The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S14E02

Episode Date: February 23, 2020

It’s Episode 02 of Season 14. This week we conjure spells for you about uncovering the mysteries found in the small clues around us. “Doomsday Disease” written by Elias Witherow (Story starts around 00:05:15) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Jeff Clement Narrator – Jeff Clement, The Intruder – Jesse Cornett “You’re Killing Me, Smalls” written by Jared Roberts (Story starts around 00:42:10) Produced by: Phil Michalski Narrator – Graham Rowat, Don – Mick Wingert, Kid – Erika Sa Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Hi, I'm David Cummings, host of the No Sleep Podcast. I kind of hope you'd know that by now. We've just started our 14th season after six months of touring, Christmas episodes, ending season 13, more touring, and various administrative and technical changes. What I'm saying is, it's been a lot. Here's the thing, though, running a huge podcast is fun, super fun. It's incredibly rewarding, it's heartwarming to see the difference it makes to people. You could call it a dream job, but even dream jobs are jobs and require hard work, constant attention, and a lot of hours put in. It's totally normal to be overwhelmed by it at times. That's where services like BetterHelp can step in.

If you need someone to talk to or just to listen, they're a great option. BetterHelp will assess your needs and match you with your own licensed professional therapist. You can start communicating in under 24 hours. It's not a crisis line, it's not self-help, it's professional counseling done securely online. There's a broad range of expertise in BetterHelp's counselor network, which might not be locally available in many areas. BetterHelp service is available for clients worldwide. It doesn't matter when you need help, day or night. You can log into your account anytime and send a message to your counselor. You'll get timely and thoughtful responses. Plus, you can schedule weekly

video or phone sessions so you won't ever have to sit in an uncomfortable waiting room. Plus, you can even chat and text with your therapist between sessions. BetterHelp is committed to facilitating great therapeutic matches, so they make it easy and free to change counselors if needed. It's more affordable than traditional offline counseling, and financial aid is even available. 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.

health with the help of an experienced professional. No sleep listeners get 10% off your first month at betterhelp.com slash no sleep. So never feel like you have no right to be stressed because you have an awesome job, or even just that you have a job at all, or even the stress of not being able to find one. Everyone works hard at what they're trying to achieve, and everyone deserves a helping hand. Services like BetterHelp can offer just that. So remember, reach out for that.

helping hand by visiting betterhelp.com slash no sleep to get 10% off your first month. In our world, there is magic in the darkness. Sorcery and incantations which bring us closer to the essence of the night. Come enter our black magic shop, where we will conjure up tales to frighten and disturb. This journey will be spellbinding. Brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. Welcome visitors to the No Sleep Magic Shop. I'm your proprietor, David Cummings. This week we conjure spells for you about uncovering the mysteries found in the small clues around us.

As season 14 is in full swing now, I want to make quick mention of our new season past system we're using. I confess I should have made mention of it sooner, and I do apologize. to those fans who were caught off guard. Basically, season pass 14 will be almost exactly like previous season passes in terms of the content will provide, but we're moving from our previous Nanocast system to a fresh new system called glow. Glow, like the old system, will handle the payment and provide our members with an RSS feed, and now it will be a secure and stable feed which will work seamlessly in any podcast app or RSS reader. We're finding that almost everyone who is signed up

through the new glow system loves how quick and easy it is. So don't be alarmed if you don't see Season Pass 14 in your previous members page, or if you have questions about how to use it, send us an email at admin at the nosleeppodcast.com, and we'll make sure you're able to listen to or download the episodes as easily as you've always done. So whether you're a Season Pass member or a follower of our free episodes, we're glad you're with us for Season 14. Now, close your eyes and embrace the magic.

In our first tale, we meet a man suffering from a mysterious illness. Not knowing what's wrong with you can be very frustrating. Not knowing why there's a mysterious person monitoring you can be downright eerie. But in this tale, shared with us by author Elias Withero, we learn that even in matters of health, sometimes it's better not to know what ails you. Performing this tale are Jeff Clement and Jesse Cornett. So the seconds are ticking away for this patient, and with each passing moment his stalker gets closer,

and that's because he has doomsday disease. Night four. It's there again. I can hear it walking down the hall. It's growing impatient, I think. Whatever it is. I'm lying. in bed, the door is open, and I can hear it lumbering through the darkness. Even though I haven't

seen it, I know it's big. How do I know this? Because its footfall sounds like thunder against the hardwood floor. Because I feel the vibrations of its movements, tremble up the bedposts and shake this fragile frame. I want to get up and confront this stalker, this late-night intruder. but the sickness has me in its claws. My fever is getting worse, and tonight I can barely think straight. My forehead is thick with sweat, and the sheets beneath my shivering body are soaked through. I'm freezing, and my hair is damp against the pillow. I clutch my stomach, groaning as the intruder storms down the hall and into the bathroom.

I can hear it, shuffling through the medical cat. scream at it. My throat is tight with exhaustion, and I can't seem to find the strength to summon the words. I reach from my glass of water on the nightstand, and my fingers find its cool edges. My dismay, the glass is empty. My parched lips smashed together,

a filmy meeting that pulls at my flesh. My hands go to my stomach. I clutch my ribs and moan. Once again, it feels like my insides have ruptured and fires pouring into my guts. Why won't this virus leave me? Or whatever it is. As if on cue, the unseen visitor in my house begins to thump back down the hall toward my bedroom. Get to see it tonight.

