The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S15E24

Episode Date: February 21, 2021

It’s Episode 24 of Season 15. Our lost highway journey finds us in the family way.“She Deserves the Best” written by Jude Ellison S. Doyle (Story starts around 00:05:30)Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Narrator – Kyle Akers, Nathan – Graham Rowat, Carol – Jessica McEvoy“Furlough” written by Jennifer Winters (Story starts around 00:33:30) TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – David Cummings, Mama – Nikolle Doolin, Micah – Danielle McRae, Paula – Sarah Ruth Thomas, Byron – Kyle Akers, Andy – Matthew Bradford, Uncle Luke – Dan Zappulla, Patrick – Andrew Tate, Tom/Dad – Mike DelGaudio, Mr. Jack – Graham Rowat, Aunt Louise – Mary Murphy, Uncle Ray – Peter Lewis, Mamaw – Erika Sanderson“The Tale of Barry Reaper” written by Angela Campbell (Story starts around 01:03:40)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Mike DelGaudio“Be Good for Goodness Sake” written by LP Hernandez (Story starts around 01:19:45)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Matthew Bradford, Santa – Jesse Cornett“Motherhood” written by Sinéad Persaud (Story starts around 01:36:45)Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Narrator – Nikolle Doolin, Samuel – Mike DelGaudio, Madeline – Sarah Ruth Thomas, Sinister Girl – Mary Murphy  This episode is sponsored by:Betterhelp – Betterhelp’s mission is making professional counseling accessible, affordable, convenient – so anyone who struggles with life’s challenges can get help, anytime, anywhere. Get started today and get 10% off your first month by going to betterhelp.com/nosleepCaliper CBD – Caliper CBD is a fast, easy way to use CBD. With precise 20 mg doses of dissolvable powder which mix quickly and flavorlessly into any food or drink, you’ll experience all the benefits of CBD without the hassles of oils or tinctures. Get 20% off your first order when you use promo code NOSLEEP at trycaliper.com/nosleep  Click here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast team Click here to learn more about Angela Campbell Click here to learn more about LP Hernandez Click here to learn more about Sinéad Persaud  Executive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone“Furlough” illustration courtesy of Mark PelhamAudio 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

It's the penultimate episode of season 15. Welcome to the No Sleep Podcast. What does penultimate mean? Oh, it means it's the second to last episode. Ever? You mean there's only two episodes of the podcast left? No, no, Sarah. Just in season 15.

The podcast isn't ending anytime soon. Phew, you had me worried there for a second. The thought of the podcast ending gives me anxiety. Me too. But there are more serious issues we all deal with that can cause anxiety. stress, and depression. That's why I'm glad we can point people towards the licensed professional therapist at BetterHelp.

Yeah, I'm glad we've helped so many of our listeners make great therapeutic matches with BetterHelp's professional counselors. It's not about crisis counseling or getting the same old self-help platitudes. It's affordable counseling done online from the comfort and safety of your own home. It's easy to sign up,

and you can be speaking with a therapist in under 48 hours, via text, voice, or video calls. So many people are using better Help that they're hiring more counselors in all 50 states. That means BetterHelp really does help people and they can help you. I like seeing the many positive reviews from Better Helps clients. Here's one from Client PR. They worked with counselor Deborah on issues concerning stress, anxiety, trauma and abuse, self-esteem, career difficulties, and ADHD. Deborah is a warm person and an attentive listener, willing to spend the time and ask the right questions to help understand my situation.

better. It is a pleasure to work with her, and I'd recommend her to any friends of mine. And Client A.M. worked with counselor Adam for six months on issues concerning depression, stress, anxiety, relationship issues, self-esteem, and career difficulties. Adam has been a great counselor, empathetic, patience, offering support, but also a good objective point of view. He offered a safe space, not only to process anxiety I've been going through, but also confront some hard truths I've learned about myself in this process. Working with him has been the best experience with counseling I've had and would definitely recommend.

And here's one more from client N.I, who worked with therapist Michelle for three weeks on issues concerning depression, stress, anxiety, coping with life changes, compassion fatigue, and ADHD. I definitely appreciate how she checks up on me and that she responds in a timely fashion. She is also good at listening and responding to messages and providing even things that I can do every day to help with my anxiety. Visit betterhelp.com slash no sleep and join the over 1 million people taking charge of their mental health with the help of an experienced professional. That's Better H-E-L-P. And No Sleep listeners will get 10% off your first month at BetterHelp.com slash no sleep. Now don't be anxious. We've got horror ready to go right now.

Tales of horror. Waste yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. Season 15, episode 24 of the No Sleep Podcast. I'm David Cummings, and now it's dark. Well, season 15 has rushed past us in the blink of an eye. And episode 24 means that next week is our big season finale. We're excited to present this one to you. It's a story from all.

author Jared Roberts. You might recall some of his previous tales, like the trees are not what they seem. The season eight finale, my dad finally told me what happened that day, and the season nine finale, the hidden web page. And with this season's theme

inspired by the movies of David Lynch, we're glad to present a very lynchian finale. This story is trippy, weird, challenging, and a full-on mind-fuck, if you'll pardon the expression. So make sure you're fully braced for next week's show. It will mess with your head one way or another.

But let's not skip ahead to next week right away. This week we have tales which all revolve around the idea of family. The loving and not-so-loving people who are closest to us, relatively speaking. And now, let's begin our journey down this lost highway. In our first tale, we meet a couple of times. trying to start a family. But some couples find getting pregnant more difficult than others.

And as we learn in this tale from author Jude Ellison S. Doyle, thankfully, the couple discovers that eating a healthy diet from their new local co-op makes a new baby seem conceivable. Performing this tale are Kyle Akers,

Graham Rowett, and Jessica McAvoy. So, guys, treat the soon-to-be mother well. After all, She deserves the best. Nathan told me about the service, the weekend we killed the pig. We'd driven out in a van together, Nathan and me, and a few guys we knew from college, heading out of the city to the kill farm upstate. It was November then, and bitter.

