The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S15E21

Episode Date: January 31, 2021

It’s Episode 21 of Season 15. Our lost highway journey is looking for things in the dark.“What I Saw Beneath the Sea” written by S.M. Vincent (Story starts around 00:05:25)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Peter Lewis“Sniper in the Stands” written by J.D. McGregor (Story starts around 00:16:40) TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Ted – Atticus Jackson, Smokey – Graham Rowat“The 25 Days of Nora Nightwalker” written by Vanessa MacLellan (Story starts around 00:45:45)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Nikolle Doolin, Nora – Sarah Ruth Thomas, Calvin – Mike DelGaudio, Walter – Graham Rowat, Eduardo – Atticus Jackson, Erin – Erin Lillis, Christy – Wafiyyah White, Betty – Jessica McEvoy, Teenager – Kyle Akers, Street kid – Jeff Clement, Bean – Mick Wingert“Lightning Changed My Brother” written by Mr. Michael Squid (Story starts around 01:27:10)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Kyle Akers, Bill – Jeff Clement“The Hungry Man” written by Lindsay Moore (Story starts around 01:37:10)Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Tonia – Danielle McRae, Mama – Wafiyyah White, Hungry Man – Mick Wingert, Mrs. Wilkins – Erin Lillis This episode is sponsored by:Simplisafe – SimpliSafe Home Security delivers award-winning 24/7 protection. With SimpliSafe, you don’t just get an arsenal of cameras and sensors, you get the best professional monitors in the business. Right now, our listeners get a FREE home security camera and a 60 day risk-free trial when you purchase a SimpliSafe system at simplisafe.com/nosleep.Headspace – Be kind to your mind. Less stressed. More resilient. Happier. It all starts with just a few minutes a day. Wouldn’t it be great if there were a pocket-sized guide in an app that helped you sleep/focus/act/be better? There is. And, if you have 10 minutes, Headspace can change your life. Go to headspace.com/nosleep for a FREE ONE-MONTH TRIAL with access to Headspace’s full library of meditations for every situation.  Click here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast teamClick here to learn more about S.M. VincentClick here to learn more about J.D. McGregorClick here to learn more about Vanessa MacLellanClick here to learn more about Mr. Michael Squid Executive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone“Lightning Changed My Brother” illustration courtesy of Audrey McEvoy 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

Testing, testing, testing, one, two, three. Hello, David Cummings here, host of the No Sleep podcast. Everyone wants to keep their home and family safe, whether it's from a fire, flooding, a medical emergency, or even, God forbid, a break-in. Simply Safe Home Security delivers award-winning 24-7 protection. Oh, my God, I've been burgled. And while I challenged fate by sleeping, too,

hoisted by my own partard and sense of rebellious stuff I am. Step out of the shadows, villain. Alarm off. Oh, easy there. What the, Atticus Jackson? Yeah, I just thought I'd drop by and do an ad read. You've smashed your way in. You broke the window, and you got fingerprints on my mic.

Why? David, listen. With SimplySafe, you don't just get an arsenal of cameras and sensors. You get the best professional monitors in the business. They've got your back day and night, ready to send police, fire, or you in terms. tease when you need the most straight to your door. I know. I use SimpliSafe. It's fantastic. That's why there were alarms going off. I love SimpliSafe. You've proven nothing. Okay, listen, I just miss doing these SimpliSafe ads. And look, I've allowed you to test your own SimpliSafe

system. It works great. You've caused $50,000 in damages. That's Canadian dollars, though. That's like $4 American. At least SimpliSafe has an arsenal of sensors and cameras that protect every inch of your home. Right. And you can set it up yourself in about 30 minutes. It's super easy. Even you managed to do it. You're not doing yourself any favors here, Atticus.

But then SimpliSafe's professionals take over, monitoring your home 24-7 and ready to send help the moment there's an alarm. Plus, with SimpliSafe, there's no long-term contract, no hidden fees, or installation costs. I mean, come on, boss. Let's just shake on it. No hard feelings? Oh, none at all, you big lug. I've been poisoned.

You had poison on your hand. Now I'm a goner, you fiend. Oh, darn. I forgot I came pre-armed with the old poisoned handshake defense. Ah, well, that's one thing Simply Safe doesn't provide. But listen to this. Right now, my listeners get a free. home security camera when you purchase a SimpliSafe system at SimplySafe.com slash no sleep.

You also get a 60-day risk-free trial, so there's nothing to lose. Visit Simplysafe.com slash no sleep for your free security camera today. That's Simplysafe.com slash no sleep. And now let's take a trip into terror with the No Sleep podcast. Brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. Episode 21 of the No Sleep Podcast. I'm David Cummings, and now it's dark. I was curious about something the other day, so I took a look and confirmed that we now have 581 episodes available on our feed.

That's almost 600 episodes, which probably average around one hour each. That's almost 25 stories. straight days worth of audio horror fiction. And in four months, we'll be celebrating our 10th anniversary. That's quite the ride. So why not take the time to share the No Sleep podcast with a friend? Spread the word.

Send five stars our way via whichever podcast app you use. Write a positive review. And follow our social media sites. We're at No Sleep Podcast on most social media outlets. All of those things help others discover the chills and thrill. that we love creating for you each week. And so, let's kick off episode 581. And as always, let's begin our journey down this lost highway.

In our first tale, we take the plunge into deep waters. A professional diver has the grim task of recovering bodies after a boat went down. But as we learn in this tale, shared with us by author S.M. Vincent, diver is used to this sort of thing. That is, until he sees something down there he didn't expect to find. Performing this tale is Peter Lewis. So let's listen to what this diver experienced when he tells us what I saw beneath the sea. Always did. It had been many years since the sight of one frightened me. Had many horrors and corpses. The shipwreck lay before me, not. even a mile from the coast. One of its crew stared at me from a port-side window. His eyes, dull,

skin bloated and white, suspended in the water within the cabin for days. I made my way to the small fishing boat my weighted feet moving sluggishly along the sea floor. The boat had struck some rocks during a recent storm, while some of the passengers escaped, others had been taken by the sea. I was sent down to assess the damage so retrieval could begin. The world was different down here, the rocky bottom with its swaying seaweed turning into a hazy distortion of shapes after maybe 30 feet in front of me. All I could hear was the tin noise of air bubbles escaping my helmet as fresh oxygen was pumped in from the boat above. My sense of touch went no one. further than the suit which protected me. The world outside was slow and silent. I placed my hand

against the hull, running my palm along the ruined wood exterior. The boat had been dragged by the current over some rocks. The damage was jagged. The innards of the boat had spilled out of the wound and were gently moving with the tide along the seafloor. Peering inside the hole, I cast my light, and saw books and papers floating in the water. Canned goods lay on the floor alongside an overturned pantry shelf. Particles danced in the cone of light as I scanned the room. There he was, in the corner, the other crewmate. He was turned away from me, suspended between the floor and the ceiling.

