The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S4E14

Episode Date: October 26, 2014

It's episode 14 of Season 4. We have seven tales for you in this episode featuring stories about foreboding forests, chilling childhoods, and heavy horrors. The full episode features the following stories. The free version features only the first three tales.  "Ditch or Die" written by Maggie Louise and read by Jessica McEvoy & David Cummings. (Story starts at 00:05:00) "A Campfire Story" written by Andrew MacDougall and read by Alex Beal & Jessica McEvoy & David Cummings. (Story starts at 00:15:55) "Dinosaur Bones" written by M.C. Meggles and read by Corinne Sanders & David Cummings. (Story starts at 00:28:55) "Clown 4 Rent" written by G.C. Remasque and read by C.H. Williamson. (Story starts at 00:43:20) "Repressed Memories are Meant to Stay Dead" written by C.K. Walker and read by Susan Knowles. (Story starts at 00:54:10) "She'd Recently Lost a Child" written by Jon Patrick and read by Daniel Simon & Jessica McEvoy & David Cummings. (Story starts at 01:12:50) "The Stump" written by Ashley Franz Holzmann and read by David Cummings & Jonathan Jones & Jessica McEvoy. Co-produced by Jonathan Jones. (Story starts at 01:33:00) Click here to enter the Daylight Dims Contest! Click here to learn more about C.K. Walker Click here to learn more about Susan Knowles Click here to learn more about Ashley Franz Holzmann Click here to learn more about Jonathan Jones Podcast produced by: David Cummings Music & Sound Design by: David Cummings & Brandon Boone "A Campfire Story" illustration courtesy of Lukasz Godlewski The 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

The sunlight. The freight, freight. It's time to give it to your fear. There will be no sleep. The no sleep pot. You see, my friends and I played this little game called Ditch or Die. On this particular night, I finished up the tales, once again insisting that they were entirely true, and sent the campers to their tins. He peered around the door suspiciously, eyes darting from my face to the package of cookies and back again.

The next night, I was in full. makeup standing on the doorstep of a stranger's house. There was someone staring back at me, someone in the dark, someone who had just come up the stairs, someone I recognized. She began to regain consciousness against enough sedation to give a bull elephant a hangover. The moment that happened, the animal stopped laughing and threw its head back in the air to take in the smell.

It's episode 14 of season four. Welcome to the show. I'm your host, David Cummings. We have seven tales for you in this episode, featuring stories about foreboding forests, chilling childhoods, and heavy horrors. I'm very excited to welcome two narrators to the show who bring something special with them. The first is a sort of welcome back because this gentleman was one of the founders of this podcast. Alex Beale and I narrated the very first episode of the show, and Alex was a mainstay during those early episodes. Without Alex, this whole podcast might have never gotten off the ground. So I am thrilled to welcome Alex back after being away for so long.

It's just like old times, Alex. Glad to have you back. Also joining us for this episode is a first-time narrator for our podcast, but he's a first-time narrator for our podcast, but he's certainly no stranger to narrating scary stories. Joining us from our friends over at Chilling Tales for Dark Nights is the gifted character voice actor Jonathan Jones. Jonathan is brilliant at bringing strange creatures and unique beings to life. He co-produced our last tale in this episode,

and I think you'll soon realize why Jonathan is in such high demand for his voice acting. It's great to have you with us, Jonathan. I also wanted to mention that the Daylight DIMS contest is in full swing, so if you haven't entered yet, there's still time. Go to contests.the nosleeppodcast.com for all the details about how to enter. The contest ends this Wednesday, so act fast. And finally, let's not forget what's happening this Friday. Yes, it's Halloween.

And the No Sleep podcast is going all out to make this an extra spooky night. On that day, we'll be releasing our full-length bonus episode of the show. A free episode over two and a half hours long to fill your Halloween with all sorts of terrifying tales. And if you're a season past member, you'll get an extra bonus episode to fill your ears to over. Overflowing with horrifying Halloween happenings. Make sure you tell your friends, family, neighbors, co-workers, dorm mates. Oh, wait, did I say dorm mates? I hope I'm not giving anything away about the special shows.

