The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S16E09

Episode Date: June 6, 2021

It's Episode 09 of Season 16. Our correspondence changes to the darker side.   "Messages from School" written by Jackson Arthur (Story starts around 00:05:00) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator - David Cummings, Denise Drake - Wafiyyah White, Mr. Zenith - Mick Wingert, Dispatcher - Nikolle Doolin, Janet Pervey - Mary Murphy, Grandma - Erika Sanderson, Adam - Erika Sanderson, Mr. Black - Graham Rowat "The Closet" written by Jacob Woislaw (Story starts around 00:19:50) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator - Graham Rowat, Max - Samuel Daniels, Amanda - Kristen DiMercurio, Raymond - Kyle Akers "The Changing Room" written by S.H. Cooper (Story starts around 00:39:25) Produced by: Jeff Clement Cast: Narrator - Nichole Goodnight, Dad - Jeff Clement, Grandma - Nikolle Doolin, Elena - Sarah Olivia "Crash" written by Rebecca Wilcox (Story starts around 00:50:35) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator - Mary Murphy "Things Are Gonna Get Ugly" written by Seth Borgen (Story starts around 01:00:15) Produced by: Jesse Cornett Cast: Narrator - Atticus Jackson, Simon - Kyle Akers, Sallie-Cathy - Nichole Goodnight, Tommy - Peter Lewis, Mom - Nikolle Doolin, Dad - Mike DelGaudio "The Nightmare Liberated" written by Dave Kavanaugh (Story starts around 01:47:45) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator - Erin Lillis, Major Skeans - Mick Wingert, Dr. Carson - Atticus Jackson, Young officer - Kyle Akers, Andrew - Peter Lewis     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/nosleep Quip - Quip is the good habits company for oral health. With their leading-edge electric toothbrush combined with dentist-recommend scheduled replacement plans for brush heads, toothpaste, floss, and now their new mouthwash! And if you go to getquip.com/nosleep5 you'll get $5 off a Mouthwash Starter Kit, which includes a refillable dispenser and a 90-dose supply of Quip's 4x concentrated formula.   Click here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast team  Click here to learn more about Samuel Daniels  Click here to learn more about Jacob Woislaw  Click here to learn more about S.H. Cooper  Click here to learn more about Seth Borgen    Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone "Messages from School" illustration courtesy of Mark Pelham Audio program ©2021 - Creative Reason Media Inc. - All Rights Reserved - No reproduction or use of this content is permitted without the express written consent of Creative Reason Media Inc. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Hello, sleepless, comings here. Season 16 of the No Sleep podcast continues with episode 9, coming right up. But first, I want to say, happy unofficial start to summer. Well, for most of our listeners anyway, and not only is summer weather upon us, but we're starting to see life return to normal. We're getting healthy. It's getting safe to go out in public again. And depending on where you live, you might even be able to be around people without wearing a mask.

It's what we've been waiting for for over a year now. right? Listen, if you're anxious or stressed about life returning to normal, you're not alone. Even if health isn't a concern, a lot of us will be engaging with people again for the first time in a while, and social anxiety may be holding you back. The good thing is, you're not alone. You can help ease yourself into this transition by talking things over with a mental health professional. That's why BetterHelp is a service we recommend to our listeners. All you have to do is go to betterhelp.com and sign up. You'll be matched with a licensed professional therapist, and you 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 things you're struggling with. There's a broad range of expertise available, which may not be locally available in a lot of areas. Best of all, their service is available for clients worldwide. Consider what real better help clients are saying about their experiences. Here's a review written by BetterHelp user, J.A., after counseling with Carlos Velazquez for issues concerning stress, anxiety, and career difficulties. Carlos really listens and helps you where you are. He cares and sets up a plan and shares solutions to help with what you're going through. And another review written by Better Help

User, S.H., after counseling with Laura Glenn for issues concerning stress, anxiety, and self-esteem. She is incredibly helpful and insightful. I was surprised at how quickly she understood what I needed and how to help. I'm so thankful to have her as my therapist. BetterHelp wants you to start living a happier life today. Visit betterhelp.com slash no sleep. That's BetterH-E-L-P and join the over 1 million people who have taken charge of their mental health with a help of an experienced professional.

In fact, so many people have been using Better Help that they, are recruiting additional counselors in all 50 states. And as always, this podcast is sponsored by BetterHelp, and No Sleep listeners get 10% off their first month at betterhelp.com slash no sleep. So remember, summer is back. Normal life is coming back. And best of all, season 16 is back and starting right now. The dark and the letters long lost and forgotten.

for our 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. No sleep. Welcome, sleepless listeners. I'm your host, David Cummings. As you may know, I'm in the U.S. now, East Coast, New York, New Jersey area of the country. I've taken a trip to investigate

the bookstore, whose brand I found on a number of the books in our mysterious storage unit. And the further I've gotten from the unit, the clearer my heads felt. No whispers, no dreams, nothing. It's like it stopped affecting me entirely. You might have seen on social media that I've found some bookstores, but no real success, though. Turns out the address I had on record is the old address of the bookstore. They moved premises in the 70s, so now I'm scoping out as many old bookstores as I can, because I've been unable to locate exactly where they move too. When I find it, I'll know, though. But meanwhile, away from the storage unit, I can just release normal episodes. No letters, no documents, no, no, um, I found a USB thumb drive in my pocket.

