The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S6E22

Episode Date: February 28, 2016

On this week's show we have six tales about churlish children, fiendish friends, and a forest finale.The full episode features the following stories. The free version features only the first three tales."I Was an Observant Child" written by Lauren Munera and read by Nikolle Doolin & Erika Sanderson. (Story starts at 00:03:50)"Don’t Touch That Dial" written by Alex Beyman and read by David Ault. (Story starts at 00:18:00)"Undying Love" written by Michael Marks and read by Peter Lewis & Erika Sanderson. (Story starts at 00:36:20)"Blue Dollars" written by Matt Dymerski and read by Dan Zappulla & Jeff Clement. (Story starts at 01:01:40)"Wearing Black" written by Marcus Damanda and read by Jessica McEvoy & Jeff Clement & Dan Zappulla & Erika Sanderson. (Story starts at 01:25:00)"Search and Rescue – Pt. 5" written by R. Brauer and read by Mike DelGaudio & Jeff Clement & Kyle Akers. (Story starts at 02:06:15)Click here to learn more about Lauren Munera Click here to learn more about Alex Beyman Click here to learn more about Michael Marks Click here to learn more about Matt Dymerski Click here to learn more about Marcus Damanda Click here to learn more about R. Brauer Click here to learn more about Nikolle Doolin Click here to learn more about Erika Sanderson Click here to learn more about David Ault Click here to learn more about Peter Lewis Click here to learn more about Dan Zappulla Click here to learn more about Jeff Clement Click here to learn more about Jessica McEvoy Click here to learn more about Mike DelGaudio Podcast produced by: David CummingsMusic & Sound Design by: Brandon Boone & David Cummings."Search and Rescue" illustration courtesy of Luke GodlewskiAudio program ©2016 - Creative Reason Media Inc. - All Rights Reserved - No reproduction or use of this content is permitted without the express written consent of Creative Reason Media Inc.. 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 churlid.

children, fiendish friends, and a forest finale. Well, with episode 22 ready to go, that means there are only three more episodes left in season six. A number of people are asking about season past bonus episodes and the start of season seven, so let me fill you in on some of the details. We're working hard to get the next volume of our suddenly shocking bonus episode ready. hoping to have it ready for you sometime in the next couple of weeks. Then our season six finale episode is slated for March 20th. We hope to have the final season past six bonus episode, another old-time radio show, released shortly after the end of season six. So that means season

past six members can look forward to a lot of great content in the month of March. We'll be taking a couple of weeks off in between season 6 and 7, but as of now, we hope to launch season 7 on April 3rd, or possibly the 10th. We'll certainly keep you informed as the date approaches. And for those of you chomping at the bit for Season Pass 7, pre-orders should begin on March 20th, the day we release the Season 6 finale. So there you have it. If you're not already a Season Pass 6 member, it's never. too late to sign up. The suddenly shocking episode and the old-time radio shows have been really well received in the past, so just head on over to season past.com for all the details.

Our final tale in this week's episode is the finale of the very popular search and rescue series. It's been quite the ride as we've learned of author R. Brower's experiences, in the woods. I hope you're ready for one last trip into the forest. So let's wait no further and get this week's episode heading down the trail by starting the show. In our first tale, we meet a woman who recalls an experience with a friend she had in school. As explained by author Lauren Munera, what started out as a way to get a bit of extra help with lessons blossomed into a close friendship and a rather unsettling relationship into the family. Performing this tale are Nicole Doolin and Erica Sanderson. So pay close attention just like this girl. You see, she tells us,

I was an observant child. When I was young, I did a lot more seeing than speaking. I'm still the same way today. I was considered a dream child. So quiet, so calm, such a good student. I learned that it was easier to be a wallflower, to get good grades rather than be screamed at. I learned that if I was as close to perfect as I could be, my life would be as easy as the circumstances would allow. And to give myself an extra boost, I practiced observing others. I saw which people, you know, I saw which people would be most beneficial to befriend. Students who could help me in the subjects I lacked in. I saw who was trouble.

Who was crazy. And who was something I could only wish to be? Average. By the time I hit middle school, my talent was second nature. Reflex. A little time around someone and I could know all I needed to. The information flooded my brain.

like water through well-drained soil. It was how I lived. It was how I saw the world. It was how I recognized Mary Lisbeth. She sat a few rows across from me in homeroom, mostly keeping to herself. I watched her for seven minutes a day, over the course of a week.

