The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S15E09

Episode Date: October 25, 2020

It’s Episode 09 of Season 15. Our lost highway journey plays childish games. “Rest Stop: 1 Mile” written by J.M. Smith (Story starts around 00:05:50) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Charlie �� Dan Zappulla, Captain Holloway – Graham Rowat, Charlie’s dad – Mike DelGaudio, Dispatcher – Alexis Bristowe “Slumber Party Séance” written by Eddie Generous (Story starts around 00:21:40) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Jeff Clement Cast: Narrator – Nikolle Doolin, Carol – Sarah Ru Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Is the week before Halloween and all through the vestibule, my voice was heard as I shared our haunted schedule, or something like that. But yes, we are excited. excited about the busy week ahead. Here is what we'll be doing for Halloween this year. On Wednesday, October 28th, there will be a great celebration. That is to say, we'll be releasing the Season Pass 15 Halloween bonus episode.

Make sure you check your season past feeds for that one to put you in the Halloween mood. And on Halloween itself, we'll be releasing episode 10 of season 15, which is our full-length free Halloween episode. It will be available to everyone on Saturday so you can enjoy our Halloween tales on the day or the night itself. And with the Halloween gift-buying season upon us, I am proud to announce a whole new visual experience available in our online store.

As you know, we have a talented roster of illustrators who create art for each episode. Have you ever thought about getting that artwork on a t-shirt or poster or hoodie? Well, now you can. We have opened the Museum of No Sleep Art. We have curated the art from seasons 14 and 15 and presented them museum style so you can create your own galleries

and wear them or hang them on your walls. Check the show notes for the link and find the artwork which stirs and chills your soul. It's all at the Museum of No Sleep Art. And so let's head into Halloween Week Strong. Carve the pumpkins, candy the corn, and make this a sleepless Halloween. Now, let's begin our journey down this lost highway. In our first tale, we join a man who's moved back home to care for his recently widowed mother. Naturally, moving back home means finding a new job, and jobs are hard to come by.

So while looking for gainful employment, why not become a volunteer? But in this tale, shared with us by author J.M. Smith, we discover that being a volunteer emergency responder can have even more dangers than one might suspect. Performing this tale are Dan Zapula, Graham Rowett, Mike Delgado, and Alexis Bristow. So get ready to call it in, but watch you don't get too distracted by that accident.

Otherwise, you'll see the sign that says, Rest stop, one mile. I stared at the piece of paper in my hands. All volunteers must keep the emergency responder decal on their windshield. If you pass an accident in your marked vehicle, you must stop to help and call it in. No exceptions. Charles, did you hear me? Yeah, I got it, Captain Holloway.

I scoffed at the absurdity of the situation. How can the list of rules for volunteer emergency? emergency responders only have one rule, and why did they bother to waste an entire piece of paper to print it? The captain narrowed his eyes as he handed me the decal, holding it in his grip when I tried to take it from him. He leaned in. I can't stress enough how important it is to always stop. No matter where you're going or what your plans are, stop at any accidents you see while driving. I put on my most confident grin and hoped my voice wouldn't betray how unnerved I actually.

actually was. While I understood the need for the rule in such a large, sparsely populated county, I didn't understand why it would be the only rule. Of course, I understand. I walked out to my car with my new decal and put it on the windshield right then. I didn't want him to see me shirking the rule before I had even left the parking lot. Once it was on, I called my mom to tell her I was done and on my way home. She had become a worry. ever since my dad passed. That's actually why I had agreed to move in with her when I had trouble finding a job after college.

I didn't expect my prospects to be much better in a small town, but I could keep an eye on my mom while I sent in applications. Plus, I had found a way to do some good while I was out here. It didn't have anything to do with the kind of job I was looking for, but it made me feel useful, and that was a nice change. As a volunteer, I didn't yet did. dispatch to calls. I was just supposed to help if I saw an accident. It was a cheap solution for the issues caused by a large county having a limited number of ambulances. I saw a few accidents while

outrunning errands, and I stopped at each of them. Only one required medical assistance. The passenger had broken her nose when the airbag deployed. There wasn't much I could do to help her nose other than hold an ice pack on it, but I did call it in. I waited with the two of them for about an hour until the tow truck and ambulance arrived. It was a slight inconvenience, but not the end of the world. I was heading home pretty late one night after attending a friend's wedding. I was exhausted from the events of the day and looking forward to crashing in my bed at home. I exited the freeway and turned on to the winding two-lane highway that would take me the rest of the way home.

I saw the sign for the upcoming rest stop. Rest stop, one mile. I smiled, knowing that meant I was halfway there, and the very thought of getting home seemed to make me more tired. I yawned and turned up the radio to help me stay awake. And then, I saw it. A truck crashed into a tree near the entrance of the rest stop. I was still at least 15 minutes from my house.

And the thought of having to wait an hour or longer for an ambulance to a rest stop. arrive was too much. I slowed down and turned on my high beams as I approached the side of the crash. The driver's side door was open, but there were no people anywhere in sight. I decided that some drunk had probably wrecked and then bailed before the authorities were notified. I didn't see a point in stopping if there was nobody to help, so I just kept driving. In my hurry to get home, I had forgotten the rule. My exhausted brain quickly forgot about the wreck after it faded from view in my rear view mirror. I was singing along with the radio when I saw the sign again. Rest stop. One mile. I was confused because I knew there was only one rest stop between the highway and my mom's house

on this road. I thought for a moment that I had possibly fallen asleep and missed the turn for the house, but that was impossible. There was no way I could have successfully navigated the turns in the road while asleep. My confusion turned to dread as I approached the rest stop and saw the accident again. That same red truck was there. The front end smashed up against the trunk of a tree, and the driver's door still open. I glanced at it as I drove on, still seeing nobody in the truck or rest stop. I tried to shake it off, blame the whole strange scenario on my need for sleep. But deep down, I knew that wasn't it. I pressed my foot down on the accelerator, just wanting to get away from the situation as fast as possible. Rest stop, one mile. You have got to be kidding me.

