The NoSleep Podcast - Nosleep Podcast S2E22

Episode Date: March 10, 2013

It's episode 22 of the second season of The Nosleep Podcast! The episode features five tales about scandalous surgeons, campus creeps, vexatious visitors, and distorted reality. This episode features these stories: "The First Person to Surgically Remove Their Own Brain" written by Thomas Thompson (Redditor dr_vonhugenstein) and read by David Cummings (Redditor MikeRowPhone). "9004" written by Afia Gyennin (Redditor Maaaame) and read by Jörn Meyer (Redditor its_pronounced_yearn). "An Unexpected Guest" written by William Dalphin (Redditor wdalphin) and read by David Cummings. "Forget Me Not" written by Kelsey Donald (Redditor CaseByCase) and read by Nikolle Doolin. Click here to learn more about Sam Hunt's new novel, "The Whirlwind in the Thorn Tree". Click here to learn more about Nikolle Doolin. Click here to learn more about Nikolle's podcast, "Audio Literature Odyssey".   Podcast produced by: David Cummings Music by: David Cummings This podcast is licensed under Creative Commons 2013.   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 into your fear because tonight there will be no sleep. Brace yourself for the No Sleep podcast. It's episode 22 of Season 2. Welcome to the show. I'm your host, David Cummings. We have four tales for you in this episode. featuring stories about scandalous surgeons, campus creeps, vexatious visitors, and distorted reality.

I want to bring to your attention the show notes that appear on our website, the no-sleeppodcast.com. Each episode has information about the authors and narrators, plus links to the stories in case you want to read along with them. Make sure you check for links to the various authors featured on the episode. This episode features another story from one of the podcast's most prolific authors, William Delphin. You can get the link to his Facebook page to keep up to date with his consistently excellent writing. I also use the show notes to highlight other news and information from our past and present contributors. For instance, you may recall the stories that have been on the podcast from author Sam Hunt. His tale, talent show, was on episode 10 this season, and his story, The Chimney Sweep, was on our Christmas episode.

Sam has recently published his first novel, entitled The Whirlwind in the Thorn Tree, which has been called a highly reviewed fantasy gunslinger epic from a Master of Adventure. I'll post links in the show notes for this episode to Sam's website, where you can find more information about him, his novel, and where to find it online. I am especially pleased to bring to your attention a new narrator joining us for this episode. Nicole Doolin is a voice actor and writer. Nicole has performed voiceovers for various mediums and podcasts, and she also writes fiction, poetry, and plays. Nicole also has her own engaging literary podcast called Audio Literature Odyssey, where she brings the pages of classic literature to life.

On it, you can enjoy a myriad of great authors, such as Jane Austen, Henry James, Edgar Allan Poe, Shakespeare, and many more. I'll post links in the show notes to find out more about Nicole. She will be narrating our final tale this episode. It's a story from author Kelsey Donald and was posted on Reddit's Library of Shadows, where it quickly became that forum's highest ranked story. It's a slightly different tale for this podcast, but the combination of Kelsey's writing and Nicole's narration make it an excellent edition. I'm thrilled Nicole could join us for this story.

And I think you'll soon discover what a gifted voice artist she is. And with that, it's time to start the show. Our first tale is about a student excited to start medical school. His long and grueling path is made more difficult by his new roommate, a decidedly odd character. I'll read the tale for you from author Thomas Thompson, who describes for us just... how intolerable this person became, especially after announcing that he was going to be the first

person to surgically remove their own brain. Arrived on campus in high spirits. This wasn't my first choice for medical school, but here I was. I was taking my first major step in becoming a doctor. A fucking doctor. Just thinking about it filled me with jubilation. The excitement coursed through me as I arrived at the building I would be calling home for the next year. Initially, I wasn't too pleased that this school insisted first-year students live in shared on-campus apartments. I am an extremely private person and would have preferred a place to my school.

However, I remember the trepidation I felt when arriving at my dorm the freshman year of undergrad, only to be elated when my roommate ended up being a great guy. As a matter of fact, Jason and I still remain the best of friends to this day. I arrived at the door to my apartment as a requisite amount of anxiety prickled my brain. I opened it and immediately jumped with a start. Standing in the tiny hallway, not three feet from the entrance, was a giant of a man. I guessed him to be six foot seven. His height was punctuated by an enormous girth. He stared at me wordlessly.

In shock, I stared back for what must have been a few seconds, but felt like hours. Eventually, I snapped out of my surprise and offered a handshake and my name. He continued to stare blankly at my face. If eyes are the windows into the soul, I was staring into a long, vacant house, a condemned property.

The awkward air was almost too much to handle. I was about to put my hand away, but then he finally seemed to snap out of it. He grabbed my hand and shook it with a weak and clammy handshake that belied his imposing figure. I introduced myself and asked if he was as excited to be starting medical school as I was. He spoke to me as if he hadn't even heard my question. He said, in a high pitch and stammering voice,

You're lucky. It's not often that you get to meet someone famous. How's that? I asked amiably. I'm going to be the first person to surgically remove their own brain. I looked into his unblinking eyes for some semblance of a joke to that. bizarre statement, but found none. His deadpan delivery put me ill at ease. He then turned around, entered one of the bedrooms, I guess he had already laid claim to one in my absence, and slammed the door.

With my mind still hopeful and exuberant, I began to load my things into the apartment. I thought about my new roommate, Herbert. I rationalize that I must have taken him by just as much surprise as he had gotten me. In addition, he was probably exhausted from the move. I'm not one to make flash judgments of others, and give those around me the benefit of the doubt, often to a fault. However, that statement about removing his own brain disturbed me. As I went to sleep that first night, it kept rolling around in my thoughts. What an extremely odd thing to say. Well, I guess that could just be his sense of humor, his weak attempt at comedy to break the ice. As my first week in my new lodgings continued, my concern grew. It had been fun.

days since I moved in and I still had only seen Herbert the one time. I could hear him pace about in his room as well as hear him talk. At first I wasn't alarmed since I just figured he was on the phone. However, it became abundantly clear that he was just holding conversations with himself. Heeded debates for an audience of one. The only time I would hear him leave our apartment was in the dead of night. As he returned, I could hear him giggle to himself in that high-pitched voice. The day before classes started, I decided to knock on his door to ask if he would like to order some food together. He abruptly opened the door a crack. A smell escaped, a putrid and rancid stink. The smell. The smell escaped. The smell of the door. The of body odor combined with something even more heinous. It was a smell I couldn't quite put my finger on, but I was horrified.

