The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S3E16

Episode Date: January 5, 2014

It's episode 16 of Season 3. We have five tales for you in this episode featuring stories about railroad ghosts, haunted connections, and the deeply disturbing reasons which keep people from sleeping.The full episode features the following stories. The free version features only the first two tales. "This is a Warning" written by M.J. Pack and read by Peter Lewis. (Story starts at 00:03:20)"The Voice on the Radio" written by Carlos Rivera and read by David Cummings. (Story starts at 00:21:30)"All the Papers Lied Tonight" written by Meghan O'Hara Murray and read by Kellie Fitzgerald. Music by Brandon Boone. (Story starts at 00:42:30)"The Cross by the Railroad Tracks" written by William Dalphin and read by Kyle Akers. Additional music by Brandon Boone. (Story starts at 00:54:54)"Fred" written by Andrew Tanner and read by David Cummings & Peter Lewis. (Story starts at 01:11:05)Click here to learn more about M.J. PackClick here to learn more about Carlos RiveraClick here to learn more about Meghan O'Hara MurrayClick here to learn more about William DalphinClick here to learn more about Kellie FitzgeraldClick here to learn more about Peter LewisPodcast produced by: David CummingsMusic & Sound Design by: David Cummings, unless otherwise notedThe NoSleep Podcast uses the PSE Hybrid Library exclusively for its sound design.This podcast is licensed under a Creative Commons License 2014. 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 I'm listening to. Brace yourself for the No Sleep podcast. It's episode 16 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 ghostly railroads, haunted connections, and the deeply disturbing reasons which keep people from sleeping.

I'd like to begin by wishing everyone a happy, healthy, and, of course, horrifying new year. I hope you had an enjoyable holiday season. We're back in 2014 and looking forward to many more terrifying episodes in the weeks to come. As I was putting this episode together, I realized that some of these stories deal directly with the idea of a person who simply cannot have a peaceful night's sleep. This reminds me of the people who have been searching for podcasts on insomnia and sleep problems, only to mistakenly discover this podcast. They quickly realize that we certainly don't offer any solutions for those problems. And yet these stories, particularly the first two and the final story in this episode,

remind us that horror and the sleeplessness it provokes can come from many directions and causes. This is an episode where we delve into those disturbing torments that keep us from our slumber. Truly a great way to kick off 2014 with a most literal episode of the No Sleep podcast. So with that, it's time to look. launch into our sleepless tales.

We begin by meeting a man in the midst of a terrible dilemma. Yes, of course, this man simply cannot sleep. Well, actually, he will not allow himself to sleep. As author M.J. Pack explains, his struggle is the result of a bad decision on his part, a decision that finds him stretching the limits of the lack of sleep, on the human body and mind. Narrator Peter Lewis reads the story for us.

Well, no. This is not a story. This is a warning. Forgive my brevity. Much time left. I read about an experiment once that said some kid in 1965 stayed awake for 11 days.

Set a world record. Nearly a month. I'm afraid my brain. The breaking point is on the horizon. You know those people who love to be scared? The ones who see every horror movie, read every Stephen King novel, jump out of airplanes just for the rush. Maybe you're one of them.

I know I was. It started simply enough. Another boring Saturday night surfing the internet and watching Netflix, because focusing your attention on just one thing in this day, An age is not only laughable, but impossible. You never expect your life to change, you know? Especially not thanks to some stupid email. To stay focused.

It said so in that article about the kid in 1965, how there was no extensive damage to the people who stayed awake that long, but their concentration broke down more as the days went on, being a child again. The way your eyes and mind jump from subject, to subject endlessly, endlessly anyway, it was

the email that started at all. I figured it was some new form of viral marketing, a program that was tracking my browser history and targeting me for a sale, and I nearly deleted it without reading. I've deleted it, I know that, but the subject

was just too tantalizing. It was like some sort of electronic shout. It read Searchers after horror haunt strange far places, I suppose, but the lyrical quality of the words and the vague promise they held urged me to click. So I did. It was poorly constructed, just plain text and odd nonsensical line breaks. If the only thing to fear is fear itself, then why are you still here? 4,100 West Fifea Road, come alone. A quick plug of the address into Google brought up a place about 20 minutes from where I lived.

