The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S15E05

Episode Date: September 27, 2020

It’s Episode 05 of Season 15. Our lost highway journey takes us to the psychic realm. “Dr. Tanner and the Virtue of Patients” written by Collin B. Randle (Story starts around 00:06:10) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Peter Lewis, Dr. Tyler Tanner – Mike DelGaudio, Nurse Beatrice/Bea – Alexis Bristowe, Jenkins Powell – David Cummings, Nurse Jasmeen – Danielle McRae, Patient Guiellermo Ramirez – Atticus Jackson, Patient Ida Vail – Nikolle Doolin, Security Guard – Dan Z Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Everything is awesome. Everything is cool when you're part of a team. And I'm part of a team. The No Sleep Podcast. Hi, I'm Atticus Jackson, and nobody puts me in the corner. I'm on the highway to the danger zone. But I'm not afraid. Very afraid.

Wondering why I'm behaving skittishly, well, that's because this is another home security ad. and we all know what happens in those. Something terrible happens to me that leaves long-lasting scars, physical and mental. This is so we can demonstrate the importance of home security. Currently, I'm suspended headfirst over a flaming pit. I don't know how this promotes home security. I'm not even at home.

But if I was, I'd want my home to be safe. That's why I want to talk to you about simply save home security. They're longtime friends of the No Sleep podcast and for good reason. SimplySafe has made it easy to finally get comprehensive protection for your home. There's no technician or salesperson that needs to come and disrupt your house. You don't need to pay any outrageous monthly fees or sign a two-year contract. You just order online. Set it up yourself in under an hour. Being able to set the system up yourself is so important right now

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to make sure they know that our show sent you. So stay safe, stay at home, and make your home safer with SimplySafe. Now, if I could just remind you, I'm very unsafe right now. The flames are licking my hair. God, it's so hot. And this is why you need home security.

Somehow. So buy SimplySafe, Save Anaticus. Be safe with SimplySafe. And remember, that SimplySafe safe.com slash no sleep to make sure they know that our show sent you. Uh, guys? I'm still hanging here. Guys?

Guys? Tales or race yourself for the no sleep podcast. As we near the end of September, you know what that means. We're about to enter the Halloween month of October. We're excited about all the fun stuff we have in store for you. Each episode during October will feature a Halloween story or two as we ramp up to the big day. We'll have our famous Season Pass Halloween bonus episode coming out, so make sure you sign up for Season Pass 15. And we'll have some live streams and other tricks to treat you with.

This would be the perfect time to make sure you're following us on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram. So you're up to date on all the ghoulish things we're doing. We are at No Sleep Podcast, on all those platforms. We can't wait to celebrate the month of love. No, wait, wait, horror, not love. Terror, chills, thrills, not love and marriage and devotion and all that mushy stuff.

Oh, this pandemic is getting to me. And since we're a year-round horror show, I'd say we don't need to wait for October. In fact, now let's begin our journey down this lost highway. In our first tale, we join a medical professional with a reputation for being kind, friendly, and excellent at his job. His staff admire him, his patients love him, and he brings true hope to the lives he saves. But in this tale, shared with us by author Colin B. Randall, we discover that all the bedside manner in the world can't save you from vengeance. I join Peter Lewis, Mike Delgado.

Alexis Bristow, Danielle McCray, Atticus Jackson, Nicole Doolin, Dan Zapula, and Sarah Thomas in performing this tale. So put on your white coat and grab your stethoscope, prep the thermometers, and sharpen the scalpel. Because we're about to go under with Dr. Tanner and the virtue of patience. Ivy, subtle and unnatural blue-white light, quiet beeps and churns, background humming from the air conditioner. Jenkins Powell lay on the bed in and out of consciousness. Beatrice, a nurse, came in with a food cart to see if Mr. Powell would be able to eat with assistance today. Dr. Tyler Tanner followed behind her. Good evening, Mr. Powell.

I see you're awake tonight. Do you want me to change the channel? Scary movie got you riled up, huh? Mr. Powell was as sharp as attack when he wasn't nearly comatose. Oh, oh, no, no, no. I thought, you know, Dr. Tanner is going to want to talk to me tonight. I can't be rude. Tyler and Beatrice both chuckled as she got his food set up.

