The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S4E19

Episode Date: December 7, 2014

It's episode 19 of Season 4. We have five tales for you this week, featuring stories about disturbed doctors, malicious memories, and frightening forests. The full episode features the following stories. The free version features only the first two tales.  "Experiences of a Hypnotist" written by Paul Robinson and read by David Cummings & Jessica McEvoy. (Story starts at 00:07:05) "The Church Basement" written by Michael Marks and read by David Cummings. (Story starts at 00:25:45) "Long-Term Care" written by Cliff Barlow and read by David Cummings. (Story starts at 00:49:15) "Edith's Memory" written by C.C. Arbs and read by David Cummings & Jessica McEvoy & Wendy Corrigan. (Story starts at 01:12:45) "Rocking Horse Creek" written by C.K.Walker and read by Rock Manor. (Story starts at 01:50:20) Click here to learn more about Phase Melt Digital Click here to learn more about Michael Marks Click here to learn more about Cliff Barlow Click here to learn more about C.C. Arbs Click here to learn more about C.K.Walker Click here to learn more about Rock Manor Podcast produced by: David Cummings Music & Sound Design by: David Cummings & Brandon Boone "The Church Basement" 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

Hi folks, this is David, the producer of the show. I want to make a short announcement and felt it would be better to do it right at the start for reasons which will soon become clear. I have recently become the focus of a very small yet very vocal group of people who feel they can dictate to me the type of content I use on the podcast. In spite of my efforts to include things like trigger warnings, it seems to these people that unless I flag virtually any form of content with, which could be considered disturbing to anyone, I am being negligent and harmful to our listeners. I feel I need to be perfectly clear about the kind of show this is to those people who seem unfamiliar to what a horror fiction podcast is all about. From the very beginning of the podcast, I have had a disclaimer on our website, stating the graphic nature of its content. The episodes are marked as explicit on iTunes.

Until now, I have felt that was enough warning. However, I now feel that I must provide a clear and unambiguous warning at the start of each show in order to remind people that it is their personal responsibility to guard what they expose themselves to, if, in fact, they are sensitive to certain themes. I will continue to provide trigger warnings when I feel they are warranted, but those warnings have been and will continue to be for only the most graphic imagery, not implied imagery. I will also continue to act as story editor and refuse to allow stories on the podcast

which I feel cross the subjective line of good taste. To date, we have produced well over 350 stories in the almost four years of this podcast, and except for a very small number of them, I feel like the stories we have produced have walked the right side of that fine line between genuine horror and tasteless filth. So, from now on, before the start of the theme music, you will hear a disclaimer. I felt it was important that our regular listeners understand that the podcast is not changing in any way. The stories are not going to suddenly become more graphic or more hardcore. I simply need to let everyone know that they are forewarned.

and listen to this podcast of their own volition. And now, the disclaimer. Warning, this is a podcast of horror fiction. It is intended for a mature adult audience. The stories presented here are intended to disturb. They are likely to contain death, graphic violence, explicit sex, including imagery of sexual violence, hate crimes, blasphemy, or other themes and images,

that disturb. We assume by your listening that you wish to be disturbed for your entertainment. If there are themes that you cannot deal with in fiction that are too strongly personal to you, please do not listen. If you feel that any particular episode is moving in a direction you are not comfortable with, please do yourself a favor and turn it off. In other words, brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. It's time. to give into your fear because tonight there will be no... Brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. He says I scream, kick, bite, and scratch while I'm completely asleep.

I scream so loud the neighbors have called the police thinking I was being beaten or stab. I reached the end of the aisle and noticed to my left what looked like a hatch that led down to a basement. I had already decided that I was going to try some. something unorthodox with Bill. As a matter of fact, it was to begin the following day from my conversation with Martha that evening. I don't quite remember where I was headed or why I had crashed, but I do remember plowing it into a telephone pole.