And we were standing around in a muddy field, which was slowly hardening in the frost, hands in our pockets and windbreaker collars pulled up high to shield us from the cold. None of us were looking at each other. It was taking forever for the farmers to lead us into the kill pen. And all of us were realizing as the weight dragged out into a space that allowed for thinking, that slaughtering a pig, even like this, altogether, was going to be more difficult than we'd thought. It's an ethical thing.

Taking responsibility for your consumption. Oh, sure. Yeah. For sure. That was about the level of conversation. I was up to. We'd packed a cooler full of IPAs to shield us from the cold, supposedly, and I had been dipping into them in our very well-heated rental van all afternoon. I was thinking about whether the pig would fight us. I'd seen movies where pigs ate people,

so they had to be some kind of threat. Thinking about it made me want to drink more, and drinking gave me a better imagination. And so now I wasn't cold, but I was lightheaded, and I had a horrible premonition that when we did it, I was going to puke. If you're going to eat meat, you should know where it comes from. You've got to own up to ending a life, morally speaking, you know. No doubt, no doubt. Privately, I thought I could understand where meat came from without actually killing any. I could just think about it really hard, or Google pictures of teacup pigs.

Still, this was a thing. It had been in the times and everything. Guys like us did this. Killed a meal. To remind us that we were still animals. still men, even in Brooklyn. Wild-sourced protein is good for you too. Connects your body to the life force.

Helps regenerate cells, boosts fertility levels. It could actually help you and Carol. Carol and I were trying to conceive. I mean, trying was one way to put it. Another was that we had been trying when we first got married two years ago, and we'd kept the routine up, long after we realized it wasn't going to work.

There were other things we could do, medical interventions. We could look into adoption, which was always open to people with our resources. We weren't doing any of that, though. We were just trying, the same way we always had, hoping Carol's body would suddenly change its mind. Nathan looked away from me and out to the iron-gray horizon. When you're Lisa and I were trying,

we got hooked up with a co-op that delivers really fresh proteins, kind of illicit. Some of the animals aren't strictly approved by fish and wildlife. you know. It's an underground deal, like raw milk. But I got to tell you, it'd really turn things around. Dylan wouldn't be here without it. I looked up at Nathan, squinting against the wind. Something in his voice had shifted, opened up, like he was beckoning me into the room where he kept all the Christmas presents. Nathan and I didn't sob all over each other. We handled our problems like adults, but I knew it had been hard for him and Ulysa. lots of miscarriages, one of them late, six or seven months in, when they say you're out of the woods.

They hadn't seemed likely to try again after that. Then, about a year later, there was Dylan. Protein, huh? I said. Like I say, they're underground. You have to prove you want it. Make a sacrifice of certain female organs. My head was swimming, and everything sounded a little weird to me, but I knew that last bit sounded objectively weirder. I looked to his eyes and saw only myself,

swimming in the mirrored reflection of his sunglasses. That's why I mention it now. We could arrange something. It's bury you the right parts of the pig. Oh, of the pig, you mean? Nathan laughed, and I laughed back. And a couple of hours later, I was riding home with a plastic-wrapped pig uterus in a paper bag under my seat.

It looked ridiculous, like a pink scalloped pillow with an elephant. elephant's trunk sticking out of it. I put it out in the stoop before we went to bed, and in the morning when I got up, there was a different paper bag on the front doorstep. The meat looked bloodier, pulpier. It was badly butchered.

Still, it did look alive, oozing with fresh red blood the color of lipstick. It was funny. The day before I got that package, I couldn't tell how freshly dead something was. But now, I'd killed a pig. They do fight you, by the way,

but they don't win. They're trussed up and outnumbered, and they can't fight for long. I didn't know what to do with the delivery. It wasn't a steak or any recognizable cut of meat, just a raggedy chunk of something that had once been an animal. I just plopped it in a frying pan with some butter and gave it to Carol once it looked brown.

I did a bad job, but she enjoyed herself. Bits of juice from the probably too rare cut. but trickling undaintily down her chin. And the next week, when the next bag arrived, I did it again. She got a weird taste. Not bad, but kind of smoky, maybe? It's wild-sourced. Nathan knows where to get it.

He's in a co-op. That was it for the question and answer portion. I didn't mention children, because the topic of children between us was an ache, a cry-it-out conversation. And over time, as the crying felt less useful, It felt less and less wise to start the conversation at all. You have to understand that I wanted children.

Some guys get roped into it, pulled along by the insistent urge of their wife's body. And even more guys claim they got roped in because it's easier than admitting they wanted to hold their baby. I wanted the baby. I wanted to be a dad. I wasn't sure what I would do once I was one. I sometimes tried to imagine having conversations with my adorably precocious, young critter. And I would realize I was just imagining Haley Joel Osment or the little kid and Jerry McGuire. I had no idea what kids were like outside of movies. But I knew I needed one.

If it meant serving my wife what was probably dog meat, well, she seemed down with it. And our future son would thank her. So who was I to stand in their way? The packages kept coming and the awkward chunk of steak dinners happened once a week. And one week, I looked up to realize I hadn't heard Carol complain about cramps or seen tampons in the bathroom wastebasket for a while now. She ate that week's meat solemnly, and I could see how had I not been able to see that something in her was blooming. It was shining through her skin.

The glow thing is usually just bullshit. You tell a pregnant woman to make her feel nice, but it wasn't with Carol. She looked tired, but the air around her was supercharged, vibrating with some magic from the beginning of time. When she told me, I'm not ashamed to say I cried. Partly from fear, I mean, but I did cry. And I was happy.

And for that, if for nothing else, I am grateful to Nathan. In the prior week's package, I'd found a wedding ring. Normally that's just bad hygiene Or you worry for the person who'd lost it But this was far worse I'd found the ring finger too How do I stop the delivery Nathan and I were at a bar in Chinatown

That I was pretty certain was a cop bar I felt bad supporting it politically The bathroom graffiti really made you understand Some of the problems in our city But the drinks were dead cheap And it was a place for men to go Nothing fancy or nice about it The bartender treated you like shit, and you got your $3 beer, and you drank it under a neon sign in silence.