I spent half an hour getting to know her, noting how she wore her hair long and down. I measured her small frame with my eyes, finding inconsistencies. I saw how she rested with her elbow on the desk and her hand covering her mouth, keeping it shut. On a certain morning, I stood up when she sat down. I tugged at my sleeve. I went over to her. She looked up at me with big blue eyes, waiting for me to speak first.

I swallowed. Do you like peanut bag? Better and jelly? She blinked. I don't eat much, and I thought you might want to share. Also, Ms. Claire said you're really good at history. Me, not so much. You want to spend lunch together? She blinked her eyes, slow and thoughtful, as innocent as a young doe.

She moved her hand away from her mouth. Okay. And that was it. I never said what I knew outright. Mary Lisbeth never admitted anything. I passed off the extra sandwiches I would make and let Mary play games on my phone. I told her the plots of popular shows,

and for a couple times a week, we would stay after school and break into the computer lab to watch episodes from them. Just because Mary Elizabeth was quiet didn't mean she wasn't funny. Just because she was troubled didn't mean she couldn't have a good time. She was a little like me.

using what she could to make her life as good as circumstances would allow. I invited her to my house one afternoon. It wasn't for long, just an hour. Too afraid to get permission, she would later lie and say it was just another after-school day. As far as anybody knows, Mary Lisbeth never set foot in my home. I was an observant child. My father was an observant man. I inherited his talents, and I confess, he was always better at the game than me.

He looked at Mary Lisbeth and knew what she was in an instant. He smiled when he leaned forward, shook her hand, and introduced himself. He was warm when he offered her a place to run to whenever she needed to get away. He spent the hour with us, entertaining Mary with stories and making her delicious food. He sent her home with a dog. bag and an invitation back for video games. Mary adored him. He was the kind and loving man she didn't have in her life. A few times we discussed the possibility of becoming sisters. The dream never went anywhere, but it was fun to talk about. Nice to imagine. It probably wouldn't have

worked out. My single father had just enough salary to keep us happy, but maybe he had been thinking the same thing. I'm sure he saw the question dragging from my bottom lip. Whenever he took us out to Ede or to the nearby amusement park, he picked up a habit of calling us his girls. For the better part of six months, Mary Elizabeth's family never caught on. They didn't notice Mary Elizabeth's figure filling out or the sudden glow she had developed. By the time the end of May rolled around, the air slowly growing heavy and humid, I thought I could predict the future. I thought I saw Mary standing in the kitchen with me,

laughing and happy. My father walked in and caught me smiling at the kitchen sink. He grinned in response walking over to me. The fan beat overhead, the air conditioner sending a gentle hum through the house. He looked me over, already decked out in summer fashion, and exhaled softly. You're growing up so fast, sweetie.

His hand rose to touch me, stopping just shy of my bare shoulder. It wasn't like he had never touched me before. He was my father, but there was something different in the way he drifted closer. I froze like a deer in the headlights. For a second he lingered. Then he chuckled.

Almost there. Just a little longer. And you'll be ripe for the picking. He left the kitchen after that and said nothing of it ever again. Mary Lisbeth was a year older than me, held back because of some incident she never got around to mentioning. Mary Lisbeth was found dead in June in the woods behind the school's baseball field. They blamed it on a father that had gone too far. They cited the multiple calls for domestic violence between her parents. They blamed the system, claimed it failed her. It was cut and dry.

Her dad too drunk to remember what he did or didn't do. His DNA had been on her, and his record provided all the extra evidence needed. It was all set in stone. I was an observant child. My father was a smart man. only I heard the front door open at 2 a.m. Only I heard my father hushing a sobbing Mary Lisbeth on our front porch. Only I heard them walk down the front sidewalk, swing the gate shut, and head to the right.

Only I could realize that our house was a 20-minute walk from school grounds. At 3 a.m., only I had my door cracked open. so I could watch my father walk by with blood-soaked sleeves. In the coming days, I put the pieces together in silence. My father had made himself a ghost in Mary's life on paper. He simply drove us from place to place. Mary's family had never reported seeing him. They barely recognized me at the funeral.

