The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S8 - Holiday Hiatus 1

Episode Date: January 1, 2017

The show is taking a new year's break this week but we're featuring two tales from our Season Pass 7 episodes."The Super Bowl Party" written by M.J. Pack and performed by Nikolle Doolin. (Story starts at 00:05:00)"The Tall Dog" written by Elias Witherow and read by David Ault & Erika Sanderson. (Story starts around 00:20:30)Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast Click here to learn more about the Sleepless Live 2017 Tour Click here to learn more about M.J. Pack Click here to learn more about Elias Witherow Executive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon BooneAuld Lang Syne karaoke track by DigiTrax EntertainmentAudio adaptations produced by: Phil Michalski & David CummingsAudio 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. We're here to frighten you and mess with your head because that's what you want. So give into your fear because tonight there will be no sleep. It's the no sleep podcast. I'm David Cummings. Happy New Year and thanks for joining us for our holiday hiatus episode number one. This week and next week will be featured. featuring stories from our season past seven shows to tide you over while we make merry and ring in 2017.

In fact, we have a special New Year's treat for you. Our No Sleep players had such fun singing for you on our Christmas episode that they practically begged me to sing for you again. And since this episode comes out right at the start of the new year, there is no song more fitting than Old Lang Zine. Yes, our merry band of inebriates are here with Brandon on the piano, and, well, look, Dave, at all, has even brought his cello. I don't want to know how we smuggled that in here. So why don't you join in, if you'd like, as we wish you and yours a very happy new year. Okay, folks, let's belt this one out. Well, wasn't that a treat?

And now that everyone is safely back in their... accommodations, I'd say it's time to kick off the new year as we start this week's special show. It certainly is a festive time for partying. Just ask the woman in our first tale. Driving home after a fun and food-filled gathering, she realizes that she may have over-indulged, especially when her husband reminds her of her antics. But as we learn from author MJ Pack, it isn't just her behavior. behavior, which is troubling, it's the other cars on the road and the seemingly endless drive home. Performing this tale is Nicole Doolin, so make sure you behave yourself and do everything in moderation

so you don't wind up stuck after the Super Bowl party. Wake up, we're almost home. I stir in my seat disoriented. My mouth has that moldy laundry taste. it gets when I nap during the day, except it's not day. It's dark, very dark. It falls together quickly. Pieces fitting into place as if drawn together by magnets. I'm in the car with Oliver, and we're driving home from Heather's Super Bowl party, and my mouth tastes like moldy laundry. I didn't even know I was tired, babe. I run my tongue.

over my teeth and grimace. Yuck. Maybe you shouldn't have had so much to drink, babe. He emphasizes the last word in an ugly way, a way that makes me look at him in mild alarm. What? I didn't... But then I stop because I don't remember. I can't remember how much I'd had to drink.

I can't remember hardly any of the party, really. Which is not a good sign. You think just because you graze on snacks all night, you can drink like a fish. But Jesus, Rachel, it was a Super Bowl party, not a kegher. Oliver is gripping the wheel tightly. His lips set in a thin line that say, oh boy, am I in trouble. I don't think I'd had that much to drink. Maybe it was the migraine medicine I'd taken before we left.

Maybe it mixed wrong with the few beers I'd have. had, because I'm pretty sure that's all it was. Just a few beers. Only I can't remember. Before I say anything else, Oliver goes on. I mean, there were kids there. Grayson brought their six-month-old, for God's sake. He glances away from the road briefly to give me a look of utter disgust.

It was embarrassing. You embarrassed me. Oliver has quite the ego. Well deserved, but a big ego nonetheless. I'm far from a perfect trophy wife. I slip up from time to time, but really, did I get that drunk? I've been under a lot of stress lately, so you know, maybe this was one of those times. A slip-up.

I straightened in my seat and tried to surreptitiously check my breath. Yuck! I don't think it's booze, though. It smells more like the buffalo chicken dip Heather made that was so good. It just doesn't smell good anymore. Oliver embarrasses so easily these days. I'm sorry. But it's hard to be sorry for something you're not sure of,

something you can't remember. It's just easier this way. Better to back down and apologize than cause an argument. Why does my mouth taste so bad? Yeah, you're sorry, all right. I just don't get it. I don't get the animosity. The dislike bordering on hate,

all because I had a few too many drinks at some dumb Super Bowl party. I'm about to tell him to just drop it already when he stiffens even more in his seat. He leans forward, a tightly wound wire about to snap. What? I asked. sure it's something else I've done wrong. Another tick mark on the list of mistakes I've made for the evening.

I open the glove box to see if I have any gum, but there's nothing. Just long-expired insurance cards. An ancient dead GPS. Yellow napkins that smell of past Wendy's meals. His eyes are locked on the road. This guy ahead of us. I thought he just wasn't using his blinker, but he's swerving. A lot.

