The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S16E06

Episode Date: May 9, 2021

It’s Episode 06 of Season 16. Our correspondence brings us together yet farther apart. “Separation” written by Charlie Davenport (Story starts around 00:04:15)Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Narrator – David Cummings, Mark Perkins – Dan Zappulla, Mandy Perkins – Mary Murphy, Sgt. Edward Thaw – Mike DelGaudio“A Sundown Town” written by LP Hernandez (Story starts around 00:38:30) TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: Paul – Mick Wingert, Bernie – Brian Reeder, Mama – Erin Lillis, Amber – Nichole Goodnight, Robbie – Matt Bradford, Radio Host – David Cummings, Officer Gillespie – Graham Rowat, Parade Announcer – Atticus Jackson, Mayor Will – Jesse Cornett, Boy – Danielle McRae“Think of Me” written by S.H. Cooper (Story starts around 01:15:20)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Dennis – Matt Bradford, Woman – Erika Sanderson“Home, Home on Deranged” written by Manen Lyset (Story starts around 01:25:15) TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Atticus Jackson“The Last to Fall” written by Nickolas Johnson (Story starts around 01:42:45) TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Jack – Graham Rowat, Mary – Sarah Ruth Thomas, Alex – Kyle Akers, Josiah – Jeff Clement, Mrs. Bianchi – Danielle McRae 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 teamClick here to learn more about LP HernandezClick here to learn more about S.H. CooperClick here to learn more about Manen Lyset Executive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone“Home, Home on Deranged” illustration courtesy of Audrey McEvoyAudio 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

Hi folks, Cummings here. We've got sleepless horror coming your way in mere moments, and that's good news. Want more good news? Things are generally looking better, right? We're slowly seeing a bit of normalcy return to our lives. Maybe the light at the end of this dark lockdown tunnel is in sight. The weather's getting warmer, the days are getting longer, and trillions of cicadas are soon to crawl from the earth and drive us mad with their creepy, crawly disgusting loud sex noises which will break our souls and... Okay. Sorry, got a little carried away there. The point is that on certain levels, there's reason to be optimistic about things getting better.

But that doesn't mean that every issue in our life is just going to magically improve. That's why BetterHelp is such a vital service and why we recommend it to our listeners. All you have to do is go to BetterHelp.com slash No Sleep and sign up. You'll be matched with a licensed professional therapist and can start communicating with them in under 48 hours. And this is all done from the comfort of your own home. You can schedule weekly video or phone calls, and you'll always get thoughtful responses to help you with the things you're struggling with. Better help isn't a crisis line, and it's not self-help. It's professional counseling done securely online.

There's a broad range of expertise available, which may not be locally available in many areas. Best of all, their service is available for clients worldwide. Consider what real BetterHelp clients are saying about their experiences. Here's a review written by BetterHelp user EM after counseling with Lynette Davis for issues concerning stress and relationship issues. Lynette has been super helpful so far. Cognitive therapy is her preferred method, and it seems to be working much better for me than my last counselor. I'm happy I found her. And another review written by BetterHelp user AM after counseling with Renee Sen for issues

concerning depression and parenting issues. She has been instrumental in helping me deal with and balance my emotions. It's been a real life changer for me and my marriage. I can't thank her enough. BetterHelp wants you to start living a happier life today. Visit betterhelp.com slash no sleep. That's Better H-E-L-P and join the over 1 million people who have taken charge of their mental health with the help of an experienced professional. In fact, so many people have been using BetterHelp that they're recruiting additional counselors in all 50 states.

And as you know, this podcast is sponsored by BetterHelp and No Sleep listeners get 10% off their first month at BetterHelp.com slash no sleep. So remember, there is good news out there, and that includes the fact that the No Sleep podcast is starting right now. The dark in the letters long lost and forgotten. There are tales of horror to frighten and disturb. Come, join us as we delve deep into the darkness. Into the sleepless hours. When you dare not close your eyes, brace yourself for the no-sleep.

Welcome, sleepless listeners. I'm your host, David Cummings. It is the whisper before the scream. I woke up with those words in my head today, as I have every day during this last week. While I don't know what they mean, objectively it's pretty easy to guess. The storage unit we have, the books and documents I've been granted.

So far, I've scraped the mere tip of the iceberg. This thought began in the period between dreams and wakefulness, ever since last week, when I had begun thinking of the bookstore, whose brand and labeling was on some of the volumes in our storage unit. I've done a little research into that bookstore. I have some information to share. But every time I think about doing so, the phrase, it is the whisper before the scream echoes through my mind, in a whisper, but so persistent that I can't possibly ignore the fact it has meaning.

You remember Edgar Allan Poe's story, the telltale heart? There's a copy of that in the storage unit, multiple different versions of multiple Poe collections, in fact, but that's beside the point. The fact is, this whispering reminds me of the beating of that hideous heart. In the story, the sound forced the unnamed narrator to do something, to reveal himself. Here, it feels like the opposite, that the phrase I hear is telling me, not yet, not yet. Bringing up Poe is interesting, though, as for the last week, a black cat has been hanging around the storage unit area.

It won't approach me, and it hasn't entered our storage unit, but it's on the grounds every time I go there now. and I'm certain it was never present before. Relevance or coincidence, I don't know. As I've mentioned before, certain documents or tomes draw me to them, like a magnetic pole. Every time I enter the storage unit, I hear dozens of stories crying out to be told, needing to be told.

But occasionally I brush past something which causes me to feel the opposite, in a visceral, panicked way. There's a sealed shoebox. There's a book sealed with a flimsy padlock. There's a small collection of handwritten notes held together with a rusty paper clip, a bunch of other things too. Yet another mystery of this collection that I feel I'm going to be forced to understand one day, if not solve myself. And let's not even speak further of the ten-volume journal of Mary Beth Carter.

As I previously mentioned, I was unable to find anything significant on a quick flick-through, but that shelf screams at me. And I'm beginning to hear those screams even when I'm away from the storage unit. I needed some time to clear my head from these new stranger developments. So this week I simply grabbed the closest document bundle to me, which was calling to me. I no longer believe in chance or free will inside this storage unit. So I'm sure the collection of printouts I settled on is being performed at exactly the right time, as per some grander plan I'm currently not privy to.

