The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S8E02

Episode Date: October 16, 2016

It's episode 02 of Season 8. On this week's show we have six tales about bullies, burnings, and bedlam."Her Last Call"† written by S.H. Cooper and performed by Jessica McEvoy & Addison Peacock & Nichole Goodnight & Alexis Bristowe. (Story starts around 00:05:00)"Video Footage"† written by A.L. and performed by Alexis Bristowe & Atticus Jackson & Addison Peacock & Nichole Goodnight & Kyle Akers & James Cleveland. (Story starts around 00:26:30)"Diary of a Woman with Cataplexy"‡ written by Shelby Scott and performed by David Ault & Nikolle Doolin & Mike DelGaudio. (Story starts around 00:40:00)"Forgetful Jones"† written by Lindsay Moore and performed by Nichole Goodnight & Jessica McEvoy & Nikolle Doolin & Elie Hirschman & Erika Sanderson. (Story starts around 01:04:00)"Saying Goodbye to Victor"‡ written by Rona Vaselaar and performed by Erika Sanderson & James Cleveland. (Story starts around 01:23:50)"Christopher"† written by AE Peters and performed by Jessica McEvoy & Addison Peacock. (Story starts around 01:37:35)Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast Click here to learn more about Darkest Night podcast. Click here to learn more about S.H. Cooper Click here to learn more about Lindsay Moore Click here to learn more about Rona Vaselaar Executive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon BooneAudio adaptations produced by: Phil Michalski† & Jeff Clement‡"Diary of a Woman with Cataplexy" illustration courtesy of Lukasz 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. We're here to frighten you and mess with your head because that's what you want. So give in to your fear because tonight there will be no sleep. It's 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 bullies, burnings, and bedlam. Now that we're well into October and people are looking to immerse themselves in the world of horror,

I'd like to make you aware of a new audio project coming soon. It's a co-production between the Paragon Collective and the No Sleep podcast, and it's called Darkest Night. More than a podcast, Darkest Night is a fully immersive audio experience and terrifying treat for the horror fan's senses. You see, it's recorded by... with cutting-edge technology, and the sound quality brings the entire narrative to life, creating a rich 360-degree virtual reality effect when you listen with headphones.

It'll sound like you're right there in the room where it's happening, and that's not always a place you want to be. Why not hear it for yourself with this sample from the series trailer? Begin entering the laboratory now. Welcome to the darkest night. Today, we are unveiling Project Cyclops, the sinner's most ambitious venture to date. With Project Cyclops, not only are we able to discover the secrets behind a man's death, we have developed a method to relive the very last moments of their life. The Darkest Night will reveal that secrets have become a relic of the past,

and free will is just an illusion. Darkest Night is written by two authors regularly featured on our show, Christopher Bloodworth and Jimmy Giuliano. And it features an all-star celebrity cast, including Dennis O'Hare from American Horror Story, Missy Pyle, RuPaul, Ricky Dillon, Michelle Visage, and Casey Wayland of We're Alive. And taking us on the journey as the series narrator is Lee Pace from AMC's Hensies, halt and catch fire. Every chapter of this anthology series will delve into the last memories of the recently deceased, slowly revealing a horrifying master plan. The first two episodes of the hour-long podcast will be available on Halloween, Monday,

October 31st. So keep your eyes and ears open for Darkest Night, premiering this Halloween. And since we've entered the Darkest Night, it's a lot. It's the perfect time to stay awake and listen to this week's show. In our first tale, we meet a young woman with a rather unpleasant cousin. As we learn from author S.H. Cooper, the cousin has been bullying a girl at her school, and the fallout from her cruelty will impact all involved. Performing this tale are Jessica McAvoy, Addison Peacock, Nicole Goodnight, and Alexis Briscoe.

So check your caller ID and hope you don't receive her last call. When my mother told me that Katrina was coming to stay with us for a few days, I immediately started going through all the stages of grief. First, I tried to deny that it was going to happen, to which mom replied that I'd have a say in house guests once I started paying half of the mortgage. That made me angry, so I gave her the sign. and treatment, pouty glares and all. When she seemed amused by that, I moved to bargaining.

I told her I'd do all the housework for a month if cat didn't come. I got a pat on the head, taken up on my offer to clean more, and, oh, by the way, she was still coming. Depression and acceptance occurred at the same time. I was miserable while I cleaned my room, making space on the floor for the air mattress that my cousin would use, and I grumbled loudly the entire time. Oh, cheer up, Buttercup. It's only for a week. A very long, very frustrating week, in which I would have to share my sanctuary with one of my least favorite people. Mom knew how I felt about Cat. I was very vocal about it, but it didn't changed the fact that she let my aunt and uncle drop her off on our doorstep every time they

went out of town. I was convinced they viewed their yearly vacation as a much-needed break from their daughter, but mom said that was a terrible thing to suggest, and I wasn't allowed to verify whether it was true. Well, you're both a bit older now. Maybe you'll have more things in common. Try to be nice. But the moment cat stepped into my room, I knew this visit would be no different than any of the others. She threw her things onto my bed, gave me a disinterested once over, and pulled out her phone.

