The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S14E14

Episode Date: May 17, 2020

It’s Episode 14 of Season 14. This week we conjure spells for you about the oh so innocent things which will shatter us. “Tainted” written by W.C. Jones (Story starts around 00:05:45) Produced by: Jeff Clement Cast: Jessica – Jessica McEvoy, John – Elie Hirschman, Old woman – Erin Lillis, Old woman’s son – David Cummings, Submarine Man – Jesse Cornett, Nurse – Nichole Goodnight “Spider” written by Joseph Yenkavitch (Story starts around 00:39:40) Produced by: Phil Michalski Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

I've made it. I've reached the center of the earth, or at least pretty deep down. Can't believe there's a whole subterranean cavern down here. All for me. Wait, there's a tent here and a generator

and a gaming PC and a collection of 70s vintage gentlemen's magazines. There's only one person all this stuff could belong to. Hey, Nicole. Atticus, what are you doing in my hole? Wait, stop.

What are you doing? underground at the source of the hole I dug. I'm not making it that easy for you. Oh, damn. Well, okay. You remember how over the last year, like a million improbable disasters have befallen me? I think I remember something about that, yeah. Well, anyway, I decided to tunnel into the earth and make a home. You should have called me to tell me you were coming. How could I have? You are 30 miles underground. My phone still gets great service. You pretty much get great service everywhere these things. days. Check yours. Wait, wait, just a gosh darn minute. Your service provider, it isn't MintMobil.

Well, no. Should it be? 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 MintMobile 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 these 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. Every plan comes with unlimited nationwide talk and tax plus crazy fast 4GLTE. 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. Oh wow, I should change. You sure should. 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. That's great.

You know, I might just stay here. Oh, if you don't mind sharing, of course. Not at all. In fact, I've been dying to show someone my collection of rocks carved in the shape of famous celebrities. Oh, perfect. A place all to myself. How wonderful.

Now, what was it? Mintmobile.com slash no sleep. 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 spelled. Binding. 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 oh-so-innocent things which will shatter us. This is episode 14 of season 14. That beautiful symmetry tells us that our season Pass Rent to Own program is now available. As always, when you purchase 14 individual episodes from any one season, you are eligible for an upgrade to a full season pass. So if this episode is the 14th you've purchased for season pass 14, or if you end up purchasing 14 at any point this season, you can email us at admin at the no sleeppodcast.com, and we will upgrade you. Please make sure to let us know which email address you use for your memberships. And to make it easier for us to find your email, please use the subject line, SP14 upgrade. That's SP14 upgrade. And of course, we are grateful for your

support. And to all of you who listen to our show, we appreciate your wonderful support. As our gift to you, we have some audio horror stories for you, and they're coming up right now. Now, close your eyes and embrace the magic. In our first tale, we join Jessica, a mother simply looking for a nice, fun toy for her young son, and where better to get a cherished plaything when you're on a budget than a yard sale. But in this tale, shared with us by author W.C. Jones, the seller seems oddly hesitant to part with the toy submarine that Jessica has her eye on. I join Jessica McAvoy, Ellie Hirschman, Aaron Lillis, Jesse Cornett, and Nicole Goodnight in performing this tale. So be careful if you manage to win over a seller who doesn't

want to acquiesce. Just leave it and walk away. Otherwise, you might discover it's tainted. How much do you want for this toy? The woman sitting in the rocking chair looked as if she would die of old age before she answered. I had stopped off at this two-story house because of the moving sale sign poking out of the beginning of the driveway. The place was nothing spectacular, and the people running the event, the aforementioned old woman, along with a man who appeared to be in his 40s or 50s, seemed to take better care of their stuff than the house itself. It was a plastic submarine, baby blue in color, about the size of my forearm, that I had picked out of the old wooden chest with a silver dollar hammered in the center of the lid. The name Nautilus was written on the side and letters faded so badly I could barely make them out.

Two metal wheels jutted out from its sides, with a small chain attached to a makeshift anchor at the front. The top of it held a small compartment with several portholes covered. and clear plastic to resemble glass. By all rights, it was junk. But there was a certain uniqueness that pulled at me, and I listened. She lifted her head slowly and wiped spidery white hair out of her eyes with a liver-spotted hand. Those toys are tainted with bad memories. I don't know if I should sell them.

The man suddenly stepped up beside the rocker. Oh, come off it, Mom. There's nothing wrong with them. Besides, we're leaving tomorrow and we'll have to take everything we don't sell today with us. Oh, stop it. The woman flung a curse at him before turning back to me. I suppose three dollars is fair. I started to reach for my wallet, but the man quickly stepped from behind the table and approached me. His hair was a perfect horseshoe of black and white, with a clean bald patch in the center. So you like old toys, eh? I'll sell you the whole lot for 30. What do you say? I thought about it for a moment, but decided one impulsive buy was enough. I thanked him for his

generosity, laid three rolled up dollar bills in his palm, and left. I didn't bring the toy with me when I went to pick up John at the bus stop. I watched him climb off the bus, and my heart began running a marathon inside my chest. He looked up and smiled at me when he reached the bottom of the steps. Watch this, Mom! Then he bent both his knees and leapt to the ground.

It wasn't a great distance to cover, but I mentally scolded him for being so careless. Then he got to his feet and sprinted toward me, his Pokemon backpack swinging back and forth. I dropped to my knees and held out my arms, something I had never failed to do and probably wouldn't stop until he found it weird. He returned my affection, but with a bit of reservation. What's wrong, honey?

