The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S15E19

Episode Date: January 17, 2021

It’s Episode 19 of Season 15. Our lost highway journey gives us audio/video nightmares.“The Tape That Makes You Bleed” written by Mr. Michael Squid (Story starts around 00:02:15)Produced by:��Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Mike DelGaudio, Woman – Jessica McEvoy“An Exercise in Empathy” written by Michelle D. Ring (Story starts around 00:14:00)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Sarah Ruth Thomas, Jet – Danielle McRae, Mrs. Emerson – Jessica McEvoy, Mrs. Lee – Nikolle Doolin, Madeline – Mary Murphy, Mr. Kahn – David Cummings“The TV in the Woods” written by M. M. Kelley (Story starts around 00:31:15)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Peter Lewis, Mask – Jeff Clement“The Radio Static Challenge” written by Derek Walker (Story starts around 01:07:10) TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Narrator – Kyle Akers, Dom – Atticus Jackson, Lee – Jesse Cornett“The Final Reel” written by Lucius R.T. Greene (Story starts around 01:25:25) TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Lana – Erin Lillis, Ed – Dan Zappulla, Edith – Nichole Goodnight, Agent – Graham RowatThis episode is sponsored by:Quip – Quip is the good habits company for oral health. With their leading-edge electric toothbrush combined with dentist-recommend scheduled replacement plans for brush heads, toothpaste, floss, and now their chewing gum – Quip makes oral care easy and affordable. And if you go to getquip.com/nosleep right now, you can get a FREE plastic gum dispenser with any refill plan. Click here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast team Click here to learn more about Mr. Michael Squid Click here to learn more about Michelle D. Ring Click here to learn more about Derek Walker Executive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone“The TV in the Woods” illustration courtesy of Emily Cannon Audio program ©2021 – Creative Reason Media Inc. – All Rights Reserved – No reproduction or use of this content is permitted without the express written consent of Creative Reason Media Inc. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

for the no sleep podcast. Episode 19 of the no sleep podcast. I'm David Cummings. And now... This week, we have stories which all have the theme of horror presented in various forms of audio and video. It's remarkable to think that it's been almost 100 years since we started hearing horror stories adapted for the radio. And as technology transformed to movies, then to videotapes, and now into the realm of virtual reality, we're seeing horror being presented in unique ways.

And I'm glad we here at the No Sleep Podcast can continue to present audio horror fiction, a truly unique medium for sharing the dark, disturbing tales we all love. And so whether it's a VR headset or an old VHS player, let's get ready for the sounds of horror. And we'll begin our journey down this lost highway. In our first tale, we meet a man. who likes to scour the flea markets in his area for old collectibles.

Score a bargain, clean up the items, sell them for a hefty profit on eBay. Easy, right? Well, as we learn in this tale, shared with us by Mr. Michael Squid, the man buys a box of VHS tapes, including one without a label that he can't resist watching. Performing this tale are Mike Delgado and Jessica McAvoy. So if you want to find some classic movies on VHS, you'll likely have a lot of fun, as long as you don't watch the tape that makes you bleed. I found it in a box of old VHS tapes I picked up from a flea market. A hundred for deals there.

You know, sellers are often looking on low crap that sits around their houses. I buy in bulk, then check the goods, tossing out duds and ensuring items work or clean and include necessary pieces before checking up the price and selling them on eBay. Video tapes are usually a minimal profit at best, but I've found rare items, first releases, Black Diamond Edition Disney's, and rare cover versions that collectors just eat up. At any rate, I picked up a large box of tapes that looked to be in great condition for five bucks, and it wasn't until I got home that I started checking them thoroughly. When I did, I found a standard black video cassette tape missing a box. Normally, these don't interest me because they're usually unsaleable.

Secondly, this had no standard label, so it was likely some home movie. But what stopped me from tossing it right then was there was this black strip punch label stuck to the back that read 23211 in blocky white-raised letters. I suspected from the dating system that it was European, and when it didn't play on my NTSC VCR, that confirmed it. I huffed as I returned to my closet and fetched my European pal-deck. It was only 6 p.m. and I had time to kill, so I put it. Pop the tape in the old VHS player and press play.

The footage was black and white, shot from high up in the center of a room where the wall met the ceiling. The camera was pointed down to a thin woman hunched over a wheelchair. Based on the angle and the stillness of the footage, it was clearly a surveillance feed. The footage was grainy, but I could see the seated woman looked disheveled. Her gray chin-length hair was matted and messy, and she appeared to be dressed in a filthy hospital gown. The way the woman was positioned looked still and unnatural. I quickly realized her wrists and ankles were bound to the wheelchair with straps. Both the walls and floor were padded with quilted square cushioning,

and the door behind her had a slot in it, resembling something out of a mental hospital or a maximum security prison. Just a second after the recording began, the bound woman raised her head and looked directly into the camera. I immediately felt a growing sense of dread as the intense stare of the woman burned into my retinas. Some primal part of my brain awoke and implored me to get away. But I just watched as curiosity and fear mingled into an all-encompassing wave of building anxiety. The woman just sat in her chair staring.

But my mouth began to dry and my breath felt abrasive. My sinuses burned. and soon I felt the patter of liquid onto my lap from my nose. But I couldn't turn away from the screen. I heard a rapid tapping, and it took a few seconds of trying to understand the sound before I realized it was the chattering of my teeth. I was shivering, and my arms and legs trembled as I watched the woman on the screen tilt her head to one side as if observing me through the screen itself.

