The NoSleep Podcast - Nosleep Podcast S2E16

Episode Date: December 2, 2012

Episode 16 of season 2 features messages from beyond, mysterious strangers, and the darkness within ourselves.This episode features these stories:The Silent Store written by Alfred Dickinson (Redditor Talented_Mr_Ripley) and read by David Cummings (Redditor MikeRowPhone).Monster in the Forest written by A. Rice (Redditor YouAreACatAMA) and read by David Cummings.She's a Keeper written by Brian Emsley (Redditor TheEmsleyan) and read by Evan Howard.Night Time Hero written by Trammel May (Redditor nighttimehero) and read by David Cummings.Restricted Caller written by J.A. Medrano (Redditor A_Night_Owl) and read by Jessica Prokuski (Redditor HeadsOnSticks) & Evan Howard.Alan's Story written by Samuel Hayes (Redditor Doomshlang) 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. Brace yourself for the No Sleep podcast. It's episode 16 of season two. Welcome to the show. I'm your host, David Cummings. We have six tales for you this. time featuring messages from beyond, mysterious strangers, and the darkness found within ourselves.

Now that we're into December, I want to let everyone know that our next episode is our special Christmas show. It will be out on December 16th, and it will feature stories with a Christmas theme. Now, I'm not talking about friendly little elves and cheerful snowmen. Men. These tales will be just as dark and frightening as our usual tales. They'll just have a hint of the darker side of the festive season. So make sure you catch that episode during the holidays. Now, on with the show. Our first tale revolves around that unique American tradition of post- Thanksgiving shopping. As author Alfred Dickinson Explan, His trip to the store during the unusual shopping frenzy turned out to be an unforgettably disturbing experience.

I'll read for you his tale about the time he went shopping at the silent store. Okay, if you're from the U.S., you know what Black Friday is. If you're not American, let me summarize it for you. One day after the American Thanksgiving holiday, mostly every store starts a one-day sale, with prices dropping ridiculously low. Like a 50-inch plasma for $300 kind of low. With an ocean of amazing deals comes a stampede of rowdy crowds. People line up hours, if not days before, so they can get the item they will. want. For the first time in my life, I lined up to. I'm not much of a shopper. I hate the whole

process. My good friend needed a new laptop, but she was out of the country at that moment, so I offered to try and snatch a deal for her. Boy, did I get more than I bargained for. I was about the 15th person in line. Rumor had it that Best Buy was always. I was only a lot of opening the store at 3 a.m. I stood there for a good four hours before I heard a noise up front, meaning they were about to open. Go time. As I started pushing forward, my cell rang. My mom.

It's 3am. Something's wrong. I picked up and all I heard was... Your aunt? I couldn't really understand her, so I decided to sacrifice my spot in this line of madness and move to a quieter location so I could talk to my mother. Family, after all, is more important than a good deal. The call was concerning my aunt. She had a heart attack and unfortunately passed away a few hours ago.

My mom is a bit of an emotional freak, so she felt necessary. to call me immediately, although I wasn't particularly close to this person. I finished the conversation and decided to head into the store and see if there was anything left after the shopping vultures ran through it. The line was completely gone. Everyone was inside. I walked in. Any special event you go to, you expect a lot of noise, especially if the event is a huge sale. I expected people pushing each other, yelling, even fighting, all so they could get their deals. This store was dead silent. Every customer was standing in front of an item, just looking at them, not moving, talking, or anything. All the employees were standing

behind the counters, not moving or talking either. It was strange. I stood there for a minute, wondering if this was some kind of candid camera prank. But eventually I said to myself, oh well, and proceeded to look for a laptop. Still, not a single sound. I found the one I wanted and at a really, really good price at that. I turned around to call for help, but the same. Then I saw.

I saw everyone in exactly the same position as they were when I walked in. Nobody moved in the last 15 minutes, not even an inch. Nobody said a word. Excuse me! I yelled, deciding to fuck this game of silence. Excuse me, I need some help here. Everyone in the store turned towards me. Nobody made a move just turned their eyes at me.

Holy shit. Yes, how may I help you? I jumped, startled because the voice came from behind my back. It was one of the best by employees. She was about five foot five inches, decently attractive. with noticeably blue eyes that gave away a hint of sadness. Uh, yes, I'd like to buy this one, please. Sure, she said and walked to the back.

Even at this point, not a single person other than the blue-eyed girl, moved. She brought the box back. We did the whole checkout thing, and she picked up. a foot-long receipt from the register. She took a pen and started explaining all the charges on the receipt. I wasn't too excited about that, so I paid no attention. I just wanted to get the hell out of the graveyard store I was in. As I was walking out, I bumped into a store manager standing by the door. I apologized, but he didn't react at all. I took my stuff and fast paced out of the place.

