The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S5E23

Episode Date: August 2, 2015

It's episode 23 of Season 5. We have five tales this week featuring stories about chilling children, sadistic science, and atrocious avians. The full episode features the following stories. The free version features only the first two tales. Trigger Warnings "The Girl in the Shed" written by Manen Lyset and read by Tim Valencia & David Cummings. (Story starts at 00:04:15) "The Week It Rained" written by Blair Heirs and read by Jesse Cornett & Jessica McEvoy & David Cummings. (Story starts at 00:26:05) "The House That Ate My Sister" written by Caity Reaburn and read by Erika Sanderson. (Story starts at 01:02:50) "The Horrible and Awe-Inspiring Experiments of Dr. Kalivaki" written by Jackson Laughlin and read by Mike DelGaudio & David Cummings. (Story starts at 01:13:25) "The Pigeons Around Here Aren't Real" written by Manen Lyset and read by Peter Lewis & David Cummings. (Story starts at 01:41:25) Click here to become a Season Pass member! Click here to learn more about artist Jörn Heidrath Click here to learn more about Manen Lyset Click here to learn more about Jackson Laughlin Click here to learn more about Jesse Cornett Click here to learn more about Erika Sanderson Click here to learn more about Mike DelGaudio Click here to learn more about Peter Lewis Podcast produced by: David Cummings Music & Sound Design by: Brandon Boone & David Cummings "The Pigeons Around Here Aren't Real" illustration courtesy of Jörn Heidrath ©2015 - Creative Reason Media - All Rights Reserved - No reproduction or use of this content is permitted without the express written consent of Creative Reason Media. 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. Season 5, Episode 23. Welcome to the No Sleep Podcast. I'm your host, David Cummings. We have Five Tales this week, featuring stories about chilling children, sadistic science,

and atrocious avians. Well, with this being episode 23, that means we only have two more episodes left in season five. People are starting to ask about season six already. Will there be a season six? Sure, why not? So to fill you in, here's what's happening. Episode 24 will be out next week,

and the special season finale episode will be out on August 16th. We'll then take a couple weeks off and launch season six on, appropriately enough, September 6. That's the Labor Day weekend. for most of our listeners. For those of you wanting to sign up for Season Pass 6, we'll begin pre-orders when the Season 5 finale comes out on the 16th. And speaking of Season Pass members, we haven't forgotten you.

Coming out before the end of the month will be two exclusive bonus episodes. One will be Volume 3 of our very popular, suddenly shocking, flash fiction show. 31 super short stories which pack a punch. Also, we're trying a very different type of bonus episode this season, and all I'll say right now is that it's a blast from the past. So watch your season pass feeds for those two shows coming up soon. And there's always time to purchase a season pass five, and four, and three,

to get access to all the great full-length shows and the exclusive bonus episodes. I know some people noticed a problem on the No Sleep Podcast.com website earlier in the week. Some nasty people snuck some links into the code which triggered a malware warning on some browsers. I just want everyone to know the problem has been fixed and everything is safe, secure, and back to normal. And finally, I want to welcome our artist for this week's illustration. Actually, artist Jern Heidret is only. new to us as an illustrator. Back in season two, Yern provided his narration for three of our stories. It's great to have you back with us, Yern, only this time with drawing tools instead of a microphone.

But fear not, folks, we still have talented people with microphones recording stories for us. In fact, why not listen to some now and start the show? In our first tale, we meet a high school guy who is interested in any, but studying. As we hear from author Manon Lyset, this kid would rather get drunk in the woods with his friends instead of going to calculus. But when he makes a wrong turn and discovers an old shed in the woods, he has to make a decision which will change his life forever. Narrator Tim Valencia reads the tale for us as we find out what happens when he discovers the girl in the shed.

understand why her father kept her locked in that run-down shed in the woods. When I first saw her chained in that musky place, I was too drunk to figure it out. If only I paid attention, I might have been able to save her. Judging by the dozens of miss calls on my dying phone that afternoon, high school officials had informed my mom that I had skipped again. The friends and I had something more important to do than calculus, getting shit-faced drunk in the woods behind the school. Before we knew it, it got dark and the group disbanded.

In my drunken haze I must have taken a wrong turn, because I wound up deeper in the forest, where I came across a lone shed. As far as I could see, it didn't belong to any home or cottage. It was just there in the middle of nowhere. A hunter's hut? No. What the fuck would they be hunting here? Groundhogs?

Stumbling forward, I began hearing sobs escaping the cracks of the old wooden structure. They were definitely the cries of a human girl. My head spun in a pleasant buzz, turning a simple walk into an awkward, zigzaggy trek. As I reached the shed, my foot sunk in a particularly deep patch of snow, causing me to lunge forward. My hand rose towards one of the walls for support. It went right through the wood, the plank disintegrating into soft mush like a soggy piece of bread.