Small fish had already begun to claim him. I cut through the darkness inside with my light, one more time and told the surface where to find the bodies. There would be no open casket funerals for these men. I glanced back behind me and saw the void. The world over my shoulder simply faded into a blue nothing. I was finished and signaled to the boat to prepare to bring me up. Turning back to the wreck, I saw that directly above me a cluster of flora danced in front of the beams of light from the sun above. Strange, local plant life shouldn't have started to overtake the boat so soon. I looked closer at the swaying silhouette to my throat as I raised my lantern and saw a new

body peering down at me. It was a woman and only her hands and face were visible over the side. The corpse was positioned in a pose of almost macabre curiosity peeking down at me from the the deck. None of the survivors had mentioned a woman on board, but why would they? They were all married men. If it got out that they had a woman on board, well, it wouldn't take much imagination to predict what would happen to them once they returned to shore. I made a note of it, but couldn't take my eyes off the motionless face staring down at me. I took one step back. air was pumped into it. I pulled myself away from its gaze and faced the void. So many bodies, so much, violence has been committed in front of me. It had been many years since I felt shock

at the sight of death. Even in death, she kept her grip on the railing. It wasn't the strangest way I had seen death take shape, but it was certainly up there with the most memorable. Still, I turned back toward the ship and my feet planted themselves to the sea floor. The woman was no longer gripping the rail. She was standing. The murky waters had started to take away the details of the ship, but the silhouette was still visible. Her hair flowed and moved with a life of its own, and her slim figure and dancing dress held a strange beauty. We both stood still in a silent eternity, I tried to move towards my extraction point, but was beholden to the sight in front of me. A sense of tension had seized my joints.

The surface was asking what was wrong. No words would come. With a sense of grace, she stepped onto the railing and then over. The motion broke her spell and the sound of panic filled my helmet. I turned toward the void once more and pushed forward, as quickly as the scene. sea would let me. I told them to prepare for my extraction and the panic in my voice was evident. They asked what was wrong, but I had no words to give them. This was impossible. Corpses never move. My feet moved as though the sea itself was against me, the point directly beneath the boat

seeming so far away. My mind raced with ideas of what lay behind me, of the woman touching down on the sea floor and racing towards the brown-suited man with his strange breathing apparatus. I could die down here in this alien environment. I reached the extraction point. Bring me up. Bring me up. They started to pull up the tether and hose, but there was so much slack to go through first. Turn around pushed its way into my mind. My breathing was quick, adrenaline coursing through my body. This was impasse the edge of it. Coming into clear view was the woman. She walked across the seafloor as slow as I had been, but with no struggle.

No, this was her world, and I was a visitor in it. She reached out with both hands as if to welcome me to it, and a smile spread across her face. My adrenaline turned again to fear, heart-pounding, my heart. mind killing of fear. A scream escaped my lips. I was going to die down here. My atmospheric suit would be my coffin. It was open, escaped death and seen its face for so many years, and it had finally come to take me. My cries of terror echoed inside the brass helmet. Tears spilled down my face. Her face was thin and gray, one eye a piercing blue.

The other eye was a hollow, a dark socket. She was on me. The slack, the slack had become taught, and I began to rise toward the ship. The smiling face of death fell away as I started my ascent. Within moments, something touched my boot, a pressure clamping down on it, a hand. With a primal wailing, I struggled and shook my leg. A tension growing between the harness and the woman as they fought to see who would claim me. Blind, unadulterated fear escaped my lips in shrieks that tore at my throat.

I was caught between life on the surface and death, on the ocean floor. I cried as I fought to escape her grip. The boat pulled me free, and I ascended. towards the light of the surface. Crys of terror still filling the suit. They unscrewed me from the suit in a hysterical fit, and I was deemed unfit for duty. I quit soon after and found a job on the mainland.

So many decades have passed since that moment. I never found a rational explanation for what I saw. Wars would come and go. Worldly terrors filled the headlines and nightly news, but none of it frightened me. I realize now that the greatest fears are those we cannot find answers to. There are worse on some nights. I'd find myself dreaming of the ocean floor. Awful face gazing at me with arms outstretched.

I never went in the water again. If you talk with security guards, a lot of them will tell you that their job can be dull. And that's usually a good thing. Dull means safe and hassle-free. But in this tale from author J.D. McGregor, we meet security guard, Ted, as he patrols the local family fun land. But when he spots a man with a rifle in the park, he knows it's going to be anything but dull from now on. Performing this tale are Atticus Jackson.

and Graham Rowett. So be thankful there are people like Ted around when there's a sniper in the stands. The scalding sun beat down upon the crowds. Peak season had been reached and people were headed to Family Funland and droves. My skin was red and moist. I dripped the last of my water down my throat.

I was sweating so much under my security uniform that its color started to permanently change. I never thought that standing in one spot all day would prove so difficult. The only refuge on a day like that was to hide under the narrow shadows of the Ferris wheel. Its constantly circulating beams provided the most protection available while we waited for the occasional refreshing gust of wind to come off the ocean. Family Funland was a small theme park built around an old pier on the coast. It wasn't anything special.

A collection of carnival-style rides, games, and kiosks permanently stationed along the sea. I think it benefited more from lack of competition rather than its own entertainment merit. I'd been working there since the spring, and I'd nestled myself into a position on permanent front-in security. The job's sole purpose was waiting behind the ticket booth and making sure that no one tried to sneak in or push past the gate without paying. What it really consisted of was... a lot of standing, staring, and praying for the shift to end. My lower back would always start to ache in the last hour or so, and we'd be wondering if I could last pass my 30th birthday at the end of the summer.

The task wasn't impossible. My partner on the job was an old security veteran well into his 60s, with greased back, thinning gray hair. Everyone called him smoky. I'm not sure why exactly this was, but I never cared enough to have. asking his real name. As far as I could see, Smoky wasn't friendly with anyone else on staff. He didn't talk much, nor was he ever a whole lot of fun to be around.

For whatever reason, the guy seemed pretty hell-bent on sticking things out on the job well past the normal age of retirement. I think they put him on front-in security to limit his interaction with both staff and guests alike. Maybe they stuck me there along with him as some kind of hazing ritual for the new guy. That summer day was as boring as any other. Both of us leaned against the guardrail, not doing anything particularly useful. Smokey scribbled away on one of his many crossword puzzles,

where he'd fill in a word or two, pulled it into his back pocket and survey the crowd for a good five minutes before attacking the next. I'd become somewhat of a professional people-watcher in my time posted under the Ferris wheel. I found it the best way to pass the time. I'd like to take note of the many different types of people coming through and profile them and try to picture what they were really like in their personal lives. Sometimes I'd make up little backstories with full histories that led them all the way up to the moment where they visited Family Funland.

I'm not sure who picked up on it first, but there was a quick shift in energy between us, something that had never happened on the job before. Smoking clumsily stuffed the crossword book in his back pocket and let the pen fall by his feet. The disturbance wasn't coming from the line to enter the gate in front of us. Rather, it was in the mix of people already inside the park and on the main corridor to our right. Among all the sounds of different people talking and yelling,

there were separate and distinct sounds of distress that stood out from the mass. My eyes darted around all the different faces, trying to pinpoint exactly what it was and where it was coming from. I finally found it. Dead center in the constantly shifting crowd. A bald man, maybe 45, pushed two kids in front of them, one boy and one girl. He gripped their shoulders and led them through the hordes of oncoming people and towards the exit gate. The kids winced and tried to drag their feet to slow him down.