I was sharing a living space with someone that smelled this bad. I had made note of the fact that he hadn't showered once since I moved in. I asked if he would like to order some food and hang out. He replied, No, I'm practicing, and he slammed the door in my face. There was no denying it. This living arrangement was going to be less than ideal.

The first day of classes arrived. I pushed Herbert out of my mind as best as I could, only to show up to my anatomy class and see his large figure wedged into one of the seats in the classroom. The elderly professor came in, and look flustered. He explained as he read through the syllabus that he was a former neurosurgeon. As he talked with a complete lack of enthusiasm, he explained that we would be exploring

the breadth of human anatomy by analyzing its structures. We would be placed in groups of four to dissect these structures. As he randomly read off the group assignments, my spirit sank as I, of course, was placed in a group with Herbert. I allowed optimism to peek through my brain. Maybe working together would open him up. Almost immediately, I knew this wouldn't be the case. He was that type of student, you know the type,

who would constantly second-guess the professor. His hand would always go up with every in-names, thought that went through his head. He would attempt to correct the professor with almost every statement he made. The professor, whom I eventually gleaned, wasn't too happy to be slumming it teaching a first-year anatomy course at this medical school, kept looking at him with growing ire as the semester went on. As did I. I was livid and frightened that his constant pestering would affect the

group's grade for the term. The other members asked me sincerely, what the fuck is wrong with this guy? I didn't have an answer. When not making Dr. Matthews hate his life, he would just sit there with those dead eyes and giggle to himself, like he was the only one in on the greatest joke never told. As time went on, we spoke only a handful of times,

and very briefly. His brain always seemed to be occupied by something else. His need to work or practice would always cryptically escape his lips before he retreated to his disgusting bedroom. The smell permeating from his room became so pungent that I was too embarrassed to have company over. One night, I awoke to hear Herbert's footsteps announcing his, return from one of his nightly sojourns.

They entered his room, then quickly glided towards my bedroom door. My door swung open violently. The light of the living room revealed Herbert's enormous silhouettes. He barked, Did you go in my fucking room? I replied, no. Though I couldn't see them, I could tell his eyes were a lot. alive with fury, his body posture beyond threatening.

Don't ever go in my fucking room. You hear me? He slammed the door shut, almost hard enough to take it off its hinges. It was then that I began to make plans to extricate myself from this whole situation. The next day strengthened my resolve. I arrived late to anatomy. I approached the door when I realized I left my ID at home. Security had been tightened in the lab due to recent break-ins and thefts. You needed to scan your ID to gain access.

I saw Herbert about to enter the building and asked if he could scan me in. He ignored me and slammed the door behind him. luckily another student who recognized me allowed me access that day we were to dissect and discuss the structures of the human brain i was squeamish to say the least in applying an electric bone saw to the donor body's skull herbert saw my hesitation and rested the tool out of my hands he expertly removed the brain with a cringe-inducing shulpping sound like a practiced coroner. I have to admit, I was impressed with the skill and quickness with which he did so. As the professor began to speak about the limbic system, a smell caught my attention,

a rank and indelible odor permeating from the brain that laid before me. It was a repulsive yet familiar aroma. Before I could put my finger on the scent, Herbert loudly interrupted Dr. Matthews, correcting something he had said about the amygdala, effectively scattering my thoughts. The entire class groaned. The professor had finally had enough. He shouted, I was a neurosurgeon for 30 years at Johns Hopkins, and you are a first-year student. I am truly fed up with your constant interruptions.

If you disrupt my class one more time, I will fail you. You! When you die, shortly, I might add, no one is going to remember you. They will talk about me for ages to come. He flung the bonesaw in Dr. Matthew's direction. He stormed out of the classroom. I had had enough of his erratic and off-putting behavior.

Immediately after class, I put in a request for a housing transfer. It was approved. I arrived home to inform Herbert. It was late enough that he had left on one of his nightly flights. With me moving out, and him assuredly kicked out of anatomy, I relished the fact that I might never have to see his dead eyes ever again. Curiosity got the better of me, and as a final fuck you to him, I decided to violate his perverse sanctuary.

I opened the door to his bedroom. As I entered, the overwhelming aroma assaulted my nostrils. I flipped on the lights. On his desk were numerous surgical tools. I remember remarking how they gleamed red with use in the bedroom light. So that was the reason for increased security. Herbert was purloining medical tools under the cover of night. As I approached his closet, the smell grew, reaching a crescendo of awful.

It was then that I recognized the stench. It was the same smell of formaldehyde doing a piss-poor job of preserving decaying flesh that I had smelled when Herbert removed the brain in anatomy class. I steeled myself for what horrors lay within and opened the closet door. Herbert hadn't just stolen. medical tools. His closet was lined with human heads. The top of their skulls removed with a surgeon's precision. On the floor of the closet lay a trough like vat. Inside, I counted seven, maybe eight brains. I shut the door in a panic, the horror building inside me so profound

and all-consuming that I had failed to notice the bedroom door open. Standing in the doorway was Herbert. His eyes were alive with wanton intent, his right-hand clasping a medical bag. It looked heavy with tools, and God only knows what else. He stood momentarily frozen as I did. My mind struggled with the first. fact that I had found myself in a life or death situation. I had only one chance at this. Before I knew

what I was doing, I dove between his gargantuan legs with such speed and accuracy. His monstrous hands grasped nothing but air. I got off the floor and ran out the front door with a speed that surprised me. As I booked it down the hallway, I expected to hear his thundering footsteps giving chase and his high-pitched voice spewing expletives as he gained on me. Instead, after a short and flaccid chase, I heard him call out in defeat and resignation. But I don't think I'm ready yet. I made my way to the campus police office and told them everything. After a sleepless night at the hotel, I called the police. They said he was in the wind.

