The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S4E20

Episode Date: December 14, 2014

It's episode 20 of Season 4. We have five tales for you this week, featuring stories about frantic families, excruciating experiments, and creepy creatures. The full episode features the following stories. The free version features only the first two tales.  "These Woods" written by Teresa Woodley and read by Jessica McEvoy. (Story starts at 00:05:40) "It Would Be My Sister" written by T.E. Parker and read by David Cummings & Jessica McEvoy. (Story starts at 00:19:55) "I'm Never Babysitting Again" written by Frankie Murray and read by Nikolle Doolin. (Story starts at 00:42:35) "Testing in Progress" written by Jon Patrick and read by Peter Lewis. (Story starts at 00:50:35) "The Wilson Ranch Incident" written by Victor King and read by Jessica McEvoy & Rima Chaddha Mycynek & Mike DelGaudio & Alexis Bristowe & Alex Beal & Kyle Akers & Tisha Boone & Brian Mansi & David Cummings. (Story starts at 01:20:25) Click here to learn more about Frankie Murray Click here to learn more about Nikolle Doolin Click here to learn more about Mike DelGaudio Podcast produced by: David Cummings Music & Sound Design by: David Cummings & Brandon Boone "The Wilson Ranch Incident" 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

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. There will be no sleep. Brace yourself. For the No Sleep Podcast. Something told me not to run, and I guess that's just country instincts. Don't run from animals. You become prey if you weren't already before.

I couldn't resent her for it. If he'd still been around, I might have killed him myself. Jack has been prone to night terrors and usually calms down after a bit of soothing, so I went upstairs to reassure him. I dreamt that I was on an airplane that was falling out of the sky as it was assaulted by small blue men. Others claim the 911 tapes are proof that mankind still has mysteries to solve in our own backyard. It's episode 20 of season four.

Welcome to the show. I'm your host, David Cummings. We have five tales for you this week, featuring stories about frantic families, excruciating experiments, and creepy creatures. I want to begin by sending my sincere thanks to all the listeners, who contacted me over the past week to show their support for me and the podcast. Last week's announcement about the new disclaimer stirred many of you to comment on how much you enjoy what we do

and that you support the kind of stories we produce for the show. I sincerely appreciate all the kind words and encouragement. I really didn't want to make a big deal about the disclaimer stuff, so I'm glad we can move forward and continue bringing everyone our own unique style of show. As ever, I'm swamped with emails and hopelessly behind in responding, so please accept this message as my way of thanking everyone who wrote to me, as I thank you on behalf of the entire No Sleep podcast team.

I also should have mentioned that the disclaimer we're using comes to us courtesy of our friends over at the Great Horror Fiction Podcast, pseudopod. They too felt the need to have a disclaimer on their show, and I asked Sean and Alistair from pseudopod if I could borrow their perfectly worded notice. I'm glad we horror podcasters can stick together like this. Now's a good time to make a couple of scheduling announcements. Next week's show, coming out on December 21st, will be our annual Christmas episode, featuring frightening festive tales.

It's always fun to make the podcast that dark lump of coal in an otherwise light, and cheerful holiday season. Then we're going to take the following week off so we can relax a bit and enjoy some downtime while Santa takes center stage. The podcast will return in the new year on January 4th with episode 22. Plus, season past members can look forward

to a couple of bonus episodes coming their way very soon. We have one bonus episode coming out very early in the new year, as well as the return of the popular, suddenly shocking series, featuring dozens of flash fiction tales to bring you blazingly fast frights. Finally, I should mention

that with the new year comes thoughts of a new season of the podcast. Season 5 is set to launch on February 8th, and that's only a couple of months away. Some people are already champing at the bit to sign up for the new season. I plan to begin pre-orders for a new season. season five around the end of January when season four wraps up. So there's plenty to look forward to.

The Christmas show, the holidays themselves, the new year, the bonus shows, the new season, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. It's time for this week's show. In our first tale, we head off into the forest for a relaxing nighttime stroll. But as we learn from author Teresa Woodley, Even when the forest is part of a family's property, the things which scurry through the dark trees can be just as unsettling as anything unknown. Narrator Jessica McAvoy reads the tale for us as we find out what happens when you're unprepared for these woods. I've always been wary of the woods. Not all woods, just mine. Well, they're not mine anymore, but my parents. I grew up in a little house and started in a big thicket of woods.