Only two years separated us, but Kat had quite the Queen Bee complex and couldn't be bothered with someone so beneath her as a 14-year-old. Before bed that night, Katz took the invitation to make herself at home to the next level. She convinced my mom that the air mattress would be too uncomfortable and cause her back pain, so I was forced to switch.

Cat watched me get settled on the mattress with a victorious smirk, and I wanted nothing more than to bean her right in her face with whatever was closest at hand. While I struggled to find a comfortable position, she reclined against her pillows and blasted obnoxiously loud music from her phone. I had only just managed to get Katrina to turn off her music, shut off the light, and agree to sleep when her phone rang. Instantly, I was sitting upright again. One of my pillows in hand aimed at my cousin. Don't you dare answer it. She scoffed, and I was reminded, once again, why I disliked her so strongly. I launched the pillow at Cat's face, but she smacked it aside.

flipped me off before answering. To annoy me further, she put the call on speaker. Who is this? Katerina. Who's asking? This is Virginia Press. From school? There was something odd about the way the girl spoke,

a nervous, twitchy energy that made me uncomfortable. Virgin? How did you get my number? Why the hell are you even calling me? Because there's something I need to. say to you. This couldn't like wait until Monday? No, I need to say it now. Cat heaved a put-upon sigh. Fine, whatever. But when you're done, delete my number. I don't need weirdos like you calling me and pretending we're friends. That's your problem. You treat people like crap. You say what you want.

You hurt our feelings, but you don't care. This is what you called? Shut. up. You always get to do the talking, but it's my turn now. You're a horrible person, Catarina. You're nasty and mean, and you make everyone who isn't just like you miserable. The shock that crossed Katrina's face was delicious. I doubted anyone had ever spoken to her that way, and I was only too happy to have a front-roast seat. when it finally happened. You've made me miserable for so long. I know it was you who made everyone start calling me virgin.

I know it was you who photoshopped those pictures of me, and I know it was you who started the rumors about me being a lesbian. I can't go into the locker room or bathroom anymore without people screaming that I'm trying to look at them. Katrina mimed a yawn at me, and I scowled. This poor girl was obviously hurting, and Cat couldn't have cared less. My house and telling my parents, my dad wanted to throw me out. Not my problem, Virgin.

It is, though. This all started because of you. I never did anything to you, and you made everyone hate me. No, I didn't. They hated you because you're such a fucking freak. That's okay. Virginia's voice had become eerily calm. I thought I could hear wind whistling in the background. It's not going to be anyone's problem real soon.

What? I just wanted to tell you. I wanted you to know so that you never doubted it. This is all your fault. Virginia started to scum. It was so loud, full of fear, and it went on and on for what felt like minutes, muffled only by the sound of the wind whipping wildly by. Cat fumbled to pick her phone up, desperately trying to hang up, and I wanted her too so badly that her hands were shaking and clumsy. The scream ended abruptly in a heavy, wet thought.

We stared at one another, eyes wide, speechless and pale. The phone crackled a couple of times and then went quiet. Did she? I couldn't bring myself to ask the full question. Kat gave to dumbly, her mouth opening and closing, and she just kept shaking her head in disbelief. Girls? We jumped when my mom knocked.

on the bedroom door. Everything okay in there? Before Cat could answer, I sprung up and pulled the door open to throw myself into my mom's arms. She patted my back comfortingly, but was obviously confused. And when Cat didn't answer her, she tipped my tear-streaked face upwards. Baby, what's wrong? I think she killed herself. What?

Who? The girl on the phone! We both looked over to Kat, who had to. taken on a greenish tint. She ran from the bed, shoving past us on her way out, and locked herself in the bathroom. We listened in stunned silence as she vomited violently. Cat didn't come out for hours, and refused to speak to us through the door, so it was up to me to tell Mom what had happened. She was horrified, and, for a moment, I thought she'd be sick, too. She closed. She closed. She closed. She She collected herself quickly, though, and told me to go try to sleep in her bed for a while, while she took care of things.

I lay awake the rest of the night, unable to get Virginia's terrified shrieking out of my head. The police found her body the next morning at the foot of the town water tower. They said she used a pair of bolt cutters lying nearby to get through the chain link fence, and she'd climbed all the way to the top. That's why I heard Wynne when she was talking, I thought numbly as we watched the story unfold on the news. She was already up there. After it got out that her last call had been to Kat, I thought for sure that she would be shunned for her part in the girl's death. But her friends rallied around her.

They blamed Virginia for putting Kat through such an ordeal and said it was so cruel. for her to do such a thing when Cat had only ever played harmless pranks. I was floored by their response and angry that they were turning Virginia into a villain, but there was nothing I could do.

I'd never met the girl. Hadn't even known who she was prior to that night. She'd just been another upperclassmen lost in our crowded school. Kat seemed to recover from it all very quickly.

