The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S8E08

Episode Date: November 27, 2016

It's episode 08 of Season 8. On this week's show we have six tales about the woods, weirdos, and warnings."Radio" written by Kerry H. and performed by David Cummings. (Story starts around 00:03:30)"There’s Something in Forest Glen National Park"† written by J.J. Cheesman and performed by Jeff Clement & David Cummings. (Story starts around 00:10:30)"The Little People"† written by S.H. Cooper and performed by Jesse Cornett & David Ault & Erika Sanderson & Alexis Bristowe. (Story starts around 00:28:40)"Mr. Thompson"† written by Felix Blackwell and performed by Matthew Bradford & Jessica McEvoy & Atticus Jackson. (Story starts around 00:49:10)"A Hunt in Pennsylvania"‡ written by Benjamin Robb and performed by Peter Lewis & Nichole Goodnight & Jeff Clement. (Story starts around 01:10:20)"Obsidian"† written by Leo Harrison and performed by Mike DelGaudio & Addison Peacock & Nikolle Doolin & Matthew Bradford & Jeff Clement & Peter Lewis & Atticus Jackson. (Story starts around 01:39:55)Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast Click here to learn more about the Sleepless Live 2017 Tour Click here for the NoSleep Podcast Facebook page Click here for the NoSleep Podcast Twitter page Click here to learn more about Kerry H. Click here to learn more about S.H. Cooper Click here to learn more about Felix Blackwell Click here to learn more about Benjamin Robb Executive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon BooneAudio adaptations produced by: Phil Michalski† & Jeff Clement‡ & David Cummings"Radio" illustration courtesy of Charlie CodyAudio 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. I'm David Cummings. Thanks for joining us. On this week's show, we have six tales about the woods, weirdos, and warnings. As we come to the end of the U.S. Thanksgiving holiday weekend, we hope all of you enjoyed the food, fun, and festivities of the celebrations.

We're thankful for all of you who continue to join us each week for our sleepless tales. We're also thankful for the many of you who took advantage of our Black Friday sale at the No Sleep Store. It was a last-minute decision to have the sale, so the only way I could get the word out was via social media, And that made me realize it's time to remind all of our listeners that we have both a Facebook and Twitter page. They're great ways to keep in touch with what's going on with the show. For example, recently we had some technical issues, so I used social media to let people know what was going on. It's easy to find us at either Facebook.com slash no sleep podcast or Twitter.com slash no sleep podcast. And speaking of keeping our fans up to date on things, I wanted to answer a common question

we've been getting recently about our upcoming tour. It's flattering that so many of you want to attend one of our live shows, but for this first tour, we have such limited time that travel arrangements and venues were hard to coordinate. A bunch of no-sleep players traveling through the U.S. in a van doesn't make it very easy to hit every city or even state. For those of you in, say, Atlanta or in the southeast part of the states, we send our regrets, but we'll have to miss you on this tour. But if and when we hit the road again, you can be sure we'll visit Georgia and Florida

to soak up some of your southern hospitality. And so since most of you are filled with turkey and finding yourself ready to doze off on the couch or bed, I must confess I envy your sleepy dozing. I'm jealous of you because I don't sleep. It's not because of the podcast or being surrounded by horror stories all day or filling my veins with caffeine. It's simply because I don't sleep. That's almost not an exaggeration. I average around two hours a night on a good night.

That's two hours of deep sleep, REM sleep. The kind that your body uses to fix itself. It's been getting worse for a while, but it'll go away eventually. It always has before. I just have to ride it out, keep my strings from unraveling until I can get myself glued back together. They say it's better for you to lie in bed the hours that you'd be asleep and just pretend to sleep because it helps get the body's natural circadian rhythm back. So every night I lie in bed for eight hours, and I spend six six hours. them watching the man on top of the radio tower.

You see, there's a window above my bed, and when I'm sleeping in it, I have to sit up to see out of it. I like to be aware of my surroundings, so I installed a mirror on the opposite wall to allow me to see out of it. I have blackout curtains to ensure that my sleep is as genuine as possible, but some nights I like to leave them open. so I can watch the sky. Down the road from me is a radio tower. It's the largest thing on the horizon, and at the top is a little maintenance balcony. The tower is close enough for me to see this balcony clearly.

On this particular night, the blinds were cracked so that I could watch a storm approaching in the mirror, safe in bed. Heat lightning started to strobe across the sky, and it illuminated something, moving on top of the radio tower. I sat up in bed and looked out the window. On the top of the tower, on the little balcony, I could see the very small shape of a man waving something. He was moving his arms in strange rhythmic jerking patterns facing towards the storm. I had never seen anyone on the tower before, and I couldn't think of a single reason that the man would have to be

there at midnight while a storm was approaching. I called the police and they sent someone out, but at some point before they got there, the man left. I don't know how I missed him. He didn't come back the next night or for weeks afterward. I thought about him a lot, though, and I kept watch every night for him. Something about it bothered me deeply, and I thought of his strange jerking arms, the things he'd been holding. I wasn't sleeping anyway, so I invested in a pair of binoculars, and I kept a vigil for him every single night. Now I didn't see him come up the tower, but he was there as soon as it got dark. I had already gotten my two hours of sleep, and now I was awake and ready. I grabbed the binoculars and brought him into focus. He was

an older white man in a casual jacket. He reminded me of every single cubicle worker I'd ever seen. Nothing about him was remarkable except the cloth he was waving, which was an almost stunningly bright white. He stared vacantly out at the skyline and moved his arms in those odd, sharp movements. His mouth hung open, and even from here I could see he hadn't shaved in some time. He blinked occasionally, but most of the time he just stared, mouth open, looking at nothing. And even though I was watching him the whole time, I didn't see him leave. He went away again for almost two years. The insomnia faded, and I slept very soundly without the mirror, which I had thrown out not long after the last sighting. I wasn't afraid of seeing him again.