Well, anyways, join us on Halloween and prepare to spend the night with your tummy full of candy and your mind full of nightmares. But we shouldn't overlook this week's show. Well, in fact, let's get it started right now. In our first tale, we meet a group of kids who enjoy the thrills of death-defying dares. As we learn from author Maggie Louise, one of the group recounts the horrifying events of one night in particular, a night which ended their risky games forever. narrator Jessica McAvoy reads the tale for us about a game which will forever be etched in the minds of those kids.

A game called Ditch or Die. Sometimes I wonder, if Carter were still alive, would he still like those late night trips to Taco Bell? Or those stupid lifetime movies where he'd sit and turn out the lights and you swear he'd have a tear in his eye. A small glint, but you wouldn't want to say anything. or the laugh he had that could break any awkward silence and turn heads. I don't know. Carter was full of life, and he deserved more than the life he was dealt. Not a bad kid, just a kid who did bad things because he went against the grain.

And this happens to tons of people, tons of days out of the year, and he was just the unlucky one in this mess we call life. But I can't dwell on these things. I have a story to tell, because something tells me that Carter would have liked it. You know, getting it out there. Like the millions upon billions of stories he told us, not even caring if they were credible or not. My father was a trucker, and if there was one thing he taught me about truckers,

it's that they adopt a no-shit lifestyle. My friends and I stood out at the end of the road that turned off onto the highway, seven years old, and motioned for the truckers to blow their horns, only to have a few of them give a fake, half-assed smile, and pull their little horn just to get we annoying fuckers to leave the next ones alone. But it didn't satisfy our need, and we'd continue this lifestyle until one day my father walked out of the house and caught us. He yelled and drunkenly slurred something about,

One day, you're going to piss someone off with your little shenanigans, and something bad is going to happen. But we kept playing our little games, and suddenly those seven-year-old kitty games turned into 14-year-old games of dare. You see, my friends and I played this little game called Ditch or Die. It's as simple as this.

You listen to the roar of a tractor trailer coming down the road, and as it nears and comes extremely close, close enough to hate you and smear your guts all over the street. You jump out in front of them and cross the street as quickly as possible. To the point where it scares the living shit out of the driver, gets a horn reaction, or causes them to break quickly.

And then when your friend makes it, like they always do, they run into the woods and you follow behind them, snickering the entire way home about the near-death experience you just stupidly caused yourself or a friend. The game was like an unspoken secret between Carter, Angel, Robert, and I, and we chose to play it at dusk or before midnight hit when we would tread home under the comfort of streetlights and had off in different directions to each separate home.

Since my father was away and the rest of my friends came from broken homes, they never wondered where we were so late at night. And this is part of why stupid games like ditch or die came to be. Because nobody really cared about our safety and we were out to test the waters and act like idiotic children all the time. One particular night, we had all just taken a walk to the corner store, and we were finished eating our 50-cent snacks when we decided it was dark enough to play a round of our favorite game. We headed out to the underpass, nearly abandoned at this time of night, but full of trucks as the employed were heading to their destinations all over the country, heading into different states and going about their nightly routine journeys as usual.

My father had been down south on a mission for the past two days, and I hadn't been expecting him home for at least another 20 or so. judging by what he had told my mother. But it seemed there was a lot of action on this particular night to accompany our game. First went Angel. Robert joked in this sing-song pre-teen voice, Make it across the road or else you'll become an angel tonight. It was a joke we didn't usually use on each other, as it was a bit morbid. But we knew there was always a chance that a truck would be going too fast,

so we pushed each other with slurs to make it across. Angel chose a big red rig, and just as she was passing, the horn blared as we watched behind the trees. She got to the other side and kept running, and the rig kept going, its horn blaring away and an angry fist out the window. He didn't even slow down. He knew that it was some idiot kid who had taken the chance of a lifetime. She was howling and laughter from the other side of the road, and one by one, Lord Robert and I across the street, as new trucks came. I went a little too early.