Jackson, Arthur, Wafia White, McWingert, Nicole Doolin, Mary Murphy, Erica Sanderson, Graham Rowett, me. The USB stick contains seven numbered folders, one to seven. Each folder contains a single file, either a wave file or a dock file. The file name seemed to explain what each of the files are, so I'll clarify those and either include the audio, or read out the contents of the documents. The first file is an audio file labeled voicemail recorded message. March 28, 2022 at 10.01 a.m.

Janet Purvey You have reached Janet Purvey. I can answer my phone right now, but I won't, because I am on the beach with my family. You will just have to call me back next week when I'm home, and not a second before. If you call before Monday, you will get this same. message. And now the...

Hey Janet, this is Mom, just calling to see how your trip is going. Call me when you get home so I can hear all about it. Don't get too sunburned. Love you guys. Bye-bye. The second file is a document containing an archive of an email which I shall read in its entirety. File name, email received April 6, 2022 at 2.34 p.m. to J.Pervie at gmail.com from Denise Drake at nf schools.org Mrs. Pervey Hello, Janet.

This is Denise Drake, Adams' guidance counselor here at school, and I felt the need to reach out to you about your son. Over the past couple of days, I have received complaints from several of Adam's teachers concerning his behavior in class. Adam is not acting up in class. I wanted to say that right away. I don't know if you remember speaking to me during the last school year about how much we all adore, Adam, how outgoing, charming, and funny he is, and how much we love him. From what his teachers are telling me, Adam has become distant and quiet lately, withdrawn. He doesn't talk or participate, even when he's directly called on in class.

He won't answer the teacher or acknowledge that he is being spoken to. He won't do any of his assignments, and that is not like the Adam we know at all. He's normally a great student and eager to learn. I'm not sure what's going on with Adam, but I wanted to touch base with you and see if you might know the reason behind his behavior change. I know you guys just came back from a long vacation last week, and maybe that's all this is. Hope so, anyway.

Please get back to me, ASAP. Thanks, Denise Drake, guidance counselor. File 3. Another audio file. voicemail recorded message April 7, 2022 at 102 p.m. Janet Purvey

You have reached Janet Purvey. I can answer my phone right now, but I won't, because I am on the beach with my family. You will just have to call me back next week when I'm home, and not a second before. If you call before Monday,

you will get this same message. And now the... Janet, you must not have gotten around to changing your message yet. This is Denise Drake. Again, you never replied to my email from yesterday, and I really need to speak to you. I'm sitting here with Adam.

Adam got into a fight with another student. I don't know what happened exactly, but Adam attacked another boy in his science class. The event was very minor, from what I am told, and no one got hurt, so I don't feel the need for a suspension at this. time. I am just going to have Adam sit here with me for the rest of the day. I would like for you and your husband to come in tomorrow morning for a meeting with me, though. Adam has never been aggressive before,

and Adam doesn't look well. I don't know if he is sick or just tired, but something is wrong. He has large black circles around his eyes, his hair is a mess, and he looks very pale. He looks very pale, Maybe he hasn't been sleeping? Maybe he got sick on your trip. I don't know. But we need to figure it out. Please call me back. Mr. Black says he loves all of us, just like his own kids. Adam? What are you saying? I can't hear you, sweetheart. Speak up. Mr. Black loves all of his children. He loves all of us. Mr. Black? Who is that, sweetheart? Janet, Adam has him. has been talking about someone named Mr. Black, and I'm not sure who he's talking about. He keeps saying that Mr. Black is his new dad.

I don't know who that is or what that means. Did something happen between you and Mr. Purvey? Anyway, another thing we need to talk about. Please call me back. Please. Adam, sit down, sweetheart. File 4. Another audio file.

Voice recording message. April 8, 2022, at 11.35 a.m. Janet Purvey. You have reached Janet Purvey. I can answer my phone right now, but I won't, because I am on the beach with my family. You will just have to call me back next week when I'm home, and not a second before.

If you call before Monday, you will get this same message. And now the... This is Pervey. This is Mr. Zenith, the principal of the middle school. Miss Drake has been trying to get a hold of you for a couple of days now with no luck. I hate to say it. There's been another incident with your son, Adam. He attacked other students at lunch today, five in all.

Three boys and two girls. All in the sixth grade, same as your son. From what I've been told, Adam started biting them out of nowhere until one of the teachers managed to pull him off. It's really bad. Broke the skin. Drew Blood. Your cell number is the only one in the system as Adams' contact information,

so I really need you to answer your phone. I had no choice but to call the local police and get them involved. They're on their way to your house right now and should be there any minute. Answer your door, please, at least. I've called the parents of the other kids as well. I need to hear from you immediately. Thank you. File 5. Another audio file. Voice recording message. April 8, 2022 at 1155 a.m. Janet Purvey.

