The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S8E16

Episode Date: February 12, 2017

It's episode 16 of Season 8. On this week's show we have five tales about things which disappear but are never truly gone."Passit, Florida"‡ written by S.H. Cooper and performed by Addison Peacock & Alexis Bristowe & Nikolle Doolin & Atticus Jackson. (Story starts around 00:03:45)"Things That Go Bump In The Night"‡ written by Manen Lyset and performed by Jesse Cornett & Mike DelGaudio. (Story starts around 00:16:15)"White Birch Lodge"† written by John Foster and performed by Mike DelGaudio & Matt Bradford & Jessica McEvoy & Nichole Goodnight & Jeff Clement. (Story starts around 00:30:30)"Today Ends Badly"† written by Jackson Laughlin and performed by Peter Lewis & Jessica McEvoy & Nikolle Doolin & Addison Peacock. (Story starts around 00:54:05)"Death Seemed Different When We Were Young"† written by Olivia White and performed by Erika Sanderson & Penny Scott-Andrews & David Ault. (Story starts around 01:17:00)Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast Click here to learn more about the Sleepless Live 2017 Tour Click here to learn more about Penny Scott-Andrews Click here to learn more about S.H. Cooper Click here to learn more about Manen Lyset Click here to learn more about Jackson Laughlin Click here to learn more about Olivia White Executive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon BooneAudio adaptations produced by: Phil Michalski† & Jeff Clement‡"Today Ends Badly" illustration courtesy of Charlie CodyAudio program ©2017 - 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 five tales about things which disappear but are never truly gone. Well, this is the last episode of the podcast before we head out on our sleepless live tour.

In less than a week, we'll be in Texas, but we certainly won't mess with it. Latest ticket counts indicate a lot of venues are getting close to selling out, so if you want to come see us live, check the tour page on our website and get your tickets now. Also, I'm seeing a lot of people mentioning that they don't know what to expect at our show. I mean, what is a live podcast after all? Well, here's a quick overview. We'll start with some introductions of the cast, we'll interact with the audience,

and have some fun, maybe even some games with a chance to win a prize. Then the main portion of the show will be us performing a script written for the tour by Michael Whitehouse. Michael has crafted three scripts for us, so we'll do one of those scripts each night. So, hey, if the shows are close enough to you,

Why not come to two different venues and hear a different story each time? After the main story, we'll do a bit of an encore with a few short stories and some selections from past favorites. The show will probably run around 100 minutes. After the show, we'll hang out with you, meeting and greeting, autographs, selfies, long and increasingly unsettling embraces the whole nine yards. We certainly hope we'll see many of you over the next few weeks. And a quick note about our rent-to-own program. This is the 14th paid episode of Season 8. So if you've purchased this and 13 other episodes this season,

just send me an email and I'll upgrade you to the full Season Pass 8. And finally, it's my pleasure to welcome a special guest star joining us this week. The extremely talented actor and voice actor, Penny Scott Andrews, will join her friend Erica Sanderson on this week's final story. Check the show notes for a link to Penny's website to learn more about her versatile career. We're thrilled to have you with us, Penny. Any friend of Erica's is a friend of ours. And so, dear friends of ours, a bold adventure awaits both us on the tour and you with these five stories as we start this week's show.

In our first tale, we meet a woman who is doing some traveling of her own. But as we learn from author S.H. Cooper, it's not a trick. trip she's on. No, she's moving to a new town, not in Chile, North Dakota or rainy Washington, but to sunny Florida. But you see, it's her sister who's the one describing the events, because the woman, well, let's just say she isn't available to tell her own story. Performing this tale are Addison Peacock, Alexis Bristow, Nicole Doolan, and Atticus Jackson. So if you're heading out, Check the map if you're looking to find, pass it, Florida. When my sister told me she was moving for a new job, I was torn.

Part of me was thrilled for her. Part of me didn't want to see her go. We'd never lived more than an hour apart, and the idea of her being so far away was an alien one that would take some getting used to. She was too excited to think about the impending distance between herself and the family, so we did our best not to mention it too much. No one wanted to discourage. I can't wait.

I could hear the crack of packing tape as it was pulled across a box. Once I'm settled, you have to come visit me. Because it sounds like such a fun and exciting place to be. Who wouldn't want to go vacation in middle of nowhere, Florida? Oh, come on, there's lots to do. There's a nature preserve nearby. The town has a bar. And Orlando's only a few hours away.

Right. What am I thinking? It's practically Paris. She snorted, and I grinned. Sorry, Nina, but there's just no way you're going to make a town called Passit sound interesting. The name says it all. It was originally Passaught, after his founder. The locals had a sense of humor.

