The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S4E21 - Christmas 2014

Episode Date: December 21, 2014

It's episode 21 of Season 4. We have five tales to bring the darker side of the winter solstice into the midst of your holiday celebrations. The full episode features the following stories. The free version features only the first three tales.  Trigger Warnings "A Little Extra Christmas Money" written by Kevin Thomas and read by David Ault & L. Bentley. (Story starts at 00:04:30) "Lights" written by Michelle Pollock and read by Jessica McEvoy & Corinne Sanders & Nicole Goodnight & Peter Lewis & David Cummings. (Story starts at 00:21:40) "You Don't Belong Here" written by Adam Gray and read by Peter Lewis & Jessica McEvoy. (Story starts at 00:42:50) "The Advent Calendar" written by Michael Whitehouse and read by David Ault. (Story starts at 01:01:20) "The Special Christmas Ornaments of Mr. Everett" written by Kris Mallory and read by David Cummings & Peter Lewis & Otis Jiry & Rock Manor & Jessica McEvoy. (Story starts at 01:39:10) Click here to learn more about Kevin Thomas Click here to learn more about Michael Whitehouse Click here to learn more about Kris Mallory Click here to learn more about Otis Jiry Click here to learn more about Rock Manor Podcast produced by: David Cummings Music & Sound Design by: David Cummings & Brandon Boone Christmas arrangement of the NoSleep theme song by: Brandon Boone Christmas 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

Come in and kick off those snow-covered boots and that delightful northern-faced jacket. Oh, my, doesn't it look cozy? Yes, come in, come in. The fire is going and there is lots of nog to keep you happy and contented. How delightful that you can join us for our fourth annual Christmas episode. Oh my, how the years do pass quickly by. Yes, yes, scoffs and mitts over there, if you please. Well, this year's episode features five tales of Christmas ghosts from past and present and, well, who knows, maybe even the future.

Well, we can't let that big fat Santa Claus get all the attention. time of year, can we? No, no, dear friends. Christmas can indeed be a time to revel in the dark and spooky aspects of the winter solstice. Oh, yes, delightful. So put down those damnable candy canes and avoid standing under the mistletoe, or infested with spiders this year, I'm afraid, and get ready for a couple of of hours of Christmas gone bad.

Well, joining us around the fire to bring these frightful festivities to life are the usual suspects. We have those who put pen to paper to write the tales. People such as Kevin Thomas, Michael Whitehouse, and Chris Mallory. Well, you recognize those names, don't you? Yes, scandalously depraved each and every one of them. And what of those insidious folks who feel the need to speak these stories aloud so we can listen to the words flow from their chapped and wretched lips? Oh, we have some of them, and not a good little boy or girl in the lot.

Jessica, David, Peter, Otis, Nicole, L. Corinne, Rock. Oh, dear, there's probably even a dasher and dancer in there. Well, they're all here and ready to regale you with tails so scary, it will leave your stocking, if not your long, John's, with a steaming Yule log. So, if you're all sitting comfortably, we shall begin. One of the things I abhor about Christmas is the commercialization. If people aren't obsessed with spending money this time of year, they're desperately trying to make it. Well, take this tale, for example, from author Kevin Thomas.

He writes about a man who takes an awful job simply to fill his pockets with cash. But wo be to him, for he will soon discover that the warehouse in which he works is not the most festive place to be, especially during the night shift. Let's listen to David Alt and L. Bentley read the tale for us, as we all pledge to never again seek to covet a little extra Christmas money. There was blood in my shoes again, as I sat in the staff room waiting for my heart rate to return to not deadly. Seriously, had I known that making some extra Christmas money was going to be this intense. I would have just bought a big bag of macaroni and glitter and made everyone calendars.

I'd seen adverts for temporary Christmas staff for a major online retailer. I won't say which one just in case they see this, but you might have seen people droning on about their latest innovation. If you're still in doubt, during the training period, I was informed by a manager with a puffed up chest, that the warehouse had its own public road built by the local council just to accommodate them. As I say, which retailer? A major one.

The role was a picker. As the Christmas orders flooded in, it was my job to dash around the shelves, pick them up and bring them back for packing. I'd worked in target-based environments before, so I thought I'd known what I was letting myself in for. But no. I guess you don't become a major online retailer without knackering a few ankles. I took a pedometer to work one day out of curiosity and was amazed to see that I covered nearly 16 miles in a single shift. The job was monotonous, but what was worse was the sheer pressure of the role. I had a handheld little beepy machine that I had to use to scan all the items I was picking,

and Christ, no sound in history has ever become so irritating as fast as that little handheld. The world over, there are babysitters violently shaking infants and thinking that at least they don't have to carry this thing for a daily half marathon. Every few hours I'd have to check in with the supervisor who'd check my pick rate. He could even set it to start beeping if it got too low, like I was at the boss in speed, charging around the aisles with an imaginary Keanu Reeves on my back, making sure I don't go below 50 items an hour.

