The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S14E24

Episode Date: July 26, 2020

It’s Episode 24 of Season 14. This week we conjure spells for you about the seasons of life. “My Mom’s Death” written by Scott Newman (Story starts around 00:06:30) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Katherine – Danielle McRae, Mother – Nikolle Doolin “Turn Off the Taps” written by Alexander Hay (Story starts around 00:21:00) Produced by: Jesse Cornett Cast: Narrator – Andy Cresswell, Chief – Joseph Shire, UX Hamster – David Ault, Linda – Penny Scott-Andrews, Paramedic – Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Hi, I'm Penny Scott Andries. All around the world, life seems to be returning to some kind of normalcy, even though it's a new norm. Social distancing, regular hand washing, face masks, these things are going to be staples of our everyday life for the foreseeable future. And while it's extremely important to follow these safety measures, it's a form of change. And change can be scary. Not everyone coax with change well. Sometimes it's easier to deal with big changes to your way of life if you have someone to talk to about it. But since we're all in the same boat,

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Reach out for a helping hand. Better help can offer that helping hand. So visit BetterHelp. dot com slash no sleep to get 10% off your first month whenever you need it 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 seasons of life. It's the penultimate episode of Season 14. This season seems to have flown by. I'm immensely proud of our team for continuing the high quality of work during these most unusual times. Next week is our big season finale, so brace yourself for that extravaganza. We'll then be taking three weeks to provide you with some hiatus episodes and perhaps a special episode of original content.

Fresh stories only newly decay... Well, let's just wait and see. And of course there will be plenty of bonus episodes coming out for Season Pass 14 members, and Season 15 will kick off on August. 30th. And I want to welcome back a new voice actor to our team. Yes, you heard that right. Voice actor Danielle McCray has joined our team after being featured originally way

back in season four. Danielle is a very talented Los Angeles area voice actor with a wealth of experience acting in video games, animation, anime, and commercials. We're so glad to have you back with us, Danielle. And finally, I'm happy to announce we have a winner in our movie poster contest. It was a very tight race between our five finalists, but one story squeaked ahead by the slimest of margins.

Our great illustrator, Sabu, will be designing a poster for the story, or should I say, stories? Yes, the infamous Search and Rescue series is the chosen poster. In the coming weeks, we'll announce the winners of the mounted posters, after Sabu works his design magic on the poster. A big thanks to everyone who participated in selecting the winner. So we're bracing for an exciting summer ahead. Let's get to it.

Now, close your eyes and embrace the magic. In our first tale, we joined Catherine, a woman caring for her ailing mother. When you've been looking after a sick relative for a long while, watching their slow decline, it's not uncommon to do your mourning while they're still around when you have time to prepare. But in this tale, shared with us by author Scott Newman, we discover that there are some things about impending death that you can't prepare for. Performing this tale are Danielle McCray and Nicole Doolin.

So treasure the time with your loved ones and remember the good times, because sometimes the end isn't what you expect. That much is clear when you hear about my mom's death. I'd always had a great relationship with my mom. My dad died when I was young, and she raised me all by herself without much outside help. As the years went by and my role began to shift from daughter to caregiver, it pained me to watch as her once strong sense of independence slowly melted away.

She's recently passed away, and you might be surprised to learn I'm not completely sure how I feel about it. Her death was both sudden and traumatic. But more importantly, it has remained seemingly unexplainable despite an ongoing investigation. I've been left with the fear I may never find out what truly happened. It was about a week ago when it started. I had just left her head. house, having had stocked her up on groceries and supplies for the next few days. As that particularly brutal snowstorm was predicted to hit the area, she hadn't said much

when I was there, which I took note of as she had always been a pretty chatty person. She more or less sat in her living room chair and watched me closely as I moved about the house, only to stop when I needed to ask her where she wanted me to put a particular item. This winter had been pretty kind to her. For the past few years, she'd been in and out of the hospital with pneumonia or the flu. She refused to even discuss the option of moving into an assisted living facility or into my house to live with me. So, after some discussion last year, we called a truce. As part of our agreement for her to remain at home,

she would call me on a daily basis to let me know she was okay. I know how much it irritated her. But it did put me at a greater ease to know she was okay. And we said morning would be a good time since I didn't have to go into work until the afternoon. I work second shift at a factory. I left her house that day with the understanding she would continue to honor her side of the agreement. I had no idea what was to come next. The next morning came, and I hadn't heard from her yet.

I had to restrain myself from picking up the phone and calling her. So I decided to give it a little more time. I went about my normal chores and watched my favorite soap operas. But as the hours ticked by, and when I was only about an hour from starting my shift, I decided to take action. I punched in her number on the speed dial. It felt like the phone rang forever because she finally answered. She didn't say hello or anything else at first.

All I could hear was raspy, heavy breathing, like she had rushed in from another room and didn't want to miss the chance to talk to someone. I asked her if she was there, nothing more but labored breathing. As I listened, I couldn't help but think. Looks like another trip to the hospital.

As if responding to what I had thought, the breathing suddenly cut off, and the line went silent. She started to speak, but it was very quiet, like somebody trying to whisper so no one else would hear. Whatever she said was almost unintelligible, and I told her I couldn't hear her.