I threw it out because I couldn't stop myself from waiting for him. I could not get the man out of my thoughts. I did research into the company that owned the tower, and I knew, with concrete certainty, that the man did not belong to anyone in the city. He was not employed with any government agency or department. So what was he doing on the radio tower? My suspicions about him began to grow.

I researched nearby airports and he didn't belong to them, or at least no one who looked like he did that night, but I felt certain that somewhere someone would know him. I found his family in a town a long distance away. The address on the missing person's report was still current. He had a wife and four children and was loving and loved deeply. He had vanished on the way to his car one morning and hadn't been seen since. The night he came back, I was reading, pretending that I was choosing to stay up, and I saw the flags, this time orange in color, out of the corner of my eye. He was back, illuminated on the radio tower by the light of the moon.

His orange flags stood out like beacons, and I grabbed my binoculars. my other hand gripping a pen. I waited until he reached the end of what I assumed was a semaphore message and started over again. He raised his arms as if to signal ten on a clock. I wrote down the letter T. He held his right arm straight out to the side and the left crossed over to hip level. I wrote it down. Left at knee level, right raised above the shoulder, five till three.

arms out at the sides hands at knee and shoulder again i wrote them all down and when he started over i read the message just four words they're coming back again oh yeah that's why i don't sleep these days and hopefully you'll now be wide awake as we settle into our stories on this week's show we've been We've all come to realize that the forest can hold many terrifying secrets. And as we hear from author J.J. Cheeseman, sometimes they have more to do with the people in them rather than the darkness surrounding the trees. I joined Jeff Clement in performing this tale in which we make one thing perfectly clear. There's something in Forest Glen National Park.

When I was in my teens, my friend Robert and I would often visit Forest Glen National Park. It's a natural forest preserve that's located just about 15 miles from my hometown. It offers camping, fishing, and most importantly for our purposes back then, many winding trails to hike on. Robert and I didn't have a whole lot to do back in the day, so Forest Glen is where we would go spend a lot of our time. Both of us enjoyed the outdoors and we would go hiking on one of the many trails nearly every day. Sometimes we'd do two or three depending on our mood. It wasn't long, of course, before we knew them all by heart and we both had our favorites. That didn't matter, though. We would still go on any of them, on any given day. Eventually, time went on and Robert and I grew up.

Robert and I are still good friends, but we hadn't been out to Forest Glen in a long time. It was recently that I'd been reminiscing about those old trails, and I decided that I wanted to wanted to go back out there and visit some of my favorite spots. So two weeks ago I called Robert and asked if you wanted to go back out there with me that weekend, and to my surprise, he was overjoyed at my proposal. He said he'd been thinking about going out there himself, but just hadn't gotten around to it. So it was decided. On Saturday morning we would head out to Forest Glen and meet up at one of Robert's favorite trails.

I made it out to Forest Glen about 10 after 6 in the morning. I drove to the preserve, I parked my car in the spot closest to the trail, but I didn't see Robert's car. There's more than one entrance into the park, so I thought that Robert hadn't arrived yet, or he was parked at one of the spots that was near one of the other entrances. I thought I might call him, but when I looked at my phone, I saw that I only had one bar and figured that it wouldn't go through. I should have known the reception would be bad out there.

Stashing my phone in the glove box, I got out and made my way to my way to the car. to the entrance of the path. I started to do some stretches in front of the entrance while I waited for Robert to arrive. After waiting for what felt like about ten minutes, I began to wonder if Robert was going to show up late. When we made plans to meet up, we agreed on 6.30 a.m. I thought about jogging back to my car and grab my phone and call him after all, but I decided to instead venture into the trail a little way and then return after a moment to see if he had

shown up. I started my walk at a brisk pace into the forest. The clear patch of the trail's entrance quickly gave way to a narrow cleared path, surrounded on both signs by a thick growth of brush and tall trees. The trails seemed a bit more overgrown than I remembered, but I supposed that was a good thing. It meant that the preserve was thriving. I did notice, however, that it was strangely quiet. That isn't to say there was no sound at all. I'm not to say there was no sound at all. I could hear the occasional cough of a bird in the rustling of trees, but the sound seemed somehow muted. It was as if the entire area had its volume button turned way down low. About three minutes into my stroll, I stopped just before a small stream. The path stretched

down a few hundred feet beyond the stream, and looked like it forked off in two different directions as far as I could tell. This is when I decided to turn back and wait for Robert at the entrance. I never knew this trail like Robert used to, and for the life of me, I couldn't remember how far it went. Before I turned to leave, I knelt down to tie my sneaker. When I finished, I stood up and had to stifle a scream. Robert was standing right in front of me, grinning like an idiot, and when he saw the

look on my face, he howled with laughter. My face went hot and I gritted my teeth. What the hell, man? He nearly gave me a freaking heart attack. Rombard had to stifle his laughter to be able to reply. Sorry, bud. I couldn't help myself. I was up farther when I decided to turn back and wait for you.

When I saw you kneel in here, I just couldn't resist. I couldn't help but smile after that. and the red-hot feeling in my face started to drain away. It's okay, but you did scare the living hell out of me. I didn't even hear you. Robert said nothing. He only smiled a wide, toothy grin. I gestured down at the part of the trail Robert came from.

I was wondering if you'd gotten here yet. You can lead. Robert nodded in reply before he turned around and bounded over the stream that divided the trail. When his feet hit the other side of the small bank, he just kept on running. Hey, wait up! He acted as if he didn't hear me and carried on deeper into the wood. I really wasn't prepared to jog yet.