Of the 40-plus acres, we owned about 10. A long time ago, there used to be a fence that surrounded our property, but had been knocked around and abused so much by the weather and animals that only a handful of posts still stood like little wooden soldiers. My house, as I said, is little. I think before we remodeled, it was about 900 square feet. That's three bedrooms, or two technically, and mine being an office of sorts, a kitchen, bath, and living space.

As a little thing, my room consisted of a twin bed, a closet that I could barely fit sideways in, and a night table with my tiny little box TV on it. Painted yellow, mom's favorite color. My room was at the back of the house. so that means I had a window facing out into the woods. It was a small window and actually a good seven feet off the ground. My parents never put curtains up in our bedrooms, and even when we remodeled when I was 16, I never got curtains then.

Honestly, though, the window wasn't the problem. Living in the woods, you get used to the noises of critters out and about. I remember the first time I heard raccoons fighting, I woke up my parents crying. Hey, I thought someone was being murdered outside, and I was six. Fox's calling got to me too, for a while, until I was used to them and knew that they weren't a woman's scream. Dear make noises, too, you know. I'm not talking about those honking noises you often see on YouTube, but these weird, airy, huffing noises. I've only ever seen one do it, and that was when I was nine, and a big buck was in our yard.

He let me get pretty close to him before he bounded off, huffing as he went. I think it's a sound associated with fear. When I was 16 and we remodeled, I ended up with two windows facing the woods. One at the back of the house and the other on the north facing side, or from the back window to my left. Both had a good girth of maybe ten feet before the thick it began. Originally, we had a fence that circled the house, but that was taken down with the left. the renovations. Our house was built on a weird slope, so the window at the back still raised about seven or

eight feet off the ground, and the north window was over ten feet. Again, this story isn't about the windows. Since I've moved out, I have only stayed overnight once at my parents' house. My old room is empty since I took my bed in furniture, sand's a treadmill, and other miscellaneous junk my parents threw in there. I stayed on the couch that first night. But I didn't get much sleep, thanks to my insomniac father, clicking away all night on the family computer. So, when I returned home for a night recently, I opted to sleep in my old bedroom,

on a makeshift palette of ratty Disney-themed sleeping bags and lumpy forgotten pillows. Now, I work a night shift job, so after an hour of tossing and turning, I got up and wandered around. It was midnight, probably, and I cupped my hands around my eyes to see out the window. It was a regular night, not some spooky moonless nor a full moon witchy night. Just regular, slight overcast due to winter's fast approach. I listened to the rustle of trees from the unseasonably warm wind. Moments passed and I decided I'd go outside. It'd been pretty warm around here during the weekends,

so maybe a short walk through the woods would set aside my unease from childhood. Nothing bad ever happened to me out there. My cousins and I used to troll through these woods, swinging on vines and climbing trees. I never knew why I was so unsettled by the seemingly innocent trees. It was warm and pretty windy outside, enough to make me need a jacket, but nothing short of that. I headed out with no flashlight. With the moonlight and our stormlight partnered, there was no point. The first 20 or so minutes was fine.

I looked fondly at the high trees of very high trees of very. the south woods where the vines dropped over shallow ravines. Sadly, I was too heavy as an adult to swing on them, and with a tug, most fell down with a dull thump. As I circled around, still in view of my house, I started hearing it. A distant movement to my left. The dead leaves crunched tentatively. I assumed it was a fox, maybe even a dog. I didn't hear anything but the footsteps in the wind, I held my breath, and listened as I felt a little more nervous. Could be a coyote. Though it's not often they travel alone.

Closer now. Very delicate and light. Maybe a cat? I was as still as the wind would let me. Then I heard a little more, a soft inhale. I could tell even at this distance that it was through the nostrils due to a high-pitched wine. It was as if this little critter was holding its breath. Maybe we were spooking each other.

