The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S6E11

Episode Date: December 6, 2015

It's episode 11 of Season 6. On this week's show we have five tales about the terrors of being trapped in tangible torment. The full episode features the following stories. The free version features only the first three tales. "A Father's Revenge" written by G.B. Scott and read by Peter Lewis. (Story starts at 00:03:00) "The Fires Beneath Centralia, Pennsylvania" written by Jon Patrick and read by Jesse Cornett. (Story starts at 00:27:45) "Sleep Scientist" written by N. Luca and read by David Ault. (Story starts at 00:43:20) "The Grinding" written by Alex Beyman and read by David Cummings. (Story starts at 01:14:10) "The Dry Man" written by S.M. Piper and read by Jessica McEvoy & Corinne Sanders. (Story starts at 01:54:55) Click here for our Contributors page  Click here to learn more about N. Luca  Click here to learn more about Alex Beyman  Click here to learn more about S.M. Piper  Click here to learn more about Peter Lewis  Click here to learn more about Jesse Cornett  Click here to learn more about David Ault  Click here to learn more about Jessica McEvoy  Click here to learn more about Corinne Sanders  Podcast produced by: David Cummings Music & Sound Design by: Brandon Boone & David Cummings. "The Fires Beneath Centralia, Pennsylvania" illustration courtesy of Luke Godlewski Audio program ©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. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

This is a horror fiction podcast. By listening to our stories, you are choosing to be frightened and disturbed for your entertainment. You do so at your own risk. Brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. It's the No Sleep Podcast. I'm David Cummings. Thanks for joining us. On this week's show, we have five tales about the terror.

of being trapped in tangible torment. By now, I hope most of you have taken the time to visit our new and improved website over at the no-sleep podcast.com. We have a page there where you can find out more about the people who contribute to the show. There are photos, biographies, and links to various websites and social media pages for the people who help make this show happen. We're adding more of the more. people all the time, so check the link in the show notes to learn all about us, even our deepest, darkest secrets. Well, some of us have those. And with the holiday season upon us, I wanted to mention our special annual Christmas episode coming up soon. Make sure you join us on December 20th for the

Christmas show with all the festive frights you've come to know and love and fear and dreads and eggnog and a partridge in a pear tree. But before you stand under the mistletoe and wait for a pair of lips to bring you cheer, we've got five stories to bring you fear. Hey, that rhymed. What do you know? I guess it's time to start the show. In our first tale, we meet a man who takes matters into his own hands.

As we learn from author G.B. Scott, the man is looking for justice after atrocities inflicted on his loved ones go unpunished by the judicial system. Performing the tale is Peter Lewis. So judge for yourself if justice is indeed served when you hear about a father's revenge. By all accounts, at least that's what I keep telling myself. I mean, hey, I could have killed him, right? But here I am, schlepping him food every few days, making sure he has water and all that essential stuff one needs to survive. I go to work, take care of what's left of my daughter. Even go to church, though, to be honest, I never believed in God.

But where does it go from here? I might need some help, figuring it all out. Go on, have a seat. I'll tell you the story from Jump Street. Bourbon? I have some. Nice little bottle of bullet I picked up at the ABC store last trip up here. No?

Well, then make yourself comfortable. You probably hurt. about what happened to my daughter a year or so ago. Raped, beaten, left for dead by this psychopath I used to call a neighbor. But that's not really the beginning. We moved in to Calamette Farms just after I retired from the army in 06. And this scrawny, pimple-faced teenager turns up with a lawnmower offering to cut my grass. Having just moved off base, I didn't even own a lawnmower, so I let him, and he became our

permanent lawn care solution. Even after, I hooked up with Blackwater and went back over to the sandbox as a contractor, he took care of the lawn and stuff, moved on to handyman jobs, and somewhere along the way, he developed a thing for my daughter. While I was in the desert, money hand over fist, part of that went to buy this place. I know it don't look like much, just a country garage with a grease pit, but I had plans for it. Just not these. He asked her out some years later and she turned him down. It didn't sit well with him, so he started harassing her. We reported it. He got in trouble. He stalked her, we had him arrested, and so on.

It escalated to the point where one day I hauled him out of his car and slapped him around some after he had followed us to the mall. That seemed to stop it until... Well, you know if you read the reports. He broke in, stabbed my wife to death. and then spent the next three days doing what he did. I was the one that found them. The cops knew where to find him, and find him they did, two doors down. In 15 minutes, he was in a squad car and paper bags with his clothes,

spattered by what turned out to be my wife and daughter's blood on them in the trunk. Open and shut case. But a good lawyer is worth his weight in gold. No warrant. All the evidence thrown out. He got sprung. The legal details are hazy, but he was loose. Now he's not.

I know you're looking for him, but he's not loose. He's down there, there in the grease pit, has been for six or seven months now. He had the sense to run, knowing I would be after him. That just made it easier, to be honest. I picked up the trail in Richmond, followed him to Roanoke, and after a few hours of surveillance, had him stuffed in the trunk of that old dodge you saw outside. kept him there for three days, then brought him here. Kept him locked in a closet while I made some improvements to the place,

like soundproofing the grease pit, welding the plates in place to cover it, that sort of stuff. That's inch-thick steel there. The end plate isn't welded, though. An electromagnet holds that one down. There's a ventilation fan, a toilet, and a light down there. I am not totally heartless. But he'll never see sunlight again.