You have reached Janet Purvey. I can answer my phone right now, but I won't, because I'm on the beach with my family. You will just have to call me back next week when I'm home, and not a second before. If you call before Monday, you will get this same message. And now the... Mrs. Purvey, Mr. Zenith, again. Your son, Adam, is gone, along with the five other students involved in the incident. They, I don't know what happened, but they all took off before anyone knew what was happening. They didn't say a word. They just ran for the exit.

One of our fifth grade teachers and her students said they saw them minutes ago, through the classroom windows, running into the woods behind the building. I talked to the two officers who are now just leaving your house, and they said everything is dark, and no one is answering when they knock. Front door appears locked, too. Where are you? The police are going to start looking for the kids. If you see Adam or the other students before I finally speak to you, please call us or the police immediately, or bring them straight to the police station. File 6, the final audio file, 911 emergency service. services call transcript.

Call recorded on April 8, 2022 at 8.30 p.m. 911. What is your emergency? Hello? Hello. My name is Denise Drake, and I live at 6 Weston. And there's a group of young kids standing outside my house right now. They are six of them.

Here, right now. Did you say a group of young kids? Yes, sixth graders. Four boys in two girls. Do you know these kids, ma'am? Yes. They go to my school. I'm their guidance counselor. What are the kids doing right now? They're standing in my yard and staring up at my bedroom window.

That's where I am, in my bedroom. They're staring right at me. I know they see me. This doesn't feel right. Do you know why they are there, ma'am? I don't know. There was an incident at the school there. incident at the school this morning. One of the young boys, Adam, attacked the rest. And then they all took off and no one has been able to find them all day. Oh my God. There is someone else down there with them now. A man. I don't know who he is. Stay calm, ma'am. Offices are on their way. Can you describe the man for me, please? I can't really see his face very well.

He's wearing a black, wide-brim hat. He's tall, light skin, I think. Dressed in an all-black suit. He just looked up at me. His eyes are all-black, too. Oh, my God! Please, get here! They're coming towards the front door now.

They're going to try to get inside. Someone needs to get here. Help will be there any minute. Is the front door to your home locked? Yes. Good. Lock your bedroom door too. And hold tight, ma'am.

Please. Holy shit. They knocked the door down. They're inside. Please help me. Please! Ma'am? You said they are inside the home?

Ma'am. I can hear them coming up the stairs. What? are you doing here, Adam? Mr. Black wanted to meet you, Ms. Drake. I told him that you're real pretty. He thinks that maybe you want to be our new mom. Would you like to be her new mom, Ms. Drake? You being here, Adam, is not right. And I don't know who you are, sir, but the police will be here any second. You all need to leave right now. You did good, son. She is everything that you have described. She will make an excellent mother for you all.

Come with me, my dear. We are your family now, and the kids and I will show you love and worship like you have never experienced. Come, be theirs, be mine. A true family is the greatest gift we can have in this painful world, and ours will be strong and glorious. Come, dear, come now.

Let us be away. No, don't fucking touch me. No! Ma'am, can you hear me? Ma'am, Denise. What is happening? Denise? Pan the seventh and final file.

A document. Official police report. April 10, 2022. Officer Rebecca Towns, first officer on the scene. I responded to a 911 emergency call located at 6 West End. I was the first officer on the scene. The call had been a possible home invasion in progress. The caller was the owner of the home, Ms. Denise Drake.

When I first arrived on the scene, I found the front door of the house busted open, broken off the hinges. The house was dark, except for a single light that I had seen in an upstairs window. Due to the possibility that the home invasion was still in progress, I drew my weapon and entered slowly into the home. Room by room I cleared the building. There was no one there. The single light that I had seen had been coming from an upstairs bedroom. The door to the bedroom had also been forced open in the same manner as the front door. I found possible signs of struggle in the bedroom.

I did not find either Ms. Denise Drake or any intruders on the premises. After not finding anyone in the home, I backed out of the house and waited for CSI to arrive and process the scene. After more officers arrived, we were able to speak to the neighbors, but there doesn't seem to be any witnesses to the incident at this moment. The unknown male heard on the 911 call has yet to be identified. We are currently trying to locate Ms. Denise Drake and the missing children. In our first tale, we meet a mother distraught by the disappearance of her son and a reporter on the case. It seems like a simple thing, an argument, teenage anger, running away.

way, but our reporter's good. He can smell a story. And in this tale, shared with us by author James Alexander, there's definitely more to this story than his first apparent. Performing this tale are Graham Rowett, Samuel Daniels, Kristen Di Maccurio, and Kyle Acres. So get out your notebook, put on your press hat, and start investigating. Check in all the drawers. Look under the bed. And most of all, make sure you search the closet. I'm sorry about your son, ma'am. Maximilian smiled at her, proffering his hand for a shake. The police had left a few hours ago,

presumably finding nothing of interest from Mrs. Miller, and dusk had already begun to settle, the chill of mid-autom, forcing him to shrug his coat closer. The son, Raymond Miller, had been missing for the past 12 hours. It was enough time to cause a stirer in the small town, but also with enough time kept under wraps to allow for Max to get a story hot off the press. The town was secluded, a product of the aching stretch of road that had welcomed him on his move in. Even the police launching the investigation, a squadron of tired faces had come from the next town over.

