The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S13E23

Episode Date: December 1, 2019

It's episode 23 of Season 13. On this week's show we have tales about the things that can get into us...and out of us."Direct Observations " written by Paul Miscavage (Story starts around 00:05:50)Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: David Swan – Jeff Clement, Audience member – David Cummings"Diamonds and Pearls" written by Chris Allinotte (Story starts around 00:29:00)Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Thomas Babb – David Ault, Josephine Rose – Erika Sanderson, Agnes Rose – Penny Scott-Andrews, Gwendolyn – Erika Sanderson"A Proposal from Daddy Prince" written by Penny Tailsup (Story starts around 01:12:10)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Sarah Thomas, Sarina – Nichole Goodnight"Don't Choose the Goat" written by Ali Habashi (Story starts around 01:35:00)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: David – Mike DelGaudio, Jack – Elie Hirschman, Tasha – Addison Peacock, Stefan – Erika Sanderson, Mila – Nichole Goodnight, Peter – Kyle Akers, Mila’s mom – Jessica McEvoy, Chaperone – Matthew Bradford"Sunflower's Weep" written by R.E. Rodden II (Story starts around 01:58:40)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Dan Zapulla, Pastor Dave – Atticus Jackson, Gladys – Nikolle Doolin, Mason – Erika Sanderson, HAZMAT Leader – Mike DelGaudio, Policeman – David CummingsClick here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast Click here to learn more about the Euro 2020 Live Tour Click here to learn more about Paul Miscavage Click here to learn more about Penny Tailsup Click here to learn more about Ali Habashi Executive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone"A Proposal from Daddy Prince" illustration courtesy of Mark PelhamAudio 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, I'm Atticus Jackson, voice actor for the No Sleep Podcast, and I'm worn out and stressed. Not because of my work on the show. We sit on golden beanbags to record and scantily clad goblins fan us with Phoenix feathers. But believe it or not, voice acting is just one of my many talents. I also work another job. And this year, I worked on Black Friday. So, that got me thinking. A lot of people work on Black Friday. And given that it's following Thanksgiving, which can be stressful for some, we don't always take the time we need to relax and unwind after an extremely stressful set of days. Sometimes it's not possible to just curl up under a duvet and hide from the world.

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So whenever you need some help, visit betterhelp.com slash no sleep and join the over 500,000 people taking charge of their mental health with the help of an experienced professional. No sleep listeners get 10% off your first month at BetterHelp.com slash no sleep. And even if you don't think you have a reason to be stressed, even if you haven't been on your feet working all of Black Friday,

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So, remember, reach out to that help. helping hand by visiting betterhelp.com slash no sleep to get 10% off your first month. If you celebrate it, we at the no sleep podcast hope you had a great Thanksgiving. And if you don't, then, well, we hope you had a great time anyway. Great times for all. This is Atticus Jackson signing off, about to collapse face first into his bed. And remember, that's betterhelp.com slash no sleep. Brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast.

To the No Sleep Podcast video store. I'm David Cummings. Our VCR is ready to play stories about the things that can get into us and out of us. Here's hoping everyone celebrating the Thanksgiving weekend enjoyed their festivities. Just a reminder about our Cyber Monday sale on December 2nd, lots of great savings on season passes and bungee.

And speaking of festive holidays, we're getting excited about our upcoming season 13 finale, which will be our annual Christmas episode. It will be out on December 15th, so brace yourself for a not-so-silent night of Christmas-themed horror. Next week's penultimate episode will be a fun treat as we do a theme episode based on the old grindhouse movies that used to splatter across the silver screens. Lots of chills and thrills ahead. After the finale, we'll take our usual holiday hiatus while still releasing some episodes for you, while season past 13 members can look forward to lots of bonus episodes as well. And in the new year, January, when we'll be on our European 2020 tour,

tickets available at the no sleeppodcast.com slash tour, we have some very exciting shows for you, the likes of which I can't quite divulge at the moment, but you can rest assured January 2020 will be a very unique month for the No Sleep Podcast. And the No Sleep Podcast is ready with this week's stories. So turn down the lights and grab the remote because it's time for our feature presentation. In our first tale, we join a scientist who's long been derided by his peers.

The relationship between science and spirituality has been a fractured one, to say the least, but this one scientist claims he has proof of the soul leaving the body. In this tale, shared with us by author Paul Miscavage, there's a chance to see that evidence, and it involves showing his peers a planned death. Performing this tale is Jeff Clement. So whether you believe in the existence of the soul or not, this man certainly does, as we find out through direct observations. My name is David Swan.

I hold a PhD in cognitive neuroscience. And I would like to announce the greatest discovery in the history of mankind. After closely observing and documenting exactly 244 executions and murders, I have systematically proven the existence of the soul and have documented its departure from the body. I'll start by saying this. I am not a ghost hunter. These pseudoscience charlatans prey upon your more primitive instincts.

They utilize the power of suggestion to reel you in. These ghost hunters might subjectively observe a drop in temperature and suddenly everyone in the room is cold. They might interpret patterns and static as cohesive words or messages. They attempt to present self-generated feelings as evidence. They're liars, and those who believe in them are nothing but fools. Have I also been called a fool in the past? I have.

And at times, in the depths of self-doubt, I have even believed them. But I persevered, despite their petty, jealous attempts to sling shit at the true genius among them. With this discovery, they will realize the true error of their own. their ways. Where the soul originates is outside of my area of expertise. I will not use this pulpit to explain the sudden confirmed existence of a god. I'm a scientist, not a theologian. There will also be no conjecture on exactly when a soul enters a body. Is it at conception, at birth? I do not know these answers, but as mentioned earlier, I do know. when it leaves. These claims that I'm making today are thanks to the wonders of analog photography.