The lights on a random timer on and off, anywhere between one and 48 hours. The water drips at a rate of two liters a day. He can drink it, bathe with. whatever he likes. There's even a little IP camera down there I can look in on him with from anywhere. See, I'm not inhuman. No, it's not a tea party and by now he's crazier than a shithouse rat under the floor at our feet. But aside from a few lex from the taser, I haven't harmed him. I wanted to take a hammer.

a knife and maybe a blow torch to him. Nice, a guy for that, I guess. And don't give me that shit about due process. I fought for those rights people are constantly yammering about. Served 25 years in the army.

But the only thing between him getting his due in court and walking free was someone asking a judge if they could opened a door in his house when they arrested the guy that had been badgering my daughter for years. My daughter, who is still paralyzed, who lives in more fear now, because she didn't know if he'd ever come back after her, but knew that if he did, she couldn't run. Thing is, I know if I ever told her, she'd make me cut him loose. Then what? They'd take me to jail, and there'd be nobody left to care for her, protect her. I come up every so often, toss some food in the hole and a trash bag.

He's supposed to keep the place tidy, and for the most part, he does. He's taken to memorizing the labels on the packages. is really the only thing he gets to read. Sure, you won't have any bourbon. I might take a nip before feeding time. First, though, we gotta figure this out. I wasn't aware anyone was still looking for him. My mistake, I guess, bound to happen.

Yours was parking in the same place three days in a row, waiting for me, following me around like you did. You're a private detective. I get it. You can't just disappear. I assume someone knows that you were working me. Your second mistake was letting me get the drop on you. Look, I got nothing against you, personally.

But someone is going to be looking for you. They'll track your phone first, but I tossed that in the back of that. SUV with the California tags back at the gas station. They headed east. We went west. That'll buy us some time to figure this all out. I can't let you go. Don't want to kill you.

And damn sure don't want to keep you. If only because that bastard under our feet doesn't deserve to see another human face again. except mine. Can't keep you chained to that wall forever either. Pardon? Oh, come on. You can't really think I'd believe that, that we could just keep it between us.

You're getting paid to find him or his remains. And if you'd betray your customer, how could I trust you not to do the same? On the other hand, you really didn't deserve to have something bad to happen to you. Doesn't seem right to hurt you. I'm going to need some time to figure this out. I ain't no murderer, you understand, but I have killed before. Three tours in the sandbox as a soldier.

Four, as a contractor, puts you in their position. But those were sanctioned targets. I pulled the trigger, as it were, but I didn't make the decision. You ain't kidding. This situation we got here is full of, what do you call them? Ethical dilemmas. But I'm a nice guy, a law-abiding guy, for the most part. I need time to figure this all out.

Now, I need you to step back from the door, all the way to the back wall now. I know it's been a few days and you're probably hungry, but I can't take any chances. There, now, have a seat. I got you some of that Popeye's chicken from up the road a bit. Who think I've come up with a solution to a... a little problem. Go on eat while I lay it out for you. No, it's not your last supper neither. Least it needn't be, but that's up to you. You've no doubt kept track of how long you've been here, and so have I. I never realized how much it costs to keep someone prisoner, especially when you try to do it

Right. Like I have you. I mean, I spent what, nearly three grand and a good week making this office space escape proof, and even then you almost got out. Good thing I had them cameras. 54 days you've been here. Now I know the books and all I left probably haven't been all what you're used to, but I watched you read, Most of them. You should know that you're missing, presumed dead. I dumped your car into the Rappahannock River a few days after we met. They hauled it out three weeks ago. Yes, I was questioned. I told them I didn't know you, never met you.

But then again, why would I? You were being paid to follow me, so why would you? what I know you. They seem to buy it. The cops, anyway, not your family. Did you know your wife is still out there following up leads and such? Damn to determine to that one. She's moved on from me, I think.

But then again, that may be exactly what she wants me to think. I also found out. You have daughters. Two of them. Makes me think you probably understand what I'm going through. Not enough to let me off the hook, mind you, but at least you get it. I also think you don't want them to be without a father, much less have anything happen to them because of what you do or aren't around to prevent. Now, don't look at me like that. I'm not that kind of guy, but I have my mission in life, too. No reason for you to stop that. Don't mind telling you I've broken the laws enough for my taste already.

Now that animal in the grease pit, he has a miserable life in front of him to be sure. That's do him for what he's done to my daughter. And eventually, I'm going to stop coming up here. And then he'll die. That's do him too. For murdering my wife. Could take years. But here's the thing.

I can't let you screw that up. I really only have one thing against you. And that's the fact you work for that some bitch's family. Now, picture them in the courtroom that day when the judge cut him loose, whooping and hollering like they done won the lottery. It was sickening mean. They knew what he'd done, and they were all hugging and crying and carrying on,

even looked over in me like they'd won something from me, defeated me somehow. Disgusting white trash, all of them. Made the news and everything. So, here, have one of these coax. wife told me you weren't a drinking man. Explains why you never wanted to partake in the bourbon I offered you. Where was I? Oh yeah, about our little problemo here.

Kind of feels like I have a tiger by the tail. Let you go, I get shredded. Keep you here and I shred myself, what with the guilt and all. but I do have a plan. First, a little background. I told you I was in the army back in the day, infantry actually. Did three tours in Iraq, if you count Desert Storm back in 91, and one in Afghanistan. Served with a lot of good soldiers.

