The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S3E07

Episode Date: August 11, 2013

It's episode 7 of Season 3! We have five tales for you in this episode, featuring stories about mysterious family secrets and abandoned buildings.The full episode features the following stories. The free version features only the first two tales. "Just Another Night" written by Drew Vitalduel and read by David Cummings. (Story starts at 00:03:15)"Why I Didn't Shower for 21 Years" written by Chance Patrick and read by David Cummings. (Story starts at 00:20:50)"The Forbidden Third Floor" written by Isabelle Jenner and read by Marmalade Hanna. (Story starts at 00:36:48)"Mor Mor's House" written by Natalie Lys and read by Nancy Beard. (Story starts at 00:47:38)"Say Cheese" written by Louis Valenti and read by David Cummings. (Story starts at 01:22:40)Click here to learn more about Nancy BeardClick here to learn more about Librivox  Podcast produced by: David CummingsMusic & Sound Design by: David CummingsThis 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, the frightful tales creep into your mind. And now he was listening. Brace yourself for the No Sleep podcast. It's episode seven of season three. Welcome to the show. I'm your host, David Cummings. We have five tales for you in this episode, featuring stories about mysterious family secrets and abandoned buildings.

We have two new narrators joining us this week, and both of them have come to the podcast via the Libravox project. I've talked about Libravox on the podcast in the past, but it's worth mentioning again. Libravox is an online digital library of free public domain audiobooks. Volunteers narrate chapters and sections from books that are in the public domain. The parts are put together into full audiobooks and made available to the public for free. It's a noble project that brings to life literature in danger of being lost forever.

A number of no-sleep narrators have volunteered at Librevox, including myself and the two ladies joining us for this episode. Nancy Beard and Marmalade Hana provide both professional and volunteer narration for a variety of projects, and I'm thrilled to have them on the show. If you want to learn more about Libravox and how you can listen to or narrate for the project, head over to Libravox.org. That's L-I-B-R-I-V-O-X.org. I'll include a link in the show notes as well.

And so, speaking of narration and storytelling, it's time to start the show. In our first tale, we meet a man who is enjoying a quiet evening alone at home. When his brother, returning from a night of partying, interrupts his relaxation, the man discovers that something is terribly wrong. As author Drew Vidaldual describes, the events that unfold make it quite clear that this is not just another night. It's about 30 minutes to midnight. when my phone vibrates and starts to blare its ringtone.

I jump off the couch and nearly have a heart attack. It's just another night, one that's been wonderfully quiet so far. After a chaotic Friday evening that lasted until 5 in the morning, it's nice to spend this Saturday alone at home, watching whatever crappy movies are on TV. I recover and answer it. It's Mike, though I can barely hear him over the pounding music in the background. He screams.

Trent wants to get home early so he can go to church with his family. Sounds good, I say. Did you bring enough cash for a cab this time? Mike's stories of getting stranded downtown in the middle of the night have become legendary. Nah, Jason's friend has a car. He's driving us back. I frown. Has he been drinking?

He says something to someone nearby, but I can't make it out. I'll be home soon. Don't worry about staying up for me. Thanks, but I'm not tired. That, and mom and dad told us to always deadbolt the door, and if I do that, you won't be able to get in. He laughs. He's been in the front yard again.

Okay, I'll be home soon. He hangs up and I go back to my movie. There's something about mindless violence and explosions that just seem so relaxing. Or maybe it's the fact that school's finally done for the winter holidays, and my parents wisely decided to go on a cruise with friends for a week before Christmas. Mike and I have the house to ourselves. For him, it means no stern looks when he staggers home reeking of alcohol. For me, it's no constant reminders to start looking for a job in time for graduation.