We were shadows against the wall, as we had always been. as my father had always intended us to be. Mary Lisbeth wasn't my first friend to die, but she was the first sister I had lost. I had honestly thought that my father was done, or at the least that he wouldn't have picked her. But she had gotten too beautiful, too lovely, too bright. She had become something a shadow couldn't stop himself from devouring.

On the way home from the funeral, I felt him staring at me from the driver's side. Over the week, his eyes constantly tracked me. I felt him under my skin, crawling and waiting to rip himself out. My father taught me how to succeed on the sidelines all my life. He had given me all the tools to know my opponent inside and out, see their weaknesses, strengths, and faults. I should have been able to protect myself, should have been able to keep the wolf back from the door.

But one night he grabbed my wrist and I knew what I'd always known. I was born to be caught. It didn't quell the desire to live, though. A fire burst within me, emboldening me to turn and shake him off, scream and kick him away. He pressed his hand over my nose and mouth, trying to suffocate the blaze. He slammed me against the wall, causing my vision to momentarily black. I fell to the floor, each blinked torture.

I saw his feet come towards me. I felt him grab my arms, ready to drag me God knows where. I thought I was hallucinating when I saw a pale, bare feet standing behind his figure. I didn't believe it when he was. lurched backward. My breathing hitched in my chest as he stumbled and fell down the second-story staircase. It was only me in the air conditioner. The humming reminded me to breathe. I got to my feet shakily, wobbling but supported by something I couldn't see. I didn't look through the foot of the stairs. I went straight to my room and grabbed my phone, wiped the tears from my eyes as I dialed authorities.

They only increased into sobs, though, after I hung up, looking for the flashing lights through my window. After a few minutes, I caught my own reflection. A bloody, messy shadow of a girl. Behind me stood someone as bright as the sun. I turned, mind screaming out apologies and pleas. I found only cold air blowing forward to kiss me on the lips. banishing at the sound of sirens. I didn't tell the police what my father had done to marry Lisbeth or the other girls.

There was nothing more to punish on the earthly plane. Mary had already put the other ghost to rest and in her own way killed my inner demons too. Her absolution was silent and final. If it even existed at all, I let them put my father into the ground with no tarnish to his name. I let his mother scream for the loss of a good man. I let the preacher allow him entrance to heaven, and I cried, but no one had to know the secret reason why.

They wouldn't even be able to tell that something was out of place. They weren't my father's daughter, the product of every seed he had ever sown. Each one blooming to perfect fruition. My father was an observant man. My father was smart. My father was quiet. My father was a murderer.

A lot of people are really into retro technology these days. The resurgence of vinyl records and old video games are some examples. But in this tale from author Alex Bayman, we meet a man who is enamored with an old, unique-looking TV set he finds at a yard sale. He buys it and gets it home only to discover that what this TV displays is unlike anything he's seen or wants to see ever in his life. Performing this tale is David Alt. So forget the remote control and wireless smart TVs. This TV comes with a warning. Don't touch that dial.

There's this cartoon we used to get when I was little. Just barely. The trick was to angle the antenna just right. Even then there was a bit of static. I always got up early to watch it because of how bizarre and funny I found it. There was this one episode where the, scrawny little dog and the fat stupid cat are astronauts. The cat happens across a history eraser button. It's so big, red and shiny that he cannot resist pressing it. It resonated with me because I'm the

same way. I've since read that the term for that is the call of the void, like when you're riding in a car with the window down and feel the inexplicable urge to toss your expensive phone out. And when you're on the edge of a cliff and the more fearful you are, the louder that nagging voice telling you to throw yourself off it becomes. My dad jokes that I have poor self-preservation instinct. There's something to that. I've been skydiving, mountain climbing, eaten fugu, and ridden down near every roller coaster in the Western Hemisphere. My sister said it's because of my cat. She read that there's some parasite cats transfer to their owners that increases risk-taking behavior. So it doesn't. It doesn't. It doesn't It doesn't surprise me in retrospect that things turned out the way they did.