I got into my car, started it, mumbled something along the lines of, that was weird, and drove away. My car was low on gas, so I decided to stop at the gas station. As I was pumping fuel into my car, I noticed the receipt sticking out of my jacket pocket. For some reason, I decided to look at it. Hewlett Packard Notebook, 49999. Warranty and maintenance, $1.99. Sales tax, 6%.

$42. Sounds like I got a good deal. Then I saw what she underlined with her pen when she was explaining the charges. The letters, H, E. L. P. M. E. Help me. This night was strange enough as it is, but this just made it scarier. What was going on there?

Did the girl really need help? Was she in danger? From whom? Or were they just fucking with me? I wanted to peace out, but... Curiosity got the best of me, and I decided to go back. I parked my car. There was no line.

As I was approaching the store, I could hear it. Noise. Normality. I walked in, and there it was, your regular store with great sales going on. Noise, yelling, arguing, the whole nine yards. I thought that maybe my experience was just some sort of prank, some TV station pulled on me. As I was walking out, the blue-eyed girl walked by me and said, Have a good day, sir, and thank you for shopping with us.

I stopped, turned around, looked at her and said, Is everything okay? For the briefest of moments, she had a strange stare. in her eyes. Then it disappeared, and she replied with a generic, Everything is great, sir. Have a good night. And walked away. I got home and decided that the whole experience wasn't worth thinking about. It was either a prank, or I was going crazy, but either way, I needed some sleep. I went to bed and woke up quite late that day. I decided to go to a restaurant with my brother.

We went to a local steakhouse. We sat down, got our drinks, all the good stuff. Something seemed off, though. These people around me looked familiar. They looked... These were the people from the store. All of them. I see it now.

Lady in a red coat, old, overweight man, tall black guy. All of them were here. I felt like I was going to get sick, so I ran to the bathroom. I started splashing cold water on my face when someone walked in and started washing their hands next to me. It was the store manager. I was shocked. scared, motionless, speechless, you name it, but mostly I was afraid for my life. I said to him, look, man, look, I don't know anything.

He didn't react. I didn't see anything. I won't tell anyone, I promise. He kept looking at me. He finished washing his hands. He pulled some paper towel, dried them off, and walked out. When I got back to the table, I couldn't recognize anybody else in the restaurant. All the people from the store were gone.

I am afraid now, though, because I did break my promise. I told you, when faced with mounting debt and medical expenses, An unemployed man searches for any kind of job in order to provide for his family. When an offer of a well-paying but arduous job comes his way, he jumps at the chance to work, even if the circumstances seem awfully strange. Author Dale Helms shares his tale of one man who was willing to work outside, even if there might be a monster in the forest. Things aren't going too well for my wife or me.

I'm 27, and I've been a construction worker ever since I was 18. Up until a while ago, I had no trouble staying employed since I started working in 2004. I was fortunate to be part of a company that was able to survive the poor economy over the past couple of years. at least up until now. Due to some lawsuits, my company went bankrupt. I lost my job, and I was working under the table for so long I didn't get unemployment. I was worried. As a man, I had to provide for my family.

My wife and I have two small children that we need to take care of. She works retail, but doesn't make enough money. to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. I immediately began to look for another job, but I have no education, so it wasn't easy. I browsed Craigslist. I was willing to do anything. Construction, yard work, physical labor, transportation with my pickup, security. Hell, I'm a pretty big guy, built like a football player.

You name it. I'd do it. I'd occasionally get the odd job or two, but I had trouble keeping my head above water. That is, until I saw a job offer on Craigslist. Weekly physical labor needed. Earn $1,000 plus a week. Heavy labor. Call Tom at this number. I figured it was some sort of scam, but I was desperate. I called the number and inquired about the job. A man answered the phone. He explained that he owned a large plot of land just outside of town and needed someone to come dig holes.

You could tell from his voice that he was no young man, which is probably why he couldn't just dig the holes himself. I asked a few more questions. How big are these holes? Why does he want them? How long does he expect digging one will tell him? take, etc. He explained that there was a monster in the forest at night, and the holes were to be dug in the forest, then converted to booby traps in order to catch the monster. He needed as many

holes as possible. They needed to be approximately nine feet deep, and four feet by four feet across, although I may need to make them wider, so I have more room to dig. He explained that the soil was hard, so each hole would take at least three days to dig, and I couldn't use heavy machinery inside the forest without damaging trees, and had to break through tree roots with a shovel. It was clear I was talking to a mentally ill man. I mean, you could tell he was old by his voice. He must have had dementia or schizophrenia or something like that.

