The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S15E06

Episode Date: October 4, 2020

It’s Episode 06 of Season 15. Our lost highway journey takes a technological turn. “A Fall Poem” written by James Michael Shoberg (Story starts around 00:04:20) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – David Cummings “The Head That Wears the Crown” written by Hugh O’Donnell (Story starts around 00:10:10) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – David Ault, Witch – Erika Sanderson “A Bluetooth Connection” written by Amanda Liefeld (Story starts around 00:21:15) Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Hi, I'm Penny Scott Andrews, voice actor for the No Sleep Podcasts. Sometimes it's not us that need help, but the people around us. You may have a friend or loved one who's struggling and doesn't know where to turn. Being able to help those close to us is great, but sometimes we're just not qualified to provide what they need. In those circumstances, it's great to know places you can direct them if they're looking for help. It's important not to pressure people, of course. They have to want the help. But if someone comes to you for advice,

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So visit betterhelp.com slash no sleep to get 10% off your first month whenever you need it. Tales of horror. It's yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. I'm David Cummings, and now... I love the autumn. Oh, that season, crisp and cool. A harbinger to others of another year at school. But Noah never understood their misery and grief.

He'd gladly trade the summer for a single-tinted leaf. Despite his comrade's sense of loss and urge to gripe and grouse, they'd humor him, remembering what grew behind him. his house. For there lived an impressive oak, and regally it stood. Upon its bows a kid could see beyond the neighborhood. And it was from this vantage point ablaze with harvest hue that they would watch the dimming sun recede as darkness grew. Yet Noah, feeling cheated, knew he couldn't share these sights. He wished that he could join them, but he had a fear of heights. This isn't fair, the tree is mine, the time of year as well.

Though just a fleeting skyward glance turned Noah's legs to gel. His pals began to taunt and tease with catcalls from above. Hey Noah, you should see the view. It's one you'd surely love. Boy, look at all those pretty leaves, the scarlet, orange, gold. And we can spot them, everyone. Too bad you're not as bold. Like monkeys, they sat gibbering among the colored spray.

How is it they're unruffled while their perches bend and sway? If they can do it, Noah thought, then so can I, be brave. But all at once, his face took on a mean, profoundly grave. He filled his lungs with evening air, which smacked a bit of smoke. and stood there in the shadow of that overwhelming oak. Determined, Noah scaled the trunk without another thought. Each hand sought out a sturdy branch, each foot a bulging knot. They'd see he was courageous if he met them at the top,

but twilight's fading quickly, so I mustn't slow or stop. That limb is splintered, Noah, and it's in a fragile state. We broke it climbing up ourselves. it cannot bear your weight. Those tardy words of warning were drowned out by Noah's gasp, as pulling down upon the limb he snapped it in his grasp. It compromised his balance when the chute tore from the bark, and Noah flailed but failed to find a second stronger mark.

He pitched and plunged at rapid pace, bathed in a tawny glow. All he could do was pray the leaves would cushion him below. I raked them into ample piles, Lord, make them nice and dense. But piles and prayers did little good. He cleared the neighbor's fence. And while the space beneath the tree was soft and yielding yard, the area he landed on was concrete, flat, and hard. But still, his end was festive, like a pumpkin.

Noah's head burst open in a surge of yellow mixed with, bloody red. A vivid stew of brains and gore began to blend and clot. The colors would have pleased him, for he fancied them a lot. His friends observed from far above the gooey, gloomy scene. One said, I guess he's going as a ghost for Halloween. It was a fall poem, shared with us by poet James Michael Schoberg to welcome in the month of lonesome October. It's Halloween season, which means only one thing. Everything is scary. Even video games, which is why I want to make you aware of a new video game coming out soon created by one of our fantastic illustrators, Abby Howard. It's called Scarlet Hollow, and it's a horror adventure game where your choices matter, with writing

and hand-drawn art by Abbey, and an original score by our very own Brandon Boone. Head into the Erie Mountains of North Carolina, to the town your mother tried to protect you from, and unravel a mystery that spans generations. Who lives, who dies, and the fate of an entire town rests on your shoulders. If you're interested in checking out and supporting this game,

check out the Kickstarter they've launched for it. The link is in the show number. I've spent some time playing the first chapter, and it's an atmospheric and engaging game. Check it out and see if you discover the mysteries within Scarlet Hollow. And with that, it's time to start our drive towards Halloween. So now, let's begin our journey down this lost highway. In our first tale, we join a man with a somewhat questionable job. Instead of finding gainful employment, this guy makes a living from robbing tombs.

