The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S6E19

Episode Date: February 7, 2016

It's episode 19 of Season 6. On this week's show we have six tales about visceral visions, cantankerous curses, and wicked wilderness.The full episode features the following stories. The free version features only the first two tales."The Codex" written by Malcolm Teller and read by Erika Sanderson & David Ault. (Story starts at 00:03:30)"Recluse" written by Jimmy Juliano and read by Jesse Cornett & Nikolle Doolin. (Story starts at 00:27:50)"Animal Crackers" written by Manen Lyset and read by Elie Hirschman. (Story starts at 01:05:55)"Dial Tone" written by Max Aaron and read by David Cummings. (Story starts at 01:16:15)"The Monsters are Already Here" written by Matt Dymerski and read by Peter Lewis & Aiko van Wingerden. (Story starts at 01:29:40)"Search and Rescue – Pt. 2" written by R. Brauer and read by Mike DelGaudio & Jesse Cornett. (Story starts at 01:56:20)Click here to learn more about Malcolm Teller Click here to learn more about Jimmy Juliano Click here to learn more about Manen Lyset Click here to learn more about Max Aaron Click here to learn more about Matt Dymerski Click here to learn more about R. Brauer Click here to learn more about Erika Sanderson Click here to learn more about David Ault Click here to learn more about Jesse Cornett Click here to learn more about Nikolle Doolin Click here to learn more about Elie Hirschman Click here to learn more about Peter Lewis Click here to learn more about Aiko van Wingerden Click here to learn more about Mike DelGaudio Podcast produced by: David CummingsMusic & Sound Design by: Brandon Boone & David Cummings."Recluse" illustration courtesy of Charlie CodyAudio program ©2016 - 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 six tales about Miserables.

madness, menacing monsters, and fatal forests. Well, we're now a week into February, and that means we're only a few days away from Valentine's Day. Yes, the celebration of love and romance and hearts and red roses and red bloody hearts being ripped from the chest while still beating and throbbing and Yes, well, all that is to say that next week's episode, being released right on Valentine's Day itself, will feature stories about the terrifying side of love, horror romance, and other things to make you scream while hugging and kissing and other violent acts. So make sure you join us for that lovely episode on the 14th.

I hope you're ready for part two of our search and rescue series. It's our final tale again this week, so get those boots on and stay safe. I should also make a short disclaimer about the search and rescue series. The stories do recount events in which there are tragic accidental deaths, some involving children. We know these tragedies occur even outside the bounds of our fictional story to. telling world, but people who are more sensitive to that reality should be aware of it. I've also been asked if the search and rescue stories are based on real events. Well, let's just say, I see no reason to think otherwise.

So with that in mind, and before we venture into the forest again, let's share our other stories first and start the show. In our first tale, we meet a man and woman looking forward. to spending the rest of their lives together. But as we learn from author Malcolm Teller, when a strange document is discovered online, the man is drawn into a mysterious occult world, leaving his wife struggling to understand the madness.

Performing this tale are Erica Sanderson and David Alt. So guard yourself from distractions when planning your life, lest you get sucked into the Codex. December 1st, 2015, Tuesday. He did it. Richard proposed to me. It was beautiful. We were in one of London's best restaurants.

We'd gone there for our two-year anniversary since we started dating. There was candlelight and champagne, the works. And then, just as we finished eating, He showed me the ring and popped the question. It was magnificent. Of course I said yes. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with this man. He's a one of a kind and I'm so lucky to have found him.

December 2nd, 2015, Wednesday. Richard surprised me after work today. I got home, exhausted from a frantic and hectic day and I was greeted with a candlelight dinner with home-cooked lasagna from my mother's recipe waiting for me on my plate at the dinner table. Richard was standing by the table, dressed up all nice with a giant smile on his face. I was wondering when you'd get at home. Do you like what I've pulled off?

There was just this hint of playfulness in his voice. I told him I did, and I asked what the special occasion was. He just sauntered over to me, put his hands on my hips, and gave me a kiss. And he whispered, The first day of being engaged to the woman of my dreams. I basically melted. That night in bed we talked.

I worry sometimes. I asked him about what. He paused, staring up at the ceiling in silence, but then resumed speaking. I want to be a good husband, a good father. That means so much to me. and you deserve that

and so do our children when we have them I just worry that I won't be good enough I told him that the fact that he's worried about it that much proves that he'll be an excellent husband and father and that I feel like the luckiest woman in the world marrying him December 3rd, 2015, Thursday Richard and I have started discussing the wedding

I mean we plan to have it a year from now but better early than late, I suppose. I want to have it at Christchurch Cathedral, where my parents were married back in 1984. Richard and his parents think it's a wonderful idea. Obviously, my parents are over the moon about it. We've also started talking about kids. We both can't wait to become parents.