Beatrice slid the tray out and sat Mr. Powell up. Do you think you can eat tonight, Jenkins? Of course. Of course. I'm starving. Say, B, when are you going to take me up on my offer to come over? We'll put on some old jazz records and I'll whip you up something much better than this garbage. They pass off as food here. The nurse giggled and continued to get his dinner.

down into bite-sized pieces. While Dr. Tanner finished checking all the gauges and machines, Beatrice started feeding, Mr. Powell. When you get out of here, I may just have to take you up on that offer. Dr. Tanner finished making his notes on Jenkins' chart. Okay, Mr. Powell, everything looks good for now, stable and improving. I'll be back in the morning, but B will be back later this evening. I'm glad I got to see you tonight. Mr. Powell turned his attention. from dinner. Hey, I'm glad you got to see me too. Evening, Doc. Tyler continued on to his next patient, a middle-aged father of three, Guillermo Ramirez. He slowly sat up to talk with Dr. Tanner. Dr. T. T. What's good? Dr. Tanner inspected Guillermo's recent surgery sutures.

Even in Mo? How'd we do today? More pain? Less? Anything new? Arm up, please. Well, a little less pain. Nothing new I can think of. It was easier to walk into the bathroom today that it has been. Dr. Tanner put Guillermo's arm back down. All right, that's awesome. Day by day, it'll get easier. Just keep up what you're doing. You'll be back home in no time with your wife and kids. He checked Mr. Ramirez's vitals and recorded everything in his journal.

Guillermo was looking at his scars and flexing his hands while he spoke. That's great, Dr. T. My youngest is starting junior high in a few weeks. I promised I'd be the first day of school. Tyler closed his book and looked up at Guillermo. Then let's keep it up with the recovery so you can keep your promise. Work a little harder with rehab and you never know. You may be out of here by next weekend.

The job was taxing at times. the days long, but it was worth it. Tyler liked helping others, and had taken naturally to medicine since first starting pre-med classes. At the end of the hallway, tucked away in the corner, was Ida Vale. At one point, she had been a promising young starlet. That was decades ago, and now this miserable old woman sat alone. Not quite a has-been, but at least not a never was. Tyler's last stop for the night. Good evening, Miss Vale. I talked to Nurse Vee.

She said you were spitting your food out at her again. Ida's mouth scowled as she spoke, not even bothering to look at the doctor. It was bland, and the service here is dreadful. I'd rather be dead than have to spend another minute here under any circumstance. Tyler felt sorry for her.

She had most of the staff against her, and probably silently hoping she'd sooner pass than have to treat her. But Dr. Tanner pitied her. Regardless of how she acted, he showed compassion. He truly cared about his patience. Ida, I know you're secretly joking right now, but you need to act a little nicer to the nursing staff. I know you've heard the expression you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. That's great and all, but I don't give a rat's ass about flies. And I suspect you'd catch even more than honey with all that bullshit.

Dr. Tanner restrained himself from laughing lest he upset her any further. I apologize, Miss Vale. Please let me or any of the nurses here know if you need anything. He finished marking her vitals in her charts. I need to know which plug to pull on this thing. Good night, Ida. The door was almost shut as Dr. Tanner put his hand. on it to stop it abruptly.

And if you mess with your cords again, I will have to order restraints. They will be checking on you this evening, Miss Vale. Tyler looked at his watch. It was time to leave. Go for... A Tyler shut the door before she could finish, parked in his driveway and walked in his house. He put his keys in their place,

put his pajama suit on, his dirty clothes in the hamper, and could lay down for almost a full night's sleep before he'd be due back at the hospital. Some nights he found no rest, but tonight he could sleep soundly. His head hit the pillow. He turned and adjusted his arms to get comfortable, glanced at the clock, and shut his eyes. Tyler's alarm was going off. He grogly reached over to hit the snooze button. He must have missed it.

The alarm was still going off. Tyler pushed his hand down. a few more times to no avail. He sat up in a flash. His phone was ringing. He looked at the clock. He'd only been asleep for about two hours. Dr. Tanner.

Tyler. Mr. Ramirez died in his sleep. Tyler was more awake now. He immediately started going through everything in his head. He had checked everything himself before he left and Mr. Ramirez had no complications nor other major concerns. Just make sure they get him down to the morgue.

I'll come in early and finish handling everything. Are there any clues as to what happened? Tyler was still trying to wrap his head around what could have possibly gone wrong. It had been years since he had lost a patient, the only one, Nora Mullins. That's what I was about to say, sir. There's something you need to see. Right now, in person. Tyler could sense the trepidation in her voice.

Beatrice wouldn't make such a suggestion if there wasn't an issue of some serious concern. I'll be there in 15 minutes. Biddle was foreboding in the dark night sky as Dr. Tanner arrived. He rushed inside and to the elevator. He practically jumped out before the doors had fully opened. He found B in the morgue. She was standing over the body, staring. B, what's wrong?

What did I need to see? He saw something off. about Mr. Ramirez's skin at certain points. What's that on his skin, Beatrice? She stood still for a moment, then grabbed the blanket and exposed more of his foot. Tyler's face contorted. He wasn't sure what he was looking at. It looked almost like a handprint.