I requested an escort so I could gather my things. I met the officer in front of my building. I wasn't impressed. He looked like a kid. If Herbert wanted to, he could manhandle the both. of us. This, coupled with the apparent incompetence of the campus police, did not inspire confidence. How had Herbert gotten away with stealing supplies and body parts for so long? However, as we approached my apartment door, the officer drew his firearm, elating some of my

fears. He opened the door as I followed closely behind. I followed. I followed. I flipped on the lights, and there was Herbert, sitting at the derelict kitchen table. He was facing away from us. The officer called for him to put his hands up, but he didn't budge. Something was amiss. Like, like, yeah, the top of his head was missing. The surgical equipment. strewn about next to his excised skullcap, began to tell the tale my knee, fearing I would lose

consciousness, but needing to see, I circled around to the front of this beast of a man, impossibly defying all logic. The gray matter, completely detached from its home, sat in his hands, lovingly cradled in those enormous paws. I looked at his face to see a victorious smile beaming from ear to ear. As the last bastion of my consciousness slipped and I began to fall, I looked into his dead eyes one last time and saw something that has haunted my day, and filled my nights with restless dreams. Below the cavity that previously contained Herbert's disturbed brain,

the right eye followed my body as it made its way to the ground, and unmistakably and intentionally winked at me. A university campus is usually a bustling hive of active students going to and fro from their studies and social activities. However, as one student discovered, sometimes you don't always blend into the crowd. Sometimes you attract the attention of a particularly disturbing person who follows your every move.

The story by author Afia Jenin is narrated by Yerne Meyer, and in it we realize that technology has made us even more vulnerable to unwanted attention. This tale is entitled, 9,004. It was an autumn Wednesday morning, and I was putting my shoes on, about to leave for class. My mom called my name as I was walking out the door. You have choir practice today, right? she asked. Yeah. And a bunch of us are going to hang out for a bit afterwards.

Did you want to ride home? I'm working late and I can pick you up on my way back. No, that's okay, Mom. I'll be fine. I can take the bus home. No, it will be late and it's on my way. After a little more arguing, I accepted her offer. Partly because if it continued much longer, I would have missed my bus. But thank God she was so insistent that she picked me up.

that night. Fast forward through some labs and lectures and at 7 p.m. Choir practice went from 7 to 9 p.m. Afterwards we walked to an on-campus bar slash restaurant to get some food and sing oldies. Every Wednesday's karaoke night. At about 10 p.m. my mom called me. She's leaving work now and she's on her way to the university. She'd be here in about 20, 30 minutes and will pick me up across campus from the Arts Building near the bus terminal. So I packed up my things, said goodnight to my friends and started walking. From the bar to the Arts Building is about a 5 to 10 minute walk, but I wanted to stop at my locker to pick up my books, so I took a detour.

It was already dark, but there were plenty of lights and a few other students walking about, so at the time I wasn't scared. At the time. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. Maybe it was my mom telling me she arrived early. No, it was a text message. From a number I didn't recognize. The text message said,

Pink Blossom tree. Confused, I ignored it and kept walking. A few minutes later, I received another text. At the Biscar Hall? That was strange. Where would I get a text about? one of the university buildings. I decided to text the number back, letting him or her know that they had a wrong number.

Almost immediately, I received a reply. I shrugged it off, but nevertheless I began to walk a little faster. I got to my locker, took my books and took off. At this point I was outside of the north end of the Uni Mall, which is about a five-minute walk from where my mom was picking me up. This building is both a mini mall and a student residence, with dorms above the shops. The building had numerous entrances all along both sides, and each entrance was labeled with large, wide numbers,

so students could find their rooms easily. It was also pretty convenient for students like me that wanted to know the fastest route to subway or A&W. Man, I loved their onion rings. I had almost forgotten about the previous texts when I felt another buzz from my phone. Green awning. Green awning?

What the hell? Now I was just getting annoyed. Obviously, this person had the wrong number, or they are just messing with me. Again, another buzz. Neon yellow. Neon yellow and puppy? This was starting to just get silly.

I chose to ignore any other texts. and just keep walking alongside the mall. For about a minute there was text silence. And then a bus. Then another. And another. And another. Texts were coming in a lot faster now.

Enough was enough. I was going to call the number and tell them to stop texting me. But before I could, I saw the texts they sent. 9,1008. 9,106, 9,104, 9,102, 9,0004. Numbers? My train of thought was cut off by a woman brushing past me, wearing a neon yellow jacket, jogging with her Shih Tzu puppy.

I froze. What does this mean? I think my heart figured it out before my head. out before my head because it was pumping so hard I could feel it in my feet. My mind caught up when I caught a side glance at the Unimau at one of its entrances, at its entrance number 9,004. I was standing in front of entrance number 9,004, the number in the last text I was sent. The person was texting me the numbers of the entrances. As a I was walking by them.

My blood rang cold. Someone was watching me. And they had been watching me this whole time. Ever since I walked past that pink blossom tree, when I walked by Athabasca Hall, and all along the Unimal. I looked around frantically. Nothing looked out of place.

And then, another text. I reluctantly flipped open my phone. 9,004. 9,004, 9,004, 9,0004, 9,0004, 9,0004, 9,0004. Sufficiently scared at this point, I did what came naturally. I ran. I ran like I had something to prove. I went to the next entrance, 9,0002, ripped.

ripped open the door and bolted up the stairs into the central mall corridor. I quickly took a look around. The place was completely lit and lots of students were still around, studying, chatting and sitting on benches. A wave of relief washed over me, although I was still a bit on edge. I decided to take a minute to regain my composure and tried to figure out what was going on. I took a seat on one of the benches and placed my bed.

book back on the table in front of me. I placed my phone on the table and began to think about what just happened. Was it being watched? And why? And how did they get my number? Unexpectedly, my phone rang. I jumped and let out a slight scream. I looked at the call display. It was my mom. Thank God. Maybe she was here. I answered. She told me that she was detained up by one of her clients and she was on her way now. She would be here in about 10 minutes. I had almost forgotten that she was picking me up, but that call snapped me back to reality and I instantly felt better hearing my mama's voice. With this needed boost of reassurance, I tried phoning the number from which I got the text.

The number you have dialed is not in service. This was getting stranger and stranger, so I decided to just continue to where I was meeting my mom. Only this time, I would walk inside the Unimor to get there. It may take longer, but that was absolutely fine with me. Very soon after, I received another text from the out-of-service number. I almost didn't want to look. Academy Pizza

Academy Pizza? I knew that name. It was a fast food restaurant that I ate at all the time in the Unimau. And at that moment, I was standing almost right in front of it. Never in my life had I been so shaken. Not knowing what else to do, I called my friend, Willie. He was pretty technologically adept, and I figured if anyone was playing a prank on me of this me on me of this magnitude, he would be the one to know how to do it.

Or at least tell me how this was being done. Willie picked up his cell. Hello? Willie, whatever you were doing, stop it. What are you talking about? The creepy text messages. That's not you? No.

I'm at home watching Bionic Woman. I quickly explained the situation to him. Wow, that's creepy. I have no idea. but I stay on the line with you if you like. Yes, I admitted. I would love that very much. It was comforting to have someone I knew to talk to while I continued my walk.

