The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S4E17

Episode Date: November 23, 2014

It's episode 17 of Season 4. We have five tales for you this week, featuring stories about frightening frequencies, jarring journals, and terrifying tunnels. Trigger Warnings The full episode features the following stories. The free version features only the first three tales.  "On the Radio" written by Tyler Wonfifes and read by David Cummings. (Story starts at 00:04:25) "Part & Parcel" written by D.G. Collins and read by Kyle Akers. (Story starts at 00:17:30) "A Message in a Very Old Bottle" written by Jon Patrick and read by David Cummings. (Story starts at 00:30:15) "Journal of Decedent Elaine Anderson" written by Eileen Carpenter and read by Jessica McEvoy & David Cummings. (Story starts at 00:49:20) "The One-Way Tunnel" written by Terrey West and read by David Cummings & Susan Knowles. (Story starts at 01:20:40) Click here to enter the In Ear Entertainment Contest! Click here to learn more about the Season Pass Rent-to-Own program Podcast produced by: David Cummings Music & Sound Design by: David Cummings & Brandon Boone "The One-Way Tunnel" 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 fright, fright. It's time to give into your fear. There will be no sleep. The no sleep pot started to feel really uneasy, so I laughed and called the police and told them what happened at the park.

To say it was disorienting for Peter to no longer be at the center of what his senses were experiencing was an understanding. The first maids calmly threw himself over the rails into the deep loo. It was kind of calm with them all in their gowns and masks trying to do the exams without getting too close to my skin.

I first noticed something was wrong when I hit the arches. I'd left glow sticks under at station number one. It's episode 17 of season four. Welcome to the show. I'm your host, David Cummings. We have five tales for you this week featuring stories about frightening frequencies, jarring journals and terrifying tunnels. As we reach episode 17, that means there are plenty of episodes available to those of you who choose to purchase individual episodes of the show. I don't talk about this too much, so now is the perfect time to remind our listeners about our rent-to-own program for the season pass.

If buying a season pass in one payment isn't an option for you, by purchasing individual episodes for only $1.49 each, you can hear the full-length shows without breaking into the piggy bank too drastically. And when you purchase any 14 episodes during a season, you'll be eligible for a free upgrade to a full season pass. That means you'll get access to the bonus episodes, like the Season Pass Halloween bonus show, and another soon-to-be-released bonus episode. Plus, this season will feature another volume of our Suddenly Shocking series, where we present over 25 flash fiction tales in one special episode. Those bonus shows are only available to Season Pass members, so make sure you check out how to get your own season pass. And if you have purchased 14 individual episodes this season, all you have to do is send me an email at David.

at the nosleeppodcast.com and let me know. I'll then upgrade you to a full season pass where you can join all the cool kids who have one. A season pass gives you well over 50 hours of horror storytelling entertainment for only 1999. I also want to remind everyone about the in-ear entertainment contest which is still underway. Check out content.

dot the no sleeppodcast.com to find out how you can get a free audiobook and be entered into a draw to win an original art piece. Lots of listeners have already signed up, so don't miss out. Now, we've got a lot in store for you, so let's not wait one minute more. It's time to start the show. In our first tale, we meet a man who is having problems with the car he recently purchased. The car itself is quite nice, but it's the car's radio that seems to have something wrong with it. Author Tyler Onefifes informs us that this man's car radio seems to play the oddest stations, and the controls seem to have a mind of their own.

It's almost not worth having a car when you're terrified by what you might hear on the radio. Around February, I was involved in a car. car accident. No serious injuries, luckily, but my car was totaled. Since the car was falling apart before the accident and it would be costly to repair it, I decided that I would scrap it, then just go get a used car. As I browsed around the local used car dealer, I came across a hardly used car that was only around 3,000. It had a nice black interior, Bluetooth, GPS and sunroof, everything you could really want in a car. I jokingly asked the salesman if someone had been murdered in the car, and that's why it was so cheap.

He just laughed and explained that for some reason they just couldn't sell this car, so they kept on lowering the price. People would fall in love at the sight of it, but usually after a few days, they returned it for some reason. Since I was desperate for a car and this one was so cheap, I decided to buy it. I figured that I could deal with a less than smooth ride or a shoddy air conditioner. That was until I turned on the radio. For a few days or so, the radio worked just fine. Speakers were great, quality was great, it even had satellite radio too.

