The NoSleep Podcast - Nosleep Podcast S2E14

Episode Date: November 4, 2012

We're right back into season 2 with episode 14.  The episode features mysterious photos, tormenting bullies, and eerie family occurances.This episode features these stories:The Oshavein written by Ross Raguth (Redditor enablednightmare) and read by Chris Eddleman (Redditor TalksAtYou).Spell of Success written and read by Sammy Raynor (Redditor sammysimplicity).Anna written by Stephen Porte (Redditor sleeplessinnewhaven) and read by C.H. Williamson (Redditor pomochu).The Nocturnal Wanderer written by Adam Travis (Redditor virulenter) and read by David Cummings (Redditor MikeRowPhone). 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. Brace yourself for the No Sleep podcast. It's episode 14 of season two. Welcome to the show. I'm your host, David Cummings. We have four tales for you this time, featuring, mysterious photos, tormenting bullies, and eerie family occurrences. We had a great response to our Halloween show this year, so I'd like to thank everyone

who listened to it and left us positive comments. If you haven't checked it out yet, make sure you download it at the no-sleeppodcast.com or check your podcast feed for the show. I also want to thank the many regular listeners who shared the Halloween episode. with friends. When you get new people listening to the show, it really helps us out, so a big thanks goes out to those of you who spread the word about the podcast. Now, let's get on with the show. Our first story is about a young man who goes searching the internet for the strange tales of urban legends. He stumbles upon an odd photograph that seems to be far more real than legend.

Author Rick Molesley shares with us the story read by Chris Edelman. The message is quite clear. Stay away from a certain online image with the file name, the Oshivane. I was browsing the internet

like I normally do on a Sunday evening. The sun was going down slowly and I was preparing to do my usual set of tasks. Homework for Monday morning. a quick game on Xbox Live, and then draw for half an hour. Only thing was, I had somehow found my way onto a random thread called Urban Legends. I am a sucker for this shit.

There's something about Urban Legends that just fills me with wonder and imaginative possibility. Being the curious browser that I am, I began scrolling through the mountainous thread and noticed that it was 100 pages or more by now. As I went through the board, post by post, I saw classic urban legends and trolls posting terrible pictures before being removed from the thread. At about page 28, I realized that I had been on this thread for an hour easily. I was bouncing back and forth from YouTube and Facebook, but I had wasted quite some time on this endeavor. Around page 45, I decided I was done reading and had no more interest in the thread. However, before I could close my browser and move on, I noticed something strange. An anonymous user had posted on the thread, leaving a link.

In all caps they had written, scary shit people. I hadn't seen anyone post a link without a description thus far. I had a feeling that it was a virus or another fucked up picture of some dude mutilating his crotch again. I persisted in clicking it, though. My hand moved the cursor of the mouse to the back button, in case it was exactly what I assumed it was. The link followed through to a maroon-colored HTML-styled page

with no advertisements, no other colors, and no pictures. Just a maroon page with a download file in the center. Theoshavene.p.ng. I had no idea what the Oshaveen was. I opened a new tab and Googled it, Wikipedia it, Googled it again. Nothing. There was no such thing as the Oshavane. Being as it was just an image file, I decided that I would go ahead and download it.

The download began and the time estimator started at 30 minutes. 30 minutes? That's a huge freaking file. I decided I'd kill some time by watching YouTube and chatting on Facebook. Facebook until the file finally finished. The file downloaded and I paused the video I was watching. Let's see what that Anon was so scared of. When I opened the download folder, there was no preview image. I checked the information on it and was shocked to see that it was a file from November 14, 2000. I was actually hesitant to click on it and find out what it was. There was something unsettling about an unknown file like this being on my computer.

When I went to open the file, someone messaged me on Facebook and scared the shit out of me. I answered their question and started talking to them again. They kept me occupied for 15 minutes before leaving a BRB. I had to check now. There was no excuse. It was just a picture. There was no way there was a virus on it.

Otherwise, my antivirus protection would have been going nuts. I slowly double-clicked on the image and awaited the loading box to disappear and show me what I had been dreading taking a peek at. The image finally loaded. It was a black and white picture of a highway. In the background there was a forest. The trees were black silhouettes and the light source was obviously from a noonday sun. The road was the dividing line from the side of the road that the picture had been taken on and the other side with the trees. At first, my observations were quick, and I saw nothing that could be considered scary, until I noticed something standing in and amongst the trees.

I thought it was an animal at first, but my guess was quickly replaced with a new one. It was a man. At least I thought it was. He wasn't tall. In fact, he was just sort of. sort of above average height. He couldn't have been more than six feet. I noticed that his head was shrouded by a black hood and his arms were outstretched, holding on to two of the trees beside him. As I continued inspecting his area of the picture, I felt like I was being stared at right back.

I couldn't see his face, but there was something off about how perfectly his head was angled. chills ran down my spine and I minimized the preview window quickly. I tried to shake off the feeling and set my laptop aside. It's just a picture, you dumbass, I said out loud, bopping myself in the head. I began working on my homework and that same feeling returned. When I looked over at my computer, the preview window was still minimized. I decided I'd open it again and see if I could make out any details about his face. When I expanded the window, the figure from before was now standing at the highway with his hands in his pockets.