And on one such graveyard shift, he finds a rather enticing item. But in this tale, shared with us by author Hugh J. O'Donnell, we discover that sometimes it's better to let sleeping corpses lie. Performing this tale are David Alt and Erica Sanderson. So beware the dead, those boys. bodies that lie beneath the ground. Ponder on their lives and what they've been through, because heavy is the head that wears the crown. I found the crown during one of my spulunking raids under the city. Here, everything is built on ruins. The basements lead to the metro, and if you take

the right tunnel, go through the right door, you'll find yourself a thousand years in the past among ancient ruins and medieval catacombs. The government's quite serious about protecting the sites. There are all sorts of rules about who can go in and when and what they can carry in. You absolutely can't take anything out. But they can't police all the tunnels and the black market is always hungry for artifacts. The crown was without a doubt the most well-preserved piece I'd ever seen. It looked ancient, all black iron points and long chains that ended in ornately carved weights. There wasn't a spot of rust anywhere on it.

I found it wrapped in layer after layer of rotting shroud on top of a skeleton in a side tunnel I don't think had seen any visitors in half a millennium. Even the chains were intact, coiled underneath the crown as I lifted it away from the corpse. There was some resistance as they caught on the wrappings, but one good tug and they came loose. The skeleton was less hard,

in the artifact and it crumbled under my touch. As I stowed the piece, I reminded myself to be more careful. Any damage would make the sale price plummet. An hour later, I was back in my apartment, carefully scrubbing away the grime of centuries. The crown was gorgeous. Polished, it seemed even more well preserved. It was remarkably solid in my hands. It would take some time to find a buyer for it, but I was sure I could sell it for a good price. I was no archaeologist, but I guessed it was at least from the 13th century, but I'd never seen something that old, so well preserved in the field before. I locked the crown in my hidden safe, carefully tucking the weighted chains underneath it.

I double-checked the lock and replaced the trapdoor and rug, safe as houses, I thought, and went to clean myself up after a night in the underground. As I shampooed the gunk out of my hair, the crown took the focus of my mind, I really was beautiful. I'd have to do a lot of legwork on this one, but it would be worth it. Most of the stuff I recovered had some material value, gold, silver, semi-precious stones, that sort of thing. I always tried the antiquities markets first, but if I had to dump it for materials, I could. But the black iron crown was different.

It was a real artefact, still intact, with all its chains and mouldings unblemished by rust. There was somebody in my little black, book that would kill for a piece like that. I might even need to have an auction for it. On the other hand, I could always keep the crown for myself. It was a brilliant showpiece, a little bit of a resume, if you will. With something like this, I could break into contract work. I'd have to embellish it a bit, do some research, come up with a better story than tripping over it while exploring, but it would be worth it. Being on a payroll meant having someone to bail me out or bribe the cops to look the other way.

Yeah. Yeah, I'd definitely keep it. I went back to the safe and pulled it out again. It was surprisingly heavy, especially with all the little weights and chains. I wondered who wore it. Not a king, obviously. It didn't have the right sort of ornamentation about it.

And not a bishop. It lacked a certain holiness. A warlord, maybe. Or a duke. I could picture him riding into battle, armored with the crown on his head. The chains must have hooked into armor or a helmet maybe. Yeah, it was the crown of a leader, a strong man, a man like me.

I almost looked around sheepishly before I tried it on. But I still tried it on. I blink and take a breath. For a moment, I'm disorientated. I remembered fire and a crowd. I blink again and look down at my hands. They're larger than I recall. and hairy on the backs.

There are man's, not mine. I stifle a shriek, and the muffled squeak I do make is lower than I expect. I shake my head, the chains rattling around me, its familiar pendulum weights shifting at their ends. The ebbin crown. Someone put it on.

The spell worked. I've cheated them all. Death, plague, and most especially that sanctimonious prig of an inquisitor. This body isn't really mine, but I wear it like a gown. I ride it like a horse, and with both legs,

not some feminine side-saddle foolishness. The rumbling horror and complaints of the original occupant stir against me. I ignore him. Let him fade to the edges of this mind like the sound of the sea. I stride to a mirror, my gate unsteady.

It's huge, and takes up most of one wall. It isn't silvered, but something else, something clear and bright. His features are nothing remarkable. The little room, though, such a room. In one corner stands something like a garden urn, but with flowing water, and a Roman bath in the other.

