The NoSleep Podcast - Nosleep Podcast S2E24

Episode Date: April 7, 2013

It's episode 24 of the second season of The Nosleep Podcast! The episode features stories about visits from mysterious strangers and ominous grandparents.   This episode features these stories:  "Cheyenne to Portland" written by Harlan Guthrie (Redditor thelirivalley) and read by David Cummings (Redditor MikeRowPhone). (Story starts at 00:10:55)  "Stranger in the Night" written by Mark Harrison (Redditor big_sid) and read by David Cummings. (Story starts at 00:21:35)  "We All End Up Here" written by Thomas Thompson (Redditor dr_vonhugenstein) and read by David Cummings. (Story starts at 00:44:20)  "You May See Some People" written by Milos Bogetic (Redditor inaaace) and read by David Cummings. (Story starts at 00:57:10)    Podcast produced by: David Cummings (Redditor MikeRowPhone).  Music by: David Cummings    This podcast is licensed under a Creative Commons License 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 24 of season two. Welcome to the show. I'm your host, David Cummings. We have four tales for you this time. featuring stories about visits from mysterious strangers and ominous grandparents.

It's the second to last episode of season two, and I'd like to take a few minutes to explain some of the changes that will take place when we return in May for season three. I know you'd like to get straight into the stories, but please indulge me for a somewhat longer-than-usual intro while I go over these points. Just so you understand, the biggest change is happening because of the amount of time, effort, and money required to produce the show. From the very beginning, I have been the main producer and person in charge of the entire series. The time commitment required by each episode has grown exponentially.

This includes the narrating, editing, creating the custom sound design and music, along with the administration and, coordination of writers and narrators. I have also paid for all of the expenses for the show out of my own pocket, from the IT costs to the increasing quality of software and hardware required, to the marketing and promotion of the show. Simply put, the costs of producing the No Slee podcast in terms of time and money are becoming unsustainable. It was during the break between seasons one and two when I began to form a vision or mission statement for this series, I began searching for a way to create an audio performance series that can do the following three things.

The first is to financially compensate contributors who share their talent for writing and narration. I believe people who share their talent should be paid for what they offer to the show. This will also help inspire contributors to provide regular, and committed input for the show. This episode is a good example of why that's important. You see, with the other narrators busy with other plans and commitments, I have had to narrate all four stories on this episode.

I'm hoping the opportunity of earning a stipend for their work will afford a wider variety of narration for the episodes. The second goal is to create a self-sustained series that can support a full, full-time production schedule. This is the most exciting possibility because a self-sustained production schedule would mean the chance for the episodes to be released on a weekly basis instead of every two weeks. And the third goal is simply to provide top-quality entertainment that is available to the widest audience possible.

Now, I've considered many different ways in which a viable source of revenue could be established in order to fulfill my vision for the show. From donations, advertising, affiliate programs, merchandising, and fundraising, like Kickstarter, for example. I know other podcasts have tried these methods in various combinations with limited to decent success. However, none of these methods provide a source of revenue that is both foreseeable and sustainable. So I've concluded that the approach would be to offer the listeners a chance to directly support the show in a convenient and affordable way. Therefore, starting in season three, I'm going to be offering two different versions of the No Sleep Podcast, a free version and a premium paid version. So let's take a look at

what the premium version is. From season three onwards, each season of the No Sleep podcast will be available by purchasing a season pass. The season pass will give the subscriber 25 full-length regular season episodes of the show. These are the 75 to 90-plus minute episodes that consist of four to five stories. The same style of episodes you have heard in season two. Along with those episodes, each season will have a minimum of three exclusive bonus episodes. These are those special shows like the Halloween episode that feature certain themes or authors. They will be available exclusively to those listeners who subscribe to the season pass. So if you're wondering what a season pass gets you, just consider season two.

You had 25 episodes and three bonus episodes. That's what season three will consist of. Same amount and same style of episodes, with the possibility of more than just three bonus episodes. And as I mentioned earlier, if we get enough season past subscribers, the production schedule will increase from bi-weekly episodes to weekly shows. It might not happen right away, but if the numbers are right, we'll start getting shows to you every week. Now, what about the other version? Well, this version of each regular season episode will be available free of charge. I'm doing this to ensure that those listeners who choose not to subscribe to the

premium services can still have access to the series. These free episodes will just be shorter than the premium episodes. They will consist of the episode's first story and will be roughly 15 to 20 minutes in length. Also, once per season, there will be a full-length episode of the series available for free. So with 25 individual stories and one full-length episode, there will be the equivalent of six to seven full episodes of the series each season free of charge. This is to ensure that no one is entirely left out when it comes to accessing the No Sleep podcast. And there's one other option available if you choose not to get a season pass. Each full-length regular season episode, will also be available for individual purchase.

It's only the bonus episodes that are not available individually. So now to the big question, what is all this going to cost? Well, as I said, my goal is to make this series available at an affordable price in hopes that as many people as possible can listen to the full season, along with supporting the cost of producing the show. So the premium season pass is onward. $19.99 in U.S. funds. With a minimum of 28 episodes in a season, that's less than 72 cents per episode. And the premium individual episodes are only $1.99 each. Now, I'm not going to bore you with lots of

price comparisons like, for the price of this many cups of coffee, or for less than the cost of this many tickets to the movies, and all that infomercial stuff. I'm sure you know what 1999 in U.S. funds means to your budget. And I'm sure you know the amount of entertainment you'll get from 28 episodes of this show. It's simply an entire season of the No Sleep podcast. That's over 36 solid hours of horror entertainment for only 1999. Again, that's 72 cents per episode. I know this change will not be popular with every listener, but I hope you understand the reasons behind it.