I shuddered and pulled back slightly. How the hell did that happen? I peered at the now closer shadowy figure and could make out details about his appearance. He was wearing a black hoodie, black jeans, and black shoes. His face, however, I don't know how to it. explain it, but it was pointed. Instead of a human-esque face, what I saw was almost like a bird. His chin came to a point and a massive grin went up either side of his face. He had only one eye, his right eye. It stared back at me. I could feel it watching me. The camera angle was

exactly the same. It was as if the photographer had stayed put and the subject had moved forward. I waited for the picture to move. Perhaps it was an altered file that exchanged every once in a while. But nothing happened. No movement or suspicious data alteration. After a while I decided to minimize it again. Why I didn't exit out of the preview, I'll never know. I guess I was just curious. Another hour later, I opened the preview window again. I actually gasped aloud and pushed my computer away when I saw the picture once again. The figure was now on the photographer's side of the highway. The face was clearer now.

The teeth were huge. I could see that the eye was shaped like a cross with the actual eye beneath it. The eye inside the design stared at me. I was beginning to feel uneasy, but the eye. there was always a small part of me that kept saying that it couldn't hurt me. After all, it was just a download file from a strange HTML site. Needless to say, however, I closed the window finally. After I finished my homework, I started up my Xbox and waited patiently for the invites to parties to flood my inbox.

As I started chatting away, I couldn't help but feel the need to see the picture again. I needed to see if the man would still be there. I clicked the file again and felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The man was now only a few yards away from the camera. Upon closer inspection, his black hoodie was plastered to his stomach in some areas, covered in something that made the black a little lighter. I could finally see the face clearly, The huge toothy grin that I had seen before was now revealed to be open slightly.

Hanging from his mouth was the fingers of a foreign hand. I shivered and minimized it. Everyone in my party began asking what I was doing. I kept telling them that I was watching a stupid video or reading a crappy fan fiction. I didn't want them to know I was scared out of my mind, staring at a picture from the internet. I decided I'd play a few games with my friends to take the edge off. After my fifth match in a row, my adrenaline was pumping,

and I was feeling confident and courageous. Without a moment's hesitation, I quickly full-sized the image and backed away as far as I could after seeing the image before me. The man, shit. I don't even know if you could call it that anymore. The creature. was now full frame holding the edges of the camera. The fingers inside its mouth were gone, and it suddenly dawned on me.

The photographer was the one that had been eaten by this thing. Whoever, or whatever this thing was, it was probably the one that had taken the picture. Pictures. Its eye was staring at me. I could feel the contact as if the creature was breathing in staring behind the screen into my soul. I shuddered and went to close the window once again when I hit the exit button.

I could almost swear I saw the thing move, like it moved forward into the camera once more, and then the window vanished. I never opened the file after that. I deleted it and made sure my system was clean of anything remotely close to the title of theoshaven.png. Later on in the week, during my photography class, I was out doing nature shots. I had gotten a good bunch of shots and was ahead of schedule. With a grin on my face, I walked up to one of my friends and started showing off in front of them.

You, asshole, you always get the best shots. I felt great. Way better than that Sunday evening anyways. That is, until my friend pointed something out to me, Hey, uh, who the hell is that? I looked down at the little preview screen. Standing in amongst the trees of one of the shots I took was the shadowy form. He was grinning proudly with his arms outstretched towards the camera.

Sibling rivalries are common and usually quite harmless. Brothers especially can feel the need to converse. compete with each other. As author and narrator Sammy Rainer explains, when an older brother is made to feel inadequate by his younger brother, the efforts made to even the score lead to some very unexpected results. Desperate measures lead to the supernatural realm and the conjuring of the spell of success. I've always been jealous of my brother. He's always had something I wanted, could do things I couldn't.

He probably never knew, though I'm sure everyone else could tell based on how much I fought with him. I was always getting in trouble for things I did do him out of pure jealousy. You see, it's normal for a younger brother to envy his older brother, but not the other way around, as was the case for me. Yeah, I envied my baby brother. Envied the way he seemingly skated through life without any problems while I struggled. I envied the ease in which he made friends with everyone he came and caught. contact with while I spent all of elementary, middle, and high school picked on and tormented.

I envied his bigger bedroom, his bike, and the fact that he was taller. Most of all, I envied his art. My brother was born with the uncanny ability to draw. Even from childhood he showed a knack for art, and it was always the one thing I was extremely jealous of. While I sat there drawing stick figures of the occasional terrible drawing, he'd create masterpieces and works of art. He could mimic almost any artistic style and drew comics and cartoons while I looked on with envy so pure it bordered on hatred. It went on like this

for years until I went to college and I didn't see him as often. But during those times when I did go home for holiday or for long weekends, that rage would be rekindled almost instantly. I finally decided that I would find a way to be better than him. I didn't care what it took. I would be a better artist. I enrolled in two art classes that semester, but, by the halfway mark, both professors suggested I draw up the courses and find something better suited to my personal styles.

A pleasant way of saying, you suck. It was after bitterly making my way back to my dorm, cursing the professors and my brother under my breath the entire way, that I suddenly felt a pull to stop by the library. I don't know why I felt it. whether it was the last hope of maybe finding a book on art, or if it was something more. I'll never know.