I don't really see how I could have anticipated it either. It was just an old television. I was on my way to the swimming pool to swim some laps when I saw a sign that read Yard Sail, and that little voice grabbed the wheel. Before I could process what had occurred, I was browsing through headless dolls, tattered, Choose Your Own Adventure Books, and Atari games. A lot of them were doubles of Pac-Man. and who would buy this many?

Who still plays Atari? I know some people are into retro games, but Atari games were like playing minimalist art. Blue square equals airplane, green square equals tank, smaller squares are bullets, lasers, or whatever. There was the Atari console itself, with the wood-grain panel and multitude of silver switches on the front.

No, thanks. It was the television next to it that caught my eye. I'd never seen one like that until then. Where most old TVs enclosed the picture tube in the box, this one was a box that resembled an old radio with the picture tube above it on a swivel mount. I sort of like a computer. I couldn't resist the styling.

There was one oddity, though. No channel selector. I asked the middle-aged curly-haired redhead manning the cash box about it. She joked that it was her grandfather, and they only had one channel back then. I pressed the matter until she threw up her hands and admitted she'd never so much as touched it until the day. I scoured every inch of it,

eventually finding what I figured for a brand in Russian. The woman evidently not one to abide, Looky Looze, asked if I was going to buy it or not. For £25, it was a tough decision, but I was in love with the retro-aesthetic and curious about who really made it and when. so I plonked down the cash and lugged the beast to my car. Some clothing from the back seat wedged against it kept it from shifting about as I drove.

Picture tubes are fragile and I didn't expect that the woman from the yard sale would give me a refund if I brought it back in pieces. If it ever had a warranty, there was surely nobody left to honour it now. Swimming was invigorating. Doing so regularly was my New Year's resolution and so far. I'd honoured it. My compulsive nature was helpful in that respect. The thing about exercise is that your body recoils from the idea of it, but after you finish, you feel great and you're glad you forced yourself to go through with it. It's also a great way to exhaust yourself. The hours I work are such that I have to go to sleep not much later than six in the evening. This is where the little

voice is an impediment. If I'm not exhausted, it keeps surging me to get up, not even to do anything specific, just walk around, drink something, make a snack, use the bathroom, over and over. The only way to prevent this is to knacken myself out before then, hence the resolution to swim every day. I couldn't hit the hay without inspecting my new toy, though. A little web searching revealed it wouldn't actually receive TV signals properly anymore without a digital converter box because nobody still broadcasts in analogue. I began searching Amazon, in for a penny, in for a pound, figured. On a whim, I decided to turn it on and at least try to receive something, or just verify that it still works. I plugged it in and flipped the power switch. Nothing.

Damn it, she sold me a lemon. I don't know why I expected anything different, I thought. I tried picking it up, intending to drive it straight back to her in demand a refund, but the case came loose in my hands. That wasn't something I could blame on. her. Worries about damage vanished when I lifted the case away. Aside from the discovery that it was intended to be removable, the electronics inside were fascinating. Vacuum tubes. I knew about these, the precursor to transistors. An all manner of crude-looking relays, wiring, resistors, and dust. So much dust. Without thinking, I blew hard and immediately regret. It regretted it. Dust billowed out of the case and all over me, right up in my nostrils, in my hair.

I was put out until I remembered I meant to shower anyway. I'd forgotten to bring shampoo with me to the pool, so I still had chlorine in my hair. I went and did that and then started cooking some helper. That's what I call hamburger helper without the hamburger. Yeah, I know. That joke's so fresh it has dice in the mirror. Whatever, my girlfriend still laughs at it every time. I wondered if I could pass this off as a gift for her. I could still fool around with it then, but I'd also get brownie points. She's into old, kitsy shit, so with a little finesse, I figured could probably swing it. But only if I could get the damn thing working. I studied the interior, now mostly free of dust.

That's when I spotted something resembling a breaker switch on the power supply, with a little piece of yellowed paper folded up under it. I carefully withdrew the power. paper. It was as brittle as it looked and I didn't want it to tear before I could read it. On the inside, it said, to whomever should come into possession of this television, by no means attach the second circuit unless you wear the included eye protection and understand what that circuit is intended for. Neither should you activate the circuit which is presently installed. I have studied both at length and paid a steep price for my curiosity. For your own,

sake, do not disregard what is written here. I disregarded it. Some long-deceased Fogie's idea of a prank. There was no second circuit or protective eyewear inside. Either it never existed, someone else removed it, or that curly-haired woman from the yard sale sold them separately. No interest in any of that, to be frank, just looking for a functional conversation piece. I flipped the breaker switch, ensured the set was plugged in, Then powered it on. Static at first. But it gradually cleared up. It took me several seconds to accept what it was showing me. I saw myself, standing just where I was right then, looking at the television and fuzzy, black and white, but it was unmistakable. Especially since waving my own arms about caused the black and white version of me on the picture tube to do the same.