My lungs burned, and so I exhaled, loudly, and then panted a bit. When my breath slowed, I listened again and heard breathing. It was slow, deliberately masked breaths. Immediately I felt disjointed. I don't mean uncomfortable or frightened, but my mind felt like someone took a a hammer to it. A primal fear overwhelmed me so quickly that I didn't have time to panic. I stood standing in these woods, not a quarter mile from my own home, with tears blowing into the breeze. I was standing so my scent was directly smacking whatever was out there. It knew I was there.

I didn't run. I couldn't. I listened as the wind died down to the soft little step, Step, steps, three at a time. The air turned rank. I can't even begin to describe the smell to you. It smelled a lot like methane, that sort of sulfuric, flatulant smell, mixed with what I can only assume is rot. Think rotten meat that's been sitting in an outhouse for a week. Worse. The smell was so immense that I can't remember when I stopped crying and started vomiting mucus from me.

my sinuses draining. I think the vomiting helped me snap out of it, for when I stood back up and wiped the sleeve of my sweater across my mouth, I had control again. Something told me not to run, and I guess that's just country instincts. Don't run from animals. You become prey if you weren't already before. The footsteps stopped at the same time the smell came, and I heard the breathing to my left. It wasn't a dark night, but I couldn't see anything. Just trees. bushes, fallen limbs, suddenly the breathing stopped. Again, I caught myself holding my breath. My ears rang with silence. Even the wind had stopped blowing, moving noises. The noises circled me for at least five minutes. I stood still, feeling terrified and foolish. My house was literally right there.

Could I make it if I ran? The screaming stopped. I started. Loud, painful calls right into my left ear. I instinctively covered my ears and hunkered down. The scream continued, one long, mind-shattering note. It lasted longer than any animal or human could scream, or at least should scream. I felt footsteps to my left, and when I looked over my arm,

something bowled me over. I rolled down a small incline, eventually smooth. eventually smashing my back into a tree. The screaming was still going when I sat up and touched my ears and head, checking for wounds. I noted my ears were bleeding. I scrambled to my feet and looked around. Nothing. The screaming died to an echo in the woods.

I can't honestly say if the smell was still there. I think I was used to it by that point. My ears ached, pounding my heartbeat into my skull. I hear a small. all noise behind me. Very faint and light. I peaked around the tree to see my parents' bedroom light on. I could see the shadow of my mom in her window, calling out to me.

I couldn't make out what she was saying, and my head buzzed too fiercely. No. I called, Horace. I cleared my throat and stumbled around the tree a bit. No, no, Mom. I'm fine. Don't come out here. Shut the window!

I tried to mask the panic in my voice. My mom responded and closed the window. Their light went out immediately afterwards. The wind was gone, and the only thing I could hear was my own blood dripping from my ruptured eardrums. I couldn't feel much. My limbs felt numb, and my back ached. My whole head buzzed.

I couldn't even follow my own instincts if I had tried. I stood still, like a deer in the road. The pacing started around me again. Over the ringing in my ears, I heard that same huffing. I turned my head to follow it, straining to see whatever it was in the darkness. Nothing. I couldn't even see something blocking the lights of the house or the stars in the clearing. There was nothing but sound.

Mom, come out here. The voice was inhuman. It sounded like it was trying to mimic my own voice, but it had this animalistic quality to it. I pitched in whiny, but gravelly like a smoker's voice. It came out more like a yowl than anything. It repeated louder. Mom, come out here. When nothing happened, it stopped moving.

I could hear ragged breaths to my right. I'm out here. Come. I tripped and slid, falling a thwart. final time in my gravel driveway. I was sobbing, big heaving breaths. I couldn't breathe, and I was making too much noise to hear. I laid there and the security lights glow for God knows how long. Five, ten minutes? I finally calmed myself. I slowed my breathing. My knees pulled to my chest. A rock hit me on the back. Then another. I unfolded myself and looked behind me into the woods.

A figure stood, arms still extended from the toss. They stood at the edge of the light, and I could make out only a little detail. It looked like an animal was standing on its hind legs, but also humanoid. Eyes flickered a light whitish teal when it blinked. It turned and was gone into the shadows. I stood up and wiped the dust and dirt from my hands and pants. I was dazed, probably in a state of shock. I paced a little before I headed inside.