I just want to make it clear that there is no way he was sane whatsoever. Monsters don't exist, and he was probably going to hurt himself by falling into one of these booby traps. I'm pretty sure booby trapping your property is illegal anyway. Despite this, I needed the money. I didn't care how hard I'd have to work or what I'd have to do, as long as I didn't hurt any. innocent. I was willing to do it to provide for my family. I agreed to help him on the condition that he pays me, in cash, every single day before I did any work. I didn't want to get scammed or find out he was just some old man on Social Security, and he agreed. My first day of work

was the very next day. I drove out to his property and went up to knock on the day. door. I saw an envelope taped to the door with my name on it. Inside the envelope was $333 and $33, and a note explaining that he's not home right now, but his shed is unlocked and I can use any tools. He told me to dig the first hole deep in the forest. Now this forest was nothing like I'd imagined. I imagined a thick grove of trees on someone's property, but this forest was almost a square mile of jungle. You couldn't see more than five or ten feet in front of you

because of the dense foliage obstructing your view. I walked about ten minutes into the center of the forest and found a good spot for a hole. He was right. The soil was hard for the first foot. It took all my strength to move just one small shovel of it. I spent a good ten hours digging that day. I only stopped once for a quick lunch break.

I had brought four gallons of water with me into that forest. I called it a day after I drank the final one. I was exhausted and could barely move, but I had made over $300. That's $30 an hour, more than I was making at my construction job. That's enough money to buy a month of groceries for us if we get lucky. It was tough, but I was providing for my family. I made it home, took a bath, and went to sleep. I got a good night's sleep and was back to the old man's house by 6 a.m. the very next day.

I again went up to the door to meet him, but there was another envelope. In it, there was another $666.67 and a note. I was just getting home as you were leaving yesterday. I tried to get your attention, but I failed. I saw your hole, and you're making good progress. If you do as much today as you did yesterday, you'll be done. I grabbed the money and went digging. Twelve hours that day.

It took 22 hours altogether, but I had finished the hole and made $1,000. Now I could pay rent this month, too. I took two days off from digging. My body ached and I had to stay home all day. I figured that with practice I could routinely dig two holes a week. He said he wants as many as possible, so if he could afford to give me $2,000 a week, that'd be great. My wife and I could finally pay our medical debt and save some money for when the old man doesn't need more holes. This went on for over a month.

He was never home. He'd just leave money and instructions as to where he wanted the next hole. I'd go in and start digging at 6 a.m., then leave by 5 p.m. so I could eat dinner with my kids. My body was being worn out, but it provided a necessary income. It took me 18 hours to dig a hole. two days work. I'd go and look over the past holes I dug, occasionally, to make sure he wasn't burying human bodies or anything. He wasn't. He wasn't even converting them to booby traps. Some holes caved in, others held their shape, but for the most part, they were just how I'd left them.

Who knows why I was digging holes? Maybe he was trying to recreate that book. holes where they're looking for treasure in the desert. One day when I got to his property, there was more than one envelope on the door. I opened and read the second one and realized the old man hired another laborer, another hole digger. In my letter, he told me he needed 120 more holes altogether. A hundred and twenty. I'd have work for a long time, even if someone else started to help. I waited for and talked to this second guy.

He seemed like a nice guy. He was older than me by a good 20 years, but he was in a similar position as me. He used to work in the automobile industry and was recently fired. He needs a roof and food, too, and thought this job sounded. too good to be true, but he was willing to take that risk. Soon thereafter, my wife was diagnosed with cancer. We were dropped from our insurance, and most of the money I was making, which was a lot of money, went to medical bills. The months went on. 120 holes became 100, and 100 became 50. were okay at that point, but I was worried about what would happen after I no longer was needed to

dig holes. One day, I finished my hole early. As I walked away, I noticed my friend digging his hole. He was almost done, five feet wide, nine feet deep. I grabbed his ladder and walked away. Two weeks later, I filled in his hole. The old man is right. There is a monster in the forest. He's still insane, though, for believing a monster will be caught by its own booby trap. Your next tale can best be described as a short but very romantic love letter.

Author Brian Emsley stirs our hearts with a tale read by Evan Howard. I don't know the young lady in question, but apparently she's a keeper. I love this girl with all my heart. More than anything, I want for us to be together forever. To my mind, calling her perfect is no stretch of the imagination. Her dark hair is long and smooth as silk, framing blue eyes like sapphires, sparkling with passion and mischief. Her perfect nose seems as if it was chiseled in marble by the great artists of old. Her full lips beckon endless kissing.

Her pale skin is soft and warm pressed against me. Her heart beats with mine, in the chill night air, as it pumps blood, sweet and peasant. Her bones glistened white like fine china in the moonlight. Soft, wet gurgling in her throat is reminiscent of a calm mountain brook. It's hard to decide which parts to keep. It's during our earliest years when the bonds formed with our parents are set the deepest. Like many young boys, author Trammell May feels that his dad is the best father. in the world. He shares with us what it is about his father that caused such a lasting connection.

I'll read his tale about his dad, who he calls his nighttime hero. When I was young, around four, I guess, I would often have bad dreams and wake up crying. My dad would come into the room and pick me up and rocked me to sleep. He called me his lamb chop because I sweat really easily and apparently my sweating child body smelled like meat. He would hold me in his arms while softly singing a little ditty he made up about lamb chops. He would tell me everything was okay, kiss me on the forehead, and put me back in bed. He was always there for me. One time, I was around the same age.

