The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S15E02

Episode Date: September 6, 2020

It’s Episode 02 of Season 15. Our lost highway journey sinks its teeth into mommies and babies…so to speak. “Maternity Ward” written by Mediogre (Story starts around 00:04:50) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Danielle McRae “The Dentist” written by Gerardo Y. Garant (Story starts around 00:19:00) Produced by: Jeff Clement Cast: Narrator – Jeff Clement, The Dentist – David Cummings, Police Officer #1 – Peter Lewis, Police Officer #2 – Graham Rowat “Mother M Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Imagine, if you will, a cartoon character called Complexly Unsafe, hereby known as CU. This cartoon character is a buffoon, a fool, a wayward boy. He's constantly strolling into danger with reckless abandon. Sometimes he'll walk into a furnace and get burned alive. Other times, he'll frolic under falling rocks and find himself crushed. CU gets drowned, crushed, dismembered, and exploded on a regular basis. This is because CU isn't careful.

CU doesn't care about safety or security because he is an airhead. A Wally. A cheese weasel. Look, there goes C-U now. He's sprinting forward, looking back over his shoulder with a goofy grin, not paying any attention to where he's going. Watch out, C- Oops, there goes his face.

Now, look in a mirror. You see you, not see you. That's good. You're not a fool. You care about safety and security. You want to be protected from all the dangers life has to offer. 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.

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And we're not the only fans of SimpliSafe. 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 they know that our show sent you. So, stay safe, stay at home, and make your home safer with SimplySafe. Oh, look, CU's out of the again. He's walking into that room that says deadly lasers, keep out.

This won't end well for CU. Told you, don't be like CU. Be safe, with Simply Safe. And remember that's simplysafe.com slash no sleep to make sure they know that our show sent you. Tales or ask yourself for the no sleep podcast. Of the no sleep podcast, I'm David Cummings. And now it's dark. May I take a moment to tease you, to oh so subtly whisper in your ear and excite you with thoughts of dark and diabolical delights.

If so, then I can tell you we have some news coming on next week's episode about two new projects we're working on, two audio shows which will fill you with knowledge about horror and those who create it. I shan't say much more now, but stay tuned and make sure you are firmly and most decidedly braced for what's in store. See, that wasn't too unpleasant now, was it? And speaking of things which aren't too unpleasant, I dare say it's time. So now, let's begin our journey down this lost highway.

In our first tale, we join a nurse who regularly experiences the joy of childbirth. The baby's first cry, the smiling happy mother, the union of parent and offspring. A truly heartfelt time for all. But in this tale, shared with us by author Medioger, we discover one birth that led to horror rather than happiness. Performing this tale is Danielle McCray. So embrace the gift of life, but don't get too complacent. Not every child is born equal,

and you may end up regretting taking that job in the maternity ward. I used to be a nurse. I spent, or borrowed, I should say, tens of thousands of dollars just to get my education, not to mention all the time I spent in school, labs, and doing dirty work as a certified nursing assistant. I've been elbow-deep in just about any bodily fluid you can think of. None of it fazed me. I loved my job. I loved helping people.

I found the human body fascinating, and there is no greater reward than helping to save a life. But one day, something horrible happened, and I can't bring myself to step foot inside another hospital again. I landed a job in the maternity ward. This was something I'd pushed for quite some time, as I love working with babies. I love introducing parents to their new child. Even if the labor process was horrendous, handing a new mother her baby son or daughter was well worth it. Sure, there were some bad days, but none like this one. The day had started out like any other.

We received a call from the emergency department, giving us a hurried report of a young Hispanic girl who appeared to be an active labor. She was not a patient of any upstair trick provider at our hospital and had no medical records. The transport staff from the ED brought the woman to our labor and delivery area in a wheelchair and handed us what little paperwork was available. This was a normal occurrence, so no big deal. They are not to do vaginal exams on pregnant women due to risk of infection to the mom and baby couplet. We did the exams here. A man followed behind the transport team claiming to be the father.

He was a white male, maybe mid-30s. He wore a suit and tie with sunglasses. He looked like an extra in the Men in Black series. I was surprised he didn't have a radio earpiece. When asked if he was the father, he paused as if he had to think about it before saying, yes, with little to no emotion whatsoever. We didn't have time to ponder how peculiar this man was because his wife, significant other,

needed to be examined as soon as humanly possible. Once she arrived on the floor with a strange man in tow, she was asked to empty her bladder and chained into a gown. I will never forget this woman's face. She was Latina, beautiful, early 20s, even wincing with contractions. I could catch glimpses of her gorgeous brown eyes. These aren't things you notice when a woman goes into labor, but for some reason, the details stuck with me.

The patient got into bed, and the fetal monitors were put into place. It was difficult to communicate with her as she only spoke Spanish. I only knew enough Spanish to order food at a Mexican restaurant. Maybe. Poor thing seemed so frightened. I hurt and sighed knowing that the language barrier severely limited my capacity to help this young lady. I turned to her father for his help to calm and be a support to his wife. I remember the father standing in the corner of the room, out of everyone's way.

His hands crossed over one another, covering his beltline. He looked bored. Most men in his position were either freaking out or trying to do anything to help. or offered a hand to squeeze. But this man just stood there, like he was the secret service and the wall was the president. The cold-hearted jackass just stood there, not seeming to care about the distress his wife was in.

He appeared to be distant and uncaring to the point that I wanted to get into his face and call him out on his callous behavior. I hoped his wife saw him for how he really was and dumped his sorry ass. She was dilated to seven centimeters and was 80% F-faced. She was assessed for any abnormalities or bleeding. There didn't seem to be any problems.

Just another birthday for another baby, hopefully. The woman seemed so delirious and frantic. She fought the staff every once in a while, as if she would be able to escape in her condition. The anesthesiologist came in to help her with her. her pain. He knew a smattering of Spanish and was able to explain what an epidural spinal anesthetic was, along with the risks and benefits. She was able to calm down enough to give consent and have the epidural placed. At her next vaginal exam, she was at nine centimeters and fully effaced.

