The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S14E12

Episode Date: May 3, 2020

It’s Episode 12 of Season 14. This week we conjure spells for you about the terrifying things we can ingest into our bodies and minds. “A Husband’s Needs” written by C.J. Robinson (Story starts around 00:05:20) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Mick Wingert, Mrs. Crowley – Erin Lillis “I Asked for New Parents and Got Them” written by Mr. Michael Squid (Story starts around 00:18:15) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Matt Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

What's up gamers? It's me, your pal Mythign No Scope 360 here. If you remember a recent stream, you'll recall we had a bit of a technical snafu. And no, I'm not talking about the time I tried to put a cushion up my shirt and accidentally exposed myself to millions of viewers. I am, of course, talking about the fact that I was about to take an epic dub and zombies came crashing into my gamer pad. I'd like to apologize for the lack of gaming content lately. I've mostly been vlogging my escape from the zombie-ridden city. Avoiding zombies, teaming up with survivors, being double-crossed by survivors, avoiding survivors. But anyway, look around.

Hold on, let me give it a panoramic view. See? That's right, folks. We found a safe spot on the top of this hill in the middle of nowhere in the countryside. No one dead for miles around. So that can mean only one thing. Back to gaming. But how, you ask?

Surely you can't afford to waste your expensive data on streaming games. Wrong. Have you looked at your wireless bill lately? You're probably paying too much. It's 2020. Network coverage is better than ever, no matter your wireless provider. So why pay more for the same service? That's where Mint Mobile comes in.

They can cut your bill down to 15 bucks a month for the same premium coverage. I know what you're thinking. This is too good to be true. But those guys know what they're doing. I've had great coverage for a while now, regardless of my provider. But it was only when I switched to Mint Mobile that I started saving amazing amounts of money. Your old wireless bill pays for expensive retail stores and overhead. That's why Mint Mobile reimagined how you buy wireless and made it all online,

passing the savings directly to you. Mint Mobile makes it easy to cut your wireless bill down to just $15 a month. And every plan comes with unlimited nationwide talk and tax plus crazy fast-fast G-LTE. And that crazy fast 4GLTE is going to come in so handy when I'm poning noobs. Use your own phone with any Mint Mobile plan and keep your same phone number along with all your existing contacts. And if you're not 100% satisfied, Mint Mobile has you covered with their seven-day money-back guarantee. So let's boot up my game of choice. Zombie Slayer Pro. And let's kick some undead at... Huh? The screen's blank.

While we wait for it to load, let me tell you this. To get your new wireless plan for just 15 bucks a month and get the plan shipped to your door for free, go to mintmobile.com slash no sleep. That's mintmobile.com slash no sleep. Wait a minute. This isn't the game. They're here. The zombies are here. They found me.

Maybe you'd chill out if you cut your wireless bill to 15 bucks a month at mintmobile.com slash no sleep. No, no, don't bite you. me, Mythic Noscope 360 will remember this. Remember, that's mintmobile.com slash no sleep. Peace out, gamers. 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 the terrifying things we can ingest into our bodies and minds. I want to extend a warm thank you to all of you who helped support the Potapalooza project. last weekend. It was a rousing success. More than 70 podcasts contributed special episodes of their

shows, including us, and the live streams were a lot of fun. And if you happen to miss it, it's not too late. Just go to plza.org and check it out. It's pay what you can, and all the proceeds go to help those hit hardest by COVID-19. And if you're looking for people who've been hit hardest by horror have we got some stories for you. Now, close your eyes and embrace the magic. In our first tale, we're reminded of the old adage that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. At least that's how it goes. But when you're trying and failing to please your husband through your culinary skills, it can be an emotionally devastating experience. In this tale, shared with us by author C.J. Robinson,

we meet a woman whose desire to please has been exacerbated by the side effects of the medication she's taking. Performing this tale are Mick Wingert and Aaron Lillis. So don't stop trying to produce that perfect dish, let no menu seem too daunting. After all, don't you want to meet a husband's needs? No, now it was the side effects.

Her left hand nervously gripped the loose fabric of her skirt. The gleaming diamond on her ring finger caught my eye for a moment before I returned my gaze to her face. The side effects? Yes, the hallucinations. Even though bags hung from her eyes and deep lines curved her mouth into a thin frown, Mrs. Crowley was quite beautiful. From my medication.

Why don't you start from the beginning, Mrs. Crowley? I clicked my pen. Oh, are you sure? I don't want to bore you. Her eyebrows raised and her hand twisted hard at her dress. I insist. Would you like some coffee or water before we begin? My voice was calm and gentle,

easing the worry lines out of her brow. She smoothed out her skirt. Oh, no, thank you. Well, I suppose it started two Tuesdays ago. You know, the 18th. Tuesday is almost always mushroom chicken night. I know it's not Davy's favorite, but I'm just so tired on Tuesdays from taking care of Ellie's girls all day,

and the recipe is easy. Ellie? She's our neighbor, single mom, works most days. I try to help out when I can, but to be honest, sometimes I feel taken advantage of, you know? Mrs. Crowley stopped abruptly and glanced over at me.

Her thin cheeks flushed. I gave a small smile and nod. Sorry, I don't mean to complain. It just started out as once every week or two and now it's up to twice a week or more. I understand, I really do, but I have things to do too. And to be honest, I don't really like kids.