Robert said I just pussed out, and the truck didn't even notice that a kid had run out in front of it. Robert got one to slam on its brakes, and the driver opened his door to look for the fat figure of a child he had almost hit. But then he just shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, and kept driving.

And then it was Carter's turn. We waited a good ten minutes of zero action or a small car's going by, and then a gold truck came around the bend into sight. It was a familiar look for trucks in the area, and we snickered as we called across the street to Carter, urging him on, calling him a pussy in the likes. Carter was secretly afraid of the game, and as the smarts of the group tended to tell us how stupid it was and how one day would get us into trouble, not thinking of any other consequences. Being the most reasonable in the group earned him a lot of heckling, but he still played the game and kept us well entertained.

Carter was like the life of the group, always having something to say, and we knew that he loved us through anything. Here I come! He screamed as he started running across the road. The track seemed like forever. And then he tripped on a pothole. And then he fell. Angel screamed. But before she could completely finish her screech of terror,

we heard the crunch of hundreds of bones being sucked under two big tire and shattering pieces. It was this lurching sound, like a liquefied mess being sucked up into a vacuum. And then the last screech of utmost horror, like a... A cat being flattened, followed by a bitter silence, besides that of a truck screeching to its stop and us running through the forest, never looking back. We left our friend that day and vowed in the middle of the woods to never play ditch or die again, not even in his memory.

There was regret to follow us after that night. I bet we were all thinking about it in our beds that night, and a long time to come. That night I was unable to catch a wink of sleep and stayed up all night thinking about our friend and how there was no way he survived the crunch. Or how we left some poor trucker to clean up the mess and call the police to report the fact that

he had smashed some poor kid lifeless into the road on his way home, on some meaningless journey. I woke up the next day and heard my parents talking downstairs. My mother's usual upbeat voice and my father's usual tired voice, as it was when he came home from a mission. When I came into view in the hallway, my father appeared and almost seemingly trembling. He came over and gave me a hug and said, I have to go catch some sleep, sweetie.

It was a really long night. I was feeling shaken up, knowing my father would be so let down if he knew what had happened to us. the previous night. I just nodded my head and, Zombofied, got on with my day. Sometime in the afternoon, Angel got a hold of me and asked me to come over

because she needed somebody to talk to. So I hurriedly threw on my shoes and ran outside. Before I could get out of our long driveway, I noticed my father's gold truck pulled up beside our house, a hose sitting next to it, and the yard somewhat flooded with water.

He had given it a thorough, proper wash sometime in the middle of the night. He had never washed his truck past midnight before. Any other time, he would have just parked it, went to bed with my mother, and worried about it in the morning. I walked up to the truck, and I climbed the small ladder to the door, only to peer inside and shriek at the top of my lungs. There on the seat was a white sneaker. Carter's size. I'm rather fond of this next tale for two reasons.

One, it features stories which are told around the campfire, meant to scare you before heading off to your tent. Brings back memories. Two, it takes place almost in my own backyard. A place I camped myself many times in my life. Algonquin Park in Ontario. In this tale, author Andrew McDougall recounts the night a camp counselor and his charges spend immersed in scary stories

only to discover there might be a reason other than the stories to be scared out there. Alex Beale and Jessica McAvoy read the tale for us. So grab some marshmallows and settle in to hear a campfire story. of years, I was a camp counselor at an overnight camp in the Muscocas. I loved it more than any job I've ever had, despite the non-existent pay, annoying campers, long days and short nights, crappy food, etc. For one, I got to tell as many scary stories as I could sputter out. There was nothing

better than hanging around a dying campfire with a bunch of junior high kids who were demanding the scariest, most blood-curdling tales I knew, and I told them all. The babysitter and the eerie clown statue? The driver and the creepy gas attendant? The woman and her licking dog? I saved my best stories for the overnight trips we made in Algonquin Park. For non-Canadians, it's a massive park in the middle of Ontario, spanning nearly 8,000 square kilometers.

