The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S5E13

Episode Date: May 17, 2015

It's episode 13 of Season 5. We have five tales this week featuring stories about reanimated romance, paralyzing predators, and military madness. The full episode features the following stories. The free version features only the first two tales. Trigger Warnings "My Wife Cooked Me Dinner" written by Rona Vaselaar and read by David Ault & Erika Sanderson. (Story starts at 00:03:30) "Hitler's Favorite Concentration Camp" written by Dennis Acosta and read by David Cummings & Otis Jiry. (Story starts at 00:29:20) "The Record" written by Andrew Harmon and read and co-produced by Mike DelGaudio. (Story starts at 01:04:50) "The Crushing Fist" written by Matt Dymerski and read by Jesse Cornett & Alexis Bristowe & David Cummings. (Story starts at 01:15:20) "Gristle" written by Sarah Piper and read by Corinne Sanders & Jessica McEvoy & David Cummings. (Story starts at 01:46:40) Click here for the special Trifecta episode of The Drabblecast Click here to learn more about Rona Vaselaar Click here to learn more about Erika Sanderson Click here to learn more about Otis Jiry Click here to learn more about Mike DelGaudio Click here to learn more about Matt Dymerski Click here to learn more about Jesse Cornett Click here to contact Alexis Bristowe Click here to learn more about Sarah Piper Podcast produced by: David Cummings Music & Sound Design by: Brandon Boone & David Cummings "Hitler's Favorite Concentration Camp" illustration courtesy of Lukasz Godlewski This podcast is licensed under a Creative Commons License 2015. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Warning. This is a horror fiction podcast. Beware. It's intended for mature adults, not the faint of heart. Aware. Join us at your own risk. Close your eyes. Tales of horror to frighten and disturb.

Wait us as the sleepless hours take past. Brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. Episode 13. Welcome to the No Sleep Podcast. I'm your host, David Cummings. We have five tales this week, featuring stories about reanimated romance, paralyzing predators, and military madness. In case you missed it last week, I announced that I had the pleasure of guest-producing an episode of the great audio fiction podcast, The Drabblecast. It features three short stories with a theme of unnatural growth. It's a nice blend of creepy, speculative fiction well worth listening to. Joining me to narrate are the great Peter Lewis, who you're all familiar with, and Erica

Sanderson. Erica is an actor, director, and voice artist from England. A highly versatile character actress, Erica has created a myriad of roles and a variety of genres, from children's theater to classical plays and musical theater. It's thanks to friend of the show David Alt that I've had the pleasure of collaborating with Erica, and I am thrilled that she's joining us to narrate on our podcast. She and David are featured on our first story, and I think you'll quickly agree, that Erica is a wonderful and welcome edition. So welcome, Erica, it's great to have you with us.

Be sure to check the show notes for the link to that Drabblecast episode. And, quite frankly, if you're not already a regular listener to the Drabblecast, you really should be. Producer Norm Sherman and his team do brilliant work over there, so make them a part of your regular podcast lineup. And speaking of a lineup for a podcast, we have our stories ready to go, so let's start the show. In our first tale, we meet a man who is grieving the sudden and tragic loss of his wife. As we hear from author Rona Vassilar, the man is shocked to discover that death is not as final as we think it is, for reasons which are deeply disturbing. Narrators David Alt and Erica Sanderson perform the tale for us

as we hear what happened to this man's life on that fateful night when he realized my wife cooked me dinner. The best and worst days of my life were separated by two years, three months, four days, three hours, and seven minutes. give or take a few seconds. The best, the day of my wedding. It was that moment where my eyes swept along the curve of my wife's white gown and up to the tears in her eyes, watching them pour down the second I said, I do.

That day was amazing, culminating in that one perfect moment. The worst. The day I lost her, sitting in the ER, watching the surgeon come out only 20 minutes after she'd been rushed in. I knew then that she was gone. I had a drunk driver to thank for that. Maybe it sounds strange, becoming that attached to someone. I married young. I could always find someone else, right?

Except that there was no one else. When I met her, it was like something inside me clicked into place. Everywhere we went, she bled colour into the world, filling my vision with a kind of beauty that I can't express. No matter how many useless words fill this page. She was my one and my only. Jessica. Sorry, it's still hard to even say her name. name. It feels like the weight on my chest gets heavier every time. After her death, I went into a

deep depression, as is to be expected. I stopped eating and going outside. I practically lived on the couch because I couldn't bear to be in our bed. I had her favorite pink silk nightgown perpetually balled up in my fist. It was like I could hold on to that one piece of her forever. Ever. Things went on like this for months. Even after my family tried to intervene, I just couldn't move on. I wouldn't let anyone touch her stuff. I still devired her favorite shows. I would make her favorite foods and then leave them on the counter, never touching them for myself. I was a mess, but time goes on and life goes on whether you want it to or not, whether it's fair or not. started with her toothbrush. One day I caught myself staring at it for over an hour. And then on an impulse, I grabbed it and threw it in the trash. I saw for about 20 minutes after. It's like a spell was broken. I gradually went back to daily life. Nothing was ever the same and grief never disappears. You just learn to experience it differently. I'd moved on as much as I ever would.