It was clear the children were not on board with whatever that bald man had in mind. Maybe it was just time to leave, or standard parental punishment for bad behavior. It was subtle enough that the three of them didn't stick out from the crowd or grab the attention of anyone, save for the two very observant front-in security guards. Disputes happened every day at Family Funland. Technically, there was no legitimate cause for concern, yet something scratched a nervous hitch in my throat about that man. I couldn't help but feel there was something more sinister than what met the eye. I turned to Smokie and grabbed his shoulder.

You seen this? Smoky didn't acknowledge me. I noticed that his gaze had shifted above the crowd and away from the man pushing to kids. He was looking into the bleachers of the outdoor auditorium at the halfway point of the main corridor. Acrobatic shows and circus acts were held there periodically throughout the day. Smokey didn't blink Clearly something up there had caught his attention

It was just past noon The next act wouldn't be on until 1.30 The stand should have been empty And already cleaned at that point in the day I shouldn't have been able to see What I eventually spotted there A man stood alone in the row second to the top He wore a long trench coat

And a black cap He should have never been able to get past security go up there. A long case rested on the seat next to him. He surveyed the crowd, paused on us for a few seconds, as if he knew we were watching him, and turned his attention to the case. He flipped the top open and pulled something out.

It was a rifle. The shape was indisputable. There was no questioning what it was, not even from a distance. It was long and narrowed. at the top with a tiny scope resting atop the base. The man swiftly brought the gun up to his shoulder and pivoted his body so he looked over the crowd again. He leaned forward and pressed his eye against the scope.

It had all happened so fast. Smokey had already dashed towards the auditorium and was pushing his way through the crowd of people before I could even react. I screamed to my radio. Code Red! Code Red! Hostel in the auditorium! That was our maximum emergency signal, something I never expected to hear, let alone use myself while on the job. The guys in the administration office would call 911 the moment they heard it. All security staff on hand were meant to head towards the auditorium. It took me a few seconds to go, but armed with only a small baton, I ran full tilt towards that auditorium.

I didn't know exactly what I was going to do when I got there. I weave through the crowd, screaming for it. everyone to get out of the way. I ran into people and knocked them over, not stopping, not caring. People stepped out of the way, bushed and terrified from seeing a security guard in such distress. I heaved and big gasps of air when I finally staggered up the entrance to the auditorium. A few members of the security team had reached the area first and were looking around being

bewildered. They huddled around me when I reached them, asking what exactly I'd seen and where I'd seen it. I was too out of breath to talk, so I pointed up to the top row of the stands. It may as well have pointed at the sky because nothing was there except for empty seats. The man, along with his rifle and his case, were gone. There was no way out except for the way we'd all come in. It would have been impossible for him to get there before we did. I had to explain myself.

and what I thought I saw to everyone on the security staff, and then to my manager later on. I spat out the same bullshit-sounding story on my own, asking for Smokey to come and back me up. That didn't happen because Smokey never made it to the auditorium. He wasn't even in the park after all the commotion had calmed. The old coward had gone home. I didn't even have 24 hours rest to try and get over the embarrassment

before my next shift. I still hadn't decided if what I thought I'd seen was actually real or some kind of mirage. Something must have been there, or else Smokey wouldn't have taken off. I'd played my confrontational conversation with him over in my head in the shower before work, and had myself convinced it was going to play out the way I had it planned. Smokey's shift started an hour before mine. It was another hot summer day, and he was no other place than leaning against the rail in front of him. of the Ferris wheel, reading over what I thought was another one of his stupid crossword puzzles.

I knocked it out of his hands. The fuck is your problem. Where the hell did you go the other day? He looked up at me like he had no idea what I was talking about. You saw that man up there. I know you did. How could you run away like that? Didn't run home, Ted. His voice was casual, like he thought I was making a big deal out of nothing. Well, you sure as hell weren't in the auditorium when push came to shove. Everyone was there but you.

Quite frankly, you're the one with the least to lose. I thought that last remark had probably taken it too far. But still, his facial expression didn't change. He remained looking disinterested. How did it make you feel when he wasn't there? The other guys pushed you around a little? What do you mean? When you showed up,

Then the old sniper man wasn't there waiting for you in the stands. How did it make you feel? Like an idiot. Felt the same way the first time I charged after him, too. Felt just the same way every other damn time I went chasing after him after that. I squinted at him, seeing if I could get him to tip me off on whatever bullshit he was spewing. His face stayed cold. He ushered me toward him with his fingers.

Look. He handed me what I originally thought was a crossword, but discovered was actually that day's paper. In big, bold letters across the top read the headline. Local father abducts and murder's children. I tried to read about how the man had taken the children from his ex-wife's home on hours he wasn't allowed to see them and brought them out for a day of fun before ultimately driving to the boonies and shooting them, and then himself inside the car. My eyes couldn't help but be drawn to the picture of the smiling man they'd used for the front cover story.

That bald head. Those skinny, almost impoverished-looking facial features. Unmistakably, the man I'd seen pushing to children before my attention was diverted to the sniper in the stands. Familiar face? How did you? The second I saw that man with those kids, I knew the sniper would show up. What the hell are you talking about? Been working here for 36 years, Teddy boy.

The ghost has been here off and on for all that time. I imagine well before my time as well. Smokey. Not expecting you to believe me. But I ain't going to waste both of our time trying to get you to. I tried that before, not worth the effort. Who was that man up there with the rifle? Wasn't a man, Ted.

There was nothing more than a warning. The warning of what? That something terrible is going to happen. If you're smart and you plan on sticking around here, you'll pay close attention from here on out. You see that sniper, you look around for where the threat really is. Snowball's chance in hell you'll be able to stop it. But maybe if you can find the right people at the right time,

you can prevent something real bad from happening. Where did you go when all of us ran to the auditorium? Try to go after Baldi with those two kids. What happened? Lost them in the crowd. Couldn't find him in the parking lot. Couldn't find them all driving all around the area for the next few hours. I turned to the crowds of people coming through the gate and were supposed to be monitoring.

Never been able to stop it in all the years I've been here. The only reason I'm still here is to try and make a difference, even if it's just once. You see that sniper. You bet your ass something bad is happening. The next few shifts passed with no major disturbance. We didn't speak of the sniper again after that discussion, but I found myself spending the dragging hours on the job, toying with Smokey's words inside my mind. It was about convincing myself that what I was so sure I'd seen wasn't real, and what Smokey said wasn't true.

I wanted to believe that he was simply a senile old man with nothing better to do with his time than tell tall tales of a sniper I'd seen such vivid proof of up in the bleachers. There was no denying the scare had heightened my focus and increased my people watching ten times over. Vigilant all the time, my eyes darted from face to face within the oncoming crowds, always watching for that little sign of something out of place, that one person or situation going unnoticed in all the festivity of the park. Time progressed far enough for me to lose the edge and start to feel that everything was under control. Forget the fact that I could only see people entering and leaving, along with the others walking the main corridor. They were only a small fraction of the park attendees.

There were many nooks and crannies on the premises completely out of sight and out of mind from where I was posted. I thought I was going to be ready the day the sniper made his eventual return. That time, it was me, not Smokey, who had noticed him first. I saw him look up from his crossword puzzle out of the corner of my eye and follow my gaze over the crowd. There was no disturbance among any of the patrons to catch my attention first. That time, the sniper had presented himself unprompted. He stood alone on the little pier that jotted out from the main boardwalk. It was built between two of the food kiosks and was nothing more than a short walk out to a dead end.