The days would be spent canoeing on pristine lakes, and nights would be spent around to fire, singing and making s'mores and being as rowdy as the only people within miles could be. Once the kids had quieted down, I told them stories, a stalker in the woods with a face so horrifying, it paralyzed all of its victims in fear,

or the group of campers who decided to spend the night across the lake from an abandoned, or was it, insane asylum? On this particular night, I'd finished up the tails, once again insisting that they were entirely true, and sent the campers to their tents. It had been an exhausting day, and none of the six kids were in any mood to stay up later. My fellow counselor had also decided to pack it in, leaving just me on a fallen log next to the dying fire. I took a deep breath of the cool, fresh, pine-scented air and looked out at the lake. The partial moon reflected off the glassy water.

and on the other side I could see towering cliffs going up several hundred feet. I considered whether we could canoe over, climb up a few dozen feet, and do some cliff jumping. I grinned. The camp director would have my head if we did that, if he found out. Movement at the very top of the cliffs caught my eye. There was a small light bobbing along the peak. At first I thought it was a star, but it was larger and, gave off a golden glow.

It slowly moved back and forth in a small arc. As I sat up and watched it, another appeared next to it, bobbing along the top of the cliff. Then another. And another. And a few more. My stomach dropped into my feet. I grabbed my bag and pulled my digital camera out and then focused it on the little glowing orbs and used the zoom function. I counted them.

And then I counted again. Oh shit. In a flash I was up and running to the tents. Hey guys, wake up. We gotta go. There was movement in the tents, and then I had seven confused heads looking out of me. My co-counselor wore a mixture of concern and pure anger. I hate to do this, but the clowns are looking really threatening. There's a big rainstorm coming in.

If we get caught in it, it's going to ruin our trip. Seriously? Laura, my co-counselor asked. We're in the middle of the woods. Where would we go? I pulled a map and flashlight out of my back. There's a ranger station a few kilometers south of us. I traced the path with my finger.

Thank God. We can make it there in a few hours. The camper's grown. Can't we just go in the morning? No, I shouted, my voice echoing across the lake. I lowered it. Come on, let's get packed up and go. I'll tell you a story along the way.

I smiled, though I could feel my lips quivering. It's my best one. That seemed to get them going, and within ten minutes the tents were packed up and we'd begun our trek into the deep woods, with small flashlights our only guide. When I was confident we were moving at a steady pace, I allowed myself to relax and began to tell my favorite campfire story. Centuries before the European settlers made their way into the country, it was inhabited by the First Nations people.

They had made the trip from across Western Canada following the migration patterns of large animals like Buffalo and Bison. Eventually they reached Ontario, at which point they split off into smaller groups of travelers, each searching for a section of land, to call their own. Legend has it that one group, consisting of about 20 men, women, and children, had ventured through this very area in search of a place to call home. Though it wasn't even the end of October, the weather had made it turn for the worse, and as the group journeyed around the lake, a fierce blizzard hit. Within an hour, the group found themselves in blinding snow and below zero temperatures.

The clothes they had on them were made for the fall, not this sort of weather, and there weren't any Canada goose jackets around back then. But they pressed on. They didn't have any other choice. Night was falling as they reached a cliff bluff, which powered over a cold, choppy lake. There was no stopping for this group. They'd die if they didn't make it past the cliffs.

But with darkness setting in and the snow falling even harder, visibility was almost non-existent. So one of the elders had an idea. Using the little kerosene they had left, he lit a lantern for each one of the travelers and had them carry it in front of them, not so that they could see the cliffs, but so they could see who was in front of them, allowing them to all follow each other across the narrow blobs. With the strongest of the men leading the way, the group began to cross the cliffs. The freezing, wet snow soaked every bone in their body.