Five years, two months, 12 days, four hours and two minutes after the moment I lost her. I got her back. I'm an editor for our local newspaper, but not too bad a job. She was proud of me. But sometimes I get back late at night. This happened to be one of those nights. I trudged in around 11, thinking that I'd grab a beer since I'd been particularly productive that day and Hell, I deserved one.

Her voice wafed to me from the kitchen. Hi, honey. You're back so late. Her soft, sweet voice froze me in place. After she'd passed, I'd often have dreams

where she was still alive. She'd convinced me that everything that had passed had been nothing but a misunderstanding, and I'd always end up believing her. I'd hold her in my arms and just as I was about to kiss, I wake up on that grungy couch, tears already starting to form in my eyes as reality sunk back in all too quickly. I figured I was having another one of those dreams. I squatted down and tried to steady my breathing.

It had helped with my panic attacks in the past. Maybe it would help me stay calm now. I inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to will myself to wake up. And then she popped around the corner. She looked just like the day she had left for work when the accident happened. Her blonde hair was wavy with just one piece of her bangs longer than the others. Her blue eyes practically jumped out of her skull. They were so big. She was tall and slender dressed in a simple black dress and a dress coat.

Now I knew I was dreaming. It was like she jumped right out of her. my nightmares. What are you doing down there? Come on. I've tried to keep dinner warm for you. You're not real! I screamed. It was more to convince myself than anything else. In a moment, she was at my side. Andrew, what happened? What's wrong? I could feel her eyes searching my face, so I hid it behind my trembling hands. This was bad. I was having a break. I was having a break. break down. I tried to water off again. Go away, leave me alone. This time she put her arms around me. Her lilac perfume washed through my insides, staining my heart. This was her. This was her touch.

I could feel it in my bones that it was her. It's okay. It's okay. Sh! Everything is okay. Just relax. all the resistance I'd had fell away at that point I cried in her arms for hours I wouldn't let her go I knew I was dreaming but maybe this time I could make it last maybe I could just dream forever and never wake up I was realising now just how much I wanted that

Jessica eventually led me to our room I refused to let go of her so she climbed into bed with me, snuggling into my arms just like she used to. I tried to remain awake knowing that once I fell asleep in my dream it was all over. I stared at her perfect face trying to etch it into my memory. Eventually all my strength drained away and I fell into a deep sleep. I woke up the next morning, stealing myself for a long day. Maybe I'd call into work sick or would it be better?

better to go in, maybe I shouldn't be alone. I was contemplating these questions when I opened my eyes and saw that Jessica was still there. I was speechless, staring at her sleeping form until her eyes fluttered open, her coarse morning voice, just like I'd remembered. You're up, early? You're okay, do you feel better? She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes,

just like I'd remembered. her every movement just like I'd remembered. It felt like all the prayers I'd ever prayed had come true at that moment. So maybe I was still dreaming. Maybe I really could dream forever. I called into work sick and I spent the day with Jessica. It was like she'd never left. She cooked me breakfast.

We laced around the couch and watched stupid romantic comedies. That whole day, I wouldn't let go of her. She was always in my arms. She was mine again. And then that night we made love. That was the moment that convinced me I wasn't in a dream. This was real. It was tangible. It was intimate. It was everything it should have been and more. I knew now I was in the real world with my real wife. I can honestly say I'd never been happier. I took a full week off work and just spent time with her. It was the best gift I'd ever been given. Gradually, the past five years began to feel like some bad joke. Here was my wife. She'd never even left. Of course, I noticed some things were off. We never left the

house. With her home, it seemed natural for us to be. to stay in together. I saw our kitchen stocked with food, even though neither of us had gone to the store. She never told anyone else that she was back. I never told them either. It wasn't that I was keeping her a secret. The moment she came back into my life, it was like the rest of the world didn't exist, like it had never existed in the first place. Lastly, we never addressed her death. I was petrified of bringing it up as though it would break the delicate balance of the her reappearance and she'd be gone again. I just pretended she had never gone and gradually began to believe it myself. After a week, I was sufficiently assured that she wasn't going anywhere.