Fucking gross. After steadying myself and wiping my hands in my pants, I peered into the hut through the hole I'd just inadvertently. created. It was blurry inside, though that was probably due to the alcohol in my system. I squinted to try to make out shapes through the darkness, but it was almost impossible to see. If I hadn't heard another whimper, I might have missed her entirely.

There was a girl, maybe five years old, curled up in the corner. Her arms and legs were bound and thick iron chains, which rattled as she desperately pawed at the stuffed bear just out of her. reach. She looked up, and for a brief moment, our eyes met. As weird as it sounds, I could feel her fear and sorrow. It was chipping away at my heart. Through her messy, curly black locks of hair, her lips stretched into a shy smile. She was covered in filth, but seemed otherwise healthy. What kind of sick monster would do this to a kid? Hey!

Still wearing a solemn smile, she stretched an arm towards me, but the chain held it back. She didn't speak, but her hopeless eyes told me all I needed to know. I'll... I'll get you out of here. Oh, man, man. I staggered to the door, reaching for the handle. I pushed and I pulled, but the damn thing wouldn't move. The simple latch might have been too much in my drunken state.

Returning to the window, I waved to get her. attention. I'm going to go for help. I promise. I'll get you out of there. I ran straight for the nearest squad car as soon as I returned to civilization. My first mistake was banging the passenger window frantically to get the attention of the cops inside. My second mistake was screaming profanities at the cop as they tackled me to the ground and cuffed me. Why couldn't I have just calmly gone up to them and explained the situation in a rational manner. I could have totally fainted sobriety. It obviously would have worked out better.

Instead, I acted like a weird, drunken teenager, cussing up a storm and making insane claims that I had come across as a psychopath's murder hut. As you'd probably guessed, I was arrested for drunken and disorderly conduct. Fuck. My jail cell locked shut. Sober up, kid. We'll call your mom to pick you up in the morning. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

I'd gone from trying to free an imprisoned child to winding up just as locked up as she was. Eventually, I dosed off on an uncomfortable metal bench in the back of the cell. In the morning, I was awoken by the sound of jangling keys. The prison guard unlocked my cell and led me to the main desk. I looked around for my mom. But she was nowhere to be seen. So, I get to go home now? Yeah.

You barely paid attention to me. And, uh, my mom? She bailed you out last night. She said, and I quote, Let that ungrateful prick sleep it off. He can walk home in the morning. It's called tough love, kid. I furrowed my brows.

Yep, that sounded like Mom all right. Probably trying to teach me a lesson, like that time she made me watch a scared straight marathon after I was caught shoplifting. Did anyone check out that shed the one I kept screaming about last night? The officer laughed, patting me on the back. Yeah, we sent a few officers to scope the area. There's no cabin, kid. Take my advice and lay off the drugs. His tone reminded me of my father, prick.

I needed to go back, if only to prove what I saw was real. Mom was probably going to get a call from school again, but I didn't care. At least I was skipping school for a good cause this time. There it was. Behind a row of snowy trees. The small shed where I'd seen that little girl. A new wooden plank concealed the hole I had made, suggesting someone had been by since my last visit the night before. The door proved much less of a challenge in the light of day and without chemicals swimming in my blood.

I was amused by my own inability to complete such a simple task while under the influence. The door scraped along the snow-covered forest floor as I pulled it open. Sure enough, there she was. the girl I had seen. Somehow, despite her awful situation, she was fast asleep under a thick blanket. She looked so peaceful that I decided not to wake her. The door to the claustrophobically small shed

closed behind me with a click. It was warmer than expected inside the cracked structure, roughly the size of four office cubicles. The shed was full of oddities, such as an army of broken garden gnomes. bags of seashells, an old store sign, as well as normal shed stuff like wheelbarrows, shovels, a car tarp, toolboxes full of rested equipment, and a lawnmower. The weirdest thing of all was the net stapled to the ceiling.

It wasn't a cheap little bug net either. It was the kind you see on fishing boats, a big, thick net, capable of holding thousands of unruly sea creatures. As far as I could tell, it served no purpose, other than to freak me out. The girl stirred, her soft, brown eyes opening. She immediately reached for her teddy bear, but it was still too far away. She pulled on her chains, but to no avail. There was little to no slack, especially on the ones around her ankles.

I picked the teddy bear up and handed it to her. An overwhelmingly happy smile was given to me as a reward. How could she be so a beat? After the horror she's endured. Listen to me. I'm going to get you out of here. Kneeling down in front of her, I fiddled with the cuffs on her wrists. Unfortunately, lock picking was a skill I'd only learned in video games.

Try as I might, I couldn't get them undone. Okay, uh, no problem. No problem. Maybe the chains were attached to the mushy, rotten, decomposing walls. Surely I'd be able to break the wood to free her. I pulled off her blanket to reveal a concrete slab from which the chains emerged. It looked as though they'd been molded right into the block. All right, I need to use a different strategy.