We've even settled on names. If it's a girl, we'll name her Lacey. If it's a boy, Jonathan. We're going to start trying about a year after we get married, after our student loans are paid off and we're completely financially secure and have moved into a bigger place

where we can really have a family. Richard and I both think that's the best way to handle things. But aside from the rest of my life with my man, things are going great. I've got a promotion at work and am now a senior records manager. I've also been hired on as a writer

at a new international relations periodical the Manhattan Inquirer. I report and blog on primarily issues relating to European international crises and events. Thus far, it looks like my heavy level of interest in this area, coupled with my BA Ons and international relations, is paying off. It's not something I can make a living off of, but it's a healthy boost to my income. Plus, it's something to do that I'm passionate about, and it keeps me busy. Richard is happy for me, of course.

How's Richard doing? He's trucking along in his job as a software developer at Microsoft in Reading. He's also working on a number of projects he's got going on, firing off a couple of short stories to some magazines. He's been published before. And coding an app with some work buddies that will act as the backbone and foundation of a social media network aimed specifically at tech professionals in the UK. He's such an ambitious person,

and he's always so excited and energetic about his projects. And that's one of the things I love about him. But he's having a rough time and that hurts me. He's having some trouble with his older brother. Mark is back in prison. It's really rough on him. Richard tries so hard with him and so do his parents. But nothing seems to take effect.

It's always the drugs and the crime and then prison with Mark over and over like a cycle. I've started telling Richard and my soon-to-be in-laws that what they need to do is let Mark hit rock bottom. It may be hard and, yeah, he may even die. But that's the only way he will ever possibly get better. If Richard and his parents keep giving him support and just being there for him, he'll never have an incentive to get better because it's just them enabling him.

So when he gets out of prison, don't be there to meet him. Don't have him welcome in their home. Don't talk to him until he's their son and brother again. Richard seems to understand that this is what needs to happen, but his parents are having a much tougher time of it. But we can work on them. December 5th, 2015, Saturday. Tough day at work.

My team and I have to integrate newly found records of our organisation from the 1970s into the current record files. This entails scanning the documents, then classifying and organising them according to function, as is usual with our records management practices. We got a head start on it today, but I expect it to take at least a month of steady work before it's complete. But still, I'm enjoying it and I see the value in it.

Our organisation will now have a far more complete documented history. Richard and I are doing great, as always. He's also excited about something. He apparently stumbled on this PDF file on the internet, one of those occult sites. He was all excited when explaining it to me. He says it's called the Malacan Codex, and that it's an English translation of writings that date back to ancient Sumer.

It's about a thousand pages. Can you believe that? I wasn't really interested, but he did spend most of the evening after I got home reading it. December 10th, 2015, Thursday. Project at work going well. I'm also nearly finished my piece for the Manhattan Inquirer, which is about how Vladimir Putin may well be trying to radically alter the power dynamics in eastern and Western Europe, and that the Ukraine crisis is only one small part in a broader and deeper long-term plan.

I ran my draft by the editor and she loved it, so I'm pressing ahead with it, and I plan to have it done in the next couple of days. I really am loving writing for this site. Richard's parents are coming around on the mark issue. They came over for brunch, and we all ended up having a long and deep talk. Richard's mother even broke down crying at one point. They just loved their son so much and would do anything to make him right. They need to see that the one thing that stands any chance of getting him right

is to cut him off completely as a way to force him to come to terms with himself and get better on his own for himself. Richard was... Well, I'm just a bit angry at him. He was so disconnected when his parents were over. He was way more interested in that codex or whatever it is. He spent most of the morning before work reading it on his tablet, and then he seemed so eager to get back to it, all the while his parents were here.

His dad noticed it and asked what he was so anxious about, and I cut in to say that he's just working on projects from work. I didn't want his parents to actually know that he was so rude and childish over a stupid file of some dumb website. I'm going to have to have a talk with him about it tonight. We'll see how it goes. December the 13th, 2015, Sunday. Richard seems to understand where I'm coming from.

I get that he's excited about that document, but being eager to rush his parents' visit and practically push them out the door just so he could get back to reading it, so inappropriate and even obsessive. He tried to get me to read some of it, saying that he's learning so much from it, like, I don't even know, something about the hidden parts of the universe and the dark places of the ancient stars.