I told her, She needed to try and speak up. I started to panic when all of a sudden... Mother, nothing to worry about, my dear. The way she had spoken certain words sounded strange, like she put emphasis on certain syllables and said it all without any sense of emotion. It sounded robotic, and there was no trace of her southern accent. Nothing about it sounded right.

good night and then she hung up I stood there for a moment with a phone still to my ear before I put it back on the receiver the entire call left me feeling uncomfortable as goosebumps prickled my arms

I wanted to call her back but I didn't have the time as I had to get ready for work I figured I'd give her a call at my dinner break even though I knew she'd be mad about it Extra calls to check up on her weren't part of our agreement, she said. I was at the end of my shift when I saw I had gotten a text message.

I didn't have the chance to call Mom as I had planned earlier, as I had been pulled into an unscheduled department meeting. We weren't supposed to have our phones on the floor, but I promised my supervisor to keep it on vibrate. But sometimes I'd get so busy I wouldn't notice. I unlocked the screen and was surprised to see who the text had been from. It said, Mom.

The thing was, my mom didn't know how to text. She never wanted to learn. In fact, she usually despite having to learn to use new technology of any kind. She still played games on an old Hewlett-Packard and wanted to keep only her landline for calls. She didn't even have the capability. to send a text message. The message was only one word repeated.

Hello. I immediately stopped in my tracks and called her. This time, the phone rang only once before she answered. And when she spoke, her voice sounded like it had been put on overdrive. Over, it kept going. Each time the tone sounded exactly the same, I pulled the phone away from my ear. as her voice carried so loud it hurt to listen. Even as I did, she continued without interruption,

like someone pushing a button on a doll to make it repeat a phrase over and over again. I finally spoke out loud, not caring if anyone around me overheard. Mom, stop it! My coworkers nearby looked at me and exchanged worried glances. I almost shouted again, but then the line went dead.

A co-worker of mine, somebody I considered a friend, approached me. She put her hand on my shoulder, and she asked me if I was okay. I just looked at her, at a total loss for words. I felt dizzy and almost nauseous. I said something about my mom not feeling well, and she gave me a hug. She offered to try and help, but I declined. She asked me a number of times if I was sure when I repeated myself more convincingly. She continued on and said she would see me tomorrow.

I walked out to the dimly lit lot and couldn't remember where I'd parked. In the expanse before me, all the cars looked the same. So many different thoughts raced through my head. Was Mom okay? Why was she acting so strange? Was she sick again? After I wandered around in the dark for a bit, I eventually found my car.

I got in and sat still for a few minutes, just staring out the window. A car horn went off in a distance and seemed to bring me back. If mom was in trouble, she needed help. I went to punch in 911 when my phone began to vibrate. The screen said, Mom, the feeling of nausea started to come back. I answered.

My mom didn't own a piano. She had learned to play as a child, but hadn't been able to do it for years due to arthritis in her hands. And then, I heard someone humming. They were humming something that sounded like an old-fashioned tune. After a bit memory of a song from my childhood began to push its way to the surface And my eyes started to well up I recognized the tune

It was one mom said she would hum to me All the time when I was a baby Hush little baby Don't say a word Mama's gonna buy you a mocking bird I cried silently as she continued on. A part of me wanted her to go on forever.

It sounded so beautiful. And I had always hoped to have a daughter of my own one day and sing to her. But cancer had taken away any chance of that. I said the only thing my mind would allow to come out. Mommy? Your mother! I felt a bony cold hand touch me. my shoulder closest to the phone. I couldn't bring myself to turn around or look on the rearview

mirror. I dropped the phone in fright. All I heard next was a series of loud bangs, like something crashing repeatedly into a wall. Then a few moments passed before I heard a pathetic whimper in my mom's normal aged voice. The call ended. I cried and called out. uselessly from my mom. Still terrified to look behind me, I somehow found the courage to dial 911, and then I raced over to my mom's house. What happened next is where the details of my mom's death allude explanation. When the emergency services arrived on site, there was no answer at the door, and all the lights in the house were off. They eventually found her at the bottom of her basement steps. Her body was cold and looked mangled. The police searched the house and found no signs of a

break-in. She was transported to the hospital where she was soon pronounced dead. The theory was, she had fallen down the basement stairs and died from sustained injuries. There was evidence to support this. But what was most disturbing was what the medical examiner said about her time of death. He said, Based on present rigor mortis and state of decomposition, she had been dead for almost 24 hours. 24 hours. She must have fallen soon after I'd left the day before. I told them it wasn't possible.

I told them I had heard her voice only a short time ago, over the phone. I had this strange text message and the phone call from her number all in that time period. they couldn't give me an explanation for any of it. The police never found another phone at her house. None of it made any sense. If it hadn't been my mom on the other end of the line, who had I been speaking to? These past couple of days,

I have scoured the internet for answers. The possibilities range from demonic possession to alternate realities. None of it helped though I feel like my mom was trying to hide something from me Maybe something from her past She often would skip over details

When recalling certain events in her earlier years Maybe something she didn't want me to know about Or maybe She did it all to protect me From something that had finally caught up to her I may have had a great relationship with my mom but now I feel like I never truly knew who she was. I just can't help but feel in the end.

I failed her. If you live on the first floor of an apartment building, the last thing you want is to look up and see water dripping from the ceiling. Being underneath a flooding unit might seem like utter nightmare fuel, damp, dripping, or even the ceiling collapsing. But in this tale, shared with us by author Alexander Hay. we learn that it's not the people below who need to be afraid. It's the fireman called to the source of the downpour.

Performing this tale are Andy Cresswell, Joe Sheary, David Alt, Penny Scott Andrews, and Erica Sanderson. So be careful when you're waist high in water. It's not just soggy floorboards you need to worry about. It's time to plead for someone to turn off the taps. As a fireman, I've seen all sorts of horrible things. Bodies charred and burned. People who've suffocated on smoke. Others who've thrown themselves off balconies just to get away from the flames.