Maybe he had too much to drink at the party. That earns me a fresh, hateful look. Yeah, that'd probably be you if you didn't have me to cart your ass home. My husband glances back at the green SUV in the central lane a few car lengths away. Watch him. He's all over the place. I close the glove box with an unnecessarily loud bang and watch, as I'm told. Indeed, the green SUV is all. over the place. It lists for a moment in the center lane before drifting lazily to the right,

then back to the center again. I've got to get past him. He guns it. I lean back in my seat, guts suddenly rolling. I feel like I'm going to be sick. He's going too fast. You're going too fast. I managed to scold him without losing the buffalo chicken dip from my stomach into my lap. Maybe I'd had more than a few beers after all. Oliver ignores me and cuts across one lane, but the green SUV is going faster now too. Maybe he thinks we're racing. Oh God, I'm going to be sick. I gripped the door handle for dear life. Please slow down, Oliver, please. He's pushing 80. The speed limit is 60 last time I checked,

but the green SUV now has us boxed in behind another car. In trying to pass him, Oliver has trapped us. You don't get to tell me what to do. But I can tell he's scared too. He's trying to figure out how to slow down or change lanes or do anything, but he's trapped us, and the green SUV is drifting to the right again. Just pull over or something. I cry, yet I can see there's nowhere to pull over.

The shoulder here is incredibly narrow, and besides, he couldn't stop in time. Why won't the car ahead of us go faster? Why won't the car behind us go slower? I can't. I can't. I can't. Oliver's frantic now. His hands clenching the wheel so hard his knuckles are white. I look pleadingly at my husband

only to see the green SUV edging in closer and closer The passenger's rearview mirror Is about to touch our driver's side window There's metal crunching and glass shattering And someone's screaming then Wake up, we're almost home I'm startled awake

My body tense and panicked Like when you jerk out of a dream of falling It's still dark We're still driving My mouth tastes worse. Oliver? He gives me a look that says he's been mad at me for a while, but I've caught him off guard. You okay?

He's trying not to keep his eyes on me too long, darting back between the highway and his disheveled wife. The taste that had been just a few minutes ago merely unpleasant is now pretty disgusting. I sit all the way up, scanning. the dark road ahead, the red and white tail lights blinking cheerily in the night. No sign of the green SUV anywhere. Did I drink too much? The crash had been a bad dream. I mean, truth be told, sometimes when I'm hammered, I have pretty vivid dreams. You might have. He sounds like he's happy that I caught my slip up and I'm owning it. You grazed on snacks all night, but you still drank like a fish.

I'm sorry. My heart is hammering in my chest, and this time I mean it. That dream or nightmare more like, had been awful. Our last few moments together saturated in anger like a rag soaked in gasoline, just waiting for a match. It was embarrassing. You embarrassed me. I'm sorry. I smack my time.

hung off the roof of my mouth, trying to get rid of this awful taste. I checked the glove box for gum but no dice, just long-expired insurance cards, an ancient dead GPS, yellow napkins that smell of past Wendy's meals. Something passes through me, not quite a chill. I checked my breath and it's not booze, but it's not Heather's Buffalo Chicken Dip either. It smells like something rotten.

This guy ahead of us. And that's when I see it. The green SUV. He's not using his blinker. I state the obvious as it slides lazily over to the right from the center lane without a turn signal. He's all over the place. My husband checks his left mirror, ready to make his move.

But I put my hand on the wheel. in an almost uncontrollable instinct. Don't! Oliver jumps in his seat. The car jerks left, then right. But we stay in the center lane. Jesus, Rachel? What's your problem?

But I barely hear him. I'm watching the green SUV. You're going to try to get past him. Yeah, of course I am. I can't wait back here and have him hit us. What's the matter with you? Don't ever grab the wheel. when I'm driving.

I mean, for God's sake. He says this the way you'd speak to an exceptionally stupid child, or a particularly stubborn drunk. Please don't do this, Oliver. Just let him go. Just watch him. Don't try anything crazy. He lets out an incredulous laugh.

Oh, ho! Oh, I'm crazy? My husband takes his eyes off the road to glare at me. It was a Super Bowl part. Rachel? Not a kegger. And that's when the green SUV cuts us off, slams on the brakes, and sends us hurtling into the back of his vehicle. The crunch of metal, shatter of glass screams.

Wake up, we're almost home. I'm awake. I'm shaking, and my mouth feels like it's full of blood, but no, it's just an unbearable coppery foulness that makes me heave almost instantly. I don't even have to look at Oliver to know he's angry with me for drinking too much at the Super Bowl party. My eyes wildly scan the highway for the deadly green SUV, but I don't see it.

I can't see it. I don't think we'll ever see it until it's too late. Hot tears stream down my cheeks. Please, please be careful. He's drunk and he's going to kill us. Look who's talking. Just because you graze on. snacks all night. Doesn't mean you can drink like a fish, you know?

Oliver, please. I don't know how to tell him. I don't know how to get through to him. Why doesn't he remember the crash? The green SUV? Why does this keep happening? For the first time, I look out my window at a black Mustang as it passes us. There's no one inside. The car is an empty metal shell, gliding smooth and silent. down the highway. I watch it until it disappears into the darkness. The other cars, they're the same. No driver, no passengers.