Breaking from my trance, I hurled the rest of the rope into the water and fled into the woods. It's episode 19 of season four. Welcome to the show. I'm your host, David Cummings. We have five tales for you this week, featuring stories about disturbed doctors, malicious memories, and frightening forests. As I often mention,

my musical collaborator, Brandon Boone, has become an integral contributor to the podcast. His musical scores adds so much to the creepy tales we present. In fact, this episode features the 100th story which Brandon has scored for us. So a hearty congratulations to you, Brandon, for reaching triple digits with us. Here's hoping that there will be many more musical milestones to come. And speaking of Brandon's music, he has recently teamed up with Phase Melt Digital, a designer of custom sound packs for aspiring musicians. As a featured artist at Phase Melt,

Brandon has incorporated some of their sound packs into his own scores. Most recently, he used their sounds on last week's story to a child, memories are everything. So if you're a musician or sound designer looking for some fresh new sounds, check out the Phase 1 Introduction Pack, available at phasedmeltdigital.com. And before we begin this episode, I want to welcome a new narrator into the fold.

Rock Manor lends his voice to this episode's final tale. Make sure you check out the show notes for a link to Rock's site to learn more about the man behind the voice. Welcome to the show, Rock. And in fact, I welcome everyone to the show as we kick things off and jump right in. In our first tale, we meet a man who offers hypnotherapy sessions to people looking to overcome bad habits. But as we learn from author Paul Robinson, when one woman seeks his help for something entirely unique, he discovers she may be dealing with something far more serious than he can solve. Jessica McAvoy joins me in narrating this tale as we learn that there are more than bad habits at work during the experiences of a hypnotist.

I have a psychology degree, and I was considering becoming a psychiatrist, but the years of school were just cost prohibitive. I figured I'd be happy enough doing hypnotherapy sessions. What's worse is now I mostly do smoking cessation hypnotherapy. Most of the time, it's really boring. People come in, tell me their triggers for smoking, be it cost. coffee, alcohol, food, whatever. And once they're under hypnosis, I'll plant suggestions to convince them not to smoke and specifically link the dissuasion suggestions to their triggers. Stress is a common trigger for smoking and people who have trouble at work or in their

relationships need a dissuasion suggestion for that stressful situation. Often, when fully aware, people aren't comfortable or willing to share. what's causing them stress, as these are deeply personal issues and sometimes embarrassing for the patient. Most often, I'll wait until they are under hypnosis before asking, what's been bothering you lately, or what have you not told your best friend or spouse or significant other? I've had a few surprising responses. I've learned people were cheating on their spouse.

I've learned that the husband was not the biological father of the child and didn't know the child wasn't his. I've learned about childhood mental and emotional trauma events that were mostly familial abuse. There was one person that was kidnapped for a few hours. He was visibly shaken and terrified that his children would be kidnapped one day. What really gets me is the woman that killed. came in last month. She set up an appointment with my assistant, and since we advertise for

smoking cessation hypnotherapy, I assume that's what she was here for. By all outward appearances, she was completely normal. She dressed like a typical office worker bee. When we were doing our pre-session consultation, I asked her what she wanted to accomplish in today's session. I want to find out what's inside me. Excuse me? I want to find out what is inside me. I am not sure I understand. Think I'm possessed.

My note say you're here for smoking cessation hypnotherapy. Is that not why you're here today? I'm sorry to have lied to your scheduler, but I didn't think you would see me any other way. Okay. Okay, so please tell me why you're here and I'll see what I can do. I honestly don't know. My husband says I have night terrors.

He says I scream, kick, bite, and scratch while I'm completely asleep. I scream so loud, the neighbors have called the police thinking I was being beaten or stabbed. I even see some tiny marks on me that look like bug bites when I wake up. She rolls up her sleeves and shows me tiny red marks. They look like pimples that have been popped. Just a tiny red dot. No real swelling to speak of. They don't appear to be any type of bug bite I've ever seen.