I also hope you will consider supporting the podcast by becoming a season past subscriber. Doing so will mean many more seasons of sleepless nights and scary stories. I'll conclude with this. I hope you will consider these new changes in this manner. If you only sort of like the No Sleep Podcast and think it's okay, but it's not something you feel strongly about, then the free version should provide you with the right amount of entertainment, the equivalent of six to seven full-length episodes over the whole season. But if you really enjoy the No Sleep podcast and look forward to the kinds of shows

that a lot of people give of their time and talent to produce, then surely 72 cents would be considered a small price to pay for each episode of the show. Regardless, whichever version you choose to listen to, I hope you continue to enjoy the show. I greatly appreciate you listening, and on behalf of the writers and other narrators, I thank you, as always, for your ongoing support. Please visit our website, the no-sleeppodcast.com for more information about the season pass, and feel free to leave your comments and questions on that page. And with all that being said, it's time to start the show. Our first tale is about a man on a train,

making his way to a new life in a new town. On his journey, he encounters a stranger who helps him examine the choices he has made in his life. Author Harlan Guthrie shares his his tale about the lessons learned while traveling from Cheyenne to Portland. The motion of the train rocked me awake as we passed by a silvery lake which stood out like a puddle in the landscape illuminated by the now risen full moon. After a moment I sat up and adjusted myself, wiping the drool from the corners of my mouth and cleared my throat. The passenger car that I was in was dimly lit and nearly black.

The train hummed and shook as we continued on the narrow tracks, which now ran along a cliff to a valley miles below. I picked my hat up from the seat next to me and twirled the brim between my fingertips. The once soft material was now hard and smooth. Years of sweat broke down the felt to an almost plastic feel. I set the hat back down and adjusted my tie. My thoughts were only on the present, and I had not taken the time to think on where I was heading and why. I slowly searched my jacket pockets for my tickets and eventually found a brittle piece of

card in my left coat pocket. The ticket read the date, year, and the words, Cheyenne to Portland. I searched my mind for a reason as to why I might be taking a train to Portland. But in my awakened stupor, the thought did not come to me, so I decided to allow the thought to come naturally to me later and simply enjoy the ride. A feeling of drowsy consciousness engulfed me as I searched my pockets for a cigarette. Did I find one when I was searching for my ticket already? Was it already in my mouth?

I pressed my hand to my lips, and sure enough, the cigarette rested between my lips. Was I acting without thought? An act done so many times that without thinking I placed the cigarette in my lips. In my now opened right palm lay my gold lighter. How long had I been holding it? I lit the cigarette and took a long drag before placing the lighter next to my hat. But the moment I placed the lighter, a voice came from the darkest corner of the cart, A low, rusty voice which spoke through a smiling mouth that could not be seen.

Can I get a light? From the darkness I could hear a shifting in the leather seat, and in the cascading moonlight the tip of the stranger's cigarette appeared. Shaken, I picked up my lighter, flicked the flint, and lit the stranger's cigarette. The red tip shone as the stranger sat back taking a long drag himself, angst. The dark voice grumbled, politely, but without emotion. I sat back and placed the lighter in my pocket. After another long drag of my cigarette, I cleared my throat again,

but before I could say anything, the stranger spoke again. You were asleep for a long time, he said very matter of fact. Was I? I responded. The sound of my voice came at such a high contrast to the stranger's grumble that I shook a little at the sound of it. Longer than I think you know, the stranger said. The room felt cold, colder than the weather outside. permitted, and the room felt empty, emptier than two people. The space between the stranger and myself was a void of nothingness. The floor suddenly much darker than I had realized, as if it

sucked all light from the room, and without realizing it, I picked my feet up off the floor and placed them on the stranger's bench across from me. The stranger then, took the cigarette out of his mouth and tapped the ashes off the end into a neat little pile next to the exit door of the cart. After a quick but quiet swallow breath, I spoke to the stranger. I don't think we've met, I said sheepishly, trying to convey a much lighter atmosphere to that of the cart. The light of the stranger's cigarette grew bright red as, as it. he took another long drag. We have, he said flatly.

The cold of the room now crept up my spine and down the front of my shirt like a bucket of water being poured over me in slow motion. I couldn't hide the shutter from the stranger and I sat up to shift my position. I stuttered in an attempt to gain control of the situation. Well, I must apologize then, because I don't recall speaking to you before I fell asleep, so perhaps we should reintroduce ourselves.

We've met before, the stranger said. After a long beat, I spoke up again, this time certain that I would put an end to this dismal encounter. Now, look here! But before I could say another word, the stranger began talking, not over top of me, but instead of me. He sat forward again so that the tip of his cigarette shone in the moonlight. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and once again tapped the ashes off into a small, neat little pile by the cart's door.

