The NoSleep Podcast - Nosleep Podcast S2E18

Episode Date: January 13, 2013

Season 2 of The Nosleep Podcast is back in 2013 with Episode 18!  This episode features three tales of mysterious cottages, chilling chess challenges, and the dark inconsistencies of life.This episode features these stories:Snow from the Claverhouse Emails series (Redditor ClaverhouseEmails) and read by James Cleveland (Redditor tseotet).Sorry, Larry written by Milos Bogetic (Redditor inaaace) and read by Jörn Meyer (Redditor its_pronounced_yearn).Plot Holes written by David Knoppel (Redditor omegaokami) 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 18 of season two. Welcome to the show. I'm your host, David Cummings. We have three longer tales for you. in this fully packed episode featuring stories about the bizarre experiences of guests,

visitors, and even friends. Things are getting back to normal after a busy holiday season. I really appreciate all the positive comments from well-wishers during my recent illness. I'm looking forward to returning to our regular bi-weekly release schedule now that we're back. I've had a few comments from people asking why I've been hogging all the narration during recent episodes. Well, I can assure you that this isn't by choice. When I read more than one story in an episode, it's because I don't have enough recordings to include. A lot of our regular narrators have moved on to other things, and it's always tough to get people to volunteer during the busy month of December. As always, if you or someone you know has some decent recording gear and a bit of narration experience,

you should check out the volunteers link at the top of our website, the no sleeppodcast.com, to find out how to contribute to the show by narrating. Now, let's get on with the show. Our first tale comes to us from the Claverhouse email series of stories. In it, we meet a man who ventures out in treacherous winter weather only to find himself stranded and in need of shelter. He thinks he's found sanctuary in the woods, but he soon realizes that something just isn't quite right. Narrator James Cleveland reads the tale for us as we join this man in his attempt to find shelter from the snow. am not a clever man. Apparently everyone knew that the blizzard was coming. Everyone, except me,

that is. And not only did I decide to continue with my journey that night in my ramshackle, old heap of a car, I also didn't tell anyone else where I was going, or even make sure my phone was fully charged. Yeah, I am an idiot all right, but that still doesn't make what happens any easier to deal with. So, of course, the car broke down in the middle of nowhere, just as the blizzard was really beginning to bite, leaving me stranded on a little country road that I'd never been on before, with no way of getting help, and no sign of any passing cars to come to my aid. Everyone else was too sensible to be out on a night like that, a night so bleak and wild and only two days before Christmas.

I sat there for a while, cocooned in the relative warmth of my useless vehicle, while the snow whirled around outside. There had already been a few significant falls over the last couple of days, but this blizzard was on another level entirely. Although the night was relatively still, the sheer volume of snow that was falling meant that the road would soon be impossible,

and that if I wasn't careful, I could pretty soon be in real trouble. Even in the short time I had sat there, the snow had started to settle on the windscreen of the car, blocking out the snowbound scene beyond. The car's heater was already starting to struggle and the longer I waited, the harder it would be to trek through the snow and find some kind of shelter. I put on my gloves, zipped up my coat and stole myself to venture

out into the freezing night. Thankfully the situation wasn't as bad as it could have been. I remembered passing a small cottage just before the car had given up the ghost. It couldn't have been more than a half mile or so away, which would be difficult, but doable, provided the weather didn't worsen. The going was hard from the outset. With the snow already thick on the road, within a minute or two I was all but smothered by the swiftly falling flakes, which clung to me with a clammy obstinacy that no amount of brushing could free me from. By the time I could see a hazy light shining through the swarming snowflakes, I was soaked to the bone and thoroughly exhausted. My feet were like blocks of ice, and my face was numb and frozen.

But the warm orange glowed the light spurred me on, giving me the boost I needed to soldier on just that little bit longer. When I finally arrived at the front gate, I could have wept with relief. The cottage was picture postcard perfect. A little bastion of comfort and warmth huddled against a glowering darkness and the vicious penetrating cold of the blizzard. Light splaced happily from its windows and two snowmen even stood at silent sentinels over the barely visible garden path.

But something wasn't quite right. When I got to the door it was already opened. and little flurries of snow spilled into the otherwise warm and inviting hallway. I stepped in and slammed it shut behind me. An eerie silence suddenly engulfed me and at that moment I felt like an intruder, awkward and out of place. Hello? My voice sounded flat and lifeless in the cramped little hall.

Is anybody there? No answer came. I walked through each room in the cottage in turn, knocking gingerly on each one before poking my head in. The place was utterly deserted. It seemed as though whoever lived there had just stepped out for a moment. A fire blazed in the grate and the dishes from their evening meal were stacked neatly in a pile by the sink. There was even a Christmas tree with an assortment of presents tucked underneath it in the living room. but there was no sign of any living soul in the place.