It's hard to remember exactly when things happened when you're that young. We went to a funeral for a family member or close friend. I didn't really understand what was going on as I was just a small child. My mom was weeping while looking up to the front, and my dad stood next to me, holding my hand, looking really stern. I asked him what was going on, and he looked down at me and smiled. Don't worry about it, Lamb Chop, and he squeezed my hand and directed his attention back to the front. This memory sticks out in my mind because he was always there to protect me.

Even if it was from things I couldn't understand. He worked a lot, and I mean a lot. I only really saw him at night. Every morning I would wake up and hope he was still home, and I would ask Mom, Where's Daddy? Your father left. She would reply, and she had sadness in her tone.

She obviously was upset over the fact that he worked so much that he couldn't even be around for breakfast. It wasn't really that sad to me because my dad was the best dad anyone could have. I feel like it was almost every night after he had come home from work. I was scared of ghosts and he would come in and say, Don't worry, Lamb Chop. I'll stay here all night and make sure no ghosts get you. I told him that he was like a superhero, but he said, I may be a hero, but only at nighttime. During the day you need to be strong and be your own hero, lamb chop. Your mother and myself can't always be there for you, but that's okay because you are my son.

You can be a hero too. I didn't really know what he was talking about, but I was glad he was there. I was never afraid when he was in my room. He would sit all night in a chair by my bed. Sometimes I would look at him And he would be staring out my window Into the beautiful night sky Winking back at him through the window I hated the fact that he worked so much That year I was really excited for Father Sunday at school

Everyone's dad would come in and tell the class about their jobs Little did they know this was actually some sort of demented game for children. To compare dads and figure out whose is better. My dad could beat up your dad, one would say. Oh yeah, well my dad makes more money than your dad and could hire a wrestler to beat up yours. I felt so left out. I would rather be the kid with the dad that could be beaten up by all the others instead of what I was. I was, the kid with no dad. Why didn't he show up? He knew how important it was to me. I told him that I was being picked on and how all the kids would say, where's your dad? You don't have one.

And they would point and laugh. He felt bad and told me he was sorry, but he couldn't get away from work. My anger vanished when I saw the look on his face. He truly was sorry. He was my dad. The best dad in the world and suddenly showing him off didn't mean so much. The ridiculing, however, just got worse. One kid was poking me and said, My mom says you don't have a dad.

I do have a dad, I yelled as I punched the kid in the nose. I was sent to the office for this, of course. It didn't matter. That kid deserved it. Why would he even say something like that? I told the principal what happened and she looked confused. She told me I should talk to my mom about what happened, and I did. When I got home, I explained the whole day to her. I was confused.

I told her, I don't know why they're saying these things to me. Daddy told me I should always stand up for myself. I punched him because he said bad things about Daddy. My mom put her hand over her mouth and her eyes turned to glass. What do you mean? Daddy told you. I was confused. Daddy tells me.

Baby, Daddy has left us. I just don't know how to tell you, baby. But your daddy passed away. That's why he didn't go to your show and tell. That's why he's never home. She began to cry. She had been trying to try. to protect me from the pain of losing my father.

I didn't understand, though, because I saw him every night. Mommy, that's not true. Dad is here every night. He protects me from ghosts and sits up with me all night. She was crying and looked confused. I don't know if she thought I was crazy or thought I was lying. but whatever it was I said greatly upset her. My mom eventually found her composure and straightened up.

She told me that I had to grow up and be a big boy. She said that Daddy was gone and was never coming back. I was so confused, so I decided to ask my dad about it that night. Daddy, are you? you dead? Why do you ask that, Lamb Chop? He asked with a quizzical expression. Well, kids at school say I don't have a dad, and mommy said you passed away.

Son, I am your father, and nothing will change that. You mean everything to me, and I wouldn't let something as simple as being a lie. changed that. Do you understand? I didn't understand, but I told him I did anyways. Your mummy can't see me, but you can, Lamb Chop. Tell your mommy I love her, and I'm watching over her. He kissed me on the forehead and said goodnight. As I grew older and older, my father faded and faded until I never saw him again. I haven't seen him in years, in fact. I wondered if I was crazy and it was just my mind trying to cope with not having a father figure around until I was mature enough to accept the fact that he was gone. I miss him so much and not a day goes by that I

don't think about him. My wife and I have a boy now. He is five years old in a few days. He is the most important thing in my life right now. My wife and I treasure every moment with him. I want to always be there for my son and give him the father figure I thought I had, but only for real. I have breakfast with him every morning, and I can't wait to go to his show and tell. One morning, my son came up to me and said, Daddy, why don't we ever let Grandpa have breakfast with us? Thinking of my wife's father, I said, Grandpa lives far away. He can't come to breakfast? My son replied, No, your daddy. Grandpa, he's so funny, he giggled gently.

