The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S8E03

Episode Date: October 23, 2016

It's episode 03 of Season 8. On this week's show we have four tales about contrasts, conflagrations, and conspiracies. "Neither Here Nor There"‡ written by L.R. Cole and performed by Peter Lewis. (Story starts around 00:03:30) "The Nuclear Incident on Bumblebee Lane"† written by Rafael Marmol and performed by Jesse Cornett & Addison Peacock & Nikolle Doolin & Atticus Jackson & Alexis Bristowe & Jeff Clement. (Story starts around 00:27:20) "Perfume"† written by Michael Whitehouse and performed by Erika Sanderson. (Story starts around 01:01:00) "The Hidden Pool"† written by Dustin Chisam and performed by Mike DelGaudio & Matthew Bradford & Nikolle Doolin. (Story starts around 01:17:25) Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast  Click here to learn more about Dustin Chisam's book, "Our Friend, the Night: Seven Tales of Terror"  Click here to enter the Ouija: Origin of Evil contest  Click here to learn more about Rafael Marmol  Click here to learn more about Michael Whitehouse  Click here to learn more about Dustin Chisam  Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone. Additional music by Phil Michalski Audio adaptations produced by: Phil Michalski† & Jeff Clement‡ "The Nuclear Incident on Bumblebee Lane" illustration courtesy of Charlie Cody Audio 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 four tales about contrasts, conflagrations, and conspiracy. As Halloween draws ever nearer, I want to remind everyone about our contest for Ouija Origin of Evil.

Mike Flanagan's excellent horror film has been released to rave reviews. It's above 80% on Rotten Tomatoes. Make sure you include it in your plans this Halloween season, and enter to win some great Origin of Evil merch and an official Ouija board signed by Mike and Kate Siegel. Go to Contests.the-no-sleeppodcast.com to enter before the end of Halloween night. Our final story this week is from author Dustin Chisholm. Dustin's work has been featured on the show in the past,

including the Halloween tale, Duncan Dan the Pumpkin Man. He has recently released his first book called Our Friend the Night, Seven Tales of Terror. It features six. short stories, and the novella, God's Little Soldiers. Check the show notes for a link to where you can find the book and treat yourself to some spooky reading during this season of fright. And of course, I want to make sure everyone is aware of our big Halloween episodes coming out next weekend. We'll have a full-length free episode, and our season pass eight members will get an additional

full-length episode to make their Halloween episodes to make their Halloween. Halloween doubly terrifying. We'll also be making a very special announcement about some exciting news coming early next year, so make sure you join us. The episodes will be out on Sunday the 30th, just in time to immerse yourself in Halloween Audio Horror. But you don't need to wait until then for audio horror. We have some for you right now, so let's start this week's show.

In our first tale, we meet a man who has recently endured a heart attack, not easy for a relatively young man. But as explained by author L.R. Cole, it isn't just the physical trauma that the man deals with. He soon realizes that there is a more external problem to his ordeal. Performing this tale is Peter Lewis. So make sure you know exactly what's going on around you. or you may find yourself neither here nor there. Last year, I survived, but I got the full modern medical experience.

The ambulance, the emergency room, the cardiac unit, along with something I hadn't expected. But more about that later. I was glad to be back at home after spending a week primarily in a hospital bed. It's hard to sleep in a hospital. The beds suck, and it's never really dark and certainly never completely quiet. In contrast, my own bed was like Nirvana, at least for a while anyway. After being home a few days, I got back into the routine of taking my daily walk around the lake that is located just across the road from my town home.

It was glorious to be back in the first. fresh air and enjoying the simple things, like watching the eagles search the lake for a meal. The cormorants perched in the trees overlooking the water, and the usual collection of squirrels, rabbits, and turtles going about their daily routines. There were even a few deer and a lone coyote spotted one morning, which only added to the enjoyment. On one particular day, one of those near-perfect blue sky and cloudless, mornings, I was taking my usual three and a half mile stroll around the top leg of the lake. About halfway through my journey, I sensed someone approaching me from behind.

You know the sensation. You can't see them. You can't hear them, but you just feel the presence of another person. In anticipation of soon being passed, I moved toward the right edge of the path, giving whoever was nearing clear birth. Within the next few seconds, I caught a shadow out of the corner of my eye on my left. I turned slightly to get a full view of who was approaching, but when I did, I saw no one, just my own shadow. Puzzled, I did a complete 360 to determine where my fellow stroller had gone. I saw no one, nothing. After a few moments, I resumed my walk.

and returned home. A strange experience, indeed, but nothing that couldn't be explained by a trick of the light or simple imagination. That same night, the dreams began. Every night for the next week I dreamt, and it was always the same. I am lying in my own bed asleep. I open my eyes and see a dark figure standing over me. That much I know, but he is not completely there, almost translucent in his makeup.