The movie goes to its 15th commercial, and I head to the kitchen for a snack. As I throw a bunch of eggs, cheese, and vegetables into a skillet, I hear a loud cracking noise in the backyard. I press my face to the cold, frosty window and look out, but there's nothing out there but a few bare trees and some fresh fall. in snow. Probably just an animal. It can't be easy to survive the winter. My cell phone rings again, so I wander back into the living room to grab it. It's Mike. I can hear sirens in the background. So Jason's friend, I lost control of the car. It sounds like he's holding the phone half a foot away from his mouth. Oh God, what happened? But we're all over. Okay, I think.

Cops are here. They're talking to the driver. He laughs. He's definitely drunk. No kidding. They're ignoring the rest of us, and there's a bus here, so I'm going on and get home. Sounds like a plan. I pause and grimace.

Wait, do you know what bus to get on? I'll figure it out. I'll call you when I'm close. He's gone, and I go back to the movie. There's a lull in the action, when attractive male protagonist and attractive female protagonist engage in an awkward sexual conversation,

which might have worked if they had any sort of chemistry, and my mind wanders to my job hunt. A few of my classmates say they know great companies to work for. Apparently, mechanical engineers are invulnerable to the bad unemployment rate, but I'm not really sure if I'd just want to jump into things. Traveling would be fun. There'd be something immensely rewarding about sending Mike a photo of me on the beach while he'd be studying for midterms in the middle of October. Totally worth passing up an easy job for. A sudden blaring noise comes from the kitchen. I jump up into the thick smell of smoke. Oh, the omelet. Damn it. There's about a

foot of black smoke hovering in the kitchen. I run in, pull my burnt snack off the stove, and open every window, letting the chilling air in. My creation is little more than ash, so I open the back door and throw it out for whatever animals are trying to get through the night. So much for that. There's some leftover pasta in the fridge. I'm happy to eat it cold. At this point, I'm better off not heating anything up. I settle down and continue the movie, but my mind's going back to traveling. I've always wanted to go across the pond, check out Europe, maybe backpack through Germany, see the sights in France, practice my fake accent in Britain. What's it like there in the summer? Hot, I'd bet. But not any hotter than it is here. Hopefully less humid.

Again, my ringtone snaps me back to the real world. Mike's shouting, but I can barely hear him. Wherever he is, the reception is terrible. Calling for hours! I look at the clock and roll my eyes. You last called 45 minutes ago. Where are you? No idea.

No where. I have no idea where any of these stops are. Hell, I don't even think they're in English. I sigh loudly. Not this again. How much did you have to drink? Drink? I can't even...

He trails off, replaced with a loud, harsh static. I pull the phone from my ear. A few seconds. later, it disconnects. Whatever. He'll find a way home. The movie eventually ends, but it's just past midnight and I'm

hardly tired. Now I'm regretting allowing my roommate to convince me to leave my gaming console at school. This is the perfect sort of boredom for grabbing a sniper rifle and telling 12-year-olds how great their moms are in bed.

And then Mike could have joined right in. He probably spends more time playing than I do, and he doesn't even live with me. I think my parents are relieved that we're going to the same school. He's been trying his absolute best to get his life back on track, and I'm able to be there in case he needs a shoulder to lean on. A loud scream comes from the backyard. I go back into the now-freezing kitchen and grab a flashlight from the cupboard.

I shine it around, but there's nothing out there. The remains of the omelet are gone, and there are a ton of paw prints around the area. Raccoons, squirrels, maybe coyotes, whatever they were, they moved quickly. The smoke in the kitchen's gone. I close all the windows and lie back down in the living room. I guess I doze off, because when I wake up, it's 1.30 in the morning. There's been no contact from Mike, so I give him a call. Now it's like he's talking into a phone on the other side of the room.

Are you there? Please say something. I'm here, I say slowly. Have you figured out the way home yet? I can't. Despite the low volume, I can hear panic in his voice. I swear I can hear him whimper. I can't help but grin. I'm gonna hold this against him for years.

There's something wrong, something dumb. Yeah, it's called the night, and it's not very friendly to black out drunks now, is it? He fades away. Hello, Mike? I check my phone. It's still connected. If you can hear me, just get off and grab a cab, okay?