I sat down on the very edge of the couch, almost afraid to touch anything. A log popped in the fire and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I took a deep breath and chuckled slightly at my own nervousness. It was a strange situation, but I was out of the cold. I had a roof over my head and I wasn't likely to lose any toes to frost by, any time soon. All I had to do was wait. The family would return eventually, the blizzard would die down, and soon everything would be right with the world again, in minutes past. Then 20. The only thing that kept me company was a steady ticking of an old grandfather clock

out in the hall. After perhaps an hour of waiting, I couldn't stand it any longer. I needed to do something, even if only to distract myself from the laborious passing of time. I made a quick check of the house for a phone, but there was nothing. Still, that wasn't so odd. Lots of people don't have a landline now that mobile phones are everywhere. So I found a pen and a scrap of paper in the kitchen and wrote a quick note explaining the situation, which I then pinned to the front door. I thought it to give the family as much warning as possible on their return, before they found a strange man in their home. Peering out of the window, the snow was still falling with the same languid, heavy insistence as before. The two snowmen, lumpen and misshapen under the fresh weight of snow,

seemed to be craning forward and staring back at me. I shuddered and pulled the curtains, Christ. I felt like I was taking advantage of the kindness of strangers as I walked through their house. There was a photograph on the mantle above the fire. Two cute looking kids, a boy and a girl, maybe seven and eight, and their father, an unsmiling severe man who looked as though he'd seen more than his share of harsh times. No mother, but that wasn't particularly peculiar in this day and age. I told myself I was looking for some kind of clue to the whereabouts as I crept through the cottage, but in reality I think I was just being a little nosy and wanted to peek into the lives of my unwitting hosts. The cottage itself was pristine. It looked like it must have been

cleaned on a daily basis and even the rooms that the kids shared was remarkably sober and neat. In fact, the only thing out of place in the whole house was a smashed plate, which I found in the corner of the kitchen, which I swept up and put in the garbage. It only took two minutes, and it was the least I could do considering the hospitality had already helped myself to. I went back and sat on the couch again after turning on their ancient TV set, only to find the screen as full of snow as the night sky outside. It was well past midnight, and there was no sign of the father or his two kids. I felt a little like Goldilocks as I lay down on the couch, spread my coat over myself and settled my weary body down to sleep.

I jolted awake hours later after an unsettled night. A clock radio had clicked on, sending the velvet tones of Bing Crosby's White Christmas, echoing eerily through the otherwise silent house. I felt stiff and unrested, almost as if I hadn't slept all night. I had vague memories of some awful dream, but it was a little. It melted as swiftly as a snowflake under the weight of the fresh new day. My wrists hurt abominably. Maybe the cold had got into my bones during my walk through the blizzard last night.

The house was still empty. I checked the front door, my note was still in place. Opening the curtains, I saw that the snow was no longer falling, but it covered everything in drifts that looked at least a couple of feet deep. I wasn't going anywhere, anytime. soon. The rest of the day I spent in a kind of limbo, wandering idly from room to room, resisting the temptation to have a rummage through my host's possessions and try and find out more about them. It was odd. Usually you can tell a lot about a family from a quick

stroll through their house, but this little cottage was like a blank slate. It was all antiseptic surfaces and neatly folded bedclothes. There weren't even any kids' drawings on the fridge. It was a completely neutral space, devoid of any personality whatsoever. The broken plate I'd tidied up had been the only human touch to the whole place. The day passed slowly. I ventured outside for a time, tramping through the deep snow in an attempt to get a measure of the place now that it was light.

The thick snow drifts muffled every sound, giving the whole scene as a scene as a small snow. strange sense of unreality. I felt like I was walking around on the top of a giant wedding cake. There was a small shed in the corner of the garden. It looked like a rustic version of Santa's grotto, swathed as it was in sagging layers of snow. The door was open, but it seemed far from welcoming. Nevertheless, I trudged towards it, eager to see what secrets it might hold. The interior was dark and dingy in marked contrast to the immaculate house. There were cobwebs everywhere, and the tools that hung from the walls were old and rusted. Except there was a single blank space on the toolboard, a space with no dust or dirt or mess surrounding it,

where some well-used tool had recently been taken. The cold drove me back indoors again, and I soon got the fire started from last night's embers. In amongst Duluth papers provided for kindling, I found a sheaf of what looked like crude children's drawings. Once the fire was lit, I settled back down on the couch to examine them. One figure in particular caught my eye. It seemed a clumsy yet still recognisable rendition of the cottage, with three figures standing beside it. Two of them seemed to be standing with their hands on their hips with large, unhappy frown, and bright blue tears streaming down their eyes, while the third, drawn much bigger,

had furious red eyes and seemed to be holding what looked like a snake. Something about the drawing intrigued me, although I couldn't put my finger on it. The rest of the pictures had a childhood innocence about them, but this one disturbed me. I spent the rest of the day leafing through some old paperback westerns I found in the main bedroom, but none of them were interesting enough to hold my attention. My mind kept returning to this strange little family and the odd, isolated life they must lead out here. Maybe it was normal for them to disappear at the days at a time.

Maybe it was some kind of twisted Christmas tradition. Although, somehow I doubted it. Time dragged. I made another circuit of the house just for something to do and stoked up the fire in the evening ready for another night on the couch. I turned in early. I slept in fits and starts, probably because I wasn't dog-tired like I had been the first night.

Strange sound, smuffled and distorted by the thick blanket of snow kept me awake, and I dreamed bizarre half-nightmares of the missing children and their stern, faceless father. I rose early, peering through the window to, find that a thaw had set in overnight. The blanket of snow had retreated somewhat, and the bright sun edging over the horizon held the promise of further melt. Trekking back to the village would be tough going, but it was certainly doable and wouldn't take more than a couple of hours. Besides, I felt like I'd overstayed my welcome as it was, and it would be good to get out of this

peculiar limbo-like house. I wrote a short note explaining the situation. and left it on the kitchen table along with a little money. Think of it as an early Christmas present, I wrote, and headed out of the door. I cut straight across the garden between the two snowmen toward the gate. The thawing snow now held a crust of ice on top, which made a satisfying crunch with every step I took. I hadn't gone far when my foot caught on something under the snow, almost sending me flying.

