The NoSleep Podcast - Nosleep Podcast S2E23

Episode Date: March 24, 2013

It's episode 23 of the second season of The Nosleep Podcast! The episode features four tales about terrorizing technology, spooky steps, chilling children, and devilish dolls. This episode features these stories:   "Camera #36" written by Leon Chan (Redditor straydog1980) and read by David Cummings (Redditor MikeRowPhone). (Story starts at 00:03:50) "Stairs of Dark Oak" written by Anton Scheller (Redditor scheller) and read by Ray Sizemore. (Story starts at 00:28:30) "She Was Just a Child" written by Neil Balthazar (Redditor neil_balthazar) and read by David Cummings. (Story starts at 00:39:15) "The Doll With the Lifelike Eyes" written by Matthew Biel (Redditor GhostBeezer) and read by Jinny Sanders (RedditorSpookykittens). (Story starts at 00:57:40) Click here to learn more about Ray Sizemore. Podcast produced by: David Cummings (Redditor MikeRowPhone). 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 in to your fear because tonight there will be no sleep. Brace yourself for the No Sleep podcast. It's episode 23 of season two. Welcome to the show. I'm your host, David Cummings. We have four tales for you this time. featuring stories about terrorizing technology, spooky steps, chilling children, and devilish dolls. Season two is drawing to a close, dear listeners, with only two episodes remaining after this one.

I have mentioned in the past that season three has some changes in store, and I'll be going over the details of those changes in the next episode. So make sure you join us to hear about... what's happening as we look ahead to season three. But let's not forget about season two, for in this episode I am happy to introduce you to two narrators, one new to the podcast and the other returning after a long absence. Those of you who have been listening to the podcast from the beginning

may recall Ginny Sanders, who narrated a number of stories during our fledgling early days. Ginny returns to us by narrating this episode's final tale. I, for one, am so happy to have her back. Her style of storytelling is one that I find quite captivating, and I think you will too. Our newest narrator is a man who brings considerable voice acting skills to the show. Ray Seismore is a versatile voice talent, comfortable in a wide range of styles. You will quickly discover why his voice has been used in many professional projects,

including audiobooks, documentaries, radio and TV ads, and video games. He has also narrated for a number of podcasts, and I am thrilled that he is sharing his talent with us. I'll include a link in the show notes to Ray's website, so you can learn more about him and his impressive list of credits. You know, it's been my goal to bring the highest caliber of both writing and narrating to this podcast. I hope you share my opinion that the shows are getting better and better, thanks to the talented people who share their gifts of word and voice with us, solely for the enjoyment of the audience. I encourage you all to take the time and leave a comment on our website

to let these talented contributors know how much you enjoy their work. And now, let's start the show. Our first tale is about a man who works for a security company. Against his better judgment, he decides to make some extra money by helping a co-worker finish an installation at a new office building. However, he soon discovers that the job might cost him more than he could ever earn. I'll read the story from author Leon Chan, who describes the terrifying scenes captured by camera number 36. I guess I should start at the beginning.

I work at a security company. The business card says surveillance system specialist, which is a nice way of saying camera monkey. It's what the company does. We put in camera systems for businesses. Dome cameras, pan tilt zooms, the whole nine yards. Just a little bit of knowledge about wiring, the proprietary software, and we're good to go. At least it puts food on the table. It was late in the day when I got the call from Tim.

I work for a small company, and we had to work pretty closely together. but nobody really liked Tim. He was a small, sour, middle-aged man, unhappy with his lot in life. Always complaining about work and tight-fisted too. $5 gift for a $20 secret Santa exchange. Never split the tip at a restaurant. That kind of guy.

Hey, I got a two-person job down. at the building I'm working on. Just need to sign off that all the cameras are working. I know it's late, but we can get it all done by today. Half an hour tops. The project director's already given me a blank time sheet. We'll split it 50-50 as three hours of work. What do you say?

Tim's voice boomed from the phone so loud that I had to hold it away from my ear. He sounded maniacally happy, too happy. I'd never heard him say a single nice word to another human being in the whole of the three years I'd worked cameras. The offer was the clincher. The tight ass would never let another person share in a blank check like he just did. But the offer was just too good to pass up. I did the sums in my head. Greed won out.

Money was tight and the extra cash would be enough for me to take my girl out for a nice dinner. It was just past six when I got to the building he was talking about. It looked to be about ready, mostly furnishing and wiring work was going on. At least the lights were in along with the AC. The parking lot out front was virtually empty. I found it odd that Tim would be working all by himself in the building. I guessed that most folks had headed home early for the weekend. The front glass doors weren't even locked.

Really sloppy, security-wise. I shook my head. My phone buzzed. Second floor, security room. Totally cryptic. At least the elevators were working. The building was almost done. The overhead fluorescent lights were up and working.

The floor had a thick coating of plaster dust from drilling holes in walls. Little colorful plastic tubes stripped from wires. The odd screw or nail looking forlorn on the carpeted floor. The air was thick with the scent of dust, solder, and fresh plastic. The second floor was a high floor. hive of formless corridors. They hadn't gone for the open concept office. It took some wandering about before I got to the security office.

The empty building was beginning to creep me out in a way I could not identify. The silence was oppressive, like a blanket weighing down on everything. Even my footsteps on the dusty carpet seemed muffled. Tim wasn't in the control room. The room was silent, apart from the worrying of the fans and the CPUs. I found a clipboard with a listing of all the cameras in the building, all 35 of them. A little light for a building like this. I guessed that's where Tim left off, verifying that all the cameras were working.

I felt a flash of anger at Tim, not even. bothering to show up to tell me what needed to be done. I paused. The laziness wasn't even a characteristic of Tim. The guy might have been an asshole, but he was nothing, if not meticulous. The empty building was beginning to give me the creeps. I looked up at the screens. Six screens, multiplexed with six cameras. Something didn't gel. I looked back at the clipboard. There was one extra camera that wasn't accounted for.

I dialed Tim's cell phone. The flat beeps seemed to mock me from the speaker of my phone. I had a choice. To stay and finish up verifying the cameras, or to cut my losses and leave. I figured that penning my signature to the clipboard would clock my hours in, whether or not Tim turned up. Greed won again. I examined the view from each of the cameras, checking for a range of motion, blind spots on the corridors, and the like.