I entered the library in a haze of anger. I didn't realize how late it was getting, or even where I was going. I was just wandering through the library, still muttering curses under my breath, when all of a sudden, something on a shelf caught the corner of my eye, and I stopped. The book was, at first glance, old.

obviously one of the older books in the library. However, the gold writing on the spine of the book was still as bright and vivid as if it were brand new. It was also in a strange font that was hard to make out, though if I had to guess, I'd say it was written in Latin. I pulled the book from the shelf, and a large cloud of dust followed it. It was a lot heavier than it looked

and smelled even older than I had originally estimated. The front cover was emblazoned with the same gold writing as the spine, along with a large pentagram underneath what I assumed was the title. Instantly, I knew it was an old spellbook and wondered incredulously how I'd managed to wander into this section of the library that I didn't even know existed. Come to think of it, I didn't even know where I was or how to get back. I looked back down to the ancient book in my hands,

and maybe out of curiosity, opened it. I was expecting it to be in Latin, like the cover, and nearly impossible to decipher. What I wasn't expecting was for it to be in perfect English or for it to open exactly to what I wanted. Spell of success. Whatever the price that I must pay, O talent desired, come now my way. Heed my call, respect my name, vindicate me from my shame.

Come to me, forget thy master. Come to me, this now spellcaster. I read the words silently, not entirely sure. of the price that I must pay. I couldn't find any sort of explanation as to what I had to give to gain this promise success, but I realized I didn't really care. Slowly, I began to read the spell out loud,

making absolutely sure to say it right and not make any mistakes. I finished and closed my eyes, half expecting some sort of flash of lightning or gust of wind like in the movies, but nothing happened. I opened my eyes and looked around the world, room and nothing had changed. Still angry and now slightly disappointed, I slammed the book closed,

found my way out of the library, and trudged back to my dorm. I slumped up the three flights of stairs to my room and once inside flung myself into my desk chair. Might as well get some studying done, I'd wasted enough time that night. I pulled out my notebook and textbooks and began studying. It wasn't long, however, until I started daydreaming and simultaneously do it. on my open notebook. My phone's ringtone going off snapped me back to reality. It was my parents. I quickly checked the clock and noticed that it was well past midnight.

They should have been in bed hours ago. Cautiously, I answered the phone. Hello? I answered. You need to go to the hospital. Your brother fell off the top bunk in his room. He's on his way to the emergency room with dad in an ambulance. My mother said, as sobs broke through her voice. Mom, is he okay? I asked.

He's unconscious and unresponsive. I'm heading to the hospital now, but I had to let you know, she replied. I'll be there as fast as I can, I said as I hung up the phone. It was at that moment that I noticed the notebook I'd been doodling on while I was daydreaming. On it was a beautiful drawing of what I'd been daydreaming. dreaming about. It was the most realistic and ornate drawing I'd ever seen in my entire life. At that moment, I knew what I'd paid for success. I drove to that hospital faster than I should have. I had to see my brother. Had to somehow prove to myself that I was wrong. That the spell

hadn't worked. I went to his hospital room. He was conscious now, but my parents were still upset. He looked absolutely awful. And then I found out why my mother and father were still inconsolable. The nurse told me that the head injury my brother had received from the fall was too serious. They predicted he wouldn't make it through the night. Trembling, I walked to his bedside. His eyes slowly rolled around to look at me. Very quietly, he spoke. I love you. We're his first. words. Sobbing now, I responded. Love you too.

I never told you something, he trailed off. What? I asked a bit hesitantly. I really wish I could have taught you how to draw. I wanted to teach you so you could teach me how to play the piano as good as you do, and said he didn't make it through the night. That was five years ago. Every day I draw him. Every day there's a new picture of him.

Drawn as if you were still here, still growing, still aging. So realistic they look like pictures of him instead of drawings. But no matter how realistic they look, they'll never bring him back. The issue of bullying is very much in the forefront of the media these days. However, usually the bully is viewed as the aggressor, not the victim. the victim. As author Simon Anderson writes, from the schoolyard to adulthood, a persistent girl keeps up her tormenting ways by acting like she is the wronged person. C.H. Williamson reads the tale for us about a particularly evil girl named Anna. I've written and rewritten

different accounts of what's happened to me over the years. time it changes, because I change my mind about whether I'm experiencing something real, or I'm just crazy. I don't even know for sure anymore, but I can only tell you what it feels like from my end. It all started when I was six years old. My parents had just moved to a new town. I was one of two new kids. The other was a girl. I'll call her Anna. Since we were both new, I thought maybe we could be friends, and I tried to sit with her at lunch. I may have had other

motives, too. Though I was only six years old, I remember thinking that Anna was very pretty. She had red hair and fair skin, and her eyes were really, really green. My eyes and hair were just plain brown, so the fact that she had so many colors drew me to her. She was friendly enough, and talked about whatever six-year-olds talk about. Just before we were supposed to go back to class, she turned to me with the most serious expression on her face and told me, I know you. You're bad. I was a bit annoyed because I certainly wasn't bad and decided that maybe Anna didn't want to be my friend after all.

We didn't talk after that. I started making other friends and fitting in. Occasionally, I'd see Anna staring at me during recess or something with that same serious look. But I just ignored her. After recess one day, Anna was running in front of me to get in line to go back inside, and she tripped. She told the teachers that I had pushed her. I hadn't. And the teachers told her it must have been an accident,

and there was no punishment. A few days later, she cut off some of her hair and told the teachers that I had done it. This time, the teacher believed her despite my protests, and sat me in a corner for a few. minutes. I knew Anna was a liar at this point, so I tried my best to stay away from her. But every few days, she'd find me, scrape herself up somehow, and blame it on me. The teachers were starting to think I was a horribly violent child and tried to protect

her from me. I was confused, but didn't. tell my parents because I thought they would believe her too. One day, my parents called me into the living room and told me to sit down. They told me that the school had called about my escalating attacks against Anna. I tried to tell them that none of it was true, but then they produced a copy of letter they said I'd sent Anna. When I looked at the letter, I was shocked. It was my handwriting. In the letter, I told Anna that I loved her and asked her if she'd be my girlfriend. I said how pretty I thought she was, and that I'd be very mad if she didn't agree to be my girlfriend. My parents told me that the school was very upset about what I had done, and that Anna was being transferred to another school.