I don't have a good explanation for these right now. Are they just on your arms? She doesn't say anything. She just looks ashamed. She rolls up her pant leg. Her legs are covered in similar-looking pockmarks. I'm covered in these, except for my face, neck, hands, and feet. Anything covered by long pants and a long-sleeved shirt is just completely marked up with these red dots.

I have no idea what's causing this. I don't even know where to turn. I've seen doctors who can't diagnose this as any type of disease. I've had allergy tests and I'm not allergic to anything. I've had exterminators spray for every type of biting bug or insect in this hemisphere. Nothing has changed. I asked her if she remembered her dreams. She said that she remembered some of them.

Usually she remembers being chased and stabbed or kidnapped and stabbed or even thrown in a pit of dirty needles. All of her dreams involve being stabbed in some way. I asked her about being stabbed at any time in her life, maybe as a child. She says never. I wonder if this is a fear of needles, and if this started when she had an injection or blood drawn. She says she's terrified of needles, but doesn't believe this started at the time she had any type of injection or blood draw.

I'm suspicious. I don't know what's causing this. I'm a bit out of my depth, and I considered referring her to a psychiatrist. Honestly, though, this is the most interesting case I've had in years. I decided I'd start the hypnosis session and just see where this would lead. This is the audio recording of her session once I had her under. How do you feel? You're safe, comfortable. Nothing bad will happen to you. I'll watch over you. I notice she starts to tense up and grind her teeth.

What's wrong? What are you feeling? Someone is standing over me. Where are you? In my bed. Who is standing over you? I don't know. It's big. Describe what you see. It's dark.

I don't see anything. I feel eyes watching me. Don't be afraid. I'm here. You're safe. He's coming closer. He's leaning over me. Can you see his face?

No. Can you see anything? Look for a clock. I can see my clock. What? What time does it say? I can't read it. I can't focus on it.

Good. You're in a dream state. This isn't real. It's just a memory. Relax and focus on the person leaning over you. Tell me what you can gather. Sounds, smells. I can hear it breathing.

It's breath smells like potpourri. You said he earlier. Is it human? Is it male? Yes. What is he doing? Leaning over me. He has what looks like, I don't know.

A metal tent steak? I think he's going to stab me. Relax. You're safe. I'm here. My assistant burst through the door with a terrified look. Her face is pale and her mouth is wide open. It seems she expected to see me stabbing this woman because of the blood-curdling screams.

The patient wakes up and becomes alert again. She's calm now, but visibly shaken, sweating. She starts to inspect her arms and legs looking for new marks. Did you see anything? No. What happened? I rewound the audio tape and played it for her. Throughout the whole thing, her facial expressions and body language showed a strange mix of terror and shame.

I suggested she have a sleep study done at the local hospital. She declined. She said it was too embarrassing for her. She drove two hours outside of the city where she lives to come see me because she wanted some privacy. I offered to refer her to a psychiatrist I knew in her city. She declined. She said she wanted me to help her resolve this and then to never see me again. She didn't want to be reminded of this ever again. I thought about this for a while and offered to set up a video camera in her house to watch her sleep. I could watch it online. She agreed to

Agreed. She hired someone to set up a camera in her bedroom and emailed me a few days later with a website, username, and password. I was able to see into her bedroom. The first night, I could see her having night terrors. She was tossing, turning, moaning, kicking, moaning more, and even screaming. I could see her husband get up and leave the room. I couldn't blame him. I wouldn't be able to sleep through her shrill screams either.

The second night, it was the same thing. Except this time, I think the husband was considering divorce. He got up at about 1 a.m. and just stood on the other side of the bed watching her as she kicked and screamed, terrified of being stabbed. He eventually left the room, and I assume slept. on the couch. The third night she was sleeping peacefully. The husband got up, left the room for a few minutes, and came back. This time he had something in his hand. I couldn't see what it was. He leaned over her and put his face no more than two inches above her face. I thought he was going to

kiss her, thankful that she was sleeping peacefully. He stayed there a while. I was frozen watching the screen. His face was still close to her face, but he extended his left arm down to her leg without looking. He's holding something that's too small for me to see what it is. It looks like he just placed something down there gently, but I can't see it. He lets his hands meet behind his back,

his face still up close to hers and appears to get another whatever it was from his other hand. He reaches out to the other leg and places something there. I wonder what it is he's doing. He knows the camera's there. It doesn't look like he's hurting her, but I can't help but wonder if he has little pins or needles that he's putting in her legs like acupuncture or something. They're two hours away and there is no way I can get over there in time.