Oh, been hitting Wikipedia up, huh? You know me. I like to be prepared. I still can't believe you spent all that time and money to become a vet and then decide to move to the tiniest town in the U.S. Is sticking your arm up cow butts all day really that appealing? Anything to get away from you. When the day of her departure came, we all showed up at her house early in the morning and helped her load what few belongings

the movers hadn't taken into the back of her car. She gave us each a hug, promised to call when she arrived, and then she was off, leaving us standing and waving at the foot of the driveway. She didn't look back, though. She never did. That was just how Nina was.

The first few weeks after she arrived seemed almost blissful for Nina. She had an affordable house on a sizable piece of property. She was spending her days shadowing her boss and getting to know clients, and she was loving the small town life. Every day I'd get texts with pictures of her home or the animals she was treating, mostly cows and horses, and messages gushing about how great it was and pass it. I was unexpectedly jealous of her.

I'd been laid off from my job in an accounting firm right before she'd left and hadn't been able to find another right away, so I'd been forced to settle for a retail gig while I waited for something better to come along. I couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for myself, and as petty as it was, seeing how successful and happy she was made me even more bitter about my own situation. I tried not to take it out on Nina. It certainly wasn't her fault, but she must have sensed something was off because her text became more infrequent and generic. Our always easy relationship became strained, and for the first time in our lives, I felt disconnected from my sister. I lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling and thinking about all the things that had gone wrong recently,

but nothing was quite so sore as the feeling of losing my best friend. I decided that, while I couldn't control the job market or make dealing with customers any more pleasant, I could fix things with Nina. Determined to be more positive and engaged, I shot her a quick time, So, that offered a visit still open? I waited, and then I waited some more, and then a full day passed without a response. I checked my phone constantly, guilt, gnawing away at my insides. I knew I'd been a bit short with her, maybe even a little cold at times, but I didn't

think it had been bad enough to warrant no contact. If she would just respond, I'd be more than happy to apologize, I thought. But I didn't get an answer. After a few days of continued silence, I called her mother and asked if she'd spoken to Nina lately. Not for a few days. I figured she was busy and didn't want to be a bother. No texts or anything? No, why? Concern had crept into Mom's voice.

Sasha? No, I'm sure everything's fine. I guess I just miss her. Mom comforted me telling me it was normal, and she went through it with her own siblings as they all grew up, but an uneasy feeling was wriggling around in the pit of my stomach. Even when she was off at school, Nina had made it a point to check in with our parents every couple of days. She knew how mom worried. After we'd hung up, I paced in circles around my living room chewing my lip.

Something wasn't right. I could feel it. I grabbed my phone again and dialed Nina's number. it rang once and went straight to voicemail. Please leave your message. Hey, it's me. Call me back when you get this, okay? It's important. I must have sat at my table staring at my phone for hours.

Every time the screen lit up with a call or a text, I grabbed it, hopeful that it would be my sister. And every time the caller ID read differently, my certainty that something was very wrong deepened. If something had happened to her, someone would have called us, her boss or the cops or a hospital. But such reassurances didn't help. If anything, they just made me feel worse.

Why hadn't anyone called? Probably because Nina's fine and there's no reason to. I was trying to replace my worry with irritation at my sister's in attention to her family. She's just distracted and busy and isn't thinking of us. That wasn't like her though and I knew it. With my night fast slipping away but sleep in impossibility, I sat down at my computer and started looking around for any recent news out of Passett. Surely a small town without much going on would report on any serious accidents or injuries.

When Nina had first accepted the job offer in Passett's sight unseen, we'd researched the place pretty thoroughly, or so we thought. We'd looked at the town website, viewed their local news, even done a virtual tour of Main Street. It had been cute and quaint, and Nina had squealed when she'd seen it. It had been the deciding factor for her. Now, though, no matter what I typed in, there was no town website, no tour, nothing. The only thing that came up when I searched for Passett, Florida, were a handful of news articles from the late 70s that hadn't come up previously. Passet, a modern-day Roanoke? What happened in Passet?

The town that vanished overnight. I clicked through them, skimming them quickly, my heart pounding painfully in my chest. Details were sparse. Passett hadn't been on anyone's radar until a young boy was found wandering along a highway bloody and naked and gave it as his home. What the police discovered when they attempted to return him was a ghost town. They tried to question the child and find out where his parents were, but his only response was they came for us.