I went back to work. I'd come home to a home-cooked meal and romantic evenings. The spring came back into my step and I was always whistling, much to the annoyance of other subway passengers. It was bliss. Then it shattered. The burglar broke in, around one in the morning. He was an amateur, unable to Jimmy the Lock. He thought he could break the downstairs window and we wouldn't hear. Fucking idiot. Of course I jumped to my feet, Jessica following close behind us as I rushed down the stairs.

I'd grabbed a baseball bat, I'd keep in my room, but of course the moron had a gun. I was protecting Jessica as best I could, shielding her and trying to hold down my panic. If I died now, I'd be separated from her again. My heart was thumping wildly. The guy's face, seriously, not even a ski mask, changed abruptly as he stared at Jessica. It was a look of sheer terror. I'd never seen someone that scared. Oh, fuck!

What the fuck, you sick bastard! What the bloody hell is wrong with her? That was probably one of the most confusing moments in my life, second only to my dead wife. wife cooking dinner for me. He practically jumped out of the window as I turned back to face Jessica. You know, when Jessica died, I didn't really have a chance to look at her. She was gone before I could see what the car accident had done to her, and of course, there was no open casket visitation. Now, however, I had the opportunity to see clearly for myself. I could see the bruising descending diagonally from her left shoulder down, matching the seatbelt that she was.

she'd been thrown against at 70 miles an hour. Her face was smashed in, chunks of glass jutting out from where the windshield had been crushed into her head. There was a piece of glass stuck into her right eye, a mess of pus and blood painting her face. Her right arm was twisted at all the wrong angles. You could tell that she'd tried to get it in front of her face in time to lessen the blow. The rest of her was black and blue and a mess of blood.

Should we call the cops? Her voice took me out of my days. This was surreal. She looked at me innocently as though she was unaware of the mess that her body was in. After that, I tried everything I could to fix her. I washed her up and removed all the chunks of glass, but the moment I turned my back to throw them in the trash, they reappeared. Blood flowed from her cuts in endless streams,

converging into a river of gore that swelled her feet. Although she continued to cook and clean for me and even come into our bed, there was nothing I could do to help her. As time went on, her body started to decay. I could tell it was happening when she began to swell up, her stomach distending and her skin turning a sickly shade of yellow. The smell came next. I could tell she was trying to cover it up with the blood.

perfume. I watched as her hair began to fall away and her skin started to rot. After a month or so, I realized there was no way we could continue like this. So I sat Jessica down. Honey, I want you to know that I love you very much, but we both know that you shouldn't be here. Please, I need to know what happened to you. Until I reached the end of my question, Jessica held that place. Jessica held that perfect, innocent smile. But as soon as I finished, she broke down and began sobbing, husse boring out of her tear ducts instead of tears. Oh, this might make you hate me, but I made a deal.

My heart sank. Jessica, what did you do? She sniffled. Anything like what people say, he looked like an ordinary man to me. And when I die, It wasn't so bad, just like drifting off through nothingness. But I could still see you sometimes. Sometimes I'd find myself standing next to you, watching you, and I could feel your pain.

I wanted so much to help you. So I asked death to let me come back. Just one more chance. For a long time, he wouldn't listen. It's against the laws of nature, he said. It's not my place. Not anymore, but... Then he saw your lifespan was shortening.

You were supposed to live to be an old man. You were supposed to have kids and have a full life. But instead, your life was getting shorter and shorter by the minute. Like a candle about to burn out. It went from 80 years to 70, to 60 to 50 to 40. That's when he made a deal with me. He knew that if I came back, your lifespan would return to normal.

He told me that our bond was too strong. We couldn't be separated. It was a mistake to pull us a part in the first place. He told me I could come back. The thing is, though, I couldn't let anyone but you see me or have any contact with me. If I did, I would have to die again. Dead people don't belong in this world, but I wanted to be with you no matter what the cost.

At this point, Jessica was in hysterics. I did my best to comfort her, my soothing hand careful not to pull away the rotting skin. I spoke in a low, soft voice until she gradually relaxed. She cried herself to sleep and I placed her in our bed. I'm telling all of you this because I want you all to know what I know now. Sometimes love hurts. Sometimes it hurts the ones you love the most. My love for Jessica became her burden and now she is rotting here in front of my eyes.

I can see how painful it is for her. I can see that balance must be restored. I've still got my dad's old lock in the gun safe next to my bed. and a moment I'll lay down next to the woman I love more than anything in the world, and I'll restore the balance. At least this time, we can go together. I'm sorry about this. I know Andrew intended the story to end here.