That's all right, Mrs. Crowley. Well, like I said, Davy usually isn't a big fan of mushroom chicken night, but that night... The woman's dull blue eyes shined. Well, he never, ever compliments my cooking, or baking, or cleaning, or anything, really. In fact, he hardly talks to me at all anymore. The middle-aged woman quickly swiped at her eyes with the back of her long hand. I understand. And he's busy. He just got a promotion recently. I'm very proud.

I reached across my desk and handed her a tissue, which she dabbed gently with. You don't work, Mrs. Crowley? Her mouth thin to a line. I did. At one point, Davy didn't like it. Said I had to quit and be prepared for the children. After we found out about my medical condition, well, Well, I just never ended up going back. Her hand fluttered in the air in a flippant motion, but she brushed at her eyes on the way down. Was that about the time you started taking your medication? Oh, no. It wasn't until a few years later.

The chair squeaked as she leaned forward and lowered her voice, as if we were passing a secret. I bent as far forward as the desk would let me. Like I said, I'm not too fond of children. I was only a bit upset, but only because Davy was. He really had his heart set on a big family. After that, Davy really dove into his work. I understand. I really do.

As from my medication, they changed it recently. That's why I wasn't used to these side effects. So what happened last Tuesday? Tuesday the 18th. That night he raved. He loved the food he loved me. It took me a few days to figure out what it was. I was so ecstatic.

I made it again on Wednesday, hoping for the same response. But nothing. And when I say nothing, I really mean nothing. Davy didn't look at me. He didn't even bother to grumble about mushroom chicken like he normally does. I started early on Thursday, making it again and again while he was at wood. I really was hoping to find the secret of my success on Tuesday. I was on my fourth version of mushroom chicken when it suddenly dawned on me what it had been different on Tuesday.

Mrs. Crowley straightened her back and lifted her chin. Suddenly realizing how hunched forward I was, I sat up too. What was it? It was the blood. The blood? She nodded vigorously. Yes, you see, I had cut my finger on the suplet on it. Tuesday. I tried to be meticulous, but a little must have gotten in. Yes, that had to be it. It was the only

difference between Tuesday and Wednesday. So I cleaned up the kitchen. It was a disaster from all my attempts. Instead, I made a simple dinner of spaghetti and meatballs. Davy usually likes this meal about as much as mushroom chicken, but that night, he went back for thirds. Because you added blood, my pen moved mechanically on my notepad. The first notes had trailed off into indecipherable scribbles, long forgotten. Well, I thought so.

I know now that it was only the side effects making me think that way. I did it again on Friday to the hamburgers. But he'd only kissed my cheek and said it was nice. Saturday, I barely got a response at all. He just smiled and nodded. The woman bit at her lip.

I feel so selfish saying that. Three weeks ago, I would have loved for Davy to smile and nod at me. He would have left me in a tizzy for days. I guess I got greedy. She smiled sadly. I understand. I really do. He just got a promotion.

It just gets lonely. Mrs. Crowley fumbled a bit with her purse, pulling out a cigarette. Normally I would have objected. Today, I threw open the windows and dug a glass ash tray out of my desk that hadn't seen the light of day since the 80s. I even lit it for her. It was the least I could do. You see, I had added a lot on Thursday, mostly by mistake.

That's why my Davy didn't like Friday or Saturday. For Sunday's chili, I decided to really dump it in. It left me woozy. Smelt terrible bubbling on the stove. But Davy liked it. He sat back and patted his belly. I'd never seen him do that before. Monday's lasagna didn't get quite the reaction I was hoping for.

So Tuesday's mushroom chicken day, I decided to add a slice of skin as well. Her hand shook as she ashed her cigarette, but a vibrant smile graced Mrs. Crowley's lips. It made me feel ill. It was hard to do. Well, that wonderful fillet knife I have made the actual cutting, incredibly easy. That company has certainly earned a lifelong buyer. I think that fillet knife had been a

wedding present from my mother-in-law. The blade flexed against my skin just like it was supposed to. I got a very nice big strip right in the first go. It was the mental aspect of it that made it so difficult, you know? Did he like it? He called it delicious. Can you believe that? He claimed I could get a job as head chef in any restaurant. I tried the same amount of skin on Wednesday. responds at all. He was so disappointed in it. I could tell. So on Thursday, I used a finger. She paused for a minute, lost in thought. I think it was harder than filleting my skin. The bone was an issue for me. I had been feeling

terribly ill and weak since about Sunday. Oh, perhaps that was also a side effect of the medication. Maybe it was blood loss. She cocked her head to the side a bit and crinkled her nose in thought. I suppose. In any case, I was much too weak to cut through bone with a knife, so I used the wire clippers that my Davy keeps in the garage. I had to place the cutting board on the floor in order to get the right leverage with them. It was an awkward angle, and the bone took a while to get through. Not stupid, though. I've seen plenty of doctor shows to know that I had to cauterize the wound. I had a knife heating on the stove. The overall process was a bit more difficult than I thought. The wirecutters hadn't given me as clean a cut as I would have liked,

and I had to maneuver a lot of torn skin. It was worth it, though, to see that big smile on his face. I filleted the skin away from the bone, stuck it in the food processor, and mixed it with beef to make it into a nice big meatball. He told me it was wonderful, a delicacy. He licked the plate clean, but he said he was still hungry. I suppose that's how Friday ended up how it did. What happened Friday? I was filled with morbid curiosity. I already knew, but wanted to hear anyway. He was so excited.