However, in my second week of owning the car, things caught a little weird. Random stations would pop up intermittently. I first assumed these to be local channels, as they only broadcast either on certain days or certain times of the day. I'm going to tell you about some of the stations and some of the most significant experiences I had with them. These weren't the only stations that played. Most others just played static or played in languages I didn't understand. But in my first month of owning the car, these would be the only stations that would play. 93.5.

This station wasn't too out of the ordinary, and I can't say that I ever had any weird experiences with it myself. It seemed to only broadcast early mornings and late afternoons on random days. The station played things from debates to songs and speeches in other languages. I never really listened to the debates and my only real experience with it comes from a friend. She speaks Spanish and, what do you know, that day the station decided to play songs in Spanish. She said she wanted to listen to it. However, as the song went on, she looked increasingly upset. About two minutes in, she tried to change the station.

However, the radio would not stop playing it. She began crying and screaming at me to please turn it off. No matter what I did, though, I couldn't shut it off. Eventually, the song ended, the station put on some debate in English, only then would the radio shut off. My friend begged me to take her home, so I did. She cried the whole drive there. When I dropped her off, I asked her, what about the song made her so upset?

She just looked at me and said, It's best if I don't tell you. This station popped up a few times and for the most part wasn't too strange. During the day they played a few classic rock songs, but at night the DJ got really strange. He spoke in a soft, eerie voice. Not a scary eerie, but the kind of voice that just makes you feel uncomfortable. I was driving back home after staying at my friend's house for most of the night. when this station suddenly flipped on.

At first, the DJ was just talking about summer barbecues, but as time went on, he drifted away from cooking and started speaking in a way that resembles dirty talk. He'd breathe heavily for a bit, then mutter, You like that, don't you? And stuff like, yeah, you better start liking doing that. I tried to change the station, but once again the radio was locked onto it. I drove by an empty park in my neighborhood when the DJ started to sound increasingly violent,

saying things like, you fucking bitch, go ahead and tell everyone, no one will believe you. And then he said, I'll kill you and fuck your corpse. I started hearing a voice outside of my car. It was coming from the park. A woman with torn clothes and blood running down her legs and semen and blood dripping out of her mouth begging for help. I rolled down the window and shouted for her to come in. Once she reached my window, the DJ announced,

Looks like we have a special guest tonight. After the DJ said that, the woman just stood there and smiled at me. I kept on yelling for her to get in, but she just stood there with blood and semen running out of her mouth. I started to feel really uneasy, so I left and called the police and told them what happened at the park. All the while, the announcer was muttering about how the special guest just drove. out of the studio and left without saying anything. My phone started ringing and then the radio just went silent, not a sound from the announcer.

The caller was the police. They said that they couldn't find anything and that I'm lucky they don't arrest me for misusing 911. I apologized, then hung up. Right as I did that, the radio, started working again. The station was now playing classic rock, and I could change between stations again. 91.1.

My grandmother had recently taken ill and didn't have much longer to live, so I decided to go visit her in the hospital. On my way there, the station changed to 91.1, and started playing what sounded like a hospital drama. I've never heard a show being broadcast through the radio before, so I decided I would listen. The show started off pretty normal, an older patient was dying, and the doctor advised the family to decide whether or not to pull the plug while the doctor performed some vital checks on the patient. Once the family left the room, though, the show changed. The doctor was laughing. All the while the patient was screaming about how much their skin burned

and begged for the heat to stop. The doctor then began mocking the patient, saying, Oh, you should pray to God. He and all his power will surely save you, right? Oh, wait, God isn't here. The patient screams and pleas became louder and louder. until the radio completely cut out. Nothing was playing anymore.

Immediately after that, I received a call from my mother, telling me that my grandmother had just died. 85.5. This station only played once. I was driving on the freeway, which I'm usually pretty nervous about. The thought of having an accident on the first, freeway terrifies me, so I always drive safe and listen to relaxing music.

This station, which had just started playing, was playing some fairly mellow songs, so I decided I would listen to it on my way home. A commercial came on advertising this in-car entertainment system for young children, so they wouldn't bother their parents while they were driving. The mother said something along the lines of, Now you can just use your Panatachi center so mommy can... Oh shit! The sounds of a child screaming were heard briefly, then the radio turned off.