Nathan furrowed his brow at me. Why would you want to stop? Nathan was my best-looking friend, if I thought about it. Not that I thought about it that often. He had a really deep voice. He had two-day stubble every day. He looked handsomely disheveled until you realized he must have been using clippers. He wore a suit everywhere, even to the cop bar, which raised the last thing that.

the question of whether the bartender was actually crusty or just thought Nathan was an asshole. The point is, people were inclined to listen to Nathan. If he had a certain reaction, that seemed like the reasonable one to have. Even though I'd come to the bar, prepared with a long list of reasons, unsanitary conditions, don't know what the meat is, found a human finger, and so on and so forth. They all suddenly seemed like bad ones. Nathan ate this stuff, presumably every week, and he wasn't worried. What was my problem? Carol's pregnant, so we don't need it

anymore. All the more reason to stay on the program. Trust me, a pregnancy is hard to carry over the finish line, especially of Carol's age. I looked into my beer, watching the red, white, and blue of the Budweiser sign float and blur across its pissy surface.

Look, I don't tell this story often, but you know Ulysses' last miscarriage? It wasn't a miscarriage. It was an abortive. It was an abortion. I looked up at him, startled. It was such a private thing to say. Nathan was cagey with his private life, even when he was drinking. We were already in the co-op. We stopped as soon as we had a healthy pregnancy. That makes sense, right? Somewhere in that second trimester, they can start to detect things. Anomalies. When we went in for one ultrasound appointment, they told us the kid could be

born if we wanted, but he wouldn't have a brain. It just didn't develop. The whole top of his skull was missing. Jesus. I could still technically feel my body located in a bar. I felt the cheap, tattered plether of the barstool and its chrome rungs under my feet. We could hear bad hair metal playing on the jukebox. But the core of me was floating in a void. I thought about how hard it would be to spark a life in Carol's body, but I hadn't thought about the rest of it. How hard it would be to put a human together from scratch. How helpless I was. How helpless we both were. To determine the shape of what she made.

Well, next one, we got deliveries all the way through. And you've seen Dylan. He's great. But losing a pregnancy that late, it changes you. I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy what you Lisa went through. I nodded silently. Saying anything more would damage the trust he'd shown me. Or I'd just start screaming. You really want every advantage for Carol.

She deserves the best. There were other signs. Sometimes there was a little skin attached to the meat. Sometimes I could identify the fine whirl of body hair with the articulation of a calf muscle or a bicep. After my talk with Nathan, I paid no mind. I was making a human body. Or Carol was.

So maybe some other bodies had to be sacrificed to the task. So what? They always are. Carol ate the meat in deeper and deeper silence each week, her appetite slowing into reverence. It was spiritual, the way she bent her head to the task. It was like she didn't even know I was there. I could see the glow of the life in her, flickering wilder and brighter as she swallowed. And I knew I was doing a good thing.

I was a provider, a Neanderthal dragging a fresh kill back to the cave mouth. And that's why I never told her. A provider doesn't complain about what he has to do. He just gives his family what they need. He does until he can't. One Sunday, when I poked my head out of the door, checking for that week's delivery, the paper bag wasn't there. I made some excuse to Carol, but we argued. She was teary and angry.

She shut herself in the bedroom and slammed the door. I spent all that week waiting for the next Sunday, and when that Sunday came, the doorstep was empty again. This time there was a note taped to my door. Introductory period exceeded, the note read. First shift owed. Nathan nodded wisely at the note in my hand. Ah, they're going to put you on the harvest floor. Harvest?

We were back in the cop bar. Nathan perfect in his suit. Me sweating and clutching my beer so hard I nearly folded the plastic cup in half. Harvest was not a word I wanted to hear at that moment. It sounded too much like a euphemism. You harvest plants. What you do with an animal is kill it. It's a co-op.

You've got to start cooperating sooner or later. You didn't warn me about this, you piece of shit. Some stronger, some more confrontational version of me shrieked in my head. You never mentioned this. It was true. He hadn't yet. There he was, smiling at me. Looking like a guy in a beer ad or a Haynes commercial,

and it felt weak to be angry. angry with him. Nathan was cool. Nathan was reasonable. Nathan had it together. And if you were mad at Nathan, that felt like you'd a sign that you'd failed to be sufficiently Nathan-like in your own thinking. It felt like you were the problem. I won't be able to do that. My tongue was thick in my mouth. I sounded stupid or drunk. I knew I was both. I didn't even ask what the that was because I knew that. Whatever it was, I couldn't do it. Have you asked Carol if she wants to stop? I shook my head. It hadn't occurred to me that Ulysa might know about the service,

or that she and Nathan might discuss it. It evidently hadn't occurred to Nathan that I might keep it secret. I think you should ask her. I mean, it's her body. Suit yourself, though. I waited for him to yell at me or threaten me. He just ordered another beer and changed the subject. That's what made me feel the smallest. I didn't pose a threat to him. He wasn't worried about what might happen if he let me go. He didn't have to be. I stumbled out of the bar and to the subway.

My cell phone rang. It was Carol calling from the hospital. Symptoms they thought might be preeclampsia. It's nothing. The second she hung up the phone, I was pulling up my messages and frantically texting Nathan. You're a good father, he texted back. The next night we were on the harvest floor. Nathan drove me to the harvest at midnight, using a worn-out undershirt as a blindfold.

I mean, of course he did. There's always a blindfold in a midnight drive in these stories. They don't mention the smell. The way I was left sucking in Nathan's rank pit sweat and the stale lavender ghost of his cologne. The whole way there I kept imagining myself hunting some homeless person down in an alley, yanking college girls off the streets as they stumbled out of bars. I didn't know what kind of weapon they'd make me use. A gun, if I was lucky.

Or maybe a hammer or a blade, like you do with livestock. How would we kill the pig? I could barely remember killing the pig. It was supposed to be a defining experience. It was supposed to make a man out of me, turned me into a person who took responsibility. Yet so many other experiences had come between that one and this one, each one washing away and dimming what was supposed to be some superlative moment. It didn't matter anymore.

Killing had just become another thing I'd tried on a weekend. Nathan stopped the car and pulled my blindfold off. I braced, waiting for him to hand me the weapon. What I realized, as light flooded my eyes and made me blink, was that we were indoors. some kind of factory with a wide door for loading and unloading trucks. I sniffed involuntarily, trying to clear my nose of Nathan.