He calls me Lamb Chop Jr. I couldn't believe my ears and my eyes filled with water. What did you just say? Grandpa calls me Lamb Chop Jr. He said that he's sad that you don't see him anymore, but he watches over you every night. He said he would watch over me too. He said he will be my hero, but only at nighttime.

Finding a great place to live at a decent price can be one of life's special prizes. However, sometimes a bargain isn't as good as it first appears. narrator Jessica Prokoski reads the story by author J.A. Madrano, who weaves a tale about a young woman who quickly discovers that someone doesn't want her to be there. A message made abundantly clear by phone messages from a restricted caller. It was my first night in the new apartment when I first received the call. I had been able to get a deal on it really cheap, or at least a lot cheaper than it should have been.

The only explanation the broker had for why it was such a great deal was that no one was buying. After I remarked that I wondered why the previous owner would leave such a nice place, I noticed his manner of speech took on a bit of a weird, nervous quality. He mumbled something about her vacating the apartment abruptly. I didn't really think much of it at the time, and decided to purchase the apartment. apartment. I wasn't about to turn down such a great offer. Anyway, I was excited to call this new cool apartment that I had gotten for a steel home. The first day had gone well, and I was getting ready to go to bed. I had just turned off the lights and pulled up my covers when my cell phone began to ring.

I reached over towards the dresser and took it. I looked at the caller ID. It said, Restricted. I picked up the phone. "'Hello?' I said into the receiver. "'For a couple of seconds, there was nothing. "'Then I heard it. "'A quiet, raspy voice. "'I couldn't tell if it was male or female, "'despite the fact that it didn't have too much to say.

"'It spoke extremely slowly, "'like it took all the energy it had to get any words out. "'The voice told me. "'What? Who is this?' "'I replied. The call ended. I figured the call was probably a prank, perhaps from some kid who had randomly dialed my number.

Despite this, it unnerved me a little bit. There was something inherently creepy about that voice and the way in which it spoke to me. When I was getting to bed the next night, at about the same time as I had the last night, my phone rang again. Hearing it made me agitated. I had a feeling the same person was calling back

and I really didn't want to hear that voice again. But I couldn't let it go either. For some reason, I felt like I had to hear whatever it was going to say. I picked up my phone and looked at the caller ID. Restricted. I picked up the phone. I heard the voice again. This time, the still creepy and raspy voice spoke at a slightly quicker pace than it had the first time,

although it was still pretty slow. Get out. Before I had a chance to say anything, the call ended. This time, I was nervous and pissed off at the same time. Both of the calls coincided with my first two nights in the new apartment. Somebody was obviously screwing with me. I told myself that if they called the next night, I'd have something to say. The next night, I stayed up, confident that the call would come in eventually.

It did. and when I picked up I spoke first Listen, I don't know who the hell this is But cut this crap out It's childish Don't you have better things to The voice speaking louder And more confidently that it had before

Cut me off The call ended I sat there feeling sort of freaked out I was pretty sure it was some loser Pranking me but the message was different this time It didn't just tell me to get out It told me to do it now. There was a certain urgency in the voice that wasn't there before.

That night, I couldn't get to sleep. I laid awake, staring at the ceiling. I was just starting to feel drowsy when I heard a noise. What I heard was what sounded like a doorknob on my front door jiggling. The thought immediately popped in my head that someone was trying to pick my lock. After a period of time hearing this, not knowing what to do was. I heard the door creak open, followed by the sound of soft footsteps advancing across the apartment. I got out of bed slowly, realizing that I might need to find a weapon.

I went over to the closet and opened it as quietly as possible. Lucky enough, I had a baseball bat inside. I'd always loved to play and still sometimes went to batting cages for fun. I grabbed the bat and hid by the door, waiting for whoever was in my house to come in. He, it was a man, did, attempting to be silent as he could. I hid him in the head and he fell to the floor. Later, the police had arrived and the unconscious man was taken away. When they took my statement, I told them about the calls and how I'm sure they must have

had something to do with this. They assured me that they would go to the service provider and figure out who had been calling. A couple of days later, the police called me. I went to the station and spoke with the detective in his office. He revealed that they had been able to get the number that had been calling me. He asked me not to repeat what he was going to tell to anyone. So it was this guy, right? I asked. It wasn't.

Who was it? The previous owner of the apartment. Her cell phone was the number that called you. Is there any way that I could speak to her? I need to know how she knew. Was she involved? Nobody told you, did they? I stared at him blankly.

That's a violation of the local law. Brokers are supposed to divulge this information. Divulge what? The previous owner of the apartment was murdered in the apartment a few months ago. My jaw dropped. There's more. We matched the fingerprints of the man who attacked you to the fingerprints found in your apartment when she was killed. But I've replied, speechless.