I heard a loud bang and screeching tires. An SUV had flipped over. I got out of my car and called 911. While I waited for them to arrive, I looked at the SUV. The mother was dead. Her head slammed into the steering wheel so hard it split open. I noticed an empty child seat in the SUV too. I looked up ahead and saw a large blood splatter on the concrete barrier ahead of the car. The child had been ejected from the car and slammed into a concrete barrier.

leaving nothing but a chunky blood stain and a mangled torso behind. I couldn't take it after that. I called up the dealership that I bought the car from and said that they could have it back and that they didn't even need to give me anything for it, but they said they didn't want it. I decided to take a hammer to the radio, smashing it as hard as I could to make sure it could never.

operate again. Then I cut the chords that connected the radio to the car's speakers. Every now and then, I still hear the radio play, but I just try to ignore it. I'll see it select a station through its broken display, then I'll hear whatever fucking crazy shit this thing is going to play. It's okay though. I don't want to be. I don't really listen to what's on the radio anymore. We just don't really listen to anything. After a particularly nasty accident, a man wakes to find himself in the care of a scientist who is quite adept at helping the man's recovery. In this tale from author D.G. Collins, we find out that the man is in a rather unique circumstance, and it's only the scientist who can help him

deal with the severity of his injuries. Narrator Kyle Akers reads the tale for us as we learn that for cutting-edge science such as this, dealing with a new way of living is pretty much part and parcel. Peter? Peter Emery. Can you hear me? Peter awoke from a strange dream, feeling sluggish and disconnected from reality. Once his eyes began to operate, he tried to make sense. of his surroundings, but failed miserably. It was hard to focus.

Everything was milky and distorted, as if he was underwater, and he seemed unable to blink away the haze. Suddenly a grotesquely bulbous face floated into view. I see your eyes moving. You're awake at last. Listen, Peter, I am Dr. Andrew Gould, and I have some exciting news. Well, shocking news for you,

but I think you'll eventually reap the rewards. Peter tried to reply, to ask what the hell was going on, but nothing happened. His mouth was unresponsive. Nevertheless, Dr. Gould nodded as if he understood Peter's concerns, which had this surreal effect of making the doctor's forehead balloon like a reflection in a carnival mirror. I think you may remember, Peter, that you had an accident. You were riding a motorcycle very fast, much too fast for the... these backwoods. I'm afraid you in quite a few pieces when I found you, just down the road from

my house, and then further down the road and a bit more even further. What was he talking about? Peter hadn't been. A quick succession of flashing images came to mind, like a video with missing frames. He remembered the pothole that had appeared in the road before he could react. He remembered the bike being wrenched out from under him, and the pavement flying up at his face. He remember wondering if it would hurt. He remembered that it had. Yes, well, by a happy coincidence, I was close at hand, and luckily for you, I've been looking for a proper test subject. You were practically delivered right into my lap, in a most dramatic fashion, as if Providence was truly at work. I could hardly have asked for a more perfect opportunity to demonstrate my

accomplishments. Oh, yes, fortune smiled on us both. And with your help, they will have to listen to me now. They must. There will be no denying the evidence. You, Peter, are undeniable. Doctor talked, the more Peter felt a growing sense of dread. All he wanted to know was the extent of his injuries, but at the moment he could only listen to this person who seemed far too pleased that Peter had nearly been killed. You see, my lad, after years of work, I think I've done it.

This, uh, goo that you're enveloped in, it has saved your life, resurrected you very nearly. you have no idea how lucky you are that I came along when I did and that I've recently made so many advancements with my goo. I must find a better term for it, something with quantum, nano in it maybe. It's exciting stuff, but due to its incredibly unique properties, you may feel a bit disoriented, held a jar in front of Peter. He tapped it, making Peter wince inwardly.

For instance, you may experience unsettling, sensations since your ears and auditory processing centers are in here. Meanwhile, your eyes are, well, your eyes are in there, as you can tell, in another jar. The rest of you is here and there nearby. I'm sure you'll be relieved to know I found most of you all the essentials anyway. Dr. Gould kept talking and talking. Peter wanted to scream, but Dr. Gould would not stop, relentlessly explaining himself to his mutant and impotent patient. It seemed his miraculous goo kept the various parts and pieces of Peter alive. And though separated by some distance and completely unconnected,

many parts worked as if still united. It sounded to Peter like mumbo-jumbo or the scientific equivalent of magic. Still, it was evident that his eyes were indeed here. The majority of his brain was over there, and his ears were currently on the move in Dr. Gould's hand. The old man carried Peter's ears around as if dictating into a might, microphone. And to say it was disorienting for Peter to no longer be at the center of what his senses were experiencing was an understatement. A colossal understatement. Peter felt that in this

