The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S3E12

Episode Date: October 20, 2013

It's episode 12 of Season 3! We have six tales for you in this episode, featuring stories about the strange and disturbing situations that can develop between family and loved ones.The full episode features the following stories. The free version features only the first two tales. "When One Window Closes" written by Christopher Bosdal and read by Peter Lewis. Music by Brandon Boone. (Story starts at 00:05:31)"Trust" written by Ian Wallwork and read by David Cummings. (Story starts at 00:17:25)"Once You See Them" written by Kevin Thomas and read by Peter Lewis. Music by Tice Thomason & David Cummings. (Story starts at 00:34:40)"BANG" written by Roxi Moon and read by Christina Scholz. Music by Tice Thomason & David Cummings. (Story starts at 00:43:35)"October 29, 2013" written by Nicole Snow and read by Nikolle Doolin. Music by Tice Thomason & David Cummings. (Story starts at 01:00:55)"What the Paperboy Saw" written by Trevor Boelter and read by David Cummings. (Story starts at 01:12:20)Click here to find out how you can help the Escape Artists podcastsClick here to learn more about Kevin ThomasClick here to learn more about Nikolle DoolinClick here to learn more about Peter LewisPodcast 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 I was listening to. There's little boys who died. Peace in the window. Brace yourself for the no sleep podcast. It's episode 12 of season three. Welcome to the show. I'm your host, David Cummings. We have six tales for you in this episode, featuring stories about the strange and disturbing situations that can develop between family and loved ones.

I want to welcome a new contributor to the podcast. Musician Tice Thomason first joined us last episode by lending his music to one of our tales, and this episode will feature his music in three. three stories. Tice joins Brandon Boone in the music department of the show, and I am deeply grateful for the way these two talented men have added to the show and helped reduce my workload. We had a great response to the Anecdotes in Ashes contest, thanks to everyone who entered. The contest is now closed, and the winners will be picked at random very soon, and I will contact the winners by email. A big thanks goes out to the book's editor and member of the assembly, T.W. Grimm. He was instrumental in helping me procure the paperback versions of the book for the contest. As we know, it's that special time of year for horror fans, and we have

this year's Halloween episodes coming out on the 31st. There will be a full-length bonus episode available for free to one and all, as well as a special bonus episode for Season Pass members. So if you have a season pass, you'll be getting over two and a half hours of Halloween bonus stories this year. I hope that's a bit of incentive for those of you who have yet to get your season pass, to sign up now. And speaking of the season pass, before we start the show, I want to take just a minute to make an announcement on behalf of our friends at the Great horror audio fiction podcast, Sudopod. Pseudopod is one of the three podcasts put out by the team over at Escape Artists.

They produce three audio fiction podcasts every week, and they make them available at no cost to the listener. However, the Escape Artist's team have determined that without immediate help from donors, they won't be able to continue on past the end of 2013. Now, when I first announced that I would be offering the No Sleep podcast via a paid subscription model, it upset some people, and one of the things I heard from some of those people was that they would stop listening to this show and listen instead to pseudopod because it's free. I always winced at those comments, but not because people were leaving my show. I winced because of the attitude that people have that pseudopod can be a little bit of.

enjoyed without any sense of commitment to supporting the show. Folks, pseudopod and other podcasts are never free. They may be available free of charge, but if every listener chooses to never send in a few bucks to the people who make the shows, they simply cannot survive. I won't belabor the point, but I want to encourage all of you who listen to other podcasts, like pseudopod, to seriously consider making a donation, even a couple of dollars. to help support these great shows. I am proud that thanks to our season past members,

the No Sleep podcast is supporting the Escape Artists' team with a $20 per month donation. I hope you will consider supporting them too. Check out the show notes for a link to learn more about how you can help out pseudopod. Okay, we've got six stories just waiting to be heard, so let's start the show. Our first tale is about a strange occurrence that takes place in the home of a husband and wife who are struggling with their marriage.

Author Christopher Bosdell shares his tale about the importance of the right perspective. Narrator Peter Lewis reads the tale for us about what happens when one window closes. I had been going through a particularly bad relationship that was headed towards divorce. She was cheating on me, and I even knew with whom. I just needed proof. I don't know why I needed proof so bad now, but hindsight being what it is, I should have just walked away and let her be with the bastard.

