The NoSleep Podcast - Nosleep Podcast S2E05

Episode Date: July 1, 2012

The fifth episode of this season’s Nosleep Podcast features stories about creepy strangers, long forgotten nightmares, and unexplained events. Highlighting horror stories from the Reddit.com horror writing community, these stories are designed to afflict your night with no sleep.This episode features these stories:The Smiling Man written by L.S. Riley (Redditor blue_tidal) and read by Michael McElroy (Redditor MikeTheInfidel). This story won the Nosleep Writing Contest for April 2012.Some Things are Best Left Unsaid written by JT Senters (Redditor DinosaurTheFrog) and read by David Cummings (Redditor MikeRowPhone).The Disappearance of Ashley, Kansas written by Allan Kantor (Redditor CoasterKid93) and read, produced, & music by Jessica Prokuski & Ian Mendez.Terror Haute written by William Dalphin (Redditor Twilight Sparrow) and read by David Cummings. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

As the sunlight fades to darkness and the frightful tales creep into your mind, it's time to give in to your fear because tonight there will be no sleep. Welcome to the No Sleep podcast. I'm the producer, David Cummings. As many of you listeners settle in to the hot, hazy nights of summer, I hope you can find some relief from the heat in this episode's, chilling tales. Included is another winning story from the monthly No Sleep Writing Contest. We have a mix of new and old in this episode, as we introduce a new narrator and also feature a story from our most prolific contributor of stories to the podcast, William Delphin.

There is also a tale featuring our regular narrator, Jessica Prokoski. But for her story, she not only narrates, but also collaborates to produce the story and provide the, the effects and music. Our contributors really are outstanding, and I appreciate how willing they are to share their talents with our listeners. So without further ado, let's get started with our first story. Author L.S. Riley has crafted a tale that won the No Sleep Writing contest for April. He describes what happens when a late-night walk gets interrupted by a decidedly odd character, what at first seems to just strange behavior quickly escalates into something far more disturbing. Our newest narrator, Mike McElroy, describes for us the tale of The Smiling Man.

About five years ago, I lived downtown in a major city in the U.S. I've always been a night person, so I would often find myself bored after my roommate, who was decidedly not a night person, went to sleep. To pass the time, I used to go for long, walks and spend the time thinking. I spent four years like that walking alone at night and never once had a reason to feel afraid. I always used to joke with my roommate that even the drug dealers in the city were polite, but all of that changed in just a few minutes of one evening. It was a Wednesday, somewhere between one and two in the morning, and I was walking near a police-patrolled park

quite a ways from my apartment. It was a quiet night, even for a weeknight, with very little traffic and almost no one on foot. The park, as it was most nights, was completely empty. I turned down a short side street in order to loop back to my apartment when I first noticed him. At the far end of the street on my side was the silhouette of a man dancing. It was a strange dance, similar to a waltz, but he finished each box with an odd forward stride. I guess you could say he was dance walking, headed straight for me. Deciding he was probably drunk, I stepped as close as I could to the road to give him the majority of the sidewalk to pass me by. The closer he got, the more I realized how gracefully he was moving.

He was very tall and lanky and wearing an old suit. He danced closer still until I could make out his face. His eyes were open wide and wild, head tilted back slightly, looking off at the sky. His mouth was formed in a painfully wide cartoon of a smile. Between the eyes and the smile, I decided to cross the street before he danced any closer. I took my eyes off of him to cross the empty street. As I reached the other side, I glanced back and then stopped dead in my tracks. He had stopped dancing and was standing with one foot in the street, perfectly parallel to me.

He was facing me, but still looking skyward. Smile still wide on his lips. I was completely and utterly unnerved by this. I started walking again, but kept my eyes on the man. He didn't move. Once I had put about half a block between us, I turned away from him for a moment to watch the sidewalk in front of me. The street and sidewalk ahead of me were completely empty.

Still unnerved, I looked back to where he had. had been standing to find him gone. For the briefest of moments, I felt relieved, until I noticed him. He had crossed the street and was now slightly crouched down. I couldn't tell for sure due to the distance in the shadows, but I was certain he was facing me. I looked away from him for no more than ten seconds, so it was clear that he had moved fast. I was so shocked that I stood there for some time, staring at him.