That comfort was shattered by another text message. La pasta. The Italian takeout place I had just walked by. I increased my step and told Willie what happened. He said to walk faster. Another text. School of business office. Sped past it a few seconds ago.

How were they seeing me from inside? Were they watching me from one of the dorm windows? How close were they to me? These were all questions that I was spewing at Willie while I basically ran to the other end of the mall. Texts of places I rushed by continued until I got to the end of the mall. There was a giant window at the end

where I could see the arts building and where it was to meet my mom. Unfortunately, there was only some very dim lighting. With Willie still on the line, he tried to reassure me that it was probably some silly prank and nothing was going to happen. But it wasn't really helping. Still, it was good to have him there. Finally, a light at the end of the tunnel.

A 2000 silver Dutch caravan pulled into the parking area across from the arts building. My mom's van. I told Willie the joyous news. He told me to call him when I got home, so he knew I was okay. I agreed and we said all goodbyes. I ran down the stairs and outside to the van. My heart sank when I saw a blonde-haired man climb into the passenger seat and the van drive away.

Great. Wrong van. Forgotten how damn popular that van was. I guess my excitement got the best of me. I tried going back inside the mall, but the door I came out of was locked from the outside. My heart rate began to rise again. I caught my mom to see how far away she was. She told me she was minutes away and for me to wait outside for her.

There was no point finding a way back inside now, so I walked to the small parking lot and began to wait. It wasn't as well lit here as the Unimol, So every shadow, every small noise had me on paranoia alert, jumping, turning, letting out small squeaks of fear under my breath. Then, as I almost expected, another text. Stop. Stop what? Another text.

Please purchase permit from dispenser to display on dashboard. College and university is not responsible for any vehicles ticketed or turrets. A parking sign. The exact parking sign I was standing right beside, meters away from a stop sign. B-Y-L-A-W-U-A-7-5-6. This was the code at the bottom of the parking sign, which a person would have to be no more than a few feet away to read. At this point, I was terrified. I was shaking, just hoping and praying that my mom would be here soon.

Then came the text that made all the blood drain for my face. Here we go. What? Ten. Oh dear Lord, it's a count on it. I searched around for God knows what, but I scanned the area for anything I thought could hurt me, and anything I could use to hurt them. Eight, seven.

Oh my goodness, what do I do? Should I run somewhere with more people? Maybe I should hop on any bus and explain what happened to my mom once I'm safe. What do I do? What do I do? What do it? Just then, I saw my mom's actual van come driving down the street. I could tell because I could see the trademark brown graduation teddy hanging from the rearview mirror. I thanked the Lord and sprinted to her car, almost getting run over in the process. Once she unlocked the door, I dived into the back seat and slammed the door behind me.

She asked what was wrong and I made up something about being cold. But it didn't matter. I was safe. I was so glad to be in that car I was almost in tears. My mom made a U-turn and continued back in the direction she came from. I breathed a sigh of relief and asked my mom how work was. came to a hall at the red light and conversation between us began. My reply was interrupted by the buzz of my cell phone.

Red light. The traffic light turned green. That was the last text message I received from that number. When a man decides to visit with some old friends for a few days, he learns that family obligations have conspired to change his accommodations. He finds himself relegated to a bedroom in the attic of the house, and from there his nights become anything but restful. I'll read the tale from author William Delphin, who shares the disturbing circumstances brought about by an unexpected guest. A year ago, I went to visit an old friend of mine from college named Chris.

He lives in Connecticut with his wife Susan and their son Todd. The plan was for us to hang out for a few days, so they had promised to prepare a guest room for me. When I arrived, Chris took me aside, promised you the guest room, he said quietly, but something's come up. Susan's uncle John just got divorced and she offered him a place to stay until he can find an apartment. He won't be in our way, but I had to let him have the guest room. Hey, no problem, I said. Where am I sleeping then? It's going to sound creepy, but I've set you up in the attic. There's a small room up there,

which we're planning to turn into a playroom for when Todd gets older. It's got a futon that turns into a bed. You just have to watch your step coming down the stairs. at night if you do that. I shrugged. Yeah, sure, that sounds fine with me. That night, I woke up to the sounds of the house settling. There was a creaking coming from just outside my bedroom door, like someone pacing slowly back and forth.

I lay there with my blankets pulled up to my chin, staring out into the darkness of the attic, and feeling very volumin. The only way out was through that door and down the stairs. As is often the case when one wakes up in the middle of the night, I felt the sudden need to use the bathroom. I tried holding it for what seemed like an hour, but eventually my fear of that strange creaking noise was overpowered by my bladder's need to empty itself.

I wish I brought a flashlight. I mumbled to myself, stepping carefully to the door. I put my ear to the wood to listen to that creaking sound, but as I approached the door, it stopped. I halted a moment, my ears prickling, trying to hear the slightest sound above the silence that had suddenly enveloped me. Finally, desperately needing to pee,

I stepped back and opened the silence. the door. Nothing. Feeling foolish, I crept along the attic to where the stairs down were, trying to make sure not to fall down them. I made it down the stairs, found my way to the bathroom, thanks to a nightlight, then headed back up the stairs to the attic. As I got up into the darkened landing, I realized that the creaking sound had returned. With it, it, I was it, and I could hear some sort of swishing sound, like someone dragging their feet, and a muffled sort of sobbing. I held my breath, frightened, but not wanting to show it, in case it was just Chris playing a prank

on me. Hello? I said in my bravest voice, the shuffling and sobbing stopped. Who is that? came back a very quiet voice. It's Will. Who's that? That's who is thating? Oh, you're Chris's friend. Someone moved forward.

I couldn't quite see him in the dark, but I could make out a white shirt covered with dark stains and striped pajama pants. I'm John, Susan's uncle. I'm sorry if I woke you. Oh, no, no, you didn't. I lied. I just had to use the bathroom.

Why are you up here? He asked. Oh, well, they've set me up in the attic room. He sniffed. Oh, I see. I'm in the way again. No, no. I wasn't sure.

if he meant he was in the way at that moment, or in the way by claiming the guest room, but it didn't matter. Really, I just wanted to get back to bed. I felt a strange sense of unease and dread standing there in the dark with this vague form of a man. I'm sorry, I thought this would be a good place to contemplate things. Oh, it's fine. I lied again. I'm just heading back to bed. Sorry to have interrupted you. And with that said, I crept past him,

praying that he wasn't so completely out of sorts that he couldn't tell when someone was just being polite. If he stays up here doing that sobbing and pacing, I'll never get to sleep, I thought. And I was right. As soon as I closed the door, Uncle John started up his pacing again. From inside the room, all I could hear was the swishing of his slippered feet on the floor and the creak of the floorboards. Three nights of this.