Every shift was the same. One direction. Pokemon X. Game of Thrones. Breaking Bad, complete box set. Hunger Games bedroom poster Hopes Dreams

Legend of Zelda Premium Wii U gift set It didn't take long for the physical demands of the role to come to the fore The skin at the base of my nails was broken and peeling from being caught on 50 books and CDs an hour My knees ate and popped From doing more squats than an Olympic wannabe

But the worst was the blisters I checked my feelings feet after a shift and see raw, red, irritated skin. I check again in the morning and try to gently roll a sock over the big skin bubble of protective fluid that developed overnight. The worst, though, was spending a day running on it, feeling the pressure of your steps stabbing at the periphery of the blister, making it bulge and weighing with every step, feeling the pressure separating the layers of skin.

Then finally, feeling that one short jolt of pain followed by a wall. warm, seeping damp that collects under the arc of your foot. It was another shift down, and there was blood in my shoes again. Beep, beep, motherfucker. Beat, beep. Still, the money was all right, and it was only temporary. What really stepped up the game was when I was offered a night shift. The night shifts were a different animal.

People said they have better pay, lower pick rate targets, fewer supervisors, fewer orders coming through the whole lot. They were massively coveted for anyone whose personal timetable wasn't tied to the school run, so if you're offered one, you damn well took it. I was offered a fortnight's worth of shifts, and the extra money would mean I could quit

a few shifts earlier before Christmas. It was nothing short of a godsend. My first shift was a week later. It was stripped back all right, but even I wasn't ready for just what a skeleton crew they had running the graveyard hours. The pickers were out in four still, but everything else was paired right back to the bone. It was just us and a scant few supervisors in a warehouse that normally housed thousands. Plus it was the night supervisors, a strange, mythical breed.

Mine was Derek. Derek was ambiguously old. Old enough that being contracted to such an antisocial shift begged questions about his personal life that he was too old for anyone to dare ask. He was a narrow man, with narrow eyes in front of narrow opinions. He wielded his clipboard and tally sheets with all the macabre glee of an executioner, just waiting for you to slip so he could take the minuscule amount of power he'd been afforded and probably get drunk on it. Even the utilities were stripped back. The fierce halogen overheads turned off in favour of motion-detecting spotlights once every five feet or so that only lit the immediate area around you. It made charging around the corridors quite fun at first,

watching the rippling lights follow you along the aisles like spotlights at a theatre performing the world's dullest rendition of Picker of the Opera. However, it was here that I realised that I'd been sold a lie. Sure, the pick rates were lower, but there was a reason. The night orders were more complex and needed picking from much farther-flung corners of the warehouse. The extra running meant that a lower target was instantly just as difficult to maintain. Soon I was charging up and down the corridors with as much urgency as I did on any day shift, riding the ripples of motion-tripped light like some kind of weightless surfer. It was those lights that first got me.

I was putting together a pick that was thankfully mostly CDs, Taylor Swift and Imagine Dragons. I charged over to Isle 15, trying to speed hop to avoid popping the big blister on my right heel and scan the first with the usual beep. Then some way down the aisle, another light came on. I squinted into the dark towards the newly lit patch, but I couldn't see anyone who could have triggered the light. I shook it off, probably just some stock falling over on a shelf.

I headed off to pick up Imagine Dragons, scanning the shelf again. And again, down the aisle, another light came on. I stood squinting into the dark to try and see what could have set it off. But there was nothing. There wasn't even any stock on those shelves that far down. I called out to see if anyone was near enough to have set them off. Hello? I'd paused too long and my pick rate had dropped below target.

Fuck. Derek would try and narrow me to death if I don't get it back up. I charged off to get back on target. Another order. Games. I dashed away to try and regain some time. First game, Grand Theft Auto 4. 5. PS3. Top sellers, Isle 43. Go. The little red light on my scanner stayed red as I collected it. Still under target. Next game, Call of Duty, Xbox 1. New releases. Iile 48. Still below target.

This went on until two picks later I got a lucky break with two items on adjacent shelves, and I was finally above target again, just before I had to check in with Derek before my break. A Christmas miracle. Derek's narrow little eyes narrowed on his narrow little clipboard. Drop below target for a while there, kid. He said with a mean grin, not wanting to miss a chance for a dig. I got it back, though, I retorted. His grin sagged a little.

