The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S8E18

Episode Date: February 27, 2017

It's episode 18 of Season 8. On this week's show we have five tales about infections, traditions, and predations. "The Parting Glass"† written by M.J. Pack and performed by Mike DelGaudio. (Story starts around 00:04:52) "Ouroboros"† written by Matt Dymerski and performed by Jeff Clement & Jessica McEvoy & Matthew Bradford & Atticus Jackson & Kyle Akers. (Story starts around 00:20:38) "There's Something Out on Old 16"† written by Rona Vaselaar and performed by Dan Zappulla & Atticus Jackson & Mike DelGaudio. (Story starts around 00:43:50) "All Present in 219"‡ written by Manen Lyset & Marcus Damanda and performed by Andy Cresswell & Alexis Bristowe & Patrick Cline. (Story starts around 00:58:44) "Sooterkins"† written by C.M. Scandreth and performed by Erica Sanderson & Penny Scot Andrews. (Story starts around 01:35:00) 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 Marcus Damanda  Click here to learn more about Manen Lyset  Click here to learn more about C.M. Scandreth  Click here to learn more about Matt Dymerski  Click here to learn more about M.J. Pack  Click here to learn more about Rona Vaselaar  Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone Audio adaptations produced by: Phil Michalski† & Jeff Clement‡ "Ouroboros" illustration courtesy of Jen Tracy Audio 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 into your fear because tonight there will be no sleep podcast. It's the no sleep podcast. I'm David Cummings. Thanks for joining us. On this week's show, we have five tales about infections, traditions, and predations. Well, we're all here on tour in Cleveland, Ohio, in a hotel room.

That's right, we're all together in a hotel. How's everyone doing? Good, thank you, yes. All righty. Well, yes, as you can probably tell, this will be a little bit off the cuff today. We are one full, solid week into the tour, and it is going very well. Anyone have any disagreements with that? Everything is great.

The fans are lovely. Everyone is so sweet. Indeed, yes. We have performed in Houston, Texas. San Antonio, Austin, Dallas, Minneapolis, Minnesota. And last night we had a great show in Cleveland. Everybody has been awesome. Lots of great fans coming out.

The love and the sheer physical affection has been overwhelming. So many hugs. And uncomfortable groping. It's been... I'm also an accident. I touched my butt. It wasn't an accident. So we are grateful for everyone who has come out and we have lots of shows left to come.

We are heading out shortly to Chicago and then the day after that, Detroit. And then we hit the East Coast, then the West Coast, then South Africa and all the So I want to send a big thanks to the team back home, all the people. All the people, all our producers, Phil and Jeff and our behind the scenes folks like Violet and Gabrielle and of course our great voice actor, Erica Sanderson, have all played key roles in getting this episode ready for you. We've just been slacking on the road while they've been working hard. So we are grateful for them. You're going to hear some new voices today on this episode, and I hope you really enjoy it. It's the best we can do, and because we didn't do much with it, it's going to be great.

So it's my pleasure to welcome, for the first time ever, a special guest host, as it were. Erica Sanderson is going to take over and introduce the stories for you. So thanks for listening. And we'll see you hopefully live in concert, as it were, on the road. And so, Erica, please, let's kick off this week's show. Thank you, David. And I must say it's a pleasure to finally be. let out of the dungeon and get to sit in the big chair. And I promise not to help myself to your

secret stash of Scotch. Personally, I'm quite partial to a few drams of Irish whiskey, much like author MJ Pack, who in our first story introduces us to a man who discovers a strange family funeral tradition. Performing this tale is Mike Delgadoio, so Slancher, and join him in raising the parting glass. Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. From an Irish funeral prayer. The first time I saw a dead body, I was seven years old.

I remember it very clearly because that's the sort of thing that sticks with you. My Uncle Thomas had died only a few weeks after we moved from the States to Bell Mollett, a tiny speck of a town settled on Ireland-Mullet Peninsula. That's a long way to move a kid who spent their whole life surrounded by cornfields and McDonald's. feels even longer when as soon as you get there, one of their funny speaking relatives drops dead. Uncle Thomas was how I was introduced to my family's tradition, the Shane Funeral Wake. See, I was just a kid. I had no way of knowing that most Irish families stopped the whole wake thing around the 1970s.

Most of them just bury their dead like regular people. But not the Shains. We had our own way of handling death, a very specific, way. And until yesterday, I thought it was normal. I thought it was okay. God help me, I thought it was okay. When my uncle Thomas died, my dad let me watch the tradition. He said since I had just turned seven, it was my duty that I learned about my roots, my culture. He explained that tradition was why he had moved us out here, and the fact that mom didn't understand, well, that was why she didn't come with us. they had gotten a divorce.