Somewhere I'd heard of and knew was most definitely not open to the public. It was stupid. A prank. At the very least, some sort of trap where I'd end up mugged and unconscious. A fitting punishment for someone who paid attention to emails like this. I closed it, watched more of the movie, opened it again. Something was tugging at me. Maybe the way it was constructed, the breaks without rhyme or reason, the musical sound of the subject line,

searchers after horror, strange far places. It was after midnight, but I grabbed my keys, put the address into my iPhone, and heeded the email. advice. I went alone. The turn-by-turn directions landed me in the middle of an industrial park, right in front of a hulking monstrosity of a building. It was clearly abandoned. The windows closest to the ground boarded up to discourage trespassers. The rest of the windows were like dead, staring eyes, half open and full of shattered glass. Okay. Off to a good start, definitely scary, but I'll admit at the moment my biggest fear was being caught by the cops. I sat in my car for a little while, unwilling to approach the building without proof that someone was waiting for me,

until the thick, rusted bars of the front door swung open, and a hand beckoned, spooky. In a horror movie, I got out of the car and high-tailed it up the front steps. I don't know what I expected. Maybe someone dressed like the Grim Reaper or wearing a scream mask, but waiting inside was just a regular-looking guy with an arcade-fire t-shirt. You made it, he said, grinning, pocketed my car keys as he shut the door behind me with a clang. You were tonight's target, the guy explained. And when I frowned, he laughed a little.

Our target demo? You've been on our radar for a while. Internet cookies, you know, I've seen your Facebook. I recognized you. See, now that shit is what's really scary. The inside of the place was ransacked. The paint peeled off the balls. There were upended chairs everywhere.

Above one of the doorways that led further inside, some genius had spray-painted, Hell awaits. Nice touch. We're glad you showed up, the guy said, suddenly, drawing my attention away from the doorway. We've only got a 2% conversion rate, which is great in most businesses, but not very efficient in what we do. He kept saying we, but I didn't see anyone else around. What exactly do you do? When I glanced back at his face, I realized.

how tired he looked, like he'd just pulled an all-nighter or something. The guy laughed again. We specialize in what you want, he said breezy. Fear. He didn't say anything else. His eyes had gone somewhat distant, like someone had unplugged him, and all the machinery was shutting down. I was suddenly sure that I was going to be murdered and left in a ditch somewhere.

But the guy snapped out of it and turned to a black backpack resting against the ball. Take these. He fished around for a moment and produced a small pill holder, the generic plastic kind you can buy at Walgreens, with all of the days portioned out neatly for the whole week. In each section there was a small round pill. It reminded me of the purpose that I tucked when I had my wisdom teeth removed. I'm not going to just take some pills from a stranger man, I told him.

But he had already put the container into my hand. Yeah, he said simply. You are. The guy turned away and shouldered his backpack. I saw that he meant to leave, looked at the pills again, and followed him to the door. Hey, wait! I grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him to face me. I don't know what all this is, but I'm not taking these pills.

You have to. The guy looked mildly alarmed. His eyes darting all over my face. The bags under them were like bruises. You're the target. It's what you like. We know it is. You like to be scared.

So you'll take the pills. But only one a day or night. Whatever. He shrugged away from me and headed for the door again. When he reached it, he paused. His head turned back to me. Best to take one here, he murmured thoughtfully. Works better the first time with negative energy.

Then just like that, he was gone. I stood there alone for quite some time. I stared at the pill container in my hand. This whole thing was... I remember thinking how stupid... It was, even as I opened that day's section and dumped the pill into my palm. Even as I opened my mouth and dry swallowed the little white tablet, I was thinking, this is so...

It was only after the pill was down my throat and gone that I realized what I'd done. I felt vaguely like one of the characters in Lovecraft stories. The one where a hapless young man is drawn into a situation that's clearly dangerous, like going to a remote cabin in the woods or having sex with a witch. I thought about forcing myself to throw it up, but before I knew it, I was back in my car, driving the 20 minutes towards home. When I got there, it was nearly 2 in the morning.

I kicked off my shoes and collapsed into bed. Horrific nightmares. I never had nightmares. Usually the worst of them involved being back in college and taking a test I haven't studied for, but that night was different. I can't remember them all, but in one I was being slowly eaten alive by a gray skeletal creature, a sharp-toothed grimacing smile on its face as I screamed and screamed, and it licked my blood from its fingers.

In another, I lived in a high-rise building that hadn't been constructed properly. Every time I tried to cross the room, the entire structure should, shook, threatening to collapse all of its hundreds of stories with me inside. When I finally woke the next morning, I was absolutely drenched in sweat. My heart raced wildly in my chest. The terror from those awful dreams still crawled through my skin even though I was awake. I knew I was awake. I touched my face and the sheets as proof.