He is wearing what looks like a blue denim workshirt, and I can clearly make out the name Jonathan embroidered on the pocket. After a few moments, he speaks in a voice that seems to come from far away. Who he is, and what exactly I have of his. every dream his answer is always the same. That's neither here nor there. It's then that I awake, usually drenched in sweat and breathing hard and heavy. But of course, there's no one in my room.

No Jonathan. Weeks went by, the pattern kept repeating. Walking in the sunshine, sensing someone approaching who never quite arrives, just the hint of a shadow glimpsed out of the corner of one eye, and then the dreams at night, increasingly troubling in themselves. I began to search the internet thinking that maybe the trauma of the heart attack could be the reason for these strange imaginings. Could they be the product of some rare side effect from one of the medications I was on? Too much caffeine, not enough caffeine? or maybe just an overactive imagination brought on by listening to those goddamn spooky podcasts at night before bed.

In any case, my research came up empty. Nada, zilch. I thought of calling the doctor, but then what would I say? I think I'm being followed by someone who's not there, but really might be. I'm having some strange dreams involving some guy named, to Jonathan. The doctor may just want to send me to another doctor who specializes in people who see and hear things that aren't really there. I wanted no part of that. If I was crazy, I preferred to keep that fact to myself. In the third week of my, we'll call it a, malady,

I was out once again enjoying my daily walk around the lake. The sun was shining. The sun was shining. The sky was blue and all seemed right with the world. At least as right as it could be, if right included hallucinations and nightly dreams, I'd even gotten sort of used to catching that shadow out of the corner of my eye. On this day, however, the weird got weirder. Again, as I felt the presence of another following me, I turned around and saw only what I thought. thought was my shadow. But my shadow seemed to have grown to include a cone-shaped extension on the top of my head. It would remind you of one of those old dunce caps you saw in cartoons and movies.

You know, poor Billy or Bobby sitting in the corner facing the wall with a coned hat, dunce written on the brim. The cone flame grew and shrank. again and again. It was mesmerizing. It was horrifying. I spun around looking for something to explain what I was seeing. Nothing. I turned and walked as fast as I could toward home. When I did get home, the first thing I did was head into the bathroom and look in the mirror. What I saw in the mirror was simply my own reflection, just me. I might have looked a bit worse for wear, and if I was not mistaken, not as bright and sharp as usual. My image in that mirror appeared to be just a little bit paler, thinner, less there. I chalked it up to stress and an overactive imagination once again.

From that day forward I decided to walk early in the day before the sun had risen or on days that were cloudy and dark. And for a while, that seemed to make life a bit, shall we say, less challenging. I saw no shadows. I saw no cone of darkness atop my head. I still did get the sensation of being followed, though. I also felt like I was dread. dragging an extended weight behind me as I walked, no more like trudged around the dark and silent lake path.

It was very much like having someone lightly tugging on a rope tethered your waist as you tried to make headway. There was no getting away from the Jonathan dreams either as they persisted on a nightly basis. He was there, night after night, always letting me know that I was. I had something of his that he desperately needed returned to him, and he always answered my questions with a dismissive neither here nor there. It was as exhausting as it was troubling. I gave up trying to get up early to beat the sun.

I got tired of waiting for overcast days to get my morning exercise. I was frustrated, and to be quite honest, more than a little, pissed off. Jonathan, even though he was merely a dream presence, had become a giant pain in the ass. I'd had enough. So, the next morning, after another fitful dream-filled night, I got up, had a cup of coffee and headed out the door. It was sunny and glorious, and I hated it. I hated it. I knew exactly what I was in for as I headed around the paved pathway that wound around the lake. I wasn't disappointed as I soon felt the presence of another. I glimpsed my shadow with the extended dunce cap of darkness atop my head,

but this time I held my ground and stared at the shadow. I stood stock still for what seemed like an hour. I just stared at it and tried to make some kind of sense to what I was seen. All the while the cone of darkness flicked atop my head's shadow. It was then I felt a hand on my shoulder that startled me out of my trance. I turned slowly to see a man who seemed to be only half there, a translucent phantom who wore a blue work shirt with the name, Jonathan emblazoned on the front of the pocket.

His face was difficult to make out, but I was certain that where his eyes should have been, there were only black holes. I stood with my mouth agape, staring at the apparition before me. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the man spoke. You have something of mine, and I'm going to need it back. In the next moment, the Jonathan image reached out one of his pale only half their hands and grabbed me. As he did this, he spoke in a whisper, grab my shirt. His hand seemed to go through my clothes and into my body. He then began to pull his hand back out, and it felt like my skin was being suction off my entire frame.