Went back as a contractor with some. hired others as time went on through 2012 or so. You don't swim in those waters without meeting a few sharks, know what I mean? Those wars, those deployments, they change a man. Some more than others. Some leave there after all the killing they did and they're sort of desensitized to the whole. life and death thing. Some of them don't care anymore. But one thing they do bring home is the bond they shared with their comrades in arms. Others never lose that mercenary spirit. The contractors,

I mean, we got paid like you do. Do our job, not worry too much about the rights and wrongs of it. Not beating my drum here or waving my medals or any of that, just explaining to you where this comes from. I know men, hard men, some with daughters of their own, like you and me. Others that came home to shit and still don't have shit, but they have their word and their loyalty. Either way, these are some powerfully motivated people if you push the right buttons, and you're going to have to go through literally thousands of them to figure out which ones I have engaged here. But you won't.

You done eating. Good. Now, if you would, please stand up and turn around. Gotta cuff you and take you outside. Something I want you to see. Don't try anything, please. We're in the home stretch now. Good.

Not too tight? Okay. I'm going to take you out to the main garage area. See those guys, there's five of them. Three more outside, too, because I only have five masks. They don't all know each other, but they all know. Here's the deal. They are, separately and collectively, my insurance against you.

Anything happens to me, anything at all. And they happen to you. I mean, if I go to jail, walk in front of a bus, get shot in a random drive by, anything. They come for you. Even if you think you know one of them or two, they don't all know each other, like I said, so you can't preemptively stop them all. They know you worked for that bastard's family. They know what he did to my wife and daughter, and they have been instructed to deal with you accordingly.

A couple or three of them may even be heartless enough to toss one of your kids in the grease pit with him, or toss all of you in there. Maybe, or they all may be nice guys like me. But you don't know, and you won't. I'm betting you're smart enough to not take that chance. At minimum, though, you yourself will join Junior down there, sharing his fate for as long as that drags on. Of course, we're moving him tonight to similar accommodations elsewhere. The hole is deeper, more secure, much farther off the road.

That'll be his home, for as long as I can keep him alive. Here's the fun part. These guys are going to gear up like some of them SWAT guys and rescue him. Let him think he's going home. debrief him, interrogate him, even treat him like a human. And then just as his hopes are at their highest, just as he begins to regain some semblance of sanity, lower him into an abyss again. And, to be fair, at some point I'll call them off you.

End the contracts. and disassociate from you altogether. I mean, can't have you worrying about me dying of old age or something. I like to think I am a fair man. So, now, back in your cell, just for the time being. And let me get those cuffs off you. I'll be back in a few days, two, three or so. You get to go home then.

Take the time to get your story straight Where the hell you've been for two months Make it believable You look like hell by the way So I doubt your wife's gonna think you were shacking up in the Bahamas After that I don't want to ever see you again And trust me

You don't want to see me again It's the best I can do. I wish I could do better. I mean, I am a nice guy, generally. You may be familiar with the real-life ghost town in Pennsylvania, abandoned due to an ever-burning underground coal fire. But as author John Patrick explains, there are still some people allowed in for geological research.

But when two men, contracted to map the remaining mineshafts, enter the burning underground chambers, they quickly realize there are other reasons to stay the hell out of there. Performing this tale is Jesse Cornett. So be thankful you're above ground and not dealing with the fires beneath Centralia, Pennsylvania. Centralia, Pennsylvania. Current population, 10. One of the most prominent ghost towns in America. The reason?

A massive coal fire burning below the surface. In 1962, a landfill was set ablaze to celebrate Memorial Day, and the fire was never properly extinguished. The landfill was directly on top of an old coal mine that was supposedly filled and properly capped. When the ashes from the fire weren't extinguished, they smoldered underground for an unknown period of time before being exposed to the open air and setting coal dust ablaze. This dust led directly back to the mines creating a massive labyrinth beneath the town.

I was tasked by a geological research team to map out the remaining mines untouched by fire, to give a better approximation to the extent of the fire. In summer 2013, I began my expedition to the town that no longer even has a zip-up. code as of 2002. I don't think a garbage fire is to blame for the underground inferno or the evacuation of the town above. I arrived on the outskirts of Centralia at the end of a highway that literally continued straight into a dirt mound. The road simply ended. Due to the risk of collapsing shafts and the inherent risks of the fire, I brought one of our interns with me. I'll refer to him as Tim. Tim was a Ph.D. candidate at Penn State and had been doing research about the

effects of mine fires on the surrounding crust of the earth. He'd placed small, very accurate seismographs around the area of Centralia and studied the results over several years. Tim thought very far in advance. Halfway through his bachelor's degree, he began placing the seismographs so that he'd have solid data for his PhD thesis. Tim noticed that the fires would bake and crack the earth above occasionally, but nothing unusual occurred until 2013, when one of his seismographs began recording data that was akin to something digging the earth directly underneath. It was almost as if someone was using a boring machine directly beneath the seismograph, heading straight up. The earth's crust can change, distort, and tear in odd manners. But this was something that I'd never seen before.

After less than two days, the readings had gone off the scale, and we'd begun to assume something was wrong with the seismograph. Our fears were nearly confirmed when the machine suddenly stopped broadcasting. We went out to inspect, and it was gone. A perfectly circular five-foot diameter hole in its place. Shortly thereafter, the government contacted us. They tasked us to map the... the remaining mines using a GPS tracker that had a built-in safety feature. If we began to suffer

ill effects from carbon monoxide, from the coal fire, the tracker would emit a high-frequency ping to any other trackers nearby and an obnoxious screech to anyone within earshot. Once we left the truck behind and continued toward the mine on foot, things took a turn for the weird. I saw him one of the residents of the town, but he didn't seem all there. He looked out from the porch window of his dilapidated house and basically stared straight through us. His look was akin to the 1,000-yard stare of combat veterans. We waved at him as we were walking within 50 yards of his house, and he yelled something at us, but we couldn't hear him.

