The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S3E09

Episode Date: September 8, 2013

It's episode 9 of Season 3! We have five tales for you in this episode, featuring stories about mysterious creatures, unholy teens, and tormented elders.The full episode features the following stories. The free version features only the first two tales. "The Thing I Saw in the Woods" written by Ryan Henderson and read by David Knopel. Music by Brandon Boone. (Story starts at 00:03:25)"Milk and Cookies" written by L Chan and read by Peter Lewis. (Story starts at 00:16:20)"The Terrorizing of a Substitute Teacher" written by Chance Patrick and read by David Cummings. (Story starts at 00:37:55)"My Grandfather Knew Why We Run from the Dark" written by Anton Scheller and read by David Cummings. (Story starts at 01:01:35)"Jesus Camp" written by Rachel Mari and read by Jenni Higginbotham. (Story starts at 01:28:45)Click here to learn more about L ChanClick here to learn more about Anton Scheller  Podcast produced by: David CummingsMusic & Sound Design by: David Cummings, unless otherwise notedThis 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. There will be no sleep. And now he was listening. Brace yourself for the No Sleep podcast. It's episode 9 of season 3. Welcome to the show. I'm your host, David Cummings. We have five tales for you in this episode, featuring stories.

about mysterious creatures, unholy teens, and tormented elders. Well, it's official. The No Sleep Podcast can now be known as an award-winning podcast. The 2013 Parsec Awards were handed out on September 1st, and we were honored with the award for the best new speculative fiction podcaster. I was very pleased to win the award, not just for myself, for all the authors and narrators who contributed their work to the show. It's my hope that for next year's awards, we can get not only the podcast in general nominated, but also some

individual stories as well. I believe it's time for more people to know about the quality of writing presented by some of No Sleep's top authors. I also wanted to follow up with the announcement I made a few weeks ago about an upcoming contest for the new horror film, insidious too. Well, time has flown by faster than expected and the movie opens this Friday, September 13th. So sadly, there is no time for a contest for this one, but I'll keep my eyes peeled for upcoming horror movies to promote. And speaking of promoting, I'm happy to announce that we have three new narrators joining us for this episode. David Knoppel, Peter Lewis, and Jenny Higginbotham, offer their skills to some excellent stories.

So, without any further ado, let's jump right in and start the show. Our first tale is about a young couple who have a strange encounter while taking an idyllic drive through the local state park. As author Evan Hodgiero explains, the couple soon realize that the encounter may not remain isolated in the forest. Narrator David Knoppel reads the tale and tells us about the thing I saw in the woods. Life is good, or it was good, until my faith was shaken to its core. About a month ago, I had purchased a new Jeep, a 2012 Grand Cherokee, to be exact,

and I was loving every minute of driving it. My girlfriend, Jay, and I would take late-night drives through the winding roads of Northern New Jersey and New York. We drive up to Seven Lakes Harriman and the Ramapo Mountains just listening to music and enjoying each other's company. I never felt threatened or afraid. I mean it was basically suburbia with some mountains and roads. Sure, there were some bear sightings and occasional coyotes, but, that was it for dangerous wildlife. Besides, we never really stopped or got out of the car, so that shouldn't be an issue.

Regardless, I usually carried a small knife, and, on the night in question, I was at the range during the afternoon and had my Glock 17 in the front seat, in a bag, and the ammo stored in the back trunk, as per state law. The night it happened, Jay and I are driving along a pretty good, good straightaway, which runs parallel to one of the lakes in Harriman State Park, and allows for comfortable speeds of 60 miles per hour. The sky was completely devoid of clouds, and the stars shone fiercely without the shroud of light pollution that just 10 miles to the south would have completely obscured them.

The moon was also full and fat and hung low in the sky and completely illuminated the lake. It was almost bright enough to drive without headlights on. Our song was playing, Hey-ho by the luminaires, and we were holding hands as we're cruising along. I'm thinking I'm going to get lucky tonight when we get home. The energy in the car was palpable and fun and romantic. Life was good,

until I come around a bend in the road. Instantly, we both saw something, and the mood took an understanding. her turn from joy to fear and anxiety. It was like our emotions completely flipped. The headlights and moonlight shone upon a vague, human-like figure crouched over the body of a person. What the fuck is that?

We exclaimed, as the creature, or person, pulled strips of bloody meat from the person's body and devoured them. It was a woman, a dead woman, in pink jogging shoes. She was obviously dead. Her body rolled onto its side. Her head of bloody caved in mess. The creature looked up at the car, maybe ten or fifteen yards away, and peered directly at us. It was a man, or a heavily distorted version of a man.