I crane my head up off the pillow and stare out into the blank hallway. I should have left a light on. The gloom echoes as the footsteps draw nearer to the open door. Sweat rolls down my sickly face and I desperately want a drink of water. My stomach heaves suddenly and I cry out. I wrap my arms around myself and curl up into a ball. I lie there, pitifully, as the cramps contract with my torso. I grit my teeth and exhale painfully.

It feels as if I'm dying, like my guts are vomiting. Like something is growing inside of me. And I remind myself of this fact. The footsteps have moved past the door, and I've missed it again. Whatever is out there. Stalking my home remains a mystery. Somewhere in my addled mind, I knew I should be more concerned about this strange nighttime visitor.

Sickness has dulled my concern to a blunt edge. Please make it stop. Another wave of nauseous discomfort twists my insides. It feels like I've been stabbed with the biggest knife in the world. Shut the fuck up! I scream at the footsteps, now lurking toward the other end of the house. I immediately regret my outburst as an explosion of dizziness rattles my vision. I lean heavily back into my pillow and take concentrated breaths.

I squeeze my eyes shut and count to ten. Beads of syrupy sweat drool down the sides of my face. I know I can't afford another outburst like that without risk of passing out. And I don't want to do that because of those goddamn footsteps. Because through the haze of the misery, I fear them. Get out of my house. Leave me alone.

I open my eyes in the darkness. I pull off the covers, suddenly sweltering hot. The footsteps were returning. Determined to see what the source is. I prop myself up on my elbows, fighting against the biting discomfort in my stomach. Three nights of my heart, this shit. Just what the hell was stalking the hallways? Before I was convinced it was some

hallucination brought on by the overwhelming sickness that had chosen to ignore the creaking floorboards. But three consecutive nights in a row had changed my mind. Something was really in here with me. Something just beyond the veil of shadow of my bedroom door. And tonight, I would see it. My stomach rolled with agony. None of this was right. I didn't see anything last night. The thing, whatever it is, never recrossed my bedroom door.

Maybe it will tonight. If it comes back, what am I saying? Of course it will. How do I know this? because the pain of my stomach has gotten worse, and my uninvited intruder had arrived at the outset of all of this. I'm going to try and get up today, despite the pain. Just the thought is almost enough to bring tears to my eyes.

I'm not looking forward to how that's going to feel. But I need water. I need to refill my glass. I should probably eat something as well, but I don't think I'll be able to keep anything down. My gut shudders. I feel a cramp starting to develop just below my lower ribs. I brace myself for the inevitable agony, and wait.

It arrives without mercy. Bryce! My shudder, it takes a full 30 seconds to pass. It leaves me gasping for air. Whatever this is, it's getting worse. If I'm going to try to get up later, and I'm going to need as much energy as I can. So for now, I sleep. The visitor is back.

I can hear it downstairs in the kitchen. Now it's coming up the stairs. I need to get up. But I don't think I want to if that thing is going to be wandering in my hallways tonight. I shouldn't have slept so long. God, but I'm thirsty. I think feels wrong with my ribs. I feel bloated.

I feel like I've eaten and eaten and eaten. And yet there is simply not enough room in my body for the sensation. And yet, I'm starving. The thing is walking down the hallway toward me. I don't even try to look up at it. What good will it do if I know? of the source. It won't take my sickness away. I turn my head to the side and stare at the wall without warning. I sense something standing in the doorway, looking at me. Slowly, I turn to confront

the intruder. Fear settles around me, and my eyes go wide as I cast them onto the figure looking down upon me. It is completely colour. Not transparent, but totally without color. My mind kept trying to associate a shade to the form, but it simply could not. It filled the doorway, but it was not a broad thing. It was tall. Its figure shifts like moving water, and yet I can make out arms and a pair of thin legs. Its head is just a blob, an ever-contorting distortion of undetermined shape.

It hosts no eyes, no mouth, no lips, no features, nothing. It is like a colorless ghost composed of alien compost. What do you want? The thing does not move. What the fuck do you want? I prop myself up. Immediately my body revolts, and I collapse back onto my pillow, moaning as my torso pulsates with pain.

It feels like a boulder is being shoved down my chest and into my gut. Blinking sweat away. I look toward the doorway again. The thing mutters the sound. Its voice is smooth and calm, almost pleasant. Too dark. Budding dully, leaving me in confused hysteria. What are you?

I threw up earlier. I didn't even feel it coming. I simply leaned over the bed and discarded a mouthful of hot bile. It poured from my nose and throat like acid, and my face ignited against the onslaught. The pain was enough to get me to stand and fetch water from the bathroom sink. It took me the better part of an hour to do so. Wave after wave of agony rocked my body as I shuffled toward my destination.

I could hear the strange intruder behind me, down the hall. But I didn't care enough to look. I just had to get some water. When I finally made it to the sink, I practically collapsed onto it. I fumbled for the knob and turned it on. Almost crying with relief, I lowered my chapped lips and greedily lapped at the cold stream.

It was the most wonderful thing I've ever tasted. I'd consumed my fill. I realized I'd forgotten to take my glass with me. The thought of returning to the bathroom at a later time for more water made me want to weep. So, wincing, I lowered my aching body into the bathtub. I was shivering so hard by the time I did so that my teeth. teeth began to chatter. I clawed for the knob and flipped it. Water poured down over me in the shower head. The first 30 seconds were frigid hell before the heat came. And when it did, I thought I would die of euphoria.