I immediately looked for a camera, judging by what the picture. picture tube displayed, it ought to have been behind me looking down at an angle. Nothing there. I got up on a chair to be absolutely sure. Cameras get real small these days. But however close I looked, there was simply no camera. When I looked back, the picture tube depicted me walking down the street outside. How it had gone from what appeared to be a live feed to a recording wasn't clear. even less so given that stuff began happening that I have no memory of. Special effects, I assumed, surreal shit.

Like, as I walked past a brick wall, it peeled away, like the brick texture was just wallpaper. Underneath it was what looked to be rusted metal stained with some kind of black residue. He just kept going. And the longer I watched, the more weird shit happen. A bus went by, but made entirely of rusted metal covered in blotchy patches of that sticky-looking black substance, emitting thick black smoke. As he passed a manhole, thick black goo bubbled up from the holes in it, soon lifting the manhole cover entirely and flooding the street. It began to rain.

You can guess what fell instead of water. He became absolutely drenched in it. I looked away Hidden camera show Some kind of prank Those topped the list of possibilities So far as I was concerned I resumed searching for cameras

When I still found nothing I resolved to drive back to the yard sale And demand answers Only on the way A strange thing happened As I drove I suddenly realized I was not actually in the car

I was looking at myself driving my car on the picture tube. I leapt to my feet, heart racing. What the fuck was that? I'd just been in my car driving it a few seconds ago. The transition was so smooth. I couldn't even pinpoint when it occurred. I began pacing and sweating. The note.

The note! I retrieved it and read over it again. It offered no clues. Nothing useful to me at all. only a warning I'd already violated. Bonnie. I'm not sure what I thought my girlfriend could do to help, but I just badly wanted comfort just then.

I went to the phone and began dialing. Sometime while I was doing that, I realized I was in fact watching myself dial the phone on the television. I shot up out of the chair, shouted at it, and swept the entire thing off the table. It collapsed to the floor with a resounding crash, the picture tube shattering into shards of glass and phosphor. It took me a minute to catch my breath.

Wiping my brow, I put on my jacket and headed for my car. It was a short drive to the pub, and I decided not to have more than a small drink because I didn't want to stay late and couldn't afford a DUI. I ordered a nice, dark, locally sourced microbreu, as I sucked some of the foam from the top of the beer. Do you know what happened? I expect you do.

How? I wish I knew. After all, I saw the television fall to the floor and shatter. Yet there it was in front of me. On the picture tube, I saw myself savouring the beer. Why? Why? Why? I pulled at my hair. Was there some sort of time limit? No, that couldn't be it. The past few times it happened, it was at very different intervals. What then? I tried simply sitting and watching it. As before, the me on the screen went on to do things I have no memory of. All the while, the world around him gradually growing corrupted. Some sort of black, opaque syrup always intruding into the scene in more and more waves.

The scenery always falling apart like a stage set to reveal the dirty rusted metal underneath. Eventually, all of it fell away. The me on the screen by this point caked in a stage. sticky black crud, walking along like nothing's the matter. He came across a bawling woman, also covered in black residue. He kneeled as if to console her, then lifted her to her feet by her hair, withdrew a knife from his jacket pocket, and cut her throat from ear to ear, because I'd just seen myself do something unconscionable, but also because he turned and was now making direct eye contact. I turned away. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him rush the

screen, gesturing as if trying to maintain my interest. I threw a blanket over the television, reasoning that I apparently couldn't destroy it, and I tried to get some sleep. I did, too. It looked quite restful on the picture tube. I buried my face and my hands and struggled not to cry. How could this be happening? Was I losing my mind? I unplugged the television and was not at all surprised when that made no difference. It didn't have to hide anymore. Didn't have to pretend.