And lamps! Lamps hang from the ceiling. Their light is so steady and so bright that they hurt my eyes to look upon. The man who has placed me on his head must likewise be some sort of sorcerer, although none of his magic is known to me. I explore his strange chambers, and in one I find a parchment. I can barely read it, but it gives the date as Anodomini 2018. It has been over 800 years.

I take some time to consider the gulf of time. The rooms are filled with books, with light, with strange devices whose functions I slowly rest from the scruffy little smuggler whose body I now wear. I spend days watching, reading, listening and learning. This world, this clockwork future is beautiful and strange, but not so different as my own time. There are no witches here.

The Inquisitors, having hunted us all, turned their eyes to merely the stranger, the outsider, the heretic. They burned themselves out in foolish hate. And now, they no longer believe in maddened. The world thinks we never were. I am the last witch, and there is no one to protect them from me. Oh, what delights I shall find here. If you'll allow me to divert from the horror for just one moment.

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Spell G-E-T-Q-U-I-P dot com slash no sleep. Quip, better oral health, made simple and rewarding. And now we return to scary senseless. Ah, the thrill of buying a new set of wheels. No matter the circumstances, it's always exciting to get a new car, or at least new to you. And in this tale, shared with us by author Amanda Leifeld,

this vehicle's new buyer becomes quite fascinated with certain details about the previous driver of his vehicle. Performing this tale is Mick Wingert. So dig deep and then dig a little deeper. The information you want has to be around here somewhere. And if you feel cut off from your investigation, maybe you should check a Bluetooth connection. You may not realize how much of your information is stored in your fancy new car.

Right off the bat, if you've ever connected any sort of Bluetooth device, then at a minimum your name is there. It's always the first thing I check whenever I get. get into a new car. I mean, once my curiosity is satisfied, I usually delete it all. I try to be a good man like that, do the world of favor, and so on. But the car I bought last month had only one owner before me, and something about her name. It just captivated me. There was something innocent about it, something charming and sweet. I couldn't bring myself to delete it. I really wasn't going to do anything with it. I just like to look at it from time to time and imagine what sort of person

she might be. I could practically picture her, petite, kind, soft-spoken, working in some sort of creative field, maybe. I'll admit, I may have spent slightly more time thinking about her than was healthy, but it was all just harmless daydreaming. Mostly harmless. I mean, I guess I may have been a little overly preoccupied. After one too many one-sided conversations, my girlfriend ended up breaking up with me. I think she thought I was cheating on her. She was wrong, of course, but I'm not too far off, I guess. I knew I just needed to stop thinking about my lovely car girl. I thought if I just knew a little bit more about her, I could forget about her. She wouldn't be the perfect girl I'd imagined, just a regular flawed person like the rest of us. All I had to

go on was a moderately uncommon first name, not the greatest start. Luckily, I had more than my fair share of ingenuity, technical know-how, and spare time on my hands. I had just enough tricks up my sleeve that I was able to access the drafts of a number of text messages that she must have sent using the voice control in her car. I thought maybe those might disabuse me of my notion of her as sweet, kind, and innocent. Maybe some particularly raunchy sexts or evidence of her leading some poor, helpless sap along. Something that would prove to me that she was nothing special, just as trashy and selfish as any other woman. Honestly, part of me wishes that had been what I found.

Instead, all I learned was that she was not being appreciated by the people that were lucky enough to be a part of her life. Text after text of her venting about selfish and inconsiderate boyfriends, reaching out to her friends and loved ones whenever they needed anything, going above and beyond for those in her life. But were they appreciating her like she deserved to be appreciated? loving her like she deserved to be loved? I know they weren't. I know they weren't.

I had to find her. She needed me. She deserved so much better. I never imagined a day would come in my life that I'd be stymied by the driver's privacy protection act, but I found myself quite frustrated when I was suddenly turned away from the DMV with absolutely no information.

The next stop was the dealership where I had originally bought the car. Obviously, I couldn't tell them what I really needed, so I tried my best to sell the story that I needed to see the bill of sale from when they had acquired the car. I wove a long narrative involving a man getting aggressive with me and claiming that it was his car that had previously been stolen. Now the police were involved, and my whole life was in shambles. At least the last part was the truth. Apparently, it's not their policy to give out that information. But they would be happy to cooperate with the police to corroborate the fact that the car was legitimately acquired.