But this is what I grabbed. It's marked with a label reading Charlie Davenport, a name I recognized from earlier in this bizarre game, and in fact an author who's appeared on the podcast multiple times. I know he didn't write these docs. In fact, he has no idea why his name was attached to them. Yet this is another reason I know something extremely strange is going on, which is personally targeting me and those around me.

What alarms me about these emails is how recent they are, how real, you'll see. I've chosen to ask Dan Zepula, Mary Murphy, and Mike Delgado to perform this tale. But I'm sure, like everything else going on, my choice in the matter was simply an illusion. The only title I can give this one is separation. to A.H. Perkins 91. Sent Sunday, 11.58 p.m. I've been awake for about, I don't know, an hour or so, and I don't know if I'll be falling back to sleep tonight.

I hope the noise didn't or doesn't wake you guys. I just can't stop coughing. I already feel bad about you having to watch him by yourself all day. Was he in here today? No, I know he wasn't, but I swear I saw him in here, still in his jammies and holding that stuffed lamb my mom got him. Did we unpack that yet? What did he call it?

Jesus, this is playing with my head. I guess it's for the best we're just emailing. I cannot string a thought together for the life of me. I don't know if what I have is the bug or not, but whatever it is, it's taken me out right at the knees. My chest feels like it's full of broken glass, and I'm so tired, but Jesus Christ, the dreams. I just woke up from one with the house burning, and I was running through it trying to find somebody. Maybe you or Ethan, but I couldn't find them.

It was bigger than it was in real life. A seemingly endless number of rooms for me to search through, and it was all burning. I woke up coughing so hard that I could see black spots. We were right on top of each other when this thing started, but testing positive and staying locked in here, it's really strange waking up here all alone. We've been married over 10 years,

and I don't think I was even aware of how used to sleeping next to you I've become. How are you doing, honey? Still no symptoms? You're wearing gloves when you come and pick up the plates, right? What about Ethan? God, if something happened to him. If it was my fault, I should have never gone to that store. But we needed two-ply before all the hoarders got to it.

I'm looking at the house next store, and it's completely dark. It's not even midnight, and they've totally closed up shop. It doesn't help that I already feel like I'm the only person in the world up here. I really appreciate the books, and I know I have the phone. But could we move a TV in here? It's tough to get my brain to focus on the words, and the phone's screen is small. To M.A. Perkins, 86, sent Monday, 626 a.m. I took Ethan for a walk today.

Don't worry, we wore our masks and gave everyone that came close a really wide birth. We needed to get out of the house. He's just got so much energy. I love him, but I can only listen to Baby Shark so many times. We got to the golf course before he started to freak out and started to talk about washing his hands. I swear if he doesn't come away with OCD from this,

it'll be a miracle. Funny, you mention the lamb, because Ethan isn't going anywhere these days without Woolsey. He brought it along with us on our stroll. He's also refusing to take off his Spider-Man costume. I just don't have it in me

to argue with him about it. So, there we are, walking out in this heat with our masks on, and our own Peter Parker dragging Woolsey behind us on the ground. Cod, people were giving us the weirdest looks. There must have been a dozen people walking around the golf course. Almost nobody was wearing masks or any PPP except for me and him. These people are not taking this

seriously enough. Hey, did you try and get up in the middle of the night? Maybe to move the TV from the garage in? I swore I heard the front door open last night. Did you go out back? Honey, please don't it up. It defeats the whole purpose. I know you, and you were probably thinking it was too heavy for me to move on my own. But you are not well. And if you have it, you are putting us all at risk. I'm not mad. Okay? I just want us to make it through this together. Sadly, I'm not even getting the chance to feel alone. There's Zoom meetings for me and virtual circle time with Ethan's class. We get about a dozen deliveries and drop-offs a day. I barely have time to sit.

A lot of the neighbors are just sitting out front in lawn chairs, big tubs of wine in their hands. They're holding conversations about where they're going to eat when this is over, who they're going to vote for, all by yelling across the street at each other. Yes, still no symptoms over here on this side of plague land. I'm tired and stressed as hell. but no fever and no coughs.

Trust me, I'm checking Ethan and me obsessively. I think he can tell how much mom is worried, but I can't think about that right now. Just got to keep us healthy. Get you back on your feet and worry about all his damage once we're on the other side of things. We can afford therapy for the kid, right? All I know is,

the second we can get out of the house, I want to go camping. Just the three of us. That sounds crazy, doesn't it? Let's get away from it all after weeks of isolation. Maybe finally go to Yosemite and sleep out in the Great Wide Open. It'd be nice to lay with my two guys and just get to look up at the stars. To A.H. Perkins 91.

Sent Monday, 10.30 p.m. Just read your email right now, and I'm looking up at the stars. Lucky thing, too, because it looks like there's a meteor shower or something going on. I'm going to try and catch it on my phone. If it's clear enough, I'll send it to you. Good God, I could use a glass of wine right now. But I guess I'll have to stick with the theriflu. Thanks for that, by the way.

Maybe it's a good thing Woolsey is back in the picture. Anything that makes him feel more secure, right? I'm so sorry that you're not. having to do all of this on your own, babe. I'm just so damn weak and cold. Did you turn the heat off tonight? I may have just been out of it, but I swear I got up to use the guest bathroom and I couldn't get the light switch to turn on.

Did the power go out? That's all we need. I was so goddamn cold. When I finally stumbled my way over there and then back, the bedside light was on, so I guess it was just a tripped breaker? Sorry you had to be the one to get up and fix it. I feel so useless just flat on my back like this. Honestly, I'd kill for something to happen outside right now.

Remember when we moved in here and those kids were T-Ping the houses? I'd welcome that kind of nonsense right now. The highlight of my night was when I spotted a coyote at the top of the road, but it might just have been the neighbor's dog. Seriously, there's not a single light anywhere on the block. And the internet is crawling along. Is the TV too heavy? I know you've got a full plate, honey, and it might defeat the purpose, but I can come down and get it.

I am losing my mind up here. I miss you guys, Mandy. Maybe if I can manage to stay awake for more than a few minutes, we could FaceTime? I could really do with seeing those chubby cheeks. son, Ethan. How is he? How are you? To M.A. Perkins 86, sent Tuesday 522 a.m. You saw a coyote last night. How do I know, you might ask? I got a text at 5 a.m. that we had a package out front. I thought it might be the Tylenol I ordered, and my back was killing me. So I went down. I threw open the door and there it was, just sitting at the end of the driveway.