Yeah, well, be careful. I went to the little staff room to drink a blue bear. My Christmas savings plan not stretching as far as a genuine red bull. It was a bare, dank little room, all painted a faded, smudged-off white colour with hard, cold plastic chairs like those you'd find stacked up at a school parent's evening. There was a machine labelled complimentary coffee, which was only half right. Natalie, another girl on the night shift, was there too. She was sat under a cork board covered in laminated safety information and curling adverts for long-sold cars and single-mumns selling amateur pet group. services. She stared at a coffee, sat next to some caffeine pills, with the mindless stare of a

lobotomised PTSD victim. Natalie? I asked. She looked up, bewildered at this communication thing that had broken her stupor. She seemed confused for a moment before shaking her head a little and returning to Earth. Sorry, I was miles away. What's up? Have you had any problems with the lights? Yeah, all the time. I've lost count of how many times I've barrel down those aisles in the dark because the motion sensors didn't, you know, sense motion. I'll break my leg one day, then I'm quids in. What about coming on when there's no one there?

Not happened to me, but it wouldn't surprise me. I think Paul mentioned that a few times. It's a proper shit system. Surely they can't be saving that much by not just keeping the lights on. Sudden pencil munchers. Pencil muncher. That's a new one. Natalie's scanner beat. Fuck already. Shit. She stood and left. Soon the fake energy from the fake energy drink was stabbing into my muscles and begging to be burnt off.

My scanner started to beep, indicating the start of round two. The first pick was a little bit of everything from all over the warehouse. Some chocolates, toothbrush, some CDs, some weird. American suites, a couple of books and some gardening equipment of all things. I may have been above target when I finished, but it wasn't by much, and this pick was going to put me on the back foot. I charged off for the chocolates first. Ile 8. Toothbrush. Books.

C.D. I headed out for the American sweets, but I hit a nightmare instead. They weren't there. They were showing us in stock, but there's none on the shelf. This is a nightmare scenario. There's nothing in the target to account for misplaced inventory. You just have to suck it up, find it, and work harder afterwards. I looked on the surrounding shelves, then heard the fateful...

To let me know, I was now under target again. Yes, I get it. Why don't you tell me where they are, then, pencil muncher? It was 203, and I was shouting insults at a handheld scanner. Fuck Christmas. I carried on frantically searching the shelves. Other sweets were everywhere. Oreos, pop-tarts. But who the fuck orders pop-tarts online?

Kinder-egs, Milky Ways, Kola Cubs? I could see the red glow of the below-target light burning into my peripheral vision, like a sun too low for the car visor. Further down the aisle again, another light came on. No time right now, ghosty boy. I shouted. I'd already shouted at my scanner.

I didn't see the harm in shouting at thin air. I kept searching. The light down the aisle flicked off. Then the next closest one came on. Then the next. Then the next. I momentarily forgot about my search for jolly ranchers and turned to face this creeping light. Whatever it was, paused about 50 feet down the aisle.

I stood, frozen to the spot. It charged. The next light came on. The next, the next. Light after light flicked on. as this invisible force raced down the aisle towards me. I still couldn't move. The lights flicked on one after the other like a wave of falling gominos.

The lamps swayed towards me as if pushed by a fierce wind, but the chokingly dry air remained still. The wave continued until it was just two lamps away from me. Just one dead light separated me from the bright puddle where whatever it was had stopped. I heard a click and was suddenly plunged into darkness. I'd been too still for too long. The lamp above my head had turned off.

I stood in a sea of black, facing off against this little puddle of light above my invisible foe. I'm still rooted to the spot. Then, too, the opposing light turned off. I stood in a sea of oil. Nothing but pure black surrounded me. The oppressively tall shelves on either side of me may well have been miles away for all I could see. I could feel my heartbeat in my eyes. I could feel the stink of the shift sweat starting to infect the air around me.

But I saw nothing. Was nothing. Somewhere, every few heartbeats, a second-hand ticked. Every light in the aisle burst with light with such power it was almost audible. A towering, fat, black figure blocked the aisle and arched over me, nearly blotting out the light above my head. He swayed and grew and pulsed like he was a cloud of ink swimming in unseen water. Hands as big as bin lids fanned out on either side and swam over to grab me. The final beat was enough to break through my fear and get my feet moving.

I sent every ounce of adrenaline and blue bear strength to my calves and started running with enough force to rupture every blister on my feet. My socks swam with blood and fluid, the torn bubbles of skin rubbed and ripped and squeaked over the open wounds. I just kept pounding my feet down, the solidly lit aisle, my scanner beeping wildly to tell me that my pick rate was slipping. Lights ahead of me wouldn't turn on, but my long, pulsing shadow in front of me showed that something behind me

was setting them off and following me. I didn't dare stop running until I nearly broke the door into the staff room. No one was there but Derek. He squinted at me, and then a strange look spread over his face. A soft expression I'd not seen before. Sympathetic even. He stood up and entered a small code into my scanner. The small red warning light turned green, and my pick rate reset.