His face was twisted and malformed. His shoulders hunched and muscular, bulbously protruding from the tatters of his shoulders. shirt. The rest of his body was obscured by the bloody corpse of the jogger he was crouched behind. We gotta get the fuck out of here! Jay half screamed and cried at me. I popped the Jeep into rivers, made a quick you and floored it down the road. Call the police! Call the fucking police! I yelled at Jay. She was already dialing. As we're driving back to Jersey, she is recounting what we just saw to 911. I could almost hear the incredulous voice of the operator as he asked her described the fucked up act we just witnessed. She hangs up after a few minutes. They said

they'll dispatch a patrol car to investigate and that we should just head home for now. I was shocked. My stomach was in knots. A heavy fucking pit. We just saw a fucking man or thing whatever the fuck it was, eating a person, and we're just supposed to go home? I was pissed off and disgusted, and sick to my stomach. Climbing the back and get my backpack. I'm loading my gun before we get out of the car. Fuck that shit. Jay did as I asked her, and we sat in silence as I drove home.

We pulled into my driveway at around 1 o'clock a.m., and I was still feeling wired from what happened. happened. Jay was sitting in silence still. We saw that, right? It wasn't a bear eating a deer. It wasn't our imagination. I sat still, methodically loading 9mm rounds into the magazine. No, it was something. A person. Eating another person. I saw it, so did you. I loaded a magazine into my firearm and took comfort in the sound of it sliding into place. it sliding into place. I chambered around and holster the weapon. I better back out a little.

I'm blocking my dad in. I popped the car into reverse and glanced at the nav display, which turns into a backup camera. Black. That's weird. The backup camera isn't working. I put the car and drive, then back into reverse. The display flicked to the radio, then instantly back to black. I figured it might be malfunctioning, and just used the rear-view mirror to back down the length of my driveway. Then the display changed.

The black started pulling away in a round shape. It was surrounded by white, like a black sphere slowly floating away, completely encircled by opaque white and shards of red. What the fuck is that? I said. Jay didn't say anything. She just watched in horror as the display revealed, an eye.

Set back at a grimacing and sickly grinning face. What the fuck? What the fuck? I kept yelling as I gunned the gas. The car flew down the driveway, and I braked suddenly trying to dislodge the figure. Oh, it followed us home. It fucking followed us home!

Jay was crying. The sudden stop of the car threw the creature off. I popped the car into park and jumped out, screaming at Jay to lock the doors and call the police. I had my gun ready and in position as I slowly came around the car. I was breathing heavily and sweating like a madman. The creature was hunched over. About ten feet behind the car.

It was breathing in a rattling, wheezy noise. It must have been injured when it was thrown from the car. Good. Fuck that little asshole, I thought to myself. I kept my weapon sighted on it, and my finger was on the trigger. I must have stared at it for an hour. It was a decrepit, wretched thing, twisted limbs and misshapen body. I've never seen anything like it.

Fuck, I need to kill this thing. It followed us home. As I was about to shoot, the car door opened and I looked back over my shoulder. Jay was standing in the open door. The police are on their way. They said, don't shoot it. Don't fucking shoot it. Or they'll arrest you. And on cue, I heard sirens closing in on us in the distance.

Fuck, fuck! This fucking thing is a killer. I turned back towards it, to tell it not to move or I'd fucking put a whole magazine in it. But it was gone. Gone! I was shot. I only took my eyes off it for two seconds. Fuck, it was gone.

Where did it go? I was perplexed. The cops were coming, and I'm standing in my driveway in suburbia, holding a loaded firearm. I removed the mag and cleared the chamber. I put everything away and waited for the cops. A few minutes later, two patrol cars rolled up. My parents had also come outside, awoken by all the noise and shouting. I explained everything, but without evidence, they all looked at me like I was nuts.

The cops warned me about wasting police time and about making up stories. Jay and I both pleaded with them to believe us. They threatened to cite me for having a loaded gun in city limits, blah, blah, blah. Basically, a bunch of bullshit. They obviously weren't going to help us, nor did they care to do anything about what we witnessed. I asked if they found anything in Harriman, a body, a bloodstain, anything. They told me to mind my own business. Fucking assholes.

After they finished threatening me, they left. My parents looked at me like I was on drugs. We'll discuss this nonsense in the morning, and went back inside. Jay was incredulous. I'm going to stay at my parents. I don't feel safe here. I told her I understood and to call me when she got home. I checked her car, top to bottom.