The more he pulled, the more it hurt, and the more it hurt, the closer I was pulled toward him. Just when I thought I couldn't stand it anymore, being pulled, being skinned alive, something let go. I was propelled backward, like somebody suddenly letting a rubber band spring back after being stretched to the max. Then everything went dark. When I came to, I was sitting on my ass and staring up at where the ghost was only moments before. There was nothing there. I tried to get to my feet with not an insignificant amount of effort. My ass hurt from falling to the hard ground and my skin felt like I had fallen asleep in a bed of poison ivy.

But I did manage to stay. upright and although my backside still ached even as my skin began to feel slightly less on fire, I slowly started on my way home all the way trying to remember the sequence of events from my interaction with the specter of Jonathan. By the time I arrived home, it was all I could do to trudge upstairs and collapse into my bed. I felt like I had run a marathon. Everything ached. from head to toe, and a weariness engulfed me like I had never experienced before. In spite of it all, I fell asleep, fully clothed, and shod on the bed, with the late morning sun still shining through the bedroom window.

When I awoke, the world had gone dark again. I looked at the alarm clock on the bedstand, and it read 10.36 p.m. I had slept through the entire afternoon and evening without stirring even once. I immediately noticed that the aches and pains from my early day encounter with Jonathan were now joined by what felt like the onset of a case of the flu. My head was light and a wave of nausea swept over me as I sat up on the edge of the bed. When I attempted to stand up, a lightning bolt of bright pain hit me. and it felt like someone had used my lower back for batting practice,

stuck in a half-orect position looking like a man whose chair had been pulled out from under him. A stream of obscenities poured out of my mouth in such rapid succession that if anyone could have heard would have thought that I was speaking in tongues. When I was finally able to stand and stagger into the bathroom, I switched on the overhead light and stood before the mirror. The image that was staring back at me appeared to be half hidden behind a sheet of cotton gauze. As I looked around the bathroom at every other object, the bar of soap, the washcloth, the toothpaste tube, all looked as they should. Those items indeed all looked solidly there, for lack of a better.

term. In contrast, my image in the mirror seemed to be less than there. I could make no sense of what I had seen in the bathroom mirror, just as I could not quite come to grips with what appeared to be happening to me in the weeks since leaving the hospital. The feelings of paranoia, the strange shadows, the dreams. I felt nothing was making sense. any longer. Who or what was Jonathan? What did he want? Was he real or imagined? And where had he come from? I lay back down on the bed as another wave of nausea and weariness overtook me. I slept dreamless until the next morning. Upon waking, I did indeed feel better. The nausea was gone and I, in fact felt rested and to a certain degree pain-free. It felt as though some long-term fever had broken

during the night, and most of my energy had returned after weeks of floating in uncertainty. I strode into the bathroom, feeling refreshed. I took a hot shower, had some coffee, and headed out the door, ready to enjoy some fresh air and sunshine. I saw an eagle. I saw an eagle. soaring over the lake and watched as the squirrels busied themselves gathering acorns for the winter. An extremely large flock of geese had made a stopover on their way south, and they were making a hell of a racket as they sunned themselves on the banks of the easternmost reach of the water. It was a picture-perfect autumn morning, and for the first time in weeks, I was enjoying myself totally. About halfway around,

the top side of the lake, I began to feel slightly light-headed, so I took a minute to rest beside the path. I looked around and couldn't help it feel that as nice as this day was, something wasn't quite right. No, I didn't feel like I was being followed, and I didn't see any strange, ghost-like figure beside me either. I didn't even see any strangely shaped shadow as I looked down on the ground beside me, but I just couldn't put my finger on exactly what had me suddenly spooked. The shadow. That was it. There was no shadow. I mean no shadow. I wasn't casting a shadow on the ground. On this beautiful sun-drenched day, standing with my back toward the early morning sun, I should have been seen an elongated shadow version of myself ahead of me, but there was nothing. I bent down and put

my hand close to the path, and I could still not conjure up a shadow, not even a hint of shade beneath my palm. It was like I wasn't there at all. At that moment, the truth of the last weeks became crystalline in my mind. I suddenly understood Jonathan, the shadows, the feeling of being followed. I got it all. And it was terrifying. It's been a week now since that sunny morning when reality collided with the unreal. I get up every morning and every morning and every morning, the first thing I do is look in the bathroom mirror to see if I'm, well, still there. Because you see, every day the image in the glass staring back at me is a bit less vibrant. I've come to accept that what I am seeing is, in fact, real.