That's when I recognized it. Not a factory. A slaughterhouse. The bodies were stacked at the far front of the room. There were at least 20 of them, a pile high enough that a tall man had to pull them down from the top for processing. They were dead already,

with holes punched in their foreheads, or throat slit. Whoever killed them had used humane methods. I tried to feel relieved by that, by the fact that all the corpses were men. They were old, young, their clothes were often nice, and sometimes tattered or outdated in a way that spelled poverty. But they were guys, people who had at least theoretically been powerful.

We were murderers, I told myself, but we probably weren't rapists, which ought to make a difference. It didn't. Next to the bodies was the conveyor belt. And in front of the conveyor belt were men, heads bent, doing the work I'd been sent to do. I'd gotten so used to receiving the chunks of meat, inexpertly hacked up and ragged, that I thought I was immune to the sight of death. What I had not considered, what I ought to have considered every time I saw it,

was that someone had to do the hacking, and that each chunk belonged to a man who had once been whole. As I watched, the man wearing an apron and rubber gloves dived into a bearded old man's slipped abdominal cavity and removed the intestines, scooping them out with both hands. He slipped and grabbed them too hard, and he ripped one right in half, spilling shit all over the conveyor belt, and the scrawny, hawk-nosed face of the dead man below.

I could smell it from across the floor, even though that floor smelled like a thousand other things. I told myself not to throw up, I told myself not to pass out. I only listened to one of those orders, and my dinner came out, fluid and hot, and tasting of cumin and acid. From the same slick pink cavity

that those men were steadily ripping out of the other bodies. I stood bent over, hands on my knees, dizzied by the unwelcome awareness that my body had an inside. Nathan nodded and patted me on the shoulder as I choked it up. That's right. Better to get it out now. It'll happen a few times on the first shift.

It does for all of us. But you don't want it coming out on the conveyor. I could have screamed. I could have pleaded. I could have made a spectacle of myself. Would you like me more if I had? But I already felt weak, puking in front of everybody. I already felt myself to be visibly not in control,

visibly frightened. And I knew that the other worker's reactions was probably working. than pity. So I just wiped my mouth and let Nathan lead me to the pile of aprons and rubber gloves. Will I have to kill anyone? Not this shift. We were closer to the bodies now, and I could see that one of them was looking at. He was a young guy, athletic, with an expensive watch and thick, golden brown hair. It poked out from his shirt collar, stood stiff along his arms, edged his jawline. His brain leaked up. His brain leaked up. a little from the perfectly symmetrical hole between his eyes.

What if I tell the cops this is going on? What if I don't show up to the next shift? Just tell you I want to stop. Nathan grinned down at me. Buddy, who do you think these guys are? It's gotten easier over time. That first night, I just hacked through any piece of the body that was available, barreling through shit smell and blood spatter,

keeping my eyes open only after I'd hurt myself with a mis-aimed blade. I got used to it. I eventually used the saw with purpose. I dry heaved more than I vomited, and when I did vomit, I knew where to aim. I had to harvest every night that week. Then I got a week off, then two weeks on. I never got a fixed schedule, but it was considerate,

as far as it could be. The bosses like to ramp up slowly in terms of the work they make you do. The slaughter floor is worse than processing, by the way, but only a little. Like I told you, they fight, but not for long. And they don't win. Not when it's a bunch of guys and one trust-up animal.

It's about ethics. That's what Nathan told me. If you're going to eat this stuff, you have a duty to know where it comes from. I processed Nathan about two weeks ago. I don't know what happened. He always seemed so all in. I guess they asked him to do something that even he wasn't capable of. I was glad I got to do his processing, though.

He would have wanted someone who took it seriously, who understood the moral responsibility involved. I want to tell you that getting the meat back fixed our pregnancy, made Carol healthy again, but you know I can't tell you that. She yelled at me more over the next few months, ran into our room and slammed the door more often. I think she's been in there for three weeks now. I haven't seen her.

I haven't wanted to. The noises behind that door aren't coming from something you want to see. What struck me after we butchered Nathan was that I actually hadn't seen Ulysa since before Dylan. Not in person, I mean. It struck me that Dylan didn't really look much like Nathan, or like Ulysa either, that I had no real proof he'd come from their bodies. It sounds paranoid, but when I see the shadows in our bedroom through the black, lines at night, it seems like a question worth asking. What I see is enormous. It breathes heavy in the

night when I get home from work. A sacrifice of certain female organs, Nathan said. I guess I should have known he didn't mean the pig. What we're sacrificing for and what it wants, I may never know. I don't think I'll survive to see its crowning. My son will be born soon. He's been fed from the beginning on the flesh of weaker men. When he arrives, he will be hungry. He will reach for his father. Parenthood sure is stressful. Let's take a break from that kind of horror and chillax for a bit.

Excuse me. Did you just say chillax? Well, yes, Sarah Olivia, our newest voice actor, I did. It's what all the kids are saying these days. It's like combining chill and relax. I know what it means. I just haven't heard it used in about 15 years, Grandpa. Okay, okay. Jeez, take a chill pill. Look, why don't you stop using outdated slang about relaxing and trying a modern and effective way of relaxing? Which is? Caliper CBD powder. Well, gosh darn it, I use Caliper CBD and I love it. What's great about CBD is that it helps you feel better without making drastic changes to your routine. You know what I do? Each morning I make one of my patented David Cummings green smoothies. I'm a whiz with the blender, don't you know? I simply open a pre-portioned packet of Caliper CBD powder and pour it in the smoothie.

It mixes easily, and since there's no flavor or oily residue, it goes down easily. That's a smart way to do it. Using oily tinctures for CBD just doesn't make sense. It's clinically proven that you absorb 450% more CBD with Caliper CBD powder compared to tinctures. And Caliper gives you all the benefits of CBD in just 15 minutes, about twice as fast as CBD oil. For me, Caliper CBD is an effective way of helping my body kind of even itself out. So if my mind is addled by the stresses of the day, it helps settle me down. And those little aches and pains aren't as achy and painy after using Caliper.