Assholes. Luckily, I'm quite resourceful. I still had a few tricks up my sleeve. I was able to use the car's VIN to look up its history and find out what locations it had been associated with. My sweet girl had been on some serious journeys. The car had made some long cross-country tracks. I wondered if she'd been lonely making all those long trips by herself. I almost brought myself to tears, imagining her driving down a dark highway in the middle of the night,

starting to fall asleep and drifting across lanes. She wasn't safe on her own. She needed someone to protect her. She didn't even know that you needed to delete your Bluetooth information for God's sake. Luckily, once I had the locations, it was relatively easy to find her on social media. Like I said, she has a relatively uncommon first name. I was sort of hoping that she might be some repulsive Midwestern mom, right? And I could put the whole thing behind me.

Unfortunately, she was exactly what I'd pictured. Petit hourglass frame, large blue eyes, lips as pink as a rose petal, and just as soft, I imagined. She was, of all things, a kindergarten teacher. Can you get any sweeter than that? Apparently you can. Every single picture of her was something wholesome and pure, her serving up food at a homeless shelter, her cleaning up a local park,

her walking a three-legged rescue dog. In every picture she beamed like an angel, full of beauty and humility in equal measure. Once I laid eyes on her, I knew I was beyond hope. She was the one good thing in my universe, and the one thing that could turn my pathetic life around. She needed me too. She needed someone to keep her safe.

She was so vulnerable. It had been so easy to find her. If I could do it, then any crazy weirdo who might want to hurt her could certainly do it. I had to find her first. It was a 15-hour drive, but I didn't care. I got in my car and drove all night. I was so fueled by my burning desire to find her to have her to keep her safe. Unfortunately, it took me a while to find where she actually lived.

Her social media didn't have her actual address listed out, but I could see from the pictures what her house looked like. There are only so many residential streets in a rural, Midwestern town. When I finally found it, I felt like I was in a dream. I was so close to irrefutable happiness. It took all my restraint not to pound on her door right that second in the middle of the night. When I knocked on her door the next morning, some guy answered. He had the audacity to ask me what I wanted, like he lived there or something. I had a whole plan in my head for how things would go, and this completely threw me off.

I mumbled something about the wrong house and hurried back to my car. I would just have to wait until I was sure that he'd left, and she was there. Now, believe me, I recognize how crazy this all sounds, but I swear I knew her life would be so much better with me. It was fate that I ended up with this car. It took a couple of days of waiting before there was a time where she was home, and he was not. Seeing him come and go from her house made me fume. Who the hell did he think he was? Did he think that he could possibly know her like she deserved? Love her like she deserved? He probably didn't even appreciate how lucky he was. When she was finally mine, I would never leave

her side, not for a single heartbeat. Seeing her come and go, on the other hand, made my heart flutter. It was like seeing an angel walk down the street. Just her present. made me tremble. Everything would be better if I could just get her to see that we were meant to be together. She would be my motivation, my inspiration, my salvation. I would finally be able to turn things around for myself. I was so busy daydreaming about our life together that I almost didn't notice when the man finally left. How could he even leave her alone and unprotected like that? Didn't he know that some lunatic could come along and hurt her? That was exactly why she needed someone like me around. Everything would have been fine. Okay? Everything would have been fine if she would

just have heard me out, if she would have just been a little patient. She would have seen that our lives would be perfect together. But I was nervous. I mean, who wouldn't be? I guess I didn't explain myself particularly well. It all came out in sort of a jumbled rush. I could barely believe that I was actually standing in front of her, actually looking into her beautiful eyes. I mean, in retrospect, it probably didn't help that I pushed my way into the house. Perhaps she would have been a little more receptive

if I had just talked to her from the front step. But, you know, everyone makes mistakes, and I'm only human. What's done is done. I had just barely gotten through explaining how I had found her, and I was just about to explain to her how it was fate and why she needed me so badly when she started to freak out, right, shouting that I needed to get out of her house and that she would call the police if I ever came anywhere near her ever again.

If she had just given me a minute to explain myself, if she hadn't freaked out, everything would be fine. She didn't understand that she needed me and I could make her life so much better. I just needed another minute to explain myself. I swear. But she grabbed her phone to call her. the police. Now, obviously, I couldn't let that happen. What good would I be to her in jail, right?

I mean, how could I possibly make her see how much I loved her from jail? Without me, she'd be all alone, vulnerable to all the people who didn't appreciate her, all the people who might want to hurt her. What happened next? Well, it really wasn't what I intended. I just wanted to grab her phone out of her hand. I needed to buy myself just a little bit more time to make myself understood, but she jerked away from me as I tried to grab it and she lost her balance. As she fell backward, her head hit the corner of the kitchen countertop with a thud that sent a wave of nausea all the way to the pit of my stomach, if I'm honest. As she crumpled to the floor, leaving a streak of blood behind on the cold marble, it was as though time stood still.