I still take my morning track around the lake, but I don't enjoy it. it like I once did. I miss my shadow. I feel like less than I was before this all happened. I sometimes feel that I am gliding along the path, my feet not touching the ground. I'm reminded of that old Joni Mitchell song with the lyrics, You Don't Know What You've Got Till it's gone. Indeed, I know that feeling. I've come to understand that a person's shadow is more than just a shadow. I wouldn't go so far as calling it your soul, but it's more than just a chunk of shade cast upon the ground by your physical mass

in combination with the sunshine. And when it's gone, you feel the loss on a level you can't imagine. I've since discovered that there was a living, breathing, Jonathan Hendricks in the hospital around the same time I was. Researching back issues of the local newspaper online, I discovered that Hendricks had been involved in an industrial accident and was brought into the emergency room unconscious. He remained in a coma for a week. On the same day I was released from the hospital, Jonathan Hendricks had apparently awakened from his slumber and walked out a side door undetected. A security guard later reported seeing a man dressed in jeans and a denim work shirt walking across the hospital parking lot. Everybody assumes now that it must have been, Jonathan, but since that last sighting, he remains missing.

He hasn't attempted to contact family or co-workers in the weeks following his escape. He seems to have vanished without a trace. Me? Well, you'll have to excuse me now, as I have things to attend to. Numero Uno on my agenda is tracking down one Jonathan W. Hendrix, formerly of Mawston Creek, Minnesota. At this point, I have no idea how long or how far my search will take me. All I can tell you is that it is with some urgency that I find him.

You see, Jonathan has something of mine that I need returned to me. It's something that I fear I can't live without for, much longer. What I am certain of is that life is not much of a life at all when you are neither here nor there. We offer some stories where the horror is based in the supernatural. We do others where the horror is found in people terrifying other people. But in this tale from author Raphael Marmoul, we encounter perhaps the most horrifying man-made horror known to humankind, the imminent threat of nuclear annihilation. Performing this tale are Jesse Cornett, Addison Peacock, Nicole Doolin, Alexis Bristow,

Jeff Clement, and Atticus Jackson. Let's hope our nightmares are confined to the supernatural world. Anything would be better than what was experienced, during the nuclear incident on Bumblebee Lane. The sirens started blaring in around 2.30 a.m. It was high-pitched and piercing not like a firearm going off inside of a building. Denise cursed whoever decided the test of the emergency weather system was a wise decision so early in the morning. I agreed still shaking off the groginess asleep and went to look out the window to see what the commotion was all about.

Everything appeared normal. The branches and leaves at the trees in front of our house were still. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky either. The crescent moon hung in the sky accompanied by some scattered stars. The neighborhood was as tranquil as always for this time of night. The only stir of activity was the lights of the other homes coming on as more people awoke up. Denise spoke from underneath the covers. Everything okay out there?

Yeah, that seems fine. Then why the fuck are they still blasting that gun? God damn siren. Denise turned over and punched her pillow. It was a good question. Our neck of the pine lands wasn't known for extreme weather, aside from wildfires. Two years ago, 1,500 acres had been lost in a massive forest fire. The smoke swirled across three counties and the smell of the burning trees reached all the way to northern New Jersey.

Supposed, even in New York City, too. We'd been forced to evacuate as we were directly in this path. However, they contained it before it reached our neighborhood. I dismissed the idea right away. There was nothing left to burn near us, and we would have smelled the smoke as soon as we woke up. The Nets thought was the tornado, but those are rare. They barely even register as worrisome. They're nothing like the monstrous tornadoes out in the Midwest,

ripping up houses from their foundation and killing hundreds of people. No idea. It'll probably stop soon. I crawled back in the bed. Denise groaned and rolled back over to her side of the bed. A minute or two later, the sirens stopped. Thank God. Denise muttered and turned over.

I followed her lead and adjusted myself too. It was then our cell phones began to screech with the sound of an emergency alert. She tossed the blanket off and reached out to her cell phone on her dresser. What now? It says to get to the nearest television radio, or computer with internet connection or to wait for further text messages for instruction. A chill came over me as Denise read the message aloud. The thought of another wildfire came to mind.

Was the rest of the forest on fire now too? I turned over to my dresser and grabbed the television remote. The dormant television came to life and flooded the room in a dim light. We both turned away for a moment to allow our eyes to adjust to the brightness. A man's calm voice spoke through the television speaker. We caught him at the end of his sentence. Instructions will follow. This is the emergency action notification system.

Please stand by for directions. This is not a test. This is a national emergency. Please remain calm. Instructions will follow. My heart skipped the beat as it jumped into my throat and then sank back into my stomach like an out of my heart. a control elevator.

The voice repeated the same message over and over again, along with the stupid beep at the head. The message scrolled across the bottom of the screen, too, in white letters over a black bar. The sirens began wailing again in the distance, and the emergency buzzing on the cell phone started again. Mine could be heard downstairs since I hadn't shut off the ringer. Denise shouted over the chorus of emergency. My parents!