It was clear. I believe you. I saw it too. Be careful tonight. I love you. I kissed her good night as she got into her car and drove off. I went back to my gun and loaded it. I wasn't going to sleep completely alone tonight.

I got my flashlight and looked at the rear of my car. There were two groupings of scratches in the lift gate. Four on each side. deep gouges in the paint. I thought about calling the police to come back and look at it, but they'd probably say I did it myself. I parked my car and went inside my house. I locked the sliding door and basically lay in bed with my gun in my hands until daylight. At around six o'clock, I got up to go to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. As I was filling the pot with water in the sink, I know that

I noticed some strange splotches on my glass-lighting door. The hairs on my neck immediately stood up and my skin started tingling. I went for a closer look and realized the splotches were oily impressions from hands being pressed against the glass. Two on each side of a smaller, oval-shaped splotch, like a nose. something was looking into my kitchen, face and hands pressed against the glass. I felt like I was about to throw up. Tonight, I'm going to sit and wait in the darkness and kill this fucking thing. Being a clerk at a small neighborhood store means you get to meet a lot of unique characters. Author L. Chan tells us about one customer who has a strange routine, a routine that

demands some sort of explanation. When the clerk seeks to find the answer, he learns of a tale that leaves him rather unsettled. Narrator Peter Lewis reads the story for us about an old man and his weekly purchase of milk and cookies. This isn't actually my story. It was related to me a while ago by an elderly gentleman that frequented a convenience store.

I worked at. I think back to that night where I followed him to the junkyard and my hair still stands along with that quiver of goose flesh that has nothing to do with the temperature. I worked in a relatively quiet part of the city, out on the edge, and we had little to fear from crime. The job didn't pay well, but what little I got helped to pay some of the bills for college and the nightly customers were few and far between, giving me more than enough time to do some reading or languish on the internet. Now, you think that we don't notice people when we're behind the till? We do. We just don't give a shit, mostly.

We can tell when we should card someone, or that desperate, almost slimy look of lust on the face of a young man buying condoms at 11 in the evening. Then there was the old man. He showed up every Friday like clockwork. He wore a flannel shirt with the rolled-up sleeves that had seen one wash too many, and he counted out his change with the reluctance of one used to thrift. He was polite, that man. Always a warm hello and thank you after he left with his purchase.

He was stooped with age, but there was steel in that spine, I could tell. And he always bought the same thing. A small packet of milk and a little paper bag of cookies. A strange thing for an old man to buy. I never saw him enter the shop with another soul. This piqued my curiosity. Boredom as a way of amplifying novelty. Through the long evenings I counted cracks on the ceiling,

arranged merchandise in strange geometric shapes, saw patterns in the repeating squares of the linoleum on the floor. This strange man vexed me, cookies, a treat for a young child, yet purchased late in the night. Was he perhaps reliving some long-forgotten time in his youth whilst partaking of these goodies, raised its head. Perhaps the old man was one of those psychotic perverts that kidnapped young girls and raised them in his basement.

Week after week, we swapped perfunctory greetings, exchanged merchandise for cash. I couldn't unravel the mystery. I couldn't read it in his roomy eyes, his shaking hands, or his slow gate. I couldn't take it this strangeness. I decided to follow him. It took me a few weeks to plan. I'd pop my head out to track him down the street until the first turn.

Then I'd lock the front door and trail him to the next turn and so on. One day, soon after he'd made his regular purchase, I made my move. Quickly locking up, I followed him at a distance, never too close, never more than a block away. There was a feeling of the forbidden in what I was doing, a little like being a child again and doing something naughty. He never suspected a thing. The streetlights gave us both long, twisted shadows as I chased him through the dark streets. He found his destination in an old junkyard, practically a landfill. The rusty chain clanged it to the floor after he gave it a gentle tug.

Nothing worth stealing here, it seemed. The old man walked in confidently, and I had to hurry to catch up. I quickly lost him in that maze, wandering immediately. the piles of society's detritus, the light and sounds of the city faded into the distance, the half-moon in the sky giving everything an unearthly silvery sheen. The panic was there, only a heartbeat away, in that strange alien landscape. I had nearly given up hope when I finally chanced upon a small clearing, my erstwhile quarry sitting there in the dirt, showing his yellowing teeth in a wry smile.