I tried everything you can imagine. Then the really desperate stuff, I rapidly lost count of the suicide attempts. Every time I just wound up in that chair watching myself pull the trigger or leap from the roof in black and white. Then I'd get up and start walking. You know what happened after that. Well, that's not quite true. I haven't told you all of it yet. What I eventually worked out is that it wanted me to just sit and watch,

all the way through, without leaving. As I now understood, there was no other choice. I obliged. The little black and white me walked along as before. The scenery began to peel, crumble and dissolve, revealing rusted, grimy metal beneath it. That filthy black shit! Soon every pretense of reality was gone and he walked through a decaying metal replica of a town. No windows or doors on the buildings.

Even the sky appeared to be a grungy metal dome overhead with metal clouds suspended by chains. The rain started. I could see now that it came from spouts in the underside of the clouds and hoses coiled around the chains they hung from. There was some semblance of logic to this world, but it collapsed if you thought about it too hard. The bus went by belching thick black smoke. I watched myself coated head to toe in the oily fluid,

approaching the crying woman. I found myself wanting to warn her, but what would that accomplish? As before, he lifted her by the hair and slit her throat ear to ear. Then he turned her around so I could see her face. Vony, I went cold. He released her and she collapsed in a heap. Then he approached the screen, step by step, until life-sized. He simply stared, and I stared back.

I still don't know how the transition. occur so smoothly. All I know is that when I looked away, we'd switched places. When you find yourself trying to support a close friend struggling through the agonizing stages of grief, you have to expect to deal with some strange behavior. But in this tale from author Michael Marks, we find a man dealing with a friend who lost his fiancé and his grief drives him. him to disturbing lengths. Performing this tale are Peter Lewis and Erica Sanderson. So be patient if your friend is grieving,

especially if he once had an undying love. Started with a text from my friend, Alex. Alex had lost his fiancé Karen six months earlier in a car accident. He'd taken it about as hard as anyone could. and as much as anyone tried to help, he just seemed to keep sinking deeper into his depression. I had already started to worry about his mental state. He was obvious that he was heading towards a place

where he was going to end up hurting himself or killing himself. I and others had already tried to get him help, but it was rare he would even speak to us or leave his house. When I got the text, it was nearly one in the morning, and I was getting ready for bed. I hadn't actually heard from Alex in three weeks, so seeing his name pop up on my phone was surprising. The text simply said, She's alive in there, followed by, I need your help. The third text was an address.

I punched it into my phone and saw the GPS give me directions towards the cemetery where Karen was buried. I felt an instant lump in my throat and a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. It wasn't hard to put together what had happened. Alex had become unhinged. He thought Karen was alive and he was going to dig. her body up. I stared down at my phone and thought about calling 911, telling them what was about to happen, but ultimately I decided to go get him myself. Alex was my friend, and he was right about one thing. He needed my help. At the cemetery, the gates were locked, but the wall was

scaled with a little effort. I huffed and sighed. as I dropped down on the other side and started looking for Karen's grave. It didn't take me long to spot a dim orange light off in the distance. I could even faintly hear the sounds of someone digging. I was too late. He'd already started. I checked my pocket from my phone. In case he wouldn't come with me, I decided I would call the cops. He needed help.

And I was going to make sure he got it, no matter what. As I approached the graveside, I saw him digging furiously. He'd already made it down a few feet. He looked up at me briefly and smiled. He was lit only by a lantern set next to the headstone, and the low, dim, orange light gave him an almost sinister appearance. I see you got my message He looked horrible

His body was thin And emaciated Dark circles were prominent under his eyes And he was covered in filth from digging It was all I could manage to say As I stood there staring at my friend Who looked Good, I brought an extra shovel

He nodded towards the pile of dirt he'd made where another shovel stood stuck in the ground. Give me a hand here. We gotta get her out. He returned to work. I walked towards the grave

with my hand outstretched, ready to appeal. I didn't know what to say, though. The sight was so unnerving and sad. He and I were friends. I was supposed to be best man at his wedding. The words were stuck in my throat, and I felt more like I was just going to start crying.