People screaming as their homes, their entire lives literally go up in smoke. But the one thing that stays with me to this day doesn't involve fire. No, quite the opposite. It was water. So much water. Water up to your waist. It started as a pretty standard shift. Barry had blocked the sink again.

Linda was shouting at her kids on the phone. Imran was swearing at the television as Arsenal broke his heart. And the chief was fixated on candy crush, despite being a grown man in his 50s. Me and the rest of the watch were dozing around in the last. lounge arguing over who was the best bond. The only odd thing was that it was really quiet for a weekend shift. Too quiet. Sometimes you just want something to happen. Just let the tension out. So it was a weird sort of relief when we got the shout. A few minutes later, our fire engine was

charging down the road and into a residential street two miles from the station. The man who rang 999 met us when we parked outside the house where the call was made. Glad you could make it. He looked like an angry, balding hamster in glasses. Turns out he was a user experience consultant for some social network or other. Chief climbed out of the fire engine. As soon as we could. Well, my flat is flooded because the old bat upstairs.

She must have left the taps on or something. All right, all right. Chief began walking up to the main door. Not that one, and one at the side. I took a moment to check the building out. It was an old Edwardian house converted into two flats. Judging by the quality of the brickwork and the tall, sharp edges of the building, it must have been a rich eccentric's house once.

Now it was yet another By-to-Let property, with the upstairs and downstairs turned into separate flats. I'm getting flooded. Are you or are you not going to get in? The chief pounded the front door of the upstairs, then shook his head. No answer. He looked at me. Can you work your magic? Of course I can. Should we get the ladder?

My main speciality is breaking and entering. Not in a criminal sense, you understand. But I am very good at wedging windows open and climbing in, which is often something a firefighter has to do. I wasn't as good as Darren, who was a past master at getting at the houses, but he got done for actual burglary on his days off, and we don't talk about him anymore. I clambered up the ladder and set about opening the window.

It was one of those old-fashioned sash numbers, and in rather good condition, though the frame's white paint had begun to show the slightest signs of crumbling and cracking. Part of me was disappointed. Sash windows are dead easy to open. Give me a nice fold-up window or a pivot. I wedged the window open and pushed the sash up. It was unlocked, which was a relief, as it meant not having to break the glass.

But that suggested to me that someone might still be inside. Why hadn't they turned off the water? I looked down and gave the thumbs up to the chief. Inside, the living room seemed dark, so dark. in fact that it was hard to see inside. I realized the house faced west, so the sun didn't shine on its front until late in the day, and the way the roof pitched out over the window stopped even more like getting in. I was halfway in by now, one leg on the windowsill, the other still on the ladder. Shall I let you in? I nodded and climbed into the house.

I went in via the living room. I flinched with surprise as I got. I dobed down off the window sill and suddenly found myself waist deep in water. The loud splash and sudden coldness hit me with a sharp jolt. I could see that the deep water extended out of the living room and into the hallway. It looked pretty level, so I guessed the whole place was like that. I wondered for a moment how the entire flat was flooded, but I could hear the distant rumble of taps in the kitchen. How is it up there?

Absolutely flooded. I'm going to turn the taps off. The ceiling's going to fall in. My rifle goes spare. Whatever. I began to wade and slosh through the water. I could see objects floating past me like shoes, books, a plastic beaker, and even an old ornamental ashtray, which looked like it had never been used. But what was really odd was the water itself. It was filthy, a nasty, dark, grey sludge that you couldn't see through.

It stank. Not like sewage, but more like peat or old soil, or rotting vegetation. For the briefest moment, I thought I heard a splashing noise some distance away in another part of the flat. But it was too faked, and I must have imagined it. Or so I thought. Instead, I decided to focus on the job and survey the room I was in. Below the water line, the entire place was ruined. But everything above the waterline seemed tidy, dusted, if a little faded.

It was an old-fashioned, but well-kept flat, at least until the water destroyed it. I saw photographs on the mantelpiece, yellowing coloured pictures taken back when you had to take film to be developed. People in clothes from the 70s and 80s, smiling, they looked happy. The flat screened TV was half submerged but looked relatively new. I guess they really shouldn't have bothered. I lurched into the hallway and saw why the water hadn't flooded out down the stairs. A series of steps led down from the entrance, reflecting the fact that the house had been converted just a bit awkwardly into two flats.

This meant the entire flat was a kind of... basin now half filled with dirty water. It wasn't watertight, of course. It must have been leaking down to the flat below, and if we didn't stop the flooding and pump it out, the ceiling would cave in. I carried on, pushing my way through the water, past all the debris, towards the kitchen. The rest of the flat was dark and cold, not to mention the wet. I had to wonder what it would have been like living there before the flood. The place struck me as strangely. The place struck me as strangely gloomy and miserable. Or maybe that was just me waiting through the water. It was hard work, and the filthy water made me feel uncomfortable to say the least. I wasn't usually this queasy about

dirty water, but as I felt how it rippled and flowed around me as I moved, I felt an odd sense of revulsion. Finally, I lurched into the kitchen and the source of the flooding. Both taps were on full glass, still spewing dirty water. I headed over to the sink, trying not to grimace as I stepped on all sorts of things that squelched or cracked underfoot. I hoped none of it was glass. Apart from potentially cutting me open, it also risked tearing my uniform, letting in the filth. With one final push, I made it to the sink and turned off the taps. It was surprisingly hard, the flow making it really tough. Yeah, but the place is completely flooded.