He looked up at me under a mop of dirty blonde hair in need of a pair of scissors. You think Dad would have liked my jump? I slowly nodded. He would have loved it. I walked him to the car, But despite my best efforts, he noticed the tears sliding down my face. Thankfully, he didn't say anything. I took the blue submarine off the kitchen counter in all its old-fashioned glory,

even pulling the tiny anchor down until the inside mechanism began to retract it. But John eyed it with only feigned curiosity. What's in A-U-T-I-L-U-L-U. mean? I was wondering that myself. I opened my iPhone's web browser. Here, let me look it up. I punched in the weird combination of letters and let technology perform its wizardry. Ah, here it is. According to this site, it's the name given to the submarine from the original 20,000 leagues under the sea by Jules Verne. John gave me a quizzical look. It's a nice. It's a novel about these people who get in a submarine and ride it deep into the sea, only to be

attacked by a giant squid monster. His eyes lit up then. He grabbed the toy and turned it over, examining every inch. Did the squid eat them? Or did they shoot it with torpedoes or missiles or something? I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. I don't know, honey. I've never read the book or watched the movie. This revelation took a little bit. a little of his excitement away, but I immediately thought of a way to bring it back. Hey, I'll bet they've got it on Hulu or Netflix somewhere. Maybe we could watch it tonight and see for ourselves. Yeah. John took off and held the submarine out in front of him. He made it bank deep right before rising above his head, only to dive straight down past his knees. That night,

I found the movie on Netflix under their classic section and made a big bowl of popcorn. The two of us sat and shoved it into our mouths while watching what I considered the most boring movie of all time. But he loved it. He held the submarine up in front of him, making it dive and move when the submarine on the screen did the same. The night couldn't have gone any better. The next day, I was sitting in the living room, enjoying a smooth, lemonade and sweet tea combination when John appeared in the hallway. His eyes were wide, and he didn't speak at first.

He just stood there. I had never seen him like this before, so I set my drink on the coffee table and walked over to him. Honey, what's wrong? I don't like him. You don't like who? His eyes shifted to mine, and a chill crawled up my spine. The man.

The man outside the submarine. It was just your imagination. No, I saw him, Mom. Honest, I did. Okay, then, honey. Where did you see him? Outside the submarine. John looked down at the floor. I was getting ready to shoot some enemy subs, and I looked out one of the round windows, and there he was.

He lifted his head and locked eyes with me. again. He just stood there smiling at me. Then he spoke, Mom, and no bubbles came from his mouth. What did he say to you? He called me Jr. John tore his eyes away and looked back toward the staircase. Wow, that was some scary daydream, huh? He turned back to me, his eyes betraying hurt. I'm not lying. He punched a hole in the window and let the water. in. He's not real, honey. You just have a really active imagination.

Without another word, he took me up the stairs to his bedroom. The door hung open and toys of all shapes and sizes peppered the carpet, everything from airplanes to military tanks, all of them lying on their sides. Various socks lay crumpled next to an unmade bed and a trail of shirts and shorts led to an open closet. I started to say something about all of it when I noticed the plastic submarine sitting up on its wheels in the center of everything. Something about it caught my eye. There was a shininess to it, and it was only when I got close enough to make out the faded letters on its side that I saw why. My chest tightened. Several beads of water slipped down from the top. And

and dripped onto the floor to create a large puddle surrounding it, soaking into the carpet. I looked around for an upturned glass or bottle, but didn't find any. John stood next to me and pointed at it. You see, I told you he let the water in. I struggled to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, I stood there and watched as the puddle around the toy grew large. It took a while, but I convinced myself that the liquid had come from inside the toy itself, that its previous owner had taken a bath with it or gotten it wet and the water seeped into a crack on top,

only to be released by John jostling it. Never mind you that any moisture would have evaporated a long time ago. He wasn't convinced at first and insisted that he had seen a man outside of it. Okay, then. The two of us sat at the kitchen table a few days later. It was a Saturday, and John waited for the ding of the oven to signal his Tony's cheese pizza was done. In order to see this man, you said you were inside the sub firing missiles at other subs, right? He nodded.

Well, how could you fit inside that small toy? Plus, there's no oceans in Arkansas. The only submarine here is that poor tourist attribes. in Little Rock. But I was inside the sub. I was. I know that, honey. But that was only in your mind.

I got up to check on the pizza. That's where this man came from, wasn't it? You imagined him being there, just like you imagined driving the submarine. I pulled out the small tray, laid the pizza on top of the stove, cut it into eight semi-perfect sections, and laid two of them on a plate in front of him.

He stared at the steaming dish, but refused to consider it. To try and encourage him, I pulled it back to me and blew on the pieces before sliding it in front of him again. After a few moments, as well as a cold stare, he picked up a piece and raised it to his mouth. Do you promise? His question caught me off guard. What?

Do you promise I only imagined him? His eyes sought mine. The answer was obvious, but I had trouble responding, almost as if unconsciously, I still wasn't sure of it myself. Yes, I promise. He suddenly smiled and began to eat. I fixed my own plate and joined him. He avoided the toy submarine most of the day.

I would occasionally sneak a peek into his room only to find him playing with something else. The first time it was a tank, complete with several buttons on top which made annoying sounds. He approached the tiny submarine, but stopped a few inches away and turned right, then rolled away toward a pile of socks. When I came back an hour later,

the tank lay on its side, as if it had been hit by a torpedo, and he was sitting on his bed, waving a toy airplane with a friend that resembled a mouth full of sharp teeth through the air. The submarine still lay where it was before. There was something almost sad in its appearance, so I decided it was a good time to draw John a bath. I made sure to bring the neglected toy with me,

along with a rubber shark and an octopus that was missing one of its arms. You can have the squid attack it like we saw in the movie. I held the tiny blue submarine out to him. He sat in the tub, eyeing the shark and the octopus I had already tossed in, but the latest edition proved much harder. But I don't want to. Not right now. Oh, come on. There's nothing wrong with this toy.