It wouldn't be much longer now. Dr. Thomas was paged once again and was given the page of current state of labor. He said that he was on his way. We set up the delivery table for the doctor, which included all of the possible instrumentation that he preferred for vaginal delivery and cutting the umbilical cord. The nursery nurses were setting up the warmer with the supplies that they need to catch the baby, wait, measure, and assess him or her. A brief time elapsed, and the patient was trying to push. I checked her again. She was ten centimeters dilated and ready to go.

Where was Dr. Thomas? I bet the jerk was still downstairs flirting with that post-op nurse. I hoped his wife would find out. In the meantime, I was going to have to deliver the baby. Then his nose was going to be out of joint. And he would report me for a nurse-assisted delivery. Like she was supposed to cross her legs and wait for His Majesty's Majesty's, arrival. I don't think so. Her bed was converted to a birthing bed. I showed her how to breathe and use her

contractions to her benefit. I told her to push. She started to ramble in Spanish, most of which I did not catch. Her husband still remained cold in a loop in the corner of the room. Her bowels evacuated onto the operating table. This, of course, was normal for childbirth. I only mentioned it because the mess slightly obstructed what I saw next. All of a sudden, there was a gush of blood from her uterus, which also made it difficult to get a view of what was going on. At this point, the baby's head should have been crowning,

but no baby emerged. I put my hand below the vaginal. area to be sure the baby didn't fall into the mess on the table. Suddenly, a fully grown human hand emerged from the woman's vagina, grabbing my wrists. It pulled with surprising strength, as if it were trying to suck me into the woman's body. I had my feet and tried to break free of the things grasp. After the hand, a forearm emerged. Another set of fingers pushed their way. alongside the first forearm, which still held my wrist. As the second hand emerged, the woman's vaginal and anal cavities tore into a single opening.

The woman's pelvis snapped, as both invasive arms made it out of the unfortunate woman. This was impossible. What looked like a fully grown man was tearing at the woman's flesh trying to escape her body. The vaginal tear was making its way up past her umbilicus. A man was crawling out of her rib cage, entangled in her entrails. How could a fully grown man fit inside this tiny little woman? The man was grayish in color, with translucently pale skin. I could see a vascular roadmap underneath his skin.

He was completely hairless, and when he opened his mouth in what looked like a silent scream, I could see that he had no teeth. Just then, the father pulled out a pistol from behind his back and shot the thing in the head, killing it instantly. He shot the woman who was beyond saving anyways. The man pulled out a badge and told everyone to exit the room and block. lock off all entries. He assured us more help was on the way. A bunch of men in suits came and evacuated the entire floor. All of us who witnessed the event had to sign a bunch of documents

swearing secrecy. But I can't keep this bottled up inside. Whatever happened was predicted by our government. I don't know if it was a fluke or if it could happen again. All I know is that I am never stepping foot in a hospital again. The thought of sex makes me want to vomit. So here I am. Migrating place to place, finding our jobs, none of which I am proud of. One thing that particularly unsettles me is that

I remember hearing the woman shout. So I feed him. If you don't mind, I'm going to take you out of the horror for just one moment. moment. Hi, I'm Nicole Goodnight, and I get fresh, pre-measured ingredients and mouth-watering seasonal recipes delivered right to my door with Hello Fresh, America's number one meal kit. Shocked? You will be. Hello Fresh's recipes are so delicious and they offer so many to choose from each week to break you out of your recipe rut. There's something for all, including low-calorie,

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Hello Fresh is flexible and fits your lifestyle. Keep your fridge stocked by adding extra proteins or sides like garlic bread to your weekly order. Easily change your delivery days or food preference and skip a week whenever you need. Feeding the whole family has never been easier with larger box sizes for more servings and more savings. And those are just some of the benefits Hello Fresh brings. They're also committed to helping you eat more sustainably with less prep and less food waste. And they're all about giving back. with millions of meals donated to charity

and an even bigger increase plan throughout 2020 during the current crisis. Well, what is all this delicious food, you ask? Well, lately, I've been hooked on their buffalo chicken tacos or, if I fancy a vegetarian option, their barbecue pineapple flatbreads. Mmm. But those are just two of the numerous delicious recipes I love.

So go to hellofresh.com slash 80 no sleep and use code 80 no sleep to get a total of $80 off, including free shipping on your first. box. Additional restrictions apply. Please visit hellofresh.com for more details. Remember to get $80 off, that's hellofresh.com slash 80 no sleep and use code 80 no sleep. Now back to being scared. Teeth. Oh, they're a pain in the mouth. Or they can be if you get tooth decay or suffer from long-term poor oral hygiene. For such tiny, inconsequential things, teeth can hurt an unresolved. reasonable amount. But in this tale, shared with us by author Gerardo Y. Garant, we join a man who's

finally getting his teeth fixed. All good, if only the doctor didn't seem a little off today. I join Jeff Clement, Peter Lewis, and Graham Rowett in performing this tale. So sit down, lie back, and open wide. Don't look down in the mouth. You might not like what you see there. At least not when you've met, the dentist. It was supposed to be a routine procedure. If I had somehow been able to see what that morning held in store for me, I would have gladly waited for the next available appointment. As it happened, I found myself in a cramped waiting room that was too warm

and smelled of sweet sickness. It was painted a bland tan color with white borders. I always hated that color scheme, even as a young lad. A large animated tooth exclaimed that he felt so much better after seeing the dentist. There was a small flat screen TV on the back wall in a small area with toys for children in need of a distraction. There were a few children in the area,

trying to figure out the puzzle game that sat attached to the small table. The flat screen displayed some morning talk show or another, and there was an odor like some unholy mixture of bad, bio, disinfectant, and latex. My name was called. I went to the receptionist's window and was given a few forms to fill out. I silently wish that this process could be expedited in some way. When I looked down just in time to see that I was about to trip over someone's outstretched legs, rudely outstretched, considering the size of the waiting room,

Even though I didn't trip over his legs, the guy flinched as if I did, and he looked at me, like he's asking, what the fuck? I looked at him with an expression on my face that hopefully loudly said, I somehow managed to make it back to my seat in one piece and began to fill out the paperwork. I remember the toothache was intense, and it throbbed in sync with my seemingly perpetually budding headache. I swear to God, if it would just stop. I promise I will floss every fucking night. This is, of course, what I always tell myself.