I was there when you were 12. I stood next to you watching the empty gaze the neighbor's cat, Piper, gave you as you covered its mouth with a rag and threw it into the river. I was there when you were 26, in the seat next to yours as you ran down that pregnant woman, smiling. I was there at 37, 38, and 39, when you caught and collected all those pretty young girls and slit each one's throat with your dad's straight razor. I was there, and what do you want for me? I said through tears. I want to tell you something from all of us.

The train made no sound. Not a single crack of the tracks, nor the breeze past the window. Just the ever-still moonlight and the strangers smoke in the cabin. The stranger lifted his hand to take the cigarette out of his mouth, illuminating his hand which lacked all flesh and muscle. He leaned into the moonlight enough to show just his jaw, bone white and rotten with flesh and bits of bile clinging to it in small patches. The stranger then smiled, cracking the spaces between his teeth,

allowing bits of porcelain colored bone to dust off into the air. Keep up the good work. When I woke up again, it was morning, and the train had arrived in Portland Station. I stood up, grabbed my hat and coat, and pulled my bag down from the top shelf, placing it on my seat. I opened the bag to confirm that I had brought my tools for my new life here in Portland, and with the confirmation I closed my bag and slipped on my hat. Stepping out of the cart, I couldn't help but feel rejuvenated in my mission, and happy to start it all over again.

Of course, I made sure to step over the neat, little pile of cigarette ashes. There are few places more comfortable and safe than your own home. And there are few things more frightening than having your living space disturbed by unexplained occurrences. Author Mark Harrison describes a series of events experienced by a young couple who are being tormented in their own house. They soon realize they won't be able to have.

have peace until they find out why they're being visited by a stranger in the night. In 2006, my girlfriend at the time, Chloe, and I were looking for a house to rent. We didn't have much of a budget, and most of the places we looked at were in really shitty areas, or ridiculously small. We eventually found a place in a nice neighborhood that was easily big enough for the two of us. A red brick Victorian semi-detached built in 1839. It was old and creepy, but big enough and cheap enough for us to decide to move in. The place was pretty run down and hadn't really been modernized much. It still had single glazed windows and a crap heating system, so it got very cold in the winter, to the point that ice would form on the inside of the

windows. When we moved in, we shifted a lot of the landlord's furniture and crap to make way for our own stuff. We were originally going to put this stuff into the attic, but it was really difficult to gain access to it. The way into the attic was through a hatch in the ceiling of a closet outside of the master bedroom, and the ceilings in the house were so high we could barely reach up, even standing on a table. So neither of us fancied trying to be. to maneuver large objects up there. We just piled stuff up in one of the spare rooms. This was our first place together, so it was quite nice to have a home to call our own,

even if it was only rented. However, we both worked odd shifts, so many nights one of us would be alone in the house while the other was at work. Chloe started complaining that she was hearing creaking and bumping noises in the middle of the night. I tried to reassure her that the house was old and was bound to make some odd noises as the temperature changed, but she always seemed nervous whenever I was working nights and she was going to be home alone. She started spending some nights, staying with friends nearby, just to avoid sleeping in the house alone. I just thought she was getting upset over nothing. One night, Chloe was

working a night shift and I was home on my own in bed trying to fall asleep when I heard a sneeze. I wasn't sure if I dreamt it or actually heard it. I assumed if I had heard it, it must have been someone walking down the street outside. Things went on like this for a while. We both felt a bit uneasy staying in the house on our own at night and I think it started taking a bit of a toll on our relationship, possibly combined with the fact our shift patterns meant we were usually only sleeping together for one or two nights a week. The lock on the front door was broken since we'd moved in, so we'd bolted it from the inside, and we're using the back door to get in and out of the house. Only one of the dead bolts on the front door was working, the other was jammed. The back door

had a single flimsy lock, so seeing as how at the time our town was going through a lot of burglaries and how Chloe was uneasy enough as it was, I decided to fit some new dead bolts to both the front and back doors. I reminded Chloe that she must be sure to lock them before going to bed, but that she would have to get up in the morning to unlock them so I could get back in after work. Every morning I'd arrive home from work and be able to get into the house because the dead bolts were unlocked. Most mornings, Chloe would already be up, but on a couple of occasions she was still fast asleep when I went to the bedroom. I had gotten annoyed with her for forgetting to bolt the door, but on each occasion she swore she had bolted it. She assumed she must have been getting up

early in the morning, still half asleep on autopilot, going downstairs, unbolting the door and going back to bed. I assumed she was just forgetting to lock the door properly at night. Chloe confronted me one day and asked me why I kept messing with her phone and asking me if I was spying on her or didn't trust her. This took me by surprise because I hadn't touched her phone to my knowledge. She accused me of deleting text messages and photos from the phone. I denied this, but she didn't seem to believe me. One weekend, I was working nights yet again, and Chloe was at home.

She'd arranged to meet up with some friends and go out for drinks. In the early hours of the morning, I got an hysterical call from a clearly scared and clearly drunk and Chloe, telling me that there was someone in our house. I had an overwhelming feeling of dread. I worked 50 miles away from home. It would take me the better part of an hour to get back. I had assumed she was inside the house when she'd called, but thankfully she wasn't. Once I got her to calm down and explain what had happened, she said she'd been on her way back home after seeing her friends. The taxi had pulled up outside the house to drop her off, and she'd been just about to get

out when she saw our bedroom light switch off, and a figure moved past the window inside the house. She freaked the fuck out and told the taxi driver to carry on driving, and was currently on her way to a friend's house. I told her to call the police. Later she called me back. The police were fucking useless as expected on a Saturday night. Too busy dealing with drunks to do anything else.