I was speechless. I think that my parents thought I was upset about not seeing Anna, but I was really just shocked about my handwriting. I'd recognized it just as my parents had. I wondered if, in fact, I had written the letter. I did think she was pretty, and when we first met, I did think about asking her to be my girlfriend. But I had no memory of writing such a letter, and I was horribly confused. The school was going to give me one more chance, but any slip-up on my part would result in immediate expulsion, I became a sullen child. I lost the few friends I'd made and sat in a corner,

not doing much at all. I barely spoke when spoken to, and started keeping a journal so I could write down everything that happened during the day. Memories just weren't reliable enough. A month went by without incident. tell you that it was a month because I still have my journals from this time. It seemed like the only thing I could trust. I wrote and re-read what I had written, constantly. Walking home from school one day, I felt like someone was watching me. By then I was pretty paranoid, so this was nothing new.

but the sensation was much stronger than normal. I could only walk a few steps before looking behind me. After a few blocks of constantly checking behind me, I was shocked when I turned to face forward, and Anna was directly in front of me. I had no idea how she'd managed to get within six inches of me in a fraction of a second. I fell to the floor and began crying, telling her that I'd never done anything to her, and for her to please leave me alone.

She was expressionless as I bawled on the ground. Finally, she knelt down and grabbed my wrist. I looked up, and when her eyes met mine, she said, said, you're, you're going to do a bad thing. I pissed myself at that point, and she let me go. She raised her left hand and presented it to me, palm up. I stared at her arm, unsure what to do. I do remember that she had a scar on her wrist, kind of like a crescent moon. She took out a knife and slashed her forearm,

still with no expression on her face. Her blood dripped on the ground, mixing with my piss. I was now covered in blood and piss and finally gathered enough courage to run away. I ran and hid for hours in the woods. The police were already at my house when I got home, and my parents were furious.

No surprise. The police said Anna had been attacked, that she said it was me. I couldn't offer much of a defense, as I was covered in blood and couldn't muster words anyway. I was expelled and sent to a counselor who would never believe the truth. Eventually, I was allowed to go to school again. Of course, I had to express remorse, and that meant confessing to things I had never done. Only my journals kept me sane.

They were the truth, even though everyone was telling me that the truth was something else entirely. I was sent to a special school for troubled kids and managed to stay out of trouble for a few years. And then, well, this is where my story gets really crazy. or I do. I don't know. When I was 14, I was skateboarding in a local park. When I saw a red-haired girl out of the corner of my eye, at this point, I'd moved past the Anna debacle,

but I still got kind of nervous around redheads. I moved closer to her, just to set my mind at ease. I always made sure the redheads weren't Anna, and this girl wasn't, though she had a similar coloring. As I got closer, I saw her brush her hair behind an ear. I nearly shit my pants when I saw her wrist. That same crescent-shaped scar. We locked eyes, and I swear, She smirked at me and even blew me a kiss.

I got the hell out of there. A few days later, the police arrived at our door. I was being accused of theft. They never said who the accusation was coming from. Oh, but I knew. It was Anna, or that Anna-like girl anyway. My parents gave the police permission to search my room, and they found the stolen item. This started happening every six months or so.

I would see a redhead, close but not quite Anna. She would make eye contact with me, and then the police would come searching. My relationship with my parents deteriorated completely. I had no defense against what was happening. I contemplated suicide and dreamt about it constantly. Oddly, this was when I started dreaming about Anna. In my dreams, Anna was always six years old, and she seemed nicer than she was in real life.

I know this seems. It seems bizarre, but she always came to me when I had decided that this was it. I was committing suicide. She was the one who talked me out of it each and every time. Even as she tortured me in real life, she was saving my life in my dreams. She was apologetic in my dreams. and told me that she had no choice. At this point, my relationship with my parents had been all but destroyed.

They barely tolerated my presence and made it clear to me that once it was legal to do so, they'd kick me out and never look back. From their perspective, I was a psychopath who'd cut up, who'd cut up a little girl in first grade and started stealing in high school. I had made their lives hell, and I couldn't blame them. I certainly couldn't explain that the little girl who saved my life in my dreams was ruining my life.

So I just took it and planned to leave the day I turned 18. After yet another run-in with the police, I raided the liquor cabinet and got really, really drunk. My mother found me with the whiskey and snatched it out of my hand. She was yelling and crying and asking me what she'd ever done to deserve a son like me. I couldn't answer her, but because of the drinking, I just said what was on my mind. that I had been haunted by a six-year-old girl who talked me out of suicide every night. Laws be damned, my parents kicked me out the next day. I was 16.

For the next year, I lived on the streets, actually stealing. But ironically, never getting caught. All I ever carried with me was a backpack with my journals, a few utensils, and a change of clothes. During that year, I didn't see Anna. In fact, I didn't see Anna again until last month. I'm 19 now, so it's been about three years? I still live on the streets, and the... This time, I saw her walking out of a movie theater.