That feeling of impending danger heightened, and I wanted to turn it off at that point. point, but I just kept watching as the woman began fidgeting in the wheelchair's restraints. She was becoming progressively more agitated, thrashing until the chair began to rock between the two large wheels. After a few minutes, she opened her mouth and began to scream. The tape was silent, but I swear I could hear her faintly, not through the speakers. It was like she was screaming from inside my head, small and muffled from deep under the folds of my brain. I felt my lips crack in stinging slivers. I began to wonder just how long I'd been watching the tape, but I was enthralled by the unsettling footage, unable to stop it. Eventually the door to her room opened, and two large

men in white uniforms entered her padded cell. One was shorter with a shaved head and stocky build, the other taller with a slender frame and face outlined by dark bangs. The tall man began holding his head in apparent agony, screaming and then dropping to his knees on the padded floor. He remained there as the shorter guy struggled to remove the cap from the syringe. I only then noticed the subtle relief my own body experienced. It was as if whatever had taken a hold of me, the intense dryness in my throat, a pulsing headache and the palpable dread,

had redirected its focus. The man on his knees began to shiver, and soon enough, his nose streamed down a dark rivulet of blood. The shorter man with the shaved head had uncapped the syringe, but was clearly struggling. His right arm drew it closer, needle first, towards his own eye. His left was gripping his other wrist, struggling to redirect its course.

I watched in horror as the tip punctured his eye just a centimeter or so. He seemed to regain control and quickly removed it. He then stabbed the needle into the bound woman's shoulder and pressed the plunger fully down. The feeling of intensity seemed to wash away from both the on-screen characters and myself. Euphoria set in as my previous state of dry, labored breathing and chest pains left me. The two workers at the hospital or prison or other such facility both seemed to recover as well. The one helped. helping his cohort to his feet. The two men left the room, securing the sturdy door behind them. I watched for a few minutes as the woman in the wheelchair slouched and then dropped her head.

She looked to be asleep, or at least heavily sedated. She remained that way for a good minute or two after the man had cleared out. I watched her slack body for a few minutes more in utter fascination until the tape reached the end and stopped with an audible click. The intense anxiety dissipated completely, and I only then realized how absolutely drastic the shift in my own state had been. I felt as if I had been desiccated. Every ounce of water in me sucked out, yet my nose was wet and dribbling down my chin. When I wiped it instinctively with the back of my hand, I saw that it was blood. There were dark red spots in my lap as well from where it had poured out during the viewing of the tape. I stood up on muscles that ached and groaned.

I glanced at my phone for the time and stopped in place, my jaw agape. The time we're at 6 p.m. The same time I'd started watching the tape. I was about to chalk it up to a glitch when it changed to 601. There was no shadow of a doubt in my mind that I'd watched that tape for a good 10 minutes or so. I stretched my aching muscles and walked to the bathroom to clean my bloody, nose. I downed a quart of water or so, dying of thirst. I waited a few days before even considering watching the tape again. When I did, everything that secured my knowledge of the world I knew

seemed to crumble. It was a sunny afternoon a week later when I built up to courage to watch the tape again. I just felt the urge to confirm what I experienced was real, and not some effect of delayed food poisoning, an allergic reaction, or some other bizarre. our coincidence. I popped the VHS tape in and rewounded, which took only seconds. When it stopped, I pressed play. The woman bound to the wheelchair once again appeared on the screen, and a foreboding feeling of dread began to simmer inside of me. Something was different, though. The woman was askew, facing the camera still but at a slightly different angle, as if her wheelchair had shifted. On the floor behind her, black spots where the guard had yet to collapse were on the floor.

It was as if the tape was showing a continuation of what had previously been recorded. My palms began to sweat, and my throat dried like an arid desert as I watched the woman once again. Her hair was shorter, trimmed down unevenly as if someone had hastily clipped the matted patches and knots. I knew it was impossible, but the tape appeared to be now showing a different recording altogether. Then she looked up at the camera, and I felt it again. My throat swelled and dried, and my breath began to burn. Her eyes locked onto mine through the screen. I felt the spasm in my arms and legs as they began to shiver.

My sinuses flooded, and my nose began dribbling out a thin stream of blood, which dripped rhythmically onto my shirt. I watched, unable to peel my eyes away as the woman in the wheelchair yanked her spindly arms, snapping her restraints. I let out a yell as she stood up fully, revealing the filthy hospital gown. She walked, slowly towards the camera, and her wrinkles came into view through the fuzzy tape. Her features looked young, when her pale skin was wrinkled and speckled with burst capillaries. Her eyes were milky with cataracts and wild with excitement.

She drew closer, getting larger on screen, until her face was clear. And she mouthed something. swear I could hear inside of my head. Shoot the voice. A hint of a smile crept onto her face before the tape clicked to a stop. I haven't yet worked up the nerve to watch it again. I bled a significant amount during the second viewing,

and I'm frankly scared of that videotape. I attempted to make a copy, but it showed nothing but a black screen when played. I even tried recording it with my phone, but the TV screen in the video is black aside from a flicker. What I just can't shake are those words she'd spoken that resonated from deep within my skull. They're French, and they translate to, I see you. I think we can agree that one thing we all need these days is some understanding about what others are dealing with in their

life. And to that end, we find that in the future there will be a national mandate for school children to participate in something called a fear swap. As explained by author Michelle D. Ring, this involves two kids linking via VR headsets to experience the fears of one of their fellow students. I join Sarah Thomas, Danielle McCrae, Jessica McAvoy, Nicole Doolin, and Mary Murphy in performing this tale. So understand that others are dealing with some horrible issues. You'll learn that after you experience an exercise in Emmercad. On the first Thursday in October, every K-12 student in America was to gather together in their school's gymnasium to perform what was known as the Fear Swap. It was a relatively new practice. It had only been proposed a few short years ago, but it was already mandatory nationwide.