I dropped it into the water where it made a small splash, and bobbed up and down in the ensuing waves. John immediately scooted away and pulled his knees into his chest. My face grew warm. Seriously. This is ridiculous. I reached in to take it out when my cell phone sprang to life downstairs with Sweet Home Alabama, my mother's ringtone, so I rushed out to get it before the music stopped.

I reached the bottom step. But the sound ceased before I got to the phone. Worried, I dialed her back and waited. She picked up on the fourth ring and then proceeded to inform me of several injustices she had suffered at the hands of the DMV. Then she moved on to the president. I don't remember half of her words

because I kept thinking about John. I saw him trying to get out of the tub been slipping on the floor, cracking his skull on the rim of the toilet, while I listened to useless ramblings. Without a word, I hung up and bolted up the stairs two at a time. Once I reached the top, I used the balcony rail to propel myself forward to the open bathroom door. I don't know what I expected to see, but what I did drained the color from my face. John was curled up in the corner of the tub. His eyes closed. close tight. His face was a mask of dripping brown, and the water looked as if someone had thrown

dirt into it. The small submarine floated on top, mocking both of us. Not knowing why, I wrenched it from the water and threw it out the door. And I scooped John up, his dripping body soaking my shirt and jeans all the way through. He opened his dirt smeared eyes. Hot tears slid down. my face. My God, baby, what happened? He touched my face. Then he buried his head into my shoulder and sobbed. I took him to his room,

passing the dirt smeared submarine in the hallway and dried him off. I struggled to stay calm as I dressed him, hating the feeling it gave me, like he was completely helpless. He stopped crying once he was clothed, and I sat him on the bed. Wait here. I'll be right back. I went out to the hallway and took the submarine off the floor. I stared at it. Brown beads of water trailed down its sides, and the left wheel was bent.

There was nothing inherently dangerous about its design, but... He touched... Without another word, I picked it up, reared back my arm, and threw it against the wall as hard as I could. The thing shattered except for the wheels, throwing bits of dirty blue plastic everywhere. Stay in your room for a few more moments. I picked up the pieces of the toy and tossed them into the bathroom trash can. Then I sat on the toilet and looked at the bathtub in bewilderment. The water was still a murky brown.

but I could make out dark spots of actual dirt floating on the surface. How is this possible? He wasn't that dirty when he stepped in, was he? You can come out now, honey. When John walked out of his room and saw the pieces in the trash can, he did something I never expected. He came up and hugged me. His little arms didn't quite fit all the way around my waist.

but I took comfort from their warmth. His eyes were red from crying, but they now held a liveliness I was glad to see. He laid his head against my stomach, and I wrapped my arms around him. I don't know what's going on around here, but I think it's over now. John insisted on sleeping in my bed.

I felt bad about what happened during his bath, so I agreed. He fell asleep. sleep a lot sooner than I expected, and I watched him, no more than a pronounced lump under the covers. I pushed back his hair and gave him a kiss on the forehead. A smile crept across my face when his eyes twitched, but didn't open. I awoke later with a sense of urgency, I couldn't explain. Darkness swam before my eyes, and I blindly reached over to the right for the lamp. Light tore away the darkness, forcing it back into the farther corners of the room.

I blinked a few times until the various blurs of color took on definitive form, and then sat up, turned a check on John. He had rolled over on his side and taken the covers with him. My head ached, so I decided to take some Tylenol. I tossed my feet over the side and stood up. The room tilted a little, but I maintained my balance. The bathroom door hung open a few feet away, revealing nothing but darkness inside it. I took a step toward it, then stopped, as something moved in the corner of my peripheral vision. They turned and stared at the place where the lamp's light didn't reach, where the darkness lived and breathed, its respiration a harsh, dry rasp.

Except, it really was breathing, and the form standing within its folds shifted its balance just enough to allow a sliver of the lamp's light to reveal half of its face. The skin was dirt-streaked. and wrinkled the area around its eye black and hollow. A thick layer of mud enshrouded the visible half of its lips, and they curled up into a grin. Then they parted, and something wiggled out and dropped into the darkness. Cheaped forward into the dim light. My eyes widened.

Standing there was a man wearing a pair of gene coveralls, Only one of the straps lay broken and lifeless, twisted into a knot by a dried clump of mud. Dirt covered the rest of him, almost as if it were a second skin. He started forward, the light revealing more of his face. The right side squirmed with maggots and worms that fell in a steady downpour from the exposed skull and empty left socket. The other half of his lips were nothing but exposed teeth, stained brown with earth. He came within a few feet of the bed, and I noticed the small black hole on his chest that radiated outward, where a bullet had ripped his overall strap and punctured his heart.

I tried to scream, but couldn't. Instead, I did the only thing I could think of once I saw the leather strap clutched in his fleshless. hand. I threw myself on top of John. The hatred in the thing's voice sent icy tremors throughout my body. My face hovered an inch above John's, and when he suddenly opened his eyes and saw my expression, he burst into tears. The leather strap bit into my nightgown, and I had to force myself to remain still, despite the lightning of pain streaking across my side. There was a brief whistling sound, and the leather struck the top of my back. I involuntarily jerked upward and almost toppled to the floor, but I held my composure.

I was pulled off of John so violently that my head struck the dresser before I hit the floor. To consume everything, but I refused to lose consciousness. I tried to push myself up, but something stepped on the small of my back and forced me back down. I could only open my eyes halfway. and the room spun out of control, threatening to take me into oblivion. I could still open my mouth, though, and I cried out as loud as I could. The pressure on my back intensified, forcing my ribs into the carpet, screamed again, and I heard him struggling within the thing's grasp.