I turned him down. It's just a bunch of occult nonsense, and I just don't have time for that. I did suggest that he focused more on his projects. The app, primarily, now that he submitted his two short stories to that magazine. December 16th, 2015. Wednesday. Richard was home before I got home from work. That's weird. He says hours have shifted around at work and that he can do most of his work, including his work on the app, on his laptop and tablet at home. Well, that's good, I guess. He spent hours on his tablet, engrossed in his work. He also

took a bunch of notes all day while reading in a notebook he bought. I'm glad he's focusing on what matters, namely helping to put food on the table and keep a roof over our heads and being the ambitious and innovative person I fell in love with. December 19th, 2015, Saturday. Something's wrong. Richard is engrossed in his work. Well, too much. He stopped showering and shaving. All day, it's just him on his tablet. I'm not stupid. I asked him flat out if he's reading that PDF file and he swears up and down he isn't. But I'm not sure. I don't want to look at his tablet when he's not looking

because I don't want to breach the trust between us. But I am starting to lose trust in him. I hope it's nothing. But I'm not sure that it is, because this isn't the Richard I know. It was bothering me all at work, and I was totally off my game because of it. I had managed to submit my peace on Putin and Ukraine yesterday,

so that wasn't bothering me. But I couldn't stop thinking about Richard and what's wrong. I think, instead of looking at his tablet, I'll call up his work partners on the app and ask if they've noticed anything strange about him. If they tell me anything that alarms me, then I'm going to check his tablet to see for sure if he lied to me.

December 21st, 2015, Monday. I can't believe what's happened. Richard isn't the man I fell in love with, not now at least. After work, on the way home, I phoned Mike, his partner on the project. I asked if he'd noticed anything strange about him. What he told me, flawed me.

Not only had Mike and the other coders on the app not heard from Richard for roughly the past two weeks, despite numerous emails and phone calls and texts to his mobile, but he hasn't been at work for roughly a week either. I told Mike that Richard had said to me that work shifted his hours around so he didn't have to be at home. Mike said that didn't happen at all. and that as Richard hadn't responded to calls from his boss,

and then his boss's boss, the company had decided to move forward with terminating Richard's employment. So just like that, Richard's out of a job and basically out of the project on the app too. I was so furious on the train ride home that I was shaking. I marched into the house, and sure enough, there was Richard, on the couch, completely still in his eyes wide open and unblinking as he scrolled through something on his tablet.

I marched over and grabbed it and looked at it and it was the fucking PDF document. I snapped. I just snapped. I started screaming my head off at him, asking what the hell was wrong with him that he would throw everything away for some mumbo jumbo off the internet.

He tried to get the tablet back, but I held it back and then... Then something happened. He changed. In an instant, I saw this look of... blind, vicious rage on his face. He leaned forward and screamed in my face at the top of his lungs that I was just a nosy fucking bitch that needed to mind her own goddamn business

and that I'd better give him his tablet back or I'd be on the fucking floor. I froze and just stared at him. And looking into his eyes, I knew he meant it. My heart was pounding and then, out of fear, just raw fear, I gave him the tablet. He ripped it out of my hand and pounded over to the couch and sat on it again, giving me a vicious and mean look before turning back to keep reading. Tears started welling in my eyes and I didn't know what to do.

Richard had never raised his voice to me before. Not once. Not only that, when he'd forced me to give him the tablet back, I felt afraid, genuinely afraid. I knew in my heart of hearts that he would actually have hurt me if I didn't give him his tablet back. I knew what I had to do.

I wouldn't let this go any farther than it had. I went into the bedroom, got my suitcase out of the closet, packed some clothes and whatever toiletries I could manage, along with all my work files and I went to the front door. I told Richard that I was leaving. He didn't look up from his tablet,

didn't make a sound, gave no indication that he'd heard me. As I walked to the lift, then went out to the ground floor, then left the building, I was sobbing my eyes out. I felt like I wanted to die. What the hell happened? What was it about that document that changed him? I called my best friend Sandra on my mobile. I told her what happened and that I needed a place to stay, and she told me she would totally put me up at her place.

I got there roughly 40 minutes later, and we had a long talk. during which I did a lot of crying. She told me never to go back to him, that he crossed a major line that can't be taken back. I think she's right. It breaks my heart to cut Richard out of my life, but I know that what I know in my head is right and that what I feel in my heart is wrong.

I have to go into work tomorrow to finish up some things, but after that I'm taking three days off of work. And Sandra, me, my parents, and some of Sandra's guy friends are going to go with me to the apartment to get the rest of my stuff out and back to Sandra's, where I'll be staying until I can find my own place. I don't know what's in that document that could change him. Where did it come from?

What's in it? I don't even want to think about it, to be honest. December 22nd, 2015, Tuesday, something horrible happened. I've just finished vomiting and crying my eyes out, and I don't know if I'll ever be the same. I was getting off of work when Richard called me on my mobile. He sounded totally different from when I last talked to him. He said he was wrong about everything and needed to talk to me.