Looking down, I saw a gnarled human hand poking up from the surrounding sea of white instantly I dropped to my knees in the wet snow and began to dig breaking back armfuls of ice and quickly uncovering the body beneath I knew who it was immediately

the father of the family his face oddly serene in death with an ugly bloody He dented in the side of his head. He must have slipped in the snow and knocked himself out. A large stone lay under his head like a pillow, and the cold must have done the rest. I stood for a moment over the corpse, taking in the scene in all its eerie stillness, with the squat little cottage looking on. It was then that I looked at the dead man's other hand and saw what he was clutching in his stiff white finger.

a quailed bullwhip, old and obviously well used. The child's drawing I found leapt into my mind, and shocks stole the breath from my body. I turned to the two snowmen, which were now little more than shapeless pillars of white. I bounded toward the nearest and pushed it with desperate hands, hoping to find soft. solid, hard-packed ice beneath my fingers. But I knew I wouldn't. The snow was light and fluffy. Disintegrating even as I touched.

In a matter of moments, I had demolished the towering lump of snow to reveal what my heart already knew would be there. Another body. This time I have a young girl with her arms tied behind her back and securely fastened to a stout wooden. Tears pricking my eyes, begin to imagine what they must have suffered. Been relieved at first when their father had fallen, thinking they had delayed or even escaped their punishment.

They slowly realized their father wasn't getting up again, pointless tragic. The day since, the children have continued to haunt me. I wonder if there was anything I could have done, or perhaps still alive in the... their icy tombs while I was walking through their cozy and welcoming home, utterly oblivious to their existence. I think a part of me will forever remain there in that little wintry garden, staring at two bodies

frozen in silent screams as the first few flakes of snow begin to meander downwards again out of a heavy, leaden sky. In times of despair, it's not uncommon for our thoughts to consider, even briefly, the unthinkable act of suicide. In this tale from author Milos Bogetich, we learn about a man named Larry who is contemplating this desperate act. However, Larry soon discovers that there may be more disturbing decisions when facing Lerner, life or death. Narrator Yearned Meyer reads the tale for us entitled Sorry Larry. First of all, this is my friend's story.

I cannot guarantee for its truthfulness. He thought I'd be able to tell his story better than he could. He is also not ashamed of the events about to be described, although some of you might find them repulsive. It was a big story in our small country. Several people, obviously related, dead within a day, all independent events. The police couldn't do anything but called it a freaky set of coincidences. My friend, who I will call Larry from now on, has a different explanation.

Larry lived a good life. He went to the best university in a neighboring country, then came back a very university. came back home and got a really good job at the biggest bank. He was only 22 years old and already moving up in the world. He was a good-looking man. Combine his success with his looks, personality and intellect and you'll get one hell of a catch. It was no wonder that women would flock to him. You'd think he'd have many jealous enemies, but everyone seemed to love Larry.

He was the man. Larry lived your typical bachelor life. Wild weekends, different perfect tents in his bed every few nights. Then he met Linda. She was a perfect tan in looks and she had an awesome personality. We all loved her. Larry fell for her. They dated only three months before he proposed with a $5,000 ring.

Big deal in our account. deal in our country. She cried, said yes, and they had a wonderful wedding. I was the best man along with his brother, Terry. Larry and Linda had a beautiful baby girl nine months later. They named her Maya. Larry got a promotion at the bank and life couldn't get any better. Then he started changing. He was always looking tired or even sad. He'd never tell me what was truly wrong. He'd tell me it's because he was working too much. He lied to my face.

Three months after Larry started changing, a night that will always be remembered in my country's history books happened. Within 24 hours, all in separate events, Larry was in a coma, his brother Terry, his father, Rick and Linda were dead. The story so far has been told from my perspective. Now I'm about to tell you Larry's side. It was a late October night. Larry fed like shit.

His wife was out visiting her aunt in the nearby town. She took their daughter with her. He was drinking heavily. Jack Daniels became his best buddy lately. Halfway through the big bottle, he started playing with his gun. He inherited that Glock from his dad. It was empty but he contemplated putting a bullet in. Maybe it will all stop then, he'd think. He kept drinking. Stupid ideas unfortunately become more and more tempting when we drink. Few shots later Larry put a

bullet in his gun. He was always afraid of death, but at this moment it seemed like the best option. He always wondered how people could commit suicide. It was such a selfish act to him. So brutal. Yet he was thinking about it. He was too afraid of putting the gun in his mouth, though. He said that sometimes when you fire, you don't kill yourself.

And you end up either choking on your own blood or even worse, you end up living. living with brain damage. He wouldn't want that. He wanted to shoot himself in the heart. He said he read it had heard, but if ain't properly, it'd be over quickly. He was scared, but he wanted it. Three more shots of Jack.