She could have her cornfields and McDonald's, and I would become a stronger, better man by growing up breathing the salty sea air of home. Home. He made it sound so important. Dads can do that, I guess. I saw my first dead body when Uncle Thomas was carried down from the bed he died in. He wasn't very old when he died. It was kind of weird, but my dad said he just went into sleep, and it was peaceful, so I shouldn't worry

about it. I did anyway, for a long time, because if you're not safe in your sleep, then how can I believe I was safe from death at all? I expected him to look like he was sleeping, but he didn't. He looked waxy, weird, like a dummy made from the remnants of fully burnt candles. His eyes were closed, oh, thank God for that, but his mouth kept popping open and I could see his teeth inside. For some reason, at every funeral wake after, it's always what I noticed on the body, the open mouth, the teeth inside. Do you want to hear about the Shane Funeral Wake tradition? I can tell you about Uncle Thomas's funeral wake because I remember it in such detail,

but also because they were all the same, and there were a lot. First, my aunts and female cousins laid out the body in Grandma and Grandpa Shane's living room, right in front of the fireplace. It was this big, long, wooden table brought out from the cellar. We only used it for funeral wakes. To use it for anything else would have been disrespectful to the dead. I just thought it would be gross to eat off a table like that, but I kept my mouth shut.

Besides, I had already been told to never go in the cellar. It was a sacred place, and I had to respect things that were sacred. Next, they washed him. I tried to cover my eyes so I wouldn't see his private parts, but my dad slapped my hands away from my eyes, saying it was important to watch the whole thing. I had to watch the whole thing. I watched and hoped they'd hurry, but they'd cook their time. Then Uncle Thomas was shaved, dressed, and laid back down again. They crossed his arms over his chest where his heart didn't beat, and I still thought he should look like he was sleeping.

But he didn't. Grandma Shane, who didn't cry once the whole time as she put her youngest son to rest, wrapped a long string of beads around his right hand and put it back on his chest. Then she sat down next to him in her favorite chair and someone brought her the first glass of whiskey while my aunt stopped all the clocks in the house. Grandma Shane drank the first glass of whiskey and then everyone took a glass. The whole Shane Klan gathered in Grandma and Grandpa's living room. Everyone took a glass, including me.

It was smaller than the rest, and my dad explained it was important that I participate, but it was also important that I didn't tell another adult about this part. Not that there were many to tell in the town of Belmullet. Most of the population was either Shane Blood or close to it or kept to themselves. I thought this was okay, too, because I didn't know any better. Grandma Shane raised her glass and the rest of them followed suit, so I did the same, and they all began to sing. Of all the money that ere I had, I spent it in good company. Of all the harm that ere I've done, alas was done to none but me,

and all I've done for want of wit to memory now I cannot recall. So fill me to the parting glass. Good night, and joy be with you all. Everyone took a swig from their glass, so I did the same. I almost spat it out, not knowing what to expect, but definitely not expecting it to burn so badly. Then they sang the rest. Of all the comrades that error I had, they're sorry for my going away. And all the sweethearts that ever I had,

they wish me one more day to stay. But since it falls unto my lot that I should rise while you should not, I will gently rise and softly call. Good night, and joy be with you all. Everyone finished their whiskey, so I did the same, grimacing at its smoky sweet taste. It burned my throat the whole way down. Then came the party. After the song, the same song every time, the house nearly burst with jubilation. The whiskey would start to flow, the food would be served, and Grandma Shane would spend the whole time next to Uncle Thomas's body, next to the body of whatever poor soul had drawn the lot that we should rise and they should not. The first funeral wake seemed very strange,

but also very important, just like my dad had said, because I was the only kid allowed to participate in such a mysterious, magical ceremony. None of the other aunts or uncles had small children. My gaggle of cousins were mostly in their 20s. I was the only kid, and I didn't question that, because I thought it was okay. Between the party-like atmosphere, the dancing, and the drinking, I noticed a few people fussing around my cousin Emma. She didn't look happy like everyone else. My aunts and uncles were trying to get her to drink more, dance more,

and she obliged them a little, kept trying to sit near Grandma Shane, who all but ignored her. Emma sat on the floor and tugged at Grandma Shane's skirt. I still remember her pale face, her pleading eyes. eyes. But Grandma Shane held fast and sat in silence beside her dead son. Again and again, Emma was swept away and eventually, she stopped trying. At three in the morning, the funeral wake ended. Uncle Thomas was carried out on that same long wooden table head first. Where his body went after that, only Grandpa Shane and my dad knew. They were the only ones allowed to carry the bodies out of the house.

They would return hours later, dirty and exhausted. I always wondered why they wouldn't let anyone help. Now, I know. I know a lot of things I wish I didn't. Seven months later, Emma was dead. My dad told me she had been very sick, but he didn't want me to worry about it. The whole family knew Emma only had so much time left.

I can't remember now what he told me she was sick with, but I do know it was a lie. Then came the long wooden table, the cleansing, the beads wrapped around her right hand. She looked like a waxy doll, too, just like Uncle Thomas. Her mouth kept popping open. Stop the clocks, cover the mirrors, a glass of whiskey for Grandma Shane, a glass of whiskey for everyone, sing the parting glass, drink the parting glass, eat, drink, dance.