I ticked each camera off the checklist until I got to the last camera. Camera number 36. It didn't respond like the... rest. No motion controls, no zoom, nothing. I squinted at the view from the camera and the floor plans. The screen didn't help. It showed the same nondescript view of a corridor that could have been from any corner of the building. The camera took in the view down three separate corridors in a long, lazy sweep. A T-junction, I thought. That wasn't particularly helpful since I wasn't familiar with the building.

The slowly panning camera that I could not control filled me with an unexplained dread. I was not surprised to find goose flash up and down my arms. Why wasn't Tim picking up his phone? Where the hell was he? My heart started racing. The walls felt like they were closing in on me in the table. tiny security room. The whole situation felt wrong. Motion on camera number 36 caught my eye. It was strange. It looked like someone was turning off all the lights down the corridor in the

center of the T-junction. This wasn't quite right. The camera had a low light mode. The lights from down the corridor would have provided enough light for something to be seen down the corridor. Not this absolute darkness. I twiddled the controls to the camera anxiously. I only caught glimpses of the darkness with every sweep of the camera, but it seemed to be getting closer and closer to the camera. No zoom. I leaned forward, almost pressing my nose to the screen to look at the advancing

edge of the darkness. When my eyes focused on the leading edge of the shadows, I jerked back in the seat in shock. The lights weren't being turned off. The shadows were slowly advancing towards the camera like an oily tide. What I saw from a distance as a solid line resolved itself into a mass of squirming tendrils,

grabbing at the floor and the walls and pulling a solid mass of black forward. Dirty. That's how this place felt. I could hear my grandmother's dry voice in toning the word in Mandarin in my head. She held on to the superstitions of her hometown back in China, always ensuring that all her grandchildren were always carrying some Buddhist sutra, somewhere or another to keep us all safe, safe from places like this. Dirty places. Not the dirt and the dust outside.

Spiritually unclean places. Those places which make your hair stand on end, which animals avoided because they know better than us. I wanted nothing more than to leave the damn building behind, or to have one of my grandma's charms in my pocket. More movement on camera number 36. I finally found Tim. He was walking down one of the adjoining corridors,

maybe looking for camera number 36 himself. He had a little triumphant smirk on his face when he looked up and spotted the camera, oblivious to what was lurking around the corner. He disappeared as the camera continued its slow sweep, turning its unblinking eye towards the central corridor. The darkness had made it to about halfway down the corridor. The slow flow of the dark towards the camera was mesmerizing. It was all I could do to tear my gaze from the screen and punch in Tim's number with nerveless fingers.

I chanted to the receiver. The click, as the call connected, was one of the sweetest things I'd heard in my life. Tim's voice boomed out of the receiver in the same unnaturally euphoric tones. If I hadn't known any better, I would have assumed he was on drugs. Look, Tim, there's something strange on camera number 36. I don't think it's safe there. I was practically babbling at that point, the unnatural darkness on the screen touching some raw nerve deep within me. There is no camera number 36. I put them all in myself. You don't sound too good.

Camera number 36 showed Tim stopping in shock as he saw the inky blackness in the corridor. Against all good sense, he started moving forward. towards it. The camera didn't pause at the horror before it, and all I saw next was the empty corridor Tim came from. Look man, that shit looks dangerous. We should just get out of here. Come back tomorrow when there's more people around or something. My voice echoed in the confines of the room, bouncing off steel racks of hard disks, processors, and fans. You don't sound so good, boy. You're looking at the cameras, right?

I'm coming over. That same maddening tone. It practically leered down the phone line at me. Back to Tim. He had knelt down in front of the inky patch on the ground. He reached out to touch the darkness with one tentative hand. Fuck, don't do that. I yelled my voice cracking.

I frantically clicked into controls with the mouse. They wouldn't work. Nothing was working. I saw Tim stiffen up and clutch at his arm as the camera moved on. People say that things get clearer in a crisis situation. That time slows down. I didn't get any of that. The indecision froze me.

I wouldn't be able to find Tim in time. My gaze swung indecisively from the door of the security room back to the screen, mirroring the dumb sweep of the camera. I had no idea where the damn camera was. I'd be better off trying to raise Tim on the mobile phone. I returned to camera number 36. No sign of Tim. The inky darkness continued down the corridor unabated. There was something small on the floor.

Tim's phone. He must have dropped it. He must have made his escape. The view down the other corridor. No sign of Tim. No chance that he could have slipped past the camera. That's not how we set them up. Back to the sun.

central corridor and the crawling darkness again. Just in time to see Tim's mobile phone get swallowed up by the dark. Gaped at the screen. Nothing in the room apart from the whirl of fans and the thunder of my pulse in my ears. No, something else. A small, scratchy voice coming from my phone on the table. My hands were trembling as I lifted it off the table. I thought you'd gone. Just stay there. I'm coming. It's hungry.

Tim's voice still had that crazed cheeriness around it. The tone now taking on a menacing undercurrent. I was so intent on camera number 36 that I hadn't noticed the room darkening slightly. The other cameras were turning off, one by one. No, they weren't being turned off. They were going dark. Just like the corridor in camera number 36. Completely black.

No emergency exit lights. Nothing picked up on the low light mode. Nothing but a blank screen and the little symbol showing the cameras in recording mode. That little symbol, it hit me like a blow to the gut. Camera number 36. Tim's phone on the floor while he was still screaming nonsense down the line at me. Camera number 36. Impossible to control from the console because the camera wasn't recording at all.

It was playing a recording. I was stuck, trapped in a cage. In a room filled with eyes, I was slowly going blind as each screen winked out. Terror took on a new dimension. There was no way out. I needed to get help. My breaths came hard and fast as the last of the cameras winked out. I had to do something.

Then I saw it. one strand of hope, the big red button. I didn't know if the connection to the alarm company was up yet. The slap of my palm on the button echoed in the tiny room like a gunshot. I breathed out a sigh of relief. If I was right, somewhere in an office across town, an alarm would have gone off, someone in a company very much like mine. would have pulled out a list of addresses and calling the police with a potential break-in at my location. My triumph was short-lived. My knees turned to water as I picked out a new sound over the whirl of the fans in the computers in the room. The small, insistent sound of scratching at the door to the room.