I didn't even bother to slow down when I saw the wreck this time. All the hairs on the back of my neck were standing straight up, and I just knew that I needed to get away from this place. I watched the wreck in my rearview mirror as I drove away until it was out of sight. I started to feel silly when I went another mile and didn't see the sign. Maybe I really had imagined the whole thing. Then I saw her. A woman was walking along the side of the highway in a gray tattered dress. I slowed down as I approached her, not wanting to accidentally clip her on the narrow highway. She stopped walking and began to point at my car as I drove by. I was about to stop the car and see if she needed help, but when I looked in my rear view mirror, she was gone. Adrenaline surged through my body,

ridding me of the exhaustion that had plagued the earlier part of my drive home. I didn't have much time to think about her, because I saw the sign again. Rest stop, one mile. Before I even got to the rest stop, I saw several people walking along both sides of the road. All of them were in tattered gray clothes, and every single one of them was pointing at my car. Without realizing, I had slowed my car until I was barely moving. I rolled down my window to ask the man closest to me if he needed help. When he didn't answer immediately, I assumed he hadn't heard me over the radio.

I stopped the car and turned down the music. Sir, do you need help? You can use my phone to call you and your friends a ride if you need. His answer, if you could call it that, was a shrill scream that echoed in my car. Soon after, all the others walking along the road also started screeching with him. all while pointing at my car. I decided it was probably not safe to sit there with my window down while these people were screaming like that.

So I rolled my window up and drove away. Once again, I drove past the wreck, this time while dialing 911 on my phone. I was far too creeped out to stop at this point, but I could call in the wreck and strange people on the side of the highway. It rang and rang, but nobody. answered. I knew that was unusual because Captain Holloway said somebody was always on duty to answer the dispatch calls in Grimes County. The wreck was still in sight from my rearview mirror

when I started passing by the people on the side of the road again. This time, they seemed angry. Instead of just pointing at my car, they charged at it. I slammed on my brakes to avoid hitting one of them. Within seconds, they had surrounded my car, beating on the windows and shrieking. What do you want from me? I just wanted to curl into a ball and hide, but I was terrified of what would happen if they managed to break through one of the windows. I muttered a curse as I slammed my foot on the gas pedal. They all seemed to move quickly to get out of the way once the car was moving again. Rest stop. One mile. I felt like I was trapped in a never-ending nightmare.

The shrieking people I had just left behind were now approaching my car from the front. It looked as though their group had doubled in size. I tried to drive through the crowd like I had done earlier, but this time they didn't move out of the way. I started crying as I ran over several of them. My conscience wouldn't allow me to just keep driving, so after getting ahead of the group a bit, I stopped.

Against every instinct I had, I opened my door to get out and check on those I had hit. Before I could step all the way out, a lone person separated from the group, slammed my door shut. He was the only one not screeching in unison with the others. His face was different than I remembered, more drawn, and there were dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn't slept in years. ears. But the way those eyes looked at me was unmistakable. Dad, how are you here? What's going on? I rolled down the window. He might have been dead, but he was still my dad, and I yearned to reach out and hug him. He shook his head. Charlie, you aren't supposed to be here. You have to leave. I've been trying, Dad. I can't get

out of here. The road just keeps bringing me back. Please get you. Get in. Help me find the way out. You can come with me. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I begged him. I could see the answer in his eyes before he even opened his mouth. The others in the group were screaming louder now and making their way to the car. I can't, bud. That's not how it works. Remember the rule, Charlie. You've got the decal on your car. You have to follow the rule. Go, buddy. Now, before they catch up to you.

Dad, I can't just leave you. A sad smile crept across his face. You have to, bud. I'm already gone. I love you, Charlie. Now go, hurry. The others in the group had caught up to us. I slammed on the gas and took off, sobbing as I watched them surround my dad in the rearview mirror. Rest stop. One mile. I turned on my hazard lights before the truck even came.

into view. I didn't see the group of people this time, but I was convinced they might arrive any minute. I pulled up behind the truck and tried calling the dispatch line again. This time, it went through. Making an effort to keep the terror out of my voice, I told the dispatcher about the truck. I didn't want to try and explain the situation. I'm pulled up behind the truck right now. Yeah, but you've passed this accident before, haven't you?

I'll send a deputy and an ambulance to your location right away. Captain Holloway will want to talk with you tomorrow. You can give him back the decal then if you want. As I sat in my car waiting for the deputy, the only thing I could think of was the rule. The one rule so important, they printed it out on a separate piece of paper from all the other paperwork.

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code 80-no-sleep to get a total of $80 off across five boxes, including free shipping on your first box. That's hellafresh.com slash 80-no sleep. And now back to you. the shell. Do not meddle with forces beyond your comprehension. That's always a good rule to follow. And yet, Ouija boards are endlessly popular and people never learn. Not least, Carol, Sandy and Mindy, three girls dead set on contacting the other side. But in this tale, shared with us by author Eddie Generis, we're reminded that when you call into the void, you can never be sure who will answer. Performing this tale are Nicole Doolin, Sarah Thomas, Nicole Goodnight, Jessica McAvoy, and Kyle Akers.

So ask your questions and be prepared for the answers whether you like them or not. Those are the rules if you find yourself at a slumber party seance. The planchette didn't move, but the dancing orange glow from the three candles at the head of the board suggested, maybe. Did it move? Carol was 12. She was pale as ivory, had straight black hair and deep blue eyes, upturned at a slight cat-like angle.

It moved, right? Carol's mother was dead, and Carol was desperate, though it wouldn't admit anything of the sort. The board was from the 80s made by Mattel. Sandy lifted her fingers from the hunk of plastic fashioned to resemble aged wood. Didn't have at all. She was reddish with a sun tan that resembled a burn.