Let me go. It was hopeless. I tried again to push myself off the floor. The effort failed, and a sudden hot pain informed me that. at least one of my ribs was broken. I wanted to help my son. Needed to help him. The pressure on my back ceased.

I pushed myself off the floor as the bedroom door crept open. All hope fled my being, replaced with a helpless realization. My son was going to die. I turned in time to see the mud-drenched figure holding him. Wait! The only figure stopped halfway through the doorway. The man's decayed face turned toward me. That hideous grin still etched on what little remained of his lips.

John struggled in his left arm. You've already learned your lesson. A fresh worm crawled out of the hole near his bottom lip and fell to the floor. Now, Junior Neal faltered a little. Then he turned away and started to walk out the door again. My name's Jessica. The room was spinning again, but I fought to keep myself awake, realizing that I would lose my son forever if I allowed the darkness to take me.

Is John! The ghastly apparition stopped, but didn't turn around. Then where is Caroline? Blackness swirled at the corners of my eyes, and they began to march forward. I wouldn't last much longer, so these next words had to count. The only question was, would they be enough? I took in the deepest breath I could as the room spun out of control, and the darkness crawled over my field of vision.

Then, with as much authority as I could muster, I spoke. I don't know where she. She is, but she's not here. And you shouldn't be here either. My lights grew dim, but I forced myself to continue to make sure I got it all out. Just look at your face. That hole in your chest. You're not alive.

You don't belong here anymore. I lost the strength to sit up and collapse to the floor. I tried to say something else, but the darkness took me away into the void, as John let out another scream from somewhere that seemed far away in the distance. My sleep held no dreams or nightmares. I would even hazard to call it somewhat peaceful until I opened my eyes and saw that I was lying in a hospital bed. I tried to sit up, but a sudden searing pain prevented it. I looked around and found the nurse call switch on the corner of a small table, holding an uneaten combination of mashed potatoes, corn, and what appeared to be a piece of roast chicken. None of it mattered.

All that mattered was finding out. I pressed the thick red button and waited, my heart performing cartwheels. A young woman with light brown hair done up in a bun walked into the room and smiled. Oh good, you're awake. Where is he? Where's who? The woman's smile was offensive, almost if she was deliberately mocking me. But then that hopeless feeling came back, and I was certain that she genuinely didn't know who I was referring to because I had been brought in alone.

He took John, didn't he? I couldn't save him. Well, he's being questioned by Detective Mahoney right now, but he'll be able to come back when they're finished. My eyes lit up, and it was all I could do not to leap off the bed and give that nurse the strongest hug I could muster. Oh, thank you. Thank you so much. When John walked into the room later, holding the hand of a young police officer, officer wearing a slightly worn hat, I could no longer contain my joy. Despite the searing pain from the two broken ribs I had received, I sat up and opened my arms. The officer was kind

enough to hoist him up to my level, and the two of us shared a hug that I thought I would never let go of. I recovered fairly quickly, and as I suspected, the police investigation went cold. John told them all about the man outside his submarine, but they believed the way I had at first. They tried to find more witnesses, thinking someone in the neighborhood had to have seen the perpetrator leaving the scene, but nothing turned up.

There was also no physical evidence found to explain the marks on my back and side. That doesn't matter, though, because my son and I know what happened, and that's enough. On our way back from the hospital, John happened to see something out of his window that excited him, so I pulled over to find out what it was. At the beginning of an adjacent street, crudely tied to the street sign, was a thick piece of cardboard that said, moving sail in thick black letters, along with an address. I shivered, then pulled back out onto the road.

I'm Jessica McAvoy, and I like snacks. I like snacks so much, in fact, that my nickname among the team is snacks. I cannot share the nickname I gave Olivia, who is writing this ad, but mine is snacks. For those who don't know, the dictionary definition of snacks is delicious food that I personally must eat right now. But sometimes, especially lately, I find myself stuck up. in the house with no snacks at hand. I've even been forced to consider eating my machete collection. But then I discovered DoorDash.

Thankfully, there are still wonderful delivery people out there operating during this quarantine, safely and responsibly making sure people have the food and supplies they need. And just because we're living in what David Alt would call, eccentric peculiar times, doesn't mean you have to exist on mundane food. And to do that, you can use DoorDash.

In 2020, delivery is more than just pizza. With a selection of your favorite flavors from across the globe, you can order delicious, interesting meals from the comfort of your living room. Ordering is easy. Open the DoorDash app, choose what you want to eat, and your food will be delivered to you wherever you are. Not only is your favorite pizza joint already on DoorDash, but there are over 310,000 restaurant partners in 4,000 cities,

so you might find a new favorite too. With door-to-door delivery in all 50 U.S. states, Puerto Rico, Canada, and Australia, you can order from your local go-toes or choose from your favorite national restaurants like Chipotle, Wendy's, the Cheesecake Factory, and more. With DoorDash, you can have an elaborate meal or a quick snack straight to your door, allowing you and your family to stay safe. There's no need to start chowing down on household items just yet. And right now, our listeners can get $5 off their first order of $15 or more

when you download the DoorDash app and enter code no sleep. That's $5 off your first order when you download the DoorDash app in the app store and enter code no sleep. So don't feel restricted. Give your taste buds a world tour. without even leaving your living room. And don't forget, that's code no sleep for $5 off your first order with DoorDash.