It was time. He put a pillow over his chest. He pressed the gun to the pillow. He pulled the two. trigger. Larry says that all that stuff they say about life passing before your eyes is bullshit. He says that the first thing you think of is survival. It's natural. The police later said that Larry's Glock had an unnatural kick when fired, causing his shots to deviate to the left and only slightly damage his heart. Larry fell into a coma almost immediately. At least,

Police and medics say that. Larry says he didn't go into a coma. He says that after the shot, all he felt was fucking pain. Feeling a sudden fear of death, he thought about conning the ambulance, but decided to just suffer until the end. He laid on the floor right next to the couch where he shot himself. He waited for death to come get him. Then he heard a knock on his back door.

Someone heard the shot, he thought, semi-scared and semi-happy. He wanted to die, but there was a part of him still pleading for life. Maybe if a neighbor discovers him, they could call 911 and save him. Then he'd work on his issues. Fix it all, all that good stuff. It was a struggle trying to get to the back door. He was crawling. Larry yelled, Come in, help!

To no response. And the knocking was never repeated. He was afraid that the person laughed. This is it. He managed to make it to the door some five minutes after the initial knocking. He barely reached the handle and propped the door open. A man stood before him. It wasn't any of his neighbors, nor was it any of his friends.

But that didn't matter right now. Come on up. Let me help you, the man said, reaching for Larry's right arm. He picked him up and helped him to the kitchen table. He set him down. Help me. Call 9-1-1. Larry tried stating the table.

the obvious, somewhat shocked at the man's lack of surprise. You won't be needing that, Larry. Larry describes the man as extremely average. Height about five foot ten, regular build. He was wearing a black suit with a white dress shirt underneath and a skinny black tie. Nothing about him would make you think twice when seeing him on the street. What do you mean? I am hurt.

Larry yelled instantly, feeling pain in his chest. I am dying. Yes, you are, the man said in a very calm voice. Then he walked over to the couch, poured himself a glass of check, and gave an offering look to Larry, wondering if he wants one. I don't have to die. Please help. Tell me, Larry, how much do you love your life?

I see now that I'm ready to live. I was stupid. Help me, please, for God's sake, man. I have a daughter. Okay, Larry, good answer. It was only then that Larry noticed the man was holding something resembling a skinny box underneath his armpit. He put it on the table. It was wrapped in a fine black cloth.

The man pulled it out. It was a chessboard. What is this? I need help. Larry pleaded one last time before he lost any energy to argue. He thinks the blood loss was substantial at that point. You won't die just yet, the man said in a confident voice. I want to offer you a choice.

Larry, walking about. Larry's voice has become reduced to Rispers at this point. I want to play a chess game with you. The man started lining up chess figures on the board. I am dying, you sick bastard. You will live long enough to finish the game. Trust me. All the figures were in their places on the board now.

You said you wanted to live. If that's true, I can help you. You are currently dying at a fast pace. I can stop that, at least temporarily. If you call the ambulance now, you'll be dead before they arrive. I'm your only chance. Are you? Blary started coughing.

Irrelevant at this moment? Here are the rules of the game. If you win, you live. If you lose, you die. You're already dead if you don't play. Why wouldn't I play then? If I am dead and you... The man cut him off.

There's a catch, of course. Isn't that what you guys say? That's a catch? Yes, well, there is a catch. For every figure you lose, someone you love dies. I can't! Larry said that the mixture of him dying and the weirdness of this situation made him believe this man was telling the truth.

I can't kill my loved ones. The man stood up, obviously getting ready to pack up his stuff. Right, Larry mumbled. What was that? The man leaned towards my friend. I... Want to play, Larry said. Extremely ashamed of his selfishness.

But hey, the human desire to live outweighs most moral dilemmas. That's what I thought. Shall we begin? The man sat back down. Yes. Larry had the white figures. His first move. Imagine the pressure of playing in a chess competition.

One wrong move and you're out. Now imagine the pressure of playing with your family's lives. Unbearable. Larry says that the man appeared to be good at this game. Of course he was. It didn't take too long for Larry to lose the first pawn. All right, let's see. The man said with obvious satisfaction.

satisfaction in his smile. Your father, how old is he? Please, no, just take me. I surrender. Larry begged. It doesn't work that way, Larry. The man seemed to start getting annoyed. Your father, Rick, he's, what,

65? 66, said Larry, with tears in his eyes. Good time to go. Police say it was a natural death. The autopsy showed nothing other than a heart attack. Rick was watching Light Night TV,

drinking his favorite brand of beer when his heart stopped beating. The mailman found him in the morning. He said that Rick had a surprised but satisfied look on his face. Shall we proceed? The man said, using both hands to point at the board. Larry tried his best. He played, strategized, calculated, all while feeling terrible pain in his chest.

He wondered how he was still conscious, alive even. Then he lost a queen. If you know anything about chess, that means the game. is nearing the end. Ouch, a queen. This will have to be someone more important, Larry. Please, stop it. Stop it now. Tell you what, this time it's your choice. You bother Terry or your wonderful wife, Linda?

No, please, no. We make the choice, Larry. Terry? Orlinda. I don't. He looked up and saw a tremendous mixture of disappointment and rage in the man's face. He knew he had to make a choice. He said and started crying loudly.

There. It wasn't so hard? According to the newspaper, Terry was driving his car, possibly intoxicated. When it broke down near the railroad. He decided to walk the tracks to the newest station and ask for help. It is believed that his foot got stuck while the midnight train was coming. He tried to get out of the way as much as possible before the impact, but the train severed the lower bottom of his body.