Thirteen that day, had beady green eyes, wore a sea of rusty freckles, and had hair the color of carrots. Mindy squinted. The way the candlelight dashed over her eyes made the irises appear golden. You sure? Mindy was chubby, the oldest by four months, wore her hair in a ponytail. the color of a Shetland pony's tail. All three were in lounging clothes and dealing with different levels of letdown.

Sandy's mother brought out the board for them to play with while she went to visit friends for the night. The girls were old enough to hang out Sands chaperone. The chances of getting in trouble at the old farmhouse were slim. Carol held her phone before her, casting a blue swath over her face, making her look downright ghostly. Says here, Ouija boards were sold as parlor games. What's a parlor game? Mindy scrunched her lips towards her chin and bugged her eyes.

Carol turned to Sandy. Sandy shrugged. Eyes returned to the screen. Carol read on. There are a bunch of ways we can. Do you have salt? Mindy spied on her friend. Carol's dad had a maid.

Carol's dad let her get her. away with everything. Carol's dad wanted to make sure he kept that part of his family happy, despite her not having a mother. We can summon a witch if we pour salt. My mom will kick my butt if I make a mess. Double if she finds out I wasted salt. Find one that doesn't make a mess. Sandy had the plan shed in her hands, flipping and catching it above her crossed legs. We can clean. Your mom won't know. They didn't get it. Her mom figured out everything. Just see what else.

Carol back searched and clicked the next heading. Automatic writing. They began and they kept at it. Tool hit paper for a 12th time. The trio asked questions, switched pens, traded for a pencil, closed eyes,

opened eyes, blew out the candles, lit more candles, went upstairs, and were finally in the basement. Unfinished walls of damp stone, whitewashed but flaking. The floor was smooth cement. A big green furnace and the off-white washer and dryer

filled the space opposite the indoor-outdoor carpeted stairs. Between them was a shelving unit loaded with junk. The girls sat in a wide patch of open floor next to a casket-sized deep freeze. The floor was cool through their yoga pants. They'd added bulky hoodies to their get-ups once deciding on the basement. Carol had carded the Ouija board in case they wanted to try again. According to the Internet, it helped to have personal things of the attempted connection.

Carol wore her mother's wedding band on a necklace. We'd put it on her hand if they wanted to try the board again. Her mother would find her. Sandy held a purple crayon to a blank sheet of paper. This is stupid. Carol absently fiddled with the ring dangling beneath her shirt. You know, we're supposed to use something personal with the Ouija board. Maybe that's why it doesn't work.

Like, instead of that stupid plastic thing? Sandy tossed the crayon across the room. It rolled into the shadows. The basement was mostly. shadows, even with the hanging bulb lit. Carol was about to argue when Mindy spoke first. Hey, yeah, lose a plastic thing. I bet we get something from down here.

Maybe then we could talk to some old farm wife or something. Carol opened her mouth, then closed it. She unhooked the skinny gold chain from her neck and slipped the ring into her palm while her friends carried lit candles into the outer reaches of the room. With the ring in her hand, even if they attempted contact with local spirits, she'd still find her mom. Blind fingers worked the clasp and the necklace again dangled beneath her sweater. So much lighter without the ring. It slid on to the third finger of her left hand like home.

Sandy hurried over and looked at the boxes Mindy had located. Elbows deep one second. The next she turned around holding up enormous, dusty eye glasses and a set of grayed dentures. Those aren't mine. Mindy blew off the glasses and dentures. The glasses magnified her eyes comically. The dentures bulged her lips an inch. The dentures clacked as she spoke.

How do I look? Ew. What else is in there? Carol had joined the search that wasn't looking. Mindy turned back to the eye-level box, glasses slipping to the end of her nose. The candle glinted shine off a partially rusted blade. She spun around again, this time with a dagger in hand, and spat the dentures onto the floor. This'll point to stuff on the board for sure.

Sandy snatched the knife. She looked to Carol. Could say anything about blood sacrifice? Carol gulped and pulled her phone from the front pocket of her. her hoodie, not understanding that Sandy's words were a demand rather than a question. The bulb lamp switched off. The candles flickered at the head of the board. Sandy went first, tetanus far from the mind, and forced the blade into her palm with a gasp. She yanked it free and blood dribbled onto the board. The knife fell and Mindy grabbed it, hungry to get it over with. The knife's blade was dull.

but the pointed tip was fine. A red bubble bloomed for half a second before running. Mindy shook her hand above the board, sprinkling droplets. Shit. You go. Carol gazed into the reflective droplets and the dirty, wet blade. She didn't want to, but picked up the knife. Surprised by its sturdiness.

She closed her eyes and pricked her palm. The blood hardly dribbled. Mindy grabbed her hand and tried to squeeze out extra. There, put the knife in the middle, same as the planchette. Mindy let go of Carol. The knife fell and Carol opened her eyes. The dampness of the basement suddenly seemed so full that she drowned in it. And still, her hands reached and fingers touched the hilt.

Mindy's eyes beamed, flames reflected. Spirits of the night, talk to us. Are you here? They waited. Nothing. Spirits come to us. We will do whatever you say. Are you here?

The knife did not move. They waited. You try, Carol. Spirits? Come to us. Are you here? Still nothing. This is stoop.

Shh. Just wait a second. Maybe they're like in some other place. They waited and waited. The quiet of the basement opened ears to the world beyond the thick stone foundation. The patter of rain. The cry of the cows in the field beyond the fence. And the whisper of the summer.

breeze, finding cracks in the ancient stonework. The trio stared, hard. Flame glow shimmered over the blood on the board, bounced on the clean areas of the knife. They watched and waited. Nothing. Their fingers shined and each felt the gentle burn from their cuts. Sandy was the first to lift her hands, bored and annoyed. Carol followed. She'd said, she'd scared herself into believing there was no way this would fail, and she'd see her mother one more time. Put him back on. Fingers made contact again.