Works better the first time with negative. energy. The guy's voice echoed in my head. Was that what did it? The pill? I took the pill in that abandoned old place and somehow it not only worked, it worked better. What was their angle? They found people online, gave them free pills that caused nightmares? The fuck kind of sense did that make? Well, one thing was for certain. I wasn't going to take another one. That night, I was, I was I swallowed the second pill and chased it with vodka. I wish I could explain why I took it. I wish I could explain it to you, but I'm so tired.

The second night was worse. The nightmare was like a film that kept skipping. I was being pursued by something through a dark tangle of woods. I kept tripping and falling, but it never quite caught up to me. When I hit the ground, something would chuckle, softly, nearby, too nearby. So I would scramble to my feet and keep going. Just when the woods seemed to clear, the dream would shudder, and suddenly I was back at the beginning. When I woke up, it was like I hadn't slept at all. I was mentally exhausted, so tired that I called in sick

to work that day, and the day after that, because that night, I took another pill. It went on that way, until the pills were gone. I was like a heroin junkie chasing a fix. I couldn't stop. As long as there were pills in the container, I took them. It was an indescribable relief to realize one day that they were all gone, that they didn't have power over me anymore. I called my job and promised I'd be in the next day.

I took a long, hot shower, watched a nice romantic comedy on Netflix, something where no one was being tortured or murdered, I drank a mug of peppermint tea. That night was the worst yet. Even without the pills, the nightmares not only continued, they intensified. Now when I hit the ground, I could feel the brittle branches beneath my hands, when the gray creature ate away at my feet it actually hurt. That morning, I woke up missing the big thing. toe from my left foot when I knew I was in trouble.

Couldn't go to the doctor. There was no explanation for why there was a bloody stump or my toe had once been. Besides, what if he asked about the pills? Was I supposed to tell him that I'd been taking pills for a week when I didn't even know what they were? And really, it wasn't like they could reattach my toe. It wasn't broken, it was just gone. Most likely in the belly of the grinning gray monster that waited for me. That makes sense? Things start making sense after a few days without sleep.

Because that was the only answer, you know, don't sleep. If you don't sleep, you can't have nightmares. Just so simple. I drank cough case of those five-hour energy things, red bull and cold showers. I kept attack in my shoes, and when I felt myself drifting off, I could always brought me back. Like I said, it's been almost a month in it, for fear of what I might see, staring back at me. I thought about it a lot. It traced the guy or the email they sent me, but I thought, tired.

But not as tired as me, because I think he figured it out. He went back to whoever gave him the pills, asked how to make it stop, like me, someone who, foolishly, someone to whom the call of the dark would be irresistible. And as all tyrants and dictators already know, fear spreads. I need to finish this up, because I really don't think I can do it anymore. I need to sleep, and no one can stay awake for ever. More than just to tell you. You're here?

We're here because you like fear. Fear is. Don't open the email. Don't meet them anywhere. Don't take the pills. There's a hobby out there that has been around for many years, but has seen its numbers dwindle due to the availability of the internet. It's called Ham Radio, and as author Carlos Rivera describes,

when a young man finds himself the recipient of one, he soon discovers himself communicating on an entirely unexpected level. And it all began when he heard the voice on the radio. I opened the present. What the fuck is this shit? Oh, wow, grandpa. Thanks. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and said, It's a ham radio, son. I used to have one when I was younger. It's got a hundred mile range so you can talk to people. all the way out in Fairview. Real conversations, not the text messages or emails you all use these days. I'll even let you use my old license and call sign. Yeah, I'm never going to do any of that.

Sounds great, Grandpa. Let's set it up together. Uh, yeah, cool. He spent two hours. setting it up, showing me how to operate it, and telling me stories about the other hams he'd met over the years. He switched it on and got in contact with some gruff-sounding dude out in Fairview. They had a lively discussion about how the FCC was oppressing their constitutional rights. I caught a movie with Jeremy, got some free pancakes at IHOP, and turned in early.