Her parents offered to come back early from their vacation, but she declined. She was fine, she insisted. She was just going to put Virginia Press out of her mind and move on. She relished in the extra attention the situation was bringing, and I overheard her tell and retell the story multiple times, treating it like some kind of spectator sport. I was disgusted by her behavior. And after so many days, I told her so.

She called me. I have every right to tell my story. Your story? Her death isn't your story. You're such a bitch. We started to argue, calling each other names and making catty remarks aimed to hurt. We were getting louder, more heated, and I was sure we were going to resort to physical fighting when her phone rang. It helped break some of the tension, and I slumped back in my chair at my desk, watching her with narrowed eyes. She tossed another insult at me before answering.

Who is this? I watched the color drain from her face, and she hung up quickly. Who was it? I couldn't help asking. No one. Mind your own business. The phone rang again. She glanced down at it. but didn't answer.

Her expression was agitated. The ringtone kept playing, an endless loop of some Lady Gaga song, long after it should have gone to voicemail. Kat threw the phone onto my bed and backed away towards the door. I could see the caller ID read, unknown. What the hell, Kat? Don't answer it! But whoever was calling wasn't going to be ignored.

There was only so many times I could listen to the same few lines of a song before I snapped and, despite her trying to stop me, I lunged at the phone and answered it. Hello? Bad voice. I knew it instantly. I didn't think I'd ever forget it. Virginia? Kat snatched the phone away from me and hung up.

She was shaking, caught somewhere between fear and fury. It's a prank. Some sicko trying to make me feel bad. Her phone went off again. This time, she answered immediately. I don't know who this is, but if you don't knock it off, I'm calling the cops. Shut! Kat released a frightened sob and again cut off the call.

We looked at one another, uncertain and afraid, and then down to the phone. It rang again. Kat tried to decline the call, but it didn't. matter. It kept ringing. Give it to me. I tore the battery out of the back. The screen didn't even flicker. Cat and I bolted from the room, leaving both phone and battery on the floor behind us. As we ran through the kitchen, the house phone went off. When that was ignored, my own phone followed suit, and I tore it from my pocket. The caller came up as, unknown.

I chucked it over my shoulder and we ran out of the house, tears streaming down our faces. Mom came home to find us huddled on the front steps, shaking and crying and unable to tell her why. When she tried to get us back in the house, we begged her to take us over to cats and stay there for a while, but she refused unless we told her what was going on. Virginia's been calling. Mom was immediately sympathetic. and sat between us, an arm around each of our shoulders. What you've been through was very traumatic, girls, and I'm so sorry for that, but you know Virginia can't be calling.

It was, though. Mom kissed the top of my head. It was probably just someone who sounded like her, and you got scared. That's okay. But she said the exact same things. Our brains can trick us when we're afraid, baby, that's all. Cat, tell her. I looked pleadingly at my cousin, who just shook her head. She'd calmed considerably since mom came home and now looked annoyed at me.

I can't believe I'd let you get me so worked up over nothing. Your mom's right. I had never felt so betrayed. Before I could argue further, Mom handed off her car keys to Cat and told her to take me to the pizza place and grab some dinner, her treat. She was too tired from work. to join us, but would watch a movie with us when we got home. The last thing I wanted to do was spend more time with Kat, who was now a liar on top of

everything else, but I was told in the mom voice that it would be fun and I was going. Grudgingly, we agreed, knowing full well mom wouldn't have it any other way. Mom gave us each a $20 bill and told us to call if we needed anything. She didn't know we both left our phones home. Why did you lie? Because she's right. You were getting scared and I let it get to me. It was probably a telemarketer or something.

I should have known better. Katz didn't look at me as we backed out. You were scared first. You heard her. You know it was Virginia. We even took your battery out. Drop it. We sat in glum silence for most of the ride.

Cat kept her eyes locked on the road ahead of her, and her hands in white-knuckled fists around the steering wheel. I had just started to think that maybe they were right, and I'd imagined it all. Maybe it really had just been some woman who happened to sound like Virginia when the radio clicked on. You've made me miserable for so long. I know it was you who made everyone start calling me for me for me for me. I know it was you who photoshopped those pictures of me, and I know it was you who started the rumors about me being a lesbian. I can't go into the locker room or bathroom anymore without people screaming that I'm trying to look at them. The car swerved dangerously with Kat's surprise.

She pulled over sharply and slammed a hand down on the radio's power button, shutting it off. We didn't look at each other, didn't speak. We just sat there because now there was no denying what we'd heard. After a moment, Kat pulled back out into traffic, and we continued on to the pizza place. The radio stayed off the rest of the way there. If I tried to speak, Kat would cut me off with a quick, shut up, and I eventually gave up. She parked across the street from the pizza place, shot me a dark, frightened look, and climbed out. I followed mechanically behind.

We had just been seated at a table and given menus when the restaurant's loudspeaker crackled noisily. I just wanted to tell you, I wanted you to know so that you never doubted it. This is all. Virginia's screaming flooded the room. swallowing all other sound. The other customers want quiet and cast confused looks around while the employees scrambled to shut off the PA system, but it didn't matter.