I was about to hang up, but he said that even if I left him for good, even if I never spoke to him again, he needed to see me, to talk to me. I decided to give him a chance. This was the man I fell in love with. The man who I was going to spend the rest of my life with, I had to give him a chance. Because of where I was relative to work when he called, it was just a five-minute walk to his place. I didn't think it was necessary to call Sandra, not with how Richard sounded. I really felt he wouldn't hurt me when I went to the apartment.

I just knew he wouldn't. I walked into the apartment and horrifying. The walls were covered with printouts of text from the... PDF document, I guessed, and they were all marked up with various colours of pen, and there was blood on them too. All these occult signs and symbols drawn on the pages in blood, and on the walls too. All the lights were out, with the light bulbs removed from the lamps, but I could see a flickering light coming from the living room. It was candlelight. Something in me told me I should leave, that I should turn and run back to Sandra and not look back.

but I didn't I needed to see this through to see what state Richard was in to get answers to why he was doing this to why he'd changed to what was in that file he'd been reading I slowly moved into the living room there in the centre of it

all the furniture gone was Richard surrounding him were five candles with a pentagram drawn in chalk and blood all around Richard on the ground The walls were covered with printouts of the document, all marked up in pen and blood, just like the hallways were. Richard was shirtless. On his chest were a number of cuts, with dried blood mashed all over his chest.

But it was his face that did me in. He had this insane smile on his face, an insane look of glee. Fear, radical, vicious fear rising up within me. I shakily asked him what he was doing, what was going on. He smiled even wider, if that was even possible, and spoke in the calmest voice I had ever heard him speaking. I'm glad you came. I needed you here for this.

I told him that didn't answer my questions. It's all right. That's not important. I finished the Codex, and I need to take the final step. It was then that I noticed that in his hand, was a box cutter, dried blood caking the blade. My eyes widened and I felt scared, so scared for Richard. Tears in my eyes, I begged him to put the box cutter down,

to just calm down and to not make any sudden decisions. He lightly shook his head, that insane, peaceful smile still on his face. Wait to see you on the other side. And with that, he reached up and cut the box cutter into his neck. The blade slicing deep. Blood started gushing out immediately, running down his neck and his body like a downwards river. In a mere second, he'd cut all the way across his neck.

I was too stunned, too horrified to move. He stood there, still smiling as the blood just poured down his chest. Blood started gushing out of his mouth as he kept smiling. Finally, I was able to force myself to move, to run over to him, to try. tried to save his life just as he fell to the ground. I ripped my coat off, tried to use it to stop the bleeding, but... By then, he was already dead.

Shakily, I called 999 then Sandra. The paramedics and the police got there in less than 20 minutes. I was questioned by the police and I told them everything I knew. The police took his computer equipment, tablet, laptop, desktop, etc. And Sandra tried to console me. I didn't even cry. I felt dead inside. Something was in that document.

Something that changed him. And I started to want to know what. I'm back at Sandra's place and the tears have finally come. My God Richard is dead. I loved him so much. So goddamn much. Oh God, Richard. Why did you do what you did?

Why? December 26, 2015. Something amazing has happened. Christmas was yesterday, but that's not important. I couldn't stop thinking about what it was in that PDF file, in the Malacan Codex that calls Richard to change the way he did. So on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, I started reading the PDF file which I got from Richard's Dropbox account.

I can't stop reading. It's so amazing, so wondrous. There are things in it, the mystery, it unpacks and the secret things it explores and explains. It's so beautiful. I'm going to keep reading it all the way through. I need to know everything in it. When work starts back up, if I'm not finished by then,

I'll just call in sick or make up excuses to get me out of having to go in so I can stay at home and get through this. Sandra's leaving me alone and letting me read in peace thus far. She wants to let me grieve, I suppose. And that's good. I wouldn't put up with her, interfere. with this. I need to get through this. I need to know and understand everything that's in it. I never in my life would have imagined that something like this could exist.

I'm sure most of us are quick to delete unexpected emails from strangers. It's a practice encouraged by author Jimmy Giuliano. Because a stranger's unexpected email story draws him in and makes him realize that the tale from the past may have a disturbing connection to him. Performing this tale are Jesse Cornett and Nicole Doolin. So if you ever find yourself wondering about who lives in neglected old houses, just remember this tale about the recluse. The email arrived on a Tuesday morning.

There was no subject and I didn't recognize the sender. Suspicious. On any other day, I might have hesitated. before opening it, but on this particular Tuesday I was in a different type of mood. I had put down my 10-year-old golden retriever the day before, and I felt like absolute shit. My headache, my eyes burned, and sluggishness glued me to my couch. Determined to think about anything other than that God-forsaken needle entering my dog's side, I decided what the hell.