Aren't you going to let me in? It's cold and dark out here, and I'm hungry. Tim's voice was different now. Earlier on it had his usual nasal overtone, but now it seemed dry with a strange echo to it, like a few people were speaking at once. It sounded nothing at all like Tim. I wondered if Tim's voice was what I was.

I wanted to hear from my phone all along when all I was hearing was this dead alien thing. There was a tiny crack under the door. There should have been a small sliver of light, but there was only a line of I backed away from the door. The sound of scratching grew louder. It filled the room. It sounded less and less like fingernail. and more like claws raking on the reinforced door. The screech of something hard on the metal built to a crescendo,

and then just... The silence that followed was even louder than the din that preceded it. Then the slow scrape of metal-on-metal. Tumblr's in a lock turning. Tim's keys. Tim had the... God-dam keys. The heavy door swung in.

What was outside was nothing. It was like gazing into a deep, dark hole. Except the light from the room should have illuminated the corridor beyond. Instead, there was just this wall of black. Against all logic, the shadows were moving into the room. The inky darkness flowed across the threshold like an ebbin tide. I knew I had to do something. The longer I waited, the less likely the chances of escape.

I darted forward and grabbed the door. The black shadows had already crept up the door. I saw my hand disappear up to my forearm as I plunged it into the shadows, looking for the end. of the door to close it. My questing fingers found the hard edge of the door, and I started to push. The door budged, but just barely. I began to lean my weight against the door, breathing harder with both fear and exertion.

The feeling of the inky blackness was far from pleasant. It wasn't cold like I expected. It was warm, the same warmth of a living body. My forearm felt like the prodding and groping of a dozen squirming fingers trying to grasp my hand. Their caresses getting more urgent as the door swung shut. Pain blossomed in my arm as the grasping turned to scratches and nails dug into my flesh. With a last burst of effort, I managed to shut the door. There was no trace of the shadows in the room,

and only the beads of blood welling up from my forearm stood testament to the horror of the previous moments. The minutes felt like hours while I was waiting for the cops, bracing my back against the door, hoping that whatever the hell was on the other side of the door wouldn't make another attempt to get into the room. I first noticed my ordeal was over when the screens on the console started lighting up

with the normal camera feeds again, all except for one. The feed from camera number 36 was nothing but a haze of static. I was in a daze as the cops arrived, and I gave them some spiel about fixing the camera, and thinking that I saw some intruder before the feed cut out. The residual fear from my ordeal lent some measure of credibility to my story. The cops took me and the night guard on a cursory check of the premises.

They seemed as eager to leave as I was, albeit for different reasons. Tim hasn't been back to work for the past few days. The job at the building remains incomplete. They've asked me about it at least three times, since I'd already gone over the plans once. At first, I gave excuses. Eventually, I just flat out refused. I knew full well the job wasn't done. On the last sweep of the premises with the cops,

I found myself at a familiar junction between corridors. Just at the right height, a bare bunch of wires dangling from the wall. Next to it, a placeholder written on the wall in chalk. Number 36. When a young couple moves into their first house, they love the warmth of the stylish, dark wood interior. But before long, they start to feel apprehension as they go up and down the steps to the second floor. As author Anton Scheller explains, those stairs start to torment the couple more than they could have thought possible. Ray Seismore narrates the story about the stairs of dark oak.

We bought it on a whim. There wasn't much planning or worrying. I had asked her the big question on Saturday night during a fancy dinner with cuss-cus and lamb. She said yes. Sunday was fun and games. Monday we went back to work, and Tuesday we worked too, but at night we went out for dinner again, or at least we wanted to. I picked Samantha up from work. She smiled and laughed and talked.

I drove and smiled. She screamed, stop! And I stamped my foot deep into the break. But there was no running child or cat on the street. There was a sign at the side that said, For sale. At first I was angry at her, but then I too saw the house behind the sign,

and I too couldn't stop smiling. We got out and circled the house, fascinated and enthralled by its beauty. We never made it to dinner. We signed the contract a week later. A turn-of-the-century house, excellent condition, large windows, and stuffed with wooden floors and ceilings and stairs.

The price was, low, but we also knew there was much work to do. It was strange to buy the house without research, and even stranger to buy it together before we had even talked about moving in together. Still, we did it. And we loved our house, our wooden palace, despite the bad insulation and the faulty wiring and the ancient-looking toilet. We loved everything about it, except the stairs. The stairs, like most of the floors and ceilings and walls and tables and beds were made of dark oak. I'm sure the wood of the stairs was exactly the same color as the wood of the floors, but still the wood of the stairs always seemed darker, more menacing.

Maybe it was the creaking, and the way the wooden planks bent slightly under our feet, or the fact that the space below the stairs was closed. Samantha always joked that there could be a Harry Potter living under our stairs, and we wouldn't know it. But even when we joked, we both didn't like the stairs. From the beginning, we both loathed the menacing creaks

and bending steps and hidden dark area below. We planned to replace them with something brighter, possibly modern stairs with gaps between the steps rather than boards at the back, but certainly they would have to have a brighter color.

Once we even called a company about it, they sent us an offer we couldn't afford, and so we never acted. We lived in that house for three years. We got married in it, and we conceived our first child in the master bedroom upstairs. That's maybe too much information, but I need you to know that we really lived in this house. We walked those stairs thousands of times. But there was something strange about those stairs, and I never shook this sensation that something was wrong.

Every month, it seemed, I took to take the stairs a bit faster than before, and so did Samantha. We never mentioned it to each other or any guests, but it was the unspoken rule of our house that nobody walked upstairs. Everybody ran upstairs. We didn't run from any monsters in the room downstairs. We ran from the stairs themselves. Only when Samantha fell did I really notice that the steps were higher than modern steps. She was running upstairs, about two years after we moved in, and only half a year after our wedding, tripped and fell. I heard her screaming and ran downstairs to help her.