They're all empty. I want to scream, but it's like my blood has been turned to ice water. I don't know what to do with this new information. How can they be empty? Oliver, watch out for him. Even though I can't see the green SUV yet I know. it's nearby. I know it's coming soon. Watch out for who?

It turns to me sounding more confused than angry now. Wait. Who are those people? What people? Pass the impossibly empty cars to the side of the road where Oliver is staring. There are people out there lined up along the highway, like they're all holding hands or something. A really long line of them. On forever. I can't see what he's talking about. All I see is blackness.

And then I remember it's soon. We should be paying attention to the road. Ahead, the green SUV has sideswiped the black Mustang. They're spinning out of control in the center lane, and here we come barreling through, going full speed. Oliver's still staring at the people that Don't exist. Crunch, metal, glass, shatter, scream, scream, scream, scream.

Wake up. We're almost home. I'm already awake. My mouth tastes like utter reeking death. I can't remember how much I had to drink at the Super Bowl party, but I know one thing. We're not almost home. And we never will be. In our final tale, we meet a father, struggling to raise his daughter on his own.

Recently bereaved, his struggles are exacerbated by his daughter's insistence that a strange creature in her dreams is actually real. As author Elias Withero writes, The father must do everything he can to ensure his daughter is safe from whatever haunts her nightmares. Performing this tale are David Alt and Erica Sanderson.

So guard your own. nightmares to keep them away from the tall dog. We always expect life to be easier than it actually is. Why is that? Why do we assume we are owed happiness? Why do we act so surprised when things go wrong? Is it the society we live in? Is it the false advertising that surrounds us at all times? Is it because of the things we watch or the books we read? Why is tragedy always so shocking. Life is a slog of disappointment and misery. Sometimes we are graced with pockets of

joy, brief respite from our hardship. In these moments we feel like we figured out what the purpose of our existence truly is. Love, family, culture, travel, natural beauty. Those fleeting hours of contentment are nothing more than a quick breath between beatings. It's a ray of hope that get stuck inside our minds like a cancer. We hold on to it, we beg for it, we scream for it. During times of unbearable mental agony, having something to hope for is worse than if there was no hope at all. Hope is a lie.

It's a disease that tricks our minds into thinking this painful reality is going to evaporate like a puff of breath on a cold wind. And let me assure you, reality is a brutal, bloody corpse. Now, you might be reading this and thinking, I'm not like this. I have a good life, a healthy family, and I'm financially secure. Let me tell you, I hope you enjoy your quick breath of clean air because there's a bomb falling over your head. You might not see it yet, but it's descending at a tremendous speed. When you least expect it, it'll land and devastate your entire existence.

It will destroy everything you love and it will leave you broken and weeping in the fucking gutter. Why am I telling you this? Why should you listen to me? Because the bomb has already dropped on me. Because the fallout is unbearable and I can't seem to find a gasp of clean air in this toxic wasteland of life. My throat burns my eyes water and I can't speak for fear of tearing my silence throat. My wife is dead. She died a year ago and left me alone to raise our little girl, Heather.

Heather is all I have left. She's the gas mask I struggle to hold on to. She's the choked cries of desperation I emit from between bloody teeth. Heather is five now. We did our best to recover from the pain of my wife's death, a loss of a companion, a removal of a mother. I shudder to think my daughter has to face the bloody blade of life at such a young age.

She needs to be sheltered from it. She needs protection. And for a while, I thought I was providing that. But that was before... That was before the nightmares started. That was before the tall dog. I scrubbed sleep from my eyes, rolling in the darkness to check the clock. 3 a.m.

I groaned and pulled myself from the warmth of my sheets. Heather was crying from her room calling my name. She must have had a bad dream. In a daze, blinking sleepily, I shuffled out of my room and down to hers. The house was silent and my feet scuffed over the cold hardwood floors. Heather never has bad dreams, I thought, yawning. Did I let her watch something scary before bed? I entered her room

the space illuminated by a pink ballerina nightlight and went to my daughter's side she was curled up in a ball with her hands over her face she was sniffling and her pillow felt damp with tears cooing I scooped her up and told her everything was okay after she had calmed down some I asked her if she had a nightmare she looked up at me with big teary eyes and nodded She hugged me and asked if she could sleep in my bed

I told her of course It won't come in your room I paused Sweetie what are you talking about She wrapped herself tight around me Old dog I didn't know what to make of it The phrase nonsense

And so I told her there were no dogs coming into the house And that we were safe I felt her relax against me as I walked us back into my bedroom I laid her down in my bed and stroked her hair until I heard the soft snores of sleep. I laid down next to her and exhaled heavily. Sleep returned to me in a rush of heavy fatigue. The next day, life resumed its predictable repetition. I got Heather ready for school and then rushed to prepare myself for work.