We need to get the pumps in or the whole place is going to cave in. He had a point, but not thought of that. Where was she? I don't think she's here. Just to make sure I called out. Hello? Nothing. We'll do.

I got ready to wade through the water again. But then I stopped. She was staring at me. Her body had floated up. to the surface. I'd seen people who'd asphyxiated before. I always thought that dying of smoke inhalation and drowning was pretty much the same thing. I was wrong. A drowned body bulges and bloats. It stares. She was a middle-aged woman in her pajamas and a dressing gown. Her feet were bare. For some reason, it made me sad to think that she wasn't even wearing slippers.

when she died. Her body was floating chest up, but her head was laid on one side, the face half submerged in the murk of the filthy water. One eye staring straight at me, empty. The mouth was wide open, like it was halfway between swallowing the water and drowning in it.

I realized, to my horror, that I may well have walked on her corpse before it floated up. The body floated uneasily towards me. I've dealt with death before, but this time I couldn't help but move back in horror as the corpse nearly touched me. The eye kept looking. It was then that I noticed the injuries on those parts of her body not covered by sopping wet clothes. Deep black bruises on what I could see of her forearms, her collarbone and neck, the side of her face, her ankle.

She'd been held down, but had struggled desperately. The injury suggested it had taken more than one to drown the woman, and she had taken some time to die. For a brief moment, I saw a vision of her gasping for breath, struggling, even as strong hands kept pushing her back down in the water. Briefly, she managed to get her head out of the murk, but then another hand pushed her under. Perhaps they toyed with her, letting the poor woman breathe before half-drowning her again, until they got bored and just finished off the job. Like I say, fire doesn't scare me. What I saw there and what it meant, that did.

Yeah, Gov. I found her. She's dead. Yeah, I'll do that now. Oh. But that's all I can remember hearing. because I saw the body suddenly pulled down back into the black grey water. For a moment, everything was still. I didn't dare move, but instead I looked at the filthy, stagnant water, which seemed eerily still all of a sudden. But then it started to bubble and ripple in three places,

as if something, or some things, were surging out through. the depths. And they were. The water exploded as they arose. I pressed instinctively against the kitchen worktop, trying to keep away from what was in front of me. Eilers sockets leered at me from grinning skull faces, perched on top of vague, slimy, mulched imitations of the human form.

Their flesh was sludge, rot and vegetation, bone and sticks alike sticking out of what were presumably their bodies. Imagine everything foul from the deepest bottom of a marsh or a dark, lonely river, given form and purpose and hatred. That was what was looking at me. For a brief moment, they contemplated me. Then, long, grasping arms, tipped with skeletal hands, reached out towards me.

I tried to keep away, but suddenly the creatures exploded into liquid slurry and surged towards me, reassembling into their disgusting forms as they seized me with fleshless, slimy fingers. I tried to struggle, but I could already feel the tips of their finger bones jamming into me as they pulled me away from the worktop

and towards the centre of the kitchen, dirty water splashing, everywhere as I struggled. They were strong, far stronger than piles of dead filth had any reason to be. One had already grabbed my left arm, another my right leg. The third grasped my throat, its eyeless socket staring directly at me as its fleshless, grimy mouth dropped open, and a strangely dry, desiccated rasp came out from what might have been a throat. I panicked and tried to throw them off, but the two things holding my arm and legs simply used both hands to hold me still, while the third thing began to push me below the water. I gasped for air as I felt the tainted liquid enter my mouth and nose.

For a brief moment, my head was submerged under the water, but I managed to surface again for a moment. Now all three things were pushing me under. I tried to punch the thing with its hand around my throat, but my fist just passed through the grot, which reassembled back into a leering skull face straight after. Still, I fought, but I knew I was losing. Those things were too strong, and they were toying with me now. I knew it.

All it took was more than a fraction of their strength, and I would be under the water drowning. I realized what was about to happen to me had only just happened to the woman. Was it that easy to die? All I remember at that point was managing to get an arm free and smashing something off the worktop,

a strange throbbing sensation. Then, darkness. You stupid bastard! I heard Linda growling as I came to on the stretcher. What do you think you were playing at? I felt a strange bouncing sensation and then realized I was being carried down the stairs.

The dank, moist thug of the flat suddenly gave way to the sharp sting of fresh air. I squinted as my eyes got used to daylight again. For a brief moment, I wondered if this was what the afterlife was like. But it turned out they'd managed to rest. rescue me from the flat after the chief and Barry kicked its story. And they found me floating unconscious in the kitchen.

It turns out I knocked the blender into the water, which was still plugged in. The electrical shock blew out the fuses in the flat, and me too. I realized it had saved my life. Those things must have been vulnerable to electricity too. They certainly weren't there when my mates came in to pull me out. We're worried sick about you. Linda fumed as the paramedics loaded me onto the ambulance. I felt like I'd just been kicked with a sledgehammer.

But I could make out the rest of the watch rubbernecking as my stretcher was locked in the place. Dimly, I could just about see the high-volume pumping unit, its pipes being fed into the windows of the flat by firefighters on ladders, and Mr. UX hamster being calmed down by his... wife. Whether their flat got flooded or not was no longer top of my list of concerns. For some reason. A dickhead! Head! It was like I was now one of her kids. It was a weird honour. The paramedic grimaced. Steady on love? He's had a big shock. Not as bad as he'll have when I get him later.