Talk to us. Are you here? The rain, the whistling breeze, the occasional cry of the cows all outside. The basement was silent aside from the gentle breaths. The girls watched the knife. The board beneath had soaked up much of the blood, staining splotches over the Gothic lettering. They waited and waited.

Still nothing. Carol lifted her eyes from the board. The unfinished ceiling was a wooden shadow space. The gray spider web seemed to groove on a barely perceptible rhythm. Carol felt herself swaying along. A tear forced its way to the corner. of her eye. The rain and the breeze stopped, as if sucked away.

They waited. Carol pressed her fingers hard against the knife. Are you here? Nothing. Mindy lifted her hands again and straightened the goofy glasses. What a stupid waste. Sandy didn't argue it. Her hands came away, too.

Are you here? Mindy pushed to her feet, brushed her floor-chilled butt. Come on. Sandy stood, arms stretched for balance. Are you here? Still nothing. Come on, let's go walk. Cows wailed outside.

The rain sounded as if a monsoon deluge fell from a cold start. The breeze became a wind, whistling like a cold. child's scream. The candle flames disappeared. Void dark. The basement seemed to shrink tight on the girls. The glasses fell from Mindy's face and clanked on the floor as she jerked her head backwards as the single hanging bulb lit. It blared bright, then brighter. Sandy and Mindy came together in a scared embrace. Carol looked at the board, waiting for the knife to move. The hanging light burned like the sun. Carol brought her eyes up from the Ouija board, craning naturally.

Her gaze falling onto the fully illuminated, whitewashed wall. In big purple crayon script, I am here. The knife moved on the board, spinning to face Carol. It tapped gently, vibrating. The light blared in a way that made them all see. went. The knife took flight, brushing Carol's loose hanging hair on the way

to the light bulb. Hot glass and electrified steel rained to the floor like firework afterbirth. The sound of thumping feet stole Carol from the sensation of all. Mindy

and Sandy were on the stairs and peeling away. Carol flipped over, the cut on her palms stinging against the floor. She ran on all fours until her head hit the banister. She felt for the steps and began climbing. The light at the top of the stairs was subtly brighter, enough to make out shapes, an exit,

but not enough to suggest a bulblet anywhere else in the home. She worked her way up the stairs and heard her phone fall from her pocket and clunked to the cement floor. The sound stopped her two risers from the top. She was one of six in class who had her own cell phone, the only one of her close friends. That device enhanced her cool in a way that seemed almost worth the risk of going back for it. Almost. She considered charging back down and snatching it up.

Mindy was in the doorway, shouting into the shadows. Carol let it go and climbed. Reaching the top, she nearly fell back, stumbling with her arms on the lack of a step. Up and running, she trailed behind Mindy. Into the kitchen. Beyond the windows, the cows ran. On the wrong side of the fence. In the living room, void darkness.

The rain and winds pounded the glass, rattling in frenzy. To the stairs, past another door, past more windows, more circling cows. Midnight purple streaked with green. The sky was alive. Up the stairs, light from outside glinted off the picture frames. Sandy was at the top. Her eyes looked like pinholes. Her mouth like a fissure.

We need help. The phones don't work. Use yourself. Carol's throat closed on a plea. No phone put the pressure elsewhere. Her feet thumped on the carpeted stairs until reaching the hallway carpet that matched. There was far less worn.

The hall seemed endless, and Carol closed her eyes behind Mindy, behind Sandy. Light flickered on a matchhead. Take a candle. Take a candle. Mindy's words were hurried and hardened, as if light was the answer. As if light drove away anything but the perception of dark. Sandy kicked the door closed, and the trio stood in her room, candles before their faces. What if it's my mom? The others looked at Carol.

It was a nice thought, but it felt off. That's stupid. No, but I... Mindy shook her head and held out a hand. Give me your phone. I dropped it stupid rich bit. The candlelight shrank away with Sandy's words. The rain seemed to have stalled again.

The wind let the shaking pains rest. The cows were silent too. Mindy whimpered and worked a match. It lit to reveal only two of them standing at the center of the room. Carol held her candlewick to flame. She turned right. Mindy lit her own candle. Turned left.

The room was as it had been. Messy. A desk. A bed, a closet, a Taylor Swift poster, and a Hunger Games. catching fire poster they'd stolen from the drive in the summer before. And then Sandy. Sandy?

Carol stepped towards her friend. Sandy stood at the closed door, almost touching it, her back to the others. Carol reached. Sandy's hood was up like a monks. Hands somewhere out of view. Sandy? Carol could feel Mindy behind her. She grabbed Sandy.

Sandy's shoulder. Sandy leaned away. Carol took a step closer. Grabbed Sandy's hood, pulled it to turn her. The hood flopped down, revealing a smooth head. So pale it looked like styrofoam. Sandy continued turning, even as Carol retracted her arm. Sandy's eyes and mouth sprouted patches of thin orange hair.

She patted at her cheeks and throat as if unwilling to touch it. Then panic strengthened, and she began trying to pull at the hair as it grew thicker. Something must have clicked at hearing Mindy say her name. Behind the terror, beyond the uncanny hair growth. Sandy's arms reached out, and she charged blindly, helplessly. Carol jumped sideways. Mindy spun off a glancing touch. Sandy continued running until she hit the bed, toppling forwards.

Her face smashing into the window sill and pain. The wind gusted through the broken barrier. It was almost as if it rained inside the house as well. Mindy tore away, towards the door. Carol followed. Her candle flame dancing, swaying, dying. Mindy started down the stairs, and the meager light from her candle departed

as she tripped and began rolling and thumping. Outside, lightning flashed, and the bovine harmony was high and pained. Carol saw nothing of her friend and stopped four steps from the second floor, nine from the main. Behind her, doors began slamming. She spun, taking a step down while looking up. Lightning flashed again. Carol saw her reflection in the glass of the pictures, lining the staircase wall. It made her scream anew.