The view overlooking the ocean was nice, but nothing any different than you would see strolling casually down the boardwalk and looking over the water from there. It wasn't a part of the park that people were particularly attracted to. The sniper leaned back against the railing with a gentle ocean breeze running through the flaps of his coat. The long case was at his feet. Once again, he stared out over the crowd towards us, as if he was distinctly aware of the, our presence. Like he knew that we knew he was there.

Smokey and I exchanged a glance and both took off. Being his junior by 30 or so years, I sped way ahead of him. I darted through the families and couples holding hands, trying not to knock anyone over, trying not to take my eyes off

the sniper. Right before I was about to break out of the crowd, the sniper became blocked by a woman's head in passing. It was only for a fraction of a second. But it was all he needed to do. It was like he'd used the opportunity to splice himself out of reality. He needed nothing but an empty space at the end of the dock.

I looked over the railing in the spot where he stood only seconds before, praying I'd see him swimming away or trying to hide under the splintered wooden supports. Nothing was there. Only the gentle tide and a little white foam atop the surface. Smokey emerged from the crowd behind me. He staggered while he held his chest and looked up at the sky. He almost made it to me before dropping to his knees. I reached out of hand to help him up and pushed it away.

The old man hadn't collapsed out of exhaustion, but rather despair. His eyes glossed over and dropped his head to try and hide them from me. Catch him. Smokey needs to end. I'd never heard him talk that way before. His voice cracked like a boy hitting puberty. I heard a gentle splash and some bumping from the ocean below us. I turned and checked in the same spot in the water where I'd just been looking for the sniper.

The young boy's body was face down and floating. The skin on the back of his neck was red and blistered like it had been out in the sun for days. The drowned child washed up against the supports and slipped back when the waves receded. Later that night, I would sit and watch the evening's news over dinner and see the story of the same boy who disappeared while swimming off his parents' dock a little further up the coast the day before. He looked so much happier and full of life in all the pictures they were showing. Smokie and I were both given extended leaves of absence after that day.

My security manager essentially told us that it was mandatory that we took a few weeks off to recoup and had already begun scheduling other guys on our shifts. The idea was good, in principle. It would have worked had I actually used the time to try and process what exactly I'd seen both times I'd run after that elusive sniper. The truth was that my time off was spent mostly lying flat on my bed, ordering pizza, and stare at it. at the ceiling fan. Bortem and paranoia don't mix well. Although I was scared putting the uniform

on for my first shift back at work after three weeks, I was happy to have moved on from that short and painful phase in my life. Before I could clock in to start, my manager called me into his office and told me that Smokey had tendered his resignation and wouldn't be coming back to work.

It appeared that the incident on the dock had been the final straw. The old man had been broken, and his long overdue retirement had begun. His departure left me with an increased sense of duty. His replacement was a pimply-faced teenager still in high school, who I elected not to share my sniper stories with. Being the sole protector of family fun land felt like a duty I could handle, though in reality, I knew there was very little I could do when the time came. It was another couple of weeks before the sniper made an appearance again. Like before, the time in between was so mundane and uneventful. It almost started to feel like he was gone and all of us were safe once more. He'd originally

caught my eye by accident. The lines of people outside the gate had morphed into the same boring personalities they always did, so I'd lost focus and looked over them. Right above the welcome sign, something peaked my attention in a spot where things rarely changed. It was on the row of buildings on the other side of the street beyond the parking lot. Most of them were the old-style downtown buildings with individual storefronts on the main floor and apartments built on top. None of them were higher than the three stories on the entire block. Some of them had little makeshift terraces with gardens and barbecues on the roof. It was on one of those rooftops where I noticed him.

People were typically out there on cooler days or in the evenings when it was actually pleasant enough to lounge outside. Yet on one of the middle buildings on such a hot day, there was a small black figure standing on the nearest edge and looking over the park. Perhaps if someone less meticulous had been looking, they wouldn't even have noticed. There was no doubt in my mind. about who that figure was. Just as I'm sure, there was no doubt

he was looking back at me as well. Like the first time I had seen him, I didn't know exactly what my plan was when I left my post to head in his direction. Still armed with only our mandatory baton, I left the teenager to man our useless position,

cut through the crowds, and headed for the exit gate. I jogged through the parking lot, keeping my eyes on the figure until I hit the road. I crossed during a break in cars and went down the alley alongside the buildings to the fire escape. The metal pieces groaned beneath me while I climbed. I was shocked to see the sniper still standing at the edge of the terrace when I reached the top.

It was the closest I'd ever seen him. His attention wasn't on me. He still looked over the crowd. I loosened the baton from my belt and tiptoed behind him. Little pebbles scratched beneath my feet while I approached, surely loud enough for him to hear. He did not turn until I was almost right behind him. His skin was old and weathered, just like smokies. He looked like any old man he would see on the street.

No striking detail to make me think he was anything else. He didn't pose a threat, nor suggest he fretted over me harming him. From inside his trench coat, he pulled out a piece of paper. He held it out to me. The wind ripping it back and forth between his fingers. I knew the author. It was those same block letters I'd seen Smokey fill out on all those crossword puzzles while we stood around under the Ferris wheel for all those wasted hours.

Sniper will never leave. Only way to make him go is for us to go. finally my chance to make a difference I looked up from the paper to see that the sniper had once again vanished without me even noticing I stepped forward and looked over the crowd just as he'd been doing before I got there something peculiar was taking place on the main corridor

something I'd never seen before the space in the crowd grew halfway down off the path was right in the busiest part where people crisscrossed heading to different parts of the park. Smokey stood as the lone figure in the middle. I can tell it was him just from his posture, even from the distance where I was. He wore a long trench coat, one not so different than the snipers. People's screams pierced into the air while they dashed away.

The space around him stretched away in all directions. In his coat, he flipped his coat and flapped the sides behind him. Long black cylinders lying a belt around his waist. The thin wire ran down from his back to a little detonator he held. I could have sworn that before he pressed it, looked up and was aware of my presence in his final moments. Or it became engulfed in a cloud of gray and orange. Smokey

and 236 family fun land patrons ceased to exist in one of the greatest acts of terror in human history. The sniper and fairly warned us once again. Let's take a quick break from the show.

Best friend Jessica, how's it going? Hey, best friend, Kyle. It's going. How are you? Man, I'm out of control. Earlier, I dropped kick to Ming V. face through a window. I don't know how to stop behaving like this. Well, best friend, Kyle, wouldn't it be great if there were a pocket-sized guide that helped you sleep, focus, act, be better? There is. And if you have 10 minutes, Headspace can change your life. This sounds exactly like what I need. Last week, I ate an invaluable impressionist painting.

Well, look, Headspace is your daily dose of mindfulness in the form of guided meditations in an easy-to-use app. It's one of the only meditation apps. advancing the field of mindfulness and meditation through clinically validated research. Wow. So whatever the situation, Headspace really can help make me feel better. Sometimes I just get so overwhelmed with the urge to shred a priceless tapestry. Overwhelmed? Headspace has a three-minute SOS meditation for you. Need some help falling asleep? Headspace has wind-down sessions their members swear by. Headspace's approach to mindfulness can reduce stress, improve sleep, boost focus, and increase your overall sense of well-being.