When asked who they were, the boy would just scream. A search of the town revealed Holmes filled with iconography that police and religious experts alike couldn't place. Horrible dark creatures painted on walls, bones and blood and decaying bits of fingers and flesh set out at altars. And in every one, a book written in a language no one recognized. Although there were signs of a struggle all over the small town, there wasn't a sort of. single person left aside from the boy to tell anyone what had happened. While Passett captivated the media for weeks, it was dwarfed by the Jonestown massacre that followed shortly thereafter and then forgotten altogether in its wake.

A town of just over 200 people vanished and then slipped through history's cracks, and somehow my sister had ended up there. I called the nearest police precinct I could find immediately. Passett, you said? The tired sounding officer on the line asked once I'd hurriedly explained why I was calling. Yes, off 70. Your sister. I was impatient and eager for someone to start looking for Nina.

I've been past it for 30 years. Moved out there a few weeks ago and we haven't heard from her. I'm sorry. I don't know what to tell you. He's a large animal vet out there working for Dr. Falson. We looked him up. We looked up the town. It was...

Years ago. Mr. lied to you? The dismissal. in his voice made my blood boil. She sent me pictures and texts all the time when she got there. She had no reason to lie. Can't you send someone to check? What?

How can you say that? Your sister isn't there? You don't know that. Tears, hot and angry and frustrated, stung my eyes. I do. How the hell can you be so short? The line clicked. And then went dead.

I tried to redial, but I received a busy tone and threw my phone angrily at the couch. My thoughts were chaos. I couldn't explain how Nina got a job in a town that wasn't there. I didn't know how we found websites dedicated to it one day, and then old news stories talking about its abandon it three decades prior, the next. I didn't know where my sister was. Questions and fear and helplessness washed over me and I crumbled to the floor, my face buried in my hands. The cop's words repeated over and over in my head like a scratched record.

They'd have come for her by now. He didn't say who they were, didn't tell me why they would want my sister or what they'd do to her. There'd just been a note of abject, hopelessness in his voice, a tone that told me to give up before I even began. I tried to call Nina repeatedly for the rest of the night and each time she didn't answer, I cried harder. By morning I was completely drained, worn thin and pale by hours spent sobbing. I could barely move, barely think. There was one clear thought that managed to stay above the foggy haze that had settled in my skull. What the hell happened in Passett?

If you're fancy enough or want to treat yourself, having your car parked by a valet can be an awfully nice service. But don't tell that to author Menin Lyset. He shares a story about a valet who gets a bad feeling about a customer, but his suspicions are entirely unfounded. Performing this tale are Jesse Cornett and Mike Delgado. So if you think you're hearing things, remember, there are things that go bump in the night. I work as a valet at a casino in Atlantic City.

It's not the most glamorous job, but it pays well, and it's fun. Who wouldn't want a taste of what it's like to drive sweet-ass sports cars they could never afford? Usually, my nights are pretty uneventful. I parked the cars, walk back to the Valley Station, wait, walk back to the parking lot, and drive the cars back to their owners waiting at the entrance. If I'm lucky, my patron will reward me with a good tip. If my patron was unlucky, I'll get a scoff in the stink eye, as if it's somehow my fault they came out of the casino several thousand dollars

Poor. Worst is, I'm pretty sure it's more a question of bruised egos. The types that come to my casino consider a couple thousand bucks to be pocket change. This isn't the place for down on their luck alcoholic husbands looking to gamble their paychecks away. This is a place for expensive cars, flashy watches, fancy suits, old money, and men who think they own the world, and probably do. I never let any of that bother me. I've always just done my job and lived by the valet's cardinal rule. If we see something, we say nothing. Whether it be a sack of cocaine or evidence of a backseat orgy,

we keep our mouth shut. Our job isn't to police or judge, is to get cars from point A to point B, which is literally just around the corner. But apparently too far for the rich folks to walk. Just like shrinks have doctor-patient confidentiality, we offer valet car confidentiality. The other night I had to break that unofficial confidentiality agreement.

And here's why. His name was Edward Smith, and he looked just as pretentious as his name suggested. He showed up late at night with that shitting grin of a man who shops for wives based on bra sizes and waistlines. He had a small, busty woman on his arm who sported a massive diamond on a ring finger that blurred the line between expensive and tacky, and who wore a leopard print dress so tight it might as well. been a skin suit. She looked 20 years younger, but every bit as entitled. Edward, on the other hand, had applied so much gel, his hair looked like plastic. He had gone all out with diamond-studded

cufflinks, and he wore a suit so perfectly tailored. It had probably been sewn directly on him. Without a single glance in my direction, Mr. Smith tossed me his valet key. Don't scratch her. entitled asshole or not he was a client and i was going to be careful with his car i always was i opened the door and immediately caught a whiff of something strong it was like a plume of lavender perfume and crashed over me like a tidal wave i could taste it as it burned my nose and made my eyes watered it was so strong i had to open all the windows and hold my breath just to survive this short drive to the lot right around the corner I was distracted. I could barely see. Hell, I could even hear ringing in my ears as though I was sucking on a lemon.