She started down the steps in a hurry, but stopped before reaching the bottom. Her instincts were confused, terrified, immobilized. Carol's hand ripped the banister so tightly it stung in her fingers. The voice was distant and weak, coming from above. Carol looked up and stared into the shadows. Lightning strikes flashed, one after. or another and lit the home in a strobe. Mindy's back was flat against the ceiling.

Her arms and legs shook and peddled, as if she could swim against an impending fall, like gravity was water. Mindy fell hard over the Newell post at the foot of the banister. Her body wrapped flopply. A scent filled the air, piss and shit. Carol ran to her and yanked on the girl's limp arm. Mindy's body slipped and slid to the floor.

At the top of the stairs, footfalls pounded heavy and dull, slow steps chasing her like a horror film revenant. Carol let go of Mindy's hand and broke for the door. She swung it open. Wind and rain blasted her back. The steps continued behind her. She forced her way through the pressure, instantly soaked. In the purple-green gloom, dozens of huge cows paraded in pained circles over the yard.

They shined beneath the effervescent cloud cover, bumpy and trailing huge, mysterious swatches like blankets of parachutes. The lightning pounded all around her, and she saw the pale pink muscle and sinewy white tendons of the skinned beasts. The trailing swatches were the inside-out hides. hanging from their back ends. Carol turned around to re-enter the home, maybe get to the basement, collect her phone and call her father. She didn't make it a single step

and almost bumped into a tall figure in a red dress. Hair down past her breasts. Thick, black. Carol couldn't help herself then. The girl's mother lifted her head, eyes blazing gold. She opened her mouth and toothless gum stretched with shadowy divvets. Her tongue wiggled like a grayed snake.

Her breath was of campfire smoke and rotten fruit. The sight and smell had Carol backstepping. The mouth closed and the woman's smooth skin began drying. Great valleys stretched into shadows until the papery skin tore and revealed bones. Carol's left her. foot sunk in the soggy lawn. She swung her arms for balance. Head gooey but stiff. A cow wailed the moment before it connected with Carol's shoulder, launching her sideways. Her hip cracked like a gunshot. Her head connected with her ankle. The lights in the house lit and the din of the

parading beast lessened. They no longer ran. They no longer ran. They continued their pained mooing. Carol blinked. Once. Twice. Up to the sky that no longer seemed strange. The third blink was the longest. Carol opened her eyes and looked at the two boys and two girls.

They were in Sandy's unfinished basement. They had a bloodied Ouija board before them. Candles lit their faces in an eerily familiar glow. One of the boys closed his eyes tightly. Chin upturned. Hands on Carol's broken cell phone, as if it was a planchette. It was dull and dusty. Appeared to have aged years.

Are you here? Carol shook, turned away. Are you here? The purple crayon laid beneath a layer of grime, stuck in a crack between the wall and the floor. Carol picked at it. The crayon came free. Are you here?

The crayon was heavy in her hand, but she managed. On the wall, she wrote, I am here. Never work with children or animals, they say. But when you're a children's entertainer, you don't have much of a choice. Even if your show gets canceled and you're forced to reprise your role at children's parties,

no matter how, inattentive or ungrateful the kids are. But in this tale, shared with us by author B. A. Reese, we discover that entertaining the young ones can be murder. Performing this tale are Mike Delgado, Gaudio, Aaron Lillis, Nicole Doolin, Sarah Thomas, Jeff Clement, Ellie Hirschman, and Matthew Bradford. So look those kids in the eye and do your best to keep smiling. And whatever you do, don't make them Angry. You wouldn't like the transformations. Andy Warhol, or more accurately a photographer working with him, said not too long ago that everyone will be famous for 15 minutes. Centuries earlier, the expression, Nine Days Wonder,

captured the same concept with a bit more optimism. I beat them both out. I was famous for four years. As prominent actors on children's shows go, that's not a bad run. I remind you, myself of this during the restless periods I spend checking my phone for a call for my agent, as empty beer bottles pile up around me. You see, I starred in a kids television show for three years called Lucian and the Lillicrank. It's a show that little kids love. Each episode would consist of me wearing a goofy black hat, an orange shirt, and a ridiculous purple cape going on adventures with a computer-generated creature. I was Lucian, and the creature was Lillicrank. My character existed to connect the audience to the show through a human protagonist. I was chosen for

the role because of my youthful face and my uncanny ability to endure grueling 15-hour shoots. Lillicrank resembled a sheep, but had wings that allowed her to fly around like a dragon. She looked fearsome enough to be cool while also retaining a sense of cuteness. If you've raised a kid in the last decade, you may have seen plush toys of her in stores. Anyway, Lily crank would fly me around as we solved mysteries, visited magical kingdoms, and interacted with guest stars, all while teaching lessons to kids. At one point, early in each episode, I would receive news that Lily Crank was needed somewhere, so I would call out for her chanting, The danger is real, this is not a prank, we need your help, Lily Crank! She wouldn't appear at first, so I'd turn to the camera and

request the audience to sing along, and only then would she ask. actually appear. Of course, this made for a sad spectacle in the studio. I'd beg the camera to sing along, and even though nothing was happening, I'd pretend like an audience had spoken up with sufficient volume. But as our ratings indicated, hundreds of thousands of kids were following my instructions and were swept away by the appeal of me and the friendly dragon sheep. But I could always sense such success would be short-lived. Before long, the kids had moved on. The original audience had grown up and started to enjoy the books and movies from which we'd borrowed ideas, and the next generation of preschoolers had found fresher, newer shows to watch.