She explained to them what had happened. They'd heard how drunk she was. Confirmed that none of the occupants, that is me or her, were in the house. So, therefore, deduced that it was not a matter of life and death and could wait until later. gave her a crime number and told her some officers would be in touch. I left work and headed home. I wasn't going to sit there while someone stole all of our belongings,

even though I assumed it would already be too late by the time I'd got back. As I got to within about ten minutes of home, I called the police, quoted the crime number, explained who I was, told them I was going to the house and that if I found anyone inside that shouldn't be there that they'd better make sure the officers that did eventually attend had a body bag in the car. Strangely, when I arrived home, a police car was already there

and two officers were standing in the driveway. One was shining a flashlight around while the other talked on his radio. I parked and went over to talk to them. I explained who I was and what had happened. They told me that they could not see any signs of forced entry. I asked them if they would come into the house with me and have a look around to make sure all was well.

Once satisfied that there were no criminals hiding inside, they spent the next ten minutes giving me a lecture about veiled threats involving body bags, drunken girlfriends, seeing things, and so on, Before a radio message came through to one of the officers, and they hurriedly left, speeding off in their patrol car with the blue lights on. It was about 5 a.m. by this point on Sunday morning, and it was starting to get light. I wasn't in any mood to sleep and was still freaked out about the events of earlier. I called Chloe, but her phone was off.

I left her a voicemail explaining that I was home. Police had looked around with me and everything was safe. I sat in the living room watching TV and drinking coffee while the sun came up. At about 9 a.m., a taxi pulled up at the end of the driveway, and out of it climbed Chloe, looking a bit dishevelled. She walked into the house barefooted, holding her high heels in her hand, and just started crying and shaking, She was so sure of what she'd seen. She was convinced she was going to come home to find all of our valuables taken and windows smashed or doorlocks forced.

Now she realized nothing of the sort had happened. She was now convinced she was going insane. I tried to put it down to her being drunk, or maybe a weird reflection in the window of the taxi had made her think she'd seen. something, but she was insistent about what she'd seen. Eventually, I stopped trying to reason with her because she was just getting more and more upset. Eventually, she cried herself to sleep in my arms as we sat on the sofa. I took a few days off work so I could be at home with Chloe. Things started to settle down a little and seemed to be getting back to normal after a few days. I eventually went back to work, and Chloe said she was okay being by herself at home during the night. I didn't believe her, but I had to get back to work. They'd been pretty good about it all, and had let me take special leave,

but after a week, they started calling me, asking when I might be able to come back. Otherwise, I'd have to go on unpaid leave, which we could not afford. The morning after my first night back at work, I got home and couldn't get into the house. The door was bolted from the inside. I tried calling Chloe's phone, but it eventually went to voicemail. I stood below our bedroom window and shouted for her. There was no reply. I peered in through the downstairs windows, but couldn't see Chloe anywhere. I went back around to the back door and was about to try to break it down. when I glanced up and noticed a ghostly white face peering through the frosted glass of the bathroom window above me.

I called out to Chloe. There was no reply, but now I could hear sobbing coming from inside the house. I unlocked the main lock of the back door, pried a paving slab out of the lawn with my bare hands, and used it to smash my way through the dead bolts. I struck the door at the bottom where I knew one of the bolts was and heard a loud crack as the wood gave way. I did the same at the top of the door and it flew open, bouncing back towards me and nearly knocking me out in the process.

I ran up the stairs, calling out to Chloe. I could hear sobbing coming from the bathroom. The door was locked. I drove my shoulder into the door as hard as I could, and it burst open as the small privacy lock gave way. Inside, I found Chloe, sitting naked in a bath full of water, with her knees up to her chin and her arms wrapped around her legs, rocking back and forth, crying, shaking from cold and fear and as white as porcelain. I grabbed a towel and scooped her up in it. She was ice cold and just had an empty look in her eyes, but was otherwise seemingly unharmed.

Several hours passed with me just holding her until she stopped shivering and seemed to snap back to reality. Her skin had regained a healthy pink hue, and after a few cups of tea, she finally began to tell me what had happened. After I left for work, she'd gone to run a bath. After about an hour of relaxing in the tub, she was about to get out and dry off

when she thought she heard footsteps on the landing outside the bathroom door. She sat quietly and listened. A shadow appeared along the crack under the door and someone whispered, Hello, from right outside the door. At first she thought it was me, and that somehow I'd come home from work early and was trying to spook her,

and was just about to lay into me for being an asshole after everything that had happened recently. But then louder the voice came again. She did not reply, because by now she was sure, it wasn't me. There was a knock at the door, like someone tapping it with their knuckles. Then, louder banging as the door was punched by the unknown person on the other side, she froze. Her phone was not in the room, so she had no way to call for help. So she just sat there,

being as quiet as possible, while the voice out of the voice out of the room. outside taunted her. It called her names, said it was going to set fire to the house, going to break the door down and rape her. This went on for about ten minutes, and after the voices stopped, Chloe had not been able to bring herself to leave the bathroom. She just sat and waited and waited until I'd eventually come home and broken down the door. After the first incident, I think she somehow doubted herself, and she seemed genuinely uncertain if any of what had happened had actually happened, or if it had all just been in her mind. Chloe went to stay with her friends indefinitely.