The few days leading up to that morning were fraught, with aches and pains from a particularly painful cavity somewhere in the back of my mouth. The jabbing pain started on a random Friday afternoon and had only gotten worse over the weekend instead of some. silently fading into nothing, as was usually the case. As you can probably imagine, I was desperate to get the first dentist appointment still available for the following Monday morning at my longtime dentist's office. At this point, the pain had gone from a four to a nine.

Luckily for me, someone had canceled their appointment for Monday morning, opening a spot for me. I finished the paperwork and gave the still outstretched asshole a wide, birth on the way to drop off the forms and on the way back to my seat. I sat and breathed through my nose as the cold air from the nearly useless AC unit in the waiting room only served to aggravate the screaming nerve in my mouth. My name was called yet again, and I was led to the door that goes from the waiting room into the back offices. I looked at the faces of those still waiting and saw that they were annoyed that someone that had just gotten there was already being. seen when they'd been waiting for who knows how long.

But I didn't care. Let them stare. I needed it to stop as soon as possible. It's almost over now. Just get in the chair, and soon enough, the wonderfully numbing anesthesia will ensure the pain is but a distant memory. After taking a few x-rays of the problem area, we went to an unoccupied room, and the Dental aide set me up in the uncomfortable chair, placing a thin paper bib around my neck.

As a side note, do yourself a favor and never look at the bib on your way out, after the dentist is done poking around in your mouth. You will see things that will haunt you in your nightmares, as I learned the hard way during my last appointment. I stared at my phone, pretending that a tooth in my mouth wasn't actively pulsing with a special kind of hell, the kind designed specifically for you so that it may cater to all your fears, while also making sure every inch of your body feels the vibrations from each stab of the proverbial ice pick in your mouth, one that aims directly for your electric nerves. I couldn't concentrate

on the latest celebrity gossip beaming from my phone, so I put it away and just stared up at the ceiling, trying to think about something else other than the pain. I felt a mixture of emotions at this point. A part of me was anxious to get my filling, so the constant ache would subside and allow me to sleep at night. Another part of me was anxious because I've always hated the dentist. This is more than understandable, as I was cursed with a plethora of dental issues when I was a child,

eventually beginning to associate the biannual trip to the dentist with soreness and pain. There always seemed to be something wrong, and there was always something that needed to be drilled. I once had to get a tooth pulled because I waited so long to see the dentist, out of fear of the pain, that by the time I forced myself to be seen, the tooth was so decayed that the dentist decided it would be better to extract it rather than allow it to continue to rot and cause infections in my mouth. That was super fun and not painful. But did I learn my lesson and floss more? Well, my familiar situation should be answer enough.

Eventually, my dentist walked into the room and greeted me with what I think was a less than sunny disposition and wasted no time with pleasantries. He got directly to business. So what seems to be the problem? What brings you in today? I have the worst toothache ever somewhere in the back. of my mouth, and it has not quit since Friday. He removed his glasses and cleaned them with a felt handkerchief he produced from his lab coat

breast pocket. Mm-hmm. Tell me the truth. Have you been flossing? I hate that question. When I remember... It's the neutral response that I always gave when asked about my dental hygiene. I mean, it's not like I'm gross or... anything. I brush twice a day, but beyond that, my teeth only come to mind when they hurt. Well, let's see if that was enough. Let's take a look, shall we? He stuffed his hands into gloves and placed his mask on his face, and then turned on his

headlamp. I moved into a position almost too eagerly. My mouth agape and rhythmically breathed through my nose. Hey, have you heard the one about the dentist of the year? What does the dentist of the year get? I gave him a blank, emotionless stare that hopefully communicated to him to hurry with the punchline and not be stingy with the anesthesia. Not much of a guesser, huh? Well, I'll just tell you.

He gets a little plaque. Get it? Plaque? As in what we scrape off teeth for a living? He chuckled harder. But I stayed silent. He saw my lack of reaction and tried to stop giggling at his own joke before he momentarily got tangled in the various hoses and cords that surrounded the station.

He awkwardly resituated himself and cleared his throat. Well, anyway, let's begin. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him assemble a small syringe from various parts, sealed in numerous packages. My anxiety began to swell when it became obvious that he was fumbling a little with the assembly process. I saw sweat begin to manifest on his exposed forehead, and his breathing seemed to quicken. And I realized he was nervous for whatever reason. Okay, here we go.

I need you to relax and open your mouth as wide as possible. I breathed in deep and did as instructed. I felt quick little pinpricks of discomfort, as the needle dove into various places in my mouth to quiet my screaming nerves. Once done, he allowed me to close my mouth for a bit, as we waited a few minutes for the anesthesia to numb my entire mouth.

I always found the sensation amusing. It felt as though my lips and gums it inflated to extraordinary sizes. That's weird. I didn't think my whole mouth would have to go numb to fill one cavity. Well, anyway, the pain has stopped. Thank baby Jesus. I closed my eyes to focus off the discomfort in occasional twinges of pain. Looks like you have more than one cavity to take care of, but I'll try my hardest to make this quick.