He's never at home early from work, but I think Davy knew I was making something special. A blush rose to her pale cheeks, and her eyes turned far away. He wouldn't leave me alone. Kissing me on the cheek, sneaking tastes. I actually had to shoe him from the kitchen. I didn't realize that the forearm had... two bones in it? If I had to do it over, I would have gone for something a little stronger than the electric

carving knife. It took forever. The cauterizing didn't work as well this time. I think it was the way the splintered bones jutted out of my arm that made it difficult to get all the spots. But I don't think Davey minded. I only used a little salt and pepper to taste, and he absolutely devoured it. Fumbling for another cigarette, Mrs. Crowley's purse spilled all over the floor.

She frantically tried to scoop it all back in, the remains of her heavily bandaged right arm, waggling in the air, unbalancing her. I stepped around my desk to help. She offered me a cigarette, but I shook my head. Mr. David Crowley had returned 9 p.m. on Friday to his wife passed out in a pool of blood. He'd been away on a business trip for over two weeks. His wife's right arm had been missing from her. the elbow down.

Like I said, I now know it was all side effects of my medication. Davy wasn't even home. I rubbed my brow, trying to figure out how to tell Mrs. Crowley that hallucinations were not a side effect of her anxiety medication. And, although the kitchen had been smeared in blood, her severed arm had not been found. Santa. That jolly old fat man, with sinister magical powers.

Wait, what? Oh, well, I mean, I guess they are sinister, aren't they? He can conjure gifts out of nowhere and deliver them down chimneys that are far too small for him to fit through, but that didn't stop us as kids from asking him for the weirdest, wildest requests. In this tale, shared with us by author, Mr. Michael Squid, we meet a kid who's desperate to replace certain members of his family. I join Matthew Bradford in performing this tale.

So don't be afraid to ask for what you want, but do be afraid because you might just get it. Like this kid, when he tells us, I asked for new parents, and I got them. In the two-bedroom apartment I called home, the screaming and shattered dishes never seemed to stop. Maybe for a few hours when dad would glare at my mom, whisper some seething comment that made her wilt where she stood,

and then storm out the slammed front door, off to the local bar. My mom would sneer and aim her pent-up misery at me, muttering about how she wished she'd scrape me out with a coat hanger or drowned me in the toilet during my first breath. They both hammered it in. I was nothing good except a tax deduction. Dad would return around three in the morning after the bars had closed, and it would start again.

The yelling, the stomping and slamming, the slaps, tears, and shattered glasses. I began reading to escape from it, getting lost in the words on the page. The books painted places I wish to fall into along with my pattering tears. Everything seems so wonderful in each world I'd read about, but after a crash of thrown remote

or the shattering of dishes, or a closed hand across a cheek with a meaty slap, I'd be ripped back into my miserable childhood. When the school began decorating for the holidays, we had an activity where we wrote Santa with a single request. It couldn't be a material possession of any sort, but a change we hoped to see. Mine came out through my shaky pencil on that line paper

before I even had a chance to think it. I'd blinked and read it with surprise just as my paper was plucked from the cold desk. New parents in small lorike. case writing. The last thing I believed in was Santa, well, God being a close second, so I gave it no thoughts until the weekend. Friday night, my dad told me to pack up some clothing as we were headed to the mountains in the morning. I woke early as the mist rolled down in blankets from the rain. It was a dreary day, and I just wanted to hide in my room and read. But the glare I got when I'd shown

hesitation from my father spoke volumes. He'd flashed those glossy red eyes at me, and then squeezed my wrists so hard I feared it would snap. Don't make me repeat myself. I stuffed my rip backpack with a few articles of clothing and brought it into the backseat of the rusty station wagon, which stank of cigarettes and bourbon. My mom held her head low, her dark hair covering her purple, puffy eye. The engine roared, and my dad flipped through the radar. station, punching the scan button with a fat, hairy finger until country guitars twang through the fuzzy signal. And we were off. We drove in silence. My mom's head frozen at an angle to view the world rolling by outside, unable to even face either of us. My dad chain smoked, hotboxing the car

with nauseating tangy puffs that burn my eyes. I tried to suppress my cough, but one escaped, and his thick neck swelled as he turned. His red-pock face stared intently at me as his nostril twitched and lifted the corner of his lip with anger. I quickly looked down on my book, ignoring the car sickness which multiplied from the buzz of nicotine. Dad finally turned back to view the oncoming traffic past the rainy windshield. My stomach rose as the car leaned back from the steep incline, and soon autumn colors peaked out of the haze. Lovely gradients of fire. fiery reds and yellows decorated the valley. It was stunning. It looked like something out of the fantasy novel I was reading. I tried to ignore the clink of shells in the box under the driver's

seat. My dad had brought his pistol and his ammo. I knew pistols weren't for hunting deer after listening to the drunken threats so many nights. I knew they were for hunting people. Remember this place, Barb? After speaking the vows that you so lovingly kept? Mom just ignored him and lit a smoke. A small cabin came closer into view as we turned. A little log building with dark stained wood and dusty windows. Loose shingles jutted out, missing in places like lost teeth.