Digital photography is not reliable, especially when documenting the soul's departure from the body. You see, when a photo is taken digitally, it's impure. In that digital conversion, nuance is lost. Analog photography relies upon a chemical reaction within the film itself. All light is a form of energy, and when that shutter opens, that sliver of light causes a permanent chemical reaction to occur on the film itself, resulting in a pure, accurate record of wherever the camera happened to be aimed at the time. And that brings us to where we are today. Moscow, Russia.

After receiving an unprecedented grant from the Russian Academy of Sciences to conduct my research, I am now able to present my findings, along with a practical demonstration to the larger scientific community. My grant was surprisingly quite large, so I planned to share the wealth. My audience consisted of 100 of the world's most influential scientists, engineers, and physicians. each attendee would receive a $50,000 U.S. dollar research grant to be used at their behest, the only condition being their personal participation in the experiment. The experiment took place within a lavish mansion of an ex-KGB administrator on the outskirts of Moscow. Upon their arrival the day prior, attendees were led into a massive banquet hall,

where they were encouraged to drink and feast to their heart's delight. I had begrudgingly made my rounds, greeting each with a firm handshake and a smile. I found it amusing that these people, many of whom had outright and publicly dismissed me in the past, were suddenly my best friends, as if we'd been old pals for years. I eventually sat and ate my fill before returning to my chambers to prepare for what would follow. I had a hand in personally selecting the condemned of whom we'd use for the experiment, and I had come across a fine specimen indeed. Male, 23 years old.

He had a wide face, but was not fat, and possessed striking blue eyes. His body was free of any tattoos or piercings. I had been told that he was not a Russian citizen, but a Ukrainian sniper, convicted of killing no less than 13 Russian soldiers before his capture. I had descended to the guarded room in the basement and presented him with a platter of offerings and a goblet of wine from the feast above. In addition, I had asked the butler to deliver to him the finest linens the estate possessed, along with his military uniform, freshly washed and pressed.

When the morning came, I looked outside to see that a frost had developed, along the edges of the windows and a light dusting of snow frosted the grounds. Overcast skies hung low. I breathed deeply through my nostrils. Never have I felt more alive than at that moment in time. The experiment took place in an old operating theater on the premises. My esteemed audience collected their grant checks at the door's threshold before filtering into the room. single file, taking their seats in antique wooden chairs.

A 35-millimeter camera had been placed under each seat. My heart beat with anticipation and my insides fluttered. I stood in a small darkened prep room with the door open just a crack so I could get a look at my audience. Standing there, a thought came to me. Is this what Tesla felt like? just before his grand reveal at the 1893 Chicago World Fair. Is this what it feels like, knowing that in a few short moments,

the world will change forever? I was startled when a hand fell on my shoulder and looked back to see a uniformed member of the Russian military. He gave me a nod. It was time. I puffed out my chest, adjusted me. my tuxedo and opened the door, stepping past the darkened threshold and into the spotlight. The idle chatter of the audience promptly died down as I made my grand entrance.

I stood in the center of the auditorium in front of a steel gurney, and once again adjusted my jacket as I looked left, right, and then finally straight ahead at the audience before me. To my esteemed friends and colleagues, welcome to the Russian Academy. of Sciences' grand operating theater. And thank you for taking the time from your busy schedules to be here today for this momentous occasion. Today, before your very eyes, history will be made. I paused and watched.

They were captivated. Men were literally shuffling to the edges of their seats, seeing, And this exhilarated me. Today, in this controlled environment, you will witness and physically document the instant the soul leaves a body. I heard that, and I understand. Many of you are in doubt. No? I welcome that doubt, and I would expect nothing less.

This is not merely an observational demonstration, but an exercise in which you yourself will participate. Each of you take a moment to examine the 35mm camera that has been placed under your seat. As per the instructions of the invitation, and to preserve the integrity of this experiment, I will now ask that each of you load your camera with a 35-millimeter film that I had asked you to bring.

If you do not have film, it will be provided. Each section has an assistant that can help you load it into the camera if needed. Those of you who have brought their own cameras, I will ask that you use the provided equipment for Phase 1 of the experiment. Once Phase 2 begins, you can use any camera you'd like, provided it's not digital. I stood patiently and folded my hands as I waited for each attendee to load, film into their cameras. Now, before I begin,

allow me to lay out the parameters of the experiment. Each of you should now be in possession of your $50,000 grant check. The only condition of acceptance is your compulsory participation in this experiment.

If any of you object, that is fine. Feel free to exit now if you so choose. A chaperone will collect your check, gather your luggage and escort you to the airport. The room fell into a dead silence. The audience looked at their sides and behind,

but nobody rose from their seats. Wonderful. Let us begin. Dead bolts were fastened on each exit. Small, muffled grumbles of uneasy chatter followed. For phase one of the experiment, all you will do is take a photograph, or multiple photographs, if you so choose, with the camera provided to you. Please ready your camera now.

The audience followed my instructions and ready their cameras in their laps. Now, what follows may be disturbing to some, but please stay cognizant that we are in another country with rules and norms that may seem foreign to what we are used to, but rules and norms nonetheless. In a moment you will see two men enter the room, one condemned, one executioner. The condemned will lie on this gurney. He will be blindfolded, and as per Russian law,

the executioner shall perform his duties by inflicting a single gunshot wound to the head. It is at that moment of death, and immediately thereafter, that I ask you to start taking photographs of the scene before you. Phase two will begin shortly thereafter, and immediately upon its conclusion, we will be developing the film under your supervision in this very room. Let us begin. I gave the cue with a clap of my hands.