The ambulance doors closed. Bye, Linda. I looked over to my side. Sitting in the ambulance was the chief, back to playing candy crush on his phone. Don't worry, mate. You'll be okay? Did you see the water? Did you find her? Chief looked up, concerned took hold of his face.

I saw it all. You didn't see them, I thought, as I drifted off to sleep. They took out of her body after the flat. was pumped out. The post-mortem concluded death by misadventure. The official line was that her flat got flooded, she got an electric shock, and then drowned. Quite where she got all the injuries from was never mentioned, or where I got mine. Electric shocks don't leave you with scratches, tears and bruises. They never publicly admitted the tests they did on the water either. It was full of soil, vegetation and gunge, but from an old river somewhere up in the Scottish Highlands.

How in the hell that ended up surging out of some poor woman's kitchen taps in North London is a question no one wanted to ask. Two weeks later, and I was back at work, no one really talked about what really happened, and I didn't either. I think that's how the world stays sane. It just pretends the insanity isn't happening. You're probably expecting me to tell you that there was some reason why that woman was killed. She must have drowned someone when she was young or couldn't save a childhood friend when they got into trouble while swimming,

or she got cursed by a magical bank vogue or something. Well, I can tell you none of that happened at all. She had a half-decent, uneventful life with no lingering tragedies, nothing which would attract vengeful water spirits to come take their revenge. It just happened. Deserved didn't come into it. She died because they picked her for no other reason than they could. I'm sure of it now.

I can imagine how it must have felt. Suddenly finding yourself in the middle of filthy water, completely flooding and destroying everything you've ever owned. Coming face to face with those things. The other panic as they ram your head into the dankness. Have you tried screaming underwater? Nobody can hear. That's what terrifies me.

The water. I still have dreams and flashbacks about it. At work, I can block it out. Even when I've had a deal with other floods, I'd just pretend I'm walking into a housefire instead. Fire's honest. You know where you stand with fire. But water. Water is treacherous. It makes you feel safe, but it kills every bit as much as fire does. Maybe more. I remember the cold and the stink that day. And those things. There are times I come off a shift. Get home, lock the door and just. just collapse onto the ground, sobbing. Rivers and ponds, and even the sea, it all terrifies me now.

I can't have showers on my own anymore, just baths. And even then, I have to shove corks into the taps, just in case... Just in case. No one in the watch knows. They can't know. They'd think I'm mad. Maybe I am. But that doesn't mean it can't happen again, or hasn't happened so many times before.

But as I run the taps or operate the firehouse, I keep checking the water, to see if it's still streaming out clear or whether it's turning dark, and I see traces of dirt, twigs and slime beginning to come out. Sometimes I can almost swear they do. until I realize I'm seeing things and the water is clear again. But what I do know is this. If you're ever at a sink and the water starts to run black, please run, get out, get as far away as you can. And if you can't, turn off the taps, make sure they're off.

Because I know. what lurks in the water, and we are its prey. I'm Atticus Jackson, and if you followed my adventures before, you know I'm all about trying to stay safe. This is because our coup, Olivia White, has a vendetta against me, and hounds me day and night by sending danger, turmoil, and disaster my way, whether in the form of zombies, meteors, home invaders, airtight chambers, or ghost bats from space. But aside from that, I care about it.

about being safe for good reason. With all the uncertainty in the world, feeling safe at home has never been more important. That's why I want to talk to you about Simply Safe home security. They're longtime friends of the No Sleep podcast, and for good reason. Simply Safe has made it easy

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an hour, and your home is protected 24 7 with emergency dispatch for break-ins, fires, and more. And you can get all this for just 50 cents a day. And we're not the only fans of SimplySafe. U.S. News and World Report named SimpliSafe best overall home

security of 2020. Right now, when you head to Simplysafe.com slash no sleep, our listeners will get free shipping in a 60-day risk-free trial. That's simplysafe.com slash no sleep to make sure that our show sent you. Anyway, just notice the script said ghost bats from space. Livy's never sent those after me. Clearly an editorial mistake.

Oh no, it's ghost bats from space. And they're after me. Ah! So remember, that's simplysafe.com slash no sleep. From Simply Safe and all of us here, we should use safety and good health, and me too, please. In the third and final part of the locksmith saga, following his black bag job and dalliance with glory, we find our hero with a bit of a dilemma on his hands. He seems to have freed an ancient god of destruction, which, as you can imagine, isn't the best for the world.

But in this tale, shared with us by author Jeff Miller, Our master of unlocking won't give up that easily. Performing this tale are Atticus Jackson, Mick Wingert, Graham Rowett, Peter Lewis, Nicole Doolin, and Jessica McAvoy. So lock all the doors and bar all the windows, hunker down and let the locksmith deal with everything by going back to where it all began and encountering the Corvid. Screaming late in the afternoon. lying in a bad stinking of sweat and piss. My sleep had been plagued by nightmares, endless reruns of that poor cop's body sinking into a wriggling mass of vermin,

and Mave's terrified eyes staring out from that column of swarming bugs. Are you confused? Maybe? I quickly recap what happened the last time we spoke. The night before, I'd robbed the evidence room of my neighborhood's local police station. I'd been hired by an old acquaintance of mine, Mave, to recover cash, cocaine, and guns that her son had lost in a drug deal gone bad. The deal was, I'd get to keep the cash. But even though I used a hand of glory, that's a candle made from a human hand, it paralyzes people when bathed in its light.