I'll transfer you to the day shift. You know, they say it's better to give than to receive. But I'm afraid that doesn't apply when the act of giving is replaced by the act of someone else taking. In this tale from author Michelle Pollock, we find out that what is taken is the most precious gift of all, and it leads a group of neighbors down a very dark path indeed. We have our own little Christmas. choir ready to read the tale for us with Jessica Maccaboy, Corrine Sanders, Nicole Goodnight and Peter Lewis bringing the story to life. It's a devilish tale that takes place outside while looking

at all of the bright and flashy Christmas lights. I have known the Kraft family for several years now. My husband, John, and I, moved into the neighborhood while Sarah Kraft was six months pregnant with their first child, and Mark was starting to climb his way up the corporate ladder. We became friends almost immediately. The crafts have always been welcoming and warm, and we were glad to find a young couple next door to pal around with. We took turns hosting dinners one night a week, and Sarah and I grew to become best friends over the years. John and I were always willing to babysit their daughter, Jamie, and by the time their second child Stephen was born, Sarah and Mike asked us to be their children's godparents. Needless to say, we were thrilled.

John and I had been trying for several years to have children before we got tested and found out I was unable to get pregnant. It was heartbreaking for us both and the source of a lot of our conflicts in our relationship. It's when the craft's asked us to have a parental role for their kids, I was overwhelmed with joy. Years passed, the children were growing in leaps and bounds, and my marriage was slowly but steadily failing. I guess in a way I became more invested in being part of the Kraft family than I was in my own marriage. But it was hard to feel connected as someone who spent every night at the office

and had no interest in things at home. My favorite times with the Kraft family were around Christmas, and I joined in a lot of their traditions. When John and I first moved into the neighborhood, they told us right away that the whole street has a friendly little competition every year for who can put up the best Christmas light display. Sarah said to me, You don't want to be like the old Grinch down the street and not participate.

Everyone gets together on Christmas Eve to walk down the street looking at the lights, exchanging Christmas cookies and then voting on the winner. It's a lot of fun and you don't want to miss out. Naturally, I asked her about this so-called Grinch. She explained to me that the older gentleman a few doors down has always refused to join in on the competition and has never put lights or any decorations up. He lives alone, doesn't talk to anyone,

and will not come out on Christmas Eve to join everyone in the street. Several of the neighbors have to join everyone. tried to give him cookies or small gifts, and a few have even extended an invitation to him to join in their Christmas dinner so he doesn't have to be alone. He has rejected every offer. Once, he even grabbed a plate of cookies left on his doorstep, walked over to his neighbor's house, and chucked a plate at their front door. After hearing the whole neighborhood bash on this old man, I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him, but at the same time, I didn't want to become a new Target, so I convinced John to play along.

And Sarah was right. It was a lot of fun. Our street was lit up in brilliant and beautiful colors every year. And it just seemed to grow and spread over the years until eventually people started setting up little stands for cider and eggnog. We even had one of the tech-savvy husbands set up the street with loud, joyful Christmas music, which became a must every year thereafter. Last Christmas Eve started the same as it always had, but nobody imagined how it would end. I was with the crafts and their kids in the street, drinking hot chocolate and chatting with everyone, while the neighborhood kids ran from house to house playing tag, laughing and admiring

the decorations, but always avoiding the Grinch's house as they were told. Jamie was seven at the time, and Stephen was three. We told them to stay close, and Sarah and I took turns keeping a close. sigh on them. Mike was getting rather drunk with his buddy, sitting on the front step and bellowing out a deep, rich laugh every few minutes. My husband, however, was, surprise, surprise, staying late at the office. In years prior, it had become a sore subject, and it would turn into a fight lasting

through the holidays. That year, I didn't want to fight about him missing out and putting his career ahead of his family, because, frankly, I just didn't care. care anymore. So I allowed myself to have a good time without him and immerse myself fully and completely in the festivities. I left the group for a few minutes to run into the house and relieve myself of all the cider and hot chocolate. When I came back out, the street was in a state of panic. The adults were running around and the voices blurred into an incoherent roar. I quickly found Sarah and asked what happened. She had tears in her eyes and told me that,

Jamie and Stephen were missing. My heart stopped for a second as my mind rolled through all the possible, terrible things that could have happened to them. I quickly told myself not to panic and to stop thinking of the worst possible scenario. Looking around, I saw that everyone was helping to find them, and I reminded myself that we were in a good neighborhood. We were all friends, after all, and nobody would even think of hurting those kids. They were probably in someone's house playing or something. Then my eye was drawn to that dark house down the street. Of course.

The kids were curious, so they probably wandered over there. Kids always wanted to go to the one place they're not supposed to. And really, his house did stand out against all the rest. It was the only house on the whole street that didn't have lights on or decorations hung. I slowly walked over, leaving the crowd and feeling like my feet were stuck in cement. I stood on the sidewalk for a moment, looking in the windows for a pair of eyes staring through the blinds, and listening for the cries of Jamie and Stephen. I stood there for what seemed like in eternity.