She probably deserved to be happy, although the happiness of anyone involved was not really my concern. I tried everything to get her to admit her guilt. I tried to reason with her. If you just admit you're sleeping with him, we can get on with our lives. If you admit it and break it, It's off, we can start over, I'll forgive you.

Just promise me, you'll never see him again. I'll never be sure what her motivation was for sticking around. Was it money? Pride, resentment, sadism? These kind of relationships always drag on for months, years, or decades longer than they should, defying all logical reason. If you could only see how much better it would be like without each other, you'd break it off in a heartbeat. Our bedroom was a mid-sized green room with two windows.

A big window took up the majority of the short wall, and a small window stuffed next to the corner on the long wall. Our bed faced that wall with the lonely window. It was always odd to me that the builders decided not to break up such a long wall with another window, a larger one, but I'm sure they had their reasons. On the weekends, I like to sleep in. You won't catch me up before ten, but on that particular. In particular morning, it couldn't have been later than six when I was grogly awoken.

It was bright that morning, unbearably so. I pulled the sheets up over my face, but they shined like a backlit canvas. I rolled over and stuffed my face deep into the pillows and went back to sleep. I slept as well as you might expect, given the vast amount of light intruding that morning. I propped myself up in bed on a pillow and checked my email on the phone. As I returned the phone to the nightstand, that's when I noticed it for the first time. The window. There was a third window in the room, perfectly aligned on the opposite end of the long wall.

It was exactly where you think it should have been, and as shocking as a window appearing randomly in the house overnight should have been, I couldn't help but think that it must have been there all along. I walked over to the window and ran my fingers across the dusty frame, small green paint splatters were visible upon close inspection of the glass. As I continued my inspection of the pain, my hand began shaking, and my stomach nodded and turned. My heart furiously pumped adrenaline through low blood sugar as my shirt fell heavy with sweat. The window's presence had become unnerving, but I had to eat or I was going to pass out.

I grabbed a hunk of sourdough off the kitchen counter and ripped into it like it was my first meal in a week. As I stood there, gorging myself in the kitchen, Jerry walked in through the front door. She was wearing the same clothes as the night before and looked exhausted. I didn't bother asking where she had been. I'm accustomed to her stories, sounding completely plausible but being full of outright lies. Sorry I didn't call. Jody was so wasted and I didn't want her to risk the drive, so I just spent the night at her place. Jerry was always sure to take her. the story, even if I didn't ask for it. I never asked for it anymore. My sister, Jody, always backed her stories up, and they both left out the parts about Tim. I seethed with anger

when she told her stories. We both knew they were lies, but we continued to play the game. That's all right, hon. I'm just glad you're home safe. I gave her a quick hug and peck on the cheek. The hug was warm, but it disgusted me. I could smell a faint mixture of perfume, cologne, and sex. She doesn't even try to hide it anymore. Could she at least have the decency to take a shower? Jerry announced, I'm going to lie down and headed off towards our bedroom. A single thought tore its way above the anger. The window. I've got to tell her about the window. My voice shook, as I explained. Something weird happened this morning. I was lying in bed and never

mind, this is something I just need to show you. I led her to my side of the bed, the side that faced the mysterious window. I told her the same story I told you earlier about how I had been awakened by the unusual brightness that morning, and that when I had finally gotten out of bed, I noticed a window where none had been before. I expected some level of excitement or alarm, but there was none. That window's always been there. I don't understand why you're freaking out, she said, as she was.

walked back around the bed and began to undress. She slid into bed and quickly fell asleep. My wife was never very observant. I sat there on the edge of the bed for a time staring out that window. It seemed like such a normal window, not creepy or paranormal looking as you might expect an object that suddenly popped into existence just hours earlier to appear, yet something was off about it, something subtle.

The yard seemed brighter, clearer, through that window than the others. My reflection seemed slightly less haggard, less stressed when I caught a glimpse of it through that window. The longer I sat there and stared, the more I longed to be outside, in the world beyond that window. I stood up and walked slowly towards it.