From what I can see now and from your x-rays, looks like you have three. He smiled from beneath his mask and wiped sweat from his face. with a towel. Looks like you need to kick the flossing up a notch, son. I nodded slightly to communicate that I understood. I began to think about how dark dentist visits must have been back in those days before the invention of anesthesia

or similar numbing agents, most procedures teetering on the barbaric and inhumane. And then I thought how lucky I was to be alive in a time where such procedures could be endured with the aid of numbing agents. Suddenly, I began to feel groggy, like I was drifting away from myself in the situation. The sensation came swiftly and powerfully. Out of the blissful ignorance I was bathed in came the small yet distinct mumblings from behind

the dentist's startlingly white facial mask. I couldn't make out what he was saying other than a few words here and there. The cloud of slumber that had enveloped. me became denser and it became difficult to keep my eyes open. Should a simple filling require intense general anesthesia? The last thing I saw before I went completely under was the look on the dentist's face. It was one of a man that was trying to decide whether or not to react to something terrible. Like when you witness an auto accident and feel the impulse to pull over and help however you can, but also the traffic behind you and the lack of time makes for a convincing argument to stay

in the car and keep driving. That look scared me, but I couldn't really piece all these observations together. The fog had grown heavy, so I closed my eyes and dove deeper into my internal lake of solitude. I couldn't really tell you how much time passed before I woke up. I still couldn't couldn't feel what was going on in my mouth. But I could hear and feel the drill, and I could hear metal clanking against metal and the sound of the suction applicator. Only the sharp and most painful job seemed to reach my brain, but even those were manageable, and barely registered in the misty peripheral dreamland that my mind swam in. What I could register was that my eyes were still closed, and for some inexplicable reason, I could not move. That was when his voice

finally reached my dazed brain, and I could hear him mumbling to himself. It sounded as if he were alternating between trying to coach himself through the procedure and talking about his wife, and repeatedly asking why she wouldn't just let him fix it. Why can't I move? What's happening? I could hear the frown on his face as snippets of the procedure reached me, but it was mostly dental jargon I could only guess the meaning of. When asked later, I could not tell the authorities exactly what he said.

Up until that point, he was mostly mumbling to himself, but then sharply, he spoke clearly and audibly. It was like finally finding the correct station on the radio. I realized that he thought I was still asleep when he stopped to address me. You know, it's good that you're getting these things taken care of as soon as possible, not like my wife, who liked to procrastinate till the last minute. Oh, she was the worst. But, you know, I must admit I always loved her smile.

even with that small chip on one of her bottom front teeth that bothered me to no end. No matter how many times I asked, she never allowed me to fix it. She said it gave her character, and besides, it's not that noticeable, at least not to anyone that isn't a dentist, she would say. He said this last part with an edge to his voice. I imagined him using air quotes. And she was right, but you know, after years of looking, at it, that damn tooth began

to nag at me, and then it began to speak to me, which then began to anger me. It mocked me. It laughed at night while she slept, and it tortured me. Something like that would drive anyone crazy, right? Why wouldn't she

just let me fix it? It would have taken no time to repair, and it would have looked like new, but no. Out of the question for Linda. I was suddenly very aware that he was speaking in the past tense. It seemed there was a sad ending to what I knew had been a long marriage. I remembered seeing pictures of her throughout my tenure here as a patient.

It also made me nervous for some reason. But that's in the past, isn't it? She's gone, and I'm happier for it. It was a messy ending, but it was all so inevitable. Look at me, pouring my heart out to a kid. Ah, but I guess you didn't catch any of that, did you? I could feel him move closer to my face, the smell of whiskey on his breath. And besides, with these gone, they won't be able to identify her

even if they ever found her. How could they? Anyway, she will never really be truly gone. Wait, what? I thought maybe I was confused. for a bit because of the anesthesia and because I had been drifting in and out of what he was seeing. But don't you worry, I finally fixed that chip. Police, don't move.

We've got a gun strained on you. Don't try anything stupid. Drop the weapon and step away from the boy. Back up with your hands behind your head. Do it now. I heard the dentist drop the object in his hand onto the linoleum floor. and then scuffle away from me. I heard his hands land on the wall with a loud thud. The officers were on him in an instant,

and after a small shuffling of bodies, I heard the locking of handcuffs. But I'm not done! He continued laughing as I heard the group shuffle out of the room, while one officer began to state the dentist's Miranda rights. Another officer stuck around. and I heard him approach me. It's going to be okay, son. We'll get this fixed in no time. Do not panic.

This statement, of course, only caused me to panic more, and I began to sweat and breathe hard. I just needed a cavity filled for fuck's sake. I assume the appearance of sweat on my upper lip and forehead and the heavy breathing signaled to the officer that I was awake and conscious. I couldn't help but picture the goryest and most horrific situation inside my mouth. Is my tongue still attached? Are my teeth filed down to sharp points? Are my gums mangled and raw?

What has he done to me? I frantically tried to piece together what he had been saying, but the drugs and his mumbling had made that difficult. Most of his words didn't connect in my mind, so their meaning was lost on me. Then the lights went out again. I awoke sometime later, alone in a hospital bed. The light was bright, and my head and mouth throbbed

as the machines measured my heartbeat with glorious beeps. I'm alive. But now came the hard part. I began to carefully go over everything the dentist said that I could remember. And with sudden realization dawning on me, I sat up quickly and rushed to the mirror hanging on one of the walls. I would later learn from the police that they had, in fact, found the dentist's wife, in a shallow grave near the home they shared together.

They were able to convict the dentist for murder, using various security cameras to place him in the area after his wife was reported missing by her employer. He eventually pled guilty and was sentenced to life in prison. I spat out the gauze and opened my mouth wide. God, he couldn't. He wouldn't. I pinched myself so that I would wake from this horrific nightmare.

But the soreness of my arm and my arm, My mouth told me that this was real. The reflection in the mirror was horribly altered. My face was still there. But his wife's beautifully shaped, pearly whites, had replaced my own teeth. With one improvement, he had finally fixed the chipped tooth. I could make out where he fixed the chip-tooth. with some white glossy material.