I didn't have anywhere else to go and was determined to prove one way or the other whether she really was going insane or someone was fucking with us. I spent the day re-securing the broken dead bolts on the back door and then got busy setting up a laptop and webcam downstairs. I hid them on a bookshelf and set the lap-trial. up to record an image from the webcam every five seconds. The webcam had shitty low-light ability, but it was all I had. I headed off to work.

The next morning, I arrived home and cautiously went inside. I quietly crept through the house, checking all of the rooms. No one was there. I rushed to the laptop to check through the images, There were in excess of 10,000 photos. I spent ages looking through the thumbnails, looking for anything that looked unusual. As far as I was concerned,

I should have 10,000 identical photos of a dark, empty room. In the end, that's what I had. I deleted the photos and set up the laptop again for the following night. This went on for about four days. Each time I would check through the pictures and find nothing. Finally, on the fifth morning, about 2,000 photos in, I saw something. Over the course of about three pictures, I could see a dark figure in the room. It looked like a man, about six feet tall.

I couldn't make out anything about his features or clothing because of the quality of the pictures, but there was definitely someone in the house. The pictures showed the person coming down the stairs and heading towards the kitchen, and then returning in the opposite direction and going back upstairs, rather than coming in from one of the external doors. I nearly lost my shit. My flesh began to crawl, and I slammed the laptop lid shut, picked it up, and ran out of the house. I jumped in my car, locked the doors, and called the police.

They arrived quickly this time, and I showed them the photos I had, explained everything that had happened over the last few weeks, and begged them to turn my house upside down to find out who was hiding in there. Another police car arrived with two more officers in it to make a total of four, and they began a thorough search of the house while I waited outside, chain smoking. About ten minutes later, two of the cops came outside looking worried. I asked them what they had found, but they told me to stay put before hopping the garden fence and going to our neighbor's front door.

They banged on the door hard. Police, open the door! They yelled. After doing this a few times, one of the officers kicked the door repeatedly until it burst open, shattering one of its small windows in the process, and they both disappeared inside.

Another police car turned up. Both of the officers, a man and woman, got out and headed into our neighbor's house. I still didn't know what was going on until about 15 minutes later when the female officer approached me and asked me to come and sit in the back of the patrol car. She explained to me that her colleagues had discovered the mortar missing from between the bricks in my attic. The bricks were loose and could be removed by hand. Upon removing the bricks, they were able to gain access to the access to the act. of our neighbor's house, but found that the hatch into the upstairs of that building was locked

shut. When they gained access to the house, they found a man asleep in an upstairs bedroom, who they arrested on suspicion of unlawful entry and possession of a controlled substance. They got in contact with the owner of the house to come and secure the place. It turned out that the house next door was so. supposed to be vacant. The landlord was currently looking for a new tenant, he told me, having evicted the previous one months before, after noise complaints and finding the house had been damaged. What had actually happened is the old occupant had had himself a set of keys cut, pretended to move out, and hidden in the attic, then continued to live in the house with

some of his junky friends and had removed the mortar from the bricks in the party wall of the attic so they could gain access to my house. Inside, they'd apparently found hunting knives, needles, and small quantities of drugs, but the police had taken all of it as evidence. What they left behind, whether intentionally or just because they didn't spot it, was a shrine to my girlfriend, made of a stolen photo of her, one of her thongs, and a lock of her hair that looked as though it had been neatly cut from her head. I never told her about that. When a beloved family member passes away, many people take solace in the belief that their loved one has gone to a better place. But as author Thomas Thompson explains, sometimes the journey to the great beyond takes you

in an entirely unexpected direction. A young man soon discovers what his dying grandmother meant when she told him, we all end up here. To a casual observer, she died peacefully. Gracefully, in fact, if such a term could ever be applied to death. Her loving family surrounded her. As morbid as it sounds, many remarked on how picturesque it all was. She lived a full and complete life. The family priest gave the blessing of last rites with an unparalleled serenity and eloquence.

At the ripe old age of 82, She had done all she could in this life and would seek whatever adventures unfolded in the great beyond. She called her favorite grandson to her side and spoke her last words into his ears. The tone of the machine sustained as her soul effortlessly escaped the now useless sanctuary it had called home. Her body remained in a beautiful and, and holy sweet repose. Seemingly, this was the absolute epitome of how one wants to pass to the other side. However, I was that grandson, and the illusion created in that hospital room could not have been further from the truth.

Her last words were cryptic but earnest. They were spoken with a lucidity that belied the deathbed she rested upon. Three succinct sentences were whispered that will stay with me for an eternity. The drugs pumping through her veins couldn't mask their sincerity. As she exhaled her last breath, my grandma's eyes didn't tell the tale of the sweet grace of heaven, but of the anguish and woe of the fires of hell. After the funeral, the family gathered to divvy up her poultry belongings.

My grandmother reveled in the passages of the Bible that extolled the virtue of living with a meek and meager spirit. Her home reflected this philosophy. The priest of the church she attended for the last 60 years mentioned this in his eulogy. He remarked that we could all learn from her example. Since she shunned earthly treasures, she had gained riches in heaven.