A dark fence of rotting wood sagged and leaned around the perimeter. The car slowed to a halt in the wet leaves. and we stepped out into the mud. My father led us to the cabin door. He knocked a few times, then looked over the shoulder of his corduroy jacket before forcefully ramming the door a few times till it gave in with a thud.

He stepped inside, and my mother followed. Then I. I knew we had no right to be there even at that age, but I didn't care. I even liked the idea of something different. I hated being home, and even though the cast of our friends, fucked-up family sitcom was the same. The change of scenery was welcome. The cabin had a tiny room

all to myself, and I unpack the few articles of clothing I had with me, as well as the book I was reading in my thrift store toy. I heard my parents talking and even laughing through my clothes door. Later, we ate some canned pasta they'd found in the cupboard. I twirled a slimy meal with my fork, as my father smiled and asked me what I'd been reading. He nodded his head, clearly not listening to the answer, focusing on the pressure he applied to squeeze my mother's hand until she squeaked a pained yelp. I ignored this, as I'd learned to. I had only confronted him once before, and my mother then slapped me so hard she knocked me out cold. I awoke to my father, throwing me through the glass pane of the sliding door.

A bruised wrist and dislocated shoulder kept me out of school for a week, so nobody would be. the wiser. It was a week spent with them, a week without escape from it. I never made that mistake again. I hurriedly forced down the soggy can pasta with an averted gaze, letting my dark bangs obstruct the view of their sadistic games, and I returned to my designated room to read as soon as I was dismissed. Out the small room's window, the sun sank pink in a pool of amber behind the trees. I watched with teary eyes until the magma on the horizon dimmed and the sky grew cold and blue. I kept thinking about the carton of bullets under his seat. I had an unshakable feeling I wasn't ever leaving those woods.

The thought was interrupted by coarse shouting and vile insult spewing out just beyond the door. The silence between slaps and curses was even worse than usual, because they were something new. long pauses of deliberation, of plotting, just waiting for some final push of a particular button. I covered my head with a pillow and eventually was able to fall asleep. I woke to the cold glow of moonlight on the wall when I heard the rustling of leaves, way too close to the window to the left of the bed. I gripped the scratchy blanket with small fingers and slowed my breathing to listen.

I'd learned of bears and cougars, and the creatures from my book had filled my imagination with larger threats as well. I pulled the dusty wool blanket up to my nose as the snap of branches sounded, in a large shadow entered the rectangle of moonlight projected on the wall. Someone or something had stopped and was staring in. My blood chilled as I pictured the homeowner, back from a hunting trip and carrying a rifle, finding someone in his bed. Maybe it was a bear, smelling the easy prey

just beyond the thin pane of glass. I swallowed and my heart beat fast as I watched the shadow. Eventually, it passed the window and rounded the house. I lay there for what felt like an eternity until I heard the thumping heavy footsteps of my father, along with his muttered insults. A sliver of yellow light appeared under the bed. room door and I heard his pissing in the toilet. Then a door banged open.

Who the fuck's there? The pissing stopped immediately. Footsteps pounded, followed by the click of steel. I covered myself fully and tried to vanish in the mattress. The snapping move through the cabin, farther away until it was outside the walls and deep into the woods. My mom's voice called out, spitting curses before her voice twisted high into a howling shriek. The loud cracks then started again, similar to thick branches snapping. But I knew as my skin raised from chills, it was the sound of breaking bone. Soon enough, everything was silent. I lay there shivering, and I didn't move, until the square of moonlight on the wooden wall transition into a glowing yellow from the rising sun.

I smelled the eggs cooking before I heard the sizzling pan from under the door. I lifted my head from the pillow slowly and then nearly had a heart attack as the wrapping on the door startled me. My mind raced through it all again and again, wondering if it was some feverish dream. I sat up in the small bed, stunned until curiosity led my feet over to twist the doorknob open and look into the sunlit cabin. My mother sat at the table, a large strange grin fixed on her face. My father stood hunched over the stovet, his broad shoulders to me as he flipped omelets in the skillet. Garlic, onions, and rosemary filled the cabin. It smelled amazing.

My father never cooked before, not ever. My mother extended an arm to the chair for me to sit, and I felt every hair on my next day. And when I realized her black eye was gone. It wasn't makeup like she'd applied liberally after those drunken fights. It was simply gone. Not even the slightest bit puffy. I walked over slowly and slid into the chair, peering over the edge of the table at the steaming omelet. My father turned from the stove and faced me, a broad-toothy smile on his smooth face.

Too many teeth were in that slanted smile. His leaning jaw clicked into place as if it had just learned where it should hinge. My stomach twisted, but I sat down into the wooden chair, shaky and slow. We ate a meal like normal family, or nearly normal. I ignored it when my father's hand would splay at the wrist by mistake in a fanning, distorted mass, before observing mine and then trying again, properly at the base of the knuckles. I ignored it when my mother's neck folded down at a sharp angle with a muffled crunch before fixing itself into an upright position.

It was like they were learning, getting used to the new equipment. My gaze kept drifting to the long scratches on the floor, and the single fingernail stuck in the splintered woods path, to the red droplets spattered on the beams, and the two spent shell casings nestled between the floorboards. I turned my head to view the open front door, a red handprint smeared on the wooden frame. Through the doorway, a trail of fallen leaves had parted to reveal drag marks leading to the lip of the ravine. I knew what was down there, waiting for the animals to pick apart the exposed meat and spread the bones to bleach in the sun.