I could see its breath steaming out of its nose. I grabbed the box and ducked back inside. I think it yelped at me. And I swear it sounded like it was laughing. I called animal control, but they couldn't get anyone out this way. They're getting reports all over town.

Coyotes attacking dogs. Turkey's just everywhere on the roads. And I had a Zoom with Natalie and she thinks she saw an otter on her way to get gas. yesterday. Don't the neighbors have a dog? The little bastard barks at me if I go in the backyard. But an actual predator

shows up and Mr. Yap Yap clams up. After I downed a couple of the pills, I decided to bite the bullet and haul the old TV up from the garage for you. But when I got down there, I couldn't find it. I swear I saw a light

on under your door last night. And not like a reading light either. Babe, I swear if you've gone and brought it up there on your own. Please, I just can't. Ethan can't get sick, okay? Power was on when I got up, and none of the breakers had tripped. So whatever happened wasn't at our end. You were probably just cold because you have a fever.

What's your temp been like lately? I didn't see anything on the news about a meteor shower or power outages. but it's all pretty much COVID-related stuff right now. Everything else is a B-story. Remember when we lost bagel last year? And Ethan started asking what death was? Now he's asking what Corona is. And if it's going to get his friends,

will he ever go back to school? Does it hurt grandma and grandpa's? That kind of thing. I don't know of him seeing you... Sorry, babe. like you are right now is the best thing. Woolsey got dirty and I had to put him in the wash, and he just erupted into floods over that.

I had a Zoom conference coming up, so I just had to tell him to go to his room and not worry about it. I know I could have handled it a lot better. I swear, I don't ever remember having this many face-to-face meetings. But now that it's on Zoom, everybody wants on. It's like all my least favorite colleagues are desperate to prove their existence. I logged on for a committee meeting I'd have forgotten about, if not for the reminder on my phone calendar. And when I got there, there must have been about a hundred open tiles.

Everybody was completely silent, but I don't think anyone was muted. After a good 15 seconds or so, somebody knew finally logged in and said, What I miss? Then everybody started talking all at once. It was like they were all just waiting for their cue. I couldn't stop thinking, I'm the only one that's really here. I miss you too, babe. To A.H. Perkins 91, sent Wednesday 153 a.m.

Hey, thank you, by the way. Don't get me wrong, Mandy. I'm grateful. But I nearly tripped over the TV when I got up to pee. Then I almost fell over lifting it up and getting it plugged in. I laid back down for like a second, and I was asleep again before I could even turn it on. Speaking of which, when I woke back up, the power was off again. Did you pay the bill? I know you've got a million things to do in a day. Do you want me to handle that? As long as I have the internet, I can handle that kind of thing.

Hey, Ethan was knocking at my door tonight. I couldn't really understand what he was saying, something about you and his room and happy birthday? Does that make any sense to you? It broke my heart, but I told him to go back to bed. I emailed you, but you didn't respond. I think he was scared. I know we just got him to sleep in his own bed, and for such a little guy, he takes up a lot of space.

But how do you feel about him sleeping with you until this is over? Maybe that's a bad idea. Were you coughing last night, or was he? that Ethan? I dreamed about the house again. Still burning, but this time I was trying to get out, except there weren't any doors. So I think it's safe to say that my subconscious has just done away with trying to be subtle. To M. A. Perkins 86. Sent Wednesday, 402 a.m. Well, it looks like you got your wish. The front of the house was covered in eggs this morning. One of the package guys must have delivered late and not sent me the text.

So there were all these groceries just sitting out for God knows how long. Some neighborhood kids must have been walking by and decided it'd be funny to pretend it was Halloween and Egg Us, little shits. I guess if toilet paper wasn't so scarce, we might have that to look forward to as well. And yes, the power was off again when I got up too. And of course the bill was paid, Mark. And it was supposed to be paid at the start of the month, by you.

After you missed last month, I put it on autopay, the internet too. I love the kid, but I couldn't imagine looking after Ethan all by myself than trying to work without videos to turn on. And there's no way Ethan was at your door last night. I think it's a huge step backwards, but I already brought him into my bed with me. Could cod does wolsey stink to high heaven. Your son managed to shove him right up against my face no matter which way I turned.

He's convinced Mr. Nash's back, and that the nightlight won't keep him away anymore. So he was there when I woke up. And I have the sore ribs from his bony little elbows to prove it. You must have been dreaming, honey. I actually know how that feels. It seems all I do with my... every time is sleep. I woke up in front of the computer screen in the middle of a Zoom,

just as everyone was logging off. I have no idea what the meeting was about, but I haven't gotten any emails, so I can only assume everything's fine. I heard you get up in the night again. Stay in your remark, please. Nobody's sick out here, and we have to keep it that way, right? To A.H. Perkins 91, sent Thursday.

204 a.m. The power is out. Again. And somebody moved my flashlight. It had to be either you or Ethan. Did you take it downstairs for batteries or something while I was sleeping? Mandy, I don't want you guys in here. Like you said, it totally defeats the purpose.

I can see lights on in the houses across the street, first time in days, so it must be at our end. I'd call the power company myself, except I seem to be awake solely after dark these days. What if Ethan wakes up in the night and couldn't turn on a light? Jesus, if he thinks his boogeyman is back already, could you imagine? He was at my door last night again. He was trying to tell me everything was okay that you were taking good care of him. But his voice sounded strange.

I think he was trying to be brave. He's becoming such a little grown-up. Did you have to come and get him? I thought I heard coughing last night just before he went to his room. Are you sure you're not getting sick? I was up most of the night. Are we out of Therflu? When the hell did we get a delivery?

When the hell did those kids show up? I didn't see anyone or hear anything, and I'm so bored that I'm looking for anything at all to happen. Are eggs what I'm smelling? There has been a smell wafting in here now and again. And for me to catch it right now, it must be pretty bad. Also, when did it become my responsibility to pay the bills? I had a dream about the house, still burning, still trying to get out.

But this time, there were these things watching me. They were looking in the windows with these giant, cold black eyes. And I just felt like they were willing to watch me burn. To M.A. Perkins 86. Sent Thursday, 351 a.m. Well, Ethan wasn't in your room, and I didn't take your flashlight. Why the hell would I do that?

It's just in there in case the power goes out. Oh, by the way, I called the power company because you just about had me convinced. and there's been no outages here. After the last windstorm and the brushfire around Halloween, they've been patting themselves on the back for keeping things up and running. Like it isn't their friggin' job in the first place. This afternoon I heard our neighbors having one of their front lawn socials, so I masked up and was going to ask them if they saw anything last night.