Well, things went really south. The evidence lockers didn't contain what I expected to find. Instead, I found bonemeal, squirt guns, and monopoly money, which really fucked me up. Then the class ring that was embedded in one of the fingers of the hand of glory dropped off. And all those toys and fertilizer became the loot I'd expected. If I thought I was fucked up before, I was really fucked up then. Especially when a swarm of bugs erupted from the evidence room officer's chest. I was trying not to hyperventilate back at my apartment when Mave arrived to collect,

not bothering to unlock or even open my door. Turns out, she had secrets of her own. After the spirit that had possessed her performed a truly disturbing magic right, I finally met my boss, a middle-aged woman who called herself Millie, among other names. Anyway, after I recovered from waking up in a bed soaked in my own bodily fluid, fluids, I spent the next hour cleaning my tool bag and tools. Plus, washing and disinfecting my mattress and linens, all accompanied by shots of Jameson. After I hung the sheets off my balcony to dry, I found the courage to check my phone. The precinct robbery was all anyone was talking about.

Three cops were dead, though no cause of death had been released, and all evidence in the Kelly case had been stolen. As for Nile Kelly, he had disappeared overnight from his locked cell. The Armenian gangsters? Shanked. One in the shower, the other in the yard. The DA was giving fiery interviews about how the local authorities were going to bring the hammer down on the Armenian mob. But it wasn't all bad news.

There was no mention anywhere of a mousy little jerk creeping around the station hallways with a flaming severed hand. After a quick meal of boxed mac and cheese, I broke down the AR-15 and dumped it, the pistols, and all but a few grand of the money into an old duffel bag, which I tossed off the bridge into a river on my way to the pub. I took a seat at the bar, grabbed a pint and a shot from Ben, and settled into a long iPhone session researching Millie's many monikers. It didn't take long before theme emerged. Nergel, for instance, had been a Mesopotamian god that once destroyed the city of Babylon. Afterward, the other gods were all... What the fuck, Nurgel? And he was like, hey, shit happens. I was just raging. Jill.

And they were like, Okay, cool. Thanks for leaving a few people alive. That was real nice of you, man. Beelzebub is, of course, the Lord of the Flies. That sure as hell seemed appropriate. Rischoff was a canonite, an Egyptian deity of pestilence and war. As for Legion, they were a bunch of demons who possessed some poor guy in the New Testament. Jesus drove them into a herd of hogs, and they all ran headlong into a lake and drowned. Can't say I blamed them.

I ordered a triple, been frowned, passing me to drink. You looking to blackout early or something? Yeah. I planned on ignoring him, but just as soon as he turned to leave, I had a thought. Hey, you know the orange hoodie guy? The one who gave you the hebi-jeebies? He turned, squinting. Yeah.

I ain't seen him in months, though. Why? Who introduced you to him? He scowled and quickly glanced left and right to see if anyone was close enough to hear before moving in close. Fuck you. I don't give up names, especially when the guy goes, MIA right after you fucked up his job. I didn't fuck anything up, Ben.

Come on. I'm in a bad spot. And I've never asked you for your help for free. Ben crossed his arms. Okay. I'm listening. I hadn't worked through a plan, but Millie seemed to have respected Orange Hoodie guy, at least.

I had to start somewhere. And it's not like I could stroll down to Walmart and pick up a banish a magic bugwoman kit. Look, let's just just. say you're not the only one who thinks I might have made him disappear. I know how it looks. I get it, but that's not what happened. We sorted out the misunderstanding. Plus, you know, I'm not a tough guy. I've never carried a knife, much less a gun. And if I don't find him, though, some very scary people will turn me into compost before the end of the month. And I'm willing to pay a fair price to avoid

that. He thought for a few seconds, pursing his lips. Three grand, and my name doesn't pass your lips. Meet me in 15. A little later in the back alley, I handed him almost all the cash I had left. He gave me a folded scrap of paper and poked me in the chest. Hey, you use my name, and I'll come looking for you. He went back into the bar.

I just stared at the note. And one corner of the torn sheet was a pretty little printed purple flower. I didn't even bother dialing the phone number. I just jogged home to grab my tools, my lucky jersey, and the dead guy's ring. Against my better judgment, I also tossed in what was left of the hand of glory, about half a palm. It made a bee line to Ben's apartment. I knew that's stationary. I'd met Ben outside his apartment a few times about jobs back when a couple of plane

closed cops started hanging out at the bar. They got made before they ordered their first Guinness. Anyway, I sipped a coffee across the street from Ben's building and hurried out as soon as I saw an elderly man approaching the door with his arms full of groceries. I held back until he entered his code and ran over to hold the door open for him. He smiled and I slipped inside behind him. I'd gotten the apartment number off the call box outside. Ben should really complain to the super about that.

And his door was simple to Jimmy open. The small apartment was clean, but not obsessively so. Bed was made, clothes folded and put away, a couple of bowls and silverware drying in the dish drainer. He had a laptop, but it was password protected. And if he'd written down the password, I couldn't find it. His calendar, though, caught my attention. It was affixed to the wall next to his desk.

Muscle cars hung over a grid of the month's days. After a quarter of them were blacked out completely with the big WTF marked in Sharpie across a couple of the others. I flipped through it. He started blacking out calendar days right around the time I did the black bag job. Aside from the calendar, though, nothing else struck me as odd until I slipped on the dead man's ring. The small television in his bedroom was now a safe, and his dog-eared collection of Patrick O'Brien novels was a set of journals.