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Jeez, dude. Chillax. I will, thanks to Caliper CBD. And now we'll chillax our way back to some delicious. horror. Family reunions are special times. Gathering around tables full of food, playing games, reminiscing about family history. It's heartwarming, really. But in this tale, shared with us by author Jennifer Winters, we meet a family who take their reunions very seriously. They go the extra mile to make sure everyone gathers together. Joining me in performing this tale are Nicole Doolin, Danielle McCray, Sarah Thomas, Kyle Acres, Matthew Bradford, Dan Zepula, Andrew Tate, Mike Delgadoio, Graham Rowett, Mary Murphy, Peter Lewis, and Erica Sanderson.

So there's no reason to miss the big event. If you need the time, you can always take a furlough. Aunt Louise and Micah's mama had stuck about 100 cloves into the skin of the ham before they hauled it into the oven earlier in the afternoon. afternoon. Now they were heating up honey, corn syrup, and butter to make the glaze, while the other women milled around the kitchen as they worked on their own dishes. Micah could have eaten just the glaze with a spoon, and that would have made him happy. The rolls were rising on the kitchen counter, and two chocolate pies were cooling on the table. The kitchen smelled sweet and spicy, almost like Christmas. Micah was trying to figure out

how to sneak a taste of the glaze when cornbread started barking outside. Micah Lee. Mama, still stirring the glaze as Aunt Louise took the gloriously roasted ham out of the oven with a burst of clove and cured pork perfume. Do you want to go outside and play with cornbread?

I'm worried that he'll get under somebody's tires with all these people driving up. Yes, ma'am. At six years old, Micah had learned that when his mother asked if he wanted to do something, it really meant that he had to do it immediately and without argument. Besides that, he was always happy to play with cornbread, and he didn't want to sit still long enough to imagine his best friend under anybody's tires. Hopping down off the bench that sat alongside the kitchen table,

Micah skipped across the room, through the screen door, and down the wooden steps into the backyard. Fall wasn't quite in the air yet, but it was almost. Its wood-smoke-scented fingertips dancing on the edge of the late afternoon. The backyard was filled with men and the older children. The men were fussing with the deep friar, where they would later cook breaded catfish, hush puppies, and potatoes until they were barely recognizable.

It'd be up to the women to make the sloth. and sliced the raw onions. Micah remembered the last family dinner, which had also consisted of all the traditional fare, along with Aunt Louise's world-famous baked beans. There'd been too much food. Mama had said that they would do better the next time and not make so much, but there was even more food this time.

When Micah had pointed this out to Mama earlier, she'd gotten ill with him and told him not to sass. Cornbread was hanging around the men, walking back and forth and wagging his tail as if expecting a hush puppy, even though the oil wasn't even hot yet. When he saw Micah, his mouth dropped into a happy grin and he ran over for a scratch. As Micah loved on his brown and white mutt, he watched his older cousins struggle to put up the badminton net. Why are we even bothering? Paula grumbled as she worked with Handy to get the pole deep enough into the ground so that it wouldn't lean all lopsided. It's going to get dark in an hour or so. We can't play in the dark.

Byron, who was working the other pole into the ground, answered without looking up from his task. We'll have about an hour to play then. Paula made a grumpy, grumbling noise that Micah had noticed her making more and more lately. We won't be able to play after Mamma gets here, and who knows when that'll be? Last time we were waiting to eat until way after dark because she was so late. I kind of like that we don't ever know exactly when she's going to get here. Andy let go of the pole, satisfied that it was secure in the ground. Paula stood back to admire the net.

You kind of would. Are we going to play or are we just going to stand around here and fart? Micah laughed, scandalized that Paula had said an ugly word, big as day. Uncle Ray, Patrick and Paula's daddy, shouted over to her to be a lady. But Micah could tell that he wanted to laugh too. For the next half hour, Micah and Cornbread played in the backyard, near the tree line. More cars arrived, hauling in more relatives. His daddy's other brothers were there with their wives and kids.

Some of the younger cousins joined Micah and Cornbread, tossing a tennis ball and watching Cornbread run around with his lopsided gallop. The teenagers took turns playing badminton, while the fish crackled and popped in the friar. Over the din, Micah heard a feline wail. Daddy's youngest brother, Uncle Luke, was walking away from his car, carrying a bundle in his arms. Tom, where can I put this cat for now?

Daddy stood up from his chair by the friar and nodded towards the shed behind the house. As the two men walked past Micah and cornbread, the bundle in Uncle Luke's arms meowed. Micah heard the wail again and saw his Aunt Patsy peering after the two men. Her face screwed up with sadness. Why does Aunt Patsy have a cry face? His cousin Patrick, who was older and new things, answered. "'Cause she loves that cat the best. "'It's her favorite, favorite cat.'

"'Mika stared after the men and the mulling cat. "'He managed to ponder the why of the situation "'for all of 30 seconds before he was distracted by his dog, "'ball in mouth and a wagging tail. "'They began playing again, the sequestered feline forgotten. "'Mika and Cornbread were wrestling on the ground near Mama's Kitchen Garden when another car pulled up the driveway.

It was a fancy car, Micah noted, all shiny chrome and apple red. Cornbread abruptly stopped playing and took off running to the shed, crawling underneath the structure. Micah looked after him, gradually becoming aware that everyone, young and old,

was saying the same thing over and over in frantic whispers. He's here, he's here, Jack McDaniels is here. Instinctively, Micah moved over to stand with his older cousins. All of the children had lined up in sort of impromptu formation, two rows, youngest to oldest, from front to back. The men all stood and the woman filed out of the house

as Jack McDaniels stepped out of his fancy car and walked towards the grownups. Mr. Jack smiled, but Micah didn't like it. It was the same smile worn by the dark, hurtful things that Micah imagined lived under beds and deep in the woods. Sometimes, when Micah couldn't sleep, he'd lie in his bed and imagine all those things, the hurting things, and he knew that they were real and waiting. But as soon as the sun came up, he wasn't so sure that they were real. Sometimes he heard people say that there were real monsters in the town of Rhodes, but Micah's family lived way out in the country, a good 20-minute

drive from town. Jack McDaniels lived in Rhodes proper. In fact, Daddy sometimes said that Mr. Jack owned Rhodes, or was it that Mr. Jack was Rhodes? Either way, his driving out to their house was a big deal. Micah's daddy wiped his palms on his pants as he took big steps towards Mr. Jack. Mr. Jack, we heard you were in town, but we thought you might send one of your boys tonight. It's good to see you, sir. Mr. Jack's smile got even wider, and Micah didn't like it one bit. It was too wide, like it could unhinge at the jaw and swallow every one of them up. His hair was gray and thick, with a matching mustache. He wore a suit, the coat unbuttoned.