For the first time, she wasn't a redhead. She had long brown hair. And when we made eye contact, I knew that she would start messing with my life again. I couldn't let that happen. I followed her after she said, goodbye to her friends. And once she had rounded a corner, I came up behind her and bashed her into the wall. I spent the next few minutes yelling at her, asking her why she kept ruining my life. eyes were terrified, then confused, and eventually just lost focus.

She grabbed my shirt, and I saw the crescent-shaped scar on her wrist, and I swear. She smiled at me before the light went out of her eyes. And she said, see, your. When she died, I looked again, and she didn't seem like Anna at all. The scar disappeared when she died, and I just ran away from there as fast as I could. Suicidal now. But she doesn't come to my dreams to talk me out of killing myself anymore. She just appears, covered in blood, and points and laughs at me.

Maybe she's telling me it's time to die. I don't know what's real anymore. And something's been happening in the last two weeks that's never happened before, and it scares me more than anything else. My journals, they're changing too. I see stories written down I've never written, like that letter in the first grade. She's changing my name.

journals. I can't take it anymore. I can't trust anything anymore. In our final tale, we meet a family with two young children. The boy is going through a sleepwalking phase, and this forces his parents to put up with regular nighttime disturbances. However, it soon becomes apparent that there is more to the sleepwalking. then meets the eye. Author Adam Travis weaves a tale that I will read for you about the ordeal this family endures because of the nocturnal wanderer. My son has always been prone to nocturnal wanderings. I can't count the number of hours my wife and I have lain awake listening to the slap of his footfalls up and down the hall. The footsteps slowing at our door and the dark

silhouette of his head peeking in, staring at us. Nor can I count the times I've snapped awake with the feeling that I'm being watched to find my child standing next to me, his small form, silent and motionless. We know we shouldn't, but we let him sleep with us on these occasions. He has a very vivid imagination and often complains of nightmares. My wife and I are just too soft-hearted to send him back to his own room, alone and afraid. The comfort of sleeping with us always bolsters his spirits, though. Each time he sleeps with us, he ends up back in his own bed before the dawn sun rises. Last night I woke to a gentle shake, my wife's hand grasping my upper arm. The pressure was gradually increasing, as if she had been trying to rouse me for quite some time.

I turned my head in her direction, and the shaking stopped. Alan, could you please turn on the lamp? She said. Her voice cool and calm in the dark room. Alex would like to sleep with us tonight. He says he had a nightmare and is scared. My eyes were adjusting to the dark room, and I was starting to make out the shadow of my son standing beside the bed.

But Alex is spending. the night at... My wife's fingernails bit sharply into my arm, cutting off my words. All at once, my chest felt heavy, a weight collapsing upon me. The wrongness of the images before me fully sunk in. My son was not home. Who was standing beside us? The weight on my chest compressed. I felt so small and cold. Each breath was a labored effort, and each heartbeat shot ice through my veins. I did not want to turn on the lamp. The form stood beside the bed, as unmoving as a statue.

Slowly I moved my arm off the bed and to the nightstand. After a few feeble attempts, the lamp snapped on. illuminating the room in a soft golden glow. Beside the bed, beside my wife, stood my son. Only it wasn't my son. The creature was the same height and the same build. After that, the similarities stopped. The creature was hairless and sexless.

Its naked form was completely smooth. There were no visible ears, and no discernible nose. The only features on the creature were its eyes and its mouth. The eyes were dark empty sockets, nearly three times as large as a human's eye. The dark expanse of its eyes stared down at us. Looking into them was like staring into the void.

The darkness was all and it was nothing. Can I sleep with you? The creature asked. Its mouth was a jagged gash across its smooth face, as if it did not occur naturally but had been ripped into existence. The voice, however, the voice was the gentle, innocent voice of our Alex. Alex? My wife said.

I could hear a quiver of fear and uncertainty in her voice. The same feeling was swelling in the pit of my stomach. It's almost morning. I need you to go back to your own room and go to sleep. The creature's rigid posture slumped in front of us. Its shoulders sagged, and I swear I heard a sigh escape its mouth. Looking into its eyes, I knew they were not completely devoid.

of feeling. There was sadness in there, and below that there was hate. The creature turned and slowly walked towards our bedroom doorway and into the hall. At the doorway, the creature turned and looked at us one last time. But the creature's Alex's voice said, You've always let me sleep with you before. Turning back away from us, the creature slipped through the doorway. We lay there, my wife and I, listening to the echo of footfalls moving down the hall. I didn't want to turn off the lamp. The next night, I couldn't sleep.

The previous night kept running through my mind. It felt like a dream, surreal. The bruises on my arm were no dream, though. Five tiny depressions from my wife's fingers. I climbed out of bed as silently as possible, trying not to wake her. Although she had displayed nerves of steel during the night, she had been a wreck all day. She needed the sleep.

I paused in the doorway and looked back at her. If she opened her eyes now, all she would see is my dark silhouette staring at her, just like that thing last night, staring at us, through us. I looked into the kids' rooms as I passed them. I don't know what I expected to see, but I looked just the same. They weren't here. I called my parents earlier and asked them to keep the kids another night. A canvas of stars had silently stolen across the sky while I had lain in bed.

The house was completely dark. I navigated by memory and feel more than sight as I made my way to the office. Once inside I shut the door, flipped on the lights, and collapsed at my desk. The light flickered above me, casting the room in dancing shadows. They leapt and cavorted, growing closer to me. From the corners of my eyes, they began to take shape, only to dissipate as I turned my gaze to them. I cursed as I grabbed the hot light bulb and twisted it tighter into the socket. The flickering stopped, the shadows no longer advanced.