Best friend, Kyle, I used to be like you, compelled to destroy beloved artworks, living a life of unbridled chaos. But then I used Headspace, and I haven't smashed a Greco-Roman statue since. Nice! Headspace is backed by 25 published studies on its benefits, 600,000 five-star reviews, and over 60 million downloads. Headspace makes it easy for you to build a life-changing meditation practice with mindfulness that works for you on your schedule, anytime, anywhere. You deserve to feel happier, and Headspace is meditation made simple. Go to headspace.com slash no sleep.

That's headspace.com slash no sleep for a free one-month trial with access to Headspace's full library of meditations for every situation. This is the best deal offered right now. Edspace.com slash no sleep today. I'm going to do exactly that just as soon as I return this first edition of the Canterbury Tales. Speaking of tales, let's get back to the scary ones. Have you ever worked for an awful boss? Most of us have at some point. The demands, the unfair pressure, the constant risk of being fired. Well, Nora can relate. And as we learn about Nora in this tale by author Vanessa McClellan. She shakes off the pressure of the day by taking walks at night.

And you know what they say, the freaks come out at night. Performing this tale are Nicole Doolin, Sarah Thomas, Mike Delgado, Graham Rowett, Atticus Jackson, Aaron Lillis, Wafia White, Jessica McAvoy, Kyle Akers, Jeff Clement, and Mick Wingert. So before you go to HR, consider this tale about, the 25 days of Nora Nightwalker. One. Monday. Day. Funding for the Stratford project has been halved due to new retirement regulations.

Not that I want to alarm you, but... Nora Shoemaker doodled stars and flowers. Over the double-columed list of important meeting points, her CEO, Calvin Nelson, had handed out two hours ago. Money exists for another FTE. However, the integrity of the agency comes first. Here come the firing threats again. She chiseled out a cabin from her ink scribbles, then a giraffe.

Around her, the 16 employees of Marchfeld marketing stared on in glazed docility as Calvin prattled on. Monday. Like every Monday for the past 12 years. Night. The teenage braddle. boy drifted left on Burton, then right onto Mill Road. Nora Nightwalker, clad in black, had tracked him for 20 minutes. His bedhead and pajama pants plastered with SpongeBob had lowered her in as he perused the science fiction section at the Sisters Plaza Barnes & Noble. He left the

store empty-handed. Nora followed. She excelled at trailing people on her night walks. She clutched her bag to her side. It was a reassuring weight, full of her night tools. The kid, wool gathering, didn't notice the black van pull alongside him. The door slid open. Arms snatched him up. Nora watched, stunned. Another night walker?

Two. Tuesday. Day. Morning, Nora. Morning, Walter. The secretary, Walter, Walter, Walter. Walter Campton, had an inoperable brain tumor. Not a death sentence, the doctor said, that made him smell non-existent things. Burnt toast.

Wet dog. Cocking. Oddly, Walter never noticed the cloud of cherry sucrettes he produced. A kidnapping. She reported it to the police. Her old therapist would have been pleased. Nora removed the paper pile from her inbox.

Monthly compilation sheets. Marchfeld's newsletter. A red-inked proposal she'd turned in last week. Hadn't Calvin accepted that? The client was going to be seething. Scrawled on the bottom of the first page. See me. She flung it on her desk.

Night. Sipping a Cosmo at the Olive Garden's discreet bar, Nora watched Calvin Nelson. surrounded by his wife and four kids, reflected in the bar's back mirror. Four kids. Who had four kids? The agency touted green measures,

but the CEO was a baby factory. A world of, Do as I say. Calvin, take Brian a moment. Calvin's thin wife pushed a squirmy toddler at her husband. Nora had never met her. but she exuded the disposition of a harried terrier. Betty, not now.

Calvin flicked his finger over the face of his phone. Gaming or texting or maybe red-inking Nora's latest report. Three. Wednesday. Day. Nora stalked up to Eduardo Acosta's cube and poked her head around the fabric wall panel. Eduardo was tapping at his computer. dual screens full of documents and spreadsheets.

She sized up his taskbar. Nothing inappropriate. No email. No music. Probably never slipped in a five-minute bout of solitaire. The man was a saint. One of those tabs was the database. The repository of all things vital.

Nora clutched the paper slathered in red ink behind her back. I'm curious about your last proposal. I couldn't find it. Eduardo wielded his mouse, clicked and opened a document. Hilco file. Yeah, thanks. She checked the Hilko proposal.

Same formatting. Same basis for her marketing strategy. Same standard wording. Same mistakes. Without the ink bleeding all over it. See me. Night. Norah left.

work late, finishing menial tasks to avoid meeting with Calvin. Eventually, she'd have to face him and force him to explain his seven levels of arbitrary judgments. Her skin crawled. She needed to relax, needed her night walk, to use her tools. A couple stumbled out of High Call Tavern. The guy's hands groped up the woman's shirt, grasping. His mouth's swallowed her face. The pair tottered by an alley. Nora followed. Steps silent.

Something shifted in the recess of the side street. Dark shadow on shadow. Catching Nora's attention. A man or a woman. The body held a neutral androgyny, dressed in black, turning to run. Her eyes widened.

Breath caught in her throat. The head had no. No face. Four. Thursday. Day. Nora, Aaron, you need to attend the 10 a.m. webinar. Calvin handed them a paper and left.

Marketing strategies for the government sector. Aaron sighed. What did it matter? Nor had seen a real-life monster. Without a face. There were nearly a thousand lines to call in on. Norris spaced out through two hours. of discussions about things she'd educated herself on through actual work.

Any questions? Came the screen prompt. Erin typed, How are these new strategies expected to enhance staff productivity? After the 15-minute Q&A portion passed without Erin's question addressed, Nor suspected there was only one email line in, and the inbox was full. Night.

One couple, a group of five, a bachelorette party. High-call tavern surged with patrons. The alley had no putty-faced people. Nora pulled a flashlight out of her bag, one of her tools, and searched the area. For what? A clue? What did she expect? A dossier? A disc of video footage? The thing...

She couldn't help but think of it as non-human, waiting with tea and a handshake? A noise at the mouth of the alley interrupted her thoughts. Nora clicked off her light and melded into the dark. Another couple. Very amorous. Resigned. Nora waited while the couple screwed against the brick alley wall. Ive.

Friday. Day. Calvin? You wanted to talk to me about this proposal? Calvin turned away from his dual screens, both filled with the database. Yeah. Why didn't you attach the spreadsheet to it? She gritted her teeth. We're doing that now? Of course.

His eyes narrowed. We've been attaching them? She swallowed down news to me and instead said, I'll go include it. Calvin's frown deepened. Let's check Christy's. proposal. I checked with Eduardo, and he didn't put the spreadsheet in his proposal. Calvin turned back to his screens. Ah, well, that's Eduardo. I don't check his work.