I figure I'll just watch a little longer and if it appears he's hurting her, I'll call their local police. The husband leaves the room. I decide to take this time to look up the non-emergency number to their local police department. When the husband comes back, he has something long and thin in his hand. I see a spark and he lights it on fire. It looks like an incense stick. He stands over her, moving the incense stick up and down like he's praying. After a few minutes, he is moving the incense across her body from her feet to her head.

He goes back and forth between praying with the incense and moving it in patterns around her body until the incense burns to the end. He leaves the room for a few minutes and comes back. He then puts his face right up to hers again and starts placing the things all over her body very quickly this time. He stops, stands up straight, looks up at the camera, and smiles. I called her local police.

I explained the situation as best I could. They didn't believe me. They started to accuse me of being some type of voyeur watching a camera in a couple's bedroom. I hung up. I called 911 and told them the address of a domestic violence situation. They said it was out of their area, but they would report it to the other city.

They started asking me how I knew there was a domestic violence sent an address in the next town. I said the woman called me to say she was being abused. They seemed to believe that. I was glued to the screen. That creepy fucker was still staring at the camera and just smiling. About ten minutes later, I see flashing red and blue lights through the bedroom window. I'm relieved.

The cops are there. The police dispatcher from her city calls me and asks for more information. I tell her I can see the camera in the room and they need to check on the woman in the bed. I hear the doorbell ring through the video stream. The husband immediately drops to the floor on his back and starts to snore. Classic sleepwalking symptom. He starts to shake like he's having a minor seizure and I start to start to shake. yelling at the dispatcher to tell the cops to break in, there's now a man having a seizure.

They need to get an ambulance to him. The husband stopped shaking. He lies there a moment and stands up again. I can hear the cops have stopped ringing the doorbell. I see what looks like flashlights flickering in the windows. I think they're trying to look in the windows to get a reason to kick down the door. The husband starts picking up whatever he placed on his wife earlier, puts them back in one hand, and leaves the room.

A few moments later, I hear a faint banging. The dispatcher says they saw the husband in the bathroom window standing on a chair and reaching up into the attic space. When they banged on the window, he fell off the chair and the attic door spring slammed it closed. This was enough reason for the room. them to come inside. He could have heard himself falling off the chair and may need medical attention. The cops call for an ambulance and go back to kick in the front door. Once inside, they shake the

husband and ask if he's okay. He wakes up and asks why they're in his house. They explain there was a domestic abuse call. He seems annoyed and explains to the cops about his wife's night terrors. The cops go to the master bedroom and beat on the door. The wife wakes up and explains about the night terrors. The cop seems satisfied and start to leave. I'm begging the dispatcher to have the cops look in the attic space. What was he putting on her? It had to be up there. One cop pulls the chain on the attic door and outfall. hundreds of rusty, dirty, blood-stained, sewing needles. After moving to a new town, a young man decides to explore the woods around his house.

As author Michael Marks describes, the teen soon discovers an old abandoned church nearby, which he is all too willing to explore. But before long, he realizes the church may not be entirely forgotten or abanded. His ordeal begins when he finds himself in the church basement. When I was 15, my parents moved to a pretty rural area of California. I had lived in the Bay Area my whole life and was pretty used to the city, so moving out into what felt like the middle of nowhere was quite a switch to me. It was a nothing little town on the road to Reno.