The weight of everything crashed down upon me as I lay back in my chest. chair. My eyes closed. The last several hours had finally caught up to me and I fell into a shallow sleep. The sound woke me up. In the hallway, shuffling footsteps. My heart stopped. The pit of my stomach nodded into a fist, almost doubling me over as it twisted. The footsteps were getting louder. They were coming towards me. I stared at the door, unable to move, unable to scream as the footsteps neared. The sound stopped right in front of the door. My heart felt like it was about to explode as it thundered in my chest. One minute passed, then two. The only sounds in the house were the beating of my heart and the ticking of the office clock. Slowly, the door handle began to turn. I heard the latch

release and the door began to push inward. I could feel them before I could see them. Those eyes. The door was cracked no more than an inch and it was peeking in at me. One eye, one bottomless abyss. of eternal night staring right into me. The half of its ripped mouth that I could see was twisted up, almost as if it was smiling. I stared back, my eyes locked in its gaze. The creature giggled at me then. It was unmistakably Alex's giggle, the one that he does when he's caught doing something he's not supposed to do. As it giggled, it slammed the door shut. I scrambled up from my chair and threw the office door wide open. Light flooded out into the hallway. Empty. I heard a crash from one of the bedrooms on the other side of the house. I also heard my wife scream. I ran across the house, my fear mixed with

rage. My wife was standing in our bedroom doorway with every light on behind her. Are you okay? I said. Yes. What was that noise? Cautiously, I turned to Alex's room. I darted my hand in and flicked the light switch. The room looked like a tornado had hit. Books were knocked from the bookcase, bed sheets scattered. His dresser was leaning over, drawers hanging askew. His toys tossed around. I jumped as my wife put her hand on my waist. What happened in here? she asked. I have no idea, I said, continuing to survey the damage. It was then that I noticed the closet. The rest of the room was destroyed, but the closet was unharmed.

One door was slightly open, no more than six inches. Stay behind me, I told my wife as I walked into the room. I approached the closet, picking up the nearest toy that I thought might make a weapon. I stood in front of the closet, knowing that I didn't want to open it, but knowing that I had to. With my unarmed hand, I grabbed the door handle and pulled it open before I could talk myself out of it. Clothes and toys. I opened the other door to more toys. Did you see it again? she asked.

Yes. I hugged her, and she started crying softly against my shoulder. We slept the rest of the night with the lights on. All of the lights. In the morning, I went back into Alex's room to begin to clean it up. In the day, in the light, it didn't look like quite the disorganized mess I had thought. I picked up the sheets and righted the dresser. I looked down at the pile of toys and froze. In the disarray, there was a scene. Two larger action figures standing to the side, one male, one female.

Two smaller figures had been made out of clay and were lying flat. A single figure stood above them. It was completely smooth, devoid of features except for its teeth. two hollow eyes. At the foot of the scene were ten of Alex's alphabet blocks. They spelled out, where's Alex? I can't keep the kids at my parents forever. I need to talk to Alex. I think there may be more going on here than I know. I called in sick again. I have never felt as helpless as I did that morning. That was like nothing I had ever experienced. I'd be lying to say I wasn't scared, but at the same time, this being had never done anything to harm us. Its eyes haunted me,

though. The swirling darkness deep inside them seemed to be hiding something, something sinister. her. My wife was busying herself around the house, absently cleaning the same table for the fifth time. She was stalling. Her eyes caught mine, a blush quickly spread across her face as she stopped wiping the rag across the table. I guess we should go get the kids, she said. Her voice was flat and afraid. Sarah, I said, you go get the kids. I have something to take care of here. Her eyes scrunched up at me. There was still fear in them, but I could also see hope. Be careful, she said as she walked out the door. Gray clouds rolled across the sky, filling the house with a dim, hazy light. I dug around in the garage closet until I found what I was after.

The old flashlight clicked to life, its powerful beam cutting through the gray light and the shadows alike. I tossed a couple of extra batteries into my pocket just in case and went to shut the door. I paused before closing the door and, on impulse, grabbed the claw hammer. I strode confidently through the house to Alex's room. Light and hammer ready, I opened his closet. It was the same as last night, nothing but clothes and toys. Sitting the hammer down, I began to push aside the clothes and toys, illuminating every dark corner. I stood back, confused.

There was no way in or out of the closet. I shut the doors and immediately flung them back open. Nothing. I turned from the closet and got down on the ground to check under the bed. The light swept across various toys and dust bunnies. There was nothing else there. I checked the rest of the room and found nothing. The room was empty.

There was nothing under the bed or behind the dresser. The window was locked and the closet doors were closed. I didn't close the closet. I picked the hammer back up, never taking my eyes off the closet doors. My hand was shaking as I grasped the doorknob. I pulled the door open and screamed. It was a warrior's cry, a triumphant cry. I smashed the hammer down again and again.

I swung until my arm began to protest in pain. The remains of a teddy bear lay before me. One button eye fractured, the other missing, stuffing strewn across the room. There was nothing in the closet. I cleaned up the mess and changed up the mess. checked through the rest of the house. I didn't find a thing. I was sitting in the living room when Sarah got home with the kids.

She looked at me hopefully, her eyebrows raised in a question. I grimly shook my head, no. My already weakened resolve faltered as I watched the hope drain from her face. Alex, we need to talk, I said. Sarah ushered Beth quickly across the room and into another part of the house. What, Dad? Alex. Now that he was here, I didn't know what to say. As I stumbled over words in my head, I heard a loud growl of thunder in the distance.