Um, what's your name? I examined each link for signs of weakness. She didn't answer. Instead, she just smiled and hugged her bear. Well, uh, my name is Adrian. I was really counting on finding rusted links that I could break off, but had no such look. Unlike the other objects in the shed, the chains were in pristine condition. If I wanted to break them, I was going to have to use some tools.

I rummaged through the toolboxes for anything that might do the trick. I hammered, I sawed, I reserve wrenched, but it was all in vain. All I had to show for a morning's worth of work were a few scratches on a single link. The chains were simply too strong. The girl silently watched me work. Every now and again I asked the questions. Her favorite color, TV show, superhero. She only ever smiled to acknowledge my question, but kept her lips sealed shut.

An animal-esque wine escaped her lips while I was in the middle of sawing the chain for the fifth time. Half of its teeth had broken off in the process, but I had stubbornly continued my work. I stopped for a moment and listened, only to hear footsteps approaching. She pointed to one of the corners of the shed, as though telling me to hide. Like a cockroach, I scurried into the darkness, hiding behind the garden gnomes. One of them glared at me with his beady little eyes. A pair of feet came into view. I was half expecting him to look like a flesh-eating lunatic of some sort,

but what I saw was a middle-aged man, dressed quite plainly. He shook his snow off his salt and pepper hair and closed the door behind him. There was a picnic basket under his arm, which he sat down next to the girl. Lunchtime, Emma? His voice, strangely mournful. He petted the child's head, and to my surprise, she didn't recoil in terror. Stockholm syndrome? The man began to pull out a variety of lovingly prepared food items.

Heart-shaped sandwiches, a bowl of warm soup, colorful fruit kebabs, and even a cupcake for dessert. He took great care in hand-feeding her the meal he'd made. As I lay there, watching the scene unfold, he gave me the impression more of a loving father than that of a murderous child abductor. My stomach gurgled hungrily at the feast, but I tried to will it to stop for fear that it'd give me away. I couldn't help Emma if I got caught and changed up next to her. Once she finished the meal, he put everything back in the picnic basket and gave her a toy truck. Back in time for supper, honey. He kissed her forehead.

My face twisted at the sight. How could someone be so delusional? I stayed hidden long enough after he left the shed, just in case he'd come back. Eventually I crawled out, my stiff neck crackling with relief. Emma was playing with her new toy, a happy smile on her face. My afternoon was spent much like the morning, hacking away at the chain. to no avail. As supper drew near, I became increasingly nervous. I knew her father would return soon, and I needed to get home. I had to make a tough call. I'll be back tomorrow, okay? I promise. She smiled and nodded. I hated the thought of having her spending the night alone, but I had to go. There was no other choice. I had only one mission when I got to school to

next day, break into the janitor's closet where he kept a lock cutter. I knew he had one since the school had performed a random drug search on my unit the month before. I followed Mr. Bentley as he roamed about, picking up litter in the hallway. Every time he looked my way, I'd act like I was checking my phone. I'm not sure if he bought it, but my shifty behavior certainly didn't keep him from eventually unlocking the maintenance closet. it. I kept my distance and waited for him to exit. Once he did, I suddenly slid my foot between the door and its frame to keep it from closing. I slipped inside, heart racing, and searched for the lock cutter. There would be trouble if I was caught, and I couldn't afford the delay.

Emma needed me, and there was no way I was sitting in the principal's office all day over something a stupid as borrowed school property. I had to be quick. Pushing through a pile of useless junk, I found what I came for. The Cutters. It was snowing that afternoon as I traveled back into the forest. Free the girl, bring her to the cops, be a hero.

I repeated to myself. They had no choice but to believe me if I did bring her in. I clutched the metallic jaws close to my chest, my moist mittens sticking to its cold, surface. Emma, as always, welcomed me with a big bright smile. This time, we're getting you out. I prayed my plan would work as I slid the lock cutter's jaws between her skin and the shackle around it. The cuff was tight and there was barely enough room for it to fit, but I managed to wiggle it in anyways. Emma looked terrified. Maybe she feared the device was going to cut her hand off.

Don't worry. This won't hurt you. On the count of three, okay? Okay. Deep breath. One, two, three. I brought my arms down with all my might. She yelled as the cuff cracked open like an egg, freeing her right hand. It immediately reached for my arm, holding it tightly. I repeated the process until I freed every limb.

Then I took her into my arms and ran towards the door, leaving the lock cutter behind. She was light, lighter than I thought possible. Holding her was like lifting someone in a pool. Sure, she was small, but how could anyone be that light? She clung to me like a baby koala to its mother, her teddy bear squished between our chests. I ran through the woods, snow crunching under my feet. Once we'd gotten far enough from the shed, I set the gun. girl down. As I did so, her little hand grabbed mine in a vice-like grip. I forced a reassuring smile.

I'd done a good deed. Now, I just needed to get her to the authorities, child protection services, the cops, anywhere that could keep her father away. And I would have if I hadn't felt the light tug, like that of a helium balloon as we passed a park. She led me to the swing set, releasing my hand only once the other had grabbed hold of the chain. It was a dumbed-down version of what had been keeping her captive less than an hour before. An odd choice. I pushed her for a bit, but as the sun began to sit, I grew wary. Her father had surely returned to the shed by now, and had realized she'd escaped.