Behind my right, a door open, and of his own volition, the condemned. entered the roof. He was shackled, and the noise of his chains as he shuffled in seemed amplified and reverberated through the walls of the theater. He stopped for a moment and looked up at the audience before him. I watched them as well. It was fascinating to see their reaction to his gaze, as if they were hesitant to make eye contact with him. Heads turned away and looked in other directions. The condemned stood and faced the audience proudly with his chin up. He turned from them, gave me a courteous nod, and positioned himself on the gurney before him, resting his head on the metal support at its edge.

A priest entered the room and gave the young man his last rites. The priest made the sign of the cross on his forehead and took his hand as the man uttered what would be his final words. The priest stood there for a moment longer as they gazed into one another's eyes. He then kissed the man's hand and gripped firmly for another second before placing it on his torso atop the other. The priest then turned and exited. His light footsteps faded, and the thundering steps of the boot-clad Executioner were heard

as he made his entrance. The Executioner wore a black ski mask and stood before the man's, lying on the gurney. He said something in Russian to him. The condemned remained silent. Ready your cameras. The executioner then removed a pistol from his holster and fired a single shot into the man's temple. The young man shuddered violently and exhaled his last breath as blood spilled from the wound and from his nose like water from a faucet, bolted to a woman. Bolted to a rafter with a clear view of the attendees, mounted cameras took several pictures of the audience at this time. The executioner quickly took hold of the handles of the gurney and wheeled the corpse

from the auditorium as an assistant appeared to clean the floor of blood. Several attendees were now examining their cameras, looking for what pricked their fingers. Everybody settle down and let me explain. Welcome to Phase 2. of the experiment. Approximately half of you, randomly chosen, I might add, have received a prick of the finger. Those who were pricked, I'll kindly ask that you please remain seated.

Everyone else please stand and ready your cameras. You are now allowed to use your personal photography equipment. Around half of the room stood. The other half calmly sat. Now, those who are sitting, and I'm sorry to say this since it's nothing personal, but you have three to five minutes left to live. There should be little to no discomfort as you pass, and the chemical's tranquilizing property should keep you relatively docile. As for everybody else, you will now pick up your cameras and take photographs of your dying colleagues as they complete their trinkulies. transition. And do not forget, as mentioned before, participation is compulsory.

I stood there, patient, and watched as they considered their next moves. A woman began to cry. Several of the men looked to be in a momentary days. The newly condemned just sat there, But some were smiling. Ladies and gentlemen, this is your last warning. These poor souls have less than three minutes on average to live. Do not let that go to waste. Soon all of the survivors were taking photo after photo. Some were taken with flash and some without.

Others had chosen to document the experience with their personal cameras. shot and shot and shot until the condemned began to succumb to the chemical. I remember the man sitting dead center in the front row was the first to show signs of the chemical's efficacy. A pink foam began to come from his mouth as his lungs filled with interstitial fluid. His former colleague, who was quite gifted in photography, I might add,

took a wonderful shot of him that captured the foam's unique hue quite well. The fixed overhead cameras I had planted were clicking away. Everything went according to plan. How marvelous! Those still sitting began to finally die. One by one they slumped in their seats to the left or right, or backwards,

or some just simply rolled forward to come to a rest on the hard floor. Eventually, the last click of a shutter came and went, and all that was left was silence. The bodies had already settled where they were going to settle. The living just stood there in place. They looked at each other, catching brief glimpses of eye contact, before their gaze descended downwards to the white porcelain floor. My esteemed friends and colleagues, thank you for your participation this evening. And I, I hope you enjoyed the show. I understand some of you may be upset, but for the time being anyway, we must move past that.

What will happen to them? Well, that's a great question. Russia is a dangerous place, you see, and unfortunately, your esteemed colleagues were victims of a terrorist bombing. Heartbreaking, really. But, anyway, I'd like to have you all come down here. It is time to develop our photographs. With a snap of my fingers, the room darkened to a shade of red, and assistance wheeled in a mobile film development station.

Others came with ladders to fetch the film from the overhead cameras. The atmosphere was somber as we developed photos over the next two hours. Those with experience pitched in to help. In the end, we all had a chance to gaze upon our work. I heard gasps of excitement and some of despair when we saw themselves always. Some photos were destined for the cutting room floor, while others were absolutely magnificent. My favorite series is from the overhead camera emplacements. They started shooting just as the survivors began to photograph their dying colleagues.

never have I seen a soul so clearly on film, and so many of them, the wispy transparent shapes were all very well defined. If you look at this photo here, you can clearly see them exiting the bodies of our amateur photographers as they took the final images of their own. expiring friend. Our next story is coming right up, but I want to mention a product I love to talk about. Away luggage. I love Away luggage.

Oh, hi, Nicole. Goodnight of the No Slee podcast. Yeah, that's right. I remember seeing your away carry-on luggage when we were on tour. You had so many good things to say about it. It makes traveling so easy. It's lightweight and durable, the four 360-degree wheels hopperlid glides smoothly, and I love the built-in battery to keep my devices charged. I love the TSA-approved locks. Such a smart design. I know, right? The zippers snap right into a handy combination lock, so there are no padlocks to bulk up the outside of the luggage. Now, your away carry-on is the lightweight polycarbonate. Remind me what color you chose?