Every night I'd wake up and it would be pitch dark and I'd hear the floorboards creaking and Uncle John shuffling back and forth. Sometimes he'd break out sobbing again, and I'd have to cover my head with a pillow to try to muffle him out. I barely saw him during the day. He never ate with us, never sat around the house. He just hid in the guest room and then shuffled past to go out to his car and drive away without even a hello. By the third morning, I was exhausted. Chris and Susan noticed. Are you sleeping okay? Chris asked me as I dangled my chin over a bowl of cereal.

I have to be honest, I'm not. I looked up at him from above the dark circles under my eyes. Uncle John comes up to the attic every night and paces back and forth and cries. I ran into him the first night and, well, I didn't say anything. But honestly, he keeps waking me up and then keeps me up for hours with it. Oh, I'm so sorry, Susan said, her face turning red. He's been really depressed lately, as you can imagine. I'll talk to him about it.

Look, I don't want to upset him or cause a problem. He's staying for who knows how long. I'm just here a couple more days. When Susan left the kitchen, Chris grumbled. I'd rather have you here than him. I hope he's not staying, who knows how long. That guy gives me the creeps. I understood him completely.

There was something unsettling about Uncle John. I didn't want to say it aloud. But I nodded at Chris, and he nodded back at me, then rolled his eyes. That evening, as we were all saying our good nights, Susan approached me. I talked to my uncle this afternoon. He said he won't be bothering you anymore. Did he say it like that? I asked, feeling slightly guilty.

Yeah, basically. You have to understand. my uncle really loved my aunt. He's devastated by this divorce. I shouldn't ask, but... I paused, making sure we weren't being listened in on. Do you know what led to it? The divorce?

No. They always seemed happy together, Susan whispered. She seemed to dwell on something for a moment. Uncle John was in Vietnam, and he suffered from PTSD for years. Aunt Ellie told me once that he used to wake up in the middle of the night crying because of it, but he'd been getting better. She said at his worst he mistook her for someone trying to kill him one night when he woke up, almost strangled her.

Maybe it just got to be too much for her to deal with. Aren't you worried that he might attack you or Chris or Todd? I whispered. Not really. He keeps to himself in his room almost all the time, as you've seen. He's embarrassed and doesn't want to be here, but he's got nowhere else to go just now. He's got too much pride to leach off our goodwill for too long.

At that point, we said goodnight, and I went to bed wishing I hadn't asked any questions or complained to begin with. I woke up a few hours later when something loud fell over. What the fuck? I yelled, sitting bolt upright in bed. You have to be kidding me! I mumbled to myself. I pulled the blanket over my head, but it was no good.

I was awake and now I needed to pee. I climbed out of bed and trudged across the dark room. Uncle John, I'm just passing through to the bathroom, I said in a loud whisper as I opened the door. I felt around in the dark attic, not wanting to bump into him. He was somewhere to my left. I remembered seeing lots of packed box. over there during the day. He must have knocked something over during his pacing. I figured that was the best he could do for not bothering me. As I descended the stairs, I heard him sobbing quietly behind me. I had to stick my fist in my mouth to stifle a groan. When I came back up a few minutes later, he had stopped pacing, but there was a strange thumping.

every couple of seconds, like he was sitting there, punching a box. Yep, that's normal, I thought. Just a grown man sitting in a dark attic, punching a box and sobbing to himself. I crawled back into bed and lay there, staring up into the dark ceiling rafters, listening to the quiet thumping outside my room. He stopped making the sound a few minutes later, and I fell back to sleep. I woke up to screaming. It was Susan.

All I could think was Uncle John has flipped his lid and is killing them. I leaped to my feet, stumbling over my suitcase, and tore out of the room to help. It was a casual thing, glancing to the left as I ran out of the room. Kind of a, I wonder what it was Uncle John knocked over last night, glance. The answer was a chair. Uncle John had knocked over a chair in the dark. And honestly, it made sense to knock over the chair, because how else was he going to hang himself from the rafters

without finding a chair to stand on and then kicking the chair out? That's what he had done. Uncle John was hanging there, right in front of me. An orange extension cord taut around his neck. His face was swollen and purple, and his tongue was sticking out of his mouth like he was making an expression of pure disgust. His eyes were bulging out of their sockets,

staring blankly into space. I stopped my mad dash for the stairs and forgot all about the screaming for a minute. I stood there, staring at John's corpse, reliving those moments in the darkness, when I thought I had heard the creak of floorboards as he paced. It was the sound of the cord shifting against the wooden beam with each swing of his body. The thumping must have been when his feet bumped into the near-by. by boxes. The screaming continued downstairs, and it took me a moment to realize they couldn't possibly be screaming for the same reason I wanted to scream. I descended the staircase slowly,

watching Uncle John disappear from view as I went. I don't know why, but I had come to the irrational idea that if I turned my back, he'd come down from the rafter and grab me. maybe stick me up there in his place. When I got downstairs, Susan was in hysterics. Chris was alternating between trying to talk to somebody on the phone and yelling at her. Just take Todd and go! He was shouting, occasionally accentuating the point by shaking her like a rag doll. When he saw me, he let go of Susan and hurried over.

"'One-three-two, Burgess Lane,' he yelled at the phone. "'I don't know. Send anybody. I don't think paramedics will be effective, though,' I stammered. Chris stuffed the phone in a pocket of his bathrobe. "'Yes,' he said, gripping my shoulders. We stared at each other. Chris looked determined and focused. I'm sure. I looked horrified and pale. I need you to help me. Take Susan and Todd and get them out of here.

I can't have Todd seeing this. I nodded dumbly and walked past Chris. Taking Susan by the arm, I guided her crying downstairs. Then went back up and got Todd, who was sitting in his bed, looking confused and worried. I bundled us all up, and with Todd in my arms, I led Susan to my car. She sat there in the passenger seat, gasping for breath, as I buckled Todd in in the back. I could hear sirens in the distance getting closer. I climbed into the car and looked at Susan.

Susan, I am so sorry. She looked at me through tear-filled eyes. There was so much blood. She whispered. What? I've never seen so much blood. Wait right here. I told them both as I unbuckled myself and got out of the car.