I placed my hands on the glass, and it was cool, not at all hot as the weather outside would dictate. The grass was so green, and it glistened with dew that was just starting to burn off. The lock on the window slid smoothly as I unlatched it, and the window raised easily without creaks. There was a cool breeze coming through now, and it felt good against my sweat-beated skin. I don't know what came over me at that moment, but it was irresistible, and I did it without hesitation.

I jumped. I landed easily, and the adrenaline flooded my body once again, but without the dread. The sun felt warm upon my skin, and the breeze smelled like orange. blossoms. Everything seemed possible. My mind felt clear and the crushing sensation in my skull lifted for the first time in a year. I thought I should probably close the window before the cat tried to escape, but as I turned around to shut it, the window was gone. Maybe it was all just my imagination, after all. I walked around in the backyard for a couple of hours, rediscovering everything anew. The flowers on weeds, so beautiful, how come I hadn't noticed before.

There was a rumble of thunder. The afternoon thunderstorms were starting to begin. I walked around to the front of the house and let myself in. The house smelled nice and seemed cleaner than before. I sat down in the kitchen and made myself a sandwich, roast beef, cheddar, and jalapeno, my favorite. It tastes even better than I recall. Thunder, crashed loudly as a violent thunderstorm escalated outside. The noise must have woken up Jerry, who shuffled out of the bedroom in slippers and pajamas. Come lay down with me, hon. Let's just lay in the bed all afternoon and enjoy the storm, she said as she grabbed my hand softly and tugged me towards the bedroom.

I followed without the hesitation I would have had only hours before. We laid in bed, and she curled up next to me, her soft face and hair resting. gently upon my shoulder. She smelled so nice, like fresh-cut cherry blossoms. I could tell by the state of her hair that she hadn't showered. She drifted off to sleep, a look of contentment upon her face that I hadn't seen since we had just started dating. It was dark outside now. If you haven't witnessed a Florida thunderstorm, then you might not be able to appreciate my description, but it was blacker the night. The dark clouds had rolled in and blotted out the sun. The streetlights around here are on timer, so they didn't come on either. The only illumination came from the streaks of lightning

flashing across the sky. I stood in front of the window and stared at my reflection. The darkness made it almost mirror-like. Although I had not showered, shaved, or combed my hair, the haggard look was completely gone. Perhaps it was just my state of mind. Lightning flashed brilliantly across the sky. I saw a reflection of the room behind me in the window. There was a man in the room standing over the bed, staring at my wife. There she lay, peacefully sleeping alone. Another flash of lightning. She's up now. They're arguing. The lightning sizzles across the sky and arcs to another bit of lightning providing more than a flash of illumination, Jerry tries to slap the man, but he grabs her hand in mid-swipe and restrains her forcibly. He's choking her now. I want to stop him, but I realize what the

window is showing me cannot be stopped. I can't look away as he finishes the job, and she lays limp upon the bed. The window requires no outside illumination now as reflects the man staggering behind me. My pulse is pounding so strongly I can feel it hot in my ears. Labored, hot breath, tinged with whiskey hits my neck as the haggard man's face stares out the window over my shoulder. It's me. I turn to face him, but he's gone. I turn back to the window to get sense for his current position, but the window, he's also gone. Honestly, my life is pretty great now. Jerry and I are expecting our first child in a few months and we couldn't be happier with one another. I'm hesitant to tell her about this experience.

I guess it's better that I don't. However, I did ask her about the window recently. She had never noticed one in the bedroom on the long wall, but had always thought it would be nice to have one there. We have a handyman coming to install it in a couple of weeks. It will be nice to have some extra light in the bedroom. Being a single parent can be difficult, but when a widower struggles to raise his adopted daughter, the last thing he needs is outside interference.

Author Ian Walwork writes about how this man struggles to allow himself to trust. Maybe it was because it took so damn long to get her, but I could never let Sarah out of my sight. My wife and I adopted her when she was one year old, and a year later, my wife Christine was dead. From then on, the only time my daughter, Sarah, wasn't right next to me, was when she was in school, and we spent five happy years together. She came home one day with a drawing of her and me, which I thought was amazing, but as Sarah handed it to me, she looked unhappy.