I knew what was coming, and I threw my hands over my ears so I didn't have to hear it again. The dull, meaty sound of Virginia's body hitting the ground. Some of the other customers were getting upset. demanding and raised voices to know what was going on. A few got out of their seats and went to the counter, where the unfortunate cashier could only hold up his hands defensively and offer an apology.

Despite my ears being covered, I could still hear Virginia's voice on the loudspeaker. Cat was gripping the edge of the table, her breathing shallow and quick. She reminded me of a small animal looking to escape, a predator. When the screaming started again, she leapt up from her seat and ran from the restaurant. She didn't stop or even slow down. She just ran out into the road, trying to put distance between herself and the sound of Virginia's voice. I doubted the drivers had any time to even see Cat,

much less try to avoid her, and I could only watch as my cousin bounced off the hood of a passing car. and was thrown beneath the wheels of an oncoming SUV. When she came back into view, lying very still in the middle of the road, her back to me, Virginia's screaming immediately stopped, and mine began. You can expect good times and fond memories when a group of friends go on their traditional camping trip. But as we hear from author A.L. When one member of the group is forced to miss the trip, she discovers that some very unsettling circumstances took place on the trip, judging by what she saw on her borrowed video camera. Performing this tale are Alexis Bristow, Atticus Jackson, Addison Peacock, Nicole Goodnight, Kyle Akers, and James Cleveland.

If the mystery is to be solved, it will have to come from the clues found. In the video footage. It was getting to be tradition. For the past two years, we've gone on a camping trip together. Me and my group of friends, Sean, Lynn and her sister Lily, Key, Sal, Monica, and Gabe. Monica's family is really wealthy, and they own a lot of land out in bum-fucked Michigan, so we've wrapped up our past two summer vacations out there in their woods. We pitch a few tents in what's basically the backyard of Monica's grandmother's huge Victoria.

style house and pretend we're roughing it when in actuality, we just sleep out there for the five hours of the night that we don't spend drinking or playing video games inside. Cooking out over the bonfire and climbing trees is fun, but it's always been a very small part of the trip. None of us talked about it or admitted it out loud, not even Monica, but we were all a little afraid to be out there for too long. We had no concrete reason to be, but we were. No matter how many times the Pines family assured us that the property was safe,

I'd never seen or heard anything out of the ordinary out there. Maybe it was just because I'd seen enough horror movies to develop a fear of the woods in general, but I don't know. Something about the air and the intimidatingly vast property just made me feel really vulnerable. I got told just days before we were supposed to leave that I wouldn't be able to take the time off for the trip. One of my fellow supervisors at work had to go in for emergency surgery on his knee, and my store just didn't have the coverage. I was really bummed, but my friends didn't hold it against me.

We all knew being an adult sucked sometimes. I told them that they could still use my cooler and my tents and my camcorder, and that they should video blog the trip for me. I hugged them all goodbye the morning they left, and then I went off to my shift. I told Sal to call me once they got there because I didn't. I knew he would be the only one who'd remember to check in. Sal never called. None of them did.

I left work at 10 p.m. and tried to text and call all of them, but none of them got back to me. I checked Twitter, Facebook, nothing from anybody. No updates since Gabe's hit in the road status from earlier that morning. I felt like throwing up. Something felt really wrong. Key's mother called me as soon as I started to panic, and she sounded really rattled too. He hadn't talked to her all day, and he's really good about touching base with her when he takes trips. I'd later learn that that whole night, my friend's parents were all trying to get in touch with each other.

None of them heard from their kids since they first got on the road. Monica's mom tried to call the landline to the house several times. Grandma Pines was out of town this year, but Monica should have answered if they were there. She didn't. Sean's father drove up to the Pine's property the next morning with Monica's parents. He told me something fell off as soon as he

stepped out of his car. When you pull up to the house, there's no fencing or anything, so you can see if anything is set up in the area surrounding it. He would have been able to see if everyone had set up tents and gear as soon as he got up the path, but there was nothing.

But he said all the house's windows were open and all the lights were on, Within a half hour, they called the police. I was asked to come in, watch the videos, and answer any questions I could. I transcribed to what I watched as best as I could. Clip 1, 1045, September 16th, 2016. Gabe has the camera pointed at the rear-view mirror. How the fuck do you know when it's recording?

The green button is on, dipship. Clip 2 115 September 16th 2016 Gabe is filming the back of Lynn's car just ahead of them He's talking to Sean and Monica But I can't tell what they're saying

Even what the audio adjusted It's raining really hard And I see flashes of lightning Clip 3 816 September 16th 2016 A close-up of Monty A close-up of Monica.

She's smoking and swinging in the rocking chair out on the back porch. She looks tipsy. She notices she's being filmed and winks at the camera. I think Sean laughs. Clip four, 1016, September 17th, 2016. I swallowed hard when I see the timestamp. It doesn't make any sense. Saturday morning, Sean's father was already

calling the police by then. I want to ask the cop what's going on, but he tells me to please just keep watching quietly. Lily is flipping pancakes. She scrunches up her nose at the camera and Gabe chuckles. You don't look so good, Lil. Didn't sleep? How could I?