I got the black one. Very stylish. Ah, that's right. I recall loading it in and out of the van many times on tour. My back still hurts. Excuse me? I seem to recall your non-away suitcase weighing more than a small car, Mr. Can't Pack. lightly. Yeah, well, that was before I got my very own away suitcase, which is lighter and easier to pack, making sure I don't have to overload it like I did on tour. So no sleep listener, here's why you should try away. You get 100 days to try it out. You get free shipping on any away order within the contiguous US, Europe, and when you go to awaytravel.com slash no sleep and use the promo code no sleep at checkout, you get $20 off your suitcase. Away luggage. We use it

and we love it. for $20 off a suitcase, visit awaytravel.com slash no sleep and use promo code no sleep during checkout. Now, back to the show. There's a legend of a beautiful woman who, when she speaks, emits

diamonds and pearls from her mouth. This, of course, is the stuff of fairy tales. And, of course, when there's the promise of riches, there's also a roguish scoundrel in pursuit. In this tale, shared with us by author Chris Allenote, we're introduced

to that cad and the two sisters he's convinced hold the secret to the treasure. Performing this tale are David Altz, Erica Sanderson, and Penny Scott Andrews. So watch what you say, especially when your words lead treasure hunters to your door, as we discover in diamonds and pearls. I knocked on the door at the top of the hill for a long time before I stopped to reconsider my tactics. Hopefully the sisters would see reason that they were going to do what I needed them to, one way or the other. The Rose sisters lived by themselves in this modest house, which was almost a full day's ride from Bancid Downs. The intentional isolation of their home, not to mention the long, steep flight of stairs required of any visitor to climb to even reach their front door,

made it plain that the sisters did not welcome company. I was out of breath, sweating heavily and ready to break down the goddamn door at the first hint of resistance. I raised my fist, ready to pound on the door. I took a breath. No, this situation called for discretion, tact and patience, not force. Coin and manners had purchased my way thus far. perhaps a gentle approach would see me through this last obstacle as well. As important as my business was, there was no need for additional bloodshed.

I knocked firmly, but warmly, a friendly ratat-tat-tat. The wind was all the reply I got, swirling and whirling around my coattails. Diamonds and pearls, I told myself, I mustn't forget what this was about. mustn't lose sight of it, mustn't lose my temper. Tense seconds stretched into frustrating minutes. The sun sank lower behind the hills. I started pounding on the door until my hand turned red, the desperate knock of a desperate man.

Even with the reward close at hand, my patience was nearly spent. A small, rational voice in my head insisted that no one was at home, that I was wasting my time. On the other hand, if the sisters did have what I was looking for, there was no way they leave it unattended. I pounded until I thought my hand might split open, then switched to the other hand. Soon, in addition to having been bitten by the cold wind,

my hands were now red, raw and swollen, hardly the hands of a friendly traveller. Without warning, the latch finally clicked and the door opened. I swung both hands behind my back, which gave me, I thought, an unfortunate posture of looming. I raised my chin and turned on my most enduring smile. Good evening. I'm sorry if I've disturbed you. She did not return my smile. Good evening. We were at supper.

A double apology then. There was still a chance that I could get what I needed, although that chance was getting slimmer. I was so eager to visit that I completely forgot the time. I'll come back in the morning. You were quite persistent for someone claiming to be considerate. The woman's voice was kindly, but there was a shrewd look in her eye that I didn't like. Why don't you tell me why you've come, and we can decide whether it's business for tonight, tomorrow,

Or not at all. I let my smile drop. The truth then. I've come for an answer to a question, and I was hoping you'd be able to help me. My sister and I believe that the most fulfilling answers come from God. Have you tried praying on your question? Frequently, my lady, but I'm afraid that divine enlightenment has escaped me.

Perhaps you could teach me to ask in a more pleasing manner. In truth, religion hadn't done much for me, but if famed allegiance to her God would open the door, I'd bend the knee. I don't think that would be appropriate. And given the time, perhaps you had better return tomorrow. Or not at all. We cannot accept visitors after dark. Damn it. Damn God or damn whoever you'd like.

Taking a step back from her, I made to leave. "'Very well, lady. I shall return tomorrow.' She started to close the door. "'Although, wouldn't you like to know the question? One question, one answer, and you won't see me again? I'll admit I wasn't unhappy to see her composure falter. Instead of expressing relief that I was promising to leave her alone, her mouth hardened into a thin, disapproving line.

It was exactly the sort of thing I'd been hoping to see. There was truth to the rumor. I felt a fluttering in my stomach. So close now. When she replied, the lightness I was feeling turned to stone. No. You simply must return in the daytime. Already I can feel the Lord's judgment at speaking to you alone for so long, sir.

Bab, lady. Thomas Bab of Devonshire, Duke of nothing, Lord of myself. My introduction was reflexive, practiced during my years on the road, designed to charm right before I demanded their purse. The lady of the house was unamused, but didn't close the door on me yet. Never mind. I will tell you why I've come. You will decide if you can help me, and if you can't, I'll go. Her continued silence was beginning to irk me. Might we speak inside, though? The evening air has brought a chill with it.

I showed her my chapped, red hands, the implication that this was the colds doing rather than my own. That got a reaction. Her cheeks began to flush hot. You presume too much, Mr. Bab. To arrive at the home of two women at the cusp of darkness, weapon at your side and request entry, Tell me what you were to do in my position.

I withdrew my dagger from its sheath just far enough for the steel to catch a glint of the light from inside the house. What I do, if I were you, lady, is understand the situation and cooperate. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of my blade, but there was no fear in her reaction. That was new. I'd threatened and robbed over a dozen women in the past six months, and all of them, upon seeing my blade, had begun to cry and offer me everything they had. Not the lady of this house, though.

I was beginning to think I'd need to draw the dagger fully when she surprised me again by stepping to the side through the doorway, allowing me to enter. I kept my hand on the pommel of my weapon as I spared a quick glance back at my old bay horse. She was still cropping in the scrub grass at the bottom of the stone steps. Turning back to the house, I entered.