The one opulent object in her tiny abode was an old grandfather clock. Standing proudly below a portrait of Jesus deep in prayer, the large oak timepiece looked out of place in her ramshackle living room, but its singular beauty could not be denied. Maintaining it was one of the activities that had kept her going. Naturally, she had left it to me in her will, and I was honored to be receiving something that meant so much to her.

I wandered about her empty house after my relatives left. Staring at all the Christian iconography everywhere, I considered how to her. how much her lifelong faith had provided purpose, meaning, and comfort to her existence. But then, I contemplated the enigma of Gran's last words. They were said with such fear and existential angst that everything was now cast in an entirely new light. My thoughts scattered. Did the clock just strike six times? It was 8.15. I moved toward the living room to investigate and stopped in my tracks.

Six more times the sound cut through the still silence of the house. I looked at the clock to see that the face was telling the correct time. I reached out to touch the clock, and it chimed again. It rang six more times total. 6. 6. 6. 6. As this realization seized me, Grand's first sentence whispered to me on her deathbed, repeated in my mind. As I opened the face to disable the mechanism, I caught something out of the corner of my eye. Movement.

I turned to see my grandma with her back facing me. I closed my eyes, expecting her to blink out of existence, but there she remained. She began to slowly turn her head in my direction. As she revealed her face, I froze in panic. A pervasive heat filled the air. It was searing my flesh. I felt my eyes begin to singe. My vision went white and I fell unconscious to the floor.

I awoke the next day in the hospital. Luckily enough, my parents had returned and found me unresponsive on the living room floor. The doctor explained that I would remain in the hospital overnight while they ran a battery of tests. I nodded my head in a perfunctory way as he spoke, but all I could think about was. was the twisted and grotesque look of anguish on my grandmother's face as she appeared in her living room, as well as the indelible heat she emitted. Consumed me. They ran their various tests throughout the day, and I stayed mum about what I had encountered,

not wanting to come off as crazy. Still feeling out of it, and with anxiety coursing through me, I requested some medication to aid in my sleep. The doctor happily obliged. An hour after the medicine had been administered, I stirred from my bed. I grew bored and decided to take a stroll. The empty corridors seemed to have no end.

The dim lighting provided no shelter from the darkness that had now seeped in, and made itself at home. Before long, I was hopelessly lost. Eventually, I stumbled into a familiar wing and made my way down the hallway. I passed room 2.17 and came to a stop. Just a few days prior,

this was the room in which Gran had drawn her last breath. Curiosity got the better of me. and I opened the door. Laying in the bed was Grandma. The peaceful tranquility of the room shattered by the abject terror written on her face. I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could offer a word of comfort, her body engulfed in flames. Her beautiful and docile face now twisted in woe and assesied in awe and air. agony, it began to melt. Her eyes popped and crackled as the sockets were consumed by the flames.

She opened her twisted jaw, and the second sentence spoken to me five days prior spewed forth. We all end up here. The hospital disappeared as he was. if sucked into the ether. The abyss lay before me. The pervasive heat springing forth from the fire grew wholly unbearable, surrounding me and stretched into infinity. Millions of souls writhed in agony as their flesh was ripped away by the flames. Grandmas' smoldering hand clasped onto my arm as she repeated those baneful words.

We all end up here. I awoke in the hospital bed and nearly tumbled onto the floor. The dream, no, the vision I had seen resonated to my core. There was no denying it. The experience was so tangible and real. I couldn't rationalize what I had seen and blame it on the drugs or stress. The truth that had been unveiled to me left me bereft of any and all hope. There's nothing any of us can do.

We are all just delaying the inevitable. Whether you lead a pious or a hedonistic life, we all end up there. We all end up in hell. The doctor entered the room that morning with a sullen look on his face. The results had come back and they were not good. A malignant tumor had been found. The stage four cancer ravishing my brain left me with, with six months to live at most.

As the doctor stared at me intently, the true horror of the situation washed over me. I recalled the very last sentence my grandma spoke before dying as a tear escaped my eye. You'll be with me again soon, very soon. In our final tale, author Milosh Bogetich shares a tale from his childhood. It's a tale that involves one night in particular, which he spent in an isolated cabin with his grandmother.

It was a night fraught with visions of people who desperately wanted entry into the cabin. He recalls the ominous words about that night told to him by him. his grandmother when she said, Tonight, you may see some people who aren't alive anymore. I've been exposed to things that no human should witness. I've gotten to no fear that only those standing before death itself experienced. Yet, here I am. I'm obviously not normal anymore.

Rarely any human would go through this horror and stay perfectly sane. I am only a skeleton of someone I used to know. In the last week or so, I've been trying to deal with the damage my life has had on my sanity. And just as I was getting ready to propel myself back into the reality most of you live in, I had another flashback, another memory, me and my grandmother. I suppose that the normal world will have to do without me. I was six years old when the war started in my country. My parents were lucky enough to get all of us out of the affected region just before all the borders were shut.

My grandparents, unfortunately, stayed behind. My grandpa died during the war, and it took three years before my grandma was able to get out of there. She came to live with us until the war ended. One weekend, my dad decided to take us skiing. My grandma was paranoid, as always, and she demanded that she come with us. My mom wasn't feeling well, so the plan was made that she stayed at home while my dad and grandma took my brother and me to the nearby mountain. We used to have a small wooden cabin up there, and the weather looked nice that day, so you could say that all the stars aligned for it to happen. It started off as an awesome day.