You'll also have to excuse my storytelling. Between the two of us, Andrew was the writer. I know he had all the best intentions. He really did. That's one of the things I love about him. He is genuinely a good-hearted person. The bullet entering my skull was definitely more painful than the car accident. Yes, I can still feel pain.

And, if I'm being honest, it's the worst pain I've ever felt. Just think of it. You get shot in the head, but instead of a bang and then darkness, you simply can't die. And because you're a corpse, your body can't heal. When I felt that pain, it stunned me. I didn't even scream, not at first. Can a corpse still go into shock?

Apparently so, because I remained in an excruciating stillness until I heard the gun go off again. In the end, I'm the one who did this to Andrew. It was my selfish wish. I met him when I was in college. To be honest, I was never intended to get married. I grew up watching my mother and father flounder around trapped in their own loveless marriage. Maybe they loved each other at one point,

but even I could see that by the time they had me, my father couldn't have cared less if my mother lived or died. I guess I just grew up not believing in love. Andrew and I took a gender studies class together in college, believe it or not. We were both a little on the shy side and sat next to each other at the back of the class. We often paired up for group projects. I was stunned to see how hard he worked. He did every reading, even the suggested readings that no one else bothered with.

I asked him why once. When I did, I saw his eyes sparkle for the first time. My passion is writing. I want to write the most realistic characters and relationships possible. I'll take any class that I think can help. That sparkle jump-started my heart, and I fell in love with him right there. You know, Andrew and I knew almost everything about each other. But I bet he didn't know that that was the moment when I fell in love.

I bet he didn't know how his eyes magnetized when he talks about his writing. He also didn't know that I read everything he'd ever written. Every paper, every short story, every article for our crappy school newspaper. When we were married, his mum handed me all of his writings that she'd collected over the years. Did you know he started when he was four? I read every single one. I could never get enough. Every word brought me a little closer to him.

He didn't know that every morning. before I went to work, I would kiss him on the forehead, just in case something happened and I didn't get to see him that evening. I did it on the morning of the accident too. And he didn't know the most important part of the deal I made with death. Dying itself wasn't painful. You know what was painful? Watching Andrews suffer with me not being able to do anything. I could only watch. I watched him pray to gods I knew he. didn't believe in just to see me one more time. I saw him staring at the kitchen knives we bought together, imagining slicing his own skin open. I saw him crying over the pink silk nightgown that I'd bought for our honeymoon. Those moments were even more painful than this corpse-like

existence. That's why I made the deal. That's why I did what I did. I thought I was helping him. I didn't understand what kind of burden I was giving him. When I came back, it was bliss. Sure, the first night was hard. I know that my sudden appearance did a number on him. I know that he was confused and scared. But I thought it didn't matter, because now we were together and now we could be happy.

And we were happy for longer than I deserved. Why did I follow him downstairs that night? It's a good question, and I'm sorry I don't have a better answer. In that one moment of adrenaline and fear, looking at Andrew and know how vulnerable and fragile his life was, I forgot death's conditions. Andrew jumped out of the room and I went wild, everything in my mind and heart going blank except for Andrew's face. And as you've already heard, everything fell apart. I didn't know that Andrew could tell how much pain I was in. Living in this decaying body hasn't been easy.

I didn't know that Andrew loved me so much that he would gladly go into the afterlife with me. And I didn't know that he thought I'd be able to go with him. The deal was that I'd return to the realm of the living to live out the rest of Andrew's natural life. He was supposed to die when he was 82 years old. Either way, I have to live those remaining years, with or without him. It was hard, burying him with my muscles quickly decaying. I'm not as strong as I used to be, but I couldn't bear the thought of his family finding him like this. Better to think he up and disappeared.

Maybe I can write a convincing enough letter to give them some semblance of peace. I only have one good eye, and that's slowly collapsing into my life. skull. I'm glad this confession is almost over. As for me, I don't know where I'll go. I have to leave because if my body is found here, God knows what everyone will think of Andrew. I don't want him or his reputation to suffer any more because of me. As I lose my mobility, I've begun to realize just what this deal means. There will soon come a time when I won't be able to move, speak, see, feel. I'll be bound to a skeleton, left alone somewhere far away from the house that catalogued our pain and our sorrow, our lives and our deaths. I thought about burying myself

with Andrew, but there was simply no way to do it. I'm trying not to be afraid, but it's so hard to conceive of those hours of darkness and loneliness, unbroken until his time runs out. All alone, without my Andrew. 51 years, six months, seven days, two hours, and 11 minutes to go. There are many disturbing tales which came out of World War II, and specifically during the horrors of the Nazis concentration camps. As we learn in this tale from author Dennis Acosta, When a former guard at one of the camps summons a man to hear his tale,

the story he unfolds spins the atrocities even darker than we can imagine. Narrator Otis Jiry joins me for this tale, as we are transported to a camp most history books aren't familiar with. It was a place known as Hitler's favorite concentration camp. I traveled to a small town in Germany named Rudishheim. When I first arrived there by taxi cab, I could feel some kind of sickness in the air, and to this day I can't explain it. But something about that feeling made this sleepy little town seem a little off.