Night. Don't check Eduardo's reports? Nor had nearly lunged across the desk and strangled Calvin with his phone cord. Her co-workers had amnesty from her walks, but not necessarily. Crimes of Passion. Christy explained she'd been including the spreadsheets for months now, on a whim. Too bad nobody had told her,

or Eduardo, or Aaron, that spreadsheets were now the expectation. Too bad only Nora got scolded. Like a child. She wished her boss would get kidnapped, taken away in an unmarked van. It would be out of her hands

then. Nora clutched her bag to her side and stalked an Asian man into the park. Six. Saturday. The sound of chirping birds woke Nora. None of that dreadful buzzer crap she had to deal with Monday through Friday. The sky outside held full-on day. She didn't look at the clock. Last night wore her out. But it had been nice. She stretched along her mattress, purring at the aches. her muscles. Finally, she climbed out of bed, jogged five miles, read the paper as she ate breakfast, two fried eggs, over-easy, which she called bloody. Her eyes scanned the police reports. After a wash, she turned to one of her favorite tasks. One by one she removed her tools,

cleaning them, sharpening them, making sure they were still in operable condition. A new rope wouldn't be amiss. She needed new clothes. Last night's outfit was ruined. Within the formless hours of her day, she hit them all. Black leggings. Black turtleneck. Black gloves.

Each from a different store. Her shoes had survived. She bought a new pair anyway. She'd need them someday. That evening she met her friend Cheryl for dinner and a movie at the cheap theater. Night of the Living Dead. Nora laughed through all the gory parts,

imagining it was Calvin getting his face shredded off. Seven. Sunday. Sunday morning, Nora Shoemaker considered attending the local Methodist church. Maybe she'd go to the Baptist. She wasn't sure of her mood. Did she want singing? Iron Brimstone? Maybe the Catholic.

one, where she could take in the body of Christ. In the end, she just haunted her neighborhood park where the kids gathered to kick balls and mothers kvetched about their husbands. Norah thanked her single motherless state. Nobody forced their expectations on her. Well, except Calvin Nelson. While walking along the paved trail and circling the tame and manicured lake, Norah considered a job search. Marketing studies, spreadsheets and mangy bosses would be the death of her. Unfortunately, she'd been in marketing so long she had no other skills. But a different agency might not drive her to drink or take her night walks. After lunch, she called the police and asked about the kidnapped boy from Monday. He'd found his way home, they said. Oddly, though, the young man had no memory of his

experience. Oh, and his parents were delighted, said he's been on the best behavior since his return, the duty cop said. Well, guests being stolen could do that to a person. Monday. Day. She arrived early, but the CEO's Silver Lexus had already claimed his parking spot nearest the office entrance. Nora unlocked the side door and dropped her bag off at her cluttered cubicle, popping her computer on so it could laboriously begin updating the database. Making her way to the office kitchen, she stumbled on Calvin perched on a step-ladder, painting over water stains on the ceiling acoustic tiles with the white out. She stared up at him dumbly.

Uh, good morning. Good morning, Nora. He added another coat of white to the stain using the tiny little brush. Night. bag under arm. Nora Nightwalker stalked the clubbing district of the city. She poked her nose into every alley. Every dark corner.

She got hit on by five drunk men and one drunker woman. She was threatened by a large man with pants dragging past his ass. One homeless kid followed after her yelling, Why don't you talk to me? In the end, she didn't find any face. things. Beings. She did, however, see a black van pull up and drag a young woman wearing a short tiger print skirt inside. This time, Nora checked. It had no license plate. Nine. Tuesday. Day. I'd like you to look at the newest billing form. Calvin dispersed a series of papers.

Nora and the rest of the staff stared at the forms. sitting benignly on the conference table before each of them. The lines requiring information from their clients had doubled since the last form. And along the top, where it had once read billing, it now read, Notice of Intent to Extract Payment. I think you'll all agree this is clearer than our previous form, and in alignment with policy language and database format. Nora let her head fall forward and bang against the table.

Night. Black van, no plates. How hard could one black van with no plates be to find in the city? Impressively hard. She bought a street map at the local gas station and plastered it to her bedroom wall. The kid had been kidnapped at Burton and Mill. She drew a circle around the spot in red mind. marker. Then the van showed up again down the street from High Call Tavern. Another red circle.

As the crow flew, that was only two miles apart. She had to talk to that kid. Find out what he remembered. Hopefully it was something. Anything. Ten. Wednesday. Day. Trapped in the backseat of an agency car on the way to a trade show. Nora listened. as Calvin and Eduardo defamed a rival agency's personnel. Eh, Terrence is an idiot. Can't believe he made manager. Eduardo laughed. Nora hated when Eduardo acquiesced to Calvin's belligerence.

He doesn't know Jack about the newest regs. The regulations changed every month. Nora couldn't blame anyone for not being up to date with every nuance. Eduardo was, though. but Eduardo was superhuman. The idiots will rule the world someday. Calvin shook his head. Nora looked in the rearview mirror,

catching the eyes of the biggest idiot of them all. Night. Between the aisles of Barnes & Noble, that kid paced, the one taken away, returned, and who now presented himself as a model citizen. No more bedhead. In fact, his hair lay flat,

and his Henley was tucked into his jeans. Excuse me. The teenager jumped. His eyebrows shot up before he relaxed and smiled. Yeah? Were you the guy kidnapped a few days back? On Burton. The kid laughed.

Then shook his head. Amused as all get out. Nah. Someone called and reported I'd been taken. I was just screwing around with my friends. 11. Thursday. Day.

It was one of those mornings where Nora didn't feel smart. She didn't feel pretty, and she didn't have the energy for a hearty good morning or a kiss my butt. Aaron walked into the office with a hefty sway, huffing in air. The cat-pissed stench of marijuana clung to her clothes. Morning, Walter, Nora. How was the trade show? Enlightening. You know how inspiring Calvin is.

Erin and Nora exchanged a look. Enlightening, yeah. Aaron passed by. Sweat dripped down her round face. Round and pink like a peach. She sat with a groan. Walter looked around. Do you smell something?

Night. Nora popped into the market for supplies. Bleach again? The Thursday checker asked. Nora smiled weekly. She couldn't stay still. Her skin itched. She eyed the liquor store as she cruised by. Back in the upper city, Nora stalked the streets and finally spotted a woman, mid-30s, uncamped in blubbery, but not errand size. Pushing a shopping cart full of obviously precious junk,

the woman turned into a school yard. Nora followed, clutching her bag to her chest. Near the jungle gym, darkness spread out like oil. The overhead light must have blown. Nobody saw Nora as she took out her tools. 12. Friday. Day. A pile of reports filled her inbox. Nora flipped through them. Red ink. Red ink.

Somebody slayed an inkasaurus and let it bleed all over the pages. Aaron came up. grabbed her pile. Eduardo had only one little page. A note about an upcoming webinar. Norris scanned her top report. The prices were varied and market statistics could not be assured by... Varied had been inked out and replaced with constantly in flux.

The paper crumbled in Nora's fist. Back in her cube, she stared at her blank screens. In the cube next to her, Aaron was crying. Night. By the river, near a drainage pipe big enough for a person to crawl through, Nora watched the transients enjoy a fire of construction debris and garbage. It wasn't cold out, but they seemed drawn to the flames like Aboriginal tribesmen on the hunt.

The shadows embraced her, dressed in black, tucked behind some Oregon grape. She was nearly invisible unless someone caught. the flash of firelight in her eyes. She waited for one to step away from the herd, but they kept together, perhaps sensing danger, a hunter watching, waiting.

Then something, stretched thin and faceless, climbed from the pipe. Thirteen. Saturday, the faceless lurched down the beach, away from the bum's camp. Its movements ragged all wobbly.