What on earth? Tyler put on his gloves and inspected closer. That's not the only thing. Nurse B rolled Mr. Ramirez on his stomach. There were five large scratches down his back. They stood silent for what seemed like hours. Dr. Tanner's stomach was in knots. Was anyone else here tonight?

No overnight visitors in the wing, no sleep tests or anything else out of the ordinary? No, sir. It was only me and Lacey. Nothing was scheduled and we didn't see anyone. Guillermo had been perfectly fine. Unexpected things can happen, but he was always so careful and meticulous ever since Nora Mullins. Tyler helped B. Roll Mr. Ramirez back over.

B, call Lacey and tell her to hold down the fort. I'll be back up there shortly. Go to the security office and check the footage. I'm going to go check out his room. Beatrice cleared her throat as Tyler got to the door. Sir, shouldn't we contact the police before we do any of that? Tyler stopped walking. No, not yet at least. But sir... I said, not yet, B.

Dr. Tanner reached Guillermo's room. It looked almost exactly like it had just a few hours prior, except now the television image was frozen. He checked a couple of the machines that kept a log of past readings. All fine until just before Beatrice had called and then everything went crazy. Tyler left the room and paced her out. the halls, seeing if anything looked amiss. Dr. Tanner.

Tyler turned around and saw Ida sitting at her doorway. I saw something. Dr. Tanner walked closer to Ida. He could tell she was frightened as he walked near her. What did you see, Miss Vale? A shadow. A tall shadow. My machines went cuckoo.

The lights and everything flickered. Then she appeared out of nowhere. She was headed towards the other end of the hall. Then I hid. Miss Ida Vale, former Hollywood darling, may have been known to embellish a story here and there, but she lacked the imagination to make all that up. Are you saying it was a ghost, Ida?

Tyler would find it impossible to believe had he not seen for himself the scratches and hand-marked. on Mr. Ramirez. I'm saying she was a ghost. A chill went down Dr. Tanner's spine. Go back to bed, Miss Vale. He began heading back down to the morgue. Dr. Tanner?

Yes, B? Tyler, there's nothing on the cameras. They all stopped working around the same time that Mr. Ramirez passed. Did you see anything in his room? No. Everything looked normal except for the electronics malfunctioning. Have you seen Lacey anywhere? Not since I took Mr. Ramirez to the morgue.

She was resetting all of Mr. Powell's machines. Her shift ends in about ten minutes. Maybe she took off early. Tyler pushed the doors of the morgue open. You're probably right. Who can blame her? He put on an apron and gloves, grabbed the eye protectors,

and made autopsy incisions, then sewed them back up. He filled out the necessary paperwork. For cause of death, he had put sudden cardiac arrest. This wasn't the first time. he had lied on a death certificate. Dr. Tanner found an empty room back in his wing

to try and get a few hours rest. Yasmin had just gotten there to relieve Beatrice, who had the next two days off. Tyler woke up just before his shift was going to start. He splashed some water on his face and brushed his teeth. He had Yasmin call Guillermo family and tell them the news. He made his rounds, marked in his record book, and monitored, and then did it again and again.

Tyler was at his last stop of the day, Mr. Powell. He was awake. Mr. Powell had been asleep during the first couple rounds Dr. Tanner had made. It's a terrible thing, Doc. Yes, yes it is, Mr. Powell, but these things do happen. He quickly finished taking all his readings. Terrible, terrible, terrible. and he had little ones.

I'd switch with him, Doc. I'm an old man. I got nobody. Oh, such a shame. He's going to be missed. I wouldn't. Sure you would, Jenkins. We'd all miss you, especially Nurse B.

I suppose you're correct, Doc. Have a good one. Will I see you tomorrow? or are you off with my Beatrice? Dr. Tanner pointed his arm backwards and gave the old man a thumbs up. I'll see you in the morning, Mr. Powell. He had gotten hardly any sleep for the last 48 hours. What a long two days it had been.

He took a sleeping aid to make sure he went to sleep and stayed asleep. When he awoke the next day, there were almost a dozen missed calls. from work and several messages. He played them as he got ready, but they were all silent. He knew that that wasn't a good sign. He got dressed and raced back up to the hospital. Mr. Powell was dead. Yasmin pulled Dr. Tanner to the side.

She was exhausted and near breaking point. Tyler, there's something going on here. Scratch marks down his face and arms, and there's a handprint burnt onto his chest. The devil is among us. First, Guillermo, now Mr. Powell. Lacey was supposed to relieve her hours ago. Jasmine, go home.