I closed my eyes, fully clothed, and let the fabric soak through warmingly. At some point, I looked up through the stream. My nighttime visitor was watching me from the bathroom door. It was almost invisible through the rising vapors. His long body swayed slightly, and its head dipped one way and then the other. A sharp, stabbing sensation filled my stomach suddenly, and I clutched it screaming. Something rolled inside of me and then expanded. It was the most unpleasant feeling I had.

ever suffered. I felt my insides pop, and then something sharp collided with the inside of my lower rib cage, an angular edge that I could physically see, jutting out and stretching my skin. I clawed at the odd protruding shape in my body. Stop it! Stop doing this to me! The intruder didn't move from the doorway, but it spoke again. I stood beneath the tide of hot water. Are you talking about? What are you?

What are you? The shimmering shape didn't respond. Just watched with eyes that weren't there. Are you doing this to me? I felt the thing in my body continued to grow outward. Fuck you! Night seven. I woke up with the shower

still running. I didn't care. The water remained hot and my teeth still chattered. Christ, I wanted to die. My eyes traveled down my body and I felt like I would scream if I wasn't so exhausted. Slowly, I pulled my shirt up to get a better look. Something rose from underneath my skin. a blocky, square shape that occupied the entirety of my abdomen. It looked like a cartoon where a character eats something and it can torch the shape of their body in a comical fashion. And not only was the abnormality shockingly visible, but I could feel it as well.

With every beat of my heart, a tiny jolt ran through my torso. It was insistent and it was endless. Shock held me in its grasp as I gazed down at the jutting mass, hidden beneath my skin. What the hell was happening to me? Snapped up toward the corner of the bathroom. The intruder stood watching me, hidden behind a layer of steam. Its voice was eerily calm. Wrong with me.

Tried to sit up. Failed. And then succeeded on my second attempt. I flipped the water off and felt my hair fall in strands across my eyes. I gripped the jutting corners of my extended skin. Whatever was inside. It's inside of me. What's happening?

This is? I winced as my head thundered. Another heartbeat bringing with it that strange, jolting sensation. Of course I do. What is it? How do I get it out? I gripped at the edge of the bathtub as water continued to fall on me. The intruder shimmered, and his head shifted slightly. It is the same as all the others.

I felt myself growing furious beneath the pain. Pocking some goddamn sense. Can't you see it? I'm dying. The fuck are you talking about? I slammed my hand down. Pain rocketed through me, and I

buckled beneath a shuddering dizziness. Every world has one. And so for my alien pregnancy. This... This is what you're looking for? That is correct.

Is it? The intruder made it odd noise that sounded like a sigh, then it spoke, its voice gentle and carefully measured. It reveals how much time this world has before it perishes. Saying that! I was unable to understand what this thing was talking. A prophet of doom?

The world's perishing? The intruder didn't acknowledge my outburst. It is hidden in great city. but this... I yelled, knowing I shouldn't. Feeling myself buckle with sickness and fatigue.

The intruder came over to my side. It's bizarre, colorless form shifting and swaying down at me. I'm not supposed to interact. I just need to chronicle how much time is left. You see? As the mass inside of me

expanded once more. I watched as my skin stretched, the protruding corners, pulling my flesh tight against it. I felt like I would burst. The pain was almost unbearable. The intruder didn't move. Can't you do something to help me? I lashed out with my fist. The intruder flew backwards, like a channel of colorless water, and then realigned. Its form could. joining once again. It expires.

Like this? Until I die? It's insane. This isn't happening. Fever dream. And none of this is real. I can't live like this. The pain.

Jesus, the pain is overwhelming. I felt as if I would... Exploding open to reveal a belly full of knives. Time is left. You seem like you've been doing this. Right? Tell me. There is no way of knowledge.

Fuck out! Rocked. I felt my body expand once again. And then, mercifully, I gripped the bathroom sink. The weight of my gut pulled me towards the floor. Unbearable agony pulsed through me with every breath. My eyes watered, and my throat felt raw.

My knuckles were white against the sink as I tried to remain standing. My legs felt like jello and my knees trembled. Horrified, I looked down at the abomination jutting from inside of me. It looked like I had swallowed a box made of iron, the sharp corners pinching the insides of my stomach and pressing against my ribs. How was I still alive? How could any of this be happening? The intruder wandering the house.

Heavy footsteps patrolled the hallway outside, and I felt a sudden urge to scream. Had I the strength, I would have. My eyes returned to the mirror over the sink. If only I knew. If only I had some kind of rational explanation for what was happening to me. Then counting down inside of me, each passing second bringing with it a quiver of sharp discomfort.

I stared into my bloodshot eyes. Sweat rolled down my greasy face in thick droplets. My skin was sickly pale and heavy bags clung beneath my eyes. I fucking hated my life. I hated everything about it. I hated the pain. I hated the intruder. I hated the sickness that coursed through me.

I didn't want to die. I didn't want to keep living either. The past couple days had been a conglomeration of madness and misery, and I just wanted it to end. What are you talking about? Miserably sick, and you're trying to cope with impossibility. This will pass. But it wasn't passing.

It had been over a week since my health had started to decline. Each day had brought new discomfort and agony. Leave? Oh yes. I had tried that. But the intruder wouldn't allow it. Not until it could see the horror growing inside of me. Not until it fucking chronicled it.