A mediocre birthday, like always. I have a bad habit of drinking soda before bed, and as usual, I ended up staring at the ceiling wide awake. I flicked on the ham radio and fiddled with the tuner. Other than the police band, the air traffic tower, and some guy ranting about the Federal Reserve, it was quiet. I sighed, laid back in bed,

and started to doze off. That's when I heard it. At first, I thought I imagined it. I was in that half-awake, half-a-sleep state where your thoughts start to play tricks on you. I thought maybe I had started dreaming before I was fully asleep and had hallucinated a sound.

A sound like a voice calling through static. I listened for a moment. No, nothing. Ah, just a dream. I turned over on my side and closed my eyes. I snapped back awake. There it was again, for certain this time. A voice calling out, as if from a great distance.

It was coming from the radio. I turned the volume up as far as it would go, but I could still hear only the faintest sound, like someone calling from the bottom of a well. I adjusted the tuner for better reception, but it didn't help. I picked up the microphone and spoke into it. Hello?

The voice stopped. There was a long moment of silence. Then the voice called out again, more clearly this time. Hello? Can you hear me? I suddenly felt very stupid. It was probably just another weirdo survivalist out in the woods who wanted to babble,

about EMP blasts and the gold standard or something. Still, there was something in his voice, an urgency that was hard to ignore. There was a fluctuation in the static, and the voice came in again. Hello, can make Niemann de horn? He said something else, something in what I assumed was German. I'm sorry, I can't understand you. I only speak English. He spoke again, and I could hear how thick his accent was.

Please, I ask you, when are you? Where am I? Well, I'm in Chester, about 40 miles outside Fairview. No, no. The static was starting to overtake the voice again. When are you? Excuse me? What time? What year!

I stared at the radio. So this was one of those ham weirdos that Grandpa was talking about. I shook my head and chuckled a little. Uh, it's, uh, it's 2013, dude. There was an excited barrage of German that turned desperate when the static started drowning him out. Please, I must ask you. Please, wait, and... Then, I set the microphone down.

Hmm, great. Another outlet for creepers to say creepy shit. We sure don't have enough. of those in the world. I switched the radio off and went to sleep. What the fuck is that shit? Jeremy said. I rolled my eyes. Ham radio. My grandpa got it for my birthday. That's hilarious. Does it work? Yeah, 100 mile range. It's stupid, though. The police band is sort of interesting, but other than that, it's just survivalists and conspiracy. That's awesome. We should pretend we're under siege during a zombie attack. Like, do some

War of the World shit with this thing. I laughed. I don't know, man. It's just a lot of weirdos on there. Like the other day, I was listening to it, and this one guy starts... Jeremy switched the radio on, and immediately I heard a frantic voice calling out. Hello? This guy, I said. This guy is a fucking psycho. Dude, sweet. I love talking to psychos.

Jeremy picked up the microphone. The voice sounded overjoyed. Please do not go. I do many fixes to machine. Transmission is very much better. Jeremy giggled. Dude, you've got fucking Bruno on your radio. He spoke into the microphone.

Yeah, that's good. Much sound. Bravo. I can see Deutsch. I've had a few semesters, yeah. They spoke back and forth in German for a bit. What are you saying? I asked. Jeremy sat back and shook his head. This guy is a piece of work. I asked him where he's located, and he said,

Long ago, many years in your past. When I talked to him, he wanted to know what year it was. He's playing a prank. He probably goes on here, pretends to be a time traveler to troll the survivalists. And then he puts the recordings up on YouTube. Actually, pretty brilliant, if you ask me. Ask him how he's communicating from the past. Jeremy spoke into the microphone,

and there was an excited flood of German from the other end. What's he saying? I have no fucking idea. I thought you spoke German. Well, level three. If he was describing the animals he was seeing on a safari, I could maybe follow him. But he's talking about, like,

Particle tunnels and chaotic duality waves or something? I don't think I could understand him even if I was fluent. The voice on the radio sighed and took a long pause. Then, with heaviness in his tone, he said, Please tell me about your world. I scoffed. We should switch it off. Jeremy looked shocked.

Why? He's fucking with us. So? He's doing a great job of it. Don't be such a downer. This is the most interesting conversation I've had in a while. So I say, fuck it. Let's play time travelers.

We told him about our future world. We described airplanes, self-driving cars, space stations, microchips. We tried to describe a smartphone, which was difficult to do with the voice's shitty English and Jeremy's shitty German. He was fascinated by the internet, awestruck by the moon landing, and greatly amused when we played some daft punk as an example of futuristic culture. Jeremy spent a weird amount of time talking about his Vitamix, and through it all, the voice kept repeating. Beautiful. So beautiful.