I can handle this. His face was sullen and his eyes hollow. Petrification from fear. Yasmin went to get her things. He went to go check on Ida, though his mind was frozen in static. He wanted to stop walking, but couldn't. He knew the end. answer to the question he was about to ask. He knocked on Miss Vale's door and entered. Ida's bed

was empty. Something stirred in the closet. Tyler walked cautiously to the closed door. It was cracked open. Dr. Tanner. He jumped back as Ida spoke to him from the inside. Doc, it's going to get me tonight. It's going to get us all. I need to get out of here. My story doesn't end like this. He had never seen her so vulnerable nor afraid. Ida, I will figure this out. You will be safe.

I have to go look up a couple of things, then I'll be back. No one is staying here tonight. He went back to his office with his stomach in knots. He looked at some old files he had stored on a hidden drive on his computer. Nora Mullins patient records. Today was her birthday. Dr. Tanner threw his office door open and sprinted to start evacuating the few people left when suddenly everything went black. He must have slipped and hit his head. He woke up on the floor in his office. The lights were flickering and stuttering. The skies were black. He'd been out for hours. Tyler tried to open

the door, but it was jammed. He grabbed a paperweight off his desk to break the window in his door. He reared his arm back and threw it forward. Just as he was about to hit the window, the paperweight slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. Through the window, he saw her. Nora Mullins, clad in a black robe, thin and matted black hair, pale skin. Hatred oozed outward from her eyes. She stared into the office.

momentarily, motionless. She breathed in a quiet rasp. The lights all snapped back on. Tyler waited a few moments before checking the window. He had to check on Ida. There was no sign of Nora. He broke the window and unlocked the door. Just a few steps and he could see strobing lights coming from outside. He ran to Ida Vale's room. She was face down on her bed, her arms and feet dangling toward the floor. Her gown was ripped off. Letters were burned into her flesh. T-A-N-N-E-R. Dr. Tanner threw up on the floor. He regained his composure and stood on his feet when he heard clicks and screaming. The police kicked the door in as Tyler stared down the barrel of a gun. The officers placed him in handcuffs and walked him out to the patrol car. They were

Walked through the back, Yasmin lay across the floor like a rag doll. An officer was taking pictures of her slumped overbody. Handmarks were burned around her neck. Her face was discolored, eyes bulging, tongue swollen. She had been strangled to death. It was her. It wasn't me. It was her. It was her. It was her. It was her. He sat in the patrol car. The police fished Lacey's body out of the medical waste dumpster.

Tyler glared into her milky eyes. The police were asking something about B. Her body was found in a shallow grave beneath Tyler's porch. He rocked back and forth as the car drove back to the police station. It was her. It was her. It was her. It was her.

It was her. It was her. It was her. It was her. A year later, Dr. Tanner is in an asylum for the murders. A young woman walks through the front door. Security guard stops her. Ma'am, you can take your purse, but you have to leave your backpack.

She complies, and then he's walked to Tyler's room by the guard. He knocks and opens the door. Hey, you got a visitor, Doc. Pay him no attention, miss. Just say what you need to say and then get out. He can't answer you. The girl nods as the guard shuts the door behind him. Tyler sits on the floor rocking back and forth.

It was her. It was her. It was her. It was her. The girl walks in front of Dr. Tanner and kneels down. Hello, Dr. Tanner. Can I call you Tyler? I'll call you Tyler.

Allow me to introduce myself. Tyler drools a little, and his rocking slows. My name is Patience, and I'm only here today because of you. You see, you worked on my mother. His breathing becomes irregular. He stops mumbling and starts shaking as he rocks back and forth. Her name was Nora Mullins. I'm here today, because I need to tell you.

you I'm sorry and that I forgive you. I know you didn't mean to leave the clamp inside my mother. You didn't mean to kill her. I'm here to tell you that things will get better. Tyler's eyes start watering. Patience looks at her watch. Oh, goodness. I better be going.

I wish you well, Dr. Tanner. Goodbye. She closes the door behind her and glances at the camera. From inside the security room, a gentle, deep buzz starts from Patience's bag. If the security guard in the room knew anything about electronic disruptors, he might have recognized the sound. The lights flicker as the cameras all go black. Patience pulls a long, thin piece of fabric from her purse

and a matted black wig and puts them on. She walks back into Dr. Tanner's room, screams, echo through the halls. And now a momentary break from the horror. Hi, I'm Graham Rowett, voice actor for the No Sleep podcast. And today I want to talk to you about erectile dysfunction. It can be difficult to talk about. But there's nothing embarrassing about it.

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So if you're struggling with ED, stay home and go to getroman.com slash no sleep for a free online visit and free two-day shipping. That's getroman.com slash no sleep for a free online visit and free two-day shipping. And now back to the show. We grow out of a lot of things from our childhood, imaginary friends, sucking your thumb, clothes. But there are some things which may seem strange in their absence if you find out they were true for you as a kid.