Inside the door was a large common room. The furnishings were plain enough, but looked to be of better quality than two unmarried sisters should be able to afford on their own. I didn't know yet if the women were truly royalty and exile, but it was looking more likely by the moment. I kept looking around the room wanting concrete proof of the riches I had been promised.

I looked past the lady to the elaborate stonework surrounding their heart. This is a beautiful home. It would seem that you and your sister? She nodded and her eyes widened a little. I knew more than she expected and it troubled her. It seems that you are both well cared for. The lady who had been backing away toward the far side of the room spoke for the first time since I'd entered. You were going to tell me your business and then leave.

I gave a short bow. Of course, lady. With a small flourish, I sheathed my dagger. It concerns a story. Walking toward her, I ran my foot. fingers across the high back of a chair. It begins, as so many stories do, with once upon a time. But it gets much more interesting from there. I smiled again. I couldn't help it. I'm hoping you've heard this one. It concerns two daughters and some fairy gifts. One daughter

was kind and received a wealthy gift. The other was wicked and received a curse. You mean to say, Mr. Bab, that you have threatened your way into our home based on nonsense? I thought you were brash, but now I begin to fear that you are mad. It's a mad world, lady. I strode forward, halving the distance between us. She flattened against the wall, finally afraid. My enthusiasm battled my self-control. I wanted my prize now.

But she'd be useless if she collapsed into a shuddering wreck. I took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. I apologize, lady. I have been pursuing this tale for quite some time, and to be so near the end is thrilling. Please, what is it that you want from us? With a practiced flick of my wrist, I drew my dagger. First, I want you to stop moving toward that doorway.

She flinched but didn't move again. I walked closer. Secondly, I want the girl from the story. The girl who produces diamonds and pearls from her mouth when she speaks, is that plain enough or shall I tell the whole story? The lady didn't reply, but her complexion was betraying her. Since I'd first spoken of the fairy gift, the colour had been steadily draining from her face.

Now her skin was the colour of day-old ashes. Before I could press her further, a second voice called out from behind me. Josephine, is everything all right? I heard a man's... A moment later, another woman stepped into the room. She was older than Josephine and broader a frame. In fact, she looked as if she'd be more than a match for me in a fair fight. luckily for me it wasn't about to become fair upon seeing me she moved quicker than i would have thought possible and put herself between me and her sister she scowled why are you in our house and after dark no less have you no propriety careful now i cautioned myself there were secrets to be had here but if this beast of a woman forced me to kill them both on the spot

I'd learn nothing. Instead of the dagger, I showed my smile again. Patience, lady. As I was just telling your sister, I've come to visit with the young lady of the house. I'm told she's quite gifted. And I told him he was mistaken. Josephine had taken strength from her sister's presence,

and colour was rushing back into her pale cheeks. Agnes, I didn't know what else to do. Of course he's mistaken. We haven't had so much as a visitor in months, let alone... A girl touched by the fame? Ferrys. You threaten my sister's life over fairies. Agnes stepped closer to me, brave, considering she had no weapons at all.

Even if there were such a thing as fairies, my sister and I would have nothing to do with their foulness. We believe only in the one. true God. I clucked my tongue. They were playing their roles wonderfully, but they had no idea how long I'd been searching or how much I'd sacrificed. That was a nice speech.

Pity the barman in town tells things differently. You would believe that man over us. Tell me, did he fall over drunk immediately after you spoke, or was it earlier in the day? He said, that you have been paying for things with pearls. Neither woman had an easy answer for that. I gestured at each of them in turn with my dagger.

Not only am I convinced that the girl is real, I am positive that she is living here. I stepped closer. Agnes backed up but kept herself between Josephine and me. You are wrong. The tale is just a tale. If you hurt us, it will be because you are cruel and nothing more. Agnes's head turned slightly.

She shared a glance with Josephine. They might as well have spoken their thoughts aloud. Not only was I right, but I was about to get my reward. I won't hurt anyone, and I'll be gone within the hour as soon as you've shown me the girl. What right do you have to make demands of us? Josephine moved to stand side by side with her sister. I had a sudden and ugly premonition of the two of them rushing me at once. By the right of bloody violence, I know that the girl is here, Josephine, and I will not be denied.

Agnes reacted to my familiarity, her face as wrinkled as if she was smelling something repellent. Or toy away. If you know so much about us, then you know who we are. And you must also know what shall happen to you if you harm us. You're in enough trouble as it is. When the king finds out that you've threatened his family, no place in the kingdom will be far away or dark enough to hide you from his vengeance. And there it was, from their own lips confirmation, the king's cousins.

And if that much was true, my heartbeat quickened again, and the small hairs on my neck stood erect. So close now. But Agnes's threat wasn't trivial. The king wasn't known for his sense of humor. But then again, diamonds and pearls. I reached forward and pierced Agnes' arm with my dagger. She screamed and pulled away, blood already welling and staining her wards. white shift. I closed the distance and put my empty hand to her neck, forcing her against the wall.

She was indeed strong, but fear, surprise and leverage were on my side. As an added threat, I held the point of the dagger level with her eye. The time for smiles and threats was done. I looked at Josephine while I held her sister fast. If I leave here empty-handed, I'll kill you both and burn the house to the ground. The king won't find me. if you aren't alive to tell him about me. I turned to Agnes then. With no land, no home, no title, the king may as well try to take vengeance

on a wisp of smoke. Stop! I looked back to Josephine. She was shaking and wringing her hands. Please! Agnes's voice was strained, and she struggled against my hand. I eased up, letting her breathe.

We mustn't. A promise. The promise means nothing if we're dead. And then Gwendolyn will die too. Gwendolyn, the girl had a name. But what's to stop him? She will not be swayed, sister. I don't think we need any more proof of that.