Micah saw that instead of a belt, a necktie was threaded through the loops on his pants. Micah stood still, hoping that someone would reach down and take his hand. Micah didn't dare reach for anyone's hand. He realized that he was afraid that moving any part of his body might attract Mr. Jack's attention. He finally dared a quick look at his older cousins. Patrick and Byron were looking towards the newest arrival. Their face is almost shining with fascination. They both looked like someone famous was standing a few feet away in the yard,

not the owner of the funeral home in Rhodes, a man who doesn't even have a belt. Micah looked at the other kids. They all had the same kind of look on their faces. A weird happiness, Micah decided. That's what their faces showed. weird happiness. All except for Paula.

Paula looked scared and angry. She also looked like she might throw up. How's life treating you, Mr. Jack? Uncle Luke almost sang as he shook Jack McDaniel's hand. Oh, if I were any better, there'd be two of me. All the adults and kids threw their heads back and belly laughed, except for Micah and Paula. Paula noticed Micah and took his hand. She was shaking.

Mike had decided that he wouldn't like it if there were two Mr. Jack's. Not one bit. Well now, who's ready for the mate of familiars to arrive? Mr. Jack rubbed his hands together and then clapped them once. All of the adults started shouting, I am or we are. Even Micah's cousins, except for Paula, started shouting, clapping, moaning. Daddy put his hands together, like he did when he was asking the blessing on the food, and Micah's mouth dropped open as he saw that he was crying.

Daddy! He was crying the same way he always told Micah not to. Oh, Mr. Jack, we're ready for a miracle. Thank you so much for making this happen for us every year. You're truly a servant of the Lord. Daddy finished speaking to Mr. Jack and opened his arms, looking around at the gathered relatives. We don't understand why we were chosen for this gift, but we receive it humbly and with joy.

Mr. Jack came himself this year to bring Mama to us. We're honored, Mr. Jack. Aunt Louise really did look honored. Aunt Patsy abruptly turned and darted back inside. Mr. Jack watched her disappear into the house. He glanced at Uncle Luke, who just nodded and shrugged. Mr. Jack nodded and grinned at Uncle Luke. Daddy and Uncle Luke held their hands towards the shed,

and Jack McDaniels led the way as they walked past the group of kids towards it. Reckon they'd let us go with them into the woods if we asked? Paula scowled fiercely at her brother. Don't you dare, Patrick. Come on, Micah, let's go inside. You need to wash your face and hands. When they got to the bathroom, Paula, let Micah wash his own face.

She knew that he was a big boy, and she treated him like one. That's why he loved her so much. When he finished washing, Paula leaned over the sink and splashed water on her own face. Her face dripping, she stared at the mirror. This isn't right. Mamma shouldn't be here. And that Jack McDaniels, he is Rhodes. And Rhodes is just ugly and mean?

Paula smiled down at him. She kissed Micah on the head, then held him close. He could smell her armpit. Yeah, ugly and mean. You feel it, don't you? Micah thought for a minute. He didn't know what she was talking about, but he knew that something was wrong with the air this evening.

He usually loved family gatherings, all food and fun. But he didn't like it when Ma Ma Ma'a visited, and he felt guilty for thinking this. They weren't allowed to tell anyone about her visits, not even the pastor. If they told anyone, Daddy had said, Ma Ma wouldn't be able to visit anymore. Even worse, the state may come and take Micah away, but Micah knew that wasn't true.

One of his grown cousins had a wife for a little while. After he brought her to one of Ma Ma Ma's visits, she got all upset and left him. She told some people about Mama, and everyone in the family got real mad. Nobody believed her, though, and she and Mike's cousin got a D-I-V-O-R-C-E, and she had to go to the nervous hospital in Tupelo. Then she died not long after she got out of the hospital. Mama said that there was some kind of bad gas or air in her apartment, and she died in her sleep.

So young. Then Mama would shake her head. And as far as the state taking Micah away, that was just silly. Mississippi was a big piece of land shaped like a chewed-up toothbrush. How could it take Micah away? Micah, take this plate of food to cornbread. Micah took the bowl of food and walked out back towards the shed where cornbread hid. Micah set the bowl down and looked around for his dog.

The door of the shed was standing open, and Micah figured that the man had already taken the cat out and into the woods. Cornbread! Come here, boy! The whimpering was coming from beneath the shed. Micah gently coaxed cornbread out, scratching the dog's head when he cautiously peaked out from the crawl space beneath the shed. Hey, boy, what's got you scared? Too many people?

Cornbread made his way out of the shed, but instead of eating, he pressed up against a kneeling Micah, who put his arms around him and rocked. They'll be gone in a few hours. A boy and his dog, a sight of which I shall never tire. Micah looked up and saw Mr. Jack making his way out of the trees towards him, that hurting grin on his face. Cornbread was back under the shed in a flash. Mr. Jack had walked with Daddy and Uncle Luke into the woods, it seemed. Micah hated those woods. There was a tiny, ancient graveyard where some of his dead relatives were buried,

and a deep well that his mother swore was a death trap waiting to happen. She told him to never go past the little creek that bordered the woods, but she didn't have to worry. Micah would never go into those woods, Not even for one of those new Atari games that hooked up to the TV. Cornbread didn't like going into those woods either. Thank you, Jesus. From the direction of the thick trees, Micah heard sick sounds.

Someone was throwing up. The deep heaves sounded painful, and they made Micah's mouth feel dry and his tongue thick. Jesus, Luke, it wasn't that bad. Get yourself together. You want Mama to see you like this? Micah heard his uncle hawk and spit loudly. Lay off, it was nastier this time.