I had tried just this morning to leave, to go see a doctor. But the intruder had stopped me. Well, it never touched me. No. It had just stood in front of the door, unmoving. I'd wanted to push past it to flee. But as I approached its form, stomach screaming, I felt something come over me.

It was this feeling, this awful, terrible sensation that emanated from the intruder's figure. It was this suffocating negativity, this horrific desire to do harm to myself. I had stopped, almost completely overpowered by the sensation. I knew that if I walked any closer, then the feeling would overtake me and I would be powerless to it. And so I lumbered back up to the bathroom, where I stood now, contemplating the only option I seemingly had left. I opened the medicine cabinet and retrieved the straight razor I used to shave with.

It looked like it had been cleaned and oiled recently. That bastard! It knew, cried, tears running down my face. I stared at myself in the mirror. A pitiful, pained man. I placed the razor's edge across my stomach. Just to pee, I just had to see how much longer I would have to suffer. I couldn't take the mystery anymore.

I would go mad if I didn't know. Just give me an end, a date in which I could hope and pray for. Myself, I pulled the razor across my naked flesh, bringing with it a sudden losing red line. I gasped the pain unexpectedly different from what I imagined. I grit my teeth, body shaking with repulsion and fear. The razor blade traveling with. with terrifying finality. I screamed, crying,

handshaking so bad I almost dropped the razor. I could feel the folds of my stomach parting. I could feel the blood pouring down my body. I could sense a sudden presence behind me. I could see the intruder in the mirror at the bathroom door. watching me. Is this what you want?

To the razor blade the final distance. You want to look inside? Do you? Unanswer. It simply watched me through the reflection. I cast the razor aside and felt something empty from my gut and spill onto the floor.

It was a viscous, gray slime that splashed and cold. boiled onto the tile like wet clay. I vomited and slumped against the sink, my legs threatening to give way. I couldn't go down. Not yet. Not until I had seen.

I had to see. Just one look. God damn it. Just one look. Crying. Screaming. Mowing, I pushed myself up to look into the mirror one last time. I dug my hands into my parted flesh, bellowing.

I pulled my severed stomach apart from inside my belly. Plus a clock. It's green numbers, glowing vibrantly through the blood, much sucking in a labored breath. I focused on the numbers. Truder at my back. Vanished. Its presence evaporating.

Kiss Jackson. For those who know me, I'm prone to mishaps, disasters, and pratfalls. I've dealt with everything from vengeful ghosts to being trapped in a bunker to having a meteorite land on my head. That's why I no longer leave the secure secret location I've made my home. This became a problem, though, when I realized I'd have. have to leave to get groceries. That's when I remembered, Hello Fresh, America's number one meal kit. Get mouth-watering seasonal recipes and pre-measured ingredients delivered right to your door.

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The packaging HelloFresh uses to ship your food is almost entirely made from recycling. and or already recycled content. HelloFresh has introduced me to some of my favorite recipes, like their delicious bacony French onion soup burgers, or my personal favorite, firecracker meatballs. HelloFresh is already America's best value meal kit, but right now you can go to hellofresh.com slash no sleep 80 and use code no sleep 80 for 10 free meals, including free shipping.

That's hellofresh.com slash no sleep. Sleep 80 and use code No Sleep 80 for 10 free meals, including free shipping. Cook at home. Cook with Hello Fresh. We all know that one person who tells wild stories. No, I don't mean me. I mean the kind of person who happens to have seen everything, experienced everything, done everything, and lived an extraordinary remarkable life. But in this tale, shared with us by author Jared Roberts,

We find out that very occasionally those tall-tale tellers are telling the truth. Performing this tale are Graham Rowett, Mick Wingert, Erica Sanderson, and Aaron Lillis. So it might seem like your neighbor's life was made up obscene from a beloved children's movie. But listen closely, because some details might have changed in the retelling, and you might find yourself saying, you're killing me, Smalls. Don Smalls came over and introduced himself to us before we even stepped out of the U-Haul. Told us to call him Scotty, and he hoped I'd come join him for a beer the next night. I like nice people.

I like beer, and I didn't know anyone in North Dakota yet, so I figured, why not? We got along great, actually. We decided to make it a regular thing. Once a week, I'd have a beer with him, and we'd stay up talking about everything. All the stuff I couldn't talk to anybody else about. The deep stuff. Dawn was nearly 70, twice my age, lived alone as a widower, kept an English mastiff that was three paws in the grave, and loved baseball. I was always a hockey guy, but I still admired the precision of baseball. Hanging around with Dawn, I got into it.

No specific team. All baseball is good baseball for Don Scotty Smalls. After hanging around with Dawn for a few months, I started to find it strange how he didn't have any friends. Everybody seemed to know him. They even seemed to like him. And I was his only friend. Correction. I didn't find it strange. My wife found it strange. Then she pointed it out to me. I was comfortable enough with him. I figured I'll just ask him. Heck, I almost looked at him like a dad by that point, or at least an uncle. Well, I had friends once. Best damn group of friends you could ask for. Things happened and we went our separate ways. Well, after that, I had my wife, but I never found friends like that again.