And then he started moving toward me again. He took giant, exaggerated, tiptoed steps as if he were a cartoon character sneaking up on someone. Except he was moving very, very quickly. I'd like to say at this point I ran away or pulled out my pepper spray or my cell phone or anything at all, but I didn't. I just stood there, completely frozen as the smiling man crept toward me. And then he stopped again, about a car length. away from me. Still smiling his smile, still looking to the sky. When I finally found my voice, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. What I meant to ask was, what the fuck do you

want in an angry, commanding tone. What came out was a whimper. What the fuck? Regardless of whether or not humans can smell fear, they can certainly hear it. I heard it in my own voice, and that only made me more afraid. But he didn't react to it at all. He just stood there smiling. And then, after what felt like forever, he turned around very slowly and started dance walking away. Just like that. Not wanting to turn my back to him again, I just watched him go until he was far enough away to almost be out of sight.

And then I realized something. He wasn't moving away anymore. Nor was he dancing. I watched in horror as the distant shape of him grew larger and larger. He was coming back my way, and this time he was running. I ran too. I ran until I was off of the side road and back onto a better lit road with sparse traffic. Looking behind me then, he was nowhere to be found.

The rest of the way home, I kept glancing over my shoulder, always expecting to see his stupid smile, but he was never there. I lived in that city for six months after that night, and I never went out for another walk. There was something about his face that always haunted me. He didn't look drunk. He didn't look high. He looked completely and utterly insane. And that's a very, very scary thing to see.

As we grow older, it's common to find our memories. of childhood events fading away. But when you realize you can barely remember anything about your youth, sometimes it's best to leave those memories buried in the past. Author J.T. Centers shares his story from the Library of Shadows, and I read for you his assertion that some things are best left unsaid. My memories of my childhood and adolescence have always been hazy at best. I always assume that this was just the normal flow of life, that with time, old memories, when not dwelled upon, often began to take on a dreamlike quality where you have a few brief glimpses into things, but never quite the entire picture.

However, I have now reached the age where I, along with my friends, have started having children. As such, we often find ourselves comparing our childhood experiences to those of our children. This sharing of memories has always been uncomfortable for me, as I feel I am unable to match the vivid clarity of my peers when they share tales of their youth. It's these conversations with friends that have brought me to spend a lot of time just trying to remember things, anything about my younger days to share with the group. I'm starting to wish I had just let the dust settle on these lost memories because I think something else was buried. along with them. My curiosity led me to the most logical place to look for clues regarding my apparently abnormal fuzzy memories, my parents. I still remember that awkward conversation with my mother. I held the phone from my ear a bit, as she always spoke loudly on the phone. Even with the phone

held half an inch from my ear, I could hear that familiar voice of my mother. Finally decided to call his mom. I laughed, knowing that she wasn't actually upset. This was a game she played every time I called. It hasn't been that long since I last called. How are you and dad? She proceeded to share details of projects my father had taken up since his health problems forced him to retire. She discussed doctor's appointments and shared her frustration over some problem she was having with her computer.

This is where I saw my opportunity. Maybe I can come by tomorrow and take a look at it. While I'm there, I'd like to ask you about something. I had to hold the phone out further, as the idea of a visit from me also meant a visit from her grandkids. She quickly replied, That sounds great. I'll make fried chicken.

I know that's your favorite. What was it you wanted to ask me about? I paused. I don't know how, but something in my gut knew, my simple question would end her jubilation. Well, I'm hoping we could talk a bit about when I was a kid. I know it's silly, but I have had the hardest time remembering much about it, and I'd love to have stories to share with the kids.

Silence. I heard nothing. At least that's how it felt with the phone still a half inch from my ear. I pulled the phone closer, wondering if perhaps the call had dropped. Then I heard her. Her voice was no longer the loud, boisterous mother I knew. It was soft, distant, and if I didn't know any better, I'd say she sounded afraid. I'll think tomorrow will work after all.