I clicked on the email. The body contained one sentence. Can I tell you a story? Fishing. I assumed by responding I'd be asked to wire money to a deposed Nigerian prince, but I didn't really give a shit about email scams at that particular moment. I clicked reply and I typed my response. Lay it on me.

What do you got? And so began my two-week exchange of emails with a complete stranger. After we became unofficial e-mail. female pen pals, our communication fell silent for a few days. Truthfully, I forgot all about it. I wasn't waiting on pins and needles. In a canine morning stupor, I had possibly replied to a scammer and moved on with my life. When the stranger replied on Friday, I was initially caught off guard.

Something happened to me a very, very long time ago. I kept it a secret for 40 years. But I'm not sure how much time I have left. I'm sick, quite sick. I'll be typing a damn sentence, and not sure if the old ticker will give out before I get to the end of it. I really just want to get it all down before I give up the ghost, and conversations are a hell of a lot more interesting when someone is on the other side.

I promise it's a good story. Interested? It could have been one of my friends messing with me. I wouldn't put it past them. But prank him one of your buddies while he's recovering from putting down his companion was pretty low. I considered flat out asking who he or she was, but that would ruin the fun. A little hint of mystery would be good for me. Anything to take my mind off, my dog.

I decided to have a little fun with my new pen pal, so I wrote back. Does it begin with? It was a dark and stormy night. The stranger's reply came back seconds later. Can I tell you my story now, or are you going to keep on being a wise ass? This person actually wrote, I smiled to myself. The first time I had smiled in days, actually. Anyone who took the time to type out incredulous grunts was pretty interesting in my book.

But who was my pen pal? I googled the email address. No hits. It was worth a shot. I replied back. I'm listening. The messages quickly became longer and more personal. The next email I received was this.

This story begins when I'm listening. I was 17. I was working for the city during the summer, landscaping for area schools, cotton lawns, hedging, stuff like that. Around early July, I was given a special assignment. Some recluse in town hadn't touched his backyard and what looked like years.

It was a goddamn jungle back there. He must be. have had a friend in City Hall or something because I found myself under the direction of the city to clean it up. I took one look at this guy's yard and I knew it would take months, especially for a kid like me. You see, I had an accident when I was younger and my right arm was all messed up. It never worked quite right after that. You might be a man. You might be be wondering why I was working in landscaping or how I write emails with a goofy-looking right arm. And if you are, well then you can pucker up and kiss my wrinkled ass.

And this guy gotten hypothetically pissed off or just abruptly ended an email. I dug it. I wrote back. I wasn't wondering that at all. Tell me more. The reply came a few hours later. It's good not to make judgments. It'll serve you well.

So I was roasting under the sun at this recluse's place for a few weeks, and I didn't see him, by the way. He never came out of his house, never thanked me, didn't so much as offer me a glass of water. I wondered if anyone lived there, at all. Curtains closed, bolts on the doors, damn place looked condemned. But I was making progress. The grass was so deep I couldn't mow more than a few yards at a time. I spent most of my time bagging grass and lugging it to the truck. Christ, those were some long days. I think it was the third

week that I saw the old man for the first time. He was in an upstairs window with a super eight video camera. It was pointing out at the yard behind us. I didn't know there was another yard back there because you'd need a goddamn 10 foot ladder to see over those prickers along the back of his property. Anyway, he must have realized I'd seen him. because he kind of jumped and moved behind a curtain. Is any of this interesting to you? You might think these are some crazy ramblings that lead nowhere. I can write more, but if you're sick of this landscape and shit,

I'll leave you alone. I haven't even gotten to the finer points of hedging technique yet. That's a joke in case you're a comely. Completely humorless, dolt. I do want to tell you about the girl, though. This guy had me. Absolutely had me.

He was putting on this wonderful act of mixing banal details with clues and mysteries yet presuming I didn't really give a shit about any of it. My pen pal could have been some loon, yes. And he could have been making it up. Sure. But if someone hands me a mystery box,

I sure as hell I'm going to open it, whether it's true or not. So at this point, I had two burning questions. Who are you? Why did you email me? I was tempted to ask him one of these things, but I didn't want to scare him off or throw him for a loop. A story was developing, and I wanted it as uninterrupted as I could get it. And I replied back, I'm interested.

Tell me about the girl. Was the old man filming her? His reply arrived the following morning at 3.17 a.m. Well, aren't you a budding Colombo? You got it. The old geyser was filming a girl. I wiggled through these prickers in back and ran smack dab into a fence. I peered through the lattices and there was this.

beautiful girl lying outside sunbathing. I think I even said out loud, what a goddamn pervert. But my tact wasn't much better at that moment. I watched her for a bit. My jaw hitting the ground. The girl stood up and stretched, really showed off the goods. I'll never forget it. She was wearing this white two-piece bikini, and she was absolutely glistening.