I walked back to my room and stood there, staring at the window. After a few minutes, I heard a small tap on the glass. It's never easy to grow up in a family when your sibling is the family golden child, while you are more like the black sheep. In this tale from author T.E. Parker, we learn how a younger brother resents his successful sister, so much so that he is now on a quest to see her well and truly dead. Jessica McAvoy joins me in reading this tale as we come to understand why the brother proclaims, if I could wish death on anyone, it would be my sister.

I can't think of anyone who deserves it more. I mean that from the bottom of my heart. Fuck you if you think that makes me the bad guy. Maddie was eight years old when I was born. By all account, she was the perfect child, and my parents wanted to try to go two for two. Instead, they got such a screw-up they never risked making another kid. Whereas Maddie was calm and quiet and slept through the night from birth,

I howled day and night, and nothing could ever shut me up. Maddie was healthy and hail, and I was premature and sickly, causing my parents no end of anxiety. Maddie was well-behaved, and I was a holy terror, running wild with the devil in my bones.

Maddie made the honor roll, and I consistently failed anything I bothered to try at. Maddie was getting her PhD while I was flunking out of community college. I don't blame my parents for being disappointed in me. I'm disappointed in me. But being such a loser meant I could spot fellow fuck-ups with pinpoint accuracy while everyone else was blindsided by trying to see the best in them. Such was the case with Maddie's boyfriend.

shithead Mark She brought him around Mom and Dad's house every school break Shithead Mark didn't attend University with my sister Shithead Mark didn't do much of anything apparently He told my folks he developed

video games but I never saw any evidence of this and the guy couldn't tell his ass from his front when it came to computers He and Maddie moved in together so she could support him until he made it big. Yeah, right. Maddie came home less and less. Shithead Mark seemed to always need her car for something or other,

and it never seemed to be the right time. She stopped putting photos on Facebook of her and her study buddies at the campus bar. She sounded strange when she called, and Mark always wanted to get her off. off the phone and take care of something in the background. It was when she dropped her strict vegetarian diet that I started to worry. I scraped together enough spare change for bus fare and made plans to surprise her with a visit. The whole bus ride, all I could think about was Grandma and Grandpa's farm when Maddie had taken

the vow of vegetarian at 13, after Grandma had tried to teach her. how to properly slaughter chickens. I had laughed at her over my drumstick that nice, but Maddie was not easily swayed once she'd made a decision. Maddie's car was gone from the numbered parking space of their office complex, so I knew shithead Mark was out somewhere. I'm not sure what I would have done if he'd been there. The downstairs door was always busted,

so I didn't need to buzz her unit, number to get upstairs. I wrapped on the dull wood and waited. After a minute, I knocked again, louder this time. It was Maddie who opened the door all right, but I needed a moment to recognize her. Her trademark vibrant lipstick was gone, revealing chapped, downturned lips. Her hair had gone from bubblegum blonde to a dull mousy brown, closer to how it had been when she was little. Instead of the fun, hipsterish, retro pin-up outfit she loved, she wore a cotton shirt with a cardigan. A cardigan, mind you. She looked like a Mormon missionary.

You should have called. I couldn't think of anything to say to that. Her voice was as flat and dead as her eyes. How did you get here, Brian? When I told her I took the bus, she told me to hang on and then close the door in my face. I had half of mine to kick her door in and give her a good shake. What the hell was her problem?

When she came back, she had a handful of crumpled small bills and she held them out the way you'd hold out your hand for a dog to sniff. Get out of here before Mark comes back. If he sees you, he'll kick your ass. Goodbye, Brian. And that was the extent of the visit. She'd given me almost enough for the fair back home. I couldn't understand what had happened to my annoyingly cheery, extrovert of a sister.

What had hollowed her out and left nothing but that shell of a girl behind? Maybe university was draining her like everyone in higher education was always complaining about. But she had always loved school. She loved everything. That's who Maddie was. My parents hadn't even noticed I was gone. I was still living in my childhood bedroom, the one with the wonky window that was.

Whistled when there was wind and led out to the flatish stretch of roof over the garage, where I would sometimes sneak out and look up at the stars. Though I was using it more as a convenient smoking spot these days, I sat out there and smoked and thought about what the rest of my life would look like. It wasn't a pretty picture. I was still out there when my parents got the call. God, I still hate myself for that. Hiding from the world like the spineless little twerp I am. They were all alone when they got the news. Their golden child, their one hope, had died.