Alex, have you been seeing anything awed around the house? Nope. My head started to swim. I didn't know how to do this. My head tilted backwards and I scanned the ceiling, searching for an answer there. Another round of thunder. Louder. Closer.

The lights flickered, then held steady. Alex, have you ever seen a thing in the house? It would be about your size, with black eyes, and a jagged mouth. Oh, him? He lives in my closet. I couldn't breathe. I stared at Alex, my mouth agape.

Words came and went in my head, but I couldn't get them out. I need you to tell me about him, I finally said. What do you want to know? Everything. Alex plopped down on the couch beside me, sighing in exasperation. The first time I saw him was a couple of months ago. I was playing in my room and heard a door. I thought it was you or mom, and I turned around, but nobody was there.

I kept hearing the sound, though, so I started looking around. The door to my closet was swinging open into my room. I saw him in there, watching me. I didn't want you to think I was a scaredy cat, so I just ignored it. I guess it got braver because a couple of days later it came into my room. He didn't have a mouth then. He'd just sit by the closet door and watch me. After a while, he started to mimic what I did.

If I moved, he moved. If I played, he played. I started talking to him then. It gets boring playing sometimes. I thought it was nice to have someone to talk to. He was still scared, though. He would hide if he heard you or mom. He'd go back in the closet or under my bed.

One day, I asked why he didn't have a mouth. He twisted his head a little, like he didn't understand, so I pointed to mine to explain it. He looked around my room and saw a pair of scissors. Before I knew what he was doing, he had stuck one in his face and started ripping it across. It took a couple of days, but he could talk after that. I stared at Alex. The true horror of everything that had been going on around me was sinking.

in. How oblivious I had been. Thunder crashed again, rattling the windows in their frames. The lights dimmed, threatening to go out. What did it say to you? I asked. Oh, he didn't really say much. He wanted to know about me and you and Mom and Beth. What did he want to know? "'Same thing you do.' "'He said everything.' "'Did it he?' Alex emphatically interrupted me. "'He is not an it.

"'He's a boy, just like me.' "'Did he ever try to hurt you or do anything to you?' "'No, he's cool. "'He said he wanted to show me some things, "'but he couldn't do it right. Now? Did he say when? I asked. Soon. Alex just stared at me. The innocence of a child's mind had never shone more brightly. He had been tottering on the edge of an abyss, never knowing, never fearing how close he was to falling in.

In his eyes, he had found a playmate, no more, no less. Alex, did he ever tell you his name? Oh, yeah, that's the neatest part. His name is Alex too. Lightning flashed through the windows as the thunder boomed right above us. The lights dimmed once, twice, then went out. We sat there in darkness, the sound of the rain now pounding down on the roof. Daddy?

Alex said from beside me. The lights blinked back on, banishing the darkness. Without hesitation, I got up and went back to the garage. Daddy, what are you doing? Alex asked as I strode back by him, heading towards his room. I could hear his footsteps as he chased along behind me. I stood in his doorway, a man determined. The closet door was open, cracked just enough to let the darkness seep out into the room.

Slamming the door shut, I wrapped the chain tightly around the doorknobs and snap the lock shut. I grabbed the dresser and began pulling it towards the closet. The drawers shook and slid as I pulled. Daddy, no, you'll trap Alex in there. I pushed the dresser firmly against the closet door. Sarah and Beth had joined Alex in the doorway, watching me. I leaned against the dresser, catching my breath. Alan, Sarah said.

Is this really necessary? Behind me, the closet doors began to shake. The doors beat against the dresser, crashing like the tides against the beach. The intensity rose. A fury like a hurricane pounding against my restraints. I thought for sure that the wood would splinter, that the doors would shatter as they ripped from their hinges.

But the doors held. The chains held. The dresser held. As the thrashing subsided, I could hear a voice behind the door. The voice was Alex's, but at the same time it wasn't. It was an evil voice filled with the malice that I had seen beneath the darkness of its eyes. Too soon, it said. Too soon.

Let me out, and it will be quick. Try to keep me here and you will suffer. Let me out. One last slam against the doors and all fell quiet. Sarah, grab what you can. We are leaving. I said as I gathered her and the kids out of Alex's room. Another crash of thunder and the lights went out.

This time it was for good. We stood huddled in the hallway, hoping the lights would come on. Inside Alex's room, I began to hear noises, faint ones, but growing stronger. Forget it, I said. Let's get out of here. We can come back for our things later. The four of us ran out into the rain. Sarah put Beth in her car, and I took Alex in mine.

We found a hotel on the other side of town, one that did not offer. closets in the rooms. The rest of the family slept as I sat trying to figure out what to do. I had several messages from work. I had to tell them something. We could maybe afford to stay at this hotel for a week or two, but I couldn't replace our clothes and medicines. I would have to go back to the house. It was the first decent night of sleep in a while. The four of us were crammed together on the lone king-sized bed, but none of us really cared. We were together. We were safe, and we were family. The sun broke bright and strong over the horizon. Its vibrant rays peeking through the paper-thin hotel drapes. The dust caught in the light,

twinkled all around us. It was as if we were. had woken up in a far-off and mystical land, miles and miles away from any of our troubles. It was a sunrise of new possibility, a dawn of hope. We each stretched the sleep out of our bones and took turns with our morning routines. Our clothes were dirty and not quite dry from the night before, but at the same time, the feeling of being clean and refreshed underneath. made it moderately bearable. SpongeBob played on the hotel TV. The kids were enraptured with whatever antics he was in the midst of.