An exercise and empathy, the news like to call it. But in actuality, it was just an embarrassing and invasive excuse to get out of class for an. hour or so. Jet absolutely hated the fierce swap and always begged their parents to let them opt out. But like most grown-ups these days, Jett's moms had no sympathy for the struggles of 10-year-olds. Anytime their child would complain, it was always the same old response. You should consider yourself lucky. Back when we were in school, we had to dissect dead animals, carve them all up and take them apart like some sort of mad scientist. It was, in all fairness, a somewhat valid comparison,

but Jet doubted they'd be saying such things if they had to experience the swap for themselves. There was no use arguing about it, though. All that would do was start a screaming match and lose them their dessert privileges. And so, when the date and time came, Jett followed their classmates out into the auditorium where the entire student body was lined up by grade.

Once every class was accounted for, their principal, Mrs. Lee, took to the podium and began speaking. As I'm sure most of you are aware, today you will be using a virtual reality helmet to experience one of your fellow classmates' worst fears. This is an opportunity for you all to step into someone else's shoes and empathize with the struggles they may face on a daily basis. This information is not something. something to be taken lightly, and anyone who is caught sharing details of their partner's simulation, or purposefully trying to frighten them, will be punished severely. Now, I'll hand you over to your regular teachers for the duration of the exercise. Once you and your partner have finished your simulations, you may head to the cafeteria where snacks and counselors will be available

for the rest of the afternoon. Once she was finished, the assembled students began talking amongst themselves, creating a dull roar of nervous anticipation. Jets' teacher, Mrs. Emerson, chirped above the noise. Everyone find a partner! There was a momentary scramble in which all of Jets' classmates moved toward one another. Dead set on securing a partner they could trust. Jet wasn't quite that lucky. All of their friends were older than them, or in different classes.

They scanned the group for other outliers, but could be able to be able to be. couldn't seem to find any. Several minutes went by. Jet folded their arms in front of them and tried not to make it too obvious that they were alone. Okay, so who doesn't have a partner? Raise your hand. Jet kept their arms to their side, as did everyone else.

The teacher scowled. There's an odd number of you. I know there has to be someone. Jet sighed and took a tiny step forward. Mrs. Emerson nodded. and told them to go find Mr. Khan, who also had an odd number of students in his class. Jett was annoyed over having to work so hard for something

they didn't even want to do in the first place, but they did, as the teacher said. They could feel the eyes of their classmates following them all the way. The kid Jett got paired up with was a small mousy girl named Madeline. The only reason they knew her name and pronouns was because she had transferred to their school at the end of last year under suspicious circumstances and had hardly spoken a word to anyone's sense.

Jed had often heard other kids refer to her as the ghost, and standing face to face with her, it was easy to understand why. Her long black hair was stringy and lifeless, like something out of a Japanese horror film. Her skin was a sickly grayish beige, and there was something haunting about her eyes, almost as though they were completely devoid of joy.

Jet gave her an awkward smile and politely introduced themselves, but Madeline made no indication of hearing them. She was too busy tapping her right index finger against the side of her knee and gnawing on her bottom lip. Jet could definitely relate. Fear Sims could be really scary, especially when you had no idea what was coming at you. Jet tried to calm her nerves.

I'm not scared of anything too crazy, mostly just spiders. This time, Madeline craned her neck at them. In that moment, she didn't look nervous or scared. Her expression was pitying and perplexingly sad. The look was so out of place in the bright fluorescent light of the gym that it sent shivers down Jet's spine. I'm sorry. Jet was opening up their mouth to ask for clarification,

When Mr. Khan came up and placed a hand on Madeline's shoulder, making her jump. We're about to get started. He handed each of them a headset. Madeline put hers on with trembling fingers and sunk down to the ground without another word. Jett watched her for a moment before doing the same. The two of them sat back to back, staring into a blank screen, as the teacher linked and connected their headsets. Jet waited with bated breath as the simulation loaded all around them.

Then, with a muffled beep, they found themselves logged in Madeline's subconscious. At first, it seemed as though Jet was watching a sped-up but relatively normal day in her life. She got up, went to school, came home, worked on homework, and ate dinner with her family. As nighttime grew nearer, though, she began showing increasing levels. of distress. Her natural frown deepened and her shoulders sagged. Her nervous tics became more pronounced. She purposely avoided looking at herself in the mirror while she was brushing her teeth, and there were several times when she'd stop in the middle of whatever she was doing just to glance over her shoulder. Once under the covers, she didn't even try to sleep. Instead, she kept her eyes

fixed on the window overlooking her bed. Jet watched the window too. Heart racing was sick anticipation. Slowly but surely, the hours took away, until finally, right around midnight, a shadowy figure emerged from the woods. The creature had no face or distinguishing features to speak of. It was just a black and vaguely feminine shape outlined against the moonlight. Only, it wasn't made of the kind of blackness that could be found anywhere in nature.

nature. This figure felt like it was consuming every ounce of light around it, making it ten times darker than the moon was bright. It moved with an unnatural grace, walking an impossibly straight line from the copse of trees at the back of Madeline's house, all the way up to the little girl's window where it stood for a few moments, as if luxuriating in Madeline's terror. At this point, Jet was starting to get a little bit spooked. This was more detailed and specific than any fearsome they'd ever been in or heard of. They didn't quite know what to make of it. Was this a memory?

