Tied up? Hmm? Make it quick, Brandon. I'm trying to wrap up the show. If every mystery is solved and Jessica was faking the hauntings, then who tied you all up? That would be me, Brandon. Wait, David?

How are you there in the shadows? And also here? Oh, it's not just David. We're all here, Brandon. All of us. All five of us. Just ready and walk. waiting. We've been waiting for you. Waiting for you to come and play. Waiting for the show to be over.

So we can take your places. Forever. Get off me! No! And now with them all tied up, we're free to go. What say you, team? Ready to get back on the road? After all, we still have some shows left. So many eager audience members just waiting to meet us. And so many many. And so many, you, we're still, you? And so many, episodes of the podcast to record. So much to do. So much to see. So much to eat. No, stop.

You'll never get away with this. I'm sorry, former David Cummings. We already did. Let me out, please. Let me out, let me out. Wait, no, come back. Let us out, please. Come on, come back.

Ready to go, everyone? Hold on, just need to make a quick phone call. Olivia, hi, evil David Cummings here. It's done. Yep, let's just say the real ones are a bit tied up. No, they definitely won't get found. At least not for a long while. Everything handled on your end, too? Excellent. Wait, what trouble? What's wrong?

Oh, nothing. Olivia just said she had trouble working out which version of Peter Lewis was the real one and which was the evil version. Did she sort it out? No, she still isn't sure if she got the right one. But whatever Peter we're left with, he's enthusiastic about the new management, so it's fine. Okay, Olivia, I'll let you go. I'm sure you've got plenty to do inducting the new team. Right, catch you later. Now then, let's get underway, shall we? Family Familiar was written by A.B. Cooper

and was performed by David Cummings, Ellie Hirschman, and Erica Sanderson. Halloween in the suburbs was written by Manon Lyset and performed by Dan Zepula, Matthew Bradford, Jeff Clement, Jessica McAvoy, and Nicole Goodnight. Pork and Stuff was written by Charlotte Ledvis. and performed by Addison Peacock, Sarah Thomas, David Cummings, and Kyle Akers. What Halloween Left Behind was written by S.H. Cooper and performed by Mary Murphy, Erica Sanderson, and Atticus Jackson.

Masks was written by Charles Davenport and performed by Mike Delgadoo, Mick Wingert, Nicole Doolin, Atticus Jackson, and Aaron Lillis. Not to Get Rid of a Body was written by Gemma Amor and performed by David Alt and James Cleveland. The Halloween Children of Old Harrington was written by Dee Williams and performed by Jessica McAvoy, Addison Peacock, Nicole Doolin, Ellie Hirschman, Erica Sanderson, Nicole Goodnight, Mick Wingert, and Kyle Akers. And a lonely house in a lonely desert was written by Olivia White, And performed by David Cummings, Jessica Maccaboy, Nicole Goodnight, David Alt, and Brandon Boone.

So from all of us here at the No Sleep Podcast, we wish you a wonderful, terrifying, and above all, sleepless Halloween. 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 of Creative Reason Media, Inc.