News reports said Terry was alive for a few minutes before dying. They said he suffered. A homeless man who witnessed the whole incident said he could hear Terry plead with someone, but swears that there was nobody else there. Larry was bawling his eyes out. He didn't want to keep playing. He knew that even if he survived, he'd had to live with the guilt of killing his father and brother.

But he was afraid of the man. It was almost as if the man could read Larry's death wish. many faces. If you die, there are many places you can end up in. If you stop now, I guarantee you that your place won't be as pleasant. I don't care. I want to die. Larry knew that the game was already over. It probably was before it even began. Let me tell you what happened to the last woman who quit. I sent her to my favorite place. I call it nowhere. See, Larry, there are environments worse than hell.

Imagine floating in eternal dark forever. There is no sound, no light, no ground. You're just floating forever. Is that what you want? Larry was terrified. An eternity of emptiness sounded scarier than the death of the loved ones. Let's finish it. Larry tried his best to regain position in the game, but it was hard.

He was trying to win, but he couldn't lose any more figures. Enough people died already. Then, the man pulled a surprising move, taking out one more of his pawns and effectively winning the game. Sorry, Larry. You lost, but I took another figure. One more must die. I lost.

I'm dead. Let me die. No need to take anyone else. Please. Sorry. Deals a deal. But who? Your mother is already dead.

That only leaves us with your wife or daughter. So who is it going to be? Linder or Maya? How do you make a choice like that? How do you justify it? You can't. I can't do that, Larry pleaded, determined to resist. Fine, I'll choose.

Maya is still young, and I am not a monster, despite of what you think. Linda, it is. Please. Larry's last molecules of energy were being spent and begging this man, not to take the love of his life away. Sorry, Larry. I really am.

Evidence surrounding Linda's death is still unclear to the public. She was at her aunt's house in a nearby town. The next day, her aunt's. found her death in the bed. She had a terrified look on her face as if she saw something awful right before she died. Official cause of death was ruled in blood cloths that went to her lung. But not many believed that. Well, Larry, what can I tell you? You're just like any other human I've dealt with. Selfish. You killed three of the people closest to you. And now I'm Now you have to come with me."

Larry started laughing. First it was a smirk, followed by a cough. But then it evolved into a hysterical full-out laughter. What is wrong with you? The man was taken by surprise, possibly for the first time ever. Larry just kept laughing, periodically coughing out. blood. You just killed most of your family, you lunatic.

The man tried to understand. Pain in Larry's chest interfered with his laughter and made him stop. Family, you say, Larry said, interrupting his sentence with a mixture of chuckling and coughing. Family. Yes? The man sat back down, intrigued. See, my dad, Rick, I haven't called him dead since I was nine. You know why?

When I was that age, he'd start coming to my room, wanting to play. That bastard, death was too good for him. The man looked shocked. Larry swears, his jaw dropped my other family. Linda, my wonderful wife. You know what I found out three months ago? Hold on. Can I know your name?

Proceed. The man appeared absolutely stunned. Never mind. Linda. Yes, Linda started fucking around, my friend. She was an unfaithful bitch. I wasn't sure if I should take my or her life tonight. You.

You, Terry, your brother. The man was scrambling behind the table, not believing what was happening. What about him? Larry started laughing loudly again. He reached for the man's half-full glass of Jack and took a good sip. Do you think Linda was fucking? Larry says that the man seemed to take a second to comprehend it all. He gathered himself, fixed his tie and brushed other piece of hair from his coat.

You don't understand what you just did. I don't care, don't you get it? My life has no value. The man stood up, never taking his eyes over Larry. My friend says he saw anger of unlimited proportion in his eyes. Then there was a knock on the door, the same kind that Larry heard about an hour ago. The man seemed startled at first, but then he put his hat down, almost as if it was what he expected to happen. Goodbye now, Larry. You, goodbye.

Larry couldn't see who knocked on the door. The man walked out, closed the door behind him. And that's the last thing my friend remembers. Larry woke up out of a coma two weeks later. He was greeted by an army of doctors, family and media. He learned about the death of his family, but he said he wasn't surprised. He said he caused it, but nobody really believes that. Larry is doing well these days.

Maya is turning into a beautiful girl, and my friend is getting. his life back together. It's almost as if the tragedy never happened. In our final tale, we are presented with a series of events that lead a high school student to question the very nature of reality. As author David Knoppel shows us, those odd inconsistencies that we occasionally notice may hold dark secrets that are best. left undiscovered. I'll read for you his tale about how life can sometimes present us with plot holes. The day I found my first hole was the day my best friend came back from the dead.

We were in high school and stupid. Jake was his name and we liked to go out to this old abandoned house in the woods after school. to just screw around. Do stupid teenage things. It was a pretty big place, to be honest. Two-story house with a basement, or three-stories, if you counted the small attic above it. The story is supposed to go that an old woman was building the house years and years ago in order to get away from the city life.

But for some reason, never. finished it probably died anyway the house was pretty close to completion when she stopped but nobody bothered to finish it and now it just sits there rotting away so Jake and I would go to the house and just screw around scaring each other or exploring the place whatever we felt like usually we were careful or lucky but nothing ever happened to make us worry then the floorboards broke under jake's feet when we were exploring the second floor and he fell i never realized how bad the condition of the house must have been because when he hit the first floor that broke too and he fell into the basement

I ran down and looked through the broken hole in the first floor. It was dark, but we usually had the foresight to bring flashlights, so I shined a light on him. Never forget what I saw. One of the boards, or something, must have fallen at just the right angle that when Jake hit the ground, it speared up right through his stomach. I could see him shift and try to grab at it. I even heard him gurgle, and then he stopped. He was dead. I was sure of it.