Shit! I felt stupid for not thinking about them sooner. Denise's mother was confined to a wheelchair. Her father could narrowly manage them on normal days, let alone during a national emergency. She rolled across the bed and grabbed a cell phone. She silenced the infernal emergency buzz and dialed her parents' house. Call couldn't be completed.

She called again and got the same message. The network is probably overloaded with calls. Try yours. I scrambled out of bed and ran downstairs. My phone shrieked alone on the kitchen counter. I tried dialing her parents. Same result. I dialed my parents' number instead and got the same automated message.

Everyone was understandably trying to reach their loved ones. I could do nothing else but send a text message to them, hoping it goes through at some point. Running into our office, I tried going online and met a similar result. The internet connection slowed to an agonizing crawl. Websites wouldn't load. Error messages displayed after the sites took minutes to load. It was useless.

My last resort was the old boombox radio in the garage. I tried turning it on forgetting the batteries and it had died decades ago. Bringing it inside the kitchen, I plugged it into the wall and it crackled to life with static. Moving the dial from station to station, each of them repeated the same. message that television had been playing. We had no other choice but the wait for the broadcast that changed. After a few more minutes at turning the dials, I turned it off and went into the bedroom. Denise was dressed in jeans, a Philly's T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers. She'd laid out some clothes for me on the bed and was finishing out packing a bag for us. Denise yelled out to me while

running into the bathroom and returning with our toothbrushes. We need to get to my parents that They're probably freaking out. Why don't we wait to find out what's happening before we start moving? I was hoping to calm or frantic pace. I don't care what's happening. We need to get there. The sirens stopped. After getting accustomed to their constant blaring, the silence felt eerie.

The television flickered. Writing scrolled across the screen and an electronic voice began to read aloud again. Please stand by for an address by the President of the United States followed by predated information from your local authorities. This is not a test. This is a real emergency. Please remain calm. Remain in your homes. Non-emergency personnel will be detained if found in the streets.

Do not use cellular phones or landlines as emergency. Responders may not be able to communicate vital information. The president of the United States will address the nation in ten minutes. Please stand by. The voice repeated as a countdown on the sign of the screen ticked down to zero. Denise stood frozen in place with tears in her eyes and a fingernail at the edge of her mouth. She watched the television with a thousand yards stare and shremble. Taking the toothbrushes from her hands and placing them into the back,

I wrapped my arms around my wife. squeezed. It brought her back to reality as she embraced me in return. She let out a sob and then a pained groan of agony. Honey, let's go to there. Fuck what the television says. If anyone has a problem, we'll tell them we're heading near parents. They need help from able-bodied people. They'll probably escort us to them. Denise gathered herself and kissed me before disappearing back into the closet. Not wanting to waste any time, I slid across the bed and unlocked our safe. Gathering our important documents like our birth certificates, titles, and insurance forms was secondary to the handgun and ammo inside. Whatever was happening, I wasn't about to leave the house unarmed.

Placing on documents and the handgun into the bag, I went into the kitchen and gathered up food and water into a shopping bag. Once it was full, I grabbed my khakis and loaded the bag into the backseat of my Lancer. Denise shouted out the bedroom window for me to come back inside. Dashing back inside, I made a middle note to get more food and water from the basement refrigerator in a pantry. I charged upstairs to find the countdown clock was ticking down the final ten seconds. We watched together like it was a New Year's Eve countdown except when it reached zero, there would be no kissing or celebrating. Only grave news waited.

As the graphic ticked to zero, my heart was pounding. I let out my breath not realizing I'd been holding it. The broadcast flickered on and off again, and the voice spoke over the airwaves. It was the voice of a woman who seemed to be trying her best to maintain her composure. A few sobs escaped her as she read. Residents of Monroe County, Salem County, and Crystal County, we are experiencing a national emergency. This is not a test. This is a real emergency.

Please remain calm. Do not leave your homes. All vehicles and people found outside will be shot on site. Please do not use telephone or cellular services at this time. Heavy volume will prevent emergency responders from helping those in need. Please relocate to the most interior room of your home. Stay away from windows and heavy objects. If you have a basement, please relocate the...

and await further instructions. Prepare yourself with as much food, water, and medication as you can gather in a limited time. We do not know how long the situation will last. Please stand by for an emergency press conference from the President of the United States. The woman stopped reading, and the sound of her heavy breathing could be heard. Unintelligible voices spoke to each other in the background. The tone in the voices sounded authoritative, but like how police officers or drill instructors speak. Stephen, Nicole.

A scuffle broke out over the air. A sickening thud crackled over the speakers as the woman's cry rang out. The struggle escalated as the woman screamed. There was a click and a gunshot followed. The woman's scream was cut short. Thumbs and crackling static followed as if someone was touching the microphone. The feet. Cut moments later.