It didn't even register as a stuff. register as a stop unless you were desperate for respite from the road. Really, it was a few scattered houses on back roads in the woods and a downtown area. That was little more than a post office and liquor slash video store. I thought it was hell. We moved up at the start of the summer, meaning that I was leaving my friends behind right at the time when I was ready to go and spend my days goofing off. with him. It pissed me off, and I complained the whole time, but the old man didn't care.

In his words, he just needed to get away from all the damn people. This was a sentiment he would echo into old age. I love my father, but a people person, he is not. Anyway, like I said, it was the start of summer when I got there, so I really didn't have. much to do. Most weeks my parents would be at work and I would just bum around and watch TV, play video games, and fuck around on the computer. One day though, I just had to get out of there and decided I wanted to go exploring the woods that were around my house. My parents told me multiple times not to go out there alone, but at that point I couldn't have given two shits. I had to get out.

With that, I stepped out the back door, walking stick in hand, and proceeded up the hill behind my house. It was a hot day, and about 15 minutes into my walk, I was sweating like a pig. It didn't help that the woods behind my house were almost entirely an uphill climb. I stopped and rested on a fallen log about halfway up the hill for some of the house. some water. I pulled the bottle out of my pack and took a few sips as I was staring back down at my house. I clearly remember thinking how I should just keep walking further and further into the woods. Just saying fuck it to everything and just disappear. Maybe then my parents would regret bringing me up there. It was a stupid teenage kind of thought, the kind you get when you're forced to do something

you don't want to, and it passed out of my head. I turned and continued my climb up the hill. I saw some signs of both people and animals as I made my way up. Little deer trails carved out in the brush, snake skins, and old tire swing someone had set up in one of the trees and beer cans, lots of beer cans. I guess behind our house was the party spot for someone. I finally reached the top of the hill and turned to look back down at my house. It was quite a ways away, and I thanked gravity that the way back would be so much easier. I shuffled over to the other side of the hill and peered down to see what was on the other side. I pretty much expected to see more woods, but much to my surprise, I saw something else.

About a quarter of the way down the hill was an old abandoned church, built on an outcropping. The place looked like it had not had anyone in it in decades, and even in its prime it was little more than a shoddy wood cabin with a cross on top. Me, being 15 years old and bored out of my mind, figured I should go check it out. So, down the other side of the hill I went, trying to hold footing as I made my way towards the outcropping. I reached the front of the church and stepped up onto the porch. A set of wooden double doors, with silver crosses embedded in the front of them, greeted me. I grabbed the rusted handles and pulled. The heavy door swung open and my nose was immediately assaulted by a terrible smell.

The best way to describe it would be decay, the smell of rotting wood and flesh mingled together with a musty weight and summer heat. I nearly gagged and my hands let go of the doors, letting their weight. Pull them closed. I turned away from the porch and stuck my head off the edge trying to catch fresh air. The smell made me feel like I was going to puke. At this point, I should have just walked back down the hill and headed for home. Instead, I decided to power through and check the place out. I grabbed my handkerchief out of my pocket and tied it around my face.

It smelled like my sweat since I'd been using it to wipe my brow the whole walk up, but it was a damn sight better than the stench that came out of those doors. I grabbed the handles again and pulled once more. This time I was prepared, and I had the handkerchief around my face, so the smell didn't hit me quite as hard. Not to say it was in any way pleasant, but I could. manage it. I stepped into the little church and between the two rows of pews that flanked either side. The building was small. There was only three pews on either side. One had actually been tipped over on the left, and another on the right had been upended and actually rested against the wall. The short aisle between the pews led to a slightly raised part,

It held a pulpit, which surprisingly still stood upright, and a table with candles on it. The pulpit had another large silver cross embedded in the front of it that was exactly like the ones in the front door. Behind the table was a large crucifix. Jesus stared down from a top, the blood leaking from his head and wounded side. I walked down the aisle towards the pulpit. I could see where the stench was coming from. Along with a mold that had overtaken a large amount of the wood, there were multiple animals dead and rotting on the floor in between the pews.