Max had thought it would be nice, a fresh start with the only uproar being a who won the annual cherry pie baking contest. None of the pain that lingered in flashes of memory from his home city, even with the aggressors long gone, none of the weight from the people that refused to even see him when they deigned to look at him. It seemed he had been wrong. Mrs. Miller was on the taller side, cheeks sallow and flushed,

and her blue eyes were still shot with vainy red. Blotchy makeup dotted her face, as if she'd attempted to make herself presentable before giving up on the whole ordeal. Even without the way she hunched, in on herself, she looked frail, like the wind filtering in from the open door would topple her at any moment. You can come in.

It's fine. There's no one to keep up now. And you can call me Amanda. All right, Amanda. I didn't want to impose. The smile was still on his face, if a bit worn thin, and he stepped into the house. It was clean, impeccably so, most likely a product of the anxious energy that had spurred. on her attempts at her makeup, a way to keep appearances up in the somewhat nosy nature of the small

town. A pang of sympathy shot through him at the thought. He wasn't foreign to having to keep up appearances while shattered on the inside. Amanda led him over to an armchair, green with a fuzzy pattern and uncomfortably close to the ones his mother kept in their old apartment, and patted the cushion. You're the new boy in town, right? I suppose there's no one for you to keep up waiting either. Sit down. Would you like something to drink? No, I suppose there isn't. And no, thank you. I'm not thirsty. Your son lived with you, right?

He gave her a polite, if strained, smile. A reflex his own mother had drilled into him. He thought he had shook it. Yes. He stayed upstairs. But the police already searched in there. They didn't find anything. Ah, and what's that door lead to? He gestured to a plain-looking door.

sat back a little ways in the wall. Well, it had been closed firmly. A strip of darkness still seeped out from under it onto the floor. Just a closet. Her lips tightened, and she played with the edges of her shawl. All right. He nodded. Pulling out a video camera, he twirled it in his palm.

The weight was familiar, comforting. Do you mind if I record us? I find that it helps keep the flow of the conversation going. For both of us. I can set it up just there, on that table. where the lamp is. She gave him a long pause, simply smoothing down her dress. She looked like she was going to crack.

We don't have to if you don't want to. And don't worry, I'll be the only one who sees this footage. I wanted more of a traditional piece for this. Her eyes narrowed, and she nodded. It's all right. It would be for the best, right? He nodded. The table caught a wide shot of the room,

of his seat and her and the door between them, and even a family picture of her and her son, both smiling that hung on the wall. He clicked the camera on and returned to his seat. So tell me about your son. I hear he was an interesting young man, well-liked. She nodded, brushing at her cheek. Mascarer smeared like chalk.

He was always, my little golden boar. His father left us at a young age, which may have accounted for some things. But we always powered through them. She gave a little nod, as if convincing herself more than anything. Yes, of course. I heard he was very involved with the church, right? Her eyes glowed. Yes, yes, he was.

Can you tell me more about that? He was an altar boy, always came with me to Mass, even after. Well, he was a very devoted boy. After what? He was big at the school, too. loved to put on all his little plays with his friends, even when it interfered with church. She frowned then, again smoothing out her skirt.

Max simply nodded, dropping the question. Would you like some tea? Sure, sounds lovely. As Amanda left the room, her heels clicking against the floor, he noticed a smudge, dark brown on one of her hands, a mishap during cleaning, perhaps. He got up, walking to the camera, and hitting pause.

Amanda was still in the kitchen, so he clicked down the volume and replayed his footage. Since he had the time, he might as well search for a useful clip for a quote, something both eye-catching and heart-wrenching to print.

It was less work later for him. The first few minutes were fine. A few background noises, except for some sniffles from Amanda, but easy to ignore. But around the three-minute mark, something picked up, a low scratchiness.

Static. In the kitchen, Amanda was still at work, so he raised the volume. Not static. Breathing. Tea is ready, and I thought you would want extra sugar. I feel so sorry for keeping you out so late. Max tried to hide his flinch at the sudden interruption, fumbling with the pause button. Thank you. Really? It's quite fine, Amanda.

I don't really have anything to go back to. Now that Amanda was back, another person to quiet the discomfort of being alone in such an empty, house. He was sure he had been mistaken about the breathing. His nerves at being here, and perhaps the unevenness caused by Amanda's tears, had made two into three. I know the feeling. Well, I'm sure they'll find your son soon enough. He wanted to reach out, maybe to pat her shoulder in the way that acquaintances did, but a decade of fear with breaking boundaries with someone like her held him back. Her resemblance to his mother was almost uncanny, while they hardly looked alike. The way she held herself, her tone of voice, the way she talked about her son,

were all similar enough to make his skin crawl. Amanda didn't look convinced by his words. He hit record again, retaking his seat. Anyways, can you tell me more about Raymond, his friends? She gave him a bit of a grimace at the words, and he regretted asking. I was never fond of the friends he made in high school. The theater crowd, well, you know how they are, a bad influence. I can't see why he didn't just stick with his other friends.