Despite such feelings, it was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, and all the coffee shops were filled with more carrying. room-wielding tourists, then residents. Earlier that month, I had received a letter from one of my old colleagues. In the letter, it told me of a story he had come across. An old Nazi concentration guard that went into hiding, wanted to tell his story. The letter didn't give me much to go on in terms of what his tale was about, but it piqued my curiosity, and the next thing I knew, I was paying the cab driver and turning to look up at an old white and black building.

Hanging from the side of the building was an old wooden sign. Written on the surface was Café and Cochern. I had received instructions via telegram that I was to meet Mr. Mueller inside Café and Coohen. I walked inside, past the pastries that gleamed in the window sunlight, strode by a few old folks that were seated by the window, who gave me odd looks, and as I reached the counter, a heavyset man with a white mustache and beige baker's apron, with a name tag on his breast pocket that read Hans Dietrich, stood up from his wooden stool and spoke to me in German.

I followed the instructions and gave him the password that was scribbled in the letter. Sanguin. He let me through, and I followed him to the back. We got to the end of the room, and he turned and told me to stop, as he lifted the carpet off and revealed a hidden trap door. He opened it. The dust tumbled off as the hinges whined in agony, wanting to be bathed. in oil.

"'Schnell,' he whispered. "'I stepped into the darkness, "'and what little light was left "'was engulfed by the blackness "'as he shut the trap door. "'I heard him haul the rug over the door, "'and he walked away. "'I made my way down the steps,

"'running my fingers along the stone wall "'as it twisted, "'until I almost lost my balance "'at the end of the stairs. At the end of the small hallway was a flicker of light. I slowly walked towards the light and entered a musty-smelling room. The light itself came from a lantern which was seated on top of an old wooden table and behind the lantern was an ancient-looking man.

His skin was pale, his white hair in wisps, but his eyes were alive. A blaze in the light. He smiled at me and offered me to take the seat across from him. I sat down and looked at my surroundings. Aside from the two of us and this little table, there wasn't much. There was a smaller room in the back which housed a small toilet and bath. To my right was a sink, a mini-fridge, and a small cozy pantry. behind him along the wall were links of sausages hanging on hooks.

I am so very glad you could come at such short notice, Herr Chaplin. I've heard quite a lot about you and how you specialize in paranormal journalism. His German accent was crisp, just like those Hollywood movies which portrayed Nazis. He had the look of a thousand. thousand-year-old piece of leather, but his voice sounded much younger. I know I am going to die soon. I can feel death's creeping hands around my throat waiting to strangle me. I need to tell someone with note about what happened in the summer of 1945. I took out my notebook. I flipped through the filled pages. I flipped through the filled pages.

with flashes of words jumping out at me. It was a few months before the Allies crushed the Axis. The once unstoppable Itler was soon to be destroyed. He spat on the floor. I hated that man and everything he ever brought to the great nation of Germany. I was at first drawn. onto his beautiful speeches of uplifting our country from ashes. I started to wear the famous swastika as a symbol of a hopeful future.

Yet as soon as I started to see Vatir really was planning, the more and the more I resented ever joining the military. I'd done a great deal of bad things, but I like to think by helping all the poor people in the concentration camp. It somehow helps move my soul to a better place. What bad things did you do? Hitler was rounding all the Jews together. My orders were strict and to the point.

We were all to bring the Jewish community and populace to camps. had told my squad that there was a traitorous spy among the people that in order for Germany to become once again a stable superpower, we couldn't let any spies reveal our plans to begin anew. Did you find it strange that he was targeting the Jewish folk? Of course I did. He stood up and walked to the fridge and brought out a glass jar of milk, two. cups from the cupboard and a tray of small sandwiches. I grabbed a few and ate. I knew something was wrong. I knew that. But did I do anything? Did I ask my commanding officer

what the end game was? Nine. I was too afraid. I knew how the SS officers worked and I was terrified that if I was pushing for answers, that they would grow suspicious. He drank from the cup. So I kept my mouth shut, put the Jews on the cargo trains, and prayed for their souls. He sighed. For a moment, the youthfulness in his eyes faded. It wasn't until I was pulled from peal on the rank, and, placed at a higher one, and shipped to one of these camps. That's when I knew I had done terrible, terrible things.