Samantha only had bruises from that fall, but on that day something else was damaged. Something in our heads. The stairs transformed in our words and actions from an object into an alien being, an enemy that needed to be defeated. Samantha has shorter legs than me. Despite the fall, her method of defeating the stairs

was by running even faster. I used my longer legs to my advantage, took two steps at a time, and pulled myself up with the help of the sturdy handrail. 21 wooden steps meant my legs had to make exactly ten big steps and than a small one. The small one always made me tumble slightly. I didn't care. We both did the same thing. Samantha and I, every time we had to defeat the enemy, we took a few steps towards the front door. The extra run-up steps towards the front door were our way of defeating. the enemy, of gaining an edge, of being faster for the first step. It was shortly after Samantha's fall that my nightmares started. Hers started after mine, but she never told me about her nightmares

until our defeat. I dreamt of hands coming out of the stairs. They grabbed my legs and pulled me into the dark room below the dark wood. I always felt the darkness around me, how it was swallowing and consuming me, and only then I woke up. A few weeks after her fall, Samantha moved our shoe rack from the front door to the side of the stairs. She never said why, but I knew. She wanted to give us more space for the run-up easier, to make sure that the enemy would not defeat us. In retrospect, I think that's when her nightmares must have started. I don't know why she never said anything, or why I never noticed.

Maybe I was too preoccupied with my own nightmares, with the near-daily sweat-drenched wake-ups in the middle of the middle of the dayly, the night. Afterwards, I always cuddled up to her, copped her in my arms, as if that somehow would protect me from the immobile object a few steps outside our door. It wasn't long until we both developed our rituals. I always had to lead my hand along the wall while running up the stairs. Samantha made sure to only step on the sides, never the center of the steps, because the center bent the most. I would have laughed, the way she climbed up the stairs with her hands tight around the handrail, but I felt it too, the same unexplainable fear. Maybe it was just random, maybe precognition, or maybe our brains subconsciously smelled or

saw something that we refused to smell or see. We only saw the dark oak and smelled the dark oak and heard the dark oak creaking. And we never thought that there really was something wrong about our stairs, that they held a secret. I found the secret. I'm glad it wasn't Samantha. I'm not sure how she would have taken it. I don't think she would be over it by now, and I don't think I am.

But I still hope that maybe I'm somehow stronger than her, that it was good that it was me rather than her or our future child. She was upstairs already with her round belly and tired smile. I read an old novel, one of those that I always wanted to read, but never actually read because there was always something else that was more interesting. I stopped when I noticed that I had read 15 pages, but not a single word had reached my mind. I stuck my feet in my slippers, turned the lights off, and, without much of a thought, walked the few extra steps, the run-up towards the front door.

My right hand felt the wall. My feet began to move. The left made the first big step. Then my right flew forward made the second. The third was followed by a loud creak. And when I made the fourth step, the creek was replaced by a loud crack. It wasn't deep, but it felt like a fall. A scream left my lungs.

A second scream followed when I felt something around my ankle, a chain of sorts holding onto my foot, not letting it escape back out of the broken oak. I pulled and screamed and pulled, felt the wood push inside my flesh and the chain tightening around my ankle. I screamed again, saw Samantha rush out of the room, finally pushed my hands against the wall and handrail, with all my strength, pulled my foot out of the hole and fell backwards down the stairs.

I don't know which pain I felt first, the one of my back hitting the floor, or the one of my foot being sliced open by splintered wood. But I know that Samantha screamed before I could scream again. I howled from pain. But her screams were pure terror. It took me a few seconds to fight through my pain and look, to see that she was not screaming because of the blood,

but rather because of the chain around my angle. Only it wasn't a chain, it was a dry hand, and the arm it came from was reaching out of the hole that my foot had been in. One steps. They found 21 corpses, each dead for at least 40 years. men and women all young all suffocated some cut to pieces we ripped the stairs out built new open stairs with gaps between the steps and sold the house they never managed to explain how of the dry dead hand got around my ankle i still hate dark oak i still run all the stairs.

Learn of the strange case of Krishna Kumar, a man from India who has recently been released from a mental health facility. We hear his first-hand account of the events involving his daughter and the reason for

his mental breakdown. Author Neil Balthasar shares his tale about this father who laments the fact that she was just a child. I used to how a daughter once. I did.

I used to have a daughter once, but she disappeared along with the old lady on the terrace. Nihah was just five when she claimed to have seen her that first time. The guys and I had finished with our beers, and we were about to head downstairs. That's when I saw Nihaha emerge from the crawl space under the water tank in the corner, turn around and wave at the shadows that seem to have swallowed her up only moments before. In retrospect, I wish I hadn't dismissed that as a child at play. Over the next few years,

Nihaha would often disappear for hours at a time, only to be found sitting alone in that little space under the water tank. If you were in the kitchen during those times, you could hear her just upstairs, talking in hushed tones to her imaginary friend. Nani, that's what she called her. Her own Nani, my mother, had passed away when she was very young, and I assumed that this was how she made up for never having known her own grandmother. Nihah was eight years old when everything changed. That afternoon, I watched her chase Tom, our cat, around the hall. Tom was an odd one.

He must have been the only cat in the world who hated being petted. Watching the two of them at it could have made anyone smile. Tom struggling to escape. while Nihah suffocated him with her affections. Laughing, I looked up at the sky. It had been a foul gray all afternoon, and it was getting warmer the way it always did before it started to rain. I'd have to bring in the clothes from off the washing line on the terrace.

I climbed up the stairs to the terrace with Nihah trailing behind me, clutching Tom to her chest as he struggled to get away. As usual, she went straight to her corner of the terrace and crawled into her little space with Tom. I couldn't stand to go anywhere near that place. It always possessed this strange, sickly sweet smell, and it never failed to make me gag. I hated her playing there,

because she always returned with a little of that disgusting stench clinging to her. There were still a few clothes left on the line when it began pouring cats and dogs. All of a sudden, I heard a terrific piercing shriek cut through the sound of the pouring rain. I spun around just in time to see Nihah snap Tom's neck and toss his lifeless corpse to the ground. Then she doubled up and burst into hysterical giggling. I still sure in terror when I think of what happened after I pulled her out from under there,

fingers twitching and barely able to breathe through her laughter. She looked up at me with an unfaltering gaze and said, Nani was hungry. It was two days before I could bring myself to return to the terrace. The smell made me want to throw up. Poor old Tom, the carcass lay pathetically on the floor beneath the water tank, a reminder of the horrific scene that had unfolded there. I wrapped a handkerchief around my mouth and crawled under the carcass.

to put his remains into the garbage bag I had brought along. Looking around that dingy little space, I looked for something, anything that could tell me what had driven my sweet little girl to such an extreme act. But I found nothing but cobwebs and the lingering stench that pierced through the handkerchief. What had I expected to find anyway? Sying aloud, I backed out of there and turned to leave. My throat went dry. My blood ran cold.