They were such nice people. Max watched pale pink chips from her nails as they flexed like claws against her dress, mentally making a note to drop this part of the conversation. Hmm. He was entirely too familiar with what she meant by a bad influence. Well, I'm sorry to bring up old wounds, so to speak. The school did have nice plays, even if they did cut into the time he spent it mad. He was heading off to college, right?

Yes, theater major at one of the state schools. Her lips drew tight, pale pink hiding bony white. Mm-hmm. It seemed there was no safe avenue of conversation. Can you tell me about the disappearance? How are things between you two leading up to it, if you don't mind me asking? He could have fished it out of the police report. His brain screamed to do that as he felt himself sinking further into the chair.

The house felt like it was watching him. but by then it would be old news, ripped through the town despite the ever tight lips of Mrs. Amanda Miller. Tense, we had a bit of a falling out, just childish things, of course, things he would have come to his senses about. Max's hand curled into a fist and then released.

He talked about seeing his father. We haven't spoken in years, see, and his father is a bad influence. He could feel himself slipping, the words drowning him out. If he didn't keep his nails dug tight into the legs of his pants, he was back in the stuffy apartment that had belonged to his mother, picking at the ugly pink sweater she had forced him into while he couldn't bear to meet her eyes. Max tried to keep his eyes on Amanda's face, but the longer he did, the more they couldn't

help but slide to the door. He stood up, going over to his camera and pressing stop. Just a moment, please. He flipped through the recording. He could hear the breathing, loud enough that he wondered how he ever could have not heard it. Maybe it was just his own, turned ragged with paranoia. But the door. Something dark was shifting under it, seeping out to stain the carpet.

His eyes darted back to the real door. The carpet only held a slight discoloration, like it had been bleached recently. What's that on your arm? It looks like a bruise. Something like concern. had entered her voice. Her eyes crinkled as a hand reached out, as if she could touch him across the gap between them. His sleeve had ridden up from all his worrying at it. It's for my hormone supplements. Testosterone, bi-weekly in the arm, intramuscular. She didn't have to know that. Her

eyes narrowed, and the hand drew back. I see. Do you? You haven't touched your tea. It's getting cold. She frowned, and he could almost forget that he thought he heard breathing, forget the way the shadows had moved onto the door, but only on the tape. He set the camera down again, turning back on the recording. He walked back over to the chair, sitting down and taking a sip of his tea. It tasted a little bitter, but he took another. At least the hot splash at the back of his throat served to calm him. So you were the last one to see him go?

It slipped out of him, like water dripping off of an icicle. And she flinched, nails like claws against her dress again. I suppose so. Suppose so. You two fought, so he left right after that. He took another swig of the tea. Definitely bitter. His eyes strayed to the door again.

Nothing living could be in there, he decided. It was too quiet. Amanda's lips curled. I suppose so, yes. He was having one of his moods. He wouldn't see reason. Max's mind flashed back to the spot on her hand, dark brown and smeared,

like it had been hastily wiped away, like old blood. Of course, that's all it is. That's all it is. Max took another sip of tea. He could smell the blood, oozing, dripping, creeping. He shook his head, and he couldn't smell it anymore, but he could smell the bleach. He didn't want to look at the door.

But some part of him knew he had to. And when he looked back again, he saw the discoloration clearly on the carpet. It still looked wet. You keep looking at that door, you know. Her hands were folded on her lap again. Sorry. Why don't I get us something to eat? You seem nervous. A small laugh left her.

It didn't reach her eyes. All right. She stood up, and as soon as she exited the room, he grabbed the camera, flipping through the recording. The next segment of conversation was normal for the first few minutes, only a bit of static overlaying their voices. Sweat slicked his palms as he fast-forwarded. As he slowed down, movement caught his eye in the corner of the frame. The picture in the frame was moving, only slightly. As the video scrolled past, the sun's eyes locked on his.

In a low, strangled voice he spoke. You like biscuits, right? He could hear each thud of her forehead. in time with his heart, drawing closer. He tried to stand, wobbling on his feet, but he felt tired. The jittering in his mind had stopped. The window was precious feet away, closed and locked, the door to the hallway even farther. Amanda would be in the doorway in moments, and he knew he wouldn't be able to run.

Instead, Max crawled forwards, over the slick carpet, as curdled blood clogged his nostrils, until his hand rested on the knob of the door. Warmth burned beneath the metal. When he looked up, Amanda stood in the doorway. A carving knife, flecked with blood, was clutched in her right hand. But as her eyes locked on his hand, grasping the doorknob, her face turned bone white with fear. You don't know what you're doing.