But when I stepped out, they all just stopped talking. Every single one of them, They just stared at the house, at me, really freaked me out. You know, I was going to let this slide, but I'm starting to think you're blaming me for everything. Me, who fixes your food. Me, who's risking her health every day by going to the door and hauling all that crap in. Me, who is still paying the bills by putting up with those dead-eyed stairs from my screen. me, who has been shoving her hands under steaming hot water just in case there was any chance.

And if you come out of that room one more goddamn time, I will lock you in. At first, I thought it was because you were sick and isolated. You hear about those stories of prisoners being locked up and losing it. But I think there might be something more going on here. Have you taken your temperature lately? I'm going to check the medicine cabinets and the guest baths. I bet you haven't been taking your Tylenol or ibuprofen. To A.H. Perkins 91. Sent Friday, 303 a.m.

Wait, wait, wait. If there haven't been any outages here, what the hell was going on Wednesday when you said the power was out when you got up? Of course I've been taking the pills because I haven't been getting any theriflu. I just looked outside and there's nothing on the driveway. That smell is goddamn everywhere now. The house reeks of it. Was Ethan at my door that night? Oh my God, is he even okay? Have you been taking your temperature?

I'm getting up. I think you're sick. I knew I heard coughing last night. I only pray that you haven't gotten Ethan sick. Okay, here's what I'm going to do. You stay in bed today. I will get breakfast ready for Ethan. And then I'm thinking maybe we get you to the hospital.

I know they don't have a treatment or anything, but they must be able to do something for you. To M.A. Perkins 86. Sent Friday, 3.30 a.m. The hospital? Are you fully insane? The place where the absolute sickest of people are. What are you planning to do with Ethan?

If you think for one minute I'm going to let you take my precious child to that disease fest downtown. I won't let you do that. He said you were up, asking him to come into your room, telling him it was time to leave. What were you planning to do, Mark? I will not let you take him outside with them. To A.H. Perkins 91, sent Saturday 3.40 a.m. I just looked at the pills, Mandy. I can't believe you thought I wouldn't notice.

Really? You've been filling my bottle with your meds? No wonder I couldn't get up. What else have you done to me to our son? Them? Who is them? Do you know how crazy you sound? I'm calling the cops and I'm taking my son and getting him the hell out of here. Case number 56810. Date, April 11, 2020. Reporting officer, Sergeant Edward Thaw. At approximately 6.45 a.m., I arrived at 2951 Cucciotti Court. I had previously stopped by this address on two previous

occasions, April 2nd, 2020 and April 10th, 2020, to respond to concerns neighbors had about the number of packages piling up outside, but had been unable to make contact. with any of the house's occupants. On the way to the front door, I passed six different piles of packages, some stacked five high, and there was a pronounced odor coming from several. These packages appeared to be from subscription food services. I knocked at the front door, but once again received no response from inside. Looking through the front window, I saw what appeared to be two figures, one male, one female,

lying at the bottom of the stairs. I tapped loudly on the window and called out for either of the individuals, neither moved, and so after calling for medical assistance and backup, I proceeded to smash in the glass near the front door, unlock the door, and enter the property. Inside, I found Mark Perkins, date of birth January 1, 1986, and Amanda Hawkes-Perkins, date of birth 630, 1991, lying at the bottom of the stairs. despite the obvious positioning of their limbs and the signs of trauma, I checked both for vital signs.

Finding none, I... God, I'm sorry, I don't even know how to describe what happened. From what I could tell, Mr. Perkins and Mrs. Perkins had an argument at the top of the stairs. From the looks of it, it seemed like one of them had smashed their way out of the nearby guest room. There's no way to know, but I think one of them was trying to be. trying to keep the other sequestered in that room. Both of them looked frail, pale. I don't think either one had been outside in weeks.

Mrs. Perkins' neck was snapped, most likely by Mr. Perkins. In her right hand there was a small kitchen knife that was the apparent source of the defensive wounds on Mr. Perkins' forearms. I counted at least half a dozen. He had some bleeding around his ears, and what looked to be a basal fracture at the neck or base of the forearm. skull. I think they might have tumbled down the stairs while they were fighting, or he killed her and got woozy from blood lost, maybe, and then, I'm sorry, it's just that this is a small town,

and even with everything going on, I just didn't expect to run into something like this on the job. I searched the rest of the house just to be certain. When some of the neighbors had reported a possible domestic disturbance last Thursday, the 2nd of April 2020, they'd all mentioned in one way or another that the Perkins had just moved in, like literally a month or so before the shelter and place order had come down. They said they barely had a chance to talk to anyone beforehand, but from what I could gather, they moved up here for work after a house fire in L.A. The neighbors didn't mention anybody else living in the house, but when I bent over Mrs. Perkins' body to check for signs of life, a door upstairs slammed shut. I probably should have waited, but I swept the area.

They had two spare rooms up there, just a bunch of boxes and one, presumably from their move. In the other, there was just this stuffed lamb, like a kid's toy. As far as I could tell, it was just the two of them. While the police deal with that mess, we'll take a quick break from the horror. I got to admit, though, that story was very disturbing. I don't feel so good. Relax, man. Who said that?

I did. I mean, you did. I'm the voice in your head, dude. Why am I able to hear you? I think even the mic is picking up your voice. That's because of how relaxed and centered I feel. I mean, you feel. I guess I am starting to feel better, less stressed and worried.

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Caliper CBD powder really does help with the little aches and pains we deal with. And man, it's so easy to use. So easy. Caliper CBD comes in convenient and easy to use packs with precisely 20 milligrams in each packet. Always THC-free so I can feel better. without the high. Remember when we tried taking CBD as an oily tincture? I sure do. That's what's so great about Caliper CBD powder. No weird taste, no oily residue. It mixes easily into any food or drink. And it's all natural, vegan, non-GMO, free of fillers, added chemicals and artificial

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That's tricaliper.com slash no sleep. Don't forget promo code no sleep for 20% off your first Thanks. Me? I'm feeling much better. Looks like it's time to get back to the horror. I'm out of here. You don't want to listen to the rest of the show? No, not a fan. The host is annoying. How dare you? That's the rudest thing I've ever heard. Let's rekindle our love of Halloween. It's not too many months away already. And besides, at a horror podcast, it's Halloween all the time.