This is what he wants. Those last words were loaded with something I could. couldn't discern, some hidden meaning for her sister's hearing only. But my own attention was already onto other things, and I couldn't focus on anything except diamonds and pearls. Agnes swept her hand up with more gentleness than I would have credited her, pushing my dagger aside. You won't need this now. I had a wild, contrarian thought to cut her again for spite, but, but I had a wild, contrarian thought, to cut her again for spite, but instead I let her guide my hand down to my side, and I sheathed the dagger.

Perhaps there was still some room for manners, after all. I'm sorry that I had to... No, you're not. She wasn't threatening now, but she wasn't about to forgive either. Josephine touched my shoulder. Please, Thomas. Is there nothing we can say to change your mind? I removed her hand.

I think not. Her skin was soft and cool. It occurred to me that under different circumstances, I would have desired something quite different from Josephine. But romance could have its day tomorrow and the day after that, and the day after that, today was for my fortune. Then follow me. Take one of those candles.

She turned to her sister. See to your wounds. I'll be back soon. I paused. Things were going my way at last. But I hadn't survived years on the road by being careless. I'll need to restrain your sister before we go. You can't. She's bleeding.

I'll bind her arm first. Let me get some proper bandages then. We have some in the other. room. Be quick. Josephine looked at her sister again, then walked quickly from the room. I turned my attention to Agnes. You understand, don't you? I can't take the chance that you'll run for help the moment I leave you alone. You have to do what you must. Her expression was hard to read again, as when she'd said, this is what he wants. I didn't like it. I looked her in the eye.

What are you not telling me? We've told you everything you wanted to know. She winced then, clasping her hand tighter to her bleeding arm. And we're willing to do anything in our power, to have you leave us alone. I was about to press her further, but Josephine returned. True to her word, she carried a bowl of water and some bandages. Nothing else. No weapon at any rate. Josephine crouched nearby and began to raise up Agnes' shift. She didn't pause in her ministrations, but spoke loud enough for me to hear.

Would you please turn around? Give us a small amount of dignity after what you've taken from us today. It was a fair request, and I had no desire to look on Agnes' naked body at any rate, so I turned. It gave me time to admire the richness of the furnishings again. It couldn't be more certain that they had riches to spare. There were heavy curtains on the windows tied back with rope. Perfect. I untied the knots and kept the rope handy. The curtains fell into place and hid the three of us from the outside world.

The sisters murmured together as Josephine worked. I heard the sound of water splashing, Agnes hissing in a breath, and then the faint whisper of cloth on cloth. You can turn around now. Agnes's shift was back in place, and the water in the bowl had turned pink. I tied Agnes's arms to the chair, but didn't make them as tight as I might have for a man. I'd hurt the lady enough for one day. I looked her in the eye.

I'm trusting you'll still be here when we return. She looked back, and there was. still that oddness to her expression. I will be here. Let's get on with it, please. Josephine picked up a candle in its holder and walked toward the left side of the fireplace. I was about to question why she was walking away from the door

when she pressed on a portion of the wall and it moved, revealing the top of a staircase. I had to stop myself breathing a sigh of relief. If I'd killed them both, there was no way I would have found the hidden doorway. Josephine led the way down. Why are you so wicked, Mr. Bab? You seem well-bred, and you speak fair? It's my own business.

It came out harsher than intended, and I tried to amend it. It's a difficult tale, and I don't like telling it. In a way, though, the damage was done. Why are you wicked? A simple question, but enough to transport me back in my thoughts to events and promises long dead, but never forgotten. I remembered my landlord Botolph. The fat dootard had just enough wits to fool me, dangling the promise that my holdings would become my own upon his death, with all the rights that it afforded. I worked that thankless patch of dirt until I was manic with exhaustion, until my own wife and unborn babe perished while I was away in the field.

She had been ill for some time, but there had been nothing to do. Food was scarce and healing non-existent. By the time Botolph died, I had nothing else to live for. The corpulent bastard simply fell off his chair one night, spilling his wine as he clutched at his chest. At least he did that much for me. If he told me that the Baron had purchased my parcel of land over a year prior, I'd have gutted the man like a fish on market day. This is my life. Have it removed now?

The day of his death was the day I swore to live the rest of my life as a high woman. If I couldn't have the land and freedom, I'd have wealth. Josephine had kept her silence as we kept descending. I felt her last question as a pressure in my mind until I knew I had to answer. I lost many things, but soon I'll have enough to put things right. You say so, but this is not what you want. Whatever it is that you imagine you'll receive, you are mistaken. The steps continued and continued down into the mountain.

How far were we going? Who had dug so deeply? It's none of your concern what I think, although I think your brother was a fool to have had a fountain of wealth in his grasp and give it up so easily. She laughed then. That single, short, coughing laugh

was more penetrating than anything I'd heard from her or her sister yet. Well, is that what you think you're getting? She is a monster, created by monsters. So, first the girl didn't exist, and now she wasn't what I was looking for. I felt my face grow hot. Who was this pampered royal to tell me

what I did or didn't need? I shoved her forward. I'll be the judge of what I need, lady. Lead on. She stumbled down the last three steps to the floor below, then rounded on me. Do not put your hands on me. I'm trying to prepare you for what lies ahead.

She held the candle up so I could see her face. My sister and I have cared for this thing for three years. Are you so stupid and careless that you'd ignore my advice? I didn't have an answer for that. And all things considered, wasn't that feeling the one that had started when the sisters had acquiesced growing stronger? Something was very much a missy. here. Tell me. Let me have a drink of water first, please. Josephine had crossed the narrow hall and removed the lid of a nearby barrel. There was a dipper on a ledge near Josephine, and she filled it,

then drank. She offered it to me, and I accepted. The water was warm and tasted of earth. As we refreshed ourselves, I became aware of a sound from somewhere distant. It sounded like someone was screaming. When she'd replaced the barrel's lid and the dipper, Josephine began to walk again. You use the word fountain. It's a more apt description than you know. She never, ever stops.