He comes back with a slightly clearer voice. Past Wedmore. I recognize this place. Well, that's good, seeing as we drove by it nearly every single day when we were kids. I sit up, and suddenly I'm feeling groggy. Time for bed. Anyway, I'm going to go and... No! He shouts forcefully.

Okay. Now I'm wondering if he took any substances beyond alcohol. It's like he's combined the hallucinations of shrooms with the depressants of beer. I grimace. It's what the old Mike would have done. They're good. There's a bunch of animals outside, making lots of noise. I think they're raccoons, but they could be bears.

Might want to watch yourself. The connection's even better. Just went over the bridge. I'm a few stops away. And there you go. Was there any reason to have been concerned? Like you wouldn't believe. He pauses. Man, I can't wait to get home. I think I can hear my bed calling me. Is it saying clean me?

He laughs loudly and heartily. I'm nearly there. Jesus, I'm glad the night is over. Thanks for not hanging up. I'm always here. You know that. It was weird. I couldn't call or text anyone.

I tried to get on Facebook, but it looked really strange. And as soon as you called, I realized where I was. It's like it came out of nowhere. His voice rises. And there's our street. I'll call you when I'm near the house. Holy crap, that's dark. He hangs up. I go to the front window and look out.

All the street lights are on, casting their pale orange tint on the road. I gaze as far down as I can. No sign of him. I'm about to go and clean up the kitchen, but my phone rings. Where the hell is our house? house. I throw my free hand up incredulously. The same place it's always been, you idiot. I can't see it. The street is way too dark. I don't even know if I'm on the sidewalk or the road. What are you talking about? It's bright as day out there. I go over to the front door and

flick the outside light a few times, showing off our snow-covered driveway. The one Mike was supposed to shovel before heading out. There, can you see that? He screams. The light! I do so, even though it adds nothing to the overall brightness of our neighborhood. See it. Okay, yeah, I'm close now. I look out the window, but still can't see him.

There's just a pair of headlights coming down the street. How close are you? Nearly there. Oh, thank God. I'm nearly there. The headlights slow down at my driveway. Are you in a car? No. Do you know how easy a car would have made all of this? I scoff. I think there's a lot of things that could have made this easier. He's silent for a moment, and then he sighs.

I know what you're thinking, but I swear, I only had a few drinks. His voice lowers. I'm done with that other stuff. I made that promise, and I'm going to keep... I know. The car is pulling into my driveway. It's the police. What the hell is going on here?

I'm steps away. The house has never looked at. so good. The car stops and two officers get out, both struggling on the slippery driveway. They take their caps off and hold them against their chests. No. What is it? I'm at the driveway. Can you see me? The world stops around me.

This was supposed to be just another night. Everything I'd done, the movie, the omelet, those animals outside, what I'm going to do when I graduate had been so inconsequential. That was the point. That was the goddamn point. The officers are walking up the steps. My throat is suddenly very tight, but I managed to get the words out. Yeah, bro. I can see you.

Awesome. I'll be there in a minute. Thanks for guiding me home. It's what I'm here for. I take a deep breath. See you soon. Can't wait. He hangs up. A few seconds later, there's a knock on the...

For most of us, taking a shower is a daily ritual that we take for granted. Showering can allow us to unwind and let our minds drift away as warm water cleanses us. However, as author Chance Patrick explains, painful memories can make showering something to avoid altogether. Join us as we meet a man who explains why I didn't shower for 21 years, of nightmares where I'm trapped in a shower. The drain is plugged, and I can't get it unplugged. Water rises to my ankles, to my waist, and then over my head.

The shower curtain turns to glass, and my screams turn to gargles. A dark figure presses its face against the glass on the other side, and it watches me. I plead, but it won't let me out. I swallow water and flail helplessly in my glass coffin. I wake up gagging. I know where the nightmare came from. I never have to dig deep. The incident is never far from my subconscious.