I raised my hand to my ear in the Universal, We Couldn't Hear You gesture, and he yelled louder. You won't want to go in there. The mines ain't kind of visitors. The man looked to be a few steps past crazy, so we took his brief rant with a grain of salt and continued to our destination, which was about a quarter of a mile past the man's house. The woods had an unnatural feel to them. The trees seemed stunted in many places, and there were numerous vents created by the subterranean fires, of course.

These openings in the earth's crust were usually pretty easy to spot. They were puffing out smoke in some places, and generally they were devoid of vegetation. This, however, was not always the case. Some of these chasms were hundreds of feet deep and had stopped smoking, an open maw on the surface of the earth with no warning whatsoever. Tim nearly walked straight into one that was overgrown with a fallen tree bridging the two sides. The smoke that emanated from the ground cast eerie shadows everywhere you look. It was almost as if something was hiding within the smoke, but I dismissed that as me simply

being paranoid. This town had been nearly abandoned since the 1980s, and the only people that remained were, from what I could see, mostly crazy. Finally, I saw something move that I knew wasn't smoke. I knew it wasn't my imagination because I saw it move a small fern-like bush as it hid. Something was in the woods with us. As I moved towards the rustled bush, I felt myself begin to fall. I had walked over a small drop-off that was directly above one of the fiery chasms that wasn't actively smoking. I looked out and managed to grab the edge as I fell in. Tim was able to Pull me out before either of us succumbed to the carbon monoxide gases emanating from the pit. Our walk towards the mine continued in silence.

The mine entrance was overgrown with thick vegetation and gated off by a rusted fence. Thankfully, the lock had long since rusted and fell off as we'd never been able to open it with our key. Inside was an absolute labyrinth, a partially collapsed tunnels that gradually sloped down, My map, circa 1930, showed that the mine had a spiral series of shafts that went several hundred feet deep before the main shaft hit a water pocket, dooming all of the miners in the near vicinity. We entered the first shaft, main number one, and immediately the temperature began to increase. I knew we'd need our portable respirators before long. I just hadn't expected to need them yet. The ambient temperature outside was nearly 80 degrees Fahrenheit, and inside a mine it would normally be closer to 50. It was well over 90 degrees and rising.

This was a good indicator of how close the fire really was. By my calculations, the ambient temperature in the mine would be close to 120 degrees Fahrenheit near the water line. The depth of the water was such that it would have washed out or flogel. flooded the bottom quarter of the mine, but there should have been enough room for us to gain access to the portions of this mine where the fire would hit first. It wasn't if this mine caught fire, it was more of a win. The mines around and under Centralia were just too close together, and the coal seam was too large for any nearby mines to be spared. It would likely burn for another two and a half centuries. After donning our respirators, we headed

deeper into the main number one shaft. The shaft would periodically open into larger chambers where pillars of coal had been mined around and supported with large tempers. Occasionally, one or more of these had collapsed, leading me to question the structural integrity of the ceiling supporting millions of tons of coal and rock above our head. But we trudged on. In the second such open chamber, I saw a plume of smoke emitting from the wall. My eyes darted away from it, and as soon as they did, I could see movement that didn't match the smoke. Something black as the surrounding coal was standing directly beside the wall, so close to the opening that if it were human, it would have almost instantly succumb to carbon monoxide poisoning and passed out.

Whatever this was, just stood by the opening and watched us walk by. I didn't dare look at it directly for fear that I'd illuminate it with my headlamp. I couldn't take that risk. We came within about 20 feet of it, and I guessed Tim just couldn't see it. Just as we passed by the thing, I saw it slide between two pillars and disappear into the wall. Before it left, I saw it grab the pillar, and I noticed three massive claws on its hand. I knew we'd have to return to that room. I just wasn't looking forward to it.

We exited the cavern without incident, but afterwards, I couldn't shake the feeling that there were things scaling the walls just out of sight. Finally, after another half an hour, we could hear running water. Apparently, the underground water that the 1930s mine had hit was some sort of creep or stream. We were probably about 200 yards from the water when Tim stopped dead in his tracks and pointed straight ahead. I didn't get a good look at whatever he saw, but I saw a shadow and I knew that Tim could finally see what I saw. He was deathly pale, and just managed to slightly turn his head sideways to look at me

before something climbed to the ceiling directly behind him. He heard it and darted the way we came. I had no plans on lingering in the mind, but my own terrifying curiosity got the better of me. The water shouldn't be running. The records indicated that the 1930s crew hit a pond, an underground pool of essentially stagnant water. Somehow the water either interconnected with another waterway in the past 80 years, or the records were wrong. Terrified as I was, I knew I was mere feet from finding out. I turned the last bent maybe 20 feet and 10 seconds from where Tim had turned tail and ran,

only to see a rather large flow of water moving perpendicular to the cavern. The shaft continued on the other side of roughly 50 feet of water. The water was near the boiling point and I could feel the immense heat resonating from its surface. On the other side stood a black creature. When I shined my light on it, fire seemed to resonate from its eyes. I was running the other direction instantly. I heard its feet hit the ground on my side of the bank and I broke into a full sprint. I could hear its footsteps and although I was panting through the respirator in the extreme heat, I couldn't hear it breathing at all. I ran up the incline towards the exit, but the creature seemed to have more stamina than I, and I began to falter. A dark shape emerged from directly beneath one of my feet and seemed to

grab my boot as I stumbled toward the room where I'd originally seen the beast. As I've passed through the first room where I saw the creature, I heard a loud screech and my GPS lit up a pinged beat. and inside the wall, I continued to run. I felt fire on the back of my neck, and I could see daylight ahead, only I didn't think I could make it. The fire grew worse and worse, even though I knew the temperature should be decreasing. And right as I exited the mine, I felt the flames overcome me, and I fell into darkness. Tim revived me some minutes later and indicated that we were both suffering from carbon monoxide poisoning and that we needed fresh air in a bad way. After a few minutes and many scared glances at the mine, we decided to leave.