And let me tell you, brother, I was hypnotized. I'd never been with a girl at that point, and I'd chalked it up to that goofy right arm of mine. This young lady looked a few years older and was far high. of my league, but at that moment I thought I had a chance. I must have been getting too much son. Of course, I didn't talk to her. I was still a chicken shit. I backed away from the fence, but she knew I was there. Women always know. Well, that same afternoon, I talked to the old man. I was raking some grass clippings when I heard all these locks being undone from the back door. It creaked open and a slightly timid voice called to me from inside. After three

damn weeks he finally offered me a cold drink. I walked to the door and got my first good look at the old guy. He was, well, maybe mid or late 50s, but he definitely hadn't aged well. He looked tired, beaten down by life. He didn't open the door all the way, but I got my first look inside. It looked like a tornado had ripped through a garbage dump, boxes and trash everywhere. But the main thing I noticed was, let's call it, his collection. Hanging in what must have been his living room was a goddamn medieval arsenal. I'm talking torture devices, knives, chains, a scythe, one of those metal masks used for Lord knows what. The old guy noticed my snooping eyes and slammed the door in my face.

Never did get that drink. I went home that night and thought about it some more. He could have been a historian or something. Maybe he was into some weird sex stuff, but it just didn't sit right with me. This is getting kind of lengthy. I guess I'm wondering if you're still reading. Make it this far? I didn't even consider my response.

I'm here. Did you tell the girl about what the old man was up to with the Super 8? Days went by with no response. I was worried it was over, and I'd be left dangling forever. I thought about emailing him again. Maybe my reply got lost in his inbox. Maybe he thought he sent me a reply. but it was simply sitting in his drafts.

What if he was dead? This anonymous story told entirely through email had lifted my spirits after making the toughest decision I'd ever have to make. My dog was gone, and this was all I had right now. My pen pal's story couldn't be over. It just couldn't. I needed it.

I took to watching my computer screen far more than I should have. I'd be doing work and watching a movie online and every few seconds I glance at my email tab. Finally, after five long days of waiting, that welcome one appeared next to the word inbox, and I had a fresh email from the stranger. Sorry for the delay, I had some business to attend to. Where was I? Oh yes, the girl.

I did talk to her. After working those prickers for a few days, the girl finally stood up from her lounge chair and sashayed towards me. She moved so smoothly and with so much grace, I nearly dropped my hedge clippers on my damned foot. She got close and leaned up against the fence, and we made eye contact. through the lattices. I did my best to look her straight in the eye and not creepily shift my gaze down her long and slender frame. This girl leaned in close and she whispered, he's such a creep, isn't he? I agreed with her, and then she said, I know he's filming me. Can you ask him to stop?

She'd barely spoke in a dozen words to me, and I would have jumped off a damn bridge if she'd asked me to. And Christ, I'm sure any red-blooded teenager or even grown man would have done the same. But I didn't know how to confront the geyser. The old guy had that place locked down like Fort Knox. I tried the only thing I could think of, repeatedly knocking on his door. Of course, he didn't answer. I went home that night, defeated. I thought about telling my parents or talking to my boss,

but there was this chivalrous part of me that wanted to take care of it myself. Well, the next morning, I'm going to be. I was greeted by some surprises. A picture of lemonade, a plate of cookies, and a crisp $20 bill sitting on the old man's back stoop. Either I had this guy pegged wrong, or he was trying to buy me off. I pocketed the cash,

greedily inhaled the cookies, and then the locks clicked behind me. The door opened a few inches. and I saw just a sliver of the old fart. He says to me, You stay away from her, you hear? For your own good, just stay away. The door slammed and that was that.

I did my work and went home. The girl wasn't outside that day either. It was pretty cloudy if my memory serves. I'm gonna stop here for now. I want you to think about what I've told you. Put yourself in my shoes all those years ago. What do you think was going on? What would you do?

I'll email you the rest soon. Paranoia gripped me. The stranger had an agenda in mind, but I couldn't quite pinpoint it. I went about my routine. Wake up, work, home, sleep, repeat. I tried to focus on everyday things, but my pen pal's emails kept creeping into my brain. Just what was his end game? I was looking at things differently.

In the evening, I scanned the neighborhood windows, looking for peeping tom's. I found none. When my attractive neighbor waved hello to me one morning, I thought, is someone watching you? And was my pen pal warning me? about this. But nothing was out of the ordinary. Everything was the same, which disappointed me in some strange way.