I left her downstairs in front of the TV, happily munching on some toast as I scurried to shower and shave. It was like this every morning, but I was used to the frantic pace. As I threw my sports jacket on and bustled into the hallway to go downstairs, I paused. I bent down and wet my thumb with my tongue. I scrubbed it along the hardwood floor, wiping away a streak of dirt that ran towards Heather's room. I gripped my teeth and reminded myself it wasn't a big deal. She was five years old and couldn't be expected to remember to take off her shoes all the time. standing I hurried down the stairs and collected my daughter to begin our day

I switched off the TV and grabbed Heather's pink Barbie backpack asking her if she had to go to the bathroom before school when she said she didn't I snatched the car keys off the kitchen counter and ushered her to the front door as I followed Heather out I hesitated my hand freezing before I closed the door all the way I stuck my head back inside and listened I could have sworn I'd heard something from upstairs. After a second, I shrugged and closed the door, locking it tight. The day passed like so many before it. The hands on the clock pushed forward triumphantly and finally announced the end of the workday.

Not long after the trumpets of freedom were blown, I found myself at home once again. I ordered pizza for us a rare delicacy to my daughter and spent the evening watching children's shows on Netflix. I barely saw the images on the screen, the fatigue from the day washing over me in heavy waves. A stomach full of pizza didn't help either. Heather shifted and snuggled into me, resting her head against my chest. I smiled and kissed her shoulder, telling her that after this episode it was time for bed. She put up her usual resistance, but I battled it valiantly. That was something I had had to learn how to do.

My wife had always been the one to say no and knew when to say enough was enough. I was always the softy allowing Heather to get away with a multitude of activities. It was hard to say no to her, her big, cute brown eyes brimming with innocent pleas. My dad heart melted every time and I would eventually cave, begging her not to tell her mother. But after the brain tumor took my wife away from us, I had had had to learn how to balance my daughter's requests with fatherly affection and parental standards. I thought I had found a reasonable balance. With each passing day, I would discover another piece of the puzzle and take another step closer to becoming a functional single parent. When the show ended, I told Heather to go upstairs

and brush her teeth and get ready for bed. Groaning, she obeyed, and I began to clear up the kitchen. I placed our plates in the dishwasher and throughout the empty pizza box. I checked my watch and saw that it was almost 11. I sighed, not realizing how late it had gotten. I should have put Heather to bed two hours ago. I exhaled. It wasn't the end of the world. After the kitchen was clean, I turned off all the lights and made sure the front door was locked. Satisfied, I climbed the stairs and went to check on Heather's progress. To my delight, I found her already in bed and asleep. I went to her and gently kissed the top of her head, smiling to myself. She really was a good girl. I turned on her nightlight and closed her door behind me. I went to my own room and prepared myself for bed. As I slid into the

cool sheets, I decided that tomorrow after school, I would take Heather to the park so she could ride her bike along a community bike trail. Content with my plans, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. Darkness. Haze. groggy. I slowly peeled my eyes open in the black, head spinning. Why was I awake? What time was it? I rolled over

and looked at the clock. 3 a.m. I blinked and closed my eyes, deep drowsiness filling my body like hard liquor. Heather was crying. I forced my eyes open again. That's why I was awake.

I pulled myself into a sitting position and scrubbed my face with the palms of my hands. Why was she crying? Another nightmare. As I stood, I prayed that this wasn't going to turn into a regular thing. I stumbled around in the darkness and pulled my door open. I stepped out into the hall and paused, cocking my head towards the stairs.

I thought I heard something moving downstairs. Another wave of cries from Heather's room forced me back into motion, and I shuffled down the stairs. and I shuffled down the hall and opened her door. The room was bathed in soft pink light, the tiny ballerina illuminating the walls with her glowing body. I went to my daughter and knelt by her bed, whispering softly that Daddy was here and everything was okay.

She wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me tight, soft sniffles escaping her bubbling nose. I stroked her hair and asked her if she had had another nightmare. She pulled away and looked up at me, her eyes brimming with tears. She trailed off, struggling to get herself under control. My eyes melted. What is it, sweetie?

She collapsed against me. I felt my stomach churned slightly. Crickles of unease rose along my arms like tiny mountains of flesy fear. This was the second night in a row she had mentioned this tall dog. I didn't know what the hell she was talking about, what it was. but it was clearly bothering her. I wondered if someone at school had told her something or she'd seen something scary on TV about a dog.

Whatever it was, it was giving my daughter nightmares and I needed to find a way to make it stop. Suddenly, Heather squeezed my neck and I heard her gasped. Before I could react, she buried her face against me and started sobbing even harder, her whole body shaking. Confused, I pulled her off me and cupped her face in my hands. What is it? What's wrong? Heather pointed behind me towards the open door. It just peaked round the corner and was looking at you.

I spun around my heart thundering. There was nothing there. Of course there was nothing there. Why would there be? Putting a hand over my chest, I forced myself to settle down. There's nothing there, honey. It's just shadows. It's late. Do you want to sleep in my bed again? Her eyes remained locked on the open door as she slowly nodded. I picked her up and rubbed her back as I walked us out of her room. There was nothing to be afraid of. She had just had a bad dream.