The harsh wind chilled any exposed skin and threatened to push them right off the rock. Their path was no more than a few feet wide, and would have been slippery to even the best of hiking boots, let alone hand-fashioned moccasins. Slowly, painstakingly slowly, they made their way up the cliffs, praying that whatever lay on the other side could shelter them from the intensifying storm. They were about halfway up, hundreds of feet above the lake, though it was well out of their vision. In fact, all they could see in this blinding storm was the lantern in front of them,

acting as a beacon to guide their steps. If the light moved up, they moved up. If it went down, they moved down. Each of the travelers was almost in a trance, caring about nothing but the glowing or of a few feet away. For the leader, though, there was no such luxury. He moved forward blindly, feeling along the cliff with his free. arm, though his skin was so numb he could barely feel anything. As the path wound back again,

he made a misstep and lost his footing, just as a gust of wind blasted his back. He desperately grasped for the hold, but his frozen fingers couldn't get anything. With a terrified scream, he slipped off the cliffs and fell into the icy black lake. The rest of the party didn't seem fall, of course. All they saw was this glowing orb dropping away from the bluff and disappearing in the darkness. There was no time to mourn. They continued on, but the storm was worsening. After another minute, one of the children, his body unable to withstand the cold, dropped away, his lantern glowing until the choppy waters put it out.

Another, having seen this, lost his balance and fell. This pattern went on until there were just five people left, fumbling along in the darkness, hollowing the light in front. As hard as they tried, The cliffs were unforgiving. The remaining men fell down to four, then three, two. And then, there was just one left, who, legend says, cursed the earth as his legs slipped out, and he plunged hundreds of feet down, his lantern, the last one, to be extinguished.

Of the twenty members who tried to overcome the cliff, I finished. Not one of them survived. They say that sometimes, when the conditions are right, you can see the orbs along the cliff, symbols of the lost travelers who will never find their homes. As the story ended, leaving the campers in an eerie silence, I saw lights up the head. A wave of relief poured over me. We picked up the pace and found the ranger station bursting with activity, with half a dozen people running around, loading up trucks, and shouting into radios.

The wind was really beginning to pick up, and I heard thunder in the distance. Hey, you kids A large burly man With a full beard and mustache ran up to us Get in the trucks We don't have much time Laura and I Led the kids to one of the pickup trucks

What's going on? Didn't you hear? Another gust of wind Huge storm systems Heading right for us Already been tornadoes touched down We're getting everyone out of here Let's go

We all climbed into the truck's bed. I collapsed down, feeling like I'd just been punched in the gut. The ranger climbed into the front, and we took off down a makeshift road. My head was spinning. Was it possible? Laura slid next to me, keeping her voice low. How did you know we had to get out of there? I looked over at her.

My face felt empty of any blood. I saw the lights. No. No! She gasped and caught herself. How many? I took a deep breath. Eight.

She looked around at all the campers who were now lying against each other, asleep despite the bumpy road. That's all of us. I nodded and leaned against her. Laura had heard the traveler's story before, and she knew that I'd left out a key bit of information. The lights were real, but they were never random. If they were shining, bobbing back and forth, swinging in a small arc, it was because they had a message. A warning.

One light would shine for each person who was about to die. When a woman moves into her new neighborhood, she soon becomes friendly with the young boy next door. But as author M.C. Meggles writes, The woman's attempts to meet the family next door reveals some frightening facts about what goes on in that town. Corinne Sanders reads the story for us as we discover why the young boy was looking for dinosaur bones. I recently moved to a house in the suburbs of a smaller town in Washington from a city apartment. I was excited to be leaving an old relationship with the bad ex and have a place that I could truly

call my own. The house has an expansive backyard with trees and space to garden, and the neighborhood is absolutely lovely. Short fences separate the yards between houses, and I took this as a good sign that neighbors are probably friendly, respectful, and have little to hide from one another. A couple of weeks ago, just as I was moving the last of my furniture into the house, I spotted a boy playing in the yard next door. He couldn't have been more than eight years of old, with messy brown hair and a green sweater, and was kneeling down, digging fervently at the ground. I approached him slowly from my side of the fence, so as not to startle him. Spotting me out of the corner of his eye, he jumped up, brushed some dirt off his jeans,

and smiled at me with a toothy grin. His freckles stood out on his rosy cheeks. Hi! he exclaimed, I'm Andy. I smiled back warmly. As a therapist, I worked with many troubled children his age, and it was nice to see a child so friendly and self-assured. Well, hi there, Andy. I'm Alisa. I glanced briefly at the hole he was digging. Despite the intensity with which he had been working at it,

the hole was not very deep. What are you working on there? I'm looking for dinosaur bones. he exclaimed. I know they're here. I can just feel it. I chuckled to myself. Oh, really? Dinosaur bones are pretty rare.