He'd be looking for her, and I was sure the park would be the first place he'd check. I stepped away and motioned for her to follow. Instead, she clung to the swing set, her body trembling. A single hand outstretched towards me hesitantly. I've got to get you someplace warm, okay? Come on, we can't play anymore. She shook her hand, insisting I take it. Fine.

I took her hand half-heartedly, but the strength with which she held it made me realize she felt safe with me. I smiled and squeezed her tiny delicate fingers. We took off towards the police station. Never once did she let go of my hand. Then it all fell apart. All because of me. Because of a stupid sneeze. I let go for just a moment, a split second, so I could cover my mouth.

In the moment it took for my eyes to close and the air to torpedo out of my nose, the girl disappeared. I looked around me frantically. How could she have run away so quickly? I should have noticed sooner. But when I did, it was too late. I looked at the snow to try and track her, but only my footsteps were present in the snow. There were two thin lines next to me, as though only the tips of her feet had touched the surface the whole time.

Something fell on my head. Something soft and squishy. Her teddy bear bounced off my forehead. head and landed at my feet. No, no fucking way, I looked up. She was floating, her body drawn towards the sky. Already she was out of reach, yet her hand still extended down towards me, as though begging for me to take it, to save her.

Even as I jumped to try and bridge the distance, I failed to come close. It was like watching someone fall into a chasm in slow motion. She started sobbing, tears falling like raindrops between the snowflakes. Her hand wiggled desperately, but she was already higher than the trees. There was nothing I could do. I wanted to save her, to go after her somehow, but I was chained down. Gravity was chaining me down to Earth like she should have been. I could only watch as she cried and floated up into the sky helplessly begging for my help

until she disappeared behind the clouds. Even to this day, on quiet nights, I can still hear her wailing cries echoing above. Somehow she's still out there, cursing me for breaking her chains. As a former camp counselor myself, I can attest to what the young man in this story states, summer camp can be both great and downright creepy. As author Blair Ayres explains, when a new camper arrives under mysterious circumstances, he quickly brings a sense of foreboding to the usually pleasant summer fun. Narrators Jesse Cornett and Jessica McAvoy read the tale for us as we learn the startling details of the week.

It rained. There's a naivity to childhood and a beauty that surrounds summer camp. All these years later, I cannot walk outside after a rainstorm without smelling camp. I cannot walk down a gravel path without hearing camp.

And for a very long time, I could not sleep completely through the night without remembering camp. When you ask a child to describe their camping days, they'll usually answer Pondon. A retreat from the modern world that allowed them a rare chance to bask in overwhelming simplicity. Friendships that held true years after they said their Saturday goodbyes. The way the lake was the closest thing to a bath, some took all week.

The fireflies dancing through the tree lines. When you ask a counselor to describe their camping days, they will lie. Maybe not intentionally, but they'll hide away. their strangest encounters experienced while living far from civilization. Whether for the love of their camp or for a desire not to remember, some stories aren't uttered to another living soul. I believe in the opposite. I learned that I couldn't move forward without finally acknowledging.

In my experience, the scariest thing about camp isn't living alone in the woods. The scariest things about camp aren't the stories that are told late at night surrounding. the fires and accented by the howl of the woodland winds. No, the scariest things about camp are the children. I remember the excitement of Sunday afternoons. You arrived after a short respite from the week before and grogly accepted your assignments, always hoping for the oldest boys, always dreading the youngest. It's not that I didn't connect with the little ones, but running a cabin of 16-6-year-olds was torturous. This could be offset with the assistance of a co-counselor,

someone with whom to share duties and responsibilities. The problem with excelling at your job, however, is that you become entrusted with accomplishing all of this by yourself. Needless to say, I wasn't surprised when I was assigned to Cabin One. Cabin One actually slept 24, so I couldn't complain about 16. Disappointed as I was, I plastered a smile on my face and greeted the campers and parents warmly. For most, it was their first time away from home and away from their children. I had to assure both parties that camp would be an amazing experience.

This is probably why I read his parents as being apprehensive about leaving him behind. Looking back on it, though, their apprehension existed from the fear that he might follow them. His name was Luke, an Americanized version of Luca that had been corrected with his adoption. His curly dark hair emphasized his steely eyes, alluding to his Eastern European heritage, while creating a stark difference to his blonde-haired parents. Luke didn't speak when I introduced myself, but stared through me towards the sounds of children playing and unpacking in the cabin. After collecting the necessary paperwork, I tried to initiate a conversation. session detailing our activities in the mission of camp.