The two men emerged from the woods and walked towards Mr. Jack, who held out his hand for a goodbye shake. Daddy reciprocated. Not staying for dinner, Mr. Jack? No, sir, I'd best head on to the house. Driving these back roads after dark is a bit dangerous for a towny like myself. Besides, this is an occasion best left to close family. Mr. Jack shook Uncle Luke's hand, then made his way to the car.

In a moment, he was down the long driveway and onto the gravel road, headed back to roads. The two men stared after him, then walked towards the house where Uncle Ray waited by the door with news. You need to deal with Patsy. She's taking it hard, a poor thing. If you have to discipline her, you should probably do it before Mama gets here. I can handle my wife. Uncle Luke puffed his chest out a bit, and the men walked into the house. The screen door thwapping closed. Micah leaned down and whispered to Cornbread, who was still completely hidden under the shed.

Mr. Jack's gone, boy. I have to go see Mama and eat dinner. You take a nap. Inside, everyone was gathered in the kitchen. There would have been more room in the living room, but Mama had come in through the kitchen last year. so Micah reckoned that's why everyone crowded in there. Nobody said a word. They didn't have to.

Ma'am would arrive any second now. The air in the house felt still. Then Micah detected a kind of buzzing. Not a buzzing sound, but buzzing air. It made his ears itch down inside where he'd have to use a cue tip to scratch it. The lights got low, then high again. Like they did sometimes when it was raining hard. Uncle Ray drew in a sharp breath of air, then yelled out.

She's here. Mama. Micah heard shuffling footsteps and saw his grandmother standing in the living room. He figured that he and Uncle Ray were the first two folks to see her arrive. Everyone else had been staring at the kitchen cabinets under the sink. Micah remembered the sight of those cabinet doors last year. year, bursting open as Ma Ma'a crawled out, arriving for her visit. He was relieved that she didn't come in that way this year because it had made him feel scared. When he'd told Daddy how Ma'a's arrival had made him feel, Daddy had spanked him and made him sit inside the cabinet with the

doors closed for a whole hour. Sitting there and count your blessings, young man. Mama was wearing a purple dress and house slippers. Her Her hair was bright white and her glasses perched on the tip of her nose. Her back was hunched over. From all those years of working hard for us kids, Daddy would say. She was smiling the Jack McDaniels smile. Suddenly everyone was moving, taking turns hugging Mama, kissing her cheeks, asking if she was hungry.

Kids, y'all line up to say hi to your grandmother. The cousins hastily formed a line. as Mama was helped into a chair, bumping and shoving each other in an effort to be the first. Only Paula and Micah moved to the rear. Paula managed to slip out of the room without being noticed, but Micah had no such recourse. The last in line, when his turn came, he took a deep breath and stepped up towards Mama, who placed a hand on each of his shoulders and squeezed. Well, now, Michael Lee, how?

You've grown. Give your Mama some sugar. Mama leaned over and offered her cheek for a kiss, which Micah dutifully gave. Her cheek was warm and wrinkly and smelled like wet autumn leaves. Mama pulled back and looked into Micah's eyes with her own cloudy blues, made huge by her bifocals. Can't you smile for me, little won? Aware that his parents were watching. Micah worked his face into the sweetest smile he could muster. Ma Ma nodded, smiled back, then looked up and around the room.

Good. Where can an old lady get some to eat? Everyone laughed, and the next half hour was a flurry of food and chatter. Ma Ma Ma'am sat at the table while the woman piled plate after plate full of catfish, ham, and all the other foods that Ma Ma Ma'a loved. Mama ate ferociously and without manners. Food dripped down her chin. She didn't finish one mouthful without shoving more in. Daddy sat next to her and wiped her face as needed.

Everything as it should be until Mama abruptly stopped eating and stared, slack-jawed at the old wedding picture of her and Papa that hung on the wall opposite her chair. Mama? Mama? Are you okay? Is the food not setting with you? At that, Ma Ma Ma'a's head snapped back, eyes pressed shut. Micah stood from his seat at the children's table and tried to inch his way out of the room and into the hall.

He didn't know what was happening, but he knew that he didn't want to see it. Mama's eyes popped open, no longer blue, but completely gray. Her face contorted in a mask of agony and sat. sadness as she shouted in a despondent wail. Then she was fighting herself, tearing at her face, hair, arms. Daddy and the uncles threw their arms around her, grasping at her hands so that she couldn't tear at her flesh. Mama wailed, much like Aunt Patsy's cat. Aunt Louise appeared beside the melee, a plate with a large wedge of chocolate meringue pie in hand.

Mama, here's your pie. We made your pie. Look how nice the meringue turned out. As she waved the pie under Mama's chin, the old woman calmed down. Micah, easing back into his chair at the kids' table, watched as her eyes cleared from snot gray to cloudy blue, and the smile returned to her face. She tucked into the pie. Micah's mom came up behind her with a comb. and smoothed out her cottony hair while she finished her first piece of pie. As she ate, Uncle Ray fell to his knees and buried his face into Mama's side.

Oh, Mama, Mama, it's a miracle. You're such a miracle. Mama kept eating the pie, patting Uncle Ray on the head, but not looking at him. Get up from there, son. You're a man. Uncle Ray jumped to his feet.

wiping away tears. Someone had refilled Mama's plate with another slice of pie. Mama didn't even bother using a fork to gobble down this piece. Micah realized that his stomach didn't want any more food, and his mouth tasted sour. Hey, Mama, remember that thing you used to do with your false teeth? Kids, would you all like to see your grandmother do her funny teeth trick? Everyone shouted the affirmative,

and Mama's face took on a mischievous air. She pressed her eyes tight, then opened them so that they were wide and bugging, while simultaneously using her tongue to thrust her false teeth out. They jutted far past her lips, and she caught them just as they fell. Even Micah thought this was funny, and the whole group laughed until they cried.

After dinner, everyone moved to the living room. There weren't enough places, to sit, so the floor was full of people sitting criss-cross and others leaning against the walls. The grown-ups took turns telling Mama the news from the past year. Our football team ain't no good at all. Jack McDaniels' son should be graduating and moving back to town soon. There's a pizza place in Rhodes now. Do you know what a pizza is? Ronald Reagan is still the president. God help us. Mama didn't say much. She mostly smiled and, nodded. A girl's voice cut in through the sea of chatter.