There, framed in the entrance to the terrace, stood Nihah, naked as the day she was born. The fingers of her right hand were dripping wet. Was that blood? I moved a little closer to take a better look at her, But I recoiled in horror when I saw even more blood trickling down her thighs and forming a pool on the floor beneath her. Her face contorted in a wordless scream, and then she said, in an unnatural rasp that wasn't her own, Liuit there, Nanny isn't done with it yet. Then she started breathing heavily as her fingers crept up her thither.

the eyes. I'd had enough. I rushed at her and struck her across the face, slamming her against the doorframe and knocking her unconscious. That was the day I put the lock on the terrace door. Neha was never quite the same after that. She seemed to grow completely unresponsive after I had denied her any access to the terrace, preferring instead to spend all of her time lying in bed and staring unblinking at the ceiling, almost as if she could see right through it to the terrace above, neither eating nor sleeping. Had it not been for the short, raspy breaths she drew whenever I went in there to feed her, she may as well have been completely comatose. It shamed me to be in there. Her angry purple bruise a constant reminder of my momentary

loss of control. A few weeks had passed by and I had almost moved on from it all. I caught Nihah looking around the room the last time I was in there, so I was sure that it was only a matter of time before she returned to her senses. Hell, I'd wait for hour if it meant I could get my daughter back. I couldn't have known I'd be waiting for weeks before anything happened. Cyclone Nelam. That's what they were calling it. It was touted to be the storm of the decade,

yet it still managed to catch us completely by surprise. I was trying to watch the television for news, about its progress, but the howling wind outside made it almost impossible for me to hear anything. Just then, the loud noise of a window banging open made me jump. Chiding myself for being so easily scared, I walked out onto the balcony to take a look around. The first thing I saw was her head poking out of the window. Slowly, almost mechanically, she pulled herself out of the window and hung from the pipe outside. Her tiny naked frame glistening in the lashing rain.

She pulled herself up the pipe, hand over hand, with a determination that betrayed a will that wasn't her own. I don't remember when the Tiwi remote slipped from my grasp, but the sound of it smashing on the tide. of the balcony floor spurred me into action. I spun on my heel and hit the staircase at full tilt, taking the stairs two at a time when that sickly sweet smell hit me again. I smashed the lock open and burst through the door, emerging into the pouring rain, and was instantly greeted by the blinding flash of a bolt of lightning.

framed against the lightning-laced sky behind them. They stood holding hands and standing on the short wall that marked the boundary of the terrace, with the light bouncing off their bare skin. Nihah's young and unformed body stood in stark relief against the bent and drooping body of the thing beside her. Nani, she stood deathly still, her grimy hand clutching my little girls. Her eyes fixed on me despite the milky white cataracts that encased them. And the smell?

That awful, overwhelming stench. Decay, that's what it was. It came from the open sores all over her withering body. She smelled like a morgue. She stank of death. I took a step towards them just as another bolt of lightning lit up the night sky. Her mouth cracked open in a hideous imitation of a grin, yellowed teeth glinting in the darkness.

And then, almost as if in slow motion, she keeled over backwards. I watched in horror as my little girl reached out to me with her free hand, a second before she was whipped off the wall, and downwards by the force of the demon's plummeting weight. I rushed to the wall, knowing full well what I would find. Her once tiny mouth busted wide open and her tongue lolling outside, mocking my pathetic rescue attempt. Her shattered body lit up by another flash of lightning that reweeled her limbs, splayed across the ground at inhuman angles. The rivulets of blood running out of her being hungrily swallowed up.

by the gurgling patch of earth that had claimed her young life. The bile rising in my throat finally burst forth, and I spewed the contents of my stomach onto the terrace floor. Exhausted and spent, I collapsed, gladly welcoming the darkness that swallowed me I'm sorry, Niham. I failed you. Email to Chief Magistrate from Dr. Kamini Assoc. Subject, psychiatric analysis of case number 11004-456. Respected Magistrate, please find attached inmates' first-hand recorded records.

of the events leading to his daughter's demise. Despite the fact that all evidence tying him to the tragedy was deemed to be circumstantial at best, and that he was found innocent of all involvement in his daughter's death, the inmate still wholly believes in an alternate reality that twists every detail surrounding his daughter's demise. It is my professional opinion that his mind has suffered a complete psychotic breakdown in order to protect himself from the trauma of losing a child. The invention of a supernatural entity, Nani as he refers to it, is indicative of suspected molestation in his formative years. In spite of his being cleared on all counts and the case being ruled as self-mutilation and suicide, resulting from her own mental illness,

the patient is in a diminished capacity to live independently. It is my recommendation that he be remanded into further psychiatric care at this facility, where he may be interred until such time as he is deemed able to carry on with his life. Regards Dr. Kamini Asok, head psychiatrist, Kilpaoq Mental Hospital. The media had a field day with Krishna Kumar's case. They mocked his story about Nani and questioned the competence of the justice system that allowed him to get away with nothing more

than what they saw as a mere slap on the wrist. Everyone believed that he was responsible for Nihaz's death, even though there was no corroborative evidence to support their suspicions. However, all that changed when the first family to occupy his old home vacated it, scared out of their wits. Nani was real, they said. They had seen things in the house, always out of the corner of their eyes, always lurking, just out of sight. The terrace, they said, couldn't be accessed because of the sickly sweet smell of decay that lingered on.

no matter how many times they washed it. But it was only after they found their daughter out of bed one night and wandering around the terrace that they decided to leave. The house was haunted. The media lapped up their story, and Krishna suddenly didn't seem quite as evil anymore. The public rallied around him and cleared his name in time. However, the doctors would never let him out unless he admitted that he had imagined the whole thing.

A single day in Kilpock proved to be harrowing for most people, and Krishna had spent six months in there. He had had enough, so he did just what the doctors wanted him to, and he said all the right things that they wanted to hear. and in a little while they agreed to let him go. No Nani. Nothing. Poor Nihah. He was finally out. He walked out of the hospital a free man.