Just as the car came to a stop at its parking spot, I heard a thud coming from the back. Not a light thud either. A nice, strong thud that made the car bump. I must have hit something, something big, something I hadn't seen through the veil of tears. my eyes had been producing to wash out the perfume. I could just imagine roadkill crushed under the wheel. Blood sprayed over the pristine gold paint job, maybe even a nasty dent.

It wasn't going to come out of my paycheck. The casino had insurance, but I was as good as fired. I resisted the urge to bash my head against the steering wheel out of frustration. I couldn't risk causing more damage and lingered in the driver's seat as I tried to figure out how I was going to explain this to my boss. People don't hit animals in parking lots, driving at five miles per hour, with enough floodlights to light up a football steady. That's just not what happens. Another thud sent the car bouncing again, and this time I was more scared than surprised,

because the thud was followed by a very light, barely audible whimper. I was still alive. I didn't know what to do. Back up, stay put, and drive over the cement strip and onto the grass. Was I going to have to put the poor creature out of its misery? As another bump rocked the car, I started to worry about how big it must have been to be able to shake the car in its injured state. Was it even safe to go outside?

What if it was a coyote? What if it reared its head and bit me? A peek. I needed to sneak a peek of it to know what it was. Before I proceeded, I opened the door and shuffled onto my stomach. careful not to scuff the leather interior. Edward would notice if I scuffed anything, and I'd be in twice as much shit.

Patrons always noticed every little defect. They didn't notice when we took the liberty of throwing away used condoms or cigarettes forgotten on the driver's seat, but they definitely noticed if we someone you left a piece of limp behind. Once I was in position, I took a deep breath, braced myself to see some poor eviscerative. I was an aerated animal and craned my neck down to look under the car. There was nothing there.

Just four wheels on the pavement. No blood, no guts, no animal crawling away, with half its body dragging behind it like a zombie. What the fuck? I raced out of the car and bent down on all fours, scanning the wheels more thoroughly. I pushed myself to my feet and circled around the car. My attention split between trying to find the animal I'd hit

and checking for damage. The car looked as sparkly and shiny as the day you'd left the dealership, and there wasn't so much as a tough defer left behind. As I stood there by the back right wheel, the car suddenly bounced, and I heard another whimper. I realized I felt the mix of emotions. On the one hand, I was relieved I hadn't almost killed something. On the other hand, the situation was suddenly much worse.

See something, say nothing. That was our cardinal rule. No matter what kind of shit we saw in those cars, we were not allowed to do anything. It wasn't our place. It wasn't my place. If I tried to help, they'd have my job. But is anyone there? I heard what sounded like sobs as the car shook in response.

I was right. Hang tight. I'll get you out of there. I ran around front and pulled the key from the ignition, then circle back to the trunk. I put it in, turned right, turned left, turned right again. The key didn't work. Of course it didn't work.

That was the whole point of a valley key, keeping the valley out of your stuff. Shit, shit, shit. I paced around back and forth wondering what to do. That's when the thought occurred to me. Maybe Edward kept a spare key. I headed back inside the car and started searching the glove compartment and dashboard, hoping I'd find one. I found everything from a gold flask to a custom monogony business card holder, but no key.

Meanwhile, the car continued to bounce every so often, and the whimper's persisted. I sat on the curb, biting my nails as I pondered what to do. Risk my job by snitching to the cops or let it go. It wasn't too late. I could save my own neck. I could bury my head in the sand and convince myself this was some sort of fetish thing and the girl was totally into it. I could pretend nothing happened. But then again, how can I live with myself if I did that?

I grabbed my cell phone and called the cops. The weight was unbearable. I spent my time trying to calm whoever was inside the trunk. I gave her my name and made one name. sighted small talk, even as the thuds grew weaker and the whimpers came to a stop. Finally, I saw the red and blue lights of a squad car turning into the parking lot. I flagged them down, but by then the trunk had gone quiet. They said something about just cause or probable cause or something they say all the time in

those cop shows. Point being, they couldn't open the trunk just yet. They had the casino security tracked down Edward Smith. who showed up looking as sheepishly self-satisfied as he had earlier. This time, with three women on his arms instead of just the one. What can I do for you, gentlemen? I could just barely hear the conversation for behind the squad car where I was giving my statement. The cops explained they suspected someone was being held against their will,

and the slimy guy just smiled and shrugged. I have no idea where someone might have gotten that idea. Would you please open the trunk? He smirked broadly, releasing the women in his arms. He shooed them away with playful slaps on the ass. Why, of course, you need only ask. He reached into his jacket and pulled out his car key. Not hesitating for a second to unlock the trunk and open it.