Worse, even though Lucian and Lillie Crank was canceled four years ago, I was forever pegged as the guy from that kid's show. Nobody else in the industry wanted to hire me, because audiences would only associate me with that one character. At first, I found plenty of gigs performing at Rich Kids' birthday parties. I brought a prop blow-up Lily Crank that with proper setup would float briefly in the air, open its mouth, and appear to make some of its signature sounds with the help of a hidden stereo system. I'd wear an approximation of my costume from the show, with the waistband let out a little bit to account for the weight I'd gain, and put on a short sketch using a few props and then just interact with the kids, telling some jokes and doing amateurish magic

tricks. The kids often loved it, but the whole ordeal felt ridiculous to me. To make matters worse, on a few occasions, parents had hired me for parties for kids who they hadn't realized no longer liked the show, and the kids proceeded to pelt me with birthday cake and anything else at their disposal. But having failed to find any acting success elsewhere, I needed the money, so I kept accepting whatever work I could find. I bring up all. all this backstory to explain what my life was like when I got a particular offer, one that raised red flags that would have caused anyone else to turn it down. The email arrived on a Sunday morning and asked for my services the next evening. This was a bit odd as most of my performances took place

on weekend mornings or afternoons, and most offers were made well in advance of the date of performance, but I took little notice. The sender, who did not include his or her name, offered me $5,000 for one of my live appearances at a house with a zip code that I vaguely recognized as being within a nice part of a suburb about an hour south of me. The mention of $5,000 for one performance obviously caught my eye. I usually only charged a couple of hundred. Excitedly, I responded right away with my usual pretensions about having a busy schedule, but luckily being able to work this performance in due to a recent cancellation. I asked how I would be paid, and if there would be a good power source, or if I needed to bring my portable generator,

and how long my act should be. I got a response less than a minute later that read simply, Cash, we will provide what you need as long as necessary. Arrive 8 p.m. I asked a couple follow-up questions, but received no further response. Now, this was obviously not how the booking process usually worked, but ever since I dropped to being only one of dozens of clients to my agent, I've had to improvise. Still, it was odd being paid such a high amount in cash, and odd are still to be appearing relatively late on a weeknight. Look, I get that going to a house alone at night is something no smart person should do, and the unusually large promised payment only raised additional suspicions. I thought about whether this was some elaborate plot to rob or kidnap me,

but the location was in a safe part of town, and I wanted both the money and the reinforcement of the sense that I deserved it. So I spent Monday afternoon gathering my costume and props, and I drove out early in the evening. As my GPS brought me to a pristine residential neighborhood, I saw familiar sights of parents walking their dogs and kids playing basketball in the streets. My GPS guided me through several turns until I was driving up a heavily wooded hill to a another branch of the suburb. Finally, I saw the street I was looking for, Peak View Drive. The road took me slightly downhill to a flat, elevated area with seven or eight additional houses arranged in a loop. Above the tree line, the descending sun left a red sky. The homes were similar

to the ones below, but a strange stillness gripped the cul-de-sac they surrounded. I parked my car in front of the address I'd been given, and when I got out, I took note of a general silence, abated only by the whispers of a distant breeze. There were no parents, children, or pets, and certainly no idyllic white picket fences. The houses had undecorated exteriors and empty front yards. A missing cat poster added to the gloomy setting that started to put me in an ominous mood.

I knew I had to fight against that. I was about to put on an act that required me to be earnest and enthusiastic while wearing laughable clothes and interacting with props. This appearance would be like most, I told myself, with gawking kids circled around me and entertained by my performance. A white van then approached from the same direction I had taken and parked behind me. Oh, great, my kidnapper has arrived. Instead, a short, thin woman in a faded blue uniform stepped out. Her van showed that she was a plumber and she carried an appropriate toolkit.

She looked me over and smirked. Is your place? No, I'm just here as a hired performer. That explains the outfit. I tried not to act offended. Yes, I suppose I look a bit silly, especially if you've never seen the... Got a call from the city to check out a potential water leak here.

Been running around doing jobs all day. Hopefully this one won't take too long and I can get back home at a decent hour. She trudged past me and walked up to the front door. I finished putting on my costume, forced a cheery smile onto my face, and carrying a large box full of props followed her path. The colonial-style house before me seemed innocuous enough. It was plainly designed and no different from the houses I'd passed on my way up. On the second floor, several large windows jutted out.

I saw odd specks of light in one, but when I squinted to look more closely, its blinds abruptly tightened. I knocked on the door. A woman opened it only a moment later. She was as tall as me and maybe in her mid-40s. Her sandy hair was slicked back, and she had clear green eyes. Lucian at your service, ma'am. If you can direct me to the right location, I can start setting up.

Come in. Call me Stacy. As I stepped inside the hallway, I saw a staircase to a basement that the plumber had begun to descend. Good luck, magic man. She gave me a wink and twirled a ring of keys. Stacy must have given her as she walked out of sight. A most unpleasant surprise. Stacey motioned me towards a door at the end of the hallway. The plumber?

She said the city center. It's probably a good thing. Stacey didn't respond or even look in my direction. We passed a compact, clean-looking kitchen as we continued down a long wood-lined corridor. Your email didn't give me a lot of details, and I was hoping you could answer a few questions. Set up on the stage. We will come when you are ready. She opened the door.

Before me was an elevated platform, surrounding me. founded by fancy seats arranged into neat rows. I hadn't imagined that this house could contain a formal auditorium like this. How many kids were going to be here? It looked like there was enough seating for several dozen, at least. I heard the door closed behind me and noticed that Stacey was gone. This all made me feel odd and uncomfortable. Stacey had been uninterested in me or my questions. Usually there were dozens of children noisily running around any home or backyard where I was about to perform, but today I hadn't seen anyone aside from Stacy and the plumber. The whole house had been totally silent since I arrived, and it isn't exactly common for a

house to contain a room this large. I wondered, too, in what sort of situation would enough kids attend to fill it up on a Monday night? But I was already here, an hour from home with my costume and my gear, so I decided to go ahead with the performance. No matter how badly things went, I would drive off $5,000 richer, and that was all the motivation I needed. I set up the Lillicrank props, both a blow-up version that could make sounds and the plush version I would let the kids pass around at the end, and the speaker system. The last thing I needed to do was to plug the speaker system into a power outlet.