He had grown gaunt during his time in there, but all that would be taken care of now. His sister in Bangalore had invited him to stay with her family until he could get back on his own feet. He set his bags down on the pavement and looked up at the setting sun, the first he had seen in months. He wondered whether anyone would ever find the trace quantities of hallucinogens that he had painted into the walls of the house, or the stinking dead rats he had hidden in the hollows of the terrace wall. The new tenants of his old home, didn't stand a chance. The warmth of the setting sun

kissed his face. He smiled. Perfect. He couldn't wait to meet his niece, Sonia. Such a pretty child. In our final tale, author Matthew Beale

recounts a tale told to him by a friend's mother. When she was a teenager, She took on the role of babysitter for a family new to the neighborhood. What should have been a regular job for her ended after only one night. Ginny Sanders reads the tale for us, recounting precisely why the babysitter never wanted to return to that house. It wasn't because of the little girl she was sitting. It was because of the doll with the lifelike eyes.

friend Chris, who knows that I like to write, and therefore hear ghost stories, recently put me into contact with his mother Jan. She had a story that she often told from her teenage years that he thought I might like to hear. What follows is her story, written in my own words, after listening to her tell the tale, and following a brief Q&A. The Doll with the Lifelike Eyes. One day, in the fall of 1981, Jan's father came home from work and told her that he had volunteered her for a job that weekend. There was a new family in the neighborhood, the Harrison's, and Mr. Harrison happened to work with Mr. Fowler, Jan's father.

Mr. Harrison needed a babysitter. Come on, her father told her. It's about time you started earning your own money. After all, you don't think I'm paying for those concert tickets you want, do you? Jan gave a defeated sigh, realizing she had no choice but to agree. That Friday afternoon, she rode her bike to meet the Harrisons at their house, just a few blocks from her own. She found them sitting on the steps that led up onto their front porch. Well, you must be Jan, said Mr. Harrison, as he stood up and shuffled his feet down four steps to meet her on the walkway.

Mr. Harrison was younger than Jan had expected, and very tall, with a kind face. Hi, Jan replied. the woman still seated on the steps who could only have been Mrs. Harrison smiled and waved Hi Jan, I'm Sarah, she said. The Harrisons then led her on a tour of their home. It was a very big open house.

Since the Harrisons had just moved in most of the floors were wooden with no rugs. The house was very cold and didn't have that lived in feel to it. The only room that looked off for any comfort was the living room, where a big, comfy-looking couch with huge, fluffy cushions, sat on top of a thick, plush rug. While he gave the grand tour of their empty house, Mr. Harrison took it upon himself to fill

Jan in on the lives of Mrs. Harrison and himself. He told her of how he had recently been hired on for a new job in the area, alongside her father, and that they had just moved into the house recently, as she knew and could plainly see. He said that they had moved to the neighborhood from their role. rural farmland, and while Akron was far from a big city, they were having a little bit of difficulty in adjusting to being around so many people all the time. Except Ashley, you'll meet her in a moment, our daughter. She's taken the change in an environment much better than us, he told her with a smile as they climbed the steps up to the second floor. In fact, he started, I should

tell you that Ashley has a history of giving our babysitters a bit of trouble. We haven't gone out in a few years just because of it. However, she's been so happy and docile since moving here, we thought we'd give it a chance. Mr. Harrison saw the look on Jan's face after that and laughed. Don't worry, it was never any serious trouble. And we're leaving you a number where we can be reached if anything happens. Everything will be fine, I promise. They were now standing by a door at the end of the second floor hallway.

Mr. Harrison knocked on the door. Ashley, honey, I'm coming in. Your babysitter Jan is here to meet you. He turned the knob and pushed the door open. The girl's bedroom, like the living room, was also much more comfortable, warm and inviting than the rest of the house. In the center of the room was a huge white canopy bed

with pink sheer curtains pulled open and tied off to each corner post. At the head of the bed, a number of pink fluffy pillow. pillows huddled together beneath a large, round window, which shone through the floral patterned curtain hung in front of it. Another plush rug protected the floor from the bed's wooden feet. Sitting on the floor at the edge of the rug was a girl of about eight. She looked up and flashed a timid smile. Hi, Daddy, she said.

Hey, Princess, Mr. Harrison responded. Come over here and meet Jan. The girl got up slowly and walked towards Jan warily. In her arms clutched tight to her chest, she held a doll. It had golden-brown curls that fell to its shoulders, where it met a light blue baby doll dress, for what else do baby dolls wear? The doll's hair looked very much like the girl's own. Jan thought the eyes were unsettling, however.

From the center of the doll's smooth porcelain face, shone two brilliant green eyes, blazing like emeralds. Deep black pupils in the center of those crystalline eyes seemed to stare straight into her. They were very lifelike. Whoever had painted them had done a magnificent job. Jan pulled her eyes away from the doll and stuck out her hand towards the girl. Nice to meet you, Ashley, she said. I'm Jan.

At first Ashley didn't respond. She just stood there clutching her. her doll. I like your doll, Jan told her, after briefly studying her. Ashley slowly lifted her hand and gave Jan a tiny little handshake. Her name is Emma, Ashley said. She lived here first. I found her. The little girl then went and sat back down on the rug by her bed with Emma the doll. She's also been a little shyer since the move, as well as better behaved, Mr. Harrison told Jan. I really don't think she'll give you any trouble. She'll most likely just play with Emma all night.

What did she mean about Emma living here first? Jan asked Mr. Harrison. The doll was here when we moved in, he replied. The previous owners must have left it. I don't think she's put it down once since finding it. Mr. Harrison pulled the bedroom door open and stepped aside, gesturing for Jan to lead the way out. He closed the door behind him, leaving Ashley and Emma to play alone.

The Harrisons gave Jan the number to the theater they would be at, and the name of the movie they were seeing, as well as the number to the restaurant they'd be eating dinner at afterwards. Jan followed them to the door as they got their coats and prepared to leave. One more thing, Mr. Harrison said, as he opened the door to leave. Your father should have told you, but our TV was damaged in the move, and we haven't gotten a new one yet. I brought a book, Jan told him.

Perfect, Mr. Harrison replied. Well, then, see you in a few hours. After the Harrison's left, Jan went to Ashley's room to tell her that she would be in the living room if she needed anything. Then she went downstairs, sat on the big, fluffy red couch, and began reading her book.