I knew, but I just turned to the two smiling parents whose skin sagged a bit. Too loose and smiled back. Lane and Colt are making a documentary on the infamous cave-dwelling cannibal clan that lived in the mountains of Utah. They enlist local outdoor enthusiast Jeremy to lead them into the old mining caves to film on location. But in this tale, shared with us by author Joey Harris,

it soon becomes clear that something else is in the caves with them. Performing this tale are Jessica McAvoy. Mike Delgado, Kyle Acres, Atticus Jackson, and Mary Murphy. So head down into the depths. Make sure you have a guide. Learn the lore. But even then, beware of the beast called John. It was a muggy May afternoon just south of Iron Mine Mountain in northeastern Utah.

It was up in these mountains that Colt Rivera and I, his director, Elaine Jacobin, We're shooting a documentary on a monster named John K. Hiram and his family. It was a big clan of cannibals, nasty stuff we really had to dig for. But Colt and I wanted to do this project since college. So once he got a lead and we had the money, we bought a new expensive night vision camera, a local guide, and set off for Utah. Goodbye for now, dear viewers. For the next time you see me, we'll be able to be able to.

a half mile underground. Colt smiled into the camera, and me by proxy. After a second, I said cut, and he dropped it and rubbed his face. God damn! Let's do this. The wind whipped my long red hair into my eyes and tangled around the camera. I spent a minute trying to free myself. Every time we shoot on location, the little things build up. First, it was how bumpy the road was.

Now it was the wind. Everything Colt was oblivious to. This was every project. I did most of the legwork with renting the van, the equipment, proofreading the script. I turned off the camera and glanced back to the guide, Jeremy, suiting up by our van. He was a youth counselor in his local ward in his 30s, and was by no means, certified as any kind of guide, but he regularly explored the area. Enough that he could read a map, anyway.

Colt assured me he was the best money could buy, but unfortunately, we didn't have a lot of money. I followed Colt over to his own cluster of bags and equipment, fishing a water bottle from my bag on the way. Here, I handed him the bottle. Thanks. Do you know if I forgot mine? You did. That's why I brought another. I always have to bring another. You're a lifesaver, Lainey. I punched him in the arm.

No Lainey on this expedition. I'm mad at you. Hey, hey! Who peed in your Cheerios? Colt's dark hair, chiseled jawline, and Hollywood-worthy stubble made it hard for people to get angry with him. Well, that. and he was utterly ripped. He always made sure to be camera worthy.

You're dragging me out to the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere in pursuit of a local legend. I glared daggers at him while I opened and checked his bags. In truth, there were a million other things that were bugging me, but anyone with a brain stem would know looking for ghosts in a cave was a bad idea. I wasn't superstitious, but I hated to tempt fate, too. Please tell me this sounds familiar. The familiarity to the Blair Witch Project is not lost on me.

Colt's confident camera-ready smirk returned, and he raised three fingers. But there are major differences between us and that movie. One, you and I are a seamless partnership since childhood, not a dysfunctional trio, Two, I hired an expert in this region to guide us through the cave. We won't be reading the maps wrong or losing them with him around. And three, the Blair Witch Project doesn't exist. She was an invisible monster created because they didn't have any budget. Oh, so you're hoping to find the Hiram family down there?

We aren't going to find anyone in that cave. We're going to go in, shoot some creepy B-roll, interview the expert, and get the scenes I've written. After that, we'll come back up and interview some town folk, and then we're done. It'll be so easy we won't even know we were gone. You say it like it's so simple. Because it is Elaine. Colt walked over to put his arm around my shoulders. Just imagine, if this documentary gains some traction, we'll go everywhere with it.

Cans, Sundance, Venice, this could be our big break. Oh, yeah. The hour and a half-long documentary on Cousin' Fucking Cannibals and a cave in Utah. One I'll have to film, edit, and produce from my garage. Alleged, cousin fucking. Colt wagged his finger at me and picked up his bags. I put my hands together and a mock beg for forgiveness.

Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin the wholesome sanctity of cannibalism. Colt flashed me a dazzling, camera-worthy smile. It's okay, Lainey. We all make mistakes. And it's into this very cave that John K. Hiram dragged his newly kidnapped wife. From there, the tale only grows more grisly. It wasn't long until Hiram had a new baby to take care of.

Stealing food was beginning to get harder and harder as people began searching the forest for Emily Woods. That's good. Where next? Colt and I looked over to Jeremy. Then I stared up at the cave ceiling. The headlamps the three of us wore were the only sources of illumination in there. The ceiling was higher than I expected, at least ten feet with wooden braces every few yards or so. We had been in there for about an hour, but a couple of seconds before we started shooting, Jeremy had us turn off our lights.

I knew caves could be dark, but I never knew they were completely dark. While Colt and Jeremy laughed about the darkness, I felt a cold tingle down my spine. The darkness was unlike anything I'd experienced before. Every time I blinked in the blackness of the cave, I could swear it grew darker and darker each time. The sense of relief I felt when the lights came back on scared me even more. I felt terrified. Why did I feel terrified? Jeremy was looking at the map and the tunnel around us.