I asked her what was wrong, and she told me she didn't understand why all the other kids had a mummy and a daddy, but she only had a daddy. I tried to tell her that I was a super dad, and hence made up for the lack of a parent, but that didn't stick. I decided it was time to have a serious talk with her about Christine. I sat her down and told her everything, and it really wrenched at me to describe Christine's death. It was like I was reliving it all over again, and I had to stop and hold back from crying more than once. I could see Sarah was worried at seeing her dad like that. Still, being so honest with her felt like we'd taken our bond to a whole new level, and selfish though it was, it kind of felt good to share my pain.

It was like I was giving something of Christine back to Sarah, and she could carry some of the burden on her seven-year-old shoulders. The honesty felt right, and I realized that kids could take on a lot more than I first thought. It was then I decided the time was right to tell her she was adopted. I couldn't tell her a whole lot because I didn't know the details myself. The agency had told me her parents were still living and could be contacted if there was an emergency, though they had already handed over all their medical history, so I knew Sarah's blood type and the like. Even though I couldn't give her too much detail, I spoke simply and honestly,

and I think she understood the concept that she had a real mum and, and dad who weren't part of her life. A few weeks later, she came back with another drawing, this time with more than just me and her on it. At first, I thought it was me, her, and Christine, but it wasn't. It was me, Sarah, and two shadowy figures, each holding one of Sarah's hands. I asked her who they were. They're my real mummy and daddy. Well, why don't they have faces?

Because I don't know what they look like. I could have gone into Freud territory and asked her why they were the ones holding her hands, and I was on the sidelines, but I knew that over-analizing it would just end up hurting my feelings. It was a kid's drawing, nothing more than that. Things went on as they always did. Sarah and me spending every minute together we could. I started teaching her how to use the computer

because I wanted her to be more advanced than all the other kids in her class. I set her up an email address that I had the password to so she could only use it when I was there. I gave her my mom's email address and told her to send her grandma an email. She typed a, simple message, badly spelt, and hit send.

What now? We wait for Grandma to reply. I can't wait. She sat by the keyboard for hours, despite me explaining that Grandma might be busy doing something else. She wouldn't move. Eventually, I had to ring Mum and tell her to reply just so I could get Sarah to go to bed. I have never seen so much delight in a person's face as I did when the little envelope popped up in the corner of the screen and my mum's message to Sarah came through. The women at work thought I was great trying so hard to raise Sarah and teach her new things.

I even got asked out by one, but I politely turned her down, not wanting to bring a new person into our lives just yet. Then I got a call which didn't leave me much choice. It was a lady from the adoption agency. She apologized for calling me because they usually didn't like to do that, but she had been contacted by Sarah's birth father. He wanted to see Sarah and possibly have some small involvement in her life. She asked if I would be okay with it. My immediate reaction was to hang up the phone, go home, pack our bags, and leave the country,

move to some little village in France where no one even spoke English and we would be left to ourselves. I didn't want this man in Sarah's life, one who shared so much more with her than I did. He had given her everything she was today, her eyes, her complexion. perhaps even the way her nose got pointy at the end. All I had done was teach her how to email Grandma on the computer. I thought back to my night of honesty with her, and I decided that I didn't want to keep secrets between us, especially not something as important as this.

So I sat her down again and told her we needed another serious talk. Her face took on a wary look Like I was going to tell her someone else had died What's wrong, Daddy? Oh, it's not bad news, I said Despite feeling it was the worst news in the world. I told her that her real father had gotten in touch. She asked me if it was the man from her drawing

And I said yes. I asked her if she wanted to speak to him or meet with him. I was hoping she would say no, that she wasn't interested, and she didn't care about her real dad, because I was the only dad she needed. She didn't say that. She told me she would like to speak to him. I didn't know how this sort of thing was done, but there was no way I was letting them meet face to face without knowing anything about him. him. So I asked the adoption lady what she thought we should do. She mentioned them talking on the

telephone, but I wasn't keen. Then an idea struck, and I told her about how I'd taught Sarah to use email. She thought it was a great idea. She rang Sarah's father and asked him, and he said he'd love to hear from her by email. That same night, I sat Sarah at the computer, logged into her email address, and pulled up a new message. I told her to go ahead and write whatever she wanted, and we would send it. Then, if he replied, she could meet him. I sat patiently and waited. She tapped at a couple of keys, but she kept looking at me and then back at the screen.