The emergency dentist that had sutured my mouth probably didn't think to verify that the teeth in my mouth were my own. Who would? The dentist had finally done what he wanted so badly to do while his wife still breathed. And now, after getting rid of everything but her precious smile,

his magnum opus sat perched beneath me, My dry and cracked lips, and all I could do was scream. Exploring abandoned buildings has become a regular pastime for the youth of today. Factories, malls, asylums, there's so much to discover. And plenty of near misses and narrow escapes for the thrill seeker. But in this tale, shared with us by author Jimmy Ferrer, we find ourselves in a location from which there may be no escape under the watchful eye of a tyrannical matriarch. Performing this tale are Kyle Acres, Aaron Lillis, Matthew Bradford, and Jimmy Ferrer.

So take heed of the warning signs, the writings on the wall, and beware of the silence and what lurks behind the doors at Mother Maggie's. You don't understand the amount of effort and strain associated with serious rehabilitation until you experience it yourself. A journey to return to normal. Each step on this journey, though, is accompanied by sharp, persisting pain. Everything previously taken for granted is illuminated by a bright and unavoidable spotlight. Walking, sitting up in bed, having my own natural teeth. Hell, even just being able to sit up without help, all things I wish I could do like I did before. If you were to look at me in my current state, needing help from two people and various mechanisms to simply walk,

you'd never imagine, but I was strong once. I considered myself to be in above-average shape. Lifting was my favorite thing to do. That isn't the takeaway I want you to have. I just want to get it across that I considered myself to be a strong. younger guy. Now, at five feet, eight inches tall, I weigh a paltry 105 pounds. Before the incident, I weighed 195. I need you to know and deeply understand that it doesn't take a lot for you to get to where I am. In fact, my experience proves that it can only take one decision to change your

life forever. In my case, it was something as simple as trespassing in what I assumed to be a vacant unit in a shopping center. What I did over the course of an hour, changed my life. It only took one accidental visit to Mother Maggie's to destroy me almost entirely. Body and soul. It's been six months since my visit, but I remember clearly as if it happened hours or minutes ago. Before, all of it, whenever I could, I like to walk around the city to take photos. If you know anything about larger cities, it's not uncommon for units to be vacant from time to time. What I used to do was go into these units and take photographs. Nothing professional just experimenting with all my camera's settings,

reading tips online, and generally playing around. I messed with exposure times, painted with light, and made ghosts of myself, and so on. This came about because I got bored of the typical skyline or Jimbrough photos I'd have started to accumulate. Pets, food, and selfies, the usual affair for someone trying to have a relevant social media profile. It was one day looking over my camera roll that I had a burning desire to try absolutely anything to make me feel just a little less basic. Basic, however, is safe, as I would discover on my third outing. This one was in a multi-level strip mall with a unit empty on the second floor.

It was on a hillside that overlooked a river. I felt like I could get some really cool shots here. The glass doors had a typical setup, lock and chain, paper covering the glass. of the doors with notices reading, Coming soon, melted. This was a local restaurant that did a variety of cheese dishes, grilled cheese, mac and cheese, and cheese, and so on. The lock pick set I'd acquired had proved to be a fantastic asset.

I fiddled around for a little bit and popped the lock open. I slid the chain off and headed in. What I expected, an open, empty area of a few hundred or thousand square feet, was not what I found. When I opened the door, I was greeted by a small, area that looked like an entrance to a house. Imagine opening the front door of a restaurant and seeing an area no larger than a walk-in closet, walls pastel blue with white trim, and a small porch light right above a door that would be more at home on the front of a house. That is what I was looking at.

I was stunned, sure, but my curiosity far outweighed any concern that I had. I took some photos because who would believe me and walked up to the door. I stood in debate, for a moment. My experience told me that this is not what I should be seeing here. And furthermore, my life up to then had held me to the principle that you don't just walk into someone's house. If this is what this was, I shook this off. It was a restaurant, one I'd been familiar with in the past, and while a strange gimmick, a gimmick is what it had to be. I turned the doorknob and heard the expected click. Honestly, had I knocked, maybe things would have turned out different. Maybe I would would have knocked, no one would have answered, and I could have turned around and got the hell out of there.

Maybe if I wasn't so quick to disregard my learned manners, I would still be able to breathe without pain. And maybe, just maybe, if I'd followed the rules like I had the rest of my life, I wouldn't have had my spirit torn to pieces, destroyed so thoroughly that after six months of rehabilitation, I still couldn't walk on my own and couldn't eat without searing pain tearing through every part of my jaw. I opened that door, a picture of fitness and good health, a confident, self-loving person. I stepped in, not knowing that that version of me would die within the confines of this place, and that something else would emerge, broken in every way. I was well aware of the evil in the world, but nothing had ever seen or heard could have prepared me for what I would experience.

The entryway continued to reflect what you would expect of a home, a straight hallway, with doors on either side, that opened into what looked like a kitchen at the end. Stairs on my right about 15 feet in. Everything had an 80s aesthetic. Floral wallpaper adorned all the walls. Bright blue patterned carpet ran all the way down the hall over a linoleum floor designed to look like wood. Hung above the doorway, at the end of the hall, was a set of thick white letters that read Mother Maggie's Magic Kitchen.

The last time I went to Melt it, it had a completely different setup. modern, records hanging from the ceiling, gray paint, and more of a bar feel. This new look was completely odd, and I couldn't see how this would work as a restaurant at all. I walked down the hall into the kitchen, where I expected at least a bit of normalcy in regards to being a public eatery. But it just added to the strangeness of the place. Inside was a setup, not for a place of business, but for a residential kitchen. An old white stove with metal coils on top. wooden cabinets, a fake marble laminated board over the counters with a metal sink that glaringly contrasted it.