I wanted to walk a little more first and stretch out my legs. However, it seemed I didn't have a choice, and I bounded after Robert, hopping over the stream and pushing myself to catch up with him. Robert was jogging at an even pace, but not a quick one. and soon I was just behind him. Can you just wait a second? Why? What are you afraid of? He turned to me with the wide, toothy grin that seemed to not have left his face.

That question caught me off guard. What did he mean by that? Nothing. Just need to stretch a little more before I pull something as all. Robert didn't stop or slow down. He just kept on smiling as he turned to. his head back around to face forward. He'll be fine. There's a nice place to rest just after the fork and the trail.

We kept on jogging until we hit the fork, and I followed just behind Robert every step of the way as we veered off onto the right path. Shortly after the fork, the trees of the forest grew denser and numerous, their leaves blotting out light from the sky above. Even the path itself started to become more overgrown, as weeds and brush seemed to reach out toward the center of the path, attempting to catch what sunlight they could. Where before it seemed that the sounds of the forest were on low volume, here they seemed to be on mute, as not even the buzzing of an insect could be heard. Though I could attribute the muted sounds of the forest to not being able to hear them over my heavy breathing and stomping feet, the dense growth could not be ignored. This trail doesn't seem very well maintained. Are you sure you know where you're going? I still kept a close pace behind Robert, though my right leg was starting to burn.

Robert didn't answer, but ignored me instead without slowing down. I stomped and knelt to rub my leg. I looked up to see Robert stop and turn around to walk back to where I was kneeling. Sorry, man. I told you, though. I needed to stretch more. I think I already hurt myself. Robert just smiled as he leaned on a tree next to me.

Sorry, I thought you'd be able to make it. We're not far from a really cool spot. I just got excited to be out here with you again. At Robert's words, I couldn't help but laugh and return a beaming grin back to him. I had no idea he missed being out here so much. On top of that, it had been a couple of weeks since we had done anything together, so maybe Robert also just missed hanging out. I couldn't blame him.

I did, too. But growing up gets in the way. Don't sweat it. I really miss this, too. What's the really cool spot you wanted to show me? Robert's grin seemed to somehow get even bigger. Okay, do you remember that wooden bridge we found one of the last, times we were out here. It has that really deep stream running under it.

The memory came back to me in a rush. It was vague, but I did remember finding a bridge the last time we came out here. I had completely forgotten which trail we found it on, though. I remember the water under that bridge was so clear you could easily see the fish swimming about within it. It's on this path? It sure is. I can't. I can't wait to take you there. I've been down there already. It is absolutely beautiful. I stood up quickly and brushed some dirt off my knee. Well, let's go. Okay, but we can walk. I don't want you to hurt yourself. I was going to tell him I would be fine if we jarged again, but I thought better of it.

Though the excitement that came with the prospect of seeing that bridge again abated some of the pain in my sore leg, it was still there. So we walked on, talking about the memories of being out here on the trails as we walked side by side. Robert was recounting things I hardly remembered. He said he remembered a time when I scraped up my knees really bad after a nasty fall on one of the trails. But I only vaguely recalled that. For the most part, though, I could recall every memory Robert had, and I realized how much time we really had spent out there. We spent nearly all our time out here as teenagers.

staying in shape and trying to impress the girls in school. We'd been walking for nearly five minutes when Robert said, Hey, do you remember when you fell down that slope and hit the bottom? I thought you died. Robert belted out a loud, booming laugh. I stopped walking because something about what he said about when I hurt my knees didn't make sense. I remembered falling down that slope like it was yesterday. It was terrifying.

Robert, you fell down that slope too, remember? Robert, who hadn't stopped walking until then, froze just ahead of me. He turned slowly to me and slapped a hand on his forehead. Oh, duh. Yeah. Well, I didn't fall as hard as you. Robert laughed again, drooping his head. and gesturing back down the trail.

Come on. We're almost there. I began to breathe heavily, and I took a step back. Something was wrong. I didn't know what it was, but I had to get out of those woods and away from Robert. I had to get away because a memory had finally resurfaced to the shore of my recollection. A memory of me falling and scraping my knees. Robert's grin for the first time since he snuck up on me faded from his face.

What's wrong, bud? I need to go back. Robert took a step toward me and a look of concerns spread on his face. Come on, man, we're so close. Why do you want to leave? Because you were home sick the day I scrape my knees. Robert's eyes widened in realization as I turned. tail and began sprinting in the other direction as fast as my legs would carry me.

Green leaves and brown bark flashed by in my peripheral vision as a blur. The sound of wind swished around my earlobes as I ran. I couldn't hear footsteps behind me, and I was thankful for that. My right leg throbbed and begged for me to stop, but I wouldn't. Fear is one hell of a motivator, and it pushed me past the fork in the path and over the small stream that divided the trail. I never looked back to see if Robert or whatever wore Robert's skin was following me. Not even once. I kept my eyes on the path in front of me and focused on not tripping over anything the whole way back out of the trail. I didn't stop running until I got into my car. Once inside, I grabbed the keys that I left sitting in the passenger seat and quickly turned

them in the ignition. I paid no attention to the speed limit as I was. I raced all the way home. Once at my house, I grabbed my phone out of the glove box and ran into the house, latched the deadbolt behind me. I turned my phone off when I stored it in my car at the preserve, so once I got inside, I turned it on and sat on my couch while I waited for it to boot up. My plan was to call Robert immediately, but when the display on the screen flicked on, I saw that I had a text message from Robert.