Every page filled with neat spider-like characters in a language or code I did not understand. I swiped a duffel bag from his closet and took the whole lot of them. The safe was frustrating as hell. Every time I heard a tumbler click, something else inside would snap. and I've never heard of lock make noises like that. I swear, a couple of times the combination seemed to just up and reset itself as I was about to crack it. I finally got so frustrated that I put the ring on an end table, grabbed a meat tenderizing hammer from the kitchen,

and smashed the television screen into a million little bits. Stupid, I know, but even I have a breaking point, and I'd barreled way past mine several months before. I snatched up the ring and was about to go, when I glanced back at the TV safe, whatever the fuck it was. When I saw, made me laugh for a solid ten minutes. Tears running down my face like my mother had died. The front of the safe was all bashed to shit. And the door was half hanging open on a broken hinge.

Once I got a hold of myself, I pried the door off of the crowbar and shine my iPhone's flashlight inside. I could see the crown royal bag, but now it was glowing a sickly purple and roiled as if it were alive, like a stomach trying to digest food. There was also a sheaf of flowered stationary that smelled faintly of lilac, a fancy pen, and the key Mr. Black Bag had given me to use on the job. I smiled. Change of plans. I now had something of value to someone, or something. I figured it could probably get me out of this mess, and I knew just where to take it, the place where all this began, the jewelry store. Thankful I was wearing gloves, I first made sure the Crown Royal sack was cinched tightly shut, and then put everything from the safe inside my tool bag. I glanced at my watch. If I hurried, I could still make it to the jewelry store before it closed.

I grabbed a laptop and stack a cash I'd found behind a ventilation grate and tossed the place. I wanted it to look like a couple of crackheads had broken in looking for meth money. I was just about to leave when I heard footsteps in the hall. I ducked into the bathroom and closed the door just seconds before Ben entered, and he immediately started cursing and kicking shit all over the place. I heard the squeak at the ventilation grade opening, which sent him into an even mild. more for Roche's bow to profanity.

He threw open the door to the bathroom and froze. Man, I was going to miss the hand of glory when it finally burned down to nothing. I carefully pushed him out of my way and stepped around his considerable frame. Ben might fall for my ruse, but I knew that whenever Millie came back for her things, I'd be suspect number one. What's more, she no longer had any use for Ben's body now that she had one of her own. And when she discovered that I'd stolen her shit, she'd get so angry as she'd probably eat him just out of spite. I took the pen and wrote on the stationery.

Needed some of this. Be back for you soon. I stuffed the note plus half of his cash in his shirt pocket. Hopefully that would freak Ben out enough to make him hole up at his boyfriend's place for a while. I stepped out of his apartment and blew up the hand of glory. Ben resumed as tirade, followed by silence. Followed by hysterical what the fucks. The sound of a mission accomplished.

Way to the jewelry store, I picked up a burner at a bodega, and while I was there, wrote a quick note with the new mobile number on the stationery. I've got your bag of marbles. Call me. I was impressed. The pin was one of those fancier Mont Blancs, probably worth 100,000 or so, assuming you didn't turn into a bick at the next full moon. I figured that if the stationery and the pin were locked up in the television safe, they might have some kind of power. I hoped it would give me some credibility.

I arrived at the jewelry store ten minutes before clothes and didn't even bother trying to look like I was interested in buying anything. Instead, I sized up the employees, identified the manager, and handed her the note. Get this to the owner, the want to see it ASAP. Then I left, parking myself in a booth at a trendy bar down the street that's always packed. I stuck out like a sore thumb among the hipsters, but I didn't want to be alone. I had no idea what I was dealing with here. And besides, they make a great Cosmo. If you're too hard to drink a Cosmo, you're only hurting yourself, buddy.

I was working on my third Cosmo when the burner buzzed. I cut my hand to my ear so I could hear over the den. The voice was so metallic and distorted. I couldn't tell anything about the person at the other end. But the message was clear. The bathroom, 15 minutes. I paid for my drinks with Ben's money, tossed the phone in the trash can,

and did some breathing exercises to calm my nerves on the way to the meeting. It didn't work. I was vibrating like a high-tension cable when I arrived at the nearly deserted bus station. A young couple sat in the corner, bodies intertwined as they slept against each other. The human string bean was nodding off by the vending machines. An elderly woman was buying a ticket at the automated kiosk, her cane on a nearby chair. I gave the elderly woman a wide berth as I made my way across the station, stopping before the bathroom door. I took a couple more deep breaths, which still did nothing for me.

And I stepped inside. There was an old ceramic toilet that was yellowing in spots, a metal trash can full of used paper towels, and a standard sink. Paper towel dispenser on the right, metal mirror affixed to the wall. Written in soap on the mirror, close the door. I closed the door. When I turned back around to face the mirror, the message had changed. Pour them in the sink. My eyes dropped to stare at the drain.

I slipped the ring on my finger. The drain was a gullet, dark and starving. The sink was its mouth, open wide and quivering with anticipation. I hurriedly took the ring off, backed up until my butt hit the door and grabbed the purple sack of marbles. My price is you help me get rid of whatever I loosed from this bag. It's got a body now. I'm pretty sure neither of us wanted roaming free. The lights flickered.

The soap's gum red. Get in the sink. What? Are you fucking crazy? Hello? Are you okay in there, young man? Sorry, I'll keep it down. On the phone.

I will not harm you. The mirror red. Fuck that. Come up with something else. And then the centipede started crawling in from under the door. She will eat you. The mirror read. I stood up on the toilet, and within seconds the floor was a living carpet crawling up the sides of the bowl.