I ran back inside and took the stairs three steps at a time to the second floor. Chris was slumped against the frame of the door to the guest room, looking in. I went up to him and looked into the room. There was a body in the bed, curled on its side in a ruined nightgown, arms and legs stretched out like it was welcoming a hug. The head was on a dresser across the room. It was an elderly woman. Her hair was long and silver. Her eyes dark and empty. Her mouth hung open slightly. The sheets and pillows were brown with days old dried blood, and the otherwise green carpeting was brown around the bed and dresser. Aunt Ellie, Chris looked up at me. Fucking psycho killed her and brought her into my house. God knows when.

He cut her head off. He cut her fucking head off. When they find him... They won't have to look very far, I said, the image of that room of death burning into my brain. He's up in the attic. Chris stiffened. He hanged himself.

I held his shoulder, and he squeezed my hand. We stayed the next night in a hotel. Chris needed help calming Susan down while taking care of Todd. She was in severe shock. I took Todd out to a movie so Chris and Susan could be alone for a few hours. We had told Todd that his mommy had found an infestation of ants, and the house had to be fumigated. Uncle John had found a new place to live. Terrible, terrible lies, but he was only six, and he believed every word.

I left for home two days later. They spent another week and a half in the hotel while police documented everything, and then cleaners came and tidied up. Chris told me Susan insisted on throwing out all the furniture in the guest room. She redecorated it to look completely different. She never wanted to see it the way it had been again. I've been back to their house only once since then. Chris gave me a sideways glance when I requested the attic room over the guest room.

Susan developed a bit of a nervous twitch at the request but said nothing. I only spent the one night. Hours after everyone else was asleep, when the world seemed darkest, I woke up with a chill under my skin. I was covered head to toe in blankets, but there was a distinct frigid cold that seemed to settle over me. I lay there, looking up into the infinite shadows, and I swear I heard sobbing outside my door. In our final tale, a young woman suddenly discovers that her reality is not entirely what it seems.

She is forced to deal with memories both real and imagined in order to persevere through her new and bizarre life. Nicole Doolin performs the tale by author Kelsey Donald entitled, Forget Me Not. It was another beautiful day. The sun shone brightly overhead as I lay on the cool, crisp grass, staring up at the blue sky. Blue flowers speckled a hill, swaying in the soft breeze. Nothing made me happier than sitting on the hill with Aaron, watching the clouds in the city below. That one looks like a flower, Aaron said, pointing up at the clouds. I see a heart and a seashell. I wonder what the clouds looked like on the day we first kissed, Aaron mused.

A flicker. I frowned. I think it was raining that day. Aaron lazily rolled on his side and faced me. He smiled. Oh, Mel, it was beautiful. Heart clouds, star clouds, swirly strings of clouds. He was rambling.

I sat up and rubbed my forehead. I remember on your ears. Flashes, sounds, and pictures. You're right, I said. It wasn't raining then. It rained the last time we kissed, the day we broke up. Broke up. We never broke up.

Aaron traced circles in the air with his finger inside happily. The sun was blinding now. I squinted my eyes against the glare. It was getting painful, boring through my eyes into my skull. I collapsed on the hill. I remember on your ears. You have to remember this. Memories, flooding in like a bursting dam.

This isn't right. We did break up, I insisted. through gritted teeth. I remember now. You left me in the rain. I ran home. Mom had the news on. That was the day of the first sighting.

Siding of what? What am I missing? I raised a hand to shield my eyes from the sun. Dust billowed up around me, and the soft cushion of grass now felt dry and gritty. It was the day... The day... A final snap.

Everything falls into place. The day they arrived. A blink, and my vision cleared. Everything cleared as the fog lifted from the crevices in my mind. I kept my hand in front of my eyes as the sun glared down at me. No, it wasn't the sun. It was a searchlight overhead. The dust whipped into a frenzy as the craft circled above us.

I froze. Who arrived, Mal? Aaron seemed unaware of the roaring aircraft above us. It was all I could do not to run screaming. I clamped my teeth down on my hand and tasted blood. Second seemed like ours. By unbelievable luck, the craft moved on, dipping behind the hill. I unclenched my jaw and rubbed my hand, gasping for breath.

Aaron was rambling again. Blue sky, Robin's egg blue, cornflower blue, cobalt, cadet, and sapphire. I got to my feet. We were on the hill behind the school, although it looked very different than I remembered. It had been our meeting place,

back when we were dating, that is. Aaron and I were together for most of junior year, until the week before finals. We walked home in the rain, and by the time I reached my front door, we were no longer a couple. I can't say I didn't see it coming. But I was hurt nonetheless.

I didn't have time to grieve, however, because that was the night of the first sighting. Ships appeared in the skies and the next stayed over. We thought it was a prank. Even the newscasters joked about the strange objects. They hovered for the next two days, as experts flew in to try to identify the crafts. It soon became clear. These ships were not of this world. Then the next thing we knew, videos of death and destruction were broadcast across the airwaves.

Human-sized machines, at least they looked like machines, had deployed from the ships and attacked the cities below. It felt like a bad dream, nothing more. It's easy to ignore a problem when it's only visible on a screen. Plus, I had to study for finals. But then smoke appeared in the distance, and soon after the ships arrived overhead. Many fled the city. I thought my family would too, but when I ran home from school, scared. and out of breath, I saw that my parents had evacuated without me.

I hid in my room as I heard the sounds of artillery in the distance. The last thing I remembered was the loud splintering of wood as my door broke down, and the sharp tick, tick, tick of machinery as it approached my hiding place. Then blurred images, too weak to be actual memories. I went to school, shopped at the mall, and spent time on the hill with Aaron. Happy memories. Fake memories. The sun was always shining.

The neighbor's always friendly. Aaron and I were still in love, and he thought of our breakup, our fights, was gone. Now, standing on the hill, I had a good view of the city. I barely recognized it. Buildings lay in ruins and trails of smoke rose in the distance. The nearest building was the school, and I could see a huge chunk of concrete missing from the sun.

side of the gymnasium. I coughed trying to get the acrid taste of smoke out of my lungs. Sit with me, Mallory, Aaron said. He was still lying face up on the hill. I could see now that the hillside was barren, almost all traces of its lush green grass were gone. How long had it been since the invasion? Aaron didn't look too great. His clothes were ragged and dirty, and his dark hair was matted. It looked like he'd still been shaving every day, but I cringed as I saw the red scratches down his face and neck. I took inventory of myself and realized I wasn't in much better condition. My stomach ached. I probably hadn't been eating well. I rifled through the false memories. Every day I went to school and every day I ate in the cafeteria. There must be food in

there. I started down the hill, looking over my shoulder, hoping to see no machines lurking around. I glanced back at Aaron. He was staring at the sky again. I raised my eyes. A reddish haze hung in the air. I almost wished I could see the lovely false skies again instead of this harsh reality. Aaron whistled a carefree tune and I bit my lip, wondering if I should really just leave him there. After all, he'd left me first. I sighed. Come on, Aaron. I grabbed his hand and led him down the hill towards school.