What was I going to do? March up to the door, pounding and yelling and accusing this person I've never met of kidnapping two kids that could, for all I knew, be safe and sound inside one of the houses. I was only a few hundred yards away from the crowd of worried adults, but I felt completely alone, exposed, and defenseless. But these were my god children we were talking about, and I would do anything for them. So I mustered up the courage, took a deep breath,

and started my way up the path to his front door. Halfway there, and I saw her. Jamie was sitting in the snow in the middle of his yard with her head down. I ran over to her asking if she was all right, what happened, and where is your brother? Over and over again, I called her name and she said nothing. I yelled out to the crowd. Sarah! Sarah! I found Jamie. She's over here! I picked her up and walked her out of the Grinch's yard.

Sarah came running for her baby and stopped short when she saw the look on my face. What's wrong? I don't know. She's not talking to me and I haven't seen Stephen yet. Jamie, baby, where's your brother? What happened? Are you hurt? Silence. Sarah, I'm going to call the cops. We'll keep looking for Stephen, but something doesn't feel right. That old creep did something. I just know it, I said, while pointing to the unleit house. Mike came up just in time to hear my accusation and went running up to the door. Pounding on it, he was yelling out. Get your ass out here, you old bastard. If you have my son I'm going to fucking kill you. I'll kill you. Do you understand me? If you so much has laid a hand on my kids, I will fucking murder you.

I handed Jamie over to Sarah and jogged up to Mike, telling him to stop. He'll only make matters worse and that I was going to call the police. It took some convincing, and admittedly, a couple of the other husbands to manhandle him, to get him away from the house and back to the crowd. Everyone was saying that it was only a matter of time before we found little Stephen, and that he's probably safe and sound. All the women were checking the houses while the men searched the yards, the pools, and the sheds. When the police finally arrived, we told them what had happened, and they went to knock on the old man's door. There was no answer. They asked us if he was even home, which we all thought a stupid question

since that old Grinch never left his house. The police told Sarah and Mike that they couldn't legally go barging into our neighbor's home looking for Stephen and that they would need a warrant and plausible evidence that he was involved. Of course, we were all outraged that Stephen could be trapped in the house with some creep

and that there was nothing the police were going to do about it. They told us to keep searching. and worst-case scenario they would put out a missing persons report in the morning. They admitted, however, that since it was Christmas the next day, it was unlikely that people would pay much attention to the news. The rest of that night was hell. In fact, the next several months were hell. We were up searching until sunrise for Stephen,

and we never found him. Most of the neighbors said that they were sorry, and they were sure he would turn up, but they were desperate to get to bed. Sleep didn't come for me or the crafts, though. We took turns watching over Jamie and searching the streets. Jamie still wouldn't talk. She slept most of the day, and she just stared into nothingness while she was awake. She would barely eat, and steady streams of tears would almost constantly be rolling down her face.

I finally went home the evening of Christmas Day to shower and get some sleep. I walked into the living room and saw John sitting there, watching TV. I had completely forgotten about him, but now that I saw him, I was furious. Where the hell have you been? I asked, surprisingly calm. I could ask you the same thing. You haven't been home all day. I've been with Mike and Sarah. They're going through hell right now. You would know that if you bothered to come home anymore. Look, I was working late and ended up falling asleep at the office.

I'm sorry, okay? It had to be done. If I didn't stay, I would have been working all day to day, which I guess wouldn't have been such a big deal since you haven't been home. I haven't been home because we've been looking for Stephen. He's missing, you asshole. And where have you been, huh? You should have been here last night.

You should have been here for them. He's your godson. He's missing. What happened? Look, I've been up since yesterday morning. I'm going to shower and go to bed. You can stay on the couch tonight. Merry fucking Christmas.

I marched up the stairs, jumped in the shower, and just sat there and cried. I couldn't believe what had happened. And I didn't understand why my husband thought it was okay to not come home without so much as a phone call. I tried to push all thoughts of John and our marital issues out of my mind, considering the bigger problem at hand. But I just had a bad feeling, like we were inches away from splitting up.

I finally got out of the shower, slipped into some sweatpants, and went downstairs to talk things over with him. I really just needed a hug, and I didn't want to deal with the drama of a broken relationship that night. But when I went downstairs, he was gone. He left me a note, that said. I've been trying to tell you for a long time now. I've been sleeping with Janice.

Things have gotten serious. We both know that you and I haven't been doing well. I hate myself for how bad the timing is, and please tell Mike and Sarah that I'm sincerely sorry, and I hope they find stealing. Even soon, as a soon-to-be father, I can imagine how hard it is on them. John. I couldn't believe it.