Listen, I'm not a superstitious man by any means, but I'm just going to come out and say it. I guess this is one of those things that can't be explained in any logical fashion. Somehow she reached out to you. She warned you. In our final tale, we learn, about a man recently admitted to a mental hospital. His caregiver helps him share the ordeal that brought his tormented soul to just such a place.

I'll read the tale from author Samuel Hayes as we learn the dark secrets behind Alan's story. I would like to share the story from one of the patients. He's unable to do much these days, because of the restraints. His name is Alan, and he's one of my most intriguing patients I've ever had in all my years as a nurse.

He's unable to move at all, being strapped to his bed. Arms and legs allowed zero function, except for blood flow, of course. Unfortunately, he has to wear a mask similar to the one Hannibal Lecter wore in silence of the lambs. all to prevent him from harming himself.

That's why I'm here. For two weeks, he's been adamant on having his story shared with others. Finally, I'm giving in. Alan's such a smart boy, and he's still only in his 20s. It just breaks my heart to have to see him like this. He stays calm, though, unlike most patients that have to remain rest. In the restraints, he's calm, almost normal, but remove them and that's when things get bad. Anyhow, here's Alan's story in exactly the way he tells it.

First person, in his own words. Well, I woke up. When was it? Two weeks ago? Three? I lose track of time here. Two? All right then.

A little longer than two weeks ago. The day seemed exactly the same as any other. It was Friday, I believe. I had the day off, so I was pretty happy. I finally got internet in my new house, which was also good. I had just moved out into the country, just outside the same. city limits because I was tired of living in the city and my landlord had decided to not pay the house payments to the bank. Yeah, guess whose house got taken by the bank? Not his, but that's what I get for

trusting someone else, eh? Anyhow, things were finally getting back to normal. My four-year-old lab, Hunter was finally getting used to the wood floor, which was good too. I miss laughing at his stupid ass as he slid back and forth in the living room, trying to find a spot to lie down. But still, it added to the sense that everything was going to be normal again. Unfortunately, normal for me was also insomnia. People never believed me when I said I had it. They just thought I stayed up late watching TV or looking at cat pictures online. Still, they may be right.

Maybe I don't have insomnia. I still don't really get what that is at any rate. All I know is that no matter where or when I try to sleep, I simply can't. I lay down and immediately grow tense, as if someone's watching me. Now, before you say anything about paranormal stuff, no, I've never been involved in that. At least nothing serious, harmful. No, I just have that feeling, and fuck if I don't get that.

Fuck if I don't get annoyed by it. I'm not even scared by it anymore. I just wish I could sleep. Anyhow, the day sort of glided by without any real interesting things happening. It was the night that plopped me head first into an insane asylum. Mental hospital, whatever it is. Now, a bit more detail. My bedroom is pretty small.

Queen-sized bed against the south wall, door on the other side of the room, on the east wall. My dresser supports my TV against the wall opposite to my bed, and my closet is on the wall at the foot of my bed, same one as the door. I can see right out of my door into my living room, the door jam just blocking my view of my front door. Right above the couch, which is blatantly visible through my bedroom door, are three windows that are about the size of shoe boxes, right below the ceiling, looking out into my front yard. I didn't really understand the point of a window that is too high to look through, so I put my decorative dragons in the small cubbyhole-like space in front of the window. There's a street lamp on the side of my house my bedroom is on, and its light is bright enough to trickle through those windows in my living room.

So as I'm laying there, gripped in my pathetic terror, but not, I can look out into the blackness of my living room and make out dim light filtering between my dragon statuettes. Something about that light calms me down a bit. as if playing on my thoughts that light is good. Fortunately, that would prove to be my saving grace and my downfall. The only people with keys to my front door are me, my mother, and my cousin Dennis. I got creative handing out these keys, putting a capital D on Dennis' key, and M on my mother's, because her name is Madison, and an A on mine. The Sharpie is faded, but recognizable.

Because of my sheer paranoia, I checked the locks on my front and back doors at least seven times a day. Excessive? Yeah, I know. But still, Dennis was really my only friend growing up. Damn if we didn't act alike, look alike, and even dressed like twins. The kind of twins who get along, I mean. We went everywhere together. I mean, if one of us felt like going on a walk or adventure or anything involving leaving the house, we'd go right across the street, knock on the other's door, and off we went. We weren't stupid and didn't go jumping out of trees or play in the street.

We just played, usually something of a pretend, involving medieval weapons and dragons and other such nonsense. But we grew up together and both wanted to become writers. Our parents never told us how hard that career path actually was, but hell, we wouldn't have listened anyways. You should have seen what we saw in our minds. Tales spun as epic as they come. Novels that would fly off the shelves like the dragons and other beasts within their pages. Just thinking about it almost brings excitement to my heart. But, no, it just can't anymore. So that night, Friday night, September 28th, 2012.