I saw his eyes glaze over, and his face seemed at once younger and older. I don't know how it's possible. That was over 50 years ago. It's all changed, all lost, except the memories, of course. Don't you wish you could just capture some times in a snow globe and have them forever? I'd hit that age where you start reflecting wistfully and nostalgically on. your past, how much time has gone between thens and now's, how much it all changes and is gone. I couldn't talk to my wife about those things. I talked to myself. Bottleed it up, so I knew exactly

what Don meant. His eyes lit up again, like he could sense what I was thinking. Memories need to be shared. When you hoard memories, they become heavy and sour. Shared, they have you walking on air, because they're alive somehow. You just have to find someone to share them with. Someone who listens, understands, or can remember along. I could do the first two of those. He got so excited. He was like a kid. His eyes were sprightly. His mouth trapped in a youthful grin. He brought in more beer and a pack of his precious moose meat jerky. Unlike memories, moose jerky does not need to be shared. Okay, let me tell you about this one time. Now, We used to spend most days playing ball in this little patch of poverty with a diamond scratched into the Johnson grass.

Pretty much all day, that's all we did. This one day, it had to be 150 outside. It was so hot. Couldn't get a pitch because of all of the sweat. Only Benny wanted to play. He always wanted to play, but he was overruled. We decided we're going to the pool. And my pal, the little squirt we called squintz. At this point in his story, my inner voice is saying,

No, there's no way he's going to say what I think he's going to say. Yet, was there any doubt? Well, Squintz pretends he's drowning at the pool. He has the huts for the lifeguard, Wendy Watser face. She does her job and saves the little guy. Well, he's not breathing, see? So it's time for some mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. He rams his tongue down her throat.

She was furious. We got banned for life. If you asked him, it was worth it. I couldn't believe it. I wondered if this friend I'd grown so close to was a pathological liar. Did you think I wouldn't know? Everyone saw the sandlot when I was a kid over and over. He just described a scene from the movie.

Then I worried he might have dementia and saying something would upset him. So I played along, laughed at his story, acted like I'd never heard such a thing. Then he starts in on another story. Again, his eyes are twinkling with excitement. It's genuine. He's not lying. Not intentionally. He believes what he's saying.

I was sure of that. Oh, you have to hear this one. We just whoop these fancy pants kids who showed up talking trash. You celebrate that kind of thing, you know. Our pal Bertram got a whole bag of chewing tobacco. So we could be like real ballplayers. Now, we didn't know what we were doing. You'd think we'd stood there and shoot it on the field?

No, sir. We decided to do it at the carnival. And then you all got sick on the rides, ruined your clothes and some girls' dresses while you were at it. It's some story. I couldn't help it. Don looked at me like I was the devil himself. I have expected him to run for a shotgun.

His hand started shaking, so he had to put his beer down. How could you have known that? I never told you that story. Did I tell you that story? Am I getting the Alzheimer's? Are you one of them? I felt bad seeing him react like that. I still didn't know what ground I was on,

but I took a chance with the truth. I've seen the movie, Scotty. The Sandlot. About Scotty Smolls and the great friends he made playing baseball, eating smores. I can't believe I didn't make the connections before now. Smoors.

He spoke with a mixture of nostalgia and what struck me as horror. His dog stirred in its bed. The dog's name was Smoors. How did I miss it for so long? Smoors. Scotty Smalls. Baseball. I remember when I first learned about Smoors.

Everyone loves that scene. When Ham teaches Smalls what Smoors are and at first Smals has no idea what the heck he's talking about? That's my life. That wasn't anyone else's to share? His face was suddenly red with upset. It occurred to me that I'd never seen Don angry before, ever. And why? Why love that scene? It wasn't a happy night.

After serving up the first s'mores, Ham said he'd seen me. I'd laughed. Of course he'd seen me. I'm not a ghost. He shook his head. Not like him to use his words, you know. He said he'd seen me in his room the night before. Why were you in my room, Smalls? he asked. His hand is shaking too much to roast his marshmallow, and his eyes glistened in the candlelight. What is this?

The sudden variation from the script hit me like a punch. He says he saw me watching him and moving. Moving around, that was his phrase. Why were you moving around like that? He asked in a shriek I'd never heard. before. I swore till my teeth hurt that I was not in his room. Well, the more I swore, the more he fixated. Just moving around, he says, like he can see it, and it's scaring him right there. He's so white as freckles look like blood. Moving around, like...

Just listened on, not talking. I think they were scared, too. Then Ham just let it go. Stayed quiet the rest of the night, but so did the rest of us that night. I was surprised to find myself shaking, too. Don had gotten so into the telling, like he was describing something he was seeing. I guess then my old friend really did have dementia. With any luck, he'd forget this whole line of conversation

and go back to reality, because it was freaking me out. But no, he said he could prove he was who he claimed to be. I protested, told him that wasn't necessary, but he called my bullshit. He went to another room, the one he keeps closed, just past his bathroom. He rustled around in there for a few minutes while I helped myself to another beer. He came back with a ball signed by all the 1927 Yankees, pictures of him and the gang, and they did resemble the kids in the movie, and a pair of antique PF Flyers.

Look here, that's Wendy What's-a-F face. Squintzance wanted this picture because you can see down her top. But it was my dad's camera. Here we are ready to play ball. Here's Benny. Benny again. I was in love with Benny, you know. I nodded like it all made sense. I was stunned by the resemblance.

Picture after picture. It was uncannily like the movie. Yet no doubt the pictures were authentic. I was starting to believe him. My friend was the real Scotty Smalls, relocated from California to North Dakota. Someone had taken the liberty of turning his life into a movie without telling him. It was possible, right?

Here's no man's land where the beast lived. Still, after all this time, I wake up screaming when I dream of that place. I stopped him there. Screaming? I told him how much I love that part of the movie. When Benny goes over the fence for the ball, and there's a big chase, and it turns out, spoiler alert, the beast is a sweetheart named Hercules and becomes their official mascot.