case disorienting required many more modifiers in front of it, long strings of additional words such as terribly and horrifically. Despite Dr. Gould's assertions, Peter did not grow any more comfortable with his living nightmare in the weeks that followed. He still had no voice and had no other means to communicate, which left him trapped and powerless. He might have been able to blink yes or no, but his eyelids were apparently located elsewhere, or perhaps missing altogether. Even blinking was impossible. The doctor did not appear to be interested in establishing a back-and-forth communication anyway. Peter was subjected to one arcane experiment after another, while also being forced to endure the non-stop monologues coming from this madman, who finally had a captive audience

to whom he could explain his acts of genius. When at long last, the doctor appeared to be satisfied by the results of all his tests. Peter found himself being packed at random in a dozens of shipping boxes, all bound for a prestigious university. Proof of theory, Dr. Gould called this step, with obvious relish. He saved the jar that contained his patient's ears for last, and as he carefully went about boxing and sealing the rest, he explained how Peter would soon be the most famous medical one.

wonder in history. With more help in funding, the world would watch as Peter's full resurrection was completed. We will be rich, and everyone will forever remember the names Andrew Gould and Peter Emery. And you will be whole again. Of course, your present state has laid the groundwork and showed me the way. And very soon, we will be able to regrow you exactly as you were. Or you can make new selections. Yes, consider that during your coming journey. As a reward for your patience, I will tailor your body. you wish. Would you like to be taller? Would you prefer fair hair to brown? A chiseled jarline? You have but to request your idea of physical perfection, and I will make it so. For now, Peter could only

endure. He had no other choice. Dr. Gould picked up the jar that held Peter's eyes, gave him a wink that made Peter yearn to have the same ability once more, and sealed him into yet another box. The trip almost turned out to be more unnerving than the days Peter had spent listening to the doctor. He heard loud noises, and some of his disjointed parts felt the rumbling vibrations of take-offs, hand-offs, and deliveries. More than once his stomach dropped as the planes he'd been loading onto accelerated, which was a familiar sensation, except that his stomach also felt like it was ten feet away. More maddening were the changes in pressure that gave him an insatiable urge to scratch his big toe, a simple task that was currently impossible, and which only got worse the more he tried not to think about it.

He had no idea how long a trip lasted, but after what felt like an eternity of discomfort in darkness, he heard a new voice, the voice of a young woman. Oh, what is this? ears? And a liver? Look, there's a kidney in this one. You get disturbing male, professor. Said an older voice. Don't tell me. They're from Andrew Gould, aren't they? Looks like it. Who's he? A one-man's circus. Sorry, I usually warn new assistants. He's been annoying the whole medical sciences department for years, claiming he was on the verge of the biggest breakthrough ever. Practical immortality, that sort of thing.

Muffled laughter was followed by playful sarcasm. Oh, come on, Professor. We must use the scientific method and examine his proof. Otherwise, how do you know he hasn't found immortality? Because a heart attack proved him wrong, came the grunted reply. They found his body right off campus last week. I heard he was trying to gargle some nasty-smelling goop when he died. Oh, Jesus, now I feel like a jerk.

Yes, well, he was irritating. But I don't think it was intentional. I must admit I'll miss his rambling letters and emails full of pseudoscience. They were great for forwarding. What do you want to do with these packages? Incinerator. Damn, that's a lot of trips downstairs. Why did he have to send so many?

Who knows? Hard to figure a nutcase. Don't even bother. Just toss him. Finally, thought Peter. Though his eyes were still in dark, his ears soon heard the approaching roar of the incinerator. He welcomed it. The blank void of non-existence would at last be his. So much better than the freak show he'd turn into against his will. The university's incinerator must have been a heavy-duty machine. In fast, sharp flashes, he felt himself go. Peace. by piece into death. He envisioned the boxes turning to ash, the glass jars splitting and cracking, and the milky goo boiling away in a sizzling hiss as his remaining limbs and organs shriveled up like

blackening of bacon. Though the process took longer than his motorcycle crash, this time the fact that he wanted it meant it hurt far less. Comely, he waited for the end, but the end refused to come. It was only much later that Peter came to believe he understood what had happened and why the flames had not granted him the release he craved. Somewhere, in an unknown location, you imagine there was a carefully packaged box that had gotten separated from its mates. Perhaps it was sealed with warning tape and sitting in the lost, damaged, and undeliverable section of a giant shipping warehouse. Within that box was a jar, and within that jar was a brain, totally deprived of all sensory input. it. The almost magical connection between his brain and the rest of its body had extended further than even Dr. Gould had anticipated. And now the brain was all that remained of Peter Emery.