Mostly smaller animals like birds and squirrels, but I also saw what looked like a fox staring up at me with empty eye sockets, sharp teeth grinning at me from its exposed skull. I shivered and looked away. I reached the end of the aisle and noticed to my left what looked like a hatch that led down to a basement. Chains crisscrossed the top with a padlock holding them together. The chains weren't rusted and the padlock looked relatively new. I suddenly felt very uncomfortable in there, coming to realize that someone else not only came here,

but felt the need to lock up the basement from the outside. This was the second point where I should have just turned and ran back to my house. Instead, I approached the hatch, intent on trying to find out what was locked up down there. I pressed my ear to the wooded door and listened closely. I couldn't hear anything, but my mind ran through a million possibilities pulled from a childhood filled with horror movies. I pictured some poor girl tied up down there, awaiting the return of a chainsaw-wielding maniac and her inevitable death.

I decided to call down, just in case. case, telling myself I was being brave and not stupid. Hello! I yelled down at the door. Is anyone there? I listened at the door, but there was no response. But I could have sworn I heard a slight shuffle. At this point, I either lost courage or wised up, depending on how you want to look at it,

and backed away from the hatch. I turned and started walking quickly down the aisle, back towards the doors. I made it three steps when the door swung open, and in front of me stood a disheveled-looking man. I froze, scared out of my mind that I had just come in contact with the chainsaw-wielding monster from my mind. Who are you? He asked gruffly,

What are you doing here? I tried to answer, but my voice froze in my throat, and my instincts told me to try and run past him and get out of there. Without a word, I broke into the fastest sprint I could muster. The man hunched down like a defensive tackle, ready to grab me as I went past. I tried to dodge out of the way, but he caught the back of my collar and pulled me back. I made an attempt to wiggle out of my shirt and slide free, but he reached around with his other arm and threw it around my neck before I could slip free.

His forearm pressed against my throat, cutting off my hair. I struggled against him, punching and kicking with all my strength, but it did nothing. will judge your worth, boy, he said to me in a low whisper as the edges of my vision darkened. He will decide your fate. With those words, my sight went black as I slipped into unconsciousness. I woke up with my face in the dirt. My throat hurt and I choked out a cough followed by a rough. breath, it felt like I was trying to breathe through a bent straw. I looked around me and saw that I was

laying on a dirt floor in a room lit by candlelight. Maybe a dozen or so candles were placed on shelves lining the stone walls. They lit up most of where I was sitting, but I could see nothing else in the room besides support beams. I would... in the basement of the old church. I got up to my feet and scanned my surroundings once more, looking for the staircase that led up to the church. I saw it just outside the edge of the candlelight and headed towards it with the hope that maybe the psycho

hadn't locked it up yet. Maybe I wouldn't be his next chainsaw victim if I could just get out of here. That's when I saw it, stepping out of the shadows and into the light. I froze, my brain unable to reconcile what it was seeing with anything I knew. The only reaction I could muster was to back up away from it. It looked almost human, emaciated as a long dead corpse, though. Bones peered and poked out under pale white flesh, making its longer than normal limbs look even longer.

Its body was hunched over, so it was only slightly taller than me, but if it stood to its full height, it would have reached at least seven feet. Its body was hairless and naked, but I couldn't see any kind of genitalia between its legs. Cryptic tattoos covered its skin, a deep black color that stood out in the glow of the candles. Worst of all was its face. It looked as if it had been drawn onto its bald head with marker. At first I thought its eyes were black, but I quickly realized it didn't have any eyes at all. It stared at me through empty sock. its mouth looked little more than a slit cut above its jaw, lipless and still.