Black clouded his vision. If he didn't act now, he never would. But he does. With the last remnants of his strength, he threw open the door. No one would have believed him, if not for the tape. The official report was that Raymond had somehow managed to cling to life for hours after being stuffed into the closet, that his mother had missed enough of the important stuff, that he had been able to bide his time until one brave reporter,

Maximilian hadn't wanted to be named, let him out. Of course, over the process of the investigation, somehow the tape was corrupted. only sparking with static whenever someone pressed play. Whether that was the product of government oversight or Raymond's final touches, Max couldn't be sure. All he knew was that he couldn't wait to erase it from his mind. Max knew Raymond hadn't been alive. No one could be after what was cut away.

No one would have had the strength to do what he did to his own mother and still managed to shamble away. It was a closed casket for the mother and an empty casket for Ray. The police had shown the recording to him only once, after an hour of questioning, had failed to jog his memory. Still, it had burned into his mind. Because in the tape, for a split second, Amanda had looked exactly like his mother.

But Max was safe here. Back in the city that had been his home for the first 18 years of his life. After all his years of running, he had nothing to be afraid of. Well, that was a close escape, and we'll escape back to the show in mere moments. But first, I want to talk about the way this... Hi, Richard. Oh, hi, Jessica.

Still wearing a mask, eh? Not vaccinated? No, I'm fully vaxed. It's just... Well, you see, I haven't brushed my teeth in over a year. What? Ew! Don't you judge me.

I've barely seen anyone in a year, and, well, things sort of fell through the cracks. Yeah, the cracks in your teeth, if you keep this up, Listen, if you want your maskless smile to light up a room again, all you have to do is turn to Quip. Can Quip help even my poor neglected mouth? Of course. We all know how Quip revolutionized electric toothbrushes. And their affordable, dentist-recommended subscription plans include toothpaste, floss, and even tooth-friendly chewing gum. All designed for optimal oral health.

I really do need to get my mouth back in shape with Quip. And you're in luck, because Quip has just released a mouthwash that's not. not only effective and affordable, but super easy on the environment. Quip mouthwash? Now I'm intrigued. Look, we all love that clean, minty, fresh feeling you get from mouthwash. But those plastic mouthwash bottles, not so much. They're big, they're bulky, and they're not so nice to look at. Luckily, the oral care experts at Quip created an alcohol-free mouthwash that keeps your mouth healthy without the burn. And thanks to a sleek refillable dispenser, it's pretty easy on the eyes, too.

Ah, I see what you mean. Quip mouthwash kills bad breath germs, helps prevent cavities, and leaves you feeling fresh, thanks to a formula that gives your mouth everything it needs and nothing it doesn't. Their four times concentrate has fluoride, xylitol, and CPC, but they left out the artificial colors and stinking alcohol you'll find in a lot of other rinses. Exactly. Their stylish dispenser will sit easily on your counter, so you just grab a small bit of mouthwash, dilute it with some water, and swish. Effective and easy.

And if you go to get quip.com slash no sleep 5 right now, you can get $5 off a mouthwash starter kit. That's $5 off a mouthwash starter kit, which includes a refillable dispenser and a 90-dose supply of Quip's four-times concentrated formula at g-et-Q-u-I-P dot com slash no sleep 5. That's no sleep with the number five. Quip, the Good Habits Company. Jessica, quip products will make your mouth healthy and happy again quickly. I look forward to the change. And speaking of, it's time to get back to the show and learn about how some ways of changing can be horrifying. Childhood is full of wonders, magic and mystery in the macabreys at the bottom of every garden,

monsters in every closet, and sometimes unexplainable things which you just know exist through beautiful bewitching. But in this tale, shared with us by author S.H. Cooper, we meet a girl whose excitement at finding something mystical soon turns to confusion and then horror. Performing this tale are Nicole Goodnight, Jeff Clement, Nicole Doolin, and Sarah Olivia. So roll out the red carpet for a tale of transformation, trappings, and terror as we enter the changing room. I didn't want to tell Dad about the changing room when I first found it. It was down in the basement where I wasn't supposed to be. Dad kept all of his scrap and spare parts from his odd jobs as the town fixit man down there. He thought I'd get hurt.

It was also where he spent a lot of time and he didn't want me getting underfoot. Forbitting it just made it more enticing, though. I'd sneak down when he was off doing work somewhere, usually mechanical stuff or carpentry, the kind of stuff that it'd take a few hours. I liked to wander through the piles of junk laid out in a chaotic pattern, only he understood and pretend I was some kind of explorer discovering lost treasure. Usually I'd stick close to the stairs in case he came home and I had to run back up real quick. But as I got more comfortable, I'd go further and further.

Dad used the side entrance in the basement on his way to and from work, so I always had to keep an ear out for the warning jingle of his keys in case he came home earlier than expected. It was when I was playing one of my make-believe games that I found the changing room. I went as far back as I ever had, slithering around old bits of this and that until I hit the back wall.