I stood there for what felt like an hour, the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears, drowning out any coherent thought. I was brought brutally back to my senses by the sound of a 911 operator coming from where her phone had fallen. My time was officially up. I'll admit, at this point, I panicked. I probably should have checked a little more carefully, but, man, that thud, it did not sound survivable. I knew I had to get out of there as fast as humanly possible, and there was a lot of. no way in hell I was going to leave her behind. I wrapped her up in a blanket and rushed her out to the trunk of my car, hoping to go unnoticed. She was as light as a feather, and I was overcome with a

wild and desperate wave of despair that I had never gotten to hold her while she was still alive. I guess maybe she wasn't dead after all. I can hear her thumping and screaming back there. I'm half tempted to let her out. I try to explain myself, you know, one more time. to help her understand the only possibility that has any meaning for the two of us is to spend the rest of our lives together. Somehow, I suspect she may not be in the mood for listening. It's okay, though. Everything can still be fine. We can still be together for the rest of our lives. We can be together forever. I'm recording this note with the voice control feature in my car so that hopefully when you find us, whoever you are, you'll understand why things had to be this way.

I'm really not a bad guy. This was fate. At this point, this is the best possible outcome for me. For us, we deserve each other. And we deserve this. I just hope the car's computer will survive the water damage. We've all got that one buddy. You know the one who has tall tales and wild experiences every other day.

At first, you doubt them. You think it's nonsense. but then you spend a little time around this person and you realize they just seem to attract weirdness. And in this tale, shared with us by author Matthew Lehman, we meet two friends who've experienced more than their fair share of the weird. I join Matthew Bradford, Dan Zepula, and Danielle McCray in performing this tale. So make sure you're secure in your security job.

Follow the advice left by your predecessor, and no matter what you see, don't look at screen 13. My new friend Nick Harris was always a little on the superstitious side. As a child, he swore that he saw the ghost of his deceased grandmother watching over the family at her own funeral. Even though age and the chastisement of older family members eventually cast doubt in his own mind, the question always lingered somewhere in the back of his thoughts. What if? This fact was particularly interesting to me when he applied for a job as the night shift security officer at a museum that was rumored to be haunted. His friend Dan worked a day shift, and when there was an opening for the position, Dan immediately thought of him.

Nick was a college dropout and was now struggling to keep up with payments on the student loans for his failed education. This was all on top of his many other expenses, including substantial medical bills due to a number of health issues such as heart problems from his rather high-fat diet. The guy was not what you'd call obese by any means, but he was certainly not going to land any jobs as a male model, and the stress of his financial struggles did not help with his health. After getting fired from his previous two jobs, he was willing to do anything, so I suppose it should come as no surprise that he would be. leaped on the opportunity when Dan let him know about the opening, despite the rumors about the place. Those rumors did cross Nick's mind, of course. He'd heard a story or two from Dan about workers at the museum reporting strange occurrences, unexplained noises, moving shadows, that sort of thing. Nick even did a little research on it and found reports of paranormal activity

in the museum's history. But of course, nothing had actually been confirmed. He had to admit that the thought of spending every night alone in a place full of historical artifacts and possibly haunted by ghosts made him nervous, but he tried to brush off the notion, telling himself he was being ridiculous and he needed any job he could get. According to Dan, it should be a pretty easy gig. Most of the time, he'd just be sitting in the security office watching the screens, along with taking the occasional patrol and making sure all the doors were secure. Aside from that, the managers didn't care how he spent his time, as long as he didn't mess with any of the exhibits. If Nick was being honest with himself,

a small part of why he applied for the job and accepted the subsequent offer was because that lurking question still plagued him. What if? On Nick's first day, Dan gave him the rundown of everything he needed to take care of. It was seven in the evening by then, the museum was closed and devoid of all life, save the two of them, and Gary the janitor. At one point during the orientation, a question occurred to Nick. What happened to the last night shift officer? A grim look shadowed Dan's face. Oh, well, um, he quit after saying he saw a ghost in the basement.