What's up? Where are we headed? Just down here to the right. Awesome. You hear that, Lainty? I didn't respond. I was stuck in my tracks, filming something off in the darkness. I couldn't tell what it was, even with the night vision. But I could have sworn that there was someone in the cave. with us. I was about to walk off to look, but Colt stopped me.

Whoa, you okay? There's someone out there. What are you talking about? Quiet! Whoever's in here might be dangerous. I saw a shadow, I think. If there's someone else in here, they're probably just trying to prank us. Be sure to film some of it so we have some creepy stuff for B-roll.

Are you serious? What if they try to attack us? Listen, whoever that is, if they're even there, we'll think twice about coming over here and attacking us. I'm a big beefy man, and Jeremy's no slouch either. As long as we stick together, we'll be fine. I wanted to groan, pitch a fit, and leave that place. But what we'd shot so far was great footage. And Colt, even though he was boasting, had a point.

The two of them cut pretty intimidating. silhouettes. Fine, we'll keep shooting. And if we capture any pranks or creepy shit, we can use it to tell a story at press junkets. True crime stories and paranormal stories have pretty similar fan bases. That's the spirit.

Colt smiled, following Jeremy off into the darkness. I lingered for just a second and looked back. I didn't see the shadow, or anyone who was standing there. I shook my head and told myself it'd only be a few more hours. Here, the Hiram clan began to grow. After Emily's death, John kept abducting people, keeping the women and eating the men.

He and his children became proficient hunters, learning the lay of the land better than anyone else. They continued this pattern for months until the state government got involved. The governor, Alfred Cumming himself sent a check of $1,000 to the men of the local area to gather up arms and hunt John down. Using the money, they did this four separate times in May, June, and July of 1852. But they never found John or his family.

One day, however, they spotted a wounded bear. They were about to put it down, but they saw that it had a mouthful of human flesh. Whoever wounded it didn't get away unscathed. They followed the bear's blood trail to this very cave. After two days, they finally gathered everyone and marched into the murky tunnels. They didn't find John, but they found his home. Piles of human bones, dried blood, and makeshift furniture were scattered all over the place. John K. Hiram and his entire family left the place with no clues to where they went.

To make sure that the Hiram clan wouldn't return, the men of that militia collapsed as many tunnels as they could, making it so there are only two known ways to enter or exit this cave. Cut! How was that? It was fine. I answered a little too quickly, something Colt picked up on. What? It's not good? No, it's good. It's just...

You still think someone is following us? He sounded annoyed, and I couldn't blame him. I was annoyed with myself. getting scared by stupid ghost stories in a stupid cave where nothing happened. But there was something about this cave. The air was heavy, wet, and cold, weighing us down as we climbed through the hazardous bowels of the iron mine. Aside from that, being in the dark was taking a toll on me.

The confining blackness constantly collapsed in on me. My own headlamp did a better job of creating shadows to jump at instead of lighting up the surroundings. I could swear there were whispers all around me, like someone was waiting to pop out. Colt walked over to me and put his hands on my shoulders. Elaine, there's no one else here. We're in the middle of nowhere, and we've been walking for hours. If someone was going to pull something, they would have done it already. I brushed his hands off, and,

looked around us. Listen, I'm not happy about it either, but I just can't shake this feeling. Feeling? Of what? The feeling that someone's stalking us. Relax. It's just a rock moving or something. Why are rocks moving in this cave where no one lives?

Because of gravity, Elaine. You're freaking out over nothing. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming at him. It was still mentally. planning my defense when Jeremy walked out of the darkness. You guys okay? Yeah, stress from the shoot is just getting to us. Yeah, the stress.

I jumped and whipped around, looking for whoever just whispered in my ear. Colt! Bering in my ear! Elaine, just... It's okay. Caves are weird. You can hear and feel stuff that you aren't used to. Being this deep underground messes with your ears.

I wanted, time. argue. I was done with this place. Colt put his hands on my shoulders again. Alene, get a grip. Listen to Jeremy. He knows what he's talking about. I looked over to Jeremy, and he tried his best to give me a comforting look. Okay, okay, let's just hurry up and get this over with. Colt smiled and turned to Jeremy. So, where to next, Jer? Oh, just keep going straight ahead. Awesome.

Colt picked up his bag, and we followed Jeremy again. Hey, Colt, how did he hear him get all nutty? I don't think you've said anything about it in the cave so far. That's because that part of the script is for upstairs. We're going to shoot that with a historian in Vernal. Do you mind telling us while we're here? Yeah, no problem. It all started back in 1852 when John Hiram was only a miner.

The man they worked under William Bradshaw was a slave driver, constantly working men to their premature deaths. One day, they got a crate of dynamite for the first time. No one knew how to use it and absolutely refused to. Bradshaw, full of frustration and machismo, grabbed the crate and ordered Hiram to follow him into the mine. Hiram knew that he'd likely follow Bradshaw to his own death, but he needed the money and thought he might get some extra pay. The two men entered the cave and no one followed after them.

There were four explosions that day. A cave-in caused by Bradshaw misplacing a stick of dynamite, trapped Hiram, and permanently injured Bradshaw's leg. For 13 days, the men tried to dig Hiram out, and in that time Bradshaw had to step down from his position due to his injury. Finally, the miners broke through the wall of stone they thought Hiram was behind, but all they found was a dried patch of blood and writing on the wall that said, Here lies the dead man Hiram. Born is the beast called John. A week after that, Bradshaw disappeared along with his wife.