There are few phobias more understandable than arachnophobia. Yes, yes, we've all heard the saying, they're more scared of us than we are of them, but come on, have you seen those beasts? They're not scared of us. They're plotting, planning, scheming. And in this tale, shared with us

by author Joseph Yankovic. We meet a man who's fully aware of the machinations of these abominations, even after he seemingly successfully killed one. Performing this tale is David Alt. So don't trust the platitudes. Don't trust your eyes. Don't even trust that squished mess on the sole of your shoe. Never let your guard down.

Never relax around a spider. You see what you care about, and I care deeply about one thing. For me, people of all shapes and sizes in all sorts of dress, airplanes in the sky, cars, birds on branches, dishes in the sink, dirty clothes on the floor, all easily exist outside my awareness. Not because I'm oblivious to the world, but because they make little impact on me. The grandest things, enormous things, objects I could hardly miss, easily dissolve into the background.

If some need arises, I would engage in a deeper investigation, but in this way, I hardly differ from most of humanity. But one thing always sits at the edge of my consciousness. Even the slightest movement or the smallest change in the room alerts me to its presence. On this particular evening, I settled into my favorite chair with a thick novel and a cup of Coco. I'd just finished a chapter. Resting the book on my lap, I took a sip of the warm chocolate. I was about to place the cup back on the end table when a movement, barely more than what one might expect from a floater in the eye, caused me to stiffen. Turning my head sharply, I saw it.

The spider. A large, hairy one had emerged from under the sofa and had already made its way halfway across the wood floor. The book slid from my lap onto the floor. The spider stopped, startled. My hand trembled. The cocoa sloshed in the cup and came dangerously close to spilling onto my trousers. I didn't move more afraid of the spider than it was of me. Or so I thought. The good-sized spider, at first quite still, began a small rhythmic movement of its eight legs. I considered that it might be getting ready to make a mad dash for cover, but it instead turned its body so that those eight simple eyes were facing me. Even at this distance I could tell that's what it was doing.

The leg motion stopped. Hand still shaking, I carefully put the cup on the table and stood. A spider didn't move. I knew right away the sturdily built stocky. arachnid was a wolf spider. I feared them all, but that hadn't stopped me from studying them. No thy enemy. This was a particularly large one, nudging two inches. Even from this distance, I could see its orange-brown hair with the tell-tale darker stripes running lengthwise on its body. Maybe it was just because I knew, but I felt I could see the eight eyes, two medium-sized

one on top of its head, two larger ones center and four small ones lining the bottom of its face. And in that grotesque face, I knew there were two large fangs. I also knew those fangs might painfully puncture my skin, but they didn't carry venom that would injure me. It could bite all it wanted and I'd be fine. Anyway, spiders in general were usually shy, ready to retreat. I knew all that. down to the last footnote. And it didn't matter one bit. They could show up with presence of flowers and chocolate

and I'd still feel my inside's twist and my heart beat faster, everything going into panic mode. All my knowledge about them, and it was expansive, never could replace the simple primordial fear I had. Just a glimpse of one scurrying across the floor dissolved the world around me and only that eight-legged interloper existed.

I couldn't function until it was gone, and by gone, I meant dead. I stepped back frantically trying to find a weapon, a magazine, a newspaper, anything to rid the house of this menace before it got away. Even when my glance fell on the book, spread-eagled on the floor, the spider still held its ground as though making calculations on the time it would take me to get the book and rush at it. I tried to rid myself of such foolish thoughts, but the spider suddenly. suddenly started to pulsate on its thin legs as though getting ready to rush me, making such thoughts all the more plausible. Keeping an eye on the arachnid, I slowly went for the book. The spider made a small step forward and I pulled back. Forget the book. Maybe I should just rush over and smash the creature under my shoe, but just the thought that I might misjudge my aim

and the spider would scurry aside and slip over my shoe and under my trouser legs was enough for me to shudder. In a swift movement, I reached down and grabbed the book. I pulled away so fast, I tripped on the chairleg and fell on the floor. Momentarily frozen, I stared at the spider through the V of my shoes, even more terrified of being on the same level as it. If it rushed me now, I wasn't sure I could rise in time to escape. I clutched the book to my chest and got up on one knee, constantly eyeing the waiting and, yes, the thinking arachnid. It had to be thinking all. It had to be thinking or why else would it hold its ground so confidently and not try for the safety of the sofa or some crack in the floorboards? This one, unlike so many others I had exterminated with a rolled

magazine or a book thrown, this one wasn't intimidated. Had it learnt from watching its brethren become squashed, or was it certain of its power over me? They did have that power, I realized, just looking at those two segmented hairy bodies supported on spindly legs, picturing them creeping along an arm or unseen along my back, hidden somewhere under my clothes, could make my bile rise in my throat. A primitive fear gripped me each and every time I saw one. It might only be a picture or a spider in a cage, no matter I felt them shuddering as though they were already on me.

The fear went beyond being bitten. It felt genetic, a part of me so deep I almost thought I had lived at some time as a luckless, trapped insect. Caught in a web or pinned by large, hairy legs, had I watched that grotesque, multi-eyed face lowering, fangs dripping, ready to send me into a paralyzing weight for my innards to liquefy? Ugh! It almost seemed the only answer, as silly as it might be, to account for this entrenched furrow. fear. I could easily pinpoint when it started. Years ago, when I awoke from a nap on the couch and sensed the tiniest impression on my arm barely above the sensation of a few nerves firing or a

barely perceptible itch. My arm lay across my chest, my forearm scarcely a foot from my face. I opened my eyes ready to scratch and stared into the frothy eyes and furry body of a gigantic spider. It spayed legs let its ovoid body rest against my skin, and it seemed to be watching me, studying me as I slept. Things might have been different if, when I threw my arm wide, the spider would have slipped off and onto the floor where I could have smashed it. But it stayed there, as though those pointed legs were dug deep into my flesh. Then as though it realized the danger it was in, it scurried up my arm and into the small opening made by the, the edge of my short-sleeve shirt. The prickling movement sent my whole body into turmoil. I beat my shoulder first with an open hand, then with a fist, hitting myself over and over.