I'll call you after I've spoken to your father and let you know when might be a better time. Maybe I'll just take the computer to Geek Squad or something. I... My stomach churned for the better part of the rest of the afternoon. It was a struggle to push the feeling of discomfort that came along with the abrupt end to the phone call with my mother. I was able to force it to the back of my mind as I spent the remainder of the day playing with my children. Hours passed, and with their passing, so did the sunlight. I tucked both kids into bed before trying to spend a bit of time just veging out in front of the television.

I don't think I actually watched anything as my mind kept drifting back to that strange. range phone call. That sudden change in tone, that eerie silence in her voice. I had never heard my mother that way before. Then I felt it. I felt the twinge of a memory. I had heard my mother sound like that once before. The memory started to take shape in my mind. It was late in my childhood, how old I can't really recall. What I do remember is that it was very early in the morning. I was sitting at the dining room table across from my parents. They both had stark looks on their faces. I could clearly hear my mother's words in my mind. You don't talk to us or anyone else about that ever again. Do you understand? It's not natural and it just needs to be left alone. If you don't

talk about it, it will stop. And like that, I snapped out of the days of the memory. I can't explain why, but I felt a wave of fear and anxiety flood over me. Something, something had begun to happen. The mechanisms in my mind had begun to click, unlocking memories buried deep inside. The sharp noise of the vibrating phone on the table caused me to jump. It was my mother. What was she doing calling at this hour?

They're never up this late. I stared at the ringing phone and for some reason I hesitated briefly before picking up. Nervously, I answered. There was a long period of silence before I heard that same quiet, distant voice coming from my mother. We will talk about this once and it will never be spoken of again. I know you. You will ask questions and pry. This conversation will be the end of it because we can't go through that again.

I sat in confusion and, oddly, in fear. Why I was speaking with my mother making me afraid? I started to raise a question when I was quickly cut off by her. She spoke quickly and directly. It felt like she had been practicing this exact speech all afternoon and that any interruption would make her lose her resolve. When you were a child, you had these dreams. You would come to us in the morning and tell us things.

Things that you dreamt about the prior nights. Horrible things. Then... I could hear her starting to sob, but she pressed on. Then they would happen. That tornado that took Sarah. The snakes and your Uncle Henry. The murder of Alan.

All of these people we saw on the news. Every time. Every damn time you would come and tell us about some horrible dream. And then, within minutes, we would get a call or see something on the television. Every time it was exactly like the dream you had just told us about. This happened for years. I started to feel like you were to blame for every back. thing that happened. I finally made you stop talking about it. I just couldn't take it anymore,

and I told you to just stop telling us. I thought if I didn't have to hear it, I could write off anything that happened without having to blame you. After a while, you seemed different. You slept better. I think keeping you from talking about it made it go away. I started to speak but then she cut me off again. Don't start talking about it now. If you bring it up again, I'll deny we ever had this conversation. I have to go. I love you.

With that, the call ended. I'm not dealing with this. I'm going to bed. I pretended like that bizarre conversation had never happened as I went about my nightly bedtime routine. However, as I settled in under my blanket, I found myself unable to push out her words. I closed my eyes, focusing on trying to push it out of my mind, and then the floodgates holding back my memories opened.

My mother, she didn't tell me everything. That's because she didn't know everything. I was finally able to remember. It was like reliving many years' worth of childhood night times. I could see it all again and again. I would awaken nearly every night at the same time, 3.33. I would always be on my side. I could see the clock clearly, but I couldn't move.

I would feel overcome with fear and try to scream, but nothing would come out. Then I'd hear the footsteps. Sometimes they would be slow and deliberate. Others, they would sound like someone sprinting, but they always led to the same place. My bed. I could feel the shadow looming over me. It felt like an eternity. The clock ticked over to 3.34.

The entity would just disappear. I would suddenly feel relief and calm. This was always immediately followed by an all-consuming sleepiness that would send me off into slumber. Then, over time, it got worse. I would start to feel the breathing on my neck, and finally, one night it spoke to me. I could finally remember the words. They came in a voice that was neither clearly male or female. It merely said,

I am coming and you will be my prophet. Then the dreams, the visions would begin. They were always horrific. They happened nightly. Every night I would try to scream out the same thing, but nothing would come. Please no, don't. I sat up, pulling my knees to my chest. I felt a cold sweat covering me as I found myself struggling to catch my breath.