Okay. Enough about us, mine here. Your turn. Tell us about your world. A long silence. My world is very dark. Bad things happening. I do not know how we will escape the shadow. a great improviser, Jeremy said. Please, my friends, I have question. It is very important. I must ask you. Jeremy smiled. Sure, man. Go ahead.

Can see gestopter, Verden? The voice asked something in German. Jeremy frowned. Suddenly there was a loud noise like breaking glass from the radio. The voice gasped. Nine! There were other voices, angry voices, clamoring and shouting. It sounded like a crowd was in the room, and they were wreaking havoc.

Loud bangs and thuds, like furniture being turned over. The voices grew like. Louder and louder, there was a tremendous crash. Silence. I looked over at Jeremy. What the fuck happened? He shook his head. I don't know.

Other people were there. They were saying, Dog, worthless dog over and over again. Sounded like they smashed the place up. I fiddled with the tuner, but there was no sign of the voice. Jeremy and I sat quietly for a moment. His question, what did he ask you?

Jeremy stared at the radio. He said, can they be stopped? Too much soda again. Another insomniac night. I counted the cracks in the ceiling over and over, over. and over. My eyes began to feel heavy at last. A burst of static from the radio made my heart jump. I shot upright in bed and looked over. The static faded out and the voice faded in. He was speaking German quite softly. Anger flared in my chest. I was sick of this. Sick of him and his stupid pranks.

I wanted to smash that goddamn radio to pieces. I grabbed the microphone and shouted, Leave me alone for Christ's sake. I don't care about your stupid fucking time travel act. Just stop bothering me and leave me alone. But he just spoke over me like he couldn't hear me at all. His voice was shaky and quiet. I couldn't understand what he was saying,

but I could feel a great thing. sadness in his tone. I grabbed my phone and opened the voice recorder. I sat there listening and recording until he was finished speaking. I sat in silence for a few minutes to make sure nothing else was coming through. Then I switched the radio off. I sent the audio file to Jeremy with an explanation of what had happened. I asked him to translate. The next day at school, he handed me a sheet of paper at lunch. He didn't say anything. He just handed it to me and walked away. It read, My friends, I do not know if you can hear me. I do not know if you could ever hear me, or if I was imagining our encounter. But I hope you are.

out there. The machine is critically damaged. Perhaps with a great deal of work it could be repaired. But I doubt that I will have either the resources or the time necessary for such a task. I'm deeply saddened that we could not speak further. There are so many questions I wanted to ask, so much more I wanted to learn about your world. But please know that in the brief time we were able to speak, you gave a tired man a reason to continue living. I know now that the madness that is gripped my country cannot be stopped. I tell my son to be strong.

I tell him that our people have endured for thousands of years. I tell him that if we were strong enough to build the people, pyramids, we are strong enough to withstand a few grunting apes in jackboots. But he knows I am afraid, too. We are marching forward into a nightmare that will take a terrible toll on all of us. No, then it will end. The only thing I can cling to is the fact that somehow our world will lead to yours. I think of your world and I feel something I haven't felt in many years.

And emotion almost unknown to the people of my time. I feel hope. For in a world such as yours, a world of such wondrous invention and progress, what use could there be for war, what reason for hunger, What tolerance for injustice? I know in my heart that you have solved the problems that have plagued our species

and created a world of enduring peace and unity. I do not know how such a world could spring from the darkness that is enveloping this continent. But I hope that the future is as beautiful as you described it. I hope you have built the world that we could not. I hope you have learned from our mistakes. I hope you treat each other with the dignity and respect that is the birthright of all humanity. I hope you have forgotten the word for hate. I hope that things are different.

Goodbye, my friends, from the shadows. Dr. Albert Bachman, Frankfurt, Germany, November 12, 1938. That's all it was. I don't even know why I'm telling you this. There's no way it was actually some sci-fi miracle. It was obviously just someone with too much time. on his hands playing a big joke on us. He's probably listening to the recordings and laughing at us right now.

Just a prank. Still keep the radio on at night. I'll switch it on as I'm laying in bed, and sometimes when I'm starting to drift off, I'll think I hear a distant voice calling out in the dark. A voice from the shadows, tiny and frail. full of hope and I'll sit up in bed and listen I'll listen for a sound a word anything but I never hear more just my mind playing tricks on me I don't sleep much anymore probably because I drink too much

soda right our 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 nosleeppodcast.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.