A recurring nightmare Madeline had? Or maybe just some over-the-top way of expressing that she was really afraid of the dark. As Jet and Madeline watched, the figure lifted a gnarled hand up to the glass. Almost instantly, the creature saw. sank through the cracks in the window pane, reappearing on the other side like smoke. The creature took two, long, purposeful strides and then stood at the foot of Madeline's bed, staring at her. Madeline was looking back at it with sad, tired eyes.

It was clear that this scenario, whatever it was, was a common occurrence. Then, almost faster than Jett's eyes could register, the monster leapt up and hovered over top of her. All at once, the soft, buzzing sound of electricity vanished, and the moving screensaver on Madeline's computer came to a halt. The alarm clock on her bedside table remained stuck at exactly 1205. This was when Madeline finally started struggling and letting out screams, but it was no use, Jet realized. In this stalled place between seconds, no one could hear her. out that jet was wrong about the creature not having any facial features. As they stood there, paralyzed by fear, the bottom half of the thing's face dropped down as

if on a hinge, revealing a wide, disgusting mouth full of shark-like teeth. Madeline's screams quickly turned into pleading. The creature cramed its neck. It was clear that it could hear her, but it did not listen. It bore down on the girl, pressing its spindly limbs into hers until she could no longer move. Then, with the same languorousness of a moviegoer reaching into a bag of popcorn, it lifted Madeline's hand to its mouth and started gnawing on one of her fingers. Madeline screamed out in agony, but the creature remained unfazed.

A spider slowly enjoying her midnight snack, consuming the girl bit. by bit. This continued on for what felt like hours, until Madeline's wailing faded into quiet sobs, and then a wet gurgling. And then, when there was not enough left of her to keep her mind working, nothing at all. Jet felt ready to keel over from nausea, but it was impossible to look anywhere else. It was something so shocking and horrible that their brain kept them rooted in place as it desperately tried to work out a logical explanation. But there was none. And so, they bore witness to every flesh-taring, bone-crunching bite

until Madeline ceased to exist, completely devoured by the beast. Seemingly satiated, the creature closed its mouth and climbed down from Madeline's bed. It stretched out its arms and rolled its neck. For just a split second, Jack got the sense that it was looking at them. Then the moment passed, and the thing made its way back to the window, exiting the same way it had come in. As soon as the nightmarish woman was gone, time started to move again. The screensaver resumed its usual path, and the sounds of wind, whistling outside, filled the room. Jets sank down to their knees.

About a million half-formed thoughts were swirling around in their brain, but chiefly among them was. Why am I not waking up? Then the clock finally moved to 1206, and Madeline rematerialized in her bed with a gas. The queasiness in Jet's stomach intensified tenfold as they realized the implication of such a thing. Jet watched as Madeline laid there choking on sobs until her exhaustion finally won out and lulled her to sleep.

Then and only then did the simulation finally collapse. Jet ripped the headset off of their face the second they regained control of their physical body. Madeline was sitting cross-legged in front of them with tears in her eyes. Jet reached up and ran trembling fingers through their hair. The child was in complete and utter shock over how someone could be afraid of something so disturbing and specific. They allowed themselves a moment to get their racing hard under control before speaking carefully. That woman, is she from a stranger? scary movie or something? Madeline clenched her fists in the fabric of her pants and laughed a manic,

humorless laugh. She shook her head and turned to them with helpless eyes. I first saw her in a fearsome, just like you. I'm not sure I want to empathize with that story, but we'll get back to the horror in mere moments. But first, I want to... Hey, you wanted to see me, boss? Yes, yes, come in, Dan. I've been meaning to talk to you about your recordings recently. While recording, have you been chewing gum? Oh, sorry. I know it's unprofessional, but chewing gum is good for oral health. Yes, but not while recording. True, but gum is something people chew as a way to relieve stress, curb appetites,

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Any special deals for our smiling listeners? If you go to get quipp.com slash no sleep right now, you can get a free plastic dispenser with any refill plan. That's a free dispenser at g-et-Q-u-I-P dot com slash no sleep. Fantastic. You've got to love quip, the good habits company. I promise no more gum chewing while recording. Here, try a piece of quip gum. Thanks. And now we'll chew our way back to the horror. Many of us, getting away from screens and technology is important. Like the man we meet now, he likes to go for walks in the forest to clear his mind.

But in this tale, shared with us by author M.M. Kelly, the man finds a television among the trees, and then another, and another. And to make things even more bizarre, the images on the screens get more and more disturbing. Performing this tale, are Peter Lewis. and Jeff Clement. So stick to the trees and the trails. One thing you don't want to see is the TV in the woods. Of finding the strange things abandoned in the woods.

Shanties from bygone days. Figuring out what a rusted heap was in its heyday. It's absolutely exhilarating. I found out about a trailhead nearby that I hadn't visited yet. It didn't have a name or pop up on any of the National Park Webster. The forum post simply called it the Route 50 trail. It had some ravines. It was bordered by the river at a few points, and no one else seemed to have ever seen or noticed it.

The day I decided to venture out on Old 50 was a bright and sunny Saturday morning. I let my girlfriend know where I was headed just in case. The Route 50 trail was exactly where the post said. The parking lot was a gravel strip, just big enough from maybe three cars to park. The trail was a worn dirt rut, straddled by two short wooden poles bridged by slack steel cord. A small do-not-enter sign, a slightly rusted, hung on the middle of the cable, and squeaked if a breeze caught it. I stepped over the steel cord and went on my way down the twisting dirt path. Young trees jutted out over the trail and brambles stretched lazily across.