Our stupidity got him killed. I was in shock. I didn't know what to do. So I just ran. I ran out of the house. and left him there. It was about evening when I got home and I went straight to my room. I didn't talk to anyone, didn't stop for anything. I just wanted to curl up and try to forget that scene. My parents tried to talk to me, but I feigned asleep and they just went on.

Later that night, we got a call from Jake's parents asking where he was. They actually woke me up for that one, and I said I had no idea. Then the usual, well, if you see him, please let us know, came afterward, and I just nodded before I went back to sleep. The next day was school, and I went through the morning ritual in a bit of the morning. bit of a trance. I didn't want to go, but I couldn't stay home. I was pretty sure Jake's parents already suspected something of me. So I went. School was just like usual. People screwing around in the morning and talking. I went up to my normal group of friends that I hung out with before the

first bell rang, and my heart stopped. There was Jake. He stood there, just laughing and being his normal self. When he saw me, he looked over and grinned before coming over. He made a joke, but I didn't hear it. I just continued to stare. Hey, you okay? He asked. starting to get concerned. Aren't you? Are you okay? Was all I could muster back. Well, yeah, why wouldn't I be?

He laughed a bit, but gave me a weird look. You, you don't know anything? I tried to phrase it as delicately as possible. I didn't want anyone else knowing, but I figured that was enough to clue him in. If it did, he didn't show it. Know anything of what, he responded, and then the bell rang. He said by and gave me a weird look before heading off to class. I just stared after in shock.

Why was my friend here? I saw him die. At the very least, he should be in the hospital, but he was fine. I went to class, but I couldn't concentrate. I just kept thinking about Jake and how he should be dead. I kept trying to think of how he could have survived, but I just couldn't fill this strange hole of a mystery. After class, I decided I'd check out the house.

Jake met me after school and asked if I still wanted to hang out. I told him I wasn't feeling well and we'd catch up tomorrow. He seemed to accept that. It's not like I wasn't excited my friend was back, but looking at him made something in me cringe. He shouldn't be a little. alive. He should not be here. I saw him. So I went to the house that afternoon alone. When I walked in, I could feel something. It was strange but familiar. It was the same feeling I got

when I looked at Jake. That something wasn't right and it was just... It was just off. However, here it felt like a lingering feeling. Not this fresh, what the hell I got when I saw my friend. I stepped forward and looked down. Sure enough, there was the damn hole he fell through. I let out a sigh of relief and bent over. So I wasn't crazy.

I slipped out my usual flashlight and shone it down the hole. Yes, there was the wreck I saw him land on. Just no, Jake. Did he get free? Did he magically regenerate or something? I shone my flashlight up to look toward the hole in the second floor. It wasn't there. My breath caught in my throat, and I began to frantically shine my light onto the ceiling.

Where was it? I should be right above the damn hole in the floor, but nothing. I bolted up the stairs, and sure enough, there was nothing in the floor where he fell. Nothing. Something was wrong, really wrong. I wandered back down to the first hole and peeked down into it. I am sure that was the moment that solidified my fate. If I had just ignored it, moved on and been plain happy that my friend was back,

I might have been able to continue life as usual. But that moment, I saw something. Just a flash of something black. Blacker than the darkness beyond my flashlight's range, shift and fly out of sight. I gasped and stumbled back, breathing heavily. I know I should have run, but my curiosity took hold, and my logical side said it was just some animal or trick of the light.

So I swallowed my fear, and I leaned over to peek again. I didn't see that flash of black again, but I did notice something. The boards and wreckage underneath the hole were gone. With that note, I knew something was wrong. Nobody can clean up something like that mess in the blink of an eye. I bolted.

I ran out of the face. that house and through the forest, swearing up and down that something was chasing me. I had a feeling there was something out there, but now I know it was simply watching me. For now, I ran home and slammed the door shut behind me before I leapt into bed. My body curled up, and I just lay there, trying to comprehend what was going on. It took me a while, but I finally drew myself out of bed. I had to figure out what was going on, but like hell I was going back to that damn house.

Not if some monster was in it. So I did what any teenager would do. I went to the internet and researched. It was slow and I didn't have a lot of luck at first. Looking up paranormal just got me weird pictures and stories. Friend comes back from the dead got me a lot of zombie stuff. Missing time seemed to get me a little more info. A lot of it was around aliens, but a few stories seemed to peak my interest.

Like something crazy seemed to happen, like a car crash or accident. And suddenly there's a time jump and things seem to be okay. Like nothing ever happened. There was one post on a missing time board that seemed to draw my attention, however. It was titled Plot Holes and was only posted a couple of days ago. I curiously clicked it. Everyone seemed to speculate what caused this whole missing time thing. A lot of the time it was aliens or dimensional, whatever.