When Gwendolyn was sent to live with us, she'd been married to the prince for 12 years. 11 years and 11 months of that time was spent in the dungeons. She looked over her shoulder at me. The candlelight made her features jump and dance as if she were a goblin. Imagine, Thomas, living as she does. Twelve years, with every word you speak, bringing hard, cruel stones to your mouth.

Precious as they are, what wouldn't you give for a moment's respite? I opened my mouth to reply, but she cut me off, her tone rising as her story continued. And there are the roses, as she... as well. People forget the roses when they tell her tale. But they come as often as diamonds or pearls, thorns and all. For a few moments, we walked in silence. The reality of what I was about to see was dawning on me. Not only an endless stream of precious gems, but a real flesh and blood person attached to them. Josephine kept speaking as if her tale once begun. could not be stopped.

It was Agnes that asked my brother for the keeping of Gwendolyn. After seeing his cruelty towards the poor girl, it was all we could do. So we give her food, drink, shelter, and we deny her conversation. Deny her, comp? Because she loves it. Those same fairies cast their unholy existence that gave her the gift also made her unable to be quiet. The prince tried everything to keep the stones from coming.

But by then her mind had broken. She stopped talking for a second, holding up a hand to me to wait. And now she thinks it's great, boisterous fun to speak as much as possible. As much as possible. That amounted to quite a lot of gems. If the prince had received enough wealth in just one month, I'd be a titled noble in no time. And Josephine's story was disturbing, but hardship? I'd had hardships aplenty and survived. It was a matter of personal strength. I want to see, Josephine nodded.

I understand. We walked around a corner, and she paused only once to light a torch on the wall. The walls themselves had changed in appearance. The stones that had lined them gave way to bear earth. Here and there, with increasing regularity, there were dugouts in the walls filled with bones. A catacomb. I stepped forward and slipped on something round. I staggered and reached out to steady myself. My hand came to rest on the leg bone of a former duke, and I yanked it back, wiping it on my trousers. I took a nearby torch from its sconce and held it near the floor. The flickering flame was reflected in a dozen shining objects.

I grabbed a handful of the shimmering things and studied them. There were three perfect pearls and as many diamonds lying in the palm of my hand. How can you just leave these on the ground? Josephine's warnings were already fading in my mind. It was easier to believe in cold, hard gems. Such riches, and you grind them under your feet? Take them! It's what you want.

isn't it? There are barrels of diamonds here, piles of pearls. Take them. Fill flower sacks with gems and buy a kingdom. Just please, leave Gwendolyn alone. She is not what you want, I promise you. I shone the torch up and out. There were indeed barrels lining the hallway now. God! I plunged my hand into the nearest barrel, coming out with enough stones to start my own village. But still, still, when you've spent enough time with nothing, getting some of what you need isn't enough. At least not for me, no, I had spent nearly a year chasing the story of the girl who spoke wealth. And this close to the end, this close to meeting her, nothing else would do. If I left here right now and swayed the back of my horse with enough diamonds to encrust my throne,

I'd still wonder until the end of my life, what would it have been like to have had the girl in my possession? After sea. Josephine turned away to lead, but before she did, I saw that tears had soaked her cheeks. Tears for Gwendolyn? Or tears for me? We walked along the row of barrels in silence. I thought Josephine might still be sobbing, but it was hard to tell. Josephine finally stopped in front of an iron-banded wooden door.

There were enough gems covering the ground here that we had begun to shuffle our feet so as not to slip. There was a metal panel at the base of the door. It was latched into place, but looked as if it slid up and down. My question must have been apparent on my face because Josephine explained. We give her meals through here. Fresh lanterns, too, when she wants them. Christ, they didn't even open the door for her. What was Gwendolyn, really?

I think it was seeing that simple metal panel that rattled my nerves the most. More than the ladies please, more than the truth behind the fable. Josephine put her back to the door and produced a key from around her neck. It dangled from a leather thong, unremarkable bronze catching flickers of torchlight. the key to everything. Will you kill me now? There was none of the former fear now, only quiet resolve. I took the key from her hand.

I should kill her. Once I turned my attention to Gwendolyn, Josephine could well run back to Agnes and send for an entire regiment of King's Guard to catch me. I couldn't do it. Whatever else was true, Josephine and her sister had taken in someone unwelcome, wanted at the sacrifice of their own comfort and had kept their secret for three years.

There was nobility in that, and it was worth rewarding. No, you've done all I asked, and I don't believe you'll stop me as I leave. Just a few minutes more, and you'll be free of this burden forever. Josephine nodded without taking her eyes from mine. God be with you, Thomas. And with that, she turned and started back. I watched her go and saw her turn twice to look at me, her face a nondescript pale blur in the gloom. Then she was gone.

Diamonds and pearls. I knocked on the door. There was no reply, and I became aware that sometime in the last few minutes the screaming had stopped. It was silent enough in the hallway to hear stones moving and shifting behind the door. I rapped on the door again. Gwendolyn? The voice was hoarse and low, barely sounding human, let alone feminine. I put the key in the lock and turned.

Hello, Gwendolyn. My name is Thomas. I'm coming in now. Don't be frightened. As I reached to push the door open, I noticed that my hands were trembling. The door was heavy and gave reluctantly as it shoveled thousands of gems stones out of its path. Even in the dim light which shone from a lantern hanging on a hook in the centre of the ceiling, the floor, spot, a diamond, a pearl, or a rose with every word she speaks. The reality of the fairy gift was everywhere around me. It was magnificent. Here and there, I thought I could make out something else poking up through the knee-high piles of gems.