Even when I stopped and didn't feel anything crawling around, the panic didn't stop. I couldn't be sure that devious creature hadn't slipped to a safer spot waiting. My heart pounded and I shook, crying out like someone trapped. I tore off my shirt as though it was on fire, the noise of popped buttons hitting the floor. frantically I brushed my hands over my bare skin trying to feel something being dislodged and I did feel it only it was the soft bursting of a body across the back of my shoulder a cool slime in a spread over my skin along with a slightly rough texture even then I wasn't sure and grabbed my shirt and violently rubbed away the mass I stared down at the dismembered body and even then couldn't feel any sense of calm At that moment, I was sure a fear I hadn't been aware of previously seeped into my psyche, pumping out a poison I couldn't stop. From then on, I hated them, feared them, couldn't know they were nearby, and even avoided movies or documentaries about them. I sprayed inside and outside the house, kept clutter at a minimum, and developed an acute detection of motion that needed only the tiniest portion of my retina to register one of the invaders.

But still, they got in. Not many now, but it only took one. Worst part, my loathing of these scurrying bugs had only grown. And so I stood stock still, clutching my book, staring down at the annoyingly calm spider tapping one or two legs standing its ground. This one really isn't going to be intimidated. it. Even when I finally made the smallest move toward it, the little creep seemed almost to dig in and defiantly lean my way. This was a standoff, and already I could feel my own courage wavering. But this couldn't last. I knew the invader mustn't be allowed to win. Once it won, well, I didn't

want to think about it. You don't accept the fact that the enemy will have any control over you. I took a step forward. A drop of sweat curled down my eyebrow and dropped onto my cheek. I gripped the book now in two hands, each one on its shorter sides, making it the most controllable object to throw down. There was a lot of flaw between the spider and any place to escape. If I got close enough, even if the spider made a dash for it, it wouldn't have the time to get away. Two more steps, and I felt sure the odds were piling up in my favor. I lifted my foot slowly, ready to make a dash for the insolent spider.

That's when it made its move. But the little hairy bastard didn't do the obvious. Instead of heading for the sofa, its closest to scape route, it sped directly at me. The whole thing seemed implausible. Suddenly the two-inch spider seemed like a charging rhinoceros. Segmented legs rising and falling carried it swiftly towards me in an obvious attack. Yes, yes, attack was how I saw it. And I just stood there parallel.

I realized my mind a swirl of horrible visions and sensations. I wanted to move, throw the book, but all I could finally do was bagpedal to a wall. I raised the book as though defending myself from a blow. But the spider, that damn thing, seemed to know what it had accomplished. It stopped just like that, and surveyed me like I was a cornered insect,

before scurrying to its left toward the fireplace. I saw my chance, my body felt a jolt of adrenaline, and I rushed from the wall and flung the book on the run just as a spider reached the brick hearth. The book, a carefully tended volume, I wouldn't have dared to fold the corner of a page, sailed above the spider on a perfect trajectory. The spider disappeared from view below its descending green binding. I stood for a moment, watching to see if the creature emerged from the book's edges. Satisfied, my little ordeal had ended, I placed a foot on the book. and bore down on it.

I'd learned to even seemingly crush these tormentors had a way of surviving, especially on carpets. Better to be sure, regardless if it meant to smear on my favorite novel. You use the weapon at hand. No sacrifice was too great to be rid of this menace. Removing my foot, I placed my toe under one edge of the book and flipped it over. Even then I fell back just in case. The book landed on the hearth. I stared at it and saw nothing.

No splotch. No slimy mess laced with dark legs. Nothing but the neatly incised, unmarred book title. I kicked the book to be sure. It slid from the hearth to the floor. The spider didn't appear. I didn't understand. Such a well-placed throw couldn't possibly have missed.

How? Breathing hard, I tentatively reached down for the book. all the while my eyes glanced about in case the little beast had a trick up its sleeve. No sooner did my fingers close on the book when I saw the answer to the mystery of the disappearing spider. Along the edge of the hearth, where the brick met the wood floor, I saw a hole. A jagged black spot where the cement had chipped away. From a distance it probably looked more like a shadow, nothing I would have noticed in a million years, but there it was. The perfect getaway.

I looked closer, but not too close. I wasn't about to have that creepy thing dart out at me when my face got near. The thought of it leaping onto my cheek made me shudder and I stood. How deep in could it be? Couldn't be that far. Not with all those bricks and cement resting on a wooden floor base. Maybe it huddled just within its multiple eyes focused on my every movement. My spirits rose.

Trapped. The word came to me like a mind balm. The obnoxious bug had let its confidence, its toying attitude lead it to its doom. Quickly, I shoved the book against the hole with my foot and ran into the kitchen. Fumbling amongst the detergents and other cleaning paraphernalia under the sink, I grabbed the can of raid, made expressly for spiders. As though holding a deadly weapon, I strode like a vengeful god into the family room. I uncapped the spray, made sure I had the nozzle pointing the correct way, and placed my foot on the side of the book.

With one swift movement, I shoved the book aside and pressed the nozzle. The jet of liquid spewed into the hole. I kept it up even as the pungent fluid began forming a puddle on the floor. Satisfied, I stood back and imagined the death throes going on inside. Even if it emerged, I knew it wouldn't live long. I reveled in victory. Even though only temporary until the next invader. I got a towel and mopped up the excess moisture with my foot.