We sat dumbfounded staring at the screen. I hadn't realized how hard I'd been holding Denise's hand. My fingers cracked as I released her hand. The rest of Denise followed. She put her arms around me and cried onto my shoulder. There was absolutely nothing we could do for her parents. They were on their own. I wasn't in much better shape either.

I simply couldn't believe soldiers of the U.S. United States Armed Forces would have the tenacity to execute a citizen on live television. Even if the woman was doing something she wasn't supposed to be doing, there was no reason for it. My anger at the situation was dwarfed by how confused and helpless I felt. But most of all, I was scared about what was happening. Despite the repeated warnings, we still didn't understand the gravity of the situation. Even as the woman was executed, we still had no idea. What was happening?

Denise released me from her grasp and went to the window, facing the neighborhood. Two cars raced down the street heading toward the main road out the neighborhood. The rest of the neighborhood was scrambling back and forth, packing vehicles as I'd been doing earlier. Perhaps they had the right idea in trying to leave. I grabbed the bag she had packed earlier. Let's get the stuff from the basement and pack up the car. You heard what they said? Your parents need us.

Even if we run into anyone. Maybe they won't shoot on sight. They're not all animals like the people on the television. She considered this suggestion before nodding and heading out the bedroom door. I grabbed the bag of close and headed downstairs again. Denise had packed two more shopping bags full of food. I took the other bags and placed them outside in the car again before heading inside once more. Staying proactive helped us snap out of the paralyzing fear gripping us.

The television blared the emergency broadcast alarm as we went up and down the stairs, bringing down some last-minute items we thought about. We shut the curtains, turned off the lights, and made sure our windows were locked before finishing up downstairs. Denise was unloading the basement refrigerator while I went over to the couch and turned on the television. The emergency broadcast alarm still blared its terrifying alarm. I flicked through the channels hoping a news network or a local station was broadcasting more information. There was no such luck. All the channels had been hijacked by the emergency system.

Denise removed the last bottle of water from inside the fridge and shut the door. Monroe, Salem, and Crystal County. That's weird, isn't it? Maybe we're getting our signal from somewhere else. They said it was local. Local for someone else, maybe. I was unsure of anything anymore. Where the signal originated was the least of my worries. The emergency broadcast system stopped, leaving the buzzing sound still lingering in my ear.

ear like tinnitus. A live broadcast of a press conference came on. A podium with the presidential seal stood empty at the center of the screen. Denise spoke before I could. The president isn't at the White House. A suited man approached the podium. He was a ghostly shade of white. I didn't recognize him, but then again, I was never interested in politics. I could tell her the president and the vice president were, otherwise, every suited, fake smiling politician looked the same to me. The man was sweating bullets. He looked uncomfortable as he set himself up at the podium. He cleared his throat and placed his attention on the camera.

Seeming more at ease, he locked his eyes on it as if he found comfort in the camera's sight. His eyes were pale blue and cut straight into your soul. A sullen look overtook his face as he spoke. Times has been realized on this day, which shall never be forgotten in human history. Nuclear armaments have been launched against territories of the United States and are currently on route to major population centers across the nation. Our military intelligence has confirmed the missiles originated from the unified kingdom of England and its colonies.

Rest assured, this blatant and cowardly act against these United States shall not go unpunished. Our forces stationed across the world are retaliating tenfold against our enemies across all their colonies in Europe and Africa. Military intelligence predicts the nuclear weapons will detonate in our greatest population centers, making for certain that many lives will be lost today. For the moment, we must prepare ourselves for the coming future. The Vice President, Congress, and the Supreme Court have been relocated to underground bunkers for their protection. Rest assured, after this crisis passes,

there will still be a government running these United States and rebuilding a new future for this state. nation. All citizens are encouraged to take the appropriate actions to survive this attack. Your local authorities should be providing instructions after my announcement has concluded. If possible, try to have a battery-operated radio so you can be up to date with the information as it is given. Do not leave your shelters until the all-clear signal has been given. Follow the instructions given by emergency management personnel. Stay calm.

Assist your fellow man throughout this crisis. Do not lose hope. While this attack may cripple us, this does not mean we have been defeated. We will survive. We will endure. We will retaliate. And we will emerge victorious. God help us all

and God bless these United States The man stepped away from the podium closed his eyes and put together his hands He dropped to a knee and prayed aloud Reciting Our Father And crossed himself when he finished The president took a deep breath Before giving one last glance at the camera

Those pale blue eyes were filled with guilt sadness and loss. The camera paned back and revealed the blast door a few yards behind the podium. A secret service agent struggled to pull open the dense steel door. After the suited man stepped through, the secret service agent took one last glance behind him and signaled someone behind the camera's view. A woman stepped up to the podium where the suited man had been speaking. President Albin has finished addressing the nation on the nuclear crisis.