I asked Tim where his GPS unit fell and he responded that it was still in his pack. Confused, I asked him to show me. Sure enough, Tim's GPS unit was in its rifle place. I pondered why mine had malfunctioned and as I looked at it, I could clearly see a dim ping moving around beneath the surface. I decided to take one last look down the main shaft of the mine before we left. Tim stayed outside. Once back in, I could see about 200 yards straight into the main shaft.

I peered off the side of the drop-off and not 20 feet below lay a charred GPS unit exactly like ours with three charred scrapes on it. As soon as I saw it, a black- clawed hand raked the unit back out of view, and I was immediately running towards the surface in case the owner of the hand knew how to fly. We contacted the government with the results of our first excursion and informed them of the unusual pings. They mentioned nothing. Upon a little further digging by Tim, it turned out that apparently we were the second team to map the area. the first being four months prior.

They did not return. As we've learned recently on our show, the study of sleep disorders is one which impacts many people. We've heard from the patients of those clinics, but in this tale from author N. Luca, we meet one of the doctors who spends his nights studying the mysteries of the human brain at rest. However, one night when,

When tasked with monitoring a solitary and very unique individual, he realizes that the sleeping brain can be anything but restful. Performing this tale is David Alt. So you may want to think twice if your career goal is to become a sleep scientist. I'm a sleep scientist, and I have to spend the night alone in the sleep lab. I've performed this overnight vigil hundreds of times. before. I'm comfortable with the sleep lab. It's like a second home to me. I think I spend more nights here than I do in my own bed. The room is dark. It has to be, of course, so that no light goes into the sleep room next door, and I stare at the flickering screen in front of me. The lab computer records and monitors the patient's brain activity, e.E.G. brainwaves, never-ending wiggly

lines dancing across the screen. First, I think I need to explain what the sleep lab is exactly. The room I am in right now is known as the monitoring room. It is next door to the sleep rooms. There is a window installed into the wall of the monitoring room, which allows us to look directly into the sleep room without having to go in. The good thing is that my main job through the night, usually, is simply to stay awake and keep an eye on things.

monitor the patients and their brainwave activity on screen, make sure everything is ticking along as it should be. There are infrared cameras mounted on the sleep room walls, so I can see the patient on another monitor, make sure everything is okay. I have to make sure the brainwave recording is going well, that the recording wires are still attached to the patient's scalps, and that the recording is free from noise and interference.

Through all this, the main job is usually just staying awake and alert. To keep myself awake, I'm allowed to browse the internet on my laptop, as long as the speakers are switched off, of course, and on the condition that I keep a vigilant eye on the patients and their signals. Later comes the mentally taxing part of analysing their data, but overnight I don't have to worry about that yet. Sometimes watching the EEG brainwaves flit continuously across the screen can be strangely hypnotic. I have to fight to keep myself awake. Tonight, though, tonight is different. Tonight there's no danger of me nodding off. I'm wide awake, and I'm terrified.

There is only one patient in the sleep lab tonight. He's in a coma, so I'm practically alone in the building. There's no one who I can go to, no one to wake up. That's what makes tonight even more unnerving. Normally I would never wake up a patient unless protocol required it, but these aren't normal circumstances. If there were other patients around, I would have awoken them by now. Not to just adjust their wires, not to give them their meds, not to check up on them. Simply because I need someone here with me, because things are getting out of control.

However, he's the only one here, and he's in a coma. so I could scream and shout all I want. You won't stir. All I have is an unconscious body for company. Let me get one thing clear. I have seen all manner of things during my time working here, a mixture of scary and panic-inducing. Normally, I like the darkness of the sleep lab.

It's comforting. It's what I'm used to. Even though I could have turned on the lights at the beginning of the night, I just sat here quite comfortably in the dark. a matter of habit, I suppose. I'm a neuroscientist specialising in sleep research, and my professional interest lies in characterising and trying to find new treatments for sleep disorders.

I've had multiple patients with sleep paralysis, who waken hysterics, telling me about the demons that tried to kill them or small men stalking them. They draw them out on paper to show me, diagrams of the terrible faces that haunt them in the night. They point out frantically and urgently where the demons had stood in the room. I've had countless children in who have woken up screaming,

blood-curdling screams the kind of sound that makes your hair stand on end, suffering from night terrors. I've had people sleepwalking, throwing things around, sometimes they've even managed to rip the wires off their head, which is very painful because they're affixed with strong adhesives, and still not woken up. One man, still unconscious, cut his own wrists with a shaving razor and slept through it, even as I bandaged him up and phoned for help.