Frantic, I slipped the ring back on, hoping it was all an illusion. But what I saw on the floor was false. far worse than thousands of hungry centipedes. My mind broke. I jumped into the sink and it devoured me greedily. I woke up on a concrete floor, covered in stinking reddish slime. My skin burned and had an ugly rash covering most of my body. My tool bag, bins duffel, and a sack of marbles lay on the floor beside me,

also covered in goo. The room was lit by a single naked bulb hanging from a ceiling so far above me, the wire faded into darkness. Aside from an unpainted wooden door on one wall, the room was featureless and unfurnished. I grabbed my phone to see the day and time, but it wouldn't turn on. I'm awake! The purple bag shivered and turned over on its side. A single marble rolled out. Is that some kind of offering?

Silence. Not knowing what else to do, I picked up the marble in my gloved hand. The light was dim, but I could make out two heads in this one, and I recognized them. Heckel and Jekyll. Two yellow-billed magpies from the cartoons of the 50s and 60s. This was the first time I touched one of these marbles for any length of time. With Millies, I always aimed to destroy or dispose of it as quickly as possible. and I realized it wasn't actually made of glass.

There was some give to it. I thought about looking at it while wearing the ring, but I was too afraid of what I'd see. The door then flung itself open, blinding me as bright sunlight flooded the room. I can take a hint. I put the marble in Ben's duffel and exited the room, leaving the rest of the Crown Royal bag behind.

The door closed behind me. And I wasn't surprised to see a black concrete wall when I turned around. I was in an alley just off Juniper Street, three blocks from my apartment. With my phone dead, I couldn't call Ben's friend to get more info on the hooded guy, unless I wanted to use a pay phone. And the thought of stepping into the confined space of a phone booth made me queasy. I was all out of moves, and since I knew Millie could find me no matter where I tried to hide, I figured I may as well meet her in some clean, non-stinkie.

clothes on my own turf. I got some strange looks from the other residents of my building, and who could blame them? I looked and smelled like I'd been dipped in rancid strawberry syrup. After locking the door behind me, I threw my lucky jersey in the rest of my clothes in a sink to soak in detergent. I showered, and after I put on some fresh clothes, I grabbed a beer from the fridge, cracked it open, and waited for Millie on the couch. While I waited, I turned on the TV.

Big news day. That morning, farmers in western Oklahoma woke up to a cloud of locusts that devoured just about every plant within several dozen square miles. Etymologists were mystified because the North American locusts had been extinct for more than a century. But that wasn't all. Several dozen people in Kansas had been hospitalized for a mysterious illness that resembled smallpox. and the West Virginia's 17-year cicadas had emerged from the ground nine years early. They were so loud as some residents sought medical attention.

Their ears were bleeding. I turned the TV off and picked up heckle and jackal. They looked like they were smiling now. I put the marble on the end table, and despite my feeble efforts to stay awake, can no longer keep my eyes open. As the after image of their grins faded from my retinas, It fell asleep on the couch. The smell that woke me, rancid meat and rotting vegetables.

I opened my eyes to see Millie standing in my kitchen, shaking her head at me disapprovingly through the doorway. She took a couple of bites from the apple in her hand and tossed the rest on the floor. I had high hopes for us, Locksmith. Her body dissolved into a mountain of tiny wriggling creatures. I scampered over the back of the couch toward the sliding glass door that opened onto my balcony. My plan was to climb to the roof, and if I fell to my death, I figured that would be a whole lot better than being eaten alive.

But before I got halfway across the room, the sliding door exploded inward into tiny shards of glass. I instinctively covered my face and felt a few pieces lodged themselves in my arms. I felt the black bird's talons on my shoulder before I felt its considerable weight. It wasn't quite a raven, a crow, or a magpie. But it was definitely some kind of corvid. The thing was the size of an eagle. A big one. The centipedes and insects had formed a thick mat that was advancing quickly towards me and the bird.

God damn it, do something! And to my shock, it responded. If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out. What? Its beak flashed. My eye socket's filled with molten pain, and the world went dark. I heard the birds swallow my eyes in one giant gulp. I collapsed to the floor, and its weight lifted off from my shoulder.

The room exploded into beat. beating wings, ear-piercing claws, crunching, and a high-pitched screaming of a million tiny voices. All the while I writhed around on the floor, pressing my hands into my ruined face, listening to the birds feast on the bugs until I lost consciousness from the pain. Boke when I felt something being pushed into one of my empty sockets. The left one, I tried to wriggle free and battened away. I was held fast by sharp talons that pierced the skin of my arms and neck if I moved too much. Once the marble popped into place, I could see.

Even with just one working eye, I could see so much more than before. I crawled back to the couch and took stock of my situation. Rivers of dried blood ran down my cheeks like tears. The apartment was a mess of black feathers, bird droppings, and insect parts. But nothing moved, and that gave me comfort. The Corvid had hopped onto the table opposite me, and once I'd calmed down enough to listen, the bird began to teach. I learned the true nature of the marbles and the faces from which they'd been torn,

how the old gods entered our souls through our eyes. the deep power of the orb that now rolled around in my left eye socket. How to read the language Millie had spoken as a child many thousands of years ago. The Corvid, too, has had many names. Some are playful. Others are terrifying. I do think it is far more suited to my nature than Millie was. But to be honest,

I don't think I have much of my own nature left. I do not belong to me anymore. And I fear... 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. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted without the written consent of Creative Reason Media, Inc.