As I did this, everything around me turned pitch black. My eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. and I started to discern lights in the distance. My heart trembled at the sight before me. Dozens of pairs of striking, luminescent, green eyes lit up where the seats should be located. It was like being watched by the glowing eyes of animals, eyes that never blinked. Suddenly the green eyes faded out of my vision as a blinding bright light enveloped the stage. My own eyes had to readjust, and once they did,

I could see the stage before me well, but the audience and their striking eyes were shrouded in darkness. Start. Stacey's green eyes caught my attention more than they did before. I panicked. Everything around me felt so wrong. What was going on? What children have glowing eyes? And why were they all the same color? My mind ran through excuses I could say to leave, money be damned. I could claim I felt sick or even that I had stage fright, whatever it took.

I wanted to get out of that house. Now. I could see the green eyes emerging again from the darkness. They cast a stronger color than before. They were somehow getting brighter, angrier. I said, now. The dozens of eyes now transitioned from green to a hot, fiery orange. I sensed that an undesirable outcome awaited for me if I failed to perform.

I delved within myself with the earnest spirit that landed me the job on the show and, mustering my strength, put on a smile and started my routine. As soon as I started playing my character, the luminescent eyes faded from orange to green, and then they receded again into the darkness. For the first few minutes of lighthearted jokes and magic tricks, I heard no response from the audience. Aside from Stacy, who sat close by and was half illuminated by the stage light, I felt like I was performing to a totally empty room. Finally, it came time for me to call in Lily Crank. The danger is real. This is not a prank. We need your help, Lily Crank!

I then looked at the audience and asked for them to chant the rhyme with me. Usually the kids enjoyed this part of the act and enthusiastically joined in. but my call was met with total silence. Without a single voice joining me, I wasn't at all sure what to do or how to proceed. I froze. A moment passed. Continue.

I sensed unease in the eerily silent room. Behind Stacey, I saw the rows of eyes light up once more. Continue. I swallowed. Taking a deep breath, I whispered to her. They have to repeat the rhyme with me. Stacey looked surprised. Repeat the rhyme?

Yes. Hadn't they seen the show? Oh, wait one moment. She left my line of sight and entered the endless dark void that surrounded me. I felt sweat drip down my face. More and more sets of green eyes appeared all over the room. Instead of dozens, there now seemed to be hundreds. Yet I could hear no noise aside from the throbbing of my heart.

Stacey returned to her seat. Do it again. Say it. Then ask them to join in. My eyes grew wide in disbelief. What had Stacey been doing in the darkness? And how long did this have to go on? The danger is real. This is not a prank.

I need your. help, Lily Crank. Then I again instructed the audience to join me. A deafening wave of sound followed, as the thundering echo of a hundred voices hollered back. The danger is real. This is not a prank. They spoke mechanically and in perfect unison as they finished the chant. The utter joylessness of their collective voice disturbed me.

It obviously sounded nothing. like discordant voices of young fans of the show that I was used to hearing. I proceeded, tugging at a string I had set up and causing the inflatable lily crank prop to float on stage. Normally, the little kids would laugh and delight at this, but naturally, all that greeted me now was uninterrupted silence. I pressed a button on a remote control hidden in my pocket that turned on the audio system. Gentle kids' music started playing, punctuated with some of Lilacranks's signature sounds. The glowing eyes appeared again,

and I could tell that they were growing fiery once more. Maybe it was just my imagination, or maybe I was beginning to lose balance from nervousness, but I swear that I felt the stage surface shaking, as if the room itself was angry with me. We don't like this. Turn the music off. Turn it off.

My shaking hands took hold of the remote and returned the room to Silas, bringing about another sense of relative calm. What was happening? Stacey noted my hesitation. Is there anything else we need to do? Should we laugh, clap or chant again? Um, no. Then continue.

Now. Stacey, I have to stop. I can't do this. this anymore. Are you refusing to complete your performance? My brain ran through every lie I could think of trying to find one that would work. I, I, I, I need to get a drink of water. That's it. I'll step outside for just a second and then I'll get the hell out of here, never to return. They haven't paid me, and it's not like I've stolen anything. I'll just leave and then I'll figure out what to do next. Stacey looked at me, suspicious.

Then she stepped into the darkness. A moment later, a glimmer of light appeared down the center of the room, between the rows of seats, making out a path between the stage and the door. This way, we are waiting. It took substantial effort to restrain myself from sprinting away. Instead, I walked slowly out of the room, trying my best to appear calm. Once I closed the door behind me, leaving Stacey and whatever. else was in the mini auditorium out of sight, I saw no need to maintain the ruse. I sprinted to the

front door and frantically pulled the handle. It was locked. I felt panic rushed through my head, sweat stained my orange shirt. I turned the lock again and again clueless as to whatever else I could do. Then I remembered the plumber and the key set. Surely if I found her, I could convince her to let me out of the house. I knew I had to move fast, lest the inhabitants of the auditorium come looking for me. So, downstairs I went. The first room in the basement was large, clean, and mostly empty. At one end, I saw what looked like a small laundry room. Guessing that was where the plumber could be, I flipped on a flickering light and looked inside, where I saw only a tool kit next to a dripping pipe by a washing machine. Hello? I tried to be loud enough that anyone

in the basement could hear me, but not so loud as to alert anyone upstairs. Hearing no research, In response, I walked to the only other door, one that I guessed would go to the area underneath the auditorium. What I found upon opening the door sent shockwaves through me. The first thing I saw was the plumber on the floor only a few feet away from me. More specifically, it was the top half of the plumber. Her figure from the waist down was nowhere to be seen. Red web-like ooze covered her head and torso, and wherever the substance, touched, her pale skin bubbled and disintegrated.