At three in the morning, Grandpa Shane and my dad take the body. The table goes back in the cellar. This happened a lot over the course of my life in Bell Mollett. It happened too often now that I can look back without the ignorant glow of childhood smudging everything out of focus. Always a perfectly reasonable explanation. A work mishap, an unknown illness, a hereditary disease. Sometimes it was an accident, sometimes they went in their sleep, an aunt here, a cousin there, another uncle to lay on that long wooden table while we toasted their dinner.

death. Because that's what we were doing. Don't you realize that by now? It took me 10 years to realize it, but I do. We were toasting their death and the death of others to come. Ten years, 10 deaths, 10 Shane family funeral wakes. He turned 17 yesterday. Grandpa Shane said he wanted to take me for a drink with my dad. I thought he meant to one of the local pubs. Grandpa Shane isn't good with the bartender. Has been for a long time. But instead, he and my dad headed downstairs, down into the cellar. In 10 years, measured by 10 deaths, I had never gone into the cellar. Never even dreamed of it because I had been told it was sacred. So much of what the Shane family did was sacred. And I grew up knowing that, respecting that. It took some doing to muster up the courage to follow them,

but 17 is a sacred age, a sacred number. And so I figured this was part of our tradition. Do you want to hear the truth about the Shane Funeral Wake tradition? I can tell you the truth because Grandpa Shane told me, and even though I'm not supposed to tell anyone else, I have to. Some of the process isn't all that bad. Things my family did that I didn't question. Stop all the clocks to confuse the devil, give the diseased spirit time to get to heaven. Cover the mirrors so the soul cannot be trapped inside.

Regular, normal, old Irish beliefs. It's the rest that's hard to swallow, like that first swig of whiskey when I was seven. I didn't mention that in all this time, Grandma and Grandpa Shane aged really well, while younger, healthy-seeming members, of the family dropped off like flies, grandma and grandpa Shane remained party in good spirits.

I didn't mention it because, like everything else, I thought it was okay. I was grateful to have such resilient grandparents. My dad, well, he aged pretty well too, once he got back to Ireland anyway. He started by explaining that he had to come back home. He had made a mistake leaving in the first place and realized it around the time I turned,

Around the time his back started to hurt, he couldn't run up a flight of stairs without wheezing. Around the time he started to feel old. He had to come back and Mom didn't want us to go, so he just left. And even though he didn't say it, I don't think he even filed for divorce. I don't think Mom knows where I am. Not a lot of people know where the Shanes live, for good reason. So my dad came back and he brought me, and he brought me. Grandma and Grandpa Shane were so happy because my dad and I, well, we're very important.

We're the chosen sons of the Shains, just like Grandpa Shane. We have a very important job to do. Our job is to carry the body out head first. You see, it's supposed to be the other way around. We're supposed to carry them out feet first because that way they can't look back and beckoned someone to follow them in death. We carry them out headfirst, so that's exactly what they do. Then we take the body to the bogs. We, the chosen sons of the Shains, cut off the hand that Grandma Shain wrapped with beads

and dumped the rest into the marshy darkness. We bring the hand home, return the beads to Grandma Shain, and for the next seven months, we keep the hand in a recently opened jar of our finest whiskey. and the same whiskey we just drank to toast someone's death. For the next seven months, grandma and grandpa Shane drink from the jar. My dad does too, but not as much. Whatever is left over goes to my aunts and uncles, then the cousins. All of them but one, the one Grandma Shane picks.

It keeps them not young, exactly, but strong, healthy. Let's just say, while it doesn't keep them young, that grandma and grandpa Shane are a lot older than they look. I haven't gotten any of that particular whiskey. I've only drank the untouched batch served at the funeral wake. I haven't needed it until now. Now, I'm 17. I drank the last of the whiskey from the jar, the one with my aunt Grace's hand floating in it. And tomorrow, one of my family members is going to die.

I'm not sure which one. I just know it won't be me. Because I'm a chosen son of the Shains, and I'm very important. Be too hard to cut off their hands. What could possibly go wrong when a group of friends decides to go cave exploring?