A sense of normalcy was trying to sneak its way in on us. I need to stop by the office today, I said. Sarah looked at me glumly. It's been three days now. I've got to tell them something. What, Alan? What will you tell them? Hell, I don't know. I'll tell them we've got some sort of vermin infestation,

that the things have eaten through water lines and the house is flooded. I flushed with rage, my face reddening and hot. The kids turned from their show, worry creeping into their eyes. I'm sorry, Sarah. I'll make something up. Oh, I don't know, she said, a wry smile curling up the side of her lips. That sounded pretty convincing, and, after all, you already look like a drowned rat. We laughed, both of us, deep and hard.

The worry left the kid's eyes and was replaced with a quizzical look. It felt good to laugh again. Okay, I'll tell them we have a large, pipe-eating, rodent infestation that I'm dealing with. I said with a grin. The grin quickly faded, and I dropped my voice low. After that, I need to get to the house. We don't have Beth's medicine, and we all need a change of clothes. We can go buy more, she said, pleading.

The pharmacy won't do a refill without a prescription. How do you plan on getting that? Besides, we can't afford this place for much longer, even if we don't buy anything. What about the credit cards? Nearly maxed already. Sarah, we don't have a lot of choice here. I don't want you going there alone, she said. The fierceness in her voice,

Belying her appearance. Okay, look, take the kids to my parents' house and meet me at home after I stop by work. Do not go in there alone. Just stay in the car. Okay, she said, the confidence in her voice quickly disappearing. Should we bring weapons? I stared at her, unsure how to answer. We'll be quick, in and out, just long as long. enough to grab the medicine and a change of clothes. That thing is locked up. I spoke quickly,

trying to convince myself as much as her. I have a tire iron in my trunk. I'll take it into the house with us. Sarah nodded. She was putting up a brave front, but I could tell that she was scared. I must have looked worse than I thought. No one questioned my story at the same. the office. My boss just nodded, his face a stoic mask. He told me I had the hours, take whatever I needed to get that cleaned up. On my way out, my friend Jack grabbed me by the arm, stopping me. You look like hell, Alan, he said. I could see the concern on his face. I feel like hell. It was the first thing I had said here that wasn't a lie.

Look, I've had problems like that myself. Don't try to do it all yourself. It'll kill you. Jack, I said, smiling. I don't think you've ever had a problem quite like mine. This is something that I have to do on my own. Take care of yourself, Alan, Jack said as he backed away from me. I will.

I drove slowly to the house. The world outside me was a blur. Featureless people within their metal monsters hungrily devoured the road ahead of me. The world came back into focus as I turned on our street. I could feel the stare of the houses as I passed them. Sarah had beaten me to the house. Her car stood in the middle of the drive. driveway. I pulled up beside her and got out. I stood there, waiting for her. When she didn't open

her door, I pressed my face against the tinted glass. The car was empty. I slammed my hand against the window, cursing under my breath. I had told her not to go in alone. What in the world was she thinking? With another curse, I pulled the tire iron out of my trunk and headed towards the house. I briskly walked across the lawn to the front door. It swung open at my touch. Sarah, where are you? Sarah, are you here?

I shouted into the house. I'm back in the bedroom, she yelled back to me. My anger didn't subside, but a wave of relief washed over me nonetheless. I started towards the hall moving briskly. I was eager to be with Sarah. There was safety in numbers. As I moved down the hall, my cell phone began to ring. Irritated, I pulled it from my pocket.

Sarah's picture stared up at me from the phone as her number ran across the screen. I stopped dead in my tracks. I hit the answer button and put the phone to my ear. I just wanted to tell you that I walked across the street to the neighbors. I asked them to get our mail for a couple of days. I didn't want you to worry when you got here and I wasn't in my car. Ice flowed through my veins. I never even felt my arm move from my ear and pocket the phone. At the end of the hallway, a long, smooth shadow moved by the door inside the bedroom. Alan? Sarah's voice called from my bedroom. Did you get lost?

I was frozen in place. The shadow grew closer and closer to the bedroom door. I heard a sound to my right and turned my head. I was standing in front of Alex's room. The dresser stood in the middle of the room. The chain lay in a heap beside it. The closet doors stood open wide. Darkness spilled and swirled from the closet.

Looking at it was like looking into their eyes. Alex's giggling filled the hallway around me, echoing off the walls. I looked back at my bedroom. Standing in the doorway was a tall, slender figure. Her eyes were much too large for her head. Those dead, empty sockets swam in darkness. The mouth, a jagged tear across her face, smiled a hungry smile. There you are, the Sarah creature said.

The tire iron clattered to the floor as I turned and ran. I ran out of the house, slamming into Sarah as she walked across the lawn. What? Alan? What happened? Behind us the front door closed. I saw Sarah's eyes widen in fright. Following her gaze, I looked back towards the house. Behind the curtains and peeking through the blinds, I could see their eyes. I could see several sets of eyes watching us.

We're back at the hotel now. The kids are with my parents. I am lost. I am completely and utterly lost right now. Or sleepless tales have come to an end. Thanks for sharing the darkness of the night with us. Join us again in two weeks' time when we unleash more disturbing tales designed to afflict your night with no sleep. To continue your sleepless experience, visit the no sleeppodcast.com.