Oh, that's not what happened. That's ass over tea kettle wrong. I waited. I needed to know. How wrong. He had a pained look. He didn't want to talk about it. I looked at the picture of no man's land.

Something about it gave me the chills. It wasn't dissimilar to the yard in the movie. there was just something else. You get close to that place and you'd start to get sick, especially if you touch the fence. You'd feel yourself getting dizzy. Then you'd vomit.

And you're out the rest of the day. Our hair would fall out for a few days if we got too close. Any ball popped that way was lost for good. Our watches wouldn't work neither. The twins had complained it'd hurt their fillings. Things had a way of going there, like it pulled them. Something else about that house.

That house had changed. Nobody noticed but us. Some days, it was a squat green house with a rusty back porch and a loose door, and that door'd squeal in the wind like a dying pig. Others, it'd be a two-story red house, had a strange weather vein on top, and we could see birds dying in the gutters. But sometimes we'd look at it, and it was all blurry,

out of focus, as they'd say. Imagine that. The wind was picking up outside. It was night. The sounds of the house seemed menacing with this story fresh in my mind. I was feeling a general sense of anxiety as Don's childhood encroached on mine.

I couldn't even finish my jerky. Didn't matter that I didn't, couldn't believe him literally. It was eerie, and he believed it. He went on like he had to get it all out now while he could. First time I heard about the beast was in the old tree house. Now, we were having a sleepover. The whole lot of us packed up in there. The ham had a nice setup.

We looked out one of the windows and saw the land it overlooked. That yard. It didn't seem to belong in the neighborhood at all. The soil was all wrong. Everything about it was, the rocks and debris strewn around the yard in a pattern. It was like that stonehenge or one of those. Like it had a purpose. That's what I'd seen in the picture.

A pattern in the yard's debris. A meaningless and yet disturbing pattern. Ham yelled at me, Don't look at it. It gets in your head. Well, I was an inquisitive little fucker, so I started asking what the bill is. Shut up, small, as he says, and hands me another marshmallow. Squintz, though, I think he was waiting for a moment like that. He had us all shut up so he could tell his story.

I stretched out with my head in Benny's lap and listened. Now, Squintz's dad was the neighborhood drunk. Everyone knew it. We felt bad for Squids. He tells us that night, you know why Dad drinks so much? Because of that place, he says. He says his dad worked for the city,

got called out to the house on complaints about the dog. Quit his job soon after, never talked about it, until he got real drunk. Then he'd say, there wasn't no dog. Other times he'd rant that there was a magnet inside more powerful than anything. and the people in there were aliens. Well, that's when we'd had enough and threw our marshmallows at squits. But it stuck with me.

There wasn't no dog. About this time, a fellow in a suit came by the lot while we were playing. He called for Benny by name. We all come running. He says to Benjamin that he's a talent scout, and Benny's been spotted. Once you've been spotted, well, boy, stick a fork in you. you're done. The man said it like he'd said it a hundred thousand times.

The man took Benny aside and they had a long chat. Benny came back to tell us he had to go. Tryouts, testing, training to prepare for his career. Career, we were still eating s'mores in a tree house. I begged belly not to go. I told him something wasn't right. But he said he had to. They got into a white Toyota.

and drove off. When Benny came back, he was different. I mean, he looked the same, sounded the same, but he smelled like, like mold. He never smelled like that before. Now, always. And he felt different. Oh, he could swing better, I don't think he ever missed after that. But when he wasn't playing ball, he milled around,

stared directly at the sun like he was. the sun like he was waiting for something. We told him he'd go blind that way. It didn't seem to affect me, many. I said to the others, there's something wrong with Benny. They did something to them. They changed them. They told me I was jealous, and he was the same old Benny and to knock it off. They wouldn't listen. We had our last night in the treehouse as a group right around there. Everything was falling apart already. Benny stared into the candlelight the whole night. Seemed agitated.

We barely talked and ate marshmallows more out of tradition than wanting. I woke up when I heard someone slipping down from the treehouse. My first thought was Benny. I grabbed Ham's flashlight and looked out. I heard squintz behind me ask, who is it? Then we heard Ham down below, shouting. Smalls, what are you doing? I saw his shape running through the sandlot.

I tried to follow him with the flashlight, but it wasn't strong enough. Where's he going, Kenny asked. We were all waking up now. Smalls, he shouted. Get back! He's chasing someone, Squint says. I tried calling out to him. We all did. He ran right up to the fence and slipped through. Must have found a loose panel.

It wasn't a cold night, but we were all shivering and hoddling together. It didn't help. We heard Ham shriek. You're killing me, small! Waited and waited for something else until the sun started to rise. We went to Ham's mother and told her everything. She shook her head and informed us Ham came in at night running a fever. He's very sick and won't be coming out.

says. We walked away thinking we were... We went to playing baseball as normal. With Benny swinging better, we were losing a lot more balls to no man's land. To the point where one day we had no more balls. Except I knew one ball I could get my grubby paws on. The one in my dad's trophy case signed by Babe Ruth. I didn't care, though. We were baseball crazy.

And I needed Benny to like that. me. Naturally, Benny hits the ball right into the beast's territory, first shot. When I tell the others just what ball we hit over there and how I have to get it back, they kindly informed me of just how many ways till Sunday I was screwed. That's when they told me there had been others before me. Join the group. Went over that fence for a ball, never came back. Come on, I say. They're just trying to scare me, right? You're not the first Smalls, Bertram said. The others nodded.