He wondered how long it would take before someone got around to investigating such a box, how long until he was finally incinerated, or would his brain jar be donated to end up sitting on a shelf and gathering dust? How long would it take life-sustaining goo to evaporate from an airtight seal. How insane was he going to be by the time he finally succeeded and died with only his own thoughts for company? Peter had a feeling he was in for quite a wait before any of these questions were answered. For the researchers who monitor the condition of our oceans, the amount of garbage which pollutes our seas is a horror story in and of itself. But in this tale from author John Patrick, a man aboard an ocean research vessel recovers a strange item which contains an old

handwritten account from the distant past. The harrowing tale told therein is disturbing enough, and even more so when the man realizes the danger is not confined to the past. And it all started when he found a message in a very old bottle. On an ocean goes, he was a very old bottle. On an ocean goes, research vessel. We do some incredible things. Right now, however, we're doing some garbage research, literally. We've been tracking the North Atlantic garbage patch and measuring the impact on the environment. The oceans have currents. These currents form gyres, and these gyres have somewhat stagnant sections where flotsam will pool and collapse. More flotsam allows for a larger area and gives additional debris a point to hold on to.

We've been examining the microscopic pieces of plastic that float unseen amidst the larger pieces of debris. These plastics are eaten by small fish and invertebrates, which are eaten by larger fish, and so on up the food chain. Some predatory birds and fish contain so much plastic in their blood that they die of clots before they die of malnourishment. I wish I could say I was some doctoral candidate out to save the ocean, but I'm an intern. Here to make a few bucks. We ran into a patch of interesting debris a few days ago, which we decided to catalog. We changed our tactic. somewhat. Instead of just skimming the surface for the small plastic specs, we also decided to pull some of the

larger chunks and put them in our hold for storage. These included massive fishing nets, boosies and floats, an old life raft, and a few smaller things such as a bicycle helmet, cooler and, oddly enough, a small anchor that had become entangled in a net with floats attached to it. After we fished several scoops from the water, we began to analyze the debris and break it down into smaller boxes to go through individually. I had the mind-numbing task of looking for glass particles. This led me to the small box that contained an old bottle, a few scraps that somehow floated on the surface or were attached to other buoyant objects,

and an interesting glass pendant that looked like it belonged in a museum. It was neat, but the most valuable part appeared to be the chain itself, which was plated in gold. The underlying metal hadn't rusted completely yet, and the gold might be worth a few bucks. I was really focusing on the pendant when I almost knocked the bottle to the floor. It was old too. I mean, it was older. The pendant might have been 1930s, judging by the style, whereas the bottle was clearly from before the turn of the century. I looked in the top and there was an aged cork stopper jammed down the throat of the bottle. It was so far in the opening that I couldn't pry it out by hand.

I dug in our tools and found something that resembled a corkscrew and pried the plug out. I expected a foul smell or something, but I didn't notice anything, and instead saw just a small, simple sheet of paper rolled up inside. I extracted it and placed it on our exam table with a light. for a better look. I transcribed it as best I could. Some of it's unclear or doesn't make sense. English is my first and only language,

but this dude's handwriting is hard to read and confusing as hell in some places. Here's what he wrote. November 28, 1872, or possibly November 29. I am unsure of the hour as it is very late or very early. I have given up hope. The storm that has plagued us has turned queer.

I do not understand what the sky wants from us, but it will not yield. I have asked God for forgiveness for my sins and am resigned. to my fate. I may have not been able to save my wife, my child, or any of my men, but they have been unable to catch me as of yet. I hope that they do soon. The water is very cold, and the storm threatens my small boat with each wave. It started three days ago, or four, I am unsure, with a peculiar-looking cloud that followed my ship for several hours before nightfall.

The crew made note of it and prepared for a storm. The cloud seemed to glow and gave off an aura of evil. I don't know what we beheld in those first few days, but it certainly gave me pause. The alcohol in the hold was secured tightly to prevent the metal bands from rubbing and possibly igniting a spark. But we could still smell the vapors. It unnerves me even now. I ordered our sails to fall to try to get ahead of the storm as best we could, but it was no use. The wind seemed to carry the storm far faster than they carried us.

Just as the sunset, the sea stirred up a wicked melstrom of mountainous waves within minutes. Waves tall enough to sink a ship twice our size came into view before the night stole our light from us. I ordered the sails down as quickly as possible, but one became entangled and the other ripped in short order. We began to take waves over our sides, but the bilge pumps handled them well, at least for the start. Two of them became clogged shortly after midnight, and the third didn't seem to be keeping pace with the water. I ordered my wife and child up and ready to abandon ship.