It took you long enough to catch up, he said. Topped short, I had nothing to say. Come here, kid, there's nothing to fear here. I reckon something's got your interest all fired up. That's why you followed me here. You'll get in no trouble for this? The owner trusts me. She knows I don't steal, and I'm okay to close the shop early if business is slow.

slow enough that you'd spend half the night-blane spy to hunt down an old cadre like me he laughed a dry wheezing series of exhalations that broke into coughs i'm here he said pressing his forearms against his creaking knees to get to his feet to keep a promise an old old promise i come here every week because the That's all I got left. Ain't much left in the world for me, no wife, no kids, no job. But a man's got to be true to his word. If he don't got that little bit left, well, then he ain't much of a man, is he?

He gestured at something behind him, shifting out of the way to let me see. A pair of pale doors jutted out from the junk, looking so much like the entrance to some ancient crypt. The old man pulled one of the doors open, the shriek of the hinges carrying through the still night air. Even from a distance, I took in the thickness of that door. I quickly closed the distance between us. The man placed the milk and cookies behind the threshold of the door and pulled it shut. He reached out a hand in greeting

and introduced himself as Miller. He didn't say if that was his first or last name. Back of a refrigerator truck, he said, giving the door a slap. The dull smack again reminded me of how thick the walls were. I guess you're curious as to why I'm here every week. It's a long story, and one I haven't told to many people. I'm old now, ain't got many years left. My bones ache in the rain, and it hurts more and more every day. guess it's worth telling.

His voice seemed to gain strength, a rich baritone instead of the weak, cracked sounds earlier. This was back in the old days before the Second World War. I never served, of course, too young then. I must have been nine, maybe ten years of age. We didn't have all these newfangled toys and computer. thing is. He pronounced the unfamiliar word slowly,

his jaw working around the edges of the syllables. That you have nowadays. Back then, we'd play wherever we could. Cowboys and engines, cops and robbers. No television either. That was for the rich folk. This yard has been here longer than I have. We had forts on hills of trash,

played soldiers, everything kids ought to be doing. That day was hide-and-seek, and an old one game, but a great one, for a place like this. I wasn't a big kid, didn't win at most of the games we played, but I was going to win this one. I had seen this big old refrigerator unit here before, right on the edge of the yard back then, and I knew exactly where I was going to be hiding. I was small, yeah, but I was a fastom. may not look like it now, but I got away from the pack of them even before the count had reached 20.

Didn't want no one else to hide in here with me. It was dark in there, cool, too, before I closed the door. I could see that some of the junk had made its way into the truck unit over time. Last thing I remember seeing was that one line of daylight before I pulled this here door shut. At first there was nothing but the sound of my breathing bouncing off the walls. I imagine that I would always win at hide and seek from then on. I counted breaths and heartbeats till I got bored, then I realized that there wasn't a handle on the inside.

I could see his hand starting to shake as he remembered that old fear. He clenched his fists to stop the shakes, and when the bald fists themselves started quivering, he put his hands in his pockets. Took me a while to realize the game. was over. I'd been in the dark for a long time, too long. I threw my entire weight at the door. I hit the walls till my hands were bloody. I screamed till my throat hurt. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed at the memory. He sat to wait. I must have fallen asleep. How can you tell if

you're asleep when you're all alone in the darkness? You can't, boy. You can't. I got thirsty first, then hungry. It's the only way I knew time was passing. I felt the hope go out like the sun setting. I yelled in that dark place. I called out to God, but he didn't answer. I would have called out to old Nick himself if I dared.

For hours there in the dark I cried, the sound bouncing off of those thick walls. till the air was filled with the sound of tears and sobs, I thought I was going to die. You've ever been close to death, boy? I shook my head. He fixed his eyes on mine, those almost cloudy eyes suddenly sharper. I can tell when a man's looked death in the eyes, he just ain't the same after that. It was a trick of the echo, I thought at first, but I swore there was another person crying in there with me. It sounded a little higher, a little further away than my own. This was it, I told myself. I'd been in the dark so long that I was going bat-shit crazy. I counted

to five and held my breath, and still the crying continued. I was rapt. The man was looking at me, but not looking. Half-focused of his eyes told me he was seeing something else, something far away. I called out in the dark. At first there was no answer but that quiet, sobbing. It was another child, but not a boy, a little girl. There was enough light before I shut the door to know I was alone in there. I was panicking a second before, but now I felt a creeping fear. The crying started up again.