As I walked down the hallway, I paused in the darkness. I looked to my right down the stairs, down into the gaping moor of black. Did I hear something moving down there? Heather squeezed me tight and whispered into my ear. I shifted her weight in my arms, her words sending a shiver of unease down my spine. I told Heather there was nothing down there. I brought her into my room and tucked her into bed. I sat beside her and rubbed her head until she drifted off to sleep. It took longer than it had the previous night, but once she was breathing easy, I went to my bedroom door and stepped out into the hall.

In the dead of night, when surrounded by heavy darkness, fear has a way of making monsters out of the shadows. I forced myself to remain calm, reminded myself that I was an adult and went and stood at the top of the stairs. I looked down, the enclosed staircase revealing nothing but the square black mouth at the bottom. I listened, holding my breath. Silence. I shook my head, telling myself that I was being ridiculous and went back to my room. I closed the door and lay down next to heaven. I stared at the ceiling, mind alert and awake.

I knew I wasn't going to be falling asleep any time soon. I pulled my phone off the nightstand and brought up the internet browser. After taking a moment to think, I searched the term tall dog. I scrolled through some dog show sites that popped up and finally found a link to a message board. I clicked it. My heart skipped a beat as I read the question at the top. My son keeps having nightmares and complains about something called the tall dog. Does anyone know what the hell this is? It's happened three nights in a row. It's driving me crazy. Help! The top answer sent a chill rocketing through my body. It read, your son is telling the truth.

get help. The tall dog is real and it will keep coming back. It's attracted to deep sadness and it won't leave your son alone until it gets what it wants. It is very dangerous. I know this sounds insane but I'm telling you the truth.

I've come across others who have encountered this thing. It is very real and very dangerous. I put my phone down and stared into the darkness. My heart was racing. This couldn't be true, could it? Every part of me wanted to write it off as a bizarre coincidence, but it was so specific that I couldn't. What am I supposed to do with this information? This is crazy.

Stuff like this doesn't happen. It doesn't exist. And yet here I was, staring at a warning on my phone while my terrified daughter lay curled up next to me. It was unnerving. I turned on my side and stared at the closed bedroom door. Just outside the door were stairs leading to the ground level. As I closed my eyes, I pictured something long and lanky pulling itself up them. It snout, dragging along the wood.

I forced the image out of my head and shivered. There was nothing out there. The next day, Heather didn't mention anything about the nightmares, and I didn't ask her. I wanted this to go away, and bringing it up in the daylight didn't see. like it would help my cause. I prepared her for school and then got myself ready for work. As we left the house, I realized just how tired I was. The lack of sleep last night was taking its toll on me and I made a mental note to stop and get more coffee after I dropped Heather off. While I drove, my mind wandered back to the message board warning. In the daylight

it seemed a little silly. I pushed the fear back into the corner of my mind and scolded myself internally for being so irrational. I reminded myself again that I was an adult and didn't believe in monsters and things that go bump in the night. After I dropped Heather off, I went and got another cup of coffee and then drove to work. My brain accepted the caffeine gratefully, and as I sipped on the steaming liquid, I pondered what my wife would make of the whole thing.

She'd probably say I was being stupid and to man up. The thought made me grieve. in and I suddenly missed her. Eventually I pulled into the office parking lot and began my day. Being Friday, I was hoping I could leave a little early, the crisp morning air a prelude to a possible beautiful day. I still planned on taking Heather to the park. I had hopes that the fresh air and sunshine would erase her nightmares, burning them away in a blaze of brilliance. Well, things didn't go as planned. Halfway through the day, I got to call from Heather's school. I sat, dumbfounded as the principal told me I needed to come and pick

my daughter up. When I asked why, he informed me that Heather had started biting her classmates and wouldn't stop until a teacher forcefully pulled her off someone. I closed my open mouth, shock erupting across my face. There had to be some kind of mistake. My daughter didn't do things like that. The principal assured me that he was just as surprised as I was, but that she needed to be taken home for the day. The other kids were scared of her and the parents were being notified. Great, I thought, I'll be the single dad with the violent child. As soon as the thought popped into my mind, I got angry with myself. Who cares what they think? I need to go and see if my daughter is all right. I informed my boss of the phone call and he nodded me out the door. I thought. I

thanked him and told him I'd make it up on Monday before bolting for my car. As I drove, I tried to make sense as to the possible reasons why Heather would act out like this. She wouldn't just do it. One of the kids must have been picking on her. One of them must have provoked her. She wouldn't just start biting kids. I sat at a red light, anxiously drumming my fingers against the steering wheel. Something was going on with my daughter and I needed to get to the bottom of it. First, the nightmares and now this. Clearly, Heather was going through something and as a responsible parent, I needed to find out what it was. I gritted my teeth as the light turned green and I gunned the engine. I wondered if it had something to do with my wife. I wondered if this was Heather's way of

coming to terms with her death a year later. I felt my eyes suddenly well up and my knuckles turned white. It wasn't fair that she had been taken away from us. What had we done? to deserve such sadness. What was going through Heather's young mind in the absence of her mother? What could I do to fill that sorrow? And then I started to panic the creeping thoughts of Heather's upcoming teenage years. What if this was the end of our good relationship? What if she started blaming me for her mum's death?