Slipped getting out of the shower and hit her head on the sink. But fucking way to die. The police wanted to rule out foul play, so. I had to fess up about my visit. Shithead Mark was the one to find her. He'd been getting high with his buddies when it happened, which was less than an hour after I'd left. If you had asked me how I handled the grief,

I wouldn't be able to tell you. I didn't handle much of anything. I couldn't even cry until the day after her funeral. I woke up, and the understanding that she was, was gone, gone and would never be in my life again, crushed me. I cried for the future she should have had. It was supposed to be so bright, and now it would never happen. I never be able to talk to her again. Except that among the group of losers to which I belonged, there was a

girl. A girl who'd never grown out of her eighth-grade goth phase. Anne claimed to belong to a wickened coven, but her beliefs were as mismatched as anything. If belief was buildings, Anne had a skyscraper. She believed in Bigfoot and aliens and crystals and naturopathy and pyramids. Anne believed. When she first asked me if I'd like to say goodbye to my sister for real, I nearly decked her. Graveside confessionals were one thing, but Ouija boards were a different animal altogether. It didn't turn out to be a Ouija thing, though. While my parents were out, I texted Anne the All-clear.

She showed up with a backpack of assorted weird. I'm not going to list the ritual she used, but there was blood painted on the floor. Anne insisted it was pig's blood, but I have my suspicions. She could see I was having second thought, so she lit up a joint to calm us down. My parents would kill me if they smelled the smoke when they got back, but I was well beyond caring. I wanted to talk to my big sister again, or at the very least, pretend. I wanted to tell her I was sorry. Nothing happened.

Anne chanted and set fire to a pile of herbs, then drew a knife and gestured for my hand. It has to be virgin blood. I could have giggled. That was the pot working. You're out of luck then. Anne rolled her eyes. Blood that's never been used for a ritual, dumbass? The blade slicing my palm was the last step I can remember.

Maybe it was the joint. Maybe Anne had laced it with something. Maybe it was the other herbs. Maybe it was pure exhaust. Doesn't matter, though. I woke up at two in the afternoon in my own bed with the mother of all hangovers, and no recollection of anything past that. The cut was still there, so I hadn't imagined that part. After my shower, I made sure to smother it in polysporin and wrap it up with gauze. The last thing I needed was an infection from Anne's nasty knife.

Speaking of Anne, I texted her to see if she could fill in the gaps of my memory, but I kept getting an error message. At the time, I didn't think anything of it because Anne was forever having her phone service canceled for non-payment. I figured I'd see her later if I even wanted to see her at all. I didn't bother going downstairs. If my parents wanted to lecture me for the masks, they were free to drag themselves up to my room. I spent the rest of the day dicking around on the internet and trying not to think about anything at all. It worked pretty well because that's what the internet is designed for. Sometime after dark, I felt the need for a smoke.

They were only regular cigarettes, but I didn't need to give my parents yet another reason. to be disappointed in me, so I crawled out on the roof. Maddie used to sit out there with me. She'd point out constellations and natter on about their history and mythology, and the importance they held to ancient civilizations and sailors, and I'd listen in silence and awe of my big sister. Before I knew it, I was crying again.

While my eyes were welded shut with tears, someone tugged the cigarette out of my fingers. I didn't care about looking like an idiot in front of Anne, so I went on. Palms to my eyes, bawling like a little kid. Anne put her arm around me, and I flinched. She wasn't wearing a jacket either, and her skin was freezing. I curled up against her and she ran her fingers through my hair like Maddie used to do to calm me down after a bad temper tantrum. I kept my eyes screwed shut and let myself pretend it was her. When my tears turned to hiccups, I pulled away and wiped them on my sleeve.

It was her. Maddie looked just the same. as she had in her casket still wearing the clothes she'd been buried in i couldn't move couldn't think couldn't react she smile but it didn't stop her from looking sad it was mark wasn't it i finally found my voice she sighed i should have known she chewed her bottom lip he was so mad about the the money. He wanted to know what I did with it, but I thought he'd be angrier if he knew I gave it to you. I should have seen what he was doing earlier, but you've always been the perceptive one. He took everything away from me, and I was happy to give it. At least I thought I was happy. I'm sorry. Brian, you were right about him, what he was doing.