I backed myself into the corner next to the door. You have seen a mouse in a cage trap when it tries to get. away from you, yeah, like that. The crying didn't get any closer. I figured I was dead there anyway, and nobody was coming to get me, so I called out again. The crying stopped. There in the dark, the little girl answered, she sounded like she was about my age as well. She told me her name was Helen, pretty name. She'd been stuck there in the dark for a long time. She'd tried calling for help once, but no one came. She got real hungry. Then, she wasn't so hungry. She'd given up on calling for help, on seeing her family of ever having another friend. The walls, she said, were too

thick for any sound to escape, and nobody would ever know that I was in there. Nobody'd ever found her. Good thing, at least she wouldn't have to be lonely anymore, since she had me. I heard her shifting there in the dark, and she held my hand. Her hand was small, and it was cold like she'd put it in the freezer for a few minutes, but it was all I had, and I squeezed it with all my strength. I dreamt that there were voices outside calling my name. I wasn't sure about it until I squeezed my ear to the corner of the door. The lining must have been rotted with age, because I could still hear something.

from outside. If I could hear them, maybe they could hear me. I tried to scream, to shout. All that came out was a tiny croak. I'd been too long without water. I tried to wet my tongue with spit, but even that failed. I slapped at the door with my free hand. The time without food and drink had left me weak. I wasn't sure that they could hear anything from me. Hope died. I was a there a second time. That dark box was going to be the last thing I ever saw and nobody would know. I felt Helen's little hand, tighten around mine. Don't go, she told me.

Stay. I've been alone for so long. She started to pull me back into the depths of that dark place. I couldn't fight her. She felt so strong. Please, I whispered to her. My parents will miss me. I still have friends outside. Even with her tiny nails drawing blood from my hand, I could feel her sadness through that tiniest bit of contact that we had.

Her crying started again, soft in that space, so sad that it seemed that her heart would burst from it. Be your friend. Help me. I promise, I'll be your friend forever, I told her. I saw the old man's hand. flax in his pocket, remembering that ghostly touch. Or maybe she was never there, and it was still cold. Just then I heard the door open. I'd been found. Strong hands lifted me out of the dark. The light hurt my eyes, and it was a while before I could see my rescuers. Someone brought water, and I gulped it down. It was the best thing I ever tasted. No water's ever tasted the same sense. Taste the same sense. like life they sent for my parents as I sat there with the big man who'd found me.

He sized me up with a squint, said I was bigger than he'd thought. The voice he'd heard was much higher, almost like a girl's cry. He messed up my hair with one huge, rough hand. No shame and crying in there, boy, he said. If I was stuck there, I'd be scared too. My parents came to see me, brought over by the police, they scooped me up with big hugs. We were going to leave when I asked if they'd found the girl in there with me. The rescuers looked puzzled. I'd been the only one in the refrigerator truck.

I wouldn't leave until they took another look. I kicked up such a fuss that they just exchanged looks of frustration and brought me back to those huge doors. They threw them open. No girl came out. The light didn't reach all the way to the back. One of the cops took out of flashlight. One of those big silver ones, you don't see them around anymore. The trash of the junkyard had found its way into that old refrigerator truck. It was only on his second sweep of that unnatural cave that we saw the bright blue of a girl's dress. sighed deeply, his tail near it. He looked very frail, as though the telling had leached the very life from him.

She'd been dead for years, of course. All dried out like one of them mummies from the National Geographic. I think... I think I went a little crazy when I saw her. I don't know what I said, but nobody believed me. Been in the dark too long, they said, apt to drive a boy mad, but believing. And I never forgot my promise.

Seventy years it's been. What transpires between us, well, that's just for me and me alone to know. I've not always been able to come here, but I've tried my best, which is more than some men can say. He leaned against the door, out of breath after the sharing. He straightened up. and cleared his throat, still with one hand on the thick metal. Good night, friend. I will see you again next week. His voice was suddenly clear again, and the sound rang out across the junkyard.

I half opened my mouth to return his farewell before I realized that his eyes weren't on me. No, they were focused on the door instead. He slowly made his way across that clearing. I stood up, also leaning against the door for support. Sir, you forgot your milk and cookies. I called out to the man, now all the way across the clearing. He looked back, and again I could tell that he was not looking at me, but at the doors I was leaning against.

No, boy, I did not. A good evening to you too, and I will see you next week. A strange encounter, I thought. The unease I had felt with the telling of the story sloughed off me. A simple campfire tale, nothing more. Just some old man probably addled with dementia, living out some half-imagined childhood fantasy. I sighed.

The moon was already high overhead. I supposed that there were worse ways to spend an evening at me just before I turned to find my way from that still place. For the second time that evening, the refrigerator doors were pulled open. A wave of stale air belched out. I have expected to see Helen's bones still laid out after all these years. There was nothing there. I chided myself from my childish fears, giving a little nervous laugh.

Nothing in the empty crypt of the refrigerator truck, but an empty milk packet and cookie crumbs. 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.