And in this tale, shared with us by author Jake Evers, a young man discovers he formerly had some developmental issues he really should still feel the effects of. So why doesn't he? Performing this tale are Atticus Jackson, Mary Murphy, Jesse Cornett, and Danielle McCrae. So if your childhood doesn't add up, then maybe it's time to confront your mom. Maybe it's time she told you about Mooncalf.

My mother's dead. I'm supposed to feel something, aren't I? I'm supposed to feel grief, sorrow, some great clawing rage against the failings of the universe. I'm 23. She was 59. She may have become a mom later in life, but there was supposed to be more time, right? It wasn't supposed to end in some dumb accident. She was supposed to have golden years ahead, a long peace.

Then again, she hadn't had peace for some time. Neither of us had. We hadn't talked for five years. That last night wasn't a happy one. screaming, yelling, crying, and finally, running out the door in the middle of the night with just a suitcase and a stolen credit card to my name. Every so often in the quiet hours, before the option became impossible, I thought about reaching back, making up.

No mother should ever be truly cut off from her son, right? But she's not really my mother. I'm not really her son. Years of Little League, birthday parties, and vacations to Disneyland can't make up for the cold truth. I'm not the kid she brought into the world. Because I know where he is. And if he knew at all, he might feel the same way I do right now. I don't suppose I can complain about my early life.

We grew up in the suburbs of Northern California. not quite marron, but within spitting range. Dad was a construction foreman, and mom taught English at the middle school. Dad was always one of those hands-on, hands-off kind of dads. Teach you how to throw a ball, teach you how to build a treehouse, maybe leave the other stuff to mom. Not that mom ever dreaded stepping in. She was devoted.

Always made sure there were goods for the bake sale. Always made sure there was an end-of-season pizza party lined up for the Little League team. Always made sure her son had everything he needed. Mom was always concerned about the future, or my future, in one way or another. She wasn't exactly a tied-hipped, hemp-wearing flower child, but she descended from good NorCal stock that had grown up in that organic pesticide-free soil. She worried about an artificial world, a world of baby formula over breast milk.

of concrete over trees. Even before GMOs really became the issue of the day, she was worried about just what we were putting in our bodies. It wasn't like she made me grow up on Tempa and sackcloth, though. She just wanted to make sure everything was all right for her only son. And in time, I was all she had left. I remember the day so clearly. I was 13 at baseball practice when the cop car pulled.

up. The sheriff had sent someone out to bring me home. When I got there, Mom was crying, surrounded by all of her friends. Not one of them daring to, or knowing how, to say anything. Eventually, the truth worked its way out. Dad had been overseeing renovations on a mansion out near the woods. He'd been checking the work from the perimeter when one of the trees apparently a favorite of termites had given way. He was crushed under it, one of the branches snapping his neck instantly. We mourned as families do. We tried to fill the hole knowing it would never fully be sealed.

Mom threw herself into work. I threw myself into school. Between classes and the team, there was plenty to go around, and it wasn't like I was sucking in either regard. I got along with my teachers, my team, my classmates. I guess because I didn't want to spend more time than I wanted to at home, reminding myself of the absence. I wasn't turning my back on my mom in any regard, but I guess even then, I knew we had relatively little tying us together. I didn't actually know anything was wrong until my physical on my 18th birthday.

By then, my eyes were turned toward the future. I was looking at Stanford, and there was a real good chance I could get a scholarship. Dr. Kualski was looking me over, like he had for 17 birthdays before. It was the usual mess of old hands on young junk, knowing it was necessary, but wishing it'd be over sooner. I've turned out quite well. Good grades, good body, good health. You're perfect all around. Now you're off into the world.

He actually looks sad as I got up from the table and slipped my shoes on. I'll still come back here. Maybe I'll be in here again. Yes, it's just I've watched over you since you were a kid. And I know I've watched over a lot of kids, but I like to think I care about them all in my own way. God, I remember how your mother reacted to that little scare. His mouth snapped shut, like he'd realized he'd walked over a line he shouldn't have crossed. I was confused, but I wasn't off my feet enough to think it'd be better to just walk away. What scare?

It's nothing. For all his strengths as a doctor, Dr. Kualski was a shitty liar, and an even shittier gossip. Well, you are my patient. and I'm not breaching confidentiality. When you were two, we noticed there might be a slight developmental lag. Language, difficulties, echolalia, repetitive movements, abnormalities in eye contact. It pointed a certain way. I recommended that your mother look into a childhood development psychologist.