We hope and pray for the survival of our people and our country. We hope the planet can bear the weight of the mistakes humanity has made today. In a moment, we will be signing off. Once we have restored the feeds, we will be bringing you live coverage from the president's bunker. This is Dana Kwai. Good luck out there. May God have mercy on us. The cameraman stepped into view and met Dana Kwai at the podium. They looked at the camera with tears streaming down their faces. I'm sorry.

The cameraman muttered and put his head down. He seemed ashamed of himself. Dana took him by the hand and led him to the steel door. The guilt was written all over his face. As the newscaster and the cameraman entered the bunker, the Secret Service agent put a finger to his ear and nodded. The Secret Service agent was the last person to step through the blast door. With one last gaze, the agent gave a thumbs up and disappeared behind the metal door as it closed.

Mechanical machinery resounded through the television as the bunker locked down. The television station went back to the emergency broadcast. Who the hell is President Alba? I asked, knowing Denise wouldn't know the answer. Denise shook her head and wiped the tears from her face. I turned off the television plunging us back into science. The Campbell Box displayed 255 a.m. And we were on the couch in each other's arms when we felt the earth rumbled.

There was a war above us drowning out the muffled sirens. The quake knocked the television to the floor. Without hesitation, I yelled for Denise to help me drag the mattress from the extra bedroom in our basement into the bathroom. We picked up the queen-sized mattress and started it into the bathroom. It wasn't easy with the ground shaking beneath us. Denise nearly dropped the mattress, but it regained her step as we navigated into the bathtub. Get inside and lay flat! Denise did, as I said, and helped me place the mattress over the bathtub.

Denise was shouting as the rumbling intensified and the ground shook itself apart. I sprint into the fridge and grabbed two of the bags without looking. Pieces of the ceiling began to fall. The house above us grumbled and creaked, releasing. plumes of dust and dirt into the air. My knees buckled and I fell to the floor just before the bathroom door. I crawled the rest of the way to the bathroom, dragging the bags on the floor behind me. Denise lifted the mattress allowing me to roll into the bathtub and squeeze in next to her.

She dropped the mattress and we fell into darkness, huddled together as closely as possible. The roar was muffled underneath the mattress. We could feel the earth violently shaking beneath us. It felt like a train was running overhead. The sound of window shattering, items crashing to the ground. The house itself groaning was followed by a deafening boom as the house caved in. The mattress sank down with the weight of the debris which had fallen on. Denise and I held each other tight.

We whispered how much we loved each other. We kissed, hugged, and cried while the chaos happening on the other side of the mattress came to a crescendo. After what felt like hours, the ground stopped shaking and the world seemed to quiet down. The roar was gone. The sirens stopped blaring, and the only sound we heard was our own breathing. I knew she wouldn't have any idea. I don't know. I tried to push the mattress off the tub and found it wouldn't budge.

Denise joined me in pushing with hands and feet as well, but the debris was too heavy. Our safe haven had now become our tomb. With no success, we laid in the tub in silence, contemplating a plan. Holy crap, it's hot in here. I would have assumed there was our body heat getting trapped underneath the mattress. It wasn't the case. The heat was rising to an almost intolerable level. Before long, both of us were gasping for air, unable to get a full breath in us.

Before I realized it, Denise had passed out. I followed seconds later. Denise's light breathing was the only sound in the darkness. My hands tingled with pain, asleep from their uncomfortable positioning under my side. I had a tough time adjusting my position and moving my arms from beneath me without disturbing Denise's sleep. On body heat was the only bothersome aspect of the temperature now. The overbearing heat from earlier was gone. As I shifted my weight, I elbowed Denise.

She let out a startled gasp and adjusted herself in the tub like we were sleeping in our own bed like normal. What do we do now? Until someone finds us in the rubble. I tried to push the mattress off once again, and we met with the same weight trapping us from earlier. I don't know if I want anyone to find us, to be honest. I couldn't understand that. logic. Why would you say that? You want to be trapped in here? Of course not. It's just that once we are free, I don't know what else to expect. Nothing about what happened earlier was right.

None of it made sense. President Albin, who the fuck is that? The unified kingdoms of England? African and European colonies? They've been an ally to the United States for hundreds of years now. Monroe is a town, not a county in New Jersey. Crystal County doesn't exist in New Jersey Salem is a county which is actually okay but those other ones certainly were wrong Yeah that was weird I didn't think about it too much at the time

All things considered I mean imagine us getting rescued from the rubble And then being questioned about something as simple as the address to our house And then not giving them the correct answer It would seem very suspicious to anyone They might think we're looters or we did something to the people that live here I'm not sure which is preferable A bullet to the head or a slow and painful death in the tub.