Well, as author Matt Dimereski reminds us, some things are better left undisturbed. Performing this tale are Jeff Clement, Jessica McAvoy, Matthew Bradford, Atticus Jackson, and Kyle Akers. In the serpentine, Auroborus. There are some things in this life that you simply can't do anything about. But at 11 years old, we didn't know that. When our friend Cody was diagnosed with cancer,

we thought for sure we could just simply go on an adventure and find some sort of mysterious cure like they always did on television. It was the early 90s back then and the internet was just beginning to be a thing. We would cluster around the computer and investigate terribly formatted message boards in search of the arcane because for the first time, our reach extended beyond our cul-de-sacs and out across the limitless globe to places and people's unknown. All we knew of these others were basic plain text sentences on a goofily colored background above permanent under-construction gifts. Naturally, the first thing we did was agree to meet a stranger in the woods. She claimed to be a cute 13-year-old girl with red hair,

and the three of us were both excited and terrified of investigating the cave she said she'd found. Kyle and I were iffy on climbing in a cave, but Grant and Cody were already sagging each other up to look cool and adventurous in front of a girl. The day was uncomfortably humid among the tall Virginia pines, and I remember nearly turning back as we hiked through banks of mosquitoes on our approach towards the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. It couldn't have been more than a few miles from home, but it felt like we'd gone on a dangerous safari.

We should have listened to that instinct. Following the landmarks the message on the forum had given us, we worked our way deeper into tangled undergrowth, across fallen logs, and further from anything familiar. As children in the 90s, being left for the 90s, To wander the forests on a summer day with our friends was not out of the ordinary, but none of us had ever gone this far. There was absolutely no wind at all as we crunched our way forward, and Birdsong was the only other sound. When even that stopped, absolute silence fell.

We'd reached our destination. In soundless humidity, under clouded sunlight, a large boulder formed a mossy dome in the middle of a clearing. Nothing grew around it, and the blackened earth held a pattern of serration, like the black of some ridged serpent that had somehow wrapped itself around the base of the ancient stone. We saw these things and would certainly have been concerned, if not for the presence of a red-haired girl, a bit older than us, sitting on top of the rock. She lowered her water bottle. Good, you're here. Let's go.

Our relief that she was actually who she said she was made us realize that we were. we might have found anybody out here. And suddenly, wary, we asked, where? When she hopped down, we saw that she was a tomboyish girl with a plain face, not at all the young Cindy Crawford that Grant and Cody had been hoping for. Still, we'd come all this way, and a girl two years older than us was still intimidating. When she insisted, under this rock, we dutifully followed her around to the other side of the stone dome to find a recently made hole and a banged-up shovel. The black pattern on the ground dives under the rock here. So I dug at it to see what I could find, and it turns out there's a whole cave under there.

Kyle had concerns about the safety of the cave, concerns that I shared, but the girl insisted that it was safe. She pulled a flashlight from her pocket and pointed it within, showing us that there were man-made walls below. One by one we followed her into the hole under that massive capping rock, and we brought out our own flashlights to look around. The walls were not the color of earth. Huge gray bricks, as long as a person and as tall as Grant,

held up the tunnel around us, conveying the feeling of a very old temple. Small alcoves held inscribed images at intervals, but the carvings were all that remained. Any color they'd once held had long since fallen away. Cody had the idea to angle the flashlights to emphasize the shallow carvings, but the shadows that emerged painted only pictures of a world of darkness and despair. Small human figures held up their arms as they ran

or were eaten by massive snake-like creatures with huge, banged mouths. Is this Native American? The girl shook her head. No way. We have tons of their caves near my house. This is something else. Looks way older. Kyle backed toward the spear of light from the hole to the surface, but he didn't flee just yet. What's older? What was here before the Native Americans? I don't know. That's why we're looking around. Aren't you curious?

He swallowed his unhappiness and continued on with us down the tunnel. The walk took us deeper and deeper into darkness until the light of the hole curved out of sight. With our five flashlights, we weren't too concerned, but I did begin swinging my beam back behind us at intervals. What I thought had been complete silence now crept upon me like distant whispering, or perhaps a small breeze curling eddies unseen in the dust.

Were the shadows themselves watching us and muttering amongst themselves? It was warmer here than it should have been. I'd been in caves before, and they were usually on the unpleasant side of chilly. This temple-like tunnel was a little warm. Before I could figure anything out, we saw a lance of sunlight curve into sight ahead. At first we thought it was another hole, but we soon realized that we were coming up on the entrance again. The tunnel had taken us in a giant loop.

By then, the whispering, Eddies had become more pronounced, and I became absolutely certain I was actually hearing something. This time, when I turned my beam behind us, I nearly screamed. But the older girl grabbed my mouth, pushed Grant and Cody toward the opposite wall, and dragged Kyle and I into a carven alcove. For nearly 15 seconds, we clung to warm stone and pressed back as hard as we could. For nearly 15 seconds, We watched a wall of scales slide past our three circles of light just inches away. We could only hope Grant and Cody had gotten the idea and were pressed into the alcove on the other side. Here we barely fit, and Kyle bit his lips so hard that blood began pouring down his chin.

He did this to keep from screaming, for he was the outermost of us. And those huge green shimmering scales were moving by millimeters from his sleeve. I'd seen massive, milky, white eyes moving right toward us. The creature was blind, possibly from millennia spent underground moving in an eternal circle. But we didn't dare test whether it was deaf as well. One scream. But the enormous serpent was suddenly passed like a train departing down the line, and we saw Grant and Cody staring at us with wide white eyes of their own from across the tunnel.