All those fucking screams last night? The hell? You didn't hear that shit? Lynn and I were freaked the fuck out. What the fuck? We didn't hear anything. Yeah, it sounded like hats and heat, but wrong. Like, it wasn't natural. We were out in the tents all night, and we didn't hear shit.

Lucky you. We came in the house at like four. It was still going. I don't know when it stopped, but I guess I fell asleep at some point. Did the girls say anything? They're not up yet. I don't know. Here, can you pass me that? Clip 5. 1114, September 17th, 2016. A wide shot of the backyard. I can hear glasses clinking and a couple of my friends taking drags of cigarettes. I see a figure standing far off by the edge of the woods, but whoever's filming doesn't seem to notice it.

Then I hear Gabe's voice followed by Shans. Then Keys. They're talking about the hot tub needing repairs because the bubble jets don't work, and then the figure moves and Gabe sees it. Whoa, whoa, what the fuck? What? Dude. Holy fuck.

What the fuck? Who the fuck is? Gabe? Yeah, what the fuck, man? Did you see? Did you fucking see? The figure is contorting in the distance and I cover my mouth with my hand. It's shaped like a person, but it starts doing this odd twitching movement with its arms.

They look almost like they're stretching out really long and then shrinking again. The legs are. bending like a flamingos. The boys behind the camera are yelling and freaking out. The shot cuts to the figure launching itself upward into the trees. Clips six.

The timestamps are turned off. It's nighttime. A shaky shot of the deck out back. The porch light is on and Lily and Key have their backs to the camera. They're crotch down, sitting on the steps, and Lily is sobbing. Key looks behind his shoulder and mouths,

turn it off. but the camera's still recording. Key pecks the top of her head and rubs her back, but she barely moves. Are you sure you saw something? His voice is too quiet for me to hear everything he says. I'm pretty sure Gabe is the one filming again. I don't see Monica in the shot, but I hear her voice. And then Sean's.

What happened? You didn't hear that shit. What the fuck do you mean? There's some shit in this fucking house, man. I don't know. I looked in every single room. There's nothing in here. I'm tired of this shit. Well, what the fuck do you want me to do, Sean?

Clip seven. A shot of something, somebody caught very high in a tree. Whoever's filming is panting and coughing like they started crying, and it sounds like it could either be Gabe or Sal. The shot is focused on whatever stuck up there and something breaks off the tree and falls. It makes no noise when it lands, and that's where the shot cuts.

Clip eight. It's a shot of Monica's room, or what used to be her room when she was a little kid. I've only been in that room a couple of times. It's full of old childhood shit, and there's nothing really for us to see or do in there. The window is open, and a little breeze ripples through the curtain. There's a crash like glass shattering from what sounds like downstairs, and I nearly jump out of my seat, shielding my eyes. eyes, but the cop touches my arm, tells me there's nothing scary in the shot. It's still just the

room, pink and purple with sunshine coming through. The clip ends with another loud crash, and I swear I see a flicker of someone's face, wide-eyed and gaunt, peeking into the corner of the window just for a second. I gasp out loud and whip my head around to look at the cop, and he gives me this nod to keep watching. The last clip they show me is a still, blurred shot of the living room. The camera's facing the window overlooking the backyard, and I can see the lit campfire. The TV isn't in the shot, but I can hear the music to the menu screen of one of the Mario Kart games.

The shot is shifting in and out of focus, and I can tell nobody is recording. The camera's just been left on. It's about a minute and a half of just this, then suddenly the power in the house goes out with a crack, and I shake in my seat. There's a strange howling. noise from outside. It's not a coyote, not an animal. It sounds like two or three people mocking wolves, but warped. Something hits the window with a hard thud and I wince. There's blood spattered across it, and through the smears, I can see somebody with oddly shaped limbs

standing by the fire. They don't move. They just stand there with their heads bent down, fixated completely on the flames, while the howling keeps going. And I start to notice something. The howling sounds exactly the same every time. Like it's a six-second sound clip playing in a loop. As soon as this clicks in my mind, it stops completely. And I'm so thrown off that I almost don't see the figure disappear. It doesn't leave the shot.

I don't see it move. It just vanishes. The fire goes out and the lights turn on in the house again. The menu music from Mario Kart is playing again, and I can hear my friends laughing. The clink of beer bottles. The shock goes blurred and then shuts off. That's all the footage they showed me.

I was asked where I was during all this, why I didn't go on this trip, why my friends had some of my belongings, especially the camera. And I told them the truth. I told them about the previous two years, how nothing strange had ever happened on the Pines property before.