This guy, however, acted like he knew for a fact, and his reason was the most bizarre of them all. He started by telling a similar story. In a nutshell, his wife was killed in a household accident when part of their house caved in during a storm. While trying to get to her, he was knocked out by some other debris. When he came to, he was sitting in the living room, and his wife was trying to wake him up. The house was fine, with no sign of disaster, and she was, was alive. He was ecstatic, but described a strange feeling, like he had figured out something

he shouldn't have and that his wife shouldn't be there. Like my feeling I got with Jake. Over time, he couldn't be around her. It was just too strange, so he left. He went on the road, taking what money he had and doing weird little jobs here and there while staying in motels. While he went, he began to research. It took a great amount of time, but he found others with similar experiences. Most of them just described it as a miracle and moved on with their lives. Others couldn't shake the feeling like he did. All of them describe the same sort of thing.

Some event should have caused something to happen, a person to die or some landmark to be destroyed, only to have it miraculously come back later. So what was going on? The author was at a standstill until he came across something. While researching people who shouldn't be alive, he came across a book review. Apparently, it was the latest book in the series, and in it, a side character saves the day by fighting off a bunch of enemies for the heroes. However, in the previous book, by a different author, that character had been killed,

so this character couldn't have come back to save the day, but if he didn't, the main characters would have died. The reviewer said it was one of the worst plot holes he'd ever seen. That got the forum author and me thinking. He said he'd post again after he experimented a bit, and I didn't blame him. I had a few things I wanted to explain. experiment with as well. Nevertheless, I dropped him a message saying I read his post and that

something similar happened to me. Then I called it a night early. I had to be extremely alert if I was going to try to look for the signs I wanted to find. The next morning, I woke up and started my first attempt at looking for plot holes. I know how crazy that sounded, but something seemed to click after reading that review. Someone should have died, but that was ignored so he could do something of significance later. It sounded so familiar. The first few days I didn't notice anything, except for that weird feeling around Jake. Nobody else seemed to have it. The third day was when I noticed my first plot hole.

It was minor, the most minor of details, but it was there. One of the girls in my class went from wearing a skirt to a set of jeans between classes. I know how that seems to make me look. look, but I'll admit it, the skirt was why I noticed. But to change into a pair of jeans within seven minutes while walking across campus to another class, that doesn't make sense. I guessed it was possible, but it didn't make any sense. It was like a costume got wrong during a scene change.

After that, it all went down. hill. I kept seeing changes everywhere. A sign would be in black in the morning, but light green later at night, or a friend would go from wearing a sweater to a t-shirt when I looked away for just a moment. You'd think that people would notice these changes, but nobody did. Maybe it was the strange feeling that I got of something being off after the accident with james. or perhaps you just had to be looking for them. But as I kept looking, they were everywhere. It was about a week and a half before I got a response back from the plot hole's author.

He introduced himself as Dennis and apologized for being late to respond. His reason why? He had gotten caught up in observing plotter. holes. He was noticing the same thing I was. This is the first time I've ever actually spoken to this guy, but the changes he described matched mine to a T, except for one thing. After noticing a misspelled sign above a store late at night, he turned away for a moment to look back and saw a shadowy black figure floating by it. It was hazy, like looking at the figure through a fog that just wasn't there.

But after the being floated away, the spelling error was gone. A shiver went down my spine. That seemed too close to whatever I might have glimpsed at the house. I hadn't seen it full on yet, but then now I knew what I was looking for. I wish I hadn't. It wasn't long before I began to see them. You had to look at just the right moment, I found out. When it seemed like nobody was watching or paying attention to that little error you just noticed,

then you could make it out. A shadowy haze of a being, seeming to be dressed in a long black rogue with a hood, messing with it until it changed. I saw one fade my friend's t-shirt into a jacket on a cold day in class, and I saw another change an entire stack of books at the library into a completely different set before they were picked up by a story. student. Nobody noticed them, just like the holes. It was like you had to be on that wavelength to notice. I had been conversing with Dennis a bit online, and he agreed with that idea. It seemed that you had to notice one to start seeing the others. If you could brush it off, then your life would go on. But if you were the curious sort, then you were like the two of us. You would just keep seeing them all the time.

I was starting to go crazy. I couldn't say anything to anyone, and Jake kept bothering me about why we never hung out anymore. I just couldn't look at him. He wasn't natural, but I realized... It wasn't him. It was those things that brought him back. Maybe he had some destiny or something, but I had no idea. Things took another turn when I was having a Skype conversation with Dennis. He asked if they noticed me yet.

I told him no, and then he got quiet for a long time. After some bugging, he finally responded and told me one of his friends that was helping him look into this occurrence was gone. Nobody even seemed to remember his existence. When he went over to his friend's house, Dennis found it relatively neat, save for a few items strewn about. As he explored, the belongings that were out of place began to find. themselves back in their positions. Dennis was sure that it was one of those creatures behind it, and he confirmed his suspicions when he saw one putting back a book that had been thrown on the floor, and then turn and look at him. The two stared for a long time, the creature gazing onto Dennis

while he looked into a blank nothingness that was its face, the dark hood covering whatever might have lurked underneath. And then it left. It turned and seemed to float away right through one of the walls. That seemed to be the last thing out of place then. The house looked like nothing had ever happened in it. Then Dennis began to notice something else. else. There were no pictures or objects identifying an owner. Unless you were that much of a hermit,

you had at least an old family picture of some parents or something, or maybe some male with your name on it. But nothing. It was like nobody had ever lived in this fully furnished house. At this point, I began to worry. Dennis' friend had gone missing and nobody knew of his existence. I started putting the pieces together then. If these creatures could bring someone back from the dead, they could easily get rid of someone, right? This meant I was in danger.