Finding it is easy. Getting over it is not. It was the summer of my 12th birthday when the Hudson's move. in across the street. Three people, one of them a really old woman. She was tiny, frail, skeletal almost. Thin white hair, faded, blue flowery dress. Her head hung from her neck, and it wobbled as the man pushed her up a makeshift wheelchair ramp into the house. At the time, I couldn't figure out if she was alive or dead. A few minutes later, she appeared in an upstairs window, sitting in her wheelchair.

She was directly facing my bedroom, and I watched her from my window. Her head was upright now, and she stared at me, just stared without moving her head an inch. I closed my drapes. For days she sat at the window. She watched the cars and the neighborhood kids play in the yards. I never saw anyone else in the room, never saw her move from that chair. At night, I'd cautiously peer through the crack in my drapes. Her silhouette was still in that window, lights off, staring out into the darkness at my bedroom.

I couldn't tell, but I knew she was watching me. The stories about her cropped up pretty quick amongst my friends in the neighborhood. That she was a witch, that she was just a doll, that she was actually dead. But I knew she wasn't dead. Sure, I never saw her move from that window, not once. And I never saw her head turn. but I felt her eyes move as they studied me. I could feel her watching me.

All alone in my bedroom, in the middle of the night with my drapes firmly shut, I'd wake up and shudder. Her eyes were on me. I just knew it. I began sleeping on the floor. The lower I was, the better. Maybe she couldn't see me if I was on the floor. I told my parents that the old woman across the street was creeping me out.

I asked them to talk to the Hudson's and ask them to move her to a room without a window. They laughed and told me to let her live out her twilight years in peace. She was just watching the street, they said, and that probably made her feel happy and feel younger. Are you going to stick me in a windowless room when I'm in old. old lady? My mom laughed. Remind me to move in with your sister when I'm in a wheelchair. A week later, there was some commotion at the Hudson's. I watched from my bedroom window as the man ran out of the house and opened up the double doors of his van. He jogged inside and reappeared

minutes later, pushing the old woman in her wheelchair down the ramp. She looked frailer than before. She couldn't have weighed more than 70 pounds. Her head was flung to the side, resting on her right shoulder. Her body jostled in the wheelchair. But her eyes never left me, watched me the whole time. The man picked her up and placed her in the car. He folded the wheelchair and stuffed it in the trunk. He quickly hopped into the drive-fired.

seat, the younger woman pounced into the passenger seat, and he put his foot to the pedal. The old woman's limp head still faced me. It bobbed up and down as the van reversed down the driveway. I studied her face. It was expressionless, emotionless. Her tongue slightly hung from the right side of her mouth, but her eyes were on mine, and they stayed on me. The van accelerated down the street, and it was gone. My parents heard the news that afternoon from the other neighbors. The old woman's condition was getting worse, and the Hudson's had taken her to some sort of a home. She wouldn't be coming back. I went straight to my bedroom, and I looked at a little. I looked at a across the street. I smiled. Her window was finally empty. The Hudson's didn't come back the next day,

no van. That night I looked out towards the old woman's window. There was no one there, no wheelchair, but the bedroom light was on. I remember telling my dad I thought it was strange, and he just shrugged and said, must be on some sort of timer or something. I woke up in the middle of the night and nervously peered out my bedroom window. That bedroom light was still on. It suddenly flicked off and I ducked below my window frame. I slowly rose and looked out, expecting to see the silhouette of that tiny skeletal being. I watched for ten minutes, pinched.

and straining my eyes. The lights quickly flicked on and then off again. I slept on the floor again, clutching my pillow close. I had a late baseball practice the next evening. When I got home, my house was empty.

My parents were at my little sister's softball game. I headed to the shower to clean off. About three minutes into my shower, I felt cold. The hot steam was escaping the bathroom somehow, which didn't make sense because I had shut the door. I wiped the shampoo from my eyes, turned my head, and I heard a strange noise that I heard in nightmares for years. The metal rings of the shower curtain were being dragged across the shower rod.