Mid-sentence, his parents walked away. No goodbyes. No parting hugs. Zero affection was transferred between these adults and their child. Oddly, none of this seemed to bother Luke. He regarded his adopted parents as less significant than broken playthings. Pushing past me, he entered Cabin 1 and stood watching. the other boys. Their merriment died as they tried to introduce themselves and were rejected

by his gaze, off-putting demeanor. No one dared approach him further. I witnessed 15 kids remained stationary as one claimed a bed. It was during the height of July, but I'll never forget how chilled I felt in that moment. Sunday was always a short, uneventful day. The kids attended swimming lessons for the first time, to check their skills and see which levels of the lake were appropriate for them, had dinner, and then participated in evening activities, all the while being pestered with rules and regulations. Following this, they returned to their cabins for lights out. Since counselors were required in the dining hall on Sunday nights for announcements and further scheduling, the care of cabin one was left to my good friend, Jay.

I finished the meeting around midnight and headed towards the boy's settlement to relieve JP of his duties. Upon entering the courtyard, I saw him sitting on my porch's railing, his vision unbroken through the window. Exhaustedly, he turned when I advanced. Who's the foreign kid? No one was ever surprised by problems from the youngest boy's cabin, especially on the first night. We weren't allowed to say homesick. The connotation of sick lent credence to the fact that something was wrong. Instead, we had to say missing home.

It was a positive sign if you could get through Sunday without 60% of your cabin crying for their moms. Yet Luke didn't strike me as a child who would miss his mother. He hasn't even unrolled his sleeping bag. When I tried to encourage him, he growled. at me. He growled at you. He's still sitting on his bunk with his pack next to him. Doing what? Watching. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, but I wasn't going to let a six-year-old run my cabin. After dismissing JP, I went to Luke and offered politely to help unroll his sleeping bag.

My kindness was met with more growls. Growling at me? You're six years old. Do you think I'm scared of you? For the first time that day, he spoke to me. Devil. I easily brushed this off. Even Satan sleeps, Luke.

Luckily for him, though, he doesn't have to get up by 7.30 for flagpole. With that, I unrolled his bed. Did a quick head count of my campers and retired to the counselor's quarters. My room was small and separated from the kids by a sheet stapled in the doorway. For some unexplainable reason, and this still happens today. When a camper needed you, instead of calling your name, they knocked three times on the wall next to the sheet. As annoying as that sound is, I made it a point to have the kids wake me for whatever reason, without worrying that I would be mad.

I'd much rather lose sleep and know where my campers are than, the opposite. So when I heard the knocking on the first night, I answered back in the politest tone I could muster. What's wrong? A quiet voice sifted through the sheet. It's Luke. He's being too loud. I glanced in my alarm clock and saw that it was 4.31. Great. Just three more hours. I rose from my comfortable bed and entered the main part of the cabin. I found Luke thrashing back and forth on top of his sleeping bag,

speaking a language I didn't recognize. Try gently tapping his shoulder but to no avail. As his cries became deeper and throatier, I resorted to shaking it. Luke? Luke! Wake up! His eyes flicked open at the sound of my voice. At first he looked confused. Hey, hey, buddy.

It's okay. Okay. You were having a bad dream. He angrily furrowed his brow in response to my statement and rolled over to face the wall. I ushered the other kids back to their beds and then returned to him. Do you want me to sit with you until you fall back asleep? His growls answered in the negative. I waited a few more minutes in case he changed his mind. When I was a parent, he wouldn't.

I returned to my bed, pulled the trunk. covers up to my chin and listened. Amidst the ensuing silence I should have been able to sleep. As hard as I tried, I couldn't. Monday. A few hours after flagpole, I left my campers at the beach for swimming lessons, which happened every day and headed towards the staff hangout. This blessed time of the morning was my period off, so I happily relaxed and chain smoke.

During my final years on staff, I learned this was the only vice that calmed my nerves when working with children. Actually, most staff became aware of this at some point or another. I stayed only until 10.20 when I had to return for the kids and was shocked to be greeted by 16 smiling faces. And honestly, it was night and day with Luke. Somehow, in the course of 50 minutes, he had managed to shred his repellent demeanor and become friends with him. the rest of the cabin. He still didn't talk a lot, possibly due to embarrassment over the foreign drawl to his words, but when he smiled, the others weren't dissuaded from associating with him. Crafts followed lessons, and while most of the kids were busy making lanyards or

building things out of popsicle sticks, Luke sat diligently coloring. And when he finished, he proudly held the drawing for me to see. Artistically, he had used the broken pencils and mostly spent crayons in a craft shop to depict a Victorian-style home with four people standing in front. Two parents and two little boys. Who were they? He drew the parents with hair as dark as his. I wouldn't think about this picture again until Saturday. The boys were extra rowdy Monday night, but I was so grateful they were getting along I didn't mind. Sure, a cohesive made my life easier, but it also increased the positive reactions that kids had at camp. We could accomplish more activities, and there would be a higher propensity for them to return.