I wanted to scream, but could only produce a whimper. I felt like I was two years old again, and the monster I always feared was in my closet, finally stepped out and showed itself. I stumbled as I backed up and fell hard on my tail. tailbone, sending pain into my lower back. The thing kept shuffling towards me, still staring with those empty sockets. I say staring because I somehow knew that this thing could see me, even with no eyes. Suddenly, the man shouted something upstairs in the church. I couldn't make it out, but the turned and looked up towards the hatch as if it was going to respond to him. I could see two huge

gaping wounds on its shoulder blades, open and bleeding a black substance down its back. I tried to stand, hoping I could get to the stairs. I didn't know if it would work. I just wanted to be away from this horror I was seeing. As I got to one knee, though, it turned its head back towards me quickly. I fell back again in shock as it seemed to suddenly glide across the ground until it was directly next to me. It reached out with bony fingers and touched my face, cocking its head to the side, like it was examining me. I felt my bladder let go and warm pain. Piss rushed down my thighs.

Tears spilled from my eyes as I shivered and cried. I wanted to see my mom, my dad, hell, even the lunatic from before. I just didn't want to be near this thing anymore. It let go of my face and stepped back from me, turning its head towards the basement ceiling. Suddenly, it's... slit mouth dropped open into a gaping black hole, a toothless maw that seemed prepared to swallow me whole. Something that sounded like static began to emit from its mouth, growing louder and

louder with each passing second. It felt like it was infesting my brain, driving out my thoughts and turning my fear to a sense of dread and panic. The best way to describe what I was hearing was that it was oppressive. I tried to cover my ears, but it didn't help. For a few seconds, I didn't even realize I was screaming. All I could hear was the static. It kept growing louder and louder, I thought my eardrums would explode. My head was swimming and a dizziness set in. I fell to my back, still screaming as loud as I could, and still hearing nothing but the static.

It felt as if an eternity had passed until I finally blacked out. I woke again with my face in the dirt. This time, though, I was laying on the ground outside of the church. My ears were ringing, my head throbbing as I slowly got to my feet. It took me a few seconds to realize where I was. It was dark now, and the full moon hung above me, bathing the church in an eerie blue glow. I stumbled my way back up the hill.

Hill, tears streaming down my cheeks as I went. I didn't know how I had gotten out of that basement, and I didn't care. I just wanted to be as far away from that place as possible. I tried to move as fast as I could back to my house, stumbling and falling down the hill as I went. When I finally reached the bottom, I was covered in scrapes and bruises. I looked through my teary eyes and saw the flashing lights of cop cars outside my house. My parents must have come home and found me missing. I didn't even know how long I'd been gone. I entered my house disoriented and staggering,

weeping uncontrollably and covered in my own piss and blood. The last thing I remember is seeing my own. my mom rushing towards me with her arms outstretched, crying, police coming quick behind her. I collapsed into her arms and once again blacked out. It was two days before I woke up in the hospital. My parents and the police questioned me endlessly, asking what had happened, and I told them the story I just told you. They, of course, didn't believe me, at least not the part about the thing I had encountered in the church basement.

The police did go looking for the church and the man I had described. They found both. The man dead of apparent heart failure on the church floor and the basement empty. They chalked the whole thing up to a delusion I had crudgeon. created to deal with what the man had done to me. I knew better, though. I wasn't crazy then, and I'm not crazy now. Whatever I saw in that basement was real, as real as anything I've ever seen.

The case was closed, as far as everyone else was concerned, though. I was a traumatized boy, making up stories to deal with abuse. I had suffered at the hands of some sick lunatic. I was released from the hospital later that week, cut up and bruised, and for some reason no one could explain, now unable to hear out of my right ear. I spent years in counseling afterwards, with therapists telling me that the abuse I suffered created some kind of psychotic break, leading me to create a monster in place of a man. My memory of the event has never changed, though, never deviated from what I know. That was 16 years ago.

I've since moved back to the city and tried to lead the most normal life I can. Tried to put it all behind me. Tried to let it all go. Some nights, though, when it's quiet and dark, I can hear the static humming in my deaf ear. Your episode has come to an end. Thank you for spending time with us at the No Sleep Podcast. If you would like to learn how you can hear the full-length version of this episode, featuring many more stories, please visit the No Sleep Podcast.

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. Just.