I was finishing my nightly routine, letting Hunter back in, taking a shower because if I was lucky, it'd let me fall asleep about a half an hour earlier, which is a big deal. rechecking the locks even though I had just locked the back door, etc. I turned on my TV, checked the doors again, called Hunter into my room so he could lay down on his bed and not the leather couches, and laid down. Boom, paranoia. But this time it was like my skepticism that usually surfaces. decided to call in sick or something, so I felt genuinely scared. I glanced at Hunter, and he was already sound asleep. I settled as much as I could, opting to watch TV for a bit.

The entire time I lay there, watching TV in a futile attempt to lull myself to sleep, My sense of danger, was that it? Whatever it was, it was growing. And out of habit, I looked into my living room to see the saintly window light, proving to me that everything was fine. Nope. Darkness. Something was blocking the windows.

Now, most people at this point, point would say something about a monster or some such. Not me. Just darkness. Fuck, I thought. I guess I forgot to check the locks. As if. Well, I'm not going to go down in my bed like an elderly man, I thought to myself, and flew from my bed, left arm swinging and right hand going for the light. My right hand won, and in the light I could see a man, a regular man like me, with a black ski mask on. Someone who watched too many bank robbery movies or something, fuck if I know. But my left hand wasn't far behind, and I nailed him right in his stupid face.

Something metal clattered to the floor, which I assumed was a knife. I was wrong, though. He still had that, and in it came. I panicked, and instead of dodging or something, I tried to smack it aside. My aim was off, and that resulted in the hole I have in my palm. However, through the pain, I swung in and punched him in the face again. Tough bastard stayed standing, but this time he really did let go of the knife, since it was still in my hand. He ran. Fuck my hand.

Fuck, how did he get in? I looked down, remembering that he had dropped something. My heart sank. A house key with a faded black. D on it, written in Sharpie. The bastard, I thought. If he had done anything to Dennis... Wait a second.

He didn't open the door. He's still here. I turned on every light I could. Fuck that. If there's someone here, he's not getting the drop on me. But I didn't find him. My front door was unlocked, although I know that wasn't my fault now. I gingerly walked over to the door and was momentarily confused.

There was a key in the lock. That made no sense. When I pulled out the key, it was even more confusing. It had an A on it. What the fuck? I looked around the house some more and when I turned back towards my room, Dennis's key was missing. But there wasn't anything else wrong with my room. I locked the door again and called 911 on my cell, requesting an ambulance and a police car describing the situation.

They told me to stay alert and they'd be here soon. I hung up and suddenly felt really, really tired. Like, fuck, I hadn't actually felt this way in a long time, and I thought it was probably a combination of blood loss and the end of my adrenaline rush. I dropped my key, my hand going slack with exhaustion, and I sat on my couch and fell asleep. sleep. And that was that, as far as I know. But when I woke up, I wasn't in an ambulance or my house.

I was here, restrained, being questioned. I told them my story again and again, but fuck, they didn't listen to me. They told me I was going to to either be held here for the rest of my life or go to jail if I got better. Go to jail for what? And fuck. They told me, Dennis. Couldn't finish. He started crying, the poor man. I can't imagine what kind of stress he's going through right now.

And the sight of him like this just... breaks my heart. They told him that he was going to be arrested for the murder of Dennis Gradsen, his cousin, his best friend. When the ambulance and police arrived, they found his door wide open, every light on inside. They said they could hear a rhythmic thumping sound, the sound of a knife being driven into wood. Inside they saw Alan on. all fours on the wood floor. He had a knife and he was stabbing himself in the hand. His face completely blank. There wasn't much left of that hand when he got here actually, but they also found a body next to him. It was Dennis. The coroner said he was dead for less than four hours,

but he wasn't killed on scene. Alan was restrained but made no attempt at fighting back or explaining or anything at all. Just stared blankly at some fixed point in space. It really scared the men that had come to help. They found no man in the house, no evidence of a break-in, nothing that matched Alan's story.

But multiple friends said that, Alan was home all day, evidenced by game time records. He stayed home playing games all day. Another thing, the wounds on Dennis' body didn't match the knife Alan had, which wasn't even his. Whenever Alan isn't in restraints, he does anything he can to harm himself, with no recollection of doing so. It drives him mad, so they keep him locked up in here, and I help take care of him. They never told Alan anything else about the case, though, other than the fact that Dennis was dead. But some things don't quite add up.

Dennis' body had evidence of torture before death, missing fingers, whatnot. But the one thing that gives me genuine chills is that. this. Dennis didn't have a key on him, and Allen's was missing too. Alan's doctor has suggested a session of hypnotherapy. The hypnotherapist took some convincing that it was crucial he visited Alan in his room. Even after being informed of the precarious scenario we're in, he was still hesitant to do his work in the patient's room. Not sure why. I thought the location didn't matter. But still, he managed to fit Alan into his schedule earlier today,

which is pretty quick considering. At any rate, the results were, well, plainly put, odd. I was also informed of something by the police later that confirmed the results that came from the hypnotherapist, which surprised me. Not that I don't trust him, it's just... Well, I'll get to that. The hypnotherapist has a woman whose job is to sit in the room and type out what she hears,

exactly what I did earlier for Alan. And while I was not allowed in the room, which made no sense to me since I am his nurse, I was allowed access to the resulting documents. I'll elaborate since I don't want to disclose the document in full. The hypnotherapist entered the room and was taken aback by Alan's degree of restraint. He actually asked if it was legal, when Alan replied, I asked for it. If it ain't legal, I don't care.