The words of my mother started to seep in and I began to recall that as I stopped sharing my visions, my visitor stopped coming. Maybe I was no good as a prophet if I didn't share the visions. Maybe it was just a series of odd occurrences explained away by sleep paralysis and an overactive, childhood imagination. My adult mind wanted so desperately to believe the latter. My breathing slowed and I finally began to cling to my rational conclusion on the matter. I slid back into a lying position and closed my eyes, forcing myself to find sleep. My head shook as I shot out of bed. She didn't say that. She couldn't have said that. I couldn't have said that. I could. have sworn I heard, please no, don't, from my daughter's room in her panicked voice. I sat on the

edge of my bed listening, hoping I was only dreaming. I glanced at the clock to check the time. 3.34. That's when I heard the small footsteps running into my room. I barely had time to look up before my daughter slammed into me, throwing her arms around me, weeping. Daddy, I had a bad dream about Grandma. Natural disasters can conjure their own sense of horror simply through the scale of their destruction. But when a disaster is combined with supernatural happenings, the terror is magnified even more. Author Alan Cantor weaves a tale that has been adapted by the collaborative team of Jessica Prokoski and Ian Mendez. They have produced, narrated, and provide the music for the tale entitled The Disappearance of Ashley, Kansas.

Sometime during the night of August 16, 1952, the small town of Ashley, Kansas ceased to exist. At 3.28 a.m. on August 17, 1952, a magnitude 7.9 earthquake was measured by the United States Geological Survey. The earthquake itself was felt throughout the state and most of the Midwest. The epicenter was determined to be directly under Ashley, Kansas. When state law enforcement arrived at what should have been the outskirts of the farming community, they found a smoldering, burning fissure in the earth, measuring 1,000 yards in length and approximately 500 yards in width. The depth of the fissure was never determined.

After 12 days, the statewide and local search for the missing 679 residents Ashley, Kansas, was called off by the Kansas State Government at 9.15 p.m. on the night of August 29, 1952. All 679 residents were assumed to be dead. At 227 a.m. on August 30, 1952, a magnitude 7.5 earthquake was measured by the United States Geological Survey. The epicenter was situated under what used to be the location of Ashley, Kansas. When law enforcement investigated at 532 a.m. They reported that the fissure in the earth had closed. In the eight days leading up to the disappearance of the town and all of its 679 residents, bizarre and unexplainable events were reported by dozens of residents in Ashley, Kansas, and law enforcement from the

surrounding area. On the evening of August 8, 1952 at 7.13 p.m., a resident by the name of Gabriel Jonathan reported a strange sight in the sky above Ashton. Ashley. The town itself, having no official branch of law enforcement, called into the police station of the neighboring town of Hays. Gabriel reported what appeared to be a small, black opening in the sky. Within the next 15 minutes, the Hays police station became overwhelmed with dozens of phone calls all reporting the same phenomenon. The phenomenon was never reported by any neighboring communities. A decision was made to send a trooper to Ashley to investigate the matter the following morning.

At 7.54 a.m. on the morning of August 9, 1952, Hayes Police Officer Alan Mace radioed the Hayes Police Station. He reported that, despite following the one-way road leading into Ashley, he had become lost. According to his report, the road continued along its normal path, but somehow ended up back in Hayes. Officer Mace went on to add that the road never curved or bent in any direction. At 9.15 a.m., seven of the town's 10 police cars were sent to investigate the situation, and all members of the team came to the same conclusion.

The only road leading into Ashley stopped leading into Ashley, but instead led back to Hayes. Phone calls continued to pour into the Hayes Police Station, all reporting that the black opening in the sky continued to grow in size. All colors were advised to remain inside and to not travel outside unless absolutely necessary. At 8.17 p.m., Mrs. Elaine Cantor reported her neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Milton, and their two children, Jeffrey and Brooke, missing. According to Mrs. Cantor's phone calls, the Milton's attempted to leave town in their family car earlier in the evening. They never returned. Law enforcement officials from Hayes never reported the car, or individuals, coming up the one-way road. At 7.38 a.m. on the morning of August 10th, 1952, phone calls from Ashley into the Hayes police station reported that the town was in total darkness. The sun had never risen.