Were those bones? Before I could take in any more of the room the door slammed shut. I screamed. There was no helping it. Gwendolyn was no woman, but a demon. Though she possessed the delicate frame of a fairy story princess, that was where all similarity ceased. Stringy ash-brown hair hung in matted clumps to her waist, with angry pink patches of scalp showing through where the hair

had been torn away. By way of clothing, the girl wore only a white linen shift, stained deep maroon in streaks coming down from the neck. None of that was why I had screamed. It was her face. Underneath wild, staring blue eyes that had quite probably been beautiful once, was a mangled horror that was no longer a mouth. Gwendolyn's lips were gone and what was left looked like strips of raw bacon stitched together with coarse black thread. Blood was caked in the indent of her chin, even as fresh trickles issued from the hole. In that instant, I gave up my hard-earned atheism and made the sign of the cross. Only in a world where God existed could such a devil exist.

Josephine! I called back over my shoulder, hating the weakness in my voice and knowing the woman was long gone. She can't hear you. The lilting words delivered in her broken voice, sent a chill across my back. Without breaking eye contact, the girl coughed. Three diamonds and a pearl spilled from her lips, along with a spattering of fresh, bright blood.

I felt her gaze like a crushing weight. I stepped back deeper into the room. But there were jewels everywhere. It was hard to find even footing. Gwendolyn stepped closer. I did then what I should have done the moment I saw her and reached from my dagger to put an end to this monster. It was a move I'd made a thousand times,

but this time the hilt snagged in my belt and Gwendolyn leapt it to be shrieking. I staggered back, still trying to pull my blade free, but the jewels beneath my feet slipped and skittered as if they were alive. My legs flew out before me, and I cried out once before landing hard on my back and losing all my wind in a single gasp. Gwendolyn dropped down on top of me, knees pinning my arms to my sides. I tried to push against the floor, but found only shifting stones that crested hard against my hands. I had nowhere else to look but into Gwendolyn's ruined face.

She was smiling. Dozens of scabs opened up around her mouth, painting. it's scarlet. You came to hear me speak, didn't you? She made a little noise in her throat, and a stream of seven pearls issued forth, rolling down her chin like drops of spittle. After the pearls, she gagged again

and reached into her mouth to pull out a perfectly formed red rose. A thorn caught at the side of her mouth that she kept it free. Fresh blood sprayed forth, and I felt the droplets on my cheek. The roses are the worst. A smile widened, and she leaned in close enough that I feared she meant to kiss me.

Instead, she pinched my nostrils shut with one hand, while her other covered my mouth. A snare. Diamonds pattered against my forehead. The girl's strength was phenomenal. I bucked against her, tried to twist my hips, but couldn't dislodge her. I tried again to reach the dagger, but gray clouds. and bright lights were already blooming in my vision. I'm dying.

An inane thought, but it repeated over and over in my head in time with the increasing beat of my heart. My chest was heaving with lack of air. My feet kicked uselessly at the gems on the floor. Without warning, she removed her hand and I gusked. That was when she began to speak in earnest. Thank you so much for coming. Thomas, was it? It's been so long since I heard any visitors. The ladies keep me company,

but they never have any use or gossip. Oh, gossip! I miss gossip. I was never one to talk about others when I lived with my father. But of course, when I lived at court, it was the most ingesting part of my day. Things being what they were, I didn't say much, and so I would hear the most wicked things. As she spoke, gems poured out of her directly into my gasping mouth. Diamonds and pearls found their way into my throat, and I coughed, sending the gems flying back at my tormentor's face. Unfazed, Gwendoly, went on. A right, Bushwoman, I would have been if it wasn't for my special tree.

Now, I tried to converse with my fair prince, but alas, I've only a few weeks of marriage. He got tired of me. He was sick of waking up and finding diamonds stuck to me back. I talk in my sleep, you know. He had me put away, and my lips sewn shut. But those fairies, their cheeks seem, they gift was stronger than any old. And soon I was chattering away like a little vampire again.

Pearls and diamonds filled my mouth faster than I could clear them out. Gwendolyn clasped my chin and held me fast. A bile-scented rose fell past my face. All the while she talked. But all that is years ago. You're here now and I'm sure we'll just be the best of them. I'm always good friends with the men that the ladies bring to me. Aren't I, Thomas?

Oh dear, shall I speak slower? Is it better? Is it? Did you get what you came before? Are you satisfied with your wretched? Are you happy? She was shouting her words now, but they sounded to me as if we'd gone underwater.

The grey flowers and purple lights had returned to my vision in earnest with centres of endless black. My cheeks swelled with hard, sharp gems. I tasted blood and didn't know if it was hers or mine. I tried one last time to scream. The gems, given a new opening, began to fill it, and the pain was unlike anything I'd ever felt before. Thoughts and memories began to flip through my mind at a breakneck pace.

My wife in her funeral shroud, my oath never again owe allegiance to another. The first whispers of the tale of Gwen. Gwendolyn, days and nights on the trail of the girl who spoke, well, Josephine's face, Josephine's words, this is not what you want. Josephine. Diamonds and pearls began to overflow my lips and run down my face, mingling with my tears. At the end, Gwendolyn must have stopped. I couldn't see or hear anything anymore and knew that I was dying.

I lay still in the darkness atop a million, million words appreciating silence. As the lights come back on, our stories come to an end. Please remember to be kind and rewind. If you would like to find out how you can hear the full-length versions

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