I bet you can find some, though. I sure can. He grinned again, and I noticed he was missing his two-front baby teeth. Well, you just keep at it then. I've got to make sure the movers put my furniture into the right rooms. See, soon. Andy? Just as I turned to leave, a cold breeze picked up, surrounding me and sending a chilled on my spine.

Fall leaves rustled on the ground as I pulled my cardigan closer and shook slightly in my boots. Shaking off the uneasy feeling, I made my way back to the house, up the back porch steps, and through the screen door. A couple of weeks passed. Every now and again I would see Andy outside, digging at the same spot. He always seemed to be wearing the same green sweater and dirt-stained jeans, but never made all that much progress on the whole. I began to wonder about his parents and whether or not they were adequately supervising him.

Absenteeism can be just as damaging as abuse after all. Once in a while, I would step outside and talk to him a bit, trying to glean some information about whether or not he's being mistreated, but he always seemed to be in good spirits. He also always had the best of the best of his own. best things to say about both his mother and his father, claiming they often went on family trips together. His mother was a teacher and his father was a businessman of some kind, but both seemed to make a point to spend a lot of time with him. His demeanor also did not match that of a

neglected child. Despite how genuine his stories about his parents seemed to be, they did not match with what I had seen. In fact, I rarely ever saw anyone else in the house next door. A few times I had caught a glimpse of a man moving around inside through the window, but I never saw him with Andy. To be fair, I was gone a lot, working with clients in the city. Today, concern, and I suppose a bit of curiosity, got the best of me. I decided it was time that I officially meet my next door neighbors and put some of my suspicions to rest. I baked some cookies, packaged them neatly under some pink wrapping, and brought them with me as I walked to next door. The front of the house was obscured by a tall fence.

I pulled on the latch, and it swung open to reveal a meticulously kept yard. Small trees, all young-looking but in different stages of growth, poked through small mounds of dirt across an expanse of grass. Apparently these people enjoyed gardening, as all of the plants looked well-nourished and cared for. The thought that the mother might grow fruit trees for canning crossed my mind. Each tree had a little placard next to it, but instead of stating the type of tree, they each had individual names like Eric, Jenny, Emily.

They like to name their plants. How cute. I stepped up on the porch and knocked on the door. Some rustling noises could be heard from inside, then footsteps, then a pause. I guess that whoever was inside was probably assessing me through the pee-pole. Finally, the door opened slightly. to reveal the man I had seen in the house before. He peered around the door, suspiciously, eyes darting from my face to the package of cookies and back again.

May I help you? Hi, I'm Elisa, your new next door neighbor. I smiled cheerfully. Just wanted to introduce myself and bring by some cookies. His demeanor changed almost instantly. He stood up straight and opened the door. wide, extending his hand. Well, hello. I'm Richard. Sorry about that. I get a lot of unwanted visitors around here.

Everyone seems to be selling something these days. Won't you come in? I nodded and smiled in response, stepping through the threshold. The inside of the house was just as meticulously kept as the outside. There wasn't a speck of dust to be found anywhere and all of the surfaces seemed to gleam. However, there was a strange absence of furniture in the front room. Perhaps they were redecorating. Here, let me take your coat, said Richard, extending his hand. I thanked him and handed him my overcoat.

Follow me. The kitchen is just through here. We can have some tea with these cookies. The kitchen was at the back of the house, and I entered just as he was closing my coat. in the closet. I took a seat near the back window and watched as he started to boil some water for tea. He took a seat on a stool next to the counter. Well, welcome to the neighborhood.