I've never seen her look social. I told her. It was nothing she'd done, but... Silence filled the room again. And then what? Dr. Kowalski shrugged. And then you came back, six months later, for a staff infection. And when you were recovering, you were just fine.

Some kids are late bloomers. It happens. I don't know why Dr. Kowalski's story. Dr. Kualski's story stuck with me, but it did. The end of the year was drawing close, and with it, early admissions. We were just waiting for the letters to come in. I kept my nose to the grindstone, but in the quiet moments, the doctor's words came back. Why hadn't mom told me this? Did she just not want me to worry? Finally, somewhere between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I decided to exercise my demons.

We were sitting down to dinner, just the two of us, when I broached the topic. Dr. Kualski said there was a little scare when I was a kid. Mom paused. It wasn't the freeze you associate with someone who's been caught in the spotlight, but this momentary hitch and smooth movement that could look normal if you weren't looking for it. Was there? He said that when I was a toddler, I... wasn't exactly developing the right way.

That there might be some sort of disorder or... There was a scare. Yes. We were worried there might be something wrong with you. That you weren't entirely there. We were looking into some specialist when it all worked out. You were talking, you were playing right. Their eyes.

I was clouded over. Not tears, not quite. But that distance that comes when you want to keep the memories away, she smiled, warmth flowing forth. You grew up just fine. There was a hiccup. There are always hiccups, but we overcome them. You are my beautiful son, and there's nothing I would change about you. I should have felt happy, I guess.

Like, I'd solve the mystery if there even was one. Like, I could just set it aside. And yet... But if I did have this... Problem. She looked me right in the eyes. Then I would love you all the same. What did I hear in those words?

Regret? Pain? She was opening herself up, but some part of me could still hear her hiding. Why did I think there was something wrong with me? Christmas turned to the new year, and Mom had to go down to San Fran for a teacher's conference, leaving me on my own from Thursday to Sunday. With the house to myself, I could have, I don't know, held wild parties, danced around in my underwear. Instead, I went to the family records. It took me hours of digging through and searching, but eventually I found my medical records.

I dug into the stuff from my toddler years and found Dr. Kowalski's report from that physical. It backed up what he said. Developmental lag with eccentricities in movement, language, and social interaction. There was a little note written at the bottom of the page. refer to Dr. Meneer. I looked through the files. Nothing on Dr. Meneer. Friday afternoon, first thing when I got home from school,

I hit Google and found a listing for a Dr. Alice Meneer, still practicing two towns over. I called her office and got the receptionist. We can't release medical records without proof of identity, especially given that the patient in question was a minor. I'm 18 now. I didn't know much about how this worked, but I'd at least read enough on Google to bluff. I can fax over my driver's license if you need proof.

Technically, it's no longer a matter for my guardian. It's my right as an adult to know how I was treated. There was a pause on the other end of the line. Provide me with the proper documentation, and I'll try to get the records over by the end of the day. I faxed her a copy of my driver's license. As the sun crept towards the horizon, I sat in my mom's office waiting. I tried to distract myself with games on my phone, but I just couldn't. I didn't think there was anything wrong with me, so...

Why did this fear keep tearing at me? The fax machine roared to life, knocking me out of my days. Page by page, Dr. Meneer's report was coming in. I snatched the pages up, barely waiting for the job to finish. Sure enough, I'd been brought to see her when I was two. Once. Her records charted my vocabulary, my communication, my social interaction, and all the quadrants that tell Mom and Dad whether their bundle of joy is growing upright.

At the bottom sat the armchair diagnosis. Pervasive developmental disorder. Further analysis required to fully discern between autism, Asperger's syndrome, and PDDNOS. There were no further reports. They had gone to a shrink. I'd been diagnosed with something. And while I didn't know a lot about psychology,

I did know that autism wasn't something you just snap out of one day. I didn't think of myself as being any of those things. I got along well with other kids. I maintained eye contact. I didn't exactly get lost in myself. Was it a misdiagnosis? I mean, it had to have been... Right?

I had more questions than answers. Trying to clear my head, I started putting the records back in the filing cabinet, tucking Dr. Miner's report away in my pocket for further inquiries. As I put the folder back, I noticed something buried at the back of the cabinet. An unlabeled manila envelope with a little bulge to it. I don't know why. reached for it. I guess I was just curious. I popped the clasp and out fell a piece of paper and a small object. The paper drew my attention first. It was old parchment and looked like it had been written on

with a quill. I couldn't make out any of the words, which looked somewhere between old English, Viking ruins and Klingon. I looked to the object that had fallen on the floor. A small green branch, like a fresh shoot from a tree with four knots to it. The first knot had already been cracked. The inner is still green, even after spinning God knows how long in the back of a filing cabinet, fully exposed. Why did I grab it? Why did they hold it in my fingers?