But for some, the night can be filled with terrors out of time. outside of the usual fun kind. And in this tale, shared with us by author L.P. Hernandez, we discover that those terrors can exist throughout time. Performing this tale are Mick Wingert, Brian Reeder, Aaron Lillis, Nicole Goodnight,

Matthew Bradford, Graham Rowett, Atticus Jackson, Jesse Cornett, and Danielle McCray. So remember that the past and the present can be filled with horrors both fantastical and very real, that history exists for us to learn from, and that you might want to avoid a sundown town.

As a child, I loved the scent of autumn, crackling fires and cinnamon-sweet brews bubbling on stovetops. I love the snap in the air, the gray canopy of clouds that promised snow, but only ever provided rain. In the south, Snow is for postcards and movies. Once in a while, after whispering prayers to the skies, a stray flake would land on my cheek. But by the time I found Mama in the house, it was just a tear exploring the depths of a dimple. My love for autumn ended on October 31, 1991. I was eight years old.

Young enough to know Santa and his elves were in high gear, churning out toys for good girls and boys, of which surely I was one. But I was also old enough to wonder and worry about the logistics of the journey, of his ability to eat so many cookies and travel so far. I was old enough to know my family looked different than almost any other. And it was a difference. We almost did not survive. It's not picking up anything.

Bernie twisted the knob of the car's radio as the speakers fizzed and popped. It was a fourth generation, heavily modified Ford Ford. Thunderbird. My stepfather's retirement gift to himself, a creamy off-white with a convertible top of few shades lighter. Retired was a good way to describe the car in addition to its owner, as it almost never left the garage, even though I found Bernie sitting in it listening to his music. My sister Amber chided him from the back seat. Just keep your eyes on the road, dear. Mama took control of the radio. The windshield wipers struggled to keep up with the air.

the rain, and Bernie couldn't find the right balance of heat relative to the temperature outside, so the windows were fogged. We wouldn't be using the convertible for its intended purpose this evening. But that was okay, because it was chilly out, and we didn't have far to drive anyway. Bernie's chin hovered just above the steering wheel as he squinted at the road ahead. Our neighborhood was comprised of one to two-acre plots of manicured lawns separated by patches of forest. The streets were named for trees or Native American tribes dispatched to Oklahoma during the previous century. Deer were as common as squirrels and they often appeared in the road as if by magic, which inspired my stepfather's attention. Our destination that stormy evening was the trunk-or-treat event in old downtown Pratville, the city's most historic district.

Mama tried to convince me it was better than trick-or-treating because we didn't have to walk so far. and as the rain pelted my window, I began to believe her. It was strange celebrating Halloween when it wasn't fully dark. I felt silly in my Peter Pan costume. Mostly at the green hosiery I had to borrow from my sister. I willed the storm to worsen so the event would be called off before any of my classmates saw me. And God or whoever it was controlled such things

heard at least that prayer if he didn't hear any other. There was no separation between the flash of lightning and the bellow of thunder which turned the marrow in my bones into jelly. My sister, brother, and I screamed, and the car swerved into the opposite lane, the tires kicking up gravel, perpendicular in the road, and I saw the pine tree that was struck had collapsed, breaking apart as if it had been made of sand. The hairs on my arms stood on end, and the car smelled of ozone. My older brother Robbie rubbed the top of his head where it had struck the roof.

He decided several weeks ago that 14 was too old to celebrate Halloween and so did not wear a costume. But his heart wasn't in it. And I often caught him frowning at my jackal anard bucket. Amber, two years my senior, was much more interested in the candy aspect of Halloween. And so threw her costume together only 20 minutes prior, pairing a pacifier with a novelty big kids onesie and declaring herself a baby. Bernie wrenched the car back into the right lane, then hit the brakes until a tank of the car skid to a stop. Stereo returned to life, with a syrupy steel guitar dripping its notes between a woman's haunting, mournful singing. In the space of a few seconds, we seem to have lost several hours in the day.

Above the tops of the trees to the west, the sky was cotton candy pink, and there were already constellations pinned to the midnight blue behind. For 20 seconds or so, it was just the woman's voice, the guitar, and our rapid breaths. Is everyone okay? I looked for the fallen tree behind us, but it was too dark to see. There were headlights in the distance, though, and Bernie gently pressed the gas pedal. The engine and its seldom accessed power rumbling like a far-off stampede of bison. The neighborhood felt different, darker.

Mama noticed the absence of porch lights. Must have knocked the power out. But the storm was over. It was gone. The only evidence of rain at that moment was plastered to the windows of our car. There were no clouds. There was no thunder. There was only the bubble gum-colored sky ahead and the starry night behind.

What's happened? Lightning, just lightning. But Bernie's eyes were scrutin' eyes were scrutin. the now empty sky. The song ended, and a faster number took its place. Perhaps not realizing he was doing so. My stepfather lowered the volume until the music was inaudible. Where's the storm now?

I don't know, Robbie. Mama freed one of Bernie's hands and held it, the ivory of her skin sinking into the chocolate of his. Her other hand rested on the swell of her belly where my then unnamed little sister was marinating. We were a blended family. My older siblings, white like my mother, representatives of an alcoholic father

they had not seen in nearly a decade. I was the prize of my mother's subsequent marriage to my father, who was of Mexican descent and the first generation of the family to speak English. The disillusion of their marriage was more complicated. But he was at least still welcomed in the house and on rare occasions he visited me. The Air Force brought Bernie and my mother together,

rewarding his nearly 30 years of service with a final duty station in Montgomery, Alabama. Mama was also in the Air Force, mid-career at the time, and Alabama was just one of many stops along the way. We moved 20 minutes away to Prattville for its schools and relative safety. Though he would not turn out to be the man of her dreams, he was the man and the stability she needed them.