Kenny said they got a new Smalls every few months. They joked that the yard must be full of smalls and balls. I argued with them. They had to mean a new kid. No. They insisted the kid was always named Smalls. They looked embarrassed. said they thought we were all related.

I felt a strange sensation of being in someone else's dream. This terrible emptiness. I asked them, well, did the others look like me? They shrugged like they didn't know. These smart asses have an answer for everything, and they can't answer that. But I knew I was a unique person. I had and still have.

my memories, hopes and dreams. I tell them so. They shrugged again. We were standing close enough to the fence at this point. We were all feeling a little ill. That must be it, I tell myself. Get me another beer, would you? I'm getting dry. I was glad for the interruption. It's difficult to explain how I felt. It wasn't just that what Don was saying was insane. It's that it was ruining my childhood memories. I loved that movie. I'd always wanted that to be me, except with less baseball. It didn't feel like Don was lying. It felt like the movie lied. I got myself a beer, too. I'd never be able to say, you're killing me, Smalls, without a shudder again. Anyway, they said I was their favorite Smalls yet. I said if they wanted to keep me, we'd better get that ball. As usual, they'd

deferred to Benny. He was staring at the sun again. Ham elbowed him, but he just kept staring into the sun. He mullered something. I got up close. I never told the others what he was saying, but I heard him. He was saying, it's too dark, over and over. I held his hand. He answered by belting out, Get the ball! Oh, I let go and backed away. And he went back to the sun. I suggested we go around the front and knock. That was quickly ruled out as an option.

We had to retrieve the ball unseen, or else they assured me there'd be consequences. Well, what kind of consequences? Well, they didn't know for sure. The bad kind. Our first thought was a stick. We'd use a mirror. on one stick which Squintz would hold and another stick with a catcher's mitt.

That was in the movie. Oh. Well, you know that it didn't work then. Yeah, Squintz was holding the stick and got lesions all over his hands because he couldn't pull the ball back. We decided to lower me down from the treehouse. I didn't want to do it. But it was my responsibility, see?

I started getting sick on the way down. It wasn't the harness pressing against my belly or the swinging motion, it was that place. I vomited into the yard, made the guys lose their grip, and I dropped the rest of the way. Once on my feet, it didn't feel so bad. Like I was past the hard part.

I stood there for a while. Like an astronaut, landing on the moon. Gravity here? Then the chain movement. I felt warmth trickled down one leg, but I couldn't move. I could hear yelling like it was coming from miles away. Grab the ball and get out! Then I was yanked out.

My heart was still beating out of my chest. That's when Benny suddenly asked what we were doing, like he hadn't been there all day. We told him getting the damn ball you knocked to him. over there. He nods and shimmies up over the fence like it was nothing. Nothing. We watch from the treehouse.

He grabs the chain and pulls on it. Oh, we figure he's done. But an empty leash comes back. Is it loose? But what made the chain move earlier? Instead of grabbing the ball, he walks up to the old aluminum and plywood shed and just disappears into it.

It's besoughted for him to come. come back. No answer. Flash through all the horrible possibilities. The shed was full of rattlesnakes and spiders. The dog was hiding inside and tore out his throat. He fell head first into a bear trap. When we saw he wasn't coming back, we lost it. We charged the fence all at once. It collapsed with a god-awful racket. We stood still while silence resumed, waiting for the mysterious Mr. Myrtle to finish us off. But he never came. Together we approached the old shed,

and we all felt it. An illness down to our molecules. A hum that resonated in our heads. It was an evil, sickly sound. Ham shone the pocket light he was so proud of into the shed. No tools or gardening equipment. No baseballs, no bodies, definitely no dog. Also, no Benny.

The shed was basically empty. How is this possible, one of us asked. Then Squintz noticed something. There was part of the shed where it stayed dark, even with the light pointed at it. Kenny thought it was a hole at first, A hole that sucks in all the balls, and now Benny. It wasn't a hole, though.

It was just a triangular patch of dark. And then, just like that, as we watched, it was gone. And a wisp of smoke flashed past our faces with a grove. We all felt it. We talked about it later. At the time, we said nothing. Sorrow just overwhelmed us. We walked away from the shed feeling we would never see Benny again.

I told them, I'm knocking. They were too miserable to argue. They let me go. My legs wobbly, I approached and knocked on the front door. The gang had followed at a distance. Their faces looked green from the reflection of the sighting. The door opened, and there stood a youngish man with a suit. I could see others behind him, also dressed like they're at the office.

The inside didn't look like a house at all. It was blinding white, with no real furniture, like a pharmacy. Painted on one wall in black was M-R-T-L-3. We're not buying, the man said slowly, carefully, like he thought I didn't know English. I just blurted out everything. The ball, Benny, the dog. He listened soberly and glanced back at his associates.

He went back into the house and came out with this ball, signed by the 1927 Yankees. He handed it to me and said, This is a replacement ball of equal to or greater value. Then slam the door in my face. I pounded the door over and over again. I could hear someone coming to the door, but before they could open,

I felt myself being pulled away from my face. And as we got further away, I could see the house was red and the weather vane was spinning. On the next day, that place was deserted. Backyard plowed over. A crane was loading some large device from the rubble into a truck. We tried to tell the adults in our lives what we thought we knew. They thought we'd found some reefer. So we all did what we could do. We tried to move on.