I opened it, but I was shaking so bad from the adrenaline that it was a little hard to read. Hey man, so it looks like we can't get out to Forrest Glen. I was talking to my neighbor this morning, and he said they closed it down. He told me at least four hikers have been found dead by drowning out there. Anyways, I hope you get this before you leave. Maybe we can, I don't know, just get you a movie or something. When I read the last word of the text message, there was a loud knock at my door. I jumped and stood from my spot on the couch.

The knock came again, even louder, and I crept to the door as quietly as I could to look through the peephole. It was Robert. Robert stood on my front stoop with a wide, toothy grin. I saw him raise up his hand to knock. once more, and as the sound thundered from the wood of the door, I backed away. On my phone, I searched my contacts for Robert's name and dialed. After two rings, Robert picked up. Where are you right now?

His voice cut out as I hung up and immediately began dialing the police. I explained to the dispatcher that there was an intruder trying to break under my house, and I did not feel safe. The woman on the other end told me to remain calm and she would be sending help to my address. When I hung up with 911, I went to the door once again to look through the peephole. The robbered imposter was gone. When the police arrived, I just told them someone tried to break into my house and I came home to find them messing around with my door before they ran off. I didn't know what else to say.

They said they would file a report and send them. a squad car by every couple of hours that day to make sure everything was fine. That was two weeks ago. Ever since that day, late at night, that thing comes back and knocks on my door. In a warped mockery of Robert's voice, it calls to me. Let me in. Let me in. I'm just so low.

The first time I obviously called the police, and the time after that, the third time they stopped coming. That creature is always gone when they get here, but he always comes back. He's back tonight, and I can hear him as I sit on my couch with a bottle of brandy and a tight grip on the large butcher knife I own. It pleads in a garbled whale that sounds nothing like Robert anymore. I don't know what the hell is in Forest Glen National Park. But it followed me home. We all know how various cultures from the British Isles have their own legends and fables. Many of them have become part of the common folklore and are considered playful or even lucky.

But in this tale from author S.H. Cooper, We meet a man whose Irish heritage isn't as charming as he'd like to think it is, especially when his grandmother insists that some legends are real. Performing this tale are Jesse Cornett, David Alt, Erica Sanderson, and Alexis Bristow. So forget about the pot of gold and green clovers. You need to beware of the little people. Grandma Eileen came into some money in 1962 after the death of Grandpa Joe. With it, she moved herself and my father far away from the only life they'd ever known in a small village in Ireland to a bustling U.S. city.

There, she made a name for herself as a seamstress, selling her craft to the high society folk. Dad got himself a couple of business degrees and started helping out on the operation sign of things, and it was through his work that he met mom. And by the time my brother Alan and then myself were born, Grandma's solo operation had grown into a family-run corporation overseeing a handful of dry cleaning and fitting shops with enough employees to run each. And we were a tight-knit family,

and since Grandma would have been on her own otherwise, all lived together in a large two-story house. My parents remodeled the second floor into an apartment so that Grandma would have her own space away from the rambunctious activities of two young boys. When my parents would go out, Alan and I would tromp up the stairs so she could watch us, which would inevitably lead to arguments over incredibly important matters, like, who got to sit in the big red recliner, want to watch,

or who got to snuggle Pris, Grandma's sweet Maine Coon. It seemed to me that Grandma always sided with Alan, which he lorded over me with a smug smile while I was left sulking and petulant. When I tried to tell my parents about the obvious favoritism, they just said that Grandma loved us both equally. In addition to her obvious bias, Grandma had also always been a little eccentric. Dad said it was left over superstitions from the old country, omens of bad luck and the like. So when she sat us down one night while we were visiting the apartment, I wasn't concerned. Never speak to the little people.

If they ever make themselves known to... you, don't acknowledge them. Don't even look at them. Do you understand? Why? At the same time, Alan asked. Who are the little people? She regarded us with an almost panicked expression. No questions. Just listen and do as I say, all right? I squirmed nervously under her intense scrutiny and managed a stiff nod. Alan furrowed his brow uncertainly, but finally did the same. Grandma remained thin-lipped and serious throughout our visit, her eyes darting to and from the front windows at the smallest of sounds, so I was relieved when my parents came home, and we were free to go back downstairs. Our subdued behavior for the rest of the night didn't go

unnoticed, and when Dad was tucking me into bed, he asked what was wrong. What's a little people, Dad? Grandma was talking about them. She made them sound scary. He chuckled, and I immediately relaxed. How bad could it be if Dad was so dismissive? They're just a fairy tale, kiddo. Let me guess. Grandma was saying to ignore them or something, right? I nodded. She used to say that to me when I was your age. It's just one of her stories that she brought over from Ireland. Don't worry about it. You get some sleep now. Love you. reassured I was able to fall asleep quickly and peacefully. Grandma's warning about the little people didn't trouble me again, and soon enough, I had forgotten all about it.

Pris, now! I whined it, Alan, who had been hogging both the recliner and the cat all afternoon. He stuck his tongue out at me and hugged Pris closer to keep me from trying to take her. I bawled my hands into fists and breathed heavily through my nostrils as if my frustration would do any but make my brother keep Pris from me even longer. Pris! I heard her clucking her tongue from the kitchen, and when she poked her head in, her ire seemed more aimed at me than Alan.