Someone was slowly opening the curtain. The shampoo stung my eyes, and through the stinging I saw a dark figure behind the curtain. Long, pale, bony fingers gripped the curtain as it slowly opened. I instinctively backed up in the shower, and the curtain opened completely. There stood the old woman. I must have only looked at her for one, maybe two seconds. But at that moment, time stood still. All these years later, I can still draw you a vivid picture of the horrifying image in front of me.

Disheveled white hair, crazy in her eyes, bones jutting out from under her stretched skin. Stark naked. Blotchy skin warps all over her body. Skinny breasts hanging to her waist. Hair where I didn't know people could grow hair. She smiled grotesquely, and I felt the shower tile against my back, and the hot water pound my face. In her other hand, the old woman held a letter opener. She mumbled.

August, August, August. I leaped past her, knocking her tiny body. to the floor. I ran downstairs, naked and sopping wet. In my panic, I somehow remembered I was nude and yanked on a pair of shorts out of the hamper in the laundry room, sending the hamper crashing to the floor. I high-tailed it on foot down the street, eventually winding up at my friend's house. Police arrived. They found the old woman crumpled in a heap in the bathroom. The shower was still running. The policemen were all super nice to me, admiring me for my bravery.

I told them what she said to me, August, and asked if they knew what she could have meant. It'll be August in a few days. One of them shrugged. And you can never fully understand old and crazy, son. The Hudson's only came to our street once more. to retrieve their stuff. The for-sale sign was up in days. My mom told me they couldn't face the neighbors for what happened.

Apparently they had taken the old woman, the man's mother, to a special home downstate. Somehow, some way, the woman managed to escape the home and caught a bus back to our town. It never quite made sense to me. She was so old, so frail, so helpless. She could barely move those weeks she lived in that house. How had she managed to travel hundreds of miles on her own? Anyway, you can imagine what this did to me. I didn't shower for 21 years.

I took baths, which I suppose aren't that different. It's still a tub. and it involves hot, soapy water. But a shower with its closed curtain, water peppering the tub floor and steam climbing the walls, you get lost inside your own head in the shower. Thoughts consume you, and it feels so utterly safe. For a few minutes, you are alone from the world.

It's your own private, misty kingdom. But that's what makes the shower dangerous. You're enclosed, vulnerable, naked. You're exposed. I talked to people about it. My parents, a shrink. But mainly, I tried to push the incident deep down into places where I couldn't find it. I didn't talk about it with anyone since I was a kid.

Life carried on. Besides the baths, I was pretty normal. A few months ago, something inside me clicked. I felt the urge to re-examine the incident. It was almost like a voice in my head was telling me to do it. My head wanted closure. I spent hours online one night, trying to track down any information on the Hudson's

and the old woman. I finally found what I was looking for. An obituary for the old woman. She had died four years ago. Somehow, that walking skeleton hadn't checked out for another 15 years. The obituary photo was a black and white picture from when she was a young woman. It was a photo of her and her deceased husband on their wedding day. his name was August and he looked exactly like me.

I closed the browser and stared at my computer desktop for ten minutes. It finally made more sense why she called me August, why she was obsessed with watching me. Maybe she used to write letters to her husband and that's why she was clutching the letter opener that night. For a small moment, I felt a little better. Things always feel better when they make more sense. Honey, is everything okay?

It was my wife. I think so, I said. I took the first shower I had taken in years that night. I didn't even jump when the curtain rungs dragged across the shower rod, and my wife entered. but as she embraced me under the hot water, one question wouldn't leave my head. How come the young woman in that wedding photo looks exactly like my wife? Your episode has come to an end.

Thank you for spending time with us at the No Sleep Podcast. If you would like to learn how you can hear the full-length version of this episode featuring many more stories, please visit the no sleeppodcast.com and click on the season pass link. Purchasing a season pass will help support everyone who contributes to the podcast and in return you'll get 25 full length episodes and three exclusive bonus episodes, all for only 1999. This is David Cummings. Thank you for listening and join us again for the next episode of the No Sleep Podcast.