At 10.15 a.m. at the request of Hayes Law Enforcement, a helicopter from Topeka, Kansas flew over the region in which Ashley, Kansas stood. The town was never observed from air. At 1243 p.m. on the afternoon of August 11, 1952, Ms. Phoebe Danieluski called into the Hays police station. She reported that her daughter, Erica, had begun to have conversations with her father, who had died three years prior in the drunk driving accident. To add to her concern, Ms. Danieluski reported that Erica was attempting to go outside into the dark, to join them. Over the course of the next 12 hours, it reported 329 phone calls were placed into her. the Hays Police Station, all describing similar phenomenon with the children of the town.

The following morning of August 12, 1952, the situation became dire. During the middle of the night, all 217 children in the town of Ashley, Kansas, disappeared. A reported 421 phone calls were placed into the Hays Police Department. Unable to be of any useful assistance, Hays law enforcement instructed all callers to remain inside and to avoid any and all attempts at finding the missing children. At 5.19 p.m. on the evening of August 13, 1952, Ashley Elderlyman Scott Luntz reported a growing distant fire to the south. The fire seemed to turn the distant black into bright red and orange

that seemed to extend high into the sky. Throughout the rest of the day, calls continued in, stating that the fire, in addition to moving north, now seemed to come out of the black sky. No fire was ever witnessed by any of the neighboring communities or law enforcement officials. The reports continued until 1209 a.m. on the morning of August 14, 1952. The last phone call, placed by a Mr. Benjamin Endicott, reported that the fire in the sky had grown so intense that it began to appear as daytime over the town.

The phone call ended abruptly. From the phone call placed by Benjamin Sherman Endicott. The next phone call wouldn't be placed until the following, evening. The following is the entire transcript of the final phone call to be received by the Hayes Police Department out of the town of Ashley, Kansas. It was placed at 9.46 p.m. on the evening of August 15, 1952. In this recorded phone call, the officer on duty is Officer Peter Welsh. The caller has been identified as Ms. April Foster. Down the street, I raised him since he was a baby. It was just me and him. I told him to watch out for cars when he

rode his bike, but he never wanted to listen. Ma'am, what you're saying isn't making any sense. You said everyone came back? Are you fucking listening to me? Everyone. Everyone came back. Everyone who died or went missing. They're back, and they're looking for us.

He, he said, Mommy, I'm okay now. See, I can walk again. Where are you, Mommy? I want to see you. just like everyone else we saw them coming through the fields and some people opened their doors for them got the screaming

don't know what happened to them but their houses caught fire and they it's drawn I'm hiding in the closet right now and everything all right the following morning at 655 a.m the law enforcement officials of the Hayes Police Department arrived at the location of Ashley Kansas a smoldering burning fissure in the earth

was all that remained. Our final tale takes place in the town of Terre Haute, Indiana. A young man finds himself moving back home with his parents as he seeks employment after college. Getting the chance to stay in his parents' rental house might seem like a good idea until he finds out that the previous tenant just happened to have died in the house.

I'll read for you the tale written by William Delphin, as he describes one harrowing night spent in the town he now calls Terrorhote. My parents live in Terre Haute, Indiana. They own a number of rental properties there. When I graduated from college, I found myself looking for work and having to move back home until I found a job. My parents had not been expecting this and had converted my bedroom into an office for my father.

I spent the first few days sleeping on a fold-out futon in the basement. One of my parents' tenants passed away in his home just after I moved back. Neighbors had called the police after the newspapers had started piling up, and they realized they hadn't seen him in a while. He was an 80-year-old widower with no children or next of kin, so nobody came by to collect his things. My parents needed to get the house in good condition to put it back out on the market. So they told me that since I wasn't working, I should go over and try to clean the house up so that they could show it to prospective clients.