The peacefulness was what I wanted, and it felt like I was a thousand miles away from anyone. There's something special about taking the road less traveled, especially so in its literal. The shabby trail twisted and dove downhill, and the canopy mostly parted to give way to the sky. Roots laid bare by erosion made steps. in the steepest parts. Blackberry vines shambled across the path, thick with thorns and berries to bask in the sun. The track led to a clearing with a stump in the middle. Perched on top of the stump was an old CRT-style television. The screen silently fizzed with static. A gorilla art? I approached the stump to inspect it. The power cord snaked around and disappeared

into a patch of bark that hadn't fallen away from the remnants of the trunk yet. I gave it a gentle pull, but the cord wouldn't budge. I tried to wiggle the television. It also had no give, like it was bolted down. The power button was missing from the front, as were the buttons for volume. I pressed the up-channel button. Channel 4 popped up in blocky green letters in the corner, but the static remained. I continued incrementing the channels up.

Static, more static, then a flash of something green. I backed up through the channels slowly. Leafy green branches swayed in a soft breeze. I gave a surprised chuckle. The same chuckle played over the video a few moments later as a squirrel passed through the frame. Hey! My own voice echoed back moments later, confirming my suspicions. I slowly flipped through a few more channels of static.

One feed was viewing the clearing from above. I took the time to try to find a hidden camera, but the best I could tell it was buried in a squirrel nest nearby. I searched for a geocaching log or guest book, but found nothing. As the novelty wore off, I went along the path to the other side of the clearing. Some wild flowers grew along the edges of the trail now that it had opened up a little. to let the sun in. I spotted a rusted heap of old beer cans. While gazing through the brush and into the woods, I saw a heap of brown metal. Naturally, I climbed through the bushes and into the forest to check it out.

It was an old pickup truck, embraced by vines and woody growth. Not too far off of the path. The paint, glass, and tires had long since been lost to the flow of time. Even the hood was gone, stoward. and for scrap, I speculated. A 1950 GMC, my all-time favorite. I grabbed the driver's side door handle and pulled stuck. I jerked on it a little more and it came off in my hand. The door handle sailed through the forest with some of my frustration. I leaned my head into the open window frame. Despite the outside appearance, the inside was pristine. The white trimmed leather was as flawless as if it had just been rolled off the showroom floor. The blue paneling was a perfect shade of Robin's egg.

I reached in and tugged the interior door handle. The rusty piece of metal swung open as if freshly greased. I slid onto the soft bench seat. Without the crunching of leaves and twigs to drown it out, a faint tune wafted through the cab. A dim glow backlit the analog radio dial. I reached out to turn. turn it up. The little metal-lined knob shocked me, after a small turn, but it was enough for the

words to become more than incoherent mumbles. That fraction of the song looped through the speakers and into me. The song dug deep into my psyche. It burrowed in and stubbornly took up residence. The haunting melody of the music swept me away for a moment. A deer traips in through the under brush startled me back to my senses. I jumped up but was immediately yanked back into the soft bench seat. I went into a blind panic. The backrest and the seat started trying to close on each other like I was a human snack. I wrestled with it trying to push them apart in my panic while also trying to eject myself from the cab. I jerked at the seatbelt. When had I buckled it and jabbed at the button to release it. My panicked yells echoed through the forest until I finally managed to

free myself. I raced through the forest coming back to the worn trail. I slowed my pace and tried to catch my breath. I must have just gotten tangled up in the seatbelt and I triggered the back rest to collapse. No need to freak out. It's just a junker abandoned in the woods, probably part of the art installation, like the TV. I decided to continue along the trail. The further along I went, the more obvious and electronic buzz of broadcast static became. I hurried down the path and the noise slowly got louder. Then it wasn't static anymore.

It was a sonic mess of delicate clicks, like thousands of needles tapping on plastic. I came upon another clinton. clearing with another TV and stump in the middle. The patterns of the missing bark on this stump were almost identical to the first one. I came around it to view the screen, expecting to find another live feed of me. Mealworms. Thousands of mealworms writhed and crawled upon each other. There are millions of legs clicking against the kite-ness bodies of their neighbors.

Insects usually don't bother me. Honestly, they usually fascinate me, but there was... Something about this video. The sheer mass and being able to hear their movements, the way they slid against each other and blended into one another, seeming like individuals while appearing as a single grotesque unit. I tried to switch channels, but it was just varying levels of zoom on what appeared to be that pit of possibly... thousands of mealworms. The swirling blacks and browns were intoxicating. They drew in my mind while my stomach churned and my hands tried to knock away insects that weren't there. I burped a little vomit and my mind came back to the present. I decided to keep going to see if there was more to this art installation. The next television appeared faster than I would have ever assumed. It felt like I was just moments away from the mealworm station, but I was already staring down a third set

from behind. I rounded the corner, and there there was an enormous eye staring out into the woods. It just took up the entire screen, which was on a fairly large tube television. Right off the bat, it seemed like it was smashed against the glass of the camera filming it. Looking at it It was like looking at the eye of a porcelain doll. You know, it seemed to be watching me. I moved a little bit to the side. A slimy noise slurped from the speakers. It slid over to keep me in its gaze.