Alex looked up at me again, a confused look on his face. Dude, are you just going to stand there? He laughed a little bit and tossed out another shovel full of dirt. Come on, grab the shovel, and help me in the shovel, and help me out here. I choked back the sadness I felt and tried to keep myself composed to some degree. He finally stopped digging. I watched as he slowly turned his head towards me. His face was somber and so gaunt. It almost seemed like his skin was hanging off his skull. I saw behind his eyes that his brain was attempting to apply reason, to see what I said as truth.

Suddenly he shook his head, no, like a spoiled child that refused to listen. You don't understand, Adrian. You just don't! He started digging furiously again, and his tone suddenly became indignant. I asked you here to help me with this. If you aren't going to do that, then just leave. I am trying to help you, Alex. She talks to me, you know. I can hear her in my head at night.

She tells me that she's down here. I know you think I'm crazy, but I promise you it's real. The revelation. I knew Alex had been pretty unhinged. since Karen's death. But I never thought it had gotten this bad, watching him dig, unsure how to continue.

It started with whispers. I thought they were dreams at first. Waking dreams. He continued throwing shovels full of dirt onto the pile, never breaking his rhythm to look me in the eyes. Then I started hearing her all the time. I'm Adrian. She's begging me to get her out. I paused myself, thinking for a second about how to proceed.

I want. Good. Grab a shovel. No, I mean, I want to help you fill in this hole. Then we can go somewhere and talk about what we should do next. He started laughing. And for the first time, since I got there, he climbed out of the hole and stood face to face with me. I could see him gripping the shovel so tightly in his fist. While he'd been digging, I didn't notice the streaks of blood on the wooden shovel handle. I could see it now dripping out from beneath his clenched fists as well.

He's worked open wounds into his hands already. You're delusional. No, you think it's Karen, but it's not her, man. She's gone. It's your grief that's talking to you. I was saying hard truths and kept my voice soft. We need to get you help. he got right in my face as he spoke adrian

fuck you just trying to help you help you've said that word a lot since you got here but the only fucking help i want is for you to pick up that shovel and dig he turned his back on me and walked back towards the grave i'll say it again if you're not going to do that, then just leave. He hopped back down in the hole and went straight back to work. Each time he'd thrust the shovel down, he'd grunt, his teeth bared, and his face flushed red with anger. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. I looked down at the keypad, knowing what I would have to do next.

If Alex wouldn't take my help, I'd have to impose it on him, whether he wanted it or not. What the fuck are you doing? He'd apparently glanced my way and seen me holding the phone. Adrian, what are you doing? I'm calling the cops, man. This is wrong. What you're doing is wrong. and maybe if they take you in, someone can get you what you need.

I looked back down at my phone and tapped in 911, but before I could even press send, I saw Alex rushing towards me with the shovel raised strike. There was a flap with a severe headache and could feel blood dried on my face. I went to reach up and touch it, but found my hands were tied behind my back. My feet had also been bound together, and I was laying on the grave next to where Alex was continuing to dig. He'd made a lot of progress while I was knocked out.

He was now shoulder-deep in the hole, and still working furiously. He was bare-chested now, and when I looked at him, he was bare-chested now, and when I looked at him. Looked down, I noticed that he'd torn his shirt up to make my bonds. I could see his ribs peeking through his skin as he dug. It looked as if he hadn't eaten. What are you doing? He stopped suddenly when he looked at me. His face had become even more skeletal and his eyes more vacant.

Sorry, Adrian, but you were going to call? the cops. I'm glad you're awake now, though. I thought I'd killed you. He said the last part, almost to himself as he went back before. The lantern cast menacing shadows over the headstone as he tossed out each pile of dirt. Man, untie me right now. When I'm done, when you see that I'm right, He snorted once and let out a long, tired sigh before wiping his brow. She's down there, man. Can you seriously not hear her? I listened and heard nothing more than the wind rustling the autumn leaves. There's nothing to hear.

I struggled against my restraints. It seemed possible to slip free, but... It might take some work. Losing it. What's down there is not what you think. It's Karen, but you don't want to see her like she is now. I'm telling you, man, stop this. And let's get out of here.