I stretched my neck as far as it could go to see who was inside. But what I saw sent my stomach tumbling to my trunk. feet. The trunk was empty. I had heard her. I had felt the car bumping up and down from the inside. I had seen it moving from the outside. My boss came out, face red with anger. I could tell he was about to scold me, probably fire me too, but Edward Smith stood between us and smiled. Now, I don't want you to do anything there. He took good care of my car. I'm sure this was just a misunderstanding. I expect to see him here next time I visit him. He winked at me, a wink that made my skin crawl.

My supervisor blundered out. Oh, yes, yes, yes, of course, of course. The police searched the car, then shot annoyed glances my way. I went home that night shaken by what had happened. I went through it in my head over and over again. but I couldn't explain it. Was the car haunted? And I felt an earthquake?

I could lavender perfume make you hallucinate? A few weeks passed, and I finally saw the car pulling up around the corner. At first, I thought it was him. I thought that entitled prick had come back to taunt me, but there was a blue machine to the paint, and the driver looked completely different. Just some random guy with the same car model as Edward. You know, this might sound weird, but even after weeks, I never forgot what Edward's trunk looked like.

The image of the empty space stayed with me, nagging me every day. I could see it in my mind's eyes so clearly that if I had any drawing skills whatsoever, I could have shown you exactly what it looked like in spectacular detail. The random patron with the same model car stepped out, but kept hold of his key. He apologized as he ran around back to get something. from his trunk. It was the same exact trunk. But then I saw him reach around and pull a latch. The floor retracted. There was a compartment underneath, just barely big enough to hold a person. If you broke a few bones and really crammed her in there, I promised her I'd get her out.

I gave her false hope, and then I let her die. season's wintery weather and how great it is to be out in the forest and the snow, well, you might want to think twice about this story. You see, author John Foster tells us a tale in which a group of friends head off to a lodge in the winter, and, well, we've come to learn that forests aren't always the friendliest places, haven't we? Performing this tale are Mike Delgado, Matthew Bradford, Jessica McAvoy, Nicole Goodnight, and Jeff Clement. So don't worry, really.

Most cabins and forests are fine. Just try to avoid white birch lodge. The snow crunched underneath the tires of the car as we made our way up the forest road. The snow still fell thick and heavy, adding to the six inches that had already accumulated. I looked over at Rhine, who was hunched over the wheel,

struggling to see through all the snow. Frank was asleep in the back. Meg and Liz talked quietly next to, him. I'd given up on the map once we'd gotten onto the dirt road into the forest. Since then, we'd been going off the direction the guy Ryan was renting the place from gave us. How much longer you think it'll be, man? We were supposed to be there before sunset. But the snow had held us up much more than we thought it would. Ryan's side as he turned the wipers up another notch. Don't know, Mike. I hope soon. Snow's only getting worse. Well, I hope this guy didn't dupe you

out of our money. Nah, dude. He showed me the place on Google Maps. It's legit. That's when we passed the sign. White Birch Lodge was written in faded black on flaking white paint. The Lodge itself wasn't so much a lodge as it was a cabin. A decent sized one, though, but the Lodge in the name was clearly just a marketing thing. Ryan pulled the car up next to the front door. I turned around and slapped Frank on the leg to wake him up. The five of us climbed out of the car and hurried to unload everything and get it inside. Meg sat her stuff down. It's not really what I was expecting, to be honest.

It's rustic. I like it. Yeah, it's relaxing. Frank flopped down on one of the couches and was immediately swallowed up in a cloud of dust. Oh, shit. Did that guy say how long had been since the last people stayed here? Liz grabbed on to Ryan's arm.

No. Just told me the basic info about the place. Seemed like a good enough deal, but now I'm not so sure. Anyway, it's late, so I'm off to bed. See you guys in the morning. Ryan went into one of the bedrooms. Liz followed behind. I called dibs on the couch.

Not so bad now that the dust is gone. Frank kicked off his shoes and put his feet up on the couch. Good night, guys. And with that, he was out. Well, I might as well get some sleep, too. Are you heading off as well? I'm going to check the place out a bit first. Not too tired yet.

All right. See you. Meg went off into the second to last room, closing the door behind her with a click of the lock. I walked around the living room, checking out the paintings on the wall and the dust-covered knick-knacks on the mantle. I made my way into the kitchen and check the lights and water, happy to find both still working.