I'm tired of the sight of my own blood. This also unnerved the hypnotherapist, but the man simply nodded and sat down in the chair I'm sitting in now. The hypnotherapist, Brian, did his routine and successfully hypnotized Alan, if that's what you'd call it. He asked a couple of preliminary questions, asking about the house, before moving on to recalling the event in question. Before he even started, Alan shifted slightly in his restraints in a way that gave Brian pause. I don't get it. I see my dad, Alan muttered to himself. What's your relationship with him? Brian replied, thinking that he's already got a lead on solving Alan's situation. Relationship?

He's been dead for four years, Alan replied. He was killed in a hit and run by a company vehicle. He worked for a hospital here in town. The car that hit him wasn't found afterwards, but its grill was lodged in his car, and the license plate linked it back to one of the hospital's trucks. Very well. Let's get you back to the night you were attacked. Can you do that for me? Alan remained silent for a good five minutes before suddenly starting to shake slightly,

his bed squeaking in protest. Damn him, he whispered. He went into the bathroom, hid in the bathtub. But... But... Wait. More silence. The log says about 20 minutes, but that's absurd.

Then... Who was it, Alan? Who attacked you? Alan didn't respond. More silence. He... He killed Dennis. Dropped him in front of me.

I... I... Wasn't even... out just staring staring at his body I can't move my head my anything he he he took the keys unlocked my door and left with it open did did Dennis Dennis Dennis Dennis? Dennis? He repeats the question four times before going silent again.

Alan? Nothing. Just another block of silence. Brian gets up and walks to Alan's bedside, looking into his face. Alan's just staring, just like he did before. With a snap, Brian ended his session. packed up and left, saying that there wasn't anything else to do. He said that Alan was too far gone in his derangement to be helped.

So much for a professional. However, things get a bit interesting after Alan comes to again. He told me this a little while later. I saw more than I told that old man. He said calmly after I entered the room again. Alan's my last patient in my final round, so I stay here for a while. I looked at him in confusion before sitting down. I asked him why, but he just shook his head.

It looks so sad seeing him like this, looking back on it. If his story holds true, then he'd definitely must have been so badly traumatized by his experience that it broke him, broke his mind, but left parts of it intact. He's still a person. I can see it in him. Hear it when he speaks. Somehow I believe his story.

And this is all going through my mind, just as he drops information on me that sent a very real chill down my spine. My dad worked with anti-venom, toxins, that sort of thing. Always wore gloves and only had one assistant. An assistant he got fired for stealing hospital supplies. Thing is, he didn't steal fresh ones. He took used ones from the waste. bins, gloves, syringes, anything he could get a hold of, including several pairs of my dad's gloves.

I also remember hearing his voice once or twice in my life. You know what? I heard that same voice as he told me he had finally gotten revenge. I stared at him, unsure whether he was to be. telling the truth, or just finally fully losing those precious shards of sanity he had left? But then the police report came in, and it took a lot of willpower for me not to scream. Alan's dad's fingerprints were on his doorknob. I walked into Alan's room late yesterday night to discover him already asleep.

That's very not like him. Not only does he talk to me a lot, but he also can't effectively sleep without medication. I checked the machines, and sure enough, the meds had been administered. Three hours early. I shook my head and sighed. Eric, the intern we had recently hired, must have messed up. again he didn't do anything right

but he was new and he started only about a week ago so I was willing to cut him some slack well I cleaned up the room there were a couple of things on the ground when I noticed something rather odd a rubber glove a blue rubber glove

that's odd I thought We must have gotten a new stock of gloves or something. The ones we use are the stereotypical white ones. I picked up the glove and gasped. Blood. My mind reeled back to what Alan had been talking about. An assistant he got fired for stealing hospital supplies. Sticks out the most.

He's been in Alan's room. I looked at my desk, which had this laptop on it. There were small blood droplets leading from the glove to my desk. I had not seen those earlier today. I tentatively walked over and opened the drawer and lost it. There was a finger in my desk on top of a small note that read, Remember Dennis? I'd like to say it ended there.

But no. Under that piece of paper was another, with the same handwriting. The only reason the police even showed it to me was because it had my name on it. I wish he hadn't showed it to me. I really do. It was a simple note, like its companion, but far, Far worse, it said. Alan never told you, did he?

I used to work with his father. And now I work with you. Your 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.