The school hallways were dim and smelled of mold. Aaron and I crept past the abandoned classrooms and the rows upon rows of lockers. Well, I crept. Aaron walked confidently without a care in the world. In here, I whispered as we arrived at the cafeteria. The stench was overwhelming. I pushed through the double doors, covering my mouth with the neck of my t-shirt. A swarm of flies hovered around the food bar.

Stepping closer, I could see trays full of black and slimy food. I wasn't even sure what used to be in those trays. Have I been eating that all this time? Aaron reached out to grab a handful of what might have been peas once. I slapped his hand away. A half-empty rack of potato chips stood in a corner, so I grabbed two bags and gave one to Aaron. I would have to hold us over for now.

Noises in the hallway. Footsteps. I plastered myself against the wall, trying to motion for Aaron to duck out of sight. No look. But the footsteps continued down the hall, and I gathered enough courage to peek through the crack in the door. Three kids, who I recognized as freshmen strolled past,

their footsteps echoing in the empty corridor. They didn't notice me as they happily. chattered to one another. One was barefoot with infected blisters covering her feet. Another's left arm was covered in scorch marks, the singed fabric of his shirt sticking to the burned flesh. The three students turned into an empty classroom, and I took that opportunity to exit the cafeteria with Aaron and Toe. As we passed the gym, I heard more sounds. The door was propped open, and inside I saw my old gym teacher, Mrs. Miller. She was holding what looked like a rotten melon. And I watched and fascinated horror as she stood before the basketball hoop, aimed her shot and through.

The melon splattered against the backboard, sending putrid clumps of fruit and seeds spraying across the room. Mrs. Mello looked to her left, then her right, and clapped enthusiastically. Good pass, Mike, she said to no one in particular. Then she met my eyes. I ducked out of sight and darted toward the exit as I heard her voice echo behind me. You're just in time. We're picking teams. Aaron caught up to me and reached for my hand as I swung the front doors open, stepping out into the red, hazy world.

I brushed his hand away. I should ditch him, I thought. But I couldn't bring myself to send the sad, brainwashed X of mine away. Call me sentimental, if you will. I can clattered to the floor and I willed myself not to panic. We were in a small grocery store on Lexington, stocking up on supplies. I didn't have much of a plan yet, but I figured we might as well gather enough food to leave the city. There were machines still patrolling the streets.

I had seen three on our way here. Luckily, I'd been able to hide each time, pulling Aaron along with me. I didn't know how long my luck would hold out. I picked up the cannon glanced around. No one seemed to notice the clamor, although there were at least five brainwashed people roaming the store. It creeped me out. They walk like they were in a daze, performing their usual tasks as they went about their day, unaware that their world had been flipped upside down.

I shuddered to think that I'd been like that, too. What made me snap out of it? The floor creaked behind me and I jumped. Spinning around, I saw it was just a middle-aged man, wandering through the aisles. I took a deep breath and steadied myself, trying to calm my pounding heart. You're free, aren't you? The man said. I looked at him warily.

Yeah, I'm talking to you, he said. His voice was clear and steady, low but not a whisper. You're not brainwashed like the rest of them, are you? Relief flooded through me. I'm not alone. For the first time since I woke up on the hill, my face broke into a smile. Yes, I thought it was just me, I whispered. Must have just snapped out of it, haven't you?

Before I could answer, he continued. You couldn't have lasted this long otherwise the way you're acting. What do you mean? Sneaking around, jumping at every sound. You stand out like a sore thumb. You need to blend in with the brain cases, or they'll catch you and turn you back into one. It keeps you from fighting back.

I nodded. He seemed to know what he was talking about. Are there more of you? A few. Some like me have been free since the beginning. They never got to us. Others like you snap out of it after a while. Oh, I'm not even sure what made me come too. To be honest, we're not quite sure. Some think a memory slips through the cracks, one that clashes with the bright, happy world you're trapped in. And some think it's completely random.

I thought about that for a minute. I'd been entertaining dreams of finding my friends and family, depending on if I forgave my parents for abandoning me, and freeing them from the solution. I at least had to save Aaron. I couldn't keep dragging him around with me. But if it was random, what chance did I have of saving them? I want to come with you, I said to the man.

That should be my first step, finding others like me, others who could help me. Aaron rounded the corner. He was holding a box of cereal and a beach umbrella. I'm ready, Mel, he said. The man pointed at Aaron. Is that brain case with you? Yeah. No, the man said, shaking his head.

If you want to come back with me, you have to ditch a friend here. He'll compromise opposition. He's not my friend, I said. I sighed and shook my head. But I can't leave him here. The man tugged at his thinning hair. Sorry, kid, wish I could help. He started making his way to the door.

I wanted to run after him, and I looked back and forth from Aaron to the man. Wait! The man turned around at the door. He pursed his lips as if he were making a difficult decision. I'll tell you what, he said. Meet me at the clock tower on Oak and Fifth tomorrow. Three o'clock in the afternoon, exactly. No brain cases or no deal.

Thank you, I whispered. He gave me an encouraging smile. I believe that you can break people out of this spell. You just have to try hard enough. The door tinkled as the man exited the store. My mind raced. Save Aaron. Meet at the clock tower.

Don't get caught. All right, Aaron, I said with new determination. We have work to do. I heard it before I saw it, the sharp, steady clicking of metal against sidewalk. A machine, a jagged assortment of black metal shapes advanced towards us on spindly appendages. I fought against the instinct to flee, remembering what the man, the one who'd been free had told me yesterday. You need to blend in. The machine was just over a block away.

Between us, an older gentleman ambled out of an alleyway. He was holding a leaf. dragging something behind him. I gasped when I saw that it was the long dead corpse of a small dog. The man took no notice of the machine, even when it approached him and lingered by his side. I couldn't be sure, but it looked like the machine was inspecting him, watching for any unexpected reaction. The man reached down to pet the decaying dog.