To get to the exit hole, we had to go the direction the creature had gone. How could we will ourselves to do that? It turned out very slowly. We knew it would be coming back around the long loop, but our animal fears were far more concerned with the slithering sounds receding just ahead. What would it do if it sensed us? It was almost exactly the size of the tunnel. Could it even turn around?

we couldn't risk it. Only a few feet ahead, Kyle sighted a deeper alcove that actually made a small tunnel of its own, and we ducked inside in the hopes of timing our escape. Instead, we found an adjoining chamber, and there was no mistake in the cathedral feel of the high-vaulted and elegant stonework within. Even stranger, on a platform in the middle of the chamber, rather than set near the back wall like one might expect, a raised stone hand lay open beneath an ornate fist-sized hedron that seemed to be floating in the air.

It was a geometric solid with eight sides, like two pyramids stuck together, and covered in delicate carvings. Like the alcoves, it lacked any coloring, but the silvery metal seemed to make the images upon it come alive under our flashlights. We whispered at her harshly to stop, but the girl, put her hand on it, and it stopped floating. She turned it this way and that, but it was just an inert chunk of metal and stone, and whatever curious energies it had held had apparently dissipated. No, that wasn't exactly correct. We still felt a strong compulsion to look at it and keep it with us. Collectively enthused by our mysterious treasure, we crept back to the larger tunnel, waited in terror as the giant snake passed again, and then made a run for the tunnel

exit. Climbing out of there was probably the most panic-filled moment of my life. At any instant, a tremendous creature under the earth could have sunk blade-like fangs into me, and I never would have seen it coming. But we made it out, and back into the heat and humidity. I'd never been so happy to see mosquitoes again. We ran through clouds of them without a care, for we'd both found a treasure and escaped with it. This was everything we'd hoped for. A mile away from that strange rock and its surrounding tattoo in the earth,

I stumbled and nearly fell, and we all slowed to take a break. As we sat, the red-haired girl leaned down and picked up a coin. Hey, look, a 50-cent piece. What? In the dirt out here? Grant asked. She shrugged.

That should have been our first warning, but it was too small and too early. The girl's name was Morgan, and our discovery meant she was now locked in as our friend. The five of us had a secret, and that meant we would be seeing quite a bit of each other. Rather than going our separate ways as we finally made it back out of the forest, we decided to delay the question of who would keep the hedron by faking a sleepover. Kyle's parents were rather oblivious, and they didn't see Morgan as we snuck her into the basement. We sat in that basement for hours, going over and over the object with magnifying glasses and tracing paper, and anything else we could think that might help us crack the mystery of its meaning and origin.

The metal carvings on it portrayed very different scenes from the alcoves. As we rotated it, we saw the story of an unknown human figure at first running from a massive serpent, then turning to face it as it grew smaller, and finally chasing it in turn as the snake shrank. The last face of the hedron showed the man alone, resting from the chase now that the creature had sunk into oblivion. Someone made this a long time ago, probably to fight or control those snake things.

Has the snake just been down there all this time, going around and around and around? I happened to look out one of the windows to the backyard behind Kyle's basement then, and I froze as I thought I saw a wall of scales moving between the trees out in the darkness. That was impossible, was it? As Cody began coughing, I decided not to say anything. The day had already been pretty stressful for him, and he was not looking well. None of us acknowledged the reality of what was happening to him,

but that night we were collectively more focused on making sure he was comfortable and had the best couch. When we woke up the next morning, Morgan wasn't in the room, and the hedron was nowhere to be seen. For a moment, we panicked, but our mutual exhaustion kept us from doing anything drastic. I was tired in a way I hadn't been before, and it only lifted somewhat as she came jogging back with the artifact in hand. I thought I saw that giant snake. I'm not sure, but I might have chased it away with this thing. Kyle gulped. It's just like, loose?

Morgan wasn't sure, and I didn't want to speak up just yet to confirm that I had also seen it. How could something that huge even move around the neighborhood without destroying things or getting noticed? The answer didn't occur to me until we snuck upstairs and ate breakfast after Kyle's parents had gone to work. I said it with Cheerios still in my mouth. It's smaller now. What is? The serpent. It did follow us.

I saw it. I turned my head and stared out the window at bushes moving in the wind. But remember the metal carvings? The serpent gets smaller when it's chasing you. It was finally time to panic. Running up to the second floor together, we peered out the windows until we saw it. A long, winding, scaled body moving behind the...

neighbor's fence. The snake was now the height of a large dog, but still as long as a backyard. We began screaming then, at least until the snake began curving back toward us. It could hear us. We ran from Kyle's house in a veritable stampede, and this time we had no problem letting someone take the hedron. We foisted it on Morgan and separated, hoping to see who it would follow. It was not directly behind us on the street, but we knew it would find us. It had somehow located us miles from where we'd found it and was enormously adept at staying out of sight for everyone but us. On my way home, I didn't look where I was going,

and a kid on a bike crashed into me. It was scary for a moment, but I brushed it off and staggered home, cut up and bruised. The injuries matched how I felt. I only began to really worry when we got into a group phone call and Kyle, Grant, and Cody all began talking about the bad luck they'd had. I'd been hit by a kid on a bike.