The moonlight coming in to the... through the window above the sink caught my attention. I looked outside and it was beautiful. The lake had iced over and the snow was beginning to collect on it. And the moon lit the snow-covered forest into a twinkling wonderland. Then something caught my eye. At the forest's edge near the lake, I noticed something moving and a shape began to appear out of the tree line. It looked like a pretty big buck at first. I could see its antlers moving side to side as it looked around. Then they seemed to face me, no doubt seeing the light in the window. Then it stood up.

The head kept rising until it was about eight feet off the ground. Two small white orbs appeared on its head. I stood there, motionless, staring at the dear man thing, and it stared at me. I don't know how long we stayed like that, but it eventually just faded back into the forest. I made sure all the doors and windows were locked before running into my room. I woke up after everyone else that morning. They were sitting at the table's sturdy plates set to the side, playing cards. I grabbed some of the leftover bacon and toast and pulled up a chair.

I decided that I would keep what I saw the night before to myself, chalking it up to the drive there were just the forest and light playing tricks on me. I didn't want to ruin everyone's fun by freaking them out. We spent the day walking through the woods. The snow had let up not long after we arrived at the cabin, so it wasn't too deep to walk through, though it was still a bit of a hassle. In the light of the day, we were able to see the namesake of the cabin. A massive white birch tree stood about 20 feet from the cabin door.

The tree stood about 90 feet tall, with thick branches going all the way to the top. It was definitely an impressive sight to see. Damn, dude, that tree is massive. Frank backed up and tried to make a clumsy run at it in an attempt to climb it. Due to the depth of the snow, he fell flat on his face before even getting close to it. He tried for a standing climb, but only managed to take some chunks out of the bark with his boots. Well, shit. He walks back to the porch and pulled a joint out of his jacket pocket.

Hey, make sure to keep that shit out here. He waved me off as he sparked his lighter. I turned back to see Ryan and Liz carving their initials into the tree. How cliche can you guys be? Ryan chuckled as he finished off the last bit of his name. Someday you'll get white people do this, man. There's a reason so many people do it. It's just a feeling you get.

The permanence of it. Whatever. I tossed a snowball at his head, knocking his hat. off. That night we were all sitting around drinking and talking when the lights went off. And Ryan, being the handiest of our group, took it upon himself to go out into the cold and try and fix the generator. We were hesitant to let him go out since the snow had picked up again and the temperature had dropped, but he assured us that he'd be fine. Fifteen minutes later, he came back, covered in snow, his face bright red from the cold.

I couldn't fix it. I think it's best we just call it a night and try in the morning. His voice sounded strange, almost empty. He went into his and Liz's room, not even taking his coat or boots off and closed the door. I'll go see what's up with him. Liz ran into the room. Well, this sucks. Frank fell down onto the couch. I'll get a fire going.

It's going to get even colder in here without one. Looks like we'll have enough wood to last us through the night. Oh, let's hope so. But I guess I'll do what Ryan said in and just. head off. Good night, guys. I fell asleep in front of the fire. I woke up just as the first rays of light hit my face. My back was damp with sweat because of the heat of the fire.

I threw the last couple of logs on there and stoked it back up. I went to the couch to wake up Frank, but he wasn't there. I checked the other rooms, but found no sign of him. I banged on the bedroom doors to get everyone up. We found footprints on the porch. They came from the woods up to the porch, then headed back into the woods. They didn't look right, though. They weren't boot prints, so whoever left them wasn't wearing shoes,

which I found insane given the weather. They were also unusually long and thin, like whoever had left them dragged their feet when they stepped. Well, we need to go out there and find him. We sat down at the table to figure out what to do. We can't go out there. The footprints end at the edge of the woods And even if they didn't

It's snowing like crazy out there Any more prints out there Won't last much longer What about the car? Buried in snow But even if it wasn't There's only one road to drive on And the woods are too dense to go through them in a car

Can't we call him? If he doesn't answer Maybe we could at least hear the ring Even if we had less shitty signal out here We can't charge our phones with no power They're probably all dead by now. We can't just leave him out there. What if he's hurt or some weird mountain freak broken and took him?

Yeah, Meg, I'm sure there's tons of fucking mountain men out here hunting people down. Well, something left those footprints, and it wasn't Frank. Maybe Ryan left them when he went to check the generator. It's been snowing all night and all morning. Whatever it was happened well after Ryan checked the generator. And where else could he have gone to sign outside? Well, I'm going out then. Whoever wants to come with me...

No! Ryan slammed his fists on the table. He hadn't said anything until now, so it made everyone jump. He looked at everyone's reactions and calmed himself before speaking again. We're not going out there. We're staying in here.