He was leaving me for his secretary? How cliche. My mind tried to process what was happening, and I had to read the note over and over again. Finally, I caught on to the last line. He got her pregnant. He cheated on. on me and got his secretary pregnant, and now he was leaving me for her. Bad timing.

Ha! It couldn't have been worse! It was Christmas Day, our god's son was missing, and our goddaughter wouldn't speak anymore. Honestly, though, I wasn't upset that he was leaving me. He was right. I knew it wasn't working anymore. What hurt was the fact that he was having a child of his own and decided to tell me

through a breakup note. He knew he couldn't have kids with me, so he went and found someone who could. I was furious with how much of a coward he was. I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to think about Stephen. I just wanted to go to bed. The next few months went by slowly and painfully.

After Stephen was missing for a week, the police finally got a warrant to search the old man's house and they found nothing. They asked where he was on Christmas Eve, and he had a perfectly legitimate alibi. Apparently, every Christmas he goes to the casinos, and he had the hotel reservation to prove it. Nobody ever apologized to him,

and he never expressed any sort of sentiment toward the missing child. Even though his innocence was basically proven, the neighborhood was still convinced he has something to do with it. Once a week for the next four months, house was egged, toilet papered, and on more than one occasion, dog shit had been thrown at his windows. Again, I found myself feeling sad for this old man that nobody really knew, but who

was so widely disliked. By the end of April, I noticed the old man packing his belongings into a moving truck, and then he was gone forever, forced out of his own neighborhood because of a misunderstanding. Later that summer, I had signed the divorce papers and was ready to just move on with my life. I was seriously considering moving out of the neighborhood to get a fresh start, but I was worried about Jamie. She still wasn't talking, and she had been taken out of school. She was going to children's therapy once a week, which was taking a financial toll on Mike and Sarah. I wanted to leave, but I felt like the family needed me around to help out. I had had a bar, and I had a bar, and of John's crap sitting in the garage, and I was ready to get rid of it.

I hadn't heard from him in months, and when I tried calling him to come grab his stuff, his number had changed. So regretfully, I had to call the office, and as soon as Janice picked up, my blood started to boil. Thank you for calling Harrington and Associates. This is Janice. How may I help you? Her high-pitched, girly voice chirped. Hi, Janice. It's Kate. Can you put me through to John? I have some of this crap I went out of the house.

Oh, I'm a little confused, Kate. John doesn't work here anymore. I thought he would have told you. I guess he really did want to disappear without a trace. I'm really sorry to hear about the divorce, by the way. When she said she was sorry about our splitting up, I just lost it. You're sorry? Oh my God, Janice.

Apparently you weren't sorry enough not to sleep with him. You must be what? Seven months along now? Ready to pop? Congratulations. I'm so happy for you too. What? I've never slept with John.

I'm certainly not pregnant. Kate, I've been engaged for a year now. Why would you think that I slept with your husband? I was incredibly confused. I didn't understand what was happening. Janice and I talked on the phone for a few more minutes, and she told me that after Christmas, John came to the office seeming distracted,

and told everyone that we had split up, and he needed to get away because, get this, he was heartbroken. By February, he had put in his resignation. I asked Janice if he had said where he was going or what he was going to do. I had no idea why he would fabricate, an elaborate story just to leave me and then get out of town. There had to be something else going on.

What Janice said to me then made my heart sink. There was one thing. I had to run out to his car as he was leaving because he forgot to sign something. When I got out to him, I saw a little boy asleep in the back seat. I thought it was a little odd because I knew you two didn't have children, so I asked him, Oh, who's this little cutie? And he told me it was a scot's son and that he had to pick him up from daycare

and drop him off before hitting the road. I felt like I couldn't breathe. John had him. He was the one who took Stephen. I couldn't believe it. I told Janice that the little boy she saw had been missing since Christmas and that she needed to contact the police

and tell them everything she knows. I don't know if we'll ever find. him or get him back. I don't know why John would kidnap his own godson and run away. And I don't know what he did or said to Jamie to make her stop talking. But more than anything, I don't know how I'm going to tell Mike and Sarah that my husband was the one who took their son and shattered their lives. When we think of Christmas, we think of those places we want so desperately to be. Home with friends. family, where we're warm and cozy, ah yes.

But there's another place that we often end up, which is likely the last place we want to be, and that is the mall. As we learn from author Adam Gray, the mall is exactly where he ends up, and in the midst of the hustle and bustle of Christmas shopping, he experiences something. which will surely keep him away from malls for a good long time.

Two little children, well I'm undecided if they fall on the side of naughty or nice, are narrating this tale, Peter Lewis and Jessica McAvoy. So let's listen in and confirm what we all know about malls at Christmas time. You don't belong here. I had a really disturbing experience Christmas shopping the other day. I went to the mall to buy some presents. This mall was your standard shopping center, bustling with people, eager to spend money on various shiny trinkets and overpriced clothes.