I ate a lot of snow falling all over the place, but it was fun nonetheless. My dad and brother were skiing with me, while my grandma's watchful eye followed us from the bottom of the ski hill. It looks like a storm may be coming, my grandma said, looking up at the sky that was indeed getting darker and darker. One more time, Dad, please, please, please, please, my brother cried. I guess he liked skiing. The three of us went up to the top for one more run. My brother went first. Halfway down the hill, he screamed like a wounded animal.

Dad jumped on his skis and yelled, Stay here before going down after my brother. The day was getting darker, so I couldn't see perfectly, but I did recognize Dad picking my brother up and slowly carrying him down the hill. I guess the fun was over. I decided not to scare my father and grandma any more than they already were, so I took off my skis and started walking down the hill. By the time I got to the bottom, only my grandma was waiting.

Our car was gone. Your brother tore his knee, she said, looking very upset, as every grandma would be, I suppose. Your dad took him to the hospital, so we will have to wait in the cabin. Besides the fear for my brother, I really didn't mind this whole situation. I loved spending time with my grandma. And I loved our cabin. We walked inside it and lit the gas lamp that was hanging by the door. The mountain was scarcely populated with weekend-only cabins,

so bringing the electricity all the way up was unnecessary. Plus, the nearest neighbor was miles away. I kind of liked it that way. I liked the smell of burning wood in our fireplace. It felt so comfortable. My parents would often bring us up there, and we would have what we called scary nights, where they would tell us urban horror legends. It was awesome.

The cabin itself was fairly small. It was only one room, well lit by the powerful lamp. In the far right corner was the kitchen with a sink and, fire-powered stove. The back wall held the fireplace, around which was a couch and two comfortable chairs. There was a window on each of the four walls. I sat down in one of the chairs, and grandma started the fire. While still worried about my brother, I couldn't help but smile at the prospect of spending the night in my favorite place in the world. Looks like the storm is really close, my grandma said, looking through the kitchen window.

Perhaps your dad may not make it back tonight. This was way before cell phones, so any form of communication was non-existent. That's okay. I don't mind sleeping here. I said jumping excitedly in an oversized chair. Yeah, my grandma said with a worried tone while still analyzing the outside world. I suppose we'll have to. We always kept cans of food stashed under the sink for emergencies, and those quickly became our dinner. Tomato soup and some veggies warmed up on a real fire.

It tasted better than any fancy restaurant of a restaurant. I would ever eat at. Is my brother going to be okay? I looked up at my grandma while sucking in the last bit of tomato soup. Your brother will be just fine, she said, still looking worried. He will be okay. I called the chair, I yelled, claiming that piece of furniture as my sleeping accommodation that night. My grandma offered me a smile and brought a blanket to cover me up.

I was exhausted from all the activities, so I fell asleep quickly after the meal. I woke up a few hours later just to see my grandma standing by the window. She was standing by the window that was to the left of the entrance door. Even from where I was, and in poor lighting, I could tell she was. shaking. I thought she was cold, so I got up and brought her my blanket. Here, Grandma, you can have it. I'm too hot anyways, I said, offering her the blanket that was as useless as a flashlight without batteries. Grandma? I asked again, receiving no response. Then I looked through the window. Two things became quickly apparent.

to me. The snowstorm had arrived in full force, and there was someone outside. Who is that man? I asked, grabbing her hand. Since the snow was falling down so hard that it seemed like God wanted us buried alive, I wasn't able to see much about this person, other than the fact that he was wearing a suit. His suit was so black, that it contrasted the whiteness of the snow almost perfectly. My grandma didn't answer. Should we let him in? I asked. She never took her eyes off the man.

The snow slowed for a short second, only enough to reveal more about the man in question. He was facing us, some ten yards away. He was wearing a black top hat. and he was leaning on a black umbrella stuck in the ground. He wasn't moving. Then he turned around very gracefully and walked away. Listen, Milosh, my grandma said, kneeling down.

Tonight, you may see some people who aren't alive anymore. Still bursting with childlike innocence, I smiled. This is one of the scary nights. It is, isn't it? I asked, extremely excited. No, no, she said, grabbing my head with both of her hands. This is serious.

You will see some people from our past that you may remember. Her face changed to a serious, I am not fucking with you expression. You're going to be scared, but I need you not to cry. And mostly, I need you not to talk to them. But I don't understand, I said, being more concerned than amused at that point. Just do it for me. You can do that, can't you?

She ran her hand through my long, curly hair, calming my fears, even for just a second. Yes, Grandma. Good boy. She stood up and looked through the window again. The man was gone. Since nothing happened for the next half hour, I went back to the chair and started dozing off. After an hour or so of napping, I awoke to check on Grandma.

She was still looking through the window next to the entrance door. I quickly scanned through the rest of the cabin, only to notice a figure in the kitchen window. I wasn't sure if I was seeing things, so I decided to sneak away slowly towards it and check before alarming my grandma. It indeed was a figure. It was one of my neighbor's kids who I played. with so many times. I was still somewhat sleeping when I saw him, so it took me a minute to remember he drowned three months ago. Apparently he went with his parents to the seaside. His parents fell asleep in the sun. He wandered away in the water, and the current got him. It was a collective effort

of the fishermen and people from the beach, but they found him. hours later. Kids on my street said that he was completely blue and bloated when they pulled him out of the water. Now he seemed fine to me. Grandma, look, Dato is here. I yelled, pointing at the window. My grandma turned around very fast and almost ran across the room. She stood next to me while we both looked at my friend who I thought was lost forever. Why did Mom tell me he died? I asked her, had noticed that Dado was mostly motionless. The only thing that was moving were his eyes as he was going from Grandma to me and back.