After that, I stopped. I was out. I ignored Dennis's messages. I tried to ignore all the holes I constantly noticed. I did my best to ignore those shadow creatures when I caught them. I even tried to hang back out with Jake, but every time we hung together, it was like I was looking at the face of a lie. And looking at him just made me think of those creatures.

I imagined one pulling him up from that debris, slipping that board through and out of his body, knitting up his wounds like nothing happened. I did my best to look past it all. Dennis was hard to ignore, however. He just kept tracking me down. I'd block him from my email and messengers, but he'd start making new accounts to send me more messages, and he seemed to be sending more and more as the days went on. Finally, one day I received an email from a new account that clearly was Dennis. I was about to delete it and block him again, but the subject chilled me to the bone. He wrote in all caps, they're after me. Get on Skype. I need help. I didn't know what to do. If Dennis was in trouble from these things, then I had to help. I just couldn't leave him.

But after him, they might turn their sights on me. I had to help. I wasn't going to just leave him, especially. if he was in danger. I logged on to Skype, added his new account, and immediately got a video chat request. Dennis was in his apartment with the lights off, and he looked terrified. What's going on?

I asked as I leaned in. They've been following me around, he spoke, his voice and exasperated whistle. and more of them keep coming around, and not just to fill in the holes. They're watching me. Are you sure? In response, he lifted up his laptop and carried it out to what looked to be the kitchen.

He set it down in front of a window and drew back the curtain. I couldn't make out anything until he turned on the light. My heart stopped. I'd only seen one of them at a time, maybe even two if something was a particularly big change. But there were at least three or four behind that window, just staring in with those empty hooded faces. He quickly flicked off the light and turned the laptop back toward him. Do you see? I don't know what to do. I don't want to end up like Jerry.

Tell me what to do. He was getting more and more anxious. I had no idea what to tell him. I didn't know what these things were. I didn't know what they wanted or how to stop them. I opened my mouth but couldn't form the words that he needed to hear. and as I stammered to find out what to say, I saw them slip into the background behind him, through a freaking wall with a cabinet.

Dennis, I yelled, behind you! He turned just as the first approached. God, there were a bunch slipping in now. three, then four, then five. He never stood a chance. The first reached forward with an inky arm and shoved it straight through his chest. There wasn't any blood or even a sound

save for Dennis's terrified scream. He began to writhe, grasping at his chest, as the creature held him there by, I don't even know what? His spine? His heart? Hell, it could have been his very soul for all I knew. Then the others were on top of him.

They fell on to him like a dark dog pile, consuming him in their dark presences. I couldn't scream. I couldn't look away. I just watched as he faded from view as those creatures piled onto him. Then slowly, ever so slowly, they backed away. Dennis was gone. I bit back tears as I saw the empty space he had been in. I knew what had happened. He was gone.

Erased. Nobody would even remember him. He was a hole that had to be filled in and taken care of. Then their attention turned to the computer. To me. My eyes widened as a realization hit me. I was another hole. I was an issue in their grand scheme.

A thorn that had to be plucked. A part that drew attention to the inaccuracies of this world they were trying to design. And I had to be taken care of. I didn't even bother to turn off the computer. I just stood up and turned only. to find myself face to face with a horde of them. In my own house. In my own room!

I back went to my desk as one shadowy shade glided to me. Its arm rose, and I could almost make out the tendrils of its foggy black cloak and the individual digits of its dark fingers. frozen. I didn't physically feel the hand shove into my chest, but I felt it somewhere deeper, like it was grabbing an intimate part of my being. I felt violated, exposed, and most of all, completely

terrified. I screamed as it began to squeeze. It hurt so fucking. My vision blurred, but I could see the others move around me. They filled in a circle around my body, regardless if there was something in their way or they just glided through those things like they weren't there, and then they fell upon me. Black hit me from every side, but no sound came out. I could feel that hand wrenching back, pulling something so personal to me away. My body felt limp. I started to feel nothing. It inched along my limb slowly, turning feeling of cold, pain and terror, into absolute nothing.

I could only describe it as a feeling of being erased. There was feeling, strong feeling, and then it slowly inched along, riding up along my arms and legs until it consumed my whole being. The pain faded along with it, and the sounds of the world and my vision before. me. Soon, nothing was before me but pure. Orward didn't exist any longer. Stretched out before me was nothing but darkness. I tried to call out into the void to claw my way forward but couldn't move a limb. More like though I didn't have a limb to move or a mouth to yell. I was just an essence, a leftover floating in an endless void of nothing.

I'm still there in pure nothingness. I can't move, or I don't think I have any. everything left to move. It's gone. Every part of me is gone. I wonder what happens now. I wonder what Jake's destiny was. I also began to wonder if this was death or something worse. A punishment for sticking my nose in places it shouldn't be. Is this death? or pure erasure. I'm sure Dennis is feeling the same things I'm feeling. I can almost imagine him, too, floating in the same void.

Maybe one day we'll meet each other. It's a hope that I try to keep alive. It keeps me sane that I might one day not be alone. hear. That's the end of my story. I wish it was better. I wish I could say I fought back and saved myself. At least that I was on the run, but some plots don't have happy endings. However, I'm sure I've left you wondering one final thing. If I'm dead or erased, then how could I be telling you this? Well, my poor friend, you've just discovered your first plot hole.

Be wary if you see any more. For 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.