and we were happy. Not every minute of the day, but more often than not. We were also a curiosity in 1991, a black man, white woman, two white kids, and me with my raven hair and olive skin. Out there in the suburbs, the curiosity had a sharp edge to it. Our mailbox had a habit of dislodging itself from the post, always at night. Within days of our arrival in the neighborhood, old glory banners disappeared and the Confederate battle flag took their place. Bernie collected himself with a long, forced breath as we crawled toward the stop sign by Highway 82. He flexed his fingers as if deciding what to do next. Headlights reflected in his eyes as he adjusted the rearview mirror, then drove across the highway, aiming for the shortcut

that would lead us to downtown. The car shuddered as it dipped into a grass median. The spinning tires fought for purchase. There's no grass media in there. Or at least there hadn't been in the four months we called the area home. It was supposed to be asphalt, allowing northbound travelers to turn left into our neighborhood and permitting us to access

the northbound lanes. The car's undercarriage screeched as it recovered from its brief voyage into the earth and culvert, and we headed north at a slow speed. Where was that? I don't know. Bernie removed his cowboy hat

and wiped sweat from his brow. with the back of his hand. During his travels with the Air Force, he lived in Texas on three different occasions and adapted a Western style that often added to the confusion outsiders experienced upon encountering our family for the first time. The shortcut was up ahead on the right,

less than a quarter mile, not enough distance to build significant speed. In the back seat, we volleyed a look of utter befuddlement amongst ourselves, which persisted when the shortcut did not reveal itself. Did we miss it? We hadn't. Though the light I saw was low, I saw only trees and kudzu vines. There was no shortcut. We drove in silence. I think each of us was trying to understand what happened. How the stormy early evening metamorphosed into a cloudless early night,

how a strip of asphalt we had accessed 100 times by then became a grass median. and the right turn, including the signs to indicate its presence, similarly vanished. Perhaps out of a sense of helplessness, Bernie controlled the one thing he could. The radio. Patsy Klein, and don't you just get the sense that's going to be a classic? My, what a voice on that young woman from Virginia. He cut the volume and cleared his throat. The steering wheel squeaking under his fingers as he squeezed it.

There was a lone streetlight up ahead and a sign for an upcoming turn. We'll just see where this takes us. Are you sure? I don't know what else to do. All thoughts of candy, of trunk or treating, and my classmates seeing me in my sister's pantyhose were gone by then. Puzzle pieces were there, but my eight-year-old brain could not assemble them. Bernie made the turn, which put us on the familiar room.

road to old downtown, but about a mile further north than normal. A scattering of brake lights was ahead of us and a hazy, phosphorescent glow from the city. It was then I detected the scent I so often associated with the season of fires burning. We followed the brake lights toward downtown. The sign welcoming visitors was brightly illuminated. I was accustomed to a small sign with white lettering over a green background. There were at least six ways into Prattville, and the lone fancy sign overlooked Highway 31, the road that connects the city to Montgomery. This sign was new, but looked old-fashioned, with block letters carved in wood, arching

over a relief rendering of the Pratville Creek. There was an additional smaller sign off to the right, but angled toward the road. White's only after dark? Bernie glanced in the rear view and saw a pair of headlights gaining ground with more behind. Before the bridge, there should have been a small trailer park, a place he could turn the car around. Bernie's eyes darted that direction, but there were only blue-gray trees losing color to the night. Mama nodded toward downtown. Drive through.

He nodded and licked his lips. Like debating, throwing the car in reverse, right? right there in the middle of the road. Once we were on the bridge, however, there was no turning back. There was a commotion up ahead. A person standing in the road revealed only by his moon-yellow flashlight. The cars ahead of us slowed and threw on their blinkers indicating that they were turning right toward Main Street, our original destination. Bernie grasped the window crank, but hesitated when he recognized the man holding the flashlight was a police officer.

Great traffic that way, through traffic in Northington. Bernie followed the cars, heading for the brightly lit downtown. But I'm not sure he was conscious of the decision. In the backseat, the candy I secretly ate an hour before, contorted in my belly as if the sour worms were actual worms. What's happening? Remember twisted her fingers into knots and stared at her knees. I don't know that I'm scared.

It's like we went. Robbie did not finish the thought. The downtown lights were ablaze, from store windows to street lamps, and floodlights positioned on sidewalks to either side of Main Street, and they revealed a downtown I did not recognize. The cars were similar to Bernie's Thunderbird, but with sharper angles and more chrome. Some reminded me of the black-and-white gangster movies he sometimes watched,

The studio where I practiced karate had transformed into a hardware store. Mama's salon, which was right next to it, was a bustling diner. The store windows were painted with Halloween scenes, and kids darted up and down the sidewalk as ghosts, clowns, and versions of Superman who had not yet discovered spandex. There were adults in lawn chairs. Young men in jeans and white shirts with the sleeves rolled, and young women in flared skirts with those black and white shoes I never learned the name of.

Music occupied the unclaimed air in the car, but it was disorganized, like several musicians playing different songs at the same time. And the tinge of burning was stronger, enough so that I could taste it in the back of my throat. The cars in front of ours were also convertibles, tops down with riders sitting on the trunks, some in costumes and some not. Little girls, miniature versions of their teenage sisters, waved at the car in front of us,

where a young woman with a sparkling dress, tiara, and silk sash sat. Her hand moved as if it were underwater as she returned the wave, and the girls collapsed into bashful giggles. It felt like Halloween. Despite the confusion, the implications of the sign I did not understand at the time. I smiled and sank into the wonder of the moment. Each of us jolted at the tap on the window. Bernie and Mama shared a look before he rolled it down.

From my place in the back seat, I saw only the badge and the name Gillespie. Even, folks. What organization you with? I'm sorry? Bernie was a Vietnam War vet, and though he never saw combat, he was privy to its effects in an intimate way. He prepared the bodies for return to American soil. He saw the worst of it. The missing limbs, eviscerations, skin burnt into black pixels.

He knew the smell of decay. He knew the absolute destruction of war. He was not a harsh man, but he was stoic. Prior to that moment, I had never heard fear in his voice. The man at the window retreated a step. What year is this? She's a beauty. Bernie's mouth opened, but no words tumbled out.

He looked to Mama, who held both hands over her belly then, and pressed her back into the car door as if hoping she could melt through it and appear on the other side. She shrugged, and I could not see her face, but I can guess it mirrored the terror he felt. It's the latest. Bernie's voice was barely audible over the, crash of symbols and the blaring of brass instruments.

How's that? The latest model. I just picked her up. Bernie kept his eyes trained on the convertible in front of us. You're a lucky man, then. I'd love to take one of these down to the Gulf, you know. Hey, what organization you're with again? We've got to announce the names during the parade.

The officer plucked a small notebook from his pocket. Bernie fidgeted his fingers and shook his head slightly. I'm with the Air Force. Then I saw the man's face just to the right of Bernie's cowboy hat. His eyes were hidden in the shadows. From the back seat they appeared as two black ovals. He gripped the car door, his long, thin fingers breaching the sanctity of our vehicle.