What have I told you about yelling in this house, young man? With no help coming from her, I grumbled something about going to play outside and stomped my way down the stairs and out to the backyard, where I plopped myself down with a huff, and began plucking blades of grass and tearing them to shreds. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry. You're okay there, child. I jerked around to find the speaker, and there, half hidden in grandma's rose bushes,

was the tiniest person I had ever seen. I thought I'd been mistaken at first, that it was a trick of light and shadow, but no, there was certainly a man there. Standing at no more than two feet, he was dressed in delightfully bright, colors from head to toe, all of which seemed just a hair too big for him. His hat, a floppy thing with a tinkling bell on the end, kept sliding down over one eye. He grinned at me and offered a flourishing bow, which sent that hat to the ground and revealed a shiny bald head. I giggled despite my nervousness and watched him scramble to pick it up and set it back in place.

You seem sad just now. There was a sweet lilt to his voice, the kind grandma had. Are you all right? I bit my lip and started to get up. It wasn't his smallness then unsettled me. A child's mind is very accepting. It was the fact that he was a stranger. My parents' lessons about stranger danger would not be unheeded.

Wait! He held out a hand and in his palm was a person. perfectly smooth, round rock that changed colors as he moved it about in the sunlight. Take this. It'll help you feel better. I was fascinated by the stone and took a step forward but stopped myself before I reached him. I'm not supposed to take things from strangers. I felt a touch of pride at having remembered that. Right, shire, lad, right you are? So let me introduce myself so that we can be friends, eh?

My name is Coylin. I don't usually come out. when you folk are around, but you seem so sad that I wanted to do something for you. You'll let Mr. Coyle in give you this nice present, won't you? It was just a stone, a very pretty one. What harm could come from that? And he was so very small. I checked to make sure we weren't being watched and hurried over to him to take his offered gift. He dropped it into my open hand and cheerfully encouraged me to give it a good look over. Feeling more at ease, I sat in front of the bush and thanked him for the rock. Why don't you tell me what was troubling you before, child?

I frowned sharply. My mood darkened by the reminder of Alan and how terrible he was being and closed my fist around the stone. My dumb brother always gets to do whatever he wants, and Grandma just lets him. I complained and was gratified when Coyland, till he was. his head sympathetically. He's mean to me, but he gets away with everything. Oh, I, I understand. I have brothers too, you know, and sometimes I feel the same way.

It felt good to finally be able to talk to someone who understood. It's not fair. Not at all, but you know something. I think I can help you. You can? He nodded eagerly, so that the bell on his hat jingled. Sounds like your brother could use a little taste of his own medicine, hmm? That sounded exactly like what he needed.

I leaned forward, excited to hear Coilin's idea. Take that stoner gave you and put it in his shoe. I couldn't hide my disappointment. That didn't sound like it would be a very effective way for me to exact my revenge. Coilin tapped his index finger to the side of his nose. Don't worry, lad. Trust Mr. Coilin. That night, I did as the little man in the bush had told me,

and, with some measure of regret, because I hated giving it up, put the rock in my brother's shoe. I didn't know what to expect and spent a sleepless night waiting and wondering. It felt like I had just managed to fall asleep when Alan started to scream. I rushed from my bed and came sliding into the hall at the same. time as my parents, who looked only half awake but wholly trouble. I followed them to Alan's room where he was standing on his bed, pressed against the wall. What's the matter?

My shoe! It's in my shoe! He was deathly pale and trembling, his eyes wide like saucers. While my parents tried to coax him down from the bed, I leapt at his shoe and picked it up, eager to see what had caused him such a fright. such a fright. When I tipped it, only the stone I'd put in it the night before tumbled out. Although confused, I was quick to pocket it in my pajama bottoms and held the shoe up innocently. You want your shoe, Ellen? There's a spider in there. I saw it crawl in. It's huge. Kill it, Dad. I left while our parents scoured the room for signs of the giant shoe-dwelling spider and hurried back to my own room. I sat on my bed and plucked the stone out to sit in the middle of my palm.

I gazed at it wonderingly, gleefully, and knew that the man in the bush had been responsible for what my brother had seen. It made me feel like I'd made a powerful friend. I went back to the bush that afternoon and crouched in the same spot I'd been in the day before. Mr. Coelan, Mr. Coilin! There was a rustle and the tinkling of a bell, and then the small grinning man was standing before me again. Hello again, child. Did you do as I told you?

I nodded, unable to hide my pleased smile. Wonderful. Do you feel a wee bit better now? Yes! But surely one little prank isn't enough, is it? Not after all he's done to you. This time, I was so. slower to agree. This afternoon, when you're eating your meal, put the stone under his chair.

But what if someone sees it? No one will, I promise. Again, I trusted in the little man and his advice. I tossed the stone into place before taking my own seat and waited with bated breath for Alan to join me. Mom had made us grilled cheese for lunch, usually my favorite, but today, I merely held it in my hands and watched as my brother sauntered in and took his place across from me. He frowned when he saw me staring.

What? Nothing. I quickly took a big bite of my sandwich. He rolled his eyes at me and picked up his grilled cheese. He managed three bites before he threw it gagging back onto his plate. Mom! Yes, honey? She was washing up in the kitchen. There's bugs in my food.

What? She was beside Alan almost immediately, inspecting his sandwich with great concern. I don't see anything, honey. There were worms, mom, and ants. Are you playing a joke on me, Alan Maxwell? No. He sputtered, deflating completely when she put the plate back down, and he saw for himself. The only thing on it was a partially eaten grilled cheese.

Mom excused me once I was done, but she kept Alan at the table to talk about what he thought he'd seen. I pretended to have dropped something by his chair on my way out as an excuse to get my stone back, but neither took much notice of me. I could tell they were both a bit worried, but I didn't let that bother me. I was finally getting back at Allen, and that was all that mattered. I slipped quietly back outside and reported the second. second success to Coylan. He clapped with delight

at my news, which made me puff up with pleasure. Now tell me, my boy, does that make you feel like you're even? No. Tonight, we're going to Grandma's. She's always like Alan Moore. I want to make her eat bugs or

something too. Of course. I believe I could be of some help, there lad, more than just worms between some bread. Bring your granny and your brother out to this very spot Tonight, and we will give her exactly what she deserves. We shared a conspirator's smile and agreed that I would return that evening after supper. It was easier than I thought to get them outside.