Kyle had fallen into a sticker bush and gotten scraped all over. Grant had hit his head on a low-hanging door and split open his skin. And Cody said he was feeling worse every minute. And my school's closed tomorrow because of pipe first. I don't have to go in for a test. I didn't see.

study for. Also, I found a $20 bill. We began to suspect. But we didn't know until Grant broke his arm the next day, and Cody was taken to the hospital after a sudden turn for the worse. I barely avoided being hit by a car, but became even more cut up and bruised in the process. And Kyle caught a terrible flu that kept him home from school. Something was happening to us. Meanwhile, Morgan's father won the lottery. She met with me excited and happy until she saw my injuries, and I told her what was happening to the others.

For a moment, she hesitated, and I thought she might decide to keep the artifact, but she shook her head at long last and made the better choice. We rode our bikes to the hospital and smuggled the hedron in with us as we visited Cody. He was awake, but looking pale and gaunt,

and we placed it in his hand and waited. After four hours, Morgan still reported feeling great, and Cody was looking no better. I was not sure I could stand the draining feeling in my chest much longer either. The energy. It was floating when you touched it. Then it changed. With a look of slow horror, Morgan realized that simply handing the object to someone else would not stop what was happening. What if we throw it in the ocean? I shook my head. It doesn't seem to matter where it is.

Cody's holding it and nothing's changed. Her horror slowly morphed into anger. She scowled. Then let's break it. You guys are nice, and I didn't become your friend just to make you all sick. Over on the bed, Cody smiled weakly at her. Thank you. She nodded and took the evil eyes.

object from him. Together, she and I stepped out into the hallway and immediately leapt away and began running. The snake was a foot high now and still very long and had infiltrated the hospital. It hissed and slid after us with its milky white eyes searching. We let it away from Cody as best we could. None of the doctors, nurses, or other visitors stirred to action for the snake expertly dodged their attention. By the time they were looking, it was already out of sight. But all that hiding gave us distance. Morgan and I escaped the hospital, ran out into the street, and threw the object in a trash-compacting dumpster out back. We didn't care if we got in trouble. We turned it on and watched the power of man's machines crush the contents within

to a pulp. We stared as the compactor ground to a halt and began smoking. The metal within had bent and left the hedron completely undamaged. It was warm to the touch, too, as I grabbed it with trepidation and began to lose hope. We couldn't get rid of it. We couldn't destroy it? What could we do? The snake was relentless. No matter where we went, it was close behind, and I was unable to sleep that night for the tension caused by its slithering outside the door and the window.

The four of us gathered that day to see Cody. His face had become thin and skull. all like, and he looked like a shadow of his former self. Guys, we saw what happens on the walls. The groups of figures only got away because the snake caught one of them, remember? But the hedron only has one person on it. Kyle nodded, and Morgan stared at the floor. Cody shook his head feebly.

They're all part of the same structure. It's all connected. This won't stop until. one of us dies. I grabbed his hand. No. His eyes were bright, despite the darkness wasting away the rest of him. I'm going to take one for the team, so it'll let the rest of you go.

No! Yes. The snake was small then, just a slithering little creature the size of a pencil, and we waited in despairing silence as it crept along the plastic tube that led up into his nose. He nodded at us, and then began seizing. Doctors and nurses rushed in and were pushed out of the room, but I couldn't see anything. I could only hear the beeps of technology and the urgent voices of professionals at work. Wandering back to the visitors area with my friends, we sat in a daze.

Why me? Why did it help me and hurt all of you? Grant absently messed with a sling for his broken arm and shook his head. Kyle stared at the wall. I rolled the hedron in my hands. It hadn't even suffered so much as a dent from the trash compactor, but the fact remained that it was just a toy, a bobble, nothing at all. A silly hope and innocence lost.

We four lingered after the funeral. We'd been four before this had been. and we were four again, but not the same four. One had come, and one had gone. Standing by his grave, I rolled the hedron in my sight, watching the glyphs depict exactly what we'd gone through. As I ran through it over and over and over, I began to realize that this object was a uniform geometric shape.

There was really no indication of a beginning or end of the story. We'd simply assume that in our naivete. No, this was a series of images designed to continue seamlessly. It was not a story. It was a cycle. The serpent burst forth from Cody's grave once again the thickness of a hearse, throwing earth and gravestones and even pieces of a smashed tree out in every direction. We stared in awe as it tore a path through the graveyard and slithered off into the evening,

darkness. In my hands, the hedron had become just a painted rock like any other. There are some things in this life that you simply can't do anything about. Our touring team have been out on the road for over a week now and have already driven through some harsh conditions. Spare a thought for them as author Rona Vasselaar shares a story of a traffic stop with unnatural consequences. Performing this tale, are Dan Zapula, Atticus Jackson, and Mike Delgadoio. Remember to keep your eyes on the road because there's something out on old 16. I am a very observant driver.