Everything is fine. I'm sure he just went to smoke or get wood or something. Fine. But if he dies out there, it's on your fucking head. I walked out the door. I stood on the porch calling for Frank for hours.

Liz and Ryan were right, though. It was way too dangerous to go out with the weather the way it was. I felt hopeless about the whole thing, partly blaming myself since I was in the room with him. There probably wasn't much I could have done to change anything, but I still felt responsible. Hey. I turned around to see Meg coming out the door.

Hey. I turned back to face the woods. I'm sure he's all right. I mean, he's got his lighter on him, so he could have started a fire somewhere to stay warm. I'm worried about him, too, but there's not much we can do right now. I thought you wanted to go out there and help him. Don't tell me you've given up on him like the others. Of course not, Mike. I just don't want to risk anyone trying to find him. As soon as the snow clears, I'll go out with you to find him. It'll be too late then. We sat around the table again that night. No one wanted to say anything, so we'd just.

just sat in silence. Ryan stared out the window to the tree line where I saw that thing the first night. I wondered if it was out there. Maybe Frank had found it. Maybe it was some helpful forest spirit that brought him to safety. I could only hope that my friend was safe somewhere

and not frozen to death in a tree well somewhere out in the woods. The knock on the door echoed through the cabin. Liz, Meg, and I turned around to look at the door. Ryan kept gazing out the window. We sat there for what felt like an eternity, wondering if the knock had just been an animal or a branch hitting the door. Then we heard it again. Outer this time.

More forceful. I felt a chill run down my spine, like an ice cube down my shirt. Part of me hoped that the knocking was frank, letting us know that he was back and needed to get inside. But another part of me felt something ominous in the knock. That little voice warned me not too angry. answer. We looked at each other and at Ryan, who continued his vigil over the window. The third knock was even stronger still. I heard it rattle some of the curios on the mantle through the

heartbeats pounding in my ear. I could feel the tension in the room growing stronger. The knocks then started in a steady rhythm, slowly building speed and force. Finally, I heard the scraping of a chair on the wood floor. Liz rose to her feet and began to make her way to the door. She moved slowly, quietly, staying on alert for whatever was out there. Just as she reached the door, Ryan screamed, shot out of his chair and ran towards her at full speed. He pushed her out of the way, flung the door open, and dragged her out with him. Meg was up and running before her screams left the porch. I called out to her, but I knew there was nothing I could do to stop her.

I grabbed my snow gear and ran after her. The frigid air stung my eyes and nose. I looked around to see if I could see anyone, but the snow was too heavy to see more than a few yards ahead of me. I thought I saw something run into the trees to the right of me. I called after it, hoping it was Meg, but I got no response. I jogged over to where I saw it and I looked for bootprints. As I was looking, I heard a thud come from the direction of the cabin. I looked over and saw something on the roof.

The shape shuffled around a bit before it began to take form. The shape grew in size, straightening up off the ground. Once it stood upright and raised its head to look at me, I saw the antlers stick out of it and the white orbs open up. Just as with the first time, I stared at it. Paralyzed by fear, I realized I wouldn't be able to make it back to the cabin with it standing on the roof. Long, spindly arms extended from its side as it raised its head and let out an ear-piercing howl that chill into the core.

I turned and ran into the trees. As soon as I took off running, I heard it land in the snow. The air burned my lungs as I pushed my body as hard as it would go to keep running. The snow was slowing me down, and it felt like running through glue. I knew there was no way I could outrun this thing like this. If it was able to get on and off the roof like that, the snow would prove little challenge for it. but I kept running and hoping for a miracle.

My saving grace came on a sour note, as I heard screaming off in the distance. Couldn't tell who it was, but I knew it must have been either Meg or Liz. I hated myself, but I saw this as extra time I had to get as far away as I could and come up with a plan. I kept running until I got to a clearing and collapsed. I crawled over to an old log and pressed against it, making myself as small as I could. I didn't know how far I had run. I figured that my best bet was to make my way back to the cabin and try and follow the road back down to the main streets.

Even that would be a long walk in these conditions, not to mention having the deer man hunting me down. As my mind raced for an escape plan, I heard something heavy hit the snow. I froze as I strained to hear for any sign as to what it could have been, fearing for what I already figured it was. I risked a peek over the log and saw it standing there. It was looking away from me, so I quickly ducked back down, pressing myself even closer to the log.