Don't be sorry. You deserve at least one fuck up. I'll lend you one of mine. Anne's gonna shit bricks, by the way. She's the one who summoned you, I guess. She gave me that same sad smile. Make that two fuck-ups. Whatever brought me here, it didn't just work on me. Something hitched her ride.

I can feel it. She laid a hand against her. her stomach. I can feel it right here. It's hungry, Brian. It's so hungry. I think I can hold on to it. Rain it in.

But if I'm not around to stop it, it's going to feed again. Feed? This was too surreal, too impossible. Like Anne. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I have to go now.

Promise me you'll look after yourself. Keep yourself safe, Brian, because I can't. No one's going to be safe around me. She leaned over and pressed a kiss to my forehead. I let my eyes close again. I must have been hallucinating, but it felt too real. Ann's phone was still down in the morning. Yes, I woke up in the a.m. for the first time in months.

I decided to jog over to her house. What Maddie had said about feeding sat heavy in my gut. We'd done something wrong, but I wasn't sure what. Anne lived in a duplex, 1203. I was sure of it. I'd been there hundreds of times. Anne didn't answer the door, though. It was an old Korean guy who'd never heard of her.

I knocked on the unit on the other side to be sure, but they claimed they didn't know of any Anne. I pushed down the panic, threatening to choke me, and called to college we'd both attended to ask them for the emergency contacts of Anne Sutherland. After an agonizingly long wait, they informed me that they had no student by that name, and with a little prodding, admitted that they'd never had a student of that name. I ran home. I hadn't run in ages, but I ran all 20 blocks.

Lungs heaving in what might have been hyperventilation, I logged on to Facebook and looked up Anne's profile. Hundreds of Anne's, but none of them were her. It was like she dropped off the face of the earth. I went around my room, ripping Polaroids off the walls. I hadn't imagined her. I had dozens of pictures with her, except that now I didn't, slumped against my bed in defeat. Anne was gone, and I was the only one who knew she'd ever existed. Was that what Maddie had meant by feeding? God, what the fuck had we done? I ate dinner in silence with my parents.

They didn't ask me how I was or what I had done that day. They were never that interested in my life. I wondered how they would react to the information that I'd raised their daughter, from the dead as some Fubar zombie. Probably they'd ignore it, like they'd done their best to ignore my entire dysfunctional existence. I was shut in my room again.

I called the police. The person who answered the phone shuffled me back and forth until I reached the incredibly confused leading investigator on my sister's case. Officially, it was still open. I wanted them to take a car. closer look at shithead Mark. I wanted that bastard to get nailed to the wall. I was put on hold.

When the guy came back on the line, he told me that Mark was not a person of interest. Actually, he told me he'd never heard of a Mark being involved. My stomach dropped to my feet, and I apologized for taking up his time. She got me. Mark 2. I couldn't resent her for it. If he'd still been around, I might have killed him myself. I pondered the reasoning behind going after Anne and figured it must have been part of raising Maddie in the first place. I shuddered at the understanding that the reason I still existed at all was because of the love my sister has for me. He's out there. I'm not going to go looking for. She has enough problems, what with some kind of parasite demon that eats people's very existence.

She doesn't need her screw-up of a little brother tagging along. If she wants me, she knows where to find me. I'd even sure I'd run if it came to that. I should have let her soul sleep. Thanks to me, she's forced to walk the earth, burdened by. by the monster clinging to a body that should be resting in a now empty grave. If I could wish death on anyone, it would be my sister. Can't think of anyone who deserves it more.

Your episode has come to an end. Thank you for spending time with us at the No Sleep Podcast. If you would like to learn how you can hear the full-length version of this episode, featuring many more stories, please visit the no sleeppodcast.com and click on the season pass link. Purchasing a season pass will help support everyone who contributes to the podcast, and in return you'll get 25 full-length episodes and three exclusive bonus episodes, all for only 1999. This is David Cummings.

Thank you for listening. join us again for the next episode of the No Sleep Podcast.