In turn, I asked them what happened to my friends. They told me seven bodies were found on the property, none of them belonging to any of my friends. Their parents were asked to identify the bodies and remains and none of them matched. My friends are just missing. I knew the cops weren't going to tell me, so I asked Sean's father about the seven dead strangers. Were they people the pines knew? He didn't know. He just told me how he found them, six of them, in a clearing in the woods,

laying in a circle surrounding a tree with their guts strung together, holding hands like in prayer. The seventh body was perched up at the top of the tree, impaled through the head on the highest branch. Some of you might be familiar with the medical condition known as cataplexy, in which a strong emotional response can cause a person to suffer sudden physical collapse while still remaining conscious. In this tale from author Shelby Scott, we meet a man who is trying to get to the bottom of the events described in a woman's diary as she suffered from cataplexy. Performing this tale are David Alt, Nicole Doolin, and Mike Delgado. So let's learn what we can as we read from The Diary of a Woman with Cataplexy.

I work for a prestigious medical journal and was given permission. by my supervisors to publish the following pages under the strict conditions that I do not reveal my name or the name of my employer. A diary was sent to our psychology department by the author's husband, with the hopes that they would help further the research into the neurological disorder known as cataplexy. Cataplexy is a medical condition in which strong emotion or laughter causes a person to suffer sudden physical collapse, though remaining conscious. Cataplexy can be a symptom of narcolepsy and can be often mistaken for narcolepsy. Cataplexy without narcolepsy is extremely rare and there is no known cause.

What you are about to read is the diary of a woman who suffers from cataplexy without narcolepsy. My employer deemed it unusable due to the fact that the subject was not being monitored during any of the incidences. I, on the other hand, have spoken with the subject's family. The husband said he was unsure if he should send the diary to a medical journal or to a parapsychologist. His hopes were that having the diary published in a medical journal would give it credence and that his wife would not become known as a charlatan, as there is no further evidence to support the claims made in the diary's pages. I spent some time with the author's husband, and I believe her story needs to be heard.

If modern science chooses to ignore this, then so be it. I will fight to make this known as a warning to those who have loved ones who suffer from the same illness. What they are seeing is real. Please help them in any way you can. I have transcribed the following word for word from a small brown leather-bound notebook. Its pages are mostly blank. September 2nd, 2012. Hello, diary.

My name is Nika. It's a pleasure to meet you. Just so you know, I haven't had a diary since I was seven, so I admit this feels a little silly. You were a gift from my husband Grant. He thinks this is going to help me cope with my emotion. He said if I keep it up, it would be fun for our future kids and grandkids to read. But I have a feeling I'm going to find you under our bed ten years from now, collecting dust next to that scarf I never finished knitting.

Plus, my emotions have been fine lately. The move was a little intense, but now that we're settled into our new house, it has been two weeks since my last incident. Sitting here on this porch soaking up the last few warm, warm rays of the day. I can't imagine another one anytime soon. Get a go, Diary. Grant is calling. Breaking Bad is coming on. It's the last episode of the first half of the last season. If my future kids or grandkids are reading this, just know that I'm incredibly jealous of the fact that you can binge watch this whole series right now without having to wait a whole freaking year. October 3, 2012.

Okay, so some stuff has been happening and I feel like I'm going crazy. I remembered I had this diary and maybe writing all this down will make it seem less crazy. Like when Shaggy and Scooby-Doo are afraid of the monster and Velma strolls in and rips off his mask like no big deal? I need you to be my Velma diary. This is just the bare bones of what happened. Hopefully when it's written in black and white, I will see how some sort of the story. stupid this all is, and everything is because of something completely not scary. Then it will be a funny story to tell Thanksgiving.

Remember when Nika thought there was a ghost in her house? Oh, that Nika, so brilliant and creative, is what they'll definitely probably say. Okay, so first things first, I've been having a lot of episodes lately. A medication that was working so well before has seemed to just stop. It still works if I'm super happy or even when I hear bad news on the radio. It works so well, in fact, that I thought my cataplexy was somehow cured. Wrong. Like I said, I still don't have a reaction to all the things I used to react to.

Now it's different. I don't have to hear or see something. For instance, I was at the top of the stage. stairs and it happened, just going about my business, carrying some fresh towels up to the linen closet, and boom, the most intense feeling of sadness I've ever felt. My body buckled and somehow I managed to fall forward and not backward down the stairs. The towels I was holding saved me from any major damage to my face. Then a few days later I was in the shower when all of a sudden I felt this overwhelming sense of dread.

Like bad. Like someone had just told me my entire family was dead. I dropped. I hit the tub hard enough to leave a sizable bruise across my right hip and thigh. The shower head was pointed right where my head landed. Luckily, Grant was home and heard the noise. Otherwise, I may have drowned. I called my mom and asked her if I've ever been triggered by seemingly nothing before,

and she said no. She said it was always something fairly obvious. I scheduled an appointment with my doctor really hoping to receive some answers. The covered in bruises look is not for me. October 12th, 2012. This has to stop. Told Grant I'm leaving and never coming back.

October 15th, 2012. Sorry for that last entry diary. I just had to get away. Grant was devastated. He doesn't believe me when I tell him what's going on. He thinks I'm making up excuses just to leave him. It isn't him. He's the love of my life, but I couldn't stay in that house for another minute.