Nora crept out from her hidey hole and followed, keeping to the darker recesses. The buzz zipped through her entire body, like it did when she was on a walk. Was it an alien? A monster? A failed genetic government experiment out for a stroll? An owl who cracked the night's silence.

The thing approached the riverside patio of a snazzy bee-street, that boasted excellent risotto. It ducked under the patio. And Nora Nightwalker sprinted forward, ditching her cover, yanking a mini flashlight from her pocket. Faceless's smooth head peaked from under a wooden beam and then ducked away again. Nora vaulted under the patio, brushing aside spider webs. I couldn't see the thing.

The scent of piss twisted up her nose. The flashlight beam exposed a dead end of hillside dirt. A wooden lattice, in perfect condition, corralled two sides of the area. Faceless was pretty loose and wiggly. Maybe it slipped through a lattice grate. Maybe it oozed down a rat hole into the earth. Maybe it just disappeared.

It had seen her after all. Had seen her and taunted her. The thing was... teasing her. Fourteen. Sunday. She woke past noon and praised Sundays. Hair wrapped in a terrycloth towel.

She studied her black van map, hands on hips. She placed purple dots where she saw faceless. A dual purpose map. One red circle and a purple dot huddled close together. She pursed her lips and pondered. And shook her head musing. Could it be? After scarfing dinner, Nora donned her waterproof gear.

Think PVC Carhart work pants and jacket in green. Knee high rubber boots, heavy-duty plastic gloves. Back on the riverside, Nora sneaked down the beach past the crashed out destitute. They didn't stir. No longer wary of stalking death. She stopped with a leaking drainage pipe. Nostrils scrunching in betrayal, Nora climbed into the black void and flicked her headlamp on.

The tunnel teed and cornered like a mind-bending hamster habitat. Dark, dank, smelly, tight. Nora couldn't stand. The air was thick. At the edges of her hearing, she teased out a sound. A kind of squelching rustling. She tracked it. Armed with the beam of her headlamp,

Nora edged into a chamber, filled with a mass of shimmery black kidney-shaped worms. They writhed over each other. They sucked away all light. Nora shrieked. Fifteen. Monday. Day.

Hey, lady. You okay? Nora lay under the pipe opening. panting. Her body shook, a ragged, terrified palsy she couldn't control. The tunnels had twisted in mockery.

She'd feared she'd be trapped there forever. Lady? She ignored the scruffy street kid. Her mind still entombed underground. With the massive, she thought she'd gone mad. Not like faceless, but larval.

Living tar, sir, In her hand, clutched between the flayed rubber of her ruined glove, was a scrap of newspaper. Scratched in the corner with the dull nub of a pencil was a time. 1145. And a web address. W.W.w.ganger.net. Night. Work had been a robotic series of calls and letters.

At home, sitting before her computer, Norah's leg bounced a frantic staccato. 11.44 p.m. Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. 1145. Refresh. The ultimate service to create a carefree life.

Doppelganger. For when you're tired of your husband's infidelity or your child's wild ways. Or for those ready to pass on the duties of of a challenging life. Doppelganger. We'll replace anyone for a price. P.O. Box 222.

Please include name and location of individual to be replaced. And what you are offering in exchange. All offers considered. 1150. The site auto refreshed. Nora stared at a blank page. 16. Tuesday.

Day. I see many of you have not adopted the new naming convention. Everything needs renaming. Date, year first, name of facility, then the manager... Nora's eyes glazed over at the three-page spread of naming possibilities, depending on file type. A letter got one name. A company profile got another. A spreadsheet for a proposal a third.

But a spreadsheet for year-end calculations. another. Christy seemed to share her frustrations. Calvin, wouldn't it be clearer if we tag the documents to search for them rather than rename? No, this will make it cleaner. Calvin's bald head reflected the harsh overhead lighting. Nora doodled a globular head without a face on the paper. Night. Nora roamed the street seeking out a faceless thing, a doppelganger.

A kid strutted his way toward a 7-Eleven. Nora yearned to stalk him. But she left behind her bag of tools, and she needed to find the thing without a face. Hey there, do you have a light? Nora turned, eyes landing on a perfectly smooth, faceless head. How had it even spoken? Uh, no. Nora swallowed.

I need to talk to you. The head shifted, shivered, like maggots writhing underneath a thin membrane of skin. Then the doppelganger sprinted down the street after the kid. Nora chased. Fell behind. A black van zoomed after. 17. Wednesday. Day.

Walter, where's Calvin? I have a letter of estimate for him to sign. Don't know. Kids play, maybe. Walter sniffed the air. Nora ran off before he accused her of wearing paint-scented perfume. She laid the letter on Calvin's immaculately tidy desk. Something underneath drew her eye.

She peaked. Astonishment momentarily stunned her. Stored boxes of canned food cluttered the leg space. Muscle milk. Instant noodles. Chocolate candy bars. Nora wondered if he was preparing for the end times, which took her mind to the doppelganger. She doubted hiding out in the office would save anyone from the replicators.

Night. The map pinned to her wall made more sense. Now that she realized the red circles and purple dots paired up like chocolate and peanut butter, pieces of a puzzle clicking together. One, two, three. One, two, three. The two kidnapped. the doppelganger sightings, the drainage pipe, resting nearly at center point.

Then there was that amused tone, do you have a light? Do you have a light? It was toying with her, toying with Nora Nightwalker. That just wouldn't do. Nora dawned her garb, black turtleneck, jeans, boots, grabbed her bag of tools, and walked her bag of tools, and walking. into the night. This time with a completely different prey. Eighteen. Thursday. Day. Eyelids crusted shut. Norah wanted to call in sick. Maybe dead. She'd hunted the alleys and teenage hangouts all night without a whisper of faceless. Stocked parks. She'd drawn the line at the pipes under the city, though. Those writhing worms.

That had freaked the bejesus out of her. Slipping into her cube, she heard Erin sobbing. The smell of unwashed body and pot wafted into Nora's cube. Nora decided to flee the office, meet a recent client, but Eduardo caught her mid-escape. Emergency meeting. Another one? Eduardo frowned at her. She should have shot herself.

That would have ended all of this. freed her. Night. A middle-aged man, posh suit, cocky swagger. He would do. He would fulfill her need, nor attract him through the business district. When it came to her, a solution to all her problems. She didn't need a new job. Her current one could be easy if only under sane circumstances. Plus, she didn't need to hunt the doppelganger. She needed to hire its service. She needed to hire its Abandoning her walk, ceasing her hunt, she drafted a letter to P.O. Box 222, drove to the far side of town, and dropped it in a blue mailbox. Her letter read, The CEO of Marchfeld Marketing. Let's negotiate. You know who I am.

19. Friday. Day. Nora's desk phone rang. The phone. The phone. display read Calvin Nelson. She pondered how long it would take for him to become a decent human being. Hello? She didn't bother to force joy into her voice. I need you to print that email from the Boyer Group about their latest product. I'll just forward it to you. No, don't email it.

You'll just create another e-record. That's against policy. Just print it off. Right. Because then we'd have to rename it and file it. making sure it fit in the database. There was a pause then. Right.