His daughter was found murdered in the home. Whoa. I shivered. The story was over 150 years old. The way Colt told it still got to me. But then, I swear I felt someone tug on my hair. I quickly glanced over, and it was gone. I convinced myself it was just the cave and my nerves,

but the doubt was still there. Is that all true? Well, records say that a man named John K. Hiram worked under William Bradshaw for the Deseret Mining Company, and there was an explosion that permanently injured Bradshaw. But after that, everything's hearsay and legend. No one's been able to find records on Hiram's death, nor for half of the disappearances people say happened here. By all accounts, it's fake, and the people who got lost were simply attacked by wild animals. With Bradshaw, his daughter was actually murdered, but eyewitnesses say they saw Bradshaw and his wife leaving town

afterward. He probably went south and died from old age. So why are you making a film about it? Seems rather old to be popular. Well, that's the thing. No one's talked about it. But you constantly hear stories about old witches in New England or the Chupacabra in Mexico or Bigfoot, the moth man, the Jersey devil. I want to make John Hiram and his clan infamous for Utah. Well, I don't totally understand, but I can appreciate your passion with this project. Thanks. Everything I do is about passion. With that, we started moving again. Jeremy taking the lead, Colt following close behind, and me in the back, trying not to lose it. We stopped to rest after wandering through the cave for at least four hours.

My mental state only deteriorated, and at that point I knew I'd burst into tears at the sight of the sun. I had stepped away from the group for a moment alone, the constant reassurances from Colt only making it harder to stand the cave. Whenever it got to be too much, he'd tell me we were almost done, that it would only be a few more minutes. It had been hours, and I fucking hated that place. I was going over the footage on the camera. I had an earbud in one ear listening to the audio. It was about as clear as it could get in the cave. Might have to ADR some lines, but for the most part, it was fine.

Colt had gone off scouting for a suitably creepy place to film, and Jeremy did the same to find the quickest exit. He could tell I was moments away from becoming feral. I was listening to a scene just after the second stop when I heard a whisper. Get out of my cave. Ice ran through my veins. The mic on my camera was good. But not amazing. For a whisper to come across as clear as that,

someone would have to be standing right beside me. I quickly shut the screen on the camera and ripped the earbud from my ear. My legs and hands were shaking. Damn it, damn it, damn it. I put one hand to my mouth and bit into my palm. Holy hell! I picked up the camera and started filming on reflex. I moved as quickly as I could.

The floor of the cave only grew slicker the deeper we went. One bad step, and I could shatter my ankle. Colt? Over to here. Colt, where are... I rounded a corner, and bile rose up in my throat at the sight before me. A fresh corpse of a man in his early twenties sat on the floor of the cave. His belly ripped open, and his gills.

guts on the floor next to him. His chin was in his chest, his face hidden in the shadows. His hands were covered in blood. I could feel my knees begin to give way. My entire frame was shaking uncontrollably. Jeremy arrived seconds later. Where did he come from? Colt slowly walked toward the body and lifted a hand. What are you doing? I've got to figure out. out who he is, keep rolling. I had no intention of stopping. The sick, morbid filmmaker in me couldn't stop.

Whoever this was, he was going to make us millions. Seriously, what the fuck is this? I turned the camera to Jeremy. How do we get out of here? I... I don't know. I froze, and I saw. Somehow felt Colt do the same. What do you mean?

You don't know. Jeremy covered his face with his hands. It's been changing. I can't tell where anything is. So you've just been blindly taking us through this fucking cave? Why didn't you say something sooner? I was scared. I thought we'd get out eventually, but now we're all going to die.

Calm down. Both of you! We all went quiet. We've got to get a hold of ourselves. There has to be a way out. I don't... I don't know how to get out of here. The cave... The cave is changing. Caves don't change like that.

You're just lost. Look, we'll pick a direction and walk. As long as we stick together, we should be okay. Jeremy just shook. and nodded. It's settled then. Let's go left. You.

All three of our headlamps and the light on the camera went out without warning. No flicker, no dim, just out. A cold feeling cut through me like a knife. It was the same whisper from before. What's happening? Jeremy took off, his footsteps receding in the darkness. God damn it! Elaine, please, tell me you're still here.

I... I'm here. Okay, just stay put. I'll fish another light out of my pack. I struggled to get my bearings. It was so dark I didn't know if my eyes were closed or not. It was too much to bear. I collapsed down to my knees,

terrified that I'd just fall into nothing. The camera was still recording. I could see the red light. I just tried to focus on that. Look at me. The lights came back on, and standing above me was a large man, covered in blood like he just stepped out of a grisly shower. He was gigantic. His legs were as wide around as tree trunks, his body the size of a wooden barrel, his arms, thick clubs,

his arms thick clubs ending in brick-like fists. He had a shaven head and a large beard, but his eyes, they were hateful and full of rage, but he had a wide, wild grin on his face. Behold the beast called John. His voice was gravely, like a growl from an angry wolf. The lights went out again. A scream started to well up inside my throat, but I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep from making a sound.