I was convinced I'd sleep soundly through that night. The screams started at 4.31. Instantly, I lunged from my bunk. In the process, I must have become entangled in the blankets and fallen to the floor. This part I don't remember. It was only assumed later after I discovered rug burns on my knees from the carpeting. I saw lights popping on in the other cabins around me and quickly found the switch in my own. Luke was violently rolling from side to side, banging his body against the wall, and repeating the same words over and over.

His pronunciation losing meaning is the speed of his phrasing and screams intensified. While it was difficult to clearly. ascertained what he was saying. I did hear the name. Sounds crazy, but even through the deafening sounds coming from this small child's throat, the repetition of

almost sounded apologetic. With one final ear-splitting scream, Luke sat up, drenched in sweat. For a moment, there were tears streaming down his cheeks as he shook, taking in his surroundings. That lapse was fleeting.

Upon realizing that he was the center of attention, his gaze hardened. With a hostile glance at the campers gathered around him, he rested his head back on his pillow, as if nothing had happened and returned to facing the wall. Tuesday. The next morning, I went to the main office to sort through Luke's medical paperwork. It was our job every Sunday to take note of any special conditions the campers may have, but it was always possible to overlook things. I read every page in Luke's file,

only to find that there wasn't anything clinically wrong with him. This didn't surprise me. Many times parents omitted items out of a refusal to accept there could be something wrong with their child. My thoughts on this matter, however, were interrupted by my friend Michael entering the room. You don't look well. He helped pick up the medical files I scattered across the floor,

floor. I haven't been sleeping. So does that mean you're staying in the night? Twice a week staff were permitted to leave camp without having to return until flagpole. If I chose to leave, Michael would be assigned to spending the night in cabin one. I answered honestly, not sure. Well, maybe you shouldn't. At least you could get full night's sleep away from here. You're no good to any of us if you get sick. In the meantime, is there anything? I need to be aware of?

He pointed to the medical files. On the record, clean bills of health all around. And off the record? Be mindful of Luke. It was also required that once a week, counselors take their campers for an overnight or somewhere on the grounds.

At lunch was when I read the disastrous forecast for the next few days. Rain every evening. This promptly canceled all plans I had on sleeping outside with the kids. It's just another setback. I handed my best friend Jake the newspaper. He set it aside and added yet another large glob of sour cream onto his tacos. Yeah, I heard the screams last night.

I assume things aren't going well. I feel bad for the other kids. They were looking forward to sleeping under the start. Making s'm making s'm telling stories. I'm just worried that the negativity of the past two nights might eat away at their perception of how great camp is. You're not leaving until 10, right? Yeah.

Michael convinced me to go out. Then when evening activities are over at 9.15, bring your kids back to my cabin and we'll have a fire. The rain's not supposed to start until 11. That'll give us 45 minutes to attempt and extend. extremely deconstructed version of an overnighter. And you can still leave camp on time. As much as I hate to admit when he's right,

as much as I always hate to admit when he's right, Jake had a great point. Being counselor of the oldest boys, he was privileged to have a secluded area in the woods with a fire pit right outside his front door. It was close enough to our settlement for my boys to feel secure, but far enough away to add an air of excitement. Before lunch ended then, we decided on a big brother, little brother's-styled event,

to create something positive from the few hours of respite the rain would give us. This was the beginning of an almost deadly mistake, preparing to leave later that night when Jake texted of his need for a lighter. He had plenty of fluid and wood to build the fire, but lacked a way to start it. Mine was almost out of fuel, so I rumaged through the stack of drawers nearest my bed and found a large box of matches. I packed these into my knapsack, grabbed a crate full of smore guts, and led the kids down the path to Jake's cabin. The trail curved through some of camp's remaining pine trees. Had it not been for the white Christmas lights, Jake hung as guidance,

we could easily have tripped on the very large exposed roots. The home of the oldest boys was small and rectangular, housing only ten, including a counselor, in one. one room. To the left was a creek that drained from the swimming lake, and to the right was a large cluster of black cherry, maple, and tulip trees that separated the oldest boys from the rest of the settlement. Finding Jake, I handed over the matches and watched as a fire roared to life, the smells of camp happily infiltrating our nostrils. For 45 minutes, Jake's boys helped mine with their gooey treats and told PG versions of classic ghost stories. Had we stayed longer, a guitar would have emerged in ridiculous songs would have been sung,

but the clock ticked ever towards ten. Finally, we collected our rappers, put the lighter fluid back in the milk crate, kept alongside the cabin, thanked everyone for their hospitality, and corralled the matches back into their box. Packing these once more, I said my goodbyes and led the little boys back to Cabin 1. Michael was unenthusiastically waiting for our arrival. I quickly changed my clothes, put a few toiletries in my knapsack, wished him well, and left camp for the evening. As I walked down the hill towards the parking lot, I had the strangest sensation of being watched.

When I turned around, Luke's face hurriedly disappeared from the window and out of sight. Wednesday Michael was wide awake when I entered the cabin at 7.20 the following morning. How'd everything go? I opened a can of Mountain Dew. I wasn't a coffee drinker, and the tea at camp is sadly decaffeinated. Things were all right until about 4.30. What happened?