Nick blanched at this, to which Dan laughed. Nah, I'm messing with you, man. He and his family were moving out of state as all. Nick rolled his eyes with an agitated sigh. He and Dan had known each other since high school, and while they weren't particularly close friends, they were within the same social circle. And he knew Dan to be a big prankster,

even now in his 30s. A fact, no small number of people found infuriating. Nick resigned himself to the likelihood that he would have to suffer through a few practical jokes during his time there. By the time Dan finished explaining everything and showing his new co-worker around, it was well over an hour past his usual clockout time. He laughed in a bit of a rush with a couple of quick pointers,

including where to find the emergency contact list, as well as where he kept the safe that contained a glock and some mace if the need ever arose. Nick found himself wondering if there had ever been a serious need for these items in the past, but decided not to question. it. Dan turned to Nick one more time before heading out. Oh, and I left a note for you on the security desk. Just a couple things to keep in mind. Nothing serious. With that, Nick found himself alone in the eerily quiet museum, knowing Gary to be somewhere doing his end-of-the-day chores. He headed to the security office where he left a

couple of his personal items and a bag of chalupas. There were four computer monitors, each split into four screens displaying their respective views scattered throughout the museum. He occasionally spotted Gary going about his work in one of them. Most of them gave a clear view of the exhibits, showing old statues, tools, jewelry, and countless other ancient artifacts, as well as a number of wax displays depicting a Native American scene or prehistoric animal. A couple of the other cameras displayed the employee only areas, including the storage room. in the basement.

Nick took his seat, settling in for what he hoped to be an uneventful first night, and reached for the bag of food. He paused, however, when he noticed a piece of paper with some writing on it sitting next to one of the monitors. Remembering the last thing Dan had said, he picked it up and read it over. Most of its contents were basically repeats of everything Dan had already covered, but then he reached the end of the note. P.S. Don't worry about the face in Screen 13. It likes to watch, but it will only kill you if you look at it.

Nick's heart gave a harsh jolt, his eyes bulging wide. His skin immediately crawled with an electric sensation, hair standing on end. Without even thinking about it, he very nearly looked to see what the note was talking about, but stopped himself at the last possible instant. Is this a joke? Remembering Dan's penchant for hijinks, this seemed like the most obvious conclusion. But still, memories that he tried to bury from his childhood

came to the forefront of his mind, specifically the memory of the pale, ghastly figure of his grandmother standing in the corner of the chapel, silent and unseen by everyone else there. as they mourned over her dead body in the casket. Despite how hard he tried over the years to rationalize that image away as the overactive imagination of a seven-year-old boy, that question had never truly left him in peace.

The same question that now almost seemed to reverberate inside of his head. What if? For a few moments he just sat there. rigid eyes reading over those last two sentences again and again to make sure he'd understood them correctly. What in the hell was it? His mind began conjuring images of pale, wailing figures or ghoulish monsters. His heart started pounding so hard that it actually hurt, and it wasn't until he had to remember to breathe that logic started to make its way back into his mind.

Of course there were no ghost. ghosts here. Dan was just playing one of his stupid jokes, a little hazing for the new guy, obviously. Even the use of the number 13 for the screen seemed extremely on the nose. Very funny, Dan. He threw the note in the garbage and let out a low chuckle that felt strangely insincere, as of trying to convince himself of the absurdity of the situation. Still, an eerie re-tingling ran over Nick's skin like tiny insects crawling all over his body when he thought of looking at screen 13, wondering if he would see anything.

He hadn't looked too closely at any specific screen, so obviously had not noticed anything unusual. Now that he'd read that note, he felt the overwhelming urge to check and make absolutely sure. But some warning instinct in his head stopped him. and all he could do was stare straight forward at one of the other screens instead. Damn it, this is so stupid. Try as he might to convince himself that everything was fine. That question still haunted him, and his heart's spastic activity never slowed down,

making it difficult to breathe. After a moment, he decided to at the very least try and catch a glimpse out of the corner of his eye. Still staring straight forward, he tried to discern what he could of the 13th camera view purely out of his peripheral vision. It was difficult to tell, but it did appear there actually might be something resembling a pale face against a dark background on the small screen. Skin tingling as his body tensed. His previous dismissal vanished in his mind. The fear returned. turning tenfold. Nick never considered himself to be disciplined, but it took an immense amount of willpower at that moment

not to look directly at the screen. Frightening questions and thoughts flooded his mind in a chaotic whirlwind, making him feel dizzy. His heart beating so hard in his chest he could swear it might actually permeate the silence of the museum. I'm being ridiculous. Dan probably just set up a spare wall. wax sculpture or something in the basement.

But that persistent question kept playing over and over in his mind. What if Dan was telling the truth? What if for some reason Dan couldn't tell him directly? So I had to let him know through a cryptic message. What if he just took a quick... The office door suddenly opened, causing him to jump, and he spun around in the office chair gasping and panic. Gary, the janitor, stood there, looking shocked and confused at Nick's reaction.