At around 8 o'clock, Jan warmed up a dinner the Harrisons had prepared for her and their daughter. The girls ate together in almost complete silence, the younger one only speaking when spoken to. Jan had started the meal trying to be friendly and conversational, but quickly abandoned the idea and just ate her food. Afterwards, she let the girl play with her doll in the living room until about nine, when Mr. Harrison had said it would be time to put her to bed. This surprisingly went easily enough. The girl listened when she was told it was bedtime, and followed Jan to the bed. bedroom. She gave no complaints as she hopped up into the big bed. Jan tucked her in, set her doll

beside her on the bed, turned off the light, and pulled the door shut behind her, watching as the room grew darker and darker. The last thing to be swallowed by the darkness was the doll's glowing green eyes on the edge of the bed. Jan went back downstairs to the living room and continued reading her book. The living room couch turned out to be more comfortable than she could have ever hoped, and before long she found herself beginning to doze off. She'd probably fall in asleep for about 20 minutes when something startled her awake. She couldn't say what it was. She had a feeling, though, that something wasn't right. She felt like she was being watched. She looked around the room, searching for anything out of the

ordinary. Her book had fallen to the floor and was lying near the edge of the rug. Could that have been what woke her? She looked towards. towards the adjoining entry hallway, where there was a clock next to the front door. But before she could check the time, something caught her eye on the stairs across from the door. Something green flashed on the darkened stairway. Quickly she looked towards the stairs, and immediately her breath caught. Sitting on the steps, looking at her through the white wooden beams of the railing, where the fiery green eyes of Ashley's doll.

It stared blankly at her with an emotionless expression. yet with eyes so full of life. Jan tore her eyes away from the doll, afraid of what might happen if she looked at it any longer. She felt as though if she were to stare into those hypnotic soul-sucking eyes long enough, the doll would come to life, possibly at the expense of her own.

She sat there, stiff with fright, holding her breath, watching the bottom of the stairs out of the corner of her eye. She could feel the doll's eyes on her. then a thought came to her, one that might be the key to releasing her from the intense fear that now held her prisoner. Ashley has a history of giving our babysitters a lot of trouble, Mr. Harrison had said. After all, so far the night had been a breeze. No babysitting job was ever this easy.

She's messing with me, Jan told herself, and gathered up the courage to stand. Trembling, she turned to face the stairs. As she started towards the doll, Jan could swear the eyes were following her. As she got closer, the angle of her vision occasionally caused the doll's head to be hidden behind one of the vertical beams on the railing. When it emerged in the space on the other side, it seemed to jam that the head had turned, ever so slightly, as if to keep her in its gaze. When she arrived at the bottom of the stair, however, the doll's eyes were still focused towards the living room. Jan took a deep breath, then sprinted up the steps, snatching up the doll as she passed it. She held the doll out in front of her, eyes forward as she marched down the hall towards Ashley's door.

She stopped outside and listened. Silence. No light shone from underneath the door either. Slowly, gently, she pushed the door open. Just enough to fit through and to illuminate the room enough to see her way. Ashley was lying in her bed, asleep, or at least pretending to be. Jan crept quietly towards the bed, making sure not to wake the girl, then placed the doll on the bed next to her face down.

Gracefully, she slid out of the room and shut the door behind her. She felt a sense of relief as she galloped down the steps and back into the living room, where after taking a moment to collect herself, she took up a seat on the couch and resumed her reading. She was still a bit frightened, but it was a far. cry from the terror she had felt earlier. Moments ticked by as she continued reading, page after page.

She grew more assured by the minute that her assumption was correct. Ashley was just messing with her. She glanced up towards the clock. 10.15. The Harrison said they would be home between 11 and 12 o'clock. One more hour, she told herself,

and turned another page. Then she heard a noise on the stairs, Her head snapped up from her book, and her ears tuned in. Emma the doll came tumbling down the steps, head over heels, before coming to rest in a corner at the bottom of the landing, seated upright and staring directly at her. Again, Jan found herself locked in a terrible emerald gaze. Once more, she tore her eyes away from that green hell.

She forced herself to focus, to fight through the fear. She honed in her hearing. listened intently for any sound at the top of the stairs. She prayed to hear the footsteps of a little girl retreating to her room and the squeal and click of a door as it opened and closed. But she heard nothing. Only a deathly silence so deep

it could only be duplicated in the vacuum of space. She was alone. It was only her and the doll. The bravery of the girl should be commended. For once more she pulled herself up and faced the dreadful doll. You don't scare me, she lied, as she approached the porcelain puppet. Slowly, she reached her hand out to seize the doll, apprehensive with fear at the thought that at any moment it would spring to life and seize her instead.

She could see herself reflected in the doll's deep green eyes, like in the waters of some ancient and mysterious lake. She watched as her reflection reached beyond the placid emerald surface of those cold staring eyes, and she snatched up the doll once more. Again, she tore up the steps, eyes forward, dead set on her destination. The doll had a warmth to it, and as she reached Ashley's bedroom door, she thought she could feel it squirming in her hand. It's just your imagination, she told herself. You're doing this to yourself. She quietly pried the door open and slipped inside. As she placed the doll on the bed, Ashley began to stir beneath her covers.

Jan watched as the tiny little arm slid out from beneath the sheets, gathered up the doll, and pulled it under the blankets with her. Thank you, Jan heard a tiny voice say from underneath the blankets. Jan reached out and patted the little girl, all huddled up in her covers. You're welcome, she said, while in her head thinking, I know you're messing with me, you little snot. This time, after she made her way out of the bedroom, she went to the stairs and sat down on the top step. She would wait until Ashley tried to sneak out the next time, and then she would catch her in the act. Time ticked by once more as she sat in silence. She couldn't say how long she sat at the top of those steps.

I should have brought my book up, she told herself. At first she was certain that Ashley was to blame, that she was the culprit behind me. this nonsense. But the longer she sat there in the quiet, dimly lit hallway, the more she began to doubt herself. This was a pretty creepy house after all. Old, drafty, empty. It just hasn't been lived in for a while, she thought. The Harrison's just need to breathe some life into it. And then something stole the breath from her. The silence in which she had been enveloped was suddenly disturbed. The noise came from her left by Ashley's bedroom. She turned to see the door to Ashley's bedroom slowly opening. She had been waiting for it to happen. She'd planned to hide and surprise the

little girl. But the sound of the door squealing as it opened so slowly had unsettled her. She sat staring as the darkness beyond the doorway grew steadily larger. Then a shape began to form, low to the ground, near the floor. What is that? She asked herself, trembling. As she stared on, the door opened wide enough that the shape was able to catch some of the light from the hallway, and two bright green eyes flared out of the darkness.