Did the storm keep the kids up? No. We all slept soundly. Yet somehow I still heard the floor creaking over the rain. The floor creaking? Yeah. When I opened my eyes, I saw that kid you were in me and burrower. Well, Luke, he was standing next to your bed just looking at me.

I must have surprised him because when I moved to get up, he jumped back. I was stunned. Why on earth was he in here? I asked him, but he refused to answer me. Did he growl? Growl? Oh, I wish. What did he do then?

He just creepily laughed. He laughed. Well, I guess that's an improvement from the screaming. Over breakfast, I pulled Luke aside. He appeared like he did on Monday, friendly and normal, albeit still lacking with his words. He was confused when I questioned him about the counselor's quarters, almost eliciting sincerity from his manneristic responses. So, following this, on my period off, I once again checked his medical paperwork. I was still hoping to find an answer to a strange behavior and alleviate my concerned mind.

There wasn't anything documented in relation to sleepwalking or night terrors. This time, however, I did notice something I'd missed before. Luke's address was listed as a PO box. One of the biggest activities we had that Wednesday was a double period of horseback riding. The stable staff had ingeniously taken into a... account that some of the kids might be scared of these large creatures. Thus, before we arrived, they had set aside apple and oat-flavored treats. By feeding one of the horses, it was hope that the campers would see their tame, kind nature, which in turn would minimize their fear

of riding. Luke was the only one who refused. I didn't want to make him uncomfortable or force him onto a horse, but after five minutes of convincing, I managed to talk him into feeding one. Luke was still a little nervous, so he stood behind me as I gently coaxed a horse over to the fence. When the elderly mayor came near, I stepped aside so that Luke could show her the treat he held in his hand. When the mayor caught sight of him, she thunderously reared onto her hind legs and whinnied so as to alert the other horses. A few in the yard began to buck, causing the campers to race back to where I stood. All of this came as a shock to Luke, who, though removed from the mayor by a fence, fell backwards into the mud.

He found the largest rock within his reach to launch in her direction. He didn't even come close. The mayor had galloped away so rapidly that she broke through the fence on the other side of the enclosure. Luke rose slowly, dusting his pants, mumbling to himself. He spat in my direction and then walked to join the others at the safety of the picnic tables. Like JP on Sunday night, everyone was assigned an evening in charge of their respective settlement. Wednesday was mine. It was my duty to make sure the boys from the other cabins were asleep at a reasonable hour

and kept safe until their counselors returned, or until another staff member was tasked with staying the night in their cabin. Nothing out of the ordinary transpired. A few stories, kids refusing to sleep. All in all, my night was unremarkable. Still, I was appreciative when the settlement finally went quiet. I removed the picture of Dorian Gray from my knapsack and relaxed with some light reading. A few chapters later, there was a staff member in every cabin, so I returned to mine. Tiredly, I opened the separate entrance to the counselor's quarters and stared at the mess before me.

All of my possessions had been searched through. It took me an hour to clean everything. Thankfully, upon checking multiple times, nothing seemed to be missing. My gut reaction was never to blame the campers. Staff pulled pranks constantly. I was actually impressed that someone was able to sneak in and create this kind of chaos without me noticing. And by the time I had finished restoring order, and my head hit the pillow that night, the sound of the rain beating on the uninsulated roof immediately put me to sleep.

Thursday. I woke for flagpole to find the front door open with muddy footprints leading to Luke's bed. It was common for kids to walk to the bathroom in the middle of the night, but uncommon to do so without alerting a counselor. Perhaps he didn't want to wait me. I wanted so much to believe this simple truth. If I only knew then, what I know now. Thursday was my second evening off. Instead of leaving Camp One, I decided to stay and spend time with friends.

Leaving camp was always fun. Having camp to yourself was a blast. I never told my campers I would be returning. When I entered through my door to go to bed then, I was extra quiet. I didn't want to alert them of my presence or scare them into thinking someone was breaking in. It might sound ridiculous, but you'd be surprised. The rain had started in earnest when I drifted off to sleep. The loud pang of thunder. woke me. Through the flashes of lightning I saw the small frame of a child standing by the

wall. I reached for the light switch, knocking over my alarm clock that was again reading 4.31. I saw the figure start to approach. As soon as the lights snapped on, Luke stopped in his tracks. The continued bursts of lightning oddly emphasized the animalistic features. of his face, as water ran down his heaving chest to pool at his muddy feet. We both stared at each other. Luke! What the hell are you doing? His flashlight dropped to the floor shattering the glass bulb.

He was flustered and distracted, searching the room with his eyes. Apparently unsure why he was standing near the head of my bed. When he didn't answer, I stood. and cautiously directed him back to his bunk. I don't think either of us slept the rest of that night. Friday. The last full day of camp was usually bittersweet. Not this time.