Forget it. Do the things we used to do. It just wasn't the same. Never would be the same. We stopped spending time together. Stopped baseball. Stop thinking about it. I'd had enough beers by then.

My mind was hazy. There are a lot of questions I could have and should have asked. I did at least get out the biggest one. What about Benny? Run away. That's what they said. Those talent scouts never came looking for him. He was gone before he was ever gone anyway. That wasn't Benny at the end. Never saw him again. Or ham. We heard he passed away about a month after. It was a closed casket. Don said his stepdad took him and his mother to Washington soon after. He was glad to leave

and never looked back. But friendship isn't something you forget. There are a few perfect moments when you have a good group of friends before everything starts to change. And those moments feed you for the rest of your life. I left Dawn's house that night, feeling the world was smaller and stranger than I ever knew.

I wanted to tell someone, but who would believe me? I barely believed it. When I got settled in with some tea, I re-watched the sandlot, looking for clues, I guess. I don't know. If even half of what Don said was true, what would be the point of making a nostalgic, sanitized movie based on his life's story without his consent? And if none of what he said was true, why make such a story up? He's never lied about anything else. The next week when I went to chill with Don, as usual, his packed suitcase was at the door. he handed me his house keys without a word.

I had to ask him what was going on. He said he couldn't stop thinking about it. Since that night, it was all he could think of. I have to go back. See it again. There's something I'm missing, something that was right in front of me. He already had a plane ticket. All he needed was for me to look after smores and the house.

I assured him I'd be glad to, but I didn't think going back was a good idea. I'll be fine. He gave me a reassuring, but fake, grin. That was on Monday. Smores, as you recall, was pretty close to giving up the ghost. He rarely got up except to eat and excrete. Thursday, at 9.34 p.m., he became extremely agitated.

He paced from room to room panting, looking. At first I thought he heard something, or maybe just missed dawn, but I felt it too. Something was wrong. Dawn should have been back, or at least called. So that weekend, after arguing with my wife, I left smores with her and began the long drive to find Dawn. I had to dig through his papers for the address. I was nervous, and my hopes were low.

I didn't know what I was looking for, really. I was so tired when I got there, I had to pull over and sleep. I woke up to see I was parked outside a new complex, the Myrtle Creek Apartments. Behind it, an overgrown, empty lot. I felt it. This was the place. I got out of the car to look around.

I had no other leads. I walked to the back of the apartments. The chain-link fence was torn in spots. I stepped through into the Johnson grass. I could just make out the diamond worn into it. I was there. I was in the sandlot. I could see a wheelless Toyota rusting at the point.

perimeter. A group of children came hopping into the field, almost single file, until they got to the diamond. Then they saw me and came to an abrupt halt. There they stood, and they watched me. I called out to them and waved. They didn't say or do anything. They kept staring. They hated me. It was an undisguised resentment. I'd invaded their lot. It made me nervous. Sound stupid. to be scared of children, but they weren't behaving right. All yours. I went back the way I came. Once I was out of their space, I heard one of them shout.

You're up, Smalls? I looked back to see a freckly blonde boy run up to the batters plate. Smoles. They got ready to play around in the grass and rust. I'd seen enough. I felt like I was being watched. I thought it was the children, but I still felt it. That's when I saw the man on the balcony.

I called to him and asked if he'd seen dawn, gave him a rough description. He didn't even let me finish. He's gone back. I could see he was blind, so much for being watched. I couldn't believe it. If I'd driven all that way for nothing. When did he leave? Leave.

I heard a chain moving, the sound of the chain dragging across the linoleum swiftly. I noticed the blind man was wearing so. some ancient PF flyers, just like Don's. When I looked back at his face, I caught a strange smirk. I'm here. Don. He walked onto the balcony behind the blind man. He looked okay, but none of this felt okay.

Go back to North Dakota and forget everything I told you. It's fine. Look, this is Benny, and he's fine. What's going on? I have to stay here. It's where I belong. What about s'mores? You're home.

You have to put those things in perspective. I heard the kids laughing in the sandlot. Just normal kids, I had to tell myself. But when I looked, they were standing in a line, laughing like they were at an audition for the role of laughing child number two. You'd better go. Benny was already closing the door anyway. I couldn't think of anything to say as the glass door slid shut and the curtains were pulled.

I walked sluggishly back to my car. As I prepared to drive away, a nosy neighbor came out of her house, sashaying toward me in unflattering shorts and crocs. You don't want a room there. I tell everyone who comes here. That place, you ever seen Poldergeist? They dug up all those bodies there to build it. All kids' bodies.

They're not required to disclose, so I disclose. Balls and smalls. I went back home. I couldn't force Don to come with me. He seemed happy, I guess. I think he was happier drinking beer with me in smores, but maybe I was just being selfish. I sent a postcard when smores at last pine for the fjords.

It was returned. I never went back, never saw Dawn again. Real smalls or not, I miss the guy, but I try to focus on the future now. Never know what you'll find in the past. The spells are wearing off for now, but the magic will linger. The shop will be open again next week with more spells to enchant you. If you would like to find out how you can hear the full-length versions of our audio program,

please visit the no-sleeppodcast.com to learn about our season. and past program. On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast, we thank you for listening. This audio production is copyright 2020 by Creative Reason Media, Inc. All rights reserved. The copyrights for each story

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