On the bright side, I was getting over the death of my dog. Maybe it was all a prank by a friend of mine simply meant to distract me from my sadness. There was a moment where I believed that, and it made everything okay. I didn't need to hear the end of the story because for me, it had served its purpose. Perhaps it was a helpful distraction and nothing more. I was wrong. So very horrifyingly wrong. The stranger's next email arrived on a Sunday at 2.37 p.m.

To this very day, I wished I'd never clicked on it. You've had time to let it stew. Now, let me finish it for you. I was gonna let my boss know about the old man and move on. That was it, but fate intervened. I was cleaning some debris out back. There was this pile of rocks in this horribly overgrown garden, and I'd notice that one looked very different from the rest.

It was plastic. I picked it up and shook it. jingled and jangled. It was one of those hide-a-key rocks, and I twisted it open. Inside was a set of keys, the old man's keys, I presumed. It was my way in. I wasn't exactly sure what I was going to do. Interrogate the son of a bitch. I pocketed the keys and went to the fence to let the girl know. But she wasn't outside, cloudy again, if I recall. I did my work and went home, edgy the whole time.

I returned to the old man's neighborhood that night. I creeped to his back door and quietly undid all the locks. I gently pushed the door open a bit, but I didn't have the stones to go inside. So much for chivalry. What if he was waiting around the corner with a blade the size of a broomstick? I softly clicked the door shut, leaving it unlocked. I was planning on coming right back.

But first I went to the girl's house. I needed backup, someone to confront him with. It was my first time seeing her place from the front. It was small and yellow and unassuming, no lights on. I approached the front door, wondering if she'd even recognize me. The place was totally dark. I peered inside through a window, and even through the blackness, I could see the house was empty.

totally empty, like it had been completely abandoned or never lived in at all. It didn't sit right. I knocked, and when no one answered, I just opened the door and poked my head inside. I heard some commotion that sounded like struggling. I approached the noise, worried that maybe the old man was there. and doing something terrible. The sounds led me to a bedroom, and I pushed open the door. There was the girl, kind of. She was on all fours, writhing in pain. Her bones were cracking and breaking.

A large black serpent slowly made its way. out of the girl's body, its head emerging from the girl's mouth. Her jaw spread wide and broke apart, teeth rattling to the floor. The skin of the girl stretched and ripped apart. I guess there's no other way to put it. It was a snake shedding its skin. Well, I got a little. I got to the hell out of there, as you would imagine. Ran about four blocks away, and I collapsed to the curb. A million thoughts ran through my head, but I was instinctively sure of one thing. I was wrong about the old guy. That snake thing was out to get him. I felt it in my gut. He had done. He had been. He had been, been protecting himself with all that crazy shit, the home fortress, and maybe filming her to get

proof. I don't know. But he was the good guy, and it was pretty clear where that serpent was headed. Hell, I'd even unlocked the door for it. Well, I booked it to the old man's place and his back door was wide open. I ran inside and upstairs, and I'll never forget what I saw. The old man shaking and gasping in a chair, a giant snake coiled around his body. Just squeezing the life out of him.

He didn't reach out to me, nor did he call out for hell. I'm not sure if he could. The snake squeezed tighter and the old man expired before me. Well, I ran again, and I didn't stop until I got home. I called the police and stammered something about an attack happening at the old man's place. The police arrived first, and they'd found the old man. Well, he was dead, of course, but there was no sign of a struggle. It appeared that he had simply died in his easy chair.

Peacefully, they added. I jabbered something about a giant snake, and the cops thought I was fucking nuts. My boss at City Hall got the official word. The old man died of the same. natural causes. No marks around a neck where a giant snake had gripped him like a vice. A lonely old man had simply expired. There was nothing unusual about that. The only unusual thing the cop said were the guy's windows, thickest they'd ever seen. I never told the person. I never told the police about having the keys. I felt bad in a way, lying about that. And I recanted the story

about the snake, told them I'd gone back to the house to fetch some landscape and equipment I'd left behind, and in the darkness I could have sworn I saw a giant snake slither into the house. but even I admitted it must have been my eyes playing tricks on me. The cops responded with confused stares. They promptly informed my parents that their son may be a drug user, and that was that. I ditched the keys in a garbage can in town. It felt like I was committing a crime, but that was the least of my worries.