I placed the book on the end table unable to do any more reading. Glancing about the room, finger on a nozzle, I made sure all was safe. Returning the bug killer to under the sink, I poured myself a glass of wine and sat at the kitchen table. Still, I watched the hole, picturing the spider legs curled in a death posture. the entire room reduced to that spot. My breathing settled down as I sipped the wine. Now I thought I could go to bed. I swallowed the last few drops of Merlo, enjoying the calm that enveloped me.

The hole along the hearth remained devoid of any movement. I had won, but this victory had been the hardest of all. This spider hadn't seemed a mindless creature like the others. It, I had a hard time admitting it. had focused on me. This was more than a simple stimulus response attitude. It almost appeared to be thought behind its movements. I had a hard time with that and felt sure that in time I'd see the fallacy of the whole thing. I was shaken right now. Still, I'd be sure to take better precautions from now on. Somehow I'd figure it out. Rising from the chair, I placed the wineglass

in the sink. Turning off the kitchen light, I stepped gingerly into the family room, keeping a wary eye on the hole. Unfortunately, a lit floor lamp stood near it. Keeping my feet as far away from the hole as possible, I reached over and turned it off, in the other lights and went upstairs. Undressing, I lay in bed and watched television for a few minutes. The programs bored me, but more than that, I felt all keyed up. Considering the last hour, it was no wonder.

Better to get a good night's sleep. I turned off the television, pulled the blankets over me, and surprisingly, fell asleep quickly. And the dreams came as they had to. The mind battling a conscious threat couldn't discard it easily in sleep. The battle resumed making the previous outcome irrelevant. Again, the spider had the starring role in the evolving nightmare. Once again, it intimidated me standing its ground, but now, now it oddly seemed. distracted by something else, something deep in the furniture. The dream held no answer as to what it

was, just a tantalizing indication this spider wasn't on some haphazard mission. The move against me came again in the dream, but this time it contained a vague notion it meant more. I reacted with the same horror. Once more, it drove me back and slipped into the fatal crevice in the hearth. Even in sleep I could smell the poison as I sprayed it. The ill-begotten sanctuary glistened, dripping with the liquid death. But this time the creature didn't die. As I lay victorious in bed, drifting off to sleep, it poked its head, then legs from the hole and slowly, slowly made its way across the floor and up the stairs to my bedroom. Legs grabbing the threads of my blankets, it climbed onto the bed, tiptoeing its way to my pillow. I wanted to rise up and flee, but none of my

muscles worked, as though a paralyzed insect I waited as the spider settled next to my face, basking in my warm breath, legs lightly tapping my lips. My eyes snapped open. I sat up stiffly. The nightmare lingered, causing me to rush to the center of the bed where I crouched looking back at the pillow. There was only the indentation from my head. Breathing hard, I looked up at the white expanse of ceiling untarnished by a black blemish. The back of my pyjamas felt cool with sweat. A dream. That was it? Just this side of forgetfulness, the memory of it hovered. Pulling together the evaporating connections, I realized it tried to point something out. The sliver of the dream difficult to make out, a thought, really, what was it about the spider that I had missed? Its actions were aggressive

and yet almost protective. Strange word to be thinking of, protective. Protect what? Perhaps I was supposed to back away from it, give it time, but I hadn't, and it trapped itself. Whatever its motivation I had won,

but suddenly any thought of victory was shattered when I thought of the hole. Could the damn thing still be alive? Maybe the dream had been my mind working to correct a mistake. Of course, I thought I'd been foolish to have left the opening untended, filling it would have made sure you always had to be sure. Sliding off the bed, I made my way down the dark hall to the stairs.

Something prickly brushed against my foot. I fumbled for the light, heart beating faster, ready to throw the vase from a nearby table if necessary. The blaze of light showed nothing, only the bottom of my pyjamas where a frayed edge rubbed against my skin. Flicking on the downstairs lights, I cautiously made my way to the family room. I thought, how foreign it seemed in the middle of the night, like I didn't belong there. Nothing moved near the hole in the half, a hole that appeared bigger now. Light glinted off the residue of raid I had sprayed. At first I grabbed my book to cover the cavity, but decided instead to crumple up some paper

and shove it in. A little shot of polyfiller would finish the job next morning. Contented, I walked to the stairs and glanced back. I remembered how staunchly the spider stood its ground in the centre of the room, almost expecting me to flee, taking a chance, but for what purpose? It ended up being suicidal anyway. And yet here I was bringing my tormentor back, even as just a fanciful creation. I went upstairs, but the tension wouldn't subside.

I sat on the side of the bed, staring out of the window at the moonlit night. Black shadows from windblown branches trembled, on the carpet lit a ghostly white. Again, something brushed against my bare foot. I pulled my legs up and yanked the threads dangling at my pajama bottoms. All I succeeded in doing was lengthening them. It couldn't possibly have escaped. I'd sprayed bugs before, spiders even, and they died. They might struggle a bit or skitter away, but they always slowed and curled into a final death throw. even if the spider had slipped from the hole, just touching the pesticide would have finally made its way into its nervous system and killed it. Then again, this spider seemed to be more astute.

Geez, now I'm thinking about it like some bright student. But I had to admit it wasn't like the others. More aggressive, more single-minded, more attuned to my fears, more something. My anger rose and I realized what I had done wasn't enough. The spray, the paper, they weren't enough. I had to be sure nothing else would do. Back into the family room, I turned on all the lights and stood before the hole. For a moment, I just concentrated on it, trying to determine the best course of action.

The wadding I'd shoved in remained intact, but obviously this wasn't enough. The only answer gripping me had to mean there was another way out. the hole was a decoy. You expected just a niche, but there was a back exit. Sort of like that movie I'd just seen the third man. Harry Lyme would disappear, but there was only a kiosk in the wide open plaza. Who'd hide in that? But when it was moved, there was an entrance to the sewers.