No dishwasher to be seen, and the fridge looked to be as old as me or older. My mind could not reconcile what I was seeing, and my skin started to crawl. My thoughts quickly transitioned from my usual thought processes when I entered vacant units to feeling like an intruder in someone's home. I turned nervously and started heading back towards the entrance, speedwalking down the hall, way to get out of here before I was noticed. But there was a serious problem. The side of the door I was standing on did not have a doorknop, door handle, or anything. There was absolutely nothing that I could use to open this door. It was a solid wooden door on this side and nothing more. I could not accept the

truth that this door would not offer an escape from this place. There was no exit for me there. I had no choice but to turn around and explore the rest of the house that I was most certainly not meant to be in. It was quiet here. My mind, in trying to adapt to this being a house, expected random noises, water in the pipes, heating or air conditioning, the house settling, but not a sound. I couldn't even hear the sounds of the cars driving down the main road nearby. Even at night, I completely expect multitudes of people on the roads here. Nothing, though, but total incomplete silence. This silence made my heart catch in my throat every time I took a step back down the hall.

Since there was no other sound, anyone here could certainly hear each and every noise I was making. My first thought was to try the doors in the hallway. Maybe this place was set up purposely to make someone leave through another doorway, like in some supermarkets to prevent theft. If the place was going to be a restaurant like the signage outside indicated, this made more sense. All the doors downstairs, however, were locked. To my horror, what I had to do now was completely obvious. I had to go upstairs.

Every step I took upward caused a creak that was so loud to me in this blanket of silence that each step might as well have been a car crash. As I climbed the stairs, my anxiety followed suit. I started to sweat and my hand slid down to the banister, forcing me to adjust my balance and walk up the center of the stairs. As I approached the top of the steps and focused on the doorway at the top, I saw more blocky white letters. This time reading, Mother Maggie loves her babies. The sign downstairs I could have easily accepted as a restaurant trying to celebrate its chef. This sign, though, it felt strange. While the words seemed innocent, they unsettled me.

This sign, in combination with not being able to leave via the front door, made my mind run through the countless scenarios punctuated with the phrase, If I can't have you, no one will. I shook off this feeling and grew angry with myself. I was a very strong person. Even in a situation where an unstable person tried to hold me against my will, I was going to put up a fight. And nowhere in my mind could I imagine a situation where I didn't come out on top. The rest of my ascent was quick and confident.

The landing at the top of the steps was small and had two doors, one directly in front of me and one to my right. The door to my right was painted a blue pastel color, with familiar white blocky letters reading, Mother Maggie's special children. I sat there a long moment, trying to digest what was happening. None of this made sense, but my rage had far surpassed my confusion and fear. I didn't want to storm into a kid's room, though, so I paused for a moment and looked at the door. Mother Maggie's new arrivals, decorated with a slew of miniature hearts, entirely around the words to make the shape of a larger heart. The door was painted the same pastel color.

In the end, I turned the handle to the room on the right. I felt it would be more redeemable if I just scared children in there and could try to explain my situation. The handle turned, a loud clunk accompanying the latch bolt releasing the door. The door was made of metal. I heard a small gasp inside and I slowly opened the door, poking my head in. Hello? Listen, I got locked in here on accident and I'm just trying to get out. I stepped into the room and saw a typical setup for children.

Small plastic house, kitchen, toy. and what looked like a toddler-aged boy who ran into the small plastic house. It's okay. I just want to leave. Tell me how, and I'll be out of here in a jiffy. He turned to me and my breath caught in my throat. You shouldn't be here, mister. Mother Maggie doesn't like visitors. She'd do anything to protect her babies.

The voice of a man speaking like a toddler responded. When he turned, I could see that he wasn't a toddler, but a man I would guess to be in his 40s. He wasn't a toddler, but a little person dressed like a toddler, with a realistic wig that made his hair look like that of a three or four-year-old. I was absolutely gobsmacked and could only try to not lose my temper. Listen, dude, coming in here was a mistake, but I'm just asking nicely for you to help me get out.

Sorry I came into your place, but who else is here? The little man didn't answer me. and I walked over to the closet door and swung it open only to see a woman. Not unlike the man. She was a little person and dressed to look like a toddler. I laughed and turned around to the man. Sorry, I interrupted whatever you have going on, buddy.

Help me out and just tell me how to leave. I'm not here to shame you. I came in by accident and... There is no way out. What the hell do you mean? That's when I heard the front door downstairs open and shut. Babies. The Mac is home.

I heard the call coming up the steps. I about had it and stomped out of the room into the landing. When I looked down the stairs, what I saw made me freeze in place. The figure was huge, about six foot eight. They had to be 440 pounds, but they were not heavy. They were built like a power lifter and enormous in every aspect. Someone who lived their life in the gym, maybe. To top this off, the figure was dressed like Julie Andrews from the sound of music.

The novice dress she wore that looks like a blue and white striped apron-style dress over a black, long-sleeved blouse. Mother Maggie moved into the light, and I saw that she was indeed a huge, muscular woman. As she looked up the steps, she had a look of happiness that fell into a look of absolute rage. I knew that what was coming next was a fight for my life. She ran up to steps before I could even lift my arms to defend myself. Her outstretched hand wrapped around my skull and slammed me into the metal door behind me again and again and again until a warm, wet sensation ran down the back of my head. My body failed me and darkness welcomed me as I fell unconscious.

When I woke up, I was dressed in toddler clothing not unlike my neighbors in the next room. Because of how well the clothes fit me, I had to imagine that I was out for a while in order for them to be perfectly tailored. My room was set up fairly similarly to the first room I entered. Plastic appliances, a small plastic house I barely fit into, with a tiny princess bed inside. No toys, though. There was a small vanity with a stool. Above it, white blocky letters reading, Mother Maggie loves you.

I think that sign would have made me angrier if my head wasn't pounding so fiercely. I squeezed out of the house and looked around. This was a room set up for a toddler, all the way down to the training potty in the corner of the room. There was a sink, but the knobs had been removed and only the faucet remained. Every so often, water would drip from it. I thought of pounding on the door and trying to yell for help, but a flashback of how easily I was overtaken and completely dominated helped me make the choice to approach this a bit smarter than just trying to muscle my way out.