You must have known about the concentration camps and what was really happening in them. Not with my squad. Hitler's army was very secretive. He didn't even trust his own counsel, let alone some lowly ranked random soldier. In your history books, all those appalling concentration camps are listed. But one that your American schools refuse to put in their books is Diforchum Concentration Lager, the outer beyond concentration camp. It was Hitler's pride and joy.

He took a bite out of his sandwich. He looked like a mouse trying to eat. something four times its size. It was June 17th, 1945. It was midday, and the sun was out blasting us in force. I was part of the fourth Yager, Hunter Division. My tasks were to watch the prisoners

and make sure that they were not trying to escape. You said before that these camps were appalling. If you felt so strongly towards them, well, why didn't you just leave? Just leave? That, my dear boy, was out of the question. If I was to leave, the SS would ask me a great deal of questions. Like where I was from, where my family originated, what business I had that was so important that I had to shove aside Dysheur's plans, and how it is that I gained such a position in the camp. He sipped from his cup.

He set it down with a clank and gave me a heavy stare. I am a Jew. I looked at him, wondering if he was deranged or telling the truth. Now, you can see why I could not. afford unvaunted suspicions. Not only ill-favored for myself, but also for my wife and baby back in Frankfurt. I see. How did you manage to keep this a secret? In the World War I, my father and most of the town's able-bodied men left to fight in the war. What was left were sickly old people, a few young women, including my mother, and the rest were just children, just old enough to wipe their

own noses. When the war ended, vivated for my father, and the men to come back, they never arrived. Luckily for us, the thing we did encounter was the collapse of the economy, and with it, food became scarce, even for us farmers. Most of the people that lived in that little village died of starvation in the first six months. All the animals were hunted. All the crops were bleak and rotted, and the water had begun to taste sickly sweet. My mother took my brother and my younger sister and myself to Berlin. Long story short, my mother died in the way there of pneumonia, and once we reached Berlin, my mother found work which was. one thing led to another, and now here I sit.

The point is the small farming village and its inhabitants, aside from my mother and sister and I, had died. No one knew who we were, and as far as anyone was concerned, we were just a family looking to survive, just like the rest of the country was. He sighed, smiling. My mother was a smart woman.

She used to work in a small bakery, the very same one that is over your head. After such a defeat, some foots was spreading vermers of how it was the Jews that did us in. More and more people started to pour in, listening to his sermon of misguided hate. Some nodding their heads in approval, while most spat in discreet, My mother decided it was best that they all change our names. She knows something was boiling and didn't want us to get burnt. My name was once Hugo Ruggheimer. My mother changed it to Hugo Mueller,

a simple yet efficient change from a Jewish to German name. He rubbed the joints in his hands. That's how I was able to pass unnoticed for so many years, and it's because of my mother's actions that I was able to help so many in that camp. How so? The SS officers and the other Yeager always gave scraps of food to the Jewish people. They fed their dogs better meals than they did those poor souls. There were days when I would starve myself just to be able to give the chance. children, a little bit of nourishment.

Donko, they would whisper to me. I was disgusted in myself, being a guised specter, among so much evil, took a toll on my mental stability. What I saw done to those poor people has haunted me for so many years. What did you see happen to them? There was a laboratory headed by Franz Zimmerman. An occult scientist that had been trying to find a gateway into another world, or so the talk amongst the barracks went.

From what I heard, his theory was, to create portals so that the Germans could access them across Europe and destroy all whom opposed in a matter of seconds. It sounded like some sort of children's science fiction tale, yet the more I've followed up on leads over hearing office, the more I realized it wasn't as far-fetched as I had once thought. He got up from his wooden chair and walked towards a sweater which was hanging on one of the hooks. He placed the sweater around his shoulders and cocooned himself. On my rounds, I would begin to notice a short man that resembled Hitler,

except for the fact that this man was shorter, fatter around the face and wore glasses. Both of the officers saluted him and spoke his name, Heinrich Himmler. It was Hitler's right hand, and the one that oversaw Francis Verk. Later that night I was doing my rounds. I was walking down alongside the barbed wire under the shadow of the moon,

and with my uniform I was completely invisible. I started to hear muffled screaming, coming down from there I was. Slowly crept toward the sound, turning a few building corners until I saw Franz Zimmerman's lab. There were six guards pushing along at least a dozen people in a single file up the steps. Some were crying, others were quiet. while some look to be in another world, possibly the world they created in their minds just to escape.

Did you know what was happening to them? I hadn't the faintest idea, but for the rest of the night I heard screams coming from the lower halls, the lab. I never cried when my father hadn't come back from the war, but I did cry myself to sleep. Knowing these people were having horrific things done to them and knowing there was nothing I could do to stop it. A few weeks later, I was promoted to Laboratory Guard. It was Imler's idea to promote those who kept the Jews calm, a sadistically ironic of him.