I threw some clothes in an old backpack and drove the six hours to my mom and stepdad's house. Now that I've had a few days to calm down, I feel like I have to write down what happened. I was sitting on the couch and watching TV. It was late, probably about my house. midnight. Grint was at a friend's house playing poker and said he would be home around one-thirty or two. I was watching some old movie. It doesn't matter which. What does matter is that our couch faces our TV, duh. And from it you can also see past the kitchen to the sliding glass door that leads to our backyard. So I'm just sitting watching this movie when I

start to get that bad feeling again. It was enough to make me pause the movie and look around. But Not enough to trigger the cataplexy. That's when I saw it. I don't even want to describe it, diary. I feel like it can hear me or something. I think I have to, though, for posterity and all that. It was standing outside the sliding glass doors. It had wiry black hair on its head and skin that was charred and black.

It looked like it was a man once. It had a broad, sinister smile, and its eyes were wide open, and it was staring right at me. I immediately fell sideways on the couch losing control of my body. I was forced to stare at this horrible thing. It grabbed the handle of the door, its hand looked like there was smoke or steam coming off it. The door slid open slowly. Immediately the smell of burning trash and decayed. hit me square in the face.

I think it was the smell that brought me back. Regaining control of my body, I sat up gagging. The thing was gone, but I know it isn't really gone. It's still in there waiting for me. Grant got home about 30 minutes later.

A friend dropped him off. I was sitting on the front lawn, wrapped in a blanket. He was a little drunk and I think he was embarrassed that I was sitting in our front yard, sobbing, like a crazy person, especially since I started screaming that there was a monster in our house as soon as the car door opened. He tried to usher me inside, but when I refused, he carried me in. I packed my things while we fought. Stupidly, I told my mom and stepped out what happened.

Now they just look at me with the same pitiful look you would give an old person with dementia. Mom made me an appointment with my old doctor. October 23, 2012. I think it's time to go home. I miss my husband. The doctor has mostly convinced me that I'm just having hallucinations. It's a common side effect of my condition. He put me on antipsychotics.

They make me drowsy, but as long as I don't see the chard man again, I'll deal with it. November 1, 2012. He got closer this time. I stepped out of our bedroom last night to get some water, and there he was at the other end of the hallway. That smell. The smell will never leave me, diary. It was the same as the last time I saw him.

He had that terrifying grin. Smoke wafted from the cracks in his black skin. He had no clothes on. When I dropped all I could see were his feet, he moved slowly towards me, his heavy footsteps, leaving behind soot. and viscera. Grant heard me fall.

He came to my side and sat me up. I watched the charred man lift a finger to his disgusting lips. Then he spoke. And he's right. November 2nd, 2012. Maybe I am just crazy. December 20th, 2012. He set our Christmas tree on fire.

I know even Grant saw him this time. Why won't he admit it? Why would he rather make me think I'm insane? I'm not insane. I don't know who the charred man is, but he was there. I saw Grant see him. He appeared in our living room while I was wrapping presents on the floor. When I collapsed, he laughed.

Smoke pouring from his open minds. mouth. He brushed his burnt fingers over the branches and it went up like kindling. And Grant smelled the smoke he ran in. The charred man was almost able to reach me this time. He even stretched out his arms to grab me. His skin splitting and oozing out red and clear liquids that smelled of decay. I looked over and Grant was standing on the other side of the tree. It's as if through the fire he could finally see him. The look on his face said, much. And when he bent over to vomit, that said the rest. The charred man backed into the fire disappearing for now. As soon as I could snap out of it, I grabbed my phone and called 911.

Grant won't talk to me. I think he's afraid of me. December 28, 2012. They can lock me away, but the charred man will still come. The following entry was written in strange, brown ink. There were also water stains on the pages that don't appear on others. There is no date noted. Grant looks so peaceful when he sleeps. I screamed and yelled. I pointed at the remains of our living room. I picked up the half-melted angel that had fallen from the top of the Christmas tree and threw it at him. He just looked at me with pity. He looked at me like he was sorry. I thought it was because he believed me. They had to restrain and sedate me.

I couldn't stay, though. I have to stop the charred man. I have to save Grant. This is our house, not his. I love you, Grant. This is where the diary ends. I visited Grant to gather more information. He says that Nika returned home that night.

She was described to be well. wearing a hospital gown and was soaking wet. He says that he awoke around 3 a.m. to see her walking out of their bedroom. He was alarmed as she had been committed by court order to the local mental health facility after starting a large fire in their home. She was deemed a danger to herself and to others. I recorded our conversation. I smelled that smell she talked about in her diary.

It was like burnt trash and rotting meat. I jumped out of bed I was walking around in a wet hospital gown I was furious with the hospital for just letting her waltz out but I think I was more embarrassed having to face her after doing that to her

but I didn't know what else to do you know what kind of fucking asshole does that to his wife I had her chunked in a fucking loony bin happened when you got to the door of Philbetrie? Did you see your wife? Yeah.