He's dead, Milosh, she said, holding my hand. He's dead. Remember, I told you not to talk to any of him. them. As she said that, Dato knocked on the window. It startled both of us. Hey, Loche, let me in. It's freezing out here. My friend yelled while still knocking at the window. He called me Loche. He seemed a little more blue. I looked up at my grandma. And she shook her head. Let's go sit down.

When we sat down, I tried to get an explanation from her. Who are they, Grandma? I asked in the most polite, curious tone any child could use. You will understand one day. For now, let's just make it to the morning. She got up and went back to the main window. Dado was still just standing outside the kitchen window. Only he looked even more blue now.

Then I noticed someone in the window on the left wall. Who is that? I asked, pointing at the person looking inside our cabin. Grandmother slowly walked towards it. I joined her. It was a lady I didn't recognize. She wore one of those old-fashioned fancy dresses, the kind that you wore to a banquet.

The dress was so white that it even stood out in a snowstorm. She had white elbow-length gloves on. The lady had a really pretty, although pale face, partially hidden under the long curly black hair. She also had one of those big, old-fashioned hats. She was smiling. Hello, Dana, she said to my grandma. I looked up, but I already knew my grandmother wasn't going to respond.

To be in a while, the lady said. She looked at me. and who do we have here? Why don't you let me in so I can meet him? She said, tilting her head as if she was really expecting an answer back. You're a big boy, aren't you, Milosh? The lady asked me. Let's go back.

Grandma said, grabbing my hand once again and taking me to the... fireplace. Who is that? I asked while glancing at the lady. She was still radiating whiteness even from the distance, although I did notice that red spots on her dress started appearing. That is my sister, Grandma said with tears in her eyes. How'd she die?

I asked, getting a surprise. look from my grandma. I suppose she didn't expect me to understand this quickly that she was also dead. She died at childbirth. Her baby died as well, screamed the lady, almost punching the window. I was scared that she'd break the glass and crawl into our cabin. Don't listen to her. She just wants our reaction.

Grandma said, hugging me. As she hugged me, I noticed someone in the window by the entrance door. Grandpa? I asked, squeezing her hard. She turned around, and I swear I could see pain in her eyes. Tears started flowing down her cheeks, and she looked down to the ground, as if she was looking for comfort amongst. the boards of the wooden floor.

Yes, that's Grandpa, she whispered. I started walking to the window. On my way, I looked to the other two windows and noticed that the lady's dress was now more red than white. And that dado was now unnaturally blue and bloated,

almost resembling some human-like balloon. Needless to say, I was pet. I just stood in front of the window and looked at my grandpa. He seemed normal, although pale. I loved my grandpa, and it took all I had not to try to say something to him. It was almost as if he could tell what I was thinking. You love me, don't you, Milosh? He asked, smiling, "'Then why would you let me freeze out here? "'Come on, open the door for your grandpa.' I looked back at my silent grandma, sitting back on the couch.

She just sadly nodded to tell me that I should remain quiet. He knocked on the window, Look what I got, he said, pulling one of those round bubblegums from the 25-cent machine that I loved so much and that he used to get for me all the time. I smiled but refused to speak. He kept knocking on the window. Then Dato started knocking again. Then the lady in the blood-soaked dress followed. There I was, standing in a small cabin with my grandma, surrounded by people we loved, but who weren't members of the living world anymore.

And that knocking, that knocking was becoming louder and louder. I couldn't take it anymore, so I screamed, stop! It did. They all stopped knocking and just stood there. Then I noticed that same man in the black suit come up behind my grandpa. He was standing directly behind him, leaning over his shoulder. He rested his jaw on my grandpa's left shoulder and smiled. Then he walked to the left.

He came behind Dato and tapped his head, still smiling. Finally, he got to the lady and laid his hand on her belly. She looked sad. He turned towards the window and looked straight at me. You won't open or talk, will you now? He asked me, putting his face to the glass. No fog appeared on the window, so I assumed he wasn't breathing. I just shook my head while my grandma was squeezing my shoulder so hard that it bruised me.

Alrighty do, then, he said, and knocked on the window with the top of his umbrella. At that moment, all three of the people who weren't alive anymore started walking away towards the snowstorm. The man stood there for a few more seconds, sending my grandma a dangerous, threatening look and then walked away. She broke down and started weeping on the couch. I fell asleep in her lap, trying to comfort her. By the time I woke up, the sun was up and the snowstorm was long gone. Soon after, I heard the engine noise from my dad's old Volkswagen. My dad walked in, and I excitedly told him all about what had happened to us that night. He listened carefully, then smiled, and while tapping my head, asked,

Another one of our scary nights, eh? My grandma forced to smile and nodded. On our way to the car, I noticed something bright blue in the snow. I ran and picked up the snow. and picked up the small round object. It was a piece of my favorite bubble gum. 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 sleep podcast.com.