I've had patients stop breathing suddenly mid-dream, and I've had to rush in and perform CPR. Sometimes some people somehow managed to open the door of the sleep room, wander through the corridor, and come into the monitoring room, some of them trying to attack me, hit me, bite me, all while asleep. What I'm saying is I've seen a lot. I've had to remain level-headed throughout it all and focus on the job. They rip their wires out,

I need to put them back on and make sure the EEG recording stays online. They start sleepwalking, I can't wake them up, I need to make sure their wires are still in place that we're getting a good signal and that the infrared camera is capturing everything so we can analyze the data. Usually I just need to make sure they're confined to the sleep room and can't hurt themselves, or me.

Child screaming? No big deal, it can be a little creepy at first, but I've seen it a thousand times before. Just make sure the signal is okay, make a note of the time and duration of the night terror, and then it's carry on as usual. I need to be focused and to concentrate on the central aim, ensuring that patient data collection continues uninterrupted. and keeping a corresponding meticulous written record of any unusual events. After all, that's why they're there these patients so we can diagnose them, so that we can get them the treatment and medication they need to get on with their lives, so we can help them break out of the bubble of terror that engulfs them every night created by their minds. When it goes awry, the slumbering brain can be an evil, self-destructive thing.

My job is to help rain it in. I'm actually used to this routine, these strange tumultuous nights, more so than a lot of my colleagues. You see, I became a sleep neuroscientist because of my older brother. I can't remember when it started, but I remember I would wake up regularly to hear him muttering and talking in his sleep. Sometimes he would sit upright and scream. Other times he would whimper his voice coming out. whiny and afraid. It was the whimpering that scared me more than the screaming for some reason. And during the day, he was my big brother. We'd play football together, and he'd buy me treats

from the ice cream truck with his pocket money, help me cross the road and tie my shoes. He's only a couple of years older than me, but two years can be a huge gulf during childhood. He was my hero. But at night, he became this frightened little boy, lashed out at me when I tried to wake him up. As the days went by, though, I became used to it. When we got older, he didn't grow out of it, as most children do. It got worse. He started experiencing a jumble of symptoms, night terrors, sleep paralysis, sleepwalking, and also what I now know as REM disorder. It didn't get better. And then his visions and hallucinations began to seep into the daytime. What beasts and terrors had been confined to his dreamscapes now haunted him

during wakefulness as well. He was diagnosed with sleep disorders combined with schizophrenia. I wanted to help him. It took a toll on every part of his life. He was more intelligent than me with a potential bright future ahead, that he fell behind in his studies unable to concentrate. I started to study the brain for him because I wanted to understand what was happening inside his mind. So I began on my quest to study the brain, to unlock its secrets because I wanted to help him and others like him to escape. I wanted him to return to being himself. My brother, unfortunately, never really improved. No amount of drugs could help him, and he insisted that this was because his business,

visions weren't due to a disorder. They were real. He would often shout and scream that drugs couldn't take something away if it were real. As I progressed in my scientific studies, which I had embarked upon for the very reason to help him, ironically, it caused a rift between us. I thought he would be proud when I got my PhD, but he almost saw my scientific endeavors as a betrayal, as a sign that I didn't believe him. I guess the fact that I'm his younger brother doesn't help much. It doesn't matter how many qualifications I attain, how many scientific publications I write,

how respected I am among my academic peers. My brother will never listen to me, and he refuses to set foot in my lab or try any of the treatments I recommend. We haven't spoken in years. However, what I'm about to tell? tell you what I've been through tonight. Isn't about my brother. What I've experienced this night, though, has, well, suffice to say, for the first time in my life, I'm reconsidering my brother's

point of view. A few days ago, we had a very perplexing case coming to the sleep lab. The patient of the man in his mid-20s, who had lapsed into an atypical coma a few days before he was transferred to our facility. The patient's older brother accompanied him and sat in the sleep room on a chair next to his bed, concerned holding his hand. I'll admit one of the reasons I took such an interest in this case is because it struck a personal cord with me. It reminded me of my brother and me. Some of my colleagues were hesitant to take on this patient for observation. The reason is this patient presents with a whole list of strange and unusual symptoms. The patient's brother reports that the patient had a slight head trauma a few days before he went into the coma,

not substantial enough to cause significant head injury, but it probably did contribute to his symptoms, we thought. His brother later tells us that the patient actually documented the hours prior to succumbing to the coma. He was suffering from extreme delusion and hallucinations. The patient's leg is what should, in theory, provide a diagnostic clue. when I was placing wires on the patient around the chest, abdomen and legs to monitor breathing patterns and leg movements, the patient's left leg was something which truly shocked me. It seems necrotic. I've never seen anything like it.

The team from pathology have taken several biopsies and sent these for analysis at the top medical centers and specialist laboratories around the world. Endocrinologists have been consulted in case it's a frequent. hormonal disorder. Dermatologists have examined him in case it's an infection or some strange injury or burn on his skin. Experts in tropical diseases have flown over to investigate in case it's a poison from a bite or something similarly obscure. We have been thorough and every avenue has been looked into. His blood work, pathology report, everything is coming out clean. Whatever this is, we don't have an answer, we don't have this disease categorized yet. We don't have the tools to detect it because we don't know what it is. The professor in charge of our lab has a theory that the

patient may have been exposed to some airborne pathogen, which infected his peripheral and central nervous system. The symptoms in his leg are spreading slowly, most likely through his nerves. It may explain the unusual brain activity we're picking up on if it has infected his brain too. What strange is his brainwaves aren't typical of a coma patient, but all his other physical attributes are. His pupils are unresponsive to light, and he is unresponsive to all stimuli applied, including painful stimuli, except for reflex responses. He is a medical mystery, and he's causing a sensation around the world in medical and scientific circles. He may hold the key to some obscured. disease and by extension a new discovery. We're looking at uncharted ground here. But right now,