Why did I exert all my strength to try and break the next knot? The green, pliable wood twisting like a rubber band until Finally, cracked with the sound like a firework. I'll always remember what happened next, though. As soon as I cracked it, it was like a shadow came over the house. I could feel the chill of winter, even with the heat cranking at full blast. And I knew, deep down in my heart, that I should go outside. I threw on my jacket and boots and went to the backyard.

Like much of the town, our house was right on the tree line, exposing us both to all the beauty of nature and one hell of a wildfire risk. I scanned the darkness of the woods looking for something, anything, when finally something unfolded out of the shadows. There's a lot of speculation these days on what they are like, if they even are. Even the people who moved beyond the images of Tinkerbell and flower sprites like to land on something like old Victorian dandies on meth. This wasn't like that.

When I was overseas, a buddy of mine showed me photos of dolls as X had collected. These spindly, porcelain things with full articulation that went for like 900 a pop. Thin, tall, fragile, graceful, but inflexible in their own. way. That's what it was. It moved in silence, wearing black hides and branches. Its eyes reflected the stars, and its skin was like pure snow on old asphalt. It looked at me, and it was like a door opened in my head, letting the wind rush through. Every fiber of my being knew that I had to go with it, or I would be hating myself for the rest of my life. We walk through the darkness of the woods,

to the place where the trees grew thick, and there wasn't even starlight. It moved with perfect grace, and I knew just how to follow in its footsteps. The cold bit deeper, but I didn't shiver. It was like some part of me knew that the night was as cold as it always was, even if I was stepping somewhere where winter rained.

I had no idea what to expect at this point. I wasn't some fantasy nerd. This was out of my wheelhouse. But eventually, the trees gave way to a mansion. I don't mean that a mansion appeared on the horizon. I mean that I was walking on dirt and roots. And a second later, just as I closed my eyes to blink, my boots landed on hard, even stone.

When I opened my eyes, I was inside. The walls were ebony. The floor was white marble, and all around me were more of them, watching me with hungry eyes. There's this idea, I guess, that they hold wild balls. Chamber music can gossip and dancing into the night, which turns into the day, which turns into the decade.

It was like that, if you could hear the music. They danced, yes, but not with wild sweeping gestures, all ballgowns and twirls. It was a precise, practiced grace, like a ballerina on a minefield, mechanical, moving like knives. They never touched, never spoke, interacting only with eyes and gestures. I felt that if I took one wrong step, I'd be breaking something. something intricate, if you really see the knives. At the head of the room, on a throne built from bones of something I doubt had ever existed in our world, said a woman in a black gown.

Her skin was the white of milk, what little I could see under the obsidian mask strapped to her face. A crown of sharpened ivory sat on her head, pointing to the ceiling. And at the seat of the throne, in black and white. fool's garb. He looked exactly like me. Hair a little longer, teeth that had never seen a dentist's tools, but still, he was curled up at the foot of the throne perfectly still. Not like the others who were fixed like statues. It was practiced, apprehensive, like he knew all too well that if he so much as twitched, they'd fall on him. Then he looked at me. There was

was this light in his eyes. He saw me the way I saw him. I was some sort of anchor. The queen noticed. She snapped her fingers. One of the dancers stepped towards the other me, drawing a long black baton. With practice grace, he thrust it under the other me's chin, lifting his head back to the point that I thought it might snap. He began moaning, loud and long, Just on the verge of tears. Around him, the dancers stopped watching the show. The baton shifted. The pitch changed.

And then they began dancing faster and freer. Not with abandon, but with frenzy. Surgery turned to stabbing. I felt something slip inside me. And I turned and I ran sprinting through the front. forest, feet catching on roots and rocks, not stopping until I reached my backyard. I bent over the porch and puked. I locked the doors behind me, fearing they might come back.

It showed me what they wanted me to see. I was waiting when Mom came back, sitting on the couch. I had the weekend to do some reading. I had some idea what was going on, even if I felt like I really knew Jack's shit. She was halfway through talking about her conference. Can't even remember what she was saying. When she noticed I was just staring ahead, she sat down, all caring and concern. What's wrong?

I saw the other me. Her face fell instantly. She knew. Please. When did it happen? You have to understand. Then help me. I bolted up from the couch and started pacing.

I know. This was an excuse people used back then, right? The kid's born wrong, has some sort of condition, and they say, Oh, it's not my kid. They took it and left behind one of their own. So when? Was it in my crib? Or...

I let the other half of the sentence hang. She knew what I was talking about. You're not one of them. She didn't want to use the word either. Me, because I thought it sounded weird. Her, because she actually sounded afraid of using it. I saw it happen. I wanted to cut deep.