In fact, they said, why not take my things and go stay there until it's done? I'd have a bed to sleep in at least. Well, I'm not superstitious, but I was not about to sleep in a dead man's bed. I could get some nasty rash, or who knows what other types of germs were all over his sheets. The thought of it is just repulsive. But I conceded to stay there with an air mattress and a sleeping bag and get the place looking nice. The house was small, single bedroom, one story, with a ridiculously large basement. The walk-in was in the kitchen, followed by the dining room, the living room,

then a small hall for the bedroom, bathroom, and door to the basement. When I arrived at the house in the middle of the day, some of the lights weren't. weren't working, so I went into the basement to check the fuse box. The basement had a concrete floor and piles of old junk clustered along the walls. In the far wall was a door that led to a small set of stairs up to the backyard. Between the door and the stairs was the furnace for heating the place. The whole basement was dimly lit by a single bulb at the bottom of the stairs from the first floor. My first time in the basement, I was preoccupied with all the junk and finding the fuse box, so I didn't notice the floor.

I went upstairs, and just as I shut the door to the basement, the breaker I had just flipped back on, snapped off again, plunging me into darkness. So I trekked back downstairs and flipped it again, and that's when I noticed the floor. In the center of the basement was a large pile of bags of fertilizer. Around the bags were these dark, blotchy stains on the concrete that seemed to stretch toward the door to the outside like tracks or drag marks. I noticed it, but I didn't think anything of it at the time. I went back upstairs, started setting myself up in a spot in the living room for my stuff,

then went into the old guy's bedroom just to see what the bed looked like. It was real fancy. The frame was made of brass and had knobs at the posts and an art. arch over the head. The sheets looked really nasty though, like he hadn't washed them, ever. They were yellowing and looked blotchy like the stains in the basement. More importantly, when I walked into the room, there was this faint aroma, musty-like, with a hint of talcum powder or some sort of deodorizing agent. But the longer I stood in the room, the more I started smelling some underlying current of rot. It started out like maybe some piece of fruit had rolled under

the bed and been left there, but after a minute of inspecting the room, it was starting to be really overpowering. Yes, like something had died. I wondered if maybe the old man had died in that room, then I started wondering if he was still in the room rotting. It got that bad. I lifted the bed skirt and looked under the bed. There was this stuff under the bed. I don't know if it was a gigantic mold cluster or a dead raccoon or what. It was reddish brown, swollen, and sticking to the floor and the underside of the bed. It was bulbous, spongy looking, and wet, and I was really startled by the sight of it because I had not expected to find anything under there. I went around the bed to see if it was closer to that side, but when I looked under the skirt, there was

nothing there. I looked long and hard, but there was nothing but dust and some loose change and a book under the bed. I went back around to the other side and looked again, and it was gone. I wasn't sure what to think, so I convinced myself that I must have imagined it. The rest of the day went by without incident. Well, by without incident. Well, by without incident. I mean that, yes, the fuse box continued to flip off, and I kept having to return to the basement and flip it back on. And yes, sometimes a pile of books I had just sorted would fall over when I was out of the room, but that's not necessarily paranormal. It wasn't until that evening around 8.30, which was about the same time that the sun vanished over the horizon, that things got weird. I had finished eating a bowl of ramen and was watching TV on this antiquated little set with knobs instead of a remote when the whispering started.

I thought it was coming from the show I was watching at first, but I turned the volume down and realized I could still hear it. So I started putting my ear to the walls to try to determine where it was coming from. I finally managed to trace the whispering sound to the air vent in the room. Every room had a small air vent in the floor that led to the furnace downstairs. I put my ear to the vent and could hear the whispering echoing from the basement. It never got loud enough to sound like someone actually talking. It was also a really faint sort of sound. So I grabbed my flashlight and headed downstairs to see what was causing it.

I was at the top of the stairs to the basement when I heard this, sound like a hard wind, and then the bottom of the stairs was bathed in this flickering orange glow. I got nervous and walked down slowly, pulling the chain for the light at the bottom of the steps. The furnace was on, and the glow came from the open hatch in the side. I went over to the furnace, shut the hatch, and turned on my flashlight to look around for a timer or something. Behind me, I heard a shuffling sound. And I quickly turned around and danced the flashlight beam everywhere, but there wasn't anything. Like I said, I'm not superstitious, but I started feeling claustrophobic.