My heart dropped for a moment, but then reason told me that it was just a coincidence. I ducked. The dark iris followed me down to the lower corner of the screen with that same wet. noise. I jumped around a little more and it kept up with me. I concluded that there must be another hidden camera and a computer to help track my movement. The eye was so real, though. I knelt down and checked for controls again, just like the other two, only channel keys were present. I pressed the up button. The lens pressed against the eye harder, causing more of it to smash against the glass. I pressed it again, and the same thing happened again, and a low hiss,

like something leaking fluid, came from the speaker. The bottom portion of the screen was slowly puddling with a thick red liquid. Half of my brain said the CGI and programming for this was amazing. The other screamed that this was too realistic. The reasonable part of my brain echoed what I learned in school. When you hear hooves, think horses, not zebras. Something deviant, deep in my core whispered to zoom again. What if it was a live eye somewhere? Could I be causing something or fuck even someone? Permanent damage because of a deranged interactive display? No way. I zoomed in again. A light mechanical spinning sound came from the speakers,

and then the eye started to split on the sides, filling the empty space below and along the edges with more blood. That little deviant voice in my head whispered to go further. I zoomed in again, and then a second time for good measure. I screamed when the blood seeped from the little holes that covered the speaker. And then I laughed. So this wasn't some remote camera cranking down on someone's eye like a modified mill-groom experiment. No, of course not.

This was probably just some pretentious art majors final. They went a little overboard. But then it wasn't funny. Was I really willing to hurt some unknowable thing or person just for the sake of my own curiosity? I sat down against the stump and took a deep breath. The fake blood kept rolling down the stump next to me. It smelled like a handful of hot pennies. I'm not some kind of sadist.

I'm really a regular guy who got sucked into whatever this is on the trail. I don't know who I thought I was talking to. Nothing answered me. I'm not really sure that I even believed myself. My own voice, not my boss's voice or some faceless. government agents, my own, had insisted I push farther, had challenged me to keep pressing the button. I hadn't needed any coercion at all. Who does that? I headed up the trail, back to my car with the pep torn from my step. I couldn't remember if the forest was this silent when I came in,

but it was now. I was alone with my thoughts, questioning if I was really sick enough to hurt someone. else with a push of a button. The TV with the live feed was facing me in the next clearing. Did I, uh, space out through the sound of the mealworms? Convinced myself, that was the case. I kept climbing up the hill, but then the next clearing had the television with the deflated eye, still staring at me in a pool of crimson in the dirt at the base of the stump it was resting on. There weren't any wrong turns to take. Was this a different location? Were the television sets made to shuffle the footage?

I took out my pocket knife and carved my initials into the stump. If I ended up back here, my initials would be there too. A fog rolled into my brain like high tide sweeping the beach. I did park uphill, right? I went downhill. It was easy. I'm not tired. The car has to be uphill. It felt like I was going the right way. I used the natural steps, the ones that formed from tree roots. This trail, though, this trail was unkempt. It got more and more overgrown the further up the hill I went. There were no turns, no forks, and no options, just a path through the trees.

My phone had no service. I tried my maps app anyway. The phone picked up my location but couldn't load the map data without an internet connection. I remembered from scouting the map before I came that the trail leads south of where I parked. Up hill was south, according to my phone. I headed back down the hill. My answer was simple. I had traversed a ravine without noticing due to being too enamored with the curiosity.

hidden in the woods. The path cleared more as I went further downhill. Wild flowers populated the edges of the trail again as the canopy opened back up. The sun sat high in the sky like it was much earlier than the five o'clock my phone displayed. I saw a few shoes hanging from branches but fought to remain focused on finding my way out. I landed on flat ground after about 20 minutes. The trail transitioned from dirt in the woods to tall grass neatly mowed, with a perpendicular path cut that led to a clearing. Like an ancient shrine, a TV was perched high on a dead tree trunk. I know I didn't see this.

I would remember something like this. I kept trying to convince myself to continue making my way to my car. Night would be upon me soon, and I might end up sleeping in the woods if I didn't find my way out in the near future. But I couldn't help myself. This television was powered off. The TV itself sat on a five-foot-high tree trunk and had no buttons. A flashback to the mealworms and the eye left me relieved that this one was blank,

yet I fixated on it. Why wasn't this one on? What kind of statement was the artist trying to make? I looked to see if there was a trigger. or maybe something wrong with it. It turned out to be the latter. The cord was ripped from a barky patch in the stump. So that's how they did it.

I picked up the cord. While I expected frayed copper wires, I found something much different. Two rows of twisted red and pink bundles hung lifelessly from the rubber wire jacket. A gentle touch told me too much. It was warm. wet and soft.

I threw the cord to the ground as I realized what sat in my hand. Tissue. My brain couldn't make sense of it. Something deep inside of me wanted to keep believing it was just an art installation in the wild. Yet there was something more to the cord, something almost completely obscured by the alien material in front of me. I touched it a second time,

letting it linger on my finger. It made my skin tingle, as if the dead television could answer me. Plug it in. Something whispered from the recesses of my mind, an intrusive voice telling me to jump from the middle of a bridge. I stopped and shook my head. Absurdity.

It was purely absurd, the entire installation. The juxtaposition of technology, against nature, the commentary on the nature of man and his place between them, and suddenly I felt the need to be a part of it, a participant in a greater vision. I eased the limp, tissue-like threads towards the hole in the stump. As they neared, they sprang to life, first with subtle twitches and jerks, and then with tentacle-like stretching and reaching. I marveled at the reaction, and my mind raced with the possibilities of the mechanism capable of such a thing. When near enough, the pink tendrils grabbed onto the board hole and snapped the cord back into place,

a soft, dreamy melody chimed, followed by loud, static buzz as the television perched atop the trunk powered back on. I scurried back around, brimming with anticipation. A shiny porcelain face stared down at me. When I moved, it followed me. It didn't blink or smile. It just stayed pointing at me as if it could see me through those empty black sockets. I found it honestly very satisfying to see the amount of craftsmanship that must have been poured into making this experience. I danced about in the clearing in an attempt to fool the floating mask.

and then turned to walk away, chuckling to myself at the novelty I found in this exhibit. Life could be a dream. I turned back around as fast as I could, all while trying to evacuate my heart from my throat. The mask was grinning like a madman, each lip revealing neat rows of teeth. The teeth glistened as if a thick layer of saliva was about to run from them. They were simultaneously cartoonishly white while still holding the precise shape of human teeth, albeit with slightly more pronounced canines. I went to return to the path, reminding myself that I needed to find my way out.