I don't frequent shopping malls, so I didn't have any particular stores in mind, just enjoying the sights and sounds of the holiday shopping season. I just started wandering aimlessly, slowly weaving my way through the masses of people. I usually like to people watch, imagining that everyone I pass has a life just as complex as mine, never to see each other again. I should have paid better attention to my surroundings that day. After what felt like a few minutes of wandering around, completely oblivious to my surroundings, I started to notice things that were a little off.

It's hard to explain what exactly caught my attention at first. Maybe it was because I didn't notice the annoying Christmas music anymore, and everything around me sounded dull. Maybe it was the way that I stopped noticing the names of the shops that I walked past. Maybe it was the slow realization that I had failed to keep my usual high level of situational awareness. Whatever the case was, I could tell that I needed to shake myself out of my lazy funk and get on with my day. You know the feeling that you get late at night when you're procrastinating so hard that your brain finds every excuse to keep entertaining itself with increasingly trivial thoughts to distract your willpower from focusing and being productive? I could tell that I was entering this zoned-out state and I kept telling myself half-hearted.

to rouse myself. Eventually, I managed to shake off my stupor bit by bit. It started slowly. I found it odd that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't recognize the shops anymore. They seemed to me like the generic backdrop of a video game that creates the illusion of an immersive environment, but it's beyond the playable limits of the level. That's when I knew that things were wrong. That's when I started to notice the people around me. There were hundreds of people in this mall. It was the holiday rush, after all. But the more people I walked past, each one began to seem too familiar. It was like I was seeing deja vu after deja vu. I couldn't exactly put my finger on it, but then it finally clicked. It's like I keep seeing the same people. It's like I keep seeing the

same people over and over again. I began doing double takes. I saw a pretty girl with short, blonde hair in a green and white striped dress carrying a white handbag walking past me. After about ten steps, I saw her again. I then stopped and looked at her and noticed what looked like an identical copy a few yards ahead of her. Strangely, I felt a soreness in my legs like. I felt a soreness in my legs like I had been walking for hours. As I looked at these two girls, thinking it was such a coincidence that they were wearing the same outfit, people around me started to slow down and started to take notice of me. That was weird. Usually, people in a crowded mall completely ignore you or walk around you.

I started looking around at the other people around me that had begun to stare at me. Everyone looked strangely familiar. The curly brunette middle-aged woman in the blue blouse with a red skirt, the guy about my age with Auburn hair and a pink polo and khakis, the black teenager with a red baseball shirt and jeans. It was like there were only five or six different kinds of people that were copied and pasted all around me. The more I noticed startling similarities, the more they paid attention.

to me. I looked around with rising anxiety that I was in a crowded mall with five or six people and dozens of their doppelgangers. They didn't say anything. They just stood still and stared at me. Suddenly the center of attention, I nervously waved and said hello to the blonde girl in the green and white dress. She didn't respond. I tried to approach one of the red-haired guys wearing the pink polo and khakis and ask him what was going on. For every step I took towards him, he backed up, keeping his distance. I tried asking the others what was happening, and they all backed away and filled in the space behind me, always keeping their distance. It was dead quiet. All I could hear was my own breathing and my steadily rising pulse. At this point, my nervousness and my nervousness and

unease had grown to just shy of panic and hysteria. It no longer looked like the mall I first entered. The floor tiles were whiter, the colors around me dull and lustreless. There were no more Christmas decorations. I started to try to find an exit, to leave this terrifying place, but I couldn't find one. At the end of every stretch of faceless shops, I took the escalators to a different level and was greeted by the identical floor of people staring at me, unmoving, except to move out of my way and fill in the space behind me. Every time I reached the end, I took another escalator to another floor and came across the exact same site. After what felt like hours walking to different floors, I stopped. Nearly hopeless, I would find a way out of this never-ending

silent hell with these strange staring people. Then I heard a sound behind me and nearly jumped out of my skin. I whipped around and saw a little girl standing behind me with a look of curiosity on her face. She was deathly pale with stark white hair, but I was relieved to see someone who looked at me without a blank, emotionless stare. Do you need help? Yes, please. I managed to stammer, grateful to have someone who actually spoke to me. You don't belong here.

She told me. I was more unnerved by the cold authority in which she spoke to me than her appearance. Yeah, I think you're right. I nervously responded. Where am I? I can't find a way out of here. Can you show me? You don't belong here. I will show you the way out. Follow me.