he's here, alone in the lab with only me to monitor him and track his brain activity. Some people aren't sure if whatever disease he has is contagious, that we don't think so. Nonetheless, I took one look at his brother, holding his hand and looking forlorn and desperate, and I knew I just had to help in whatever way I was. I could. This afternoon, one by one, my colleagues at the lab checked out for home. Soon there was just me left, staying overnight alone to monitor the patient. I've done this, as I say many times before. It's the usual routine. I peered in for a moment through the window into the sleep room. I double-checked the signals, ensured that the cameras

were working. As satisfied with everything, I made myself comfortable in my chair and settled in for the long night ahead. I turned on my personal laptop and checked emails and so on. Can't use speakers or headphones on the chance that patients call out or make a noise during the night. Can't risk missing something like that. I was reading something online when I first heard footsteps coming from the corridor. I didn't think anything of it. Probably one of the patients had woken up and had to use the bathroom or something. I was immersed in the article I was reading when suddenly everything seemed to stand still as the realization hit me. There were no other patients in the sleep lab tonight, just me and Coma Guy. My head turned to the monitor instantly in the dubious hope that maybe

the patient had woken up. Nope, still on the bed, unresponsive like a log. The footsteps were in the corridor and they seemed to be going towards the sleep room. I swiveled in my chair and scrambled to the door in long, hurried steps, almost leaping to it. I opened it and peered out. There was no one in the corridor. Just to be safe, I checked the nearby rooms, including the vacant sleep rooms. All the doors leading to the sleep lab were locked. I knew my staff security swipe card can open those. It was safe and sealed in. It had been my imagination. Sying, I returned to the monitoring room. Another quick check that the recordings were in order and I settled into my laptop routine again.

With the computer fans humming away the steady beep of the patient's heart rate and nothing interesting online. I was on the verge of sleep. The steady sound of the patient's heart rate is what had almost lulled me into a trance, and it's the heart rate that woke me up again with a start. The patient's heart rate had spontaneously increased, very fast. I looked up eagerly at the EEG signal. It had changed, gotten quicker, responding to something. Was the patient waking up?

I stared at the infrared camera image, which was blurry, so I got up and went to look in through the window. Nothing. There was no movement, no change in the patient's consciousness, but his breathing and heart rate had increased. His brain activity had changed within the coma. Was he experiencing hallucinations? I stared at the stationary figure on the bed for some time in the darkness.

And then something within the room moved. At first I thought it was the shadow of the cabinet on the other side of the room, but the shadow was moving. creeping, a black mass creeping slowly towards the bed. I blinked trying to be sure of myself. It was so dark that sometimes the mind creates shapes of darkness and shadows, illusions. No, it did seem to really be there. It was elongating now as though something this black thing had been on all fours and was now standing up,

to stand over the patient in his bed. An intruder? Someone here to attack the patient? Or just someone mentally unstable who had somehow found a way in? Perhaps they had tailgated and slipped in behind a member of staff as they had entered through the security-protected doors. I shouted and banged on the window. Hey! Hey, who's there? You're not supposed to be in there. The figure stood, unmoved. I went back to the door, through the corridor and into the sleep. room, I turned on the light. No one was there. There couldn't have been time to escape. If they'd

exited the sleep room, they would have run into me in the corridor. How odd. Most likely a trick of the darkness. Just to be certain, though, I checked underneath the bed and in the en suite bathroom and in the cabinet for good measure. Everything was in order. I looked at the patient in bed. I was now standing over the bed in the same way I'd imagined the shadow had done. The patient's breathing had returned to his normal pace. I went back to the monitoring room and I looked at the screen displaying the camera view. We're able to play back video without affecting live recordings, so I rewound the recording a few minutes. There was nothing on there, no shadow.

Everything was just like usual. Empty room with the patient in the bed. nothing moving until I entered a few minutes later to check up. I sat down at my laptop again, not really able to concentrate anymore on the article I'd been reading. I decided I needed some light relief. I went to YouTube and started watching some videos where the speakers turned off.

Soon I was able to relax and was engrossed. I don't know how long passed in this way, an hour or so, I think. My eyes went back to the recording screen to make sure all was well. There was no EEG signal. It was flatlining. No heart signal, no breathing signal. My heart jumped into my throat.

The patient was dead. I missed it. I should have done something. What had happened. Oh God, what a fool I was getting wrapped in videos. I looked at the camera feed and the patient was gone. The bed was empty. in the midst of the rush of adrenaline and confusion and yes also fear though at that point i was more afraid of losing my job for negligence than anything else i ran into the sleep room and turned on the light the bed was tazzled as though the participant had just walked off that was impossible the door had been closed and the outer door had a security lock only those with a swipe card could get out

Feeling jittery and trying to stave off the thoughts that I was going to get into a lot of trouble because I'd let my guard down and let this patient walk off, I looked into the adjoining restroom. Nothing. Feeling stupid, I looked in the clothes cabinet. Nothing. I got on my hands and knees, the carpet feeling rough under my palms and looked under the bed. The patient was lying under the bed.

I let out a sigh of relief. Hello? No response. His eyes were closed. Without thinking about it, I shuffled sideways halfway under the bed and used one hand to slowly drag the man out. He was still unconscious, the wires were still attached to his head, but had been unplugged at the other end from the recording machine. So they trailed like long unattached wires, like dreadlocks from his head. Heaving and panting, I somehow managed to get his dead weight back into bed.