I trailed along it, my fingers sliding through dust and cobwebs when they caught against something. It felt oddly familiar. I frowned while trying to place it and squinted against the gloom, a doorknob. I hadn't known we had another room,

in the basement. I twisted it, and it turned in my hand. Slowly, my breathing nervous and shallow, I pulled it open. The inside was dark. I groped along the wall, which felt like the same concrete block as the basement itself until I found a switch. It lit the room up in fluorescent light, and I gasped. Shear, colorful fabric like veils decorated the walls. Large pillows with golden tassels were thrown about the floor top of thick rug. Tropical plants hung in the cages from the ceiling. A single-armed chaise lounge covered in red and gold velvet was in the center. I stepped in, mouth hanging open and spun in a circle. It was like something out of my new favorite movie, Aladdin. I jumped on the lounge, rolled around on the pillows, smelled the flowers,

only to discover that they were disappointingly fake. I didn't know what this room was, but I never wanted to leave. I wished I'd brought books and snacks so that I could stay there and imagine I was Princess Jasmine in my palace. But Dad would probably be back soon, and I didn't want him catching me in the basement, especially not in this room that he was probably setting up as a surprise for me. My ninth birthday was the following month, after all. Gleefully, I sprang up and tried to reorganize the room exactly as I'd found it. I didn't want him to know I'd already discovered it. I turned the light off again and slipped out, grinning from ear to ear. If I hadn't found the room by breaking one of Dad's strictest rules, I probably would have had a hard time containing my excitement. I didn't want to

get in trouble, though, so I kept my mouth shut and waited for him to tell me about it himself. I didn't dare go back down, no matter how much I wanted to. There was too much risk that I'd get caught and he'd take it away from me, so I had to play it cool. Days went by, then weeks, all without a mention of the Jasmine room. It got harder and harder to keep quiet about it the closer my birthday got. I'd sneak looks at my dad across the dinner table, silently urging him to finally break down and tell me. Then my birthday finally came. I got a new Barbie from my grandparents, a new shirt with a cartoon polar bear on it from my aunt and a purple bike with streamers coming out of the handlebars from dad. No one mentioned the room. I had to spend the whole day pretending I was

thrilled with the gifts in my party and cake, but all the while, I couldn't stop thinking about the Jasmine Room. Disappointed as I was, I had to wait another few days before I could visit again, after Dad had gone to work, and Grandma had fallen asleep while watching her afternoon shows. I tiptoed down to the basement and carefully picked my way to where I thought the door was. It was dark back there and took some feeling around, but eventually I found the doorknob again. With a please smile, I tugged it open and turned on the light. The Jasmine Room was gone. Where the plants had been, now hung sparkly stars in a moon,

and fake bushes had been lined up around a large nest of twigs, big enough for me to lie in. Small trees with little birds in them completed the forest scene. Confusion swept through me. If Dad had made this for me, why hadn't he ever shown me the Jasmine Room? I'd liked it much better than this outdoor theme he'd chosen. With a disappointed sigh, I closed it off again and went back up. stairs. That night, I couldn't keep my mouth shut anymore. I stood in the entrance to his office, my hands nodded behind my back and chewed my lip, trying to figure out how to bring up the topic

of my new playroom. Dad finally looked up from his book. Something up, do you know? He set his book down and waved me in. What's on your mind? You're going to be mad. How come? Because I did something I'm not supposed to and found something. something that I think was going to be a surprise. His brow furrowed. Okay.

What is it? I found in the basement, but I went down there. He waited, expression unchanged. I stared down at my feet. I found the room. The room? It wasn't an angry reaction, or surprised, really. It was mostly bemused.

I looked up at him, and he had his head tilted slightly to one side. Yeah, the one in the basement with all the Princess Jasmine and Forest stuff? Dad sat back in his chair. Sorry, kiddo, you've lost me. You know, the one in the back that you were making into a playroom for me. But he shook his head. There was no playroom, he said. I told him I'd seen it not once, but twice.

And both times it had been different. He had me describe exactly where the door to the room was and while I stood at the top of the steps, he went down to the basement to investigate. It was a long few minutes waiting for him to come back up. When he did, he had cobwebs stuck in his dark hair and some dirt streaks across his hands. He hadn't found any door, though.

After he washed up, he tucked me into bed. I tried to tell him there was a door and that the room had changed. It was real. But he dismissed it as a child as fantasy. No more going in the basement. It's dirty and dangerous, and I don't want you making a mess in my things, got it? If you do it again, there will be serious consequences.

Yes, sir. His serious expression relaxed into a sigh, and he kissed my forehead. Good night, Peanut. I love you. He shut my door, leaving me in darkness, but more curious about the changing room than ever before. If he wasn't aware of it, he wasn't changing it. and I had to know what was. I had to bide my time before I was able to go back down to the basement.

I had to get back there and prove the changing room was real. Work away from home happened to be slow, however, so Dad was down in the basement a lot working on his own projects. When he was upstairs, he was on high alert and keeping a close eye on my whereabouts. I made sure not to even get too close to the basement door in the kitchen, so he didn't think I was going to try and go back down. I wasn't sure I'd ever get the chance again. Not until Dad came storming up the steps one evening,

swearing and clutching one hand to his chest. Damn it. Through gritted teeth, he asked for my help. Call Grandma. I nodded numbly, fixated on all the red dripping from his bald fist and sprayed across the front of his shirt. A few minutes later, I was staring after his pickup from the front window while Grandma assured me she'd be there in just five minutes.