Get at the pressing issue, but a part of me wanted the full picture. How did you even know about them? Your great-grandmother, she'd heard stories from her great-grandmother. And so on and so on. Little things to tell tiny Irish tots, so they'd make their beds and leave milk out for stray cats. I didn't really believe them, but... Partchment.

It was a contract, wasn't it? She didn't even answer. She didn't have to. When did you call them? She just looked away from me. When? After the diagnosis. Before I could say anything, she rushed forward.

You're not one of them. Sweetie, please. Listen. I saw it happen. They took me in, took us in. They took some of me, some of... They made you whole. From me, from me. From... The other me. The real me. Honey, you are real. And so is he. I closed the distance with my mother. She flinched but didn't step back. You traded me.

Traded him. Why? Why did you let them have him? There are... They can do things. But they said they couldn't cure. I wanted you, son. I didn't want some version of you locked in your own head, dead to the world.

I wanted to know that you heard me. That you saw me, that you knew I was there for you. The bottom fell out of my stomach. Everything I feared was true. Did Dad know? She was quiet again. Every other part of her retreating while she stood completely still. Did he know?

He never knew. He thought it was just a mistake, a misdiagnosis. But... When you were 13, he found the contract. He didn't know what it meant. He didn't know what the stick meant either, but... That was the first knot down, wasn't it? I don't think they answered.

I don't think they showed him. He just said he found the paper the night before, accidentally snapped the stick under his foot. That was... Oh, God. That was a day. She couldn't bring herself to finish it. She didn't need to.

I just needed to know one more thing. Can you bring him back? The other me? I... No. The contract, it's sealed. No returns. If it's broken, they'll come for me.

They'll come for you. Honey, please. I didn't want to hear anymore. I ran upstairs. I'd already packed fearing this possibility. I ran downstairs and out the door. I got in my car and drove off, leaving my home far behind. She was still crying when I left.

She didn't even try to stop me. So, as you'd imagine, I was left stranded after that. I found out online that I'd gotten to Stanford, but student aid and loans wouldn't be quite enough to cover the tuition. Besides, I didn't really want to go anywhere where I knew she might find me. I was technically a high school dropout. While I kept moving, using Mom's credit card for funds, I completed my GED. She finally canceled the card two months later.

I guess she wanted to give me some space in case I got over it and came home. With nowhere else to go, really, I enlisted in the Army. Jumped at the chance to go overseas. Wanted to get as far away from home as possible. One time when I came back stateside, I learned someone had been asking for me while I was in the sandbox. A PI, apparently. Mom had been looking for me,

perhaps wanting to try to make amends however she could. But I didn't want to hear any of it. So, now here I am. Off on bereavement leave. Back to the home I never wanted to see again. The funeral's today, and after that, the reading of the will. I imagine she's left me the house and everything in it, including the contract and the branch. I've been doing a lot of readings since that night.

No things about them. I don't know how much of it is true. Iron, church bells, roosters crowing, all that stuff. But I do see common themes about the music. and glamour, the stuff of dreams and emotions. I've also been reading up on autism spectrum disorder, the big umbrella term now for whatever particular version the other me had. And while I don't know enough for certain, I have some ideas.

And I know I keep saying them a lot, because a part of me can't bring itself to use the word, fairies. I still can't break past that sense of whimsy and wonder Even the terms people used to get around there When they feared saying the word might piss them off don't work The fair folk, the good neighbors There's nothing fair about them

Nothing good And certainly nothing wonderful And there are things I will never truly know about them What were they using me for? Four. The other me. The real me. A jokebox? Someone who'd play a pretty tune if they stuck something in him? A meal and all you can eat feast for emotions? Or maybe he was some sort of cask. A place where thoughts and dreams can steep bouncing off the balls inside his head. Until someone taps it and the right vintage pours out.

if he'd gotten therapy if mom hadn't balked at the diagnosis treated him as a person instead of a walking miscarriage all that valuable to them all I really know is that there's still a branch with two knots

I've learned a lot about their supposed stopping points clothes turned inside out salt over the shoulder and of course And I've learned a hell of a lot About how to kill someone I doubt I'm gonna get them all

They moved too quick And they got inside my head Real easily the first time But if there's any truth to these old wards Maybe I can stay upright long enough To at least clear a pathway out of there Tonight I'm gonna try and set things right

And if only one of us makes it out of there. It's the right one. Joining us on our journey down the lost highway. The musical score was composed by Brandon Boone. Our production team is Phil Michalski, 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. It's the darkness phase. It feels like you're going to. This audio production is copyright 2020 by Creative Reason Media Inc. 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.