The first night at the laboratory, and already they had Jewish folk, brought into the building. For weeks, Jews were marched into the building only to be taken down to the lower levels. Franz had been doing something terrible for them to be screaming like that. That was one of the first parts of that place, knowing they were dead. The sheer silence that came after gave me night terrors. One of the normal guards were sit, So I was tasked with bringing the new group of poor souls to the lower levels. It took everything I had to prevent myself from crying.

As I walked past the cages, pleading hands were reaching out towards me. They were all screaming in whispers. Dot mech bit. Kill me, please. They pleaded. He started to tear up a bit. then as if remembering something, his face grew to a pitch of anger. The other guy in front of me laughed, slapping their hands away.

Some kicked their hands, wracking fingers, and sometimes arms. My anger was oiling. Franz stood there with his leather apron, face mask, and surgeon's gloves. He told us to put the mice into the chamber. We did, as ordered, while the others laughed. I closed my eyes and prayed forth him. As we turned and were about to walk out front stop us, he told us that since we were new,

that we needed to have a lesson in secrecy, we walked out of the room and shut the door. He gently raised his hand. and waved for us to look into the room through the glass window. The people we had put into the room were looking around, speaking in German, our language. Something that Schwe and Franz failed to see. I watched as they were hopelessly looking around, most of her crying, and hugging each other. Franz started to laugh as he pushed a few buttons, heard a few more knobs, and pulled down a metal rod.

Little slits around the room started to open up. The people inside were curious, but all huddled together. They placed the children in the middle of the elderly while the young surrounded them. I... He broke off, beginning to cry. This white tubular worms started to crawl from under the slits. At first he was a... few, and then they started to spill out like cockroaches, swarming their fate towards their prey.

The people inside started to scream as their worms grew closer. One of the men jumped from the group into the corner. He lost his footing as he slipped under one milky worm. As he fell, the worms washed over him like a wave. He started to scream the worms were barrowing their way into his skin. The more he screamed, the more they jumped in, oozing their way down his throat, until all that he managed were argos. And his body began to cease up and shaken uncontrollably.

Everyone else in the room began to scream. They pressed against the side of the chambers, far away, as they could. The other guards cheered and laughed. Some clasped frowns on his shoulder and excitement. They slowly turned away. Then they asked if I enjoyed the show, I reluctantly smiled and nodded,

pierced into the room once more and saw that the people who had been standing for now engulfed and scrunged to biller legworms. In the middle of the room was a small child. His eyes were red from crying. The verms finished with the others. Surrounded the small child in a circle.

And as soon as he and I locked eyes, the worms jumped on him, and he fell to the ground. A friend to the sink and started to puke. The man laughed and called me a woman. I didn't give a sh- He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. It was in that moment when I was looking down at my puke that I snat. I knew I had to do something to at least try and save my fellow Jews.

Even if I died, I would die. For the following weeks I planned, marking the patrol routes of the guards, mapping out where the key, were, who held them at what hour? Made detailed mental lists of the things Franz did. The more I watched them, the more I hated him. He tapped his fingers on the table. It was August 4th. It was late in the night.

Most of the guards were asleep by now. I made my way to the bear. clutched in my hands was my father's haunting knife. I had been sharpening it every day until that night. I crept into the barracks and started putting pillows over the men's faces, stabbing until nothing but feathers and splashes of red. I left the barracks and made my way to the guardhouse. One of the men had his feet trapped up in the table while he spoke to the other man. The man that was in front of him was looking out the wind, though.

I slipped into the room, slicing the sitting man's throat. He clutched at his gaping wound as I smiled at him. I fought towards the other man, kick his leg out, and stabbed him numerous times, the chest, covering his mouth with my hands to muffled the noise. I slipped back out from the metal shack and made my way up to the muddy path, Two Nazis were walking with their backs turned the other way. I crouched and walked towards them as fast as I could. I kicked the leg from the one in the back and sliced his throat.

The other man turned and saw me. He was about to scream until I threw my knife. It wedged itself between his eyes. After clearing the camp of all the Nazis, I made my way to Franz Laboratory. He sighed. If you need to take a break, that's okay. Don't be silly, Derek.