I then set about plugging everything back into where it should be, and then covered him with the blanket again. I went back into the monitoring room. The signal was back and recording. The signal indicated that he was indeed still comatose. How had he managed to get out of bed? Had he regained consciousness, unplugged his wires, and then hidden under the bed for the some reason, perhaps scared at the new surroundings, and then relapsed back into the coma while there? Highly unlikely, but the only solution to this conundrum that I could think of, this was all so strange. Only one way to find out, the video, visual evidence. With that, we'd know exactly what happened. I clicked rewind on the video feed. The past hour was just a

blank dead screen. I felt winded. I sat down on my chair heavily. There must be some rational explanation for this. I went to the door that opened into the corridor and I closed it. It locks automatically so only I can open it to get out with my card, just to be safe. I also thought it might be a good idea to check in with security services. They're around via phone access 24-7 for any loan workers at our facility, so it might be a good idea to tell them about the footsteps and all that, so they could send someone over. Before, I had thought this was excessive. I don't like to cause a fuss over nothing, but now, well, perhaps someone was playing a prank on me. Now I just wanted someone here with me, some reassurance. I picked up the office phone. There was no dial tone.

Never mind, I took my mobile from my pocket. No signal. Odd, I tried changing position, etc., but it was no use. I went on to my email to message a colleague to see if I could ask them to ring security for me. The message on the screen read, This email could not be sent. Please check your connection and try again. The internet connection was definitely still there.

I loaded a YouTube video, it was playing fine. I clicked on another video, and a screaming erupted, startling me. To say I was annoyed is an understatement. Had someone put a screamer into one of those videos, I hit the mute button, but it made no difference. My laptop was already on mute. I got to my feet, my head spinning with the unexpected screaming. It was unrelenting.

I checked the EEG screen. Brainwave activity was as before. comatose, but his chin muscle signal was active. It meant that his mouth was moving. The infrared camera image was too grainy to tell, so I glanced at the window into his room. Indeed, his mouth was wide open, his chest muscle straining. He was screaming unrelentingly, but his brain signals, he was still in a coma. Before I could mentally process this, the pain. The painer was, sat upright in bed. Here's the thing.

There was no activity in his orbital, parietal, or motor regions. Basically the brain areas that should control his decision to sit up, plan the movement, and signal his muscles to move. All were quiet. All were inactive. By the look of the signal, his brain wasn't actually controlling his movements. What the bloody hell? Maybe, maybe there was something,

wrong with the signal. Maybe there was an error with the recording equipment. I ran into the door, which I'd closed just a few minutes ago. It wouldn't open. I tried swiping my card. It wouldn't open. No, beat nothing. I went to switch on the light. Maybe I wasn't aiming the card at the sensor properly in the dark. The light wouldn't come on. The light was just completely out. There is a pain of frosted glass at the side of the door. Perhaps I could smash it and squeeze through. I lifted the chair above my head and steadied myself planting my feet firmly and got ready to swing. Someone pushed me. Someone shoved me forcefully away from the door. I toppled over the chair falling from my grip onto me into a confused, tumultuous movement

where I couldn't tell where my head was in relation to my feet and the floor. I managed to untangle myself, pushing the chair off me, not thinking about the malicious force that had thrown me onto the floor, or taking it all in my stride, a geniline making me incredulous, perhaps. And then the recording computer monitors went dark. The EEG signals and the camera feed screens both just pop, and they were gone. I was plunged into greater darkness. I ran to the window to look in at the patient.

He was sitting upright in bed, still screaming. He had been screaming relentlessly throughout all. this. I stared at him and banged on the window trying to get him to wake up. This wasn't a normal coma. Perhaps I could wake him up if I tried. I don't know what the hell this was. I was willing to throw all protocol out of the window now. And then someone closed the blind from the other room, stood there staring at it. I didn't see a hand pull the blind down, but just the jerking movement of the dark blind being pulled to the bottom of the window pane. Someone else might have shouted out, asked who was there.

I don't know why, but I just didn't. Maybe because I knew it would be no use. I never thought I would type this, but I knew then that this wasn't a human I was dealing with. I just felt suddenly drained. I went meekly, aimlessly, and sat down in my chair facing my lap, It seems that electricity has gone from the building somehow. At least from the recording room, I can't check elsewhere. That should mean that the security doors automatically unlocked, but they haven't.

I'm trapped in here. The patient is in the room next door. He keeps screaming on and off. Is he in a coma, or is he awake now? I don't know. I almost don't want to know. He now and then screams an act. word, a strange word, a few foreign syllables over and over. I don't know what he's saying. I have no

idea what's going on. There is no explanation for what has happened, not that I can tell. I just have a feeling that this, whatever this is, has its sights set on the patient alone and just wants me to keep out of its way. I have no choice but to oblige. I'm out of options. I just need to it through the rest of this night. It seems to stretch out before me, never ending. When morning comes, if I make it out of here alive, I'm going to go and visit my brother, and I'm going to apologize to him. We thank you for being with us for our devilishly dark tales. If you would like to find out how you can hear the full-length versions of our audio program, please visit the no sleeppodcast.com to learn about our season pass program.

25 episodes each over two hours long and three exclusive bonus episodes all for only 1999. On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast, we thank you for listening. Join us again next week when the darkness pulls you away from sleep. This audio program is copyright 2015-2016, Creative Reason Media, Inc. All rights reserved. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted without the written consent of Creative Reason Media, Inc.