There were no windows. There was an AC vent, but it was so small there was no way I could fit through. I backed up against the wall as Mother Maggie stepped inside. I realized I may have even underestimated her high. height earlier. She was pushing seven foot. She had to duck as she came through the doorway. Mother Maggie's newest babies are always such trouble. What do you want from me? Her face fell again like I hit a switch, same as before. Now, now, you're much too long to speak so well. She approached me. I ran around her and shot out of the door and almost threw her.

myself down the steps. I could hear Mother Maggie's heavy footsteps behind me as I scrambled to think of a way out. I reached the bottom of the steps and looked to the front door, which was closed. I tried every knob in the hallway to no avail. I ran into the kitchen and looked for a knife or anything to defend myself. All the drawers I had the opportunity to try were also locked. I turned around to see Mother Maggie running at me. I screamed, but was quickly silenced from behind and slammed a mouth first into the countertop. The way I was slammed, pushed multiple teeth up into my gums, the pain dazing me so much that I didn't feel the following blows. I was recovered enough, however, to feel when Mother Maggie stomped my feet, ankles and shins into a mess of meat and bones. I wanted nothing more

than to black out. I tried to punch, grab, bite, but nothing I did phased her in the least. You will be a good boy for Mother Maggie. With that, she lifted me and slammed my head into the sink. Mother Maggie stuffed a towel into the train, turned on the water, then held my head down with one hand, and both my wrists behind my back with the other. Every time Mother Maggie noticed me trying to hold my breath, she would apply more force to my head.

I felt popping and cracking and let out a scream drowned out by the water. I gasped in pain and drew water into my lungs. I passed out soon after. I'm sure that after that incident I was left alone in my room for days. My legs were a mess, which meant I had to crawl over to the vanity to collect a small teacup I had noticed before. I picked up the cup and crawled over to the sink

to leave it under the dripping tap. The dripping would give me something to drink eventually. I broke down and used the training toilet. I couldn't stand up to pee in the sink, so this was my only choice. And I only knew the consequences that awaited. me if I'd made a mess in this room. I'd only seen Mother Maggie twice, and both times I was emasculated and brutalized. So I expected that if I did not behave exactly how she wanted, I was going to die. And honestly, with what was to come, sometimes I wish I had. I forced myself

up onto the small stool and sat up as straight as I could. I wanted to cry so badly. I was in so much pain, but I wanted one visit to not result in a severe beating. So I sat up straight. straight at my vanity waiting for Mother Maggie. I refused to look in the mirror. In fact, I still do. It took all of my strengths to stay sitting up straight, but in the end she didn't come that day. She arrived the next day instead.

My door creaked and popped open to reveal Mother Maggie with a smile on her face. I sat perfectly still, waiting for her to prompt a reaction. Well, don't you look proper today? Maybe you are a sweet boy. She approached me and I couldn't help but flinch as she picked me up and cradled me like a baby, rocking me back and forth. Are you hungry little guy? I nodded. Oh, come now.

A polite little boy like you can say, yes, Mother Maggie. I gulped. Yes, Mother Maggie. My heart caught in my throat as Mother Maggie unbbed. buttoned her blouse and presented one huge breast. I couldn't stop myself from gagging. The skin around her nipple was covered in sores, abrasions, and bruises. The bruises looked to be in the shape of thick sausage fingers. Her nipple itself, wide and fat and stubby, was red raw. A droplet of bright red blood perched on the tip, quivering, threatening to fall. It did, landing on my leg.

I had a horrifying image of Mother Maggie trying forcibly to make herself lactate. And as she reached up to her own breast with one hand, I realized my imagination hadn't been running away with me. That was exactly what she intended to do. Mother Maggie began to squeeze her breast with the force that made me wince. Pain flashed across her face. It was the first and only moment of vulnerability I ever saw from the woman. She squeezed and squeezed and twisted and gripped,

so hard and aggressively that even despite my own pain I felt sympathy with the agony it must be causing. Droplets of blood began to spill from her torn nipple, eventually becoming a trickle. Then, faintly, a hint of white crept in. She squeezed so hard that I thought her nails would rip through her flesh. A pitiful trickle of milk began to spill from her nipple down her breast, mingling with the traces of blood. Mother Maggie tried to push my head towards her nipple, and I turned my head away. She grabbed my head and began to turn it towards her. Please.

Don't. Her face fell and my heart started to race. So my milk isn't good enough for you, you ungrateful little rat! With a roar, Mother Maggie stood lifting me above her head and slamming me onto the ground. I tried to catch myself, but the way I landed on my arm caused it to twist. I heard a clear crack in my forearm, and moments later I felt it. I screamed but was quickly interrupted by being thrown back into the air and slammed onto the ground, repeatedly, for what felt like an eternity.

I didn't blackout this time, just laid in my own blood, unable to do anything other than whimper. You will behave and give your mother Maggie the love and respect that she deserves. Then she left, quietly shutting the door behind her. I used my one good arm to crawl over to the sink and drink whatever water was. there, then crawled into the house, fitting as much as myself onto the bed as I could. I wiped blood and tears from my eyes and cried until I passed out. Over time, I was able to figure out how to interact with Mother Maggie in a way that mitigated or even halted the violence entirely. No matter how battered I was, she treated me like a healthy young child, so I had to be mindful

of her expectations. At best, I was fed a single jar of baby food. If I gave Mother Maggie her way and let her breastfeed me with the tiny amount of milk she was able to force out. At worst, I would make her angry enough to beat me within an inch of my life, left with nothing to sustain myself but the teacup in the sink collecting drops of water. Slowly, the beatings came less frequently,

and Mother Maggie began to care for me, clean me up and dress my wounds. She wouldn't talk about them in a way that acknowledged how I got them, but asked me questions as if she had no idea about the cause of my state. Are those kids at school bullying Mother Maggie's baby again? You have to be more careful on your bike, honey. Mother Maggie would be a mess without you.