Alan was feeling fidgety and nervous, and that, in turn, was making Grandma anxious. After a tense dinner, during which Alan kept looking through his food for insects, I asked if they wanted to go outside and walk around the yard with me. Alan seemed hesitant, but Grandma hurriedly agreed on both their behalf. After making sure Pris was lounging safely inside, the three of us tromped out to the garden. We made the rounds to each of Grandma's flower beds. Alan and I listening politely while she explained what plants were what, but all the while I had my sights set on the rose bush.

When we finally got to it, I heard the tiniest of bell-tenth. ankles from somewhere in the tangled depths, and I knew Coilin was there. As agreed, I nonchalantly dropped the stone by the bush and called my brother over to look at something. I didn't know exactly what Coilin was going to do, but if it were anything like his previous two pranks, it was going to be great. I don't see anything. Look closer. By then, Grandma had noticed our unusual interest in her roses and had started to come over. When she was just beyond arms reach, the stone at my feet flashed one, a bright gold, and then its surface faded into a murky black. I fell back and surprised,

and Alan tried to as well, but something had him around his wrist. A vine from the rose bush, thorny and cruel, was biting into his flesh. He cried out and clawed at the vine, but another shot out and took him by his other wrist. We both screamed even as she tried futilely to tear at the plant, bloodying her palms and fingers on the thorns. I hugged Alan around the waist trying to drag him back, begging coiling to help, but the vines continued to twist and turn up Alan's arms

until they were lost from sight. Grandma beat against the bush, wailing like a banshee from one of her stories. Alan looked to her, his eyes glassy, and his pale lips flicked with blood, and then he was gone, yanked impossibly into the bush. Grandma collapsed to her knees in front of it, reaching for the spot where Alan had been. At the sound of his name, Grandma turned to me, and I saw such fear, such anger in her expression. I thought she was going to strike me, and maybe she was, but the sounds of the tinkling bell froze her solid.

Consider your debt repaid, Eileen O'Hara. Coilin's voice sounded from somewhere far away, much too far to be in the bush. And then there was silence. Grandma Eileen came into some money in 1962 after the death of Grandpa Joe. A death she had arranged with the help of the little people. All they had asked her for in return was to give up the love of her. her first born son. She agreed and celebrated the end of her abusive alcoholic husband before taking her money and fleeing to America. She thought she managed to escape,

but the little people are patient and they do not forget. She knew they had found her again. She heard their whispers outside her window. She didn't know how, not after some of her, much time and she tried to warn us, but we didn't listen. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. The little people had come to collect and collect they did. Dad's relationship with grandma was never the same after Alan disappeared. He said he didn't blame her, that he knew she would have died before she let anything happen to my brother. But there was no warmth in his eyes anymore. No affection. We sold the house barely a year later. Grandmom wasn't invited to join us in our new home. They told her the new house was too small, but the truth was, it was just too hard for my

parents to see her. With nowhere else to go, she ended up in a retirement community where she remained alone until she passed away in her sleep sometime later. When mom convinced dad to collect her things and provide a proper burial as a way to say a proper goodbye. We found that grandma had kept little, only a few photographs, some clothes, and a murky black stone that she had said reminded her of home. It's a sad reality that children have to be wary of adult strangers whose motives are suspect. As we discover in this tale from author Felix Blackwell, a man recalls an event from his youth when he attempted to attain a coveted gift from a mysterious stranger. Performing this tale are Matthew Bradford, Jessica McAvoy, and Atticus Jackson. So be cautious

around strangers, especially Mr. Thompson. These events took place over the course of a few days, so I hope it's not too confusing. When I was a little kid, I used to read a lot of children's fantasy books. It was the early 90s, long before email, and I decided to write a letter to my favorite author. This guy did all his own illustrations for his books, and I wanted to ask him for a step-by-step drawing of a particular character. I sent out my letter, which fawned over his creative genius, and politely requested a response. To my excitement, I received a letter back from him a few weeks later, in which he promised to make me a personal visualized illustration and a how-to series of drawings.

He said that he was about to go on a book tour, but when he got back in a month, he'd send his promised gift. I was thrilled. Each day when I got home from school, I'd listen for the mailman to pull up. Although I knew it was far too early for the author's drawings to arrive, I still ran down to the mailbox and eagerly checked at every opportunity. After about a week of this, a letter. with my name on it had arrived.

The envelope said to Felix and had no stamp or return address. Confused, I opened it to find a $5 bill and a post-it note that read, Keep checking. I figured this was the work of my dad, who always encouraged my childhood projects. To give you a bit of context, I was in the fourth grade, and I rode the bus home every day with two stepsisters and my name. neighbor Christian. Our stop was the first one on the route, so we always got home around 4 p.m. The mail came at about 4.30, and our parents got home from work around 6.

Thus, for a few hours each weekday, my stepsisters and I had the place to ourselves. I reasoned that my dad had slipped the envelope into the mailbox after I had left for school that morning. My dad, of course, pretended to know nothing about the letter and dismissed. missed my suspicions. A few days later, while walking up the street to our house, Christy, the younger of my two step-sisters, noticed a package sitting on the ground next to the mailbox. We dashed over, thinking the author's drawings had arrived early, but instead, it contained a bunch of candy. There was every kind you could imagine, except Kit Kat bars, the only candy I ever liked. My dad knew this. My stepmom knew this. Everybody knew this. I then realized that these little

gifts might not have been from my parents after all. The node inside read, any day now. A few more days, a few more packages, brand new action figures, hot wheels cars, a squirt gun. None of these things were the sort of toys I really liked, and it slowly dawned on me that I was received. receiving presence from a person who didn't know me at all. If the sender knew me, they'd have known I exclusively liked Z-bots, transformers, and Nerf guns. Inside one of the boxes was a note that read, Keep it, a secret.