So I went back to the stairs, turned off the light, and went back upstairs. I went back to watching TV as outside it got darker and darker. I made the mistake of watching some scary movie. Even though I wasn't a believer, I have a good amount of. The breaker to the living room went suddenly, at a tense moment and I almost jumped in fright at the sudden plunge into darkness. I fumbled for my flashlight and worked my way to the hallway to go back down to the basement. Just as I got to the basement door, the living room lights came back on, along with the TV. I just stood there, rooted to the spot.

Breakers don't just flip themselves back on. I looked at the basement door for a long time. I managed to calm myself and decided that I should just go to bed. The bathroom was small with a sink, toilet, and stand-up shower. There's a window between the sink and the shower, but it was all frosted glass. You couldn't really see through it. I was brushing my teeth when I heard a soft, scratch-scritch sound coming from the window. I looked, but there was nothing there.

I went back to brushing my teeth. More scitching occurred, but I didn't look. I sat down to use the toilet and was reading some old magazine the old guy had left behind when the whispering started up from the air vent. The vent in the bathroom was down at the base of the window, and I turned my head and looked down at it when the whispering started. Then something caught my attention and I looked up. There was a face pressed up against the frosted glass of the window.

At least, it looked like a face. It had the oval shape of a head and what looked like eyes and nose and mouth. But it was totally obscured by the frosted glass. It was pressed right up against it, whatever it was. And when I looked up and saw it, I screamed and hurriedly wiped and fell running out of the room. When I turned back around, the window was dark again. Now I was paranoid that maybe there was someone else sneaking around the house, so I started hunting around.

I turned on every light in the house and looked under tables and behind chairs. I grabbed the flashlight and went outside and checked the backyard. The backyard was all fenced in and the grass was really long and weedy from not being mowed. I was looking through the bushes and turned toward the house, when I saw something moving in the bathroom window on the other side of the frosted glass. I gasped when I saw it and dropped the flashlight in the high grass and spent too long trying to find it before I could run back inside and start hunting all around again. There was nobody there.

The only thing I could think was that they were hiding in the basement. So I went down into the basement, stomping down the stairs all boldly when it only then occurred to me that if someone was down there, they might be dangerous. I instantly went from feeling brave to feeling absolutely scared to be down there, and I ended up running back up the stairs as if there was someone hot on my heels and slamming the door shut. There was a latch on that side of the door, and I turned it to lock, and then put my ear to the wood to listen for sounds.

In the space of a few hours, I had gone from not the least bit worried, about spending the night in that house to suddenly missing my spot on my parents' futon. I almost called them and asked them if it would be all right to come back over, but my pride got the better of me, and I reasoned that there was absolutely nothing to be afraid of. I went back into the living room and set up the inflatable mattress. I wasn't even sure what time it was. All I remember was it was pitch dark outside.

I had left most of the lights on around the house, but the only clock was a small wind-up one on the mantle in the kitchen, and it had long since wound down. I was almost done inflating the mattress when the breakers flipped for the entire house, plunging me back into darkness. I sighed and rolled my eyes, and not a second later I heard, like a long breath coming from the direction of the hallway that sent a chill down my spine. I searched for the flashlight and then pointed it at the hallway, but as usual there was nothing there. I crept quietly and slowly into the hallway, keeping my eye on the basement door. I put my ear to the basement door, listening, trembling. It was like my entire body was focused on hearing the slightest sound. And I did.