I felt tears roll down my cheeks and over my hand. The lights returned, and John was no longer there. Just two gigantic, bloody footprints. Colt grabbed me by my backpack and pulled me to my feet. We need to go. I could only take in the sound of our feet. scraping on the rocks. Colt guided me through the cave. I started a trip, the urge to throw up rising. We kept moving. My eyes and my headlamp focused on the ground so I could at least get an

idea of where I was stepping. The voice rumbled in my head. Don't leave. We both fell, our feet tripping in the darkness. I could hear my camera crack against the floor, and I scrambled to grab it, but pulled away with nothing. My family needs you. The lights came back on, and before us stood a large group of people. I couldn't tell you how many. They were all different shapes and sizes.

Some were gigantic beasts of men. Others hunched over like feral rats. Most of them had misshapen limbs, arms too short. Legs too skinny, heads too large. A small girl, one arm was half the size of the other, only reaching the bottom of her ribs, stepped in front of me. She had a large hump on her back, jutting her head forward, and she walked with a grotesque

limp, twisting her entire body to drag her lame foot along. She stared at me with a lopsided face and opened her lips to show a mouth. full of disfigured teeth, each one pointing out at a different angle. Her voice held a pronounced lisp, her S getting caught in her misshapen teeth, sending spittle all over my face. I lifted my left arm to wipe it away, and she caught me in a vice-like grip with her good hand, a grasp much too strong for a little girl. She opened her mouth and bit into my arm, cutting through my jacket with her teeth and into my flesh. Lights off. Lights on. Bodies hung from hooks all around us, like stalactites from the ceiling.

They surrounded us in a circle. Some still had skin. Others were missing chunks of it, and others had none at all. The hooks were expertly placed through the neck under the collarbone. In the center, there was John, still drenched in blood that wasn't his. My arm burned and my stomach bubbled, threatening to release its contents. Mine! Another trick of the lights, and everything was gone. We were all kneeling on the floor of a dead end, panting and sweating. I looked down to my left arm and saw the jagged bite.

My throat went numb, and I finally threw up on the floor. Come on, we need to go. Colt pulled me to my feet and kept an arm around me to keep me standing. Just keep moving. We kept moving. One step after another. But I couldn't escape the feeling we were just going in circles. One step after another.

Elaine! Jeremy suddenly emerged from the shadows. He held his bloody jacket to his left shoulder. He was pale and limping. Jeremy! What happened? I just, I, I ran and some, some giant attacked me. He, he bit me.

We've just got to keep moving. Oh, okay. Jeremy turned to lead us, but walked right into John, who was smiling. Blood leaked from the corners and. his mouth. Colt let me go and I fell against the wall. He reared back a fist and threw a wild haymaker at John. Colt struck him in the face, twisting John's head. But with one wave of his arm, John sent Colt flying, making his head bounce off the floor. John grabbed Jeremy, one gigantic hand on either shoulder, and lifted him from the ground. Colt struggled to his feet.

But I was stuck on the wall, watching John. His jaw dropped, extending far beyond what should be possible. His mouth just kept getting bigger until he was able to swallow Jeremy whole. He bent forward and moved Jeremy into his gaping maw. Jeremy didn't make a sound as John slowly pushed him down his throat. We need to go. Colt grabbed me by the waist and tried his best to move me. I stumbled away on uncoordinated feet, looking over my shoulder to see John still swallowing Jeremy.

We got away from John somehow. For what felt like hours, we walked around the cave in total silence. At some point, Colt wrapped his jacket around my bitten arm to staunch the blood flow. We just kept walking. Too tired to run or scream. After a while, our pace slowed to a crawl, and we were holding each other up. Where are we going? I don't know. Colt, are we going to die here? He didn't answer, but the words seemed to stop him. We stumbled to a wall and slid down to the floor. I don't understand. How... How did he do all of that? What the fuck happened?

You want to know what happened? John appeared in front of us, and we didn't move. I was too light-headed. It was Bradshaw. He was the one who trapped you. Why are you doing this? Because... I'm hungry.

I... Colt dropped his head, and started shaking. John bent over us. You make a deal with the devil to leave, and evil becomes you. Of all the people I've eaten, Bradshaw tasted the best.

I felt tears trickling out of my eyes, and he smiled. Please, please, just let us go. Let you come. Go, but I haven't eaten this well in years. His mouth began to elongate again, and panic rose up in my chest. I pushed back into the cave wall, trying to disappear through it. Wait!

John paused. You made a deal to leave a trap, so let us make one. John tipped his head to the side, but didn't say anything. Let us leave, and we'll tell everyone about your cave. We're shooting a movie. If everyone knows it took place here, they'll come in droves. You'll eat like a king. Why would they come to their deaths?

Because it happens every time. Whenever there's a new horror movie, everyone goes to the place it's based on. I promise you, they'll be here. John considered his words, furrowing his brow, staring hard at the floor. I didn't think it'd work. There was no way John knew what a fucking movie was. Eventually, his jaw closed.

Let everyone know. And if you don't want to be eaten, don't come back. Colt pulled me up. I was too terrified. to move. He dragged me through the cave until we got outside. The two of us collapsed on the ground under the moonlight. My arm hurt. My throat hurt. My eyes burnt. I just closed them, hoping it all be over. But it wouldn't be. With our deal with John, it never be over. I clenched my hands into fists

and realized something. I brought my right hand up to my face and saw the SD card from the camera. Let them know. Give foo. 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 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 are held by the respective authors.

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