It was our last hope. We could not abandon too early. The islands were still quite far away, and I had no idea how close we were to Santa Maria with the broken chronometer. The seas seemed to calm briefly, however, and we survived the night. The winds, however, were completely gone in the morning. The cloud was still on the horizon. It continued to produce strange.

lights and continued to follow us throughout the day. The seas were as flat as an inland bay, but I could see turmoil at a distance. The cloud had massive waves all around it, but somehow our vessel was spared. We could not seem to find a favorable wind, and so we waited. The day, fast quickly as we tried to plan our next course of action. The night was different. The waves returned, but only periodically, as if some monstrosity were circling the boat, waiting for a chance to strike from beneath the surface of the water.

We couldn't see it from our ship, but something of great size seemed to look. lurk just beneath the surface. It was big enough to cause massive sudden waves that threatened to capsize our ship and washed one of my men over the side. I realized once the sea calmed that it was Albert. He never surfaced. The day turned to night before our eyes, inside. some sort of cruel twist, and the rain started anew to a scream amidst the torrent and blindly reached for the wall as I stumbled in my cabin. Our number was now down to six as three more men had been taken in the night. My wife and daughter remained, though my wife had lost her wits.

She complained of a large flash that had taken the men on deck. The smell of the alcohol in the hold was noticeable even on deck, and I could see the doors had been opened at some point. Perhaps the fumes caused them to fly open rapidly, knocking the men into the water. Well, it was terrifying but could have taken place. Oh, I don't know. The morning was unsettling. My remaining crew began to turn on itself, and I stopped three brawls by midday.

The food and water would last us for months, but we were, nonetheless, effectively stranded on our own island with no way to navigate. If the winds couldn't catch us in our remaining tattered sail, we'd never move again, and our only hope was to wait for the day, Greta. They couldn't be more than a fortnight behind us. Something bored in the boat shortly before dusk. We found Prince, though none of us could identify them. The hold was ordered off limits and the latches were secured. Water began to accumulate due to the broken pumps and strange sounds could be heard from within the vacated hold. We decided to abandon ship somewhat.

The peak haliad for the main sail was a sturdy rope by any means and could support a support a. many times the weight of the sail in a massive gale. We pulled down the rope before the sun completely set and secured it to the lifeboat. This would be our safety line. Before we embarked, however, I saw something that I will never forget, not if I live five minutes longer or five decades. My wife, holding our daughter, began to glow before my very eyes. I saw a strange, dark creature walking behind her, and suddenly she looked at me, smiled, and all three vanished into thin air. I reached for them, and the air burst. And the air burned. And the air burst. burned my skin.

The wound was terrible and painful, causing me to lose consciousness briefly. When I came to, I found that only I and my helmsman remained on board, and only briefly. He looked at me to make sure I was all right, then promptly walked over the side, died into the waves.

The storm was dreadful now, and the sun had completely set. I turned to the lifeboat, and with tears in my eyes, hurled myself on board and left the ship. As I drifted back, I saw numerous flashes on board and could see the whole being opened. Several figures appeared on the deck, but either they were ignoring the small lifeboat, or they hadn't noticed me bobbing in the distance. And so here I sit. There are things, creatures I can't explain, swimming in the water, mere inches from where I sit. I'm going back to the boat now. Maybe I will be taken.

Maybe I shall remain. May those who receive this know what became of us. Heaven knows I won't. Be Briggs, Captain Hems. My boss, as we're currently on opposite ends of the ship. and he told me to wait right there, he'd be right over. That was three hours ago. It doesn't take that long to walk 350 feet.

I paged his partner and she never responded. The bridge is empty, the deck devoid of life, and I've seen just one other person since finding the bottle. The first mate calmly threw himself over the rails into the deep blue. He vanished shortly before hitting the water in a green flash that sent noxious vapors back onto the deck. There's something large in the water. It's almost like there's a submarine right under the ship, but it moves like a fish,

and it's fast. I keep hearing strange noises like it's pinging us too. Not a normal sound, though. One I can just barely hear that resonates through the entire hull of the ship. On deck went out half an hour ago, but below some rooms still have power. I've sent a distress call,

but I don't know that it actually went. The last thing I could see before the sun set completely was an odd greenish cloud in the distance. It was lower than all the rest. The power is out everywhere now that I know of except my quarters. I'm locking the door. I've already tried to send a May Day. If anyone gets this, we're a few miles off the Azores.

Something's in the water. God help me. 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 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.