I told her to go ahead and put whatever she liked. I can't with you here. I agreed to leave the room while she wrote. I taught her how to hit the send button and said she should give me a shout when she was done. I waited downstairs while she finished. While I sat, I did what I knew I shouldn't. I over-analized things.

I imagine them getting on together better than we did, and her wanting to go live with him, and he with her. Then the adoption agency would decide she was better off with her real dad and take her away. Dad! She had finished her email and sent it. Now what? Just like with Grandma, we wait. It could take forever. Just be patient.

You're not sitting up all night this time. When he's ready, he'll reply. And what happens when he does? Well, maybe you can meet him. Yay! It pulled at my chest to see her so excited. But I could hardly stop her from meeting him. If I did, she would definitely grow up and resent me for it.

I decided I needed to trust her and let her do this. I even agreed I would let her read his reply first and would only log in to the email with her next to me. A few weeks went by and we heard nothing. Sarah would burst through the door every day after school, run straight past my outstretched arms and upstairs into the computer room. then she'd holler at me until I trundled into the room and obligingly logged into the email. One day there was a knock on the door while we were checking, and I went downstairs and answered it. A man stood there. He was in his 30s with a receding hairline, an average-looking guy. He wore blue overalls, flecked with white paint. I thought he was going to offer to decorate.

my house. I'm Sarah's father, he said. That sucked me in the gut. The object of all my fears was right there on my doorstep. I always thought that when the time came, I would have built myself up to it, resigned to it, and I'd be ready. But here he was, unannounced. I went upstairs and got Sarah. When I told her who was at the door,

she sprang off the chair and sprinted downstairs. I'd never seen her run so fast. I told her to be careful and walked down after her. When she saw him at the door, a smile widened on her face, and she shouted, Daddy! It was a word that I'd always, loved to hear but now it tore through me like a bullet I wanted to go over and

punch him in the face I invited my enemy into the house and went into the kitchen and made us all something to drink he and Sarah talked for over an hour I stayed in the room at first but then I felt like they should have some time alone so I busied myself in the kitchen. He came once a week after that, and Sarah always looked forward to his visits. I got more and more comfortable with them, and soon it just became part of the normal routine.

One day, he asked me if he could take Sarah out. There was a nighttime lantern walk happening at the local zoo, and since Sarah loved animals, he wanted to take her. I agreed. He picked her up on the night, and I sent her out in a thick wool coat. I told him I wanted her home by nine o'clock, and not to feed her sweets. And no petting the tigers, I said as they left, hoping my tone came across as relaxed rather than anxious. An hour after they left, I turned on my PC to do some office work.

But then I got to wondering what Sarah and her father said to each other and what kind of things they talked about. I opened up her email account and typed in the password, Christine, and let it load. I didn't really know why I had opened her email, but at the same time, I knew exactly why. I wanted to see what she had emailed him all those weeks ago. I wanted to see what she had said about me, if anything. After all, this was the email that brought her real father here. It was what had started the whole thing off and brought him back into Sarah's life. As her legal guardian, it only seemed right that I knew what they'd said.

I clicked on the sent items folder and scrolled down, waiting past the hundreds of email she had sent to Grandma. Near the bottom, I found the message she had sent to him. It was quite sweet, actually. She had told him she was happy at home and had friends at school, but still wanted to meet her real daddy. And she said that she loved painting and watching TV. and asked if he liked them too. She asked him when she could meet him. I'd already crossed the line and snooped into her communication with him,

so I thought I may as well read what he had sent back to her. I checked the inbox, hundreds of replies from Grandma. I scrolled down but couldn't find anything. Had she deleted it? I didn't think she even knew how. I rechecked but still couldn't find his reply. Then I saw the number one in parentheses next to the spam folder. I clicked on it and sure enough there was the email from his address.

I opened it. As I read, all the blood in my body rushed to my face and my head started to throb so loud I couldn't hear anything else. I felt things get fuzzy, and I knew I was going to pass out. I choked out a sound that started like a word, but ended up like a guttural cry. I had never read something like what was on the screen in front of me. The reply back from Sarah's father was composed of only, one sentence. It read.

Message returned. Undelivered. 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.