I was primarily concerned that a giant fucking snake was going to creep into my house and strangle the life from me. I barely slept, and I was a red-eyed zombie in the daytime. My parents thought the cops were right, that I was on drugs. A few weeks went by and... Huh. What do you think happens next? This is a story after all. That's how that email ended. I was enthralled and mortified. I stared at my screen until the computer went to sleep, and I wasn't thinking about if the tale was true or not. I didn't give a damn if it actually happened or not, although I was

100% leaning towards absolutely no chance in hell. I just wanted to guess what happened next. I can't fully explain it. This stranger had unpacked himself to me, and I didn't want to disappoint him. I wanted to impress him in some strange way, like some kid desperately seeking a pat on the back from daddy. I thought for a moment, and then I typed my response. That giant fucking snake creeped into your house, didn't? I hit send.

The reply arrived at 12.33 a.m. I was still awake. Bingo. You're a smart cookie. And maybe not a humorless dolt after all. Yes, the giant fucking snake creeped into my house. I woke to the sensation of that serpent. slitherin under the covers of my bed. It ran across my body until its head was inches from my

face. It waved its tongue around and hissed. I just lay there motionless. The serpent had moved down the body and it stopped at my right arm, the funny-looking one. And at that moment, I think it pitied me. Maybe it identified with me in some way. Lord, I don't know. Why would a giant demon snake have compassion? Ah, but I swear to Christ, it did. It shot up, flinging the covers clean off my bed.

and I watched absolutely petrified as this ten-foot-long creature raised its head to the ceiling, towered over me and hissed a few more times for good measure. Then it slithered away. I'm not sure how it got in or out of my house. But in the morning was gone. That was that. Throughout the year, I sometimes wonder if the old man wanted me to find those keys. Maybe he was tired of hiding.

I was dumbfounded. I reread the email ten times to make sure I didn't miss a single detail. I considered motives and objectives and circumstances and happenstances and everything. in between, but I kept arriving at one question. Why did he choose to email me? So I asked him. I drafted an email, demanding the stranger tell me who he was and why he took the time to string me along with a story that was obviously an utter and complete fabrication. I clicked send. He replied in less than 20 minutes. Russ, and I told you my story because she's back. I don't know why she waited all these years,

but I guess there's some things you just can't explain. The evil was dormant, but now it's awake. I didn't tell a soul for four decades. And you know what's funny? After a while, I thought it didn't really matter who would believe me anyway. I've tried to rationalize it, but I can't. There's no rationalizing evil, but you can help me. I quickly replied, how can I help you? This is gone on long enough. Do I know you? Are you a friend of mine? This was a marvelous prank. Simply astounding. Now, tell me who you are. The man called Russ responded with the last email he ever sent me. Because you can make the tough decisions.

I know what you've been through, and you're stronger than me. I'm not strong enough to do it, but you are. Help me. That was it. I emailed Russ back three, four, five times. No response. I tried again and again over the next few days. Nata. Eventually the emails bounced back.

Undeliverable. I thought it was over. But the story of me and Russ was just reaching its third act. Four days after Russ's email account went dark, a yellow package arrived in my mailbox. I shook it. It jangled and jangled. My stomach dropped.

Along with a set of keys was a sticky note, with an address and a short handwritten message. She doesn't know I sent these to you. At least I don't think she does. Remember, I'm not strong enough to do it, but you are. The town was an hour away. I drove to the address on a Saturday afternoon, and I pulled up to a quaint blue and white two-story home. My car grumbled softly, and my hands clenched the wheel.

The keys in the yellow envelope rested on the passenger seat. All of the curtains were shut. I counted six locks on the front door. A figure appeared at the upstairs window. It was a man of medium build with graying hair. He raised his left hand as if to say hello. His right arm stayed at his side, bent inwards at an awkward angle. I'd had enough.

I peeled out and drove off. It was the best prank I'd ever been a part of. How much planning did it take? Who was involved? It was stunning in its delivery. And even if it was true, simply because I made the decision to put down my dog, I'd be okay for opening up the doors for a deadly and evil serpent creature to murder an old guy. It was ludicrous.

I was crossing a bridge on my way back home, and I abruptly skidded my car to a stop. I grabbed the keys from the envelope and hopped out. With as much gusto as I could muster, I launched the keys off the bridge into the water. They quickly sank and vanished into the depths below. I got back into my car and I took one last look at the river. I spotted someone trudging through the weeds near the riverbank. It was a young woman. She dove into the river, her tall and slender frame gracefully gliding through the water.

Her movements were smooth and hypnotic. When she reached the middle, she dove underneath the surface. I didn't wait for her to emerge. I put my foot to the gas, and the bridge shrank in my rearview mirror until it disappeared completely. Russ had told me that maybe it didn't matter if he kept this secret. No one would have believed him anyway. Now I had my own story to tell, and I wondered what to do with it. Maybe it didn't matter.

No one would ever believe me either. I read Russ's obituary a few days later. It said he died of natural causes, peacefully. 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 to 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.