She swept in three, squeezed me in a tight hug and quickly cleaned the trail of drops that had followed Dad out of the house, all while telling me he would be fine and home before I knew it. They're all better. How about I make us an early dinner? Hmm? Having Grandma bustling around was very reassuring and I was soon able to shake off the shock of Dad's injury. Thinking about it still made my skin crawl and I wanted nothing more than to give him a hug,

but her constant chatter chased away the worst of it. I sat at the table while she made us pizza bagels for dinner, and we sat in front of the TV to watch some of her evening programs. It occurred to me that now might be the best and only time to get back to the changing room. I had to take advantage of it. I'm going to go to the bathroom. Grandma held her plate out to me. Okay. Put the dishes in the sink on your way, please.

I sprang up, happy for a task that would put me in the kitchen. I deposited her plates carefully in the sink and then crept as quietly as I could to the basement door. A peek out to the living room of the old grandma's show was back on as she was engrossed in the storyline. Biting my lip, I opened the door and slipped inside. I skirted my dad's blood on the steps and began inching my way towards the door. Knowing it was nighttime made the air in the basement feel heavier, more oppressive, and the familiar shapes of his tools and scattered parts cast long, strange shadows along the floor. determined to not let my imagination chase me off from proving once and for all that the changing room was real, I scurried towards the back wall.

I was almost to the door when I heard it. A faint scratching sound, like a mouse scampering across concrete. It was coming from up ahead where the door was. I froze. It kept on. A weak, soft, scraping sound. I was surprised I'd been able to find my voice. Surprised more that I had been able to find my voice.

use it. The scratching stopped. Maybe my first thought had been right. It was just a mouse. That was what I told myself as I made my feet move closer and closer to the door. It was totally silent now. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the deep and black of the back corner and finally made out the door knob. But as I reached for it, heart pounding in triumphant excitement, another shape hanging above it, caught my eye. I pulled my hand back sharply, scared for a moment that it might be a spider hanging from its thread. But it didn't move. And the longer I looked at it, the more I was able to make sense of it. A padlock left unlocked but hanging in place so that the door couldn't simply be open. If Dad said the door didn't exist, why did he need that? With my courage quickly pulling

into a chill in the pit of my stomach, I reached up with trembling fingers and pulled the padd lock from its spot. It scraped, metal on metal, and I let it fall to the ground as I reached for the doorknob. The door was yanked inward out of my hand. A howling figure scrambled out of darkness towards me clawing at me. I screamed and slapped and punched, tearing myself away. It crashed after me, panting and wheezing and reaching. I could hear its heavy footsteps slapping against the concrete floor just behind me. I shrieked for my grandma and threw things from the shelf down between us, but still the thing from the changing room charged after me.

Its voice was low and verbaling. Help me! Grandma was halfway down the stairs when I left at her. She started to ask me what was wrong, looked over my shoulder, and then started dragging me up. I glanced back just long enough to see a flash of matted hair, streaks of red, and wide, wild eyes. I was thrown into the kitchen, and grandma turned.

turned around heading down into the basement. Grandma, no. Call 911. Hurry. She closed the door after herself. Dad never got to come back inside the house. The moment he got home, he was placed under arrest by a swarm of officers who'd responded to my call. A gurney was carried up from the basement.

The woman on it, Elena Belrive, survived. She'd been his latest and last victim. The changing room had never been. a playroom for me. It had been one for Dad's clients. While I had played upstairs, blissfully unaware, Dad had constructed a secret, soundproof room in our basement. He'd used it for years, crafting sets so that he could film himself torturing and murdering women, according to his audience's twisted desires. The tapes were mailed out in boxes of junk, an Arabian princess, a forest him. Nurses, schoolgirls, whatever they wanted, he provided. He'd bring them in through the basement

entrance at the side of the house in the dead of night, usually while they were drugged or drunk from a night at the bar. After so long and a dozen victims, all societal castaways no one would look for, he'd gotten careless. He'd thought I was too afraid to go down into the basement and no one was ever down there without him, and he'd stop locking the doors between victims. After I found it, he knew he had to move. Elena was meant to be his last in her house, and then he was going to move the show, rent to space, something.

He hadn't figured it out yet. I'd put a wrench in his plans for the first time in a long time. And then Elena fought back. He thought she was mostly dead and decided to get playful. Yannin expected her to grab the blade, turn it on him, managed to get a good cut of her own in. He later said he thought he handled her before he was. ran out, covered it only half his own blood. He'd thrown the padlock on as an extra precaution,

but didn't lock it. He hadn't anticipated how badly Elena wanted to live, or that his daughter was still consumed with curiosity for the changing room. Now he's waiting to die, trapped, staring at the same four walls every day, while the knowledge of his inescapable fate slowly crushes him, just like all his victims. the letters back in their envelopes, it's time to take our leave for now. 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. 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.

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.