His mouth was a razor slice. The hollows of his cheeks pulsing. as he clenched his teeth. My sister's hand found mine, and she squeezed so hard I had to clinch my own teeth to keep from screaming. Bernie looked straight ahead. There were kids in the street, only a foot or so between us and the next car.

The pickup truck behind kissed our bumper. There was nowhere for him to go. Bernie stiffened, his hat grazing the convertible top. He used a different word, though. There was another aspect to this story I did not notice at the time, and it only made sense 20 or so minutes later. The officer flickered, as if viewed through whirring fan blades. There was so much stimulation, music, and shouting children, idling engines that I didn't think about it in the moment.

It just happened. The shadows around the officer's mouth parted as he smiled. revealing teeth speckled with chewing tobacco. He reached his hand inside the car and Bernie shrunk away from it. Officer Gillespie brought his face to within a few inches of my stepfathers. You know, that's some get-up you got. Looks damn real. Bernie's cowboy hat quivered as he nodded.

The man squeezed Bernie's shoulder with his reed-like fingers and clapped him on the back. I'd off that makeup before he get too far from Main Street. Hate for someone to get the wrong idea about you. We'll make it through the night in Prattville looking like that. Bernie nodded. His knuckles looked like overripe plums threatening to burst through the skin

as he squeezed the steering wheel. The officer stood and scribbled something on the pad. Make sure you put the top down before the parade starts. They're going to love you. What's your family's name again? Bernie cleared his throat and adjusted himself. in the seat. Smith.

We're the Smith family. We were not. At the time, there were two surnames in our family, and neither was Smith. Smith family. Air Force, got it. The officer rode on his notepad. Then the officer pivoted his body toward the vehicle behind us. A slow, shaky breath passed between Bernie's lips as the officer began to walk away.

One more thing. Make sure the mayor sees you. He's going to get a kick out of it. And put that cop down. At the sound of the seatbelt unbuckling, my mother put a hand on Bernie's shoulder. You're not going to run. If I don't, it just gives him a reason to come back.

Time and circumstances. At a different time or under different circumstances, it would not have been an act of bravery to open. open that car door to step out into the night. But at that time, and under those circumstances, it was the bravest act I had ever witnessed. He moved quickly, putting the convertibles top down as instructed, and made it back to his seat just as the car in front of us shifted into drive and eased forward.

The discordant music coalesced into the sound of a marching band. Car and truck horns blared and headlights flashed. There was a boy dressed as a scarecrow outside my window. He was bent at the waist with both fingers jammed in his ears to block out the noise. As with the officer, in and out of existence for a couple of seconds. Like one of those little animated flip-ups. A tall figure dressed as a ghost, grabbed him by the elbow, and jerked him so hard the straw hat fell onto the sidewalk.

Oh my God. It was not a man in a ghost costume. It was a different sort of costume entirely. More dangerous and terrifying than any specter could have been. The robe was so white, it nearly glowed, and the hood with its pointed tip made him appear taller than he was. Welcome to the Prattville Halloween parade. We've got a great lineup for you, folks.

But first, I'd like to highlight our sponsors, beginning with the Sunsons. of Confederate Veterans Local Chapter. The boy squatted to retrieve his hat and was jerked roughly back to his feet. He extended an arm, grasping for the hat, which caught a gust of wind and rolled like a tumbleweed down the sidewalk.

Okay, let's kick this thing off with our very own Ratville Lions marching band. We began to move. Mama put two fingers to her lips and closed her eyes. Amber curled up into a ball as my brother stared at his folded arms. The marching band music was only slightly improved in its organized form. It's okay. They'd think it's a custom. We'll just drive through town and then keep going. We can go back.

He trailed off, not believing his own lie. Can we go to the base? Bernie made eye contact with me in the rearview mirror. Yes, Paul, that's a good idea. you can go to the base. And one more round of applause, folks. Kids, get your bags ready. Up next is Don Moore with Don Moore Ford.

Folks, if you're looking for a Ford, you don't need to go to Montgomery to get a deal. Just come down and see your old friend Don. The road curved to the left. On the right was the fountain that would in 1991 be the centerpiece of many family photoshoots. Beyond the fountain was the dam And the cotton gin I only knew

To be in a state of near collapse Right then It was brightly lit Silhouettes of night shift workers Standing at the windows Watching the parade pass There was a street vendor selling funnel cakes A line of children waiting for their chance

To bob for apples There was a ring-toss game And a Bingbag game But the longest line Was for a dunk tank Still dry person hovering above the water was an unflattering caricature of a black man with oversized tomato red lips. I think Bernie was too focused on the road ahead to notice.

As we moved into the bunker lights of Main Street, though, he began to attract attention, mostly from the adults in their lawn chairs. Fingers were pointed, cameras flashed. Officer Gillespie, was in the crowd to the left, shaking hands and patting shoulders as he had done with Bernie moments ago. And I am told that is a brand new Thunderbird just off the train from Michigan. Wow, that thing looks fast. Let's welcome the Smith family representing the Air Force.

Look at that costume. Be mad, Mr. Smith. Or is it Colonel Smith? Thanks for joining us and preserving our country. We had no candy to throw, and so we waved. Crowds begin to form to both sides. A few more camera flashes. Bernie nodded and doffed his hat as children dashed to and from his door

trying to get a better look. It felt like a nightmare. The fading marching band music, the ill-fitting costumes, most of which looked homemade, and the joy on every face. Mostly that. Each face not hidden by a mask was smiling. Officer Gillespie pointed to our vehicle.

We were in the brightest part of Main Street by then, with floodlights criss-crossing in the sky above us. But for a moment, he appeared to be conversing with a shadow, one that shimmered with reflected light. The shadow peeled free from the conversation, and the pit that formed in my stomach found a new, deeper, center. It was a shadow, in a sense. A shadow of the past. It was walking toward Bernie as the car trickled down Main Street. The man's voice was muffled by his black satin hood. Bernie was

pretending to be interested in the traffic. Yes. Boy, Gil was right. Had some get up. Bernie nodded. The man leaned in close so that I could see his eyes. When he spoke, it might have been intended just for Bernie, but I heard it clearly. Hey, what? Come on down to the next meeting at the lodge. We got a couple of your folks with us, Air Force, I mean. Things are getting pretty thick over in Montgomery. And it's a great time to be a night. Tell him there I will.

sent you. His white-gloved hand appeared, intended for Bernie to shake. And though my stepfather did shake it, he kept looking forward. The man in the black robes did not release his hold, but held it for a moment. He rubbed his thumb across the back of Bernie's hand,

and then inspected his glove. Oh, my. He slowly retreated from the vehicle, walking backwards. Eyes once again hidden by his hood. Shit, he knows. What? Mama sat up in her seat.