Not for me. I was ecstatic knowing that Luke would be going home tomorrow. I just needed to make it through the night. It was at our last crafts period when I truly became scared. As before, Luke sat diligently coloring. This time, when he finished and proudly held up the drawing, it was our cabin. Through one of the windows you could see a crude depiction of me. That is, if you looked closely past the flames that were engulfing the structure.

The crafts director happened to see this. Is that supposed to be Jonathan? He smiled, a sickening smile. Hopefully. I was too ashamed to report what was happening. Realistically, how can I be scared of a six-year-old? So instead, I hatched a plan. I would stay awake through the night to ensure Luke didn't harm himself or another camper.

When the evening activity finished, I want my kids back to our settlement. through the trees I could see flames rising from Jake's fire pit. The rain was supposed to hold off until midnight. Jake was going to give his boys one last fire. As the rambunctiousness of my cabin slowly died, I felt my eyelids growing heavier. For good measure, I set my alarm clock for 4.15 just in case. Then I waited.

I remember wetness dripping onto my forehead and being startled to feel my chest compressed. Jerking awake, I saw him. Luke was perched on top of me, his mouth wide open, drool running from his bottom lip. He screamed as he slashed ferociously at my face. The searing pain in my flesh ripping was trivial in that moment. I had to get away from him more than anything. Without regard for his safety, then I forcefully shoved him onto the floor. Realizing that I much outweighed, Luke lunged for the door of the counselor's quarters.

I tried to chase after him, but tripped over my discarded and broken alarm clock. In turn, I fell down a short flight of stairs, my body rolling into the storm raging overhead. The constant flares of lightning ruined my night vision. Instinctively, I covered one eye. to at least give me a fighting chance as I searched through the trees. The harshness of the rain overpowered any sound look might have made, the downpour obscuring any trace of his footprints. This explains why I didn't know he was behind me.

I felt the blow to my knee first, knocking me down and rendering me breathless. I then saw one last flash of lightning before millions of stars blurred my line of sight. Next came to darkness. It was J.P. who saved me. J.P. who had taken an interest in Luke's antics from that first night. J.P. who sat during meals listening to me speak of Luke's behavior. J.P. who had the crafts period following mine and heard the director tell the story of Luke's drawing. And J.P. who had tirelessly stayed awake.

His sudden unexpected appearance diverted Luke from his mission. Frantically searching for a way out, Luke swung the log he had used as a weapon in J.P.'s direction. Those subsequent opportune seconds of distraction that elapsed when J.P. moved to distance himself from the impact, allowed Luke to flee to the safety of the woods. Saturday. I spent a few hours at the hospital as the police assisted staff in searching the grounds for Luke. From what I understand, though I wasn't privy to all the information,

the number listed on Luke's medical form had been disconnected. Even his generic last name, Smith, systematically helped prevent locating his parents. I don't know what became of him after that. ...to rest, but ignored this in favor of returning to camp. After my last camper had been claimed that Saturday morning, I diligently sent to cleaning the mess that only... a week of little kids could create. Luke's belongings had been removed by this point,

but as I lifted his mattress to sweep the wooded boards underneath, there, balled up, was the picture he drew of his family. Upon closer inspection of the happy quartet, I glimpsed something I hadn't previously. Erased from the background where the imprints of flames hungrily licking the Victorian home and the faces of those in the foreground. I decided to keep the picture.

In its current state, the drawing looked almost remorseful. I figured the detective I'd spoken to would like to see it. As I left empty my trash can into the larger barrels outside, I noticed an assortment of objects laying near the cabin. Stooping to pick them up, I discovered the container of lighter fluid from Jake's fire, bits of charred paper. and the remains of my knapsack.

I likewise found the scattered pile of spent matches that for the past few days had resided inside that bag. Inclimate weather is the natural enemy of camp counselors. Had you asked me before these events? I would have never thought to be grateful for the rain. People asked me many times about what happened. For some questions, I have answers. Jake kept the lighter fluid inside, save for that last night.

I assume this was where Luke would go when everyone else slept, returning each night until he found it. And for others, I don't. I'm still unaware of 431 a.m. significance or where Luke currently is now. People also ask why that was my last summer on staff. Up until this writing, clearly given many reasons as to why I left, the pay wasn't high enough. I needed to focus on collegiate studies. But now they'll know. Those who are reading this will finally be made aware how much that week changed me,

how much the remembrances of that week still keep me awake at night. You'll often hear it said that they're not. The scariest thing about a summer camp is living alone in the woods or the stories that are told late at night surrounding the fires. No. From firsthand experience, the scariest things about camp, children. Our episode has come to an end. Thank you for spending time with us at the No Sleep Podcast.

If you would like to learn how you can hear the full-length version of this episode, featuring many more stories. Please visit the no sleeppodcast.com and click on the season pass link. Purchasing a season pass will help support everyone who contributes to the podcast. And in return, you'll get 25 full-length episodes and three exclusive bonus episodes, all for only 1999. This is David Cummings. Thank you for listening, and join us again next week for the next week for the

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