My stepsisters and I were far too young to conceive of why this might be a bad situation. We kept the packages a secret, as instructed, but I eventually blabbed to my buddy and neighbor Christian. He was just as excited as I was, and we began playing a game. We hid in the house or yard trying to catch my secret Santa. We even put on some old camouflage uniforms that Christian had and pretended that it was our mission to catch the person. But in a weekend of diligent spying, we never spotted him.

One afternoon, while Christian and I were out skateboarding on the other side of the neighborhood, a white truck pulled up. was a chubby middle-aged man in a business suit. He asked us for directions to some address we didn't know, then complimented our cool skateboards. I had only a faint suspicion that this guy wasn't actually interested in our gear, but it didn't dawn on me that he was a creep until he offered us a ride home. We declined and said we knew the way. When he insisted, we told him we don't get in strangers' cars. He said to me, That's good.

You're a smart kid, Felix. Then he drove away. It freaked me out that he knew my name. I never gave it to him. The packages came less frequently, but now they contain more expensive stuff. One day there was a new soccer ball. We had a set of children's soccer nets in our backyard.

And a few days later, a new pair of rollerblades. The cherry on top, however, was a single envelope with a brief. brief note inside. Hi, Felix. How about a brand new PlayStation this time? Do you know where the tree house is? It'll be there on Sunday at 4 p.m.

Don't tell anyone, unless you want to share it. I was ecstatic. Nobody I knew had a PlayStation yet, not even Christian whose dad bought him practically anything he asked for. I was hell-bent on securing this gift, despite a very tiny voice within me warning. against it. The rest of the week plotted on. The weekend felt a year away and I could barely contain my excitement. By Friday I caved. I spilled my guts to Christian who became even more

thrilled than me. We agreed to go together. It would be safer that way. The treehouse that the note referred to was not far. Every kid on our block knew about it. Our neighborhood was at the edge of a Colorado suburbia, right up against a little wood that sprawled into the rolling hills and mountains beyond. A few jogging trails criss-crossed through them. Christian and I had explored most of them looking for monsters and treasure. I'd only been to the treehouse a few times, and generally avoided it, because sometimes older boys would hang out inside and shoot at joggers with pellet guns. The thought of one of those bastards stealing my PlayStation enraged me. It fueled my commitment to securing it.

It even drove me to do test walks on those trails that Thursday and Friday after school, just to ensure that I could actually find the treehouse again. On one of those occasions, as Christian and I were leaving the treehouse for the walk home, the chubby man crossed her path. He was wearing old sweats this time and had a great big smile on his face, like he was excited to see us. The dog he was walking pulled him over to us. He got down on one knee.

Oh, don't worry about Zeke. He's big, but he's really friendly. Like me. He scratched the dog's head and invited us over. You want to pet him? Neither of us took the bait. Instead, we stayed rooted to the ground about ten feet away from him. I got up the courage to ask him a question.

How did you know my name? Oh, I think I heard your buddy there say it when I drove up. Christian and I both looked at each other in hesitation. Maybe he was right. I couldn't remember. If it makes you feel any better, my name's Mr. Thompson. He made idle chat for a few more minutes, saying things like, wow, cool treehouse. You build it?

And you'll have to show me around these trails sometime. I keep getting lost. Eventually, he bid us farewell and headed back down the path we intended to take back home. Christian and I instead waited for several minutes to ensure he was gone. It was dark by the time he got home. The whole walk back, I felt like we were being watched. But thankfully, Mr. Thompson didn't make another appearance. That Friday night, my stepsisters and I,

I had a camp out in the living room. Our parents had rented us several movies, so we set up a fort downstairs where we could be noisy and stay up late. I remember going to the kitchen to pour a midnight bowl of cereal when I saw something move outside the window. That window viewed the backyard,

which was a full acre with a shed and some little soccer goals we'd set up. Something big moved beyond the far one. I couldn't make out what it was. on very rare occasions we'd get deer back there so i dismissed it as such much later that night kiley the older of my two step-sisters woke me up and said she saw someone outside allegedly she had gotten up and walked to the bathroom and on her way back to the living room she saw a man standing very still on her porch watching her in the dark she couldn't make out any details but she said he was

tall. Because I was a stupid little kid, my mind didn't go to Mr. Thompson, who was the obvious culprit, and likely prowled the neighborhood at night on foot. Instead, my brain automatically conjured up ghosts and monsters to explain what Kylie had seen. This terrified me, and we ended up canceling our camp out and heading up to our bedrooms. I flipped the porch light on as we went up to discourage any demons from trying to come inside. No one was out there. About ten minutes after we'd gone upstairs, our dogs flipped out and went on a barking frenzy for a few minutes.

The next day we told my father, but he maintained that we were just hopped up on some sugar and fantasy movies. My dad and stepmom had plans for that evening, so at around 5 p.m. our babysitter Mia showed up. Our parents were cool enough to let me invite Christian. to sleep over, so us four kids and Mia wolfed down a ton of pizza and told ghost stories. Eventually, we went to sleep. Christian slept on my bunk bed, and my two stepsisters slept on the floor.