A kid dressed as a cowboy ran up to the car and brandished his plastic gun. The man in black robes stood beside Officer Gillespie, offering his unblemished glove for inspection. The officer looked from the glove to our car, and then his hand found the butt of his service pistol. He knows it's not makeup. He knows. Almost no applause followed. To our left, there was now a handful of men clustered around Officer Gillespie and Mayor Will. The glove had been removed at some point and was passed around the group.

Just go! Bernie shook his head. Kids in the room. Well, hold the horn! Amber sobbed beside me, and I felt like doing the same. The men, maybe half a dozen of them, began to walk in. our direction. I saw at least one pistol aimed at the street. They spread out, moving aside the kids still picking up candy tossed out by parade vehicles. They're coming. Up ahead, Main Street shifted

into a residential area, and the parade traffic began to turn right into the parking lot of the First Baptist Church. Beyond the church, the street was much darker. At the rate we were traveling, We only needed about another minute to reach it. Just go. Bernie checked his mirrors and shook his head again. Still kids in the street. They're coming! There were ten or more now,

in plain clothes, costumes, and uniforms. The crowd seemed to sense a shift in the air, from celebration to predation. Men who likely had no idea what was happening joined the group. The eyes of the whole town were on us. As before, everything blipped out of existence, this time for a couple seconds. Maybe I saw Pretville as it was in 1991, or maybe I just wished it was so. Many things happened in the next several seconds.

I do not remember the proper order of them. The crowd in the road had thinned out, as most of the children were in the middle of Main Street, where the highest concentration of candy was. But there was a small group on our left. They stood over a brutalized black effigy, which was likely hung from the now-fraid rope dangling from a street lamp. They picked through the cotton stuffing searching for hidden candy. There was no sign designating this at game.

It was just there. The gunshot was like the crack of a whip. The driver's side mirror snapped, but it did not sever. The next thing I heard was the screech of spinning tires and the roar of the Thunderbird's engine. There were screams and shouts, the sound of grating metal as we clipped the car in front of us.

Ms. Augusta County lost her tiara and rolled off the back of the car. I remember further gunshots, however. Our proximity to scattering children likely saved us. Do you remember the engine? All those unrestrained bison suddenly released. I remember the wind on my face, and Bernie's cowboy hats sailing into the night air. There were lights and sounds, all of it compressed into a single feeling of desperation.

Much of my knowledge from that night was subsequently colored by what I learned as an adult of the era and the South in particular. At eight years old, I only knew there were men with guns chasing us. There was a fire burning in the Baptist Church parking lot to the right, So big and bright, I felt the heat of it as we passed. Beyond that, there were a few porch lights, and then the refuge of darkness. Engines came to life behind us, the cavalry assembling to correct the indignity and embarrassment of our family's presence in their city. Bernie's Thunderbird was hungry for asphalt. We're getting away.

I met Mama's eyes as she peered over her headrest. I couldn't see the speedometer, but by the sound of the Thunderbird's engine, it didn't have much more to give. More flickering. This time the entire block and for several seconds. We rumbled through the neighborhood, the lights and sounds of downtown fading. There wasn't a car or truck in Prattville that would catch Bernie's Thunderbird that night. The world went dark on either side of us, no porch lights. Highway 31, which ran all the way to the base, was less than a mile ahead.

Everything flickered again. Night peeling back a few hours. The empty fields to the right and left were placed with dollar stores and gas stations. It was the way the town looked in 1991. We made it. Bernie shifted the car down as we returned to the main street of the past. Flashing red lights blocked our access to Highway 31 ahead, and the cars behind were suddenly much closer.

Bernie swung the Thunderbird to the right, and we were on a dirt road, seat belts cutting into our bellies as we bounced in the back seat. Their flickered between the past and present. The dirt turned to asphalt and back to dirt again. Headlights behind us, there and gone again. The locked gate appeared before us.

The Thunderbird fish tailed as Bernie slammed the brakes. I waited for the sound of car doors. were possibly gunfire, but neither came. I blinked at the relative brightness and saw we were in a familiar place, parking lot of the YMCA, which was thankfully empty. No one spoke as we waited for an abrupt return trip through time, but that was the end of it. After a few minutes in which we assessed our physical health,

knowing we were mentally deflated, we drove home. We took the long way, bypassing Main Street. The tree that was struck by lightning in our neighborhood was moved aside by then. There were a few trick-or-treaters out, but it wasn't a popular place for it, considering the distance between houses. At home, we recounted the night's events, which already seemed less real. There was no internet then, and so we could only guess what happened. The term time slip had not entered my lexicon, but it did later on in life. I don't know if the term fits, but there was a tension that seemed to build the further we got from the place where the lightning struck.

Sleep came quickly. My body was exhausted from the waves of adrenaline. I woke sometime during the night and saw a bend of light beneath my door. I left my bed to investigate. He was out of breath and had a baseball bat in his hands. He bent down to must my hair. Nothing. Just getting some energy out.

The next morning, as I took the trash out, I saw a familiar mailbox in the bin. When I passed when walking our dogs through the neighborhood, it was dented. Some of the black and gold stickers with the letters of the owner's last name missing, but the G was hanging on. I knew the name.

I knew the man. He sat on his porch most mornings, cigarette in one hand, and a cup of table. tobacco juice in the other. I learned not to wave at him since he never waved back, though he was friendly with other kids. We had no reason to drive past his house,

as there was nothing beyond it other than the cul-de-sac at the end of the street. After that night, though, Bernie made a habit of it, always wearing his cowboy hat in the Thunderbird with the top down, just like he asked for all those years ago. The first time we passed, maybe it was just out of surprise or confusion, he waved. We place the letters back in their envelopes. It's time to take our leave.

The musical score was composed by Brandon Boone. Our production team is Phil Mikulski, Jeff Clement, and Jesse Cornett. Our creative content manager is Olivia White. Our editor-in-chief is Jessica McAvoy. 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. $25. On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast, we thank you for listening and for being ever curious. This audio production is copyright 2021 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.