I assumed she was dead, but suddenly her grimacing face looked up at me and attempted to scream. Suddenly, a strand of the gelatinous ooze expanded into her mouth and rapidly tightened, and whatever tiny bit of life remained in the plumber faded as her head collapsed onto the floor. I felt myself about to vomit, but transfixed in horror, I looked behind her. The sentient web-like structure filled the whole room. Tendril-like appendages stretched up to the ceiling and moved in no ascertainable pattern. Beneath them, scattered throughout the room, were bones. Mostly human bones, as far as I could tell.

It resembled a crypt or an ancient mass grave. Looking for me? The voice, which I quickly recognized, shook me so deeply, I felt convinced my life was about to end. I turned around to see the plumber. Not only was she standing on two feet, but her eyes now had a striking green glow. You are supposed to be teaching the children.

I got lost. Impulsively, I backed up. I heard a crunching sound, and I glanced down to see that I had stepped on the hand of the plumber. Not the plumber before me, but the plumber I had just seen being devoured by the web-like substance. The hand shriveled up and collapsed beneath the weight of my foot. The new plumber edged closer to me. You aren't supposed to be here.

Not yet. I winced suddenly as an incredible feeling of pain shot through my body. A sharp pink tendril had shot into my ankle. I saw blood spill. out onto the floor as I yanked my foot away and shook the tendril off. The plumber lunged to me, but at that moment I was already shifting my weight towards her to get away from the tendril. Deftly, I crouched and dived to where the plumber had just been standing, narrowly dodging her as she flew over me. I looked behind me and saw the plumber land on a layer of the web,

on top of her other body. She screamed in pain as the tendrils held her down and the pink web encased her, tearing through her skin in a checkered pattern. Next to her, I began to see a new bubbly figure form in a puddle of pink goo next to her. The slimy substance changed color, coalescing into a human shape, a shape that donned a gray uniform. I knew better than to wait any longer. Ignoring the pain, I looked around again for the key set and spotted it at last behind the toolbox in the laundry closet where I had missed it earlier. I grabbed the key set and hobbled up the stairs, never looking behind it. me. When I reached the door, I frantically began the process of finding the right key to unlock it.

After the first key didn't work, I dropped the chain to the ground in my nervousness. Picking it up, I chanced a glance down the hall, but no one was there, and the door remained shut. I wasn't sure how much longer it would stay that way. I tried different keys until I finally found one that worked. The pain in my ankle continued to assert itself, but I had too much adrenaline in me to care. Pulling the door open, I hurried outside. The cul-de-sac was no longer vacant. It was filled now with children. They all had the same phosphorescent green eyes that shined in the darkness of the evening. The kids weren't running around and playing, just standing still, engaged in expressionless observation of me. I felt a strong hand gripped

my shoulder from behind. You can't leave now. I tried to rush away, but Stacey's hand held me firmly. I turned and I shoved her. She hit the ground, but I don't think she landed too hard, but she lay totally still for just a moment as if seriously hurt. The eyes of the children around me began changing once again from green to fiery orange. Meanwhile, Stacey's body started contorting.

It convulsed, and as she stood up, took an entirely inhuman twelf. twisted form as her neck stretched to an impossible length and drooped down her side, leaving her head and its fiery eyes dangling as she stumbled forward at me. I ran to my car as fast as I could and climbed inside. The children now were all moving towards me, slowly and steadily. The danger is real. This is not a prank. The danger is real.

This is not a prank. The danger is real. This is not a prank. The pace of their words and their movement increased. In my rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of one of the children, with what appeared to be sharp, cat-like teeth emerging from his mouth, and he shrieked in anger at me. Behind him stood the plumber again, unhurt,

and with orange eyes burning fiercely in my direction. After turning the car on, I floored the accelerator. When I reached the stop sign at the end of the street, I could still hear the chanting behind me approaching. I sped through the rest of the suburb and drove for hours on the interstate in no particular direction, before I calmed myself down enough to seek medical treatment and contact the authorities. When I returned with the police the next day, what I found matched the information the officers had provided me. Information I had frantically rejected as impossible and untrue.

The houses along the cul-de-sac on Peakview Drive were vacant. Construction had finished in this area, but the houses had not yet gone on sale. When I arrived, the house where I had been only 12 hours earlier, and during a horrifying experience, now bore little resemblance to how I had remembered it. In fact, there was no door at the end of the main hallway, much less an auditorium beyond it. Further, the basement lacked a room directly underneath where the auditorium had been. The room where I saw so many bones, as well as some kind of amorphous creature devour a woman twice was simply gone. And to further impede my efforts to get the police to believe my story, the plumber appeared to be in perfectly good health. The city water

authority confirmed that it sent her to fix a mild water leak in the basement of the house, and she reported back to work the next morning without any issues. The police also dismissed my claim about hundreds of sets of bones, citing that no such number of people had gone missing. For a little while, I believed the words of the police, that I had suffered some kind of breakdown, imagined the whole thing, and cut my own foot by accident. I was asked many questions about substance abuse. After multiple drug tests turned up negative, the police let me go, and the wound on my ankle healed up after a few weeks.

But deep down, I know what I saw. Having never recovered the props I brought to that house, I finally did. dropped my act and embarked on a new career. I've lost weight and improved my well-being. But the memories have never fully faded, and they came to a forefront this afternoon. Two teenagers knocked at my door, handing out flyers, warning about the dangers of local deforestation and encouraging me to attend an upcoming fundraiser. I could barely make out a chubby, washed up looking man in a car outside, presumably a parent who dropped them off. As I took a flyer from the hands of one of the teenagers, I noticed an unmistakable green glimmer

in the teenager's eyes. He smiled at me. The danger is real. Joining us on our journey down the lost hot. The musical score was composed by Brandon Boone. Our production team is Phil Mikulski, Jeff Clements. 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 24. 99. 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. 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. Thank you.