See a manic smile on his face. Everything's going to be fine, Adrian. and she says it will be just like it was, that everything is going to be fine. Nobody is talking to you. Nobody. He grabbed another piece of his shirt that hadn't been used for restraint

and balled it up. He jumped out of the hole and stuffed it in my mouth, much to my protest. Stop. Just stop. It'll be over soon, and I'll untie you. We're all leaving this cemetery together. He was still smiling as he clapped me on the shoulder before jumping back into the hole. I watched him dig deeper and deeper down, wrestling against my bonds the whole time.

One of them started to feel looser around my hand, and I focused on that. Before I could slip free, though, I heard the clunk of the shovel. hitting wood. Alex started digging even faster, clearing all the dirt off the casket. Eric, baby, I'm here. I'm getting you out. Alex threw the shovel into the pile of dirt, and the top of his head disappeared down into the hole. My right hand started to slip free. In my head I knew what would be next, and how horrible it would be, no matter how it shook out,

dreamed through my gag for Alex not to open it, to not look. But I knew he wouldn't listen, even if he understood me. I heard the casket creak and break as he pried it open. Then silent bar too long of a silence. My hand was almost free, but even if I did, get loose. I didn't know what to do. I knew my friend was probably in that hole. Devastated, looking at the desiccated body of the woman, he looked to my shock. I heard a second voice. A woman's of Cairns.

I knew. It was weak, a little more than a whisper. I stopped working against my bonds, unable to. reconcile with my brain of what my ears had just heard. It was impossible. Laughter and tears came from within the hole for a few moments.

Sounds of complete and utter joy. The sound of lovers reunited under impossible circumstances. Thing has turned sour. Very quickly, though. Of joy

turned to screams of terror and pain, suddenly started screaming and clawing to get out of the grave. I could see his hands peek over the side for a moment and vanished back below like he'd been pulled back down. Karen's voice echoed throughout the night, somewhere behind Alex begging for help. I went back to work on my restraints, my heart thudding a mile a minute in the sense of urgency suddenly pushed much further, and was having trouble pulling through the cloth, and as I wrenched against it, I saw Alex suddenly appear over the top of the grave, clawing at the dirt to climb the rest of the way out. His face was torn open in a few places, horrible and bleeding gashes on his cheeks.

One of his eyes was missing. But the other was staring right at me, begging for help. Just as quickly as he appeared, he was tugged back into the grave with wild strength. In a panic, I was finally able to free my hand and immediately set about getting my feet free. The sounds of Alex's screams finally died inside the grave, and things win. deathly, quiet for a few moments. Once my feet were free, I stood up hastily and found myself torn between running and taking a couple of steps closer to the grave so I could see inside of it.

Part of it was concern for my friend who may still be alive. Part of it was that horrible train wreck curiosity that knew. he was dead and needed to confirm. Mostly, though, it was the fact that I wanted to know what exactly happened. Suddenly, a pale hand rose from the grave and clawed into the dirt. It was followed by another. Karen's voice rang out through the cemetery and rattled around in my head. Adrian.

Is that you ain't missed you? Come and give me a hug. Haunting, broken version of Karen's voice put an end to my curiosity. And I ran, sprinted from grave faster than I had ever run from anything in my life. The whole time I kept peering over my shoulder expecting to see her hot on my heels in a torn burial dress. soaked in blood. I made it to the wall and scrambled over it and half the time it had taken me before.

I got to my car and drove away from there as fastened myself still checking the rearview mirror thinking she would be sitting in my back seat or floating behind the car like some kind of ethereal monster.

Sometimes I still look behind me expecting her, saying she missed me, asking for a hug and ready to finish what she started with Alex. Pretty much the whole thing. I left out some of the parts at the end, simply told them that something attacked Alex while he was in the grave. Due to how mangled and chewed on the body was, the coroner concluded that it was most likely a wild dog attack, and my short time as a suspect in the cop's eyes ended. Still, no one could explain why Alex's was the only body found lying in Karen's grave, and it seemed like no one really wanted to try. We buried Alex roughly four months ago.

She was my best friend, and it's torn me apart inside that I was there and couldn't help him. I couldn't do anything to stop what happened to him. As much as that hurts. Lately, it's something else that's... really been bothering me. About a week ago, heard him for the first time. In my head, it's only gotten louder over time. And I know it's just going to keep getting louder till I says to me at night when the world is at it. We thank you for being with us for our devil and 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.