I knew she was only five, but time has a way of preserving deep hurt and forming scars that never heal. I realized just how much I needed to be there for my daughter, In these early years, these crucial developmental times, how I acted could make or break the way she viewed everything. As these thoughts scrambled my mind, I pulled into the school parking lot and was slammed with a realization that chilled me to the bone. I remembered the message board warning. The tall dog is attracted to deep sadness. I shook my head, no, don't start going down that road. that's insane and there's no such thing.

She's forming waking nightmares in order to deal with what she's going through. Stealing myself, I ran into the school. Before I knew it, I was sitting in the principal's office, listening to him apologised for making such a big deal out of this and that it was more for the other kids than for Heather. I barely heard him, nodding as his words washed over me in waves of numb noise. Finally, a teacher led Heather into the room, and I scooped her up in a big hug.

I kissed her on the cheek and saw that she'd been crying. I told her I loved her and that we were going to go home. She nodded silently at me, her big brown eyes filling with tears. I told the teacher and principal that I was sorry for the incident and assured them it wouldn't happen again. They both smiled and thanked me, but I saw something else behind their masks of public decency. Judgment.

They saw me as a single father with no idea how to raise a little girl. They saw a struggling man with no answers. They saw someone who had lost his wife and was still finding a way to live without her. I suddenly got angry, a spite of adrenaline coursing through my veins, but I kept my mouth shut. I turned and left, hugging my daughter to me as I stormed out of the school. I didn't know if it was righteous angle or embarrassment and I didn't care. They had no idea what I'd gone through, what I was dealing with. Who were they to judge me?

I put Heather in the car and drove us home in silence. I fought to get myself under control. I reminded myself that this wasn't about me. It was about my daughter. She was the one who needed help. She was the one who needed loving support. We eventually arrived home and I checked my watch. It was almost four.

I abandoned the idea of going to the park. and instead sat Heather down on the couch. I placed myself next to her, and I told her I needed to talk to her about what happened at school. Sweetie, are you doing okay? She looked at her hands and nodded. I cleared my throat. I was always so bad at this.

Is it true you bit those kids today? I saw her lip quiver, and she slowly nodded without looking up at me. You know that, right? Why did you bite those kids? She shrugged again and I saw a tear roll down her cheek. Be brave, I told myself, you can't back out now. Were you mad at them?

Did someone say something mean to you? She put one hand in her pocket and slowly shook her head, eyes still downcast. Can you look at me? She turned her eyes to mine and I saw she was crying openly now. She kept fidgeting in her pocket. Can you promise me you won't do it again? More tears ran down her cheeks, leaned down and kissed her on the head. Hey, honey, I know you're a good girl.

Daddy loves you. Just please don't bite anyone again, okay? She sniffled back another outburst of tears and her hand kept twisting in her pocket. I finally noticed and patted her leg. What's in your pocket, Heather? You have something you want to show me. She suddenly looked embarrassed and shook her head, but I prodded her, and after some coaching, she finally pulled out a handful of brown nuggets.

I blinked, wondering why my daughter was carrying around a pocketful of dirt, and then my heart slammed so hard against my rib cage I thought it would break. Sweetie, is that dog food? She bawled her fist up and hugged the nuggets to her chest, staring at her feet that dangled from the edge of the couch. Where did you get that? I felt a deep disturbance roll over me. And what are you doing with them in your pocket? A flurry of nerves fluttered in my chest.

Heather looked up at me. I forced myself to breathe and held out my hand. Why don't you let me hang on to those and I'll make us an early dinner, okay? Reluctantly, she handed over the nuggets and I plastered a smile to my face. I asked her if she wanted to watch some TV while I made dinner, and she offered me a small grin and nodded sheepishly. As I turned on her shows, I fought with a voice screaming in my head. Something was going on here.

Something really, really awful was happening to my daughter. I didn't know what exactly, but the past couple of days seemed to mark a turning point in her behaviour. I started preparing dinner, begging myself to stop overreacting, but I couldn't shut it out. The nightmares, the tall dog, nonsense, the biting, and now she was eating dog food. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to say to her. I wanted to ask her about her. Mom, ask her if she'd been thinking about her recently, but I was afraid to. I didn't want to open up a wound I couldn't close.

What if she started asking questions I couldn't answer? What if her behavior got worse? I began to wonder if I needed to take her to see a therapist. As the thought entered my mind, I violently slammed the door on it. There was nothing wrong with my daughter. She was just a vibrant little girl who had a few nightmares and bit a couple of kids. So what? When I was her age, I'm sure I did things much worse, and I turned out fine.

Yes, but what is the tall dog? What does that mean? I shouted internally at myself to stop thinking about it. There was no such thing and I needed to face the problems I could handle. I finished making dinner in mental agony and prepared two plates. I went to the couch and sat with Heather, both of us eating in silence as cartoon images danced on the screen to grit my teeth around my food.