I did not have you come out here just to wait for an old fool like me. He smiled, but it was hollow. His face wrinkled with sadness that was too strong to be kept back by a simple smile. I opened the door to the big door to the big. building was greeted by two SS officers. One of them was about to ask me what I was doing there, I'm sure of it, until he saw my uniform covered in the red. He pulled out Lugar pistol, but was too late. I lodged my knife into his hand, and he dropped the gun and started to scream. The other officer was too slow with his reaction, because before he knew it, I had pounced on his,

slamming his head into the vault until it was nothing but a broken mess. I walked over to the officer that was clutching his hand, yanked the knife out and stabbed him repeatedly. Something had overcome me that night. It was a certain bloodlust that needed to be quenched. He killed the remaining officers in the building and made my way down to the lower levels of the lab. I found Franz. listening to classical music while operating on the cadaver. His back was turned to me, so I slowly vucked towards him.

He turned, his eyes the size of saucers, as he saw my blood-soaked attire. He screamed for help. I smiled at him and told him there was no help coming. He reached for his surgical knife. I punched him across his face, hitting his temple, knocking him out. I dragged his limp body into the chamber where I saw the boy. He was stirring awake as I walked out of the room.

He evoke, flailing like a newborn calf. He realized where he was, his eyes wide. He pleaded with me to let him live. He laughed a little. He expected me to save his life after he murdered thousands of others in cold blood. His hard stare came back. The door behind me had closed. He ran up to it and started banging on it.

Evoc to the window and so did he. His voice was muffled behind the four-inch thick sheet. He begged me, pleaded that I... reason. There was no reasoning with monsters. I had seen my fair share of cruelty, but nothing that I had seen even compared to the small boy I saw in the other room that night. I started to flip a few switches. He started to scream. Nine, nine, nine, nine. As I turned the last knob. You look back at me, not saying a word. I spat on the ground and pulled the metal rod.

Slits, it opened up once more. The squirming sound erupted from behind the darkness. I watched as he screamed, looking for a way out. The more he screamed, the more the white rooms. were drawn towards him. He started to veil like a newborn babe. His eyes vied as the worms jumped into the air, slamming him into the ground,

vushing over him like a small white wave. His body started to contort and seize up. He started to shake. I watched with gleeful happiness as the monster of Franz Zimmerman die. In a loud pop, his body exploded, sprawled across the window with the worm-infested bloody chunks of frowns, slowly sliding onto the ground. I ran into the room where the cages were. I slid the latches free. The people were crying, feebly trying to clutch me in an embrace. I needed them to get out. Once I had freed the prisoners, I grabbed all the gasoline.

tanks I could find and started a great fire. As I exited the building, the laboratory started to explode. He nodded as if he were agreeing with himself. I had gone back to the barracks and gotten the keys for the rest of the compound. I unlocked all the gates and doors. They all looked at me with uncertainty until one of the old women recognized. me. As Helga's boy, she kissed me on the cheek a thousand times.

I heard crying mixed with laughter, as they all chanted, you go, you'll go, you'll go. I started to cry, apologizing for not doing something sooner. The men, women, and children all embraced me. It was such a surreal moment in my life. seeing all their skinny faces filled with hope and joy. I found enough clothes to make sure they were all warm. I found crates of food that they consumed in matters of minutes,

and in the end myself and a few other brave men loaded everyone into big military convoy trucks. I had placed explosives around the encampment, and when we were at a safe distance, I detonated them. I watched as the camp exploded into a spectacle of orange light illuminating the darkness with each bang. It was a great feeling. The vaid that had oppressed me for so many years had been lifted.

I saved 348 people that day, and not a day goes by. that I wish I had saved more. I walked over to one of the blazing fires and put the Nazi uniform into the inferno. Crinkled under the fire and I spat on it. I was glad the Allies had been pushing Hitler's Germany to the brink of ruin. So many Germans lived in fear

and so many died because of such anxieties. He drank the remaining. drops from his milk and took one last bite from his sandwich. I may have saved quite a few lives, but in the end, I still can't save my own. What do you mean? In my old age, I will not die as Hugo Orugeheimer, the poor boy from the small farming community village. I will die as Hugo Mueller.

the Nazi that guarded the research concentration camp. That is a cross only I can carry. I just hope that God will grant me mercy. My biggest sin in life was not saving enough people. That is the guilt I must wear, Herr Chaplain. This is one of the saddest stories I've ever heard, Herr Rugg. I really don't know what to say. You didn't say anything, my boy.

You've given me something that no other human being could have. Which is? You've given me a small measure of peace. Our episode has come to an end. Thank you for spending time with us at the No Sleep Podcast. If you would like to learn how you can hear the full-length version of this episode featuring many more stories, please visit the no-sleep podcast.com and click on the Season Pass link. Purchasing a Season Pass will help support everyone who contributes to the podcast, and in return you'll get 25 full-length episodes and three exclusive bonus episodes, all for only 1999. This is David Cummings.

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