Jan swallowed hard, and her mouth dropped open. Still, she tried to tell herself that Ashley was doing it, but as the door opened further and more light crept in, she could see the shape of the girl still in her bed lying beneath the covers. In the open doorway to the bedroom, standing on its own two legs, was Emma the doll. Chan's eyes were nearly bulging out of her head. What should she do? Every instinct she had told her to fly down those steps and out the front door,

jump onto her bike and pedal home with all the fury she could muster. But, as I said before, the bravery of the girl should be commended. She stood preparing herself to face the possessed doll. She clenched her fists and took her first step towards the haunting, glowing green orbs that peered at her from out of the little girl's bedroom. As she took her second step towards the room, there came a sudden explosion of noise on her left, followed by a door being flung open and nearly hitting her. Jan jumped to the right, slamming into the hallway wall,

and turned to see a little girl standing in the lit doorway of the bathroom. Both girls screamed in fright from the surprise they had given each other, but almost immediately Jan snatched Ashley up by the arm and turned a run for the stairs, pulling the girl behind her. Before descending the stairs, she cast a quick glance towards the girl's bedroom. The door was now completely open. Emma the doll had moved a step or two closer, it seemed, standing in the hallway, just in front of the open doorway.

Behind the doll in the darkness of the bedroom, Jan could make out the shape of a little girl, silhouetted in the dim light from the circular window, sitting up in Ashley's bed. It seemed to Jan that she had her arms held out in front of her, as if she were pleading to be picked up. Jan turned back towards the steps, and may or may not have touched a single one on the way down.

For the rest of the night, Jan and Ashley sat on the front steps, waiting for Mr. and Mrs. Harrison to arrive. Ashley whined and asked for her doll, but Jan simply told her, No. At one point, however, Jan did go back into the house to get a blanket for Ashley, who was dressed only in her little white nightgown. When she did, she thought she could hear the sound of a little girl giggling, coming from the upstairs bedroom. The Harrisons arrived about a half

hour later to find Jan and their daughter wrapped in a blanket and sitting on the front porch. Jan told them what happened and apologized repeatedly. The Harrisons could clearly see how shaken she was, and actually were not very upset at all. In fact, they seemed to not even be surprised. Mr. Harrison went in and checked the bedroom in the rest of the house, while Jan, Ashley, and Mrs. Harrison remained on the front steps. After about 15 minutes, Mr. Harrison returned. All clear, he said.

Jan handed Ashley off to Mrs. Harrison as she stood up. I'd rather not go back in there, she said. So Mr. Harrison went in and collected Jan's books and other possessions she had brought, then drove her home. About a week or two after the incidents at the Harrison's place, Jan was fixing herself an after-school snack when her father came home from work. Boy, Jan, he said, I don't know what you said to the Harrisons, but you must have really shaken them up.

Jan was confused. What do you mean? Well, all last week after you worked for him, Scott Harrison came into work looking like hell. It was clear he hadn't been sleeping much, and he was late just about every day. Jan gave her father a blink stare. She wasn't sure if she was surprised or not. Did he say anything about...

She began. Ghosts? Her father finished for her? No, not quite. Just that strange things had been happening around the house. He didn't say much, actually. He seemed subdued, not like his usual self. Man, your story must have really gotten to him.

It's not a story, Dad. I didn't make it up. Well, either way, I'd leave the Harrison's off your babysitting resume, he said laughing. Then again, who knows if anyone will ever hear from them again. Jan had begun to walk away, but stopped when she heard that last part. What do you mean? she asked. While Scott hasn't shown up for work the last two days, we've tried calling him, but there's never an answer. Rick from the office even went by the house. He said everything was gone like they'd just up and vanished. A shiver ran down Jan's spine as the vision of the small shadow,

reaching out to her from Ashley's bed flashed through her mind. The next day, Jan rode her bike to school. Her father tried to make her reconsider as it was a dark, cold, and rainy day. It'll start storming again any minute now, Jan, he told her. You don't want to get caught in That didn't matter, though. She had to see for herself. She paddled down the slick street, splashing through puddles as she made her way towards the Harrison House. As she pulled up in front of the house,

the rain again began to fall. She looked upon the house with a feeling of dread. She didn't remember the outside of the structure looking so ominous. Sure, the inside was cold and dark and lonely, but from the outside the house had seemed inviting enough. Now, with a backdrop of black rolling storm clouds and the rumble of distant thunder, the house seemed a place for the damned. She studied the house for a moment, her eyes eventually settling on the circular window on the second floor. The floral patterned curtain hung limp in front of the window, and for a moment she thought she saw them move.

In the center of the window, where the curtains met, there was a small black gap between the fabrics, a porthole, into the girl's bedroom. She found herself drawn to the tiny opening in the curtains, staring, her mind going blank, focused only on the blackness. Suddenly, from somewhere close behind her, the sky was torn open with a deafening clap of thunder as a spear of white fire stabbed downward at the earth. The tremendous boom snapped her out of her days,

while the bright flash of light lit up the world like a lantern. In the window, out of the darkness in which her gaze had been ensnared, Two green orbs briefly glinted in the reflection from the lightning. Her mouth dropped as the small gap in the curtains, slowly swung closed. It took her a moment to pull herself together. She had spent the last week and a half trying to convince herself that what she had witnessed that night at the Harrison had somehow been her imagination. Now, stunned in disbelief, she knew there was no denying it.

Not long after, she moved to Pittsburgh with her father and has never set eyes on the house or the doll since. As for Scott and Sarah Harrison, nobody quite knows what happened to them. For all intents and purposes, they just seemed to vanish into thin air, with no one in the area ever hearing from or of them again. A search of the house turned up nothing.

It was completely empty. Well, with the exception of one green-eyed doll, with very lifelike eyes. Your sleepless tales have come to an end. Thanks for sharing the darkness of the night with us. Join us again in two weeks' time when we unleash more disturbing tales designed to afflict your night with no sleep.

To continue your sleepless experience, visit the no sleeppodcast.com.