I wasn't thinking about this bullshit anymore. I crawled into bed, mentally exhausted. It had taken me forever to get Heather to sleep. She had begged to sleep in my bed, but I told her no, and I'd keep my door open in case she woke up scared. I didn't want her to start forming bad habits. I rested my head against the pillow and stared out into the dark hallway from the crack in my door.

I shut my eyes and said a silent prayer that Heather would sleep through the night. Maybe then all this would be over and she would go back to being the little angel I knew she was. I didn't want to continue down this road of parental speculation and continue assuming that every little bad action was a foretelling of a bleak future for her. I let out a long breath and waited for the gentle arms of sleep

to rock me into the world of dreams. It didn't take long. My eyes snapped open, bloodshot and wide. I was soaked in sweat, the horrific nightmare still clinging to my brain with razor-sharp claws. I rolled onto my back and wiped sweat from my face. I swallowed hard and waited for reality to clear away the cobwebs of slumber. My heart was racing, and I put a hand over my bare chest, willing it to slow. My wife, I'd been dreaming about my wife.

She'd been in a hospital bed, screaming my name and clutching her head. I'd been beside her crying, begging her to tell me what was wrong, but she just kept screaming. I began to scream for a doctor and that's when I realized all the lights in the hospital were off and no one was in the halls. I kept screaming for help pleading with my wife until I finally heard a noise. From the blackness of the hall, a doctor in a bloody lab coat came crawling into the room on all fours. His eyes were wild and he started barking at me. foaming. I backed away from him, shock and terror rising in me like a dark mountain. The doctor lunged at me, teeth bared. And that's when I woke up. I pulled my hands across my face,

forcing the images from my head. What horrible nightmare. I realized my stressed mind was probably mixing all my current worries into a terrifying nighttime cocktail, sneaking up on me and pouring it down my throat while I slept. I looked over at the clock, 3 a.m. I snorted, eyes wide, grateful that at least it was me instead of Heather who had woken up tonight. If I could take her fears from her, I would gladly. I just needed to be careful I didn't end up burning myself out. As I rolled on my side to face my door, I heard something from downstairs. Immediately my mind exploded into alertness. The nightmare fear still fresh on my breath. I lay in silence, ear-cocked and listening. My heart racing. It sounded like something was walking around.

Get up. You have to get up, I thought, fear tingling my stomach. It's probably nothing. It's probably the house settling. Maybe Heather got up for some reason or his sleepwalking. I pulled the covers off and swung my feet over the side of the bed. I jumped as I heard more movement. On... Tense and terrifyingly nervous, I crept to the door, staring out into the empty hallway. I didn't hear anything.

I slowly opened the door and went out into the hallway. Something was making noise at the bottom of the stairs. I bawled my sweaty hands into fists and steeled myself. house was impossibly dark, every corner filled with grinning black. The floor underneath my feet creaked as I slowly edged myself over to the top of the stairs, and something was looking back up at me. I stifled a scream, terror clenching my throat like an iron grip. My eyes bulged and my breath rushed from my lungs in a wave of cold fear.

It was long and slender, its hairless body. a sickly grey colour. It looked like a dog, but it was greater in length and bone thin. Its snout pointed up at me from the foot of the stairs, easily two feet in length. Its eyes were completely white and swollen in their sockets like bloated marshmallows. It was on all force, its front two legs resting on the first two steps. As it gazed up at me, it began to pull itself upright. My knees turned to liquid, and I watched in absolute horror as it rose to stand on two legs, its head towering towards the ceiling.

Its neck was long, too long for a dog, and it snarled at me. It's mouth full of black needle-like teeth. It started slowly walking up the stairs towards me. I backed away in frantic desks. Unable to comprehend what I was looking at. I tripped over my own feet and fell, not able to tear my eyes away from the advancing monstrosity. As it neared the top of the stairs,

it crouched back down on all fours, and I saw its swollen white eyes pulsing with excitement. I tried to scream, but found that I didn't have the breath. It was the most terrifying thing I had ever seen, and every alarm in my head was blaring with furious urgency. I scooted backwards with my hands into the safety of my room and stood, grabbing the door and slamming it shut in one violent gesture. I stood with my back against the wood, sucking in hungry lungfuls of air. What the hell was that thing? What was it doing in my house?

Where did it come from? Heather, I pressed my ear to the door and heard footsteps pad down the hallway. Toward Heather's room. I scrambled in the dark for some kind of weapon. I grabbed my discarded workpants that were lying in a pile on the floor and slid the belt from the loops. I wrapped it around my knuckles, turning the buckle upwards. I went to the closed door and took a deep breath. I couldn't let that thing hurt my daughter.

I opened the door and stepped out into the dark hall. My eyes scanned my surroundings, but I didn't see it. I knew it had to be in Heather's room. I cautiously crept down the hall, ears, train to pick up any sound of the creature. Heather's door was wide open and faint pink light drifted out from the inside and froze. The monster, the tall dog, was on all fours by Heather's bed. Its snout was inches from her ear and its mouth moved rapidly, but I couldn't hear any noise.