I held my breath and waited for it to go check somewhere else. After what felt like hours, it finally ran off to continue its hunt. I quietly got up and made my way out of the clearing. As I made my way through the woods, I heard another scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to give up then and there. I didn't have hope for the others. I knew that the dear man had gotten them. I broke through the trees again and found myself on the bank of the frozen lake. It was still as beautiful and pristine as when I first

saw it. The snow had started to let up and I could make out the cabin in the distance, the massive birch tree poking out from behind it. The sight gave me a little hope. All I had to do was make it over to it and I would stand a chance. Maybe I could actually make it out of here. The smell was the first thing that hit me. The metallic tang of blood and the putrid scent of rotten meat. It made me want to gag. I tried to calm myself. I told myself that it couldn't be close.

I would have heard it land if it was near me. It was working until I saw the tendrils of condensing breath drift through the air out of the corner of my eye. I heard ragged breathing move closer to my ear. A strong, bony hand grabbed. hold of my coat. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, my mind racing, digging through everything I had ever learned to try and find some way out of this. I did the only thing I could think of. I slipped my coat off and sprinted towards the lake. The snow offered some traction and my boots provided the rest. I used all the strength I had in my body to propel myself across the ice,

praying that it was thick enough to support my weight. I made it about halfway before I heard what sounded like a gunshot. The ground beneath my feet shook with what felt like an earthquake. I picked up my speed knowing that I only had precious moments before the ice gave way. I put my foot down on an uneven chunk and tripped. I felt something snap in my ankle and I smacked my face on the ice causing my vision to double. I had to get back up or else I would fall through the ice into the frigid water below. I forced myself back onto my feet and stumbled and staggered my way back to the opposite bank. It was only a few yards from the cabin now, but I knew I couldn't risk stopping. I tripped again and felt something slice into my good ankle. I rolled over and saw a chunk

of metal with portions of some technical drawings on it. The generator. I rolled back onto my stomach and began to crawl. My head still swimming concussively. I rounded the corner and the tree came into sight. At the base of it, I saw Ryan and the deer man. My vision kept fading in and out. I saw Ryan kneel down before the dear man. I kept crawling until I felt something in my hand. A cell phone. It was Frank's burner. For once in my life, I was happy for Frank's habits. I flipped it open and held the power button, praying that Frank had kept it turned off the whole trip. It turned on. I dialed 911, but the call failed. I called again and again until finally it went through. 9-1-1. What's your emergency? I need help. There's... I don't know. I just...

Sir, I need to know where you are and the nature of your emergency? I'm... I'm at a cabin off the Maplecrest Road. I... Just help me. All right, sir. Please try to stay on the line so I can identify your location. A hand gripped my leg and I dropped the phone. I was flipped onto my back and I saw them. Meg, Liz, Ryan, and Frank, all hanging from the tree by their legs, blood slowly dripping down into the snow below them. I was lifted up into the air. The deerman lifted me up to be face to face with it. I could feel its hot breath blowing onto my face. Raised me up and I fought back bile in my throat. Rodded and modeled flesh hung loosely from the thing's misshapen face. A lipless mouth.

expelled air over jagged and gnarled teeth held in place by pitted gums. Its eyes, bulbous, yellow, and bloodshot, looked me over before placing a bloody and filthy hand over my face. The stench, fear, and lack of air quickly caused me to lose consciousness. When I came to, I was hanging by my ankles from the tree. The sun was beginning to rise and I could see it poking up from the horizon. It looked down and saw the dear man kneeling down with its hand on the tree. It didn't seem to notice me. It stood up and examined its work, looking over the forms in the tree before walking off out of my vision. I felt so cold. I couldn't even feel the rope cutting into my leg. Blood moved down my face, mixing with the tears in my eyes. I could feel unconsciousness setting in, and I knew that this was going to be it.

closed my eyes, readying myself for the inevitable. Just before I passed out again, I heard the sounds of motors off in the distance. I woke up in a hospital bed, tubes and wires running out of me from all over, and an excruciating pain in my throat and neck. My parents were there and quickly called the doctor before hugging me. Over the next few days, I was interviewed by police about what had happened. I told them everything. knowing how crazy I sounded.

The doctors told the police how the physical and mental trauma of the ordeal must have led me to confabulate the more specific details of what happened. The police started a massive investigation in the area of the cabin to find the dear man killer. I know they won't find it. The dear man belongs to the woods. In the few years since the event, I've slowly managed to start returning to a normal way of life with the help of doctors and psychological counseling. I still have nightmares about what happened.

I don't think those will ever go away. I've developed a deep fear of the forest and can't stand to be in one or even walk to a forest edge. The closest I've been to being in a forest in the past two years is the large park I pass on my drive to work. I try to avoid looking at it as much as I can because the few times I've looked, I swear I see something looking back. For time in our netherworld into your own reality. If you would like to find out how you can hear the full-length versions of our audio program,

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