I was only half joking. As long as way to get it, baby. I'm happy. She gave me a kiss. I didn't say it, but the thought of being trapped under a mattress with her terrified me. I don't know if she thought about the consequences of dying together in this tub. One of us was going to have to bite the dust first. And the other would be left in tight quarters with the other's corpse.

We spent the rest of our waking moments, scuffling around, attempting to stay comfortable, and making plans on what to do after we were rescued. Denise wanted to visit the Caribbean Islands, if they were still viable places to visit. Nuclear fallout or post-apocalyptic societal collapse might make vacationing there difficult. It seems strange to be discussing places in terms of existing or not. Not only were we afraid of these places being craters, but... Who knew if these places existed in the forms we knew? Denise got hungry, and we both enjoyed the cookies and crackers she'd packed away in the bags.

And we had a gulp of two of water from our bottles, rationing our supply without even discussing it. Luckily, we didn't have to wait too long. Denise and I were both asleep when we heard the muffled voices above us. I didn't need to look her in the face to know she was staring at me wide-eyed with a huge smile across her. face. We both shook the mattress and shouted as loud as we could to get the attention of the people above us. Then were crashes and deafening machinery drowning out our voices as we continued to make the mattress move and show signs of life. It felt like we kicked and pushed for hours until a voice called out saying they saw our mattress moving. Denise whooped and cheered at our luck.

A moment later, the bathtub around us was rumbling and the machinery was right above us. The springs inside the mattress popped and it sank in the middle, almost crushing the both of us. And then we were bathed in blinding light. Denise and I covered our sensitive eyes from the glare. Are you guys okay? Are either of you injured? Denise smile and sat up. We're fine. Thank God.

The rescue worker helped pull the rest of the mattress off us. The man with a gruff voice jumped out of the excavator and came running. over with a med kitten hand, although we didn't need it. Stretching our legs and standing felt incredible. My house was in shambles all around me. Denise gasped and pointed across the street to all the houses, still standing untouched. Who's the president of the United States? Denise asked the rescue worker who stared at her as if she was insane.

Barack Obama, miss. Are you sure you're okay? Denise and I smiled at each other knowing things were back to normal. The man with the medical kit came over to us and did a quick examination. Denise and I were okay except for the sore muscles. That was nothing compared to what our fate could have been. Our neighbors were out on the street watching us with big, bright smiles. They began walking over into our disaster area, ignoring the yellow caution tape ceiling off the property.

What happened? I asked both of the men hoping they could provide some answers to our warped situation. The man in the excavator shrugged, and the rescue worker replied. I was hoping you could shed some light on that, sir. A few hours ago, folks from the neighborhood called emergency services and reported hearing a massive explosion coming from your house. They said the house was completely leveled. When the police, fire department, and ambulances arrived,

there was absolutely nothing left standing of your house. We saw there was a car buried in the garage and a car in the driveway and assumed you were still inside the house when it happened. We've been working around the clock to clear out the rubble, and here we are now. We were hoping that you could tell us what happened. We were in the basement, and suddenly the ground began to shake beneath us like it was the end of the world. Denise then gave me a look, indicating she didn't know where to go. from there.

The house was groaning and shaking so hard that I didn't think we'd have time to escape, so I grabbed the mattress and tossed it over us. Luckily, Denise was able to grab a couple of bottles of water in a box of crackers before we hit away. I finished the story hoping they wouldn't pursue it any further. Both men shook their heads in agreement. Yeah, yeah, the neighbors reported feeling the ground trembling before your house crumbled on top of you. You guys are really lucky. Just as he finished his sentence, a few of the neighbors reached us and we were swept up in the commotion.

There were lots of well-wishes and people asking us if we were okay. After a half an hour, Denise and I excused ourselves telling everyone we needed to head over to Denise's parents' house since we didn't have a place to stay. We thanked everyone and the emergency worker gave us a lift. The rest of the day passed in the blur. Denise's parents welcomed us into their home and gave us a guest room for the night. We didn't have a chance to discuss everything, which had happened, until we were in bed. Despite our exhaustion, our conversation energized us well into the morning. We vowed never to tell anyone what happened, for fear of them thinking we were crazy.

Denise and I rarely ever speak about it anymore. I think she wants to forget it happened, and I don't. own blamer. It was a traumatic experience in thinking about it only leads to questions we'll never have answers to. Personally, I think the nuclear blast may have caused some sort of distortion in the time and space continuum, bringing us into a parallel dimension. I've been reading up on theories of multiple dimensions, string theory, and parallel worlds, trying to figure out how it all happened. The specifics don't make much sense to me at all yet. I feel at peace with it. I'll never truly know what happened, and I've come to terms with the experience. I'll never know if I'll experience it again,

and I hope that God I don't. 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 past 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.

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