Behind me, from the bedroom, there was a rustling sound. sound. I jerked away from the basement door and swiveled around. The bedroom door was shut, but I had left every door open during my hunt earlier. There was more rustling coming from inside the room, like somebody rolling around in the bed. I did not want to go in there, but I made myself do it anyway. I pushed the door open, waving the flashlight around into the awaiting darkness. The first thing I noticed was that the walls seemed very, Wet. The reflection of my flashlight glistened off them like they were covered in water. I stepped forward into the room and realized that the walls were covered in the reddish-brown

gunk that I had seen under the bed. It wasn't moving or throbbing or anything. It just seemed to ooze down the walls. I was bugging at that point, freaking out about the slime when I heard the soft shifting of the mattress and looked at the bed. There was a full, form under the blankets, and it had just rolled over when I pointed the light at it. As I watched, it started to rise like someone sitting up, and I didn't wait. I screamed and ran out, slamming the door back shut behind me. I dropped the flashlight somewhere in the hall, but didn't care, and ran back toward the living room, and just as I did, the lights flashed. On, off, real fast, like less than a second, just long enough for me to see a figure standing at the foot of my mattress.

I just made out a dark silhouettes, no distinct face or clothes, just something tall and human in shape at the foot of my bed, and then everything was black again, and all I had was the after image burnt into my eyeballs. At that point, I was all about getting out of the house. I didn't care about my stuff or that I was in my pajamas. I just wanted out, and the only way out was blocked by something standing in the middle of the living room. Except there was a way out through the basement. Friends, I know what you're thinking. Don't go in the basement.

What is wrong with you? But I was not the least bit rational. I heard what sounded like footfalls from right in front of me. And I heard the creak of the bed springs behind me, and in my mind flashed the image of the door to the backyard in the basement. And I just went for it. As far as I knew, I had seconds before something got me. I grabbed the knob to the basement door and yanked and twisted it before remembering I had latched it. I pawed at the latch like a crazy person, and then flung open the basement door just as I heard the bedroom door opening.

I almost fell down the stairs I was in such a panic. I stumbled across the dark room and felt around desperately for the lock. Behind me came the thick, of the furnace kicking on, and I was bathed in its eerie orange glow again. I turned around and looked, my hands pressed against the door behind me. There was nobody at the stairs. There was nobody in the room. I stood there, holding on to that door like it was a lifeline. and breathing heavily.

Then came the soft shuffling sound. I strained my eyes to see into the darkness, but all I could make out was the pile of bags of fertilizer. Then I saw movement. Something black was crawling out from behind the fertilizer bags. As I stood there gawking, it got bolder and started lurching out toward the glow of the furnace. God, as my witness, it looked like one of those body. bags you see in the police dramas. It was lane horizontal, but would bend up at one end,

lurch forward, then bend up at the other end and shimmy like an inchworm. It was crawling, this big black bag out from behind the pile in the center of the room. I couldn't even scream. My scream was stuck in my throat. My jaw was hanging open and I was arching my back against the door, digging my nails into it. it. Even as terrified as I was, my mind was working frantically, and I moved to the side so that I could see the door using the glow from the furnace. The thing on the floor heard me, and suddenly went rigid, then part of it seemed to turn and face me. I couldn't look anymore. I would go mad if I stayed and watched, so I looked at the door, saw the lock, turned it, heedless of the noise it made,

and threw the door open, stumbling up the back steps towards the storm door that was the last barrier between me and outside. I banged my head into it, causing me to see stars, then felt around for the bar, shoved it up and almost screamed with joy as I threw the storm door open and ran outside. I ran around to the front yard

and realized my car keys were in my pants pocket and my pants were in the living room. So I ran. I ran until I got to a gas station down the road, and thankfully the night shift employee thought I had been assaulted or something, and let me use the phone in the office. I called my parents, and my father drove out in the middle of the night and picked me up. He wanted to go back to the rental house and investigate, but I begged him to just take me home. The next day he didn't go to work. He went over to the house and got my things and checked to see a house.

there were any signs of the things I had seen. When he got back, he told me nothing looked out of place except for a partially inflated air mattress, a flashlight left in the hall, and the back door from the basement was wide open, and a neighbor's cat had gotten in. They sold the house a year or so later. My father had gone in and cleared out all the old guy's stuff after I refused to go back. They thought about renting it out again, but they decided that if they there was really something unnatural about the house, the best bet would be to get it off their hands. And now, I'm a believer.

Our time together is drawing to a close. Thanks for listening to this episode. Join us again next time when we unleash more disturbing tales designed to afflict your night with no sleep.