My older cousin died in a car wreck when I was nine. It hit the whole family hard. When it came time for me to learn how to drive, my parents supervised me so carefully that I became an extremely cautious driver. I've always been aware of my surroundings. I never allow any distractions while I'm driving, even the radio. I always use my turn signal, I look both ways about seven times before pulling out into an intersection. Yeah, look, I'm that kind of driver.

Which is why I was shocked when I was pulled over last October. Look, I've been pulled over before, okay? I'm a good driver, but I'm not perfect. I got pulled over once as a teenager for a broken driver. tail light and once as an adult for speed. My wife was in labor and we needed to be in the hospital in like 10 minutes. I still can't believe I got a ticket for that. Anyway, I digress.

The point is, I've been stopped. I'd just never been stopped by a cop that I didn't see. I was driving down a stretch highway in the middle of the night. We'd gotten snowfall early that year, so it was already snow on the road. I was driving carefully. I was. The highway was pretty deserted, so I surely would have noticed a car coming up behind me. I didn't see the red and blue lights until they were right next to me.

I mean literally pulling up beside me. I looked over. I was shocked, and I saw the state trooper in the car just motioning me to pull over. Shit. So I slowed down as carefully as I could, and the roads were just a little slick. And I pulled over to the shoulder. The trooper parked right in front of him. me. To be honest with you, I was silently panicking as he stepped out of his squad car and walked up

towards my car. He was a tall man with a well-groom mustache and a lean frame. He walked with all the flexibility of a tree trunk. His back was ramrod straight and he looked a little like, um, like he had a literal stick up his ass. He was tense. I rolled down my window as he reached up to my car. Hey, good evening officer. Look, I'm sorry. I don't, I don't know how I didn't see you there before. License and registration. His voice was low, gravelly. He sounded tired.

I reached over to my glove compartment to take out my identification as he adjusted the hat on his head. He was shivering just a little bit. Christ, he must have been freezing. He was wearing only his uniform. I wondered where a state-issued jacket was. And he looked over my identification. You know how fast you were going? I was a little confused.

used. I've been driving well below the speed limit due to the weather. About 50 miles an hour, sir. The officer just nodded and handed my registration back to me. Any reason you were going so far below the limit? I'd honestly never been asked a question like that before. Uh, well, you know, the snow. I thought it might make the roads a little bit slippery as all. Just want to be careful, you know? Yeah. He sighed and looked at me. His eyes were hard, just staring.

at me like I was a bug pinned under a needle. Yeah, I know. Most people just come blazing down this stretch of road. Did you know that? Doesn't matter what kind of weather. Oh, the roads will be covered in solid ice and people will come screaming down here at 90 miles an hour. What do you think about that? At this point, something about the situation was starting to feel a little off. The way the cop was staring at me, the way his whole body seemed on edge. Something was wrong with him. I felt like I had to tread carefully with my answer. I think it's stupid, sir. I mean, a person could get hurt that way, or could hurt somebody else, which is worse. You're right. You're damn right. But do you think that most people give a shit if they hurt someone else? Do you think that ever even crosses their

minds. I didn't have a chance to respond before he answered for me. No. They don't give a goddamn rat's ass. Selfish fucking bastards. Every one of them. The words hung in the winter air between us, punctuating the silence with spite. The officer looked well and truly angry now as though he wanted to reach through my window and strangle me, simply because I was within reach. Uh, are you all right, sir? No. No, I am not. Living in this fucked up world, watching people fuck each other over with no regard for anyone else. And you know what's just the shit icing on this shit cake? I serve these people. I took a vow to protect them. And what do I get for it? Tell me, what do I get for it? To my dismay, it appeared he actually expected me to answer that question.

I'm not sure. Nothing. I don't get shit. I get spad at and cussed out and treated like a fucking cockroach. Where the fuck would you people be without me? Nobody appreciates people like me. But until it's too late. He was screaming now, his breath fogging up the air,

making it look like he was losing himself in a thick, missed. It wasn't until he calmed down for a moment and his breathing slowed, that I'd noticed that he unholstered his gun. My throat closed up as the gun shook in his hand, as though it was a living thing. And you know something? I think that ends. Today. I think that I should show the world they were wrong. All of them. Nobody appreciates their lives anymore. How easy we all have it. How lucky we are. How easily it can be taken away. Just like that.