My stomach churned as I saw a patch of fur slough right off the corpse and fall to the ground. Good boy, the man said. The machine seemed satisfied and continued on its course, towards Aaron and me. Aaron didn't take notice as it hovered around him, but I did. My heart raced and I broke out into a cold sweat. The machine must have decided Aaron was no threat, because after a brief look at him, it turned on me next. For a second, I stood completely still. It took me a moment to realize that that was just as suspicious as running.

So I willed myself to move forward, one foot after the other. Aaron was strolling ahead, and I matched my footsteps to his. The machine followed. A bead of sweat ran down my face, but I kept my face passive. My eyes straight ahead. Please let this work. Finally, the machine moved on, making its way down the quiet street. I let out a sigh of relief.

Once the sounds of the machine faded away in the distance, I grabbed Aaron's arm. We were close. We crossed the street and I led him around the side of the building, into the shade of a large marquee. A few of the letters had fallen off, but I knew what the sign said. Morning Star Cinemas.

There were others like us, the man had said. Others who were free from the illusion brought on by the machines. I could join them, but I couldn't bring Aaron, not unless he was freed. I thought I could snap him out of it if I could only get him to read. realize the bright, happy world he saw was a lie. If I could just unlock an unhappy memory, I thought, I could bring the lie crashing down. I had until three o'clock to free Aaron and meet

the others at the clock tower. Do you remember this place? I asked. Aaron idly glanced up. Are we going to the movies? Yep, we're going to the movies. It was dark inside the theater, and I was glad I'd brought a flashlight from the store. The lobby looked eerie, the beam of light glancing off the glass sides of the popcorn maker in the back of the room. I made my way down the dark hallway and crept into the nearest theater. Aaron followed. There was a hole in the ceiling. I had no idea if it was caused by the machines or by our own forces,

but it let a welcome ray of light into the room. I could see the hazy red sky above. As we entered the theater, I heard a low muttering coming from the seats. Half a dozen people sat in the rows of seats, their vacant expressions trained at the empty screen. A quiet laugh echoed through the room, multiplying as each of the audience joined in. I shuddered at the eerie chorus. That's my favorite part, one person said, and I could only imagine what illusion-induced film was playing in his mind. Aaron and I took a seat in the back of the theater, where we'd always sat on our dates.

I was thinking of one night in particular. so I sat to his right, just the way it had been. Do you remember when we came here the night before homecoming? Shh, you're missing the previews. I ignored him. The movie we were going to see was sold out, so we chose another. I shifted in my seat, so I was facing Aaron. He wouldn't meet my eyes.

He just stared ahead at the screen with an empty smile on his face. That was the only time I'd seen you cry, I said. It was just a movie, sure, but I know you felt something, something sad and hurtful. Aaron laughed. Watch this part, Mallory. It's great. Aaron, please, you have to remember. I searched his face for even the slightest flicker, a sign that something real made it past the illusion. Just one sad memory, that's all I needed.

Aaron chuckled louder, and it rippled through the rest of the audience. I put my hands over my ears. There had to be another way. A worse memory. You must remember this, I said. We were in Aaron's backyard. There was a swing set and a trampoline, though Aaron probably hadn't used them in over a decade.

The trampoline was broken. It's once taught cloths surface lay tattered on the ground. I wasn't sure if that was from the machine's destruction, or if it had been like that for some time. Aaron stepped inside the trampoline's metal frame and began to jump on the barrier. dirt below. You fell off the trampoline and broke your arm when you were six, I reminded him. You told me it was the worst pain you'd ever felt.

Jump with me, he said. I'm soaring soaring so high. Small plumes of dust rose where his feet hit the ground with dull thuds. I shook my head in frustration. I wasn't getting through. With a glance at my watch, my heart sank. It was almost two in the afternoon. I had an hour to snap Aaron out of it and arrive at the clock tower. I go myself and leave him. Could I bring myself to leave him? It was a wonder any of us that survived so long in this state of childlike wonder. I didn't have faith he'd last much longer.

There was one memory I'd been avoiding, maybe because it was much worse for me than Aaron. For all I knew it was a happy memory for him, but I was out of time I had to try. As we neared the familiar story, street corner I broke into a run. I stopped when I reached the street lamp, panting for breath. My throat burned and my mind filled with the painful memory of that day. It was raining. Aaron caught up looking puzzled at my words. Before he could respond, I continued. We were walking

home from school, like we always did. We'd been fighting again worse than usual. I thought you'd even go home by yourself, but there you were waiting for me. Aaron yawned. I'm tired, can we go home? I grabbed him by the shoulders. You have to remember this. You stopped right here on this corner. It was pouring by then. You told me you didn't want to speak to me anymore, how you couldn't stand to even look at me. It was over, you said. It had been over for a long time. I fought back tears as the terrible memories. The ones I'd blocked myself, with no help from the illusion came rushing back. The fighting, the screaming, the manipulating. Neither one of us had been faithful, but neither one of us deserved it. Aaron had broken up with me, but I'd pushed him to it.

I didn't have the guts to do it myself. You said you hated me, I was shouting now. And then you kissed me. How dare you not remember that? A single raindrop fell from the sky and landed on my cheek. I looked up just as the skies opened up and water fell from the heavens. Just perfect. But when I looked back, Aaron's face was wet and not from the rain. I cautiously leaned forward, my heart pounding and kissed him. How dare you not remember that? The sound of machines drawing near. The noise mingled with a sudden onslaught of rain, but I didn't pay any notice. Aaron's voice was barely a whisper. What's going on?

It worked. He looked so lost, and for a moment, every awful emotion I'd just been feeling was wiped clean. The clatter of machinery grew louder. I saw Aaron's eyes grow wide, and I realized there was no time to explain. No time to convince him to stay calm and stay free. Wait until you can't see me anymore, and then go to the clock tower. There will be friends there to help you, I whispered in his ear. I think he said something in return, but I was already running down the street.

I blew past the machine and heard a mechanical whir as it picked up speed and followed me. I ran faster than I ever had before and thought, maybe I'll actually get out of this one. That thought vanished as I turned a corner and nearly crashed headfirst into the two other machines waiting for me. Can't win them all. The grass felt soft against my back as I lay on the hill behind school. Blue flowers dotted the pristine landscape. Pretty cloud soared overhead, and they named their shapes aloud.

There was no one around to hear me, of course. But why should that stop me? It was another beautiful day. Or sleepless tales have come to an end. Thanks for sharing the darkness of the night with us. Join us again in two weeks' time when we unleash more disturbing. tales designed to afflict your night with no sleep. To continue your sleepless experience, visit the no sleeppodcast.com.