Yeah, I saw her. And even in that wet hospital gown to her face, she was so beautiful. She looked back at me and smiled. Before I could say anything, I heard this loud roar. And then I saw it. It was at the other end of the hallway.

She wasn't crazy. She was never crazy There it was Black skin that was cracked And oozing blood and pus Big white eyes On that shit-eating grin What did you do?

I I pissed myself Look, it was like nothing I had ever seen before And it was here to To do something to my wife I don't know what he wanted with her I didn't know how to protect her How do you fight something like that

I didn't know if it was a demon or a zombie Do I invoke the name of Christ Or shoot it in the head You know I didn't have to do anything though She saved me No wife Yeah

She stared that motherfucker down like a lioness Protecting her cub She was calm But serious, she said to it, get out of my house. It said something to her, but I didn't understand it. It sounded like it was speaking Latin or something. Whatever it said, it made her angry. And this next part, you're not going to believe me.

I don't believe me sometimes, but I saw it with my own eyes. Please go off. Like I said, whatever that thing said to her, I'd made her real mad. She took a deep breath and shrieked like a banshee. All the glass in the house busted, windows, mirrors, wine glasses, everything. Then it started raining inside the house. That was the last thing I saw before I passed out. That sound, it busted both of my eardrums.

I also had a concussion. So is she. I have a feeling she won, though. Just this sort of calm feeling. You haven't seen her since that night? No. She's probably off doing something more important, you know, than visiting the asshole that had her committed instead of helping her. This is difficult to ask, but you are aware that your wife was found deceased at the county mental health facility the night.

you saw. Her estimated time of death is 3 a.m. She drowned in the bathtub. Yeah. They said it was suicide. But there were third-degree burns all over her arms and throat. They never could answer why that was. Oh, but I know. It finally got her. It made a mistake, though, because she came back. She came back mad as hell. I ended my conversation with Grant here. He now lives in a different location, but he gave me the address to his former home, which he still owns. He couldn't give me a straight answer as to why he hasn't tried to set.

I visited the home. It was untouched since the night of the incident almost four years ago. He had given me a key to the front door, not that I needed it. The windows on both floors of the home were blown. blown out from the inside. There were yellowing plastic tups covering each of them. I stepped through the door and it looked like local teenagers had turned the former home into a party house. There were beer cans and condom wrappers everywhere. The inside had mostly been gutted, but there were things that immediately jumped out at me. There was the spot where the now ruined couch still sat facing the sliding glass door where Nika had first laid eyes on the charred man. The walls and carpet were scorched in front of the busted-out bay window. I assumed that was where the Christmas tree one stood before it went up in flames. The stairs were covered in spray-painted monikas,

and little hearts surrounded by initials were carved into the railing. As I climbed, the closer I got to the second floor, the worst shape the steps were in. They were swollen and misshaped. The varnish was cracked and peeling. When I arrived at the top, I felt my chest tight. I admit up to this point I was still incredibly skeptical about Grant's story. My theory was that Nika had been having hallucinations and that she was the one who had started the fire, a housewife having a psychotic break and in desperate need for attention from an unsympathetic husband.

The hallway at the top of the stairs looked like a battlefield. At the far end there had been a severe fire. The walls were ash and you could see into the surrounding rooms. There were black scorch marks where the flames had licked the ceiling. The marks extended to the floor and stopped halfway down the wall. At the other end, there were water stains, peeling paint and mouldy drywall. I returned to my hotel room, satisfied with my findings. I contacted my employer and she commended my efforts,

but said that it just wasn't the kind of story that was published in our journal. I understood and told her I would be back Monday after my little foray into ghost hunt. This morning I woke around 3am from a horrific nightmare about the charred man. It was so real I thought I could actually smell him. It isn't unusual to start having nightmares while working on an intense case. I'm not a spiritual man, but something this veiled in the paranormal got to me. I went to the bathroom to splash some water on my sweaty face and slipped on a puddle of water that was on the floor. I grabbed the side of the tub for support

and my hand landed on a wet scrap of paper. In brown ink were the words, He's coming for you. I would know that handwriting anywhere. I can feel him. Sometimes I can smell him. I don't ever see him. And I believe it's because I don't suffer from cataplexy.

Those who suffer from this disease and other such afflictions, such as sleep paralysis and narcolepsy, they can see things we can't. They get a sort of peek behind the curtain. They tow the line between our world and theirs during their episodes. I can't see the monster who stalks me, but I know he's getting closer. This will be the last I speak of it. Like Nika said, I feel he knows when I talk about it.

So please, for the love of whatever God you may believe in, helped your loved ones when they say they saw someone standing in the corner of the room. Believe them. what they're seeing is real. For time in our netherworld has back into your own reality. 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 our unseen hands will drag you down into our dark storyland. This audio production is copyright 2016-2017 by Creative Reason Media, Inc. All rights reserved. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. The name The No Sleep podcast is a trademark of Creative, Reason Media, Inc. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted without the written consent of Creative Reason Media, Inc.