You should tell me if you fall on the stairs and hurt yourself. Mother Maggie's always here to patch you up. Even after most of my wounds healed, I could barely do anything but crawl. Any weight on my appendages was absolute agony. I had wasted away, and my entire arms were no thicker than my wrists. My legs healed so that below my knee was a mess of angles. It hurt to look at. It hurt even more to feel.

Even without a clock, I learned when to expect Mother Maggie. Always mother, Maggie, never just Maggie. That's another lesson I learned the hard way. Where I was rewarded by my nose being broken so badly that the blood pooling, and my face bubbled with each breath. It was when I finally looked in the vanity mirrors that I had an idea. I looked mutilated, sure, but it was so thin. The AC vent near the corner of the room was much too small for me to have entered when I arrived,

but now, maybe I could. One day, I waited till Mother Maggie left and prided the covering with all my strength. It popped off, and I squeezed in with more than enough room to crawl. I kept pushing myself until I saw a new vent below me that opened into an empty unit. next door. I was out of that hellhouse. Suddenly I heard Mother Maggie screaming. She must have come back to check on me.

My heart raced as I pushed open the vent in a panic, falling 15 feet onto my mangled legs, re-breaking bones. I heard heavy steps above, and I crawled as fast as I could towards a rear door with a push bar. And in spite of the agony, I dragged myself up to open it. Moonlight shone down on me. For the first time, and who knows how long. I tasted fresh air.

I crawled quickly towards a line of trees on the hill as I heard Mother Maggie's screams echoed and grow louder. I dragged myself through rose bushes. The pain of the thorns pairing into my skin feeling like nothing compared to the adrenaline. The screams and footsteps grew louder, and I threw myself down the hill. My body ragged all the entire way down, splashing into the flowing body of water below.

It was up to fate now. Either Mother Maggie would catch me. I would drown, or I drift far enough away that someone would see me. The screaming stopped just as suddenly as it began. I was left in silence with the cool water lapping around my skin. In that moment, I couldn't bring myself to care how this turned out anymore. I was a broken man. The cold water was the most satisfying sensation I'd felt in a long time.

So if I drowned then, I think that would have been okay. So I closed my eyes. and let the stream take me. The doctors had informed me that I was trapped in that hell for almost two years. To my misfortune, that strip mall lost occupants and after time was completely empty. Because of this,

no one thought to check on these units. If you can name a bone, it was broken at some point during my ordeal. All my teeth were destroyed and needed to be removed. But I survived. I've been staying with my mother who's been very accommodating to my recovery. I hope to reach normal someday, but I don't count on it.

Sometime after my discharge from the hospital, one of the detectives working my case came by to talk to me. Based on your description and fingerprint evidence, we have an idea on Maggie. Margaret was, is, I guess, a local character. The kind of person everyone on the force knows up picked up a bunch of times hanging around outside daycare centers, harassing mothers in the play parks. Never turned out to be anything sinister, though. Kind of felt bad for her. Her backstory's a little sad. Go on?

She had some kind of hormonal imbalance and various genetic disorders that made her, well, the size she is. Right from when she was a little kid, Margaret would try to mother the other kids. My older brother went to elementary school with her, but her own mother, she was. Nutty, frankly.

Used to tell everyone that Margaret would never be an adult woman because she was all wrong inside. So her Margaret would forever be her baby. And she took it to the extremes, forced her to ride inside a stroller until she was around eight, and far too big for the custom monstrosity they'd made. And she'd made this poor girl dressed like a toddler right up until the middle of high school. Frilly dresses, all that shit. Then one day the mom died. And Margaret's dad had long since fled the madhouse.

And Margaret was left alone. Moved in with an aunt, graduated high school, disappeared for a bit. Then a few years later, we get regular calls about this giant woman hanging around outside schools. Turned out, all she wanted was to be a mom herself. But because of her size, you know, kids were scared of her. So were parents. I even picked her up a couple times myself. Twelve or thirteen years ago.

Christ. She was so gentle, though. But from your description, it's got to be her. She used to call herself Mother Maggie, too. Well, the woman I met was certainly not gentle. But she had cared about me, in her own way. Yeah, wild. She kind of disappeared a decade ago.

And we'd all assumed she moved away or died. Christ knows what happened, turn her into what you encountered. It gets worse. We think the two other children you met are a couple who went missing from the area about six or so years ago. Just up and left. Their families filed missing personal reports, of course. But they were adults. If they didn't want to be found, then they had that right.

There was no signs of a crime. Six years? Christ. Had that small couple been with Mother Maggie that whole time? Hell, I didn't know if they'd still been alive by the time I escaped from that torture chamber. I never saw them after the first time. Only heard them. And that was only some times.

And time had no meaning in that place. We've reopened that case, at least. Descriptions matched, and we found a few fingerprints at the scene that matched the husband. So prince were on record, thankfully. Finally, the detective informed me that they also found my camera at Mother's. maggies, but otherwise the place had been entirely abandoned. They found it in the center of the room I stayed. The detective wondered out loud how I survived, given that my blood covered so much of the room that it might as well have been painted with it. I bid the detective farewell and sat in bed with

my camera for a long time before powering it on. I flipped through all my old photos, reminiscing it who I used to be. That is until I reached the end of my camera roll. A single new photo made me drop the camera immediately. What was it? My unconscious body, lying in a pool of my blood beneath a sign that read, Mother Maggie loves you. All I can hope is that she doesn't love me enough to come looking. Thank you for joining us on our journey down the Lost Highway. The musical score was composed by Brandon Boone.

Our production team is Phil Mikulski, Jeff Clement, and Jesse Cornett. Our creative content manager is Olivia White. I'm your host and executive producer, David Cummings. If you would like to find out how you can hear the extended editions of our audio program, please visit the no-sleeppodcast.com to learn about our season pass program. 25 episodes, each over two hours long, and three exclusive bonus episodes, all for only 2499. On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast, we thank you for listening. As the darkness fades, it feels like you're going.

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.