I checked my phone for the time. 7.45 p.m. But the sun was still holding high in the sky. Dusk should have been right around the corner, but high noon was bearing. down on me. I shoved my phone back into my pocket and went to hit the trail again. My shoulders weighed down with frustration. We could Zach, a paradise of a bomb? My name is Zach. I stood in shock, trying to think of a way for them to have figured out my name in the short span of time I'd been in the woods. What was my cell clock so far off? Did they scan my license plate when I parked?

Were they spoofing a GPS signal so my phone would find the wrong time? RFID sweep one of my cards? From behind the glass. How the fuck? I grabbed a nearby rock and heaved it at the screen as hard as I could. The mask grimaced as if bracing itself for impact. A roar like a lion burst from its teeth as the stone bound. bounced from the glass, taking a chip from its curved surface.

I grabbed the rock from the ground after it bounced back towards me, the mask snarling. The rock sailed through the air a second time, and the mask's face contorted with fear moments before impact. A pop, a flash, some smoke, and it was done. A few pieces of glass fell to the ground at the base of the trunk. Curiously, the mask lingered. It jerked and weased in the smoky air inside of the TV and then clattered to the bottom of the busted set.

I cleared more of the cracked glass from the edges of the television with a stick I found nearby. The smell coming from the shattered tube was rancid, but the smell was inconsequential compared to the image of the mask, writhing as if gasping for heads. I probed it with my stick to find that it was considerably softer than I expected. Its polished white surface belie in its nature. I stared at it at its empty eye sockets at its mouth trying to gulp the air.

This is too elaborate. Something inside of me screamed, to which a much calmer voice placated. It's surely just a bit of polymer and robotics. I shoved the stick into the dark eye cavity. The mask gasped and gritted its exposed teeth without hesitation. I tried to turn it over, but the forehead of the mask stretched and the mouth howled in pain. The edges near where the ears should have been in the area under the nose seemed to be anchored at the bottom of the set. The mask was at once both living, but completely.

completely manufactured. I pulled my knife from my pocket and opened it with a flick of the lever. The calm voice in my head from just moments ago had objections. That's vandalism. What if it is some kind of living thing? The voice that screamed back was overflowing with wonderment. We have to know what it is. Curiosity drove me.

Curiosity positioned the cold steel blade to the patent leather-like, of the mask near the bump of the nose. My desire to satisfy that curiosity pushed down on my blade. It slid through the side of the mask like a butter knife through cheesecake. The mask squealed like a pig until the knife was through, digging into the plastic bottom of the television set. The incision parted and slid open dozens of mealworms and strewns. ringy wet strands of black hair crawled and oozed from the wound. The mask slowly deflated into a heap. No wires, no skeleton of any kind.

I looked at my knife. The mealworms were inching up it towards my hand. I scraped my knife off on the broken tube and put it away. I pulled open the cut I'd made in the mask with my stick. The bugs and the hair can. kept pushing out of a hollow interstitial space in the center. The supply seemed to be endless. I reasoned it must be being piped up from the tree trunk.

Separating the mask from the set was easy. It offered little resistance to being cut free. Flopped to the ground with a splat. The disturbing excretions kept coming from the mask, yet no more appeared inside the television. Like watching a train wreck, I stood there, and I watched, I knelt down nearby as the mask heaved and retracted gently, birthing a steady flow of hair and insects. It kept coming for so long that a pile started to bulge over the remains of the mask. Some of the worms crawled off into the brush.

Others were stuck, bound by the slimy black hair. When my stomach growled, I wasn't sure if it was because I needed to eat or just a warning to stop watching this demented peep show. I stumbled to my feet using the tree trunk to steady myself. Under my hand, I felt a rough spot. When I moved my hand away, the imperfections in the silky trunk were my initials, gouged into the smooth white wood. They stood there, plain as day. the edges still crisp and freshly carved. I stared in disbelief.

I dug at the gouges with my fingernails trying to prove to myself that they were fake, that this was in my head. How long had I been out here? Was I getting dehydrated? The clock on my phone read 10.45 p.m. The sun seemed to slowly bob back and forth like a metronome in the clear blue sky.

I scowled at myself to focus. The map had shown the trail going south from the main road. All I had to do was go north, and eventually I'd hit the road. The compass I kept on my keychain spun, lazily, never lingering in the same direction for more than a moment. Ultimately, it felt like I had two options. The way I came, which was not from my car, or the way that I certainly had never been. The sun seemed to loom a little more off center in one direction.

I took that as setting in the west, and logic dictated that the way I was certain I had never been should be north. I was sure that north would take me to the road, based on the map and how relatively small the area was, south and east should have taken me to the river. I took comfort in the fact that the apparently north-running path, was going uphill, even if only slightly. Over the course of several dozen steps, the minuscule slope gave way to a more obvious incline.

The crickets started to chirp, but oddly enough only when I stepped a little too near the grass, like insectile old men screaming to stay off their lawn. The further down the path I went, the less cover the canopy of the forest gave. After it had thinned out completely, the trees slowly start. started losing their bark, giving the trail walls of bone-white tree trunks as far as the eye could see. It wasn't very long before none of the trees had any discernible bark left at all. The branches were gone, too, leaving only gnarled spires of white wood, like the ribs of fallen titans jutting towards the sky.