Mia stayed in our parents' bedroom. In the middle of the night, I woke up to absolute chaos. Our dogs were barking like crazy. One of my stepsisters was crying, and the babysitter was shrieking angrily. Christian and I jumped out of our beds and went into the hallway to see what was going on. Of all the things I remember, the blinding brightness of the hall light has stayed with me the most. Mia was standing at the top of the staircase, shouting and screaming at the front door. Christy was clutching onto Mia's leg, sobbing.

The dogs were at the front door, growling and barking. Mia was shouting. It took me a long moment to see what she was. was looking at, but eventually I realized that she could see someone out the window next to the front door. Normally from this window you can see the front yard, but from that angle, at the top of the stairs, I could only see the little white fence that separated our property from the street. Perched upon it was a shadowy figure who just sat there and stared up at us. As soon as I saw him, he waved at me, then jumped off the third.

fence and walked back up the road into the night. My parents came home early, and everyone was a hysterical mess. The cops came and took a report. That night, Christian and I debated not going for the PlayStation in the woods. He was still gung-ho on getting it, and I guess on some level I was, too. I just didn't want to believe that these odd events were related to the anonymous letters. Deep down, I knew. Sunday finally came after a very fitful sleep.

The daylight renewed my courage and my avaricious commitment to getting free shit. Christian and I spent the entire day in his basement, playing with all the cool crap down there and making elaborate and unnecessary plans for retrieving the PlayStation. We drew up exit strategies and emergency countermeasures. We agreed to go military style and got dressed in fatigue. carried walkie-talkies with us and armed ourselves with those little smoke-bomb fireworks and a BB gun. We were ready to fend off any teenagers who might try to rob us of our loot on the way home. We even speculated over what we'd do if we saw Mr. Thompson.

As 4 p.m. rolled around, we set off, making our way at a cautious pace. There was nobody on the trails, and the woods were pretty calm. I remember that it was cold. older than usual, and I could see my breath just as the sun dipped behind the trees. We made it to the drop zone, as we called it, with no problems, and I was even a little disappointed that we didn't get to use the smoke bombs. My heart heaved in my chest as we approached the tree house. I remember climbing up those wooden boards like I was descending the stairs on Christmas morning. Christian brought up the rear. As I reached the top, my eyes rose just

over the floorboards of the treehouse and met with another pair of eyes looking back at me. I was so surprised that I nearly slipped and plummeted to my death. There was a grown man sitting there inside, waiting for me to enter. I yelled the moment I saw him, but he called out in a really friendly voice. No, no, it's okay. Don't be afraid. You're here for the PlayStation, right? Are you Felix? I just kind of clung there on the makeshift ladder,

with my head barely poking into the treehouse, frozen like a spooked deer. Christian slapped my ankle behind me and asked me what was going on. I ignored him. The man was distantly familiar, but I couldn't put a name to his face. He was tall, even when sitting down and very skinny. His skin was pale, and he had long, straight brown or black hair. Several ratty bracelets dangled around his wrist. He had a backpack with him and reeked of cigarettes.

He looked either late-20s or early 30s. He invited me inside with a gesture of his hand and asked if I wanted a snack. I didn't respond. Instead, I just stared at him. Well, I've got to be a snack. your PlayStation if you wanted, but it's in my car at the beginning of the trail. It was too heavy to carry out here. I figured we'd walk there together. Christian shouted up and asked me who the hell I was talking to before jumping off the board ladder onto the ground below. It's, it's

some guy. Felix. The man reached into his backpack and produced a candy bar. I gave you all kinds of cool stuff. You'd think I'd lie to you about the PlayStation? You can trust me. I just want you to get to know me first before I give it to you. It was expensive after all. Right as the guy shifted to crawl over me, I heard another man shout from somewhere nearby the woods. I recognized the voice. At first I thought it was my father, and a bolt of doom struck my gut. But when I looked down, I saw Mr. Thompson storming up the trail toward the treehouse. Get off there! Now! I did as he said, more out of fear than obedience, and ran over to Christian a few yards away. Mr. Thompson walked up to the ladder, looked over his shoulder.

Run home. Get away. The seriousness in his voice terrified me even more than the creepy guy in the tree house. Christian and I took off running. I think I even cried. As we made our way down the trail, we heard a struggle and the screams of the young man. I tried to pretend

that the evening's events had never transpired. I walked into my home as though I'd just return from a day in Christian's house. My dad could sense that I was upset. There came a knock at the door about two hours later, and before my father even answered it,

I knew it was the police. By the next morning, word had spread through the entire neighborhood that someone had tried to kidnap me. People came over to check on and reassure us. The perp was actually the son of a family that lived across the street, two houses over. His name was Dwight, and he was a recovering addict who had been in trouble with the law a few times. Mr. Thompson savagely beat him, then called him. the police and tried to have him arrested for solicitation of a child. A few weeks passed, and the incident began to fade from my memory. One Sunday, I was at the far end of the street near the

jogging trails, practicing my pathetic skateboarding skills and waiting for Christian to get home from church. To my surprise, Mr. Thompson came striding out of the woods wearing those same sweatpants, dog and toe. We both sort of froze when we saw each other, but then he cautiously approached me. I took off my helmet and said hello. I wanted to thank him for saving us, but he still intimidated me. Mr. Thompson squatted down on his haunches to get eye-level with me. His face was greasy and matted with sweaty hair, but his little blue eyes appeared sincere. Dwight didn't go to jail, but they moved him to some.

rehab facility in Utah. You don't have to worry about him anymore. Um, thank you for... Mr. Thompson interrupted me with a hand and said... You're a good kid, Felix. He looked carefully up and down the road, twice. Then, he kissed me on the cheek and abruptly walked away. Your time in our netherworld has come to we release you 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.

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