Must be the same thing here. It had to be tested. In the kitchen, I found one of those skewers for making shish kebab. I used the tip of it to flick out the paper from the hole. Tentatively, at first, I poked the sewers. skewer into the hole, pulling back after the first foray. When nothing emerged, I poked harder, hoping I'd finally impale the dead enemy, but it always came out empty. More dishearteningly, the skewer only kept entering a few inches.

No matter which way I frantically probed, the point ran into brick and cement. You couldn't have got out. I repeated the phrase before returning to the hole, plunging the skewer point in with a hard thrust. Then, glory, wonderment, feelings akin to a lottery win when I pulled it out. Stuck to the tip was my hairy, bald-up antagonist. I kept staring at it, my ego swelling like a swordsman who has defeated his greatest foe. Carrying it like a trophy glaring at its misshapen form, I opened the front door and snapped the skewer so that the dead spider flew into the yard.

I closed the door. stood there realizing how my breathing came and clipped bursts as I tried to convince myself, there was nothing more to this than eliminating one more adversary. The horrible arachnid had simply fired the fears in my brain into ideas that had no merit. I had won, and that was that. Still, my mouth felt dry. Shutting off the lights, I returned to the bedroom, still feeling the elation of victory. A hard-won victory at that.

Maybe this particular spider had learnt watching its brethren die, but its death would show there was no winning. The rest might now appear, but they had to know they were no longer any match for me. I lay in bed, arms behind my head, staring at the ceiling. The moonlight that streamed into the room, illuminating furniture, television, walls, seemed comforting. A growing calmness made the bed feel softer. Even the air felt like a gossamer sheet ready to envelop me in sleep. And I started closing my eyes.

A curtain coming down on the terrible evening, a curtain to begin rising on more pleasant dreams. But that didn't happen. The initial joy sparked like a wire being cut, and deadness ensued. The numbers on the clock at the far end of the room glowed. blood red they flicked to a new minute a rivulet of sweat slid from my chest along my skin like something crawling my nerves fired and i aggressively rubbed the sheet against my side looked saw nothing sleep i kept telling myself sleep instead though another thought kept intruding something i never consciously considered but which i now realized had hovered just on the brink there were so many spiders i had

dealt with, killed with my own hand, or died unseen from my sprays and poison granules. Suddenly the numbers seemed more than I imagined. Hundreds? Thousands? No. No, not that many, but it seemed like that. Maybe. Always they appeared. Kill one and another seemed to surface shortly thereafter. Perhaps it was days in between, but I didn't think so. Could I even think of a day when I didn't deal with one? Always they found a way in like they were being drawn here. Like they were drawn to fear to deep hatred and needed to keep trying, wearing me down, and waiting for some moment when they might become stronger. No, no, that couldn't be. In my sleep, they could easily have overpowered me, congregated in such numbers I couldn't resist,

destroying me with enough bites to compound any ineffective single fang injection. I thought of my walls filled with them teeming amid the studs and insulation, crawling along wires, pattering across ceiling plaster, watching me from tiny apertures, each waiting a turn to emerge and confront me, unseen but there. And that was their weapon, no venom into my bloodstream, just fear into my mind. They knew. Of course they did. Time was on their side, and already I understood they were winning. Now half asleep, I tasted the poison of capitulation. The dead one downstairs had done its job well. They must have sensed I tottered on the verge and that last one sacrificed itself to plunge the fear deeper, a fatal thrust. I listened.

Maybe just dreaming, but I felt sure I heard tiny feet, thousands of them tangling each other, feasting on the fear spilling from my paws. I wanted to rise, run, burn the place down, but I knew I couldn't do that. I'd lay here and wait and listen and feel the fear slowly paralyze me. Could the sensation I now felt of a tiny weight falling on my toe like a fold in the cloth collapsing be simply the unraveling of tension? And the slow movement of the sheet along my leg? Could it be muscles tingling with spreading relaxation? And that light weight pressed against my stomach must merely be the torpness of anxiety loosening. A lovely dream?

But why do I hear the refrigerator snapping on, frogs outside a car going by, I don't want to? to open my eyes, I'll just lay here in this twilight world, that the feelings happen like the new one, a quiver on my chest, a gentle stroking through the cloth to my skin. I didn't want to open my eyes, but I do. It sits there on my chest. The colors muted just this side of black. The dark legs splayed. A small glint from the eyes as they catch a stray moonbeam. It watches me inches from my chin. The other one was dead. I now clearly realised, no mistaking the difference. I knew enough to realize what gazed up at me. Everything was the same but the unnaturally large, bulbous rear on this one told me something else. I would have liked to scream, but the paralysis of fear was complete.

The swollen rear moved like wind-blown ripples of water like a breeze on fur. The spider's legs seemed to dig into my chest as though anchoring. The surface of the rounded back changed and now had a frothy movement as though the spider's rear segment had a life of its own. My eyes remained transfixed on the roiling motion, not unlike looking at a compacted mass of ants. Such a good mother, I understood. Dad's dead, isn't he? Emotion increased, the shapes tumbled and slid over each other. The time had come.

Mum had done her job, carried the eggs in a silken globe around her abdomen until they hatched and the small babies, maybe a hundred, scampered up onto her back. Tiny legs entangled, a moving carpet of bodies growing stronger on their safe perch. Getting ready. The spider stared up at me, perhaps feeling my racing heart pumping furiously in a frozen body. The spider shuddered time. The children rushed from her back to take their place in the world, spilled across my chest, over my neck, and across my face, finding places to hide.

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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