The path started getting steep, the dirt becoming loose like sand. I used exposed tree limbs as handles to pull myself onward to keep me from falling back to where I came. Before I knew it, I was upon the crest of an enormous hill. All I could see for miles in the direction I had come with the jagged white points of the tree trunks. Branchless, stripped of bark, the nude trees stretched high, packed like the raised hairs of a frightened cat. Reason told me my car would be behind me. In front of me, there was only a slope on the horizon. It never curved back up.

Yet there was a gurgling and babbling at my back. The trail ended here. The distinct sound of water kissing shore seemed to be coming from just beyond the trees. I quietly made my way through the trees in disbelief. My hands felt like they'd freeze to the bear. trunks, even though summer was here in full force. From a distance and through the skeletal trees it looked like a muddy river flowing, light brown banks glimmering under the sun. The river was still a way out. Even if it was the furthest from my car, it could possibly be. It would

definitely lead me to a road. I hurriedly climbed through the bush, only to be met with a soul-crushing disappointment. The closer I came through the dead branches and sticks, the more the sound changed. What my brain originally interpreted as the babbling of water became more obviously a tapping noise. The river was brimming and flowing with what had to be millions of shining emerald beetles. They struggled against the current they flowed with, their minuscule legs clicking against. the exoskeletons of their neighbors. Their wings buzzed, fruitlessly cursed to their destiny of remaining part of the black and green-chittering mass that coursed downstream.

The shine and flow of their carapaces was nearly impossible to look away from. The droning cacophony impossible to tune out. My stomach turned and twisted at the sight, tumbling into knots that shamed the mealworms. Two thoughts stuck in my mind, escape and survive. As I trudged along the muddy bank, the tree line ebbed with the curves of the river. I kept my eyes straight ahead, scanning the horizon for a bridge or road. I glanced at the river, wanting the flowing tons of insects to be a figment of my imagination.

The millions of legs seemed to wiggle in unison like millions of tiny fingers on an underline. natural hand. I gagged and heaved unproductively. I braced myself against my thighs and hung my head while I tried to catch my breath. A sudden pressure made my neck tense, the feeling of being alone, suddenly fleeing and being replaced by the tingling sensation of unseen eyes staring me down. Escape and survive. I resolved that I would not be prey. I tried to pretend that I didn't notice I was being watched. Without lingering, I scanned the forest quickly. There were figures camouflaged in the bone-white tree trunks. Bulbous, dusty, black eyes almost blended in. The small spaces between the trees gave away their triangular heads. Silent and unblinking,

it was nearly impossible to discern where the trees ended and their forms began. The eyes seemed to appear at nearly every height on the trees. The further downstream I trekked, the closer they drew to the tree line. The woods veered in close to the river, too close. My watchers appeared to be only a few rows of trees away from the riverbanks. I assured myself that if I survived the woods, they would leave me alone. I hurried my steps and avoided eye contact. I could see a sliver of green up ahead, but the further I hiked, the more it shrank.

I looked back over my shoulder. The tree line was right up against the river now. My watchers were in the first row of trees, still mottled against the matching tone of the wood, but now I could see they were thin and towering seven feet tall at least. I tried to continue on to the grassy patch ahead, but the sight of one of the one of the The watcher's profiles juxtaposed against the red and purple skyline stopped me dead in my tracks. It was insectile yet distinctly humanoid. Their arms, if I dare call them arms, had an additional joint and section of limb where the wrist should have been.

The extra limb terminated into a hand, and like the arms the fingers displayed the same raptorial fold. Its body was long and thin, yet still retained some semblance of human curvature. A delicate curve of breasts, a uterine protrusion a little lower. Even further down, four thick legs held it up, followed by a long, slightly bulbous, insectile thorax. I crept along the bank, eyes glued on the unmoving abomination head of me. No eye movement, no idle twitching. It even lacked a detectable heave of breath. One misstep, one loud crunch of a stray beetle carapest,

and that was no longer true. The stoic nature of the thing made it even worse when the grayish eyelid flicked open with the slurp of something coated in viscous slime. A very blue, unmistakably human eyeball darted around searching and surveying the riverbank. It seemed like the eye passed over me a thousand times in the mere moments that I was frozen. Then the black pupil stared directly into mine.

The creature snapped its body towards me. The eye staying locked on me as if it were a hinge the body were rotating around. I was mesmerized by the rhythmic motions of the raptorial fingers, lulled into less unease by its inaction. The fingers were a ploy. Like a fisherman waving his hand over a crab, I almost missed its legs flexing, brilliant blue wings spreading behind it in the movement of the mouth. The mouth that haunts me the mouth that sometimes I still see on other people. The mouth that slowly spread into a million sharp appendages and protrusions

that dripped with a black viscous saliva with a stench of hot tar, staring into the void-like moa was more entrancing than anything I could ever imagine. The flexing and slow gnashing of the finger-like appendages around it, the darkness that swallowed light. Pure terror and disgust, tainted by fascination, filled me to the brim. My thoughts washed away, and I sang. Life could be a dream. If you could take me up to paradise up above

If you would tell me I'm the only one that you love You for joining us on our journey down the lost highway The musical score was composed by Brandon Boone Our production team is Phil Mike Halski, Jeff Clement, and Jesse Cornett Our creative content manager is Olivia Wooner, 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 past 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. Thank you for listening. As the darkness fades, it feels like you're going to dream. 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.