She said as she turned and started walking. I followed her through the crowd of unspeaking people, copy after copy, slowly moving out of the way for us, still staring at me. I had a million questions racing through my head. Where was this place? Where was the familiar mall? I was just in. Was I in a dream? Who are these people? Who is this creepy little girl? Why does she know

where to go? Seeing as though I had exhausted all my other options to find a way out, I had no choice but to follow her. You don't belong here. She told me a third time. I hope you weren't frightened. The way out is just over here. She said flatly, as we made our... way to a short, narrow hallway that was thankfully empty of the staring people. There was an elevator on the right side with a single button on the wall and a small maintenance closet with a wooden door at the end of the hallway. She stopped in front of the elevator door and turned to me. A silent people were all crowded around just outside the entrance of the hallway staring at me. Here is the way out. This will take you home.

She said, as she motioned towards the elevator door, Thank you very much. I said to her as I pressed the button to summon the elevator. The little light in the middle of the button lit up, and I heard the whir of motors as I heard the elevator slowly making its descent. I stood there, my mind racing with questions, and my stomach quickly twisting in knots with terror as the elevator got closer. The elevator arrived, and with a soft ding, the doors opened to a stainless steel-paneled interior.

It looked normal enough, but why did I feel such a sense of dread? I stood there, unable to will my feet forward to the elevator, knowing in the depths of my soul that to enter that elevator would be my doom. The little girl became agitated with my hesitation. You must get in the elevator. She commanded. It will take you home. I turned to look at her.

Her face, a scowl, and her tiny fists curled in anger. Like this, it just couldn't. Why can't I just accept my fate and get in the elevator? Make any sense? Without even thinking, I lunged for the little girl. grabbed her by her arm and waist and hurled her through the closing doors of the elevator, as hard as I could. As soon as my hand touched her cold flesh, she started screaming.

At the same time, the masses of people just outside the hallway started screaming. The moment the little girl landed in the elevator, her pale skin started to crawl as if something monstrous was trying to escape from within. in unison with the horde of people outside the hallway she screamed. You don't belong here! You are supposed to deep and deafening growl that shook the walls and floor. The stainless steel panels of the elevator came alive and twisted and morphed into dark and terrible blades and spikes, stabbing into her growing and mutated flesh.

As the doors closed, the creature in the elevator barely resembled the little girl from before. Instead, she grew into a twisted and grotesque, demonic thing. With hideous fangs and claws, her once pale skin turned a deep maroon. With dark, icker spilling from the gaping wounds the walls of the elevator were inflicting. The legion of staring beings outside the hallway started racing towards me in a frowning. frenzied horde. I spun to the maintenance closet as quickly as I could and leapt for the handle, assuming full well it would be locked, and I would get torn to shreds by the bloodthirsty mob right at my back. However, it was slightly ajar, and I opened it to see a cramped closet, habited by a faucet and drain,

mob bucket, and a shelf of paper towels. I slammed the door as hard as I could behind me, and thankfully it automatically locked. I sunk to the ground in the pitch black closet as the door started pounding. The shrieking outside the door was deafeningly loud as I uselessly put my hand over my ears, involuntarily starting to cry in terror. The pounding on the door and the screaming

grew louder and louder in waves that threatened to sweep me away. Eventually it became too... I woke. up, shaking in the fetal position, with my hands still clamped tightly over my ears in the tiny closet. My tear-stained cheeks were red and swollen. My ears were ringing so loudly, but the pounding on the door had stopped. It was silent outside. I sat in the darkness for what seemed like hours, straining to hear anything. I tried to put my face as close to the floor as possible to see under the door, but there was a rubber seal at the bottom, presumably because of the faucet.

I waited. Eventually I worked up the courage to touch the handle. I slowly opened the door and peered out to see a small hallway with an elevator door where it had been before. The ringing in my ears had subsided enough for me to hear the familiar, Christmas music playing. Beyond the hallway, I saw throngs of people bustling about their holiday shopping. I stared intently at them, refusing to leave the small closet. Everything was as it should have been. Everyone was passing the small hallway too engrossed in themselves to notice me. I left the closet as the door closed behind me, and I stepped into the hallway.

I saw the exit to the mall directly across from the hallway where I was standing, and I wanted so desperately to leave this place and never come back. Imagine all of this? Was I going crazy? Did I just make all of this up? I walked to the end of the short hallway, and then I looked behind me. There were wooden splinters covering the ground, and deep gouges in the closet door had been ripped off and was nowhere to be seen.

I heard the elevator motors start whirring as the elevator began its descent. My stomach started its familiar twisting as it had done before as I sensed that damn elevator was coming for me again. I walked as quickly as I could from the hallway towards the exit to get away. Thankfully, I reached the exit doors before I heard the faint ding of the elevator doors opening. I don't know what possessed me to turn around and look. Call it morbid curiosity, I guess. But when I did, I saw a little girl with white hair step out of the elevator. Something tells me that I'm not supposed to be here.

Needless to say, I'm doing all my shopping online from now on. One and all for listening to our festive frights. On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast, I wish you and yours a healthy and happy holiday season and a very happy new year. Now, run along and enjoy the darkness of the... the winter night.