In that moment, I was certain I was going to die. I could see destruction in that man's eyes, and those eyes were focused right on me. A thousand thoughts went through my mind. I could try to roll the window up. I could try to flee. Hell, I could try to run him down. But only one of those thoughts kept thundering.

in my head, drowning the others out. No way out. No way out. No way out. No way out. All men have a debt to the world, to their fellow man, to whatever God or demon is running this shit show. Some of us just pay that debt sooner than others. That's what you're going to learn today. Before I had a chance to open my mouth, to plead for my life and for my mercy, he stuck the barrel of the gun into his own mouth, and he blew his brains out. Have you ever seen someone shoot themselves? It is the most surreal experience that I've ever encountered. It's also the most horrifying. Watching his face as he turned the gun towards himself, he didn't even look like a living man.

He looked like he was already dead, like something fundamentally human in him had already rotted away. His insides, however, were in perfectly pristine condition. I got a very good look at them when the bullet tore through his skull. The spray of red chunks that bloomed behind his head. It just seemed nonsensical at first. It just didn't seem logical that it had come from his body. until my mind was really able to process the sight to understand what I was

what I was looking at. Pieces of his skull, they littered the highway, covered in blood and flesh and matted hair. And even more of his inner zused out of his skull and onto the road, but I tried not to look at the mess. Even as I pried open my car door

and stumbled out next to his body, I tried not to look. Those eyes were open still and still they seemed to stare right at me. What troubled me the most was that his eyes looked the same dead as they had alive. I fished my cell phone out of my jacket to call 911. At that point, I was barely coherent on the phone, just trying to find the words to describe what I'd just seen,

what I was still looking at. I managed to stammer out my location before the phone slipped out of my hand. My fingers were shaken too badly to hold onto it anymore. My head was just, it was spinning. I tried to walk away from the body, just forcing my trembling legs to support me. I needed to stop looking at it. I wanted to stop seeing it, but I couldn't. It was there, in my mind.

It always would be. I wondered if he tasted the gunpowder right before he died. That was my last thought when my feet slipped out from under me, and my head met the road in a terrible collusion. that left me unconscious. I woke up in the hospital with a mild concussion and one hell of a rotten headache. I found out later that it had only taken the police about ten minutes to get to my location. It was pretty good for such a rural area.

I supposed when they heard me stutter out state trooper and suicide, they decided to get their asses in gear. The police came to see me once I'd woken up. I thought maybe they'd ask me for a statement or something. but instead they told me that they hadn't found a body. It was just me out there on that road, unconscious and bleeding on the ice. And the funny thing is, they didn't seem surprised or annoyed or confused at all by the situation. In fact, they seemed kind of grim, tense.

I didn't like that. I'd seen one too many tense officers that night if you catch my drift. The truth is, you aren't the first person to see something like that out on old 16. Officer Brady, I think it was. He had a round face and thick jowls. He was old, but still sharp. We get calls like this every few months. Always the same story.

I couldn't believe what they were telling me. I thought they were joking with me at first, and I was prepared to get pretty angry. Officer Brady must have seen that in my face because he continued. Truth is, there was a trooper that killed himself on that road out there, right about where you stopped. But it happened almost 20 years ago now. He had kind of a breakdown after his wife left him and started seeing somebody else. Ever since then, there have been sightings. We've thought about just closing off the road, but that would leave a hell of a lot of farmers in a tough spot,

being as they use it to truck grain and all. So we just respond to the calls when we get them and hope that folks are understanding. I wasn't convinced to say the least. You mean to tell me that what I saw was some fucked up ghost? Is that what you're saying? And you think I'm going to buy that? The officer shrugged. Believe me or don't, you can look it up yourself if you want to.

His name was Dan Thompson. Still a few troopers around here who remember him. All retired now, of course. His death was, well, it certainly won't be forgotten for a long, long time. And there they left me, confused and angry. I was an absolute mess for the first few days after the accident. My boss gave me two weeks off of work after I told him what happened. He probably thought I had some kind of brain trauma from that rather fantastic blow I took to my head.

My wife fussed over me every night once she got home at work, and rather incessantly, might I add. She's a good spouse, although she worries a little too much. I didn't work up the guts to look until the third day after the accident. I sat in front of my computer for a few hours that day, staring at the search engine on my screen, wondering if I should. Finally, I typed in the name and held my breath. I didn't have to look at any articles. I didn't have to sift through any websites.

I saw what I needed to see on the top of the first page of the search. It was a picture. A tall man and a trooper. uniform looking rather severely at the camera. He had a well-groomed mustache and a dark and tense stare that seemed to pierce through the computer screen and pin me down. I knew then that the trooper I'd seen was Dan Thompson. Survived by his ex-wife and his two children, that's what the picture caption said.

I didn't care to read me further. I didn't want to, and I didn't need to. He told me that all men had a debt to pay. It seems to me that he pays his every time somebody drives down that road at night. Mine? Mine is his name and his story. I'll carry them with me until the day I die. It's a heavy load to bear. Your time in our netherworld as we release you back into your own reality.

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