I hope you like it here thus far. Thank you, I certainly do. It's a nice break from city life. I shifted in my seat. The man didn't strike me as much of a businessman, though he was friendly. He was wearing a sweater vest over a collared shirt that looked somewhat old but neatly pressed, slacks that were too large on him and loafers. His eyes seemed bloodshot and far away despite his demeanor.

And is that where you come from? You said the city, right? What do you do out there? Yes, it was fine, but I needed someplace a little quieter to live. And I'm a child psychologist, actually. He paused. looking surprised. Is that so?

Well, it's nice that people like you are around. It's awful how some people treat their kids nowadays. Just awful. He shook his head and disgust from the thought of it. I smiled and continued on to what I had really intended to discuss with him. Your boy seems like a great kid, though. I've seen him playing in the yard a few times since I moved in. He's always so friendly.

You and your wife must be very proud. Richard stared blankly at me, his mouth slightly open. My boy? I looked at him. Yes, your son, Andy? He has a very active imagination. I see him playing in the yard all the time. He likes to dig for dinosaur bones right over there.

As I pointed out the window towards where I had conversed with Andy over the past two weeks, I noticed that there was no hole in that spot or anywhere near it. I twisted around in my chair to get a better look. Instead, there was a sapling, not unlike the ones in the front yard. It was young and healthy, and by the looks of the undisturbed dirt, it must have been there for at least a few months. A placard stuck out of the ground next to the tree, but the writing was almost too small to make out.

I could see the word begin with an A and probably ended with a G or why. My jaw dropped. All of my limbs went numb at once. I could not process what I was looking at. Was this a dream? Had I imagined the child? Was I losing my mind?

I don't. I'm sorry. I had thought, how did... When I turned to look back at Richard, he was standing at the closet door. His face reflected a bizarre sort of smile that I had not seen before, and he was staring like a puzzle he was trying to work out. Oh, yes, Andy.

He is a very cheerful one, isn't he? How about I show you the garden? My wife is very proud of all our little trees. Let me get your coat. He turned the door handle, opening the closet and reaching inside. As he grabbed for my coat, I caught a glimpse of a small, tattered green sweater before it swayed out of my sight. I was frozen in my seat. My mind raced at a million miles a second. Despite being immensely confused and terrified, I knew that what I chose to do next would be very important.

Yes, I would love to see the trees. I'm a fan of fruit canning myself. My eyes darted towards the back door. If I could just make it there, I could probably hop the back fence into my yard, and I jumped up and sped across the kitchen towards the back door as quickly as I could. I grabbed onto the handle for dear life and yanked on it repeatedly. It would not budge. Panicking, I tried every lock I could, only to see that the back door was nailed shut.

Dread washed over me as I pressed myself. against the door. I watched Richard calmly close the closet door and turned towards me, still smiling. He made his way across the kitchen ever so slowly, with my coat draped over his arm. Leaving so soon? But we were just about to have tea. You know, it's funny that you're a fan of canning as well. I make the best jam.

The trick is what you use to fertilize the trees. They have to be strong from jane. day one to produce good fruit. He was getting dangerously close now. My hands were shaking uncontrollably and tears were streaming down my face, but I made no sound. I glanced around. Behind me was the door, to my right was a wall, and to my left was the stove. Yep, it makes all the difference.

You should try some of my... Just as he came close enough. to touch me. I reached for the tea kettle, still heating on the stovetop and smashed it over his head. Boiling water streamed down over his face, scalding his skin as he screamed in agony. My hand was not spared, but I didn't have time to think. I rushed back through the house and out the front door, past the little trees named Patty, Landon, Emma. I didn't stop running until I reached a convenience store at the corner of the next road and phoned the police. Now I'm sitting in the station, nursing my burnt hand, wondering what to tell them.

I can't manage to put it all together. I just don't know. Am I more upset that I moved next to a serial killer who almost managed to get me too? Or that the ghost of a happy little boy digging for his own bones is the reason why I found out. 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 3rd. 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.