Oh, Gary, oh, sorry, man. I, who, you startled me. The old janitor cocked his eyebrows in amusement. Just letting you know I'm heading out. Take care, new guy. Yeah, thanks. He flushed with embarrassment as Gary shot him once. more weird look before heading out the door.

Taking a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm his flaring nerves, Nick turned back and watched the security monitors as Gary made his way through the museum and out the front entrance, locking the door behind him. Hoping some food might help him relax, Nick reached into the bag next to him and pulled out one of the chalupas, unwrapping it and biting into it. It did very little to alleviate. his anxiety. The first couple of hours went by without incident. Every now and then he did a quick patrol through the museum, probably more than he needed to, but he hoped it might help him

calm down. Unfortunately, walking around at night through a large empty building full of creepy life-like wax sculptures did not exactly put him at ease, nor did the occasional ambient sounds he heard that he tried to pass off as just the building settling or the traffic outside. Each time he returned to the office, he kept his eyes down until he was at the desk and could position himself so that the fourth monitor with screen 13 was outside of his direct line of sight. Whenever he managed to catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye, he swore it still looked like something was just standing there watching the camera. It could easily be passed off as probably another wax statue and storage that Dan must have positioned to face the camera.

But Nick could not quite shake the feeling that whatever was on the screen was very intent on him. He kept telling himself that he was being incredibly paranoid, and he needed to grow the hell up. Here he was, 30 years old and working a job as a security officer. and he was freaking out about paranormal activity on his first day. That was the kind of thing that got him fired from his last two jobs. Not the fear of the supernatural, just behaving like a child when he knew better. He had promised himself this would be a new start for him. Maybe he'd start working out and get into shape to perform his job better.

The starting pay wasn't ideal, but he was determined to work his way up the ladder. Maybe he'd finally be able to move out of his parents' house, rent an apartment, maybe even buy a house eventually. Maybe he'd even get a girlfriend along the way. A sound coming from the fourth monitor caused him to freeze, and once again he battled the overwhelming urge to look. The sound was gone as abruptly as it had come, but he could have sworn that it was almost like a muffled gulfed gills. like someone trying to stifle a laugh, but it had a raspy, wheezing quality to it. Placing a hand over his heart as if to somehow contain its erratic beating, he took several slow breaths to try to calm down.

It's just a break. It's just a break. Dan is being a dick. Dan's being a dick. Trying to convince himself he had imagined the noise. He reached into the food bag. and grabbed the second chalupa, taking a large bite out of it. Once again, it failed to bring him any comfort,

and as much as he tried to tell himself to stop being a coward, he could not quite bring himself to look directly at Screen 13. He began thinking of Dan's note again, and at some point it occurred to him that his co-worker had worded the warning very deliberately, playing off its presence as something totally normal. Of course, anyone's natural reaction in that situation would be to immediately look at the indicated screen, in which case they'd see whatever was on it and probably scream before realizing they've been pranked. For all Nick knew, there was a hidden camera or recording device somewhere in the office ready to catch him in the moment.

His childish fears had just barely been enough to make him resist looking. But the more he thought about it, the more foolish he felt. With that in mind, he told himself he was going to look. He was way too old to be falling for this crap, and he was not going to let Dan play him for a fool. Taking a deep breath, he turned and stared directly at Screen 13. Dan was utterly flustered as he rambled to the investigating police officer the following day. The museum was closed, and there were more than a few curious onlookers outside as the paramedics carried Nick's corpse out to the ambulance on a stretcher. Gary had been the one to find him lying on his back on the floor of the security office, a half-eaten chaloupe on the ground next to him.

His pallid face locked in an expression of utter terror. The responding emergency services made the initial assessment that he died of a heart attack. after noticing screen 13 displaying a Halloween mask set up on a tripod in the corner of the storage room. It didn't take much for them to guess what had probably caused it. A policewoman stood outside the security office listening to Dan's explanation, while Gary and the museum owner stood next to them, and I hovered unnoticed nearby. Were you aware that he had a heart condition?

No, well, I mean, yeah, but I kind of, but I never thought it was bad. that he'd have a heart attack? It was just a stupid prank. You know, just having some fun with the new guy. And what exactly was the nature of the prank? I set up a Halloween mask in one of the storage rooms in the basement. Then I left a note in the office that said not to look at that screen because the face on it would kill him if he did.

I figured he'd look at it right away, get a good scare, and see it was fake. He paused, fidgeting nervously. Going to jail for this? The officer jotted something down on a notepad. We're just trying to get the full story right now. As far as I can tell, the situation is pretty cut and dry. It was just an accident, and we found no evidence of intent. So no, you most likely won't be going to jail.