He hung up. Night. Well past midnight. Nora leaned against a glowing street lamp, making herself visible to the doppelganger. A light rain drizzled. The passing car's headlights reflected against the asphalt. A couple walking hand in hand snagged her attention.

In low voices, they chatted about him. movie where a secret agent of the government saved the day in some daring and improbable way. They urged to follow, hooked Nora, poised in her belly, ready to strike, like an orgasm. They strolled down the street, harboring no worries about who watched them, who could follow them to dark, quiet places. They faded into the night. Nora waited. 20. Saturday. On her morning grocery trip, Nora spotted a black van turned down a residential street. She chased after in her car, cutting off a Toyota with a squeal of tires. She relaxed her grip on the wheel when she saw the plates, 875 WVM.

It meant nothing. It was nothing. Just some van. Still, she tailed it. It parked outside a rundown ranch house. A man in his later half of life emerged. Gray wisps of hair dancing in the light breeze. She needed a fix, some fix, any fix, because she felt ready to combust in a torrent of fire. Her old psychiatrist had said she needed to maintain some connection to humanity, or she might slip into anti-social behavior.

Human connection had never fulfilled the need. Nora had ceased seeing the psychiatrist. years ago. That evening, Nora Nightwalker paced along the riverside shops. Masses passed her on the promenade, laughing, arguing, silent, groups of teens, couples, a family outlaid. Her tools were stashed in her trunk. Two days gone and nobody had contacted her. Nobody had snatched her boss.

A cyclist zipped by. She considered stocking the two-wheeled. A new challenge. That's what she needed. Nothing but a new challenge. She went home and flipped on her computer. 11.45 p.m. www. www.doubleganger.net. The ultimate service to create a carefree life.

Nora Nightwalker. What is it you would pay? Her mouth went dry. She flipped off the computer. 21. Sunday. What would I pay? A year's salary, two.

Her job with a decent boss wouldn't be quite so onerous. She had savings enough if she lived frugally. She didn't buy expensive things. Just bleach and plastic gloves. A kidney? Did they deal in organs? Nor made coffee, cleaned her bathroom, did her laundry. She didn't want to think about what you.

she would pay. Screw this. She knew exactly what she could pay, what she had to offer. Bag of tools in hand, Nora found herself at the drainage pipe by the river. Wrapped up in her plastic clothing, she climbed into the wide mouth,

her LED headlamp lighting the way. It was cold and it was wet and it smelled horrible. Worse than Erin's pot stink. Walter probably smelled odd things like this all the time. She squinted left down a wide pipe, then crawled the opposite direction. Left led to the maggot pit. Going right, she landed in the den of the faceless. Twenty-two, Monday. Day. Coffee? The expected location of a mouth wiggled, as the doppelganger spoke, but no orifice appeared. The flesh shifted and squirmed. Creepy. Yes, please. Burgundy carpet covered the walls.

Burgundy chairs encircled a table. Burgundy fabric clothed the floors and waves of silks and satins. The coffee was rich. But the doppelganger, please call me Bean, didn't offer any milk. What were those? Nora jerked her head to indicate, out there. Oh, you mean the nursery? Seeds.

Ready for imprinting. So, you have a certain skill set we might be interested in? Nora let herself smile. Yes. Entailing people, you'll find I'm an expert. Night. Her phone beeped as she slipped from the drainage pipes exit. Stirred up in the riverside breeze,

her personal eudor caused a bile reflex. The bum's eyed her and shifted away. She checked the culls. Two from Marchfeld. One from her co-worker, Christy. She'd negotiated with Bean until the fine print was satisfactory for all. At her car, she peeled off her car hearts and stuffed the reeking mess into a thick plastic bag. On the way home, she snagged a red box.

An unknown to her but popular rom-com. Fried chicken and microwave kettle corn. She stayed in. She didn't itch. She didn't twitch. Really, she felt pretty good. 23. Tuesday. Day.

What happened to you? I was really sick. Delirious. Totally forgot to call. Walter hissed as Nora dragged herself into the office. I've had those days. Walter looked her up and down, then nodded. He tapped the side of his head.

Nora slipped on a sympathetic expression and nodded with him. She popped her head into Calvin's office and tapped on the door. Sorry, I didn't call. I was dog sick. She hoped he didn't require a doctor's note. Could be a new secret policy. Calvin's eyes narrowed. His lips pursed. Nora, sit down.

We need to talk about your naming conventions. Knight. The calm device pinned her lapel was about the size of a stamp. Her tiniest whisper could be her. heard by Bean when used. On hire now they dealt in an exchange of services. The glossy picture in her hand showed a middle-aged man with a kind of dumpy air about him. What are you getting for him? Everything in the client's safe deposit box. And that is? Bean shrugged, its long body undulating with the motion. The other glossy was of a prim business woman, hair and a bun. And what for her?

The client's first born 24 Wednesday Day This report Calvin tapped it with a red pen I need a history of the company's other projects Why aren't you including that?

Nora chuckled Then cleared her throat to Calvin's skull Calvin Can I please have a written description And list of items that are expected in these reports It seems to change Often A shadow furrowed

Calvin's brow. I'm not sure why you can't keep up with the updates in this office. Perhaps you need to come in after hours. And why do you have this spreadsheet in here in eight-point font? I can't even read it. Don't clutter the report with such things. Knight. Bean promised they had a deal.

That it would be taken care of. It would be taken care of. Nora sprawled on her bed in the dark. staring up at her popcorn ceiling, waiting. Would she be able to feel it? The moment Calvin was taken, when he was copied by a seed? Would the world suddenly feel lighter?

A little more orderly, a little more sane. A tingling set upon her body that she hadn't felt in ages. Optimism. Desire. She wanted to masturbate. I felt it would be a little weird. Her grin caught the moon's bright reflection. 25. Thursday.

Day. Standing outside of Marchfeld Marketing's door, Nora Shoemaker bounced on the balls of her feet, peeking through the glass pane window. Calvin's car was in its usual place. Are you going in or not? Nora jumped. Christy smiled at her.

Then her smile warped into something worried. You okay? Yeah. Sure. Nora yanked the door open just as Calvin walked by. He was smiling. Good morning, Nora. Christy.

Christy faltered. Then Dr. Head and rushed away. Nora remained stiff. Morning, Calvin. How are you? Feeling awfully good. His smile deepened. Great work on the venue project, by the way.

Night. Outside the business executives McMansion, Nora watched, learning her pattern. Nora had never staked out anyone before. The prospect of this new addition to her nightwalk thrilled her. She sucked on her big gulp. Her SLR camera primed and ready. Her prace skipped out the front door.

Jogging shorts, pink nikes, and bouncy ponytail all in order. Healthy vixen. Nora started her car as the executive ran around corner. A connection to humanity, her psychiatrist had said, making friends, having significant relationships. Nora snorted. Maintaining a connection to humanity was overrated. Define meaning, some folks just needed to trample through the rose bushes and walk their own paths. Norah had found hers. 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 White. I'm your host and executive producer, David Cummings. If you would like to find out how you can hear the extended editions of our audio program, please visit the no-sleeppodcast.com to learn about our season pass program. 25 episodes, each over two hours long, and three exclusive bonus episodes, all for only 2499. On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep podcast, we thank you for listening. As the Darkness fades, it feels like your voice is copyright 2020 by Creative Reason Media, Inc.

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