It was like it was speaking directly into her dreams. Heather's eyes were shut, but she had begun to stir soft cries as escaping her lips as the tall dog silently filled her mind. Suddenly it realized I was in the room and whipped its head around. Its eyes seemed to vibrate in their sockets, thick, white pus leaking from the gelatinous milky sclerus. It silently bared its teeth at me, its mouth filling with sharp ebony darkness.

I took a step back, feeling my throat tightened and gripped the belt harder in my hand. I needed to get it away from Heather. My heart was seizing in my chest and my back was coated in a cold layer of sweat. I forced my knees to lock and I licked my dry lips. A tall dog turned away from the bed and rose up on two legs towering over me. Despite its appearance, it didn't move like an animal. Its balance was perfect and its legs and muscles twisted and flowed with the confidence of a human.

I was holding my ground as a trickle of sweat slid down my face. It leaped at me. I screamed, raising my hands to protect my face as its long body crashed into mine. I fell to the floor, its sinewy flesh pressing mine to the wood. Its breath was hot on my face and stars exploded across my vision, my head bouncing on the ground. With the energy battered out of me, I blinked back darkness and scrambled desperately, trying to get it off of me. It pinned me where I lay its powerful legs digging into my sides.

I looked up into its hideous face and the white ooze pouring from its eyes dripped into my hair. It leaned down and opened its mouth its jaws parting to reveal rows and rows of black teeth. I watched in horror as its throat began to open folds of dark flesh parting like oil and water. And then I heard my daughter screaming from deep down inside. Heather's voice was shrill with panic, and it sent waves of chilling terror through my body. No, this wasn't happening. That wasn't my daughter. It couldn't be. Please, God no. The tall dog snapped its jaws shut and I shoved it off of me with a surge of energy igniting my muscles. It skittered on all fours towards the open door and I scrambled the stand, breathing heavily.

What did you do to her? What have you done to my daughter? The tall dog crouched and eyed me, sniffing the air. I waited for it to strike, waited for it to move. This creature was going to kill me. I knew that, but I was ready. I stood my ground in the dim light, trembling, accepting whatever happened next.

A bit of charging me, though. It turned away and sprinted down the hall. In shock, I listened to it, crashed down the stairs and onto the ground floor. floor. More footsteps followed then faded and I realized that it was gone, leaving me shaking in horror. I turned to Heather, who lay motionless on the bed. I threw the belt onto the floor and I went to her side prayers flowing from my lips. Tears leaked down my cheeks as I grabbed Heather and lifted her head to rest on my lap. Her eyes were closed and her body was still. Please, God, I'm begging you, no. Heather, baby, my angel, wake up. Daddy's here, please.

Sweetie, please, please, please, please wake up. I shook her pleading, drool and mucus bubbling from my face as reality tore my exhausted brain in two. Suddenly, her eyes flickered, and then she opened them. She stared up at me blinking rapidly as if she wasn't sure where she was. I let out a cry of raw relief and hugged her tight against me, more tears pouring from my eyes. I sobbed. rocking back and forth on the bed, clutching her to my chest. I thought I had lost her.

I thought she had been taken away from me. And then Heather began to bark. My bloodshot eyes widened and I pulled her away to look at her face. Her eyes roamed around the room curiously and her tongue lulled from the side of her mouth. Drewl leaked from her lips as she sat. on my lap panting. She finally looked up at me and let out a series of yaps, all signs of humanity draining from her eyes.

Heather, stop it, stop that. Don't do that. It's okay. It's gone. It's gone, sweet. I shook her. She jumped from my arms and began to run in circles as if she were chasing an imaginary tail. She stopped and cocked her head at me, shouting a shout. sharp bark as if she wanted me to play with her. I sat on the bed, watching her and gripped my face with sweaty hands.

I began to scream. No! Heather will never be the same. That night I rushed her to the hospital and begged the doctors for help. After examining her and bringing in. a multitude of specialists, they informed me that she wasn't in control of her mind any longer. They told me she would never regain it. Something had been taken from her that couldn't be replaced or repaired.

I don't know how long they ran tests on her as I desperately expended all my options, desperate to try anything. I couldn't imagine a life without her. I couldn't imagine a life alone from her. I wept and prayed until I had to be. nothing left to offer. Nothing changed, nothing helped, and I wondered if anyone even noticed. You see, life is an unflinching monster. It doesn't care about you, it doesn't take your side, it simply is. It took my wife away and opened up a wound in my daughter's mind. A wound I didn't even have the courage to ask my daughter if it even existed.

Something horrible had caught scent of that gaping wound. Something had grown hungry for it. It had ended our life and slipped into the gory cracks of my daughter's hidden suppressed sadness. It had replaced her mind with its own and had devoured the fractured remains of a confused and hurt psyche. And I know I have lost Heather forever to it. So now I stand here In the darkness over my daughter's bed I gripped the pillow with shaking hands

Tears roll down my face And I beg God to forgive me Whatever is laying in this bed It's not my daughter For time in our netherworld Into your own reality If you would like to find out How you can hear the full-length version

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