Oh. Dan let out a sigh of relief, though he was clearly still broken up over the situation. Even if he hadn't meant for any of this to happen, his prank had supposedly caused a man's death. I noticed that the museum owners looked utterly livid, and I suspected he would have fired Dan if he still didn't need a security officer for a shift. Has anyone looked over the security footage since his body was discovered? Dan shared an embarrassed look with his boss. Uh, no, we haven't reviewed it yet. The four of them then stepped into the security office, and I silently followed.

Dan mentioned that he had set up his own hidden camera to record Nick's reaction, and the policewoman asked him to plug it in to one of the monitors. Between that and the security cameras around the museum, they were able to get most of the story. Nick had finally looked at the screen after seeming to struggle with himself for hours after reading the note. As soon as he looked, he immediately let out a startled cry. Causing both himself and the office chair to tumble backwards to the ground, the unfinished chalupa falling from his hand. It was not exactly clear from Dan's camera what Nick had seen on the small screen,

but they all assumed it was the mask in the basement. In a frenzied panic, Nick scrambled back to his feet and stared at the screen again. Then he let out an almost deranged growl and suddenly reached for the safe under the desk. After struggling with the combination for several seconds, he finally managed to get it open, retrieving the pistol inside and rushing out the door. He headed down to the basement to where Camera 13 was set up and stormed into the storage room, working his way past large crates to where the mask was suspended in a shadowed corner. Nick then pointed his gun at it and began shouting.

You better say so right now. He's bullshit. Everyone stared in utter confusion as Nick rambled at the mask for a moment. But then, the security feat became jumbled with static. When it returned to normal, Nick was gone, and the footage from the other cameras showed him rushing back to the security office. His demeanor had now reached full-on hysteria, panting. crying out in fright. Unfortunately, Dan's camera had run out of batteries by then,

so they had no more footage of Nick inside the security office, including the exact moment of his death. The policewoman wrote some more notes on her pad. He must have had the heart attack after he got back in the office. She turned to Dan to ask another question, but paused, noticing the utterly horrified look on his face. What is it? Dan just stared at the monitors for a moment,

then grabbed the mouse and set the monitor to display camera 13 on full screen, to replay the moment when Nick barged into the storage room and confronted the Halloween mask. As he played the clip again, his face grew visibly pale. The other three looked more closely at the screen, and I could tell the instant that they saw it. Another face, barely hidden in the shadows next to the mask, looking down at the ground. How many masks did you set up? In a daze, Dan looked at her.

Just the one. Then, in the instant before static cut the video off, the face erased its black eyes to stare right at Nick. Shit! What? Kelly's one guy. What? A series of stunned, colorful obscenities filled the office as the onlookers saw that tiny hint of movement. This, of course, spurred the police into a much more thorough investigation, and the museum remained closed for a few days.

They never found any other sign of the intruder in the basement, and finally, the authorities decided that they would find no further evidence of foul play there. When the museum did open again, rumors spread like wildfire about the supposed ghost sighting and the mysterious death of a security officer. I couldn't help but smile whenever I overheard such conversations, always disgust and energetic whispers. Despite the tragedy, I could tell that the owner secretly appreciated the sudden influx of visitors in response to the incident, including no small number of self-appointed paranormal investigators. They wouldn't find anything, of course, though I delighted in the thought that if Dan decided to look at the security footage of him talking with the policewoman outside the office, they'd see that very same face from camera 13 watching them from right at the edge of the screen.

I admit I felt a little bad for Dan. He admits this as a harmless joke, and it ended with the death of a friend. He would likely live with that guilt for the rest of his life, especially since this job was supposed to help Nick get back on his feet. But it wasn't all his fault. When I overheard him talking with Gary about the prank he wanted to pull on Nick, I just couldn't resist getting involved. My new friend Nick Harris was always a little on the superstitious side. And now that question that always haunted him, what if, is finally answered. Admittedly, once he gets over the initial shock of his new situation, he'll most likely be angry with me.

And I'll probably get a stern talking to from his grandmother at some point. But in a century or so, I'm sure we'll look back on this and laugh about it. You see, death really isn't so bad, but it can get incredibly boring. But now I have a new friend, and I've stirred things up at the museum, which is sure to cause some excitement for a very long time. because even ghosts like to play pranks. 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 to be. This audio production is copyright 2020 by Creative Reason Media, Inc. All rights reserved. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted without the written consent of Creative Reason Media, Inc.