Where have you been all here? Everyone looked around towards the hallway, from which Paula emerged. Stepping over the folks sitting on the floor, she made her way towards Mama, a fearful but determined look on her face. Where have you been? Where do you go? How do you get here? Paula shouted the questions, as her father made for her, tripping over relatives. as he went. Mama just stared at Paula.

Her face split into a huge grin, too huge for her face. Uncle Ray grabbed Paula's arms and led her back down the hall, his hand clasping so tightly that his fingers lost all color. Not another word, don't you fight me? Paula wasn't, from what Micah could see, resisting being walked down the hall one bit. You'd like that, wouldn't you? It'd give you an excuse. The two disappeared down the hall and a door slammed.

Micah felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he heard the unmistakable slap of a belt against bare skin. Mama let out a giggle. Aunt Louise spoke. Why don't we all go into the yard? Get the fire going. We'll set up your chair, Mama. Just sit tight. Micah managed to stay inside as the relatives filed out of the house into the backyard, chatting and laughing nervously.

Micah! A voice sing-songed his name. He looked to see Ma-Ma grinning at him. Want to see Ma' Ma'am's funny trick again? With that, Ma'amaw jutted her false teeth out. Only this time her lips went with the teeth, which opened to a... allow a point of egress for an impossibly long tongue. The wet, gray tongue writhed like a snake as it grew longer, longer,

until it brushed the tip of Micah's nose. Micah tried to scream, but he couldn't provide his lungs enough air to do so. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut and willed his feet to move him away before Mama's tongue touched him again. All right, Mama, we have a nice campfire going. going outside. Let me help you out. Micah's daddy swept in and helped Mama to her feet, and Micah saw that her grin was back where it should be. Daddy hadn't seen a thing.

Micah needed to pee badly, and he ran down the hall to the bathroom, hands pressed to his crotch. He stayed in the bathroom as long as he figured he could without getting into trouble for ignoring Mama. As he walked back through the living room, he saw Paula standing by the bookcase, the F volume of the World Book Encyclopedia in her hand and a thoughtful frown on her face. You okay, Paula? Oh, yeah.

It was just a whipping. With that, she lowered the book so that Micah could see the pages. She pointed to a photograph of a man. Who do you think that is? That's Mr. Jack. Mr. Jack and black and white. Paula made a little, and looked at the picture again, tracing it with her finger.

Then she closed the book and placed it back onto the shelf. Nope, it's William Faulkner, Mississippi's favorite literary son. Micah didn't know what to think about that, so he didn't. Paula took his hand, and they headed outside. They joined everyone around the campfire, where people were taking turns, animatedly sharing their favorite stories, fun times with Mama or repeating nuggets of wisdom she'd bestowed them over the years. Everyone ran the gamut of laughing, nodding in solemn agreement, or dabbing at tears.

Everyone except Aunt Patsy, who was off to the far side of the driveway, vomiting. Paula sat on the ground and drew Micah onto her lap, where he curled himself into her arms and dozed. When he opened his eyes, the sky was completely dark, and the fire had burned down into a sluggish red glow. Ma Ma'amah slapped her hands to her thighs, then struggled up out of her chair. Well, y'all, it's about time for me to go. This was met with everything from gentle sounds of dismay to outright sobs. Micah's relatives swarmed around Ma Ma Ma Ma'a so that he couldn't see her.

A heartbroken voice that sounded like Aunt Louise rose above the noise. Mama. Oh, Mama. Will you be able to come back next year? Well, now I don't rightly know. It depends. Micah saw her white, gnarled hand jut out of the crowd of bodies. Its index finger pointed directly at him.

Him. The relatives parted, and Mama stepped out. staring at Micah, grinning. You. You love your dog, don't you? You really love your dog. Micah felt his mouth opening and closing, like a catfish's mouth, unable to speak.

Someone shouted and grabbed his hand. It was Paula. No, he don't love that dog. He hates it. You never seen a boy treat a dog so ugly. Uncle Ray turned and slapped Paula across the face, but she barely blinked and squeezed Micah's hand even tighter. Micah stared at his grandmother and surprised himself by what he said next. No, ma'am, I don't love cornbread much at all.

At that, Micah had felt the hard sting of Daddy's hands swatting him on the butt. He met Ma Ma Ma's eyes once more and nodded. Yes, ma'am. Micah was still sitting by the last of the dying embers of the campfire after the men had walked Ma Ma into the woods, and the relatives had climbed into their cars and headed home. Everyone having renewed their promise of never, ever revealing the miracle of Mama's visits to a soul. His daddy was inside, probably watching TV. Mama was doing the last of the dishes, taking extra doses of the medicine that she kept behind the

box of detergent in the laundry room. Micah wondered if the medicine tasted like turkey, since there was a picture of one on the bottle. Cornbread, sensing that everyone was gone, came walking up to Micah. He licked at Micah's hand, tail wagging. Micah jumped out of his chair and headed towards the house. Go away, cornbread. The dog, thinking that this was a game, ran around to head Micah off. He assumed his let's play pose. But in the air, front paws stretched out.

His mouth was a gaping grin. Micah reached down and grabbed a handful of dirt, feeling it cake under his fingernails. He threw it at the dog as hard as he could. Instead, go away! The dirt hit the dog in the face. Confused, he looked at Micah, tail wagging hopefully.

With that, Cornbread tucked his tail between his legs and headed back through the darkness to the shed. Looking back at Micah once or twice with a melancholy confusion in his eyes, Micah felt something in his chest rip. Wait, wait, boy, I'm sorry! As Micah ran, Cornbread stopped and faced him, his tail wagging once again. Mika fell upon him, wrapping his arms around the mutt, bearing his face. and soft fur. Micah didn't know what he was feeling,

but he knew that it was nothing that a six-year-old child should feel. It was a bad, grown-up feeling. He thought of Mama, the family's secret miracle. It was wrong. The miracle was wrong. You love your dog, don't you?

He saw Mama's finger again, pointed at him by the dying firelight. I don't love you, cornbread. Micah tightened his arms around his dog and rocked back and forth. Back and... I don't love you. I don't. I don't.

We're 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 you're going to dream. 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. You know,